Let’s talk about the art for Folklore Americana—how it’s being done, what it’s supposed to feel like, and where it’s coming from.

I’m Rick Hershey. I’m the writer of the game, but I’m also doing all the art and design myself. That’s always been part of the plan — this isn’t a team of freelancers stitched together. It’s a singular vision for what this world looks like, down to the ink on the page.

The cover art is full color and inspired by classic American illustration, especially the Saturday Evening Post covers by Norman Rockwell. I chose the cover art style because it’s iconic, nostalgic, and instantly recognizable. I grew up with one of those oversized Norman Rockwell art books on the shelf, and I’ve always admired his work. There’s something powerful about how wholesome and idealized his depictions of America were — and that’s exactly why it works for Folklore Americana. It’s the other side of the coin. It sets the stage for the kind of story we’re telling: one that’s about what’s under the surface. 

For the interior, everything is black-and-white linework — no greyscale washes, no painterly effects, and no shortcuts. It’s all digital pen and ink, using custom brushes I’ve spent years building and collecting. I want the art to feel worn, gritty, and rural—like it came from the pages of some old paperback novel you found as a kid at a flea market. Something a little too detailed for comfort. 

It’s a style that fits the period and tone better than color ever could. Black-and-white illustration has this raw, exposed quality to it. It forces your brain to do some of the work, to sit in the shadows a bit longer. Every line matters. Every shadow has weight.

Stylistically, the interior art pulls heavily from the artists I grew up studying and obsessing over — people whose work felt like it meant something. Folks like Bernie Wrightson, with his gothic shadows and obsessive crosshatching. Sergio Toppi, whose compositions were wild and free but never messy. Barry Windsor-Smith, especially his Weapon X era—raw, scratchy, full of tragic weight. Mark Schultz, with that classic adventure feel and ridiculous attention to detail.

But there are others, too — Franklin Booth, whose turn-of-the-century linework looked like engraving and made every sky feel holy. Howard Pyle, whose storytelling instincts were baked into every brushstroke. Even some Charles Dana Gibson and Joseph Clement Coll in terms of texture and form. I’m not trying to mimic any one of them, but the DNA is there. The goal is to create art that feels obsessed over — that looks like it came from someone who couldn’t let it go.

There’s a weight to this kind of linework. Faces feel lived-in. Buildings feel like they’ve been standing too long. You can see the places and feel the weight of the imagery. The kind of art that doesn’t just decorate a page, it tells you what kind of world you’ve stepped into, even before you read a word.

I’ve been working in the tabletop and publishing industry for over two decades, with a focus on illustration, design, and layout. I handled most of the interior art for the recent World’s Largest Dungeon re-release, which raised over a million dollars on Backerkit, and I’ve been creating daily stock art on Patreon since 2017. That stock art has appeared in thousands of publications, and I’ve worked directly with companies like Steve Jackson Games (The Fantasy Trip, Car Wars), DMDave Publishing, Wizards of the Coast, Pinnacle Entertainment, and dozens of other publishers across the industry. I also co-founded Fat Goblin Games and ran it for 13 years. 

Outside of games, I’ve worked in film and television as a freelance illustrator and designer. I created initial concept art for DreamWorks on Cowboys & Aliens, designed on-screen and prop artwork for HBO’s Watchmen, and did similar visual work for the 1970s-set heist series Fight Night, which features Don Cheadle, Samuel L. Jackson, and Kevin Hart. Whether it’s for tabletop or screen, my goal has always been the same: build visual worlds that feel real, strange, and lived-in.

I run Kids in the Attic, and these days, I take creative lead on all our projects — something I didn’t always do in my earlier years in this industry. For a long time, I saw myself mainly as an artist or designer supporting other people’s visions. But with Folklore Americana and everything we’re building now, I’m finally trusting my own voice as a writer and creator. I handle the writing, art, and layout, shaping each book from top to bottom. I still lean on Lucus Palosaari and Geoff Gander to help polish the final product and make sure everything holds together, but the creative direction starts with me.

The goal with Folklore Americana is to make something that feels complete, like a relic from a world that almost existed. It’s strange, grounded, a little dangerous, and personal in a way I haven’t had the chance to do before. 

—Rick