Is there really a higher compliment one can receive than having someone eat your artwork? I don’t think so.
I like to eat. A lot. I have a circle of four friends from high school in which I’m known for that particular character trait. One of the four tried to match me once on our annual trip to small-town Pennsylvania (affectionately named “Podunkapalooza”–more on that sometime in June, when the trip actually happens) and regretted it for the rest of the night. In fact, here’s a picture of me eating breakfast on one of those trips.
Notice the wall of condiments and beverages I’ve built to keep people from eating my food.
Okay, great, you get it. I like to eat. What does this have to do with anything?
Today I was saddened at the news that Maurice Sendak had passed away. Sendak’s work was a big part of my childhood, and although I know Edward Gorey gets most of the love here on my blog, Sendak was probably equally as influential in developing my love of somewhat dark illustration. As I read his obituary in today’s New York Times, I couldn’t help but be struck by the similarities between Gorey and Sendak, from their love of solitude to their depictions of childhood as a time fraught with perils to their prickly reactions to being described as “that guy who does children’s books.” I can’t count the number of times my mom read Chicken Soup with Rice or Pierre to me as a child. Nor can I recall the number of times I rushed to the children’s section of the Bethlehem Public Library to see if any of the Little Bear books (illustrated by Sendak) were there so I could pore over the illustrations from the comfort of my bedroom’s purple shag carpet.
