Even Francis Vallejo’s Sketchbook Has Secrets

Francis Vallejo makes pictures the way some people cast spells: with intent, sweat, and a whisper of mischief. Reared in Detroit and raised on a nutritious blend of comics, hip-hop, and ink fumes, Francis draws like he’s trying to smuggle meaning out of the subconscious without waking it. His images don’t just sit on the page. They lurk, brood, coil around a moment, then unravel in surprising ways, always with a line that feels hand-ground and just slightly possessed.

He’s painted jazz musicians who look like they might climb off the page mid-solo (Jazz Day, winner of the Boston Globe-Horn Book Award), and illustrated trickster gods with the gleeful menace they deserve (Anansi Boys, Neil Gaiman, Folio Society - no pressure). Somewhere along the way he scooped up a D&AD Pencil, a Spectrum Gold, a stack of Society of Illustrators gongs, and a 2023 Kresge Visual Arts Fellowship, which he promptly used to wander into the Arctic Circle and come back with a zine. Because, of course he did.

Francis’s CV reads like a well-plotted comic arc: student at Ringling, grad work at SCAD, mentee to legends, now Associate Professor and Section Lead at the College for Creative Studies in Detroit. He’s taught, exhibited, mentored, muraled, and chaired a nonprofit (Art-ology) all while keeping his own work sharp enough to draw blood. Whether he’s rendering the mood of a jazz riff, the weight of mythology, or the quiet chaos of a street scene, he draws like someone who never really left the sketchbook, just expanded its dimensions.

There’s something cinematic in his style. It’s not glossy, but lived-in. The brushwork feels dusty, the light a little bruised. His comics, in particular, carry that delicious friction of structure and wildness: beautiful, moody chaos pressed into panels. Francis doesn’t just illustrate stories. He conjures atmospheres where stories might start misbehaving. Which is, frankly, our kind of vibe.

I. DOLLAR SIGNS, DETROIT ROOTS & THE SOUND OF STYLE

You once wrote that you tried to replace every “S” in the dictionary with a dollar sign. True story? And does that kind of playful rebellion show up in your art too?

Amazing question! For better or worse, I’ve always had a contrarian streak and a desire to subvert expectations. That anecdote actually comes from a snippet I added to my website years ago, definitely inspired by A$AP Rocky or maybe another rapper I was listening to at the time, plus a healthy dose of Dave Choe. I think I wanted the audience’s search experience to mirror how I’d show up to Ringling in a velour short set and a sideways Ecko hat, only to drop a killer cast drawing while blasting Three 6 Mafia. Even back then, I loved defying assumptions.

You’re a Detroit native with Mexican-American roots, a dad who played blues rock, and a childhood filled with comics and Nintendo. How do all those influences show up in your work today?

They’re everywhere. My neighborhood was 100% Black, my school 100% white, my weekends filled with Mexican ballads and Irish holiday decorations. My dad had that Harley-riding, bar-playing blues energy. My mom was incredibly structured. So I became a blend of introverted comic-book nerd and overachieving jock. I soaked up RJD2 and DJ Shadow in college, and the sample-based mentality just clicked. I’m always remixing influences. Add that to my reverence for Todd McFarlane, and you start to see why my work aims for both bounce and boldness. I want even my academic pieces to move like a great beat.

You’ve said you want your art to “sound like the scene.” How does that work in practice? Do you literally paint to music?

Yes! I absolutely choose music to match the energy of whatever I’m working on. That’s especially true for Jazz Day, where I had Kamasi Washington and Gerry Mulligan on repeat. But more broadly, I think every mark has its own rhythm. Illustration, like music, is built on composition. So why not treat a canvas like a beat? I love that quote by Pollock about expressing feeling, not illustrating it. That’s the goal. My favorite visual artists were like jazz musicians: mid-century illustrators responding to abstraction, new tech, and the rise of photography with bold, kinetic work.

II. MYTHS, COMICS & VISUAL STORYTELLING

After Jazz Day, you illustrated Neil Gaiman’s Anansi Boys. That’s a leap: from real-life legends to folklore. How did that shift affect your approach?

Totally different process. I had 2.5 years for Jazz Day and only 9 months for Anansi Boys, so I had to streamline. Hello, Cintiq. But also, Anansi Boys was more conceptual. I pitched ideas across 300 pages of text and had way more freedom. It pushed me out of narrative literalism and into surreal, visual metaphor territory. Gaiman’s fanbase is passionate, so yes, I was nervous! Especially following illustrators like Dave McKean and Robert McGinnis. But once I started covering the walls with sticky notes and channeling the vibe, it flowed.

You’ve said Todd McFarlane’s Spawn is the reason you became an artist. How has your comic book background influenced your work, even outside traditional comics?

Spawn blew my mind at 12. It was all style and swagger; McFarlane and later Capullo just broke rules left and right. I copied their drawings obsessively. Then The Matrix came out and felt like a direct spiritual cousin. In art school, I had no knowledge of traditional art history. Just comics. So that energy is baked in. I’ve worked on some smaller sequential projects and always sneak comic-style flow into chapter headings or visual pacing. I’m not built (yet) for a full graphic novel, but I’m not ruling it out either.

You straddle the gallery and commercial worlds. Do you approach a piece differently depending on where it’s headed?

Honestly, no. Not much changes aside from the deadline. A gallery piece might start as a quick sketch or editorial job, then evolve. If the deadline’s tight, I go semi-digital. If I have time, I stay traditional. I love artists like Dave McKean or Kent Williams who blend fine art and illustration. To me, the medium doesn’t matter, just the message.

III. MENTORS, MAKING & PASSING IT ON

You earned a BFA at Ringling and an MA at SCAD, but credit the Illustration Academy and mentorship with shaping your true style. Why were those outside-the-classroom experiences so impactful?

I switched majors late, so I missed a lot of core illustration instruction. Luckily, I stumbled into the Illustration Academy, right on Ringling’s campus. It was life-changing. Imagine being mentored by Mark English, Barron Storey, C.F. Payne, Jon Foster, all in one summer. George Pratt became my main mentor. We’d go plein air painting together. Later, we shared a studio. Same with Paul Pope. He showed me what a working artist’s life really looked like. I now try to pass all that on to my students at CCS. I tell them: find your Yoda.

You’re a professor now and also create work meant to inspire youth, like your Arctic zine after your Alaskan residency. How do those worlds influence each other?

Teaching grounds me. It keeps me social, aware, and grateful. The Arctic residency - Voices of the Wilderness - was a chance to show Detroit kids what’s possible with a pencil. We take water and warmth for granted, but out there, you learn humility. I turned it into a zine and hope it shows young people that caring is cool. And that art can take you places. Literally.

You’re also Chair of Art-ology, a nonprofit creating art access for Detroit and Windsor youth. Why is this mission so personal for you?

Because I lived it. Art school is expensive. I had a rough high school art experience. Without scholarships and mentors, I wouldn’t be here. Now I want to help others access the same magic. Art-ology is about bringing curated, high-quality guidance to kids who might not find it otherwise. My co-leads Sophia and Nia do the heavy lifting. I’m just honored to be part of the mission.

IV. WHAT’S NEXT?

You’ve done jazz, mythology, comics, and the Arctic. What’s next for Francis Vallejo?

Honestly, everything. I’m getting married soon and planning for a family, which has me reenergized. I feel like I’m 21 again, tabling at conventions, taking business classes, teaching, planning exhibitions. Most excitingly, I’ve landed on a new art-making process that synthesizes everything I’ve learned into something cohesive. I’m building a full body of work around it. The dollar signs may have evolved, but the energy? Still there. Still bouncing.