Knightly Inspirations

Ah, the summer months are almost upon us. The challenges of commitment have made some appearance recently, with some lapse in regular posts. I have a full dance card at the moment, with many projects relating to things here. In the last few weeks I sent a collection of Fairy images to press, wrapped up a very interesting set of images on Mermaids, and am about to finish the "polishing" steps of my new book on Willy Pogány. Throw in a few illustration assignments, my full-time job and a four-day fishing trip, ok, I'm busy. I have two big treats for the next two entries, so sit back and get set-

Maybe 20 years ago,Time-Life Books came out with a series on folklore and mythology called "The Enchanted World" This series of large-size hardcovers were richly illustrated, both with classic public-domain imagery, and brand new illustration from some of the big name illustrators of the day. Having just graduated art school, this was great material, and great reference- I signed on to receive all the books as they came out. I found a few inspirations among the artists in those pages, but one that really floored me was William Russell Flint. (1880-1969)

Flint was Scottish by birth, spent most of his life in Britain, and was knighted(!) for his artistic achievements in 1962. As usual, there is a good look at his work in relation to illustration at Jim Vadeboncouer's site at Bud Plant-
There is plenty of info on him scattered about the web, and he still has a healthy and active representation marketing his prints today.

There are a few things about Flint that drew me to his work—First was his design sense. The early picture that I saw in the Time-Life volume was the opening image on the page here, from the "Odyssey". These figures and visual devices are assembled in a way that continuously leads the viewer around the image area. The second thing that almost perplexed me was the use of medium—namely, watercolor. Really? Watercolor? It was these Flint pieces that convinced me that it could be used as a serious medium for illustration, that it could be used with accuracy and control.

Unfortunately for us illustration junkies, Flint's career in illustration was comparably short to his many years of creative output. He started with the Illustrated London News in 1903, and gave us some great plate books for about 25 years, including The Odyssey, Le Morte D'Arthur, The Canturbury Tales, and a number of editions on the works of Gilbert and Sullivan's operas. In the early 1930's, he made the leap that so many attempt, but so few succeed—he became accepted in gallery art; both for his landscapes, and his exquisite figure work. It is primarily this latter work that drives interest in his art today, but his illustration is still held in high esteem, from all quarters.

Brandywine, continued

After mulling over the last post, I believe it might be good to supply some background information on the "Brandywine school." I've been knee-deep in the works of its participants for a good many years now, but I know that may not be the case for everyone, especially someone in school now, or just coming to know this group of illustrator/painters. So even though we touched base with Howard Pyle last entry, I want to explain a bit about the movement he was such a catalyst for.

"Brandywine" refers to a valley, and a river, that exist in southeast PA (just west of Philadelphia), and the northernmost part of Delaware. The "Brandywine School" is a phrase talked about frequently in circles concerning early American illustration. It is a movement, not literally a school, though there were two schools that had a great deal to do with this movement getting off the ground, Drexel University, from 1894-1900, and Howard Pyle's own school, from the years 1900-1905.

Geography. This area was a real breeding ground for fertile imagination. It was far enough removed, that it still had very wild and native looking forest, perfect backdrops for images concerning the early history of our nation. At the same time, it was close enough to two of the biggest publishing cities in the northeast, New York (by train) and Philadelphia, so that an aspiring illustrator could maintain business contacts.

History. Not only is the area steeped in Revolutionary history, but a generation before Howard Pyle, Felix O'Darley was working in these parts. O'Darley was one of the earliest illustrators to break from stayed, dry poses in search of action. Howard Pyle spent some time in New York at the early part of his career, but longed for and eventually returned to the Brandywine Valley. After teaching at Philadelphia's Drexel University, he decided to open his own school, where he went on to hand pick his own students. The goal here was not financial, it was about Pyle passing on his trade, and his success, to the next generation of artists. The Howard Pyle School of Art ran from studios that Pyle had built in the Wilmington area, and held summer classes out of an old Mill in Chadd's Ford PA. This mill is the very building you will visit today, if you head on down to the Brandywine Museum. If this material speaks to you as it does to me, this experience borders on religious. It is truly a pilgrimage for any student of illustration.

Results. Pyle saw about 110 students in those few years. Their timing, and his, was very fortuitous—Publishing was going through its biggest boom, and there was plenty of work, in books, magazines, and newspapers, to go around. It seems that most of the students that possessed any serious ambition had little or no problem finding work after training under Pyle, and publishers were happy to have them.

Style and Content. When an image is described as being from the Brandywine school, it usually means it comes from Pyle, one of his students, or one of their students. Many, many of Pyle's pupils admired him enough to feel a need to carry on, and do as he had done for them. His ethics and methods have been impressed upon generations of artists. Pyle's love for historical subjects, from early Norse myths to the American Civil War—comprise a large percentage of his work, and there are few historical painters who do not claim the Brandywine group as influential. Palette, composition, focus, accuracy of details (especially historical) are all features that may lend to a piece being called "of the Brandywine school".
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The Brandywine Tradition by Henry Pitz, the definative history of what makes a piece from the Brandywine school-
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A shot of Pyle and a group of students at the Mill at Chadd's Ford, in 1902. What I would give to have had that opportunity. Pyle is the one in the hat, standing in the doorway.

