Inside the business of illustration

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Inside the Business of Illustration Steven Heller and Marshall Arisman

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© 2004 Steven Heller

All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

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Published by Allworth Press An imprint of Allworth Communications, Inc. 10 East 23rd Street, New York, NY 10010

Cover illustration by R. O. Blechman Cover design and page composition by James Victore Typography by Sharp Des!gns, Lansing, MI

ISBN: 1-58115-386-4

library of congress cataloging-in-publication data Heller, Steven. Inside the business of illustration / Steven Heller and Marshall Arisman. ISBN 1-58115-386-4 p. cm. Includes index. 1. Illustrators—Vocational guidance—United States. I. Arisman, Marshall. II. Title. NC975.H425 2004 741.6'023'73—cd22 2004014745

Printed in Canada

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C O NTE NT S

vi.

D E D I C ATI O N

vii.

A C KN O W L E D G M E NT S

ix.

FOREWORD

1.

I NTR O D U C TI O N Do Illustrators Really Want to Know about Business?

18.

Sidebar: The Illustrator/Art Director Relationship

Part One

An Overview of Art versus Illustration in America 29.

C H A P TE R O N E Art and Illustration

51.

Talking about Art and Illustration

57.

Sidebar: Know Your Art and Artists

Part Two

Style, Business, and Ethics for the Contemporary Illustrator 63.

C H A P TE R T W O Style

67.

Talking about Style

72.

Sidebar: What Is Style? A Checklist

73.

Sidebar: Trend Spotter

77.

C H A P TE R TH R E E Old and New

82.

Talking about Old and New

86.

Sidebar: Brief Timeline of Illustration

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89.

C H A P TE R F O U R Authorship

94.

Talking about Authorship

98.

Sidebar: What Is Authorship?

101. C H A P TE R F I V E Promotion 105. Talking about Promotion 109. Sidebar: A Self-Promotion Guidelines 110. Sidebar: Representing Yourself or Being Represented 113. C H A P TE R S IX Ethics 117. Talking about Ethics 122. Sidebar: Ethical Pitfalls and Praftfalls

Part Three

Talking with Illustrators and Art Directors 127. C H A P TE R S E V E N Talking with Illustrators 129.

Brodner

133.

Field

135.

Koen

139.

MacDonald

143.

Holland

147.

Dillon

151.

Payne

155.

Parada

159.

Kalman

161.

Bedrosian

167.

Kunz

171.

Fox

175.

Sutton

179.

Neimann

183.

Enos

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187. C H A P TE R E I G HT Talking with Art Directors 189.

Newman

190.

Curry

192.

Girardi

193.

Sedelmair

194.

Doyle

196.

Anderson

198.

Winkler

199.

Rees

201.

Guarnaccia

202.

Mouly

205. A F TE R W O R D Milton Glaser on Illustration 211. R E S O U R C E S 217. B I O S 219. I N D E X

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D E D I C ATI O N

To David Rhodes on his twenty-fifth anniversary as president of the School of Visual Arts.

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A C KN O W L E D G M E NT S

We are indebted to Kim Ablondi at the School of Visual Arts MFA Illustration program for her hard work and good nature. Thanks to Tad Crawford, our publisher, for his continual support on this and other projects. Thanks also to Nicole Potter, editor, and Monica Rodriguez, assistant editor, for their contributions to this book. And off go our proverbial hats to all the illustrators, art directors, and others who have contributed mightily to this art cum business. —SH & MA

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FOREWORD

More than twenty years ago, Norman Rockwell said about illustrators: “Many who consider

themselves serious painters look down their noses at us. We paint for money, against deadlines, our subject matter often prescribed by an editor or an author.” Today, illustrators continue to paint for money but less of it is coming their way. Computer-generated images, photography, the Internet, stock illustration, and budget cuts have prompted some practitioners of illustration to pronounce the art dead. Yet still others are finding new outlets to energize and promote their work. The future of illustration continues to provoke heated discussion. All illustrators agree that Rockwell’s golden age of illustration is over. The period when illustrations were the visual engines for magazines has long past, but storytelling in all its forms is undergoing a resurgence. In our post-modern digital world, crossovers in the visual arts were inevitable and are now frequent. The fine arts reference illustration and comic books, film references the graphic novel and our major museums are referencing motorcycles and current fashion design. In 2001, the Guggenheim Museum mounted a major retrospective of Norman Rockwell’s illustrations. Who would have thought this possible a decade ago? Uncertainty can be productive if perceived as a part of a larger picture and how the illustration business will function in the next decade will be the result of the flux experienced today. This book analyzes the illustration business from two different perspectives: the illustrator’s (Arisman) and the art director’s (Heller). In addition to our joint narratives, we have also included conversations between ourselves and with others on all the major themes to offer broader points of view and kindle debate. We also thank Milton Glaser for allowing us to reprint his talk before the ICON 3 Illustration Conference, because it takes illustration out of the business arena and injects it with the passion it deserves. —Marshall Arisman & Steven Heller

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I NTR O D U C TI O N

Do Illustrators Really Want to Know about Business? HELLER: Marshall, our first and only book together was The Education of an Illustrator and this one addresses the business end of the field. With the exception of my now-out-of-print book, The Business of Illustration, I don’t know of any volume that has dealt with the career-sustaining subject. Would you agree that business (in all its forms) is not high on the illustrator’s agenda? And if so, has this been the reason for such a decline in the status of illustration in recent years? ARISMAN: Business as usual has a limited interest for most illustrators. This has changed. The business of illustration has changed and with it the concerns of business have become more than profit driven. The symbolic blank page is being threatened. It is the illustrator’s business to understand why this is happening. In the past two years, with the formation of the Illustrators’ Partnership of America (IPA) and Illustration Conferences, the business issues of illustration are being addressed in a more organized way. The IPA’s mission is to enhance and promote the illustration business for present and future generations of illustrators by retaining and protecting the intellectual property rights of its members and promoting the entrepreneurial spirit of illustrators. This organization provides legal advice, information on protection of images on the Web, human resources (i.e., health insurance), education options, and a library service. The Graphic Artists Guild continues to publish guidelines

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contracts, and business advice in Pricing Guidelines. The decline in the status of illustration in recent years has made the business issues more urgent. Illustrators tend to be lone wolves. Freelancing tends to isolate rather than promote interaction. It’s the nature of the beast. Survival is a powerful motivator. It is clear that without forming a group that shares more cohesive business interests, the individual illustrator will be left out on a limb. Illustrators know this and many like Brad Holland, C. F. Payne, Dugald Stermer, and Dave Leash (to name a few) are actively doing something about raising the business consciousness in all of its forms. Having said that, I personally feel that the decline in the status of illustration in recent years is a much broader issue. HELLER: I agree that it is a broader issue. But the status of illustration has long been on shaky ground. Certain illustrators became “content” providers in that their work is rooted in ideas unique to their individual talent and intelligence. As a veteran illustrator, do you feel this has changed in the past decade or so? Is the marketplace that much different? ARISMAN: The illustration marketplace (publishing in all its forms) has always relied on goods coming in from without. The freelance illustrator provided images that could not be produced from within. Illustrators brought fresh, original ideas that helped sell the magazine, book, or whatever. This was never a business deal in the sense of partnership. There was never a question that the illustrator was on equal footing with the buyer. The deal was a one-time use contract with the price usually set by the buyer. The unwritten rule was “take or leave it, there are plenty more of you out there.” Illustrators took it because it gave a printed form to their ideas and gave meaning to the time spent creating a personal point of view. The system worked as long as the marketplace valued (for whatever reasons) the product coming in. As the market began to tighten up, illustrators, in an attempt to generate more revenue, started creating generic images that could apply to many situations. Stock illustration houses sprang up selling existing images that were not fresh and, more importantly, were created for the sole purpose of reselling the same image over and over. The buyers were happy not to pay the full price for assigned work and the marketing people didn’t see sales falling off. The marketplace began to question the value of goods coming in from without. They went in, relying more on paid staff to create images. To point the finger of blame at either party seems fruitless, to suggest that the 2

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current state of illustration can be changed by simply learning more about business is only part of the solution. HELLER: It is more the fact that illustration is still a key element in visual communications and because the business has changed—the way illustration is used now is quite different from decades past—artists, representatives, and others concerned with illustration have had to change their habits. There are still thousands of illustrators annually graduated from art schools and colleges. And these art schools and colleges have not prepared students to function in the new business environment. It is no longer enough to have a nice portfolio, a unique style, and a few good ideas; an illustrator has got to position herself with respect to the marketplace. The days of an artist becoming an illustrator to earn a few dollars (then return to “fine” art) is past. An illustrator must devote a considerable amount of energy to finding a way to balance art and commerce. This book is designed to raise the issues that they should address. Of course, I speak as an art director. I use illustrators because they have the ideas and talent that, frankly, I do not. It’s a symbiotic relationship; however, I hold the upper hand because I give the work and pay the fee— therefore I have to approve the final. I am the client. As an illustrator how do you feel this relationship is best practiced with me or anyone else in my position? What should illustrators know about client/provider relationships that they did not have to know two decades ago (when you were young)? And secondarily, but no less important, what do you as an educator teach young illustrators about the business environment? ARISMAN: It is the illustrator’s job, in my opinion, to develop a unique personal voice. In this sense I agree that illustrators can then provide an art director, such as yourself, with ideas that you do not have. Talent is not the issue; how illustrators develop a voice is the issue. The irony is that a decade ago, when I was a young squirt, art directors understood this; or at least the best of them did. When Dick Gangle, then the art director of Sports Illustrated called me and said, “Are you a basketball fan?” I answered no. “Good,” he said, “I want you to go to a Knicks game at Madison Square Garden and respond to it visually. I’ll send you a press pass and arrange a personal meeting in the locker room with Walt Frazier.” I asked if I would get paid, “You’ll get paid,” he said, “but don’t expect Sports Illustrated to run your artwork—they probably won’t.” 3

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“Then why give me the job?” I said. “Because your vision of horror on the basketball court interests me,” he said. “Besides,” he added, “I want to see what you will do with long, tall people instead of short, bald, fat ones.” So to answer the first part of your question about how to relate to the client (the art director) is only show them your personal vision in your portfolio. A good art director may surprise you. I blame illustrators, although it is understandable, for trying to outthink art directors by showing them samples (with concept ideas) that the art directors could do themselves; and in many cases more creatively. If we are concept providers then our concepts cannot echo the norm. HELLER: I like that term. “Concept providers.” ARISMAN: This is the business environment, odd as it is, that we are dealing with. The best business practice an illustrator can bring to the job is respect for the art director’s opinion, energy for the assignment, and excitement about a new challenge. Admitting that the art director, on occasion, is right only brings to consciousness that a shared goal may bring a satisfying outcome. Illustrators must trust that the art director is not going to cheat them, belittle their talent, or give them an assignment that is totally inappropriate. If this does happen, it is the illustrator’s job to turn it down or at least try and understand why the art director believes he could do it. You are still a champion of illustration, being one of the few art directors that will personally interview everyone with a portfolio. This is commendable but my question to you is, why? What do you gain by looking at everyone that walks through the door? What are the danger signs you see that would stop you from giving someone work? Assuming it’s not just talent, what are the business tips or the dos and don’ts for presenting yourself? HELLER: I’m not sure what kind of champion I am. I like illustration because the best “concept providers” add intelligence to the equation (and make me look good, although the average reader has no idea that an art director made the decision to hire the particular artist). But before I answer your questions, listen to this recollection: When I was around ten or twelve years old I regularly visited the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) gallery that housed surrealist paintings. I had no idea what surrealism, or any other “ism,” was but I loved paintings 4

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by Magritte, Dali, and other fantasy-rooted artists. I loved them more than Picasso, Mondrian, and Rockwell (apples and oranges, I know). I loved them because they captured my imagination, made me fantasize, and forced me to conjure the hidden stories within the paintings. It was no wonder that when I started as an art director I was drawn to the then fairly new style called “conceptual illustration,” which was a more, shall we say, sophisticated form of “magic realism.” Surrealism was introduced to illustration through the likes of Paul Davis, Alan E. Cober, Brad Holland, yourself, and others who learned from their European counterparts. It was a great approach not only because it was novel but also because it enabled the illustrator to depict abstract ideas that prior to this could not be addressed through realistic and representational illustration. Even today this kind of work is my visual language. As an art director I “speak” through the illustrations of conceptual artists. So it is very much a symbiotic relationship. The illustrators are not my hands and brain, but their collective visions are in effect, my voice. I need them as much as they need me, probably more. So, to your questions: I see everyone who walks through my door because I must replenish my supply of artists. If you allow me this bad metaphor, over time the blood of an illustrator gets tired and since I am voracious vampire (and what a bad metaphor it is, too) I need a fresh supply. This may sound ghoulish, or mercenary, but it’s not, really. Some illustrators have great staying power (just look at Robert Grossman, Seymour Chwast, Ed Sorel, etc.), while others are hacks who may have had a few good moments of inspiration that quickly dissipated. Again, I don’t want to sound cold or heartless but facts are facts. I try to work with people who have staying power, while allowing for newcomers to try out their stuff. Sometimes these newcomers don’t have what I need (which is not to say they are bad); other times they are just what I need. The only way I can determine whom I would like to work with is to meet them face-to-face. This is a business decision pure and simple. I can’t tell who they are from a postcard, leavebehind, or portfolio. I must see their faces and hear them speak. If they are good it will show in the work. But if they do good work, they are not a priori smart illustrators. You see what I’m getting at? The danger signs you ask about are many. Are they too cocky? Are they not self-confident enough? Are they one-note stylists? Are they too varied as stylists? There are many factors too numerous (and quirky on my 5

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part) to enumerate. But the bottom line for me is this: Do I think I can work with them? If they seem too needy, and by that I mean will they be high maintenance—or to be even more specific, will they require me to give them ideas—then why bother? As an art director, my job is to “edit” their work, not to come up with their ideas. Sometimes this is necessary, but as you point out, they should come fully equipped with their own ideas and vision. This is their foremost commodity as business people. But the tips I would offer are simple. The portfolio is the illustrator’s showroom, so make it sing! It should be edited smartly to reveal an ability to know how to tell stories. If the illustrator is a pure stylist then it should be beautiful. I know these points are somewhat vague, but we’ll get into the specifics later in this book. Now, let me ask you something. You do not show a portfolio to clients partly because you have a reputation, partly because you have a Web site (we’ll talk about this later too). What do you suggest to illustrators as the best means of presenting themselves to prospective clients? What are your dos and don’ts? And how do you relate this to your own practice? ARISMAN: I was the chair of the undergraduate illustration program at the School of Visual Arts from 1970 until I started the graduate program in 1984. One of the main reasons I started the graduate program was the portfolio issue. The majority of undergrads were consumed, understandably, with developing their skills and forming a “style.” In three years as an illustration major there simply wasn’t enough time for the majority of students to incorporate personal subject matter. Their portfolios were sample cases of a “style” applied to a variety of forms consisting of a book jacket, an editorial piece, an advertising sample, etc. The driving force behind the portfolio was to show an art director your “style,” believing it could apply to any assignment. I did this in 1964 when I put together my first portfolio. In essence, I was trying to show “them,” the collective art director, that I could do anything. After three years of showing my portfolio, sending out promo cards, and going to openings where art directors would be, I failed. I never made more than $3,000 in any one year. It finally dawned on me (I’m a slow learner) that there was no “them” out there. Just a collection of people called art directors. Some smart, some nice, some mean, some helpful, but not a cohesive group. Defeated, I stepped back, taught myself how to draw, and made a list of things I really knew something about. I now ask my students to make such a list. 6

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HELLER: What did your list read like? ARISMAN: My list had four things on it. (1) Cows. I was brought up having cows. I milked them, bandaged them, and helped deliver their calves. Yet I had never drawn a cow. My portfolio had water buffalos, giraffes, and hyenas but not cows. (2) Deer. We hunted them, butchered them, and ate them. No deer in my portfolio. (3) Spiritualism. My grandmother was a spiritualist minister and a psychic. I spent much of my early life with healers, readers, and people who channeled the other side. No a trace of it in my portfolio. (4) Guns. My brother has carried a handgun since he was thirteen. Everyone I knew had a shotgun in his truck. Not one gun in any of my portfolio samples. At age twenty-eight, I began to make drawings about the things I knew something about. To put it another way, I began to make images that had meaning for me. I spent a year making drawings about guns. To my surprise, they became my portfolio. I now believe that the only way to make a portfolio is to forget making a portfolio. Concentrate on a series of images based on your own list. Package your series in a promo piece that is the basis for your portfolio. Research the annuals for art directors who have bought images that you respect or have meaning for you. Send them your promo piece, drop off your portfolio. It doesn’t matter where they are working, many of them will move to another position in a couple of years. Don’t try and create samples for their publication. Show them who you are in your portfolio. Let them decide if your work is applicable. I started working with Fred Woodward, former art director of Rolling Stone, now creative director of GQ, when he was an assistant art director at the Dallas Times Herald. He moved to art director of Texas Monthly then to Rolling Stone. Our work relationship continues to this day, more than twenty years. If you present yourself clearly in your work, you will find that your client list is small but your relationships will be long lasting. The other dos and don’ts I suggest to illustrators is don’t try to be a lawyer. You must protect your copyrights and learn sound business practices but never lose sight of the fact that you are in a collaborative effort. Mutual trust is important. They hired you based on what you showed them. Give them back the level that is in your portfolio. If all hell breaks loose, back out as gracefully as you can . . . but not before you gave it your best shot. Accept the kill fee. This, of course, assumes that you paid attention to the business when you got the job. 7

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HELLER: I agree with you that most illustrators’ portfolios are too generic, and always have been because their teachers push in that direction. I certainly see my share of portfolios that have a bit of this and that, which offers no insight into the illustrator’s passions and interests. But, I’ve also seen my share of portfolios that are, well, so full of self-indulgent personal stuff that I can’t figure out whether the illustrator can solve an illustration problem. I often tell these people to actually go out and illustrate an existing story on their own—not on spec but for their own edification—so I can see how they address real editorial themes. I’ve seen talented artists unable to conceive viable conceptual solutions. So its one thing to make work that is personal and another to make work that is practical. I’m sure the two are not mutually exclusive, but how does an illustrator find that balance? ARISMAN: In my opinion, once the personal content (subject matter) is understood and developed by the illustrator then the balancing process of solving someone else’s problem can begin. The integration of elements in personal work can be applied to an illustration assignment but only if the illustrator is fully interested in finding a balance. Many are not and become defensive about “applying their talent.” David Smith, the sculptor, said, “Art that meets the minds and needs of other people is commercial art. Art that meets the minds and needs of oneself is fine art.” Under this definition, which I think is a good one, it is crucial for the illustrator to find balance in the illustration assignment that allows a healthy flow of reaching out and reaching in for a solution. It is this juxtaposition of forces that gives the image power and the illustration meaning for the illustrator. If this process of yin and yang holds no interest for the illustrator then David Smith is correct. What illustrators produce is commercial art. As a side note, I know many “fine” artists that continue to make artwork based on what they sold in their last show. This is also commercial art. The lines between what is “fine” and “commercial” are only of interest to the creator. It is time to throw out these definitions and address the real issue of energy. What produces energy in the creator to continue to make images? I am suggesting that combining practical and personal issues like two ends of a seesaw can produce one form of energy. It is the game that is the most fun in illustration. HELLER: I like your attitude. But fun aside, we really have to define the nature of illustration more precisely yet broadly. We also have to agree on whether there are two tiers of illustrator. First, can we agree that illustration 8

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is in the service of another? Certainly you’ll concur that illustration is a problem/solution process whereby the artist solves particular problems that are imposed. The muse is not the only motivating factor, right? ARISMAN: I agree that illustration is in the service of another and that the muse is not the only motivating factor. I don’t think this precludes the importance of finding a balance between the needs of the illustrator and the client in the problem/solution process. Imposed problems are not a limitation on the illustrator’s freedom. They can be a creative challenge. I was simply trying to make the point that when the balance disappears the illustrator is left with a brain and no hands. How an image is formed often determines the success or failure of an illustration. Rehashed concepts are inevitable. How we see them is the job of the illustrator. I often tell students that a boring article or assignment is no excuse for a boring picture. Learning how to tell a simple story in an interesting way is our job. How to see an overused concept in a fresh way may be our salvation. In order to do this there must be a balance between the head and the hands. Ideas are a dime a dozen. When illustrators get creatively stuck I offer the advice given to me by writer friends: cut your head off and start working with your hands. HELLER: And what about illustrators? Some are blessed—and I mean that literally—with the ability to “think.” Others are given the gift of style. Some have both while others have neither, but still want to be illustrators. How do we counsel those who simply want to follow the leader? Do we tell them to find another career? Personally, I believe that a smaller percentage of illustrators are self-generating than those whom are not. That said, I also believe that those who have the “vision thing” are the ones that get the most work. Nonetheless, how do we help illustrators who have no qualms about being commercial artists in the parochial sense of the word? ARISMAN: I believe that the ability to “think” in a problem/solution way can be learned. As you suggest, some people have a natural talent for it. Some have to struggle with the process to get it, and some don’t want to work that hard, believing that style is, in itself, enough. In some cases what we are calling “style” is enough. Ben Shahn’s drawing of anything is enough as is George Grosz, Egon Schiele, and numerous others. The content or “concept” of their work is in the subject matter itself. In the sixties, Shahn was commissioned by Lou Dorfsman at CBS to do a series of black-and-white drawings for upcoming CBS shows. The problem/solution aspect of the 9

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assignment was Dorfsman. Hire Shahn and let him draw. I have no problem with illustrators who want to be commercial artists in the parochial sense of the word. My only advice is to go beyond the Society of Illustrators Annual, American Illustration Annual, Communication Arts Annual, PRINT Annual, etc., for inspiration. You are usually looking at work influenced by other sources. Dig deeper, try and find the source. When you find it, research that source. Soon you will be looking at many sources and not one interpretation. HELLER: Okay, this leads to a big question. How much should an illustrator experiment? How much risk should be injected into an illustrator’s work? At what stage does an illustrator announce to the market: “This is what I do, does anybody want to use me?” This may seem self-evident, but it is not. I find that many illustrators have stepped into the market before they should. Can you answer the former and do you agree with the latter? ARISMAN: I agree that how much experimentation or how much risk should be put into an illustrator’s portfolio is a major issue. Illustration demands certain clarity from the artist to function well. This clarity usually comes after the experimentation and risk taking has been digested. Clarity may be a byproduct of chaos but knowing what not to put into your portfolio is crucial. I can only answer from my personal experience. My hope is that others will recognize their own process; in my journey I have never learned much about my art from illustration. My illustrator friends are offended when I say this, feeling that my statement is degrading to illustration. I don’t think this is true. By taking risks I hope to uncover new areas I might explore—to clarify something I am unclear about—by making pictures that reveal themselves as I paint them. I am excited by this process. HELLER: Should any of these experiments be put into the commercial portfolio? ARISMAN: Absolutely not! Not until the experiment suggests it has a concrete base and that I fully understand it. Only then can I incorporate it into my illustration. I learn about myself and my art in the state of risk taking and experimentation. Once I digest it, I can apply it to my illustration. To put together a portfolio during this period and say, “This I what I do, does anybody want to use me?” is a disservice to the artist and the art director. Stepping into the market with this attitude is nothing short of artistic suicide, 10

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not to mention the self-indulgent arrogance that usually accompanies it. As you suggest, many illustrators step into the market place before they should. They use the excuse that “I’m just looking for feedback.” What this really means is “I don’t understand what I am doing, but anything I do is great and you are an asshole if you don’t give me a job.” Art directors are not paid to be teachers. They will respond to what you show them in direct relationship to their needs. This is as it should be. It is the illustrators’ job to present themselves clearly in their portfolio. It is not the art director’s job to clear up the illustrator’s creative confusion. HELLER: But is everything so neatly clarified? Isn’t there a point of uncertainty? ARISMAN: When I start an illustration, I am always given someone else’s thoughts in writing, a song, etc. The images in my head at that moment are mine and have little to do with what I am assigned to illustrate. The art director feels that my work “relates” to the tone or specific words in the article. My job is to saturate myself with the article and find an artistic way to express myself and not ignore the job at hand. I do this by making notes about specific locations, gender, mood, and other things the author is writing about. I go to a picture library or a bookstore for more information. Example: The story takes place in North Dakota. Having never been there, I use photography to fill my brain with the locale. A German shepard is an important part of the story. I buy a book about dogs. And so on it goes. After I am armed with as much background and reference that I can find, images begin to come into my brain. I sketch all of them on paper. I then begin to edit based on my own interests and strengths in hopes of finding a sketch that I really want to paint. Only then do I start the illustration. None of this is risk taking or experimentation. My personal exploration is on another wall in my studio. I have started a painting based on a photograph that I love—I’m not sure why—of a frog. I’m not sure where the painting is going and I’m trying out some new oil sticks someone gave me. As the painting proceeds, it changes. The swamp becomes a sidewalk; the clouds become airplanes. I try mixing sand into the oil sticks for texture. I am running totally on my intuition, guided by my impulse, not logic. The image that I create surprises me. I don’t know what it means. I have no rational explanation why I did it. That is not 11

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a portfolio piece. That is for me. I say that knowing that something, some part—either mental or technical or both—will eventually turn up in my illustration. HELLER: This is as clear as an explanation of the process as I’ve ever heard. And it makes perfect sense. But you’ve taught many illustrators during your career as an educator, do you feel that all illustrators are able to apply your method? And by extension do you feel that your method is the only one that is applicable? ARISMAN: Five years ago, the field of illustration was more flexible. There was plenty of room for alternatives and for a process as quirky and eccentric as mine. Many of my successful illustrator friends have rarely done “personal and experimental” work for themselves. The main reason being they were simply so busy with assigned work. Booked six months in advance, the clients lined up and were willing to wait. It was a different world. Money, which is understandable, was at the end of the rainbow after fourteen-hour days and lots of hard work. The world seemed fair and just. Even the ego of the illustrator was massaged in the form of gold medals, award dinners, and a fan club of younger illustrators and clients who heaped praise upon the work. Fast forward to today. Most of these people are working but at a rapidly reduced rate, both financially and creatively. Understandably, some are bitter, some are scrambling, and all are frustrated with the current state of illustration. The optimists maintain that this is a phase we are going through; the pessimists yell, “Illustration is dead.” The current situation is loaded. It is time to slow down, look back, and try to grasp how we got here. In our “fix it now or fuck it,” world this is complicated and there are no easy answers, no instant remedies, and no brilliant solutions. We are left with the dog work. Something that illustrators are actually good at. It is this ability to work, in my opinion, that will save us. HELLER: That’s a rather bleak picture. Is there anything that will salvage the remnants of this shipwrecked profession? Is there a role for the illustrator’s art? ARISMAN: We are at a time when illustrators, for many reasons, are the largest group of artists that can actually draw. The problem is that they don’t know how to use this ability. To put it another way, we have been trained to see, trained to tell stories in time, trained in the craft of picture making, but 12

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don’t know what to do with this ability outside of the frame of assigned work. We have come face-to-face with the demon of self-content. What do we want to make an image about? How do we use our talents in the service of ourselves and other people? Illustrators have, in the past, sidestepped this issue and responded to assignments as subject matter. Assigned work is not subject matter. Assigned work is a by-product of what the illustrator shows in a portfolio. The product has to be reexamined for content. My method of discovering my content is only one possibility—one that has been helpful to me. I offer it, not as everyone’s solution, but merely as a starting point to the issue itself. The issue is one of authorship of one’s work. Not to rely on others (or outside assignments) to define who you are. The business aspect of authorship will be even more necessary. Illustration as we know it will continue to be a legitimate outlet, but one that has limitations. The field cannot embrace all the things inherent in an individual’s creative process. The illustrators will have to look elsewhere. They will have to be better educated. They will have to write more, tell stories in film, self-publish books, and develop outlets for what they have to say. Illustration assignments will be a part of what they do but certainly not all of it. All individuals will have to find a way to uncover a broader sense of who they are and what stands behind their images. The business of illustration can then be applied in a meaningful way. HELLER: I agree wholeheartedly with the fundamental concept of authorship and entrepreneurial pursuit. In fact, I am co-chair of the School of Visual Arts MFA design program that is also called “The Designer as Author.” Of course, many illustrators have already found that the conventional illustration job offers limited future growth and have become, say, children’s book authors, graphic novelists, and even graphic designers. This book will address entrepreneurship in more detail in chapter 4. But as an art director I’ll take the devil’s advocate role and challenge your initial argument. So here goes: An illustrator ILLUSTRATES, which means being part of a process that involves visually interpreting another’s words (and in some scenarios working in concert with the art director to get a desired result). This is the conventional definition to which I refer. So discovering content, as you put it, seems somewhat misguided for some. And, frankly, I believe that those individuals are the people we must address in, at least, a portion of this book. What do 13

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you tell those artists who cannot find content to do on their own? Must they buck convention to survive? Or at this juncture should the illustration field simply be totally revamped, if possible? If the answer is yes, then how? If the answer is no, then tell me what the future holds? ARISMAN: Visually interpreting another’s words is at the core of illustration. I am suggesting that learning how to illustrate your own words will strengthen your ability to visualize, in a personal way, the words of others. More importantly, it alters the self-perception of the illustrator. Rather than perceiving ourselves as a service at the mercy of an ever-changing marketplace, the illustrator as author regains the ability to self-initiate when no outside assignments are available. As you already mentioned, this holds true for graphic designers as well. We are in a time when the role of the entire community of communication is in flux. New definitions and outlets are being reexamined. Illustration is no exception. Discovering personal content is not an exclusive idea available to only a selected few. Everyone has knowledge, things they know about and understand through personal experience. It is within the reach of everyone to tap this source in themselves and express it in whatever form they chose. René Magritte, the Belgian surrealist said, “Communication happens when an image [including books, film, etc.] reminds the viewer of his own knowledge.” The “knowledge” can take the form of food, bowling, running, or caring for your dog. It is the sharing aspect of personal content that gives it meaning. The illustration field is already in the process of revamping itself. Some of the reasons are practical, some creative, and all are up for discussion. It is not yet clear what the future of illustration will be. Predictions rarely come true because of unforeseen events not yet considered. What can be considered are the immediate actions the illustrators can initiate themselves. HELLER: In this book, we will attempt to help illustrators cope with new business realities, which include helping them to maneuver in a world where illustration is seemingly devalued by various forces. As an example of devaluation, an editor recently asked me this question regarding an illustration I was using: “Why is this more compelling than a great photo, and why does it tell me more than a smart information graphic?” He simply did not understand that the artwork gave increased dimension to the article being illustrated. I think, perhaps, that he felt illustration was an archaic way of providing editorial value. 14

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When asked what he thought about illustration, another editor said to me that photography is more “modern.” I raise this because in a business world—and let’s not lose sight that this is about business—where illustration is questioned in such a manner, and compared disparagingly to photography, I wonder whether illustrating one’s own words is really a useful way of educating and ultimately advising illustrators. There is a philosophical question embedded here. If you agree with me that the prevailing winds are against the illustrators, is there another direction, other than illustrating their own words, in which they might go? ARISMAN: Photography has no memory. The photograph represents a split second in time. With the invention of the camera we were stunned that the world around us was not stationary but in constant movement. The four edges of a painting could no longer represent a self-contained world. Painting changed forever. Cubism painted the object from four different angles; Cézanne attempted to “capture the moment” in paint. The impressionists tried to capture the illusionary surface of things and so on. It is not surprising that your editor questions the use of illustration rather than a photograph. Photographs are in fashion at the moment, as they have been in the past. When we are saturated with the imagery that the camera can produce, the painted image will come back. Each drawing or painting produced carries the memory of the last work of art. It is this link that keeps images vital. For the image-maker, illustrators included, it is the building process of doing and looking, doing and looking, that develops the muscle for communication. Over the years I have watched numerous illustration students— young illustrators and graduate students included—change fields to graphic design, fine arts, animation, film, art direction, Web design, etc., with ease. It is my belief that this is the result of focused training in drawing and painting. I would argue that this foundation is the most direct line to one image carrying the memory of the piece before. You only have to look at a drawing pad from any life class to see this process clearly. That, combined with uncovering your own memory is very powerful. This power can be used in any field or occupation. So, to answer your question directly, there are numerous other directions an illustrator can go other than illustrating his own words. The narrow definitions of “you are an illustrator, you are a graphic designer, you are a fine artist” are breaking down. Most of the younger illustrators are crossing all of these lines with no problem at all. They are going to do all of 15

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it. They understand this much more clearly than we do. In my generation many illustrators developed a style and repeated it successfully for more than twenty years. The same thing was true of many of my fine-artist friends. The memory from one piece to another was technically driven and consequently incomplete. The core of understanding is now being forced upon illustrators. We will be the better for it, whatever direction the work takes. HELLER: Well, you’ve convinced me. But we still have a field that is built on standards of the past. For all the good sentiments, most illustrators will take their portfolio to the nearest art director, who may give out a job, but who will then have to sell it to an editor. Before we get to the meat of this book, which will suggest ways of making illustration into a viable business, is their a magic pill that we can give to neophytes? Is there something we can say to them, so that they will be able to navigate these waters? After they’ve been in the marketplace for a few years, they can return then to what you’ve said and decide for themselves whether they want to continue in the narrow or broader illustration world. But for those who are just starting, can we help? Oh, how I wish there was a master/apprentice system so the knowledge comes gradually but assuredly. ARISMAN: The magic pill is love. I guess it always is. Love for what you are doing and the time you spend doing it. Picture making is habit forming. It is an addiction, but only if you are able to do it again and again. I ask students how they actually feel when they are making a picture. This is the clearest indication of how your career will go. If you are happier, more excited, time passes quickly, you are more engaged sitting alone making pictures than you are in love with illustration. Over the years I have seen numerous, extremely talented young illustrators fail because they “render but hate it” or are searching for a less time-consuming way to “do a job.” This attitude comes from disliking the time making a picture and jumping to some vague concept of success. All the business knowledge in the world won’t help if you are not addicted to your own picture-making process. The system for young illustrators is not realistic. Four years of undergraduate study is not enough time for most people to develop skills, find their own visual voice, combine it with personal subject matter, and learn how to problem solve on demand. I, like you, wish there was a master/apprentice system for going through this process gradually. Unfortunately there is not. The young 16

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illustrator has to take the work out alone, listen to comments openly (assuming there are some), and create another image for the portfolio or himself. One thing is for sure: without continuing to make images—probably without pay—the portfolio becomes stagnant, as does your brain. If you are unable to do this, something is wrong. It may be time to consider the broader world of graphic design or art direction. This is not the same as taking a parttime job in graphic design, teaching, etc., to financially support your illustration. HELLER: On that note, I think we should start this book. Its clear from what you have said that illustration is more than a business—it should, at least, be a passion—but understanding and maintaining a business perspective is necessary for survival of the species freelancicus illustraticus. What we’ve discussed lays the groundwork for the more difficult process of building a practice and, as you note, loving it too. ARISMAN: One last comment before we move on. Learning anything is not difficult if you understand why you need to learn it. In my experience, this is particularly true of artists. I didn’t learn how to draw until I was thirty. I had skipped the step of drawing in school because I didn’t need—or so I thought—drawing to express my views. At this point, illustrators will learn “business” for much the same reasons. Cocteau said, “You cannot skip a step. If you do you will have to go back and make it up.” Relating to business, most illustrators are in make-up class. Understanding the illustrator’s role in the artistic process will be an educational endeavor for all of us. The class is an elective. No credit. No grade.

