John Parr Miller (1913-2004) was an extraordinary artist — a master of eye-appealing fluid lines and designs. Witty, subtle pastel or pencil drawings tumbled forth, suffused with an ineffable charm.
Miller’s early mark was made at the Walt Disney Studio, as a stand-out character designer in the influential Character Model Department. He was one of the artists in “El Grupo,” the creative team that accompanied Walt Disney on his 1941 goodwill tour of South America.
Films such as Pinocchio (1940), Fantasia (1940), The Reluctant Dragon (1941), Saludos Amigos (1943), The Three Caballeros (1945) benefitted greatly from his graphic abilities. Starting in 1948, his talents were showcased in a new career as a beloved illustrator of many children’s books.
Here are two consecutive articles I wrote on the life and career of John Parr Miller for Cartoons, the International Journal of Animation, Volume 2, issue 2, Winter 2006 and Volume 3, issue 1, Spring 2007.
To whet your appetite, here is a selection of J.P. Miller’s Disney drawings
For Saludos Amigos:
Here Miller is seen with James Bodrero, a colleague in Disney’s Character Model Dept., examining a ceramic figure on the South American tour.
In 1979 I made a research trip to the UK at the invitation of Halas and Batchelor, to learn more about the British animation scene.
John Halas (1912-1995) and Joy Batchelor (1914-1991) were a remarkable husband and wife team who, for more than 40 years, produced more than 2000 films at their prestigious London studio, including Britain’s first animated feature film, Animal Farm (1954), a decidedly adult-oriented cartoon based on George Orwell’s dark allegory.
I first “met” John and Joy, and their films, in Halas’ 1959 informative book, The Technique of Film Animation, a showcase of international animation, with styles and content different from American cartoons of the period. The book opened a new world to me, a 16-year old who basically knew only Disney and Warner Bros. cartoon fare.
Exactly twenty years later, John and Joy invited me to London to research and write about British animation, past and present. And again, they introduced to me a new world of animation, this time in person. I also gained a close and valued friendship with the two artist/producers, whose passion for the art of animation inspired generations of animation filmmakers, many of whom found their first animated film employment at H&B’s large and busy studio.
My research trip generated three magazine articles in the years that followed. Michael Barrier’s sorely-missed cartoon journal Funnyworld (#23, Spring 1983), published my profile of Joy and John:
Click on image for link to article.
Some years later I wrote a second article related to Halas and Batchelor, “Farm Subsidy” which appeared in the May/June 2005 of Print, the graphic design magazine. It describes the CIA’s involvement, at the height of the Cold War, in the production of H&B’s Animal Farm:
Click on image for link to article.
And for the September 1980 issue of Print, I wrote a survey of independent animation in Britain:
In 1994, I curated an exhibition of original animation art and other works by Vladimir Tytla (1904-1968), one of the greatest of character animators. During his tenure at the Walt Disney Studio from 1934 to 1943, his animated characters display an extraordinary emotional range in classic Disney films, including Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), Pinocchio (1940), Fantasia (1940) and Dumbo (1941).
The exhibition, which ran from September 18 – December 31, 1994, consisted of drawings, photos and film clips from a number of lenders, including the Tytla family, Ollie Johnston, and the Walt Disney Archives and Animation Research Library.
The Museum created a handsome illustrated catalogue for the exhibition that has, over the years, become a collectible. I still get inquiries about it, so I have uploaded a .pdf copy of the complete catalogue, to make it available to everyone.
In 1942, a beautiful conceptual artwork for Disney’s Fantasia (1940) occupied a full black-and-white page in Robert D. Feild’s The Art of Walt Disney, the first book to seriously examine the Disney studio creative processes.
Former Harvard professor Feild used the illustration to praise the Layout and Background Departments, whose artists “must possess a unique sense of design, a pictorial imagination allowing them to build up compositions that can be broken down into any number of separate pictures, each having an integral unity of its own.”
No artists were credited to any of the book’s illustrations, and the original color version of this concept has never been published until now. It was painted and signed, in August 1938, by J. Gordon Legg (1909 – 2003), one of Fantasia’s art directors, during the exploratory stage of the so-called “concert feature.” The Disney artists were exploring various Greek and Roman mythological characters and stories for possible use with music from Pierne’s ballet, Cydalise, which ultimately was replaced by Beethoven’s Symphony #6, the “Pastoral.”
