Art, Grace, and Tomie DePaola

“In a town in Calabria, a long time ago, there lived an old lady, everyone called Strega Nona, which means Grandma witch.” Thus begins Tomie DePaola’s classic children’s story, Strega Nona; the tale of a feisty, yet generous old woman in Southern Italy, many years ago.

As an Italian-American, Tomie DePaola’s many books were a ubiquitous part of my upbringing. The world of DePaola is one of magic and humor; from the mishaps of Big Anthony to the magical pasta pot of Strega Nona herself, to the culinary aspirations of Tony the Baker, the characters that give this world life are delightfully human (and quite Italian) in the best possible ways. This world is also permeated by faith and the traditional Catholic customs of an Italy that only exists today in small pockets of the country and in the imaginations of those of us who have internalized these stories in the deepest recesses of our minds and hearts.

As a child, these tales invited me and my brothers into a world where belief in God and the practice of one’s faith were intertwined with the daily rhythms of life, the changing of the seasons, and the passage of time: a world very different from the contemporary America that we grew up in. DePaola’s world offered us a glimpse into a time where faith, culture, food, and community all intermingled seamlessly, blissfully unaware of any such distinctions among them. 

Perhaps more impactful than the stories themselves and the characters who inhabited them are Tomie’s illustrations. Part children’s book art, part iconography; his illustrations draw you in and compel you to pause with wonder. Every image on every page is intentional. Everything is pregnant with meaning. No side detail can go unrecognized. No hand gesture unnoticed. No minor character unacknowledged. They are all a part of the telling of the story. The same way in which no element of the Christ Pantokrator icon is accidental and no detail of the Salus Populi Romani is frivolous, so too are the illustrations of Strega Nona alone in her parish on the Vigilia di Natale in Merry Christmas, Strega Nona or the scene of Giovanni’s death in The Clown of God. All point to the reality of the divine; to the love of the Triune God who manifests himself among us. And like all true icons, Tomie’s art moves us to prayer.

In this way, DePaola was much more than a children’s book author (a noble profession in its own right). Tomie was a kind of prophet whose work spoke God’s word through his artist’s hands, not unlike Fra Angelico, the great early Renaissance painter, Dominican friar, and today, Blessed of the Church. Both of their work spoke to the beauty of the human experience and the overwhelming power of grace breaking into our lives. 

My children also love Tomie’s work. They see themselves in Big Anthony and Bombolona, going on adventures and growing up along the way. They recognize the sacrificial love of Strega Nona, a Christ figure in her own way, in the love of their mother and grandmothers. They understand the earthliness and humanity of Tomie’s interpretations of Jesus and Mary and St. Francis, as well as the other-worldly quality of their holiness. They get it. They know that these books are more than just pictures and words; even more than mere story. They are sacramental. They point to something much deeper. Tomie communicates, perhaps more than anything, that God’s love comes to us through the things and people of this world, through grace. 

Though Tomie has since passed on to receive his heavenly reward, his tales and characters live on for a new generation of booklovers (both children and adults alike) to be transported to another world from our past and be moved, ultimately, by God’s grace, as it pours out from each and every page.