oving Tomie dePaola was easy—I loved him before I ever met him. I knew many of his 250-plus books frommy own childhood, and once I became a mother, I found him again in the library stacks as I hunted for the best books for my own half-dozen kids. His books have continued to be favorites in our home. It’s easy, after all, to become enthralled with the antics of Big Anthony, the wisdom and patience of Strega Nona, and the hilarity of a bubbling-over pasta pot. But it was Tomie’s collection of books featuring saints, holy days, and the liturgical year that stole my heart. Tomie’s books contain countless references to feast days, the religious life, and the living and breathing heartbeat of the Church. I read The Clown of God and was startled awake by an unvarnished story of sacrificial love. I read The Lady of Guadalupe —my introduction to Saint Juan Diego and his miracle. I read Francis, the Poor Man of Assisi (whom Tomie called “the movie star saint”), The Holy Twins, and Patrick: Patron Saint of Ireland. Tomie’s stories baptized my imagination… and then went on to baptize the imagination of my children. The first time I “met” Tomie was in an online interview on April 18, 2017. The following year, I interviewed him again, and it just so happened to be… April 18th. “April 18th is our day!” he wrote to me afterward. Indeed. Tomie and I developed a friendship I treasured. I made a habit of visiting his home in New Hampshire each summer, and we emailed regularly. I shared the antics of my identical twin boys—and believe me, there were plenty to share. He especially loved the story when one of my twins, Becket, asked if, on Ash Wednesday, the priest could form his ashes in the shape of a B, rather than a cross. I told Tomie, “I think he doesn’t quite understand the point of the ashes.” Oh, how Tomie howled with glee. He had been rather vain about his own ashes as a small boy, tidying up the cross on his forehead with dregs from his father’s cigarette bowl before heading off to school. That was Tomie, the man. Of course, you’re here to look at the work of Tomie, the artist. Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I think Tomie’s are worth ten times that. His paintings give us fresh eyes. They help us see each other the way God sees us—a little clumsy like Big Anthony, a little earnest like Queen Esther, a little mystical like Saint Patrick. His deceptively simple illustrations reveal the glory and splendor of the world and the richness of a deep interior life. They remind us that the Church is alive and breathing, made of humans who are both deeply flawed and deeply loved. It was only after he had made many of his books that Tomie realized a white bird kept showing up in his paintings—almost on its own. He then intentionally took this unassuming white bird as a symbol, a way to acknowledge that his talent did not come from himself. The white bird also encapsulates Tomie’s great reverence for the Image of God within all of his young readers. “Only the very best is good enough for children,” he was known to say. His art was his vocation—a tireless commitment to fill children with the love of God whenever they read his stories. His folk style, with its clean strong lines, bold colors, and distinct shapes, is layered with artistic genius. He made us a kind of folk art for the here-and-now, a style that echoes what has come before and helps us be here, fully present, and fully awake. All the while that sweet, white, unassuming bird, ever present, whispers to us: Look up. Remember whose you are. For years, Tomie posted a piece of artwork to Facebook and email subscribers marking that day in the calendar. He called it Art Mail. I opened those emails every day, and often thought they would make a beautiful collection. Now, Magnificat and Ignatius Press have made us one. I would like to think that if Tomie were still alive, he would be especially giddy about this book. In this collection, you’ll find vignettes of Tomie’s Art Mail, collected like beads on a string to accompany you through Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter, and the many moons of Ordinary Time. I invite you to let Tomie’s art bring you closer to God. Look up. Get quiet. Be loved. Or, as Tomie reminds us in one of his books, “Let the whole earth sing praise.” And so it does. And so we will. Thank you, Tomie. sarah mackenzie Spokane, Washington All Souls’ Day, 2022
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