Legg’s imagery depicts a grove of hamadryads, or tree nymphs, free spirits who, in Greek mythology, lived inside trees.
There is mystery in the painting. It has a strange mood, at once peaceful and disturbing, its calm colors contrasted with the naked writhing forms of nymphs visible within the tree trunks.
Robin Allan, author of Walt Disney and Europe, quotes a 1976 Legg interview by Milton Gray regarding the design and color used in Fantasia’s “Pastoral” sequence:
“They wanted Classical backgrounds … and they didn’t care too much how accurate it was. I kind of followed Grant Wood and Rockwell Kent — you know, cleaned up the trees, so that everything was neat and clean and precise. It was like Forest Lawn. I wanted to keep the colors rich and subtle — olive greens and maroons — played down colors like you see in the Italian School … I worked with Ken Anderson; he was the final layout director [for the “Pastoral” sequence], and a very talented artist. But I guess Disney got in there someplace and said, ‘Let’s brighten this thing up.” That’s where we got into the peppermint candy. It bothered me; I didn’t want it that way. It was too sticky, too sweet.”
One of the final “Pastoral” production backgrounds, shown below, illustrates Legg’s criticism of the sequence’s color palette. The circular pavilion featured in the painting was likely inspired by the Temple of Love at the Palace of Versailles.
Allan concludes, “Throughout this section there is reverence for and misunderstanding of sources,” or what film reviewer Helmut Farber called “Kunst und kitsch.”
John Gordon Legg joined the Disney studio on April 13, 1936 after a period as a student at Chouinard School of Art in Los Angeles and work as a commercial artist. His airbrush expertise led to designing many of Disney’s short film title cards, such as Woodland Cafe (1937),
and the pages of the large tome that opens Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937).
Legg’s other art deco/Rockwell Kent-inspired “Pastoral’ concepts include:
Apollo riding a chariot pulled by fiery horses;
contemplative Pegasus resting;
Diana, the personification of night, shooting a star into a dark sky with her silver hunting bow.
Legg’s original hamadryad painting is now part of the Walt Disney Family Museum animation art collection. For help with background information on J.W. Legg, I am grateful to Joe Campana, Michael Labrie, and the late Robin Allan.
“Animation is the most creative art of all, because you are creating life. You are making a drawing come to life. You can’t be more creative than that!”
This past January 5th marked the centennial year of the birth of Tissa David, one of the world’s great animators.
She was born in 1921 in Transylvania, in the city of Kolozsvár, Hungary. When she died at age 91, on Aug. 21, 2012, in New York City, she was recognized within the international animation community as a film artist of inimitable sensitivity and wit, and a brave woman with an iron will and singular passion for her chosen art form.
In motion, David’s sensual hand-drawn lines display superb timing, enormous charm, and a master actor’s sure instinct for performance. She truly brought cartoon characters to sparkling life on the screen as distinctive personalities. In addition to her creativity, her formidable survival skills and dedication to her work are a vital inspiration for women. Speaking of her pioneering efforts and success in the traditionally male-dominated animation industry, she once said, “I do consider myself somebody who walked the road for the first time.”
Tissa David was also a tough-love mentor who generously shared her vast knowledge and experience with many a novice animator, including me. During our nearly forty years of friendship, I was privileged to interview her in print and onstage numerous times.
As a tribute to this extraordinary woman, artist and teacher, I plan this year to post my personal reflections about the life and career of Tissa David on John Canemaker’s Animated Eye, augmented with rare drawings, photographs, and interview transcripts.
Although her name is not familiar to the general public, several generations of audiences grew up seeing and responding emotionally to Tissa David’s work. Among her most famous assignments were the eponymous ragdolls in the feature “Raggedy Ann and Andy: A Musical Adventure” (1977), whom she endowed with enormous warmth and heart. “I project a lot of myself into Raggedy Ann,” she once admitted.
Children viewing “Sesame Street” learned the alphabet from David; a ravenous letter M, for example, was hers. They learned spelling rules, too, from her work for “The Electric Company” and its “Letterman” segments.
