I discovered Edward Eager’s “Tales of Magic” series as an elementary schooler on summer vacation. We always visited my grandparents for several weeks during the summer, and during the inevitable stretch of rainy days, my mom would despair of our bickering. She’d bundle us into the car and drive to the library, where we would spend a happy hour choosing a pile of books. There is not much better on a rainy day than curling up with books stacked on your sleeping bag, fog horns sounding periodically, and absolutely nothing to do but read for hours. Eager’s books offered the perfect world for these escapes.
These books were also my introduction to the art of N.M. Bodecker, though in my child’s mind the stories and the art were inextricably linked to Eager’s writing, like some organic growth. Copenhagen-born Bodecker’s name remained only vaguely familiar to me, and for many decades he was a half-forgotten part of my happiest childhood escapes.
Years later I came to know Bodecker’s former wife, Mary Anne, but I did not make the connection—not until she gifted me one of his books for our first child. It was a copy of Miss Jaster’s Garden, and when I saw Miss Jaster’s face, I was immediately brought back to the feeling of those timeless summer afternoons. I was utterly delighted by Mary Anne’s gift, as though somehow she was gifting to our son, too, his own future escapes into imagination.
After Mary Anne’s gift opened my eyes, I went hunting for more of a Bodecker’s children’s books. Childhood Me had always thought of illustrators as either long-dead or somehow existing outside of time, like ethereal beings. It had never occurred to me that they could overlap with my own life in some concrete way. Now Bodecker had been made real to me, a man who had lived and worked happily for years in New Hampshire, my very own home state. Before passing away in 1988, he had been busily producing new works and engaging with the community, even teaching illustration occasionally at places like the Sharon Arts Center.
I was lucky enough to read nonsense verses from books like Hurry, Hurry, Mary Dear and It’s Raining, Said John Twaining with both of my boys before their naps during those early years. No doubt there will be some other storybook that is their personal memory trigger, but I liked the full-circle feeling of having these books on our shelves.
I’ve begun thinking about the patterns both in the artists that speak to me, and in my own ways of thinking about their work. The journeymen aspect—the immense time and effort put into the craft, and the hustle for paid work—should not be a revelation to me, yet I am always surprised and delighted to discover this kind of work by an artist I think I know. Bodecker, for example, did magazine illustrations both in Denmark and in the United States (where he moved after WWII). There’s a wonderful selection viewable at the R. Michelson Galleries.
All of the magazine illustrations complement the texts, but many also function as standalone visuals.
Whether work for hire or creative flight of fancy, all work leads forward. Bodecker’s 1949 art for a Danish work called The Flower Troll seems to show that inspiration can come into second bloom, so to speak: Miss Jaster’s hedgehog (which was published in 1972) may have been simmering for some time.
Craft complements creativity. The long haul of Bodecker’s career, and the concrete aspects of his work—he loved it, pursued it, taught it, achieved it—is the inspiration that I take from him today rather than the magic in it that appealed to me as a child. If artists like Wallace Tripp and N.M. Bodecker could work and thrive in my tiny state, perhaps they weren’t such ethereal creatures after all. It makes a creative life so much more accessible than I imagined.
Learn More
Bodecker’s obituary notes his awards for poetry in 1974 and 1976 (for Hurry, Hurry, Mary Dear and It’s Raining, Said John Twaining). The Christopher Awards have been given by a Catholic organization since 1949, but are not restricted by denomination. As the site notes:
Christopher Award winners remind audiences, young and old, of all faiths and of no particular faith, of their worth, individuality and power to make a difference and positively impact and shape our world.
The N. M. Bodecker Foundation was established in Portland, Oregon, by the artist’s son (Sandy Bodecker, a former Nike executive), and is located at the intersection of creativity, education, and service. Their work includes youth workshops:
The Bodecker Foundation partners with professional artists, writers, musicians, and educators to design and lead immersive program experiences for high school students who are interested in exploring the arts, including those from traditionally underserved and underrepresented communities.
Finally, I’ll just remind you to pop over to the gallery I mentioned earlier so as not to miss items like Bodecker’s “miscellaneous cartoons,” which I adore. Family members who love me deeply should feel free to inquire about the availability of this lovely lady: