The High/Low Art of The New Yorker Cartoon

“Pen & Angst & Watercolor,” an exhibit of drawings by the celebrated cartoonist and illustrator Barry Blitt, is now on view at the Minor Memorial Library in Roxbury, Conn. Blitt’s work can also be seen at a current group show at Carol Corey Fine Art in Kent, Conn, curated by James Salomon. A Roxbury local, Blitt spoke with Compass about whether or not it’s worth considering humor a high art, where ideas come from, and the importance of not thinking too much.

Maud Doyle: So I understand that you live in Arthur Miller’s old house. Do you have anything else in common?

Barry Blitt: Of course, I’m a great fan of Arthur Miller — and it was intimidating moving into his old house. But his work is a little lofty for the ambitions I have. At first, I thought I would get inspiration from his lingering spirit — I’ve got his shed in the backyard that he built and wrote Death of a Salesman in. When we first moved in, I tried to work there a few times, to get inspired. But he wasn’t speaking to me.

MD: Speaking of lofty ambitions—two years ago, you were awarded a Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Cartooning. On the other hand, you frequently described your work as “dumb jokes” and “cheap laughs.” Is there a disparity there?

BB: I like dumb humor — not all of [my drawings] are that, but at the base of everything, I’m trying to get a laugh. And it’s amazing how low I will stoop to do that. Your style is often defined by your weaknesses and in that way, you learn what you should stick to. As a political cartoonist, I’m certainly not working out policy ideas — I’m taking things at the basic level of human folly. I like a setup that works well with dashed-off pen and ink — a punchline that hits quickly. Ideally, the reader gets a reward with further inspection. But I don’t think that’s what Arthur Miller was going for.

MD: You’ve described accidentally falling into caricature and cartoon professionally because, more than the work you considered “serious” at the time, that’s what your editors responded to, and that’s what they bought.

BB: Before I was getting interest and assignments from art directors and editors, even before art school, the most visceral reaction I got to the work I was doing was laughs from friends. But I felt like the jokes and humor were cheaper and easier than the ‘higher calling’ I placed on fine art. Of course, it didn’t take long to realize how naive that was, that that wasn’t real life.

MD: Do you think there can be “serious” or high art in what you’re describing as dumb humor?

BB: Yeah, I think there is. There are certain episodes of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” — I’m moved to tears, and not from laughing. I feel like I’m crying because the humor is so beautiful. I hate to talk so pretentiously — but it’s so refined to me and perfect.

As far as what I’m doing, I try not to think about what I’m doing as far as classifying it, is this high art, is this low art? I’m working on a couple of drawings now that no one will buy — they’re bad jokes. But I think you have to just draw and fill sketchbooks with ideas and present them. Françoise Mouly, who’s the art editor at The New Yorker, taught me not to self-edit. I try not to worry too much and just, you know, make myself laugh.

MD: Is that how you know you’ve hit on something? When you make yourself laugh?

BB: That’s a big part of it, making myself laugh. I love language and I love, you know, double entendres and puns, but sometimes I don’t even get my own jokes. Something will make me laugh and I’ll hand it in and they’ll say, “Oh, I loved the way you represented that.” Or, “That suggests this other thing,” and I didn’t even think of it.

Actually, there’s really not a ton of thinking. I mean, there probably is, but not conscious thinking. You’ll do a drawing of something and you’ll do it poorly. But the lack of specificity in that, maybe you’ve drawn something that doesn’t look exactly like what you wanted to draw, but it suggests something else. Recently I was drawing a TV news commentator standing in front of one of those big complicated electoral maps; I scribbled out the map and it reminded me of a Jackson Pollock canvas, which seemed like a funny take on election coverage.

But a laugh is a pure reaction as opposed to saying “That was funny” or coming up with some response. I trust the visceral reaction more than an intellectual reaction. There’s no denying a laugh.