Posted by: Kathy Temean | July 2, 2011

Illustrator Saturday – Adam Gustavson

This week I found Jersey boy, amazing illustrator and college teacher, Adam Gustavson.  If you are an illustrator, please make sure you don’t miss reading everything.  Adam was very generous with the technical information about his process.  He also, has agreed to join the NJSCBWI Craft Day on November 5th to teach a painting workshop. Remember this is a free day, but space is limited, so sign up sooner than later. Adam will stay over for Illustratos’ Day on November 6th and join Art Director Chad Beckerman from Abrams Books and agent Teresa Kietlinski from the Prospect Agency for the Day. 

Here’s Adam:

I wanted to be a cowboy.  I had chaps.  I had a two-pint ten gallon hat. I had a pair of six shooters, but unfortunately I had an allergy to horses. I drew a lot of cowboys though, horses too, which seemed to take a bit of sting out of my newly discovered career quandry.  Over the years, other such life goals would come and go, much the same way.  For a time, I even considered being a crocodile farmer; this was curtailed simply by my living in New Jersey, a state not reowned for its man-eating reptile population. I eventually came around to the idea of illustrating  books instead.  This  wasn’t too much of a stretch, really.  My families house was full of both art and art books and by the time I was in third grade Francisco Goya’s “Satan devouring his son” was one of my favorite paintings.

I attended Rowan University in southern Jersey for four years, majoring in illustration, after which I travel to Kansas Vity for a summer study program at the Illustration Academy.  I spent the following year painting and picking up freelance work, then went back for my master’s at the School of Visual Arts in New York.  I’ve been teaching at Passaic County Community College in Paterson, NJ, and Seton Hall University in South Orange, NJ.  I spend most of my time producing paintings and drawings for books, magazines, and corporate presentation, though I’ve been known to moonlight as musician.  I currently live in a quaint little house with my lovely wife and two sons.  I do not at this time own a horse.

Below is the cover and inside art from Mind Your Manners, Alice Roosevelt By Leslie Kimmelman, Illustrated by Adam Gustavson – Peachtree Publishers, Atlanta Georgia.

Here are some tips and Adam’s process:

For starters, we have an empty mushroom can, punched through multiple times with a nail, submerged in a Ball mason jar of odorless paint thinner. This allows for sediment to settle (cheaply) to the bottom as brushes are cleaned against the perforations. In the background is my ubiquitous pile of paint scraped from the palette.

The palette itself is a sheet of masonite topped with a sheet of glass, amply duct taped around the edges and propped on top of an end table. The idea here is that the masonite will provide a nice neutral—a (rather warm) 50% gray—upon with to mix colors, lending a sense of relativity to the values and intensities mixed up. The glass allows for smooth cleanup with a razor blade.

I tend to use, in light to dark rainbow order, toothpaste-sized globs of Titanium White, Cadmium Yellow Light, Naples Yellow (occasionally), Yellow Ochre, Cadmium Red Light, Quinacridone Rose, Permanent Alizarin Crimson (dries faster and is more lightfast than regular A.C.), Ultramarine Blue Deep, Cobalt Blue, Cerulean Blue, Sap Green, and a guest appearance at the end by Transparent red earth. Occasionally burnt umber and Prussian Blue get to sit in, too.

Sketch from book – inside double page spread.

Assembled from fair amount of period photo reference, building floorplans, ebay auction photos, and reference photos of a student of mine, dressed in $60 worth of (ebay) hundred year old clothing, cross referenced with other photographic period clothing reference.

The sketch was then printed up at about 150% (the heads were comfortable to draw and paint at that scale…) and transfered via a light table to Fabriano soft press watercolor paper, which had been treated with a 50/50 solution of PVA adhesive and water, leaving it impervious to the elements but still feeling like paper.

Everything is then toned with a wash of either burnt umber or burnt sienna:

Working in blocks of minimally modeled, muted local color to establish shadows and midtones, the painting is blocked in, usually over about 4-8 hours. I’m thinning the paints with a combination of turpentine, thickened linseed oil, and venice turpentine, which imparts a fairly impasto-free (no lumps), smooth surface, due to the venice turpentine’s tendency to “level,” or flatten out once applied.

When painting for reproduction, I’ve found this can help limit reflections and unpredictable sheen when the scanning is done. Thickened linseed oil (I usually use Winsor Newton’s) is already half polymerized, which, while making it more viscous, also speeds along dry time.

