Míla Furstová’s illustrations for Babička released on stamps
Czech Post recently released a special edition of stamps featuring illustrations from Božena Němcová’s novel The Grandmother (Babička) by the Czech-British artist Míla Furstová. The colourful etchings were originally created for the most recent edition of the famous novel, written in the days of Czech national revival. What was it like to illustrate one of the most iconic works of Czech literature? And what were some of the biggest challenges? These are some of the questions I discussed with Míla Furstová, but I first asked her how she herself likes Božena Němcová’s Babička:
“I really very much love Babička. I love the theme of the book, because I myself had a very strong relationship with my grandmother, but I also think that Božena Němcová wrote the book with so much love and intricacy.
“She wrote it at a time when her son died and she needed to escape, and I could really understand that she needed to create something beautiful, a place where she felt safe and return to her childhood memories.
“Also, in the introduction, she says that her own grandmother told her that there was no person in the world that could please everyone and that it would be enough for her if some readers enjoyed what she had written.
“I think it was an act of courage for her to write something so personal and sincere.”
“And I think it was an act of courage for her to write something so personal and sincere. Also, she wrote it in the 1850s, at a time when women didn’t have a strong voice, so I think it is wonderful and I really love the book.”
You illustrated the most recent edition of Babička, which was published here in Czechia in 2021. But I understand the work was actually commissioned by your British publisher, Michael Tate. Is that right?
“Yes, that is such an interesting story. It was actually Michael Tate, the head of Jantar Publishing, who asked me if I would make a cover for Kytice, a book by Karel Jaromír Erben, and he said he would eventually like to publish Kytice, Babička and Máj, all in English.
“He has already published Kytice in the United States and it was really successful, and I was so astonished that anybody could understand those Czech ballads in English.
“I thought it would be a great privilege to do illustrations for Kytice, although initially I was hesitating a bit because there's a great deal of horror in the book.
“But then Covid came and I actually really wanted to do something Czech while being locked up here in Britain. So I did Kytice first and then Babička followed. Kytice has already been published in English and in Czech, while Babička is still being translated by the wonderful translator Susan Reynolds.”
As you said, you worked on the illustrations both for Kytice and Babička during Covid. Was it an obstacle, not being able to come to the Czech Republic to visit the places that are connected with the novel?
“That is such a good question. It really was a big obstacle for me. With Kytice, I felt that being locked up at home in Britain was actually helping me to remember my Czech roots. I read Kytice when I was a young girl, and despite the elements of horror it was a place of comfort for me to work on the book.
“But then I accepted the commission for Babička and I planned to stay in the Ratibořice valley where Babička is situated. Božena Němcová describes the place in such an intimate, beautiful and loving way and I really wanted to be there.
“I wanted to walk barefoot in those meadows and just be really connected to the place. That’s how I wanted to start the project. But once again, I had a ticket to fly back to Czechia and everything was cancelled.
“So I couldn't go, but I still felt I had to at least find a similar place. And funnily enough, my husband, who is a great walker, helped me to discover a little valley here in England, which has the same feel as the Ratibořice valley.
“It has coniferous trees, a lovely stream running through, and I just kept going there, collecting pieces of grass and twigs and bits of nature that I later on physically used in my illustrations.”
I believe you made altogether 13 engravings to accompany the novel. What aspect of Babička did you want to highlight in your work?
“I think the most important thing for me really was the celebration of love and continuity and wisdom, and the relationships between women, because there are a lot of strong women in Babička.
“When I read the book as a child, I don’t think I saw the things that I saw as a grown-up woman. For example, the character of Viktorka, a passionate young woman who is totally a victim of the time that she lived in. She is very authentic and you can see that Babička in her wisdom loves Viktorka and has a lot of time for her.
“So I just wanted to highlight the love, the understanding, the warmth and the security, the things that Božena Němcová returned to herself at the time when her own life was difficult. These kind of very solid roots.”
And how did you get around creating the character of the grandmother? Were you actually inspired by some real-life character?
“It was tricky. I think that Božena Němcová described beautifully everything that Babička was wearing and you could kind of imagine her style.
“In terms of her face, what I really wanted to do is express her warmth and wisdom and love, but I also wanted to create a universal face really, so it was a kind of mixture of all these things.”
Can you tell us a little bit more about your artistic technique? How did you actually go around creating those 13 illustrations?
“I am not an illustrator. I mostly work on my own works. The reason I don’t take illustrating commissions is because my technique is very painstaking, if you like, or very detailed.
“I draw with a needle on a metal plate. I use zinc plates that I have to heat up and cover with melting wax that I roll. When the whole metal plate cools down with the wax on it, I have to turn it around and smoke it with a candle to make the wax black.
“In the case of Babička, I felt that the raw outcome of the etching itself isn’t subtle enough, so there is a great deal of hand painting on top of it.”
“And then I take a needle and I expose the metal underneath the wax with the images, drawing with the needle. So it is a very old-fashioned, almost alchemical technique, which comes from the 15th century. And this is just the first part of the technique. It’s how I create the image.
“Then, when the image is drawn, which takes me several weeks, it goes into acid and the acid etches the lines that are exposed, and then the wax is washed off and I push different coloured inks into different areas. And then I print it on paper and the paper has to dry and it goes on and on and on.
“And actually, in the case of Babička, I also felt that the raw outcome of the etching itself isn’t subtle enough, and I needed to add something. So there is a great deal of hand painting on top of the etchings. So it’s a very lengthy process and it took me almost a year to produce the 13 images.”
Your illustrations from the novel have recently been released by Czech Post on a series of stamps. Are they exactly the same? Or are there some differences between the original images for the book and between these stamps that have just been released?
“They are exactly the same, but there are extra ones because with the technique of etching, one can experiment with colour as well, and that’s what I did. So certain versions of the 13 etchings have other coloured versions as well. Obviously, for the book we could only choose one, but the stamps have colour variations that don’t appear in the book.”
As you said, you were commissioned to do another set of images for another iconic work of Czech literature, Karel Hynek Mácha’s Máj. Which of the three books, Kytice, Babička and Máj, presented the biggest challenge?
“Initially, I thought that Kytice would be the most challenging because it has, as I said, elements of horror. It's really quite harsh at times, and I wasn't sure that I could take it on. But then, as I was illustrating Kytice, I managed to avoid the horror and concentrated on other aspects.
“With Babička, I just loved the book, so it was much easier. But with Máj, I didn't remember quite how dark Máj was. I think all Czechs know the very, very famous intro into Máj, which is very lyrical. It goes:
Late evening, on the first of May—
The twilit May—the time of love.
Meltingly called the turtle-dove,
Where rich and sweet pinewoods lay.
“It brings you into beautiful atmosphere of nature, but as you read on, it becomes very dark, and essentially the whole poem is about a young man who is sentenced to death and awaiting his execution. And as I was reading it, I realised I didn’t know how to do this.
“And then something really sad happened in my own life. My dad had a bleeding in his brain and his condition was very, very serious, and for the next few months he was dying. And as I faced this prospect of the death of a dear, dear person in my own life, I kind of picked up the courage to look into the darkness.
“And as I kept reading it, I could start seeing some light in it, through the darkness. First of all, there is a beautiful description of nature, but eventually, what I realised Mácha is doing, he is celebrating the beauty of life amidst the darkness.
“So I continued with it and, although it was the most difficult book for me to do, I think I have really kind of thrown myself into it and I did it with great sincerity and I have devoted it to the memory of my dad.”
