Showing posts with label Daniel Brustlein. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daniel Brustlein. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 22, 2026

James Thurber: Out of Fix

On June 13, 1934, an amendment to the Code was adopted, which established the Production Code Administration (PCA) and required all films released on or after July 1, 1934, to obtain a Seal of Approval before being released.


Leave it to the cartoonists of The New Yorker to find the humor in such moral high-handedness. And, in this case specifically, leave it to James Thurber, whose original cartoon art on the subject was sold yesterday at Heritage Auctions. He does have a way with domestic scenes.

"She's out of fix because they've cleaned up the movies."
Original art
James Thurber
The New Yorker, September 29, 1934, p. 13

What a great idea it was for Thurber to portray the indignation of the young girl here—she still has a doll!—the very sort of person the Hays Code was allegedly trying to protect. 

To me, it's an odd turn of phrase to say, "out of fix." It sounds wrong to my ear, but I take it to be close to "out of joint" or "bent out of shape."
"She's out of fix because they've cleaned up the movies."
Framed, original art
James Thurber
The New Yorker, September 29, 1934, p. 13

"October 6th or before," reads the notation on the back. The New Yorker knew it had a timely cartoon on its hands. It was published in the September 29 issue while the topic was still fresh in the public's mind.
Verso




James Thurber
Heritage Auctions listing accessed 22 days before the sale


James Thurber
Heritage Auctions item description



The present work, of course, translates well onto the printed pages of The New Yorker:
"She's out of fix because they've cleaned up the movies."
James Thurber
The New Yorker, September 29, 1934, p. 13

"She's out of fix because they've cleaned up the movies."
Original art
James Thurber
The New Yorker, 
September 29, 1934, p. 13


Sold!





* * *

On the page opposite the Thurber drawing, that old romancer Alain gets a little forward with the body language. Thurber's body language by comparison is rather restrained, at least in this issue. 
            "Go on, don't give
me that personality stuff!"

Alain
The New Yorker, September 29, 1934, p. 12





Note:  This blog will remain out of fix indefinitely.




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Sunday, April 19, 2026

Alain [Daniel Brustlein]: Self-Portrait

Daniel Brustlein (1904-1996) was known to readers of The New Yorker as the cartoonist Alain. His signature collection is Alain's Steeplechase (1957). A self-portrait of his executed in oil on paper and sold on eBay early in 2020 is signed simply Brustlein.

The self-portrait shows the aritist surrounded by his paintings. The studio floor has tiles in a checkerboard pattern. The painter leaves the forms in an unresolved blur, and we are not sure whether we have quite seen him or not.





Daniel Brustlein's signature

The work is framed.

Alain [Daniel Brustlein]
eBay listing ended February 15, 2020


Alain [Daniel Brustlein]
eBay item descritpion


The work sold for a best offer somewhere less than $799.99.

[End of eBay listing]

Here, for comparison, is a photographic image of the artist. He definitely captured somthing of himself.
https://www.danielbrustlein.com/biography

This is his Wikipedia portrait:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_Brustlein

Curiously, on the back dust cover to The New Yorker Album of Drawings 1925-1975, he is referred to as "Daniel Alain," but nowhere else does this combination of name and pseudonym appear in print. 
The New Yorker Album of Drawings 1925-1975
Detail of rear dust jacket




You may wonder why I sometimes archive and hold on to eBay listings for years before proceeding to post them. I wonder as well.




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Saturday, April 29, 2023

James Thurber: The Best Years

My maternal grandparents had separate beds like the ones in a 1935 James Thurber cartoon. I hope they didn't also have conversations like the one shown in the drawing which was just sold in Heritage Auction's Tuesday Illustration Art Signature sale. Thurber's caption underwent some considerable rewriting between his handwritten original and the drawing's appearance in The New Yorker. Was it thus improved upon? I'm not so sure.

