(Or One Author’s Trip to the Woods)
John Howe writes: To me, writers are mysterious creatures. They make things with words. Pictures are easy, kids do them without thinking. Words are harder, as it implies keeping that gift of spontanteous espression, but using a sophisticated and precise tool most of us can never firmly grasp in out clumsy hands. So, when I meet an Author, I’m always faintly surprised that they seem affable and quite normal, nay, even human. Continue reading “John Howe’s Journal: BUNNIES, WORLDBUILDING & CAPITAL-P PLOTS”
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Or the Perilous Pertinence of Perspicacity Premeditated
(Or Exercises in Applied Floccinaucinihilipilificatiousness)
John Howe writes: I’m often told I’ve got my “head in the clouds”. While that’s clearly metaphorical, or at least I dearly hope so, I recently had the opportunity to get a little closer to said clouds for a television interview.
“Têtes en l’Air” is a French-Swiss program half way between interview and conversation. The creator of the show, Manuella Maury, seems to prepare extensive notes, read up diligently on her subject, and then play everything by ear, counting on an agile mind rather than a plodding list of questions. Which is fair enough, though it does mean trying to keep your wits about you.
I always try to keep them about me when doing interviews, but given the surroundings, my wits were off running up scree slopes or poking around under rocks. I’m always distabilised by interviews, just the fact that someone is actually listening throws me off (even if it’s professional listening) and I spend my time like a tightrope walker in a tempest, buffeted by contrary winds. Continue reading “John Howe’s Journal: HEADS, CLOUDS AND CONVERSATIONS”
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John Howe writes: I will be signing the FANTASY ART WORKSHOP (and whatever else is placed in front of me) at Forbidden Planet in London on November 17th from 12:30 to 2 pm. Store address and information: Forbidden Planet Megastore (179 Shaftesbury Ave, London, WC2H 8JR).
Order ‘John Howe Fantasy Art Workshop’ at Amazon.com Today!
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Or Talking About Somebody ELSE’S Work for a Change: Occasionally I am given the opportunity to write a preface for a book of another artist’s work. It’s an exercise I thoroughly enjoy, an opportunity to pry up the cowling and peek in at the inner workings of another image-maker’s mind. (You just have to keep ypur hands clear of the gears.) When Paul Bonner asked if I’d be willing to do a few words for a volume of his collected work that was in preparation, I immediately agreed quicker than you can say “And about bloody time too!”. Paul’s work is simply amazing, and just knowing folks like him are out there in the wildwood of the mind in which all fantasy illustrators wander is a comfort and an encouragement. Continue reading “John Howe’s Journal: PICTURA AND GNARUS”
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(Or Of The Topography of Tesseracts and the Ineffable Benefits of Entasis) – By John HoweI spend a fair bit of time pondering the imponderables (that’s why it takes time) of fantasy imagery.Fantasy imagery has been happening for a long time. In fact no culture, ever, has created ONLY realistic, down-to-earth, day-to-day and otherwise familiar imagery. Everything we set our eyes upon is deified, vilifeid, praised or ridiculed, or, with surprising regularity, sublimated by our desires and aspirations. Hence our dawning century of fantasy art, with little fantasy artists scattered the world over, who peer into looking glasses darkly Alice-fashion, hoping for a glimpse of the invisible, a hint of the ineffable, in the hopes of transcribing the sparkle of that particular glamour on paper/canvas/screen.Sometimes it seems a shame we don’t build any more temples to Poseidon or Odin or commission artists to decorate the entrances to sacred groves or sculpt pillars for Irminsul. Of course, we can’t any more, at least not with a straight face, not with the scientific age disputing monotheisms for our attention and belief. Serious business, that, and not to be tampered with. So fantasy has packed its gypsy tricks in its tatterdemalion cloak and gone a different road, into make-believe.Perhaps that’s where the saving grace of all this lies. It’s not entirely serious. Because from our extraordinary viewing platform we can see stars for real, poke around inside atoms and count all the numbers everywhere. Quite an accomplishment.We can believe, often in the face of all evidence, often with grace and happiness, often simply with motions gone through, in whatever ultimate felicity or fate we inherit or choose. Quite a program.Rather like a buffet – you know those salad bars, where you always try to cram too much on your plate? Sometimes opinions and beliefs to me feel just like that. Something we diligently or dutifully apply to our world rather than something we allow the world to offer because understanding is neither counting atoms nor having an exclusive on the truth. [More]
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(Or Of The Topography of Tesseracts and the Ineffable Benefits of Entasis) – By John Howe
I spend a fair bit of time pondering the imponderables (that’s why it takes time) of fantasy imagery.
Fantasy imagery has been happening for a long time. In fact no culture, ever, has created ONLY realistic, down-to-earth, day-to-day and otherwise familiar imagery. Everything we set our eyes upon is deified, vilifeid, praised or ridiculed, or, with surprising regularity, sublimated by our desires and aspirations. Hence our dawning century of fantasy art, with little fantasy artists scattered the world over, who peer into looking glasses darkly Alice-fashion, hoping for a glimpse of the invisible, a hint of the ineffable, in the hopes of transcribing the sparkle of that particular glamour on paper/canvas/screen.
Sometimes it seems a shame we don’t build any more temples to Poseidon or Odin or commission artists to decorate the entrances to sacred groves or sculpt pillars for Irminsul. Of course, we can’t any more, at least not with a straight face, not with the scientific age disputing monotheisms for our attention and belief. Serious business, that, and not to be tampered with. So fantasy has packed its gypsy tricks in its tatterdemalion cloak and gone a different road, into make-believe.
Perhaps that’s where the saving grace of all this lies. It’s not entirely serious. Because from our extraordinary viewing platform we can see stars for real, poke around inside atoms and count all the numbers everywhere. Quite an accomplishment.
We can believe, often in the face of all evidence, often with grace and happiness, often simply with motions gone through, in whatever ultimate felicity or fate we inherit or choose. Quite a program.
Rather like a buffet – you know those salad bars, where you always try to cram too much on your plate? Sometimes opinions and beliefs to me feel just like that. Something we diligently or dutifully apply to our world rather than something we allow the world to offer because understanding is neither counting atoms nor having an exclusive on the truth. [More]
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