When we opened the gates for our first weird art submissions in April 2024, we had no idea what we would receive. But as soon as we saw Devon Sherman’s drawings, we unanimously declared, “That’s our kind of weird!” Then we read about what these drawings were - her personal illustrations of the 400-year-old 1200+ page book by Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy - and we exclaimed, “That is absolutely our kind of weird!” We featured The Rust of the Soul, Slimy Nutrient, and The Cake of Praises in our Summer 2024 issue. What follows below is our chat with Sherman about inspiration, work ethics, and what exactly weird is.
Tell us a little about what inspired you to start illustrating The Anatomy of Melancholy.
Well, in a past life I very nearly completed a PhD in English literature, and while living out that questionable life decision, I became aware of The Anatomy of Melancholy as this Very Important Book that no one actually reads, not even academics for the most part. Concurrently, long story short, a certain US presidential election happened approximately eight years ago that I found distressing, and I felt the need to do something. That's unusual for me and I'm not very good at practical things that actually matter, so since I was feeling melancholic I decided to read the complete and unabridged The Anatomy of Melancholy. It's not exactly an easy read, being 400 years old and 1200 pages long (not including 300 pages of endnotes) with kind of a lot of Latin and some ancient Greek, so I've been drawing silly pictures as I read and sharing them on social media to make it more fun. The Anatomy of Melancholy is about so many things (including witches and outdated dietary advice, like don't eat sprats after sundown) but what resonates most now might be this general sentiment: Thoughtful thinking types have always been dismayed by how thoughtless T-Rexes stomp all over everything good. That's not new, and so Robert Burton wrote this pretty great book about how the world gets you down sometimes. He sought solace in books, writing, and humor, and overthinkers throughout the ages can identify with that.
There’s “good” weird, and there’s also "not-so-good" weird. What’s “good” weird to you?
Good question. Good weird can have this association with creative counterculture and outcasts, with celebrating the unconventional and can be overlooked in the face of an oppressive mainstream culture. Through that process, sometimes weird things become mainstream and lose their weirdness, and what is mainstream can eventually become weird. It's like Animal Farm, or what's happened over the years with Henry Darger or The Golden Girls. I think Internet culture has accelerated all that in really interesting ways, and we have immediate access to way more weirdness now. So, where was I? Maybe good weird is authentic and thoughtful, and it isn't oppositional merely for the sake of being opposed to the status quo. Good weird probably doesn't even know that it's weird. It's too busy doing its thing, and then suddenly it goes viral like the opossum lady on YouTube. She's definitely good weird.
What's your favorite banned book?
Julián is a Mermaid, written and illustrated by Jessica Love. That book warms my cold slimy heart, and the illustrations are gorgeous.
What's the most recent record/album you bought or listened to?
Right now I'm working my way through Éthiopiques. It's a 32-volume set, so I guess we have a theme.
What place does weirdness have in your life?
I do like weird things. Maybe it started when my parents named me Devon? I know in present day Seattle Devon doesn't seem like an unusual name, but I grew up 90s rural 'Merica-style, and most girls had pretty hair and pretty multisyllabic names like Tiffany, Bethany, and Stephanie. My mom named me Devon and gave me a pixie cut, because who needs hair? Honestly what does it do besides tie itself in knots? I stood out a little, and I spent a lot of time reading weird books about weird things like ghost ships and watching Unsolved Mysteries. Bethany and Tiffany did not want to talk about Unsolved Mysteries.
Where's your favorite place to go recharge?
The beach. I like to swim and stare at the ocean. I feel like I should have something more unconventional to say here, but honestly I really love a sunny happy beach. Since moving to the Pacific Northwest, I've learned to embrace the cloudy, windy beach too. It's still good for staring, and sometimes there are whales.
What’s your favorite cryptid?
Squonks. If you're unfamiliar, a squonk is a little wrinkly beast that is so ugly that all it does is cry about how ugly it is. They live in Pennsylvania. I wish I could have one as a pet, but I don't go to Pennsylvania much and a squonk would be hard to bring on a plane, what with all the crying.
Do you have any advice on creating that you’ve learned by trial and error?
I'll quote Lou Reed quoting Andy Warhol, "It's just work." Just keep working. I find that it is not useful to think of creativity as this raw talent that can be channeled. For me it's more like work. Just sit down, choose something, and do the damned thing. A for effort.
Whimsical, pensive, and delightful, Devon Sherman's watercolor pencil, pen, and marker drawings are a growing and ongoing connection between reality and the absurd. You can follow her illustration progress among other works at www.masterofliterature.com
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