Tulip Festival Time in the Pacific Northwest’s Skagit Valley
I’ll keep things short and (hopefully) sweet this time around: Here’s a link I saved about two years ago but never shared. Seems like the right time to share it now – April! The tulips are blooming! In a few weeks, the lilacs drift in.
Most everybody knows a book can go anywhere, any time, any place, and in (almost) any weather. There’s very little I find as soothing as a reading a book out in the sunshine – and if you agree, you might not need any nudges. But if you think reading a good book is only about cuddling up on the sofa to read while you drink cocoa and warm yourself by the woodstove (I admit, that’s nice, too) here’s another way to approach it.
You don’t need hot beach weather – you can do it by bundling up – hat! coat! warm scarf! – and finding a picnic table in a nearby park. You sit down, you breathe a deep breath, and you dive in to the printed page. You can even wear your mittens (gloves, better, for turning pages!) while the world your book conjures up appears.
Well…brrrrrrrrrrrr. Maybe not when there’s snow?
Spring is unpredictable in the Pacific Northwest, On Monday, the day of the awe-inspiring total eclipse, it was cloudy and messy, windy as heck, no chance at catching even a partial bit of the magic of moon-over-sun. But now it’s Thursday. Today, I see a blue sky. The sun, uneclipsed, is shining. Outside I go.
Just finished Roz Chast’s I Must Be Dreaming. On top of the “Next Book” pile is James McBride’s Heaven and Earth Grocery Store. But I’ll turn back this afternoon to continue with the book I’m reading for the next Book Club discussion with friends, The Discovery of Slowness by Sten Nadolny – reading it slowly, of course. Savoring it. So far, wonderful. And brrrrrrrrrr again. A cold cover photo!
Where do you go to read outside? And what are you reading as the world begins to leaf out? Would love to hear from you in the comments below.
My husband, Joe Max Emminger is a painter. He goes to his studio and paints every day. He probably has paint running through his veins as well as blood.
There is a wall in the dining room where we always have a painting by Joe, and it changes frequently.
Joe and I have been married since 1986.
Happy Anniversary by Joe Max Emminger
Our lives and our art are intertwined.
Jug with Cherry Blossoms collaborative painting by Julie Paschkis and Joe Max Emminger Bench painted by Joe Max Emminger, with roses from Julie Little
This blog is usually about children’s book illustration, or I post about my work here. But my work wouldn’t be what it is without Joe. I learn from his art, and I learn from the way he approaches his art. We are always sharing what we are up to. We don’t generally give each other specific criticism, but we often ask each other the basic question: is this piece finished?
Even after all these years Joe’s paintings astound and surprise me. They go directly to my heart.
In Memoriam by Joe Max Emminger
Joe has a lot going on lately. He just had a show of collaborative platters with DIck Weiss and Liz Sandvig at the Traver Gallery.
Weiss, Sandvig, Emminger – Phases of the Moon
In May he will be taking part in a group show at Chatwin Arts in Pioneer Square.
Joe also always has paintings at the SAM Gallery at the Seattle Art Museum.
He’s Waiting by Joe Max Emminger
And this month (from April 6-28) Joe will be showing his paintings at the wonderful i.e. gallery in Edison, WA.
Spring Bouquet by Joe Max Emminger
The gallery is run and owned by Margy Lavelle who has known Joe for almost as long as I have. She wrote this about him:
You might call Joe Max Emminger a creature of habit. Born in Seattle, he has lived there all his life, living in a neighborhood not far from where he was born. He developed an interest in art in the early 1970’s and educated himself with books at the University of Washington art library as well as by getting to know other artists and instructors from the school of painting. Painting quickly became a central part of his life and he has painted every day since. For years Emminger had a studio in downtown Seattle and made a walk through the public market part of his daily sojourn. The bustle, the color, the smells are what he depicted. He has also walked for many years around Green Lake, close to his home, and so the swans and bicycles and water show up as well. He is so much a painter of his place and daily activities yet his stylized forms have a universal appeal. He shares with us his experiences and his responses to the world around him. His paintings may appear simplistic with pure colors and strong lines but they are never one dimensional. They have been worked on, painted over, struggled with until there is a resolution. And to then look simplified is one of the hardest things for a painter to achieve. Emminger says it’s like “moving furniture around”. They are full of wonder but can also touch on grief and disappointment. They run the full spectrum of life. They are about family, travel, pets, love, loss and being alive and just walking around and taking it all in.
