Artist Inspo: Wallace Tripp

The delight is in the details

I had a minor anxiety that my artist inspo posts were becoming excuses to share my favorite children’s books. Then I read this about Wallace Tripp:

Wally encouraged his children’s artistic passions, and his three children all entered artistic careers, as did all three of his grandsons. “He did things like take a squiggle one of his grandson’s had made, turn it into this elaborate illustration, and then say something like, ‘Look what my grandson made. Isn’t he talented?’” Loren recalled.

If this isn’t artist inspo, I don’t know what is.

Like so many artists known for a particular style, Tripp contained multitudes (see outlier examples like the woodcuts he made in art school), although he was best known for work like the Amelia Bedelia illustrations or Pawprints cards.

wallytrippart

A post shared by Wallace Tripp (@wallytrippart)

I, however, grew up with two of his books of “nonsense verse.” I loved Tripp’s highly expressive animals, but adored the details that many of his illustrations contained. I could lose an hour in a two-page spread searching for hidden puns and tiny creatures having their own adventure.

For a similar magic, think of kids spending naptimes poring over Richard Scarry books in search of Goldbug; Tripp’s work was similar, but centered on (mostly unfamiliar, frequently British) nursery rhymes instead of “things that go.”

If you want to discover these delightful books, get yourself a free account at the Internet Archive and flip through my childhood (or, better yet, head to Bookfinder for a used copy). This one wins best title ever for a children’s book:

You can immerse in all of this Tripp nonsense thanks to the archive.org site

And Granfa’ Grig is also worth your time:

The Granfa’ Grig book is also available via archive.org

Because of the somewhat obscure verses in these books, as a child I assumed that Tripp was some long-dead British illustrator. It turned out that he was a New Hampshire neighbor all the while (he only passed away in 2018). In fact, his perspective was probably more typical of an irreverent New Englander than it ever was British, which may be why my family loved him so much. Tripp is part of our collective memory. These two books of verse were naptime favorites of each of my sisters in turn, and my whole family quoted the rhymes as shorthand to make particular points. For example, we grew up yelling this one up the stairs at whichever sibling slept too late on the weekend:

In later years we might simply say, “good morning, Barley Butt,” to a late riser. This was recognized as a nod to the time of day rather than as a commentary on physique.

Many years later, as a young mother of two high-energy preschoolers, I went digging around for Tripp’s books so I could hang this illustration in our home:

It helped me maintain a sense of humor about parenting, and keep some perspective on what was and wasn’t in my control.

Tripp captured the funniest and most layered meanings of what were ostensibly “nonsense” rhymes and made them into mantras for daily life. This is what’s best about good illustration: it makes words more memorable, deepening their resonance.