Adults enjoyed her versatility in scores of television commercials throughout the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s. The brothers Bert and Harry (voiced by the comedy team of Bob and Ray) were her memorable work for Piel’s Beer. She animated commercials for numerous products, including Perrier, the New York radio station WQXR, the clothing retailer Barney’s, Esso and Shell gasoline, Excedrin, Vlasic Pickles, Cheerios and IBM.
Tissa explored serious subject matter and deep emotions in award-winning Hubley Studio films: overpopulation in “Eggs” (1970); child development in “Cockaboody” (1973); love, in both parental and romantic forms, in “Everybody Rides the Carousel” (1976). In the last, David animated with extraordinary sensitivity a young man and a woman (voiced by Meryl Streep) negotiating boundaries of trust by literally masking their feelings.
David’s performance range was vast because she became her characters. “Sometimes,” she explained in her soft Hungarian accent in an interview with me for my 1977 book, “The Animated Raggedy Ann & Andy,” “my characters succeed to imitate me.”
Speaking in 2006 to a group of NYU animation students, she noted, “All my characters are alive . . . they are my friends. I never feel alone.”
The skating princess Sasha in “The Great Frost,” adapted from Virginia Woolf’s “Orlando” for the 1977 PBS special “Simple Gifts,” is suffused with feminine mystery. Contrast that with the macho swagger and sharp moves of the violin-playing devil in PBS’s “The Soldier’s Tale” (1984).
Her Rubenesque Titania in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” (1986) for Dutch public television and Channel Four London exudes languid, sleep-infused sexuality. The film combined live-action with animation by Tissa and a small crew of friends. “Three people did the whole thing,” under her supervision, she admitted proudly. It was not the first time she directed a full-length film.
In Paris in 1953, she became the animation director and principal animator for “Bonjour Paris!,” produced by Jean Image Studio, becoming the second woman, after Lotte Reiniger, to direct a feature-length animated film.
How Tissa David got from Hungary to France, and then to America, is an inspiring story of personal courage, grit and dedication to her art.
Thérèse “Tissa” David was born in 1921 in Kolozsvár, the capital of Transylvanian Hungary (now Cluj-Napoca, Romania). She was the second-eldest of 10 children. The family soon relocated to Szeged, in southern Hungary, where her father became a professor at the University of Szeged. He expected his children to succeed in whatever they did. Tissa was bitten by the animation bug in 1938 when she saw Disney’s “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” “This is what I want to do,” she decided.
After earning a teaching degree, her draftsmanship was strengthened at the Academy of Beaux Arts in Budapest, but she dropped out to join a local animation studio. When she first saw a character she animated move on the screen, she recalled in an interview with me in 2002, “It was the most exciting moment in my life.”
During the 1944 siege of Budapest she survived daily bombings, ate horse meat and boiled beans (“We were starving!”), and learned “how small and how great people can be.” After the war, she co-owned an animation studio until the Communists took over.
In March 1950, David and an art-school friend (the now-renowned painter Judit Reigl) escaped their oppressed homeland, settling in Paris. “After you go through the Hungarian border,” she claimed, “nothing can scare you.”
She learned French and worked as a maid, cook and house-cleaner. Within a year, she became animation director and principal animator for “Bonjour Paris!” and gave jaunty life to the Eiffel Tower itself, in the 1953 Jean Image Studio feature “Bonjour Paris!”
In 1955 she immigrated to America (and learned English). The next year, at UPA Studio in New York, she became assistant to Grim Natwick (1890-1990), one of Disney’s lead animators on “Snow White.” As freelance professional partners, she and Natwick worked on hundreds of TV commercials and the last Mr. Magoo theatrical short (“Terror Faces Magoo” – 1959). David always claimed she learned “absolutely everything” about animation from Natwick. Publicly he took bows for the team, while privately acknowledging that because of David’s skills he was “able to work another 10 years.”