And in Joe’s own words:
I wasn’t trained as an artist, but I picked up the habit of making art from being around other artists. Making art has been the center of my life for the last fifty years. I am a curious person. I make sense of things that I hear, see and feel by painting. Painting for me is not optional; I can’t turn it off. I also try to leave room in my paintings: room for them to breathe and live in the world, room for other people to move around in them.
Walking Man by Joe Max Emminger
I’ll end this post with pictures of the wall in Joe’s studio. He mixes his colors directly on the wall and the paint drips. Over time the wall has become a painting itself, everchanging, a record of time.
Kismet is one of my favorite words. I love to say it, and I love to experience it. It has a hint of onomatopoeia to my ears–whether it technically fits the definition or not. (I checked; it doesn’t.) But hear me out: “‘Tis meant!” she shouted when a pair of boots just her size mysteriously appeared at the trailhead the very moment hers fell apart.
The word itself has Arabic (qisma), Persian (qismat-portion or lot) and Turkish (qismet-fate) roots, and when the American author and playwright, Julia Constance Fletcher, learned about kismet while traveling in Egypt, she was inspired to write her 1877 ode to fate and destiny called A Nile Novel, or Kismet. It featured a group of white travelers pondering the mysteries of love while floating down the River Nile. “Just met!” she whispered when he pulled his deck chair closer to hers. The book’s popularity is said to have increased usage of the word.
My husband and I recently celebrated his birthday in Montreal at a bustling North Indian restaurant called Darbar. It was kismet when I opened their website and saw this:
ALL THAT WE ARE IS STORY. From the moment we are born to the time we continue on our spirit journey, we are involved in the creation of the story of our time here. It is what we arrive with. It is all we leave behind. We are not the things we accumulate. We are not the things we deem important. We are story. All of us. What comes to matter then is the creation of the best possible story we can while we’re here; you, me, us, together. When we can do that and we take the time to share those stories with each other, we get bigger inside, we see each other, we recognize our kinship — we change the world one story at a time.
Richard Wagamese, Ojibwe Canadian author & journalist (1955-2017)
I got a shiver knowing that a First Nations Canadian writer’s words were conveying the essence of a Punjabi restaurant in Montreal, Quebec to me in Seattle–and to everyone, anywhere in the world who happened upon them. Story. It’s who and what we are, all of us. It’s the perfect introduction to this post. “Wish met!” she sighed with delight.
A Story A Story: An African Tale Retold
Haley, Gail E. 1970
We start at the beginning with this tale from the Ashanti people of Ghana. Time was Nyame, Sky God to the Ashanti, kept all the stories of the world in a box next to his royal stool. It was Kwaku Ananse, a small & clever Spider man, who spun a web to the sky to ask Nyame if he might buy the stories to share with all the people. Nyame laughs at the audacity of Spider but makes him an offer anyway. Bring me Osebo, the leopard-of-the-terrible-teeth; Mmboro, the hornet who-stings-like-fire; & Mmoatia, the fairy whom-men-never-see. Ananse calmly accepts the seemingly impossible challenge & climbs back to earth to get to work.
Now the storyteller & listeners’ fun in sight & sound begins in earnest. Haley’s double page woodcuts were awarded the Caldecott Medal in 1971, and they lend themselves beautifully to group sharing. Brilliant pastels & close-ups of Ananse & his prey leap from the page. The text sings with the repetition of Nyame’s chuckling–twe, twe,twe; Ananse running along the jungle path–yiridi, yiridi, yiridi; & creeping through tall grass–sora, sora, sora. His ingenuity is on full display as he captures leopard, hornet & fairy to give Nyame in exchange for his stories. Once back on earth Ananse throws open the golden box & the stories scatter to all corners of the world.
