Gahan Wilson: Apparently Every Christmas . . .

In the November 4 sale of illustration art, Heritage Auctions offered an original Gahan Wilson Playboy cartoon that is hardly the usual Christmas fare.

"Apparently, every Christmas he'd take the tree out of storage and add a few more ornaments!"
Gahan Wilson
Original art
Playboy, December 2001

Wilson inscribed the original "For Doc Schiff from" followed by his signature. Playboy's stamps are in place in the upper margin of the art.

"Apparently, every Christmas he'd take the tree out of storage and add a few more ornaments!"
Gahan Wilson
Original art
Playboy, December 2001

Sixteen-and-a-half hours prior to the sale, when I checked in, online bidding was going strong.

Gahan Wilson
Heritage Auctions listing of November 4, 2025 accessed sixteen hours before the live bidding 

https://fineart.ha.com/itm/mainstream-illustration/gahan-wilson-american-1930-2019-apparently-every-christmas-playboy-cartoonmixed-media-on-paper/a/8224-71273.s?ic16=ViewItem-BrowseTabs-Auction-Open-MyTrackedLots-101116

Gahan Wilson
Heritage Auctions item description

And an even better price was achieved when the bidding went live.

Note:  Many thanks to David from Manhattan for identifying the month and year of publication. 

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Margaret McElderry's Copy First Encounters by the Sorels

Man about town David From Manhattan has created an informative piece about a book personalized by illustrator Edward Sorel to a leading children's book editor. David writes:

First Encounters: A Book of Memorable Meetings (1994), written by Nancy Caldwell Sorel and illustrated by her husband Edward, was inspired by a Vanity Fair feature from the 1930s, "Impossible Interviews," that was illustrated with caricatures by Miguel Covarrubias. "First Encounters" became a popular feature of The Atlantic, which six times a year described and pictured actual first encounters between real people that allowed Mr. Sorel "to experiment," as he put it, with different mediums each time an encounter appeared, thus showing off the full scope of his art. After a 14-year run, Sorel's publisher, Alfred Knopf, was quite happy to enlist printers in Italy and produce a lavish volume in time for Christmas.

One of the recipients of this book, most likely during the holidays, was the legendary children's book editor, Margaret McElderry (1912-2011) whose copy of First Encounters is warmly inscribed: "For Margaret McElderry/ Who published my first children's book/ With affection/ Edward Sorel."

Mr. Sorel was still a few years from publishing two children's books, Johnny on the Spot (1998) and The Saturday Kid (2000), under the auspices of McElderry Books at Simon & Schuster, so what exactly was he referring to with his thank-you? We need to go back to 1958, and King Carlo of Capri, a children's story based on "Riquet with the Tuft of Hair," a 17th century tale by Charles Perrault, retold and reworked by Warren Miller (the writer, not the cartoonist), and illustrated by Sorel, who also came up with the catchier title.

Most important, it was actually his very first book, period, published at Harcourt, Brace & Co., with a children's book department headed by none other than Margaret McElderry. Sorel had not forgotten.

Still, in the spirit of not forgetting, I can't quite leave the subject of children's literature and first books without mentioning one more volume of Sorel's: The Zillionaire's Daughter (1989).

His second children's story, it was his first as sole author and illustrator, with a contract that gave him free reign. Published by Warner Juvenile Books, it's a witty, 22-page story set entirely in rhymed verse, and well-illustrated with watercolors, right down to the striking endpapers.

The story of a wealthy Frenchman, Max Maximillion, who brings his daughter Claire on a trip to America, it was also a great excuse for Sorel to share his love of Art Deco, visit the 1939 World's Fair, and spend quality time on an ocean liner Max owned and, with no knowledge of today's billionaires & oligarchs, presciently named the S.S. Gigantic.

Note:  Thanks a zillion to David From Manhattan for providing us with this post, words and pictures, as only he can. This is his seventieth contribution to Attempted Bloggery, so it doesn't qualify as a first encounter.

Edward Sorel is a fabulous illustrator who has been creating top-notch art for decades. Collectors who would like to share their Sorel originals here virtually are encouraged to submit what they have.

