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Announcement January 21, 2003 |
In December there was a fire in the studio of André François.
This email comes from a mutual friend in Brussels, a heart specialist and
art collector:
"I phoned André on Saturday and his wife told me that his "atelier," a big separated room in his garden, has burned ten days ago, and that everything there (nearly all his life's works: drawings, paintings, sculptures) turned into ashes now. He was not burned but was "choked" (he is more than 80 years old) and had to stay one week in the hospital. He is home now but very tired, and all future exhibitions are cancelled, because he has not enough paintings or drawings left!" Needless to say, this is heartbreaking news and high on any artist's list of Worst Nightmares. The Illustratorsí Partnership has proposed to Graphis magazine that we mount a tribute to this remarkable and influential artist from his many friends and colleagues around the world. You can use this forum to review the letters we have already received and to post your own. We'll forward them to AndrÈ and submit them to Graphis. Anyone who wishes to send handwritten letters or drawings may send them to the IPA office. |
Brad Holland January 21, 2003 |
Dear André, We've never met, but for years it seems I've known you through your work. And through your work some part of you has become a part of me. In the little Ohio town where I grew up, I didn't know the names of any artists but Norman Rockwell and Walt Disney, the obvious household names of American pop culture. When I was 17 I moved to Chicago. There I discovered Ronald Searle, Robert Osborn and laterñyou. The first picture of yours I can recall was a New Yorker cover you did about 1984. It was a watercolor of a glass of water with a pen sitting in it. The image of the pen was bent by refraction in the water. It was a model of economy in style and a lesson in how to create a memorable image out of a small observed detail. At that time my own pictures were robust but at times overly (shall we say) existential. From the time I saw that glass of water, your directness became the bar I wanted to reachñnot by doing work like itñbut by attaining a similar precision of vision and simplicity of expression. I know I share this debt to you with thousands of others. Although I know it will be no comfort to you now, what's happened to you reminds me that much of the world's most memorable art survives only in legend and collective memory. Whether it's the vanished sculptures of Phidias or the lost folk art of the Incas, melted down to gold bars by Conquistadores, the personal loss behind these tragedies has never been the last word. However inecplicable your fate must seem to you, you're now like a character in a story Borges might have written, in which the loss of your originals is redeemed, in ways you may never know, by the moving account of their long creation and sudden loss. Your work will survive because are one of the cornerstones of modern popular art. You're our Duke Ellington. You may have lost many originalsñbut not your contribution. It exists in the thousands of reproductions which exist and which, with time, can be technically enhanced to rival the fidelity of the originals. And it exists in the influence you've had, the inspiration you've brought and the charm and elegance you've communicated in your remarkable body of art. It will remain because, through your work some part of you has become a part of all of us. Warmest regards, Brad Holland 1.21.03 |
Steve Heller January 21, 2003 |
During the late fifties turgid realism reigned supreme in American
Illustration, which is why as a kid, and an fan of illustration, I
anxiously and excitedly awaited André François' New Yorker
covers and Holiday magazine illustrations. François was not an American but had a huge presence and an extraordinary influence on our native arts. His work was witty, brash, and acerbic as well as surreal, expressive, and symbolic. He was funny without relying on gags and artful without being sentimentally realistic. He made eggs walk, eyeglasses talk, and pigs fly. He was not a children's illustrator per se, but exhibited a child's unceasing playfulness. In an age of conformity he was François alone, not anyone else. Sure there was a little Klee, a tad Miro, a smattering of Grosz, but François' work bore unmistakable signature elements that were as fresh in the fifties as they were in the eighties when finally, many young illustrators caught on to his elegant art brut. It is said that greatness is measured by the width of the shoulders on which others stand. François's shoulders are as wide as they are broad. -- Steven Heller Steve Heller stefano@nytimes.com The New York Times |
Ralph Steadman January 21, 2003 |
Dear Brad. This is one of the most horrendous stories I have ever heard- a nightmare that must have occurred to all of us at sometime. It numbs the mind. To have such a plague visited upon a man who is one of the singularly great graphic artists of the 20th century, is a tragedy of monumental proportion. The irretrievable loss to André François himself must be worse than if cruel Gods had stolen his very soul, and far as I know he made no bargain with the Devil. The essence of his work is in the originals, and though he has been extensively reproduced, there is no substitute for their presence in our world. His work is a Cathedral. My admiration for him is lifelong. His influence on me is indelible, probably more than the sum total of all the rest. The shock to us all, I know, will be felt as a personal loss. I can't tell you how badly I feel after reading your letter. I rage against it as a warped injustice. Helplessly, I add my own tribute to the many who must want to celebrate André François' unique achievement. He is a great man. Sadly, RALPH STEADMAN |
Randall Enos January 21, 2003 |
My dear Monsieur François, I can't begin to describe the hole in my heart caused by the loss of your work. I cherish the many books and many Graphis annuals and magazines I have that contain your masterpieces. I wanted to write to you to express what you and your work have meant to me over the years. I started my art career in 1954 and my first inclinations were to shun the world of applied art for the seemingly more creative world of Fine Art because ,of course, the residue of the American illustration of the 40's and early 50's were slick and obvious and "pretty" and not for me. Then I saw your work and I realized how my beginnings in painting coupled with my natural tendency toward cartooning could be melded together and made to work because you were doing it. It was a revelation to me. I must admit that at first, your influence on me was so great that I found my work taking on some of the stylistic aspects of your's so I immediately pulled back in order to develop my own path....there is only one François and that's the way it should be. I want you to know that even if some of your work is gone...you have left a mark on a lot of us that will never die and will get transmitted to others through us thanks to your teaching. I have work on my wall that I would be devastated to lose and each day I think of your loss when I look at them. I have no doubt, though that you will re-bound and create even greater works if that is possible. I remember how impressed Ben Shahn was when he saw your paintings. He loved you so much as a cartoonist that he was afraid he would be disappointed in seeing your paintings but ,of course, he wasn't. So, please create for us some new drawings and paintings and sculpture ( I saw your fantastic show in New York years ago) so that we will continue to be inspired by your wonderful spirit. We love you. My very best wishes to you and your wife, Randall Enos |
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