Did the 18th century satire influence the contemporary illustrations of the New Yorker magazine?
What is the relationship between the 18th century satirical illustrations and the contemporary The New Yorker illustrations and can similarities between the two be found?
CARICATURE & SATIRE
Even though in most cases caricature and satire are seen as interchangeable terms, there are actual differences between one and the other.
The word caricature dates back to the 1590 period of the Italian Renaissance and describes a type of portrait that presents exaggerated features, usually for the purpose of making a statement about the portrayed person’s characteristics — most commonly accentuating its negative physical features and shortcomings.
It is thought to derive from the words carico and caricare, which mean to load or to exaggerate, while other historians believe to also have a linguistic connection to the first artists who experimented with the style — the brothers Agostino and Annibale Carracci from Bologna.
The brothers used to take breaks from their commission works to engage in drawing small portraits with exaggerated features as an exercise and a recreational activity (figure 1). Their endeavors with these experiments may be considered a rebellious opposition to the artistic canon of the time that was driven by hyperrealism and sober themes, usually depicted through religious scenes or portraits of leaders.
Later on, the Carracci Academy urged its students to partake in the relaxed exercises of quick drawings of sitters or visitors as animals or inanimate objects in order to catch the very essence of the person’s physique. This progressive approached was a stepping-stone in the evolution of the study of arts, even though it would be only centuries later that caricature will become an art genre in itself.
Notable artists of the time that use to engage in drawing caricature portraits include Leonardo da Vinci, Lorenzo Bernini and Michelangelo Buonarotti, while other painters took inspiration from the concept of caricature’s traits in order to produce works of biomorphic and grotesque structures like Giuseppe Arcimboldo and Hieronymus Bosch (to be noted that Archimboldo’s and Bosh’s works to not fit on the spectrum of caricature entirely because they do not represent actual people or comment on a type of people, instead they made use of the idea of distorting figures and combining them with animal and object characteristics in order to depict demons and otherworldly entities).
Most famous of them all, Leonardo da Vinci was the artist most closely associated with caricature, even though at his time this style of drawing was referred to as grotesque.
According to Giorgio Vasari (1511–1574), Leonardo was attracted to people with bizarre heads (teste bizarre) and was delighted by memorizing their appearance in order to later distort them in his drawings (figure 2).
However, their drawings had only a purpose of comedic exercises and were kept privately without being displayed or considered an art form in its own right. For that reason, it can be argued that caricature in the form as we know it today was born in the 18th century Britain, powered by the newly wide spread technique of the printing press.
While caricature accentuates the physical characteristics of the person portrayed, satire strives to make a comment on the internal shortcomings and faults of character — usually pointing out immoral traits and vices- in a humorous manner. The purpose of satire is to make a moral judgment or remark on a person or situation. The word satire casts a much broader net as a term, but I will focus solely on literal and visual examples, with emphasis on the latter.
Satire as defined previously has existed throughout recorded history, although mostly in written form, rather than visual interpretation.
Although the word satire and its definition had not yet been invented, the ancient Greeks produced abundant examples of literary satirical work, starting with Aristophanes’ comedies in Ancient Greece, dating back as far as circa 427 BC.
Historians and commentators distinguish two major types of satire: social satire (that is concerned with everyday situations and human types) and political satire (that ridicules public figures and it’s a reactive response to actual events currently going on at the time).
While the social satire operates mainly with generic classifications of human character still present today, political satire cannot be understood if viewed outside of the context of its time.
As caricature, the satire genre knew a revival in the 18th century Britain as an urban phenomenon aimed to reach a broad audience in London.
The revival of caricature and satire in the 1800s Britain was highly influenced by two decisive factors: the geo-political scene and the advances in technology.
The events that powered the development of the genre were heavily determined by the turmoil of public outbursts against the controlled censorship of the previous establishments, outbursts strongly driven by the French and American Revolutions and Napoleon’s conquest of Europe.
Beneath the enlightenment ideals of reason, scientific progress, knowledge and order, society embraced an omnipresent mania with decorum, a façade of established traditions and vanities, as well as a sense of moral and political supremacy.
This provided artists with a prosper environment to express their views on political and moral follies by heavy use of both caricature and satire. They targeted a multitude of public figures and situations to subject to ridicule in order to cast a light on different aspects of British society while providing much-needed criticism of the superfluous moral corruption of a society that, to them, seemed to forget the true ideals of its age.