I typically add a few drops (literally) of cobalt drier to the mix, after which the underpainting will be dry to the touch and ready for a second coat in about 24 hours.

I have in the past started with faces, following advice I received once that if one screws up the face, there’s really no point in finishing. This can make the portrait aspect of the painting too “sacred” right off the bat, at least in my case, so I like to get a bit of the atmosphere and temperature nailed down first.

Then I break out the little brushes. I’d still hesitate to say I’m erring on the side of detailed realism; for the most part, my surfaces never transcend from being paint into, say, satin, wood or hair. When the size 1 round brush comes in, it spends a lot of time just cleaning up edges and producing smaller matrices of painterly dabs and blobs. A lot of time gets spent hiding colors inside of each other, trying to play up coloristic temperature shifts to activate as much of the paint surface as possible.

The entire project won’t be due for another month or two, so I’ll keep this painting out and visible while continuing to work on the remaining spreads and spots, checking character consistency and attending to occasional tweaks.

oil on paper, 17.75 x 30. 2008

The following two were separate technique and color scheme demonstrations, based on a sketch from my “Mind Your Manners, Alice Roosevelt!” book. They’re both variations on tertiary, triadic color schemes, one utilizing a combination of red-orange, yellow-green and blue-violet, while the other is comprised mainly of red-violet, yellow-orange, and blue-green.

Each of these took about an hour and a half to complete (thankfully, the sketching and reference had been taken care of two years ago). The watercolor was for my University of the Arts Pictorial Foundation class, while the gouache was for a Seton Hall University 2-D Color & Design section.

Watercolor on Fabriano 140 lb. soft press, 10.75″ x 13″

Gouache on Arches 140 lb. hot press, 10.75″ x 13″

Original Sketch – “She simply decided to spend her time over his roof.” 2008. Pencil and white gouache on gray Canson paper, 11″ x 19″

Original Oil Painting that appears in the book. “She simply decided to spend her time over his roof.” 2010. Oil on paper, 18″ x 30″

While in Savannah researching an different book project, I received another email, containing the next installment, this time with a week’s deadline to produce a painting under. I spent most of that week with flu-like symptoms in a fetal crouch of self-pity and sinus mutiny, but pulled this one out in the end, with the help of a fast drying acrylic underpainting…

Original paintings from my book The Yankee at the Seder by Elka Weber, published by Tricycle Press, displayed at the Danforth Museum in Framingham, MA, mentioned in the Boston Globe’s Art Critic’s Picks.

It’s an unofficial tradition at the University of the Arts in Philly to give sophomore illustration majors an “Old Masters” assignment, asking students to reinterpret a great work of art from antiquity, and to render it as close to the size of the original as possible.

Some highlights from my class this semester involved recasting Caravaggio’s version of the “Judith beheading Holofernes” as a mural sized involuntary beard shaving, and Goya’s “the Third of May, 1808” as a wet t-shirt contest. For my demonstration, I completely cheated, as is my prerogative as an instructor, and chose a small piece by Vermeer involving only one figure, “The Milkmaid.” In my defense, though, it’s a Vermeer, and no cheap impersonation or homage is ever as good as a Vermeer. Aside from the comparison it begs to its untouchable Dutch predecessor, I also think I lost a little of my young lady’s quirkiness, present in the sketch, as I rushed through the oil painting. Character can be such a delicate issue; a few dabs of the right color wrong places, and the species and gender remain, but, nope, not the character.

But anyway, here’s she is. The whole thing was handled in what I like to think of as the Julia Child method, where one starts a preliminary step, proceeds halfway through, then pulls out a earlier version to complete. In this case, there was a subdued “local color” underpainting in place, and the demo proceeding in two steps, the first of which was to lay down a thin glaze of sap green and burnt sienna over the whole thing, unifying the temperature throughout. The second step that proceeded involved about an hour of scumbling and building up lit surfaces in the composition, exploring chromatic changes that occur with the varying of paint’s opacity when applied in successive layers.

The next four illustrations are from CALICO DORSEY by Susan Lendroff and illustrated by Adam Gustovson – Publisher Tricycle Press 2010.

Adam says 2009 was a year of about eighty or so paintings(this book was part of all this); included in the mix were 36 watercolors completed in a two week span for an educational book packager, as well as two picture books taken from start to finish, and a few 2008 stragglers completed.