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Sidebar

The Art Director/Illustrator Relationship A viable relationship between an illustrator and art director is essential for producing good work.

G E N E R A L D O S A N D D O N’TS

Don’ts Don’t take it for granted that you are friends. (Maintain a professional distance.) Don’t hassle an art director for work. (A little reminder from time to time is useful, but recurring badgering is counter-productive.) Don’t make money the sole issue in taking a job. (Ask what the budget allows, and only demure if you believe it is too low. If you have an agent, let him negotiate for you.) Don’t let an agent get in the way of your communication. (If an agent gets you the job, insist that you have direct contact with the art director after the initial commission.) Don’t be late turning in an assignment. (It suggests poor work habits and arrogance.) Don’t turn in mediocre work. (And why would you? Always give it your best shot, even if the theme is clichéd.) Don’t be recalcitrant. (It’s one thing to disagree with the art director’s direction, it’s another to be hard-headed; find the balance.)

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Dos Do take the time to research what the art director does. What kinds of assignments are most common? Do get excited when offered an assignment. Do ask questions if you are unclear about any aspect of the job. Do more than one sketch, particularly if it is your first time working with the art director. Do remember that the work shown in your portfolio got you the job.

P O RTF O L I O R E V I E W S Like any job interview, a portfolio review is key in making a good impression and building a potential professional relationship. While there isn’t a standard procedure, there are a few guidelines to follow. Here are the dos and don’ts:

Don’ts Don’t bring coffee to your first meeting. (It’s simply too casual.) Don’t bring rolls or pastries to the art director. (It may sound silly, but it constitutes a gift—or bribe—and falls in the category of unethical.) Don’t be too familiar. (Time does not allow for small talk or chatter. Simply show that you are grateful to have the chance to show your work for review.) Don’t bring a disorganized portfolio. (The book should be a reasonable size and feature ten to twenty pieces that show your ability to handle illustration problems. Editing is key to your presentation and should be done with the utmost attention to what you want to do as an artist.)

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Don’t over explain your work. (In fact, only offer comments when asked or when an image has an interesting story. Allow the art director to consider your work without distraction.) Don’t ask unnecessary questions. (Until you receive an assignment it is not important to know about deadlines, fees, etc. If you must, simply say, “I’d like to do work with you.” The rest is obvious.) Don’t feel shy about asking for criticism (but be prepared to accept what you receive without argument). Some art directors will be frank, others will be reticent, but if you want an opinion, say so.

Dos Do put a sketchbook in your portfolio, particularly if your sketchbook reflects how you think. (At the end of the portfolio review, ask if the art director would like to see it.) Do look at your own portfolio from the standpoint of the art director. Is every piece only head and shoulders? Are all your pieces without any background? Does it all come out of your head or do some pieces reflect that you use reference when appropriate. Is there a combination of forms (animal, vegetable, human) represented? Your job in assembling your portfolio is to not bore the art director with fifteen pieces that are the same (composition, representational elements, viewpoints, etc.). Do smile. The work has been done. You are about to get one reaction. Many more will come. Do listen if five art directors say the same thing about your portfolio. Do see as many art directors as possible. Do not get depressed by only one negative response.

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P R O M OTI O N Every illustrator falls into the traps of self-promotion. There are right and wrong ways to do things, here are some:

Don’ts Don’t buy a mailing list if you don’t know what is on it. Take the time necessary to become familiar with the work art directors do. Haunt the magazine racks; look at publisher’s names on books you admire. Go through all the annuals writing down names of art directors who assigned work you admire. Get on the Internet and find addresses. Don’t send promo pieces to art directors of whom you have no knowledge. Don’t start at the bottom. Send work to the best people you can find. Don’t purchase print advertising (they can run between $1,500 per page to $3,000 per page) until you have exhausted your direct-mail campaign. There are numerous companies anxious to sell you a page in their portfolio books. They mail to a wide range of art directors across the country. This is good to do when you are ready, not right out of the starting gate. Don’t create a promotion piece that is so expensive or time-consuming that you can only make ten. Don’t be too “tricky” or “cute” with your promotion piece. Gimmicks (your artwork cut into a puzzle, sending one piece each day) are irritating. Present your illustrations as cleanly and professionally as possible. Don’t send your name and your Web site address without an image, and expect that you have done your job.

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Don’t include your résumé in your promotion piece or portfolio. Don’t include a questionnaire that requires a lot of time to fill out. If you want to include a response card (self-addressed, stamped) make it easy. For example, “Yes, I am interested in your work, please stay in touch” or “No, your work is not right for our publication.” Have the art director check a box and sign his name.

Dos Do be aware that most art directors do not see illustrators in person so your promotion must make a good first impression. Do select your very best work for the card and make sure it is printed well. Art directors will keep an artifact, not a piece of junk mail. Do provide more than one piece of work that shows your range and vision. Do send out promotions on a regular basis (once every two months for postcards or once every four months for larger pieces). Do produce a variety of promotion formats. Once you have the art directors’ attention, they look forward to your next piece. Do send evidence that you’ve been published, but don’t send tear sheets unless they are well presented in a folder or portfolio-style booklet.

S U P P O RT G R O U P S ( O R G A N IZ ATI O N S , U N I O N S , S E M I N A R S ) Illustrators are encouraged to take part in their professional community. But some groups or organizations are better than others.

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Don’ts Don’t join anything before learning what is required of you and determine what you are willing to do as a member of the community. Don’t join a society, club, or membership organization if you simply want them to do something for you. It’s a two-way street. Don’t become a member of a union thinking that hiring policies will change. Artist unions have very little impact on art buyers. Don’t limit yourself to illustrators’ organizations. Don’t isolate yourself; become involved with designer groups.

Dos Do research the two main organizations, Graphic Artists Guild and IPA (Illustrators’ Partnership of America). They provide a variety of services that include health plans, promotional opportunities, etc. Do consider attending seminars that promise to yield a lot of information and direction. It is also a useful way to meet other illustrators face-to-face and discuss mutual concerns. Do find a way of getting out of your isolation. Subscribing to a number of magazines that reflect illustration concerns is the least you should do. PRINT magazine, Communication Arts magazine, Graphis magazine, are all a good source for announcements about upcoming seminars, competitions, and opinions. Do try and contact other illustrators in your area. Many illustrators have independently formed their own groups. They meet once a week to draw from the model, have group critiques, and form communal Web sites. Do get on as many mailing lists as possible to receive information on competitions, seminars, etc. Juried competitions are one way

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to get your work seen by professional art directors and illustrators. These include the Society of Illustrators, American Illustration, Communication Arts, PRINT, the Art Directors Club of New York, and AIGA (American Institute of Graphic Design). A simple phone call, saying that you are an illustrator and would like to receive all announcements of shows, seminars, etc., will do.

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Part

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One

An Overview of Art versus Illustration in America

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C H A P TE R O N E

Art and Illustration Working illustrators know from day-to-day experience that this business has changed dramatically. We remember being able to make a decent living from editorial assignments—some people even did better than that. We remember a time when there were a great many publications and a demand for illustrated visuals. Today, fewer illustrators are getting work and the new outlets for illustration are not yet fully realized. Where they exist, the fees have not kept up with the cost of living. The pessimistic conclusion voiced by more than a few artists is that editorial illustration is dead and unlikely to come back. The truth is, this is not a new predicament for illustrators, or fine artists, either. The difference lies in expectation levels. Illustrators make money, fine artists don’t. They are both myths. The art business depends on the existence of a market. The market for illustration, as well as fine art, rides smoothly and easily on the back of a thriving economy, and can disappear when the bear comes out of hibernation. But today’s economic uncertainty doesn’t bode well for illustration or fine art. We realize that a rebounding market does not seem to be in our immediate future and it has begun to trigger demands for change in the way our business operates as well as a need to reexamine our options as artists. Today, serious illustrators are bonding together in organizations like the Illustrators’ Partnership of America to pursue finding larger or different markets for illustration and protecting the rights to the work. Bringing together the power of the many and using it to help individual artists practically is a worthy goal. But it makes no sense to me to spend the energy and time to structure and commit to any organization, with all that it entails, before at least trying to demystify the myths underlying the business of illustration and understanding how we arrived at this point, i.e., a sense of our own history. That might make a difference by helping us to recognize that beyond making a living, artists have hopes, dreams, and needs that drive their ambitions and make them strive to fulfill their potential. And the question of whether it is possible to explore that aspect of the artistic process within a professional group structure should certainly be addressed. It is, for me, an 29

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essential element in the teaching of illustration at the graduate level and fundamental if success is to be achieved in any organization that represents the true interests of illustrators.

What’s Wrong with Pragmatic Solutions? In art education circles, the most prevalent solution being offered to the problem of a shrinking market is one that is reasonably offered to any nonartist whose field of employment offers fewer opportunities. Illustrators, they say, should develop graphic design skills because there arre more work and more career opportunities in graphic design. Illustrators can design Web sites, books, become art directors, and they can always illustrate when there is an opportunity, they say. The argument goes, designer/illustrators can draw and develop conceptual solutions giving them the edge in getting jobs. Many of the most talented MFA illustration students at SVA have strong design skills, computer proficiency, and can art direct with the best of them. So it sounds like a reasonable solution to a real problem. However, such a solution could only be put forward by pragmatic school administrators or non-illustrators. It presumes that the choice to illustrate is one of a number of career directions for the artists involved. From my experience, there is only one other career choice for most illustrators and that is figuration in a fine art context whether it is in video, film, painting, or sculpture. No one would presume to tell fine artists that instead of making pictures they should become plumbers or lawyers, sell insurance—or do graphic design. What they do say is learn plumbing or something else to pay for the time to paint or sculpt or make videos. The intention involved in being designers is to bring together elements of design—type, illustration, photographs, etc.—and to arrange them in an appropriate way for the publication, poster, ad, or book that communicates to a large audience. The art is involved in the originality and creativity of the design. The historical roots of graphic design go back to the printing press and book design. The historical roots of illustration are in the figurative fine arts and not in graphic design, as so many people believe. The majority of graphic designers have more in common with the producer in film or television than with painters. The large majority of illustrators share the intention of fine artists devoted to figuration. The business of illustration and how to revitalize it cannot be understood, nor can solutions be discovered without understanding its tangled roots. Illustration 30

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and graphic design are like bananas and oranges sharing the same fruit bowl. Illustration is primarily a freelance career. Graphic design is primarily salaried. Beyond that there are serious creative differences between the design process and making illustrations as well as the personal differences among those who draw and paint and those who make use of the drawings and paintings of others. In order to have serious discussions on how to resuscitate the illustration field and make it a “business” again, we need, first, to be clear about the role money plays in all art and how it relates to the impulse to make art. Is it the most compelling reason to become an illustrator? Would an artist choose fine arts—where there is no promise of making money—if the promise of making money in illustration did not exist? Would you not choose to become an artist at all? Is there a productive way to make money and continue to produce art that may or may not produce cash? The story of Howard Pyle—acknowledged today to be the father of American illustration—is a metaphor for the struggle of contemporary illustrators and painters to understand in themselves the artistic strivings for validity, recognition, and money. It was his awesome personal drive, determination, and artistry that would lay the foundations of the field and his story gives us the seeds for understanding our current dilemma. Pyle’s career would be shaped on the one hand by the invention of the camera (1839) thirteen years before he was born and on the other by what seemed to him an obscure artistic debate on the validity of narrative in painting that raged in Europe while he was in art school. The parallels between the events of that time and today are strikingly similar in determining the career paths of today’s illustrators. It is a history lesson with implications for our lives as artists.

Howard Pyle: Father of American Illustration Howard Pyle was born on March 5, 1853. He was the eldest child in a Quaker family where creativity was strongly encouraged. As a child, he loved illustrated books and when he learned to read, devoured adventure stories. Pyle attended the Van der Weilens School of Art in Philadelphia. There he was taught to draw and paint from life, studying classical composition and content from the traditional masters. He was studying to become a painter, a fine artist. The turn of the century saw artistic Europe in a fury of discussion on art’s function in an age of mechanical reproduction. In nineteenth-century 31

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Europe, figurative painting was de rigueur for artists as it was in America when Pyle was a child. Winslow Homer, who covered the Civil War (1865) for Harper’s Weekly as an illustrator/painter, painted rural scenes for more than a decade after the war. After a trip to England, the sea became his realistic subject matter as a painter. By 1900, as Howard Pyle’s artistic vision became more cohesive, two older American painters were already influential forces in the art world. Frederick Church (1826–1900) dominated the romantic tradition of landscape painting known as the Hudson River School—founded by his teacher Thomas Cole (1801–1848). Thomas Eakins (1844–1916) who was trained in Paris and influenced greatly by the work of Manet was also a major American realist painter. His subject matter included a series of studies and paintings of surgeons’ operating. He revolutionized how art was taught in the United States at the end of the nineteenth century by insisting students have sound anatomical knowledge and that they do extensive drawings from the nude model—his personal interest in photography was not reflected in his formal teaching method. But as the twentieth century developed, it was the art from Europe and the continent that was new and exciting. The movement was dismissive of the figure and enamored of both conceptual and abstract artistic directions. Manifestos abounded on impressionism, cubism, dadaism, futurism, fauvism, and all the other “isms” of the early twentieth century. At the same time, photography was by 1900 a profound influence on all fine art all over the world. Before the camera, painting represented visible objects. The four edges of that canvas contained a stable, non-moving world. The viewer’s attention was held in place by perspective devices and compositional elements structured by the artist. The photograph raised the question of whether it was valid to continue to paint recognizable visual objects including people. By taking a photograph, one could document whatever the camera captured with accuracy. Beyond that, the camera could take a photograph that captured movement and could show a single moment in time. The European theorists posed the question of whether, in fact, it made the photograph more trustworthy than painting. The American realist painters—Pyle, Church, Eakins, and others— ignored the controversy raging abroad. Convinced of the validity of their vision to represent Americans and the American landscape accurately, they were not impressed by Europe’s fashionable romance with abstract notions. 32

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But Howard Pyle’s commitment to figuration carried an extra edge. Europe was, after all, an ocean away, its values if not frivolous, were, he believed, unconnected to the concerns of Americans. It was inconceivable to him that any art dismissive of the figure could be successful in America. Pyle was convinced that his Quaker beliefs in the importance of upright morals, good character, solid citizenship, religious upbringing, hard work, and patriotic duty—characteristics imbued in the great classics in American literature— could be translated into a new American fine art form. He set out to consciously develop his own art movement. He called this picture making instead of painting, and it was decidedly figurative. He, in fact, used photographs as reference, when needed, to heighten the drama of his pictures. The “freeze frame” was used to stop the action. A sword caught in mid-air, the impact of two jousters meeting. The pictures were not shown in museums or galleries, which in America then were small, private and exhibited landscapes painted with painstaking detail by artists such as Frederick Church, Albert Bierstadt, and Thomas Doughty. Pyle’s pictures appeared in the pages of magazines, books, and periodicals that were delivered into the homes of thousands of consumers. For many, it was the only art with which they were familiar, and often the pictures were framed to hang on their walls. The images were art for the people, art about the people. The work embodied national character, geography, and America’s abiding interest in sports, glamour, and money. This was art that related to the country’s past and present. It could be understood without explanation or manifesto. The European art movements —or for that matter any of the conflicts of the early twentieth century American schools of figuration or representation—were simply unknown to Pyle’s magazine readership. “You can’t run around the country explaining your pictures when they hit the news stand,” Pyle told his students. The invention of photoengraving—freed from the more complicated process of engraving or lithography—allowed paintings to be reproduced easily. Pictures sold stories and magazines. Only 700 periodicals existed in 1865, but by 1900, there were nearly 5,000 publications that printed more pictures for less money and the picture makers got rich. The amount of money they earned convinced the artists that the pictures they were creating were works of art. It was a self-deception in which many artists throughout history have found themselves trapped. 33

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In 1900, the average annual salary for an American worker was $400. Illustrators were paid that for one picture. Howard Pyle’s annual salary was around $50,000 dollars. He was a household name. His financial success proved to both Pyle and the early capitalists that his new art form was here to stay. His social circle expanded to include the foremost politicians of the day including the president of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt, along with Henry Cabot Lodge, Oliver Wendell Homes, and Woodrow Wilson. His friends Mark Twain and the artist Frederick Remington considered him a major talent. With each success, personally and professionally, the reality of a truly American art form based in classic American literature seemed to be coming to pass. At least that’s how it appeared to Howard Pyle in 1903. Europe’s shifting art movements were inconsequential to Pyle. His small, insulated but influential support group and his students were utterly convinced by his charisma, his belief in the potential of America, and his talent. The more convinced they were, the more confident he became. Howard Pyle’s students—his hope for carrying forward a National Art Spirit—regarded him as a visionary rather than as a highly paid, talented artist pursuing a career, which was what he was. They believed his motives were pure, that is, based in his commitment to creating important, original fine art. Pyle was dismissive of the broader art community in the United States, including Eakins—whom he respected as a painter—and the Hudson River School largely devoted to landscape and figuration. He believed they lacked patriotic vision and that they ignored the more worthy aspects of the American character in their subject matter. Meanwhile, the traditional art schools—like Van der Weilens—were wholly unimpressed by Pyle’s popular success. They believed he was merely impersonating painting. Van der Weilens devotees, among others, embraced the new concepts and new ideas coming from the continent; this European influence in thinking drove their curriculums. The philosophical struggle between the value of figuration and the aesthetic reality of abstraction and conceptual directions in art consumed students, faculty, collectors, and dealers. Pyle had no choice but to open the Howard Pyle School—later known as the Brandywine School. He expanded his studio space and accepted twelve students from more than five hundred eager applicants. Each student received a workspace near the master. Pyle, and only Pyle, determined when a student would graduate. Some stayed a few months, others years. Pyle taught 34

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what he did and convinced his students that his work represented the new American art form. But one thing he was not teaching them to do was to explore the world they knew from personal experience, or the world as they observed it. He firmly believed that the outlets for their imagery—books and magazines—were permanent. The publishers not only wanted these pictures, but they needed them to maintain their readership. However, he said, “My final aim in teaching will not be . . . the production of book illustrators but rather the production of painters of pictures.” He taught his students how to costume their characters, stage scenes, and create excitement with a number of compositional devices like single point perspective and internal triangles. He turned the faces of his main characters toward the audience. Maintaining the interest of the viewer was primary. “Howard Pyle taught the art of picture making as an act of selfrevelation. ‘He tried to enter your thinking mind whether it was [the] conscious or subconscious mind,’ said one student.”* Emphasizing the integrity of each student’s individual reactions, Pyle schooled his artists in what he called mental projection. He urged them to “project your mind into the subject matter until you actually live in it. “ The result was an exciting picture, filled with action, where characters seemed to come to life. Within a few years, the work produced by Pyle and his students monopolized the magazine business. Vincent Van Gogh was collecting Pyle’s tear sheets from Harpers’ Monthly and the film director D.W. Griffith based entire battle scenes on Pyle’s paintings. “Live in your pictures,” Pyle said and “dig deep.” It was the pinnacle of his career, and his confidence. But, things were about to change. Books had been a major outlet for Pyle’s paintings in 1893 but by 1900, the illustrated-book market was dying. At about the same time, the magazine business—which was monopolized by Pyle and his students’ paintings from 1895 to 1900—was about to make some radical business decisions. Once publishers realized that the money was in selling advertising space and not in over-the-counter sales they began to target audiences with specifically designed written and visual content that would bring buying customers to its advertisers’ products. This principle continues to hold today. *David Michaelis, N.C. Wyeth, A Biography, Knopf, 1998, page 61.

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By 1908, N. C. Wyeth—a Pyle protégé and the father of painter Andrew—announced that the golden age of illustration had collapsed and that Pyle’s promise of a new art form was an illusion. He complained that Howard Pyle was “a terrible blight to all who studied with him.” Wyeth accused him of misleading his students into believing there was such a thing as a new American art form, which by its short-lived success distracted them from traditional painting. His critics in the larger art world were proven right. Pyle, too, was outraged. He had been seduced by his own illusions. The magazine’s selection of his kind of art, he believed, was driven by its recognition of the importance of his paintings. He was convinced that they, like him, knew that their success was due to his art. His was an ego out of control. That the publishers would turn on a dime if they could make greater profits by changing its editorial content never occurred to him. “The finest art critics in the world were more interested in money than art,” he said bitterly. The illustrations now demanded by the advertisers were geared to the lifestyles of potential customers. Pyle’s paintings had visualized folk tales and fantasies for adults. And as skilled as they were, Pyle imagery began to look outdated and stale when compared with the clean, fresh, more stylized people created by Charles Dana Gibson, Howard Chandler Christy, James Montgomery Flagg, and J. C. Leyendecker. Illustration as fine art had its decade of fame. Illustrative imagery was devalued by 1910 and fine-art critics applied the word illustration as an all-encompassing, easy, punitive word for any imagery that featured the figure or realistic elements—a practice that continues through today. The word is thought to be dismissive and stands in for work that is superficial in content, paint quality, or artistic integrity.

Tradition and Revolution N. C. Wyeth took up his easel again in the spring of 1908. Determined to return to his painting roots, he said, “The same love, the same enthusiasm that goes to make illustration goes to make painting. The one is born into a world under limitations that choke and distort and soon die. The other is born full and free as the air. If it ripens it will stand as a perfect expression of those loves and will last forever.” About Howard Pyle’s teaching, Wyeth said, “He is responsible for spoiling the possible opportunities of a number of fellows, and as for me, I know this shortcut training has brought me a success that has been wholly 36

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misleading and which has placed me in a position from which it is questionable that I will ever be able to disentangle myself.” In 1910, with commissions non-existent, fewer works selling in exhibitions, and a disastrous job as art editor of McClure’s Magazine, Howard Pyle packed up his family and set sail for Italy in hopes of rekindling his love of the old masters but he only had a year of a new way of life before he died at the age of fifty-seven. In 1912 Malevich painted a white square on a white ground, declaring he had destroyed the “subject” forever in painting. It was a radical act, a revolutionary statement. At about the same time, Marcel Duchamp was working from the same philosophical perspective. In the Armory Show of 1913, his Nude Descending the Staircase influenced by the cubists and ironically based on an Eakins photograph, analyzed the movement of the figure in form and space and irrevocably changed the course of art. Representation, draftsmanship, composition, color, narrative drama, and storytelling—Pyle’s definition of painting—were to be destroyed for almost the rest of the century by the implications of the most talked about painting in the exhibition. The cubists and fauvists also made a strong showing in the exhibition. Pyle and his small coterie of devoted artists, seduced by the money and popularity, had ignored the evolution of the distinctly European exploration of making the subject of art, art itself. And if they had noticed the trend, dismissed it as unrepresentative of the truly superior American painting tradition. They were unaware, as Europe was not, that the camera’s impact on painting was replacing the need for clarity in painted objects. Marcel Duchamp abandoned painting altogether after the Armory Show, focusing rather on his Ready Mades, found art like the Bicycle Wheel (1913), Bottle Rack (1914) and Fountain (1917). His rejection of any figuration in classical terms, the work he was producing foreshadowed the polemical “anti-art” character of Dada. By 1921 cubism, dadaism, and constructivism defined what role the figure played, if any, in modern art. In hopes of breaking out of their isolation, an artists’ group called the Association of American Painters and Sculptors organized the International Exhibition of Modern Art—the formal and official title of the Sixty-ninth Infantry Regiment Armory Show. Thousands of people jammed the exhibition. Unfortunately, it did not transform the American viewing public into art lovers. Most attendees came looking for titillation and to be shocked—and they were not disappointed. They called the hundreds of post-impressionist, 37

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cubist, and fauve works in the show the products of deranged minds. Royal Cortissoz, the leading art critic of the time, termed the new styles, “Ellis Island Art” suggesting that a foreign conspiracy was invading America. But despite the controversy, two American groups of artists were launched by the Armory Show and brought to prominence by inclusion in the exhibit. The first was the “Ashcan School,” a down-to-earth form of realism whose aesthetic was defined by Robert Henri. Henri was a teacher and writer with his own school in New York City. Characterized by a “lively” and “slashing brushstroke” the technique was used by its artists to observe and capture on canvas the life they lived. George Bellows, John Sloan, Yasuo Kunioshi, and Walt Kuhn were all students of Henri. The other American group represented in the Armory Show exhibited at the Modern Art Gallery known as 291—its address on Fifth Avenue. The gallery 291 was owned and directed by Alfred Stieglitz, the enigmatic genius of photography. Its aesthetic was in direct opposition to Robert Henri’s teaching. These artists were concerned with the formal values of photographs. They used straight-edged, sharply illuminated forms and close-up views in their work. Charles Sheeler, a photographer, is best known for his paintings of factories and skyscrapers. Stieglitz showed virtually all of the outstanding early “American Modernists” including John Marin, Arthur Dove, Marsden Hartley, and Georgia O’Keefe—whom Stieglitz married in 1924.

Severing the Fine-Art Connection The members of both the Ashcan School and the American Modernists were every bit as committed to expressing a distinctly American vision in their art as was Howard Pyle. But what Pyle had not understood—blinded by his sense of superiority and his financial success—was that the content on the printed page in the magazines and books for which he worked had always been determined by market needs and social realities and not by the individual artist. He had a long run representing the market with his vision but, when the social values of the times changed, the publications gave the audience what they wanted, and it was not Howard Pyle. So illustration in the United States, now having severed its connection to fine art, settled into its role of service to the business of advertising. For a while, the notion of fine art as illustration was to take a back seat in the art world. The Gibson Girl, created by Charles Dana Gibson, and The Arrow 38

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Collar Man, created by J. C. Leyendecker, were the last and most famous fictional personalities to emerge out of the golden age of illustration. Neither were works of fine art defined by the modern artists nor did they meet Pyle’s visionary standards. Gibson, who was not a student of Pyle’s, drew with pen and ink, documenting the life of all classes while satirizing the lifestyle of high-society types that frequented the restaurants, bistros, and social clubs of New York. His Gibson Girl appeared weekly in Life magazine. The clingingvine image of Victorian times was replaced with a spirited, self-reliant beauty who helped define the changing role of American women. Her hairstyle was the rage for twenty years. There was no question that the illustrated image had power. In that, Pyle was right. But his conviction that his role as a fine artist was to create a National Art Spirit with his storytelling and figurative images blinded him to the technological and social changes—advancements in photography, printing, women’s equality, a world war—developing quickly in the early part of the twentieth century. These advancements would change people, their tastes in fashion, lifestyles, and art. J. C. Leyendecker’s Arrow Collar Man established the fashionable, squared-jawed American male, impeccably groomed and dressed in, what else, but an Arrow shirt as the prototype for the successful executive or a man who wanted to look like one. It was an image that American men would copy for decades. Ironically, Leyendecker was not an American, but born in Germany. His campaign for Arrow Shirts increased the company’s sales to more than $32 million and made him rich and famous. It was now clear that illustration was an effective marketing tool to increase corporate profits and illustrators were more than happy to be used. In fine art, the radical changes spurred by the Armory Show of 1913 would continue to influence artists, museum curators, and collectors for the rest of the century. But, there was no denying that deep down, ordinary Americans showed a bias toward representation in art. Advertising art and editorial illustration were an education in imagery for most people, so consequently there was great support for figuration and little patience for more abstract imagery—except among an elite minority.

Visions on Walls and Pages Underlining that preference, two realist painters came to prominence in the thirties—Edward Hopper on the gallery wall, and Norman Rockwell on the 39

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printed page. The Museum of Modern Art, which stood for diversity in modernism, prided itself on showing the full range of Anglo-European art— the impressionists, post-impressionists including the surrealists, the fauves, the cubists, the abstractionists, suprematist, non-objectivists—and in 1933 mounted a retrospective show of the work of realist Edward Hopper. Hopper, who made his living as an illustrator, was a student of Robert Henri who was a student of Thomas Eakins. In the introduction to the catalog, Hopper wrote, “The question of nationality in art is perhaps unsolvable. A nation’s art is greatest when it most reflects the character of its people.” The show catalog omits any reference to Hopper’s illustration work, which supported him for a decade before the exhibition. It underlines the fact that even then, illustration was considered a taboo credit on one’s curriculum vitae if one was to be taken seriously as a fine artist. While Hopper’s personal vision of America hung on MOMA’s walls, the painter Norman Rockwell’s personal vision of America was reproduced weekly on the cover of the Saturday Evening Post. The worlds they painted reflected the emotional realities of the America they knew, radically different, one from the other. They proved Howard Pyle’s conviction that “A man can only paint that which he knows even more than intimately: he has got to know it spiritually. To do that he has got to live around it, and be a part of it.” Dave Hickey, the noted art critic, commenting on one of Rockwell’s covers, “After the Prom,” said, “Rockwell has given us a great deal more than the occasion demands: a full fledged, intricately constructed, deeply knowledgeable work that recruits the total resources of European narrative picture-making to tell the tiny tale of agape he has chosen to portray—all this for the cover of a weekly periodical whose pages will curl and melt before we have forgotten Rockwell’s image.” More than fifty years would pass before “After the Prom” would hang on the walls of the Guggenheim Museum— Rockwell’s first museum retrospective took place in the year 2000, the turn of a new century. It took that much time for the art world to acknowledge that Rockwell’s paintings reflect his personal vision of American life—like it or not. It was an acknowledgment that perhaps his paintings were not simply commercial imagery dreamed up by a commercial artist. Thomas Hoving, once director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, commented in the catalog that accompanied the Guggenheim exhibition that,

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“Unlike other illustrators from the thirties through the sixties, Rockwell didn’t sugarcoat. Nor were his creations mired in nostalgia or the mud of the advertising pitch. Although denounced in his lifetime by critics for a subject matter that was invented and all-too-perfect, one can now see that what he chronicled did exist.” Rockwell had taken Howard Pyle’s concept of illustration—Pyle was a hero to Rockwell—one step further by making pictures that were not referential to written text but reflected his personal vision. He painted the world he saw around him and put it on the covers of a highly popular national magazine because its editors believed in the truth of his vision. And more importantly, they felt its readership would respond to the emotional reality he was painting. His example should have begun a revolution—Pyle’s dream once again—fine art as illustration. But, it never happened. Illustrators themselves did not understand that all imagery—on gallery walls or on the printed page—has the potential for power if that imagery is the product of a deeply held personal vision. So illustration returned, for the most part, to business as usual, letting the muse be the assignment and not the vision of the artist. It would take the political upheaval of the sixties to reintroduce personal comment back onto the printed page.

