The illustrator who wanted to beat her sister

BarcelonaWhen she was little, the Italian illustrator Beatrice Alemagna used to compete with her sister to see who could draw the prettiest picture. This kind of sibling contest was her father's idea, who years later admitted it might not have been his best. Although it might seem a questionable approach, it was also true that it planted the seed for his daughter Beatrice's career. When she was eight, the family went to Paris. My father chose the Eiffel Tower as the subject: whoever drew the best picture would win a Corolle doll, which I imagine was a kind of Nancy doll of my time. Alemagna wanted to win and studied the tower intently. That night, her father decided the doll was for her sister, and she cried in despair. However, at that moment, she promised herself that one day she would draw a beautiful Eiffel Tower and publish it in a book. Not only did she keep that promise, but today she is one of the most recognized and admired illustrators in the world, whose work in Catalan can be found published primarily by Combel and A Buen Paso.

Proof of her success is the speed with which tickets to see her at Kosmopolis sold out. She was introduced by another Italian illustrator, Anna Castagnoli, who was splendid in her role. She began by explaining how she had been drawn to Alemagna's work, 25 years ago: "It was the complete opposite of what we had been taught: 'Show the characters their faces, so we can clearly see their feelings': Beatrice's characters had their backs to us; 'Make them look good and make it clear what they feel.' Beatrice's characters have complex emotions; you don't know if they are sad or melancholic, they are incredibly subtle."

Trust in children

She also explained that she always creates a kind of secondary character, one whose identity and appearance remain a mystery, far removed from stereotypes. "She has an expressiveness that has marked the history of illustration." Alemagna then explained that this stems from the relationship she has established with children. She quotes the great Gianni Rodari, who said that he addressed them not by lowering himself to their level, but by placing them high above. She says that this approach enlightened her, and that since then she has always addressed them as open beings in the world, living without barriers. "One of the first things I was clear about was that I wanted to speak to them as people, beings, entities, not as little creatures," she said. She doesn't make things easy for them, because it's not necessary: she trusts in it.

That's why, as Castagnoli tells her, her books explore ugliness, disgust, fear, and the act of being bad. Even themes like depression. Alemagna explains that an American editor censored a drawing of hers that touched on this theme, and she didn't understand why: "For me, it's important that a child can experience these kinds of feelings before experiencing them in real life. The first place where they feel fear, or anguish, can be in a book; it's a very protected moment. Then they can go further, understand, and..." I could tell you so much more about that conversation! The dramatic side of her creative process that family contests instilled in her, which sometimes makes her arrive at the drawing table pulling at her hair because she can't come up with a character. Or the way she observes people. Or, also, how she explains that children's literature isn't children's literature, but literature. Period. This article feels too short to talk about the amazing Beatrice Alemagna. Keep an eye on the CCCB, and email to watch the video when they upload it.