As Ugly as a Hedgehog

The story of Hans-My-Hedgehog has been the subject of a few posts here: one, which shows the grown half-man half-hedgehog Hans riding astride his rooster as king of the forest, (click here); the other, which is a self-portrait with said rooster and hedgehog (click here). Here is my second installment of Hans-My-Hedgehog, though really, it would be the first following the story's narrative.

As always, the Brothers Grimm version is grim indeed, focusing on the horror of the story.  They look to the father instead of the mother. The father wishes for a son to help him in his old age, to be heir to his farm:

'Once upon a time there was a peasant who had money and land enough, but as rich as he was, there was still something missing from his happiness: He had no children with his wife. Often when he went to the city with the other peasants, they would mock him and ask him why he had no children. He finally became angry, and when he returned home, he said, "I will have a child, even if it is a hedgehog."  Then his wife had a baby, and the top half was a hedgehog and the bottom half a boy. When she saw the baby, she was horrified and said, "Now see what you have wished upon us!"
The man said, "It cannot be helped. The boy must be baptized, but we cannot ask anyone to be his godfather."  The woman said, "And the only name that we can give him is Hans-My-Hedgehog."'

But they miss the point of view of the mother; they did not understand that longing for a child that can run in a woman's blood.

Anthony Minghella's version comes closer to the truth:

'That woman wanted a bairn so bad she wouldn't care what she got.  If she had a hedgehog, she'd bring its snout to her breast...No sooner said than done, she got her wish. No time at all, she has her boy, little ball as ugly as sin with a pointed nose and sprouting hair everywhere, a hedgehog baby with quills as soft as feathers."

One of my favorite renditions of this scene is by an illustrator named Ina, whose subtly-rendered drawings are filled with loving detail (click here).  Ina shows the nursing mother with her gentle, beastly baby. 

What would it be like to finally have that much-desired child, even if it were as ugly as a hedgehog? Would a mother truly scorn that child and make it sleep behind the stove?  Or would the mother love that child as the darling of her heart, would she cuddle it and rock it and nurse it in the night? Would she heat milk for it and feed it to him and sing lullabies into his quills?  What would you do?  This is what I would do.

"Rocking the Hedgehog Baby" Pencil. copyright 2012 Jessica Boehman

Adapting the Brothers Grimm

I'm excessively fond of fairytales, folktales, and fables.  I love the dark, troubled and murky waters you land in when reading them.  They rarely have a fully happy ending; even if there is love, there is usually death.  The stories start with heartbreak, deceit, or loss and don't always resolve into something that sits gently in the corners of your mind.  But there is magic, too, made by animals who speak and bestow gifts, fairies and sprites who heal and kill, goblins who steal secrets and babies, and trolls who live under bridges and in the rocky fabric of the mountains of the cold, bleak subarctic lands. The rich stories, passed on by mouth until they were finally transcribed in numerous sources, speak to our shared cultural past.

One of my favorite fairy tales, as you now know, is Hans-My-Hedgehog.  The Brothers Grimm version is unrelentingly harsh.  The poor hedgehog boy is unwanted, untended, and unloved.  He finally flees and becomes a sort of king of the forest. He eventually, though his own cleverness, wins a princess, but is forced to have his skin of quills burned, turning his own human skin underneath charcoal-black, to be freed from his enchantment.

Anthony Minghella later retold several fairy stories when he penned them for Jim Henson's undertaking, The Storyteller.  In his rendition of Hans, he infused the characters with life, feeling, and love: we get glimpses of the pain of barrenness in a woman, the heartbreaking longing for a child, a wish and a wish answered.  A baby boy is born, part boy and part hedgehog, but the mother cherishes her baby.  But the father remained unmoved at the sight of his strange child:

“For every quill that he had on his body, Hans had an animal for a friend, as many friends as he had quills. He had a special way with these creatures and they loved him. He could talk to them. If his mother was looking for him, she would always go first to the place where the rooster strutted, a proud soldier of hens. Hans tended to this bird, polished his beak, combed his comb, and fed and fattened him, and it wasn’t long before the rooster was the biggest rooster you could imagine, a hugeness, a vast red rooster all plump and flush-feathered.  Whenever the sadness came, whenever he caught his reflection in a pool, and saw his strange beast-boy face, Hans would run to these friends and be among them, for they found him neither strange nor odd but magnificent.  “Father," he said in his flute voice, ”I want you to do some things for me. I want you to go to the village and have a saddle made for my rooster so I can ride him.  And I want some sheep and some cattle and some pigs. They would be happy to come with me where I go. Which is away. Which is to somewhere.  Where I can’t hurt no one and no one can hurt me.”

The boy grows to be the king of a fine sylvan castle, and does indeed win a princess.  In true fairytale fashion, it's not that easy.  She betrays him, he flees again.  The second winning will be done by her, proving her love for her wedded husband. 

I've made a self-portrait that weaves in two elements of my favorite fairytale: the rooster and the hedgehog.  In the background is text from the story.

"Self Portrait with Fairytale" Pencil.  Copyright 2012 Jessica Boehman

A Prickly Halloween

I'm designing a new line of Halloween illustrations that will be made into cards.  I'd almost prefer to send a Halloween card than a Christmas card; it's my favorite day of the year.  For one day, you can be anything or see anything.  On that day, I really believe in ghosts (though I really do) and goblins and witches and werewolves.  My most memorable childhood costume was the year I was a wizard, complete with false beard and nose and wrinkles, courtesy of my sister, who had learned the basics of theater makeup.  I will never do that again; I almost ripped off my skin at the end of the night trying to remove the skin.  Moreover, my nose wiggled in the weirdest way when I ate and my friends in school were a little creeped out by that in the cafeteria.  In recent years (and probably because I'm an art historian), I've tended to the historical, turning saints into costumes. Two of the more successful were St. Lucy with her bloodied eyes on a plate and St. Joan of Arc, complete with dancing flames crawling up my legs.

I love the smell of October air, that crisp, apply, candy-scented air that makes you wrap up with a scarf while enjoying the last rays of the sun's warmth.  I love the smell of a whole bag of Halloween candy.  Each year, it smells exactly the same.  I love the whole atmosphere of Halloween night.  After all of these years, it still feels magical to me.  Every Halloween, I still read Jack Prelutsky's "It's Halloween!" to myself (my mom read it to us when we were young). I look forward to the day I will read it to my children.  There was something very comforting about going to sleep on Halloween night listening to the final words of that book:

It's late and we are sleepy,
The air is cold and still.
Our jack-o-lantern grins at us
Upon the window sill.
We're stuffed with cake and candy
And we've had a lot of fun,
But now it's time to go to bed
And dream of all we've done.
We'll dream of ghosts and goblins
And of witches that we've seen,
And we'll dream of trick-or-treating
On this happy Halloween.

I've decided to do a line of macabre images (coming soon), but in line with my shop, I had to add one sweet card.  This is the first in a line of hedgehog holiday-themed illustrations. 

"Happy Halloween, Hedgehog!"  Pencil and digital color.  Copyright 2011 Jessica Boehman