Is the Figure Really Dead? In the world of fine art, Pyle’s dream of an American painting movement continued to rage. During the thirties, after the defeat of Woodrow Wilson and his internationalist policies, a revival of Americanism emerged in art and writing. Thomas Hart Benton, who enjoyed being called a regionalist, said that the art of the regionalists “symbolized aesthetically what the majority of Americans had in mind—America, itself.” Other regionalists included Grant Wood and John Stewart Curry. They used American history to create heroic works based on George Washington, Paul Revere, and John Brown. “Made in the U.S.A.” became their battle cry. Another group continued the tradition of the Ashcan School by painting urban scenes and depicting factory workers in American cities. Artists like Reginald Marsh, Raphael Soyer, Isabel Bishop, and Ben Shahn attempted to revive many of the characteristics of academic painting. The critics dubbed them as “academic, illustrational painters.” The center for this movement was

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the Art Students League. John Sloan was the director and Thomas Hart Benton was one of its most influential teachers. Jackson Pollack, destined to revolutionize American painting, was one of Benton’s students. The forties in the United States saw an American abstract expressionism fire up the fine-art discourse while illustration, in artist Robert Weaver’s words, became dominated by “the ponytail period in American Culture.” The Cooper Studio—Joe Bowler, Coby Whitmore, Jon Whitcomb, and others—monopolized the ladies’ magazines like McCall’s, Ladies Home Journal, and Good Housekeeping with postwar images of the ideal white American family centered around pretty, middle-class, female consumers living happily in new kitchens, new houses, driving new cars, living with handsome husbands, adorable children, and cute dogs. By 1950, in the United States, the American fine-art world finally became obsessed with the concept that the subject of painting was painting— a notion the Europeans embraced some thirty years before. But modernism in the United States was branded in a way uniquely American. Jackson Pollack’s drip paintings paved the way. The formidable and highly influential art critic Clement Greenberg touted Pollack as “the most powerful painter in contemporary America, and the only one who promises to be a major one.” Pollack, Kline, Rothko, Motherwell, and DeKooning (with the exception of the “Woman” series), and others dropped all references to the figure and representation in their art. Younger artists entering major art schools who wanted to draw and paint from the model were barred from fine arts departments and forced into illustration departments. Large banners flew at the student dorms announcing, “The Figure Is Dead.” The figure and representation were now firmly in the camp of illustration. The work produced was clearly to be applied and used in advertising, publishing, promotion, and in combination with graphic design and type. It was viewed by advocates of abstraction, the fine artists, as limited and inconsequential. Illustrators, once again, were artists who had made the choice to sell out. It was into this contentious environment that American artist Robert Weaver returned from Europe. Having studied under a well-known Italian painter, Maestro Cadouin, Weaver lived in Venice, going to the movies and painting. “After the war,” Weaver said, “Ben Shahn startled me with paintings of very ordinary people sitting on park benches, not heroic, but rather harsh. And he did postwar pictures about Europe showing Italian 42

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women within the rubble of bombed-out cities. I could see a story that I had not seen in American paintings. Next the postwar Italian movies came along and I was very excited by the exploration of the real world, and the use of the camera in Rossellini’s Open City and De Sica’s Shoeshine.” Weaver, today, is recognized as the undisputed pioneer of contemporary expressive illustration and only became an illustrator by chance. By the time he returned to New York, Weaver had developed an unconventional, multiple-image, serial approach to illustration that continues to influence both the fine and applied arts. His representational images borrowed from abstraction at a time when personal vision in illustration was at a dead end. Weaver’s work was embraced by a group of art directors who were eager to see fine art as illustration revitalized. Henry Wolf, Leo Lionni, Dick Gangle, Bill Golden, and Cipe Pineles made sure his illustrations appeared regularly in the high-end magazines they designed—among them Life, Fortune, Sports Illustrated, and Esquire.

Real Time and Real Life In the fifties, as Robert Weaver was attempting to bring illustration back to real life, a new generation of pop artists sought to bring the fine arts out of abstraction and back in touch with reality. Andy Warhol, who had been an illustrator for many years, Roy Lichtenstein, Tom Wesselman, and many others, based their work on commercial art—illustrations, comic books, graphic design, billboards, and package design. Warhol’s thesis was that everyone can be an artist and that there was no special way that art had to look. By using common everyday objects and shared cultural experiences, pop art dropped the mysticism of abstract expressionism and embraced the everyman. According to pop art philosophy, the works of Norman Rockwell, Robert Weaver, the Ponytail illustrators, and even Paint By Numbers were considered Art—with a capital A—along with Brillo boxes, soup cans, and billboards. The next decade saw artists moving easily back and forth among the various disciplines of the visual arts. Artists could draw from graphic design, illustration, fine arts, and cartooning and could as easily find their imagery on magazines, newspapers, billboards, or gallery walls. The social turmoil of the sixties opened a new door in illustration. Editorial illustrators were sought after to contribute a personal point of view in magazines and newspapers, including newly formed underground papers and broad sheets. Graphic commentary filled the pages of Evergreen, 43

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Ramparts, East Village Other, and the New York Ace as well as the op-ed page of the New York Times. J. C. Suares, then art director of the page, was instrumental in encouraging illustrators with personal graphic vocabularies to comment on real events.

Arisman and the Zeitgeist During that time, Brad Holland and myself were even given story assignments by an editor based on the strength of a specific drawing—a practice unknown today. By the late seventies, the op-ed page returned to written comment, and non-editorial illustration. The concepts reflected the written word devoid of the artist’s point of view. Most of the original contributors went back to painting or looked elsewhere for the opportunity to comment editorially with our work. Painting was really and finally dead, cried the critics. Slogans began to appear like “Everything is an artwork” or Joseph Beuy’s “Everyone is an artist.” The noted critic Douglas Crimp, in an essay on French painter Daniel Buren said, “During the sixties, painting’s terminal condition finally seemed impossible to ignore. The symptoms were everywhere: in the work of the painters themselves, all of whom seemed to be reiterating Ad Reinhardt’s claim that he was ‘just making the last paintings anyone could make.’” In 1964, the Whitney Museum mounted a major retrospective of Edward Hopper. The argument, “why won’t realism go away,” started all over again. The spirit of the sixties influenced all whose careers in art began at that time. I met Robert Weaver in 1960 as a student in his illustration class at Pratt Institute—Weaver then went on to teach at the School of Visual Arts for more than thirty years. I was a senior, a graphic design major with no intent to become an illustrator. I took his class because I was so impressed by his work that I wanted to learn more about his approach to journalism, close up. He saw himself as a journalist reporting and reflecting the real world. He was dismissive of the kind of mythologizing he saw in the popular ladies magazines of that time. Weaver was once asked why he was so against the current trends in magazines. “It’s not attached to the real world,” he said, “and that’s 44

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why I liked the journalistic side of it. I think most artists have the desire to reproduce the things they see. And I feel that is the job of an illustrator.” Five years later after quitting graphic design, I started illustrating and when I didn’t have a job—which was often—I painted. It became clear to me that my personal work, which was figurative, was not only more interesting to me, but better than the work I could do when I was unconnected to the subject matter. Influenced by the pop art view that there was no high or low art, just art, I looked for ways to bring my own work on to the printed page and, when possible, exhibit it in galleries and museums. By chance I became a fellow faculty member with Weaver at the School of Visual Arts. We engaged in heated debates on these and other arcane art topics on a weekly basis and remained friends until he died in September 1994. I came to the conclusion that the art I was doing for myself—figurative and non-representational—had a place, albeit very narrow, in publications and made a conscious effort to expose it to art directors who wanted my personal vision in their newspapers and magazines. I published a series of personal drawings through Visual Arts Press, reflecting on the violence people do to themselves, others, and to the environment, called Frozen Images and used it as my portfolio. I believe the drawings carried power because they were conceived as my personal vision. I also sought out alternative means to get my work out to the public—gallery exhibitions, museums shows, creating calendars, inventing a newspaper, doing a monthly visual column for a political magazine. And in 1984, I was offered the opportunity to initiate a graduate program at the School of Visual Arts. It was a place to explore some of the process ideas I had been musing over and exploring for myself for more than twenty years. It was a chance to do that in the company of a group of talented artists, writers, and art directors on the faculty—Robert Weaver, James McMullan, Steven Heller, and the New York Times editors. We selected students who wanted to get personal work out into the world for a return in satisfaction and, of course, money. We engaged them in the dialogue and process of how one can sustain the energy and enthusiasm 45

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needed in order to produce art over a lifetime. The program was then, and continues to be, based in drawing, painting, and writing concentrating on the development of a personal vision, which can be applied in a fine-art context, in illustration, or in any media. We offer artists who believe in figuration the support they need to find outlets for their work without the artificial labels that have stifled the creativity of many a figurative artist—fine artist, illustrator, cartoonist, filmmaker. Although the program is presently called “Illustration as Visual Essay,” what we in fact teach is figuration as personal vision. Since 1984, many of our former students have become members of the faculties of art schools, colleges, and universities across the country. Their classes are based on the SVA model with the underlying premise that it is not only possible to interject personal view points on to the printed page, but that the development of a personal vision opens up possibilities for work in all media and exhibiting in art galleries as well. They and their students have been highly successful, not only in getting commercial work, but also in continuing to develop self-produced projects— paintings, films, videos, photography, or books, which more often than not find an audience. Today’s technology—digital cameras, computers, low-cost printing methods, the Internet—and a lessdefined art environment makes it possible for figurative artists to find many outlets for their work. Drawing and painting—those basic skills of artists—are more fundamental today than ever before and the process one undergoes to develop those skills can be applied to work in all other media. The business of illustration today cannot be discussed without an understanding of its history, and the history of figuration in American art. The two are inextricably tied together. The turn of the century in 2001 saw the landscape of art cross-referencing imagery from everywhere. Mechanical reproduction made it inevitable. Brillo boxes, photography, graphic design, comic books, illustration, television, videos, DVDs, and the tabloids provide the image pool artists draw from. Surrealism shows up in illustration, (Rafel Oblinsky); graphic design in the fine arts (Barbara Kruger); graphic novels become storyboards for feature films (The Road to 46

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Perdition starring Tom Hanks and directed by Steven Spielberg); novels become comic books (Maus by Art Spiegelman); Norman Rockwell’s magazine covers adorn plates; Vincent Van Gogh’s selfportrait is on shopping bags, and our major museums are exhibiting the latest fashion designs and motorcycles. Reproduction has leveled the playing field, including the Internet. What comes next?

Is Illustration Really Dead? The pronouncement in the twenties and thirties that “narrative painting is dead” was then a marketplace statement and a miscalculation of the power of figuration. Now, the statement from leading illustrators that “illustration is dead” is also driven by a shrinking market and once again a miscalculation of the power of figuration. Beyond that, there is a misunderstanding today of the many options available to artists who can draw and paint—with even greater possibilities if they can write. “What Was Yesterday,” was the title of a review by Peter Schjeldahl for the New Yorker (November 4, 2002) in which he discussed the opening of Drawing Now: Eight Propositions, a show curated by Laura Hoptman for the Museum of Modern Art, Queens. What was fascinating about the review was that almost a hundred years later, a prominent art critic is discussing the split in the art community over the role of illustrative and decorative imagery. Is it art at all? He says, “A trailblazing event for an art world that has sorely needed one,” referring to the show. He goes on to say, “The show’s most rewarding groups after Fashion and Likeness are Vernacular Illustration and Ornament, two of the most pejorative terms in modern criticism: Illustration and decoration. Embellishment of heartfelt stories and cultivation of sophisticated beauty have been disparaged in serious art for so long that their revival jolts.” At the end of the review he closes with a question. “Is the new drawing a refuge of the individual imagination, or the skirmish line of an impending counter-attack?” New York magazine added, “Drawing, a skill that once was required study before you could call yourself an artist, isn’t just back, it’s eclipsing painting and sculpture.” Roberta Smith, the highly respected art critic for the New York Times said, “Drawing Now: Eight Propositions is sometimes, but not consistently, an outstanding exhibition whose shortcomings are almost as interesting as its triumphs. This automatically means it is above average among big surveys of contemporary art in the major New York museums and 47

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makes it required viewing for anyone remotely interested in the art of the moment.” She continues, “But, as you look more closely at the exhibitions, several flaws emerge, primary among them a lack of solid, interesting drawing, used here as a gerund. Despite the helpful category structure, more than a few of the artists seem to be simply illustrating Ms. Hoptman’s eight propositions.” In the catalog for the exhibition, the curator offers, from my point of view, an inaccurate definition of the word illustration. She says, “The word ‘illustrative’ has been somewhat derogatory in the context of art, because an illustration, as an image inspired by a text, implies an easy reliance on a source outside the artistic imagination. Like the equally pejorative ‘decorative,’ ‘illustrative’ also connotes a graphically lively, colorful kind of drawing produced for commercial purposes or entertainment. Above all, an illustration is readable, suggesting a lack of discursive complexity that has in the past sealed its banishment from the fine arts discourse.” It is a troubling definition of illustration particularly as it shows little knowledge of the history of figuration in this country nor does it give evidence of considering or even seeing any contemporary editorial illustration. If the latter is true, it means that Ms. Hoptman, who is the curator of contemporary arts at the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh and former assistant curator of drawings at MOMA, has so confidently accepted a superficial definition of illustration that there was no need to research illustration’s rich history. Biased by a lack of scholarship, her prejudice, like all prejudice, comes from misunderstanding, elitism, and shared assumptions from her education as well as opinions of her colleagues. Any readable imagery implies a lack of complexity; illustration is defined as graphically lively, colorful, entertaining, and commercial—all, according to Ms. Hoptman, reasons that have banished illustration from the fine arts discourse. The histories of art in America and in Europe are filled with examples of serious discourse with regard to illustration, figuration, and representation. But all that aside, those of us with a much broader view of illustration are grateful for this exhibition because it promises once again to create a heated debate in the fine arts and illustration communities—the last time was forty years ago with pop art. The show concept was smart, interesting, and like all successful exhibits, timely. But in Ms. Hoptman’s case, the imagery she used to “illustrate” the eight propositions showed such little in-depth research and for the most part were such mediocre examples of the 48

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images in the illustration category that they undermined her ability to make her case effectively. The show convinced me that we need to redefine our terms. The word “illustration” is too limited to be accurate and carries a negative connotation that does not allow it to be viewed as drawing, figuration, or as representational, but rather as commercial, lively entertainment. The phrase “fine art” also needs to be replaced with something that more clearly defines the field and the areas it represents.

All Artists Illustrate We need to move to a larger definition. We artists illustrate in hopes of clarifying our own views. The work artists do is in an attempt to clarify or illuminate our relationship to the world and whether we create it abstractly, conceptually, or in a narrative form, defines us, our philosophy of life, and our aesthetic and intellectual preference. All artists grasp for light in one way or another. What do I have to say? What is my viewpoint and what is my delivery system to get it across—gallery walls, short films, video, installation, printed pages, the Internet, and all the possibilities now available to us. The final question we have to ask ourselves is, what is the intention of our work? The critics cannot tell us that. We are theorized out and it’s about time to become clear. Robert Hughes in his introduction to the Lucian Freud exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art said: Painting is a sublime instrument of dissatisfaction of dissent from any kind of visual orthodoxy and received idea, not excluding that of late modernist modernism. No work of art can ever be experienced at firsthand by as many people as a network news broadcaster or the commercials that grout it. That does not matter, it never has. What does count is the energy and persistence with which painting can embrace not “empty value” but lived experience of the world; give that experience stable form, measure and structure; and so release it, transformed into one mind at a time, viewer by viewer, so that it can work as (among other things) a critique of the more “ideological” and generalized claims of mass media. There is no great work of art, abstract or figurative (and especially none figurative), without an empirical core, a sense that the mind is working on raw material that exists in the world at large, in some degree beyond mere invention. Painting is, one might say, exactly what

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mass visual media are not: a way of specific engagement, not of general seduction. That is its continuing relevance to us. Everywhere, and at all times, there is a world to be re-formed by the darting subtlety and persistent slowness of the painter’s eye.

The business of illustration is the business of making strong, effective pictures, discovering your personal vision as a figurative artist and finding outlets for the work that you produce without falling victim to the labels, whatever they are—cartoonist, illustrator, photographer, filmmaker, painter, etc. It is the challenge and the underlying secret to working at something you love for the rest of your life. The intention of the above chapter was not to offer a full history of the relationship between illustration and figuration—that would take far more than a single chapter to do it justice. The intention was to offer an overview of the issues as they apply to the business of illustration and to increase understanding of the complications of how this relationship has, over the years, both enhanced possibilities for creativity and discouraged artists from making art. Many illustrators and fine artists contributed to this history and unfortunately, for space constraints, very few made it into my brief overview. My apologies to all of you.

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Talking about Art and Illustration HELLER: We’ve talked at length about how illustrators develop a personality within their work, but what is the difference, if there is one, between art and illustration? ARISMAN: The line between commerce and illustration is not as simple as it appears at first glance. The assignment, the printed page, being paid money, do not automatically produce commercial art. Renting a studio, buying canvas and paint, and painting anything you want does not automatically produce “fine” art. The intent of the artist determines the substance of the work. I am suggesting that when any art, commercial or fine, enters the marketplace all artists have to struggle with the question of who the next painting is for. HELLER: Can you name one contemporary illustrator, who, in your opinion, is an example of what we’re discussing? ARISMAN: Actually, there are quite a few but Ralph Steadman would be among the top ten. I remember the first time I saw his visual essays in connection with the Hunter B. Thompson articles in Rolling Stone in the early seventies. The drawings were wild and crazy and relentless. They were as opinionated as the written article without becoming subservient to the text. That was thirty years ago. Last week he had a visual essay in the New Yorker about New York. The drawings were as fresh and personally driven as his early work. There is no question who his drawings are for. Does that make Ralph Steadman a selfish, egotistical artist? HELLER: Aren’t all artists at least partially—no, entirely—egotistical? I’m not sure about selfish, but that certainly is part of ego, isn’t it? I think Steadman is a true artist—not a poseur or whore—who uses mass media as his canvas and delivery system. That to me is what the best illustrators do. Brad Holland, Dugald Stermer, Seymour Chwast, Barbara Nessim, Milton Glaser, Robert Grossman, you can name scores of artists who have 51

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maintained a sense of artistic integrity as they work in the illustration universe. Their art intersects with commerce in a very natural way—they’re not “fine” artists on Sunday and “commercial” artists on Monday. Their work is completely integrated into the fabric of life. Forgive the purple prose. But the question that I have for you, as one of those whose commercial work is “art” but who also does work that is self-generated, how can we tell whether an illustrator’s work is art? Is it the look that makes it so? Is it the concept? Is it visible or invisible? ARISMAN: I have attempted to create art both commercially and selfgenerated that is based in social issues and personal concerns. In the work that is self-generated I become the art director and the illustrator of my own process. In the assigned work from an art director, I try and accept work within the concerns I have already illustrated for myself. In my opinion, the intent of the artist determines whether the final product is art. If the intent of an illustrator is to make money, the results are usually commercial. If the intent of the artist is to explore personal concerns, the result is generally art. The issue of good and bad art is another discussion. The visible component of “is it art” can only be answered by the person creating it. To put it another way, if the work has meaning “for the artist,” it is art. Carl Jung said, “Meaning has an inherent curative power. Meaning effects everything.” HELLER: But is intent really the only determinant? I think that many artists become illustrators in the hope that they can earn a living as artists. I think that a body of work that is commissioned and art directed by others can still be art—well, at least artistic. Of course it can be either good or bad art; that is subjective at best. Simply because something is commercial does not undermine its status as art. But after all is said and done, does it matter? Does this distinction—either real or imagined—make a difference to an illustrator? As long as an artist is working to his or her, or to the client’s satisfaction—indeed, elation—isn’t that enough? Or is there a higher standard to be had? ARISMAN: In art, we are at the end of the modernist era, but this is not an issue of “high” or “low” art but one that begs the question: Can any art, commercial or fine, address a radically changing culture in pictorial terms? In short, what do we personally have to say about the world around us? Does it matter? Does anybody care? I think it does matter and that people do care. I agree that something commercial does not undermine its status as art. The 52

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response of the viewer, as well as the artists, art directors, editors, etc., is the standard by which all art is judged. There is a no “high” or “low” standard. We are left with what Leonard Bernstein referred to in musical terms as “classical, pop, jazz—it’s all music. The question is simply one of good music or bad music.” The same can be said of art, whether it hangs on a gallery wall or is commissioned by a magazine. I have a gallery inside my brain where I hang pictures. Some have been there for many years (Hopper, Goya) and others I change periodically. There are as many illustrations hanging there (Robert Weaver, Daumier, George Grosz, etc.) as paintings. My standard for choosing them is “good art.” Assuming that you have a similar space in your head where you hang pictures, what is hanging there? HELLER: I’d hate to tell you what pictures I hang in my head. We should keep this a family book. Nonetheless, I do not look at or determine what is art according to whether it was commissioned or self-generated. It is all about what strikes a chord in my mind or heart or anywhere else that makes an indelible or temporarily indelible impression. A great illustration communicates beyond the article that it is illustrating. Or at the very least the theme of the article inspires something that benefits from the marriage of idea and image. I’m looking at a proof on my wall for an illustration—a parody of the very clichéd “I Want You” war poster that, through the magic of the artist, transcends the trite and thus becomes a meaningful message. In this instance, in case you are wondering, it is Uncle Sam dressed in desert camouflage smoking a joint (illustrating a memoir about a Marine from the first Gulf War who admits that he joined up to have a good time, not to save the world for democracy). The painting illustrates the piece but also has resonance in light of the Iraq crisis and can be read as subtle protest. You might ask if this will be art in a year or two, or simply a topical illustration. I can’t predict, although sometimes what we think of as art today is kitsch tomorrow. Do you feel that illustration should have a life beyond its purpose? Do you think that with all the good art in the world it is necessary to hold illustration to that standard? Or is it enough to simply be good illustration for the moment? ARISMAN: Time, or the test of time, determines what art has a life beyond its purpose in the applied and fine arts. History has repeatedly pointed out that what we perceived as the “important” art of today may become a footnote in fifty years. Some art, both illustrative and fine, remains timeless. 53

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Much of it is due to the fact that in spite of our continued arrogance about our evolving selves we haven’t changed much at all. The first sound was the beating of the war drum; it still is. Since all we have is the moment—this moment—oops, it just passed . . . we damned straight better be trying to do the best illustration we are capable of today and stop worrying about the future. HELLER: Another element working here is the photographer versus the illustrator, wouldn’t you say? ARISMAN: Since the invention of the camera in 1839, realism in art has been suspect, the feeling being that the photograph is a more trustworthy way of representing things as they are. Many editors don’t see why an illustration of somebody (a personality) is more interesting than a photograph of the person. Ten years ago the newsstand was full of illustrated covers. Today you can count them on your hand. Usually the personalities themselves prefer photos to drawings. CD covers once filled with illustrations are now mostly photographs of the band. The New York Times Book Review, of which you are the art director, often features illustrations of the author on the cover instead of photography. Is this ever an issue with the editor or the authors? What are your reasons for not running a photograph if likeness is the goal? HELLER: I guess the Book Review is an anomaly. I use illustration (portraits and caricatures) because EVERYBODY else uses photographs. Moreover, I prefer to art direct with illustration. Do the editors mind? Sometimes they ask me to use a photograph, and on two or three occasions I have—and I’m using more now, although the photos I use are more like paintings. Do the authors mind? Can’t say for sure, but I do get calls from their agents or spouses asking to buy the originals, so I presume someone likes the alternative approach. The illustration simply provides another perspective. When you paint a portrait there is a message behind it (or maybe it’s just a stylistic alternative). But sometimes a photograph is a better solution. Frankly, I’d rather see photographs of my favorite rock stars in action because even the best caricatures are not as interesting or relevant. Photograph versus illustration has long been debated. What do you see as the major differences between photographs and painted or drawn illustration? 54

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ARISMAN: Every drawing an artist does carries the memory of the last drawing. While it is true that photography can be manipulated, it is not the same process. This is not a value judgment, meaning that one is better than the other, but a difference in procedure. Consequently the illustrator must interject himself into the face being drawn. To trace and copy the photograph exactly is self-defeating for most illustrators. HELLER: Yeah, tracing is not an answer, although I see many portfolios with many portraits that have been traced off many famous photographs. Not only is it uncreative and mediocre but probably unethical as well. Nonetheless, I know that tracing is a timeworn activity. Do you think it’s a problem? ARISMAN: Not necessarily. Vermeer traced, Corot traced, Rockwell traced, and many others with the end result being quite satisfying. Tracing as an end in itself is usually to hide bad drawing skills. When tracing is used as a tool and not a crutch it becomes valid. Almost all illustrators use photos as reference in one way or another. They are helpful in determining what something looks like before you interpret it. A couple dos and don’ts about photo reference: (1) Start your own reference file. It will save you numerous trips to the bookstore or picture library. Students often don’t use reference out of laziness and then spend twice as much time hiding the fact they don’t have a clue what the thing looks like. Interpretation does not mean making it up. (2) Never put a photo in your work taken by a famous photographer. They have already interpreted their subject matter by lighting, composition, and mood. They have done the creative work. Leave your history of photography books on the bookshelf. You will be less tempted to use them directly. Are you stealing if you copy these photographs? You bet your life you are. Influence and stealing are tricky topics, two sides of a coin. Your own conscious/ethics are very much involved. HELLER: I guess art directors and illustrators are ethically bound to do something original. To take an image from a photograph—even a very rare one—seems like cheating at best. But to ignore the photograph in the illustration process is to ignore the reality of the twenty-first century. Do you really expect illustrators—your students, for instance—to draw entirely from life? Is there an ethic middle ground? ARISMAN: Anyone who has done a drawing from life knows that there is vitality in that drawing that is usually erased in tracing a photograph. The 55

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idea is not to ignore the photograph, but to gain the ability to transfer the life drawing experience into working from not on the photographic reference. Robert Weaver, for example, was a master of this. I could not tell the drawings he drew on location from the drawings he did from photographs. They had the same expression. Picasso did many drawings by tracing the photograph, removing the photograph, tracing his tracing and continuing this process until he had forgotten the photograph and could judge the drawing as a drawing. Years ago, I watched Phillip Burke, the famous caricaturist, do a drawing of Jack Nicholson. He started by copying (not tracing) a photograph of Jack as realistically as possible. He then used his drawing as reference to expand the vocabulary. “What I am doing is teaching myself what Jack’s face really looks like,” Phillip said. After two hours of this exercise the drawings begin to explode. Exaggerations began to take place. Jack’s face began to stretch and reform itself. At the end of three hours he had more than fifty drawings scattered all over the floor, each looking more like Jack Nicholson than the original photograph. The illustration’s photo reference file should be made up of news photos, stock photos, and photographs not trying to make art. These photographs are much easier to see as reference for the illustrator. Expect your first drawings from these photos to be stiff. Like Phillip Burke, you are learning the information and trying to do a drawing at the same time. Many students stop at this point. If you push on, understanding this, you will produce an image that is much more interesting and still maintain the believability of the photographic reference. You now control the photograph; it doesn’t own you. Continue to draw from life; the two reference points will soon merge.

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Sidebar

Know Your Art and Artists Thomas Cole (1801–1848). English-born American landscape painter. Founder of the Hudson River School. Best known for his romantic landscapes of the Hudson River Valley. Winslow Homer (1836–1910). American painter, pictorial journalist, and illustrator. Documented the Civil War for Harper’s Weekly. Achieved recognition as a painter with Prisoner from the Front (1866). Hudson River School. Name applied to a number of nineteenthcentury American landscape painters who shared a sense of wonderment at the grandeur of the Hudson River Valley. A. Burstadt, F. E. Church, T. Cole, and T. Doughty are among the many representatives of the school. Frederick Church (1826–1900). American landscape painter. Painted in the romantic tradition of the Hudson River school. Church was a pupil of Thomas Cole. Thomas Eakins (1844–1916). Trained as a painter in Paris and influenced by Manet, Eakins became one of the major American Realists. His interest in photography expanded Muybridge’s experiments in the photography of motion. Eakins’ series of motion photography on a single plate inspired Duchamp’s famous painting Nude Descending a Staircase. Cubism (1907–1914, major period of the style). Named by the art critic Louis Vauxcelles, referencing Braque’s Little Cubes. Originators

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were Picasso and Braque, who worked closely together. Objects, landscapes, and people were represented as many-sided solids. Cubist-Realism. Style of American painting of the twenties and thirties that balanced representational painting and cubist thought. Chief exponents of this style were Demuth and Sheeler. Recognizable urban or industrial subject matter was injected with formal geometrized design. Armory Show (February 17–March 15, 1913). Exhibition of international modern art held in New York at the Armory of the Sixty-ninth Regiment. Over 1,100 works by modern artists included cubists and fauvists. Major impact on American art and criticism. Fauvism. A style of painting in which colors are the all important theme of the work. Members of the group were Matisse (leader), Dufy, Kees van Dongen, among others.

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Two

Style, Business, and Ethics for the Contemporary Illustrator

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C H A P TE R T W O

Style Style defines an artist’s place in time. It distinguishes old from new, fashionable from timeless, even genuine from fake. Much of an artist’s career rests on possessing a recognizable style, even if that artist assumes (or steals) someone else’s. Throughout the modern age, illustrators have, with impunity, tried on other illustrators’ styles as though a hat or coat. This kind of readyto-wear style becomes theirs until the next trend emerges and they try on another. And so it goes in art and commerce. Style is also a form of currency. For a successful artist it can be money in the bank while for a bankrupt one it is merely counterfeit. So beware of false prophets selling fake styles and beware of taking on a style that produces no profit. Style is a critical concern for an illustrator at any stage in his or her career. What it says about an artist’s point of view and how it frames an illustrator’s ideas can mean triumph or failure—it can mean an illustrator has a voice or is mute. However, style must not be viewed as the be-all or end-all but rather a function of art, not the reason for it. So, how does an illustrator choose his style? Sometimes style is purposely selected from what Tom Wolfe has called “the big closet” of historical or contemporary cultural references, both high and low. Other times style selects the artist and by some twist of fate or preordained destiny it becomes the natural fit for whomever wears it. But most times it is a decision on the illustrator’s part to find a distinct method of expression that also carries with it the value of allure. In the commercial sense of the word, style is a hook that sells a product, which in this case is illustration. So as a pure business decision, style is decided upon in the same way that a merchant might choose a sign—by what will best attract the attention of the proverbial passersby. Most “fine” artists recoil from the commercial label and most illustrators (who are already professionally labeled “commercial artists”) attempt to reconcile the A and C words. But both have to address issues of style. For illustrators, balance is accomplished through styles that signal a 63

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particular approach that is not entirely mainstream—but not too off the track either. If a style is too outrageous it will not only bypass convention, it will thwart any hope of being saleable. Conversely, if the style is too neutral it will not stand out, and therefore be less sought after by art buyers. Balance is critical. Knowing how to present an honest persona and still appeal to art directors, editors, and spectators is the challenge faced by all illustrators. Another challenge is to avoid being obsessed with style. As important as it is, style-compulsion has deleterious effects. Many illustrators (indeed some very talented ones) are pure stylists and less interested in concept than form. These artists excel in rendering pastiche or realism—their hand is a finely tuned machine. They are also the same artists on whom art directors impose their own ideas and in return get an impeccable but often soulless rendering in their particular style. While this is a venerable practice, it can nonetheless be limiting. The style of the moment, whatever it may be— new wave, old wave, art brut, realism, romanticism—has a proscribed shelflife before going stale or turning rotten. So the danger for an illustrator in relying entirely on style as his whole equity is that when it falls from popularity (and it will) the paying work will doubtless dry up too. Conversely, if the style is a vessel for concepts, the longevity of the art and artist increases, at least insofar as style and concept are honest, intelligent, and viable. Which leads to the question: What is an honest, intelligent, and viable style? To be honest means to select a form of stylistic address that fits the user snugly. In other words, the illustrator should not affect a style that does not merit the work itself. It is imprudent to work in a style that does not reflect the intelligence (or skill and talent) of the artist. To be intelligent means selecting (or evolving into) a form that best expresses the artist’s acuity. Sometimes a comic approach is the best way to communicate serious messages. A satiric caricaturist will use exaggeration and distortion to present ideas, but sometimes he will use a very realistic style that forces a double take and underscores the irony. This is an example of intelligently knowing when and how to use one’s graphic and comic strengths. But sometimes an illustrator may go overboard on the cartoon style, which undermines the idea. So intelligence returns to balance, and balance means exactly knowing when to apply the stylistic tropes that are best for maximum impact. Finally, viability means that the art is publishable. If for an illustrator the style and concept are inappropriate for any reason, then it is not viable, pure and 64

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simple. Which goes back to the earlier point that a style must be a snug fit in order for the entire work to be harmonious.

Reflection of a Personality Style can be analytically discussed as a means to achieve specific illustrative ends. But it is also a reflection of the illustrator’s persona that occurs because it is meant to happen, and must thus be addressed with a little more subjectivity (perhaps even mysticism). This does not imply that style picks the illustrator, as indicated above, but that over time the illustrator grows into an outward manifestation of an inner sensibility. Ralph Steadman’s violently splotchy, linear style is not just an incredibly expressive way to vent his rage against cultural and political bêtes noir; it is an extension of himself, or, to put it concisely, it is his voice. When style is a voice it is not to be turned on and off capriciously. It is something that is endemic to the persona of the artist. Like Steadman, Henrik Drescher’s style is (literally) Henrik Drescher. Although his work takes various forms—drawing, collage, painting, sculpture, as well as editorial, children’s book, animation—his style is a consistent reflection (indeed evocation) of himself. He could not be Drescher without that specific style. Moreover, anyone who copies his brutish approach is committing a disservice (maybe even a crime) because it is akin to stealing another’s identity. Which leads to the question of influence in the evolution of style. It is perfectly acceptable for an illustrator to be so influenced that her “interim” style reflects the style of the one who is influencing. But this cannot be sanctioned for an extended period. How many times have the styles of Brad Holland, Sue Coe, Seymour Chwast, Edward Sorel, and others been invoked by acolytes? Like copying plaster casts, this is a way students and neophytes learn the processes of leading artists and is acceptable to a certain pedagogical degree. But once an artist goes out into world with a portfolio of other artists’ styles, alarms must blare and fingers must wag. A savvy art director knows the difference between the original and a fake, and the latter will suffer consequences. Of course, not all art directors are savvy, so a few unethical illustrators will sneak into a few good jobs, but the deceit will not last long. So as a word to the wise, learn from others but develop an original style before the time to enter the market. Style is a measure of the artistic (and commercial) continuum. So, many illustrators embrace approaches that are current, and currency can be 65

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redundant. Here the challenge is to distinguish oneself from the pack in ways that do not subvert the basic approach to creation. Many well-known illustrators, from time to time, purposely alter or change their styles to avoid redundancy. Even if they originated the style, it is more prudent to let the acolytes have it than compete in a draining creative battle. Style is not a forever thing. Vision is more important and it can be dressed in various styles over time. An illustrator’s value is determined by various intersecting virtues, drawing or painting ability, conceptual acuity, problem-solving expertise, as well as being courteous, kind, obedient, and thrifty (well, maybe not the latter). Style is but one part of this list. As important as it is, style cannot be held as more so than any of the others. Style is a function of who one is as an artist.