Iconic figures that were massively targeted by illustrators included King George III and Napoleon (figure 3), the Prince of Wales, William Pitt and James Fox, along with archetypes of social life among which lawyers, clergy men, doctors, wealthy merchants and academics were numbered as recurrent themes.
This blooming period was profoundly steered by the use of the printing press, without which this movement would not have been made possible.
The printing press existed since its invention by the German Johannes Gutenberg around 1440 (based on the earlier screw presses models use for wine and oil production in the first century Italy), in what was back then a region encapsulated within the borders of the Roman Empire. The Gutenberg press was used solely for the production and multiplication of holy texts such as the Bible and was used mainly by the clergy, as they were among the few people who could read and write and that time.
Within several decades, the press spread throughout about two hundred cities in a dozen European countries.
By the Renaissance period the result of peace and the decline of famine and the plague had led to the founding of schools and colleges and a rise in literacy and education. This allowed printing presses to be increasingly used and wide spread across Europe.
The printing press usage reached its peak in Britain around 1700 as a result of cheaper paper and materials due to the industrialisation and along with literacy among lower classes of the society began to produce high numbers of books and newspapers aimed at a much wider audience and with higher circulation. By 1800, Lord Stanhope had manufactured a printing press completely from cast iron, reducing the force needed while doubling the size of the printed area.
This period of development is regarded by many as a new print revolution.
Following this rise of technological progress and cost reduction, another phenomenon began to take shape in urban clusters as London: the print shops (figure 4).
As Mark Bills explains in his talk about the subject at Gresham College, satirical illustrations were considered to be the art of the street, as they wouldn’t be seen in any high-art gallery, but in print shops. This assured a wide visibility with audience throughout a larger spectrum of social classes, as they were also cheap and distributed in vast numbers of copies. They were, in a hierarchical term, a low culture, often disapproved of by the artists of the time, many of whom were trying to preserve the elitist and largely exclusivist aspect of art.
As the painter James Barry famously stated in a letter around 1795, in his view the popularity of satire and its corrupting influence was taking the audience’s eyes from the art that he and his fellow artists were producing and was exposing the public to the most vile and wicked forms of vice.
This was, of course, the purpose of works of satirical nature: to take the visible traces of the Enlightenment Era that made expression in art and literature flourish in the direction of the people’s voice and to educate the audience to acknowledge the shortcomings of the Neoclassical era.
In the mid 18th century publishers began to specialize in caricature and comic images as until then satirical prints were being sold alongside portraits or typography in general print shops.
The production and distribution of individual satirical prints was centered in London where the print trade flourished in the late 18th century, starting as a part of the print trade that included books and other types of prints imported from Europe.
The enormous demand for prints led to the proliferation of shops throughout the city. The numbers of print shops grew rapid, being centered around Saint Paul’s cathedral, and later on encompassing the areas of Saint James and Fleet Street.
The magazine London und Paris states in 1806 the caricature shops are always besieged by the public referring specifically to the British audience.
The shops provided an area to display and sell satirical works. Newspapers adverts has always provided a useful means by which artists could sell their images as well as auctions of print, yet the print shop remained the place where individual images of satire were predominantly bought, sold and consumed by London public until mid 19th century when the development of illustrating newspapers and pictorial journals became the main media for satire.
JAMES GILLRAY AND THE 18th CENTURY POLITICAL SATIRE
Few illustrators of the 18th century Britain had as much success as James Gillray (1756- 1815).
His satirical works earned him the title of father of politically cartoons, as stated by the 20th century cartoonist David Low, accompanying William Hogarth as the two most influential satirical artists of their time.
Although visual political mockery had been around since the proliferation of printing methods, William Hogarth (1697- 1746) was the one to take this new art form to a level of mastery that was never seen up until then, as he produced and publicized the Modern Moral Tales series in 1730 London.
This series of copper plate based prints incorporated three smaller series of prints, namely: The Rake’s Progress, Marriage à-la-mode and A Harlot’s Progress, each of them containing between six and eight individual pieces. The series were an absolute success, reaching bestseller status at the time of their publication and advancing social satire to a higher condition in art.
Hogarth’s approach to satirical illustrations was based on presenting fictional situations that encapsulate a simplified and symbolic view of a society divided between three social classes: the poor, the middle class and the wealthy, with an accentuated critical message on the third one.
