The Monday Tilley Watch

A new feature in the new week. Around here at the Spill this roller coaster cartoon life begins anew every monday with the publication of the latest issue of the New Yorker. 

The latest issue is the klieg light for cartoonists; we go to it with some higher level of curiosity: to see who’s in and what our colleagues have come up with; to see, and yes, judge, whether we believe the work is great, good, bad, or so-so; whether there’s a just published drawing exactly like the one we were about to submit; whether there’s a drawing we’ll never forget, or never remember.  I’ve always thought of every new issue’s cartoons as fuel — whether I like what I see or dislike it, it somehow gets the new week going…with a bang.

The Monday Tilley Watch is a look at the latest issue. I’ll record whose work we see, and whatever peripheral thought about the cartoon or cartoonist hits me at the moment. I’ll likely wander into other departments as well (at least mentioning the Art Department’s baby: the cover).  It is not at all like what my friends over at the Cartoon Companion do. They dissect each cartoon and then rate it, bringing an objectivity to this party I can’t (neither of the Cartoon Companion fellows contribute to The New Yorker…yet).

And off we go. 

  The issue of July 24, 2017

… We begin with a political cover by Barry Blitt (surprise!) featuring the President and two of his children —  the cover was already mentioned, and shown here at the end of last week…I note on the Table of Contents that there are no special cartoon features this week (no full pages…at least, none listed here… no spreads, etc.)..and then onto The Talk of The Town, still headed by the newly modernized Rea Irvin masthead. I’m going to keep wishing the previous masthead returns — the one that was in place for 91 years. The magazine has, in very recent times, tried out redesigns up front only to pull them back. If only it would happen here.  I also note on the Talk page that there’s a wonderful Tom Bachtell drawing of the President and his in-the-news son; Donald and Donald, Jr. making their second appearance in the issue and we’re only 15 pages in. 

The first cartoon of the issue is by a relative newcomer, Amy Hwang, who’s closing in on her seventh year contributing to the magazine…it’s followed by a P.C. Vey cartoon featuring nudity. There haven’t been all that many nude cartoon characters in the New Yorker in recent years, so, a novelty.  Mr. Vey’s been contributing to The New Yorker for quite some time (his first appeared in 1993)…then a Barbara Smaller drawing — it might possibly be related to the Trump family, or not (Ms. Smaller’s first New Yorker cartoon appeared in 1996); an Edward Koren drawing is up next.  Mr. Koren is our senior (in terms of years contributing) cartoonist, and a national treasure — his first New Yorker drawing appeared in May of 1962…

Paul Karasik, whose first drawing appeared in 1999, has the next drawing. No cartoonist can resist drawing talking fish in a fishbowl.  Mr. Karasik’s other lines of work include teaching and authoring (his new book, How to Read Nancy, was noted on the Spill  last week). Liana Finck is next.  We rarely see scout drawings in the magazine anymore.  I think back to some classics by Peter Arno and Charles Addams.  It should be noted that Ms. Finck, whose first drawing appeared in the magazine in 2013,  has an opening this week of her Instagram work.   Next is a doctor-themed drawing by one who knows about doctors, Ben Schwartz

…Sam Gross, another national treasure, has the next cartoon — let’s just say it’s about the working life of dogs.  Mr. Gross’s first New Yorker cartoon appeared in 1969. Mr. Gross is among a small group whose work I enjoy at first sight, before even taking in the what the drawing is all about (George Booth and the aforementioned Edward Koren come to mind as among the others in that group — I love seeing their work).  Next up is another relative newcomer (first drawing in The New Yorker in 2013), Ed Steed.  Three on-the-dark-side cartoons by Mr. Steed in the last three issues. Of note: this one stretches along the very bottom of two pages…

…Mr. Steed’s drawing is followed by the veteran, Roz Chast (her first cartoon was published in the magazine in 1978).  I love how this particular cartoon looks on the page (yesterday’s Spill concerned itself with placement). William Haefeli‘s drawing is next (first New Yorker drawing: 1998).  Mr. Haefeli has one of the most distinctive styles of this current stable of cartoonists.  And speaking of distinctive styles, Drew Dernavich has the next cartoon.  Some cartoonist’s styles are easily summarized (“the dot guy” for instance) —  Mr. Dernavich’s tag might be “the woodcut guy.” (Mr. Dernavich should not be confused with John Held, Jr., the New Yorker ‘s much earlier “woodcut guy”).   A Robert Leighton cartoon is next. Mr. Leighton is the artist behind this classic cartoon. His first drawing appeared in The New Yorker in 2002. In this new drawing he mixes crime with a food cart.   Alex Gregory’s very Summery drawing follows.  Mr. Gregory, like a few other cartoonists, has another whole career: he’s a writer for the award-winning televison show, VEEP.  His first New Yorker cartoon appeared in 1999.