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Talking about Style HELLER: How does an illustrator develop, maintain, and protect his or her style? ARISMAN: Picasso said that style should be what other people call what you do. This is style in the purest sense of the word. Unfortunately, in the illustration business, style is a bankable word. Illustrators are given assignments based on their style. If you don’t have a style that is consistent, art directors hesitate to assign work, not knowing what will come back as a finished piece. This, it seems to me, is understandable, but in too many cases illustrators affect a style rather than evolve a style. Undergraduate illustration majors are hammered with this issue. “You must have a style” is rule number one in putting together a portfolio. Two things happen when you force a look or style in your work. First, experimentation stops. Self-editing begins. Formulas result. The second thing is that if you don’t have a style you will begin to look for one outside yourself. You can find a style this way but it won’t be your own. This brings up the complicated issue of influence versus plagiarism. Any artist who looks at other people’s artwork will and should be influenced by it. If the influence is genuine it will be referenced in the work. Determining whether you are stealing or learning from another artist has raised heated debates and bedeviled conversations for thousands of years. Picasso’s comment was “steal from everybody.” And he did. Braque, African masks, and numerous other sources. But, in the end, Picasso did Picasso. He made the references his own. To give a more personal example, in the late sixties I saw my first painting show of Francis Bacon at the Guggenheim Museum. The figuration that dominated the art world at that time was not emotional. It was a cross reference to popular culture. Pop artists like Warhol, Rosenquist, Wesselman, and others used the figure as an icon. Warhol’s silk-screened heads of Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, and Elvis Presley passed through my brain and not my stomach. In my own work I was struggling with trying to reflect the emotions I was feeling at the time. The Francis Bacon show went right 67

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through my nerve endings, not though my brain. I left the exhibition emotionally drained—and excited. Most people are seen in categories and miss the subtle nuances. People that didn’t like me said, “You are ripping off Francis Bacon.” Others, more gently said, “You must like Bacon’s work.” I knew the impact of Bacon’s painting was showing up in my work. As defensive as I was (no one likes to hear that their work is not original), I also knew that Bacon’s work would pass though me and become less dominant if I just kept working. I would, in effect, incorporate it, which is what influence should do. That has happened over the years and hopefully what I am doing now is more of my own. This is what you were referring to in your opening questions, “Let’s talk about style. You have one (maybe two.)” In the illustration business, style is more immediate; little time is given to develop a style naturally. Successful illustrators are blatantly ripped off because their “style” makes money. Different styles are in fashion at different times. Brad Holland has, in the past, been ripped off more than any illustrator I can think of. There was also Cober, David Levine, and others who were ripped off but Holland had so many imitators in the nineties it was painful. These rip-offs were commissioned and appeared in print. I fault the art director here as much as the illustrator. What do you do when you see a portfolio that in kind terms is “highly influenced” by another illustrator? HELLER: “Highly influenced” is a polite way of stating a big problem. But the fact is there is a zeitgeist or prevalent style that many young illustrators follow. Whether it is the surrealist style or the art brut style or a realist style. For each of these categories there are exemplars representing them. Brad Holland is surreal, Henrik Drescher is brut, and James McMullan epitomizes the realist sensibility yet has an impressionistic leaning. These are languages as well as styles. So it is not unusual for artists and illustrators to work with these dominant languages. I’ve used illustrators who somewhat resemble Holland or Drescher or McMullan or any number of others, but I would not use them if they looked exactly like these artists. When I see someone’s work, the worst thing I could say to myself is “this is like Holland.” But this determination is subjective. What’s influenced slightly to my eye may seem like a rip-off to another and vice versa. So I try to balance as well as I can. If I see too many 68

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of Holland’s or Drescher’s mannerisms or ideas in a portfolio, I close it immediately. But if I see a spirit of another but an individual approach trying to break out, then I might go with it. However, the other part of this story is my desire to avoid redundancy. I will not use three illustrators who work in a similar manner, even if they are otherwise totally original. It doesn’t do them, or me, any good to have repetition of style. I also won’t use someone who does the currently hip—what I call schizophrenic—style (a cross between art brut and cartoon) because I see it everywhere. Again, there is no percentage in using something that has too much currency. When you critique your students I know you are more concerned with their content, but how do you address style that is too au courant or, for that matter, redundant? ARISMAN: I usually start by raising the question of style before we get into the content. “Many people are going to say your work looks like…” I then ask the class to raise their hands in agreement or disagreement. The student is now defensive but a collective opinion is out in the open. An honest discussion takes place that relates to more than the singular example. The attempt is not to resolve it (a legitimate influence may be taking place) but to recognize things that often go unsaid by art directors or fellow students not wanting to hurt someone’s feelings. The whole point of being in a community of illustrators is to use the collective voice of the group to vocalize what we are looking at. Why else pay all that money for graduate school? If you can do it by yourself I recommend that applicants use the tuition money to rent a studio and get their MFA in much easier and cheaper ways. When I see more concern for technique than content, I raise the question “Am I working very hard to get through your technique to see the image?” My assumption is that I see the image first; then I see how it was done. When the order reverses itself something is wrong. Texture is a prime example. Students find an overall texture (cracking, brushstrokes, running swirls, etc.) as a base of their illustration. They disregard that this texture does not belong on everything. The dog, the glass table, the rug, and mom’s face. I suggest that texture is not style and that the surface of things should be considered in combination with each other. I then take a piece of white paper and cut a small square out of the center. By moving the square over the entire surface of their work I ask them to imagine that what they are seeing are 69

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musical notes. If all the “notes” in the illustration are the same note, something is wrong. HELLER: But a dominant style implies that all the lines will be the same; it’s inevitable that this recurs. Is there any sincerity in following style? ARISMAN: The current interest in art brut is understandable, if not always useful. Sincere images, driven by an untrained artist, have power. Much like African masks, the artists are not trying to make “art”; they are trying to make magic. In our current postmodern world of self-conscious image making, the “reference” pop culture in all media, the individual artistic voice is hard to come by. Images, including illustration, are overwhelmed by mass media. We have seen too much, we know too much, and we yearn for the power we see reflected in art brut. We are unfortunately too well trained and experienced and that “magic” has little to do with what most artists are trying to do. Taken on its most superficial level, the drawing or painting of art brut is taken as “style.” Mocking what appears to be honesty, artists have imitated the lack of drawing skills as being honest and contemporary. In short, drawing bad is seen as style. Sometimes this lack of drawing skills is true. Many artists can’t draw anymore because drawing was not part of what they did. Now that drawing has reemerged, how to draw has become an issue. Bad drawing has become a style. In the classroom this issue has to be addressed as a style issue. The student who can draw has to be confronted with why they are choosing not to. If this is style-driven it won’t last. There is too much of it around. If it is a genuine impulse to ask questions about “why am I drawing this way?” it will become integrated into their vocabulary. Have you seen portfolios where the art brut and cartoon issues seem genuine? HELLER: I’ve seen real honesty expressed through incompetent drawing. I say this without tongue in cheek, yet with considerable reservation. There are some people who cannot draw but make that deficiency into a positive thing. Sadly, this way of working has become a superficial style for many who are just mediocre and who use the surface of “bad drawing” to suggest cool and hip. Remember, art brut derives from truly psychotic people, not nice middleclass boys and girls who want to make some kind of creative statement. Would you agree, then, that our advice should be, at this stage, to

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forget art brut and return to the real art of drawing or risk becoming just another style-hack? ARISMAN: I agree that style evolves naturally from a solid foundation in drawing. Once established, the foundation can be explored—expressionism, art brut, or whatever. I think that all “styles” should be forgotten as a conscious goal. The surprise is that everyone has a style whether he or she wants one or not. At this point, an artist’s line drawing, woodcuts, paintings, collages, etc., are all connected. Everyone recognizes the artist’s work in whatever medium he chooses. This is not a formula, but rather an expression. That expression is the artist’s style. Have you ever given a first-time assignment to an illustrator who then turned in a finished piece in a totally different style? HELLER: It has not happened too often. Most beginning illustrators don’t want to risk screwing up, which will doubtless hinder getting a second job. But this style shifting has happened more frequently with veterans. It is a problem sometimes because it throws one’s expectation out of whack. I’m not adverse to artists experimenting with their style, but I’d like to know in advance so I can judge the work intelligently and without prejudice. I agree with you that style is expression, but not all style is expressive. Indeed some styles subvert the message while others enhance it. If you were to give a class devoted to style, what would it entail? ARISMAN: I would have each student put up at least ten examples of their work that included line drawings, painting, woodcuts, etc., and find the same voice in all of them. Many students think that style is the result of using the same technique. It’s not. Style is the underlying handwriting of whatever you do, no matter what tool you have in your hand. Style is driven by your view of the world, not by a technical procedure. When your head changes, your style will change. Then you will have a new style to explore. This is a natural, healthy, on-going process.

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Sidebar

What Is Style? A Checklist Picasso. “Style is what you call what other people do.” Style Search. The problem with searching for a style is that you usually find one that belongs to someone else. Style and Content. Style devoid of content is decoration. Pictorial decoration is a craft, not an art form. The object of decoration is to add something to make more attractive. To adorn or make ornament for. To put decorations on a printed page as illustration is much the same as decorating a room. Individual Style. Style is a by-product of our limitations, interests, and abilities. Everyone has a style that is an outgrowth of continuous work. The connections between your drawing, painting, and image making get stronger with time. That recognizable link in your work is your style. Style Influences. All artists are influenced by other artists. “Learn to steal from everybody,” was Picasso’s advice. Other influences should show up in your work. This is not stealing. As you absorb the influences the impact will be less apparent. Good advice would be to not accept the influences that are readily available but to find out what art influenced the artists who you most admire. Style Success. Style is not something you search for in the supermarket of successful artists. If finding a style that will make money for you is your primary goal, you will not succeed. At best, you will be a copy of the original. That usually doesn’t pay well.

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Sidebar

Trend Spotter Hip. What does it mean to be hip? It changes from year to year, maybe even day to day. Fashion dictates style and style underscores what it means to be hip. Illustration can be categorized as hip (or not hip, as the case may be). But in an attempt to define hip, let’s say that there are certain color combinations and drawing techniques that make an illustration seem up-to-the-minute. Over the past year or so, illustrations that resemble vintage fifties cartoons, like Gerald McBoingBoing, are hip, in part because animated cartoons for Comedy Central and Cartoon Network have reprised the style. Moreover, the era (short as it might have been) for more serious and satiric conceptual illustration has been replaced by less conceptual, sprightly and colorful gag-styles. Narrative. The rise of graphic novels and comic strips in the nineties and decline of conceptual—metaphoric and symbolic—illustration has allowed for the return of representational narrative work. One might call this the “new realism” whereby storylines are presented through unambiguous drawings in essay (or short-story) forms. Color. Every stylistic era is underscored by certain dominant colors. Soft pastels were popular during the late eighties and stark flat primaries were ubiquitous during the nineties. To generalize is dangerous, but scanning the pages of American Illustration annuals reveals an upswing in flat yet vibrant color that is easily created using Adobe Illustrator and other computer programs. Black and White. Long a mainstay of illustration, black and white is on the decline as the ability to print unlimited full color has increased

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in most outlets. The computer has also made it easy to transmit color with a level of quality that surpasses black-and-white reproduction. So for now, black and white, while usually the sina qua non of illustration is on the decline. Motion. Thanks to the computer, QuickTime movies have become a popular form of making artwork kinetic. Illustrators should learn the technologies and engage in the software that are available to them. Art Brut. Term coined by Dubuffet for graffiti and crude pictures by untrained people. Very much in vogue in illustration today. Style driven, much of it lacks the power of true outsider art. Comic Book. Illustrations done with drawn black line are an emerging style. Flat color is added in the computer. Unlike the comic book, subject matter is not superhero-based. Good drawing is back! Collage. Composition is made up of various materials—photographs, newspaper cuttings, etc. Not as popular as in the nineties. Many illustrators are painting more on top of the collaged image. Surrealism. Belgian surrealist René Magritte had a major impact on the field of illustration during the seventies and eighties. Dream images (objects floating in air, etc.) are less popular today. Much of surrealism has been incorporated into conceptual illustration. Conceptual Illustration. Very popular. Ideas and information based in the text are presented using visual metaphors.

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C H A P TE R TH R E E

Old and New “I much prefer Photoshop illustrations because the more high-tech they look the more contemporary they are, especially when compared to line drawings and detailed paintings,” declared the art director of a magazine that was once renown for its prodigious employment of drawn and painted illustrations. “Those more traditional forms of illustration are just too old school for our youthful audience.” This is a common refrain among young art directors, and yet it is also an old one. Just swap-out the word Photoshop, insert “photograph” or “photomontage,” and the statement could have been uttered in the thirties by some upstart “modernist” art director under the spell of the Bauhaus or the New Typography, who perhaps practiced the then-contemporary method known as “typofoto” (the seamless marriage of type and image into a unified entity). Back when the machine age was young, a marriage of new technology and progressive thinking pushed publishing and advertising media from its traditional reliance on detailed, realistic and often idealized paintings and drawings toward a preference for “modern” methods, causing Bauhaus master Laszlo Moholy Nagy to proclaim that mechanical art represented modern times. Like others with a similar penchant for the avant-garde, he rejected overly rendered handcrafted work in favor of technologically advanced photographic manipulations. In addition to dramatic, candid, and black-and-white studio photography, the so-called new illustration, including Man Ray’s innovative photograms (high contrast, x-ray-looking images) and John Heartfield’s cutting-edge photomontage (surreal pictorial manipulations), quickly became dominant in most avant-garde and some mass media. But please refrain from playing the sad violins. Traditional illustration was not dead or dying, nor were illustrators plunging headlong into a bottomless abyss. Despite the fashion for modern approaches, romantic and sentimental illustration continued to prosper well into the sixties— witness Norman Rockwell’s sustained popularity and that of the Westport School of narrative illustration. But the new methods had an inescapable 77

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impact on how traditional ones eventually transformed illustration styles and attitudes. Younger illustrators in the fifties, like Robert Weaver, found ways of combining the look of photomontage with more painterly abstract approaches into an innovative mannerism. Progress in art, and especially illustration, is always a balancing act between old and new. Even though the statement quoted at the beginning of this chapter may send chills through those who have mastered realistic drawing and painting, it does not necessarily represent today’s dominant view. In fact, illustration is as diverse today as the publishing and advertising media it serves. For every magazine or advertisement that employs clever Photoshop special effects, doubtless an equal number reveal a wide range of traditional approaches—or at least, what appear to be traditional approaches. In fact, new technology is sometimes invisible and has been seamlessly integrated into the work of many “so-called” traditional artists. Just as Robert Grossman reintroduced the airbrush in the sixties (used in the twenties and thirties) as a stylistic trope to accentuate his keen conceptual ideas, today many drawers, painters, collagists, and even sculptors use computer programs (be it Adobe Illustrator, Photoshop, or the considerably advanced Maya dimensional software) as tools that invigorate their visions. This does not suggest that the illustrators who use the new tools are no longer producing traditional illustration, but it does mean that that the definition of the word “traditional” has changed over time. It is unavoidable even for dyed-in-the-wool painters not to employ the computer if only to transmit lo- or hi-res scanned files to an art director. Many who still draw and paint use the technology to make certain jobs easier (i.e., changing, cloning, or erasing elements that would have taken hours if not for the digital capabilities). Not only is progress dependent on the aforementioned balance of old and new, it is ultimately important to determine what “old” really is in relation to “new.” Often an illustrator can retain a time-honored method while being spot-on and up-to-date. Artists are always seeking viable shortcuts and new technology has provided the tools. Whereas a decade ago illustrators were resistant to tampering with the purity of the drawn or painted image, today they enthusiastically welcome, and many have totally transformed their work because of, state-of-the-art digital tools. Moreover, as the means of reproduction have improved, illustrators have adapted. One might argue that illustrators who do not take this opportunity to either experiment with new 78

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forms or at least exploit the increased availability of new technology are wasting their precious creative time. To ignore the new as if it did not exist or wallow in the old because it has existed forever is a terrible mistake. Transitions or transformations are not easy, but they are necessary. Today’s new media are technically quite complex but the shift in practice brought upon by digital technology is no more profound than when, during the thirties, designers and illustrators were influenced by new technological methods and conceptual approaches. Every era brings forth something brand new that strikes both fear and exhilaration into practitioners. Only today, however, it can be argued that photographers and multimedia artists seem in many instances to have surpassed the traditional illustrator as prime providers of visual content. Without the benefit of a statistical survey it may be difficult to quantify this assertion, but one need only skim a handful of lifestyle, news, and culture magazines to see substantive stylistic shifts in preference away from “old school” art. In advertising, there is barely any painted or drawn illustration anymore. Even counting the rise in Photoshop illustration, there is a greater tendency for illustrators to be marginalized if only because many are not equipped with the kinds of bells and whistles that accompany brand new forms. But this is not irrevocable. The challenge, of course, is to harness all or aspects of these new media without diminishing the importance of traditional narrative or symbolic illustration. It means redefining illustration to be more than just the quaint spot- or space-filler on the average editorial or advertising page. Some argue that the illustration business is in the midst of an identity crisis. We think the crisis is really one of attitude, and is easily remedied. In order for the illustrator of today to take full advantage of the new technology and delivery systems a fundamental change in thinking must occur. Remember the term “desktop publishing?” When first introduced in the late eighties it was narrowly defined as the ability to make newsletters or flyers on a personal computer. Now we understand it means having the power of total production (and with the Web, total distribution) at our fingertips. At least one part of the new mindset is for illustrators to become the authors of their own work (see chapter 4) and expand their markets outside the traditional illustration world. This is where the term “traditional” requires a keen reevaluation. Since jobs in advertising are negligible and those in editorial are precarious, new and novel outlets for illustration must be viewed with a fresh, imaginative sensibility. 79

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Whatever the technology, most importantly, if an illustrator has nothing to communicate—no personal viewpoint or a burning desire—then one’s quest to be part of the zeitgeist is irrelevant. Traditional illustrators are hired to solve problems, they respond to someone else’s text, and whatever medium and technology they choose, they respond by visual interpretation. Yet even in this context it is necessary to have a point of view. In the current desktop publishing environment it is also good to have more—a passion for issues or theme that can be translated into various forms, from graphic novel to children’s book to animated film. Once you have found your subject matter and combine it with your ability to draw and paint, and most importantly tell stories, you will begin to find a place in the new communications world. This may sound Pollyanna-ish, but one of the differences between old and new today is the fact that an illustrator can no longer be seen as just a decorative spot maker. An illustrator must not be complacent. As stated above, most younger and a fair number of older illustrators are already comfortable with using the computer. Many have used Flash and stop-motion animation on their Web sites. This will become even more commonplace (and perhaps even determine who will survive the next evolutionary phase of illustration). The big question is not whether one is able to adapt—one has no choice—but adapt in what ways? Style, which was covered in chapter 2, without content is an empty skin. And yet content without outlet is a problem. So the future involves locating viable venues in which new processes can be applied, and that takes equal parts know-how and imagination. Illustration is no longer a paper- or canvas-based medium. A lot can happen in the digital ether before it ever sees print. Final Cut Pro is a digital editing system that can be added to your computer programs. Video cameras that fit into the palm of your hand now shoot still and moving pictures. Animation can be shot on the average digital video camera. The costs are phenomenally low, too. Certain computer companies (like Apple) are offering to print entire hardbound books for minimum cost. Publishing companies and printers will print full color illustrations with text in limited runs. Illustrations can now be combined with film accompanied by narration and music. Writing can now be wed to images in numerous print, video, and digital outlets. The illustrator is a storyteller and the opportunities to tell stories are limitless. This allows the illustrator to expand the marketplace beyond the traditional illustration market into film festivals, TV stations and other venues 80

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not thought of as illustration outlets. All of these options are available and will continue to grow. And with these new media, the above-mentioned story can be put into forms that were not possible five years ago. Illustrations are no longer just complements to another’s ideas but integral ideas in their own rights. Harnessing technology to break the chains of restrictive tradition is key to the problem of balancing old and new. The issues sometimes are obscured by questions of the efficacy of old and new technologies, when actually old and new are as much a matter of attitude as hardware and software. So, learn the technologies, adapt work to fit the times, be au currant if it’s required, try not to be old school if the market shuns it, but to truly be fresh, the illustrator must redefine illustration in ways that none of us has yet thought.

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Talking about Old and New HELLER: When you counsel illustration students and young professionals regarding their futures, how do you address issues of old and new, whether concerning media or attitude? As a painter, drawer, printmaker, and sculptor you love handmade work and tactile materials, so how do you reconcile the virtual media in your teaching? ARISMAN: I am a romantic. I love the smell of turpentine. When they open me up at my autopsy the morgue will smell like oil paint. I love using the same materials—oil paint, canvas, etc.—that Goya or Rembrandt used. I like to get dirty. I love building a texture on the surface by painting over my mistakes. I just did my first lithograph on a stone. Daumier’s soul was in the stone; I could feel his presence. My previous lithographs were on Mylar. Not the same. When I started in illustration (in the mid-sixties) everyone said I would have to switch from oil paint to acrylics. I did. I hated it. It dried too fast. I couldn’t push the paint around. I went back to oils. Everybody was fine. Art directors photographed wet paintings. I met all my deadlines. I got paid. Over twenty years ago a computer friend helped me—technically— to “paint” a picture inside a computer on the newly developed Paint Box. I spend all night doing it. The end result was fine—many people couldn’t tell the difference from the paintings I had done on canvas. I was a nervous wreck. My eyes were watery and blurred and my hands were clean. I swore never to do that again. Ten years ago, in an effort to not be computer-phobic I sat with a graduate student every Saturday to produce a newspaper I had written and illustrated. His name was Gerardo Blumenkrantz; he is now a top art director. I sat and watched and learned. We did collages in Photoshop, we set up grids for type, we airbrushed, stenciled, and overlapped images. We “colored” my drawings. In three months I sent a disk to the printer with a thirty-two page, tabloid-sized newspaper on it. One week later 1,000 copies of my newspaper appeared at my door. Feeling self-satisfied that I knew something about what the computer could do I swore never to do that again. Over five years ago I made a computer class a core requirement in the graduate program. It is taught by Matthew Richmond, who owns a Web 82

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design computer company, Chopping Block. He likes teaching the grad students because they can draw and paint and have stories to tell. He teaches them Flash, how to set up Web sites, how to make them interactive, etc. Today, all of our students use the computer in one way or another. Some use it as a printing press, scanning in images and producing promo pieces; some color their drawings with it. They set type and design their books, set up group Web sites and deliver illustration jobs on CD or by e-mail. This year I have a first-year student who “paints” on the computer. His paintings are good; they are good because he has done many paintings on canvas before moving the process into the computer. He still smells the turpentine that drifts into his space from the student next to him. He still paints in our required painting class. This is good. This is the way things are. HELLER: We are all romantics but there is an element of pragmatism in what we do; there must be. So, pragmatically speaking, are there media that you insist your students refrain from using because they are too arcane? And can you as an educator in good conscience allow a student to go in a direction that may be totally obsolete? ARISMAN: There are techniques that are problematic for illustration because of the time process that is involved. This does not make them arcane. For example, etching, lithography, woodcut, silkscreen, etc., demand access to a print shop and enough time to etch, draw on, cut out, etc., and finally pull the print. Having gone to all the trouble of making a plate for multiple reproductions and only using one for the illustration assignment is seemingly self-defeating. Having said that, I know many illustrators whose best work is done in those mediums. If that is the case, then being pragmatic and switching to a less time-consuming media is even more self-defeating. The work you produce has to be the best you can do. The criterion is the final image. How you get there is your own business. Illustrators are not paid by the hour. I encourage all illustration students to experiment with every medium at their disposal and not settle for what appear to be timesaving tools. You may see your work transform by seeing it in a new light. Once you see it, you may be able to duplicate the effect in another medium. I encourage students to carry scratchboards, varnished etching plates, black paper, and white stabilo pencils when drawing on location. This is all about breaking the habits that we so easily fall into and surprising yourself. That is not arcane. 83

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Most discoveries come when you are “playing,” not when you are seriously trying to make a portfolio. I know for a fact that many of the illustrators that you work with use woodcuts, monoprints, scratchboard, and other mediums that can be time-consuming. Have you ever had an illustrator not meet a deadline because of the medium they were using? HELLER: That’s an interesting question insofar as I don’t really think about “time” as an issue. Professional illustrators know they have to meet deadlines. It’s not like a general contractor who says, “The bathroom will be ready in two weeks,” and then four weeks later the plumber or tile guy hasn’t yet shown up. Illustrators cannot miss deadlines or they’ll never get another job with that art director (allowances are made, but not many). So the question of medium is less my decision or proscription than the artist understanding what will be the best medium for her kind of expression. Of course the computer is the best delivery system and has enabled illustrators to work in various time-consuming media and still deliver on time—or make fixes and corrections in a very timely manner. Therefore, my only concern regarding media is that the end product be good. What do I mean by good? Or more to the point what is bad vis-à-vis media? I hate artwork that looks like it was spit out of a computer (i.e., overly pixilated or smooth and mannequin-like). Is this any different than art that comes from an airbrush or a paintbrush? I’d say yes. Many fine airbrush artists have learned how to give personality to the art (i.e., Robert Grossman) and I needn’t say anything about the paintbrush. The computer is increasingly used more like a tool, but for some illustrators it is a crutch. No medium, new or old, should be a crutch or substitute for real skill. But I do feel that new media tend to be more crutch-like. So when you evaluate work, regardless of medium, do you have a predisposition towards the traditional means and criticize the new more liberally? ARISMAN: Part of the problem with the computer is that whatever you do, it tends to look more finished—more professional, at first sight. When I evaluate work in the traditional or new mediums my first question is, does this work? If not, why? The question of “is this piece finished?” usually means that something is not working. The answer, particularly with computer output is, “It looks done.” 84

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To answer your question, I try and apply the same criticism to both traditional and new media. The same rules apply. The criticism is the same. With new media more time is devoted to why this finish is not a finish, even though it appears to be so. How do you explain to an illustrator that the piece is too finished or that the finish is void of any personality? HELLER: A finish is relative. Sometimes the illustration looks unresolved because either the idea does not work or the art is still in the works. I respond accordingly and hope that my answer will be of use to the artist. Obviously, I won’t accept it unless it is “done.” As for too finished, that’s easier to judge. You can always tell when technique overpowers concept, so that is my standard. If the image draws more attention than the idea then something’s wrong. But again, this is relative. Some artists pride themselves on detail, which is fine. But when this detail gets in the way of the message, then I must intervene. Computer-driven art can be either underdone or overdone, just as any other medium. But I tend to be more critical of the computer than the brush or pen. I remember many years ago when you did some black-andwhite illustrations for me that I thought were underdone. I ran them anyway because you felt they were as they should be. I think you were right. So we always have to be flexible when addressing new and old (and I don’t mean new and old media). I was not used to your “minimalist” work, but when I saw it in print, it made sense.

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Sidebar

Brief Timeline of Illustration Old. At the end of the nineteenth century and early twentieth century, illustrated books and periodicals were the major source of public entertainment. From 1865–1917 the number of periodicals increased from 700 to 1,900. Libraries (1876). U.S. Commission of Education published the first statistics regarding libraries in the United States. In 1876, 12,000 volumes were contained in 2,500 libraries. By 1896, more than 33,000 volumes were contained in 4,000 libraries. Rotary Press (End of Nineteenth Century). The invention of the rotary press made larger editions of books and magazines available at lower cost. Publishing arena shifts from England to America. Pictorial Reproduction. Until the 1880s, all reproduction of illustration was done by wood engraving, a tedious and slow process. In the early twentieth century reproduction by screen halftones was available. A photographic process, screen halftones made full-color illustrations available to a mass market. Illustrators as Movie Stars. Before radio, motion pictures, and television the printed page was the exclusive entertainment for the American public. Illustrators were household names. Many received fan mail and were paid as “celebrities” to advertise and endorse products. Movie Star Salaries. Early twentieth-century magazines paid extremely well for the star illustrators of the day. Frederick Remington was paid

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$1,000 for each painting per month. Gibson was paid $1,000 each for one hundred pen-and-ink drawings. On top of their magazine contracts they were also receiving royalties on books, prints, and advertising art. Add fees paid by endorsing products and their annual incomes reached $75,000 per year. Some were paid more. New. With the advent of radio, motion pictures, and finally television, illustration no longer maintained its popularity with the masses. Magazines cut costs by canceling yearly contracts and pay per freelance assignments. Specialization. Illustrators are forced to develop “styles” that are marketable within limited frames. Market research begins to direct articles, stories, and illustrations to age groups, specific interests, etc. Trade Unions. With the ever-increasing costs of publishing, the illustrators pay rate does not keep up with the organized unions for printing, trucking, distribution, etc. Freelance illustrators, in an attempt to maintain fair pricing, join emerging organizations to represent them: Membership in the Graphic Artists Guild and the Illustrators’ Partnership of America (IPA) continues to grow.

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C H A P TE R F O U R

Authorship Authorship is not for every illustrator, but since it is a greater option today than at any time in the recent past—and options are what illustrators need most these days—it is definitely worth serious exploration. There are many reasons for switching, at least in part, from being a freelancer who solely produces spot (or even full page) illustrations to a content provider who occasionally sells (or attempts to sell) original ideas. The business of illustration has long relied on the supply and demand principle—art directors demand and illustrators supply artwork—but in recent years there has been a significant (albeit perhaps temporary) shift from illustration to photography, typography, and other mixed media as main visual components in the editorial and advertising fields. Therefore, it is incumbent on the savvy illustrator to build (as those smooth-talking financial analysts call it) a diversified portfolio. Not in the literal sense of a portfolio, but your overall illustration practice should include both work produced exclusively for clients as well as for yourself that can be turned into original products. So while waiting for the telephone to ring with a job that may or may not bring monetary and creative rewards, it is helpful (indeed necessary) to develop self-generated projects that could be sold as books, posters, and all manner of other entrepreneurial equity. As discussed elsewhere in this book, authorship is not just the act of writing. For in this desktop-publishing age, replete with “authoring programs” galore, authorship is the act of producing, directing, and creating an entire work rather than a piece thereof. Authorship (and its cousin entrepreneurship) is a fairly broad practice. You can certainly collaborate with writers, artists, and others and still be considered the prime author if the work is original and not subordinate to another overall creative presence. So how does an illustrator fit into this? There are many models, with the most obvious and conventional example being a writer and illustrator of children’s books. There are many successful authors in this genre— Maurice Sendak, Maira Kalman, Chris Van Allesburg, to name a few—who have invented characters, stories, and entire fantasy worlds that have been made 89

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into books and products. While this has not prevented any of them from also doing freelance illustration, it has afforded them greater creative and financial freedom to pick and choose the projects that they will accept. And children’s books are not the only authoring medium for illustrators but a good jumping off point for an entrepreneurial practice. Toys are perhaps a less obvious genre but equally viable. Richard McGuire, also a children’s book author and freelance illustrator, produced a line of toys for children and adults in the eighties under the rubric McGuire Toys. Although the toys enjoyed only moderate success, they led to other challenging and rewarding projects including making films and music videos. And speaking of toys in the eighties, Byron Glaser and Sandra Higashi invented Zolo, a postmodern Mr. Potato Head game/toy, which launched a very successful entrepreneurial business devoted to toys, books, and other items. Similarly, David Kirk, a toy designer turned illustrator turned toy designer again, spun out a business from a passion for making beautiful objects that now includes books, gifts, and films, all based on his distinct drawing style. Animation is another authorial medium, and with the increased demand for animated features in the post-Simpsons age and for television series for Cartoon Network, Comedy Central, ABC, the Disney Channel, and USA Networks. The opportunities are more accessible than ever before. A great example is Gary Baseman, who started out as an editorial illustrator (and continues whenever commissioned), and is now the executive producer of Teacher’s Pet, an ABC cartoon series and motion picture. The idea and the character development were his own, which he parlayed into a career-altering job and the potential for much more creative freedom. Other options certainly exist that allow you to build on a foundation of illustration; you just have to have the talent, foresight, and ingenuity to discover and exploit them. Of course, just because you have a good idea does not automatically mean it will be magically transformed into marketable product. But these days, if you are smart about networking, marketing, and partnering, there are many more potential outlets for self-generated products like the ones mentioned above and others such as calendars, address books, and diaries. You can browse through the Chronicle Gift Works catalog to find a wide range of such “paper” products developed by illustrators and designers. John Martinez, a former illustrator and designer, joined forces with his wife Margaret, an art director, to create a line of cards and stationery that were so successful that their cottage industry was bought by a larger paper products 90

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business. This scenario is not unusual. Clever illustrators can wed talents and obsessions into unique products that could realistically find an audience.