When Natwick retired in 1967, David, then in her 40s, could not find work. “In America, animation was a jealously guarded men’s field,” she said. “So girls should be assistants, inkers, painters—not animators.” Eventually, the Hubley studio, Michael Sporn Animation, R.O. Blechman’s Ink Tank and Richard Williams (director of the feature “Raggedy Ann & Andy”), among others, hired her as a solo animator; and she continued to work steadily in America and abroad well into her 80s. She developed an admirable economy in her animation, limiting it to essential storytelling drawings. “You don’t do many drawings,” she noted, “but you know how to use them.” Often she completed the storyboard and all the animation for half-hour productions, such as Michael Sporn’s superb “The Marzipan Pig” (1990).
Since 1956, she lived and worked alone on East 83rd Street in a cozy one-bedroom apartment filled with plants, books and paintings (including Ms. Reigl’s), a place smelling of baked apples and spices, for David was an excellent cook specializing in Szeged cuisine. Over the years a parade of animation novices (myself included) went there for her advice on our projects. She combined bracing, honest assessments — “this is a lousy drawing” or “this is a very bad film” — with golden nuggets of information: “Animation is all caricature”; “Don’t show what is not absolutely necessary to the story”; “Always think of how your character feels”; and “The greatest animation is the simplest. Search for what is essential in an action or a scene.” She gave truth to us straight and we loved her for it.
Tissa’s strength and dedication to her art were rare, inspiring qualities. “Animation is such a long, hard work,” she said, “you have to keep doing, doing, doing to learn. You can only have one love if you want to be an animator: animation. You can’t devote yourself to it part-time.”
On the evening of January 18, 2003, the Museum of Modern Art in New York honored Tissa David with a film retrospective of her career in animation, co-curated by Josh Siegel and me. In my introduction to a full-house of her admirers, I noted that “Dizzy Gillespie once called Louis Armstrong ‘Jazz in person.’ To those privileged to have known her personally, and those who know her only through her extraordinary art, Tissa David is ‘Animation in person.’”
Click hereto access the full illustrated transcript (.pdf) of my interview with Tissa David on September, 18, 2002, in which she candidly speaks at length, publicly, about her harrowing escape from communist Hungary in 1950, her life and work in animation in Paris, and her first experiences working in animation in New York with, and without, her mentor Grim Natwick.
COMING SOON: TISSA DAVID ANIMATES THE EPONYMOUS STARS OF RICHARD WILLIAMS’ FEATURE, RAGGEDY ANN & & ANDY: A MUSICAL ADVENTURE (1977).
November 13 marks the 80th anniversary of Walt Disney’s Fantasia. It is my favorite Disney film.
How I wish I could have attended the 1940 premiere at New York’s Broadway Theatre – the first time those now-familiar Technicolor animated visualizations of eight classical music scores were screened with “Fantasound,” a pioneering dimensional soundtrack system. What a thrill it must have been.
During my years as an animation historian, I’ve met and/or interviewed numerous artists who worked on the film (such as Joe Grant, Richard Huemer, Ollie Johnson, Bianca Majolie, Lee Blair, John Hench, Ken Anderson, Les Clark, Preston Blair, John Hubley, Bill Peet, Ward Kimball, Eric Larson, Ken O’Connor; and several artists’ family members, including Sylvia Moberly-Holland’s daughter; Vladimir Tytla’s widow; John Parr Miller’s brother; James Bodrero’s daughter; Oskar Fischinger’s widow and daughters.
Art Babbitt (1907-1992) was a brilliant animator on Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Pinocchio, and Dumbo, as well as key scenes in Fantasia. Late in his career, I got to know him quite well and interviewed him privately and in public venues numerous times when he was a star animator on the feature, Raggedy Ann & Andy: A Musical Adventure (1977), the subject of my first book (The Animated Raggedy Ann & Andy).
To celebrate Fantasia, as well as Mr. Babbitt’s long, influential and controversial career, I offer the transcript of my first wide-ranging, freewheeling, unedited interview with him on June 4, 1975 – typos, misspellings and Art’s candid opinions and rueful wit galore. Transcribed by me from my battered old Panasonic cassette tape recorder. I also offer the edited version of the interview that was subsequently published in a 1975 issue of Millimeter Magazine.
My friend Carol Millican, gifted animator and friend, recorded the session in photographs.
Thanks to Jake Friedman for his help with this article.
