DESIGNING ILLUSTRATIONS FOR
“Het Lied van Alchemie”

“It’s going to be a cosy fantasy story.”
 — “Fantasy? So there’s going to be a map in the front?”
 “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
 — “Oh.”

That was the end of a brief conversation I had after Corina Onderstijn first told me about a collaborative writing project she was joining. We then proceeded to talk mostly about the genre (we’re both avid fantasy fans) and what tropes we like and dislike. The project came up several times over the next few weeks, and every time, I asked if there was going to be a map. I love maps.

I have always loved maps. Maps spark a sense of wonder and adventure in me. It’s actually why I bought my trusty Wacom and started illustrating to begin with. I wanted to draw maps for the stories I was (planning on) writing. Then, as I started working on those maps, I wanted them to have little illustrations in the margins, which started me down a rabbit hole, and that’s when drawing became a full-time obsession. Through the fortuitous workings of fate I ended up landing a freelance gig actually helping to design and illustrate maps for an industrial company. Not quite the fantasy maps I envisioned making, but a chance to hone my software and information skills all the same. Maps are also good at bringing visual order and giving an audience clarity in complex stories.

When Corina started crafting her part of the story, we’d frequently talk about plot points during our daily walks. Talking things through always helps our ideas settle into place, and we like to delve into (and sometimes belabor) the nitty gritty details of worldbuilding. Sometimes we’d talk about the logistics of a certain journey, or where certain shops would historically be found in towns. And I kept asking if there was going to be a map. The answer remained a resounding no, but the idea continued stewing in my head. After a few weeks of soundboarding the story with me, I couldn’t shake the map I was crafting in my head anymore and I beggedoffered to make them one, if they were interested. Fortuitous fate, they were!

The geography of rivers, hills, mountains, forests and the animals that inhabit them is the result of a long and complex sum of historical factors. Nothing is there without a backstory (that you can spend time overthinking). The same can be said of a specific city’s population numbers, access to resources and the development of industries and facilities. A map, in turn, is a human interpretation of all those histories, tailored to suit a specific function. There are many kinds of maps, made for many different purposes.

I wanted this map to be more about representing the town’s spirit than an accurate Google Map. This wasn’t about navigating your way through the streets from a top-down perspective, but about showing off the identity of place and the relative relationship between locations. I imagined this might be the type of map some well-to-do denizen might have had painted as a mural somewhere in their home.

When making a map like that we can choose to turn a blind eye to some details (where are the chimneys?!) but we can’t afford not to think about them (maybe a town with insects that fart fire actually doesn’t see much sense in a vertical combustibles delivery system) because that deprives us of an opportunity to be creative (maybe the answer is water magic, or maybe we should build a firestation with a rectangular hose tower just in case). Of course, for this map we pick and choose what we think is interesting for the purpose of entertainment. We ditch anything that feels too much like a constraint. There’s also the practical consideration of how much time we have available to finish a project (looking at you windows).

Early on, Corina told me that alchemy was an important ingredient, pun intended, of the story. Alchemy, in our own world as much as in the fictional one, has a very interesting history, and—key to designing the illustrations—also has a connection to shape language. Alchemists were obsessed with the philosophy of sacred geometry. You can find many examples of that type of shape language online. Based on descriptions in the book, I had some base guidelines to work with, such as the idea that the city had a central plaza, roads that spread out like the spokes on a wheel, and that there was a defensive wall. The city would also have several ‘districts,’ with the university (and its tower) being the one furthest away from the main gate, as it was the oldest. I imagined that, over time, multiple consecutive rings formed outwards, and new gates were created, and old walls torn down.

I didn’t want the entire map to read too graphical or symmetrical, even if the design of the city itself would be. Though it would have been on brand with regards to sacred geometry, I’m partial to the principal of design that says that ‘asymmetry creates more interest in composition.’ I was therefore certain that I wanted the base shape of the city at an odd angle in the portrait composition of a single page.

1. The first, rough ‘gesture’ sketch of the composition gave me the idea to use landscape elements and a frame to embellish the ‘dead space’ around the city.

2. I then took the base shape of the city and designed iterations in Illustrator, so I could be sure the circles, towers, gates, and subsequently all of the crenellation was geometrically (if not spatially) accurate.

The technique I used for this map is one I’ve used often for industry clients, as it’s easy to reproduce if assets need to be changed or added to. You’ll notice that all of the vertical lines on the buildings are straight up and down lines—parallel to the sides of the page. Budding illustrators will also notice there is no true perspective, because there are no vanishing points for the diagonal lines. Instead I’m using an isometric view (or at least approximating one). Take a square, rotate it to lean on one point (aka a diamond), and transform it to 60% it’s original height. Works like a charm. Can also be used to extrapolate circles and other shapes for more complex geometry. For consistency, by making a standardized height line for a building (for one, two, or three floors), and copy-pasting that wherever we need to create height, I could draw buildings relatively quickly even on a tricky circular grid by connecting the 4 corners of each ‘box.’ I always kept all 4 walls of the boxes I was drawing (hiding the back ones with a layer-mask) to make sure buildings wouldn’t accidentally overlap on the ground floor.

It would have been prudent (and probably a time-saver) if I’d drawn a floor-plan first, and then been structured about what faces would actually be visible (by for example adding a number to each building to indicate the number of floors). But efficiency isn’t always the most fun to do in the moment, and it’s important to have fun while drawing, otherwise what’s the point? Additionally, drawing in buildings without a base plan made it easier to focus on the impact of lines on the complete composition, allowing me to fill things in as I went.

I then gradually added in more details, wherever inspiration or fancy took me that day. I shaded areas, constructed more detail, added shadows to help sell the isometric perspective even more, and changed my mind about the direction of the scrollwork at the bottom. After a few weeks, it was done. Like with any illustration, I can think of a million things I’d do differently or change after the fact, but at some point, that just adds to the excitement of looking forward to creating the next one.

Fun fact: every building mentioned in the story is featured, though there’s room for interpretation. As the writers progressed in their worldbuilding and details were added, I asked Corina to maintain a list for me with ‘necessary features,’ so that the map would remain as true as possible to their stories while they were crafting away. I like to think/hope it tickles your imagination to fantasize about where things are or might be, more than if I labelled them.