Authorship By Accident and Design So how does this authorship concept actually work? Of course, the word “work” implies success, but before you can be successful, a little risk is necessary. This does not mean a major financial burden or treacherous life change, but the courage to announce, if only to yourself, that there are ideas percolating inside that are worth bringing to the outside. Some illustrators start to become authors by accident—by keeping a sketchbook or sheath of scribbled pages on which nascent ideas slowly begin to take form. This is not a remarkable revelation because all illustrators have drawers full of notions—and if you do not, then our advice is to start immediately! The next step is editing your raw ideas into potentially viable concepts. Everyone is possessed with instinct about what might (or might not) be workable (or saleable) beyond a small group of friends and relations, so use that gift to make key decisions. Editing yourself is an art in itself that demands focus on one or two gems that will doubtless require time to develop. Easy enough so far, you say? It is not. A good concept may emerge after some trial and error. A great concept will take longer. But a brilliant concept does not come along everyday—or every year. So the key is to nurture those concepts that are truly original and then fine-tune them to be viable. The word “viable” is bandied about a lot in this chapter but there is no single definition. Viability depends on many factors. The quality of the concept is one, but ultimately fashion, style, and trend in the marketplace. Also—and this is very important—the enthusiasm of the backer, producer, or distributor determines whether potential exists. To make something viable means to invest in the product on many levels. It is rarely enough to simply throw a concept into the wind and hope it flies. Once the concept is decided upon—say it is a book—then a good presentation is necessary. These days some illustrators are also trained as graphic designers and typographers, which is certainly beneficial toward the development of “package.” This package could involve anything from a simple book design (cover, page format, type treatment) to a merchandising plan. The former is fairly obvious but requires that you make aesthetic decisions so the concept does not look like it was thrown together. The latter is more complicated but decidedly more valuable. Book publishing, like other 91

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retail businesses, determines success by the range of a project in the market. If a book has the potential to be something else (ancillary products) its profitability potential is markedly increased. Now, all this business jargon should not be cause for alarm but instead should be a guidepost for how to make authorship work best. So in addition to developing the concept of the book into a dummy, you should try to find links to other things—again, toys, diaries, games, etc. And once the presentation is together and looking good, the next step is finding support—a Medici of sorts.

This Little Illustrator Went to Market There are a few common ways to accomplish this goal. The most simple is by approaching a publisher (in the case of a book) or producer (in the case of a film) or backer (in the case of other things) who might buy the product outright. At this point you will be offered a payout, advance, or other monetary remuneration, plus royalties or residuals if the product actually sells. The means to approach these people is usually through an intermediary (i.e., an agent or packager) but if you are tenacious it is possible to be your own agent. Another approach is to become your own packaging company or limited liability partnership (LLP) which still gives you the discretion to work through an intermediary or not. In either case what you want to do is get developed concepts into expert hands to determine whether the product is indeed viable. But there is a third alternative—produce the product yourself. Richard McGuire invested his own money to produce his Puzzlehead and Go Fish toys, which he then manufactured himself. Most times, outside investors are blind to concepts that are not tried and true and your commitment to an idea must be tested in the marketplace. There are no guarantees that a product will fare well, but if you want to see a concept realized it is often worth the risk of self-production. The fact is that freelance illustrators are already independent businesses with a distinct product—the ability to draw, paint, sculpt, or collage. An investment has already been made in terms of materials (these days a computer is essential) and, for some, rent. So to invest even further in your talent is not such a stretch. Often investments of this kind demand personal expenditure, but sometimes backing in the form of loans will initially help get the product produced. Whatever the means, the next step is getting it into the hands of consumers, which suggests that the creator actually knows something about the audience. Higashi and Glaser assumed that Zolo would be a product that savvy, design92

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conscious adults would buy for their young children, while McGuire reasoned that as a perennial favorite, his Go Fish cards would appeal to children and adults as well. Of course, not all authorship demands such sophisticated understanding. The fact is most artists become illustrators because they don’t want to be bothered with the pressures of marketing. So the bottom line for such an author or entrepreneur is not expertise but passion. One has to feel that what he has to offer, whether artistic, utilitarian, or a combination of the two (applied art), is not only worth the effort to create and make it, but imbued with enough value that someone else would want to pay for it. Without that belief in yourself, the work that is produced lacks soul. While evoking this s word puts authorial pursuit on an ethereal plane, ultimately there is a difference between an artist who becomes an author or entrepreneur and someone who simply goes into a cash-and-carry business. Whatever the product, the artist/illustrator is creating work that is not only a commodity but also a different kind of art. The self-generated work turned into a marketable product is an extension of the impulse that brought you to illustration in the first place.

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Talking about Authorship HELLER: The MFA design program that I co-chair at the School of Visual Arts is called “The Designer as Author” and the MFA program that you chair is called “Illustration as Visual Essay.” Although the words in the titles may be different, the meaning is the same. Both of us believe that designers and illustrators should tell stories, create narratives, and otherwise become creators of their own fundamental content. In other words, they should be authors in the broadest and narrowest senses. Of course, “should” is a loaded word, and not everyone should or can be what we tell them to be. But we are proposing alternatives to conventional practice. In graphic design, authorship does not have the same history as illustration, and even our definition is somewhat different, so for the sake of clarity, what do you mean by the term “author”? ARISMAN: The illustrator as author is a self-appointed state of mind. Aside from using your talents to visualize someone else’s thoughts and beliefs (the author of the piece you are illustrating), you become the author of your own stories and beliefs. This is self-improvement. You assign yourself an issue that you are deeply involved in. You give yourself permission to illustrate it. You use your illustrative abilities to help clarify your own life experience. You find a way to pay for it. This is not in opposition to continuing to accept commissions in a more traditional way. It isn’t either/or—it is both. HELLER: Aside from children’s books, can illustrators succeed commercially as authors? ARISMAN: It is true that in the area of children’s books illustrators have become authors and made money. But many of these books have a commercial base and don’t necessarily reflect authorship as much as “market smarts.” The ones that reflect the illustrators’ deep-seated beliefs in the world they live in are the exception. These are authors who have been able to deliver a message—through humor, a reduction process, or whatever—under the guise of a children’s book. The delivery system of graphic novel, illustrated novel, comic-book 94

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short film, Web site, interactive media, etc., has broadened the base for selfexpression. When business was good, illustrators were content to be a creative service for the editor and author. Now that the business of illustration is not so good, illustrators have to individually redefine their role and reassess their talents. Is there money in this? Probably not a great deal. Will this replace the traditional illustration assignment? No. In an introduction to 200 Years of American Illustration, Norman Rockwell said, “Much is made today about the difference between the artist and the illustrator. But the distinction has always been clear to me: the illustrator must compress a great deal into his picture. The illustrator has, unlike the painter, a primary interest in telling a story.” In my opinion it is now time for illustrators to illustrate their stories and in doing so become authors of their own works. If your story is worth telling and told well, someone will listen. You will find an audience. HELLER: Nice sentiments, but what about the reality of the marketplace? Not every author-to-be will find a sympathetic patron. Telling stories is great, but what if there is no one to publish them? Does this mean you have taught your students to reject the more conventional approach in return for a payback of some ideal? ARISMAN: Good question. No teacher, including me, wants to lead anyone down a blind alley. My only defense is that since the inception of the graduate program in 1984 I have watched numerous graduates struggle with and resolve ideals while continuing to get work in the more conventional way. For more than thirty years I have consciously tried to use the publishing business to print my own beliefs in pictures. I am an illustrator. I use illustration to clarify my own beliefs whether they are my own stories or the stories of another. The images (on a tear sheet or on a canvas) are interchangeable. My assumption is that the publishing business is trying to use me and I am trying to use it. Fair enough. At the core of this issue is knowing that when I do a series for myself, even if I make photocopies of it and send it to art directors, I will begin to get new assignments that relate to something I have self-generated. What appears to be that ideal (my own stories) and the more conventional approach (being given an assignment) are two sides of a coin and not at odds with each other.

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HELLER: I gather that you feel that authorship is not an end in itself. Rather, does it lead toward more options in the illustration marketplace? ARISMAN: When I look around at the illustration business today I see the majority of illustrators taking on the role of general concept-providers. There is nothing inherently wrong with providing an art director with a “concept” that everyone gets. That is part of the business. Some people are very good at it. However, in too many cases the concepts are trite, clichéd-ridden, and very tired. These are not, of course, the illustrators who use conceptual thinking to further their own beliefs like Steve Brodner, Phillip Burke, David Levine, and Brad Holland, to mention a few. There is a major difference here. These are illustrators who use conceptual storytelling to solve the assignment, and more importantly, to reflect their own ideas. HELLER: But isn’t there an art director who stands in the way of having too many of your own beliefs or ideas in an illustration? ARISMAN: Personally, I am interested in becoming an art director of my own thoughts. This is not an adversary position. I want to bring myself to the table. I want the art director to do likewise. Together, we can learn from each other. The art director has personal knowledge I don’t have. I have personal knowledge he doesn’t have. That combination is why I continue to illustrate. That is why I went into the illustration business in the first place. Having seen the same concepts rehashed over and over in illustration portfolios do you welcome more authorial work—individual ideas representing individual points of view? HELLER: There are two answers to that question. Yes and no. Well, mostly yes. But the way I art direct is to rely on the artists to provide good ideas to me, not the other way around. I can mediate those ideas and determine what works best and then defend them if necessary. To me that is a fairly conventional role of the editorial art director these days. So what I look for in a portfolio is an indication that the artist has ideas. Often this is best presented in an authored work rather than a collection of portfolio samples. But the reality is that as an art director I cannot use an illustrator’s musings on war, peace, or any other narrative theme. At the end of the day I publish single-frame illustrations. While I advocate authorship I cannot support it as an art director. Authorship is, therefore, what the illustrator does to break away from convention. 96

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ARISMAN: Your position as an art director is very clear. Your business as an editorial art director is to use illustrators who have ideas that can translate into solid concepts. Understandably, the issue of authorship is not primary in your selection process. My business is to develop outlets for the range of work that I do, both assigned and self-generated. HELLER: You do both. You create narratives and single images that express your viewpoint, but you also illustrate. You balance YOU and THEM. And balance is what I propose to others. Yet would you say the real goal of an illustrator’s life work is to do authorial things? Would you go so far as to argue that conventional illustration is just a stepping-stone for more personal expression? ARISMAN: Conventional illustration is a part of what I do. I try and incorporate as much of my personal expression as possible into each assignment knowing that my own musing belongs elsewhere. This is not a value judgment but rather a balancing act. The assignments I hold most dearly are the ones I have authored myself. This would also be true of a writer who is commissioned to write an article and is also writing his own novel. The article is not a stepping-stone for the novel. They simply coexist as part of the activity of the creator. Now that the illustration business is changing, less work is being assigned. This situation may change but at the moment the illustrator is facing two possible solutions. Quit the business and change fields or take the responsibility for authorship and develop more outlets. I, personally, am optimistic about the future. My optimism comes from the belief that telling stories through drawing and painting will always find an audience. It started with the cave paintings and it’s not over yet. Stories have power. Personal stories are what link most of us together.

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Sidebar

What Is Authorship? Author. One who makes or originates. An illustrator who tells a complete story in words and images. Entrepreneur. One who organizes and manages business undertakings and assumes the risk of the endeavor. Content. That which is contained or expressed in a work of art, film, book, etc. Writing. The majority of illustrators have compartmentalized themselves. They make pictures from someone else’s words. Authorship demands that writing become an integral part of the illustrator’s creative process. Collaboration with a writer may be useful as long as the content of the writing is actually shared. If not, the writer, once again, provides the content and the illustrator visualizes it. Being Clear. Make a list of things you personally know about, of things you find funny or sad, of concerns political or social that you would like to address. Write a short paragraph about each. If you can’t write a clear statement about your feelings there is little reason to think your pictures will have any more clarity.

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C H A P TE R F I V E

Promotion The first step in selling your work is the promotion of it. Promotion is a business concept that demands the same energy, focus, and creativity as developing a portfolio. Unfortunately most illustrators don’t consider business part of their creative process. The business of selling your work is not somebody else’s business—it is yours. Making a reputation is a by-product of selling. The kind of work that you get will depend, to a large extent, on what your knowledge of who is doing what, where it is being done, and finding the most effective way of delivering your promotion. This requires research, time, and energy. You have done this in your portfolio. Now you must shift gears and place the effort into a promotion plan. The survival of your clarity in understanding that creating images and selling images are two sides of a coin, not separate activities. Illustrators can learn much from the fine arts about the application creativity to self-presentation and self-promotion. Andy Warhol, Salvador Dali, and Jeff Koons are examples of fine artists who realized the crucial importance of the media to a successful career. An ever-growing number of younger artists are seeking to control and manipulate their images and the exposures of their work through all communications channels. Andy Warhol, pop art guru and inventor of business art in the sixties said, “The best art of all is the art of business.” In an interview (Modern Painters 2, 1989), Jeff Koons, a former commodities broker on Wall Street, said, “You have to embrace other media and industries other than ‘art’ as the only way to be effective in contemporary society.” At a time when mass media is defining culture, the marketplace for illustration is increasingly unclear. What is clear is that the traditional forms of promotion in the illustration business have to be expanded.

Feet in the Door Traditionally, illustrators promoted themselves by making appointments with art directors and getting their published work into the various annuals. In the fifties, the relationship of art director and illustrator was manageable. Art 101

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directors bought the annuals (Society of illustrators, Graphis, etc.) in search of new talent. Art directors spent a portion of every day making appointments with illustrators. Promotion, if you lived in New York City, was done on a personal basis. Mass mailings of printed material was a limited concept. Today art directors for national publications don’t have the time to make personal appointments. There are exceptions, of course, but only a few. The business of self-advertising vehicles (Showcase, R.S.V.P., The Black Book, Alternative Pick, etc.) that are sent free of charge to the art director have affected the sales of annuals, which are now up to $60 per copy. Numerous mailing lists and reference books are sold with thousands of names of art directors. Stock illustration houses, offering low-cost reproduction rights for finished work, continue to grow. Budget cutbacks in the publishing industry and the current preference for photography in all media are challenging the use of the illustrated image. If this sounds overwhelming, it is. Some very clear thinking is required by the freelance illustrator to maneuver the minefield of an effective promotion campaign.

Stage One: Research the Editorial Market Every illustrator’s portfolio has strengths and weaknesses. Take a good hard look at your own work without being defensive. Your most immediate sources for the names of art directors and the companies they work for are the published annuals. Go through the annuals (Society of Illustrators, American Illustration, Graphis, Communication Arts, PRINT, How, Step by Step, Art Directors, AIGA [American Institute of Graphic Arts], etc.). When you find an illustration that reflects your own work, write down the name of the art director and company name. This is the start of your mailing list. If addresses are not available, look them up on the Internet or crossreference with one of the numerous source books that are available at your local book dealer. Write down the name of the illustrator and address during this process. The annuals list names in the back. Make notations next to the names for people to whom you might want to send a personalized note along with your promotion piece. Haunt magazine racks of Barnes & Noble. Bring a pencil and pad. Expect to spend many hours going through every magazine, regardless of the subject, in search of art directors who use illustrations that you admire. Copy down the names and addresses from the mastheads (found in the front of every magazine). 102

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Alphabetize your growing list in categories: art directors, editors, illustrators, etc. If you have done your homework you will now have anywhere from fifty to one hundred names of people whose work you have seen at least one example of. Sending promotion pieces of your work to a blind mailing list is a waste of time and money. You are trying to make contact with people you know something about. When you know the numbers you are dealing with, you can start considering the form of the promotion piece itself and how you will finance it. Single-side color postcards are available for approximately $100 for five hundred. Modern Postcard in California is only one source for this kind of printing. Check around. A common alternative is to use your computer as a printing press. This becomes possible when a mass mailing is not required. At this stage we are back to your portfolio and your selection of what images best advertise who and what you are. Things to think about: • Does a single image represent you? • If not, then how many do? • Would text (do not include resume) help clarify your illustrations? • What size and format are needed? • Are envelopes available? Your initial research provides the names of annuals and organizations. Write or call them to be put on their mailing list for all calls for entries, announcements of seminars, etc. You are trying to become a member of the illustration community and gain access to information. Expand the flow of information coming to you. Subscribe to magazines and organizations that will provide that service.

Stage Two: Research Children’s Books, Illustrated Books, and Graphic Novels The same research required of the editorial market can be expanded into the book publishing industry. In the book market, pay particular attention to the names of editors. The editors of books have a great deal to say about who illustrates them. Children’s books continue to be an outlet for illustrators that work editorially. Consider developing two promotion pieces. One for the editorial market and one for the book market. Although their needs can be similar, there are specific requirements to consider. 103

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Your basic mailing list is now in specific categories that can be expanded into art directors in advertising, TV, pharmaceuticals, animation, etc.

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Talking about Promotion HELLER: Illustrators are no different from any other businesspeople in that they must promote themselves by putting their names and styles out into the marketplace. As an educator, how do you advise your students to do this effectively, efficiently, and in a manner that earns them viable attention? ARISMAN: Art directors, in my experience, view promotion pieces very differently. Some rely on them to hire new talent and some disregard them, relying on the portfolio drop-off, interviews, or annuals to supply their needs. My advice to students who cannot afford to pay the going rate for Showcase, R.S.V.P., The Black Book or numerous other promotion vehicles is to never send a single card or a one-page with many unrelated samples on it. By the end of the first semester in the first year of the MFA program each student is required to develop a series (minimum six images) with a narrative or theme. The images must explore a variety of forms (animal, human) and incorporate the form into environments. The words should be minimal. A title short paragraph or condensed running text. These “visual essays” are hand bound into small booklets or accordion folds and printed out on the computer (minimum of twenty-five). The students are asked to submit a general list of art directors, publications, and editors that the promotion piece is aimed at. Categories, children’s books, editorial, etc., are discussed in relationship to the content of the promo piece. Students research annuals, bookstores, etc., to identify individual art directors whose commission work they respect. I advise students to not get too clever with the promo piece. No tricky folds, no elaborate packaging, and no originals. The intent is a clear presentation of their ideas in a visual essay. My rationale for sending a visual essay instead of a single image in a promotion piece is simply that the art director can get a better grasp on how the artists thinks and forms an idea. The added component is that it’s harder to throw away a small book. After years of doing this I know it works. Not for everybody right away, but it starts the process of moving into the outside 105

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world with your images. Some students have gotten jobs immediately. Some receive replies of interest from art directors and requests to see their portfolios and some get no response until their next promotion piece. This is an ongoing process, not a one-shot piece. Take the time and energy to send a promotion piece that is worth sending. As an art director, what is your personal view of receiving promotion pieces? How many do you receive each day? Have you ever hired someone or called him to see his portfolio because of a promo piece? HELLER: I receive as many as thirty postcards a week and at least a dozen URLs for illustrators’ Web sites. It’s more than too much for two very good reasons. One, I simply cannot process that many artists—many of whom are quite good judging from the postcard. Two, as a form, postcards are not very distinctive. Frankly, I tend to discard them after a week or two because I just don’t have the space to keep them in a visible place. Have I hired someone based on the promo? Yes and no. I usually do not, but one of my key Book Review artists, Mark Summers, was first hired purely on the basis of a promotional package that included a file of sheets with watercolor images that were awful, but tucked among them were a few “bookmarks” with portraits in his now inimitable engraving-like scratchboard style. He was “floating” them, as it were. Trying them out for the first time, and I took the bait. Were there others who I hired this way? Honestly, I cannot remember. While I am impressed by many cards I’ve seen, I prefer to meet the artists, and that’s when I feel more compelled to give them work. But while on the subject of promo pieces I have a slightly different take than you. Or maybe we have the same feelings but express it differently. I agree that the idea of telling a story in six or more images is useful. I further agree that a package of disparate samples is not the most effective way of getting a personality across, and, finally, the postcard format is too generic. But I am not opposed to making a conceptual promotion. The worst idea is one that tries too hard to be clever, but a clever presentation free from artifice is worth its weight in gold. I remember years ago Henrik Drescher used to mail handmade books as promotions to selected art directors. They were too good to throw out (and honestly, I thought that some day they might be valuable, too). Today I feel that book making is as overdone as postcards. But that’s because 106

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many illustrators who make book-like promotions are really just replicating their portfolio; the book is not a book per se, but a collection of disparate images. Today I’m more apt to save a piece that looks like considerable thought was put into its conception and manufacture. For example, I am a total sucker for anything done in letterpress because this tells me three things about the illustrator: One, that he or she understands fine printing. Two, that he or she has aesthetic taste. Three, there is a level of design sophistication that hopefully will also be apparent in the artwork, as well. I guess this leads to another point that is important to me. It’s one thing to be able to illustrate intelligently, it’s another to have a holistic sense of visual communications. If I see that a promotion piece is smartly conceived I have more faith that the artist has intelligence. If the art lives up to this promise then he or she’s got a great one-two punch. So, what other ways do you suggest that illustrators get their work seen by those who will do them the most good? ARISMAN: The concept of promotion is a step-by-step process regardless of what form it takes (mailers, booklets, gallery announcements, etc.). The first step is to identify the people (art directors, collectors, etc.) who show interest in your work. The second step is to stay in contact. For example: you send out a mailer and get a note back, “Nice work. Stay in touch.” A month later you get an assignment from another magazine, you have a small show in a gallery, you have a new piece you are really excited about. You send it to the interested party with a short note—“Thank you for the nice note you sent me regarding my work. I’ve enclosed a copy of (tear sheet, gallery announcement, new piece) for your files.” Send them an announcement of your new Web site. Web sites are good vehicles for promotion but the same rules apply. Only put up what you are most proud of, not what you think they will buy. If you are located in a big city, go to openings—Society of Illustrators, American Illustration, Art Directors Club, etc. Bring your promo cards—if the opportunity seems appropriate, talk to art directors and give them a way to see more of your work. Never bring your portfolio to an opening. Always know what kind of work (publication, book jackets, etc.) the art director does. Too many young illustrators don’t take the time and effort to research the names of art directors and familiarize themselves with past images they commission. Look for juried shows, etc. Make note of the jury. If you don’t know them, find out what they do. Most shows have unpublished sections. If you 107

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can submit in more than one category, each category will have a different jury. Your chances are better of getting something in if you spread out a little. For example: Promotion (advertising category), Editorial, and Unpublished. If you get into an annual, you can print out copies of your page and send it out to potential clients. It is my theory all art directors have the names of ten illustrators in their minds at any given moment. These are people they have worked with before and know can deliver. Your problem (goal) is to become one of those ten names. This is a catch-22. “Come back and see me when you have some published work,” is a comment made often. Obviously, if they gave you some work, you would have published work. Your options are to find ways of reminding them that you are still alive, still working and creating new things. This assumes, of course, that these art directors have shown you some encouragement previously. The reminders (promo pieces, tear sheets, getting in an annual, etc.) will eventually shift their focus to connecting your name to your work. One day they will take a chance on you. If all goes well you will eventually become one of the ten names in their brain. Steve, is there any other means of promotion that I’ve forgotten? HELLER: The best promotion is being published. Becoming visible and making sure that art directors believe that you are a commodity is the best way to get published more and more. When I first started as an art director I looked at magazines (and the occasional annual) because an artist is validated after being published. While I take great pride these days in using artists who have never been published, my eyes still open wider if I see something in a magazine that looks great. Sure this is the real catch-22; but if one gets that foot in the door, with a little more luck it will open wider.

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Sidebar

Self-Promotion Guidelines Don’t Jump-Start. A promotion plan takes time, energy, and money. Do not promote your work prematurely. School Is Out. Send a promotion piece to get work, not to get feedback. Art directors are not paid to be teachers. The response you want is an assignment not a critique. Group Support. Before sending out a promotion piece, get opinions from others: teachers, former classmates, professional illustrators. Then ask yourself if you were the art director, how would you respond to your promotion piece. Junk Mail. If you don’t know who to send your promotion piece to, you have not done your research. Know where your work is best suited and to whom your mailing is best targeted. Promotion Ideas to Avoid. Don’t get too cute or tricky. Don’t scent your paper. Don’t send a package that is more interesting than your work. Don’t include your resume. Don’t include work that you don’t want to do. Form Follows Function. You are trying to present your work as professionally as possible. For some illustrators a single card might do it. For others, a series of images is more appropriate. Self-editing is crucial.

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Sidebar

Representing Yourself or Being Represented Promotion is often tied up with representation. How your work will be seen by art directors can be accomplished in many ways, not the least of which is through the good offices of an illustration agent. Deciding whether you need or want an agent must be weighed carefully. Remember agents are not free. They can take between 20 and 30 percent commission. But in return they handle many of the business chores that you, the illustrator, would prefer not to do. The following are reasons to represent yourself: 1.

You cannot find an agent you like

2.

You cannot find an agent who will handle your kind of work

3.

You cannot come to acceptable terms with an agent (i.e., sometimes an agent will want you to do jobs that you don’t want to do, other times an agent is not equipped to get the jobs you want to do)

4.

You do not want to be part of a large stable of artists

5.

You prefer direct contact with the art director or art buyer

6.

You don’t do enough high-paying work to share a sizeable percentage of income with an agent

7.

You simply want to try the business on your own, for the time being

8.

You have created a Web site that will potentially attract the clients you need The following are reasons to be represented by an artist agent:

1.

You are just starting out and do not have any contacts in the field

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You may live away from the primary illustration markets and cannot afford to visit potential clients

3.

You do not feel comfortable selling yourself to others

4.

You want to get your foot in the door in the most efficient manner

5.

You are established and need a representative to run interference

6.

You have been doing the small jobs for too long and want larger clients and greater exposure

7.

You want a partner who will take care of the business that you don’t have the patience to do yourself

8.

You feel comfortable with the relationship between you and the agent The more-established representatives oversee your

promotion, either through advertisements placed in the illustrators showcase books or self-contained portfolio books mailed to potential clients. Keep in mind that these will cost money to produce, so make sure that your prospective agent keeps you apprised of the “hidden” costs. Some agents factor promotion into their commission, others do not. Generally, representation is beneficial to the illustrator, but understand the details before entering into this relationship.

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C H A P TE R S IX

Ethics What is a proper ethical foundation for illustrators? Is it a collection of laws etched in stone or decrees proclaimed by venerated members of the profession? There is no Hippocratic oath that illustrators must swear to. There are no codes of right and wrong as dictated to other professions. When it comes to ethical behavior, illustrators (like most other citizens) are basically left to create an honor system on their own. As recipients of shared wisdom, illustrators are expected to act honorably toward clients, peers, and whoever else crosses their paths. This presumes considerable leeway in the exercise of professional ethics, but actually, the opposite is true. Because ethics are not codified in any overarching system, the burden of maintaining an ethical profession falls squarely on each illustrator’s conscience. With any luck, every illustrator intuitively understands what is expected of him or her because ethical behavior does not spring untried or untested from the miasma. Everyone is imbued with certain standards based on common sense. Having lived from childhood in an ethical world is guideline enough for how one must act. This chapter is, therefore, not a laundry list of proscriptions but rather an examination of ethical questions. Frankly, business ethics are fairly straightforward, rooted entirely on fairness, honor, and responsibility. The ethics practiced in everyday life are no different than those in the professional realm and the following key points will go a long way toward raising the ethical bar. So at the risk of finger wagging, here are three simple, general don’ts to ponder: • Don’t pass off another’s work as your own (i.e., don’t steal) • Don’t use a style or idea that was conceived by someone else (i.e., don’t cheat) • Don’t knowingly undercut a fellow illustrator to take away a job (i.e., don’t be devious)

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Stated in a less preachy manner, the illustrator and animator Richard McGuire offers his translation of these rules of thumb: • Keep true to your own style; influences are OK but digest them fully first • Keep true to your own ideas And he further adds to the above list: • Keep to the schedule and deliver on time. These few simple ethical points are about all one needs to function in a professional way because there are not a lot of ethical quandaries that illustrators must face. Unlike accountants, illustrators don’t worry about embezzlement; unlike doctors, illustrators don’t worry about malpractice; unlike lawyers, illustrators don’t worry about conflicts of interest; and unlike politicians, illustrators don’t have to repeatedly bathe in the waters of absolution to wash away perpetual sin. Being an ethical illustrator does not take a whole lot of effort, but this does not give illustrators a free pass, either. Ethics demands vigilance because sometimes it’s the little things that sneak through the filters. The pressure on neophyte illustrators, for instance, to get those initial jobs can sometimes have ethical ramifications. Selling oneself cheap just to have a printed piece in a portfolio can be the making of an ethical quandary. When a job comes along for little or no recompense it is important to understand that by accepting such work, a precedent is established that may adversely affect other illustrators. The assignment may provide visibility but as a rule no one should work for free (or, for that matter, on spec) because it devalues all work. A plumber would be crazy to provide free services, so why should an illustrator? Of course, context is important—an unpaid commission for a nonprofit organization is more justified than for a profit-making business—but if the sole motivation for accepting an unpaid assignment is to get something in print, then the decision must be scrutinized. Sometimes pro bono work is acceptable if the result is a contribution to a worthy cause, but even here common sense should always prevail. Nonetheless, doing pro bono work or not is a personal decision and cannot be legislated. But a larger business problem facing illustration today is 114

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its steady devaluation because of the increased use of photography, Photoshop manipulations, and stock. Analyzed in order: Photography has for a long time been taking a significant portion of editorial and advertising budgets. The popularity of illustration comes and goes; however, for more than three decades, photography has been the medium of choice for most art directors. When budgets do not allow for original photography, Photoshopderived collages and montages, which if done by the art director or designer cost little or nothing to produce, have also usurped original illustration. And finally, the increased number of illustration stock houses is a result of a tightening budget belt insofar as stock is considerably less expensive than original commissions. The fewer original commissions, the less illustration will grow in value. Many veteran illustrators have been forced by these circumstances to sell their own (usually already published) work as stock, but even more injurious to the field are stock houses that buy for pittance generic illustrations from untried neophytes. The appeal for the young illustrator is getting work bought and potentially published, which is better than languishing unseen in a portfolio. But the result is a spike in generic (and at times simplistic) illustration flooding the market at cut-rate prices. Moreover, even a well-crafted, generic drawing or painting, and much of it is nicely rendered, lowers the intellectual bar on all illustration—it becomes a spacefiller rather than a problem-solver. It is therefore incumbent on illustrators to consider the ethics of feeding the stock machine. Although in the current tight market it may be an expedient way for a young illustrator to get something into print (if only in the stock house catalog), in the long-run the entire process will have deleterious effects on the business. But the answer should not be to end stock entirely. After all, photographers have a viable and healthy stock industry that appears to provide welcome income and reasonable publishing venues, which is certainly doable for illustrators (and certain stock organizations are trying to raise the level or quality). Yet illustrators should nonetheless be careful with which stock houses they are aligned. Some are more exploitative than others, and ultimately the effects of exploitation can be more adverse over time. In fact, there are stock houses that will only purchase work if it replicates the style of popular illustrators. Even if style sampling is sanctioned in this dubious manner, it is still stealing, which is ethically wrong. While ethics and conscience go hand in hand, it is not the purpose 115

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of this book to address overly spiritual or deeply psychological rationales for how illustrators should feel. However, illustrators must not ignore their consciences, either. Pro bono work must be handled in a judicious way, yet if the conscience demands doing it, then by all means do it. But an even more pressing issue is what NOT to do. Sometimes an illustrator is called upon to illustrate texts or messages that run counter to a system of beliefs. It’s quite common in editorial work and demands a certain amount of attention. There is no rule, except to ask how far an illustrator is willing to support and potentially encourage others to support a particular point of view. If an illustrator accepts the role of service-provider (i.e., images for hire) then the subject matter is not always important—it’s just a job. Conversely, if an illustrator is an artist as well as translator of words into pictures, then meaning is key to the entire enterprise—it’s a job with ramifications. Everyone is entitled to personal beliefs but it is useful to draw lines of demarcation. At some point during a career personal beliefs will be advertently or inadvertently tested. When and how to say no to a job that goes against the conscience is something worth tucking away in the back of the mind. There are no absolutes, but there are parameters within which an informed illustrator can make important decisions. Accepting parameters is an illustrator’s ethical foundation. Since there are no ironclad oaths, codes, or decrees (other than the Graphic Artists Guild or American Institute of Graphic Arts practice guidelines), it is incumbent on the individual to follow (or at least be cognizant of) general ethical boundaries. To be an ethical illustrator means accepting that the profession is ethical and that one’s personal ethics will stay that way.

