I’m a big fan of Juxtapoz Magazine, because reading through the pages always feels a little like finding friends and coming home. During my long-fought battle to find an artistic identity for myself, Juxtapoz visits with artists who find themselves fighting the same creative fight as myself, and that’s comforting.

Juxtapoz has been acting as a chronicle of a the lowbrow / pop surrealist art movement since 1994, allowing spectators and participants alike to watch as the art collective evolves, transforms, and incorporates more and more into itself, with editor Robert Williams acting as the post-modern André Breton. Fortunately, Williams has been a lot more forgiving and accepting of the transformative nature of Surrealism than the dismissive Breton, who shunned more artists than he accepted into his clique. The result of Williams’ approach is a diverse magazine that addresses a very wide swath of creatives, from urban to rural, with their divergent influences and inspirations.

The magazine has recently begun to publish hardcover books, the first two being Juxtapoz Tattoo and Juxtapoz Illustration. In true Juxtapoz style, they’re handsome as hell. Juxtapoz Illustration has already made itself an essential inspiration and a bookshelf necessity, as well as something I plan on selectively using in my art classes. You know, skipping the pages with nipples and such - gotta keep it PG-13 when you have easily distractable, teenaged boys around. It’s like they have some kind of nudity radar.

Readers of Juxtapoz magazine will already be familiar with many of these 23 included artists, though the organizers of the book were careful to not repeat many pieces that were already featured within the magazine’s pages, and have even included a few artists that haven’t been featured in the magazine at all. After a half-page bio and artists’ statement, each artist is given eight quiet pages, full of beautifully printed artwork. No premise, no explanation - just art for the sake of art, unified under the nebulous idea of ‘illustration’. There’s a purity in this structure that’s exciting, and which isn’t allowed in a traditional magazine format. The translation is great, and every artwork is well-chosen.

No modern illustration book would be complete without the inclusion of the amazing James Jean, who I view as an essential 21st century illustrator to know - whether you’re an artist or just someone with eyes. Jeff Soto is also another name that’s thrown around a lot, and the tranquil artwork of Amy Sol (which was recently profiled in Hi Fructose magazine) is also featured here. Barron Storey is an oldschool illustrator and creative chameleon, whose dense, semi-abstract artwork has always been fascinating. The stark black and white of Mike Giant, the epic texture and motion of Nate Van Dyke, the supercomplex and unexpected vistas of San. What all of these people have in common is that they take the underappreciated world of ‘illustration’ and elevate it past the simple idea of ‘drawing a story’ and into places more painterly or abstract or energetic - many, many miles away from the rampant Photoshoppery that we’re assailed with on a daily basis.

While the collective work sometimes travels under the term ‘lowbrow’, I think that we now embrace the term as a way of ‘owning’ it. Anyone who gives these works even a cursory look will see the intellect, effort and artistry inherent in every one.

So, while there are many annual hardcovers that address ‘illustration’, Juxtapoz book eschews the commercial angle that runs through most of them, and gives the readers a brief but powerful look at the potential of the genre. It’s become a vital part of that indispensable shelf of inspirations in the ol’ studio space.

I must have been about 9 or 10 when I got this framed horse print at a rummage sale. It’s one of the very few childhood purchases that I’ve actually saved all these years. Most of my doggie figurines, pink spaghetti ceramic cats, and toys were sold at family rummage sales years ago. And my Breyers went to my younger female cousins. But this print I saved.

Because it’s something vintage that I’ve actually owned a long time, it was one of the items I brought into the Trash or Treasure event to be appraised.

Susan Kime, Paintings & Prints Specialist at Ivey-Selkirk, had the pleasure of appraising the print. I was praised for keeping the label on the back of the print (if they only knew that we save everything at our house, they would know this only encourages the hoarding insanity), and from this label we learned the following:

Title: Early Speed
Artist: C.W. Anderson
Type of print: A Limited Edition Signed Original Lithograph
Print Maker: Associated American Artists

She wasn’t familiar with the artist — which only made me feel hideously old. After all, every little girl has to go through a horsey stage, so clearly her lack of familiarity with Anderson (whose books were published from the mid-30’s through the 60’s) was the result of having loved newer/younger horsey folks.

When Kime, the consumate professional, admitted she wasn’t familiar with the artist she looked him up in a magical art database for recent sales of his works. There she discovered that C was for Clarence, W was for William, and that my lithograph was worth approximately $100 to $150. Which I felt was rather generous for an artist most folks either have never heard about or have forgotten. (But it seems to be a fair estimation after all — maybe even low? Then again, as Dad says, it’s still there.)

But I won’t forget Anderson. And not because the print has been assigned a monetary value.

First of all, C.W. Anderson, artist turned author, is as much a part of my childhood years as Walter Farley. In fact, the Billy and Blaze series was read prior to Farley’s Black Stallion series. Of the few books I owned (versus those I read at the library), several were also by C.W. Anderson and I did keep those. And I add copies of his books whenever I spot them. So the lithograph is valued for sentimental reasons.

Second of all, Anderson’s work is beautiful. Many a horse lover will tell you that he was one of the foremost horse illustrators of the 20th century, so there’s artistic value in my print.

But the real joy in this lithograph by Anderson lies in what makes collecting fun for me.

When it comes to collecting, I generally don’t have a list or any other sort of scholarly approach. I sift through piles, stacks and racks of junk, until something — that elusive something — catches either my intellect or imagination. It would likely be easier to hunt if I had a list, or if like the crow that something was easily spotted by the eye, such as a sparkle in the sun, and I tracked it. But hunting that way it is rarely my style; nor it is necessarily my goal.

Truth be told, I like the sense of discovery of finding an object and the hunt comes in when I want to find out more. The best objects are the items I don’t know about and the stories I’ve yet to learn. Often I can be (nearly) satisfied with spotting something and spending hours researching it, following the trail (like Billy & Blaze!) of its connections to other persons, points and places — even to things I already own. Of course, if I had deeper pockets (which were not full of pet hair and lint from the washing process, but filled with dollar bills), I might not remain so content to live without these objects. But for now, as things are, I can be — or just have to be.

So when I took my C.W. Anderson lithograph down off the wall, carried it in to the appraisal event, and then returned home with it to tell you all about it, I once again had a reason to research Clarence William Anderson. And to do so was to discover him anew — this time, through more adult eyes.

Prior to his fine horse lithography, and his horsey books, Anderson was an illustrator who was clearly affected by, if not officially a part of, “the golden age of illustration”. This era is officially listed as having lasted from the 1880s until shortly after World War I, but as many of the great illustrators of this time continued to have or build great careers for another few decades, many consider its end to be 1960. Publications such as The New Yorker and The Saturday Evening Post are popular examples of such legendary illustrations and illustrators. Anderson himself did covers for The Saturday Evening Post. But, of course, my love of the risqué means I am more interested in The New Yorker…

From 1926-1934 Anderson had cartoons published in The New Yorker — and in 1935, Anderson published And So To Bed, presumably his first book. This work is clearly not for the kiddies. Thank goodness I’m no longer one.

And thank goodness I could discover something new. Even if this time I’m not so satisfied with just doing the research — I want to own this book. And perhaps a few of those New Yorker issues…

Hey, maybe I should start one of those collecting lists after all. Naw, like many collectors of C.W. Anderson’s works, I keep my eyes open for his name and snap up stuff when I see it… Adding the earlier non-horse items to my sifting and scanning is easy enough.

Now that I know it exists, I know what I’m looking for.

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