Bill Sanderson covering New Scientist

This terrifying image of Margaret Thatcher is all the more scary because the portrayal of her features is only millimetres away from the flattering image that her supporters worshipped. It is the work of the illustrator, Bill Sanderson, whose work was characterised by an uncanny skill in mimicking the techniques of Victorian wood and steel engraving using scraper board. The trick was in applying it to contemporary subject matter and infusing the image with a turbulent, linear driven sense of movement.


These covers for New Scientist are from 1984 to 1988, a period when this magazine was one of the last to regularly commission illustration for the cover. There was a good fit to the relationship – Sanderson’s images recall the wonderful world of Victorian scientific illustration. It’s a pleasure to admire his drawing skills and the subtle use of colour to enhance the period feel. The near Baroque spatial qualities add another dimension. All is described with a sure touch and crispness of line and contour.


I remain highly suspicious of commentators who regularly evoke past golden ages, usually with object of denigrating the present, but I must confess that, as far as illustration goes, the decade from the mid-seventies to the mid-eighties seems like just such an age. Artists such as Peter Brookes, Mick Brownfield, George Hardie, Peter Till, Bush Hollyhead, Barry Craddock and James Marsh were producing witty and innovative illustration in response to a genuine demand from the printed media. Bill Sanderson is part of a talented generation that matured in the 1970’s and has carried on working in much the same way to the present. There is a generous selection of his work on his own website that can be viewed by clicking here. In 2005 he won an award for book cover design from the V & A, details of which can be seen here. Authors whose books he has illustrated include Harry Harrison (interviewed here) and Felix Dennis.

Postcard of the Day No. 13 - The Land of Oranges

These classic Curt Teich images of a Land of Plenty come from the fruit growing territories around San Bernardino in Southern California. The year is 1944 and this is one of many cards I have found that have been sent back to Britain by fellow countrymen who have found themselves across the Atlantic, far from the horrors and privations of the war in Europe. The writers of these cards make no more than a token effort to conceal their good fortune. The generous portions they have been eating are described in loving detail with scant regard for the sensibilities of those back home ekeing out their meagre rations of subsistence food. Citrus fruits were in especially short supply in wartime Britain so this card must have aroused mixed feelings on the part of the recipient.


It is hard to resist this vision of fertile abundance although the air of industrious sobriety and contentment does not entirely correspond with the narratives of Woody Guthrie when he passed through a few years earlier or Jack Kerouac when he passed through a few years later. For Guthrie this was the front line in a ferocious battle between organised labour and agribusiness. All this unhappy history is, of course, airbrushed out of these pictures – no labour camps, no pickets and no strike busters intrude on the air of purpose and prosperity.


San Bernardino has the honour of a name check in the song “(Get Your Kicks on) Route 66” and the further distinction of the world’s very first McDonald’s restaurant which in 1944 had already been feeding the local population for 4 years. The postmark is from San Gabriel, now a small city in Los Angeles County completely surrounded by urban development.

I-SPY Books

These little pocket-size paper covered books were part of the mid-century project to improve young minds at every opportunity. From the seaside to the zoo, from the army to the church, from town and country, train and plane, youngsters were expected to seek out and record all the items that were illustrated. The accumulation of points was their only reward. There was no escape – even the sick child was catered for with volume 36, “In Hospital”. These exercises were designed to encourage a healthy curiosity about the world on the part of the young readership and perhaps guide them towards a sensible career in something like auditing or accountancy where the ability to complete checklists would be valued. An ambitious member of the I-SPY Tribe would have little time for leisure as almost everything that fell within their field of vision could be converted into points. Ball bearings and wheel flanges, kerbstones and lamp posts, shock absorbers and soakaways, nothing was too humble to be without some value. Some things featured in more than one book which must have presented a challenge to the dedicated I-SPY Redskin.


Not being a country boy, the volumes that appealed to me were those dealing with the world of transport and street life and a selection are illustrated here. The environment described in their pages has been transformed and many of the items have disappeared for ever. There might be some fun in devising a contemporary version where the knife-grinder gives way to the crack dealer, the pavement artist gives way to the chainsaw jockey and points are awarded for spying hoodies, binge drinkers, Community Support Officers, bandwidth thieves, tattoo parlours and security cameras. There is more to be read on these fascinating books at Wikipedia and a memoir of Big Chief I-Spy.