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Talking about Ethics HELLER: I am often asked to what extent an illustrator must question his or her values when accepting an assignment. And I usually respond that if faced with the question of illustrating an idea or message that goes counter to one’s beliefs then the answer is clear: Don’t do it. But I realize that is an easy answer, and certainly it is easier for someone with a backlog of work to make this choice than someone who is new to the field and looking for the first break. I know that you have drawn lines in the sand, so what do you counsel students and young professionals to do when faced with this kind of dilemma? ARISMAN: Being somewhat confused myself as to why I don’t take certain assignments, my counsel to others is unfortunately not very clear. For example, I work for Playboy and Penthouse but have refused work from Hustler. Hard to make a rational argument here except that my “instinct,” intuition, or whatever voice is in my brain was uncomfortable. When I get that message, I don’t take the job. After 9/11, I was asked to do a portrait of Osama Bin Laden. I have done Hitler, McVeigh, and a host of other terrorists but felt uncomfortable doing Bin Laden. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready to attack him visually. A year later, I would do it. I smoke but wouldn’t do an assignment that promoted smoking (no one has asked). I wouldn’t accept an assignment that was anti-abortion (no one has asked) or promoted racism or sexism (no one has asked). The rejection of any assignment for ethical reasons is very personal. While some things are just out of the question, others are more subtle, requiring thought only when the offer is presented. If you believe, as I do, that images (including your own) have power, then take a moment to reflect when the intuitive or inner voice sends up a signal. Pay attention to it. It is much more difficult to defend something that you don’t believe in after you’ve done it. As a freelance illustrator, my decisions are easier than yours. It is clear that I can say no or yes on an issue-by-issue basis. How do you, as an art director, respond when something goes into your publication that you are 117

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vehemently opposed to personally? Do you voice your opinion to the editor? Do you write a memo or send an e-mail expressing your opinion or is this phenomenon expected as part of your job? HELLER: That’s a thorny issue. When given the choice of having something illustrated that I don’t believe in, I ignore it if I can. Which means I don’t get that particular manuscript illustrated. This is not always possible. But my moral convictions have rarely been tested in this way. The work that I do does not lend itself to such quandaries. However, I have assigned manuscripts that for me seemed innocuous but in a few cases the illustrator felt it compromised his or her beliefs. To be specific, these were religious beliefs, and religion can spark considerable anxiety. The illustrator told me that in her religion a certain subject was taboo and I was flabbergasted to hear this. I had no idea that the particular theme would prompt such feelings—it had never happened before even with this artist who had worked with me for a while. I did not, however, want to cause ill will so I accepted the fact that she declined the job. This happened a few more times and I found that I was pre-censoring the jobs I was assigning. Frankly, I ultimately decided this was more trouble than it was worth and temporarily refrained from giving this person work. Now, what would happen if the shoe were on the other foot? Would I feel justified in declining a job if it went counter to my beliefs? You bet I would. And if I was refused work because of it, I’d be angry. But the bottom line is that we must be accountable for our actions. If an artist puts too many stipulations on doing work, that behavior may make it difficult to get certain jobs. So, Marshall, how do you guide your students? Should they never compromise? Or should they wait until they are professionally strong enough to exercise control? Or is bending one’s beliefs simply part of this professional grind? ARISMAN: Bending one’s own beliefs because of subject matter is one thing, bending one’s beliefs because of money is more revealing. Few illustrators, in reality, are confronted with “I believe” or “don’t believe” assignments. The exception is politics. Political illustrators take a pro or con view as part of what they do. For most illustrators the “moment of truth” usually comes when offered a pro bono or low-paying job. Many of these are cause-based

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although not all (free the prisoners, animals cruelty, etc.). The job demands a personal response based on individual beliefs. “Do I believe this enough to do it for no money?” Aha! Finally some clarity. There is no guide. It is every man, every woman, for themselves. The question of conscience/ethics is even more interesting; you are offered a low-paying job for no reason except the client is pleading poverty. Many illustrators face this when they are starting out. A classic example would be a new music group—your friend knows the drummer—that is doing a first CD for a fledgling company. They need a cover, plus an inside booklet. Nice job, eight illustrations in all, full color. Upside: your work would get some exposure and the creative door is wide open. The art director loves your work. “You are the man” or “You go girl!” Downside (and I think this is an ethical question): by taking this job (for $200, let’s say) you are effectively selling your future as an illustrator. This is a major issue of concern for all illustrators today. Let’s keep following the example we started. You take the job but you lie about what you were paid—or you turn down the job. Your illustrator friends tell you that you are an idiot; it would have been great exposure. You wonder, you worry, you regret—you finally call the art director. Too late, the art director has just bought all illustrations for $240 from a stock illustration house. The art director, having discovered that there are thousands of illustrations available for as low as $30 a piece (some of course are higher) will only commission when he or she is desperate. This is not the only reason (stock illustration houses) why illustration is in crisis, but is a major part of it. If Illustrators don’t see these as ethical questions in relation to themselves and fellow illustrators, then illustration as we know it will eventually vanish. Like all political movements, it has to start at the grassroots. This can’t be fixed at the top; it has to be accomplished on a job-to-job basis by all of us. Each illustrator must take the responsibility of understanding that he is part of a larger group. Aside from undermining the commissioned job, the heart and soul of the illustration business, stock illustration has turned many illustrators into thinking like marketing people instead of artists. Illustrators are creating images that will reach and be applicable to a variety of situations in hopes of selling more. These images are tired and cliché-ridden. For example: A man in a suit, carrying a briefcase, on a tightrope. A man, in a suit, carrying a

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briefcase, climbing a ladder that goes into the clouds. A man in a suit, carrying a briefcase, walking upstairs that lead to nowhere. And so on it goes. Everyone understands the importance of paying the rent, but at what price to themselves as artists and to the illustration business as a whole? HELLER: Aside from stock illustration, what other factors, in your opinion, are responsible for the illustrator getting less work? ARISMAN: Until ten years ago, most graphic designers (art directors) had the same educational foundation as illustrators. When the computer changed the business of graphic design, the schools shifted their required classes away from drawing and painting. With all the computer requirements there simply wasn’t enough room or time for a broad-based curriculum. Design majors, having Photoshop, etc., at their disposal began creating more images on their own. The role of the art director in the past was to locate, identify, and assign freelance illustrators and photographers to work on specific assignments. The art director/graphic designer of today has many more options. The Internet has made a huge pool of images available at the touch of a finger. Not only reference files of stock illustration and photography but Web sites that feature hundreds of portfolios. The chances of finding an existing image that fits the assignment are greater than ever before. Prices for reproducing an existing image are far less than commissioned work. Editors can have a selection of images, chosen by the art director, to view in the finished form. Time is saved by not having to go through the stages of rough to finish. With magazine budgets cut, not going to the commissioned assignment unless you have no other choices makes business sense. For the freelance illustrator it is creative nonsense, illuminating the reason most illustrators go into the field in the first place. HELLER: We’ve discussed various kinds of ethical responses. But what is the bottom line in terms of one’s conscience? What would you say are the illustrator’s most important five commandments? ARISMAN: If we are going to get biblical here we should acknowledge the first words of western culture concerning man-made images: Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth: thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them. 120

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This is a warning against trying to duplicate God. A warning against self-indulgence, creating idols—particularly yourself. Like all pronouncements, there is an underlying message. God lies behind light; he is not visible. I can only give my own five commandments as they relate to myself in terms of conscience. I would hope that each illustrator would do the same. I would doubt that we would all agree. • Thou shalt not intentionally steal the style of another • Thou shalt not envy the success of a fellow artist • Thou shalt not apply thy talents to a cause that sickens thee • Thou shalt not continuously reevaluate thy own artistic merit • Thou shalt not use money as the yardstick for success or failure

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Sidebar

Some Ethical Pitfalls and Pratfalls Photo Reference. Tracing photographic reference is common practice in the field of illustration. This is usually accomplished by projections, tracing machines, or light boxes. The law regarding this practice is vague. At least 30 percent of such photo reference must be altered. So the best way to avoid this issue is to take your own photo reference when possible. And never ever trace a famous photograph. Style Influences. Being influenced by other artists’ work is understandable and part of the learning process. The line between influence and plagiarism is, nonetheless, very thin. If your illustrations directly mimic (color, stylization, composition) another artist, you are probably stealing. Watch for this danger sign: Repeated comments from art directors and others that your work looks just like a famous artist’s. Group Ethics. Although the field is changing, illustrators tend to see themselves as loners and not part of a larger cohesive group. Stock illustration, working for hire, stealing styles, and undercutting another illustrator’s bid for a job affects the entire field of illustration. So don’t participate in practices that will eventually undermine it. Individual Choice. We know what is right and wrong when it comes to making individual decisions about the illustration business. If it feels wrong, don’t do it—no matter how much rationale you muster.

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Part

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Three

Talking with Illustrators and Art Directors

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C H A P TE R S E V E N

Interviews with Illustrators

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STE V E N B R O D N E R

Why did you become an illustrator? It’s something that chose me. My ambition was to draw political cartoons for a newspaper. After a brief flirtation with that I realized my best shot at doing the kind of work that would please me aesthetically and politically would be to do illustrations for magazines, but in my way. I’m now in my twenty-sixth year of trying to get this right. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? My style is hard to describe. I’d rather not weigh it down with a label because I feel it is still plastic and retains the license to change and grow. Besides that’s for other people to deal with—I just draw. I guess my (possibly delusional) point of view is that people would make the world better if only they could more clearly see how they’re screwing it all up. If I’m wrong I have a lot of distinguished company, so we’ll be fine together. I think that your own point of view must be the very first thing you come to grips with. It’s through that filter that you can then process everything else. Your work is then personal, regardless of the subject matter. But, of course, you must be careful not to say yes to jobs that violate your own personal code, i.e., pro-gun ads, Joe Camel, etc. As the content of what you do makes it illustration, as opposed to any other kind of visual art, I feel that there’s nothing more important than point of view. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? The loneliness is most difficult. You must, even in a room full of people, be completely isolated in what you do. This work is about a constant internal conversation you have all day, sizing up what you’re making against the original vision, against the text, against what your work has been about, where it’s going. Who else could be in that discussion, or would want to?

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What is the best thing about being an illustrator? The best thing, by far, is the chance to be involved in the ongoing debate of our times—getting your ideas out. Even if they make no impact, people are seeing your ideas on paper and there’s always a chance something will come of it, even if you never know about it. In any case, I feel I’m getting right with myself. How do you keep fresh? Never take the first solution. Keep probing in sketches and ideas until you’ve gone too far and you know it. Then come back with greater knowledge about where you really stand on this project, whatever it is. Always play with new media. Hungrily seek inspiration from other art, music, books; enjoy the fire that comes off some. See how you can use that. Scheme every day.

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ANN FIELD

Why did you become an illustrator? I love to draw—always have. I looked at Antonio Lopez [a fashion illustrator who died in the seventies], his work, his glamorous life in New York City, and wanted the same thing for myself. How do you get work? In the beginning, I thought about whom I wanted to work for, and pursued that. Now, I send out only the very best work I have done, or am doing, and let it be, because I am confident about it. Something will come back to me. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? Beauty, always. Capturing the essence of a moment (like photography), recording a moment of experience with the subject/object that is mine, and hopefully, unique. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? Getting the kind of work I am capable of doing. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? the applause. The lack of limitations. Being able to draw every day. How do you keep fresh? My love of fine art, fashion, music, and photography.

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V I KTO R KO E N

Why did you become an illustrator? I always liked to draw, so I thought there is nothing better than someone asking you to draw something. Of course, I didn’t know it’s called illustration, so fine arts or even architecture came to mind. Even though I graduated from a design department (the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design in Jerusalem did not have an illustration department at the time), I took all the illustration electives possible, in order to have a balanced curriculum. My school was very traditional and put heavy emphasis in drawing and painting. It was also very concept oriented and I found that developing ideas was easier when you knew how to draw. Plus, I discovered very early that I enjoyed resolving illustration assignments more than design projects. How do you get work? For three years after graduating, I dropped my portfolio anywhere I could think of and I visited anyone who would give me the time of the day. In parallel I developed a new thematic series every year so I always had something new to show. One day Rico Lins suggested that my little crude Photoshop spot-illustration experiments could be helpful to art directors who were looking for something visual to plug page holes with, and made me promise that I would make a promo card with a few of them and send it out. I got my first assignment about a week after the cards went out. These days I advertise in the Alternative Pick directory that concentrates on the industries I am interested in as my mass promotion method, and I make very limited targeted mailings of new work about once a year. I am also listed in industry Web sites and I have a Web site for my commercial and noncommercial work that functions as my portfolio and a destination to inquiries about my work. Word of mouth has proved to be a great source for new business, and even though it sounds like an uncontrollable factor in a business plan, one can certainly drastically influence what an existing client tells to a prospect by maintaining a great relation and service record. 135

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Last but not least is the interest that a published illustration generates and makes people look up my name on the Internet or in the phone book. I always ask people were they found me and most of them have visited my site before calling me, so even though their responses vary as far as their introduction to my work, their wish to view a large sample of my images is a standard and the Web site fulfils it. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? My work became dark and conceptual during my undergraduate thesis project. This is when I began to use photographic elements that gave a surreal quality to my images. The change in subject matter was completed in New York where I became fascinated with gas masks that brought a more ecological/fiction/science look to my images. Actually it was an illustration assignment that I resolved by depicting a gas mask that started my fascination with them and the rest is history. I found the dark aspect of image making stronger and far more moving than anything else. The interaction with the viewer became important to me and this could be accomplished with subjects that work on the brain and the stomach at the same time. Also my sense of humor may be better expressed or feels more at home in dark images. I prefer “funny, peculiar” or twisted solutions or approaches for illustration and fine art commissions. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? If I had to look good and deep for a hardship, it would be the occasional inability of the client to take conceptual chances. Due to the fear of the readers misunderstanding or missing the point of an illustration (I have to stress that I mostly create specific idea-based imagery), the powers that be shy away from approving images with a more complicated or unorthodox thought process behind them. My only commercial problem is that no matter how busy I am, I don’t feel that I have enough assignments. I know this phenomenon has nothing to do with finances but with my picture-making addiction, “workaholism,” and appetite for visual riddles that need answers.

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What is the best thing about being an illustrator? The call for the assignment, the text, the hint, the “we know you hate that, but here is our idea,” the research, the photography, the sketches, the price negotiation dance, the messenger with the manuscript, the small talk, the big talk, the versions, the evolution of the image, the coloring, the shadowing, the cropping, the details, the general look, the hidden message, the rejection, the momentary hate, the back to the drawing board, the new versions, the approval, the momentary love, the thank-you-it-looks-great e-mail, the tear sheets, the newsstand, the “hey I saw your picture” from a lost cousin, the book store, the credit line, the check, the assignment phone call. How do you keep fresh? By constantly working on a nonassignment-related series. It gives me a framework where I am the only one to blame for lack of interesting results. I like to use different formats and printing techniques, collaborate with different people, read different books, and do research in different directions. I know my brain has a very consistent way of processing information but my aesthetic orientations and interests regarding subject matter evolve so they provide my brain with new ingredients. Also, my illustration clients come from a wide spectrum of industries. I use elements, parts or ideas, from my noncommercial work in illustration assignments and the other way around. I also take seriously anything that I am visually attracted to as the beginning of an image or a full series. In the last couple of years I have taken a lot of photographs and digital photography has proven to be an invaluable asset to the way I work, providing me with an abundance of raw materials for my compositions and characters. I “collect” objects, textures, situations, symbols and shapes, light and darkness in orchestrated or accidental configurations with visual chemistry, most times without knowing what for at the time. I like the ability to carve a piece of reality, take it home, and create a piece of fiction by manipulating it. Technology has been not only a new tool and dimension but also a new visual playground.

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ROSS MACDONALD

Why did you become an illustrator? It was something I always wanted to do. As a kid I liked drawing and reading and I was always absorbing visual input. At one of my first jobs (printing at Coach House Press in Toronto) I was around a lot of visual artists and maybe drew some inspiration from that, more from their approach to life than from their style. In my late teens I was befriended by a couple of magazine illustrators who encouraged me to pursue it. How do you get work? Mostly word of mouth. When I was starting out I did a lot of cold calls and dragged my portfolio around. I was very tenacious and I think people gave me work just to make me stop bothering them. Once your work starts appearing in magazines there is a certain snowball effect—art directors see it and call you, you get more magazine work, and so on. Having your work appear in magazines is like free advertising—at least to other magazine art directors. Other than that I do very little else to get work. I have only advertised in the big annuals a couple of times in the last fifteen years (mostly due to sheer laziness). I do try to enter American Illustration and PRINT’s Regional Design Annual every year. I don’t get a ton of work from that, but what work I do get is usually really good—it seems like good people notice you when you are in those. I also print up several promo pieces a year and mail them out. I have my own letterpress shop, so often the pieces I print are mostly about the type, with little or no illustration on them, but I try to keep them funny and/or interesting so a few might get tacked up on the wall. It just keeps your name in front of people. I usually don’t send those pieces out to people I don’t know; they are more of a thank you to those I already work with. I think that showing people who have gone out of their way to give you work that you appreciate them is more important than mailing out thousands of postcards to people who don’t know you. 139

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Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? I call my style “Wisenheimer.” I always say that if I can draw a guy in a suit getting kicked in the ass, then I’ve done my job. That or some subtle or notso-subtle twist—the adorable little kid eating a lollypop while holding an enormous handgun. I suppose you could call my stuff “retro,” though I hate that word because it seems to be about nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. I tend to think that the period feel of some of my stuff is part of the statement—you show a little Dick-and-Jane kid in a situation that is the polar opposite of the original books and you end up producing a complex reaction in the viewer. Our memory banks are all filled with these visual icons, and my illustrations are almost like text written with hieroglyphs. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? Contracts. I have to spend so much time reading, amending, negotiating. Years ago it was understood that you were granting first periodical publication rights. Most magazines didn’t have a contract, a few had a really minimal contract, and the occasional third-string publication would present you with a work-for-hire contract. I soon learned that any magazine that had a work-for-hire contract was not worth negotiating with. The contract was emblematic of a whole mindset that you were better off avoiding altogether. I’d turn the job down if presented with a bad contract. Now everybody has them and I spend more time wearing my lawyer’s hat than my illustrator’s beanie. It’s boring and aggravating and makes it harder to do good work, but it’s better than just giving in and signing terrible contracts and getting the shaft, just to make a quick buck. Magazines live or die by their contributors—magazines full of good work by good people get readers and attract advertisers, and yet not since the days of child labor and press gangs have publishers treated their contributors so shabbily. And they wonder why readers are defecting. It’s enough to make me reconsider that career in small motor repair I’ve been contemplating. I’ve got the matchbook all filled out and ready to go. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? Working in the nude. But seriously . . . I always wear a full-length ball gown. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you can’t beat the freedom. Though a 140

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lot of people see what I do and tell me how lucky I am, how great it must be to “work for yourself,” and all that crap. Obviously they’ve never had to turn around a magazine cover in a day, and do it day after day. I work harder and for more hours than any nine-to-fiver I know, with way more pressure and with no benefits, but if I don’t like something about an assignment I can bail. If it’s a snow day my kids can hang out with me. If I’ve been working too hard I can slack off for a week or two. If I get sick of magazine deadlines I can work on a book. And although sometimes it seems like I’ve illustrated the same magazine article over and over for years, most of the time every phone call brings something new and interesting. And I really like the challenge of coming up with visual solutions. that is really the best thing about this gig. Every once in awhile you do something right and come up with a great solution, or some new twist or new way of approaching a subject, and through some freak oversight, it doesn’t fall victim to editorial scrutiny. Those are the days that make you feel like you have the best job in the world. How do you keep fresh? I spend a lot of time just looking at stuff. Old engravings, bad TV, nineteenthcentury political cartoons, old children’s books, art books, folk art, type books, old almanacs, trade cards, piles of moldering paper at flea markets, my old rejected sketches, Tex Avery cartoons, whatever. I don’t know how fresh any of that is keeping me, but I like to think it is refilling my banks of stored mental imagery. Seeing good work by other practicing illustrators tends to be good, too—it makes me remember to try harder, which is probably a good thing. I get way more inspiration from my kids, corny as that sounds, than I ever would have imagined. I also like switching around the types of work I do. I work in different styles or media, and I also do lots of things besides illustration— writing kids books, some design work, letterpress stuff and printing, fixing old presses and tracking down vintage printing equipment, making movie props, etc. Any one of those things would get boring if you did it all the time, but jumping from one to the other keeps them all interesting and exciting.

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BRAD HOLLAND

Why did you become an illustrator? I wanted to be an artist and I had to make a living. If there was a shorter distance between two points, I couldn’t think of it at seventeen. Who were your role models? My real models weren’t illustrators, but songwriters like Duke Ellington and Richard Rogers. I saw illustration as a form of popular art and I was never impressed by the pretentiousness of fine art. Who wants to be part of a business where they call drawings “works on paper”? How do you get work? The first year, I dropped off my portfolio. After that, work found me. I’ve never been good at self-promotion. I always thought the best way to promote yourself was to do the best job you could every day. But that’s not a strategy. It’s just my nature. Do you have a style in your work? When I started, everybody said I didn’t. But that’s because they were used to seeing slick illustrations and my pictures were very direct. It took most art directors about ten years to realize that directness is a style. How would you describe style? Style is what comes naturally when you’re trying to do something else, like draw a nose or paint a hand. Everything else isn’t style. It’s mannerism, fashion, tricks of the trade. Do you have a point of view in your work? I have a point of view in life. Work is a by-product.

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How would you describe your point of view? I’ve been doing what I do since I was in kindergarten. Since I found myself when I was pretty young, I haven’t had to change my point of view very much. I’m basically a mature five-year-old. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art—about being an illustrator? Trying to do good work under bad conditions. What is the hardest thing—in terms of commerce—about being an illustrator? Sometimes you have to work with people who don’t respect themselves. People who don’t respect themselves don’t respect anyone else. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? Independence. How do you keep fresh? I don’t try. I stay engaged. Engagement keeps everything fresh.

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LEO AND DIANE DILLON

Why did you become illustrators? We knew we would be in the world of art in some way. Illustration seemed challenging, exciting, and glamorous. The American Can Company ads, movie posters, and magazine illustrators like Coby Whitmore, Al Park, and David Stone Martin, among others, were our inspiration. Since there are two of you, how does your collaboration work? Each assignment, which is usually a book, is a division of labor. We have no set rule. Sometimes one of us will do the finished pencil sketches and the other the finished art and vice versa. When we start a book project, we both read the manuscript and then discuss it. We both do thumbnail sketches and exchange them with each other. More discussion. We then decide who will do the finished pencils and who will do the finished art. Because it is important for any book to have one consistent style throughout, we do not do finished art together. How do you get work? We researched clients by going to the library, getting lists of art directors of advertising agencies from The Redbook, a sourcebook for advertising. We went to newsstands and bookstores looking through books and magazines that had great art and collected publishers names. We made appointments to show our portfolio. In those days the art directors saw us personally. We took everything that was offered us in the beginning, including book jacket design and type specing, which has disappeared along with linotype. Today, we are well known enough to have work come to us. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? A look comes through because people recognize our work but we use a variety of styles and techniques rather than specializing in one. For us, style and technique are vehicles to express thoughts and reflect the subject. Our 147

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point of view is to combine flat graphics with enough rendering to achieve realism. Some people have called it magic realism. In a way, that could apply to most illustration. We don’t concern ourselves with labels. Our greatest concern is how we can express this in a unique way. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? One of the hardest things is facing that blank piece of paper wondering if we can do it this time . . . can we do better than the last thing we did? There is also a period during the process where things have not “come together” yet; there is still a great unknown. That is a very anxious time. Then there are our two tormentors, Cash flow and Time, always lurking in the shadows. Over the years we have learned to live with them. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? It is always new. Every job has its own challenge. We love working at home. No rush hours on the subway, no one looking over our shoulders, no punching time cards. We have freedom to express ourselves graphically to make a statement and hopefully, we enrich other people’s lives. How do you stay fresh? We ask how we can do each new piece and not repeat ourselves. We must constantly reinvent because we use a variety of papers and mediums. It can be many months or even years before we repeat a technique so we’re relearning all the time.

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C H R I S PAYN E

Why did you become an illustrator? There were two things I loved to do, one was play baseball, and the other, draw. Considering the fact that I got one hit on a curve ball in my baseball life, I think it is safe to say focusing my energies on art was the wiser choice. The fact was, drawing was my motive in art. I still love the drawing more than any part of the process. Before college I never made any distinctions between types of art other than good, bad, or indifferent. It wasn’t until college that I ran into the great debate of illustration or fine art. When that came to a head I found I had more in common with the illustrators than the fine artists. Trying to defend Rockwell as a great painter became too exhausting and shaving my beard, as an artist statement, wasn’t my game. So, it became clear to me that illustration was my direction, my way of doing art. How do you get work? Early in my career, I made a decision. There are two lines with illustrators looking for work. There are long lines and there are short lines. The long lines are looking for the annual report covers, the Time covers, and all the similar, high-profile work. The short lines have lousy deadlines, lower paydays, but if you pick them wisely, these jobs have creative freedom. I did some research and found that Dallas was a vibrant city that supported its illustrators well. The people in Texas are good, hard-working people. There is an entrepreneurial spirit in Texas that I found so inviting. The other artists in the area were very supportive and incredibly creative. So, while in Texas, I began working with the local newspapers and regional magazines, as well as any other jobs that would come my way. But, in those newspaper and magazine jobs I was able to develop my own voice in illustration. If what I was doing was of merit, I was supported by getting more calls for more work. I am a firm believer that good work begets more work. In time, my work was getting accepted in the illustration competition, more folks found out about my work and after seven years of hard work, I started getting the calls from the clients with long lines. Today, I have a rep, Richard 151

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Solomon, and we work with the rest of the group advertising in a couple of source books and mailing to who we believe are the right target audiences for my work. Do you have a style or point of view? How would you describe it? I guess I have one, but I can’t say it is necessarily intentional. I mean, all I try to do is good work, the kind of work I like. I understand my role as an illustrator, and I try very hard to make sure I do the best work I can for my client. I certainly don’t take every job that comes around. When I do, I try very hard to have my work do its job and do it very well. If my picture just looks good, but doesn’t solve the client’s needs, I have failed. Yes, I have to like the work; I have to respond to it; that’s the edge I walk. So, it is the illustration, the work, and the art that drive me. If somebody wants to call it a style, that’s fine. Now, I do think I have a voice that comes through in my work. That voice is in my ideas and the way I try to express them. I guess to describe that, I try to see things as they are, but with a bit of a twist. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? In my view, the hardest thing is in how we compete as illustrators. I mean, there is a matter of competition in illustration. That isn’t deniable. If I want somebody to hire me for a picture it means someone else isn’t going get hired, right? Ten, fifteen years ago, when I competed with illustrators, it was my portfolio against their portfolios. Today, I have to compete with every picture on the Internet and every stock house flooding the market with $50 pictures. It’s like one huge frinkin’ garage sale. It is so easy to get imagery and it is so, so cheap. The hardest thing I see that illustrators have to do is prove to their clients that in illustration you can create your own individual look, make your own individual statement, communicate so directly to your audience and it is you that participates in the creative process. Nobody knows the requirements and demands of the client better than the client. Working with the right illustrator, having high standards and expectations, can produce superlative results. Good illustrators can do that. Great illustrators can do more.

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What is the best thing about being an illustrator? I don’t know how to answer that one. This is what I wanted to do. I didn’t become an illustrator because my uncle’s business failed, or I couldn’t cut it as a fine artist. I wanted to be an illustrator. It sure isn’t the girls or the money. I have always said I like driving, so I guess I could drive a truck, but that’s not what I wanted. I have worked so hard for this, I can’t imagine not being able to sit in front of my board and drawing pictures I like. I guess that’s what I like best about being an illustrator, making pictures. How do you stay fresh? Am I fresh? Do I get to determine that? I think the one constant thing I have noticed in most successful illustrators is their natural curiosity. They always are trying a way to be better. I know when I see my pictures, all I see are the warts. And, it is even worse when they hang at the Society of Illustrators, because now they have to hang next to Brad Holland, Gary Kelley, Jack Unruh, Anita Kunz—do I have to go on? When I was young, I wasn’t a very good student. All I was hearing was, “You have to study this,” or “You have to read that.” It seemed so overwhelming and yet all I wanted was to have some fun, draw my pictures, play some ball, and goof around with my buddies. As I have gotten older, now all I want to do is learn something new, be better than I was yesterday. I suppose they call that maturity. All I know is I want to get better to be the best I can be. That’s all.

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R O B E RTO PA R A D A

Why did you become an illustrator? I became an illustrator because I felt it was a conceivable idea for me, as opposed to becoming a fine artist at a young age. My ability to draw and paint somewhat were the only real skills I possessed, and I realized that I was prone to create ideas and images that felt more like the illustrations I would see at the Society of Illustrators annual exhibit. I also think that meeting a number of illustrators and hearing their stories, while in college, inspired me a great deal to focus intensely on becoming one. The idea of getting published in major magazines and getting paid for it was the kind of turn on that makes my world spin. How do you get work? I have to say that I never really tried all that much to find work because I spent many of the early years out of college working on a never-ending portfolio and felt it wasn’t ready for review. My first real attempt to get work came by way of a promotional page in R.S.V.P., which my brother lent me the money to buy. I made sure the image was the best one in my portfolio and when it came out in 1993 the phone started to ring. However, these were not the clients I desired, so I put some money aside to buy a page in American Showcase and targeted that audience to see where it would go. Well, when it came out in 1996, the first call I got was from an artist representative and that’s when I began to work regularly. The combination of my ambition and the rep’s ability to work at promoting the work to all the clients I desired worked almost immediately. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? At this time in my life I don’t really think about style as much as technique. It was on my mind when I was starting out because I wanted to resemble all my heroes but I learned the hard way that this is an unbearable burden to carry in an industry where you can be typecast as “second rate.” I decided to 155

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change my medium and not look anymore at illustration but really study artists like Degas and Vermeer to develop a technique that could constantly evolve and not be viewed so much as a style. Style now feels more limited than ever to me. It’s all about technique. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? I don’t feel very many hardships when it comes to art and commerce. I think when someone commissions me to make a piece they know what they are getting with me and I’ve been fortunate to never run into much disagreement with the finished product. I’ve always understood the relationship between art and commerce and never felt that it was capable of being modified. I think if I was doing strictly personal work my opinion would be the only thing that would matter, so I’m comfortable with both viewpoints. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? The best thing about being an illustrator is that I’m obsessed with making pictures and I’m provided with a good living from it—this coming from a person who never felt he would be so lucky in life. My life is good because of it. However, that doesn’t mean that it’s not taxing on me sometimes, because it is, and I crave more time for myself, which I can’t find more often than not. But overall, it’s great to be passionate about who you are and what you do in life. How do you keep fresh? I stay fresh by living in New York and going to the Met as often as possible as well as buying a lot of books on my favorite artists and then whatever follows, follows.

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MAIRA KALMAN

Why did you become an illustrator? Because I thought I was a lousy writer and I really wanted to tell my story anyway. How do you get work? In the beginning I sent my portfolio to everyone on earth. Little by little, I got work. Now I usually get a request for a piece. Once in a while, I am asked to send a portfolio. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? I have a narrative, personal, journalistic, humorous approach to the work. The illustrations are usually in some way a journal of my life and what I see as I wander around. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? The hardest thing is maintaining a fresh eye and point of view and not being too “illustratory.” Not being too literal and, conversely, too self-indulgent. It is always a fine line. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? You are paid for being an artist—with instant gratification and fast turnover—and get to address a vast array of subjects. Speaking of turnovers, I like apple. How do you keep fresh? I shower daily.

