Viva Frida

My favorite time of year has just passed - the announcements of the ALA Media Awards!  I love those few days before the awards are announced, when all over the United States librarians, bloggers, children and adults who love children's books are buzzing about their favorite titles.  Authors and illustrators are hoping their phones will ring at some ungodly hour of the morning.  Mock lists are popping up all around the Internet.  And then I love those days after the winners are announced, as those lucky authors and illustrators who have gotten the phone calls retell how it happened and how they felt, and we all rejoice with them.  I haven't heard how Yuyi Morales felt when she got her phone calls, announcing her as the winner of a Caldecott Honor Award and the Pura Belpre Illustrator Award.  But this book, Viva Frida, is a work of art and magic, and I am thrilled to share it with you!

I will tell you right up front that I was lucky enough to discover Viva Frida this summer, through my reviewing assignment from School Library Journal.  Ordinarily, I would never try to review a book on my blog that I had already reviewed for SLJ.  However, once I read this one, and saw how gorgeous it was, I wanted to write about it here.  It also fits so nicely with my interest in books that represent the Hispanic culture.  And once I knew that SLJ editors agreed with my assessment that this was a truly special book, I had to ask for permission to write about it.  I was so happy that SLJ agreed!

And I intended to write about it long ago, but as often happens around here, other books shouted more loudly than this quiet, dreamy stunner.  I even set it aside two weeks ago, to try and get a review written ahead of the awards I knew it would earn.  That obviously didn't happen either!  But it hasn't been forgotten, and I am taking the opportunity to celebrate it now.

You can tell from the woman gazing serenely from the cover of Viva Frida that this book is about Frida Kahlo. Many of the hallmarks are present in that initial shot - her monobrow, her bright, festive clothing, the knowing gaze, papel picado, and updone hair.  The cover image is of Frida, alone and isolated, on a background of scattered flowers.  But while she is alone, her eyes meet the reader's gaze, and you can tell that her secret life comforts her.

The magic starts right from the cover illustration.  By the way, I want to thank Roaring Brook Press for including the list of media Yuyi Morales used in creating this title.  There is no way I could have guessed at all of the techniques she used, including: "stop-motion puppets made from steel, polymer clay, and wool, acrylic paints, photography, and digital manipulation."  Those of you who are regular readers of my blog know that I am fascinated by the art used  to create books, and this one is no exception.  The cover model of Frida is a puppet, but again, her gaze is so human, so present.  It is uncanny.

I am really going to try not to describe every page to you in this post.  It's difficult because they are so layered, so glorious.  It is also difficult not to want to describe each page's illustrations because that is where so much of the plot takes place.  For example, the title page shows Frida's desk, with a sketch, little stoppered bottles, an unfurled piece of leather and brushes. Also, just peering over the top edge of the desk is an inquisitive monkey, holding out a silver key in an enticing manner.  The monkey could be stealing the key off the desk, or holding it out for Frida to take.  Regardless, it is there that the "story" begins. 

As I mentioned before, the story line is primarily conveyed visually.  The text is bilingual, and comprised of "I statements" about Frida and her drive to create.  It is spare, with only two or three words per double-paged spread.  The text draws you into Frida's mind, heart and soul.  "I play/I know/I dream."  The text is poetic, and floats in space visually, leaving the reader plenty of room to admire the result of Frida's creativity.  The English words are in a heavy black font, with the Spanish equivalent hovering above in a ghostly gray or white.  The effect is dreamy.


To add to the text are Morales' illustrations.  For those of us familiar with Kahlo's life story and artistic themes, the book is instantly recognizable.  Diego Rivera is shown working in his overalls, sharing an artistic space with her.  As Frida explores her own creativity, you see her animals surrounding her, playing with her.   At one point, she and that endearing monkey get out a skeleton puppet to play with, as that monkey tangles in the strings.  Halfway through the book, at the moment when the text reads "Sueño= I dream", the art changes.  In the first half, the illustrations are clearly realistic representations of Frida's life.  Frida and Diego are puppets and their studio space and actions are clearly based in the tangible world.  But as soon as Frida begins to dream, things shift.  Frida's eyes are closed, and her animal companions stare transfixed at painted versions of Frida soaring above her own dreaming head.  As the pages continue, more and more of each spread is created through paintings.  The soaring Frida sees a fawn whose leg has been pierced by an arrow.  She swoops down to rescue it, and of course it returns to her "real life" with Frida, to become part of her menagerie.

In one of the last spreads, Frida says "que amo = that I love".  It is my favorite picture - Frida's eyes are closed in contentment, Diego kissing her on the cheek while the animals also look on in adoration.  And because Frida loves, she also creates, something that is so engrained in her soul, in her personality.  Frida is creativity.