Jeff

Where it all started (American illustration)

It is a bit surprising to me that we've gotten this far down the road without looking at Howard Pyle (1853-1911) yet. If I hadn't been knee deep in Willy Pogány books at the time, it very likely would have been Pyle we kicked things off with. There are two very good reasons.

The first is personal; my own fascination with Golden-age illustration began in the late 70's, at a yard sale in Rahway, New Jersey. A rather large Victorian household had rows and stacks of stuff all up and down its long driveway. Here I found incredible amounts of what I now believe to be press proofs, from the printing presses of Harpers magazines. I bought all I could afford at the time, which unfortunately wasn't much. (If I came across this sale nowadays, I can't imagine the financial stress it would cause me...) I beleive these were proofs because I now know the publications these images came from. The sheets these prints are on, while being either similar to press stock or tissue, are noticeably larger than the publications were....

This is where I first found Howard Pyle, and a number of his contemporaries, but Pyle's work captured my attention the most. The plate that really got me; is this one at the top right. This engraving so far surpassed other work I was familiar with... it had real emotion, character, storytelling, ATTITUDE. And that was all in one piece of black and white work. Check out the guys in the background, and their reaction to this yankee privateer—

Fast forward to 1984. After seeing the work I was producing, my second year painting teacher asks me to bring in some of what I think is good work. I bring him books of the hottest science fiction and fantasy book-jacket guys of the day. He asks if I 've ever heard of the Brandywine school, and sends me to the library. Thanks, Mr. Fritz.

The second (and far less personal) reason Pyle is so important, is; I do not believe there has been a single more influential artist than Pyle on American illustration. (listen for feathers ruffling) He was the biggest rock to go in the pond. Ripples? Practically immeasurable. During an immensely successful career, Howard Pyle decided it was his calling to teach his craft, not to numb masses filing through modern art schools, but to a select group, the best of the best, hand-picked by Pyle himself. He had a great eye for talent, apparently, because his first-generation students are among the tops in all of American illustration, during the first half of the 20th century. Cream of that crop? Frank Schoonover, Harvey Dunn, Stanley Arthurs, Elizabeth Shippen-Green, Jessie Wilcox Smith, Anton Otto Fisher, William James Aylward...whew. Pyle crossed brushes with a young upstart by the name of Maxfield Parrish—already taking on big jobs before he got to Pyle's school—Pyle told him he was already well on his way, and was in no need of his teachings. Oh, yeah, then there was that N. C. Wyeth fellow. Nice guy. And many of Pyle's students became teachers as well, spreading it on down. Ripples.

Any of these artists warrant a page of their own here on VIEW. Most have had a page or three elsewhere, hence the links. (Again, Jim Vadeboncouer has blazed the trail here) Most will get one. Pyle will get a few, for different aspects of his work; Wyeth and Parrish, yes, they are also a multi-page guys. More to follow on this soon-

Jeff

That's a Whole Lotta Bull . . .

. . .and that's a great thing. René Bull (1872-1942) is not an instantly recognizable name, even here among fans of illustration. Born in Dublin, Ireland, he had a fair career in the trade, with a good deal of time as a war correspondent, covering stories from 1896 up into WWI (including time in the mid-east and India). A generous portion of his work resides in periodicals of the day, and what was not war art, might have been early humorous cartoons. But IF you have come across his name, there is an excellent chance it is in association with this book—The Arabian Nights—

Bull did sizable jobs on a few books, including a nice Rubáiyat of Omar Khayyám in 1913, but it is hard to compare even that otherwise beautiful collection to his work in The Arabian Nights.

The better editions of Bull's The Arabian Nights (First editions being from 1912) contain 20 full color-tipped in plates, and 98 black and white pieces. Some full-page, some worked into the text, some done in an early halftone method . . . all of them top-notch. How he maintained such a high degree of quality on such a large amount of work astounds me. It is the book that his name will go on living for, and in my opinion, makes him one of the two best illustrators of these tales that I have had the pleasure of looking through. While his color work here is bright, well-balanced, and full of all of the life and details we want to imagine, the line work is out of this world. Rarely have I seen line look more fluid, more natural in its description, or more efficient in its ability to convey a form. Bull captures character, light, and climate in his amazing use of nothing other than black ink. Put this whole package together, it stands up to the very best books of the period.

Information on Bull is hard to come by. He went on to do Andersen's Fairy Tales and a Gulliver's Travels, also A book of The Russian Ballet, and an adaptation of Carmen, but they fall short of the brilliance he achieved with The Arabian Nights and to some extant, his Rubáiyat. Perhaps it was his personal interest in the east and his own experiences there that gave those projects their dynamic spark. Bull did work into the 1930's, though the work wasn't as plentiful, his name comes up on dust jacket art on numerous juvenile projects.

If you haven't come across him before, remember his name for this 1912 edition.

See you next week—Jeff