In a letter dated 4 September, 1893, Beatrix Potter wrote to a sick child, Noel Moore, the young son of a former governess.

She began:

“My dear Noel,  I don’t know what to write to you, so I shall tell you a story about four little rabbits whose names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter.”

And that’s how it all started.

For a birthday treat to myself, I spent a remarkable morning at the archive reading room of the Victoria and Albert Museum going through two boxes of original Beatrix Potter art.

It ranged from a wonderful watercolor study of a rabbit when Potter was 14 years old to some unpublished variations of her illustrations of her classic picture books.

I have seen originals before in museums and exhibitions, but holding these gems in my hands was something different, not unlike holding a rock from the moon or the hand of a newborn; solid and real but slightly other-worldly.

Even through the matted frames and plastic covers I felt a closer connection to Miss Potter.

The drawing is spot on. She studied animals from life using favorite animals as models. The rabbit study is believed to be Benjamin Bunny, a pet Potter had when she was young. The collie Kep, from Jemina Puddle-duck, was a favorite collie she owned.

The watercolor paintings themselves are small, mostly the same size as the tiny original versions in her books. I measured one painting, a mouse sitting in a chair reading a newspaper, to be 2 7/8 inches high.

There were some loose, very lively pen-and-ink studies of frogs and rabbits included in the boxes. In many ways, these were more impressive than the finishes. The life and humor of her characters came through even stronger, the drawing a little more assured . . . something that I can relate to in my own work.

I confess to a special affinity to artists whose talents lean towards anthropomorphized animals. There are good ones and bad ones, and some whose talents would be better displayed by filleting cod on a 40-foot trawler … a full 20 fathoms beneath the surface.

But Potter is one of the best. Her animal anatomy is excellent – sometimes too good.  Without the required muscle structure for expressions, animals can’t really smile, frown, raise their eye brows in confusion, twist their mouth in a moment of pensive thought, or gaze longingly at a piece of huckleberry pie.

The result can make a rabbit dressed in a gingham apron or smoking a pipe seem too impassive and creepy, even down-right sinister, especially given the circumstances in which they find themselves. 

But a child (and playful grown-ups) will project their own human emotions onto these animals as we do our own pets (“Well, of course Fido hated his present; if looks could kill!” “Flossie just loved her new fishbowl; you should have seen her smile.”)

At the Victoria and Albert Museum itself, I caught the last day of a related exhibition, some letters of Potter and Edward Lear, author of numerous limericks and the classic Owl ands the Pussycat. These letters were illustrated with line drawings. The freshness and spontaneity of the line was charming.

In one letter Potter made fun of herself and her ability to draw humans (she drew herself as a pig). But there was one connection that stuck me more than the art or even the content of the letters.

These authors, both Beatrix Potter and Edward Lear, wrote some of their most famous and endearing prose first in letters.

And they wrote them to a specific child.

Potter wrote to Noel Moore. Edward Lear wrote to Janet Symonds, the young daughter of his friend John Addington Symonds.

Beatrix Potter once remarked, after being asked why Peter Rabbit was so successful, that it was addressed to “…a real live child… not made to order.”

And we all know that there was a real Christopher Robin, that calming influence in the Pooh books.

These classic books were written for real children.

Our job as adults, if I may be so bold, is to pass these books down to our own real children. Indeed, we should pass down our own stories to our kids and let them share their stories with us.

If not we may as well just commit ourselves to the same fate as Peter’s father, and end up in a pie.

Doug Cushman is a former Redding artist and author who now lives and works in Paris. He was born in Springfield, Ohio and moved to Connecticut with his family when he was 15 years old. While in high school he created comic books lampooning his teachers, selling them to his classmates for a nickel a piece.

Since 1978, he has illustrated and/or written more than 100 books for children and collected a number of honors, including a Reuben Award for Book Illustration from the National Cartoonists Society, New York Times Children’s Books Best Sellers, and the New York Public Library’s Best 100 Books of 2000. He enjoys hiking, kayaking and cooking (and eating!). Learn more about Doug, his art and his books at his Web site, http://www.doug-cushman.com/index.htm
 

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