Walking in the winter woods, hearing silence punctuated by the call of birds and the rustle of leaves, I began composing this image in my head. It is hard to dream when the din of traffic, the rumble of the subway below, and the roar of the planes above cloud your head; dreams need quiet. Dreams need thought and time to push themselves around in your brain.
There is something very beautiful but melancholy about the woods in winter; though the plants go to sleep for the season, other things start to move. Tracks of water moving under the ice look like bugs scurrying to their homes. The vibrant colors of spring, summer, and fall become the muted but a palette of yellows, browns, reds, and grays emerges in gentle, quiet beauty. Hints of green are unexpected and refreshing. The woods are quieter, without the buzz of insects. It is the haven of birds.
This winter I took two trips to the NYC Botanical Gardens and walked as often as I could with my father in the wooded paths of Maryland. It was rejuvenating and wonderful; Dad and I walked in the morning, when winter thistle is backed by sun, and after sunset, when we had to concentrate to find our way. I loved the foggy days the best, when the sky lost its color and the trees faded away, shrouded in gray.
The story of "The Twelve Brothers" ("Die zwölf Brüder") by the Brothers Grimm is one that has been told in various manifestations. It tells of a king and queen who had a dozen boys, but when the queen conceives again, the king decides that if it is a girl the boys will be killed, leaving the princess to inherit the kingdom. The queen sends her sons into the woods to await her sign, but of course, it is a girl she bears. So the boys stay away, living in the woods. One day, the sister learns of her forgotten family and leaves in search of them. She finds them, wins their filial love; but all will not end happily, at least not yet:
"They all rejoiced, falling around her neck and kissing her, and they loved her with all their hearts.
Now she stayed at home with Benjamin and helped him with the work. The eleven went into the woods and captured wild game, deer, birds, and doves, so they would have something to eat. Their sister and Benjamin prepared it all. They gathered wood for cooking, herbs for the stew, and put the pot onto the fire so a meal was always ready when the eleven came home. She also kept the house in order, and made up the beds white and clean. The brothers were always satisfied, and they lived happily with her.
One time the two of them had prepared a good meal at home, and so they sat together and ate and drank and were ever so happy. Now there was a little garden next to the bewitched house, and in it there were twelve lilies, the kind that are called "students." Wanting to bring some pleasure to her brothers, she picked the twelve flowers, intending to give one to each of them when they were eating. But in the same instant that she picked the flowers, the twelve brothers were transformed into twelve ravens, and they flew away above the woods. The house and the garden disappeared as well.
Now the poor girl was alone in the wild woods. Looking around, she saw an old women standing next to her.
The old woman said, "My child, what have you done?" Why did you not leave the twelve white flowers standing? Those were your brothers, and now they have been transformed into ravens forever."
The girl said, crying, "Is there no way to redeem them?"
"No," said the old woman, "There is only one way in the world, and it is so difficult that you will never redeem them. You must remain silent for seven whole years, neither speaking nor laughing. If you speak a single word, even if all but one hour of the seven years has passed, then it will all be for nothing, and your brothers will be killed by that one word."
Then the girl said in her heart, "I know for sure that I will redeem my brothers.""
As for the rest, you'll have to wait, or go read the story yourself.
This past weekend I had the pleasure of attending an event I've been anticipating for about six months: a show at the Rice Gallery at McDaniel College in Westminster, MD, called "Beyond Words: The Artistry of Illustrated Children's Books." McDaniel College, then called Western Maryland College, had been my alma mater. There, I studied Studio Art and Art History. I graduated summa cum laude with honors in Studio Art in 1999. So, how nice it was to return again: what a walk down memory lane.
Last summer, after my stint in the hospital, my mother came to stay for a week or so to help me while I recovered. I was telling her that we needed some good news; it had been a trying year. The next day, I received an email from Dr. Robert Lemieux of McDaniel College, who was curating an exhibition of children's book illustrations in conjunction with the Corcoran, the National Gallery of Art, and noted children's book collections, including the Eric Carle Museum and the de Grummond Collection.
He wanted to include one of my artworks in the show; I would be their alumni representative. Dr. Lemieux eventually chose "Bedtime Stories," my concept sketch for the dummy I am working on, "Lore and the Little Star," as the work he wanted to include. It was the good news I needed: I accepted immediately. How could I say no to being in the same hallowed company as the artists I have admired since I was a child, many of whom have won the coveted Caldecott Medal? Included in this number were such artists as Ezra Jack Keats, Eric Carle, Adrienne Adams, Paul O. Zelinsky, Mo Willems, Tomie dePaola, David Wiesner, Jerry Pinkney, and Mary Azarian, among many talented others. I have had the good fortune to meet many of these artists since coming to live in NYC. I am honored to be here among their inspiring company.
If you have ever looked at original art intended for publication, there are things you can see there that you never would in books: smudges, crop marks, and even hand-written notes. Original art has a beauty that is often lost in the printed image. Ezra Jack Keats' image from the (nearly legendary) "Snowy Day", for instance, had a depth of texture and color that I would not have expected.
Two years ago, I had met Chris Raschka, whose book, "A Ball for Daisy," had won the Caldecott Medal for 2012. Here my work hangs next to his; I hope it is a sign of good things to come. The opening was lovely; my entire family came to see it as well as some old college friends and professors. It was a happy, joyous day in the midst of so much wonderful art. Please don't miss this show!
Hans-My-Hedgehog Illustrations is the name of Jessica Boehman's blog and illustration shop. It is named after her favorite fairy tale about a hedgehog boy who becomes king of the forest. All other pages redirect to: