WHY AM I DRAWN TO CARICATURES?
(From my self-published monograph, The Art of Caricature: A Collection)
My introduction (like many) was through the legendary Al Hirschfeld. A self-described "characterist," he famously commemorated daughter Nina's birth (in 1945) by hiding her name in a drawing of Broadway's "Are You With It?" and in subsequent drawings for the next 50 years ("Nina2" in a picture's corner indicated how many could be found). Searching for them proved so engaging a practice, that the Pentagon initiated a $60,000 study to see if Ninas could be used as an aptitude test for Air Force pilots. For my mother and I, it became a beloved Sunday Times tradition.
Shown: 1) Prince of Wales by Ralph Barton; 2) George Gershwin by William Auerbach-Levy; 3) Gore Vidal by Robert Risko; 4) Barbra Streisand by Sam Norkin; 5) "Nina" hidden in a Hirschfeld drawing; 6) Fred Astaire by T. Hee; 7) Cakewalk by Miguel Covarrubias (left) and Al Hirschfeld; 8) Fiorello LaGuardia by Paolo Garretto; 9) Gary Cooper by Eddie Vitch; 10) Jackie Gleason by Donald Bevan*
*None of which (other than the Streisand) are in collection
"I like everything of Hirschfeld's I've seen. I don't know why and don't need to know why," said William Saroyan (his collaborator on the 1941 book, "Harlem as Seen by Hirschfeld"). "I like what people like Hirschfeld do because they can't help it and only want you to be happy." For as long as I can remember, the art of caricature has indeed made me happy.
"Caricature" is derived from the Italian "caricare," meaning "to load" (as with exaggerated detail). Too often, this leans into an over-emphasizing of flaws to the point of cruelty. A dark intent reflected in Ralph Barton's description of the form as, "[capturing] a man in his attempt to conceal the writhing within his soul." The caricatures I like are neither ugly nor mean-spirited, but rather love letters written in line. Buoyant reductions that bring beloved performers to life in a way no other art form can. "They are often more revealing than a camera," (said archivist David Leopold of Hirschfeld). "The drawings' flair and fluidity of movement adding a dimension over mere photography or videography." Frueh's drawing of George M. Cohan (page 33) is a perfect example, beautifully capturing the showman's swagger (despite, or because of, his purposefully leaving out the man's features).
My avoidance of Sardi's restaurant has less to do with the mediocre menu than the fact that being so close to seven decades-worth of original works by Donald Bevan and Alex Gard might send me into anaphylactic shock. Do I covet the portrait of Angela Lansbury or Shirley Booth? Of course! My rag-tag efforts to assemble a broad look at the art form have resulted in a high/low mix that includes NBC Radio promos (page 8) and Paul Colin's Josephine Baker (my holy grail, on page 21). While Ralph Barton, Paolo Garretto and Robert Risko remain out of reach, it's the relatively inexpensive finds (like the study of Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn on page 38) that bring the added delight of discovering a heretofore unknown artist. Ongoing research has led me to Eddie Vitch (whose work once covered the famed Brown Derby's walls), and Sam Norkin (whose drawing of Barbra Streisand on page 3 may one day be mine, should I have a sudden windfall).
Moving into a new apartment and coming face-to-face with these images (after 16 months in storage) proved again that they are anything but mere possessions. Imbued with a gestural, lively humanness, they're not just pictures, but personalities. They are old and dear friends. Months into the pandemic, varying degrees of isolation are the new normal. But with them, I am never alone. One might argue that any beloved artwork could produce the same feeling. But to me, most drawings are little more than decoration. Great caricatures are company.
Jason McKee
July 2020