I feel I have a pretty good imagination but I think that a
nicely illustrated book goes a long way to helping augment that. Yesterday as I
circulated through my chidren’s department I came across a picture book by
Shaun Tan, The Lost Thing. One of my
favorite things about library work is strolling through the stacks and
stumbling on a new author. But even better is coming across a new artist. New
to me, anyway. One title of his lead to me others. I now have on my desk copies
of The Bird King and Rules of Summer with a few more on
their way. I haven’t been this excited by a children’s artist in a long time.
Nice to be excited by things cool and artistic. Helps to take the edge off of
the election process and the upcoming inauguration ceremony.
Been a librarian in the public sector for a while now and
baby, let me tell you, after 40 years the thrill is gone. But when it comes to
working with books, to turning folks on to really well done picture books,
well, the joys of the profession still linger large in me. I started out as a
children’s librarian. The funny thing is that by the time I dove in earnestly
into J work I had been a full-fledged head for many years. At the time it
seemed that my affection for marijuana and working with finger puppets,
cartoons, crafts and art was a natural fit, that a big part of the mystery of
my life had been solved. The arty side of the house had a very big appeal and
it took a while for me to see why. It should have been clear. Having grown up
in a household with an artistically minded mother I had the pedigree of an old
school bohemian. I had all kinds of art around me growing up. Books, paintings,
film, music. All of it was woven into the fabric of my life. After a while I
learned to discover that a good bowl of quality mota would help enhance the
appreciation for that art. I don’t think smoking pot ever made me a better
artist, or writer, or anything like that. Rather, it made me a better “appreciator”,
a more well-rounded accumulator, a curator with a better eye or ear or feel for
the arts.
You have to admit that there is nothing better than a rainy
day at home accompanied by a decent bong load of pot. Living in Seattle was one
of the best places in the world to develop that disposition. Seattle was what I
like to call an “indoor town”. It appealed to the outdoor enthusiast,
certainly, but it really had all those inside things down. Great museums,
fabulous movie houses, incredible music venues, one-of-a-kind bookstores,
delicious eateries and world class coffee houses. What wasn’t there to love
about that town? Seattle was made for cannabis. Even before Amsterdam was the
place to go with their canals and cannabis laced coffee houses Seattle was rocking
it.
I cut my librarian teeth there in Pacific Northwest. Sure, I
started out in SoCal, got my start in the same library that I went to as a kid.
But it there along the Puget Sound that discovered how cool dope and children’s
picture books went together. Somehow, between the moody weather, the warmth of quiet
bookstore stacks in winter, the coziness of a good IPA and a thrill of a match
being set to the end of a dank and sticky fatty, it all came together. Art,
mota and a well-developed, artistically trained and imaginatively inclined life
was the way to go.
I was lucky, then, that I was thrown into a children’s book
review group as soon as I landed there. Once a month I got to go the U-District
and head off to the Suzzallo Library and hang with other children’s librarians
and look at the latest advanced copies of kids titles thrown our way. It was
about as cool as a job as one could ask for. Books, good company, mileage
allowance and a lunch afterwards in the city. It felt then almost a bit sneaky.
Who would pay a person to have that much fun?
The arc of delving into children’s picture books appealed to
me. As a kid I was deeply into illustration. I don’t think “art” impressed me
as much as well drawn image. At first it was largely comic art that did me in.
I was a big fan of DC war comics. I was caught between my love for two artists,
Russ Heath and Joe Kubert, who both drew Sgt Rock and the Haunted Tank episodes.
For years I favored the more technical artistry of Heath but later on I began
to see and feel the true art background that Kubert shared with his readers. I
took my love for DC Comics and spread that jones to other places. Mad Magazine,
Cracked, Eerie, Creepy and National Lampoon all got in line. As I got older the
underground comic art of Crumb, Spain and Vaughn Bode drew me in and expanded
my taste for naïve, outsider, surfer, barrio, graffiti and hot rod artists.
It wasn’t enough to thrill to the old illustrative masters. The
older I got the more I felt that I was the lucky one. I grew up with Remington,
N.C. Wyeth, Gibson, Parrish and Pyle all around me. It was the fine lines and
the great imagery of those artists that propelled me to seek out the coolness
that other artists had to offer. The pulp comix that came out of San Francisco
lead me to other, even richer territories. I discovered Heavy Metal, artists
like Moebius and Bilal, which turned me onto even richer forms of film and
literature. Where would films like Blade Runner or books by William Gibson be
if wasn’t the deeply dystopian and otherworldly imagery that spilled off those
comic book and graphic novel pages?
Children’s picture book illustrators, in the end, became not
so much my end all but a great launch place of the imagination to share with
children and to indulge in after a long work week. I think it became easy to
sell books to kids once I discovered how beautiful and outrageously fantastic they
were. With a bit of mota I could easily get past the treacly writing that some
of the art labored under. With the right combination of a comfy couch, soft
lighting, a strong rain storm and a crackly fire a stack of picture books by my
side could turn into a full afternoon of stony, literary delight.
But sometimes good things come to an end. Jobs change,
duties transmogrify, folks grow up and tastes go into hiding. For years my life
took the shape of a man on the run. Working on a house, raising kids, starting
a business, moving across state lines, cannabis prohibition all took its toll
on the joys of picture book reading. My illustration jones found other venues
to explore and celebrate. I sought out quality coffee table books. I went off in search of great photographers,
of well shot cook books, of art house films. Somehow I lost my taste for
illustration and went off in search of art, instead. Art I found in abundance
in NorCal. The second hands were full of tossed out canvases and my collection of
outsider art swelled. It was around that time that I was tasked with weeding a
large, overused book collection on the coast and I was able to score stacks of
well-worn picture book classics. What made that salvage job worthwhile and
exciting to do was being re-acquainted with grass. What was cool before was
cool again and I was forever happy that the kid in me, the one who thrilled to
the old masters, the old soul that had gone to sleep, was awake again and
grooving to new artists on the scene.
Yesterday I went wandering through the stacks and stumbled
on a title by Shaun Tan. I said to myself if there is one book in there to
groove on there has to be many. With a bit of poking I came across a fistful of
other folks to take up my time with. Leo Timmers (Bang), Lane Smith (Cowboy
& Octopus), Aaron Becker (Journey,
Quest and Return), Gennady Spirin (The
Twelve Days of Christmas), Wallace Edwards (Uncle Wally’s Old Brown Shoe), Francesca Sanna (The Journey) can now all take their
place on my bookshelves, right alongside the folks who made me gasp, laugh and groove
so long ago. Really, what stoner’s house isn’t complete without copies of Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice
Sendak, Paul Zelinksky’s Rumplestiltskin,
David Shannon’s Rough-Face Girl, Uri
Shulevitz’s The Fool and Flying Ship, Chris Van Allsburg's The Mysteries of Harris Burkick, David Weisner's Tuesday and Mercer Meyer’s fairy tales?
Yes, the kids may be grown up and far away, and
yes, your stoner sensibilities may have you grooving to reggae and letting your
freak flag fly in clubs and festivals but don’t let you mind turn to jello and
think that the only thing out there to do, once you’ve couch locked yourself
into a state of indica bliss, is to turn on the tube. Fluff up some pillow, put
on a pot of tea, spin a bit of Bach, pack your bowl and blow your mind with
art. Your brain with thank you for it and your imagination, already burdened
with too much cannabis bliss, will soar as well.
Salud!
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