A MONSTER CALLED

A year ago, in the midst of the pandemic, my mother passed away. I woke up on the morning after my birthday to a voicemail from her, and as I listened to it I knew she was already gone, and that this was her saying goodbye, that she had called hoping to hear my voice one last time in the night, to try to say all the things she wanted me to know, that she thought I would need to hear in the years to come, all the years that she would not be there with me. And as I began to sob, trying not to, trying not to alarm my young children in the next room, trying to unbelieve this moment into not happening, not being real, I listened to her last words, the last words I would ever hear my mother say, wishing I could say the things that she needed to hear from me, the words she had hoped to hear before the end.

I don’t remember much else of that day.

I did not do well during the pandemic. I went to a very dark place. I focused only on keeping my children healthy. Alive. And now, as I find myself moving back out into the world, I wonder if there’s a way to, collectively and individually, deal with the damage that the last few years have done - how can we heal? How badly have we been scarred?

There is a trope in storytelling, to have the worst possible thing happen to someone, and then have it become the best possible thing that could have happened because it forces them to confront their life, their shortcomings, the things they hide, the ways they lie to themselves, and then take action. That change is only achieved through pain.

In January of this year, the Italian publisher Mondadori asked if I would be interested in painting a cover for a new edition of A MONSTER CALLS by Patrick Ness. I hesitated, as the original book had been wonderfully illustrated by Jim Kay and I didn’t see how I could improve upon or hope to even come close to what he had achieved with his work, but also because, having read the book, I was scared of having to read it again. I didn’t want to have to think about the story, to spend time inside the head of a boy dealing with his mother dying. I had locked my pain, my grief, every thought I could possibly have, away - I had put my mother’s death as far from the surface as I could, thinking only that I had to keep my family alive, my children healthy, that we only had to make it through this day, this week, this month, this year, this neverending pandemic, one foot in front of the other, that survival was enough, that it was all that we could ask for.

I did not want to open myself up and see what was going on inside. I was afraid to feel.

I talked with my agent, the wonderful Alison Eldred, about the project, and my fears. Alison has been one of the great blessings of my life, both personally and professionally. After talking it over with her, and receiving Jim Kay’s blessing to try my hand at the story, I took my copy off the shelf…

… and proceeded to do anything but read it for a few days. But then one day I sat in my studio, and began reading, and crying, and pacing, and reading, and crying, and sketching, and feeling, and crying, and thinking of my mother, and my childhood, my children, my mother, my family, my wife, my love, my heart, breaking and filling up again, reading, crying…

I miss my mother more than any words can say, or any painting can show. But making this cover, this painting, was a way for me to come back into the world, to begin to process what I’d kept buried for so long, a way to remember my mother, to make something for her, in her memory, something that could be the beginning of what is next, what lies ahead, with her in my heart, in my life, not here, but always here.

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My paintings for the Dutch Edition of NORSE TALES: ACROSS THE RAINBOW BRIDGE from Lemniscaat won the Zilveren Penseel Award recently. I won the same award for NORSE MYTHS, and am baffled and incredibly honored to win again. Thank you as always to Kevin Crossley-Holland, Ben Norland, Denise Johnstone-Burt, Alison Eldred, everyone at Walker Books and Lemniscaat for all their wonderful work. I’m so grateful to get to work with such wonderful people and publishers.

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Some things I’m enjoying:

Kathleen Jennings is an amazing writer and artist, and her blog is one of my favorites. I’m always inspired by her work, and love how she pulls back the curtain to show her fascinating process.

Jordan Harper’s debut novel SHE RIDES SHOTGUN was one of my favorite crime novels of the past few years, a breath of fresh air, and his newsletter WELCOME TO THE HAMMER PARTY is wonderful too.

Kem Nunn’s THE DOGS OF WINTER. I said goodbye to Northern California recently, and this was the last book I read there.

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Until next time, with love,

-j