As usual, The Cartoon Caption Contest ends the issue. Drawings by David Borchart (first New Yorker cartoon published 2007), Tom Cheney (first New Yorker cartoon published 1978), and P.C. Vey. The drawings feature a food cart (two food carts in this issue!), a whole lot of business men following some ancient warriors on horses, and a hospital scene that blends in a little stadium gear.   

 

 

 

New New Yorker Cartoonists, Pt.3: Charlie Hankin

This is third part of an Ink Spill series looking at newer New Yorker cartoonists. I asked three of the most recent additions to the magazine’s stable of artists to tell us a little about themselves and how it was they ended up at The New Yorker (previously we heard from Liana Finck and Edward Steed). The  series wraps up with the newest of the trio: Charlie Hankin, whose first cartoon appeared in The New Yorker this past August (a Hankin cartoon from The New Yorker, October 14, 2014 appears below).

And now, here’s Charlie:

 

CharlieHankin_7615_cSashaArutyunova_WEB-1Hankin: Cardwells

I’ve been drawing cartoons in some form or another, on and off, since I was a kid. My main inspirations were strips and long-form pieces; I was young when Calvin and Hobbes stopped running, but I think I had read every strip by the time it ended, as well as most of the Tintin books. Eventually I grew into the more mature comics we had lying around the house–my dad curated a show of original work from Art Spiegelman’s RAW in 1987, and his complete collection of the series was a major discovery for me when I was a teenager. But gag cartooning always appealed to me, and I pored over anthologies of cartoons from Punch and The New Yorker.

My interest in cartooning went through cycles. I did single-panel bits for my high school newspaper, and then nothing until a single installment of a graphic-novel/zine I drew in college. After school, I got deep into realist painting. I also started a comedy webseries called Good Cop Great Cop with my friend Matt Porter. Maybe the merging of art and comedy finally attracted me to cartooning for The New Yorker. Either way, it seemed like a good fit: both the webseries and my paintings have undertones of dry, quiet absurdity.

Since entering the fold, it’s been great to meet some of the big names in cartooning–Roz Chast, David Sipress, Sam Gross, and of course Bob [Mankoff]. Ben Schwartz and Liam Walsh have both given me guidance. And I dig around the archives for extra inspiration. Much older generations aside (Chas Addams, Peter Arno, et al.), I love Mick Stevens, Mike Twohy, Tom Cheney, Leo Cullum, Jack Ziegler, Danny Shanahan, and too many others to name.

 

 

Further reading:

To see Charlie Hankin’s New Yorker work, link here to The New Yorker‘s Cartoon Bank.

Link here to visit Charlie’s webseries, Good Cop Great Cop.

To visit his website, link here:  charliehankin.com.

Photo: Sasha Arutyunova

 

 

Catching Up With…Roz Chast

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Roz Chast has been contributing her work to The New Yorker since 1978 when she burst on the scene in the magazine’s pages causing a mixture of excitement and in some quarters, just a little confusion.  The veteran New Yorker cartoonist, Charles Saxon, a giant in the  magazine’s ranks, queried Ms. Chast, and not in the most positive sense,  “Why do you draw the way you do?”  She responded, “Why do you draw the way you do?”

 

Since that time Ms. Chast has herself gone on to become a giant in the ranks of the magazine’s contributors. Most everyone knows what a Chast drawing looks like (and often they smile just upon hearing her name).

RC
Roz and I have known each other since the year our work first appeared in The New Yorker, Incoming Class of ’78.  I remember being introduced to her by the cartoonist, Richard Cline, in the Grand Ballroom of the Pierre Hotel, where The New Yorker once held its anniversary parties.  We email from time-to-time, and recently, I asked her if she’d let Ink Spill visitors in on what’s happening in her life these days.

 

Michael Maslin:  Roz, when we connected a few weeks ago you were making your first pickles.  It’s not at all what I imagined you would be doing that day.  I’m not sure what I imagined you’d be doing, but it wasn’t that.  What’s with the pickling? And how did it go?

 

Roz Chast: I have a couple of friends who are obsessed with pickle-making. Looking back, I think it was peer pressure. Anyway, my pickles were ok. Don’t know if I’ll do it again, though. Voice in my head right now: shut up about the pickles. [Roz’s first batch of pickles are in the photo above].

