The book I wrote and designed is about a lot of things, but one of them is how books themselves help us through times of crisis.
My father relied on books to navigate him through his childhood; the same books which he left to me became part of the inspiration for the cover.
The graphic elements are taken from a painting he did in a little watercolor book called "On Mortality." This painting crops up again later in the book.
I became so exasperated explaining that I wrote a book that was not just words, but art, and messes and backgrounds and layered that I decided to SHOW, not TELL.
The essay reads defensive, no doubt because I felt defensive.
This is actually a two-page spread from the book itself, which I poached for my "essay." The painting is another from my father's little notebook, "On Mortality."
There was much fodder in that little book.
This painting is one of my favorites, and introduces the most heartbreaking chapter in the book about Dad, who after fits and starts and hiccups and hitches, finally reaches his event horizon and leaves us forever.
Perhaps meaningful only to me, I sent Dad out into the cosmos via the same organization that brought my son into it: The Interdimensional Federation.
This is a page of my son's passport.
More examples of my son's passage through the cosmos on his path to earth, mirroring the path I imagine my father took on his way out.
She's lovely, isn't she? A very early painting by Charles Moone.
The book seemed static with the usual stills that represent artists' work, especially when I was dealing with all the crumbling dusty paint, wrinkled paper, and musty canvases.
I went through Dad's notebooks and found a ton of great paintings and collages, and loved the extra dimension it added to the page.
For artists who work with smells and textures, it's a pretty meager life confined to one 4 x 6 box.
I love this macabre painting by Dad, which introduces this incredibly gallows chapter.