Pew Fellows Candice Iloh and Armando Veve both know a thing or two about conjuring worlds that resonate with young and old alike. Iloh, an author, finds inspiration in imagery, while Veve, a visual artist, surrounds himself with books. The two connected over their visually stimulating workspaces, commitment to exploring complexity, and love for children’s literature.

Iloh (they/them) is the author of novels Every Body Looking (a National Book Award finalist and Printz Award nominee), Break This House, and most recently, Salt The Water, a story about a queer high school student who drops out to live off the grid and pursue their dreams.

Veve (he/him) blends genres, styles, and subject matters through his highly detailed illustrations which have been printed in numerous national publications, exhibited in galleries, and installed in subway stations. His work is frequently paired with essays and articles to creatively render their scientific or journalistic content visually.

Armando Veve
In a busy world, how do you carve time to write? Do you prefer to write on paper? On a computer?  Do you have a daily writing routine?

Candice Iloh
First of all, I don’t write every day, and when I do write, it’s rarely in the same way that I did the last time. My routines are determined by the project and what’s going on in my life at the time, given the fact that I have a few chronic health conditions that can often throw a rigid schedule off balance. Early in the process of most projects, I write in short spurts away from home to thwart distraction and encourage my curiosity. When I’m further along on projects or on deadline, I write at home in my office usually three to four afternoons a week, depending. The only thing truly routine about how I write is the hours. My sweet spot is between noon and 5 p.m. Everything else I take one day at a time. 

Iloh
What do you need to be surrounded by when you make your art? What's the ideal scene and how does it inform your process?

Veve
My studio is a kind of cabinet of curiosity. It’s filled with toys, collected print ephemera, illustrated books, hanging plants, taxidermy, and even musical instruments. It’s an intricate backdrop for my creative process. I find comfort in and feed off this visual clutter. The triangular shape of my studio and the trains that whiz past my windows add to the peculiar theatricality and movement of the space. I draw on a large drafting table in the center of the room. Large swing-arm magnifier lamps illuminate whatever I’m working on. Flat files hide piles of sketches and finished drawings. The hum of talk radio or a TV show is usually on in the background. The city itself has been a vibrant source of inspiration. I take walks throughout the day to reflect on and develop ideas. Strange moments I witness on these walks—and Philly is full of them—inevitably find their way into my works. 

Iloh
When visiting your studio, I noticed you have a lot of books, and the topics range from innocent to provocative in various ways. What is it about books that does it for you, as a predominantly visual artist? How is your work in conversation with books beyond their illustrations?

Veve
I love the way a book can hold a whole world and fit in the palms of my hands. Opening a book is probably the closest I will ever get to time traveling. I am able to fly across epochs and galaxies or zoom into cellular structures. The richly painted settings and imaginative characters of the children’s books I collect remind me of the sense of wonder and awe I experienced as a child, immersing myself in their stories that opened me up to diverse worlds and perspectives. I grew up in a Puerto Rican, bilingual household in Vermont. Like most first-generation kids, I had a foot in two worlds, never feeling fully grounded in either, but I identified with the misfits I met in the children’s books and comics strewn around our house, relishing their queer spaces that allowed me to question the rigid social structures I encountered. Beyond their narratives, I love the physicality of books—their smell, design, and the tactile experience of turning their pages.

My goals as an illustrator extend beyond mere visual representation. Rather, they intricately align with the overarching objectives and aspirations of the literary works they accompany—to build public interest and discovery, bridge knowledge gaps, and promote public understanding on often overlooked, misunderstood or controversial topics.

Veve 
I have been thinking a lot about writing and illustrating for children and why creating for this space is so important. What inspired you to begin writing for young adults? What aspects of writing for younger audiences appeal to you?  Do you have a specific reader in mind?

Iloh
I honestly think young people are much more interesting than adults. I also know, from years of therapy, that our childhoods can tell us a lot about why adults are the way they are. I’m obsessed with that–why we are the way that we are. Stories tell us that. I like using stories to illuminate the connection between who we are now and what happened when we were young. I’ve always been a writer, but I decided to focus on coming-of-age stories because I’m interested in exploring the root. On the flip side, I didn’t really have an interest in picture books until I became an older sibling. That all changed when my little brother was born. 