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W E S L EY B E D R O S I A N

Why did you become an illustrator? When I was hired out of college to work full time as an artist for American Greetings (AG) in Cleveland, Ohio, I was told by my teachers and fellow students that I had made it. Even though I was at a coveted position at AG, I wasn’t very happy there. I adopted many illustration styles that AG needed for their product line. I was the great imposter. All of my work was made to look like other people’s styles. I wasn’t allowed to put my signature on the art and AG even retained all of the rights to my work so none of it belonged to me. It wasn’t long before I felt disconnected from my art and saw myself as just a pair of hands. I had no individual style. My search for an individual style led me to read many of the illustration and design annuals including American Illustration, Society of Illustrators, Communication Arts, PRINT, and the Directory of Illustration, to name a few. The more I looked through those illustration annuals, the more I wished I could be a part of that world. Illustrators became like celebrities to me. Their art looked smarter, more personal, and better crafted than anything I saw around me at AG. How did you go about changing your situation? It seemed like everything I wanted to do was happening in New York City, so I was convinced that I had to leave Ohio, go to New York, and start making the kind of work I could call my own. But I didn’t know how to just up and move there and start a new career from scratch without knowing anybody or anything. Even worse, I didn’t know what my personal style was like or how to develop it. I had spent too many years as the great imposter. Fortunately, one of my very good friends, a fellow artist at AG, had recently left the company and was attending graduate school at Hunter College in Manhattan. He encouraged me to get into a graduate program in New York City; it would make the transition from Ohio a lot easier. Through those illustration annuals and design magazines, I was familiar with SVA’s graduate program with Marshall Arisman in New York City. I understood it 161

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to be one of the best programs for illustration in the country. As far as I was concerned, I had to get accepted to SVA or I’d never go to New York and discover what kind of illustrator I could be. What was the hardest thing you had to face about being an illustrator? I sent in my application and met with Marshall to speak with him about my intentions and ambitions in the program. I figured I had a pretty good chance to make it into the program because I had so much experience working four years as a professional illustrator at AG. But, a few weeks after meeting Marshall, I received a letter informing me that I was waitlisted. I might not make it into the program at all. I was disappointed but, at that time, I thought that’s how it went with graduate school. After all, they only took twenty students a year and it is one of the best illustration programs in the country, taught by celebrity faculty in the most amazing city in the world. I figured that a thousand students must be on the waitlist and I was probably number 999. My friend at Hunter advised me to write letters to Marshall. “Let him know you really want to be in the program,” he said. I wrote two letters and even called Marshall to ask him if I had a chance. After biting my nails for a month and a half, I got accepted. I could leave Ohio. Near the end of my first year at SVA, I asked my fellow classmates if they, too, got waitlisted. I expected many of them to say yes and tell of their nail biting. To my surprise, they all looked at me with curiosity and amazement. They had never heard of the waitlist. I didn’t know what to make of it, but later found out that all of my experience as a professional illustrator at AG was actually working against me. Later, Marshall told me that when professionals were accepted into the program, they typically didn’t take criticism and direction very well. That’s what they feared with me. All I know is it made me work a lot harder while in the program. Maybe everyone should be waitlisted. How did you find your personal voice in illustration? I could draw well at an early age. In elementary school I could draw stuff that was considered “cool” by my fellow classmates. In doing so, I believed that I gained acceptance with kids who otherwise may not have acknowledged me. Maybe I could even ward off bullies. I felt good about my art because it could impress others. In college, I would make art to satisfy my 162

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teachers and fulfill class requirements. When I worked at AG, I produced stuff that looked like greeting cards to please my bosses. All the while I never made any art for myself, or just for “art’s sake.” And after years of making art this way, I felt empty inside. I had no idea who I was as an artist. All that changed my first year at SVA in the MFA graduate program. If you’re going to paint like Norman Rockwell, there are rules you must follow. Your people must look a certain way, the colors must have a glow about them and you have to narrate a sentimental moment in Americana. Anything different from that is wrong. Whenever I made most of my art, it had to follow rules like that. I had to go through several stages of research and drawings to make my art look like it was part of someone else’s portfolio. It was very time-consuming and in the end the painting or drawing would always fall short of the goal. And even if I did make a perfect painting that looked like a Rockwell, it still wouldn’t be satisfying. People could then look at it and say, “Look at that guy paint just like Norman Rockwell. Nice job, but . . . get a life.” As I started doing projects in my first year of graduate school, I found myself relying on these old bad habits. But the faculty wanted me to be impressed by my work. One day I was working on an assignment and I found myself enraged. I couldn’t stand the work I was making and promptly tore it up. This was about twenty minutes before class. I quickly took a large piece of paper and a piece of charcoal (I never used charcoal) and I made a portrait, which reflected the anger and frustration I felt toward my recently destroyed work. I wasn’t really even thinking when I made it. There was no rough, no research, it just came out and I felt good emotionally after it was finished. Much to my surprise, during class, Marshall and Carl walked up to it immediately and started to discuss how they liked it—how I was moving in a good direction. “Something is happening,” they said. That was the start. Later that week we had a fine artist come in to do a presentation of her work to our class. While speaking about her art, she described the methods she used to motivate herself to work. The one thing she said that stuck with me was that sometimes she would paint things that were “naughty.” Something she “wasn’t allowed to paint because it was so vile and deviant.” So after that, I started making a few portraits without any roughs or research, and I made them a little vile, naughty, and dirty. I thought that after they were made, I would figure out what to do for my real assignment. Making these 163

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portraits changed everything for me. Without any rules and without any reference, I invented. Whatever I invented, I could keep. If I made an eye too big or too high, that’s ok. I still used my skills at drawing and painting; I just didn’t know what the outcome would be. I would let the progress of the portrait dictate my next move. It is a very fun and exciting way to work. I made fifteen portraits in all and they became my assignment. That “greeting card guy” was making some weird work and it was a good thing. Since graduation you have continued to pursue your illustration career but also have developed an entrepreneurial aspect of yourself as an art director. What led you in this direction and how has it affected your personal work? My becoming an art director is one of the most exciting and unexpected turns of my career. After all, I’m supposed to be just an illustrator, but that’s not how things turned out. At the time, I was illustrating quite a bit for Nicholas Blechman who was then art directing the op-ed page at the New York Times. He nurtured the editorial illustrator in me. I felt then, as I do now, that illustrating for the page is a very big deal. As far back as undergraduate college I can remember staring endlessly at illustration annuals that featured work from the op-ed page by many illustrators whom I idolized. One day, Nicholas called me and instead of asking me to do an illustration, he asked me if I’d fill in for him as art director for a while. It was as simple as that. I was stunned but immediately said yes. From the first day of training, I got a totally different perspective about the entire profession of illustration. I got to witness how other illustrators work. How they think. How they treat their clients. What changes they were willing and not willing to make. How they conducted themselves throughout an assignment. Even how they handled invoices. All of this affected the way I conduct myself as an illustrator. I feel much more connected to the illustration community. I learned just how much editors could affect the outcome of a job. And how that relationship affects the art director’s job.

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A N ITA KU NZ

Why did you become an illustrator? I probably became an illustrator for the same reason that everyone else does . . . I loved to draw and paint as a child. I always knew that I wanted to go to art school, and I was fortunate to have had an uncle who was a working illustrator (his motto was “art for education”) so it was never a choice for me whether to pursue a career in fine art or illustration. I already had some experience with the idea that art could be commissioned and still be valid, and that illustration was simply artwork that existed within a larger societal framework. Also, I was practical enough to understand that I needed to make a living. In other words, if I didn’t work I didn’t eat, and hence the decision to illustrate rather than produce fine art. How do you get work? Well, I get work in a number of different ways. I’ve tried agents, source books, promotional mailers, and entering a variety of shows. I think the combination of the above is what ultimately works for me. I understand that it’s important to get one’s work out there. The more aggressive one is in this area, the more of a likelihood that commissions will follow. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? I think that everyone has her own point of view. The truer one can remain to one’s unique vision, the more likely one is to be successful. The temptation for students leaving art school is to create a style quickly, with the unintended result that it may seem manufactured, or derivative of someone else’s style. In my case, my viewpoint has everything to do with the fact that I’m a woman with certain political viewpoints living in this particular time and place in history. I’d also hope that my style is not easily described in a single sentence, but rather as a complex series of ideas and musings.

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What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? Well for me the business of being an illustrator has always been the most difficult aspect. It took me a long time to realize that being an artist and being a businessperson were not necessarily mutually exclusive. I’ve had to learn how to be a good businessperson the hard way . . . by making a lot of mistakes. But I understand that we exist independently as small businesses, and not to act accordingly, ultimately harms us. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? The funny thing is, I’ve never been anything else so I have nothing to compare it with! I suppose the best thing is that I am (somewhat) in control of my images and hence my voice in the world. At this point I also enjoy the travel, lecturing, and political aspect of being part of the advocacy organizations. How do you keep fresh? I don’t know . . . I think everybody goes through periods where they feel uninspired. I certainly have. When I feel stale, I try other media—I’ve dabbled in sculpture, for instance, and have incorporated found objects into my work. I guess I also feel as though I haven’t yet said everything I want to say, nor have I done my best work yet, so that is the fuel that keeps me going.

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N ATH A N F OX

Why did you become an illustrator? I realized I had absolutely no idea what I was doing as an offset pressman in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I loved printing but was daydreaming about freelancing and gallery work so much that I couldn’t focus my work in either direction. Breaks, lunch hours, any time off, I was on the phone or mailing out something to somebody to get creative work or sketching out ideas for gallery shows. Every illustration assignment I received, I would end up producing in a different style. It was fun to experiment, but difficult to get more repeat clients. Art directors didn’t know what to do with me. They couldn’t rely on me for consistency and I wasn’t comfortable or confident in my own production. All of the illustration work and gallery work I produced blurred together. So I kept plugging away the best I could. Frustrated, I finally applied to grad schools and the MFA program “Illustration as Visual Essay” at SVA. I was hoping for a masters in printmaking, I thought commercial work would be a backup if all else failed. And it did. The printmaking application reviews for acceptance didn’t go in my favor. I found out that it wasn’t my ability as a printmaker that was questioned; it was the narrative nature of my work and the solid fact that I could not discuss or describe my work. I provided no direction in my work for the review board to consider me acceptable. The MFA program at SVA turned out to be the best option in the end. The program was open-ended and encouraged me to find a balance between illustration and fine art with peers in similar situations. The narrative aspect of the program cemented my decision. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? My fiancé and I had just finished collaborating on a large mural in Milwaukee when I got accepted to SVA, just before we moved to New York. The mural was unlike anything either or us had done. It was the first time I felt comfortable working from my head and just letting my imagination run. 171

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The wall was so big and the commissioner of the project was so supportive that we didn’t have to worry about editing out subject matter or thinking that what we were doing might or might not solve someone else’s problem. There was no baggage or expectation. I finally had the freedom to experiment with my own concepts and ideas. When I got to SVA, though, I slipped right back into my old habits and chaos, forgetting the reason I came here in the first place. So as soon as I realized I had put up another wall to climb over, I dropped everything and just focused on the experience I had with the mural we did. I decided to concentrate on all of the things I didn’t have the time or patience to tamper with. The mural turned out to be a really important experience. During my first year there was a studio critique and I had constructively criticized someone to be more honest in his work. Then someone shot it right back at me, which struck a cord and lead me back to that mural. I put away most everything I had done at that point and started over. Most of all, I wanted a comfortable sense of where to begin with my personal interests and issues in my work. To overcome the “shyness” hurdle I had for my own ideas concerning sexuality, obscenity, and death, without losing my sense of humor and sarcasm. Joe Coleman, my thesis advisor, among others was a great person to talk to and a willing critic. Joe’s work utilizes personal imagery and subject matter without apology. He heavily researches his work and is honest in his approach. I felt he wouldn’t dick around with polite criticism, so that when we got down to discussing what I wanted to produce, there would be no barriers. Joe turned out to be the most blunt and honest advisor for the job. He was always straightforward and encouraged my explorations. As a fan, it was a huge honor. How did you get work? It was easy to get sucked up by the freelance work. I sent out promotion pieces and art directors started calling me. As soon as I finished one job, another one would come up. Financially, things were tight and fewer money problems were greatly appreciated. My ego was rubbed and the assignments were challenging. Looking back though, I lost a semester. All of the work and momentum I put into preparing for my thesis project had petered out and the freelance took over. When I met with Joe, I was showing him more illustration work than my own personal work. The pieces I produced for my thesis were scattered and completely overworked. It was confusing as hell and 172

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my thesis started drifting further away. It was disappointing to lose so much time, but taking the freelance work might have been the perfect distraction. It forced me to rethink my thesis and start over. When talking with Joe and my classmates in critiques, it was suggested that the freelance work I was doing fed ideas that I talked about, but did not apply to the personal work I did up to that point for my thesis. This made me realize that my original thesis project might not be the right one. Accepting that the approach I was taking in my freelance assignments and my thesis could go hand in hand led me in a new direction with the work I produced for my final thesis project. Dropping the freelance made time for what became a more concise and personal body of work.

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WA R D S UT TO N

Why did you become an illustrator? I have always loved creating art and cartoons, and I very practically wanted to find a way to make a living doing it. I have had exhibitions of my art and sold pieces, but that didn’t immediately seem to offer security or steady income. Plus, I wanted to get my work seen by more people than by the relative few who happened to stop by a certain gallery. Also, I really like working with deadlines and having multiple projects going at once. I like the problem-solving aspect of an illustration assignment, and seeing my work in print is exciting to me. I also enjoy doing portraits of people, which is often a big part of illustration. How do you get work? At first I started at the bottom. I would pick up free weekly papers and look at all the bad ads and then go to those advertisers and offer to draw them a better ad. They would often pay me in pizza or beer or give me a free futon or whatever their business was. But I started getting my work in print, and art directors started to see it and eventually started hiring me for illustration assignments in their papers. From there it was like moving up the media food chain from weekly papers to magazines, etc. I also worked creating concert posters—there was no money in it but with these posters I had complete creative freedom. They were a labor of love that gave me the chance to really let my artistic freak flag fly and push what I was doing. The posters got put up all over town (free advertising for my work!) and I would use them as promo items to give art directors. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? I absorb inspiration from all sorts of things—old comic books, movie posters, book and record covers, etc.—and I think my work reflects my own unique combination of these influences that are a part of the culture’s visual vocabulary without being derivative. I try, whenever possible (it all depends 175

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on the client!), to inject what I do with my own perspective on life, which could be categorized as lefty/edgy but in the end is really just being honest about what exists in the world. I also like what I do to be bright and fun, which can sometimes be in stark contrast to the content. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? Getting the opportunity to work on the projects you want to work on (i.e., selling your work) can be very hard, frustrating, even infuriating, but, in a weird way, that can be part of the fun of working freelance—at least when you have some luck and things go your way. But the part of being an illustrator I dislike most is negotiating money and contracts. Often it can go smoothly, but sometimes you get the sense that people are very greedy and want to take advantage of you . . . and all the time wasted just keeps you from doing what you want to be doing which is creating cool art. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? Getting the chance to create artwork that has a real impact on people, that helps tell a story or send a message, that you feel fortunate to have had the chance to create. How do you keep fresh? By going after projects that will challenge me and by trying to avoid projects that won’t. By not calling an illustration finished until I feel personally satisfied with it. By working on projects that are a labor of love and not just for money. By continuing to expand the circle of what influences me visually. By continuing to experiment artistically whenever possible.

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C H R I STO P H N E I M A N N

Why did you become an illustrator? Through a lifelong obsession with drawing: At some point (at around age ten) I thought it would be wiser to become an architect, but utter lack of any talent in the third dimension made me drop that option after a couple of days. How do you get work? Most of the times I get contacted by people who have seen my work published somewhere. Then they either get my number through the magazine or find my Web site. I was very lucky having had my first jobs published in very prominent publications (i.e., the New York Times, Rolling Stone). There seems to be a couple of key publications that work as a better ad-space than any postcard or representative. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? I have studied graphic design, and I would describe my work process closer to design than to impulsive art. I always try to base my work on an idea and then find the appropriate style to make it work on the page. What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? Of course there is the pressure of having to be funny or creative on command, but I guess other professions are much worse when it comes to that. Maybe the hardest thing is being at the same time some lofty-thinking artist and bottom-line-oriented entrepreneur and switching between the two, sometimes within minutes. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? Sometimes I ride the subway and see people reading a newspaper, and they turn to a page that has a drawing of mine that I did a mere fourteen hours 179

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ago. I don’t think I ever saw anybody reacting to the drawing at all, but that moment is the greatest (work-based) kick that there is. How do you keep fresh? Work.

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RANDALL ENOS

Why did you become an illustrator? My first attempts at drawing were made to garner some of the admiration my father was lavishing on the drawings made by his best friend’s son who was my age or just a bit older (he later became a car mechanic). But, as far back as I can remember, I wanted to be the person making those images in the Saturday Evening Post, Collier’s, and on the comic pages. I think it was tied into my predilection for storytelling and acting. I flirted briefly with the notion of becoming a painter but finally realized that my talents were more fully realized in illustration and cartooning. How do you get work? In the beginning, of course, years ago, it was a lot of legwork. Nowadays, I have an agent through whom some work comes. I have a legion of art directors that I’ve worked with for many years who are kind enough to call on me still. And I send out little personal pictures by either fax or e-mail to certain select art directors to remind them of myself from time to time. Other than that I only do a very minimal amount of advertising through my agent. I also have a personal Web site and am included on another large illustrator site. Do you have a style or point of view in your work, and how would you describe it? I am an ardent advocate of illustrators finding their own voices and building their “styles” from a truthful place within themselves. I have a style that has the elements of my impatience, laziness, clownishness, and interest in the bizarre and offbeat aspects of the world. I’m also a bad draftsman and I don’t try to hide it. I try (not always successfully) to work “organically” and honestly without trying to force, think, or plan the work too much for that always works against me. I have to work “in the moment” the way the “method” actors do. I’m amused and sometimes very upset about the workings of my fellow man and all that comes out in my illustrations. 183

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What is the hardest thing—in terms of art or commerce—about being an illustrator? The hardest thing is having to answer questions posed by Steve Heller. Other than that, I guess it would have to be the imposition of extremely fast deadlines that sometimes make you feel that you needed just one more hour to really do it right. What is the best thing about being an illustrator? Where do I begin? The ability to vent publicly. I need to do art and I need to do art that works for a living. Because of my depression-era, working-class background, I, like Seymour Chwast, need to feel that my art is serving the public out there in some way rather than being a self-indulgent landscape hanging on someone’s wall. When I used to ride the trains, I got a terrific charge from seeing my latest New York Times living section cover being trampled by muddy feet as commuters fled into Grand Central. It’s really a great feeling to look down a long railroad car and see almost hundreds of people looking at your work. Recently, I have been hearing from students of mine from many years past (thanks to my Web site) who have told me that I have had an impact on their lives. One is a successful film director who said that his film style came directly from things I said in class. Things like that are some of the best things about being an illustrator. How do you keep fresh? I look at a lot of painting, illustration, and cartooning. I have never for one moment lost my enthusiasm for the work, or for my medium of lino-cutting for that matter. I guess I stay fresh by absorbing what I see being produced by the young artists and trying to stay true to my vision. I love having all the “dues” behind me, and being able to work more assuredly and freely. It allows me to take some chances and start to experiment a bit. I feel that I still have a long way to go and a lot of new things to try. I use my assignments as vehicles to work out my experiments. I love working for the press and I’m sad that so much of it has disappeared.

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C H A P TE R S E V E N

Talking with Art Directors

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R O B E RT N E W M A N Creative Director, Real Simple

Do you see artists in person or do you only see portfolios? Both. But I usually only see artists if they’ve been referred by someone or if I’m familiar with their work. Because I’m so busy at Real Simple I prefer portfolios; I can look at them on my own time. That way I can look at portfolios whenever people drop them off, and if I’m interested I’ll meet with them when they come by to pick up their book. I’m also a big fan of illustrator Web sites with samples. What is the single most important quality you look for in a portfolio? A strong, original style. Do you assign to untried illustrators? No. Not at Real Simple, but I have at other publications. Do you prefer to work with veterans or neophytes? At Real Simple the illustrations tend to be very art directed, and very specific, and the editors are very involved. I prefer a veteran who can knock it out quickly and smartly, and can add some ideas and style within the rigid structure. A neophyte tends to need more direction and inspiration. But when we know exactly what we want, there’s something to be said for a young illustrator who will execute precisely what’s needed. When I worked at Inside and Vibe—magazines with looser formats—we used a lot of newer illustrators, and it was a lot of fun. There was an air of excitement and discovery around the illustrations. But in those situations the editors were much less engaged in the process, and that meant we could work more directly with the illustrators in crafting the final product.

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C H R I S C U R RY Art Director, the New Yorker

Do you see artists in person or do you only see portfolios? It really depends on my schedule. We have what feels like a good set up here for reviewing portfolios. Artists leave them here on Wednesday, and we look them over on Wednesday evening. They are picked up on Thursday. Occasionally, a portfolio will be so wonderful, that I will want to meet the artist to see what he is like, see how quickly he works, what his passions are (literature, music, black history, etc.), which really helps to connect the illustrator to the project. We get calls/referrals from other illustrators recommending talent to us, and I try to find the time to meet with these artists, but the fall back plan is the drop off day, and if our schedule is too crazy, at least the work is seen! What is the single most important quality you look for in a portfolio? There should be no gimmicks. I once received a purple, talking portfolio, and the work was terrible. The work should speak for itself. Great drawing skills would be my answer. What is the single most important quality you seek in an illustrator? A great illustrator is one who can draw well, has a unique way of drawing, and is a thinker. Do you assign to untried illustrators? Occasionally, when we have a bit of leeway with the schedule. We like to bring new artists in the “Goings On” section, as there is a bit more wiggle room in the schedule of assigning that. It is important to keep bringing in new talent to keep the magazine looking fresh and vital. Do you prefer to work with veterans or neophytes? There is definitely room for both. There wouldn’t be veterans if there had not been neophytes!

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What makes you want to work with an illustrator again? Along with great talent, an easy-going personality really helps. If someone just unloads their problems on you when you go to offer an assignment, well, would you call them first?

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P E TE R G I R A R D I Principal, Funny Garbage and Designer for Crank Yankers

Do you see artists in person or do you only see portfolios? Rarely see them in person. Look at the work, then try and find other people they have worked with and ask them questions. What is the single most important quality you look for in a portfolio? Variety. Not in style but in execution and thought. Also the ability to have their work be appropriate to the content and not have every illustration be an advertisement for their work. What is the single most important quality you seek in an illustrator? Tough one. Imagination mostly. Since we do most of our own illustration [at Funny Garbage], when we do go out of house it’s for a good reason. We’re really trying to get something spot-on and are really asking the illustrator not to just execute from our instructions, but to bring some new directions and ideas to the assignment. Do you assign to untried illustrators? Absolutely. Lots. I wish there was an agency that represented kids four to eight year olds. I always need kid art. Do you prefer to work with veterans or neophytes? Doesn’t matter; the work speaks for itself mostly. What makes you want to work with an illustrator again? Their attitude, mostly; if we had a good time on the job, everyone vibed well, and everyone was happy in the end. A lot of people can do the work and have talent, but that doesn’t mean I want them hanging out in my office.

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J. J. S E D E LMAI E R Principal, J. J. Sedelmaier Productions

What is the single most important quality you look for in a portfolio? A confidence and consistency to the material. Sometimes it’s a design sense, other times it’s a drawing style or sensibility. Organization is important too. I don’t like feeling like an accountant on April 14th, forced to sift through a pile of work. Since we have an animation studio with everyone working together and collaborating closely, I’m also very sensitive to the person’s “manner.” If the person’s portfolio blows me away but he’s clearly under the impression that he’s god’s gift to the industry, I’m not going to seriously consider him. I’m a sucker for enthusiasm and a “can do” sort of attitude. What is the single most important quality you seek in an illustrator? To be able to both share knowledge and be receptive to other’s suggestions/techniques. Do you assign to untried illustrators? I have hired people who have never worked in the animation industry before. People within the studio are given tasks—opportunities—that stretch them toward what I think their potential is—even when they don’t think it’s something they’re capable of. This goes for entry-level folks and people who’ve been here for years. Do you prefer to work with veterans or neophytes? A person’s military experience makes no difference to me. That having been said, I really don’t have a preference. It depends on the individual. I’ve seen eighteen-year-olds who seem more pulled together than journeymen. What makes you want to work with an illustrator again? The feeling that we’ve both gotten something out of the collaboration that would not happened with any other combination of talents.

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STE P H E N D OYL E Principal, Doyle and Partners, New York

What is the single most important quality you look for in a portfolio? For me the most important quality in a portfolio is that the illustrations have a sense of narrative about them—not just a literal storytelling quality, but the ability to convey a sense of immediacy, maybe time and place, or maybe clarity of an idea, or invention, or fantasy. But whatever the story—even if it’s just a portrait—there has to be a reason for the thing, a truth, an element of veracity, a discovery that I sum up as “narrative.” What is the single most important quality you seek in an illustrator? The trait that I look for in illustrators is that they are fun to be around. Nobody likes a dull illustrator—why should they? These characters get to invent their own worlds, and they might as well be entertaining. It helps if they are good storytellers, as it provokes a sense of narrative, as touched on above. It helps if they are curious, because curiosity makes art better. It helps if they get out from time to time. When you meet with an illustrator who has been shut up in the sun-deprived cellar studio too long, he can be starved for conversation and companionship, and it can make a meeting with an art director a little tedious, since we have already chosen jobs that are socialized and we eschewed the life in a garret years ago. Too, illustrators have got to be flexible, since design and art direction, and ultimately illustration, are such collaborative fields, and a lot of people are vested in what the illustration has to accomplish. I’m thinking about, say, a book cover here, where the thing has a marketing objective as well as a narrative one. Do you assign to untried illustrators? Untried illustrators? Sure. I’m proud to have given Steve Brodner his first illustration job, and Tom Woodruff his. These were kids I went to school with, and their work seemed perfect for the world of illustration, though that was not their direction at the time. It has been fun to watch their careers take

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off. Of course it is fun to work with untried artists as they try their hand at illustration, but then I’m a big believer in repurposing people. Do you prefer to work with veterans or neophytes? Veterans or neophytes? You can never get to be a veteran until you are a neophyte first. The best part, in either case, is opening up the envelope. What makes you want to work with an illustrator again? It’s easier to pinpoint what makes you not want to work with an illustrator again, and those attributes usually fall into the expected categories: missed deadlines, lack of cooperation, solipsism, and attitude, attitude, attitude.

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GAIL ANDERSON Art Director, Spot Design

Do you see artists in person or do you only see portfolios? I meet with illustrators occasionally on Fridays, when things are winding down at work, but unless it’s someone I know, I generally prefer drop-offs. I think I’ve run out of things to say after all these years, so I’d rather just look at the book and write a note. I’ll meet with recent graduates if I have time. And if the work is good, I’ll pass on names of other art directors, especially editorial designers who are more likely to have lots of small pieces to assign. I get a good deal of voicemail messages asking about appointments and dropoffs, but those calls are almost never returned. What is the single most important quality you look for in a portfolio? The work has to be smart, as well as beautiful. If the person does portraits, it helps to see a few celebrities in the book, so you can see how close the likenesses are. It’s useful to see the work in its proper context—if it was done for a magazine, it’s good to see a copy of the printed page to get a better sense of the idea behind it. No slides, no fancy box action—just the work and a few samples that can be put up. It’s hard to pinpoint the most important quality, I guess, but in the end, it’s probably the smartness factor. And smart includes putting the actual portfolio together in a thoughtful way. What is the single most important quality you seek in an illustrator? Other than good phone manners and amazing talent, flexibility is right up there. With theater work, there are always going to be changes, so the willingness to do several sketches rather than just one has become increasingly important to me. Revisions are now a fact of life. Do you assign to untried illustrators? At Rolling Stone, we really enjoyed discovering new talent. I hope that I’ll be able to do the same at Spot, though for now, it would probably be on smaller projects. At this point, I’m probably more focused on working with artists I’ve had good relationships with and whom I know will come through for 196

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me. It’s also a kick to bring familiar faces to a new arena. But if there’s a budget on a show that allows for several sketches, I’m certainly up for working with new artists. Do you prefer to work with veterans or neophytes? The pros understand deadlines, don’t nickel and dime you on the money, and are often willing to take on projects just for the joy of doing them. And the big guys—and dolls—who seem intimidating are often the most humble, easygoing people. But there’s a real thrill when you get a great piece from a young illustrator and you know that you’ve helped give her fledgling career a nice boost. I lean toward working with veterans right now, but my definition of veteran is pretty loose. At this point, it just means familiarity. What makes you want to work with an illustrator again? Other than the obvious (the initial piece is great), the phone thing is a big factor. Was the process fun or awkward the first time? Were we able to collaborate? Was the artist flexible? Willing to show a few ideas rather than just one? Was the deadline met on the first assignment? Was dealing with the budget okay for both of us? I’m not holding an audition for friends, but the phone relationship is pretty important to me. If I’m not at least comfortable, I’m less likely to make the call again. I’m old and jaded now.

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R I C H A R D W I N KL E R VP/Partner/Executive Producer, Curious Pictures

How do you select illustrators to represent for animation, commercials, and the other toys, TV shows, etc., that you contract work for? Subjective taste—people I’ve admired for years; their work’s translatability into animation; people I like and want to work with; big names. What experience should the illustrator have prior to your representation? Enough to be realistic about what TV will and won’t do for them. It won’t make anyone rich. For TV they should be mature enough to enjoy collaborating. No prima donnas needed. In the marketplace today what is more valuable, style or concept? For initial visibility, style; for longevity, concept plus style. What I look for is “visual wit.” How important is it for an illustrator to have a distinctive personality? Very, both as a person and an artist. How do you go about promoting an illustrator for your illustration rep company called IDEA? E-mailing the IDEA Web site to clients, ad agency creatives, etc. Plus publicity. Is it difficult for a new illustrator to become successful? I don’t know. I assume yes. How would you define success today? Keeping busy, paying the rent, getting fan e-mail from people like me, creative growth, and the chance to work in many formats and media.

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DARREL REES Illustrator and President/Founder of Heart

How do you select illustrators to represent for your illustration agency, Heart? It is very difficult to pin this down to specific criteria. The work needs to be original and well crafted (however that craft manifests itself by their choice of approach). It should not conflict or compete with someone we already represent. The other factor is personality—both in terms of interpersonal skills and active intelligence plus personal “drive.” As an illustrator I believe you need to have an intelligent curiosity that can engage with an eclectic range of subject matter and can have an opinion to express or a “take” on that subject. Also, the drive factor is important in helping survive lean patches and taking and riding out the “knocks” as they come along. On a personal level, the fact that this agency grew out of a shared studio, where I worked alongside (and continue to do so) the core of the agency’s artists, how we all get along is an important point. It’s a pretty close-knit group and that does affect our choice of newcomers. What experience should the illustrator have prior to your representation? Preferably some proven ability to respond intelligently to copy, be it through hypothetical college projects, or through some “live” illustration work. Good drawing alone does not an illustrator make. In the marketplace today what is more valuable, style or concept? I don’t respond too well to those two words. Your identity (style) needs to come through, much like in handwriting. I think “concept” illustration can look a bit hackneyed these days, a bit like a predictable punch line, but an intelligent, creative, playful engagement with subject matter is essential to create a winning illustration and a distinct identity as an illustrator. How important is it for an illustrator to have a distinctive personality? I think it informs the work and imbues it with identity and can be the difference between you getting a job or it going to someone else.

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How do you go about promoting an illustrator? We begin by getting a new portfolio of work or a Web page in front of clients we know or think might be interested. After that, we try to produce beautifully designed print, something that will show a range of that person’s work, not just one piece of mail shot to our clients, both in the United Kingdom and the United States. We also use an annual called The Artbook, which is published in the United Kingdom but spreading slowly into the United States. It’s for reps only; you get to keep all your pages in one section, so you’re insulated from appearing alongside work that we might deem “inappropriate” to put it politely. Other annuals seem to be huge meat markets where I can only think clients must have a hard time seeing the wood for the trees. There is no criteria or quality benchmark for appearing in those colossal books other than having the money to burn. Is it difficult for a new illustrator to become successful? When I wanted to go to art school my careers teacher at school did everything he could to dissuade me, but his main argument was that it was very competitive. My reflex reaction was “well, what isn’t?” I think it’s becoming more difficult as the quantity of illustrators increases, getting noticed gets more difficult, but I just think you have to really want to do it. External business or market factors that make it more difficult to be “successful” are things like the increasing trend toward “rights grabbing” in publishers contracts, the “stock” art conundrum and fees being continually squeezed. In real terms (and I know this is a common complaint so forgive me), fees have gone down over the last ten years, so making a living becomes more and more difficult. I think creative thinking and constantly looking at ways of creating new outlets for your work will help. Learning to negotiate and occasionally saying “no” to a client might also help. If clients always get what they want for the fee they offer, why should they ever pay more? How would you define success today? Making a living as an illustrator, when illustration is your only source of income. Above that, peer appreciation and acknowledgement of your creative efforts. Above that, a big house, swimming pool, large car, private jet, yacht, millions of dollars in the bank?

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STE V E N G U A R N A C C I A Art Director, Op-ed Page, the New York Times

Do you see artists in person? Absolutely. I want to know the artist behind the work. I get a sense of what it will be like to work with that person, and given the peculiar pressures of working for the Op-Ed page, the personality of the artist is a factor. Do you only see portfolios? I’ll look at portfolios, Web sites, mailers, whatever. What is the single most important quality you look for in a portfolio? A coherent vision, a spark of originality. The sense that the artist can solve a variety of visual problems. Those are three distinct qualities. What is the single most important quality you seek in an illustrator? Enthusiasm for and engagement in the process of solving illustration problems. Do you assign to untried illustrators? All the time. Daily, in fact. Do you prefer to work with veterans or neophytes? Each has something to recommend them. I like veterans because I can relax and let go. I like novices because they will bring that element of surprise to the process and to the final art, which reminds me of what it was like when the earth was new. What makes you want to work with illustrators again? They made a great drawing, and we had fun in the process.

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F R A NÇO I S E M O U LY Cover Art director, the New Yorker

Do you see artists in person? Yes, when it’s artists I want to work with. It’s important for me to know who they are as I encourage them to develop their own thinking and ideas. Do you only see portfolios? To look at unsolicited work, I’ll look at anything, portfolios, faxes, and copies in mail, etc. (although not Web sites or e-mails) but I won’t meet the artists, or read their letters. At that stage I don’t want to know who they are, just the quality of the work. What is the single most important quality you look for in a portfolio? Good ideas. That’s rare and hard to come by. I figure the style and overall look can be worked on later if the idea warrants it. What is the single most important quality you seek in an illustrator? An original-thinking brain. Do you assign to untried illustrators? Sure, as long as it works for me, I don’t really care if they’re known or not. Do you prefer to work with veterans or neophytes? Depends on the person. I like to work with anyone who has good thoughts and won’t spare efforts to communicate them elegantly. Some veterans are “real pros,” others are insufferable. Same with neophytes, though the “pros” are harder to come by there. What makes you want to work with an illustrator again? That he/she did not get in the way of his/her own picture.

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A F TE R W O R D

Milton Glaser on Illustration In spring 2003, Milton Glaser addressed the ICON 3 Conference in Philadelphia. His comments are a distillation of almost fifty years in the illustration business, many of them as its eminence.

I’ve discovered that the best way to start a talk is with a joke you like, then try to build your speech around it. So the joke: A magician performing in a small theater announces, “Tonight I’m going to perform a brand new trick, never seen before anywhere in the world. I’ll need a bit of assistance from someone in the audience. You, young man, could you come up and help me?” The young man, a sturdy six-footer, joins the magician on stage. The magician says, “I’d like you to take this sledgehammer and hit me directly on top of my head with all your strength.” The young man, a bit confused says, “I can’t do that sir, I’d kill you.” “Not to worry,” says the magician with a confident smile, “Just hit me right on top of the head.” The young man reluctantly picks up the sledgehammer and hits the magician with all his might. The magician goes down like a pile of bricks and lies quivering on the floor. The paramedics are called immediately and take the unconscious magician away in an ambulance. Ten years later, the magician remains in a coma in a nursing home in New Jersey. He has never come to. A nurse, making her morning rounds, notices that his eyelids seem to be fluttering. Excitedly she calls all the doctors who come to his bedside. At one moment, the magician opens his eyes and sees all the doctors and nurses gathered around him.