Next two illustrations from Rough, Tough Charley by Verla Kay and Adam Gustavson.

This illustration was a piece commissioned for an NPR illustrated calendar; 13 illustrators were selected and asked to illustrate something about their experience with National Public Radio, so Adam filled his studio with some of the interesting characters that flood it on a typical day of radio listening. He’s the guy in the middle.

The illustration below is for Trudy Ludwig’s “Better Than You,” the last project I did with Tricycle before Random House closed them. It will be coming out this fall from Knopf. It his second collaboration with Trudy, the first being the 2006 title, “Just Kidding.”

Next two illustrations from Jingle Bells: How the Holiday Classic Came to Be by John Harris and illustarted by Adam Gustavson.

I could go on and on showing you Adam’s amazing work, but before I say “Uncle,” I wanted to make sure I shared some of his very creative promo pieces. They really give you a feel for Adam.

Not a promo piece, but still funny. The kangaroo driving the convertible was an illustration done for Klutz, a travelling book of board games. Adam chose a Karman Ghia for the ‘roo, and by sheer coincidence the editor on the project drove the exact same model of car, so he made it green to match hers.

Follow Up Questions:

1.How did you get your first picture book contract?

When I was still in college in the 1990s, I started shopping watercolor samples around, looking for editorial work. I knew I wanted to get into children’s books, so I would go to newsstands and page through magazine after magazine, looking for places that hired illustrations in some serial format (say, 3-4 images for a fiction piece), as well as children’s magazines. I would then write down the name of the art director from the masthead and send off a handful of color photocopies. Within a year, I received my first commission from Cricket Magazine, working with Ron McCutchan, and later that year another from The Oxford American Magazine.

I did a few more of those, and when I felt secure enough in the predictability of my quality and style, I started doing the same sort of thing with publishers. I’d look look through books stores, taking down the names of any publishing companies that I could see publishing my sort of work, and would then call their art departments up and ask for their submission guidelines. After a year or so of that, I received a call from Ann Bobco at Simon and Schuster’s Margaret McElderry Books imprint. Like Ron was at Cricket, Ann was the perfect person to get a first job with, just the picture of friendly professionalism and accurate criticism. Working with those two was an immeasurably valuable experience that shaped how I work with people to this day.

2. As an illustrator have you ever given an idea for the text?

Not per se, but I’ve caught little things here and there and made suggestions (like the time a book called for a little league umpire blowing a whistle, and as the illustrator I pointed out that he would really just be yelling). Little things. I can exercise a pretty heavy hand with page breaks and pacing though, even if the page breaks are already taken care of.

3. How many books have you illustrated?

I think I just finished #20.

4. What do you teach in college?

It varies from school to school. At Seton Hall University, I’ve taught a 2-D color and design course for several years, though at varying points I’ve taught drawing and computer illustration as well. I work almost solely with, well, 16th century technology as far as medium goes, but the foundations of conceptual thinking, visual literacy and good composition—as well as the need for a very transparent process—are universals.

At the University of the Arts I teach a sophomore course called Pictorial Foundation, which is pretty much what it sounds like, dragging a student through some fairly abstract compositional exercises and visual devices all the way into finished paintings of every size and shape. It’s a six hour class that lasts the entire academic year, which is a dream as far as witnessing real development in students. In that sort of timeframe, there’s nowhere to hide as a student or instructor. We draw, we erase, we critique, we talk, we erase, we paint, I do an ungodly amount of demos in all sorts of media. Then we erase some more. In the time I’ve been there, I’ve either gotten incredibly lucky with the caliber of students in my classes, or that school just attracts a rare and gifted breed.

At Passaic County College, in Paterson, NJ, I teach art appreciation and drawing, both as general education courses. I teach the art appreciation more as an artist who teaches than a teacher who does art, and that works pretty well for their very diverse, urban demographic. The course jumps around a lot chronologically, and I field all sort of questions. Non art students very often want to talk about things from a practical standpoint, concept and context yes, but also the “how” of making art. I’ve gotten pretty good about not betraying any of my artistic preferences in the ten years I’ve been doing that.

I also teach one-on-one painting and drawing at an art center in Millburn, NJ, called Renaissance in Learning, mostly working with driven advanced placement high school students and a few grade schoolers.

5. I see you are represented by Red Fox Literary. Is this something new? If so, It looks like you have been very successful on your own, so what caused you to make the decision to seek representation?