The element of novelty that separated him from the previous satirical drawings and elevated satire to an art form was his sublime technique, reminiscent of Albrecht Durer’s level of mastery and detail, followed by the fact that he delivered enjoyable conflicting expectations to the public as the vice is in the end always punished but not completely expelled from the urban scene.
Liza Wade explained in her talk at University of Suffolk entitled Sex in the 18th century London how his print series succeeded to appeal to a large audience by using a form of theatrical conversation in art, a practice derived from Hogarth’s engagement with London’s drama scene.
It’s influences from popular London theatre took form in the dramatic storytelling that treats the main character in a before versus after manner while combining fictional elements along with non-fictional ones.
Hogarth’s works mainly with social stereotypes, a practice that will later, thanks to him, become a characteristic of the whole satirical illustration genre.
Twenty years after William Hogarth’s death, James Gillray took inspiration from his satirical model while being a student at the Royal Academy.
As a young pupil, Gillray admired Hogarth’s vision and took his political and moralizing agenda forward by continuing to react to the events of his time, engaging in artistic satirical responses.
Somerset House Gazette stated in 1824 that Gillray was an extraordinary genius, the prince of caricatures. The reason for their claim is that his illustrations follow Hogarth’s vision of skillful aesthetics and attention to detail, while introducing new elements as color and text for engaging audience (and as a more light toned interpretation, if Gillray is the prince of caricature, who is more qualified than Hogarth to be its king?).
Gillray’s use of shading and lighting gave his work supplementary symbolic and compositional dimensions. Possibly inspired by earlier depictions of Renaissance grotesque, he sets his work apart from Hogarth by making use of the caricature technique. Although Hogarth’s portraits were highly expressive, they were not to a caricature degree, as it can be observed that his character’s facial construction lack exaggerations or deformities. By comparison, Gillray makes use of facial distortion while maintaining recognizable likeness and combines it with satire, which resembles more closely the modern understanding of satirical artworks.
Diana Donald highlights this very well by relating how:
One writer after another praised the grasp of characteristic expression and gait which enabled the artist to convey character more tellingly than a conventional portraitist, and transformed caricature from a game into a dramatic art form.
However, this skillful use of caricature and likeness did not chance the aspect of satire imposed by Hogarth of appropriating clear stereotypes to social characters, as Gillray continued to follow archetypes of social and political individuals.
A good example for the previously stated is the 1806 illustration Making-Decent (figure 5), that shows a group of political figures preparing for service.
The physique of the characters is well described by the inscription on the lower part of the artwork that states Broad-bottomies getting into the Grand Costume.
Here it can be observed Gillray’s forte as a satirist, as the setting is reminiscent of a backstage scene of a burlesque show in order to deliver a severe commentary of the morality of the portrayed administration.
George Stanley asserts that Gillray’s work shows an elevated sense of exquisite tact, which in his time referred to an intense capacity of prejudice or perception, that can be translated into his ability to seize the points, both in politics and manners, most open to ridicule.
To demonstrate Stanley’s claim it is enough to appreciate the way a character as Lord Henry Petty (observed in the foreground of Making-Decent, as the third figure on the right) is portrayed. In compositional terms, he can be assessed as the main figure of the group, while he is prancing and admiring his own gown, regardless of the diminutive proportion Gillray accorded him.
The comment of his miniature stature that defies the laws of perspective (and in consequence draws the eyes even more onto him) can be considered a commentary on his superfluous ego that has little basis in the view of any witness except himself. This corresponds to a stereotype heavily exploited by satirists of the time, as pride was a vice most subjected to scrutiny and most frown upon by the lower classes of society that also happened to be the main consumers of satire.
THE NEW YORKER MAGAZINE
On 21st of February 1925, Harold Ross and his wife Jane Grant founded The New Yorker magazine.
Ross previously worked on publications as Life magazine and Judge while Grant was a former New York reporter, therefore in the span of their careers had had contact with the humorous way in which magazines approached certain aspects of society.
Consequently their plans for The New Yorker were to achieve a more sophisticated and intelligent humor than any previous publications of the time.
Soon after the magazine acquired its first offices located at 25 West 45th Street, Manhattan, New York, Ross partnered up with entrepreneur Raoul H. Fleishmann in order to establish their own F-R Publishing Company.
