Tiny accumulations of reality

The miniature spectacles of Walter Wick

I’m biased toward hand-drawn images. Nothing disappointed me more as a kid than a movie or TV show that started out with a cartoon intro and then resolved into boring everyday film (I’m looking at you, My Three Sons). Photography, in almost any context, always seemed like a poor imaginative relation - faster, cheaper, and duller. Like, I look at the real world all the time, you know? I’ve tried to purge that bigotry over the years, but the smartphone-enabled ubiquity of photographic images has made it easier than ever to take them for granted. 

One exception I’ve discovered in recent years is Walter Wick. I was a teenager for the debut of his most famous books, the I Spy series (no relation to the 1960s espionage thriller starring Robert Culp and some other guy). When I originally encountered these books during my first job as a page at the local library, shelving returned books in the kids’ section, I was underwhelmed. A collection of crisply presented photo-puzzles left the budding cartoonist in me cold, and I didn’t bother to look very closely. 

But one of the miracles of Brooklyn living is the constant appearance of gently used books on neighborhood stoops. Considering the I Spy books (along with Wick’s follow-up series, Can You See What I See?) have sold upwards of 45 million copies, it was unavoidable that I’d eventually run across one propped up against some steps and decide to pick it up for my son. When this finally happened - with I Spy Treasure Hunt - it was the first time I’d actually looked closely at one of these books. As the two of us sat down together to pore over a series of beach-themed tableaux, we were both instantly charmed by the depth and detail the pages provided. 

But what really clinched it for me was this short YouTube documentary with a behind-the-scenes look at Wick’s process and methods. It suddenly hit me: This is every bit as painstaking and artificial as illustration - in the best way possible. Every choice of object and placement is like a characteristic line adding up to create a distinctive fantasy world that does and doesn’t resemble our own. Wick spends days or even weeks staging these elaborate little scenes, and the closer you look, the more elaborate they become. Solving the puzzles isn’t the point - the seek-and-find directions are just a method of luring you into the artistry of the images. 

I was delighted to discover that an exhibition called Walter Wick: Hidden Wonders! opened earlier this year at the New Britain Museum of American Art. New Britain is a semi-depressed little post-industrial city that borders the town I grew up in - despite the fact that NBMAA is the oldest museum devoted entirely to American art (founded in 1903), I had no idea until well into adulthood that it stood mere miles from my childhood home. It’s home to a fascinating, diverse collection that bridges several centuries’ worth of commercial and fine art - an unexpected jewel in an unlikely setting.

Wick is an apt choice for a retrospective there, because he’s a Connecticut native too - born in Hartford, just like me, but raised out in the sticks. On a recent trip home to visit family we made a point of checking out the show, and it was like crawling into a magician’s hat. In addition to large-scale prints of images from throughout his career, it featured a variety of the models and props that were built in his studio. 

Far from diluting the enchantment, examining these sets up close only enhanced the experience of the books. Engaging with the physical objects allowed us to see with greater clarity the detail and imagination that went into them. Wick works with a number of fabricators and designers to build these constructions, and the artistry on display was apparent in every shingle, every leaf, every hand-painted sign. 

This visit was less than 48 hours after my pinball adventure, another indication that as I age I’m growing increasingly fond of the world in miniature. I like to believe that this burgeoning joy for small things isn’t about control, but curiosity. Focusing attention on an intimate scale increases the possibility of feeling like you actually know something. As you project yourself into the more diminutive world of these scenes, you make them a part of you by becoming a part of them.

At the gift shop, I bought a couple of the books that featured sets we had seen that day. I was enjoying a leisurely leaf-through back at the hotel when I felt a warm presence creep up next to me. My son, now a robust and occasionally jaded 12, had been doing his own thing on the next double bed when he decided he’d rather curl up along my shoulder and look at the pictures with me. We spent a pleasant hour looking for a magic lamp, a skeleton key, a third rabbit. For just a little while, we lost the ever-sharpening boundaries that define our aging personalities and dissolved into photos of make-believe worlds that felt both smaller and larger than our own.