I worked with Abigail Samoun for years at Tricycle; she edited and art directed my first book there and my last book there. When they went under, she took the agent route.

I had just lost a long time, dependable client with whom I’d developed an amazing working relationship, and was facing the very real possibility of having my workload halved. Abi’s very smart, driven and a strong advocate for people and projects she believes in, and we have very similar tastes and mindsets. The representation isn’t exclusive, so I keep clients I’ve worked for independent of the agency as well as work that comes in directly to me. But working with such a gifted and creative editor also gives me an opportunity to shop around projects I’ve had on my personal back burner for some time, which I’ve been overly cautious about doing up until now.

Hiring illustrators can feel like a risk, of course. Art directors and editors look at samples of past work and try to imagine with some accuracy what future work with look like. And the industry has become more volatile; people come and go at a rate I don’t remember when I started out, so it makes long term, trusting relationships (“I’m giving you this story because I like and trust you”) harder to find and nurture. Having an agent who has actually worked with you in a professional capacity is something that can only help break the ice. I’m currently working with a first time client who has been on my mailing list for close to 15 years. Persistence does pay off, but I wouldn’t mind getting a foot in the door sooner than that.

6. Would you explain for the non-illustrators why you apply an underpainting or a glaze wash over your sketches?

The short answer for the wash is that it serves a simple purpose: it makes the paper something other than white. This makes it so much easier to apply color and judge it for accuracy. Everything looks scary and dark on a white sheet of paper, and there are few feelings worse than getting the whole image covered and suddenly realizing nothing is the color or value it was supposed to be. I can be very skittish when I’m painting, and when trying to beat deadlines, I almost never have extra time to go back and restate the whole image. So anything that improves my batting average is something I’ll do.

When I do a sketch, I try to have everything taken care of except the color. I like having all the values in place, all the formal decisions made. I tend to draw on gray or brown paper, which speeds the value process up a bit and gets me thinking about the painting ahead of time, building shadows and gouache highlights out of the midtone. As a concept, that’s pretty much how drawing was taught right up to the time of the impressionists, who sought to do away with it (Monet in particular; Degas and Manet held on to it in many of their studies and sketches).

When I get into the painting, I tend to work in two or three layers, sometimes more. The painting may be a straightforward buildup of subdued color and mass, slowly getting more details, highlights and clarity as the layers go on and the brushes get smaller. But there’s always the old old old method of putting a warm or neutral glaze over the whole thing once the midtones and some of the details are down, then building up more transparent shadows and scumbled highlights over everything. The individual characteristics of pigments play at big part if I go that route; some pigments are transparent by nature and work better in a glaze, and there are some wonderful counterintuitive things that happen in the layering. You can mix up the most intense shade of pink, and if it becomes translucent when scumbled over a darker glaze, it can transition to an optical blue just by virtue of its changing opacity.

7. Do you always do both? If not, what things go into deciding?

I almost always do the earth-tone wash at the start of a painting, unless I’m working on a small vignette that silhouettes against the white page. As for the rest of the technique, it varies with the nature of the project. Sometimes a project just wants to be direct and no-nonsense, sometimes it wants these other layers and hazy, sfumato edges. The paintings I did for Deborah Blumenthal’s The Blue House Dog are all examples of the latter.

Sometimes a project can benefit from an almost ironic paint surface, where the pomposity of an overblown technique serves as visual tongue-in-cheek humor. I always thought Daniel Adel’s illustrations for Jon Scieszka’s The Book That Jack Wrote are a wonderful example of that, and as a concept that irony is present in a lot of Mercer Mayer’s oversized picture books from the seventies.

8. How do you decide on the color of wash you use over a sketch?

I always use some sort of earth tone; a lot of times I use a burnt sienna, which can look very orange when thinned out, but adds just another weird little dimension when glimpsed peeking through a thin opaque neutral.

9. How many layers of oil do you normally use to get to the final painting?

Oh, three usually. If I’m doing the old world glazy thing, that adds a layer, so we’re up to four.

10. How long do you let each layer dry?

I mix my own mediums in most cases, concoctions of thickened linseed oil, venice turpentine and turpentine, with a few drops of cobalt drier. If I haven’t used too much alizarin crimson in the shadows (it can dry verrrry slowly), the first coat is often dry in a day or two. I work several paintings at a time, so if one is still wet, there’s always a dry one to pursue further. If I’m working on the road as a guest in someone’s house, or if it’s too cold out to have good ventilation in my attic studio, I’ll use Gamblin’s Galkyd medium instead.