"And after I've given you the best years of my life, too."
James Thurber
Original art
Published as "You've taken the best years of my life, that's what you've done!"
The New Yorker,
March 23, 1935, p. 
11
Thurber, James, and Rosen, Michael J., ed. People Have More Fun than Anybody: A Centennial Celebration of Drawings and Writings. Harcourt Brace, 1994



The woman's raised right arm is somewhat disturbing to me, as it articulates well below where the shoulder should be. But then, Thurber was no anatomist.
"And after I've given you the best years of my life, too."
James Thurber
Matted original art
Published as "You've taken the best years of my life, that's what you've done!"
The New Yorker,
 March 23, 1935, p. 
11
Thurber, James, and Rosen, Michael J., ed. People Have More Fun than Anybody: A Centennial Celebration of Drawings and Writings. Harcourt Brace, 1994


James Thurber
Heritage Auctions, April 25, 2023

The lot sold for a $3,100 hammer price plus the 25% buyer's premium.


"You've taken the best years of my life, that's what you've done!"
James Thurber
The New Yorker,
 March 23, 1935, p. 11
"And after I've given you the best years of my life, too."
James Thurber
Original art
Published as "You've taken the best years of my life, that's what you've done!"
The New Yorker,
 March 23, 1935, p. 11
Thurber, James, and Rosen, Michael J., ed. People Have More Fun than Anybody: A Centennial Celebration of Drawings and Writings. Harcourt Brace, 1994

Cartoons by Alain (Daniel Brustlein) and James Thurber


What's wrong with the Alain caption? I bet I don't even need to tell you. Getting a laugh by stereotyping the Irish was a common practice back then. For the most part we rightfully condemn this sort of thing today, but it's important to also recognize how widespread the practice was—and how widely accepted. 


Note:  My thanks once again to New Yorker cartoonist and Ink Spill blogger Michael Maslin for his expert detective work in finding a nine-decade-old Thurber cartoon working from a caption that had been highly edited prior to publication.


I'm curious what others think about the two versions of the James Thurber caption seen here. As I indicated, I prefer the original, shorter, handwritten caption which has never before seen the light of day until this Heritage auction.






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Sunday, July 19, 2020

Hirohito's Harakiri: Rea Irvin Killed New Yorker Cover Art Printing Plate

Decades ago, The New Yorker magazine's office basement was the repository of neglected or forgotten art, including unclaimed or unused spot drawings, which then as now went largely underappreciated. When this basement area flooded, cover artist Arthur Getz went down into it to check on the state of his spot drawings which had been held in storage. What he unexpectedly came away with was an otherwise unwanted copper printing plate of an unpublished cover by Rea Irvin, the magazine's very first cover artist and its initial art supervisor, later art director. It dates sometime from the Second World War—there is no issue date on the plate—and it depicts Japan's emperor Hirohito confronted with his country's looming defeat about to commit harakiri, or seppuku.
Rea Irvin
Copper printing plate
"Killed" World War II-era 
New Yorker cover
Photo by Sarah Getz


This plate must be one of four color separations used in the four-color printing process. Below the score lines the black or key plate is indicated. The other three plates apparently do not survive. The fact that Irvin's art went through the color separation process but was "abandoned," in Getz's words—or not published—indicate that this cover was considered and "killed" by the editorial staff. It is an unusual political cover concept for The New Yorker, although such covers did occasionally appear under Irvin's by-line during the war.
Rea Irvin
Copper printing plate showing score lines
"Killed" World War II-era New Yorker cover
Photo by Sarah Getz

Harakiri, or hara-kiri as it was usually hyphenated then, was a form of Japanese ritual suicide that many Americans learned about at the onset of the war. Less than a month after Pearl Harbor, a New Yorker cartoon by Alain (Daniel Brustlein) depicts a journalist struggling with the spelling of the unfamiliar term.
Alain (Daniel Brustlein)
The New Yorker, January 3, 1942, page 19



Getz's handwritten description of the plate uses quotation marks, indicating that he may have copied some of his information, perhaps from a water-damaged source. He too trips over the spelling of harakiri.
Arthur Getz's handwritten documentation of the Rea Irvin plate
Photo by Sarah Getz


