The Land of Trees and Heroes
Earlier this year I rededicated myself to a daily drawing practice. After putting together a rather ambitious exhibition in 2025, I found myself getting caught up in attempts to “think through” concepts for new work, often finding myself confused and overwhelmed rather than simply putting pencil to paper. I needed out of my head. I needed to loosen my grip and start drawing again (wait, what?). No judgement, no second guessing on subject matter or inspiration - just the action of drawing.
I’ve always been delighted and inspired by children’s liturature so to get myself going I returned to some of my favorite narratives for prompts. I needed something I felt connected to while letting myself play - I needed to have some fun.
One story that I come back to often is The Land of Trees and Heroes, by British writer Joan Aiken, published in 1965. It’s part of a larger collection of short stories by Aiken entitled The Serial Garden. It’s a “domestic fantasy” series about two siblings rummaging through a family life interwoven with both the mundane and the magical. I love the total acceptance by adults, townsfolk, children, and fantastical creatures alike the absurdity in everyday magical living where the bizarre is somehow practical and the curious expected. Another aspect to note is the constant underlying sense of the macabre. Some of my most cherished children’s stories have this subtle brutality of life riding the narrative’s underbelly, always with a sense of the ridiculous, nonchalant, and humor. Because why cover it up when learning to move through the stuff of life with banter and whimsy at your side is what it’s really about anyway?
My oldest bought me a special copy of the Aiken’s story for Christmas a couple years back and I’ve returned to it several times when in need of a good read-a-loud. Going back through and underlining my favorite passages, phrases, and scenes emphasized themes that took on new meaning when reading aloud, to myself, with an accent, in the bathtub. In fact, it brought forth some much needed reassurance to the current themes of my life - mostly questions around the passage of time and how we can bend it in order to go back and take care where we didn’t know how before - the duality of magic and reality as it pertains to time, the mystical, perhaps?
Illustrating these ideas through specific passages in the story gave me permission to not take this notion of time so seriously - but to instead take delight, and trust in the play of it. It also brought about a season of world building in general - an attempt to capture the atmosphere of this place just above the clouds - and how and where I find myself among it.
Waiting for a Snatch of Wind Music // Oil Pastel on canvas // 14 × 18” // 2026
Lemon Barley // Oil pastel on canvas // 24 × 24” // 2026
Spellbound // Oil Pastel on canvas // 18 × 14” // 2026
I see these paintings living in nurseries, playrooms, and offices alike - reminders to engage with mystery and play, to remain spellbound, to take good care, and to run wild without making such a big deal of it. I hope you read Joan’s book. And I hope you enjoy the pictures too.
Hero, No. 1 // Oil pastel on canvas // 20 × 20” // 2026
Hero No. 2 // Oil pastel on canvas // 18 × 14” // 2026
Hero, No. 3 // Oil Pastel on canvas // 24 × 12” // 2026
Here is a link to the sweetest Puffin Book Profile from 1969, featuring Joan in her home, highlighting her series, The Wolves of Willoughby Chase - which I’ve never read. But I did read Arable and Mortimer many times with my kids and I highly recommend this title for the deepest of belly laughs. Quentin Blake illustrated the cover for that one as well - so - bonus points.
Okay! Enjoy! The End!
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