There’s a practical side to all of that, too. The Venice Turpentine in the medium has good “leveling” qualities, meaning it doesn’t really hold textured brush strokes, but flattens out smoothly, or “levels.” Stand oil does this too, but it dries very slowly and is as a result more combustible than regular linseed oil. I find the flatter surface makes everything easier to scan.

Sometimes this can be important. Early on, I had a publisher who put a Photoshop “dust and scratches” filter over an entire book to get rid of the reflections on my brushstrokes. I was aghast.

11. You mentioned that you used an acrylic for one of your underpaintings, to speed up the process. Since this lets you paint the second layer without waiting, is this something you do regularly? If not, what advantages are there for waiting for an oil underpainting to dry?

I always feel rushed and mildly claustrophobic when using acrylic, but after doing a few semesters of painting demos in it, I’m getting better at it. If I’m feeling confident, it can make for an incredibly fast drying underpainting, but I’ve just gotten sooo used to the buttery texture and drying rate of oils.

12. I see you use a number of different papers. What things go into deciding on what paper to use?

I’ll use either Fabriano 140 lb soft press, with has a subtle linen-like texture, or Rives BFK. I coat them with a diluted solution of PVA adhesive, which is basically the same as canvas sizing (the sealant put on commercially prepared canvas before gessoing). Once it soaks in, the original texture of the paper remains, but it’s impervious to oil and water. As far as which paper, the reasoning is just tactile. The Fabriano holds the paint with a canvas-like tooth, and glazes settle into the texture. The Rives holds the paint with a velvety softness and can take thinner layers of paint, and their colored stock eliminates the need for that first earth tone wash. I’m pretty fickle, but I do have to commit at the start of a book to which one it’s going to be, so everything scans uniformly.

13. I notice that you have large size oil paintings and then smaller ones that I assume is what you send to the publisher. Do you always do both sizes?

Size for me varies with the subject and time limit, though publisher’s budgets have come started to come into the equation. Some houses now deduct additional scanning fees from their advances. If that’s who I’m working with, I try from the sketch stage on to have solutions that can be painted comfortably at less than 24” in any direction.

Otherwise, I like to do things at 150%-200%. Paintings on a wall are so often seen from an arm’s length or further, paintings in books are pored over at a much closer vantage point. I try to keep that proportion in mind somewhere, but my main concern is making sure the faces in a composition are big enough to tackle.

If I’m in a huge hurry, though, a drawing smaller than 13 x 19 can transferred to the Rives or Fabriano with an oversized inkjet printer and save time that would otherwise be spent tracing. I have an Epson R1900. It’s a total diva, but the HP equivalent I bought before it had to be replaced four times in less than two months, and one literally broke while printing its test page. The HP K850 I had before that was a workhorse, but they no one seems to make workhorses anymore.

14. I once wanted to have a big oil painting on canvas scanned and I had problems trying to find someone who would do it, because there were peaks of paint which would harm their scanner. Do you have to worry about things like that? Or do publishers have ways around that?

All the time. I never work on stretched canvas for commercial work, and my paint and medium usage have adapted for smoother scannable surfaces. I like problem solving, though. I really don’t feel like I’ve given anything up or compromised something quality-wise in my work by adapting in that way. Ultimately, the end product is book full of scans, and if a beautiful painting will only scan badly, it will never look to world like beautiful painting.

15. Any tips you can pass on for our unpublished illustrators? We have a ton of talent in New Jersey.

The best thing you can do is pay attention.

Pay attention to everything. Draw everything. Draw lamp posts, parking meters, chairs, windows, ears… equip yourself with a broad, personalized visual vocabulary and you’ll slowly make yourself indispensable.

There are two basic career tracks out there. Which one you take comes down to how well you know yourself, and how secure you are in your work. Some people have default settings; their work looks like their work, no matter what they do. I’m a terrible chameleon. My college years were spent trying to get away from what my drawings always looked like, but no matter what I did, my people still lived in the same universe they always had. So I finally decided that if that was my default, I should embrace it, make it a better version of itself, and not wish I was Richard Diebenkorn or Egon Schiele or Jan Vermeer, though they’re all jumbled into it somehow.

