Boyd, Lizi. I Wrote You a Note. Chronicle, 2017.

In I Wrote You a Note, Lizi Boyd depicts nature as vibrant and actively moving from one side of the double-page spread to another. Blades of grass form a gentle waving line, a blooming tree spreads its branches, and wildflowers stretch upwards. At first glance the incredible amount of detail along with the snail bleeding off the edge of the page and the shaky hand lettering make the spread seem somewhat chaotic. However, Boyd’s natural world is anything but disorderly. Instead, Boyd’s use of brightly colored lines upon a grey background in her gouache illustrations form portrayal of nature where everything, though busy and energetic, is in its place.

The grass, composed of individual vertical blades, dominates this spread. The blades come together and provide the appearance of rolling field that gently curves from the verso onto the recto. The tree in the center of the spread has a thick trunk that spreads into multiple solid branches bursting with blossoms and leaves. Within the trunk are vertical lines that represent bark, adding a dimension of height and growth. Between the grass, the tree, and the wildflowers, a majority of the lines in this spread are vertical lines. As Molly Bang notes, “vertical shapes are more exciting and active”(54), the energy implied by vertical lines lend to the larger energy present in this spread.

However, Boyd also balances vertical energy with the stability provided by horizontal lines. The log upon which the squirrel sits is placed horizontally and features short horizontal dashes to create the texture of bark. The note that the squirrel holds also features horizontal lines that connect it to the birch bark represented in a previous spread. Additionally, there are a series of horizonal lines near the female character. There are what appear to be branches or logs at her feet as well as three wildflowers which have been plucked and lay horizontally beside her. Because horizontal lines “give us a sense of stability and calm” (Bang 53), the characters are grounded in what is otherwise a boisterous and energetic spread.

Lines also add dimension to character. Most of the girl’s character design relies upon black and white, solids, and polka dots, which work to distinguish her from the brightly colored world she sits in. However, her hair incorporates vertical lines that work to connect her back to the natural world. This subtle use of lines show that the girl is just as much a part of nature as the flora and the fauna. While Boyd’s nature initially appears to be chaotic, a closer examination of her vibrant gouache line work reveals a natural world where every blade of grass, piece of bark, and strand of hair has a specific function.

(452 Words)

Works Cited:

Bang, Molly. Picture This: How Pictures Work. Chronicle Books: 2016.

Graff, Lisa. It is Not Time for Sleeping. Illustrated by Lauren Castillo. Clarion, 2016.

Lauren Castillo’s watercolor and ink illustrations provide a comforting aura to Lisa Graff’s goodnight tale, It is Not Time for Sleeping. When the story moves from other portions of the home into the boy’s bedroom as the time for sleeping approaches, Castillo uses a vibrant yellow over a textured blue backdrop to form wallpaper that also functions as the night sky. The amount of wallpaper shown increases and the colors grow increasingly saturated until the wallpaper fills the top three-quarters of a double page spread. In the picturebook’s penultimate spread, ink-black silhouettes stand against the wallpaper to effectively represent the night. Castillo uses yellow to soften the night’s effects and extend the comforting tone of the picturebook.

The inky silhouettes and the darkness threatening at the window encompass the darkness of night, yet night does not mean the absence of light. Moonlight shines through the windowpanes and the wallpaper glows with illuminated starlight through yellow stars and crescent moons on the textured background. The saturation of the turquoise wallpaper that shifts towards navy near the edges also offers a brightness of its own. The darkness it not without its own form of comfort as well. The furniture silhouettes are not harsh and sharp, rather smudged yellow lines soften their edges. The most subtle use of yellow are the barely visible thin lines that form the edges of the boy’s blanket. This small detail uses color to make the boy securely tucked in bed, rather than adrift in the night. The use of starlight and a saturated wallpaper sky keep the blackness from overtaking the comfort that is essential to this book.

The tight clustering of the celestial elements, the yellow shading, and even the bright moon streaming in through the window make warmth and light an important part of the night. Through Castillo’s use of color, the outside has come in to watch over the boy, tuck him in, and keep him warm now that the time for sleeping has arrived.

(331 words)

Daywalt, Drew. The Day the Crayons Quit. Illustrated by Oliver Jeffers. Philomel, 2013.

"The art for this book was made with. . .um. . .crayons," the copyright page of The Day the Crayons Quit declares. With a title like that, there should be little doubt. This is a moment of humor, but it's also a reference to the interplay between medium, character, and text in this picturebook written by Drew Daywalt and illustrated by Oliver Jeffers. This interplay embraces the creative nature of childhood.

As Jane Doonan explains, crayon "has cultural associations with childhood art" (13), and Jeffers leans into that with his illustrations. The waxy brightness of his crayon spreads are imperfect. Shapes lack a solid fill, lines are wobbly and don't connect perfectly at the corners, and there's even some coloring outside of the lines. The laughter of the pink dinosaur and the embarrassment of the pink monster are palpable and the spread has a sense of infectious joy thanks to these imperfections. Though the pink crayon is also drawn from crayon, the illustration is more polished which distinguishes the character from the illustrations it has ostensibly created.

Jeffers leans into the idea that the crayons had a hand in creating the illustrations through the intraiconic nature of the text. The childish handwriting of the note from the pink crayon includes underlines, inconsistent lettering, and even a word that has been completely crossed out. The note is displayed on piece of paper that is distinct from the childish illustrations and the pink crayon speaking amidst them. The piece of paper has visible fold lines and casts a shadow, imploring the reader to find realism in the tale while also setting the note apart from the illustrations. However, the tale of the dinosaur starts on top of this note before dropping off the side, and the readers eye follows the curve of this tale from the note on the verso across the gutter to the recto, tying together the note, the illustrations, and the pink crayon.

The Day the Crayons Quit lets childhood run rampant across the page, and the crayon illustrations and personified crayons ask for a suspension of reality. When readers arrive at the copyright information (which is notably at the end of the book), the phrase "um. . .crayons" becomes something to chuckle about because of Jeffers' effective combination of text, character, and medium.

(385 words)

Works Cited:

Doonan, Jane. Looking at Pictures in Picture Books. Thimble, 1993. pp. 7-47