Finding a Voice
Anecdotes on how Renata became a Children’s Book Illustrator.
The scene was reminiscent of an ‘80s movie. A traveler walked into an airport terminal in sunny California. It was winter, but warm. She was not wearing her coat. The shot cut to the next scene. It showed the traveller walking out of another airport terminal – into a completely different type of winter. A whirlwind of snow nearly knocked her over. She was wearing her coat, and had buried herself deep within it. But it was laughably inadequate. The traveller, a children’s book editor, had been forewarned that it would be cold at her destination. But the word “cold” was not nearly descriptive enough for the northern city she had arrived in.
The book editor was guided by her host to a parked car. The host’s car had been parked for less than twenty minutes, but it had lost all of its warmth. They waited a few long moments for the vehicle to warm up. At least the car had started, and without its usual struggle. The host was a children’s book author and illustrator that had invited the editor to speak at the local art college. The host imagined she could see regret in the editor's expression. She tried to lighten the mood with a joke at the weather’s expense. The snowstorm darkened. Apparently it didn’t have much of a sense of humor. “Oh well, we will have to make the best of it.” She told the shivering editor.
The next day the snow stopped. It was a sunny day, the sky was a rich vivid blue. But the cold remained. A woman named Renata walked up the hill to the art college. It was slow going, she carried a heavy portfolio case and an overstuffed backpack. The children’s book conference she was attending at the college would last all day, so she came extra prepared. Below the school was a city park, it was early on a Saturday morning, so the snow filled landscape was quiet and undisturbed. She took a moment to appreciate her surroundings – it was exciting to be the first to walk through the freshly fallen snow. The hill was a winter wonderland, the shape of it defined by subtle shades of white, grey, and blue. Clumps of prairie grass broke through the softly packed surface here and there. Its coloring was complementary to the color of the sky. Renata tried to imprint the scene in her mind so she could use it as inspiration for her artwork. It wouldn’t be a direct representation, she simply wanted to remember the softness of the snow and the way the colors made her feel. After a few moments of contemplation she rushed up the remainder of the hill. She was breathless by the time she entered the college. Not only from the steepness of the slope, but from her growing excitement about the conference. She was hoping it would be the breakthrough she needed.
She finally, and fully, committed to being an artist. It was going okay, her workload was steadily growing. But so was her credit card balance, and at a faster pace. She seriously needed to do something about it. That was one of the reasons she signed up for the conference, including signing up for a personal portfolio review from a real children’s book editor.
It had always been Renata’s goal to become a “serious” artist, and she was building a body of work that reflected that desire. Her art was a reflection of where she came from – Poland. Polish illustration was known for its editorial poster art, many of her countryman became famous for it. This had been reflected in her art school training back home. And Renata was an eager student of that school of thinking.
Mostly.
Renata had recently started going to coffee shops to draw. She didn’t sketch anything specific, she let intuition, and her pencil guide the way. Most of the sketches were heavy-hearted drawings of poignancy and melancholy. But every so often something sweet would appear. A little piglet, a group of ducks, or a child in a raincoat and large rubber boots, pulling a little red wagon (it wasn’t red in the pencil drawing, but that is what she imagined.) She wasn’t sure what part of her subconscious these pictures came from, but they made her smile. And they made others smile too. A regular drawing companion noticed the child friendly drawings in her sketchbook, and he suggested she should do children’s books. Renata wasn’t sure about the idea, she didn’t think serious artists did kids stuff.
But the idea grew on her. She started making small paintings based on some of the more light hearted drawings in her sketchbooks. Soon enough Renata had a mini collection of painted illustrations. For the children’s book conference, she put together a portfolio, with color copies of the artwork. She also brought along one of her original oil paintings. She'd read somewhere about a golden age illustrator who delivered his finished illustrations as original art. He would even put the paintings in a frame. And take the train all the way down to Manhattan, from his small town many hours away. He’d drag the heavy paintings into a taxi, and up the elevator to his publisher’s offices, to formally unveil the cover art. Renata liked how serious the illustrator was about showing his artwork. She felt the same way.
After the conference, Renata wouldn’t remember any of the workshops, or the editor’s keynote speech. During the event, all she could think about was presenting her own work to the editor. She had shown her portfolio to art directors, and clients before. Many times. But there was something intimidating about showing her work to the book editor. It felt more real. The editor was one of the select gate keepers that decided what did, or did not, appear on book shelves throughout North America.
The editor looked through Renata’s portfolio. She took her time examining each page, which Renata appreciated. Some previous reviewers of her portfolio flipped through quickly, and barely looked at the work. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, those same flippers might still hire her. But she appreciated the seriousness the editor took in viewing her illustrations. Renata had also brought the sketchbook with the kid friendly drawings inside. The editor paused on the sketchbook page with the drawing of the child pulling a wagon.
“I love this sketch. How simple, and emotional your drawing is.” Said the editor. “I’d love to see more of what these characters could do.” Renata smiled self consciously and thanked her. The editor flipped through the sketchbook some more, and made similar comments about some of the other small doodles in the book. Then she returned to the portfolio of Renata’s finished illustrations. The portfolio was a medium sized book, overly heavy, with handles to carry it. It had a dark plastic exterior embossed with a fake leather texture. The interior of the book was filled with glossy plastic pages, bound in a metal ring binder. Copies of her artwork were inserted into the transparent sleeves. Renata had carefully curated what images she included, around a dozen illustrations in total.
“However, I am not sure that these paintings are working for me.” Said the editor. “They are too serious for book publishing.” Renata did not remember what the editor said next. Probably helpful suggestions and advice. But all she could hear was rejection. At the end of the critique, the editor picked up the original painting Renata had brought to the interview. It was an image of a child bundled in a coat that was too big for them. The oversized jacket was tightened around the child’s waist by a big leather belt. The painting was inspired from real life. When Renata was a child her mother had bundled her up in her brothers’ hand me down jackets. She remembers a woman in the neighborhood commenting on it. The woman said, "what a lovely looking boy.” Renata had not been pleased by the mistaken identity. In the painting, the child pulled an old fashioned snow sled. Sitting on the sled was a snow man with a bright red scarf. In his hand was a stick. The snowman was poking the child with the stick. Needling him, or her, forward.
The editor said the painting was lovely, and bittersweet. But it was also too sad for kids books. Much of Renata’s artwork was melancholy. She suggested that Renata should draw happier children. She could still keep it real, but maybe more fun. What the editor had given Renata was a “crit sandwich”. On the outside of the sandwich was the soft white bread, easy to digest. The first and last bites of the sandwich were encouraging words, while the meat in the middle, was the critical comments. Renata had been avoiding eating meat at the time, and no matter how good it was prepared, the “crit sandwich” tasted terribly disappointing.
Afterwards, Renata stumbled down the hill, feeling cold and rejected. She dragged her portfolio behind her, the snow in the park was heavy and difficult to walk through. It was no longer a winter wonderland, the day was still light, but she felt the threatening promise of a colder night, and she feared more to come. The weather stayed cold, but in time, Renata’s disappointment thawed. “Oh well, I’ll just have to make the best of it.” She thought. The editor’s advice was good. Picture books were for kids after all. And kids just wanted to have fun. Maybe she could find a compromise?
Renata tried to put herself in a happy child’s winter boots. What would they want to pull on their sled? A good friend perhaps. Or why stop there, when Renata was a child she would have loved pulling a whole lot of good friends!