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“Ta-Da,” he says. Perhaps the parallel is that all of us in the field of illustration are beginning to feel we’ve been struck in the head and have fallen into a coma and are waiting to wake up at a more generous time. I’m not sure that better times are coming within my lifetime, and I have little practical career advice for others in the field. Like all of us, I frequently think about what has caused the decline in the use of illustration. Since nothing occurs in a vacuum, it seems to relate to a transformation that has occurred to the American ethos. I believe it to have something to do with the pervasive and powerful effect of advertising and television. I know TV gets blamed for almost everything in American life, but as they endlessly say about computers, television is only a tool. Television is the tool of advertising, the most universal educational force the world has ever witnessed. Sadly, the lesson plan of TV involves only one principal: endless consumption. If you turn on your TV set and look away at the nearby wall you will discover that the reflections produced by the light from the TV set constantly vary dramatically in contrast and intensity. These contrasts are paralleled by the sounds emitting from the same source. It occurred to me that abrupt changes in the intensity of light were indications of danger that our neurological system has evolved to respond to. What effects can a lifetime of exposure to this assault produce? After all, our children are subjected to it within months of being born. When a shadow passes over a field mouse, it becomes alert to danger. Every cell of our body has been programmed to respond to light. It’s obvious that the intensity of visual and audio contrast has increased through the years. I assume that our brains’ response to this continuing onslaught is a protective deadening to our neural receptors. I am convinced that the passivity and indifference of the American public to their own lives and interests, is some how related to this phenomena. It is hard to believe, but a poll taken recently indicated that two thirds of the American public could not name even one of the democrats running for president. Not to mention that three times the number of Americans believe in Satan than evolution. We have lost our sense of what is real, and replaced it with an addiction to the virtual reality created by television, entertainment, and advertising. Incidentally, the constant juxtaposition of images like that of a woman crying over a child lost in a fire and a commercial for Pampers amplifies this sense of meaningless and daily stupor. 206

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One can make the case that we have lost the capacity for abstract thought. When we read or listen to the radio, the mind forms images in response to the suggestion. The same thing can be said to occur when an illustration provokes the viewer by its symbolic relationship to reality. Abstraction encourages the mind to bridge the distance from suggestion to reality. There are certain tribes in Africa that do not distinguish between their dream life and their daily life. We find ourselves in a similar condition. But one must note that the reality that television has provided us with does not serve our deepest needs. In our world, reality has been replaced by forms of entertainment that require little mental activity, and encourage apathy and indifference. How else can we explain the incredible passivity we witness that characterizes the American people at this time? The misrepresentations of government, the outrageous dishonesty of business, the attack on our civil rights, the collapse of our educational system, and the failures of our social safety nets have produced almost no response or indignation from the American public. When Bush orders an aircraft carrier moved at a cost of one million dollars so he can land on the deck without San Diego being visible in the background, he is aware that this manipulative misrepresentation will not affect his popularity, even after it is disclosed. I am certain, as it becomes increasingly obvious, that we were deliberately lied to in order to justify a war with Iraq, there will be no general sense of betrayal because we no longer understand the relationship between cause and effect. The virtual reality created by television is expressed through predominately photographic means, our culture’s most dominant way of expressing “reality.” Susan Sontag has written brilliantly on photography; in fact, that is the title of her early book. “Photographs are perhaps the most mysterious of all the objects that make up and thicken the environment we recognize as modern. Photographs are really experience captured, and the camera is the ideal arm of conscienceness in its acquisitive mood. . . .” Photography has another intrinsic characteristic that illustration lacks. The innate sense of capturing a “real” moment in time proving that the subject actually existed. This separates it from other works of the imagination and makes it a perfect vehicle for advertising. Our society requires a culture based on images to furnish entertainment and to stimulate buying. Above all, photography seems to validate and protect the existing 207

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social conditions. Because of its believability, photography is unexcelled as a tool to generate desire, which in part explains the diminished role of illustration in advertising. In a culture that values commerce above all other things, the imaginative potential of illustration has become irrelevant. For those who control the narrative of American life, illustration is now too idiosyncratic, harder to control, and less reassuring than the photographic imagery we have all grown up with. This is not to say that illustrators exist outside the world of commerce. On the contrary, we are all embedded in that world. But the need to express some aspect of our personal vision makes us suspect, at a time when the bottom line is the bottom line. The greatest irony, of course, is the emergence of the so-called reality TV. Whose reality are we talking about? Producers have discovered that they can discard the last impulse to conceive of television as a creative medium (as vestigial as it is), eliminate the writers, who have been negotiating for more money, and create a show completely controlled by marketing. The result demeans and further infantilizes the American viewer. A Greek myth tells us that the first drawing came about as a woman traced her lover’s shadow in the sand as he was about to leave for war, where he might be killed and never seen again. The intent of the drawing was to keep his presence alive. The myth, of course, is not literally true since all of us know the remarkable cave drawings that are unexcelled in all human history. Tracing shadows, on the other hand, is an elegant way of describing the act of illustration. If illustration suggests illumination then the shadow is central to its meaning. All of us who create imagery know that the relationship of dark to light is unavoidable. Although Freud, like all true artists, offered us only one way to view the world, I’ve always been attracted to his notion of the struggle between Eros and Thanatos—the pull towards life versus the pull towards death—that seems to occupy the human psyche, as well as the world itself. Eros is the mother of sex, love, feeling, and the desire to make things. The words “generation,” “genius,” “genial,” “genital,” and “generous” are all contained within its purpose. Thanatos embraces darkness, obscurity, evil, and entropy. Although the dialogue between these two forces predates history, the anxiety of this moment in time convinces us that balance has gone awry. When I was eight, I contracted rheumatic fever and was confined to bed for almost a year. I entertained myself during that time by creating armies, cities, animals and machines out of clay on a three-foot wooden board with a deep groove ending in a knothole at one end. It created a 208

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landscape of unlimited possibilities. At the end of every day I would destroy everything I had made and dreamed through the night of starting again the next morning. My darling mother would bring the board each day with a glass of orange juice and a soft-boiled egg. After breakfast, I would begin my work. I realized then, and even more today, that making things had rescued my life. I know that all of you have had a similar realization. There is a reason for all of you here to continue making things even though, vocationally speaking, this is the most difficult of times. The deepest role of art is creating an alternative reality, something the world needs desperately at this time. Everyone here today chose to be on the side of Eros—that is, you’ve devoted your life to making things, rather than controlling things. I used to feel that it was strange that artists are selfanointed. Now I realize it could not be any other way because above all, art is a view of life itself. It cannot be given by others or taken away by dealers or marketing men. Real artists are always working for nothing because they don’t see their essential role in society as being simply to exchange goods. They turn up first in the anti-war demonstrations, not because they lack patriotism, but because they revere life. Art is the most benign and fundamental way of creating community that our species has discovered. Mozart and Matisse, children of Eros, make us more human and more generous to one another. As dark and as difficult as this moment is, it will change and everyone in this room today has a significant role in that transformation because like all people who make things, you are inevitably on the side of light.

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Resources Magazines Communication Arts 110 Constitution Drive Menlo Park, CA 94025-1107 (650) 326-6040 www.commarts.com STEP Inside Design www.stepinsidedesign.com How 4700 East Galbraith Road Cincinnati, OH 45236 www.howdesign.com Graphis 307 Fifth Avenue, Tenth Floor New York, NY 10016-8193 (212) 532-9387 www.graphis.com [email protected] [email protected]

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PRINT 116 East 27th Street New York, NY 10016 (646) 742-0800 www.printmag.com [email protected] CMYK 150 West 76th Street, #5B New York, NY 10023 (212) 799-0260 www.cmykmag.com

Organizations Society of Photographers and Artists Representatives (SPAR) 60 East 42nd Street, Suite 1166 New York, NY 10165 www.spar.org Society of Illustrators 128 East 63rd Street New York, NY 10021-7303 (212) 838-2560 www.societyillustrators.org American Illustration 126 Fifth Avenue, Suite 14B New York, NY 10011 (212) 243-5262 www.ai-ap.com

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The Art Directors Club 106 West 29th Street New York, NY 10001 (212) 643-1440 www.adcglobal.org AIGA 160 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10010 (212) 807-1990 www.aiga.org Graphic Artists Guild 90 John Street, Suite 403 New York, NY 10038-3202 (212) 791-3400 www.gag.org The Illustrators’ Partnership of America 845 Moraine Street Marshfield, MA 02050 (781) 837-9152 www.illustratorspartnership.org Alternative Pick 1133 Broadway, Suite 1408 New York, NY 10010 (212) 675-4176 http://altpick.com Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators 8271 Beverly Boulevard Los Angeles, CA 90048 (323) 782-1010 www.scbwi.com

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National Cartoonist Society www.reuben.org The Society of Publication Designers 60 East 42nd Street, Suite 721 New York, NY 10165 (212) 983-8585 www.spd.org Canadian Association of Photographers and Illustrators in Communications The Case Goods Building 55 Mill Street, Suite 302 Toronto, ON M5A 3C4 (416) 462-3700 www.capic.org Canadian Society of Children’s Authors, Illustrators and Performers 104-40 Orchard View Boulevard Toronto, ON M4R 1B9 (416) 515-1559 www.canscaip.org Greeting Card Association 1156 15th Street, NW, #900 Washington, DC 20005 www.greetingcard.org

Fine Art New York Foundation for the Arts 155 Avenue of the Americas, Fourteenth Floor New York, NY 10013-1507 (212) 366-6900 www.nyfa.org

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Artist Help Network www.artisthelpnetwork.com American Artist Registry www.artistregistry.com

Business Arts Business Exchange www.artsbusiness.com Starving Artists Law www.starvingartistslaw.com

Miscellaneous Animation Work Network, Inc. 6525 Sunset Boulevard, Garden Suite 10 Hollywood, CA 90028 (323) 606-4200 www.awn.com Art Schools www.artschools.com ArtBusiness.com www.artbusiness.com Portfolios.com www.portfolios.com

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Bios Steven Heller is the art director of the New York Times Book Review. He has authored more than ninety books and written numerous articles about the visual arts. He is the co-chair of the MFA degree program “The Designer as Author,” at the School of Visual Arts (SVA) in New York. Marshall Arisman is an internationally known illustrator and painter. His illustrations have appeared on the covers and editorial pages of virtually every national magazine including Time, U.S. News & World Report, The Nation, Esquire, Rolling Stone, and Playboy. His paintings are in the permanent collection of the Brooklyn Museum, the Museum of American Art, the Smithsonian, and the Guang Dong Museum of Contemporary Art in Mainland China. He is the chair of the MFA degree program, “Illustration as Visual Essay” at the School of Visual Arts. The authors’ previous book together, The Education of an Illustrator, published by Allworth Press in 2000, addressed the specific educational needs of an illustrator; this book examines the marketplace.

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Index

A

American Greetings (AG), 161, 162,

ABC (TV network), 90 abstract expressionism, 43 abstraction, 206 abstractionism, 34, 40 academic painting, 41–42 Adobe Illustrator, 73, 78 advertising

163 American Illustration (annual), 73, 102, 139, 161 American Illustration (organization), 23, 107, 212 American Institute of Graphic Arts (AIGA), 23, 102, 116, 213

Enos on, 183

American Modernists, 38

illustration and, 38–39, 79, 208

American Showcase, 155

print, 21

Anderson, Gail, 196–197

Pyle on, 35

Anglo-European art, 40

television, as tool of, 206

animation, 80, 90

visual components of, 89

Animation Work Network Inc., 215

“After The Prom” (Rockwell), 40 AIGA (American Institute of Graphic Design), 23, 102, 116, 213

annuals, 102, 103, 139, 161, 200. See also names of individual annuals

airbrush artists, 84

Arisman, Marshall, 161, 162, 163

Alternative Pick (annual), 102, 135

Armory Show (of 1913), 37, 39, 57

Alternative Pick (organization), 213

Arrow Collar Man, The

American abstract expressionism, 42 American Artist Registry, 215

(Leyendecker), 38–39 art and illustration, 51–58 219

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Artbook, The, 200

“Ashcan School,” 38, 41

art brut, 64, 68, 69, 70–71, 74

Association of American Painters and

ArtBusiness.com, 215

Sculptors, 37

art director/illustrator relationships,

authorship, 89–98

18–24. See also client/provider

B

relationships

Bacon, Francis, 67–68

art director(s) Arisman on, 96

balance, 64

Bedrosian as, 164

Barnes & Noble, 102

Enos and, 183

Baseman, Gary, 90

Heller as, 3–4

Bauhaus (style), 77

illustrators and, 97, 101–102

Bedrosian, Wesley, 161–164

past role of, 120

Bellows, George, 38

on promotion pieces, 105

Benton, Thomas Hart, 41, 42

using stock illustration houses,

Bernstein, Leonard, 53 Beuy, Joseph, 44

119 See also art directors, interviews

Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design (Jerusalem), 135

with Art Directors, 102

“Bicycle Wheel” (Duchamp), 37

Art Directors Club, 23, 107, 213

Bierstadt, Albert, 33

art directors, interviews with,

Bishop, Isabel, 41 black and white, 73

187–202 Anderson, Gail, 196–197

Black Book, The, 102, 105

Curry, Chris, 190–191

Blechman, Nicholas, 164

Doyle, Stephen, 194–195

Blumenkrantz, Gerardo, 82

Girardi, Peter, 192

book publishing, 91–92, 103

Guarnaccia, Steven, 201

Book Review, 106

Mouly, Françoise, 202

“Bottle Rack” (Duchamp), 37

Newman, Robert, 189

Bowler, Joe, 42

Rees, Darrel, 199–200

Brandywine School (Howard Pyle School), 34

Sedelmaier, J.J., 193 Winkler, Richard, 198

Braque, Georges, 57, 58, 67

See also art director(s)

Brodner, Steve, 96, 129–130, 194

Artists Help Network, 215

Brown, John, 41

Arts Business Exchange, 215

budget cutbacks, 102

Art Schools, 215

Buren, Daniel, 44

Art Students League, 42

Burke, Phillip, 56, 96 220

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Burstadt, A., 57

Coe, Sue, 65

business ethics, 113

Coleman, Joe, 172

Business of Illustration, The (Heller),

Cole, Thomas, 32, 57

1

collaboration, 147 collages, 74, 82

C

Collier’s, 183

Cadouin, Maestro, 42

color, 73

Canadian Association of

Comedy Central, 73, 90

Photographers and Illustrators

comic books, 74

in Communications, 214

comic strips, 73

Canadian Society of Children’s

commercial art, 8

Authors, Illustrators and

Communication Arts, 23

Performers, 214

Communication Arts magazine, 23,

cards/stationery, 90

102, 161, 211

caricaturist, satiric, 64

competitions, 23, 152

Carnegie Museum of Art

compromising/bending beliefs, 117–

(Pittsburgh), 48 cartooning, 183

118 computer(s)

Cartoon Network, 73, 90

desktop publishing and, 79

cartoons, 73

driven art, 85

CBS (TV network), 9–10

graphic design and, 120

Cézanne, Paul, 14

illustrators and, 80

children’s books, 89, 90, 94, 103

as an investment, 92

Chopping Block, 92

as a medium, 84

Christy, Howard Chandler, 36

painters and, 78, 82

Chronicle Gift Works catalog, 90

as a printing press, 103

Church, Frederick, 32, 33, 57

programs, 73, 78

Chwast, Seymour, 5, 51, 65, 184

students use of, 83

Civil War, 57

concept providers, 4, 96

clarity, 98

concepts, 91–92

client/provider relationships, 3–4,

conceptual illustration, 5, 74

5–6. See also art director/

conscience/ethics, 119

illustrator relationships

constructivism, 37

CMYK (annual), 212

content, 98

Coach House Press (Toronto), 139

content providers, 2, 89

Cober, Alan E., 5, 68

contracts, 140, 176

Cocteau, Jean, 17

conventional illustration, 97 221

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Cooper Studio, 42

Drawing Now: Eight Propositions,

Corot, J., 55

47

Cortissoz, Royal, 38

Drescher, Henrik, 65, 68, 106

Crank Yankers, 192

Dubuffet, J., 74

creating/selling images, 101

Duchamp, Marcel, 37, 57

Crimp, Douglas, 44

Dufy, Raoul, 58

cubism, 14, 32, 37, 40, 57, 58 cubists-realism, 57

E

Curious Pictures, 198

Eakins, Thomas, 32, 34, 37, 40, 57

Curry, Chris, 190–191

East Village Other, 44

Curry, John Stewart, 41

editorial markets, researching,

D

Education of an Illustrator, The

102–103 dadaism, 32, 37

(Heller, Arisman), 1

Dali, Salvador, 5, 101

“Ellis Island Art,” 38

Dallas Times Herald, 7

Enos, Randall, 183–184

Davis, Paul, 5

entrepreneurship, 13, 89, 90, 98, 164

deadlines, 84

Eros, 208, 209

decoration, 47

Esquire, 43

Degas, Edgar, 156

etching, 83

DeKooning, W., 42

ethics, 113–122

Demuth, Charles, 58

Europe, 31, 32, 33, 34, 40, 42, 48

“Designer as Author, The,” 13, 94

Evergreen, 43

desktop publishing, 79

experimentation/risk, 10–11

digital photography, 137

exploitation, 115

digital technology, 79

expressionism, 42, 43

digital video cameras, 80 Dillon, Diane, 147–148

F

Dillon, Leo, 147–148

fauvism, 32, 40, 58

direct mail, 21

Field, Ann, 133

Directory of Illustration, 161

figuration, 30, 33, 34, 39, 45, 46, 48, 67

Disney Channel, the, 90 Dorfsman, Lou, 9–10

films, short, 94

Doughty, Thomas, 33, 57

fine art, 8, 48

Dove, Arthur, 38

fine art(ists) vs. commercial art(ists), 51–53

Doyle and Partners, 194

Flagg, James Montgomery, 36

Doyle, Stephen, 194–195 222

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flash/stop-motion animation, 80

H

forms of illustration, old/new tech-

Hanks, Tom, 47

nology, 77–87

Harpers’ Monthly, 35

Fortune, 43

Harper’s Weekly, 32, 57

“Fountain” (Duchamp), 37

Hartley, Marsden, 38

Fox, Nathan, 171–173

Heart (agency), 199

freelancer, 89

Heartfield, John, 77

Freud, Sigmund, 208

Heller, Steven, 45

Frozen Images, 45

Henri, Robert, 38, 40

futurism, 32

Hickey, Dave, 40 Higashi, Sandra, 90, 92

G

hip, 73

Gangle, Dick, 3, 43

hiring practices, 106–107

Gibson, Charles Dana, 36, 38, 86,

historical roots, graphic design/illus-

87 Gibson Girl, The (Gibson), 38, 39

tration, 30 Holland, Brad, 2, 51, 96, 153

Girardi, Peter, 192

interview with, 143–144

Glaser, Byron, 90, 92

op-ed page and, 44

Glaser, Milton, 51, 205

style of, 65, 68

Golden, Bill, 43

surrealism and, 5

Good Housekeeping, 42

Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 34

GQ, 7

Homer, Winslow, 32, 57

Graphic Artists Guild, 1, 23, 87,

Hopper, Edward, 39, 40, 44

116, 213

Hoptman, Laura, 47, 48

graphic design, 30, 31, 94, 120

Hoving, Thomas, 40

graphic novels, 73, 94

How (annual), 102, 211

Graphis magazine, 23, 102, 211

Howard Pyle School (Brandywine

Greenberg, Clement, 42

School), 34

Greeting Card Association, 214

Hudson River School, 32, 34, 57

Griffith, D.W., 35

Hughes, Robert, 49

Grossman, Robert, 5, 51, 78, 84

Hunter College (Manhattan), 161

Grosz, George, 9 group ethics, 122

I

Guarnaccia, Steven, 201

ICON 3 Conference (Philadelphia),

Guggenheim Museum, ix, 40, 67

205 IDEA, 198 “Illustration as Visual Essay,” 46, 223

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K

94, 171 illustration, timeline of, 86–87

Kalman, Maira, 89, 159

illustrative imagery, 36

Kelley, Gary, 153

illustrators, interviews with, 127–184

Kirk, David, 90

Brodner, Steve, 129–130

Kline, F.J., 42

Dillon, Diane, 147–148

Koen, Viktor, 135–137

Dillon, Leo, 147–148

Koons, Jeff, 101

Enos, Randall, 183–184

Kruger, Barbara, 46

Field, Ann, 133

Kuhn, Walt, 38

Fox, Nathan, 171–173

Kunioshi, Yasuo, 38

Holland, Brad, 143–144

Kunz, Anita, 153, 167–168

Kalman, Maira, 159 Koen, Viktor, 135–137

L

Kunz, Anita, 167–168

Ladies Home Journal, 42

MacDonald, Ross, 139–141

Leash, Dave, 2

Neiman, Christoph, 179–180

letterpress, 107

Payne, Chris, 151–153

Levine, David, 68, 96

Sutton, Ward, 175–176

Leyendecker, J.C., 36, 39

Illustrator’s Partnership of America (IPA), 1, 23, 29, 87, 213

Lichtenstein, Roy, 43 Life, 39, 43

images, creating/selling, 101

limited liability partnership (LLP), 92

imagination, 80

Lins, Rico, 135

impressionism, 32, 40

Lionni, Leo, 43

influence, 65, 68, 69

lithographs, 82, 83

influence vs. plagiarism, 67–69, 122

“Little Cubes,” 57

Inside, 189

Lodge, Henry Cabot, 34

International Exhibition of Modern

Lopez, Antonio, 133 Lucian Freud exhibition, 49

Art, 37 Internet, 120 IPA (Illustrator’s Partnership Associa-

M MacDonald, Ross, 139–141

tion), 1, 23, 29, 87, 213

magazines, 140–141

J

Magritte, René, 5, 13, 74

J. J. Sedelmaier Productions, 193

mailing lists, 102, 103, 104

journalism, 44

Malevich, K.S., 37

Jung, Carl, 52

Manet, Edouard, 32, 57

juried shows, 107

Man Ray, 77 224

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marketing, 92, 208

National Cartoonist Society, 214

marketing tools, 39

Neiman, Christoph, 179–180

market, shrinking, 30

Nessim, Barbara, 51

Marsh, Reginald, 41

“new illustration,” 77

Martin, David Stone, 147

Newman, Robert, 189

Martinez, John, 90

New Typography, 77

Martinez, Margaret, 90

new wave, 64

Martin, John, 38

New York Ace, 44

mass mailings, 102, 103

New Yorker, 47, 51, 190

Matisse, Henri, 58, 209

New York Foundation for the Arts,

Maus (Spiegelman), 47

214

Maya dimensional software, 78

New York magazine, 47

McCall’s, 42

New York Times, 45, 47, 164, 179,

McClure’s Magazine, 37

184, 201

McGuire, Richard, 90, 92, 114

New York Times Book Review, 54

McGuire Toys, 90

Nicholson, Jack, 56

McMullan, James, 45, 68

non-objectivism, 40

media, 83–85, 89, 101

novels, illustrated, 94

mental projection, 35

“Nude Descending the Staircase”

Metropolitan Museum of Art, 40, 49

(Duchamp), 37, 57

Modern Art Gallery (gallery 291), 38 modernism, 42

O

Modern Painters 2, 1989, 101

Oblinsky, Rafel, 46

Modern Postcard, 103

O’Keefe, Georgia, 38

Monroe, Marilyn, 67

old wave, 64

Motherwell, R., 42

op-ed page, 44, 201

motion, 74

Open City (Rossellini), 43

Mouly, Françoise, 202

organizations, 22–24

Mozart, W.A., 209 Museum of Modern Art (MOMA), 4, 40, 47, 48 Muybridge, Eadweard, 57

P package, 91 packaging company, 92 Paint By Numbers, 43

N

painting, 14, 49

Nagy, Laszlo Moholy, 77

Parada, Roberta, 155–156

narrative, 73

Park, Al, 147

National Art Spirit, 39

Payne, Chris, 2, 151–153 225

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photoengraving, 33

Arisman on, 7, 17

photograms, 77

experimentation/risk in, 10, 11

photograph vs. illustration, 54–56

Heller on, 8, 96

photography

as illustrator’s showroom, 6

art directors and, 77

Koen on, 135

digital, 137

promotion and, 21, 103, 200

Field on, 133

quality of, 189, 190, 192–194,

Glaser on, 207–208

196, 201–202

illustration and, 15, 89, 115

reviews of, 19–20

as an influence, 32

styles and, 65, 67, 70

manipulating, 55

Portfolios.com, 215

Pyle and, 33

postcards, 103, 106

photomontage, 77, 78

post-impressionism, 40

photo reference, 122

Pratt Institute, 44

Photoshop (Adobe), 77, 78, 79, 82,

Presley, Elvis, 67

115

Pricing Guidelines, 2

Picasso, Pablo, 56, 58, 67, 72

Print (annual), 23, 102, 161, 212

Pineles, Cipe, 43

Print’s Regional Design Annual, 139

plagiarism vs. influence, 67–69, 122

Prisoner from the Front (1866)

point of view

(Homer), 57

Brodner on, 129

problem/solution process, 9–10

Dillon (Diane) on, 147–148

problem solvers, 80

Dillon (Leo) on, 147–148

pro bono work, 114, 116

Enos on, 183

promotion(s), 21–22, 101–111, 135,

Field on, 133

200

Fox on, 171

book-like, 106

Holland on, 143, 144

MacDonald on, 139

Kalman on, 159

piece, development of, 105–106

Kunz on, 167

plan, 101–104

MacDonald on, 140

process of, 107–108

Neiman on, 179

representation and, 110–111

Parada on, 155

Pyle, Howard, 31–39, 40, 41

Payne on, 152

Q

Sutton on, 175

Quick Time movies, 74

Pollack, Jackson, 42 pop art, 43, 45, 48 portfolios 226

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R

Bedrosian on, 161–163

Ramparts, 44

Fox and, 171–172

Ray, Man, 77

Heller and, 13

Ready Mades, 37

MFA programs at, 94

realism, 38, 54, 57, 64, 68, 148

as a model, 46

reality, 207

Weaver and, 44, 45

reality TV, 208

screen halftones, 86

Real Simple, 189

Sedelmaier, J. J., 193

Redbook, The, 147

self-advertising vehicles, 102

redundancy, 69

self-generated projects, 89, 90, 92

Rees, Darrel, 199–200

self-production, 92

regionalists, 41

self-promotion guidelines, 109

Reinhardt, Ad, 44

seminars, 22–24

Remington, Frederick, 34, 86, 86–87

Sendak, Maurice, 89

representation, 110–111

Shahn, Ben, 9, 10, 41, 42

representatives, artist, 155

Sheeler, Charles, 38, 58

resources, 211–215

Shoeshine (De Sica), 43

Revere, Paul, 41

Showcase, 102, 105

Richmond, Matthew, 82

shows, juried, 107

“rights grabbing,” 200

silkscreen, 83

Road to Perdition, The, 46

Sixty-ninth Infantry Regiment

Rockwell, Norman, ix, 39, 40, 41, 43, 47, 55, 77, 95, 163

Armory Show, 37–38 sketchbooks, 91

Rolling Stone, 7, 51, 179, 196

Sloan, John, 38, 42

romanticism, 64

Smith, David, 8

Roosevelt, Theodore, 34

Smith, Roberta, 47

rotary press, 86

Society of Children’s Book Writers

Rothko, M., 42

and Illustrators, 213

R.S.V.P., 102, 105, 155

Society of Illustrators (annual), 102,

S

Society of Illustrators (organization),

161 salaries, 86–87 Saturday Evening Post, 40, 183 Schiele, Egon, 9

23, 107, 153, 212 Society of Photographers and Artists Representatives (SPAR), 212

Schjeldahl, Peter, 47

Society of Public Designers, The, 214

School of Visual Arts (SVA)

Solomon, Richard, 151–152

Arisman and, 6

songwriters, 143 227

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Sontag, Susan, 207

Parada on, 155

Sorel, Edward, 5, 65

Payne on, 152

Soyer, Raphael, 41

portfolios and, 65, 67, 70

specialization, 87

redundancy in, 69

Spiegelman, Art, 47

searching for, 72

Spielberg, Steven, 47

shifting of, 71

Sports Illustrated, 3, 43

success, 72

Spot Design, 196

Sutton on, 175

Starving Artists law, 215

Summers, Mark, 106

stationery/cards, 90

supply and demand principle, 89

Steadman, Ralph, 51, 65

support, finding, 92

Step by Step, 102

support groups, 22–24

STEP Inside Design, 211

suprematism, 40

Stermer, Dugald, 2, 51

surrealism, 4–5, 46, 68, 74

Stieglitz, Alfred, 38

Sutton, Ward, 175–176

stock illustration/houses, 2, 102,

T

115, 119–120, 200 storytelling, 39, 80, 95, 96, 97, 183,

Taylor, Elizabeth, 67 Teacher’s Pet (ABC cartoon series),

194

90

style(s), 63–74 bad drawings as, 70

technique, 155–156

Brodner on, 129

technology, 137

check list of, 72

technology, old/new, 77–87

content and, 72

television, 206, 207, 208

Dillon (Diane) on, 147

Texas, 151

Dillon (Leo) on, 147

Texas Monthly, 7

Enos on, 183

texture, 69

expressionism in, 71

Thanatos, 208

Field on, 133

Thompson, Hunter B., 51

Fox on, 171

timeline of illustration, 86–87

Holland on, 143

toy designers, 90

individual, 72

toys, 89, 92–93

influences, 72

tracing, 55, 56, 122

Kalman on, 159

trends, 73–74

Koen on, 136

Twain, Mark, 34

Kunz on, 167

200 Hundred Years of American Illustration, 95

Neiman on, 179 228

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“typofoto,” 77

getting work from, 135–136, 179,

typography, 89

183 illustrator’s, 80

U

Mouly on, 202

unions, 22–24, 87

portfolios and, 120

Unruh, Jack, 153

promotion and, 107, 200

USA Networks, 90

representation and, 110

U.S. Commission of Education, 86

Richmond on, 83 seeing samples on, 189

V

Winkler on, 198

Van Allesburg, Chris, 89

Wesselman, Tom, 43, 67

Van der Weilens School of Art

Westport School of narrative illustra-

(Philadelphia), 31, 34 van Dongen, Kees, 58

tion, 77 “What Was Yesterday” (Schjeldahl),

Van Gogh, Vincent, 35, 47

47

Vauxcelles, Louis, 57

Whitcomb, Jon, 42

venues, locating viable, 80

Whitmore, Coby, 42, 147

Vermeer, J., 55, 156

Whitney Museum, 44

viability, 91

Wilson, Woodrow, 34, 41

Vibe, 189

Winkler, Richard, 198

virtual media, 82

Wolfe, Tom, 63

vision, 66

Wolf, Henry, 43

Visual Arts Press, 45

“Women” series, 42

visual essays, 105

woodcut, 83

visual interpretation, 80

wood engraving, 86

visual solutions, 140

Wood, Grant, 41

voice, 3, 152, 162

Woodruff, Tom, 194 Woodward, Fred, 7

W

word of mouth, 135, 139

Warhol, Andy, 43, 67, 101

work-for-hire contracts, 140

Washington, George, 41

writing, 98

Weaver, Robert, 42, 43, 44, 45, 56,

Wyeth, N. C., 36

78 Web sites

Z

as delivery system, 95

Zolo, 90, 92

229

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Books from Allworth Press

Allworth Press is an imprint of Allworth Communications, Inc. Selected titles are listed below.

Business and Legal Forms for Illustrators, Third Edition by Tad Crawford (paperback, 81⁄2 × 11, 160 pages, includes CD-ROM, $29.95) Legal Guide for the Visual Artist, Fourth Edition by Tad Crawford (paperback, 81⁄2 × 11, 272 pages, $19.95) Starting Your Career as a Freelance Illustrator or Graphic Designer, Revised Edition by Michael Fleishman (paperback, 6 × 9, 272 pages, 80 b&w illus., $19.95) The Education of an Illustrator edited by Steven Heller and Marshall Arisman (paperback, 63⁄4 × 97⁄8, 288 pages, $19.95) The Education of a Graphic Designer edited by Steven Heller (paperback, 63⁄4 × 97⁄8, 288 pages, $18.95) The Education of an E-Designer edited by Steven Heller (paperback, 63⁄4 × 97⁄8, 352 pages, $21.95) The Education of a Design Entrepreneur edited by Steven Heller (paperback, 63⁄4 × 97⁄8, 288 pages, $21.95) Graphic Design History edited by Steven Heller and Georgette Balance (paperback, 63⁄4 × 97⁄8, 352 pages, $21.95) Citizen Designer: Perspectives on Design Responsibility edited by Steven Heller and Véronique Vienne (paperback, 6 × 9, 272 pages, $19.95) Please write to request our free catalog. To order by credit card, call 1-800-491-2808 or send a check or money order to Allworth Press, 10 East 23rd Street, Suite 510, New York, NY 10010. Include $5 for shipping and handling for the first book ordered and $1 for each additional book. Ten dollars plus $1 for each additional book if ordering from Canada. New York State residents must add sales tax. To see our complete catalog on the World Wide Web, or to order online, you can find us at www.allworth.com.