The first thing to understand about Mary Engelbreit is this: She is real. She exists - not as a brand name invented by a savvy greeting card company and not as an alias for a group of artists who've perfected a unified aesthetic style. Mary Engelbreit is a living, working artist, and she's as real as people get.
"A lot of people are very surprised to learn that," says Mary with an easy smile. "They think it's like Aunt Jemima or Betty Crocker. Actually, I think there was a Betty Crocker." (Indeed, she second-guesses herself just like a real person.) "A lot of people don't really think I'm a person." But Mary Engelbreit? Isn't the name almost too cute? Almost too felicitous? Well, it's real, too; as real as it was when her great-grandparents brought it to America from Germany. "I don't think it sounds like a made-up name," the artist defends. And as a veteran of uncountable autograph sessions and personal appearances, she reasons, "Why would I make up such a long name?"
Mary was born less than 10 miles from where she lives and works today. She never left St. Louis to find greatness. Her greatness has been such that plenty of people have been willing to look for it, and with ever-increasing frequency, they find it. They find Mary's work not only on greeting cards but also on hundreds of other products including gift wrap and doormats, dinner plates and shower curtains, cotton throw rugs and ceramic mugs, bookmarks and button covers, jigsaw puzzles and umbrellas - even musical picture frames.
The ultimate source of this huge body of work is Mary Engelbreit herself. She has help, to be sure - lots of it. She has, in fact, grown into an industry with an Inc., or more accurately and appropriately, an INK after her name. But Mary herself hatches every concept in her head and draws every original piece of art with her hand. Know Mary's art, and you know a good part, but not all, of Mary herself - thoughtful, but never self-absorbed; kind, but not coddling; original, yet comfortably familiar; timeless, but also timely. As is the art, so is the artist - shy, but not always quiet; charming, but sneakily substantial; nurturing, as only a mother can be; modest, but accepting of her talents - and aware of her shortcomings too. Most of all, as one of her longest tenured employees puts it, "Mary is a regular person. Mary is just Mary."
Mary Engelbreit's artwork doesn't attract casual buyers. It attracts converts. Her art wins hearts. She has made icons of teapots and straw hats. She has made stars of spunky little girls and cottage roses. Even the most pedestrian items, like mixing bowls and watering cans, ascend to heroic stature once they receive Engelbreit treatment.
In a classification-crazy world, Mary's illustration style is most often pegged "cute," "nostalgic," and "whimsical." All are accurate descriptions, but none complete. Magic intangibles breathe life into Mary's work. Love, trust, faith, esteem, and spirit are a few ofthem. For the real story of what gives Mary's work its magic, it helps to look a little bit deeper into her art and her life. Her story began in 1952.
Mary Engelbreit's earliest surviving artwork hangs framed on the wall outside her St. Louis studio. The subject: two stick figures holding hands. The medium: crayon, of course. Written above the drawing in a mother's proud hand are the words, "Drawn by Mary on November 27, 1956: A picture of Mommy and Papa."
"She was drawing from the time she could pick up a pencil," recalls her mother. Kids love to draw, and in this way Mary was unremarkable. Her childhood pictures would be at home in any kindergarten gallery. She was never a technical prodigy. But even as a child, Mary seemed to have something that set her apart - something, perhaps, in her eyes and the way she used them. "Mary got glasses in the second grade. I'll never forget that day. I had had my wisdom teeth pulled, and I was lying in bed with my jaws aching. She came in with these glasses on. I looked at her and I cried, which, I guess, wasn't a very nice thing to do."
But 7-year-old Mary was oblivious to her mother's momentary lapse in composure. The newly bespectacled second-grader was caught up in emotions of her own. "Mother, the trees have leaves!" Mary remembers saying in awe of the world's new clarity. "I was amazed. The whole world was brought into focus, and I hadn't even known that it was out of focus."
Mary was 11 when she encountered her first "real" artist. A real artist, she quickly ascertained, had a studio. "One of the baby-sitters in our neighborhood was a really good artist, and she had a studio set up in her basement," recalls Mary. "I just can't tell you how impressed I was. I was insanely jealous of this cool thing, and I went home and told my mother about it. I said, `I just have to have one. I have to have a studio.' So she cleared out the linen closet. We jammed all this furniture in there for me," she remembers with a laugh. "I'm sure it was about 110 degrees, but I happily sat in there, in the closet, and drew pictures."
In Mary's preschool and early grammar school years, her mother (referred to here by her full name, Mary Lois, for the sake of clarity) would read to Mary and her younger sister, Alexa, every night. Mary Lois had an affinity for the lavishly illustrated books that her own mother had read to her as a child and had preserved a large collection of her favorites. In a fortunate coincidence that would profoundly affect her oldest daughter's future, Mary Lois largely ignored popular children's books of the day in favor of the timeworn but beloved books of her own childhood.
It was obvious from the start that Mary shared her mother's enthusiasm for the old books. But Mary's mother soon grew to suspect that it wasn't always the rhyme or story that held her oldest daughter's interest. Mary liked the pictures in the antique storybooks so much, in fact, that she began to copy them. She'd spend countless hours with her mother's Raggedy Ann and Andy books, recreating the colorful, loosely rendered drawings by illustrator Johnny Gruelle. At other times she'd imitate the softer, more painterly style of Jessie Wilcox Smith, whose illustrations decorated many of the other vintage storybooks.
Before too long, Mary's imagination began to carry her beyond the worlds created by the minds and pens of others. Naturally and instinctively, she moved from recreating to creating. "I taught myself to draw by copying," she explains, "but if you do that long enough, you start drawing your own little people." Mary has always been a voracious reader, and as a child, reading and drawing proved to be highly symbiotic activities. "I loved to read, and I would draw pictures to go with the stories I read," she explains. "That's really why I started drawing."
Among her favorite books were The Secret Garden, Jane Eyre, The Little Princess, and the Nancy Drew series. "All those `girl books' mostly," she says, "but I'd read anything." When she set down a book, she'd pick up her pen. "I wouldn't necessarily draw a scene from the book, but I would draw a girl dressed like the girls in the book," she says. "I would draw little scenes from that time."
Mary's first experience mixing business and art came at an early age. Her mother remembers, "Mary's father built the girls a playhouse in the yard. They loved it, but I guess after a while it wasn't exciting enough as a house and Mary decided she wanted to make a store out of it. She painted combs and barrettes, rocks and driftwood, plastic glasses, doll furniture, all kinds of stuff, and she opened her store." The 12-year-old Mary proved to be a savvy shopkeeper. "She sold a lot of stuff to the neighborhood kids and kids from her school," her mother recalls. But when Mary decided to expand her inventory, problems ensued.
The store was forced to close when Mary sold her mother's graduation dress. Mary had neglected to get the supplier's permission first. Mary's mother laughs about the incident now and holds the store up as a prime example of her daughter's fierce determination.
Mary's schoolmates were also well aware of her artistic aspirations, and they didn't hesitate to press their talented classmate into service. All through high school, friends would ask, Will you do a birthday card for my boyfriend?
Mary's classmates' enthusiasm for her handmade cards was all the encouragement she needed to take her hobby to the next level. Inspiration struck during a visit to one of her favorite neighborhood shops.
"Froelich's was a very nice card and gift shop. They sold all kinds of greeting cards, little painted wooden figures from Germany and really beautiful German toys. My friends and I would always end up there on Saturdays and spend what little money we had. So one day I went in with some cards like the ones I had made for my friends at school and asked the couple who ran the store if they would sell them. I remember the day. I was very nervous, but I was so happy when they said they'd put them in their shop. And they sold them all!"