Great Cartoons of the World Series 7, part 5

Editor John Bailey says in the introduction to the book after describing some of the contributors to the book that he's met:

It develops some cartoonists are like their work, and some are not. The “why” is always the niggling thing of anything—the endless “why” that people love to diddle with in their heads. Why is Garbo mysterious and Sophia Loren not? Why was Paris fashionable in the nineteenth century, and a dull bore in the twentieth?

To get further, what is the reader like? The cartoonist has an immense curiosity to know. Dear reader, what are you like? I mean, what are you really like?

Boris Drucker for The New Yorker

Eldon Dedini

Michael Ffolkes

George Price, also in the New Yorker. He's mentioned as one of the cartoonists in the book thusly:

George Price is like his work, but not like the people he draws,, whom he has observed carefully, and whom he deeply loves, or perhaps hates. They have become a full-blooded, consistent cast of characters through whom he conveys ideas about life. One can always count on them to say something pertinent on such subjects as Women's Lib, or ecology, which is surprising, since the whole awful crowd seem to stay in the kitchen most of the time with a monkey wrench and a can of beer. Yet Price is apparently able to express anything through them. I'm not sure if he's saying something antiquatedly sexist here, but apologize anyway.

Miroslav Barták for

Great Cartoons of the World Series Seven, part 4

In which I post the fourth part of the book Great Cartoons of the World, Series 7 from 1972.

Editor John Bailey, writing about the cartoonists are really like, continues with doublespeak in his introduction from last week, fulfilling his obligation to fill a few pages:

One would assume from Rouault's rich, luscious pigment that he was a big extrovert, but he was tiny and monklike. From his expressions of evil on the motion-picture screen, one would expect to be seized and strapped to a table by Boris Karloff, but he was a mind, kind, gentle, and wonderful person.

On the other hand, sometimes the talent and the person are identical, as is the case of Caruso. Leonardo was a logical genius, and the delicacy, the aristocratic expression of his thought, and the feeling of elegance in his work were all to be found in his person, if we can trust the remark of a friend who described him as being “as beautiful as an angel”.

Picasso was the full embodiment of his work. He was the bull. Hemingway personified what he wanted to be. No matter how hidden it is in the work, the subconscious is being expressed. Sometimes the relation is uncomplicated and “what you sees is what you gets.” Sometimes both the man and his work are as many-layered as Nabokov.

Ton Smits

A lot more John Glashan for those who didn't get enough last week.

William O'Brian

Mischa Richter in the New Yorker. The editor writes of him in the introduction:

I am certain that the picture formed in the public mind of Richter is that of a tall, swarthy, sinister figure, such as might be lurking around an embassy. He is not big, but when he talks one feels his strength.He has a strong mind, strong opinions, and a skeptical eye on the world, all reflected in the vigor of his line.

Guillermo Mordillo

Chon Day

Adolf Born

And we end as we began, with Ton Smits.

Great Cartoons of the World Series 7, part 2

More, as I continue to go through Great Cartoons of the World, Series 7 from 1972, like I did last week.

This was by Miroslav Barták for Dikobraz

Donald Reilly for New Yorker, about whom editor John Bailey says in the introduction to this book:

Reilly is a very conventional young man who impresses as having good sense and good taste, and as someone who would be nice to have as a brother or nephew. He is totally in touch with the twentieth century, hates the scene, but instead of ranting and railing in his cartoons, he simply makes very telling thrusts.

It's not possible to post cartoons from magazines of the past without running into racist stereotypes, and here's one again for New Yorker courtesy of James Stevenson, who again is written about in the introduction:

Stevenson looks like the last of the adventurers. One sees him in Kongkow, where the stuff floats on the water among the pilings, or present when the cops kick in the door, turning out to be a detective. There is a toughness of spirit inside him. But the work is sensitive and delicate.

William O'Brian did this one. He too is mentioned in the intro: One would expect to find O'Brian in a proper British club, holding a brandy snifter. He is somewhat vague, given slightly to muttering, and in conversation defers to other people. But given time he is a superior raconteur. He is subtle, but his work is comedic and quite straightforward.

Jean-Jacques Sempé for Denoël

Michael Ffolkes

William O'Brian again

Boris Drucker for New Yorker

Lee Lorenz, also for New Yorker.

Because he is blond and looks like the classical poet of the nineteenth century, one expects a delicate line from Lorenz. However, what one gets is a fat line of great strength and character. There is nothing at all nineteenth century about his work, or his very controlled thoughts on the subject of human nature.

Adolf Born

Boris Drucker

Charles Saxon, for the outlet for most one-panel cartoons, The New Yorker

Eldon Dedini

Great Cartoons of the World Series 6, part 9

The next to last of this particular book, series 6 of Great Cartoons of the World. Confused by the numbers? They don't mean anything. Just ignore them.

Vahan Shirvanian for The Saturday Evening Post

Terrence “Larry” Parkes for Punch

Robert Day

J. M. Bosc

Barney Tobey for The New Yorker

Vahan Shirvanian in Look

William O'Brian

Sure, this cartoon by Jean-Jacques Sempé for Denoël but keep deluding yourself into thinking it's okay, because it's French.

Vahan Shirvanian

Guillermo Mordillo

Ton Smits

Vahan Shirvanian

Alex Graham for Punch

Ton Smits