The Art of the Unexpected
There is something wonderfully strange about the illustrated worlds of Harriet Lee-Merrion. Delicate botanical forms, unexpected juxtapositions and subtle shifts in perspective create images that appear familiar at first, yet reveal something altogether more mysterious. Drawing on Surrealism, historic printmaking and artistic traditions from across the world, her work brings together meticulous detail and an imagination that moves freely between reality and the subconscious.
Based in the South-West of England and represented by Heart Agency, Lee-Merrion has developed a distinctive practice spanning editorial illustration, publishing, branding and animation. Her commissions have included work for National Geographic, The New York Review of Books and The Folio Society, often exploring complex subjects through visual metaphor rather than literal representation.
For Lee-Merrion, illustration is as much about interpretation as it is about drawing. Every object, perspective and symbolic detail has a purpose, inviting the viewer to discover connections of their own. Here, she discusses the cultural influences behind her visual language, the importance of working by hand, and her growing interest in bringing together writing and illustration.
Your work has such a distinctive dreamlike quality, with delicate lines, muted colour and often surreal combinations of imagery. Did that visual language emerge quite naturally, or was it something you consciously developed over time?
Both. For me, developing a visual language is a reflection of interests and distinctions of taste combined with mark-making. The way I draw is like my handwriting; it’s always been that way, but a whole host of influences have shaped it. When I was studying, I didn’t want to be swayed by other contemporary illustrators, so I only looked to historic art for inspiration.
I’m attracted to work that steps into the subconscious world, from Surrealists like René Magritte and Max Ernst to writers like Angela Carter and Gabriel García Márquez, and films like La Planète sauvage (Fantastic Planet). Pairing unexpected things that wouldn’t normally go together can give the work a dreamlike quality, and it’s a powerful tool for visual communication. Through metaphor and poetic imagery, it allows the possibility of depicting elevated realities that capture the imagination.
The delicate line comes from my training in intaglio printmaking and etching, where the fineness of the medium demands precision. That has carried through into my commercial illustration work. I draw with fine-pointed Rotring pens. Generally, I tend to lean towards using a palette that is muted and earthy.
Botanical engravings, Japanese woodblock prints and Surrealism have all influenced your work. What do you think you have taken from those very different visual traditions?
Drawing botanical forms is always a joy, and I enjoy the challenge of capturing tiny details. You can see that in old botanical engravings; they have a satisfying taxonomy, with a subject studied and broken down into parts.
Indian miniature painting, a tradition of illustration in its earliest form, is another influence that has shaped how I approach natural scenes: flat, chalky colour, painted with tiny brushes. I’ve always been interested in art from beyond Britain, partly because my grandparents were Anglo-Indian and moved to Britain after Partition. There’s a great miniature painting tradition in Rajasthan, which is where my grandfather is from. That small part of my ancestry made me curious about India, and that curiosity opened my eyes to influences from all over the world.
Japan came into my work through perspective. The oblique angle has deep roots in East Asian art, and I was first inspired to use it after reading Haruki Murakami’s After Dark. The opening lines describe a bird’s-eye view of a city before zooming in on a character in a diner. Pairing his text with this perspective felt like the perfect visual solution.
For every illustration project, the text leads: I’m responding to a writer’s world rather than applying a look to it. I research heavily, and everything I depict, whether it’s a perspective or an object, is chosen as a semiotic device with meaning behind it.
I’m fascinated by the long history of exchange between cultures, and by how art from different countries has evolved over time. I’ve been fortunate to explore that in my work, including illustrating Yoko Tawada’s novels for Granta. Her writing explores language, migration, travel and the eclectic cross-pollination of different cultures, from Japanese and European to Greenlandic and Indian identities.
I try to be open about my influences and to approach these traditions with respect and curiosity. Surrealism gives me a way to hold these influences together, in scenes that belong to a dream world.
You often use visual metaphor rather than illustrating an idea literally. What do you enjoy about leaving space for the viewer to make their own connections?
A visual metaphor poses a question and creates a puzzle for the audience to solve. In doing so, it invites them into a shared, co-created imagined landscape to work out what’s going on. I enjoy making illustrations like this, and I think it gives the work an otherworldly feel.
A lot of your editorial work deals with quite sensitive subjects, including health, wellbeing and psychology. How do you approach a commission where the subject needs both clarity and emotional sensitivity?
Visual metaphor offers a sensitive way to come up with visual solutions to difficult subjects. If the subject is too shocking or sad, such as death or violence, depicting it directly wouldn’t work, as it would be off-putting to someone flicking through a magazine or book.
Instead, I try to take threads of meaning from the text and build an image that reflects and distils what it’s saying without being too didactic. It leaves a space the reader can inhabit. The aim is to deepen the meaning rather than override it.