There is an author's note at the end of the book, called "My Frida Kahlo".  It is written in both English and Spanish.  I love this author's note because I think it brings Kahlo's deeply thematic, layered work to life for young readers.  Morales admits "When I was younger, I often found her paintings tortuous and difficult to understand."  That simple statement allows readers to realize that admiring someone's art doesn't mean you always have to understand it.  Morales gives some basic facts about Kahlo's life and art in this note before showing how much Frida Kahlo inspired her: "Did she know how many artists she influenced with her courage and her ability to overcome her own limitations?"

Another thing I love about this book is its flexibility.  For those who know nothing about Kahlo's life, it can stand as poetry, as a self-affirmation.  It can be shared with young readers as part of an art appreciation unit, or during Hispanic Heritage or Women's History Months.  But for the older reader in a high school art class, or for someone who has studied Frida Kahlo's biography, the book really shines. There are so many layers to the art included here, so many things to discuss in the words and pictures I could go on and on.  It is so lucky for all of us that Yuyi Morales chose Frida Kahlo new life here.  It is magic you'll never forget.

Viva Frida.  Yuyi Morales; photography by Tim O'Meara.  Roaring Brook Press, 2014.

sent by publisher through School Library Journal

The Fantastic Jungles of Henri Rousseau

I am still trying to catch up with blog posts for some of the titles that were nominated in the Cybils nonfiction picture book category, but didn't make the cut for one reason or another.  I have had a whole pile of books to blog about.  I've already written about Looking for Lincoln and Bambino and Mr. Twain.  I still have a few more to call your attention to, so I am going to try to finish those posts up in the next couple of weeks.  I've been working on a huge writing-intensive project at my day job for the past few weeks, and that has really sapped my desire to write anywhere else.  But the biggest part of that project is complete, so I'll turn my attention back to children's books, where it belongs.

The Fantastic Jungles of Henri Rousseau was nominated for a Cybil.  It interested me because I am very aware of books for children about famous artists.  First of all, I think it is incredibly tricky to describe the artistic process in a clear, concise way for children.  I also recognize the difficulty in creating art that gives readers a strong impression of the artist's work without copying it or resorting to photographs of the artist's work.  Illustrators also should maintain their own style while showing readers the artist's way of creating.

Henri Rousseau has a fascinating life story.  He didn't start painting until he was forty.  And even then, Rousseau was self-taught.  Markel says "Not a single person has ever told him he is talented."  But he loves nature, and wants to express his love and how nature makes him feel.  Clearly, the way he sees nature is very different from the traditional way others see art and nature.  But Rousseau uses the traditional artists to educate himself about art and anatomy.  He takes his education into his own hands, going to the Louvre and looking at art wherever he can find it.

Rousseau then takes an enormous risk by exhibiting his paintings at a major competition.  He is laughed at, but Rousseau doesn't take it to heart.  He keeps on working, thinking, viewing art and submitting his creations.  He isn't disgraced once, or even twice, but multiple times.  For more than twenty years, Rousseau only hears criticism of his vision, but he continues on.  I cannot even imagine the perseverance Rousseau had, the drive and the belief in his own art that he displayed.

Finally, Rousseau's strength and creativity are rewarded.  He is around long enough to impress a whole new generation of artists, including Picasso.  At the end of the book, Markel calls him "one of the most gifted self-taught artists in history", and it is true.  For much of his life, Rousseau only had his art.  He was extremely poor.  His art is what carries him.  "Every morning", Markel writes, "he wakes up and smiles at his pictures."  It is a compelling picture of the creative impetus, how it feeds Rousseau despite the criticism.

One of the things that struck me about this picture book was Markel's writing.  There are some gorgeous descriptive passages in this book.  When Markel is describing Rousseau's love of nature, she says that "it's like the flowers open their hearts, the trees spread their arms, and the sun is a blushing ruby, all for him."  Some of these passages are so well put together, they create a word picture of Rousseau's creative spark.  She perfectly describes Rousseau's vision of the world around her.  And Markel also does a good job of relating this artist, admittedly unique, to her young, contemporary readers.  She talks about how Rousseau doesn't give up, year after year, on what he thinks is beautiful.  Markel says "Sometimes Henri is so startled what he paints that he has to open the window to let in some air."  Beautifully written, and yet it gives readers the sense that creativity can be mysterious, too.