Two readers of my Facebook page noted that Art Babbitt strongly defended his turf — namely, the animation of the mushroom dance in FANTASIA — when it was challenged by two colleagues who claimed it as their own, namely Jules Engel and Elmer Plummer, former Disney artists who later taught at Cal Arts.
Submitted below, for the historical record, are two hand-written, hotly articulate letters to me from Babbitt, dated 23 and 27 February 1976. I was, at the time, animation editor at Millimeter magazine.
The matter generated enough controversy that it prompted Jack Hanna, another Disney studio alum who was also a Cal Arts instructor, to write this to me:
“I had nothing to do with the mushroom dance. But I like mushroom soup!”
Winsor McCay – His Life and Art, my biography of the innovative pioneer of comic strips and animated films, has been revised twice since Abbeville Press first published it in 1987. In the 2005 Harry N. Abrams edition and, again, in the current 2018 CRC Press/A Focal Press Book edition, I updated and expanded the text to include new information about McCay that had come to my attention in the last three decades.
I am particularly pleased about one informational addition in the new CRC/Focal Press edition, concerning a gentleman I first described, in 1987, as merely “a Mr. Hunt of the [New York] Herald color department.” His name had come to my attention in the margin of an original Little Nemo in Slumberland comic strip board, on which Winsor McCay penciled an instructional message in non-photographing blue pencil:
Mr. Hunt, This is a snow forest. All the trees and foliage are snow. Plenty of purple and blue tones. The only bright color will be in the costume of the figures. An orange sky. The rest all pale blues, pinks and purples. Creme colored [indecipherable] with cold blue shadows.
(The strip, which was published on January 21, 1906, had Nemo tunneling through snow while being chased by a polar bear.)
I figured Mr. Hunt was one of the so-called “artists in zinc,” a master of the Ben Day printing process which allowed shading on color pictures for reproduction in the Herald. It was an intricate, labor intensive artistic/mechanical/chemical operation that lent McCay’s Little Nemo and other Herald Sunday comic strips the most subtle, stunningly beautiful array of colors ever seen in early news print.
I later happened upon an April 20, 1914 Herald article,“Exhibit of Color Print Art Pays Tribute to Work Done by the Herald”, which describes in detail the problems of etching on plates of zinc to achieve gradations of light and shade or tone.
The etcher on copper, after great labor, is able to produce this effect with the needle . . . The Ben day process consists in placing a fine meshed, inked screen over the parts of the plate to be shaded and then making dots by passing a roller over it. That portion of the plate which is not to be printed on is protected by a gamboge solution. The screen is regulated by a delicately adjusted gauge, manipulated by a thumb screw, and the ground may be light or dark as the operator thinks best. It is in the various modifications of the process, the placing of dots and lines in greater number where deeper color is desired, and in the soft blending of tones that the artist-artisans of the Herald plant excel.
Four colorists appear in as many photographs. Unfortunately, the men pictured are not identified, though their intricate jobs are described in detail and their “high skill” praised:
[The artists in zinc] have to foresee what the effect of the various color combinations will be when the final proof is made, because often four or five different plates are used in the preparation of one color page. The harmony of colors depends much upon the ability of the makers of the plate. The slightest variation in tone may destroy the conception of the artist and produce an effect that would be harsh and coarse. The men of the Herald color department turn out plates of exceptional excellence, and yet rapidly enough to meet every requirement of newspaper speed.
I wondered if Mr. Hunt might be among these four men. Perhaps he was a foreman who collaborated with McCay on color choices for the Nemo strip. Pity, I thought, not to know something, anything, about his job, background and personal life. I feared he and his co-workers, who participated in creating such beautiful graphic imagery, would remain as anonymous to history as the artisans of ancient Egyptian monuments and craftspeople of Chartres.
But — “the gods smile on film historians,” wrote animation historian and author Donald Crafton in his seminal book, Before Mickey: The Animated Film 1898 – 1928. Or, as Tennessee Williams put it, “Sometimes – there’s God – so quickly.”
In late November, 2011, I was surprised by an email from Carmen and Jennifer Armstrong, two sisters who knew of my McCay biography. They wanted advice on the value of a collection of color proofs on tear sheets from the New York Herald newspaper’s Sunday color comics, a family legacy from their great-grandfather — Mr. Alfred B. Hunt.