This Ananse story is but one variation on a character that traveled from Ghana on slave ships to the Caribbean & southern United States during the transatlantic slave trade. How fitting that Spider & his stories, in order to survive, were carried by the strongest, most adaptable & resilient of the desperate millions dispossessed. Whether he’s Ananse, Anansi, Anancy or Aunt Nancy, Spider reminds us that survival demands keeping one’s wits about oneself & staying alert to the risks humans & animals can pose. Essential, too, is the conviction that sharing wisdom by example & through story will endure.
How to Build a Hug: Temple Grandin and Her Amazing Squeeze Machine
Guglielmo, Amy and Tourville, Jacqueline. Illus. by Giselle Potter. 2018
Dr. Temple Grandin is an animal behaviorist, advocate for the humane treatment of livestock, and autism rights activist. She had a challenging childhood as a smart & very sensitive girl. She felt out of place at school because it was too noisy. She disliked being touched by people & things because they were too scratchy. She created outlets for her genius & enjoyed them by herself. She planned & built things. She loved her dog & made games to play with him. Still, she yearned for the closeness of this thing called a hug she saw others give and receive with pleasure.
One magic summer, after a year at boarding school for children with special needs, a more confident Temple went to work on her aunt’s cattle ranch. It changed Temple’s life. There she saw a skittish calf that was waiting for a veterinarian exam, being calmed by a ‘squeeze chute,’ a metal contraption that snugly cradled & soothed it. As she sat with the hushed calf, Temple had an idea. Maybe she could make a squeeze machine for herself to get used to the feel of something all around her that wasn’t too scratchy or too noisy…something very much like a hug.
Giselle Potter was the perfect choice to illustrate Grandin’s story. I fell in love with her quirky picture book autobiography, The Year I Didn’t Goto School, ages ago & have been a fan ever since. Her watercolor illustrations–from the endpapers to the authors’ note—are loaded with the stuff of Temple’s story–tools & specs for building projects, images of noise & quiet, and facial expressions full of both discomfort & delight.
It Began With a Page: How Gyo Fujikawa Drew the Way
Maclear, Kyo. Illus. by Julie Morstad. 2019
Gyo Fujikawa’s life as a groundbreaker began in 1913 when she was five years old, growing up the daughter of first-generation Japanese American immigrants in northern California. It was then that she took pencil in hand, turned to an empty white page & began drawing. Gyo loved to draw. She loved everything about it—how the pencil felt in her hand, how it glided over the paper, & how, if she added a splash of yellow or blue, a brand-new picture would appear.
Gyo was passionate about creating art & believed she was talented, but she also knew that her parents had few resources to support her dream of becoming an artist. Enter two high school teachers who really see this girl: Gyo, whose eyes missed nothing, who could sketch rivers and boats and birds like a dream. They commit to her future–& this story–by paying Gyo’s way to art school in Los Angeles in 1926.
Imagine! Alone in LA as an 18-year-old Japanese American woman with big dreams–but not much else. She learned as she drew. When she finished art school, she traveled to Japan to learn traditional brush painting & steep herself in the culture of her ancestors. But there were too many rules. So, she traveled the country alone, learning as she went—wood blocks & carving while floating in a sea of kimonos. If Gyo hasn’t stolen your heart by now and convinced you of her place among trailblazers in the art world, read on to see & learn of her importance to the concept of diversity in books for the very young.
This biography in the form of a picture book is for all who remember Babies, the board book published in 1963 that Fujikawa wrote & illustrated. Full of babies of all colors, shapes & sizes, doing things naughty & nice, alone & at play with others, it was at first rejected by publishers. But the undeniably talented & persistent artist prevailed…and it all began with a page.
