Artist Inspo: Brian Wildsmith

Entering a world of color and texture

I had a magical children’s book when I was very small, one that I could take to naptime as protection against that boring, mandatory “rest” period. I lost myself in the illustrations for hours. By elementary school that book had been squirreled away somewhere; in later years I wasn’t entirely sure where the residual images in my head had come from. They were so magical that I thought maybe I had daydreamed them. (This wasn’t super far-fetched: one aunt had already nicknamed me the “spaceshot.”)

Years later I happened across an online reference to one of the illustrations, and it all came back to me in a rush. The book was Blue Bird, Brian Wildsmith’s illustrated retelling of Belgian playwright Maurice Maeterlinck’s 1908 play.

Seeing this cover as an adult jolted me back to early childhood sense memories

Its sibling quest was reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel, but there the comparisons stopped. The narrative was so unexpected and obscure to me that the magic was intensified. At the time, I linked this sense of mystery to the children’s adventure, imagining each turn in the plot held a deeper meaning that I couldn’t fully grasp. There’s no doubt that I missed plenty of text AND subtext, but now I suspect that the true mystery grew out of Wildsmith’s art, which was immersive, richly detailed with color and texture, and somehow completely foreign to my own experience.

As an adult, seeing the illustrations brought a sense of recognition so strong that the characters seemed to be archetypal figures pulled straight from my psyche:

The familiar—spilled milk, a forest neighbor—is transformed for siblings Tyltyl and Myltyl (source)

Apparently these illustrations were how Wildsmith channeled his disappointment in the panned 1976 film “The Blue Bird” by George Cukor (yes, that George Cukor), for which the artist had designed sets and costumes. He had had high hopes for the experience, as it filmed in Moscow with an enormous budget and boasted a cast that included Elizabeth Taylor and Jane Fonda. Unfortunately the production was a mess, and Wildsmith poured all of his dreams for the film into this children’s book instead. How grateful I am for that.

Rediscovering the book opened up a new world of Wildsmith’s art to me, and I can see now that perhaps I later fell for the work of artists like Klimt because of this early exposure to Blue Bird. Certainly some of Wildsmith’s paintings and religious art resonate in that direction.

Wildsmith’s “Sleeping Beauty,” from a series of 1970s-era posters commissioned by publisher Franklin Watts (source)

It seems to me, however, that Wildsmith was both wildly and broadly talented, and could have worked comfortably within any number of genres. If you are intrigued, I highly recommend browsing the website that Wildsmith’s family have created to honor his work. It is just chock-full of gorgeous, thought-provoking art.

I’m not sure that I can draw a direct connection between Wildsmith and my own doodles, except to note that his family’s observation about his work resonates with me deeply:

Everything in Wildsmith's illustrations sings with life, seeming to cry out: “I am a beautiful living thing. Your life is precious, too.”