A few months ago, I sent the manuscript for Alex and Theo: We’re Twins to an artist. It might be presumptuous to say it is a manuscript given there are only 30 words in the book. But, it is a lengthy document due to the long descriptions for each illustration.
Based on her interpretations of my words, Rachel created character sketches. I liked what she saw. The characters had energy, life. I wanted to work with her. She became my illustrator.
I had, however, envisioned a slightly different trajectory for the artwork. So, I requested that she redraw the characters to fit my conception. I wanted more “realistic” features, rather than button eyes and noses.
When Rachel sent back sketches of the revamped characters, I found myself in a quandary. Even though the drawings were nice and fit what I had requested, they lacked the vibrance of the initial sketches, the sketches which had been her interpretation.
I thought about the issue for a few days.
The conclusion I reached was that even though it was my story, she was the artist.
I cannot create if I am constrained. Stories arise from within me. Though I edit the stories, their essence cannot be artificially altered without losing the creative soul.
I made the determination to return to the original character drawings. I decided the process and results would be an expression of the both of us, author and illustrator.
Creativity takes time. It is not easy to find time to work on my picture books and blog.
Monday through Friday from 8:30 AM-4:30 PM, I teach. I think about 160 middle school students and about science.
At present, I am instructing about how planets move and interact with other objects. It is a challenge to keep a classroom of 30 restless, distracted twelve-year-olds interested.
This week, to help the students grasp the grandeur of space, I showed a video which hurtles us through the Solar System at over a million miles per hour showing the distance between objects and demonstrating the celestial objects’ enormous size.
The students were surprised to see the planets and Sun became mere dots on the screen when shown to scale. I was gratified to hear a few “oohs,” and “aahs,” when the image panned past Neptune to enter the Kuiper Belt and Oort cloud, reaching the outer regions of our Solar System.
This week, Rachel sent me the Alex and Theo: We’re Twins illustrations. It was great to see them.
In the past months, we had created preliminary sketches, laying out objects on the page. I had a pretty good idea of what I would be seeing in the first draft.
But, something seemed wrong. I was concerned that the twins’ house appeared empty. Like a warehouse, the rooms were bare. The initial sketches had not presented this problem.
I went to bed that night, puzzling over the cause for this change. As I fell asleep, the reason for the problem hit me. Waking myself, I went to the computer and wrote to Rachel:
“In the preliminary sketches of the home, there were no floor and wall lines. It was a blank page which could be filled by one’s imagination. The problem with the final draft is that you drew the lines for the floor and walls. This created an empty house lacking contents.”
I haven’t had time to work on the solution yet. Yesterday when I returned from work, I was tired. The students had been particularly naughty.
The substitute teacher next door found two girls skipping class in the hallways. High drama ensued when she tried to send them to class. First, the girls ran away. When the sub followed, she was met with defiance and choice words like, “Shut up!” As the veteran teacher, I was called in, though by that point the die was cast.
Every day I ask myself: how can I help the students?
They see themselves as grown, as having all the knowledge they need. What I see is that they need so much. So much love, so much care, so much attention. And, it feels like we, teachers, are not enough. It’s an hourly ratio of 1 teacher: 30 students.
The day of the drama, I came home and collapsed in a chair, texting my fellow teacher: “How will we have enough time, enough energy?” I complained it was too hard.
Then, I realized: I am seeing it incorrectly. I am safe. Well-fed. Comfortable.
I am lucky.
People in Turkey and Syria are trapped under rubble in freezing temperatures, dying. A little middle school girl lost her mother 2 years ago and is still acting out this loss by screaming, “Shut up!” and skipping classes.
I got out of the chair, kissed the cheek of my child, and drove to the gym. I worked out and came home to sleep. This morning, I went to work and taught 6 classes of students about the wonders of space. When I came home, I did my job as a mother, and now I’m writing this blog.
On the weekend, I’ll figure out the problem with the illustrations. And, on Monday, I’ll go to school and teach that the moon phases are caused by our perspective from Earth.
This might be the lesson in all of this: it is a matter of perspective.
To see the people in front of us. To accomplish the work we aspire for. To live in the now. To do any of this, we have to find the right perspective.
And that, my dear reader, is my perspective for tonight. Till next time.