111 Trees: How One Village Celebrates the Birth of Every Girl
Singh, Rina. Illus. by Marianne Ferrer. 2020
Meet Sundar Paliwal, a young boy growing up in the small Indian village of Piplantri, located in the desert region of the state of Rajasthan. His favorite thing to do each day is to accompany his mother on the long walk to the well for water. He helps by collecting firewood as they go. It’s the only time he has her all to himself, and he cherishes it. When Sundar’s mother dies suddenly from a snake bite and is unceremoniously whisked away from their mud house, he is devastated. His grief has no outlet save the embrace of a tree—like the trees he and his mother would rest beneath during their hikes in the hot sun.
Years later, when Sundar becomes a husband and father, he reflects on the very different expectations the village has for girls and boys. The birth of a boy is cause for celebration. The birth of a girl is greeted with silence. He remembers how hard his mother, & every woman in the village, labored to care for their families, and how little respect they received. He is troubled by the inequality in educational opportunity between boys and girls. He and his wife commit to doing things differently with their own children. But it is the death of their oldest daughter that propels Sundar into activism on a grand scale. And here’s where the trees come in—thousands of trees. 111 trees planted to honor the birth of each girl in Piplantri. Trees planted to heal the deforestation around the nearby marble mine. Trees to capture water & rebalance the ecosystem for agriculture.
111 Trees is one title in the CitizenKid series of books from Kids Can Press. The collection’s mission is to inform children ages 8-12 about the world and inspire them to be better global citizens. In case that sounds more preachy than inspiring, I encourage you to have a look. Beautifully illustrated by Venezuelan-born artist, Marianne Ferrar, in lush watercolors, gouache, and graphite, it hums with life & the promise of a better world.
I know it is early February, but already I am on the lookout for signs of spring.
In my garden the witch hazel named Arnold’s Promise has kept his promise and is covered with yellow frizzy ribbon flowers.
Snowdrops are popping up through the leaves.
And I am looking for something to bloom in my studio as well. After months of recuperating from knee replacement surgery, I am getting back to regular sitzfleisch – and it feels really good to be back at my desk.
My Portland friend, author Margaret Bechard, cautions not to talk about work in progress so it won’t lose its impetus to be born. I am at that stage with this project, so enough said. But hopefully, with some regular watering and sunshine, it will bloom.
Almost 20 years ago I painted this illustration for Glass Slipper, Gold Sandal.
In September I finally got to go to Poland. The trip was a feast of color and beauty. I am sharing a gazillion images with you here. Enjoy the scroll and the stroll!
Margaret Chodos-Irvine and I joined an excursion led by Karolina Merska to look at folk art in Warsaw and surrounding towns. Karolina wrote a book on making Polish Pajaki (mobiles), and she has a store in London called Folka.
Karolina is a joyful person – an exuberant, knowledgeable and wonderful tour guide.
She cares deeply about preserving and sharing the folk arts of Poland.
Karolina took 6 of us – all women- to museums, homes, villages and fairs. The group was fantastic. Everyone was ready to roll.
We saw textiles.
And papercuts called Wycinanki. We saw them in museums and homes, and tried cutting our own.
Traditional Wycinanki were glued right onto the walls of the houses. Once a year they would be washed off and new ones glued on.
Different regions of the country have different styles of papercuts.
Julian Brzozowski created over 400 sculptures of people, animals and birds, including many that had special engines that made the sculptures move.
We saw painted houses and houses with paper curtains.
It was wonderful to walk through new doors to a different culture.
I hope you enjoyed this colorful journey to Poland in the midst of winter. The painting below and the two paintings at the start of the blog are by Maria Kosińska.
Just before Christmas, I read a book review written by Dwight Garner (click here for an interview of him at Poets and Writers magazine) for the New York Times, and rather than go to the library and look for the book he reviewed, I got online and looked Garner up, He struck me somehow as a kindred soul; his priorities about what makes a book good seemed to echo my own. In addition, I liked the way he wrote – both clear and clever – and I liked his sentences at the level of word choices, I liked his wit. What I found as I looked into his writing was that he has a book out titled Garner’s Quotations: A Modern Miscellany. This book, in previous centuries, would most likely have been called a “commonplace book,” and my New Year’s resolution has been to create one of my own. As with Garner, I’m not looking for Deep Thoughts. Not cascading advice for writers about other writers’ thoughts about writing. Definitely not Bartlett’s. Just sentences I love.
