James Cawthorn, like his spiritual mentor, Burne Hogarth, is that rare thing:
a unique and original mind working in a medium which, for the
most part, despises uniqueness and originality. If anything, Cawthorn's
lot has been tougher than Hogarth's: comics at least have shown
the occasional flicker of intelligence and artistry over the hundred
years of their development. By contrast, Cawthorn has chosen to
work for much of his career in one of the 'lowest' genres of all,
that of heroic fantasy.
As David Britton's interview makes clear, Cawthorn's talent and involvement in the early beginnings
of this field in Britain have made him something of a pioneer.
When he began drawing illustrations for Edgar Rice Burroughs fanzines
in the 1950s the whole concept of 'the fan magazine' was in its
infancy (coinciding, appropriately enough, with the birth of Rock'n'Roll)
and was a world away from the flourishings of small magazines
that would take place during the '60s and '70s. This new field
saw the birth of an inspiring philosophy that said if the mainstream
media are ignoring something that you regard as vital then you
should get to work and start promoting the thing yourself, a lesson
not lost on Cawthorn or on a young writer collaborator of his
at the time, Michael Moorcock. In 1962 Cawthorn produced two portfolios
based on The Lord of the Rings, the first illustrations of their kind after Tolkien's own. The
same year he was drawing the definitive, character-defining illustrations
for Moorcock's original Elric stories. A few years later Moorcock
was editing New Worlds with Cawthorn on the regular staff, illustrating major pieces
from Ballard, Aldiss and company. Moorcock has an anecdote from
this period: the office was being visited one day by the artist
and sculptor Eduardo Paolozzi (credited in the magazine as "Aeronautics
advisor"). Paolozzi's eye was caught by a Cawthorn illustration
on the wall, one of the original Elric pictures, and he remained
there for a couple of minutes scrutinising the drawing. He seemed,
says Moorcock, to have recognised that for all his art school
training he was faced here with something that neither he nor
colleagues such as Richard Hamilton and Peter Blake were capable
of. This was the genuine article, real Pop Art, not the carefully
contrived collages that were filling galleries at the time.
In the world of comics, Cawthorn was again ahead of the pack.
His adaptation of The Jewel in the Skull for Savoy in 1978 was the UK's first homegrown graphic novel,
a fact that was ignored during the crowing over terrible comic
books in the late '80s when graphic novels gained a fleeting cachet
in the style press. The introduction to its sequel, The Crystal and the Amulet, is the only one that Burne Hogarth provided for another artist.
Reviews of Cawthorn's work invariably emphasise the solidity and
texture of his depictions. The understanding has been there from
his earliest work that fantastic scenes are given their power
not merely by the imagination on display but also by the degree
to which they seem representations of authentic locations. Cawthorn's
work, acknowledging predecessors such as Gustave Doré, gives physicality
to the unreal and makes the imaginary seem possible. The wealth
of invented machinery on display in the Hawkmoon volumes, machinery
smelted in the white heat of Moorcock's writing, looks like it
would operate efficiently enough in our world; those Ornithopters
might actually fly. Decoration is always functional, never florid,
armour looks as though it is there to serve a purpose. The buildings
too have presence and mass; the unlikely conceit of a bridge across
twenty miles of sea water becomes a realistic proposal in Cawthorn's
depiction. This quality has been consistent; Cawthorn's Elric
is never compromised by pointless detail or embroidery. Elric's
world may be characterised by magic and chaos but Cawthorn reminds
us that it is a flesh and blood world also. When blood is spilt
he shows it, if people are naked he shows that too, naturally
and without coyness. Cawthorn's work, like the paintings of Frank
Frazetta, accumulates much of its power from what it leaves out
as much as from what it depicts. Both artists concentrate on mass,
form and movement and avoid the pitfalls evident in so much contemporary
fantasy art: excessive detail, sterile photo-realism and appalling
aesthetic choices, usually thefts from earlier periods of illustration
made with little care or taste.
If these are Cawthorn's strengths, the areas he has worked in
have generally regarded them as weaknesses. The very things he
avoids are the things which make other artists popular. This syndrome
is a familiar one and for a genuine artist doesn't bear much consideration.
Artistic impulses run far deeper than contemporary mores and have
to be followed whatever the climate. Cawthorn has always followed
his impulses and remained true to his vision. Admirers of his
work wouldn't want anything less.