The magazine quickly established itself as a distinguished forum that nurtured serious debates and published high standard works of literary fiction and journalism. Among the names of the authors that were presented within the magazine through their short stories Truman Capote, John O’Hara , Haruki Murakami, J. D. Salinger, Vladimir Nabokov, Stephen King and John Cheever can be mentioned.
As the content of the publication rose to much acclaimed esteem due to its remarkable intellectuality and challenging ideas, it soon became one of the best selling magazines of its time.
As Ben Yagoda asserts in his biographical book about the publication, it was so well sold that the Great Depression of 1929 had little to no impact on the sales, fact that is truly remarkable and shows how highly valued intellectual stimulation was for educated Americans in time of great uncertainty and desperation.
Apart from its stimulating content, what drove subscribers to be faithful to the magazine and what set it apart from other journals was its strong sense of morals and lack of compromise in the name of profit.
Ross made the following statement that still seems to be the basis of the publication’s ideological drive:
We will not use and endorse advertising containing a palpable lie, or a statement that we are morally certain is a lie. We have an opportunity to live honestly. We also have the great privilege now of being in a position to lead the advertising industry, for Christ’s sake. Let us no longer pussyfoot. Let us be really honest and not just slick. I think that in our present prosperous condition we could afford to suffer even a temporally small loss in revenue to keep out conscience clear.
The principles of morality the publication held up in a time of accentuated consumerist culture, increasing advertising and social turmoil shaped the intense commitment and engaging of its target audience: educated middle class men and women with an appetite for stimulating ideas and a low tolerance for scandal, biases, inequality and tabloid-like approaches.
This allowed highly witty forms of satire and humor to develop and thrive and later become a main characteristic of The New Yorker’s identity.
This zealously morality and idealistic approach might be compared with the ideas of the Enlightenment era that firstly drove the birth and evolution of satire as a genre and the amplitude of critique on vice and corruption by artistic means.
A considerable part of the magazine’s charm was given by the illustrations, a feature that remained constant throughout the years.
Most notable illustrators that contributed with artworks are Saul Steinberg (1914–1999), Peter Arno (1904–1968) and recently Robert Mankoff (today’s editor in chef), Edward Steed, Benjamin Schwartz and Barry Blitt.
Regrettably, even a highly reputed publication for its freedom of speech and political mockery like The New Yorker had its moments of controversy.
On 21st of July 2008, the year of Barack Obama’s first election, The New Yorker used for its cover art an illustration named Politics of Fear (figure 6), by illustrator Barry Blitt, depicting the new president wearing a turban while exchanging a fist bump with his wife Michelle who is dressed in army attire and carries a machine gun. In the background of the oval office a glimpse of a portrait of Osama Bin Laden can be spotted, although more than half of it escapes the frame. In the fireplace next to them burns an American flag.
This image created a storm of negative criticism from the media and the audience, and it’s not hard to access why.
In his defense Blitt said that:
(..) the idea that the Obamas are branded as unpatriotic [let alone as terrorists] in certain sectors is preposterous. It seemed to me that depicting the concept would show it as the fear-mongering ridiculousness that it is.
From his statement it can be concluded that the image had the purpose of making a comment on the racially biased electorate what did not support Obama and on the ludicrous claims and lies that surfaced in the media throughout his campaign, however the illustration was interpreted in the exact opposite way and leaving the publication susceptible to allegations of racism and biased profiling.
As a consequence of the public reaction, the misunderstanding gave way to the resurfacing of the fierce debate on the essential doubts about the satirical genre — much like the 1795 concern stated by James Barry.
Is laughter a vulgar and disrespectful approach to concerns that should require to be treated more seriously or is it a way of exposing issues and provoking discussion?
Some critics agreed to D.M. Fletcher’s commentary in which he states that satire is an aggression in which some aspects of reality are exposed to ridicule, while others condemned humour as a means of desensitising the public and normalising vile behaviour.
Contrary to this position Paul Krassner punctuated that sometimes humour is just a way of calling a tension to the contradictions of the hypocrisy that’s going on officially. Than continued by saying: That’s the function of humor; it can alter your reality.
His commentary was in fact a response to the same issue that arose in 1998, after Bill Clinton’s alleged affair with Monica Lewinsky, an event that triggered much moral backlash in the form of a multitude of satirical literary and artistic works, articles and jokes. Larry Beinhart, Arianna Huffington and him make a compelling case in the favour of satire as part of a convention about political criticism through humorous means held in 1998, Los Angeles. They affirm that satire is born from a desire to change the world for the better and advocate for the affirmation of laughter and comic as a way to deliver uncomfortable truths to the public in a lighter and much easier to cope with matter, while in the same time reinforcing a sense of duty and public justice.