Hall's paintings are just as compelling and mysterious.  As I said previously, I recognize the challenge of creating pictures that give a sense of the artist's unique style without totally mimicking the artist.  And in any book that depicts an artist's life, not every illustration should be in that artist's style anyway - some illustrations usually show their actual life, if that makes sense.  Not every part of their life needs to be seen through the filter of their art.  But Hall does a great job of combining Rousseau's style with other, more realistic visions of his life.  There are paintings where Rousseau's artistic vision literally comes to life.  The jungle he creates includes a tiger leaping off the easel, tropical birds soaring around his room.  Art experts perch incongruously on a sharply pointed mountain range.  Hall's paintings are richly imaginative, giving readers a taste of Rousseau's work.

There is very little back matter in this book.  There is a column-long author's note with a few additional facts about Rousseau.  The only dates of Rousseau's life are included here (Markel mentions the 1889 World Fair, but there is no context of Rousseau's life in that date either).  There is a short description of some of Hall's choices when creating the paintings.  There is also a key to two paintings that include other famous historical figures.  This key only lists their names, though, which might make any connection for young readers more challenging.  I am not sure how many young readers are familiar with Gertrude Stein, for instance.  

But while the back matter is a little lacking, I think this is a thoughtful look at one man's desire to create art, no matter what anyone else says.

The Fantastic Jungles of Henri Rousseau.  Written by Michelle Markel; illustrated by Amanda Hall.  Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2012.

sent by the publisher for Cybils consideration

Note: I am on the Cybils Nonfiction Picture Book panel, but this blog post does not represent the committee's thoughts about the book.  It only represents my personal ideas and thoughts.

Diego Rivera

I know I have said before how important I think Hispanic literature is for children, and I've brought your attention to several books (including The Cazuela the Farm Maiden Stirred).  I find that there isn't always a lot of attention brought to these books, and I want to make sure I do my part.  That's why I was so excited to see Diego Rivera on my Cybils Non-Fiction Picture Book nomination list.  I had also seen it mentioned previously on some of my regular blogs, but hadn't been able to get my hands on it.  So when it finally landed in my mailbox as part of the Cybils, I was thrilled!!  And then it won the Pura Belpre Award for Illustration in the ALA Youth Media Awards announcements.  And now I can't wait to share it with you!

This book is not your traditional biography, and Duncan Tonatiuh shows a deft, sure hand while describing Rivera's life.  He chooses to focus almost exclusively on Rivera's artistic life in this book, so there is no mention of (or place for) his equally famous wife, Frida Kahlo.  It's an interesting counterpoint to Me, Frida, which I reviewed here last year.  However, Tonatiuh find a way to include detail about Rivera's interests and life without overwhelming the reader.  The text is brief and clear.  Young readers will have no problem following the line of thought.  One of the things I admire most about Tonatiuh's writing  is the way he defines artistic styles within his text.  The definitions are concise, natural and contextual.  For instance, "There he learned the classical way to paint, which means his finished paintings looked very realistic, almost like photographs." (p. 2)  The tone keeps this accessible, so readers won't stumble over unfamiliar terms.

But what makes this book feel very fresh and intriguing is indicated in the subtitle: His World and Ours.  After the biographical part of the book, Tonatiuh asks readers to imagine what Rivera would find culturally significant and inspiring in today's society.  This question requires those readers to not only look critically at our society, but to apply what they have learned previously about Diego Rivera as well.  What interested him in his own society?  This takes passively learned knowledge to the next level.  It also makes the book applicable to any grade child or almost any classroom.  It's just as useful in a social studies unit as an art classroom or a history lesson on Mexico.  This book is incredibly flexible.

Then Tonatiuh takes this concept up another notch.  He compares our society to Rivera's paintings in side-by-side comparisons, cleverly positioning contemporary people to seem like those from the past.  After all, as he notes, "Diego's murals teach us about the past.  But they also show a better future for common people." (p. 28)  This is a textually strong book, and it also has great informative back matter.  It includes a well-written glossary, an author's note with expanded biographical information, bibliography, and a list of places you can see Rivera's work, both in and outside of the United States.

I haven't really talked about the illustrations so far in the review, but rest assured that the Belpre Award for Illustration is well deserved here (he also won a Honor in 2011).  Tonatiuh does an amazing job of echoing Rivera's style without abandoning his own artistic leanings.  His faces are perfectly rounded, with sharp lips and sloping noses.  As you can see from the cover image above, Diego Rivera is perfectly recognizable in the foreground, even though it is done in Tonatiuh's own style.  In the author's note, he describes how both he and Rivera were inspired by ancient Pre-Columbian and Mayan art.  It is fascinating to see how well Rivera's style melds with Tonatiuh's own.  A final piece of back matter that I found very useful is the Inspirations piece.  There is a list of page numbers for the illustrations in the book, along with the murals or paintings that Rivera did that inspired Tonatiuh's illustrations.  He includes the size of the murals, yet another way of emphasizing the enormity of Rivera's imagination and work.

