When Chris Raschka Heard Bebop
When Chris Raschka burst into children's books, it was not unlike the bebopping Charlie Parker himself. Chris Raschka has been a musician all of his life and realized, when he was a teen, that his jazz education was woefully lacking. Raschka credits Great Aunt Vesta who bestowed her Smithsonian collection of classic jazz for bringing the young artist up to tempo. The new high school graduate studied the recordings and accompanying book. "At the time I listened to them, I had a feeling there was too much musical information," he recalls. Years later and living in New York City, Raschka "turned on the radio and stumbled onto a program called Bird Flight which played only Charlie Parker music." The program was a collaboration between a Columbia student and the great Phil Schapp who said "We Americans do not receive enough education in jazz which is an American cultural treasure."
Raschka was blown away by Parker's virtuosity and artistry. "As I listened to him more and more, Parker made more and more sense." Originally, he wanted to write a full-scale biography but, as an artist as well as a musician, he eventually came to the picture book format. "I wanted the book to embody the world of bebop--playful, inventive, improvisatory." Chris remembers his editor telling him that "when this book comes out some people will like the book and for that we will be very thankful, but some people will not get it and will think it is silly or wrong or bad or stupid." These words have been helpful to Chris Raschka throughout his career: He learned to "write what you think is important and hope it finds a place in some people, but doesn't have to find a place for everyone."
Yet Chris has occasionally lent his artistic talents to the words of others, perhaps most notably for Norton Juster's The Hello Goodbye Window. "It was a flabbergasting and wonderful experience," exults the illustrator. "First I was asked if I would be interested in this book by Norton's editor Michael de Capua --the text that arrived on my desk was sweet and had a charming voice and was twice as long as the finished work." Raschka's illustrations were evidently a shock to the author. "They were not what he imagined at all," Chris learned. Chris had hand-lettered everything in different colors. The artist describes the result as less of a feast for the eye than "a plateful of spaghetti mixed with peas." Chris notes that "He came around to it and saw it as my own channeling of his narrative voice as a visual voice," adding that he hopes there is a sophistication under a child-like exterior."
Chris peels back the layers on the sophisticated artistry to which he alludes: "I painted a watercolor underpainting in a variety of colors--light blue or sap green or yellow ochre--to create an atmosphere. Then, I added layers of dense opaque oil pastel and then scratched it away and added the thick heavy charcoal pencil." He confesses, "I got carried away and the finished pieces were too heavy, too airless, too much paint." He fixed the problem by "backing off and letting the paper glow through a bit more until it balanced."
At this point, the author and the artist had never met in person. Michael went to lunch with the two of them when the book was virtually finished and Chris learned that while the author liked the illustrations very much, he had one thing he wanted to talk to the artist about. In one especially memorable spread, the various people who might come by the hello goodbye window included the Queen of England wearing a modest red pillbox hat. "Norton said, 'My granddaughter will be disappointed if she is not wearing her crown.'" "I argued back," remembers the artist, who then made six different versions of the crown. "Norton chose one and since that time, we have always sided with having a crown." Readers can muse on how appropriate that the medal-winning book's creative process concludes with a crown.
Fast forward a few years and the man who once thought about writing a full-scale biography is instead doing a book about a dog and a ball. "In some ways, a wordless picture book is harder because it has to be carried by the pictures that convey a narrative thread," he acknowledges. Chris Raschka notes that "as people, we are more comfortable with words than with pictures." He offers a case in point: "Go to an art museum and you tend to read what is on the wall next to the picture before looking at the picture." With a wordless book you have to engage the reader from the first page. "On the other hand, the wordless picture book is a wonderful way to complete the triangular situation between the book, the child, and the adult reading the book with the child." Ironically, the lack of words means that there can be more room for dialog.
There is no lack of words in Everyone Can Learn to Ride a Bicycle. The book came about because of words--conversations with his editor Anne Schwartz who followed the author's example of riding to work as well as countless comments from cabbies. "I wrote a tongue-in-cheek Op Ed for the New York Times claiming to be the only bike rider in NYC who stopped for red lights," Raschka recalls. "I set out for myself to try stopping for red lights--lots of cab drivers would lean out to tell me I was the only one, ONLY ONE, who stops." New York has become more bike-friendly in the years since. "Anne Schwartz said, 'Chris you must write a bicycle book.'" Chris proudly points out that "she rides from Brooklyn throughout the year--I convinced her." From those beginnings came the book that celebrates that simple, but memorable, rite of passage of learning to ride a bike.
Whether it is learning to appreciate jazz, discovering the ups and downs of playing with a ball, or riding a bike, Chris Raschka is always finding a way for art and books to lead us someplace new.
-- Interviewed by Ellen Myrick, July 2013
