Before Ys had its final title, it already had its cover. Joanna Newsom later told Pitchfork that the name was the last thing she chose, after the songs and the artwork were finished. That order matters because the painting was never meant as a literal illustration of the Breton legend of the sunken city of Ys. It was its own carefully built world.
California artist Benjamin A. Vierling painted Newsom in a deliberately old-master mode. She sits in a throne-like chair beside a window, her blond hair braided, flowers arranged around her head and clothing. In one hand she holds a sickle. In the other is a tiny gilt-framed image of a moth. A blackbird stands at the window with a cherry in its beak, while hills and valleys recede into the distance.
The process was as important as the imagery. Drag City's contemporary description emphasized Vierling's use of layered egg tempera and glazes, invoking sixteenth-century methods. Newsom told Pitchfork that Vierling spent about a year on the painting. She valued its density, formality and extreme care because those qualities felt closely related to the record itself.
Then came the title. Newsom wanted something that would push against all that refinement. She described Ys as short, cryptic and violent—a word that would hit the elaborate image with the force of a brick. The tension is built into the finished sleeve: a painstakingly composed painting confronted by two severe letters.
That makes the cover less like packaging around the songs than another layer of the album's construction. Ys contains only five tracks, but they unfold across long, densely written narratives with orchestral arrangements by Van Dyke Parks. Vierling's painting asks for the same kind of attention. The longer you look, the more objects, gestures and relationships emerge.
