Look Again
An art director offers some pointers on "learning to see."
By David Saylor -- School Library Journal, 1/1/2000
After many years of reading reviews of children's books and attending book conventions, I've learned that most of us are much less comfortable discussing the art and design of a book than the words. And this is only natural. We are brought up learning to dissect the meaning of a story, understand sentence structure, and write essays. Not many of us are raised to be as articulate about the visual world.
So it's not surprising that people have often told me that analyzing art and design in picture books is a bit daunting. Responding emotionally to what we see is easy, but going beyond that takes more effort. So what's the key? For me, it was learning how to see, just as I once learned how to read and write. And "learning to see" means training your eye.
To start, let's look at artwork. In simplest terms, an illustration is composed of color, light, shadow, and line. By looking thoughtfully at an illustration and then asking ourselves questions about it, we can figure out what makes it work.
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Design exists as a supportive bit of stagecraft. Sometimes an elaborate set is most effective and sometimes a bare stage and a few lighting cues provide all that's needed. |
The best picture-book art tells a story of its own; it creates a visual world that enlarges, expands, sharpens, and reinforces an author's words. With this in mind, does the composition help us focus on the important moment in a scene? Does the color enhance the mood? Do the light and shadow help stir up drama? Does the line give us the telling details that conjure up a vivid character or a believable world? By answering these questions, we are not only evaluating an illustrator's artistic skill, but we're also getting closer to understanding the artist's intent, just as we would with an author's words.
But there's still further to go. The artwork also has to have that extra something that makes it sing, that gives it emotional impact. That extra component--whether it's heart, emotion, beauty, drama, or humor--is what makes a great illustration. And it's what makes us fall in love with art. But since what speaks to us visually varies from person to person, how can we make a more objective evaluation? If we start by agreeing that the elements that make up an illustration can be examined for their effectiveness, then we have a platform from which to begin. Adding in our emotional response rounds out our critique.
Learning to see applies to design as well. A picture book is made up of art and type placed on a page. But how do they work together to make something more than just ink on paper? As with looking at art, understanding the basic elements of book design is the first step.
Typography, for designers, is akin to an artist's mix of colors. There are thousands of typefaces in a designer's palette. The various shapes of the letterforms each create a different feeling and mood. Choosing the right ones can make quite a difference. But successful typography truly comes down to one thing: whether or not it's appropriate for a particular book. If it is, then the type will fit the feeling of the story, be set to a text width and leading that make for good readability, and will complement the artwork.
The other tool a designer has is layout. This encompasses much more than deciding where the type and art should be placed. It also means picking a trim size, determining the size of the artwork on the page, deciding whether the art is bordered or bleeds off the edges of the paper, and making sure the words are positioned thoughtfully and logically on the page. In essence, page layout organizes the art and words to provide clarity.
The other aspect of page layout, which is worked out with the artist, is planning the variation among vignette, full-page, and double-page art. Combining the artwork in various ways generates pacing and rhythm. Layout determines when excitement builds, when we pause for reflection, and when we turn the page for an even more effective surprise or conclusion.
I've heard it said that the best design is unnoticeable. Certainly one that draws attention to itself at the expense of the artwork or the readability has dubious merits. But sometimes a too-plain or recessive design misses an opportunity to create a better reading experience. While I often wish every reviewer would critique the design, I realize that the art and words should always take center stage in a review or in a book. Design exists as a supportive bit of stagecraft. Sometimes an elaborate set is most effective and sometimes a bare stage and a few lighting cues provide all that's needed.
Design is about communication. When it works, it should help communicate the message, the emotion, and the meaning of a book. It should present the artwork in its best light and help us connect more clearly with an author's words. A well-designed book enriches us by speaking more directly to our hearts and minds.
But the best way to explain how art and design work together is to share some examples. While my experiences are unique in some ways, similar stories could be told by any of my colleagues.
