Madeleine’s Illustrated Christmas Cards

by Jessica Kantrowitz

Dear Ones,

When Madeleine was first married, she began what would be a years-long tradition of drawing, printing, and painting her own Christmas cards. This is her first after her marriage to Hugh Franklin, with her beloved French poodle, Touché. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about these little cards lately. The detail, the commitment to reality (see how Madeleine drew her gangly legs and pointy knees above), the clear love and affection that went into them. But mostly I’ve been thinking of the courage it takes to put pen to paper and draw. I, like Madeleine, am primarily a writer. I’m fairly confident in my ability when it comes to words. But there is something in me which craves expression in other art forms – music, drawing, dance – even though I’m not very good at them. 

Madeleine wrote a lot about how important playing the piano was to her, even though she wasn’t very good at it. (Though I’m not sure how bad someone who plays every day of their life could actually be.) I’m not aware of her having spoken about her own drawing. But she did write much about how hard it was to begin writing, how she would sharpen all her pencils, polish her glasses – anything to put off the moment of beginning. I experience this, too, sometimes. But for me, the blank page is the most terrifying when I intend to draw. I fear messing up. I fear creating something ugly when the thing in my mind is beautiful. I fear my inability to draw precisely, perfectly, is a reflection on my self-discipline, even my character. If art is important to me, why am I not better at it?

I think many of us feel this way about something. Some little bit of creative endeavor we feel drawn to, yet fear. Madeleine’s Christmas cards encourage me. Not that they are badly drawn. But they aren’t perfect, polished. And yet they demonstrate a keen observation of the world around her, and especially the people she loves (like her husband, Hugh’s, receding hairline). Perhaps all art is made of love plus courage. Courage to be vulnerable, to risk saying, “I love you,” in a creative way, to risk expressing ourselves poorly in the hope that we will stumble upon a new way of communicating our love. To risk being laughed at in the hope of being more truly seen.

I love Madeleine’s cards. They delight me. And they also make me braver. Perhaps after writing this blog post, I’ll pick up a pencil and face down the scary blank page. Perhaps that, too, is a way of flinging ourselves, like stars, like Mrs Whatsit, against the fading December light. 

The rest of the cards are compiled Christmas card video, in a video. And if you’d like to spend more time this season with Madeleine you can pick up her book, The Twenty-four Days Before Christmas: An Austin Family Story. 

Jessica Kantrowitz is the author of several books of prose and poetry, including The Long Night and 365 Days of Peace. She supports other authors through copyediting and social media management. More at jessicakantrowitz.com.