Eric Fraser in Graphis

In 1957, issue number 70 of the famous Swiss magazine, Graphis published a 6 page feature on the work of Eric Fraser, written by Alec Davis, who in 1974 wrote the book, The Graphic Work of Eric Fraser which for many years was the only available book on this inventive and resourceful artist. In the mid 1950’s Fraser would have been at the height of his fame and it was certainly an accolade to be written up in the pages of such an eminent magazine as Graphis. There is a generous selection of Fraser’s work to be viewed at the Alphabet of Illustrators and Chris Beetles has some original artwork that can be viewed by clicking here. Finally, I include a wartime commission for a cover illustration to a small card covered book celebrating the contribution of women to the war effort. It’s a fine exercise in tonal control in a robustly fashioned pictorial space and concludes our postings about Eric Fraser.

More Eric Fraser

As promised yesterday, we bring you more evidence of Eric Fraser’s wonderful skills as an illustrator. Some book illustrations and jackets and some work for advertisers are today’s focus. After studying art at Goldsmith’s College, Fraser began his long career in the 1920’s as a commercial artist in the R P Gossop agency. His early work shows that he had absorbed some of the visual vocabulary of Cubism and Futurism and these influences continued to inform his work throughout his long career in an indirect way. An early client was London Transport; Fraser’s poster designs can be viewed by clicking here. He continued to produce artwork for advertising but soon developed as an illustrator for books and magazines. From the 1960’s onwards advertising art was very much in third place after book and editorial illustration.



This small selection of advertising art begins with a rural idyll drawn for the Ford Motor Company. One of Fraser’s specialities, it serves as a reminder of a bucolic England that was soon to vanish under the tarmac. Next are two pairs of drawings from a series designed to illustrate the ability of the Rolex Oyster to survive in the most desperate situations. The image of a diver is especially accomplished; the marine flora and fauna beautifully realised. These ads were published very widely, in Illustrated London News, Punch and even Graphis in Switzerland. Finally, a pen and wash drawing from the 1930’s to promote Munrospun Scottish Tweed that looks back to Fraser’s fashion illustrations in Harper’s Bazaar. Plus an example from the world of electrical engineering. The drawing of the hydro-electric installation reveals just a hint of the Cubism that was inspirational in Fraser’s early training.


The illustrations that follow come from just 3 books from Fraser’s enormous output. Pioneers in Astronomy (Harrap, 1964) was an educational book aimed at young people and provided Fraser with a chance to indulge his passions for costume drama and the precise visualisation of geometric forms. There is no dilution of effort for a juvenile audience. I suspect that Fraser was constitutionally incapable of applying anything less than maximum effort to any task. The next example is the splendid English Legends (published by Batsford in 1950). The design for the dust wrapper is outstanding, a master class in the organisation of multiple images and forms into a single coherent whole. Two images from the book reflect Fraser’s fondness for the unclothed female form, St. Dunstan showing great strength of character in resisting the charms of those formidable tubular nipples. The last pair of drawings come from the Story of Mond Nickel (1951) specially commissioned to celebrate the achievements of business. Fraser goes for the historic reconstruction and another favourite theme – a glimpse into a technological future through the visionary eyes of youth.

Eric Fraser Revisited

I have been reminded that I promised to return to the subject of Eric Fraser. So, after an 8 month gap, here we go. (To read the original posting on Eric Fraser, please click here.) Given his reputation for orderly, industrious sobriety, there are some surprising qualities to be seen in his approach to subject matter. All of the work here was done for Radio Times in the 1970’s and Fraser’s task was to catch the attention of prospective viewers and listeners with a very small monochrome hand drawn image. That he succeeded so brilliantly was down to three things. Firstly, he had the ability to select the most dramatic point in a narrative to illustrate and secondly, his compact compositions were tightly organised around diagonals and vectors to maximise their visual impact within a very restricted space. Thirdly, he was a master of surface incident, pattern and texture, balancing light and dark contrasts with the same perfect judgement as he balanced areas of complex surface activity with areas in which forms were defined exclusively in line. Proof of their quality lies in the fact that they lose none of their tension when enlarged.



