Bruce McCall

Bruce McCall Sara Barrett

I’m three months younger than Elvis Presley and share my birth date of May 10—the very date, when I was five, that the Nazis invaded France—with Fred Astaire. An obsession with such time trivia has marked most of my life. For example, I’m now older than Noel Coward was when he died. Noel was decrepit by that time, but I’m not.
I began indiscriminately drawing and writing at age six or seven. They’ve always been interchangeable elements of a    compulsion to record my thoughts on paper and I’ve happily veered back and forth between them all my life. Most of what I know about both, I picked up as a kid. For example, my art style links directly back to the golden age of American magazine illustrators whose work enthralled me as a boy: the late-forties and early-fifties heyday of Norman Rockwell, Robert Fawcett, Peter Helck, et. al., who so often graced the pages of The Saturday Evening Post and Collier’s Weekly. As a high school dropout with no formal training in art (or anything else, come to that), I probably would never have become an artist at all without the inspiration of their weekly invasions of the living room via those magazines at a formative age.
It’s an ironic twist of history that just as I got old enough to go forth into the world and join these heroes in their noble calling, magazine illustration as a career had more or less evaporated. Television had almost overnight



  • Bruce McCall on The Late Show with David Letterman

    Bruce McCall promotes his picture book Marveltown on The Late Show with David Letterman.



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