 |
 |
|
| From
the July/August 2010 issue of The Horn Book Magazine Jerry Pinkney
Patience, dear reader . . . It’s all about patience. There are a few things everyone seems to know about Jerry Pinkney. First, of course, that his illustrated adaptation of the Aesop fable “The Lion and the Mouse” won the 2010 Caldecott Medal. Second, that he was awarded five Caldecott Honors prior to that landmark. And, last but not least, that he’s the patriarch of a beloved family of talented children’s book creators, including wife Gloria Jean, son Brian, daughter-in-law Andrea, son Myles, and daughter-in-law Sandra. But many people don’t know about the long, steady, determined journey he took to where he is today. Jerry Pinkney was born in Philadelphia on December 22, 1939, a middle child in a family of six children. He shared a crowded bedroom with two brothers, and with no physical space to call his own, he created his own personal space with his drawing pad. His favorite refuge was hiding under the piano with paper and pencil. His work always had promise — at least from the point of view of his proud mother. When people asked why he was the only one of her children who didn’t have a middle name, she would say, “‘Jerry’ is enough. He’ll make something of that name, I just know it.” As a boy, Jerry sold newspapers at a stand across the street from a department store. Never missing an opportunity to draw, he frequently sketched the mannequins in the windows. A patron of the stand, John Liney, was a well-known cartoonist, and he noticed Jerry’s talent and encouraged him. He opened Jerry’s eyes to the fact that one could actually make a living as an artist. That’s when the dream began. But Jerry wasn’t about to let it be just a dream. Even though dyslexia caused him to struggle academically, his art skills gave him confidence, and he became a student of commercial art at Dobbins Vocational High School. His future wife, Gloria Jean, also a student there, remembers the first time she saw Jerry. “His sleeves were rolled up and he had a pencil behind his ear,” she recalled. “He looked very busy!” And indeed he was. When he was a senior, one of his teachers told the art students about a scholarship — and then discouraged the African American students from applying since their chances of becoming professional artists were slim. Undeterred, Jerry marched down to the counselor’s office and picked up applications not just for himself but for the other two black students in his class. Both Jerry and his best friend, also an African American, won scholarships. Not long after studying at the Philadelphia College of Art, he applied for an illustration job at the Rustcraft Greeting Card Company. He didn’t have an illustration portfolio, so he set about creating one. In his and Gloria’s cramped studio apartment, which they shared with their new baby, sometimes the only space to draw was in the bathroom. Jerry placed a drawing board on the tub, sat on the closed lid of the toilet, and made the drawings that won him this life-changing job. Thus begun Jerry’s thriving career as a commercial artist. He produced work for advertising agencies, corporate annual reports, and even fashion and retail, including six-foot-tall paintings for Thom McAn shoe stores. Half a dozen years after starting his first job, he was already a founding member of an independent art studio, Kalei-doscope. From the beginning, Jerry’s singular work ethic was apparent: once, when he seriously injured his thumb and a doctor told him he might not be able to draw again, Jerry taught himself to draw with his left hand. His right hand healed eventually, but in the interim he was able to make a living. He didn’t see it as a particularly remarkable act. “What else was I going to do? I had to work!” Jerry’s first children’s book project was illustrating The Adventures of Spider (1964) by Joyce Cooper Arkhurst. His style then was so different that fans today would not recognize Spider as a Jerry Pinkney book. Angular, strong black lines, deceptively improvisational, created playful characters. Flat color washes characteristic of the pre-separated art of the day added punch, but it was Jerry’s distinctive line work that brought these traditional tales to life. Illustrating The Patchwork Quilt (1985) by Valerie Flournoy was a turning point. By that time, Jerry knew that creating art for young people was what he wanted to focus on. As years passed, he was frequently called upon to illustrate stories that demanded very specific characters, setting, costuming, or historical accuracy: The Talking Eggs (1989) by Robert D. San Souci; Minty: A Story of a Young Harriet Tubman (1996) by Alan Schroeder. But his collection of Aesop’s Fables (2000) was a particularly eye-opening experience for him creatively: the animal tales allowed him to bring his own sense of humor and imagination to the table. It was a necessary prequel to The Lion and the Mouse. Great artists make a name by finding a style they can truly call their own, and Jerry Pinkney is no exception. His intricate yet organic line work is deftly meshed with layers and layers of transparent color — some of which build to swaths of lush vibrancy — in a manner that is distinctly Jerry’s. Some areas of each painting leave the under-drawing to shine through, so the piece never loses connection with that initial flow of pencil to paper. “I always considered myself a draftsman first, then a painter,” he said to me once. While this seems startling, given his rich and intensive watercolor technique, it makes sense. His sketches are full of energy, and creating his final drawings is typically the most time-consuming stage of a project. Every stage of a Pinkney book reveals much about how Jerry’s philosophies and professionalism set him apart. First, he takes research very seriously: he’s amassed an immense library of books and photo references in his own studio as a starting point. He insists