The Serious Art of Caricature

Amanda Thomas
The Yale Herald
Published in
5 min readOct 5, 2018
Hand-colored French litograph, Yale University Art Gallery

As you step out of the elevator and onto the fourth floor of the Yale University Art Gallery, you enter a bare room with a single black bench, statues, paintings, drawings and mint-green walls. These form the backdrop for “Seriously Funny: Caricature through the Centuries,” an exhibit organized by Rebecca Szantyr, the former Florence B. Selden Senior Fellow.

Szantyr, who majored in art history at Vassar, is peppy, knows the backstory behind every piece, and treats the exhibit like a child whose traits she hand-picked in a laboratory, and has now watched grow into a well-adjusted adult. Along with 19th century French lithographs recently acquired by the Gallery, the exhibit includes a wide variety of satirical paintings, hand-colored drawings, busts, and statues critiquing a number of individuals from the common man to priests: Hellenistic statue, King George IV, Joseph McCarthy, and both Bush presidents. “Although caricature may lack the refinement and lofty messages of so-called high art, the witty works that comprise this exhibition are no less powerful,” Szantyr writes in the introduction on the wall.

The oldest work in the exhibit is titled “Three Monkeys Imitating the Laocoӧn,” a 16th century piece by Titian. Laocoӧn was a priest of Poseidon who was killed along with his sons for attempting to expose the fake Trojan horse. The story inspired a statue, “Laocoön and his Sons,” excavated in Rome in 1506, which depicts the family being strangled to death by a serpent. In Titian’s caricature, the Laocoön and his sons are replaced by human-esque monkeys. Titian was likely critiquing the numerous artworks copying or “aping” the style of the statue, or making an joke on the famous saying “art imitates life” or maybe even both, according to Szantyr. The caricature is successful partly because of Titian’s attention to detail, and the ways he exaggerates realistic aspects and features, which was a common technique used by caricaturists at the time. The monkeys have human characteristics such as facial expressions that mirror the same looks of terror and agony as seen in the original statue. Even the shagginess of the monkey’s hair adds an aspect of absurdity that makes the piece both visually enticing, and a good-humored animal-style roast of artists who just can’t seem to be original. The caricature is successful partly because of the attention to detail, and the exaggeration of reastlic aspects and features, which was a common technique used by caricaturists at the time.

Royalty is not spared from caricature either. The exhibit features artwork from James Gillray, one of the best known caricature artists and a founding father of the political cartoon. A piece from 1787 titled “Monstrous Craws at a New Coalition Feast,” one of Szantyr’s favorites, shows King George III and Queen Charlotte sitting down to eat a hearty meal of gold coins. They shove a spoonful in their mouths, representing the abundance and hoarding of their wealth, and the coins end up in one large bag protruding from each of their necks, resembling the dangly snoods that protrude from a turkey neck, while their son and future King George IV eats without the absurd bag. King George IV notoriously used his wealth to gamble, collect art, and buy ponies (among other things), and would eventually be over a million dollars in debt. (“Poor George,” Szantyr sighs.) By portraying him differently from his parents, Gillray is saying that King George IV doesn’t hoard wealth, but doesn’t know how to sensibly manage it, either.

Gillray wasn’t alone in his pursuit of justice through ridicule: the French painter Honoré Daumier is also known for his daring political caricatures. On display is “The Garangatua,” a rare piece by Daumier that directly insults Louis Philippe, the King of France at the time. The piece depicts the King with full cheeks and a protruding belly, seated as the ministers feed him taxes taken from dejected and poor citizens who look on. The taxes come out the other end, as the King defecates commissions and peer nominations for another group of ministers who happily wallow in his excrement. Clearly satirical and uncomfortably funny, it is also a searing critique of the King’s immobility and willingness to be led astray by his ministers. Unfortunately, Daumier ended up serving one year imprisonment and receiving a fine for his satire on Louis Philippe (according to Szatyr, the printer and publisher dodged jail time), speaking to the bravery of the caricaturists, but also the censorship laws of the time.

On the way out of the exhibit there is one wall of political cartoons and caricatures featuring men like Joseph McCarthy, Richard Nixon, and the Bushes — which Szatyr calls, “The Wall of Disappointing Men.” One political cartoon from 1997 by Patrick Oliphant features Bill Gates as a stuffed boa constrictor with a dazed expression. Gates is unfazed by the presence of U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno as he utters the words: “So… fine me.” Oliphant references an antitrust suit against Microsoft, and Attorney General Reno’s threat of government regulations. The depiction of Bill Gates as a snake is funny enough, especially because Oliphant has managed to capture Gates’ geeky demeanor. But arguably the funniest part is the caption and title of the piece: “The Nerd That Ate America.” It does what historical art is supposed to do, and more. It’s historically accurate, witty, creative, and begs us to ask questions (What was Microsoft doing at the time? Were Microsoft’s actions fair?Is Bill Gates really a nerd?).

People are still laughing at this cartoon today, the same way they’d laugh at a French caricature about a King’s excrements. Caricature hasn’t changed much since the days of Titian, Gillray, or Daumier. Looking at the rise of the political cartoon and nightly shows like The Daily Show and Seth Meyers that offer satire as a way to grapple with the increasingly disturbing and disappointing political news, it seems that caricature and humor are more useful than ever. Images of King Louis Philippe as lazy and bloated eerily resemble the cartoon baby drawings of Donald Trump which we see in newspapers today. Caricature can be a powerful tool to punch up at authority figures, to make us question our positions as the everyday man, and for a valuable review of history. It is humor done with thought and care, it carries a message and evokes a feeling. Caricature is powerful, as Szantyr put it, and caricature is art.

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