“What art is all about is trying to figure out if the feelings that you’re having are the same as the feelings that I’m having.” –Chris Ware
Watch Here: https://art21.org/watch/extended-play/chris-ware-someone-im-not-short/
How many triangles can you find in this picture? Hint: a bunch. They are formed by legs and arms. Actually, all of those soldiers combined with that gun that they’re firing form a triangle. And where do they all point? Yes, up to the left. All of that is on purpose – by design. It’s composition at its most exciting. The elements in the picture are thrusting upwards in a unified way. The squares and rectangles have corners pointing in the same direction.
Dean Cornwell was a master illustrator and muralist. Hi nickname among contemporaries was “The Dean of Illustration.” To us, he was old school. That is, a narrative painter in the vein of Norman Rockwell, N.C. Wyeth, James Montgomery Flagg, Howard Pyle, and his teacher Harvey Dunn. His work looked realistic. But one shouldn’t doubt that everything was created and served his communication concepts.
In this second illustration above, you won’t find thrusting triangles. Instead you’ll follow that drooping line of the couch, echoed by drooping of the man’s head. The composition sets up a feeling of despair.
In this painting the figures are the pupil of an eye-shape – formed by the Venician bridge and shadow. We can compare the two of them to the other pairings in the picture (poles). They are more separated. She looks away.
This picture has triangles like the first, but notice they go in different directions. There’s a pronounced element of confusion and distress created.
“A Composition,” says Cornwell, “is not just a nice arrangement with everything gracefully filling the space. No matter how satisfying it may be from abstract point of view it is meaningless in illustration unless it is built around and wholly expresses an authentic idea that motivates that particular picture.”*
Looking at these examples, we see that Dean Cornwell not only told a variety of human stories, but also took us to convincingly to many places. All from his suburban studio in New Rochelle, New York. Which leads me to a second quote worth sharing, found in the same book*:
“An important difference the painter of easel pictures and the illustrator, is that the former goes through life painting the things that he sees before him, the things that appeal to him, while the latter is forced to paint something that neither he nor anyone else has seen, and make it appear as if he has actually been an observer on the spot.”
“The Measure of an illustrator is his ability to take a subject in which he may have neither interest nor information, tackle it with evertything that he’s got and make the finished painting look like the cosummation of his life’s one ambition.”
*-from Forty American Illustrators and How the Work by Ernest W. Watson (Watson-Guptill Publications, 1946)
“(John Atherton) is one of those fortunate artists who is able to function happily in the two disparate worlds of “fine” and “commercial” art. For him, the dual role seems natural and agreeable. He says: ‘I am convinced that (for me, and essentially for many who feel as I do) a decent life has greater bearing on the caliber of the work done than the so-called loss of face in making compromises. To do good work, it follows reasonably that to eat regularly, live in pleasant surroundings, and have enough independence to be able to devote oneself principally to the creation of art is a more intellegent solution than the opposite of the starving artist, freezing in his garret with pride intact. The point is to be able to recognize when the income from commercial art has reached a reasonable figure, and not let greed overcome the urge for self- expression.
‘I shall probably always do a certain amount of commercial art – for two reasons. One is that certain things are fun, and I like to do them. The other is that the life it enables me to lead is the best, for me, and I have no desire to change it for the worse.'”
-from Forty American Illustrators and How the Work by Ernest W. Watson (Watson-Guptill Publications, 1946)
John Atherton (1900-52) was a prominant illustrator for his entire life and was a good friend of Norman Rockwell. He called himself a Magical Realist, and his work is in the collections of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Art Institute of Chicago, The Museum of Modern Art, The Whitney Museum, and the Smithsonian Museum, among others.
Deborah Solomon’s 2013 biography of Norman Rockwell, The American Mirror: The Art and Life of Norman Rockwell (Farrar, Straus and Giroux), gives a glimpse at a testy compromise with commercialism for Atherton.
“Atherton had distrusted commercial art ever since his Bon Ami calamity – he had been assigned to create a series of drawings of a blond housewife cheerfully scrubbing her sink with Bon Ami, the cleansing powder. The drawings came back to him with instructions to revise them – to redo the woman and give her red hair and a more voluptuous chest. “That really floored Jack,” his wife, Maxine recalled. “They wanted a big, bosomy redhead using Bon Ami. He said, ‘To hell with commercial art'”
“There is hope in honest error. None in the icy perfections of the mere stylist.” – Charles Remy Macintosh (architect, designer, and artist), 1901
“By the late twenties and early thirties my easel pictures were being shown and somewhat admired. Critics used the word ‘illustrator’ as a denigrating label. I resented the implied barrier between illustration and painting but I was too busy to enter into controversy. Both illustrator and painter are artists who are in pictorial communication. Both should be measured by their competence — not by artificial compartments contrived by critics.”
N. C. Wyeth (1882-1945)
“Say what you mean and act how you feel, / because those who matter don’t mind, / and those who mind don’t matter.”
-Dr. Seuss, born today, March 2, 1904