Megan LeBoeuf reinforced their idea by saying:
Messages that would be ignored or punished if overtly declared are reaching millions of people in satirical form, and making a real difference. It may be the most powerful tool that critics have to get their opinions out into the world.
ANALYSIS: JAMES GILLRAY & BARRY BLITT
Alain de Botton ends his chapter on Hope in Art as Therapy by discussing the role of humor in art:
The apparent opposite of idealization — caricature –has a lot to teach us about how ideal images can be important to us. We are very much at ease with the idea that simplification and exaggerations can reveal valuable insights that are lost or watered down in ordinary experience. We can take this approach and apply it to idealized images too.
By this, de Botton argues that a piece of caricature can show the viewer hidden meanings about the character or situation depicted, while being under the protective veil of the genre — free of any apologetic explanations. This allows the viewer to respond to it by reconsidering and re-analyzing the first original depiction of the said subject by a more critical and in depth approach, stripping the original of its carefully crafted façade.
A good practical example of how this process works is if we look at Donald Trump’s official inauguration portrait (figure 7) side-by-side with Barry Blitt’s illustration for the cover of the 23 of January 2017 issue of The New Yorker (figure 8).
Tamzin Smith, a professional photographer specialised in portraiture, tells Vox magazine in an article about the said photograph that Trump’s posture and slight lean forward portray the president as an aggressive figure while the light coming from below (suggested in the white reflexions just below his pupils) makes him look very intense, serious and threatening. This shot is clearly supposed to communicate confidence and authority, which goes very well with the Trump brand.
Now take a look at Blitt’s illustration that depicts Trump as a spoilt child playing at the idea of presidency.
His illustration even leaves something for the imagination of the viewer to fill in by the use of open-to-interpretation visual clues as the meter on the left of the machine. As one viewer on social media amusingly remarks: Even funnier when you think that the coin in the machine must be a Russian ruble — a direct assertion to the alleged involvement of Vladimir Putin in the U.S. presidential elections of 2016. The use of the visual riddle therefore served its purpose of playfully engaging the audience in a more in depth thinking game and draw their own –and sometimes very creative- conclusions.
Once we have encountered Barry Blitt’s miniature, child-like Trump can we ever take seriously the severe, determined and menacing image he wants to portray in his first official White House presidential portrait?
Caricature and satire operate like that: they have the power to imply other sides of what is presented to us officially, to punctuate the austere façade of dignity and duty with jokes and riddles. Satirical illustrators know well how a memorable image can be used as a weapon to subvert power and undermine authority, and that is because they’ve been doing it for centuries.
However modern Blitt’s approach to making a political comment on a public figure may seem, the practice is fairly similar to another example of visual satire that directly ridicules one original piece of iconic imagery. More exactly, 1805’s The Plumb Pudding in Danger by James Gillray (figure 9).
In order to be able to decipher the commentary of Gillray’s illustration we must look at the image he was distorting, which in this case it’s the iconic propaganda of Napoleon’s greatness, best illustrated by the most recognizable and successful portrait made for this purpose: Jacques-Louis David’s Napoleon Crossing the Saint-Bernard Pass (figure 10), made only 4 year earlier, an oil on canvas painting of large proportions that now resides at Chateaux de Versailles, France.
Much like Trump’s portrait, the painting serves the viewer not much else other than a grandiose illusion.
The painting commemorates the French victory over the Austrians in a military campaign in the Alps, and shows the French general already in a triumphal pose while crossing the mountains. However the reality is much different, as Napoleon wasn’t even there to lead the troops over the Alps, following them a couple of days later, on a different path and riding on the back of a mule. Moreover, the French general offered almost no support at all to the painter, refusing to pose for David, who was forced to use for reference an old portrait of Napoleon in his younger years and resort to his own young son dressed in a uniform as the sitter for the portrait. This explains the youthful anatomy of the figure.
Notably, Napoleon himself said that “Nobody knows if the portraits of the great men resemble them”, it is enough that their genius lives there, highlighting how likeness was of little importance in presenting an important official persona to the public.
