I often wonder why so many people are desperate to get into children’s publishing. And, while I’m sure the reasons for it are varied, one of the things I love most about being able to draw (and it ending up in picture books) is that I end up feeling quite useful – and feeling useful to another human being feels good.
No one expects me to run a marathon if I can’t even run 5km but when it comes to art, do we also need to build muscle?
Should picture book making feel like work? Or should it feel like some utopia where someone pays me for ‘art’?
Perhaps the role of an artist is to render the invisible so we become more attentive to the world as it is?
Can a piece of paper create more connection than a wifi-enabled digital device when it comes to art?
Loss is difficult; we often like what we had more than what we may have. But how do we know unless we make space for the new in our lives?