Allied fantasies of having the war end abruptly aided by ritual suicide of the Axis leaders must have been commonplace. Here there are some five other figures poised to kill themselves below Hirohito. It's hard to discern their features on the plate, but they could be Mussolini (on the left side of the plate wearing a fez), Tojo (below him), and Hitler (on the right of the plate). Kneeling behind the ostensible Hitler is a European figure in a top hat and there is a smaller figure grasping a knife hilt in the corner below him.
Rea Irvin
Copper printing plate
"Killed" World War II-era New Yorker cover
Photo by Sarah Getz



With the hindsight of history, we know Irvin's vision was somewhat off the mark. Mussolini was executed by elements of the Italian resistance in 1945 while he was trying to flee the country. Hitler killed himself in Berlin by taking cyanide two days thereafter. Emperor Hirohito did not commit harakiri. He remained emperor of Japan after the war and died in 1989.

The Axis leaders could never have congregated, let alone coordinated a global military campaign, but it was not unusual for them to be depicted together in Allied propaganda to emphasize the commonality of the threat they posed. In the pages of The New Yorker just weeks after Pearl Harbor, Irvin depicted Hitler, Tojo, and Mussolini as a single three-headed sea serpent jointly attacking an American island military base.
Tell It to the Marines
Rea Irvin
The New Yorker, December 27, 1941, page 21




Finally, flipping the plate image horizontally gives some idea of what the published cover image might have looked like.
Rea Irvin
Reverse image copper printing plate 
"Killed" World War II-era New Yorker cover
Photo by Sarah Getz, flipped















































Note:  My sincere thanks to Sarah Getz for sharing her father's unique copper printing plate and its history. I would appreciate hearing from anyone who can add further details to the story of this killed cover. I would especially like to see the original art, if anyone happens to know its whereabouts.

There must also be more to the story of the flood in The New Yorker's basement. When was it? What else may have been lost? Or recovered? If you know, do tell.

Michael Maslin writes about founding editor Harold Ross's policy of not putting "specific people" on the covers of The New Yorker here. It is interesting that it was always Rea Irvin who seemed to have persuaded Ross to make an exception to this rule and that world leaders during World War II were always the subject of these covers. Fascinating stuff, and a must for those who might think The New Yorker's covers were always driven by headlines the way they frequently are today.

I haven't shown all that much original Irvin art here these nine years, but more would certainly make a welcome subject for a post or two. So please send images of whatever you may have. Also, I'm always looking to put more examples of "killed" New Yorker art on the blog, that is, artwork including cartoons and covers that were purchased by the magazine but never published. There's usually a story there, though not always anyone to tell it.

This is the fifth New Yorker copper printing plate to appear here on the blog, the only one featuring a cover image and a killed one at that. I see no reason to stop here, except that I don't know of any further examples. Please help me out by sending along images of vintage New Yorker printing plates and by all means tell me what you know about them.


Okay, people, you have your assignments. Now get to work...


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Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Claude: Getting With the Program

As television gained popularity in the postwar period, Americans learned to organize their free time around the medium's broadcast schedule. In 1952, Walter Annenberg launched TV Guide, a hugely-successful magazine featuring stories of national interest printed in color on glossy paper sandwiching local program listings which appeared in black and white on newsprint. Claude Smith's cartoon in the September 26, 1959 issue of the New Yorker reminds us that home television viewing had a broader social component as well. With three national networks and scarcely a handful of local stations vying to get our attention, people were eager to know what programs others were watching.

Charles E. Martin, The New Yorker, September 26, 1959

"I'm watching myself!"
Claude Smith, original art
The New Yorker, September 26, 1959, page 36

"I'm watching myself!"
Claude Smith, original art
The New Yorker, September 26, 1959, page 36

Verso

Detail of verso with Claude's signature

"I'm watching myself!"
Claude Smith, The New Yorker, September 26, 1959, page 36

Claude Smith
eBay Listing Ended October 5, 2016


Claude Smith
eBay Item Description






"I'm watching myself!"
Claude Smith, original art
The New Yorker, September 26, 1959, page 36
"I'm watching myself!"
Claude Smith, The New Yorker, September 26, 1959, page 36

Drawings by Claude Smith and Alain
The New Yorker, September 26, 1959, page 36-37

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