Wikipedia’s definition of a commonplace book is this: “Commonplace books (or commonplaces) are a way to compile knowledge, usually by writing information into books. They have been kept from antiquity, and were kept particularly during the Renaissance and in the nineteenth century. Such books are similar to scrapbooks filled with items of many kinds: notes, proverbs, adages, aphorisms, maxims, quotes, letters, poems, tables of weights and measures, prayers, legal formulas, and recipes. Entries are most often organized under systematic subject headings and differ functionally from journals or diaries , which are chronological and introspective.“
I’ve never been interested in keeping a diary – my grandmother gave me one when I was about eleven, and I only managed to keep a record of what I ate for breakfast for several weeks before I gave up. There is only so much that can be said about oatmeal or eggs. Though I could play a mean game of tether-balI, I lacked the skill of introspection at that age.
This book is a collection, a miscellany culled from many, many more, of sentences Garner has loved. They’re not “passages” from books. None are very long. And they’re not organized by category. Instead, he says he put them together by “feel” – “I’ve tried to let the comments speak to one another and perhaps throw off unexpected sparks.” Often the sentences he chooses have a certain quirkiness or energy, a distinct sound to the words strung together, thoughts that might never have occurred to him but which delight or surprise him. He quotes Walt Whitman who said as his own preferences became clear to him that he liked words of “unhemmed latitude, coarseness, directness, live epithets, expletives, words of opprobrium, resistance.” (Fair warning, Garner’s book gets salty often enough to make even Whitman blush.)
Describing his commonplace book, Garner puts it this way: “It’s where I write down favorite sentences from novels, stories, poems, and songs, from plays and movies, from overheard conversations. Lines that made me sit up in my seat, lines that jolted my awake….Into it I’ve poured verbal delicacies, ‘the blast of a trumpet,’ as Emerson put it, and bits of scavenged wisdom from my life as a reader. Yea, for I am an underliner, a destroyer of books, and maybe you are, too.”
Garner has been collecting his lines for nearly forty years. His miscellany is over 200 pages long, with a nicely organized index. I’m late beginning. But I’m going to give it a try. I’ve added some photos of old commonplace books into this post to inspire you, simply because – well – they’re beautiful.
Here are just a few gems from Garner’s miscellany:
“You have to laugh trouble down to a size where you can talk about it.” (Dan Jenkins)
“It’s only words, unless they’re true.” (David Mamet in Speed the Plow)
“You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.” (Colette, attributed)
“You are mine, I say to the twice-dunked cruller, before I eat it.” (Rita Dove, Describe Yourself in Three Words or Less)
“Every woman should have a blowtorch.” (Julia Child, attributed)
Here’s wishing you all a very Happy New Year!
Quick postscript: Next on my list of good books to read is Garner’s latest, The Upstairs Delicatessen: On Eating, Reading, Reading about Eating, and Eating While Reading. Love the title. Love the cover.
We’ve taken another circle around the sun and here in Seattle, we’ve entered the Big Dark. Usually a time of gray and rain and the blues. But it can also be a time of renewal. As a friend reminded me when she posted a poem of mine that I’d forgotten about called “Sleep”. It got me looking through my collection of illustrations of books in art and wondering about images of reading and sleep. Who doesn’t remember falling asleep reading under the covers as a kid? Or that nap in the summer sun? Or dozing off as the book slips from your hands? And, among others, I found these.
Some suggest shelter and peace:
Illustration by Charle Vysotsky
Illustration by Berk Ozturk
Painting by Andrew Wyeth
Illustration by Eugeni Balakshin
Some link reading and sleep with dreams and other worlds:
Every time I give myself over to this practice of blogging for Books Around the Table, things interesting and wonderful happen. Mystery and serendipity are likely to come along, too. It goes like this: I gather books, willy-nilly at first, and always more than I have the time or space to write about. I keep an eye and an ear out for commonality, a hook I might hang my selections on. I sort, shuffle, and stack, trying on themes and motifs that might offer structure to my post. More visits to the library for more books with elements that overlap or provide a counterpoint to those piles that shrink or grow as I rearrange and reconsider. Variations on themes circle around, and so do I. If I waver too long before settling on one, I get dizzy. If I lean into one and its inevitable limitations, it feels like a dance. There is no right or wrong, no perfect fit of theme to list, but rather a tango with the ideas and imaginings of writers and illustrators whose work I admire. Let’s dance.
