I wrote this piece for the March/April 2012 SCBWI Bulletin. They are kindly letting me post it here as well.
Among the very first books that I ever touched, were the five Little Bear books by Else Holmelund Minarik and illustrated by Maurice Sendak. The bittersweet episode in which Little Bear thinks his mother has forgotten about his birthday was especially fascinating to me as a young child. The story is touching and beautifully told, but what really got into my guts, and stayed there forever, are those perfect ink drawings. The disappointment you could see on Little Bear's expressions; the different personalities of Hen, Duck, and Cat; the melancholy of the humble birthday soup: all this is illuminated by Sendak's pen in such a sensitive manner. The last time I took a good look at those drawings was years ago, but if I close my eyes I can still see them so clearly.
As an adolescent, I began imagining for myself a future as a visual storyteller of some kind. Looking around for inspiration, I encountered Hieronymus Bosch, Alfred Kubin, Elzie Crisler Segar, George Herriman, Wilhelm Busch, and other artists in various fields. Since I didn't go through any kind of formal education to speak of, these people and their work were fundamental in my artistic progress, for better or worse. But when I sat down at my table to learn how to use that wonderful drafting tool that is the dip pen, I knew what to keep near at hand: Maurice Sendak's drawings.
In Italy, where I was born and grew up, most of Sendak's books were not nearly as popular as they were in the United States and elsewhere in the world. Only when I moved to New York in the mid nineties did I fully understand the range and importance of his work. I began collecting his books, which kept me company on my path to the profession.
One day in February of 2011, opening the mailbox to clear it up from the usual utility bills and advertisements, I found a curious item: a letter. It was addressed to me, and bore the letterhead The Sendak Fellowship. I opened it, expecting to read a request for a donation to a children's literacy program or something of that nature. Instead, the letter was an invitation to spend four weeks in Connecticut, in a house a few steps from Maurice Sendak's, in the fall. I would be given a studio where to work on my projects, if I felt like it. In fact, there was no obligation to produce anything specific, or anything at all. In addition to this, and to me most importantly, I would have a chance to meet Maurice Sendak. Maurice Sendak! I said yes, but I was scared.
The notion that Sendak actually knew my books enough to invite me to his place was unsettling. I have always been afraid that one day I'll hear a knock at the door and some stranger in a uniform, an Art Police officer, will notify me of my lack of qualifications and therefore my
9 Comments on The Sendak Fellowship, last added: 5/9/2012
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I'm reading Dear Genius (Ursula Nordstrom's letters) right now and your account here ties in so neatly with the spirit of it all. I find such generous encouragement so remarkably beautiful.
So very much looking forward to seeing the brave results soon!
Wonderful essay. Thank you, Sergio, for reminding me of the purpose and responsibility of the storyteller.
Beautiful! You touched so delicately at the heart of it. Thanks for reminding me of the joy and of the need to be brave.
Sergio, this is such a complicated issue. Every time we talk to another human being we make compromises, censor ourselves. That's the nature of communication. When we write for children, we're not necessarily writing just to be intimately immersed in our creation, but to share something with other human beings at their level.
Perhaps it is odd then that the work of mine that I feel proudest of, that really expresses my own truest artistic self, is not the work that speaks directly to most children, or indeed, will ever get published. I know, I have tried! But I remember I am a grown-up with sophisticated taste refined over a lifetime. I am not saying we have to sell out and talk down to people (children and typical parents) with less sophistication, but I think Sendak was shaped in another age, where quirkier, more adult perspectives were permitted in children's books, and from what I have read he seems more concerned with his art than with his audience.
"Night Kitchen" or "Outside Over There" would surely not be published by a major house today, if they were done by an unknown author, and maybe would not have been even in their time without the prior commercial success of "Where the Wild Things Are". My own children hated those later books, as artistic and brave as they may be, and my kids were a pretty sophisticated trio of young readers. I think it's pretty easy for Sendak to tell others they ought to be braver and take more chances.
Editors and publishers are necessarily concerned with selling quantities of books and the courage of the author to have some personal creative integrity is not really that relevant today. Neither is art. "Safe" and "salable" are most often economic necessities, and taking chances is discouraged. And of course it is an excuse, but it is a good and valid excuse. It is reality.
If you've found a way to step outside of that modern paradigm and get your braver work published, more power to you! But until there are more small, independent presses willing to print books that are a hard sell to the masses, I think the journey for most authors and illustrators in America will be a difficult one, fraught with hurdles and taboos.
Maybe someone will convince me otherwise, but I feel that building a career in published books and being true to a personal artistic vision are not necessarily compatible. I have come reluctantly to accept that I must try to think commercially to be viable, visible and make a living making books in the real world. To those who make the decisions on what to publish, a "good" book is one that makes money, and that is not necessarily the uncompromising one. Am I wrong? Or should we just make books for ourselves, and ignore the rest of it? Or do you believe that publishers and the public will recognize and acknowledge the attempt to step outside the boxes, and validate our efforts to go further than we dared?
Oh, no, I hope I didn't make it sound as if I thought I were a brave little author. On the contrary, I am fairly cowardly. There are many ways one can approach this business, but I surely appreciate more the authors who are brave enough to create what they think is the best possible story and the best possible pictures, without second-guessing what the readers will be able to understand. That second-guessing can be so pretentious and annoying.
Wow! Just... wow! On so many levels I love what you have to say here. And to meet Maurice Sendak? Dream!
I have to tell you that right now I am reading a vintage version of Hurry Home Candy to my kids. It was one of my favorite books as a child, in part I now realize, because of those very same ink drawings by Maurice.
You will perhaps be pleased to know that your work is touching children in the same way. I gave my kids the card you signed for them in Bologna and they were ecstatic - big fans they are (as Yoda would say). :-)
Finally, although I am sure it pales in comparison to meeting Maurice Sendak and having real live kids as fans, I have included you and your blog on my list of authors, illustrators and poets I admire on my website. :-)
Yes, second-guessing is a mistake. Talking down to kids is a mistake. I've made many books and they have many mistakes in them! I can tell when I read them to groups of kids and see what flies past them without connecting, and then I wish I could go back and change things. Today Sendak died, and I am sorry I never got to meet him, or know him, like so many did. For those of us who are artists trying to make a living being a storyteller and illustrator, the struggle to see inside ourselves and capture a little of who we are and what we believe goes on. It's a worthwhile struggle!
Loved reading this Sergio. It breaks my heart that I won't see him again. His inspiration however, will never die for me.