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John and Liza Norton's Copy of The Penguin Edward Koren

Our good friend and frequent contributor David From Manhattan writes of a previously unrecorded creature by New Yorker cartoonist Edward Koren:

The Penguin Edward Koren, the only book the cartoonist assembled almost entirely from previous collections of his work, was published in 1982. It's a strong selection, and includes several uncollected but worthy cartoons from his early days that never made the transition from magazine appearance to formal collection, and presented (in soft cover) in the U.K. by Penguin Books.

At some point, an American couple, John and Liza Norton, asked the artist to inscribe the book with a drawing. Their names presented attractively, Koren signed it in full, but the drawing itself is curious, even strange, with a sinister Koren creature in a hooded cloak, admiring itself in a full-length mirror; a scythe would not be out of place. Close by, a plausible sales clerk, hastily drawn, guides his customer with an approving smile. 

A 1980 New York Times wedding announcement from White Stone, Va., may provide a clue or two. When she married John Anthony Norton, Liza Christian Carter was a director of design for N. Erlanger Blumgart Co., a fabric converter in New York. The day Liza and her husband met Koren, was the design director showing off an outfit similar to Koren's hooded figure? Mr. Norton, on the other hand, is described in the Times article as an ad sales rep for The New Yorker, a possible source for that smile, and a job title he would have almost certainly shared with the artist.

Note:  My thanks to David From Manhattan for again sharing one of the treasures of his library with us. This is his sixty-ninth contribution to the blog, not that I'm counting or anything. When we get to seventy, I'll be dressing for a rather strange ritual.

Readers are welcome to share unique gems by Edward Koren from their own collections here. I'd also be happy to entertain any ideas about what's going on in the mysterious drawing above.

 

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Charles Saxon: Losing His Cool

Today our friend David from Manhattan writes of an animated advertising campaign designed by New Yorker cartoonist Charles Saxon (1920-1988):

Charles Saxon, best known for his New Yorker cartoons and covers, displayed a bold, distinctive hand when writing out captions on finished drawings, or adding an inscription to one of his books. But on rare occasions this became a sly sans-serif style that added to the humor of his advertising artwork. Television commercials for the Los Angeles radio station KOST 103.5 FM feature a woman seated by her radio, assaulted by alarmist voices. 

In 2014 Heritage Auctions offered preliminary artwork and hand-painted production cels from this ad project. There were also drawings of a male radio listener, most notably a hand-colored, signed work with an interesting blast of r&b sounds: "Mama Love Ya... Yeah Mama...Hey Hey," etc., and was probably intended to run concurrently with his lady listener. 

An example of a production cel makes a similar point, though it seems far less effective. In addition, a group of 12 drawings and proofs of the same lady listener turned up later that year on eBay and sold for a reasonable $125. In conte crayon on tracing paper, they show the artist trying out various comic expressions.

 

But two drawings, both signed, display before & after reactions to the radio's voices, and like his r&b listener, are in stark contrast to Saxon's usual affluent men and women of the upper middle class who value calm and financial security, or as Edward Sorel put it when he eulogized Saxon in his 1997 essay for American Heritage, "It Was Nice": "His cool, carefully composed drawings never suggest outrage." 

There's also a proof of additional air quotes with an intriguing note by the artist: "'Newsed Out' Billboard," which suggest KOST may have had plans beyond TV ads and might explain an attractive hand-colored drawing from the Heritage offerings, with Saxon's woman no longer "newsed out"—perfect eye-candy for a billboard. 

"Newsed Out"

Described by the auction house as created in the late 70s or early 80s, do these television spots still exist somewhere? Were there ever any billboard displays?

Postscript:  In addition to his work for KOST, Saxon went all out with a full-page ad Christie's Auctions ran years ago in art journals and The New Yorker; I don't know if anyone at Christie's provided ideas, though a line about someone's great-grandfather being outbid by the Duke of Wellington and never forgiving him, would not have been out of place in a Saxon cartoon. But as the page is presented, we get a tour de force of overheard party chatter, mostly revolving around Christie's, with eleven upscale men and women, unaware they were being sketched and recorded by a master.

