This year, Roald Dahl’s children’s book “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” marks its fiftieth anniversary. To celebrate, Random House is releasing several editions, including one featuring the book’s original illustrations, by Joseph Schindelman. I reached Schindelman by phone, at his home on Long Island.
Liam Walsh: Did you meet Roald Dahl?
Joseph Schindelman: Yes, he was introduced to me at the office of the publisher. He was incredibly tall.
Did he have anything to say about the illustrations?
I don’t think he said anything at all. We talked a little politics. I think he wanted a British illustrator to do the book.
What was your first impression when you read the manuscript for “Charlie”?
For a children’s book, it was a little unusual. I even started doing some sketches in the margins as I was reading it. It had a somewhat Dickensian feeling. That was primarily why I used the pen and ink. It felt sort of old English in a way—of that period.
Let’s talk about your creative process. Where do you start?
Well, the normal procedure is you get a manuscript, a typewritten manuscript with notes in the margins. You do some sketches and try to develop what you think is a continuum—that’s the way I work, anyway.
How much direction did you get from Roald Dahl? Were certain illustrations requested? For example, the book starts with portraits of each of the characters, which makes the first three pages especially heavily illustrated—was that your choice or Dahl’s?
That was Roald Dahl. It was a nice thing to do, since otherwise you kind of flounder, you wonder who these people are. One thing I have to point out is that Charlie was modelled after my son.
Interesting. Charlie does have a very distinct wide face with big, soft eyes.
Yes, well, he’s changed a lot.
Your son?
[Laughs] My son, yes. He’s somewhat bald—well, he’s in his fifties now.
Did he like “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”?
Oh, yes, all my children did. It was a magical book and, of course, I was their father. I drew at home after work at the ad agency, and they got to watch me.
Were you born in New York?
Lower East Side.
Did you always want to be an illustrator?
I worked at an ad agency all my life. Art was a hobby.
How did you learn to draw?
I was drawing when I was very young, copying things out of newspapers. I did a little drawing in the service, too—when I wasn’t flying. I took some W.P.A. art classes and some classes at the Art Students League. I also went to a wonderful high school which was brand new, and they had so much great equipment. They had printing presses and all sorts of materials available to students interested in art, and an extremely ambitious teacher who was trying to make his mark.
You were in the Air Force?
Yes, in World War II, I flew on bomb missions in Europe. I painted the side of our bomber with a Betty—Betty [Grable] was very popular then. The name of the plane was Our Baby. [Laughs.]
So flying in the Air Force was something that you had in common with Roald Dahl.
Yes, and what surprised me—I mentioned it to his son—his son said he flew a fighter plane, and I said, “How the hell did he get into that plane?” [Dahl was six feet six.]
Who were some of your influences?
I was primarily interested in the classics, and that would include engraving.
Oh, I’d never thought about it before, but your pen work looks sort of like engraving.
Picasso had done some etchings using very fine lines that were beautiful. I like the technique, the making marks and jumbling them together, building them up, going one way and another, crossing over—I like the subtlety that’s possible. I worked with a heavy pad, kind of like tracing paper, but much heavier, so I could make out the underdrawing, a heavy vellum that was great because you could scratch out errors with a razor blade and go over it again.
Did you have a feeling that “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” was going to be a success?
No, it’s impossible to know how the public is going to react.
Looking at your work from fifty years ago, how does the art stand up to your eye?
My general feeling is, I wish I could draw like that again. I was pretty sure of what I was doing. Now I’m not so sure.
Has your style changed? Would I still recognize your drawings?
It’s a little looser.
It seems like that’s a natural progression in an artist.
Let’s just say my hand is not as steady and my eyesight is not as sharp as it used to be.
So it’s a very natural progression! That’s not actually what I meant—I was thinking of a looseness of line that is a bit freer, more personal, more energetic.
Like Picasso? No, my style is pretty similar to how it was. I still enjoy what a line can do.
Above: Portrait of Schindelman by Michael Walsh.
