Tim Hildebrandt, one half of the legendary artistic duo the Brothers Hildebrandt, died on 11 June 2006. Complications from diabetes. As you can see, he was only 67. What a terrible, unfortunate loss.
Every time someone like Tim Hildebrandt dies, it’s like a little piece of me goes with them. Unfortunately, there arent a whole lot of new folks springing up anymore to replace those pieces. I’m beginning to look like a poorly-tended, aging mosaic. Where has our brilliance gone? I sure hope another crop turns up soon. I’ve…we’ve…never been more in need of the inspiration.
The bright side is that Tim, and his twin brother Greg, will live forever in spite of their all-too-mortal flesh. Remember him, rejoice in his art, and browse their galleries. Many a happy hour have I passed staring into their world. I like to believe that they are responsible for helping to develop some of the best of the few good bits amongst the bad that make up who I am.
One of my most treasured possessions is an original promotional Star Wars flat that my mother brought home for me one day in 1977, just after the release of the first movie. We all saw that first incredible film together on opening day, and I continued that opening day tradition right through Episode III, even though George Lucas doesnt deserve that kind of devotion anymore, and hasn’t for a long time. The story and the legend does, though, and I’m proud to say I carried on even though Lucas fell down on his part. My mom and my brother were there with me, in spirit, for every single viewing since then.
I still remember that first opening day, how my brother accidentally tripped over a power cord and unplugged a video game that four (subsequently outraged) guys were playing in the lobby of the movie theater…the RKO Keith’s on Main Street in Flushing…and how, immediately after the movie, while he, my mother, and I were waiting for the bus to take us back home, my mom remarked that it probably wouldn’t be long before my brother, who was an exceedingly adept mimic of odd noises, would be able to reproduce the sound effects we’d just been bathed in.
As she was speaking, Jim, who was eight, pre-asshole, and in his own world, erupted into an astoundingly accurate series of boops and tweets a la R2D2 right behind us. My mother and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. Whenever I think about Star Wars…which is pretty well constantly since I have Star Wars crap all over the place…I think about that day, my mother, my brother, New York…and that piece of art by Tim Hildebrandt.
Tim has been credited as the artist of that piece, and for 31 years I have carefully preserved that flat my mother gave me. It’s an integral part of my childhood and my life. It’s still considered a favourite piece of Star Wars art by many. I cherish this one piece of art so highly that I have never even had the urge to get it signed, though the Brothers Hildebrandt did do frequent signings over in Santa Monica and lots of other places, and the likelihood is that Greg will continue to do so now that Tim is gone.
I never wanted it signed, not by the artists or by the cast of the movie. Even so, when I read that Tim had died, I instantly thought of that flat and felt a twinge of remorse that now I’d never have the opportunity to change my mind. I mean, I could have gotten him at least to sign the back of it, right?
But I think it was more about wanting to meet him and thank him for sharing his art and what he did for me than getting my precious Star Wars flat signed, though. It’s a wrench to realize that he’s gone now, forever, and his pens and brushes will be forever idle, and I’ll never have the chance to shake his hand and express my gratitude for giving me some of the most brilliant fantasy and sci-fi art I’d ever seen during my formative years and beyond.
The Brothers Hildebrandt are as famous for their Lord of the Rings art as they are for their Star Wars art, and I cannot tell you how many hours on end I would sit and pore over every minute detail of their depictions of the lands and personas of Middle Earth and the Star Wars universe. Even when it veered from my own mental images, it was still always so rich and detailed and enthralling that I had to stare at it and study every leaf, every star, every blade of grass and pebble, until my eyes watered.
All their art has tended to capitivate me completely because of the incredible richness and detail. Even Greg’s pinup stuff, which the elitist snob in me tends to view with a gimlet eye, is still amazing art, even though I think the subject matter is just way beneath his level of talent. It’s kind of like ordering filet mignon at a roadside diner. If he’s going to paint a bunch of bimbos, at least he could give them swords or something, you know? But then, to each their own. 
That’s what art is all about, in the end. And still, the art is incredible.
The Brothers Hildebrandt have had their talented, paint-stained fingers in almost every literary sword and sorcery and fantasy pie for the past million or so years, and have enriched the stories they have illustrated. For many people, myself included, you can’t think of Lord of the Rings, or the Shannara series, or Star Wars, or Magic: The Gathering, or any number of other stories without seeing their distinctive art in your mind’s eye. Tim Hildebrandt’s loss leaves us with less beauty in the world, but at least we will always have the incredible work he left behind during his amazing career, and we will continue to have Greg’s art until he, too, lays down his implements of extraordinary vision. Tim and Greg Hildebrandt have made our world a better place to have eyes, and heart, and imagination in, and Tim Hildebrandt will be sorely missed.
Thanks for everything, Tim.
Buy fresh foods instead of frozen (takes energy to freeze them, energy to store them, energy to cook them)
