About
My name is Simon Skullwright
From the gothic arches of Melbourne, Simon Skullwright conjures stories of wonder and dread. Once a wandering artist of games, animation, and tiny landscapes, he now devotes himself to the peculiar art of children's book storytelling, that liminal space where the beautiful and the uncanny meet to have tea and discuss watercolour technique.
Quick Facts
-
An Australian author/illustrator who haunts the disreputable quarters of Melbourne, where shadow and imagination sit at dim tables and grumpily opine about people's lack of imagination.
-
Embarked upon a career as a mobile game artist back when few had the faintest idea how such magic was wrought. Eventually contributed to more than forty of these phantasmagorical time wasters.
-
Served hard time as a storyboard artist for children’s animation and television commercials, sketching motion and mischief in equal measure. Still bears the scars.
-
Spent seven years in the wilds of South Korea and China. These were interesting years rich with strange food, stranger weather, and countless stories worth retelling.
-
Abandoned the final year of training to be a psychologist after a spirited disagreement with the very purpose of psychology itself. No fisticuffs, alas, but ungentlemanly words were certainly exchanged.
-
Has quite forgotten how many musical instruments he owns or even how many he can still play.
-
Known among certain exclusive circles as a bat fancier of discerning qualities.
-
Drawn irresistibly to tales of the macabre, the fantastic, and the faintly unearthly. Also cheesy tidbits.
-
A devoted enthusiast of fairy tales, especially the older, darker kind that smell faintly of candle smoke and moral peril. You know, the kind modern editors are so fond of rewriting to remove all the fun bits.
-
Possesses an improbable number of toes: seventeen upon one foot, six upon the other.
-
Once discovered adrift and alone in a lifeboat under what were described as “most rum circumstances.”
Interview
Could you give us a quick background on yourself as an artist and writer?
I first became entranced by story and art in the 1990s, when I began publishing small, zine-like storybooks that were strange hybrids of words and sketches. Somewhere along the way, I was spirited off into the world of computer game art, which kept me occupied for many years. Eventually, I found my bearings again as a storyboard artist, which felt like a return to narrative form, though my elbow has stil not forgiven me.
Afterward, I spent several years wandering, metaphorically and otherwise, through a forest of thorns, seeking something like artistic integrity. I finally devoted myself fully to the twin arts of storytelling and illustration after a near-miss with a career in psychology, an encounter that convinced me that life was far too short for anything so mundane and bureaucratic.
Why write for children?
Adults read children’s books; children rarely read adult ones. Writing for children is, paradoxically, a way of writing for everyone. To have a voice that can reach across generations is a rare privilege, and I cherish the challenge of making that communication meaningful.
There’s also something profoundly satisfying about stripping away artifice and speaking directly to the essential truths of being human, in a manner even a child can grasp. For seekers of truth and beauty (as I flatter myself to be), that simplicity is both a discipline and a delight.
Your work has a very traditional feel to it. Why not adopt a more modern style?
I’ve always had traditional tastes. I see art as a thread in a vast cultural tapestry. It's part of a continuum that stretches backward as far as we can see. While one must adapt to the times, I don’t believe we need to discard all our history in pursuit of novelty or profit. There’s wisdom, warmth, and even rebellion in continuity.
What role does your training in psychology play in your creative practice?
I’d love to say “none,” but one cannot spend five years dissecting the human mind without that leaving fingerprints all over one’s work. There’s a certain psychological realism that seeps through.
I’m fascinated by the inner journey; the mind’s voyage through fear, doubt, and revelation. That is far more interesting to me than by the mere movement of bodies across a page. And despite my parting of ways with psychology as a profession, or perhaps because of it, I remain an unrepentant humanist, firmly on the side of free will, self-determination, and the sovereignty of the individual spirit.
According to you, what role does storytelling play in society?
Storytelling is the great vessel of our collective imagination. It is the repository of all the myths, philosophies, and ideas that shape us. It gives form to our hopes and terrors, lets us make sense of the chaos, and helps us remember who we are.
Because of that, I believe storytelling ought to be treated with a certain reverence. It deserves thoughtful hands and deliberate hearts. Storytelling should not be in the grasping hands of those merely chasing spectacle and profit. When its stories decay a culture likewise falls to pieces.
Have you mastered illustration?
Heavens no! Illustration is a lifelong expedition up the side of a very very tall mountain that can never be wholly conquered, not a jog around the park. Each time you think you’ve reached the summit, another ridge appears through the mist.
But that, perhaps, is the beauty of it. The practice calls us ever upward. We may pause and rest upon a ledge, but soon enough the siren song of improvement lures us onward again. So no, I’ve not mastered illustration. But the summit is still calling me.