His artistic style for this book is unusual and thoughtful.  On the back of the title page, it is noted "The artwork in this book was hand-drawn, then collaged digitally."  This is a fascinating combination, especially in light of the historic influences on both of their work.  For instance, on a set of book shelves, most books are hand-drawn.  But then there are also a few, scattered about, that are clearly "real" books.  These help add depth and texture to the illustrations.  Sometimes the collaged parts are immediately visible in framing elements; sometimes they are more subtle, such as the hair of one of the figures.  The collaged elements also help draw a connection between ancient and modern society.

All in all, this book cannot be missed.  Its unique combination of artistic styles and its ability to bring a historical figure into today's society is phenomenal.  It is also a valuable book for schools and classrooms.  Do yourself a favor and investigate this one.

Diego Rivera: His World and Ours.  Duncan Tonatiuh.  Abrams Books for Young Readers, 2011.

given by publisher for review in conjunction with Cybils.



Me, Frida

I have slowly but surely been working my way through the award-winning books from last year.  I haven’t written about much of what I’ve read because I feel that my blog’s purpose is to introduce you to books you haven’t seen or heard of before.  But the Pura Belpre winners are a little different.  The information about the award is here.  Especially here in Montana, books about Hispanic culture aren’t easy to find.  I grew up in San Diego, though, so Hispanic culture was a huge part of my upbringing (I even majored in the Spanish language in college!).

So when I saw Me. Frida on the new nonfiction shelf at our public library, I picked it up immediately  (As a side note, have you noticed how often I say we pick things up at the library?  The circulation clerks groan when they see us coming!).  Diaz won a Pura Belpre Illustrator Honor Award for this book, and I’ll talk about those gorgeous paintings in a minute.  First, I’ll focus on the text.

Noresky takes just a moment in Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera’s lives to look at here.  It is 1930, the time when Diego Rivera was invited to go to San Francisco to create a mural celebrating the city.  Frida, who was a young artist, newly married to Rivera, was just beginning to find herself artistically.  What is interesting about Novesky’s choice is that this snapshot of their marriage says so much about them and society at large in the thirties.

One of the biggest themes in this book is inspiration.  When Frida and Diego first arrive in California, they do a lot of exploring.  They look at skyscrapers, the redwoods – all overwhelming, big, towering things.  This is where Diego (who Novesky describes as “big as an elephant”) finds his inspiration.  He thrives on the enormous; Frida is lost in it.  Frida, who paints herself as a small, soaring bird, despairs in all the enormity.  Instead, once Diego begins to work on his mural, she begins to explore the minutiae of San Francisco – the street markets, the neighborhood of Chinatown.  It is the little details – the smells, sounds and colors – that inspire Frida and get her working. 

Even their painting sizes are different – Rivera paints the mural, with all of San Francisco as his subject.  Kahlo begins to paint small portraits, including a portrait of their marriage.  It is clear from the text that although their marriage is slightly unconventional (of course, none of the really salacious details are covered in this picture book biography), there is room for both kinds of inspiration and artistic vision here.  However, their marriage comes up against the conventions of society when they travel to San Francisco.  Where it seems that they see each other as individuals, San Francisco expects to see Mr. and Mrs. Diego Rivera.  At the various events that they attend, Diego is the focus, while Frida stands uncharacteristically quietly by his side.  You can sense the constriction Frida feels – unable to express herself and be recognized for her own worth.  There is a defining moment, when American society first recognizes Frida for herself, and then her painting is chosen for exhibition.  This is when Frida finally begins to soar.

When we speak of inspiration and artistic vision in this book, Diaz’s artistic vision is just as much of a force as Kahlo’s.  The paintings are vibrant with backgrounds streaked and crackling with rich paint.  His choice of primed linen for the foundation of these paintings gives texture, contrasting with all the dark lines and streaks of color.  This use of texture is something I admire when looking at paintings in books.  You can almost feel the texture under your fingers, inviting you deeper into the painting. 

Diaz uses Kahlo and Rivera’s styles as guides here, so a reader familiar with their art will feel instantly at home.  The cover portrait of Frida is recognizable and iconographic, mimicking many of her self-portraits.  Diaz’s imaginative art also uses motifs from their work within his paintings, to give even more depth to readers’ knowledge about these two influential artists.  It is amazing to me that Diaz can meld his own style so effortlessly with Kahlo and Rivera’s styles, paying homage to them and staying distinctive. 

I strongly believe this will have a place both in arts and programs and in studies about Mexican art and culture.  But even if neither of these things are of interest to you, pick up this book to see a young artist growing into herself , creating art full of life and love.

Me, Frida.  Amy Novesky; illustrated by David Diaz.  Abrams Books for Young Readers, 2010.

Borrowed from Lewis & Clark Library