that corrections be done by his hand on the actual painting rather than having a designer make changes in Photoshop; no shortcuts for Jerry. And then there is, of course, the delivery of the always-dazzling final art, with careful packaging and matting fit for museum pieces. Even after illustrating more than one hundred children’s books, Jerry still continually raises his own bar. Projects that don’t present some sort of problem-solving challenge for him seem to attract him less. He once turned down a project because he felt he would deliver something too predictable: “It’s a great story, but we’d all know exactly what we were going to get.” According to Jerry, “Almost every book project seems to present one spread in particular that is a tremendous challenge.” Jerry never panics during that struggle, because he knows “it forces me to think differently, and as a result it often ends up being the best spread in the book.” A true artist is never afraid to work outside his comfort zone. That, I believe, was the reason he relished the challenge of creating a (nearly) wordless book with The Lion and the Mouse. The absence of a text forced him to grapple with questions like What should the lion’s expression be when he is debating whether or not to spare the mouse’s life? or Is there enough indication of how much work it takes for the mouse to gnaw through that rope? Jerry genuinely enjoyed engaging in the conversation — even when it required creating entirely new pieces of art. There were many moments during the creation of this book when I got that shiver of excitement that comes when you’re watching something magical bloom, including my first glimpse of Jerry’s jacket sketch, which eventually became the art for the case cover. The cover’s striking pictographic conceit, as well as the paneled art pages in his thumbnail sketches, sent a strong signal that Jerry was breaking away from his norm. And, of course, there was the day Jerry delivered the art. I was overwhelmed, seeing those majestic, tender images for the first time. The relevance and timeliness of the book suddenly struck me. I was particularly moved by the depictions of animals living together in peace on the endpapers, the tragic expression on the lion’s face in his netted prison, and the mouse’s carrying of the rope fragment back to her family. “Oh!” I exclaimed, choking up. “It’s as if the knot represents a lesson she’s learned from this experience, which she’s passing on to her children!” Perhaps that was the first of many instances to come of one reader creating his or her own narrative for the book. I’ll venture to say that the book is profoundly resonant to so many because the compassion brilliantly embodied in the pictures reflects Jerry’s own compassionate nature. Their warmth is his warmth. Their wisdom and sensitivity is his own, enhanced by a rich life experience. And that work ethic, so beautifully represented by the mouse gnawing through that rope to free the lion, is Jerry’s, too. It would be remiss not to mention how many others outside the children’s book arena have recognized Jerry’s exceptional talents. He is frequently commissioned for nationally significant works and has created art for the NASA Art Collection, the White House, and the U.S. National Park Service, as well as extraordinary life-sized figure paintings for the African Burial Ground Interpretive Center in Manhattan. He designed stamps for the U.S. Postal Service’s Black Heritage series in addition to serving on the Postal Service’s Citizens’ Stamp Advisory Committee for nine years. From 2003 to 2009 he sat on the NEA’s National Council of the Arts, for a grand total of sixteen years of public service — so far. “I wanted to show that an African American artist could make it on a national level in the graphic arts,” he says. “I wanted to be a strong role model for my family and other African Americans.” A stronger role model would be difficult to find. Illustrator James Ransome is one of many artists who have been inspired by Jerry. Beyond the mentoring and many generous critiques Jerry has offered to James, he also has taught him “how to be a true professional. How to strike a balance between being completely committed to your art and to your family.” James also notes that “there’s a steadiness to Jerry’s work that has transcended time. Everyone in this business admires the longevity of his career and his art.” Jerry’s art has been displayed in dozens of one-man exhibits in museums across the nation, and a major exhibition at the Norman Rockwell Museum is in the works. In 1997, Jerry was a United States nominee for the Hans Christian Andersen Illustrator Award. He has been the recipient of At long last, that gold medal. At age seventy. Which brings me back to the theme of patience. And the airports. Jerry would be the first to say that he’s been blessed in many ways, but luck is not always in his favor when it comes to traveling. Every time I speak to him after a trip, there is a story of wretched flight delays or other mishaps. And yet he always relays these tales with a bemused chuckle, in the spirit of “Such is life! Why complain?” Jerry’s even keel is one of many admirable qualities his colleagues cherish. For it’s not just the art that is a national treasure; it’s the artist himself. Even after all his success, Jerry remains a humble and passionate artist. “It still amazes me how much the projects have given back to me in terms of personal and artistic satisfaction. They have given me the opportunity to use my imagination, to draw, to paint, to travel through the voices of the characters, and, above all else, to connect
From the July/August 2010 issue of The Horn Book Magazine |
’ll start by stating this random fact: Jerry Pinkney gets stuck in a lot of airports. Why would anyone begin a profile of arguably the most acclaimed children’s book artist of our time with such a mundane observation?
 |
  
     |
||||||||
