Eva Lindström and the Stories Colors Tell

The acclaimed Swedish illustrator and author Eva Lindström (1952-) began her career as a cartoonist and comic strip artist before turning her hand to picture books in the late 1980’s (Christensen 49). To date she has published some 30 titles under her own name, and many more as an illustrator of the works of other authors. Her illustrations are naivistic in style, especially in her later work. Proportions and perspectives are distorted, foregrounding and emphasizing what is central to the story she is telling. Colors are important too. In an interview Lindström says “colors are a language. What stories they tell is not clear, but they do have something to say” (Warnqvist 64). Lindström’s preferred illustration technique, especially in her later work, is gouache or pencil and watercolor. She uses it to great effect. It has been noted about Olli och Mo [Olli and Mo] from 2012, that the grey-blue color tones and the flowing gouaches creates the feeling of a landscape under water: “When Olli and Mo are at their most lost the perspective in the images dissolves completely. Leaves, flowers and seed pods extend over the pages from all directions and it is impossible to define what is up and what is down, a confusion that applies to the pictures and to the actual story” (Nordic Council).

Thus, on the surface, Lindström’s picture books may seem simple, but careful reading of the naivistic illustrations and the lyrical and precise language is rewarded. There is great depth of meaning and complexity, as well as aesthetic enjoyment in Lindström’s best work (see Druker; Hellström). In order to demonstrate some of these qualities I will in the following focus on one specific picture book Lunds hund [Lund’s dog] from 2013. In it Lindström tells the story of a rather mismatched relationship between a man, Lund, and his dog, Kulan. In it, Lund literally takes down the moon for Kulan. But this supreme act of love is strangely devoid of sentiment, and does not lead anywhere. The symbol turns out to be drained of meaning and the story itself ultimately defies closure. In this article, I will offer a few possible interpretations of this rich and strange picture book.

On the first page of the book we see Lund with a frying pan. He is glancing back towards his plate. The pork chops that he had prepared are gone. In the foreground we see Kulan; he is licking his paw, and looks pleased. A broken piece of bone is visible under a chair. The combination of verbal text and illustration makes it apparent to the reader what has happened: the dog has stolen the meat. Lund either does not understand what has happened or chooses to ignore it.

The following double spread shows Kulan lying on his back in a sofa, picking his teeth; Lund is still busy in the kitchen. Kulan asks why she is never served cooked food, to which Lund says “sure, you can have some,” and immediately heats up some dog food, and then carefully puts it in a bowl. But Kulan is full and will not eat. The reader knows why.

A disturbing detail here, as well as in all of the illustrations in the book, is that the two characters never look one another in the eyes. When Kulan asks for cooked food, Lund looks towards the dog. She, however, stares at the ceiling, as if talking to herself. It is also of significance that they are placed at opposite ends of the room, and that they are not engaged in a common endeavor. In fact all of the pictures show them doing different things: preparing food or building a rocket, and Kulan eating or resting. Out of twelve illustrations with Kulan, she is either resting or eating in eight of them, and the illustrations draw attention to dog bowls and dog food packages, leftovers, cots, and sofas. Correspondingly, Lund’s orientation towards activity is shown by the presence of tools, toolboxes, kitchen utensils, electric cords, and rocket...