Today, Trump’s own propagandistic agenda is playing after the same rules, only exchanging the oil painting medium for the photographic one, and using tricks of light and pose to enhance and market his chosen reinterpretation.
As France declared war on Britain following the execution of its monarchy, it is not hard to see why caricatures of Napoleon began to flourish in London. The French were so offended by the circulation of satire ridiculing their leader that they tried to get them suppressed by the British government. James Gillray was a leading figure in producing highly circulated works of satire of the French leader to the exuberant delight of the public.
Knowing the above is it easy to understand why Gillray’s illustration treats Napoleon as this miniature figure that overflows with anxieties and irrational outbursts of frustration in the most comic and exaggerated manner. It is a tool for combating the equally exaggerated French propaganda.
Not only they both operate towards a similar goal, but we can even observe similarities of style between Blitt’s and Gillray’s pieces.
Let’s start by looking closer to The Plump Pudding in Danger (publicised on 26 February 1805), one of Gillray’s most significant illustrations, a hand-colored printed etching.
The theme of the illustration is clearly political critique targeting the predatory race between France and Britain in order to gain power, influence and to dominate one another in the period of the Napoleonic Wars.
The primary focus of the scene is on the two characters: William Pitt, Britain’s prime minister at the time, sitting on the left side and Napoleon Bonaparte sitting on the right side of the same dinner table, facing each other. Both of them are gluttonously slicing into a steaming plum pudding that resembles a globe with the map of the world depicted on it.
This action is the actual critique and comedic moment of the illustration. It shows how two of the most powerful states at the time are willing to ruthlessly divide the world just between the two of them, in an activity filled with so much greed and lust (suggested by their intense gaze and rosy cheeks) that only by comparing it to an immense craving for a sweet and mouth-watery desert can truly do it justice.
Beside the primary focus and action of the scene there can also be observed additional themes and symbols that are meant to stimulate the viewer into reading more into the illustration. For example, Pitt not only takes the Ocean, but he does that using a fork that clearly resemblances a trident (the trident being the symbol of the Greek god Poseidon, who’s ruling domain was the aquatic realm). Consequently, Napoleon carves out a piece of land that is marked as Europe. Analysing in more detail, it can be observed that Pitt’s slice is stretching from the Pole to the Equator, further West of Britain, in accordance with the requirement of the West Indies. So can be said about Napoleon’s territorial accuracy, as his portion encapsulates Europe but omits Russia and Sweden. For this reason it can be considered that the division is a direct description of the situation of the two nations and the advantages and difficulties they faced: Britain was a great naval power and was accomplishing much by sea, but made little progress on land while the French had a great army that was progressing on land but lacked the advantage at sea.
An additional element of humour is expressed by the fact that even though both have richly decorated gold plates in front of them, those are still empty as they struggle to cut themselves a piece of the pie. Moreover, it can be observed the way Napoleon is struggling to remain seated on his chair because of his modest height while Pitt’s knees are way higher than they should be — this small humorous detail gives way to the interpretation that the table they are seated at is not appropriate for neither of them, which in turn is an acidic commentary of the sense of entitlement and merit the two nations have over the division of the world.
More visual clues can be observed on a third level of focus. These can be exemplified by the symbols on each of the characters’ chairs –Britain has a lion, as it is a heraldic symbol of British pride while France has an eagle, a symbol of imperialism and expansion — and in the complementary chromatic of the two characters: Pitt is wearing red while seating on a blue chair while Napoleon is wearing blue while seated on a red chair. The choice of color could reflect the idea stated previously that while one nation exceeds in sea-domination the other one compensates in land expansion and vice-versa, while it also serves as a technical element for balancing the composition.
The composition is symmetrically centered on the pie, with both sides around the main focal point similar in proportion and color balance. In consequence, this drives the viewer’s eye on the action while delivering a pleasing aesthetic.
In the case of Barry Blitt’s illustrations matters are similar, although on a more stripped down degree of symbolism and detail, due to adjustments to modern culture.
We have already established the political context of his cover for the 23 of January 2016 issue of The New Yorker.
His technique, although quite different of Gillray’s print-based etching, retains the same characteristics using fine lines in inked pen and adding watercolor. His style is loose and yet precise at the same time, being able to keep facial distinctions of the portrayed people while still making good use of caricature.
Blitt himself says in an interview about the said artwork that:
every so often, you hear stories on the news about a toddler who somehow manages to start the family car and drive the vehicle across town, where the law finally apprehends him — and it’s almost always a him — before too much damage has taken place.