 

MM:I know you’ve returned to one of your passions: pysanka egg-decorating. I love seeing group photographs of them, as if they’re assembled for a concert or something.  When you’re decorating them, are they individuals, or do they belong to various egg families?  In other words, is there ever a story between them, or are they strangers to each other? Am I making sense?

 

imagesRC: They are both individuals and part of a group. With the pysanka dyes, each egg becomes very pretty in its own way, but when you put them all together, they become almost head-explodingly pretty.

 

MM: I know you’ve been working on a book, coming out next May, and that it’s perhaps different from previous books of yours. Can you tell us us about it?

 

51DlvVXiTiL._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_RC: It’s called Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?, which is what my father used to say whenever a difficult topic, like death or illness, came up.  It’s a graphic memoir and includes writing (nothing typeset), cartoons, illustrations, some of my mother’s poems, photographs, and, as they say, much, much more. The book begins when I realized I had to “step up to the plate” and deal with their increasing frailty—that none of us could continue sticking out heads in the sand– and it ends with my mother’s death.

 

MM: Let’s turn to our favorite magazine for a moment.  A good percentage of the cartoonists who began when we did, in the mid-to-late 1970s, are still contributing to the magazine. They’re (we’re) continuing a tradition of long careers for cartoonists at The New Yorker. Jack Ziegler, Mick Stevens, yourself, Liza Donnelly, Tom Cheney, and, of course, our current cartoon editor, Bob Mankoff are full participants nearly some forty years into it.  What do you make of that, if anything?

 

RC: Hasn’t it always been that way, in a way? When I started, it seemed like there were lots of older people who had been contributing for several decades.

 

MM: Has anything changed for you regarding your work…the way you work, I mean.  What’s it like for you now in 2013, going on 2014 when you sit at your drawing board? Is it any different than what it was like in say, 1982 or 1990 or 2005?

 

RC: It’s the same in a lot of ways. I still contribute a weekly “batch.” I still use a Rapidograph-type pen and draw on 9 by 12 Vellum Bristol paper. I still am happy when something makes me laugh. I no longer go in to The New Yorker in person—I send my work in via pdf, so that’s different. And of course, I’m a lot older and closer to death now than I was when I started. Let’s change the subject.

 

Click here to vist Roz Chast’s website.

Click here to see Roz’s work at The New Yorker‘s Cartoon Bank site.

 

Tom Cheney: Lessons from Charles Rodrigues

tom-cheney-paper-or-plastic-new-yorker-cartoon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the second installment in an Ink Spill series of cartoonists talking about the important cartoon connections in their lives.  Felipe Galindo wrote about Steinberg last week.  This week, Tom Cheney, who began contributing to The New Yorker in 1978 (one of his most famous contributions is above) writes about the late Charles Rodrigues, whose work is perhaps most associated with National Lampoon.

 