Some people just don’t have default settings. They don’t have their own trees, or their own linear perspective idiosyncrasies, or their own color sense. Style is something they wind up imposing or forcing on themselves, when they would be better off seeking and doing to sort of work no one in their right mind would ever ask me to do (no one will ever ask me to render a food court or illustrate the Heimlich maneuver). We all do better when we’re honest with ourselves about our place, then actively seek out that place in the greater world. A career in art is hard work because it’s all about tricking people into letting you do what you would have done anyway, and doing it in a way that benefits them in some practical way. Everyone want you to make them money. If you know your potential before approaching them, you stand a much better chance of getting asked back.

Maybe even for a second time.

Thank you Adam for sharing so much with us. I am sure everyone who visits and reads this post will enjoy their time with you as much as I have.  Look forward to seeing you in November. 

There is so much more of Adam’s artwork, so please stop by his website:  His blog:  His Agent’s website page for him:

Remember if you want to secure a free spot on November 5th, you need to register.  Here is the link:

Talk tomorrow,



  1. Kathy, I just now got through all the wonderful “teaching” text by Adam, and am looking forward to reading the interview questions tomorrow when I’m awake enough to enjoy the answers 🙂

    All I can say is that, every week on Illustrator’s Saturday, I am blown away by the talent presented here. This week is no different. Not only am I blown away by this astounding and impressive talent, but inspired by it and appreciative. Thank you, Adam, for sharing SO much with us, and of course, thank you, Kathy, for the time it took to put it here for all of us to enjoy 🙂


    • Donna,

      Don’t miss a word. Good stuff.



  2. Adam, I saw your original paintings at Danforth Museum of Art in Framingham, MA. Beautiful work! Faces, sense of color and design, excellent.


    • Katia,

      It’s easy to see why he has been so successful. I’ve been meaning to e-mail you about your art director/art rep. question and the dinners. I have enough people signed up for the July 20th dinner, that I can now ask one of them to join us. I’ll let you know if I’m successful.

      See you soon,



      • I’m speechless. Thank you so much Kathy! You are the best, honestly. Can’t wait to be there.


  3. Just charming! Saturday is my favorite day and Illustrator Saturday is one of the reasons why.


    • Rosi,

      Thanks for making Illustrator Saturday part of your day. It is very time consuming to do, so I appreciate hearing from people when they enjoy the weekly post.



  4. Wow, I’d like to enroll in that pictorial foundation course, Adam. I’d say you’re a big part of what attracts the high calibre students. Brilliant work, thanks for sharing insight on your methods!


    • Anni,

      I really am looking forward to Adam coming in on November 5th and taking his workshop. He amazes me and bown away by anyone who can do over 80 painting in one year. Plus, he is a musician and his wife says he’s a gourmet cook.

      Thanks for leaving a note.



  5. Great !!!


    • Bernhard,

      Thanks for stopping by and leaving a comment. Hope you will visit again.



  6. No that I actually read the whole interview, it’s just amazing! Thank you Adam for sharing all your knowledge with us.
    The productivity and the speed and the quality of the work is just absolutely mind-boggling. Such a strong work ethic and inspiration to all of us!
    When I saw the work at the museum, I thought I saw the Illustration Academy influence – it’s all about strong shapes and value. I myself went to the Illustration Academy, but the second generation (Mark Eglish’s son John is in charge). The program is one of the best places for a recent graduate of Illustration to go to. Also, you went to SVA, so you had two of the best places for an illustration graduate. The training really paid off (but I’m sure you got even better learning on your own throughout the years). The work is amazing!
    Congrats on all your accomplishments and I need to go to the library to get your books and learn from your expertise. Thank you!


    • Katia,

      I’m glad you took the time to read it. It would be a shame to miss all that good information.

      See you soon,



  7. Thank-you Kathy and Adam! Very inspiring! My favourite part was seeing Adam’s promo pieces. I’m sharing this on my blog!


    • Barbara,

      I had to show those promo pieces. What attention getters.



  8. Fabulous work Adam, and a riveting interview.


    • John,

      So when are you going to let me feature you?



  9. That is amazingly generous of you, Adam, to share all this. I’m not an illustrator, just enjoy painting stuff, but I really benefit from reading blogs like this where illustrators and artists share their craft. Thanks, and thanks Kathy for putting it up.



  10. Gads, I wish I lived closer. I’d love to take one of Adam’s classes! GREAT interview! 🙂 e


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