Today Maurice Sendak passed away at the age of 83. He was a wonderful influence when I was growing up, and like so many of my favorite childhood authors and illustrators, I revisited his work when I was older and saw it in a whole new light. Years after I first picked up his books, I thumbed through them again and came to realize that he had taken his children’s stories where few dared to go: into the darker corners of the human psyche, treading the line between waking and dreaming. Three or so years ago, I was walking around the lower east side in Manhattan and unexpectedly stumbled across a gallery exhibit of Sendak’s work. A multitude of his characters graced the walls, from signed color pieces to half-finished sketches. I circled the gallery several times with a huge idiot grin on my face, I was so excited to have found it.
Check out this retrospective of Sendak’s life in the New York Times.
“But the wild things cried, “Oh please don’t go – we’ll eat you up – we love you so!”
And Max said, “No!”
The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws but Max stepped into his private boat and waved goodbye.”
― Where the Wild Things Are
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