So it is fitting that it’s Say’s art that truly tells Castle’s story. Written in the voice of a nephew of Castle, the tale is spare and almost detached, but the images reveal the torment of his silent, lonely childhood and the passion of creation. When young James has his art supplies taken away, he creates his own pencil with a sharpened stick and soot mixed with his spit. Say’s recreations of Castle’s work illustrates a mesmerizing vision of the world. (The book does not include any reproductions of Castle’s actual art.) The heartbreak of Castle discarding, at one point, his artwork is shown in a bleak charcoal rendering — his arms blurring with fluttering sheets of paper, making it seem as if he is truly casting away parts of himself.

When Castle’s art is finally discovered by the art world and he has his own show, it is almost an anticlimax: “The turnout was good and a few pieces were sold.” Many readers may find it unsatisfactory. But Say, a Caldecott Medal winner for “Grandfather’s Journey,” has given us a portrait of the purest of artists — one unconcerned about receiving glory for his art, yet desperately passionate about its creation. There is much to ponder here about how an artist’s mind works.

Image From “Lines.”

In the transcendent wordless picture book “Lines,” Suzy Lee (“Wave,” “Shadow”) uses her pencil to draw the reader into layers of her imagination. The book opens to a drawing of a blank page, with only a pencil and eraser. From there, we follow a lone, red-capped ice skater who glides on an expanse of white ice, her skates creating a trailing line behind here. She spins and twirls with exuberance, but when she attempts a spinning jump, her landing falters. It is only when the skater falls that we see that the ice has been the blank sheet of paper and the marks from her skates are pencil lines. The paper is temporary crumpled up as we are reminded of the beginning image, and, with a thrill, we realize we are seeing through the eyes of the artist as well as feeling her frustration. Luckily, the unseen artist reconsiders and smooths out her paper and the skater reappears. From there new skaters begin to jubilantly join the drawing, the hundreds of “mistake” lines and eraser marks becoming their skate tracks. The closing endpapers feature a drawing of an ice pond, presumably the artist’s finished piece, on a pile of sketches.

It’s a magical, inventive journey through the artistic process. The mistakes, as well as the perseverance, needed to create are charmingly personified by the skater. Her motion and body language are captured with marvelous skill, each drawn mark alive with quiet energy —rendering words unnecessary. “Lines” truly underscores Lee’s mastery of the wordless picture book form.