Illustration for Black Dog (children's book)
circa 2011
We look up into the
scene, like a child having just entered the room. We sense sudden movement,
then colour and noise. Taking in the grandeur of the space for the first time we see that the man is statuesque, solid. He is the dependent trigger, the
battery responsible for the life of this indoor event. He holds onto the air,
onto the moment, by the way he tenses each of his fingers. What is out there?, he questions.
Everything else
assumes a slow motion. The toast slides lower off its falling plate, about to
meet the same fate as its other now milk-sodden half; in turn, the droplets of milk
slowly patter up into the cat's face, startled and scoffing; the maroon
cushioned stool plummets calmly into nothingness, about to clunk harmlessly
against the painted wooden floor boards; at this clunk the second cat will
finally leap from the sill, out from under the child's protective hand which
kept it in a perilous perch; the whoosh!
of air created by its light leap with agitate the papers on the floor (maybe
the red crayon will roll closer the yellow one), causing them to hover lazily
before they return to their spots, only a little to the left; and finally, the
narrative turns to us. We make the next move. Slowly, as of this first page, we
are meant to help set in motion the following scenes, to embark on a journey to
find what caused the man to jump so quickly. The artist brilliantly hooks his
audience with the powers of perspective and motion, drawing us into his world
through a simulated fish-eye lense - making us feel small, curious. Making us
return to a childish mind-frame of, What
next? And all without a word.
