The Neighbors

I've read and re-read The Neighbors (a.k.a. The Neighboring Families) trying to think of something to say about it, but I consistently come up with nothing. Maybe I don't get it? It's full of conflicting interpretations of beauty and "the beautiful" and *SPOILER ALERT* there is a dead bird in it - something that always makes me a bit misty (even if that bird was kind of a jerk).

I've singled out the reference to ducks, "standing on their heads in the water." Fun Fact: Oscar Wilde would later adopt this quirky and adorable description of duck behavior in one of my favorite stories of his, The Devoted Friend (a dead-bird-free story).

"... there is no accounting for ducks, you never know what they will do next."

The Old Street Lamp

It will surprise no one who knows me that the image from The Old Street Lamp that inspired me was that of the lamp's trio of gutter-bound, would-be successors: a herring's head, a bit of rotting wood, and a glow worm. All of these guys claim that they would be suitable replacements for the lamp because they all ostensibly glow in the dark. Sure, we all believe the glow worm (a common term, I learned, for all manner of bioluminescent insects, such as fireflies - none are actually worms, although I couldn't resist drawing a worm here), but a piece of wood? a herring's head? The Modern Classics animated adaptation attempts an explanation for the wood, giving the dreary bit of driftwood the excuse that he is covered in a glowing algae. Unless the herring's head is covered in the same algae, I can't figure out why it would glow. I found no references anywhere else, legendary or scientific, to a glowing fish head. Anybody else heard of this?

From A Window In Vartov

I've had this image in my head for a couple of weeks now. In fact, I meant for this illustration to be my Inktober #1, but the sketch never quite felt right until I tackled it again yesterday. (My Inktober drawings are all on my Instagram feed, btw.)

From A Window in Vartov (alternatively, By the Almshouse Window or View from Vartou's Window) is a sort of story within a story in which an old maid watching youngsters at play recalls her own tragic life and a local legend about a sacrificed child.

"An innocent child was lured with flowers, cakes, and toys into an open tomb..."

From the Ramparts of the Citadel

a.k.a. The Sunbeam and the Captive

I'm still intrigued by the discrepancies I run into when I compare translations of Andersen. It seems highly unlikely that From the Ramparts of the Citadel (Haugaard, 1974) and The Sunbeam and the Captive (Paull, 1872) - the two most common titles I've come across - derived from the same original Dutch. I've also seen this tale called A Picture from the Ramparts, which sounds close enough to From the Ramparts... to be two different translations of the same thing, but where does the alternative come from? Perhaps the Ramparts versions are just contemporary adaptations, but why? They are all adequate as descriptions of the story, although I find Sunbeam sounds somewhat less drab, and hints more at the story's true substance (and fits better with my silly illustration!) And now this post is nearly as long as the story itself. /end ramble

"...for birds twitter to the just as well as to the unjust."

The Little Match Girl

Surely you've read, or at least heard of, The Little Match Girl, one of Andersen's best-loved tales. When it came up in line for this blog, I couldn't bear the thought of doing yet another little match girl illustration like the zillions of others already out there. The other night, it suddenly dawned on me to combine The Little Match Girl with my other favorite story about dead children and cast her as one of Edward Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies. I only wish Andersen had given her a name, so as better conform to the "X is for X____ who ..," format.

ink on paper

Something is Rotten in Denmark

For Holger the Dane (or Holger Danske) I decided to try working in a looser, more naive style.  I bloody hated it.

They say you should, "allow yourself to make bad art," don't they? Mission accomplished.

"... he sleeps and dreams, but in his dreams he sees everything that happens in Denmark."

Copic & acrylic on scrap cardboard.

The Shepherdess and the Chimney Sweep

Just a quick post from my phone today - a rough sketch of Mr. Goat-legged-commanding-general-private-war-sergeant (AKA Major general-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat’s-legs) from The Shepherdess and the Chimney Sweep



"It was certainly a very difficult name to pronounce, and there are very few who ever receive such a title..."


Graphite & chalk on toned paper.

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The Jumping Competition

I had so much fun with this one.

The Jumping Competition is probably my favorite kind of fairy tale. It's downright silly, has fun, non-human characters (with delightful personality flaws), and it granted me a perfect opportunity to draw a French Foreign Legion uniform (a tiny obsession of mine).

