Maurice Sendak is the daddy of them all when it comes to picture

In the words of Anthony Browne, himself a master of imagination and art, there rings both reverence and recognition: “Maurice Sendak is the daddy of them all when it comes to picture books — the words, the rhythm, the psychology, the design.” These words, though spoken of a single artist, celebrate the lineage of all creators who give form to the dreams of childhood. For Browne speaks not merely of a man, but of a force — of Maurice Sendak, whose vision reshaped the realm of the picture book, lifting it from simplicity to symphony. In Sendak’s hands, the world of ink and color became a stage for the soul — where fear and wonder, joy and defiance, could dance side by side.

The origin of this truth lies in the deep transformation that Sendak brought to children’s literature in the mid-twentieth century. Before him, many saw the picture book as a gentle form of instruction — a nursery of innocence, untouched by the darker shades of emotion. But Sendak, with works like Where the Wild Things Are, broke that fragile illusion. He dared to show that children, too, harbor storms of feeling, that their imaginations are vast and their fears profound. He believed that honesty was the truest form of respect — that to protect the child from truth was to deny their strength. Through rhythm and psychology, he built stories not as lessons, but as journeys — through shadow toward light, through wildness toward understanding.

When Browne calls Sendak the “daddy of them all,” he speaks not of hierarchy, but of origin — the father as source, the one from whom others draw breath and inspiration. For in every brushstroke of Sendak’s work, there beats the heart of both artist and architect. He saw the design of a story as more than visual arrangement; it was emotional architecture, where every line and word supported a structure of meaning. His illustrations were not decorations — they were revelations. The child who read his books did not merely look — they felt, they wandered, they grew.

Consider the tale of Where the Wild Things Are. A boy named Max, punished and sent to his room, sets sail across an ocean of his own imagination — to a land of monsters who roar and crown him their king. Yet even in that wild freedom, Max grows lonely and yearns for home. This, Sendak understood, is the psychology of childhood — that freedom without love becomes exile, and love without freedom becomes cage. In this simple story, he built a myth for the modern age, reminding us that the fiercest journeys are those within. His rhythm of words — soft, musical, and sparse — became a lullaby for courage, sung to generations.

Through this fusion of word, rhythm, psychology, and design, Sendak showed that art for children need not be lesser art. He rejected the idea that simplicity meant shallowness. In his work, every page was a universe — as intricate as a poem, as profound as a dream. He taught that the child’s world is not a smaller world, but a truer one — closer to the pulse of imagination that adults so easily forget. And through his craft, he paved the way for creators like Browne himself, who blend surrealism and symbolism to explore emotion through image.

In honoring Sendak, Browne also honors the ancient tradition of storytelling as healing. Just as the myths of old — of Odysseus, of Gilgamesh, of the Buddha — were guides through darkness, so too are Sendak’s stories a map for the child navigating the labyrinth of self. His books whisper, “It is all right to feel,” and in that whisper lies liberation. He turned the page into a mirror, where each reader could see not perfection, but possibility.

So, O seeker of creation and meaning, take this lesson from Anthony Browne’s tribute: true art is not in prettiness, but in truth. Whatever your craft — whether you paint, write, or live — do not fear the wild places of the heart. Bring them forth with honesty, for it is through raw emotion that beauty takes its purest form. Balance design with soul, discipline with imagination. Let your work, like Sendak’s, speak not only to minds, but to spirits.

For in the end, the greatest creators are those who remember what others forget — that even within the smallest book, the smallest child, or the smallest dream, there dwells an infinite universe. And so, as Browne reminds us, when we turn the pages of a Sendak story, we do not merely read — we return home, to the wild and wondrous realm of our own forgotten hearts.