It seems this spring is a particularly harsh one, as far as losing our favorite authors go. Now, Maurice Sendak, the wizard of childhood literature, the artist of our dreams, has passed on to his next adventure. While he had a fantastic and long-lived run, how can we not feel the loss of his flight from the planet? I surely do.
Maurice Sendak's illustrations, as well as his words, pushed me into becoming a lover of the line-drawn story. More than comics but less than oils, Sendak modeled a medium that I could aspire to--even given the rudimentary materials I had at my disposal. For a poor kid growing up in a factory town, fueled by big dreams (and bigger nightmares!), this was a life-line.(My four sibs, all younger, were an easy audience. Their continued promptings also kept me sketching while thinking up new stories. It was a combination that followed me into adulthood and still serves me well.)I believe that the arts educator, as well as the writer I am, was the natural progression from those Sendak-inspired days.
I have always known how powerful such early works are to students. I understand that, to face, head-on, and to name (to draw!) the monsters of our dreams, helps us to tame those wild things; to become our bravest selves. It's never about being creepy. (Just as most horror stories are NOT about sending people under the covers, paralyzed with fright.) It's always about becoming our own heroes;about learning how to survive a tough world.
Sendak didn't just write and illustrate children's books. Sendak was a sherpa who guided us over the scary precipice of our young lives--then brought us back, alive.
Vaya con Dios, Amigo.
Gracias.
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