A good example of how page layout can make a difference is Beautiful Warrior (1998), Emily McCully's epic tale of the founding of a Kung Fu tradition by a Buddhist nun and her young protégée. When the project first began, I met with Emily and Arthur Levine, her editor, to talk about how the book might look. To suit the dramatic sweep of the story, we decided on a 12" x 10" horizontal trim.
A few weeks later, Arthur and I went to ALA in Washington, DC, where we saw a retrospective of Chinese art at the National Gallery. I noticed that many of the paintings were divided into panels, surrounded by pale silk cloth. This inspired me to think about the page layout in a more interesting and, in fact, more graphically accurate way. When I got back to the office, I placed the text into panels that went with specific sketches. The book's layout created a dynamic yet formal setting that further defined and propelled Emily's storytelling. The finishing touch was finding a patterned silk cloth for the backgrounds of the artwork, which evoked traditional Chinese paintings.
I had a very different experience working with Christopher Myers on Black Cat (1999), a poem/rap about an urban feline in search of a home. As is true of many artists, Chris thinks in pictures. He does his storytelling by capturing a moment that cannot be put into words. Long after he wrote the words, which he used almost as a springboard for visual riffing, he delivered the artwork. He created many more pieces than we actually needed to complete the book.
Tracy Mack, Chris's editor, and I put the art into a visual order that helped focus the story. With Chris guiding us, we weeded out the artwork that wasn't adding to the narrative flow. I took those final images and put them into a layout--making some art single page, some double page, some inset into larger images--to create a pacing and rhythm. Out of habit, I kept all the artwork distinct: I put space between them so they didn't touch. But Chris wanted the art to "rub together," to generate excitement by the juxtaposition of art against art. That simple effect gives the book an urban look as rhythmic as the story itself.
For the text, I picked a strong, sans serif typeface to evoke blocky city buildings. For the larger display type, I jumbled some of the letters with another sans serif typeface to mimic graffiti. Chris and I chose colors for the type as electric as those in his art. As a background for art and type, I used black to reinforce the mostly nighttime setting.
With Amelia and Eleanor Go for a Ride (1999), by Pam Muñoz Ryan, illustrated by Brian Selznick, we decided to take a gamble. The book hinges on a true story: a night flight made by Eleanor Roosevelt and Amelia Earhart in 1933. When Tracy Mack and I were thinking about the book, we knew Brian would do something wonderful. But what if he were to do it in black and white? Would it be fabulous or flat-footed in this age of full color? Brian immediately saw the possibilities. Why not look back to the black-and-white movies of the 1930s and bring that rich atmosphere to the story?
Brian did his lush drawings in pencil, working in a 12" x 10" format to capture the dramatic sweep of the flight scenes. He also added another color to the artwork: a deep purple that in combination with the black pencil looked almost silvery. To re-create the effect, we printed the book in a tri-tone process using black, warm gray, and purple ink.
With the typography, I took my cue from Brian's hand-lettered jacket type. He based his designs on old movie posters. I used a compatible sans serif type, printed in silver and black, to underscore the art deco feeling. The text was set in Cooper Oldstyle Bold, a typeface often used in the '20s and '30s that is also readable when dropped out white or surprinted black over the art.
Art and design can change the nature of a much longer book as well. For J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (1998), the designer Becky Terhune used a quirky typeface for the chapter openers, running heads, and folios that added just the right touch to a traditional page layout set in Garamond. The choice of Able Font for flavor was in turn influenced by the hand lettering that Mary GrandPré, the artist for the books, created for Harry's name on the book jackets. With Mary's funny and expressive spot art, the Harry Potter books sum up all that I would want to say about the power of art and design to enrich our reading experience.
When words, art, and design come together, our experience of reading a book, alone or aloud to a child, should be a seamless communication from writer and artist to reader. Helping writers and artists to achieve that is the goal of every art director. And by understanding a bit of what goes into reaching that goal, then perhaps analyzing art and design can be less daunting for all of us.
David Saylor is Vice President and Creative Director of the Book Group for Scholastic, Inc.
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