“[He] was a colorist (I think they called them),” Carmen Armstrong wrote. “For the Herald in NYC. He did the coloring for the Little Nemo in Slumberland and other comics. He saved every proof that he did at that time. They are the size of a full page of the NY Times.”
Thanks to the generosity of the sisters Armstrong, I learned a great deal about the formerly mysterious Mr. Hunt when I visited their Long Island home that December, as well as the identity of two of his colleagues on the Ben Day process, depicted in the 1911 Herald story: Al Heatherington and Louis Kreamer, Sr. :
Alfred Benjamin Hunt was born in 1854 on Clarkson Street, Brooklyn, the son of Benjamin Hunt and Hannah Flower Hunt, both natives of England.
When Hunt was three, the family moved to Brookside Avenue, Freeport, Long Island, where his father operated a nearby farm. During the Civil War, the Hunt family lived in Freeport, where young Hunt attended school in Roosevelt. When he was a youth, the family moved back to Brooklyn. Hunt was a graduate of the Academy of Design at Cooper Union, New York City, and began his career working in the printing industry.
Alfred B. Hunt indeed worked directly with Winsor McCay on the magnificent Little Nemo in Slumberland series, from its beginning in October 1905 (Hunt was then age 51 and McCay age 38) until McCay joined Hearst’s papers in June 1911.
Hunt also supervised color choices and processes for Johnny Gruelle (1880 – 1938) and his Sunday comic fantasy strip, Mr. Twee Deedle, about a magical wood sprite who befriends two human children. The beautifully drawn whimsy, which dips into surrealism on occasion, was the winning entry in a 1910 New York Herald contest that sought a replacement for Little Nemo, when McCay left for Hearst.
Mr. Twee Deedle ran for four years from 1911 to 1914, until it was abruptly discontinued by a new Sunday editor. The Herald publisher, James Gordon Bennett, noticed the omission while traveling in Europe.
“What became of Twee Deedle? cabled Bennett.
“Discontinued by Sunday editor,” was cabled back.
“Discontinue Sunday editor,” was Bennett’s succinct reply.
Mr. Twee Deedle lived another four years.
In 1918, Johnny Gruelle created beloved Raggedy Ann, whose stories, and those of her brother Raggedy Andy, quickly became a publishing and merchandising bonanza for the cartoonist.
A Bonham’s catalogue, for a December 11, 2013 sale of Mr. Hunt’s collection of Herald color proofs, described Mr. Hunt’s work: “After the illustrators brought in their black and white drawings and paintings, Hunt would then apply watercolor to black and white proofs to guide the printers in the final Ben Day color scheme. Among the artists and cartoonists Hunt worked with were Harrison Fisher, Arthur I. Keller, Winsor McCay, Thomas Nast, R. F. Outcault, W. A. Rogers and Dan Smith. Included are many of the Christmas supplements and a large number of the weekly “Fluffy Ruffles” pages written by Carolyn Wells and illustrated by Wallace Morgan.”
After 28 years at the Herald, Hunt left at the time of its merger with the New York Tribune in 1924. He was 70 years old, but then worked at the Boro Engraving Company, Brooklyn, until he finally retired in 1941 at age 86.
Hunt moved back to Freeport in retirement, living at South Long Beach Avenue. His hobby was gardening, laying out and planting vegetable and flower gardens at his home, a continuation of his love of color, this time in three dimensions. Mr. Hunt was the oldest living member of the 23rd regiment of the National Guard, at the rank of sergeant. He was on active duty on many occasions, and received an honorary membership in the Veterans Association of the regiment. He was affiliated with the Williamsburgh Congregational church, Brooklyn, and the Tompkins Avenue Congregational church.
Alfred B. Hunt had only been ill a week when he died on June 23, 1947 at a Rockville Centre convalescent home at age 92.
Carmen and Jennifer Armstrong generously allowed me to copy family photographs, newspaper clippings, and their large collection of original, color-test page proofs, and I am very grateful for their kind support.
These exciting, full-size newspaper pages included over fifty mint-condition Little Nemo in Slumberland color sheets from 1905, 1908, 1909, 1910, and more than 150 full-size color sheets of Johnny Gruelle’s comic strip series Mr. Twee Deedle, among other artists of the period, including an original R. F. Outcault drawing of Buster Brown and his dog, Tige.