In case you read the story and find yourself wondering, as I did, just what on Earth a jumping jack is (alternatively translated as skipjack), I learned that it is a child's toy made by attaching a stick to a wishbone by the means of a short length of cord. It seems that the stick can be wound up, causing the entire apparatus to spring up.

For those of you who already follow me on instagram, these might look familiar. I jumped ahead and drew these guys a while back.

The flea enlisted in a foreign army and it was rumored that he was killed in battle.

The grasshopper sat down in the ditch and thought about the injustice of the world.

Watercolor & prisma on paper.

The Red Shoes

I'll admit, The Red Shoes was a bit of a road block for me.  You'd probably think I would leap at the chance to illustrate such a singularly dark and gory tale, but I sort of balked at this one; reading it OVER and OVER before putting pencil to paper.  Aside from the fact that I tend to avoid drawing humans whenever possible - and here it was inevitable, with no non-human characters save the shoes themselves, (and I refuse to commit such a grievous  cop-out as drawing a still life of a pair of shoes) - I've long struggled to visualize Karen's incessantly dancing feet.  What would it look like, really, for someone to have no control over their feet; yet to remain upright and dancing all through the day and night?*  I even went so far as to do a Google image search to see what other illustrators have done with the concept (something I try not to do here).  I found that conveying it with a static image seems to be a problem for other artists, too.  Not that they all failed utterly, but to me, a drawing of a girl dancing seems to always look like a drawing of a girl dancing of her own accord.  How to portray her feeling of imprisonment and helplessness?  The only solution I could come up with was to depict her legs as being bent at odd, unnatural angles.  Still, I wasn't happy with the sketches that this approach was yielding.  Eventually, I chose to compromise by drawing a seated Karen, her legs flailing wildly and in ways not humanly possible.  I think that her body language from the waist up helps to communicate her despair, as her feet do what they please.  She is attended by the executioner (who I suppose I've depicted as more of a woodsman-type figure), just before removing her offending feet in a brutal act of compassion.

"Do not cut off my head," begged Karen, "for then I should not be able to repent. But cut off my feet!"

Watercolor on paper.

*Note: No, I've never seen the film, The Red Shoes, which could possibly be helpful here visually.  I don't think it's a direct adaptation of Andersen, but it's about ballet, so I'll probably watch it one day.

Elfin Hill Revisited

It's been a year.  Not having internet at my house has made it tougher than ever to keep up with this blog, but I still enjoy doing my little drawings for this project.

Since my last post, I've gone back to my Elfin Hill illustration, adding a bit and doing a proper scan as well.

Watercolor & Prisma.


Next up: The Red Shoes

The Elfin Hill

The Elfin Hill is loaded with fun imagery, and may result in more drawings than the one I'm posting today. This is actually drawn from the very first line of the story. It stuck in my head right from the get-go back when I read it some weeks ago, and was what I remembered when I finally put pencil to paper last night.



"A FEW large lizards were running nimbly about in the clefts of an old tree; they could understand one another very well, for they spoke the lizard language."



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Grandmother

Yesterday being Hans Christian Andersen's birthday, I decided to finally tackle Grandmother (ha) which my aversion to drawing humans caused me to avoid.

I don't have much of a comment on the story itself, but some notes on the drawing:

I think it came out a lot spookier than I'd intended. The feeling of the story is endearing, rather than ghoulish, but I think my corpse is more creepy than not. (Especially since I chose to ignore the part of the text that describes dead Grandmother as no longer appearing wrinkled and old.)
Furthermore, I really wanted to show the corpse, coffin, prayer book, and rose all at once. The device I settled on for achieving this is actually inspired by similar effects that I've seen in video games (the secret is *here* - go get it!). Not sure how successful I was with that, but there you have it. Happy belated birthday, HCA.



The hymn-book, in which the rose still lay, was placed under her head, for so she had wished it; and then they buried grandmother.

Graphite on moleskine.

The Bell

After all my grousing about the juxtaposition of Christian themes with Pagan(ish) folklore, The Bell - refreshingly - hails nature itself as sublime.

Go figure why I drew what I did.
I freakin hate monkeys.

Ugly monkeys sat high in the branches and clenched their teeth.

Watercolor on watercolor paper.

The Darning Needle OR The Remarkable Rocket

Today, I'm cheating a little bit.

On the same day that I read The Darning Needle, I'd just happened to have re-read Oscar Wilde's The Remarkable Rocket (or rather, listened to Stephen Fry's delicious reading of it). I found it rather remarkable indeed how similar the two stories were. And, seeing how The Darning Needle was remarkably short (and devoid of any scenes that particularly inspired me) I've done a little watercolor sketch from The Remarkable Rocket instead. It had a frog in it; how could I resist?