Your work can feel calm and beautiful at first glance, but there is often something more psychologically complex underneath. Is that tension something you actively look for?
I’m drawn to art with layered meaning, such as poetry. You can read it a second time and understand something differently. I enjoy visual art and illustration that operates in the same way: complex on closer inspection, with hidden clues and symbols. It can be everywhere, from contemporary illustration to historic artworks, literature and dreams, always presenting symbols for interpretation.
You began building your career by sharing personal work online and creating self-initiated projects around subjects you genuinely cared about. Do you still make personal projects with the same freedom now that your commercial practice is so established?
My new project is writing, and it feels like going back to square one. It reminds me of what it was like to start out as an illustrator, with lots of trial and error, making mistakes and hoping I’m heading in the right direction.
I did a wonderful seven-month course with Faber and a one-week residential with Arvon. The next step is to get the manuscripts polished, share them with literary agents and, hopefully, work towards publication.
The reality is that it’s tricky to set aside time to pursue self-initiated projects now, especially since having a young family, but I’m enjoying the challenge.
You have worked on everything from book covers and editorial pieces to museum projects, animation and packaging. Which kinds of commissions tend to give you the greatest creative freedom?
One of the things I love about illustration is its versatility and variety, and I’m especially excited when I’m asked to work in a new context with the potential to see the drawings applied in a new format. That feeling never gets old.
But if I had to choose, I honestly think editorial illustration offers a huge amount of creative freedom. Art directors can be very trusting, and the fast turnarounds mean exploring a range of ideas quickly and landing on something that communicates succinctly to solve the problem.
It’s dynamic, not for everyone, and the reward is quick: sometimes you can see the work on newsstands days later.
By contrast, I love working on branding commissions and illustrated books. They can run for longer periods, and it’s a different sort of creative freedom that allows full immersion into a subject.
For National Geographic’s Queens, you created more than 50 illustrated assets representing matriarchal animal societies. What was it like seeing your drawings move into animation and become part of such a large-scale storytelling project?
When Nat Geo approached me to collaborate on Queens, I was over the moon to be asked by such an amazing institution and trusted to help communicate something so fascinating.
It was a special project too: an all-female team making a documentary about matriarchal animal societies. Seeing the work brought to life by such talented animators was a dream.
Your process still begins very physically, using pen and gouache before digital editing. Is maintaining that hand-drawn element important to the personality of the finished work?
Absolutely. I’ve always worked in a hybrid way that encompasses drawing by hand while also meeting the industry’s need for digital formatting and editing. I colour digitally so I can make quick changes, and I think that gives the work a feeling of both worlds, a little handmade and a little digital.
I recently illustrated Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar for Suntup Editions. Their books are exquisite, letterpress-printed and hand-bound in materials like goat leather and linen. The publisher wanted the illustrations to be as handmade as possible, with very little digital intervention beyond preparing the files for print. So the artworks were entirely hand-painted and drawn, which was lovely. It just takes longer to work in that way.
By contrast, work that needs to be animated, or larger-scale illustrations, leans more towards the digital side, sometimes entirely digital. I work between the two but take great satisfaction from hand-rendered work.
More and more lately, I’m opting to create as much by hand as possible because, in the age of AI, hand-rendered art is tangible proof of an artist’s effort.
You have taught illustration and spoken internationally about the subject. Has explaining your own process to students made you more conscious of how you work yourself?
Absolutely. Teaching has been an amazing experience. Having to articulate my opinions about visual language, design, the industry and how to generate ideas has completely deepened my understanding of visual communication as a whole.
It’s also made it easier to talk about the subject. Once you’ve written something down and committed it to memory, it stays with you, which is a real help whenever I’m asked to give a talk or lecture.
Illustration can be such a solo venture, so I love any opportunity to get out of the studio and meet other visual thinkers.
You have been represented by Heart Agency since quite early in your career. Has having that long-term relationship allowed you to be more selective about the kind of work you take on?
Yes, I feel very fortunate. Heart has represented me for a long time now, and it means I can be selective about what I accept. A lot of the work I do reflects topics I’m genuinely interested in, so there’s always something to enjoy in a project.
The wonderful thing about having an agent is that they’re always there, promoting my work, meeting potential clients and so much more. They handle the legal and contractual side completely, which lets me focus solely on the creative work. I’m so grateful for their support.
Your work has become very recognisable, yet you continue to move across publishing, editorial, exhibitions and more experimental projects. What are you most interested in pushing further now?
I have a list of dream jobs, ranging from realistically straightforward to the completely outlandish and ambitious. But right now, when I carve out time, I’m writing. It’s incredibly rewarding to be learning a new skill which I hope to pair with illustration.
For more information, visit harrietleemerrion.com and Instagram