I was able to include some of the new biographical information about Alfred B. Hunt in the CRC Press edition of Winsor McCay: His Life and Art, but it was not possible to include photographs or extra artwork.
This post, and the illustrations in the gallery below will, I hope, rectify that omission by filling in some gaps of about the art and skill of Mr. Hunt, a man who participated in the development of a new art form and helped bring into the world enchanting beauty.
The Little Nemo in Slumberland and Mr. Twee Deedle images here are taken directly from Alfred B. Hunt’s original page proofs, which preserved the vibrant colors of the Ben Day process.
Like many cartoonists, including McCay, Gruelle often re-used ideas; here are two beautiful illustrations from his 1917 book, My Very Own Fairy Stories, telling once again the transformation tale of “The Ugly Caterpillar.”
Information courtesy of:
The Collection of Carmen and Jennifer Armstrong
Nassau Daily Review-Star, 24 June 1947: “Alfred Hunt, 92 Dies; Color Print Pioneer”
Special to the Herald Tribune, Rockville Center, L.I. 23 June 1947 “Alfred B. Hunt”
New York Herald, Mon. 20 April 20, 1914: “Exhibit of Color Print Art Pays Tribute to Work Done by the Herald.”
Bonhams – 11 Dec 2013 auction of Alfred B. Hunt collection:
Winsor Zenas McCay (1867-1934).Little Nemo in Slumberland.
59 Color Printer’s proofs Sunday “Comic Section.”The New York Herald 1905-08 sold for US$ 5,250. inc. premium.
Dream of the Rarebit Fiend, pen and ink on illustration board, final panel signed “Silas” (pseudonym for McCay).
Full-page cartoon for the “Comic Section,” The New York Herald, April 27, 1913.A pride of lions fight over a captured man.
Sold for US$ 10,000 inc. premium
Johnny Gruelle (1880-1938).Mr. Twee Deedle.
196 color printer’s proofs Sunday “Comic Section,”The New York Herald 1911-1914 sold for US$ 2,000 inc. premium.
Bonhams – 09 Aug 2016 (The Summer Sale):
Richard Felton Outcault (1863-1928).
“A Bad Cat,” pen and ink on Bristol board. Half-page cartoon for “Comic Section,” The New York Herald . Sold for US$ 62 inc. premium.
Richard Felton Outcault (1863-1928).“The girl, a dog, and her mother’s hat.” Sold for US$ 1,750 inc. premium.
Richard Felton Outcault (1863-1928). “Buster Brown,” pen and ink on Bristol board. US$ 4,750 inc. premium.
Richard Felton Outcault (1863-1928) “Buster Brown and Tige.” US$ 4,375 inc. premium.
Richard Felton Outcault (1863-1928) “Buster Brown in Mischief Again.” US$ 3,500 inc. premium.
Kathy Rose is among the world’s most original visual/performance artists. She suffered a fall last month, but is making good progress, according to her family.
A unique and beloved member of the independent animation filmmakers who began working in the 1970s, Kathy has continually developed her art through the years in startlingly beautiful ways, expanding, as she explained, “the image out of the flat screen to become an integral physical part of color and fantasy in a sculptural domain.”
In tribute to her artistry, and with high hopes for her speedy recovery, here is my article on her remarkable career published in the Jan/Feb 1995 issue of Print magazine(click on image below for link to article):
And here are two original animation drawings by Kathy Rose from her 1978 film, Pencil Booklings, a gift of the artist. (Click to enlarge)
I will be returning to The Wexner Center for the Arts, at Ohio State University in Columbus on Thursday, Nov. 7, at 7:00pm, for the world premiere of HANDS, my 17-minute, hand-drawn animated adaptation of a story from Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio (1919). The film follows Wing Biddlebaum, a lonely former schoolteacher whose hands led to a scandal that drove him from his previous town and life’s calling.
Following the screening, I will discuss and demonstrate my process of animating the film. A display of original artwork used in the making of HANDS will be on display in The Wexner Center’s lower lobby from October 21–November 10.
HANDS was supported through a 2016–17 Wexner Center Artist Residency Award.