How to Write a Poem
Alexander, Kwame & Nikaido, Deanna. Illus. by Melissa Sweet. 2023
To the dynamic duo that created How to Read a Book, add poet Deanna Nikaido’s voice and settle into the warmth and wisdom of this gem. How to start a poem? Begin with a question. Something deep perhaps, like an acorn waiting for spring. Follow the prompts that activate the senses, respond to the seasons, encounter the cosmos, and even explore the depth of one’s emotions. You may go alone–or with a friend or two–on this quest for the words, thoughts, and feelings that may—or may not—answer your question. But what a ride you will have taken to the place where the words have been waiting to slide down your pencilinto your small precious hand and become a voice…
Melissa Sweet hand lettered the text and created her collage art using vintage and handmade papers, paint, pencils, printed letterforms, and beach pebbles. She explains that her very first reading of the text inspired the use of circles and spheres in the illustrations. They suggest the spinning wheels of imagination, circling around the natural world, coming full circle from question to poem. The abundance of cogs and cycles and cyclists is a nod to poet Nikki Giovanni. As she’s written, We are all either wheels or connectors. Whichever we are, we must find truth and balance, which is a bicycle.
The Other Way to Listen
Baylor, Byrd. Illus. by Peter Parnall. 1978
Everybody Needs a Rock (1974) is my all-time favorite Byrd Baylor and Peter Parnall collaboration. I was hoping to find it still available in Seattle libraries. Alas, it is not. (It is still in print, though.) This beautiful story, set in the desert Southwest where Baylor lived, wrote, and was an activist for 97 years, is about finding a rock—the perfect rock–for oneself. The size of it, its shape, how it sounds in your pocket when you run, how it feels when you touch it a thousand times a day.
Instead, I offer you The Other Way to Listen. This may not look like a story for our times, although I might suggest it is the very story we need in our times. It is quiet and stunning in its reverence for the Sonoran environment. It features a child in conversation with an old man, an uncle or grandfather perhaps, who is so attuned to their desert backyard he can hear wildflower seeds burst open, rocks murmur, and hills sing. The child wants to know how to hear these things, too. It takes time and practice, the old man replies, and you cannot be in a hurry. Most importantly, the landscape and desert dwellers will be your true teachers. Then he shares his tips for soulful listening. Start small. Show respect. Do not be ashamed to learn from any living thing, even a bug. When you are alone, that is when you can listen best.
Parnall’s pen and ink drawings are spare and require the viewer’s attention the same way listening to a rock might. They capture the desert landscape and interactions between the child and old man with splashes of color that on one page illuminate the inside of a cave, then become the child’s hair, the old man’s coat, or a setting sun on others. If you pay close attention, you can almost hear them.
Aidan is a young Black boy who introduces himself to us the same way he greets the world every day–through his tablet with an app that displays pictures and words that speak for him. As he tells us, I was born like this. No voice from my lips. I am Autistic. He hears but does not speak. His powers of description are keen, though. Big voices feel like storms that thrash and scream. Soft ones are smooth like fresh whipped cream. Mama’s voice bobs and dances like water, and Daddy’s is like air–soft as a summer breeze.
Mama suggests a visit to the park by tapping on her tablet park…now…no…crowd? Aidan quickly taps yes because he loves the park, especially when there are few people there. He spins barefoot on the warm, damp grass. He hugs the trees to comfort them when the sun disappears behind a cloud. He jumps and flaps his arms in delight just because. They encounter another mother whose son points at Aidan as he moves to his own rhythm. She says Aidan’s doing that because he’s handicapped. They appear to back away from him in fear or scorn. After two deep breaths in and out to calm herself, Mama is ready to set the woman straight about Aidan. She furiously types on her tablet, then turns it around so they can read her words. No, he doesn’t speak, but his ears work fine. The words that you say go straight to his mind. From her teal fingernails to the teal curls on her head, this Mama has her son’s back. She also knows a quick stop for fast food on the way home, ordered by each of them on their tablets, is the best way to end a day with no words.