Veve
As a visual artist, I have to ask: Do images, maybe even visions and dreams, play a role in your writing process? How is writing a visual process for you, if at all? Do you create mood boards or image collections that fuel your writing? Is it possible to write without a visual counterpart?

Iloh
Absolutely! I’m actually a very visual person, and it’s challenging for me to begin writing anything without a clear image in my head. For every book I’ve written, I have plastered my apartment walls with magazine images of people who reminded me of the characters I was shaping. I’ve used pictures of Jennifer Lewis, Lizzo, and even photographs of non-celebrity Black folks that I found in photobooks, and it helped me to step into the world that I was creating. I generally have at least one photo–from somewhere–for each of my main characters on my wall to remind me who my characters could be in real life. And because I write about home a lot, there’s also usually a picture of a house. I think it’s definitely possible to write without a visual reference, but I’d rather not. They get me going.

Iloh
I've now learned you have done a ton of editorial/commercial work for magazines and general publications, but you're now shifting into a space where you can do more of your own thing. What's going to be different about your days now that you'll be creating more for you and your interests? What are you looking forward to spending your time with most? 

Veve
This year, I’ve been making an effort to jump off the hamster wheel, catch my breath, and reflect on my past decade of work. I have begun physically archiving years of drawings to clear mental space for projects I’ve been dreaming up. I’m dedicating more time to reading, research, and experimentation. I’m exploring image archives and libraries in search of stories and connective fragments that may inspire new works. I’m going back into ideas that were abandoned prematurely, writing to uncover new narratives, and considering new ways to evolve my imagery in scale and format. I still have a dream of authoring and illustrating my own picture book, and I’m sure that this extended period of active thinking and experimentation will take me one step closer.

We asked the two artists a few questions of our own.

What is your most treasured possession?

Iloh
A few years ago, I might have said it was this photo of a Fulani tribal woman my dad gave me as a child. Last year, it was damaged by mold, and I decided not to restore it, realizing that it doesn’t represent me anymore–not accurately. Today, I’d definitely say my wedding band is my most treasured possession. Not because I think getting married was my greatest “accomplishment,” but more so because it’s a great symbol of one of my most public acts of confidence. When I look down at my wedding band. I think about the day that me and my wife stood ten toes down in who we are and the kind of community we want to share our lives with. Our wedding day was filled with so much joy and love. It took us being confident in our own choices, as people, to get there. 

Veve
My glasses. Without them I could not see. I also want to point out a mysterious, ceramic, black cube that sits on a shelf in my  studio. It was hand built by my partner and holds a bottle with my father’s ashes. He passed away in 2020, but his stories and lessons remain with me.

What single ethical consideration most impacts the decisions you make as an artist?

Iloh
Children deserve to see themselves as people and not as inconvenient “problems” and they deserve a much better Earth than what they’ve been left with.

Veve
I visually represent complex concepts across a range of fields, from astrophysics to poetry. Like any responsible scientist or journalist, I research my subject matter from a variety of perspectives to ensure my work is nuanced and does not reinforce problematic stereotypes or generalizations. In an increasingly AI-driven world, the pervasiveness of misinformation has become an issue. I need to be even more vigilant and skeptical of my source materials. 

In the media, scientific and political ideas are often represented as binary and fixed. I aim to honor the true complexity of these debates by creating representations that are accurate to what is known, but that also blur distinctions, add nuance, and present alternate perspectives.

In reflecting back to the beginning of your career, what is the most useful advice you ever received?

Iloh
Back when I was still getting my MFA, maybe six months from graduation, one of my advisors–Adrian Matejka–told me it was time to be selfish. At first, I was resistant to the advice because of the connotation of that word, but now I understand. He wanted me to stop allowing racism to do its work. Toni Morrison once said, “The very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being...there will always be one more thing.” Racism causes so many of us Black artists to spend much of our lives proving why we are worthy instead of getting to embody the very thing we’re here for.  I think Adrian was advising me to be. To write my thing. Live my thing. Focus on my thing at all costs because there will always be something in the way. My art requires my full attention and if I’m going to make anything worth reading, there is no other way.

Veve
Resist the temptation to compare yourself to others. Look forwards and backwards, not sideways. To a younger version of myself, I’d remind them to worry less and be kind to yourself.