The more surprising elements in his work are a certain sensualism that emerges from time to time and an appetite for violence. The incidence of violence is in part, a consequence of the type of material he was commissioned to portray but there is a generous quantity of sword fights, smitings, hangings and beheadings and much brandishing of staves and staffs, clubs and cutlasses all suggesting some relish on Fraser’s part for the visual power of such events. The sensuality is inspired by the female form, often defined by the sort of sinuous line employed by Eric Gill, although entirely without the slightly voyeuristic feeling that creeps into some of Gill’s graphic work. There is a tendency for necklines to plunge a little lower than strictly necessary in the interests of historical accuracy and occasionally, rather more well formed female thigh will be revealed than might be expected! All well within the boundaries of good taste. Our next posting on Eric Fraser will look at his books and advertising art.

David Watkin (1925-2008)

Chris Mullen wrote the following tribute to the celebrated cinematographer who died last week.

David Watkin died at the age of 83 in his mews house in Brighton at 10.15pm on the 19th of February, 2008

This must come as a shock to those of you who did not know of the severity of his illness, or were unaware of the speed of his decline in health.

Those of us with him during the last days knew with what courage and fighting determination he confronted the inevitability of his cancer. His spirit, wicked humour, and relish for life were with him to the end, undiminished as he lost control of his body. Everything above the neck is wonderful, he would say, everything beneath, a nightmare. The hearing is the last of the senses to be surrendered, and he listened at the last to Mozart piano sonatas and Richard Strauss.

Readers of his two printed memoirs will know the rich fabric of his life, the complex paradoxes of a man of complicated responses who always laid claim to the simplest of answers and propositions in dealing with life and the Film Industry. Friends will know how these paradoxes played out in conversations, negotiations, dealings and an infinite number of kindnesses, small and large, thoughtful and epic.

Students and visitors expecting a master-class in cinematography, and suggestions for successful film-making, were treated instead to Bruckner, Wodehouse and Dr. Johnson in the pursuit of the incisive, emotional drive and economies of effort. Despite himself, he consistently inspired and provoked, and was never forgotten by those who encountered him, students, fellow professionals, and even passing literati in the delicatessen.

In the days to come, just tributes from his peers will record the technical and aesthetic achievements of this remarkable man, his beginnings in the British Documentary Movement, early pioneering TV commercials and the shooting of his first feature films. His career developed in the British Film Industry but also in Hollywood, providing a broad cultural perspective of two different types of cine-madness. Mention will be made of his innovations in lighting, and the Wendy Light. A keen sense of the absurd, tempered with a steely determination to get it right, saw his rise to a pinnacle of achievement he would never allow others to articulate and frequently dismiss as hyperbole. When asked for a motto to embellish the tee-shirts of the International Film Festival of the Art of Cinematography at Lodz, where he received the Lifetime Achievement Award in 2004, he refused the usual gusty wisdom in favour of “One tries not to fuck it up”.

His two autobiographies Thesaurus and Clara are both woven through with ample evidence of the source of his creativity in a love of people, and a cultivation of friendship. A new film was the opportunity of getting his Crew back together, a band of kindred spirits, a breed of Merry Men united in their professionalism and love of one-liners. He had heroes – Tony Richardson, Peter Sellers, Peter Brooks and many others who were often given a chapter to themselves, a reward for their energy, and a shared hunger for taking risks.

Weeks before his death, copies of his Second Autobiography, Was Clara Schumann a Fag Hag?, arrived from the printers, to his great satisfaction.

He concludes the Vale Chapter, “Above all, I am surrounded by love, and its little brother laughter, and I am happy. I don’t even have a problem with death. Pain is at an end, and we, who love, and are loved are always part of each other’s lives.”

Chris was, in David’s words, impresario to the two autobiographical volumes that he produced in his last decade. Through Chris I met David on a handful of occasions on visits to Brighton. He was marvellous company, ever courteous with a talent for hugely entertaining conversation that switched in an instant between beautifully modulated subtlety of expression and scandalous profanity and back again. His complete lack of pretension, his unreconstructed passion for socialism, his loathing of Tony Blair and New Labour, his refusal to take himself seriously and a wonderful sense of humour were absolutely irresistible. Plus a schoolboy enthusiasm for trains and transport that he never lost. Inexhaustibly curious about all aspects of the arts, he went entirely his own way in following his passions without regard for either fashion or orthodoxy. An admirably idiosyncratic and talented personality who will always be recalled with fondness and great esteem.

To read the Guardian obituary, follow this link.