Cosgrove’s illustrations are hand rendered in pencil and ProCreate. Her use of pastels on the colored pages is very effective. The darker backgrounds allow the people and places to stand out in a muted way that seems congruent with Aidan’s relationship to his surroundings. It is her drawings of Aidan, however, that really add to this reader’s appreciation for his neurodiversity in ways both subtle and respectful. Careful attention is paid to where his eyes focus, whether they are open or closed, and even how he hears what goes on within and around him. When there are no words, it takes a skillful illustrator to bring a character to life. Cosgrove does this beautifully.
If you haven’t seen this masterpiece in poetry and paintings or listened to the audiobook performed by British actors and musicians, prepare to be spellbound. This is the book that inspires my musing about things lost and found, wild and tame, noisy and quiet. When keen Oxford Junior Dictionary viewers began noticing years ago that many words related to the natural world and the British landscape were being deleted while others dealing with technology and the virtual world were being included, it was cause for concern. Writers, environmentalists, poets, naturalists, teachers, and families across Britain sounded the alarm. Children who are not offered the opportunity and encouragement to see and smell and hear and talk about the natural world around them are being denied something essential to childhood, their argument went. Without the words to name their wild experiences, can they really know and love them? Can they tell stories and pass on their knowledge about them? Will they develop a passion to preserve and protect them as they grow?
Macfarlane and Morris offer this sumptuous, large format coffee table book as a corrective. It features 20 acrostic poems by Macfarlane of words removed from the dictionary including dandelion, wren, bramble, and otter. His intention, as he notes in the preface, is to conjure spells of many kinds that might just, by the old, strong magic of being spoken aloud…summon lost words back into the mouth and mind’s eye.
Here’s a taste from Magpie. Magpie Manifesto: Argue Every Toss! Gossip, Bicker, Yak and Snicker…Pick a Fight in an Empty Room!
Morris’s breathtaking art defies description by me. It is pure magic in gold and watercolor.
We found plenty last summer at Schiphol airport in Amsterdam. The ING bank had bannered the sky bridges with that well-known ‘do your thing” phrase pointed in many directions.
This one, especially, spoke to me.
Dreamers, do your thing.
But there was encouragement for everyone:
Sisters, do your thing Timezone hoppers, do your thing Wavemakers, do your thing Innovators, do your thing
Free spirits, do your thing Pioneers, do your thing Soulmates, do your thing Superheros, do your thing
Instagrammers, do your thing Deep thinkers, do your thing Techies, do your thing Movers and shakers, do your thing
Trendsetters, bucketlisters: the call to “do your thing” whatever that might be went on and on, sky bridge by sky bridge. As a group, they speak to how much humanity needs the fresh ideas of each individual.
With the help of photoshop I would add one more banner, for those of us toiling away at our desks and drawing tables:
Storymakers, do your thing. That’s part of the storymaker’s job description: figure out what it is that you have to say and shape it into a story. Happy creating!
In 2022 I gave the book to my brother because his name is Teddy and he is much loved. I was afraid that he would find the book sentimental, but he liked it. He responded by sending me a picture of his bear. Ted’s Teddy is 71 years old, still recovering from hand surgery that took place 60+ years ago.
Books Around The Table is the blog of Margaret Chodos-Irvine, Laura Kvasnosky, Julie Larios, Julie Paschkis and Bonny Becker. We are a critique group of children's book authors and illustrators who have been meeting monthly since 1994 to talk about books we are working on, books we have read, our art and our lives. We invite you to sit down with us around the table and join the conversation.
Ann Dalton
Bonny Becker
Julie Paschkis
Julie Larios
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Margaret Chodos-Irvine
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