Lessons From Rodrigues

I can’t say that I’ve been influenced by just one or even many cartoonists, because all of my predecessors, as well as my peers, have taught me valuable lessons about this art over the years. There is, however, one cartoonist whom I’ve always regarded as my favorite, and whose work has always inspired me to put forth my best efforts as a cartoonist.
I discovered Charles Rodrigues’ cartoons when I was twelve years old.  I was thumbing through a copy of Cracked magazine and found a regular feature he was doing for them entitled “Shut-ups.”   I then began following his work in other magazines and discovered how versatile he was in addition to being consistently original.  I’ve always been enchanted with the way Charles draws. Take any character out of one of his cartoons, paste it to a plain white background, and you’ve got a complete,  ready-made cartoon.
I began reading National Lampoon when I was a freshman in college, and that’s where I saw the unleashed Charles Rodrigues test the subject boundaries of the single panel cartoon and the full page comic strip.  Joining him were Sam Gross, and John Caldwell.  Sam’s characters, if taken out of context, were nothing short of adorable, but he was an expert at putting them in themes and situations that would make a prison guard blush.   His amazing use of cuteness combined with shock was an explosively funny technique.  John Caldwell was just beginning to emerge as a cartoonist, but he already had a unique brand of humor that kept me rolling on the floor.  For John, the window of weirdness would open up, and he would just walk right in.   I regarded them, along with the other ‘Lampoon cartoonists, as explorers.  They were walking up to the edge and spitting over the railing.  For me, the prospect of being able to draw cartoons like that for a living began to overshadow anything that I might ever accomplish as a psychology major.  Consequently, I also took as many art courses as would fit into my schedule.
Shortly after graduating from Potsdam State College in 1976, I made the unfortunate mistake of turning my back on an acutely psychotic patient while I was working the night shift at a psychiatric facility.  He seized the opportunity to smash a chair across my back.  The following day I decided to become a professional cartoonist.  There would be no plan B.
I was discovering the New Yorker cartoonists at this time, and every single one of them had a lesson for me with each of their cartoons that appeared.  Charles Addams and George Booth taught me that you can never have too many details in a cartoon, as long as they contribute to its theme.  Lee Lorenz still dazzles me with his brilliant handling of bold lines, and how he can make a complex drawing look like it was done with a single brush stroke.  His thoughtful editing of my work during my early days at The New Yorker was immeasurably helpful in developing my drawing style.  Both Lee and Charles Saxon taught me the power of dynamics and good composition.  Arnie Levin and Charles Barsotti taught me the strength of simplicity, and how it’s possible to set off a humor “grenade” with just a few lines. Bob Mankoff, Jack Ziegler, William Hamilton, Al Ross, and Robert Weber taught me how effective it can be to match one’s drawing style to one’s particular brand of humor.  All of them were and are ingenious gag writers, and they’ve all taught me that the most important ingredient in every cartoon is a good solid idea.
Freelance cartoonists do not live by one magazine alone, and I found it necessary to keep as many magazines on my submissions list as possible, including The New Yorker.  Thus far, it’s been a 37 year journey that’s taken me from the boggy depths of Hustler to the erudite stratosphere of The New Yorker.  Along the way, I’ve frequently asked myself, “What would Charles Rodrigues do with this or that subject?”  I often relied on the most important lessons I learned from studying his work:  Details develop and enhance characters and settings.  There’s a way to draw a men’s room that will also make it smell like a men’s room.  Secondly, no subject is off limits, and the more stressful or taboo a subject is, the more explosively funny a cartoon about it can be with a carefully engineered gag.  Equally, a banal or boring subject can be easily walked out to its extreme with surprising results.  Finally, the reader’s imagination is one of the most important tools a cartoonist has, and the ability to grab it and haul it into a cartoon was one of Rodrigues’ special talents.
Often, without depicting nudity nor being the least bit graphic, and without using a single off-color word in the caption, Charles could take us into a hilarious and powerfully suggestive setting.  It brings to mind a cartoon he once did for National Lampoon.  A couple is entertaining another couple I their living room.  The lady of the house says to her husband, “Maurice, show Irene and Joe the funny trick you can do with your colostomy bag.”  The phrase, “colostomy bag” placed at the end of the caption was the perfect sucker-punch to an otherwise commonplace setting, and our imaginations can’t help but run with the possibilities of the trick “Maurice” is soon to perform.  Charles’ outstanding ability to manipulate the reader’s imagination was what I believe set him apart from many cartoonists.  That, in combination with his delightful drawing style and unique ideas always had me in awe of his work.  He was so good at what he did that he could go anywhere he wanted, with any subject, to the most extreme degree, and do it with class; simply by grabbing our imaginations and steering them into the right zone.  For me, working as a freelancer, maintaining that same versatility has been a matter of survival.
Again, I have to thank all cartoonists for being my teachers, and I especially thank Charles Rodrigues:  the cartoonist who brought us stories of a private detective in an iron lung;  the story of a man and his dead friend “Joe” who lived with him; Siamese twins who accidentally tore themselves apart, then went through the trouble of having themselves stitched back together (with one of them upside down;) and the story of a blind man who’s little friend, Deidre Callahan, was so ugly that her face was “too hideous for publication”  in her own comic strip (again grabbing at our imaginations.)  I’m forever grateful to Charles for daring to go to all of those places, and showing us how it could be done.  I’m sorry they’ve taken National Lampoon away from us, along with a throng of other magazines that used to publish adventurous cartoons.  I’m not certain, but I think Charles might agree with me that the mysterious disappearance of magazine cartoons might have something to do with all of the tattoos we’re seeing on everybody.

— Tom Cheney June 2013

 

For more information on Tom Cheney and a look at Charles Rodrigues’s work:

Link to Tom Cheney’s work for The New Yorker: The Cartoon Bank

Link to Tom Cheney’s Wikipedia page

Link to a listing of Tom Cheney’s work for Mad Magazine (Doug Gilford’s Mad Cover site)

Link to a site posting work by Charles Rodrigues