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Personal Cartoon History
I was wandering around The New Yorker’s online archive this evening when I came across this drawing of mine from the January 9, 1984 issue. I looked at it for a few seconds then realized that it’s very different from all of my work in the magazine as it’s blatantly autobiographical. What you see is the back of the building I lived in during my years in Greenwich Village at 113 West 11th Street. Not only is it where I lived (on the 3rd floor) but I included a version of my downstairs neighbors. I’m not a caricaturist, so I didn’t even try to make them look as they looked (for instance, both men had beards. Neither of these cartoon men are bearded). But the couple on the ground floor are my cartoon versions of Faith and Kirkpatrick Sale, and the fellow on the phone is a cartoon version of Donald Barthelme (I used the “B” from his name and made up the weirdest name I could think of because the name “Barthelme” always struck me as wonderfully odd). I tossed in just a small portion of windows to my apartment, right above Donald’s window.
One other piece of the drawing that was meaningful for me to include: the picnic table and bench just to the right of the tree. One Fall evening I sat on the left side of that bench; the cartoon god, Saul Steinberg was next to me, on my right.
— For more on that, here’s a piece from The Spill’s “Posted notes” section:
On a Bench with Steinberg
In the fall of 1978 I was fresh out of college, living in a two room walk-up apartment in Greenwich Village just a few doors west of Ray’s Pizza. I’d recently moved to the city with the dream of becoming a New Yorker cartoonist. After receiving an avalanche of rejection slips my work was finally accepted, and by November of 1978 the magazine had published four of my cartoons.
My apartment was in a four story building loaded with talented neighbors: writers, an editor, a graphic designer, an artist, an historian. Among this crowd was the celebrated New Yorker writer, Donald Barthelme; he lived just below me, on the second floor. The day I moved into the building, Donald was the first person I ran into. At the time I’d no idea who he was, and that he wrote for The New Yorker ( my focus then was mainly on the magazine’s artists ). All I remember from our meeting was that Donald’s last name seemed oddly fascinating. Bar- thel – may – it rolled off the tongue.
On a Fall afternoon – I believe it was a Sunday – I was in my apartment when I heard Donald yelling up to me from the building’s courtyard. I raised one of the large old windows overlooking the garden below, stuck my head outside, and looked down. Donald was looking up. “Michael, Steinberg is coming over for dinner tonight – would you like to join us for drinks afterward?”
“Steinberg” was, of course, Saul Steinberg, the legendary New Yorker artist. A retrospective of his work had just completed its run at The Whitney Museum. In April of that year, he was the subject of a Time cover story – this was certainly one of, if not the most celebrated years of Steinberg’s career. He was now 65, into his thirty-seventh year at The New Yorker. The idea of meeting Steinberg was at once impossibly unsettling and electrifying. Although I’d been taking my weekly batch of cartoons to the magazine’s offices in mid-town for nearly a year, I’d never run into any of The New Yorker’s cartoonists: Steinberg would be my first.
Evening came, and from my apartment I could hear the sounds of dinner conversation in the courtyard. Eventually I made my way down to the garden apartment belonging to my ground floor neighbors, the Sales ( Faith, the editor, and Kirk, the historian and biographer).
Steinberg was out in the courtyard, sitting on a bench at an old wooden picnic table. Donald made the introductions, and directed me to sit next to Steinberg. Steinberg spoke “ with his hands” – a lot of arm movement, his hands fairly drawing in the air. It wasn’t difficult to imagine his drawings floating all around us, like bubbles.
After some time, he turned to me and asked what I did. I told him I was a cartoonist, for The New Yorker. “My latest drawing appears right before yours in this week’s issue.” (my drawing was on page 50, his illustration for The Sporting Scene was on page 51). Hearing this, he fell silent for a moment. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased, annoyed, or just didn’t care. It was, well, awkward.
Soon he was back to where he’d left off before speaking to me. He held the spotlight the rest of the evening. I admit I can’t recall a single thing he said that evening, other than his asking what I did. In truth, I don’t think anyone in his company really wanted to do anything but listen, and watch. Sitting to his side for those few hours, turned slightly to my right, seeing his profile, watching him draw in the air, was like watching the sun rise over and over and over again.
September 11, 2008
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Unfinished Business: Michael Shaw’s Blank New Yorker Cartoon & Alan Dunn’s
On yesterday’s Cartoon Pad podcast with hosts New Yorker cartoonists Bob Eckstein and Michael Shaw, there was a bit of conversation between Mr. Shaw and myself (I was their guest) about Mr. Shaw’s “blank” New Yorker drawing from the issue of February 27, 2006, and an earlier “blank” New Yorker drawing. Neither of us could remember who did the earlier drawing. Well here’s that drawing, by Alan Dunn, published in the issue of May 10, 1958. Mr. Shaw’s New Yorker drawing appears directly below.
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Attempted Bloggery… S.J. Perelman & Victoria Roberts Intersect At A French Laundry
A reader, Daniel H. Borinsky, wrote in to Attempted Bloggery about a coincidence concerning a Roberts cartoon and a humorous Perelman piece. The result: “French Laundry: S.J. Perelman And Victoria Roberts”
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The Online Tilley Watch
— An end of week listing of New Yorker artists who contributed to newyorker.com features
The Daily Cartoon: Sarah Kempa, Jake Goldwasser, Ellis Rosen*, Pat Achilles, Brooke Bourgeois.
Daily Shouts: Liana Finck, Hilary Fitzgerald Campbell**.
…and Barry Blitt’s Kvetchbook: “Elitism Without Borders”
*and **
*Mr. Ellis is the co-editor, with Jon Adams, of Send Help! A Collection of Marooned Cartoons, out three days from now. (full disclosure: this cartoonist is one of the contributors).
**Ms. Fitzgerald is the author of The Murder Book, also out in three days.