You know that feeling when you see a simple doodle and it suddenly makes you want to cry? That’s basically the power of The Little Prince art. It’s weird, honestly. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wasn't a "professional" artist in the way we think of people who spend years in stuffy galleries. He was a pilot. He flew mail planes over the Sahara and the Andes, constantly flirting with death. And yet, the watercolor sketches he left behind have become some of the most recognizable images in human history.
Why do we care so much about a blond kid in a scarf?
Most people think the book is for children. It isn’t. Not really. It’s a survival manual for the soul, and the artwork is the map. If you look at the original sketches, they’re fragile. They look like they might blow away if you sneeze too hard. But that's the point. The art mirrors the philosophy: what is essential is invisible to the eye.
The Mystery of the Original Watercolors
It’s kind of wild to think that the original manuscript for Le Petit Prince isn’t even in France. It’s in New York City. Specifically, it lives at the Morgan Library & Museum. Saint-Exupéry wrote and illustrated the whole thing while he was in "exile" in the United States during World War II. He was miserable. He was lonely. He was struggling with health issues and a messy personal life.
You can see that exhaustion in the lines of The Little Prince art.
Take the famous drawing of the boa constrictor digesting an elephant. It’s the very first thing you see. To a "grown-up," it looks like a hat. But Saint-Exupéry is testing us right out of the gate. He’s asking: "Are you boring? Have you lost your imagination?" If you see the hat, you’re part of the problem.
The art wasn't an afterthought. It wasn't something added to make the book sell better. He drew as he wrote. In fact, he often used whatever paper was lying around—onionskin, napkins, or even the back of letters. This gives the work a raw, immediate quality that high-definition digital art just can't touch.
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Why the Style Feels So Personal
Let’s talk about the style. It’s minimalist. Actually, it’s beyond minimalist. It’s reductive.
Saint-Exupéry uses huge amounts of "white space." The Prince is often standing on a tiny asteroid, surrounded by nothing but the void of the page. This creates a massive sense of scale and loneliness. You feel the isolation of Asteroid B-612 just by looking at the distance between the Prince and his rose.
He didn't use a lot of shading. He didn't care about perfect anatomy. The Prince’s proportions are a bit wonky. His feet are tiny. His coat is oversized. But the colors—those soft, bleeding watercolors—give it a dreamlike vibe. It feels like a memory you’re trying to hold onto before it fades.
The fox is another great example. He’s basically just a few orange triangles and a long tail. Yet, the way he sits, looking up at the Prince, perfectly captures the concept of "taming" or creating ties. It’s emotional shorthand. You don’t need 4K resolution to understand heartbreak or friendship.
The Problem with Modern Adaptations
Every few years, someone tries to "update" the art. We get 3D animated movies, high-gloss picture books, and VR experiences.
Most of them miss the mark.
When you add too much detail to The Little Prince art, you actually take something away. If you can see every individual hair on the fox's head or the texture of the Prince’s scarf, the mystery vanishes. The original art works because it leaves room for the reader to fill in the gaps with their own feelings. It’s an invitation, not a lecture.
The 2015 film did a pretty cool thing, though. They used stop-motion paper models for the "book" sequences to keep that hand-crafted feel. They realized that CGI looks too "perfect" for a story about the beauty of imperfections.
Collecting and the Market Value of a Doodle
If you’re looking to buy a piece of this history, bring your checkbook. Or maybe a loan officer.
In 2017, a set of original watercolor illustrations—sketches Saint-Exupéry sent to his friend—sold for over $500,000 at an auction in Paris. People aren't just buying art; they’re buying a piece of the author's spirit. Because he disappeared in his plane over the Mediterranean in 1944, just a year after the book was published, he never saw it become a global phenomenon.
There is a sort of tragic weight to every stroke of his pen.
For the rest of us, "collecting" usually means high-quality lithographs or museum-grade prints. If you’re hunting for authentic-feeling decor, look for "Pochoir" prints. This is a manual stenciling technique that mimics the look of watercolor better than standard digital printing. It keeps the edges soft and the colors layered.
The Most Misunderstood Drawings
People always get the Baobabs wrong.
In the art, the Baobabs look like giant, gnarled trees that are literally exploding the Prince’s planet. People think they’re just "nature." But Saint-Exupéry was writing in 1942. The Baobabs are widely considered a metaphor for Nazism—something that starts as a small seed (an idea) and, if not pulled up early, grows to destroy everything.
The art makes them look terrifying. They aren't "pretty" like the Rose. They are heavy, dark, and suffocating. This is where the art shifts from whimsical to political, and it’s a masterclass in how to use simple shapes to convey a massive, terrifying threat.
Practical Ways to Bring the Art Into Your Life
Maybe you want a tattoo. Maybe you want a wall mural. Whatever it is, there are some "rules" to keeping the vibe right.
Stick to the palette. The original colors are specific: ochre yellows, soft cerulean blues, a very specific muted crimson for the rose. If you go too neon or too saturated, it stops feeling like The Little Prince.
Respect the line work. The lines are shaky. They aren't "clean" illustrator lines. If you’re doing a DIY project, don't use a ruler. Let the hand-drawn shakiness stay. That’s where the humanity is.
Embrace the void. Don't clutter the space. If you're hanging a print, give it a massive white mat. The art needs room to breathe, just like the Prince needed room to breathe on his tiny planet.
Real Talk on Licensing and Fakes
Because the book is so famous, there’s a ton of cheap, unlicensed junk out there. If the Prince looks like a generic anime character, skip it. The official Saint-Exupéry estate (the Succession Saint-Exupéry-d'Agay) is actually pretty strict about how the images are used. They try to keep the integrity of the original sketches intact.
The best way to experience the art, honestly, is still the 1943 edition. Even the way the text wraps around the drawings was intentional. It’s a total sensory package.
Actionable Steps for Enthusiasts
If you're looking to dive deeper into the visual world of Saint-Exupéry, don't just search for "posters."
- Visit the Morgan Library (Digitally or in person): They have a massive archive of his preliminary sketches. Seeing the "mistakes"—the coffee stains, the crossed-out lines—makes the final art feel so much more real.
- Search for "Saint-Exupéry Drawings": He drew more than just the Prince. His sketches of fellow pilots and planes show a much more technical side of his talent that eventually evolved into the simplified style of the book.
- Look for Gallimard Editions: If you want the "true" French aesthetic, the editions by the French publisher Gallimard are usually the gold standard for color reproduction.
- Experiment with Watercolor: Try to recreate the "A hat or a boa?" drawing. You’ll quickly realize that making something look that simple is actually incredibly difficult. It requires knowing exactly what to leave out.
The art isn't just a decoration. It’s a reminder that we were all children once, even if we’ve forgotten it. When you look at the Prince staring at his sunset, you’re not just looking at a drawing; you’re looking at a man’s attempt to find peace in the middle of a world war. That’s why it still matters. It’s not just "cute." It’s a protest against the "mathematicians" and the "businessmen" of the world who forgot how to look at the stars.
Stay curious. Look for the elephant inside the hat.