His commentary is in itself a most evident form of satire, comparing Donald Trump with a clueless toddler who stumbled upon a situation that is too much for him to handle. This particular idea is made clear in the illustration as well, though he places Trump in an even more ridiculous toy car, being closely supervised by his bodyguards. This displays an even deeper feeling of incompetence and self-indulgence that results in a humorous scene.
Blitt’s approach to take a dominant political figure and reducing it to miniature scale and foolish actions are comparable with the way Gillray treats Napoleon and it proves to be a successful procedure of undermining authority and fear.
The main visual focus of the artwork is Donald Trump — more exactly his face. Blitt makes good use of one of caricature’s strongest points: body deformity, while keeping his head more proportionate and true to appearance. This method transforms the character to a comical Lilliputian state, while his gaze forward and serious frown gives away the impression that he is unaware of his scale and takes himself very seriously (reminiscent of the way Lord Henry Petty is acting in Making Descent).
Additional themes can be observed in this illustration as well. For instance, the overuse of the American flag (four flags and a small eagle emblem on the car and a large scaled symbol of the same American eagle on the frame of the machine) does exactly the opposite of what this symbol is supposed to deliver: confidence, national identity and status. Blitt, however, by exaggerating its use achieves to strip it of all original meaning and makes it feel like it’s trying very hard while failing to convince. He’s using the idea of façade, as the 18th century illustrators did before him, to pinpoint ideological flaws and political hypocrisy. In this case the symbol that is the image of democracy and liberty is being cramped in the context of a political figure that rose to power on disrupting the very basis of these concepts, while still proclaiming to make America great again.
The car can also be interpreted as a visual metaphor for the United States of America as a nation, being steered to nowhere by someone who lives under the illusion that he’s really driving. In this context, the fan made comment about the meter next to the machine stated previously begins to take on a different, multi-faceted form.
From a compositional point of view, the whole scene is orbiting around Trump’s action with the main focal point on his head, being balanced from both sides by his security service. This is a simple solution to any composition, but when it’s used for a publication cover it works very well by capturing the viewer’s attention on the main subject. If we imagine seeing this particular cover in a newspaper stand, next to a multitude of others, the chances are it will stand out.
There are several cases when Blitt took inspiration from iconic works of illustration and reinterpreted them in order to convey and deliver a different message than the originals. These might be considered a more direct approach at appropriating new meaning to well known imagery and use the original significance as a base for a new layer of content and understanding.
As Joyce K. Schiller so eloquently explains this process,
Image appropriation is an old and even respected activity, especially in the world of illustration art, where sometimes choosing to communicate by reusing a previous image is itself innovation. It takes a clever illustrator to modify an earlier image into something compelling for a new audience.
One of the most compelling exemplifications of how this method works is demonstrated by Blitt’s cover illustration for The Media Issue of 2010 (figure 11).
Undoubtedly, the original piece that Blitt crafted this work after is Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, made for The Saturday Evening Post’s issue in 1943 (figure 12).
The simple fact that he chose to reference one of Rockwell’s artworks, who’s entire career was based on producing beautiful and carefully crafted works of propaganda showing the cliché and stereotypically white “nuclear family” type of working-class American Dream, is in itself a method of satirical criticism.
However, the element that drives this entire illustration’s context, humour and readability is the way Blitt paired the artwork with the typography on the cover.
Subsequently, reading Advertising Age -The Media Issue while looking at a slightly modified version of an iconic piece of imagery originally named Freedom from Want creates exquisite paradoxical semiotics that even on their own are enough to drive the idea home.
Further additions like the exchange of the food motif with digital screens and technology make the message even more poignant. Together they make a commentary on how desirable technology really is, seemingly so important that is served as dinner — it feeds the appetite the modern society has for validation (as it can be observed that a number of characters are using social media), for status (as the Apple logo can be distinguished clearly of some of the devices), for news and for information. This combination of symbols only shows how far the characters are from actually being free from want.
Two details however stand out. One of them is how the character that is least concerned with decorum, online sharing or even smiling is the man who reads The New Yorker (he can be observed holding the most recognizable cover of the publication, making witty use of iconic imagery within iconic imagery), and the second detail is the solitary book on the shelf in the background. The fact that the rest of the shelf is completely empty with the exception of a single old-fashioned book might be considered a commentary on how the use of print decreased and was overthrown by digital technology. On the other hand, the magazine and the book provide a sort of bittersweet sense of hope and resilience of the print format in the face of ever growing expansion of technological advances.