"... I like to do all the talking myself. It saves time, and prevents arguments."

Watercolor on paper.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Mother Elderberry

Mother Elderberry is a charming little tale about Memory. The author's mention of a string of children, the youngest of which is named Hans Christian, set me wondering whether this was a reference to his own life. Alas, some little research revealed that Mr. Andersen was an only child who, I believe, died without ever fathering any children of his own. I suppose I'm always stretching to find a little something to say about these stories, but sometimes there is nothing to do but to give you the drawing.




"There it is! Be careful. It is in the teapot."

Graphite on Moleskine.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Snow Queen: Finale

Seventh Story:
Of the Palace of the Snow Queen and What Happened There At Last
And so, after a year's time, my seventh and final illustration for Andersen's Snow Queen makes an appearance.
And in rather tiny proportions, at that!
Furthermore, for the first time in quite a while, I have some commentary about the story itself which I should like to insert just here:
What presents itself as an upright, Christian cautionary tale against the evils of reason (Reason being the vast mirror of the Snow Queen, a particle of which has become lodged in little Kay's eyeball, making him behave rather badly), proceeds to have the children fortified for their journey home by the means of most unholy acts of communion with a reindeer.




"He had brought another young reindeer with him and her udder was bursting with milk. The two children drank from it and the reindeer kissed them."
(Haugaard)
Alternately:

...and he had brought another young reindeer with him, whose udders were full, and the children drank her warm milk and kissed her on the mouth.

Of course, it is just a fairy story, after all. Snow Queens, ice monsters, and witches (having appeared in previous chapters) have no more place in a Christian parable than a small boy suckling at the engorged teat of a young reindeer. But then, what place do your values have in such a story either, Mr. Andersen?
Ah well. 'Til next time, kids; when I shall resume with Mother Elderberry.


* By the by, this little drawing was meant to be a rough sketch, but I took a liking to it and couldn't be buggered to do it over, so it measures <2" across.

The Snow Queen: 6 of 7

Sixth Story:

The Lapland Woman and the Finland Woman

While laying low while Hurricane Isaac blew over, my sketchbook scribblings meandered back to The Snow Queen.  Hopefully, once I'm finished with this seven-part tale, my interest in this project will be renewed and Hans Christian Andersen's writings will again become a legitimate source of inspiration for me.

The sixth installment of The Snow Queen finds little Gerda seeking the advice of two slightly eccentric loners, and advancing to the Snow Queen's fortress.  The first wave of foes she confronts there - in true, RPG fashion - is a veritable army of snowflake monsters resembling all manner of wildlife.  

"... and some few were like little fat bears with their hair bristled; but all were dazzlingly white, and all were living snow-flakes."

The Snow Queen: 5 of 7

Fifth Story:

Little Robber-Girl

I'll make it through all seven parts of The Snow Queen yet!  I'll come clean: I didn't so much read this installment as skim through until I found an appealing bit of imagery.  A reindeer loaded down with bread and ham for a journey?  Sounds like me.

“you ought to look quite happy now; and here are two loaves and a ham, so that you need not starve.”

The Snow Queen: 4 of 7

Fourth Story:

The Prince and Princess

Another installment of The Snow Queen.  While I've lived in Louisiana long enough not to expect snow, perhaps I'd be more inclined to finish this snowy tale if it felt like winter at all: as it is, 70 degree February days just don't feel right to me.

This concept, while not entirely without merit, was probably better in my mind than it came out on paper.  Though both versions shown here are quite rough indeed, I think the pencil sketch is far superior (except in the animal silhouettes, which were done hastily and without much regard for anatomy).

“It seems to me as if somebody were behind us,” said Gerda...

"They are only dreams," said the crow...

The Snow Queen: 3 of 7

Honestly, I drew this quite a while ago for the third chapter of The Snow Queen.  I didn't put much time into it, and I meant to do something better for the blog.  However, this being sort of cute in spite of itself, and me wanting to move on, here it is.  Consider this my obligatory "Hummel Figurine" drawing.  Although, Hummels aren't normally crying inky, black tears from piteous, empty eye sockets.

Third Story:

The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure

“I will give you my red shoes if you will give him back to me.”

[Ink & Watercolor on Weekly Planner]