Good grief, Charlie Brown!: the art of Charles Schulz: "At the heart of Schulz's great connection with the world was his humanity." - Museum Today

"I'LL NEVER BE Andrew Wyeth" the late Charles M. Schulz often lamented, referring to the famed American artist. This, from the man whose comic strip "Peanuts," over the course of its 50-year lifetime, grew into the most-successful and beloved strip of all time, one that would see publication in 2,600 newspapers with 355,000,000 readers in 75 countries. The strip and its characters were the inspiration for dozens of television specials, two plays, a symphonic concerto, many books, and countless licensed products. Peanuts products became a $1,000,000,000-a-year worldwide industry for United Features, and Schulz became the highest-paid, most-widely read cartoonist ever. Yet, even with the adoration of an eternally grateful public, he would rarely allow a self-congratulatory moment. In 1997, Schulz noted that comics illustration is "a low art form. We don't hang in art galleries. We're not good enough."

The world's artistic perspective isn't quite as narrow as Schulz had feared. An insightful new exhibition of his work is on view at a museum built around the work of a similarly beloved 20th-century illustrator and American icon. The Norman Rockwell Museum--where for over 30 years patrons have found inspiration, humor, and hope in his enduring depictions of the best of America--is a center devoted to the art of illustration, with the world's largest collection of Rockwell's original paintings as its centerpiece, Schulz, like Rockwell, was an artist and a Storyteller of the first caliber who transformed images of everyday life into art that captured the humor, vulnerability, and dignity of the human spirit.

The exhibition presents the chronology of Schulz's life from his Minnesota roots to his years in California. More than 40 original drawings for the strips, Schulz quotes, a timeline of the artist's life, and selected Peanuts collectibles illuminate the story behind the creation of this influential cartoon strip and tracks the developments of the characters that make up its unique world. Through the familiar gang of well-loved characters, Schulz shared his vision with readers, exploring such topics as friendship, compassion, disappointment, and unrequited love.

Schulz's spare graphic style and his subtle sense of humor have spoken deeply to readers for more than five decades, but what was the source of this deep-seated connection? Was it Schulz's artwork? Surely, he was a master of the understated grace note in his illustrations. A simple cursory glance by a character or a subtle alteration in a facial feature could have enormous impact. He was praised for revolutionizing the comic strip, which, until the appearance of "Peanuts," had been populated primarily with such action and adventure strips as "Terry and the Pirates." Schulz was deemed "master of the slight incident" and broke new ground for newspaper cartoons, using innovations such as Lucy's psychiatric booth, Linus' "security blanket" (a term Schulz coined), Snoopy's doghouse, and Schroeder's music.

Schulz also innovatively altered the point of view of the medium. His placement of the action at child's-eye level was a major factor in the characters' breakthrough appeal. Nobody before had tried to connect in such a visually compelling way with youngsters or had so honestly captured their voice and essence. Of course, Schulz wasn't really writing about children--he had been commenting on all of us, and on the human condition, all along. Seeing the world through the eyes of families like the Browns and the Van Pelts offered a rare perspective on both our glories and our foibles.

The fluidity of the lines in his strip, its remarkable lettering (all of which, Schulz was proud to point out, he did himself), and his keen sense of timing have often elicited immeasurable praise from fellow cartoonists. The storylines, then, would seem to be a major factor in the strip's success. Yet, other than a favorite gag or two, it's a rare reader who has enough sense of the strip's history to recall some of the astounding extended storylines that Schulz developed.

Take that mysterious summer when poor Charlie Brown started seeing baseball stitching in anything circular. Come sunrise, there would be a bright, shining baseball in the sky. Certainly, we knew the round-headed kid was obsessed with the great American pastime, but not to this extent. It got worse: Charlie Brown's famously circular cranium developed a strange rash, leaving the back of his head resembling a baseball, complete with stitching markings. Over the next few weeks in the strip, Schulz sent Charlie Brown off to summer camp wearing a paper sack over his head, eyeholes cut out in front, to hide the embarrassment of the rash. Ironically, he becomes Mr. Popularity, quickly making friends left and fight and winning the admiration of everyone at camp. Eventually, the rash disappears, and Charlie Brown removes the sack from his head. Inevitably, once his newfound friends get a look at him, he's soon ignored and reminded of his place in the world--as a blockhead.

At the heart of Schulz's great connection with the world was his humanity. "If you want to know who I am," Schulz once said, "read the strips." He saw every character as a personification of a different aspect of his personality. While some of those aspects might be uncomfortably similar to our own (Lucy's crabbiness, Sally's selfishness, even Pig Pen's messiness), it is his understanding of, and compassion for, our strengths and weaknesses as a species that resonate so forcefully among numerous readers. Many may identify with Charlie Brown's frequent losses, feeling that they're right beside him, behind the eight ball. Nevertheless, they pick up on, perhaps subconsciously, Schulz's admiration for his lead character. Charlie Brown's not a loser, Schulz reminds us. He picks himself up and keeps on trying, no matter what. Likewise, Snoopy's wild imagination was a tribute to the resiliency of the human spirit, to limitless imagination, and to unwavering confidence in what's right and wrong. Funny how it took a beagle who walks on two legs to show us that part of ourselves.

More importantly, Schulz understood the fragility of the human experience. He knew of the tenuous nature of love and its common unattainability, and he dealt frequently with loss in the strip. He addressed our fears and our desires and let us know that we weren't alone. In one strip, Peppermint Patty and Charlie Brown are relaxing beneath a shady tree. Charlie Brown defines security as the ability to sleep across the family car's back seat while your parents drive you home late at night. "You don't have to worry about anything," he notes. "They take care of everything. But it doesn't last! Suddenly, you're grown up ... and you'll never get to sleep in the back seat again!.... Never?," asks an incredulous Peppermint Patty. "Absolutely never," affirms Charlie Brown. Peppermint Patty is aghast at this news. "Hold my hand, Chuck!"

Six weeks before his death on Feb. 12, 2000, Schulz received a fan letter that he likely could never have imagined. "I have been thinking of you and your very remarkable quality of expressing in simple, direct statements the American way of life" it read. "It has brought pleasure to so many of us. Bless you always." The note was signed, "Andrew Wyeth."

"Speak Softly and Carry a Beagle: The Art of Charles Schulz" will be on view at the Norman Rockwell Museum, Stockbridge, Mass., through May 5. It then will travel to the Appleton Museum, Florida State University, Ocala (June 14-Sept. 15); Memphis (Tenn.) Brooks Museum (Nov. 17-Jan. 26, 2003); Lehigh University Art Galleries, Bethlehem, Pa. (Apr. 2-July 6, 2003); and Wichita (Kan.) Art Museum (Sept. 28, 2003-Jan. 4, 2004).

Richard Egan is communications coordinator, The Norman Rockwell Museum, Stockbridge, Mass. Kimberly Rawson is associate director for communication at the museum.

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