Considering the photographic medium was firstly explored in the 19th century, Gillray could not make use of this technique of appropriating imagery at a comparable level, although there are plenty examples that might be considered evidence of an earlier form of the same concept. As previously stated, appropriating widely recognisable attributes and symbols with new interpretations as it can be observed in Plum Pudding in Danger can be treated as a precursor for how this type of method developed to its present form.
As we analysed both James Gillray’s work and Barry Blitt’s from a visual point of view, it would be difficult not to take into consideration the scenery and context of the cities they were operating in.
London in Gillray’s time was a rapidly growing metropolis, with increasing numbers in population and thriving economy as a consequence of the Industrial Revolution. By comparison, 21st century New York is in many ways similar, although on a much larger scale. Both are cities where at the time of each artist’s publications there is a growing phenomenon of debating ideas and increasing freedom of speech that facilitated them to activate within the spectrum of satire.
On a different note, both of their freedom of expression is threatened by a looming authoritarian and expansionist shadow. In Gillray’s case that shadow was France’s conquest of Europe that was directed at Britain and it’s attempts of suppressing the circulation of his satirical prints of Napoleon. In a similar manner, Blitt’s freedom as an agent of the media is currently under threat by the growing presence of conservationist and anti-elitist discourse spreading across the world and Trump’s controversial attempts to delegitimise the credibility of the press.
As Blitt is being confronted with issues of the same sort, it is not surprising that he might have taken inspiration from one of the greatest satirical artists of the past that had to deal with a situation close in nature.
So, is there any influence?
The portrayals of satire and caricature that survived across the centuries as affirmations of the events and issues of their time gained the power to sculpt today’s retrospective look of those times and shape an interesting phenomenon, most likely by accident.
For example, the majority of people today are perfectly convinced that Napoleon was a short man. Nonetheless this is not true, as the Frenchman had about 5’7”, which made him taller than the average man of his time. However, as strange that might seem, Napoleon’s small height has entered popular belief as a result of James Gillray’s depictions of him.
As the French general despised being mocked at all cost, the British cartoonist found a way to ridicule him by depicting him short (in artistic terms that could’ve been just a metaphor for something else entirely). Another interpretation of this was that in the 18th century France and Britain used different measurements units and by British standards, the Frenchman’s reported height sounded like very little.
Whatever the initial reason might have been, although today historians have debunked the myth of Napoleon’s height, his tiny figure is so well rooted in popular culture that many people still consider that to be true.
As a result of Gillray’s grand influence at the time, other artists took up his model of portraying Napoleon and so the myth persisted and spread.
By 1956, tiny Napoleons could be seen in commercials, Bugs Bunny episodes and a range of other depictions. In 1970 he and his small stature starred in cartoons and films. In 2000’s televisions series Jack of All Trades his character was played by a 2’8” actor.
It will be interesting to see how Blitt’s, along with today’s media and other cartoonist’s portrayals of Donald Trump and other political figures will shape the way the current U.S. administration will be remembered in a few decades or perhaps even centuries.
Together with the responsibility of acting like moral compass granted by the public, the First Amendment of The United States of America’s Constitution grants protection to satire and comedy, shielding them and their authors from charges of defamation or harassment (The First Amendment Centre, 2002). By this, the power satire holds in the hands of the general public and its power to educate, challenge and operate are a real responsibility, acknowledged by law.
Historian, linguist activist and political science figure Noam Chomsky makes a powerful statement on this topic with a fragment extracted from one of his talks on anti-censorship. While talking about the prolonged oppression societies endured under totalitarian and monarchic rule he added:
But then people just starting making fun of them. It’s a very thin structure. As soon as you submit it to ridicule or you dismiss it, it can collapse. And this has been understood for centuries.
He is making a strong case in the favour of satire as a critical instrument that shapes and balances the equity of the public versus government. Chomski is also reminding his audience of the history satire has and how the birth of it marked a crucial turnover in the name of progress, critical thinking and freedom.
Publications like The New Yorker continue to honour the legacy of the first artists who had the courage to expose the folly of the powerful few and take upon themselves the responsibility of truth and morality while inciting smiles and laughter.