Christie's advertisement
Charles Saxon
The New Yorker

Note:  I for one could use a billboard to show my appreciation to David from Manhattan for sharing his insights into Charles Saxon with us here. This is, impressively, his sixty-eighth contribution to Attempted Bloggery and I am so grateful for the day off. 

Natually, I would hope to hear from anyone in possession of the Saxon video or print advertising campaign for KOST. Photos of billboards welcome.

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J. B. Handelsman: Why Mr. Dobkin Is Not Walt Whitman

In yesterday's post on New Yorker cartoonist J. B. "Bud" Handelsman, I asked for additional pieces of original art to share here. Longtime contributor David from Manhattan came through with a fine New Yorker drawing. He writes:

The cartoon, 11" x 8", is from Feb. 2, 1987. I bought this years ago on eBay, with Condé Nast the seller for a client who owned that iconic Sam Gross frogs' legs cartoon that brought $30,000 at auction. The attraction for me was the poetry reference in the caption, though taking the photo I was reminded of the artist's care in making sure each man's clothing was rendered in a different shade, even managing a hint of brown in the prosecutor's suit and gray blue in the stubborn gentleman in the witness chair.

"Walt Whitman may well have contradicted himself, Mr. Dobkin, but chances are he wasn't under oath at the moment."
J. B. Handelsman
Original art
The New Yorker, February 2, 1987, p. 75

Detail of the witness

Detail of the judge and attorney

Here's what we see in print:

"Walt Whitman may well have contradicted himself, Mr. Dobkin, but chances are he wasn't under oath at the moment."
J. B. Handelsman
 The New Yorker, February 2, 1987, p. 75

"Walt Whitman may well have contradicted himself, Mr. Dobkin, but chances are he wasn't under oath at the moment."
J. B. Handelsman
Original art
 The New Yorker, February 2, 1987, p. 75

With a spot drawing by Tom Funk and a cartoon by J. B. Handelsman

https://archives.newyorker.com/newyorker/1987-02-02/flipbook/074/

* * * 

Spot drawing
Tom Funk

Note:  For those who don't recognize the poem "Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman, the relevant lines are:

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

My thanks to David from Manhattan for keeping the discussion of J. B. Handelsman going with today's post. This is David's sixty-seventh contribution to Attempted Bloggery and they're all worthwhile.

Let me repeat my call to action since it met with such success yesterday. There is a lot of original art by Bud Handelsman in private collections and very few blogs willing to put it out there for the world to see. Remember, this is a big blog. It can contain multitudes. 

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How Do You Like Your Portraits, Ernest?

Contributor David from Manhattan writes:

The recent essay by Adam Gopnik, "Subject and Object," is a careful dissection of  the famous and controversial 1950 New Yorker profile by Lillian Ross, "How Do You Like It Now, Gentlemen?" illustrated, one forgets, with a tiny pen & ink drawing of [Ernest] Hemingway by Reginald Marsh. 

Ernest Hemingway
Reginald Marsh
The New Yorker, May 13, 1950, p. 36

The long Ross Profile described her encounter with the famous author as he roamed Manhattan with Miss Ross in tow. Merely by quoting him at length (accurately as it turns out), and reporting how he moved through the day, the Hemingway in this profile comes across as a clown and a sad parody of himself. It hasn't been forgotten, as Gopnik makes clear. Published in time for the 100th anniversary issue of The New Yorker, the essay features a full-page color drawing by Barry Blitt, based, we are told in tiny print, on a photograph "courtesy Lillian Ross Estate."

Ernest Hemingway and Lillian Ross
Barry Blitt
The New Yorker, February 17 & 24, 2025, p. 151

Perhaps for that reason Blitt didn't sign his drawing, though a proper credit line appears beneath it. The drawing is not especially funny, something rarely said about a Blitt drawing. And to make things more interesting, in-between the Gopnik piece and Ross's original profile, she published "Hemingway Told Me Things" in the May 24, 1999 issue, about his letters and warm advice to her. This piece is illustrated with a caricature by Edward Sorel. 

Lillian Ross and Ernest Hemingway
Edward Sorel
The New Yorker, May 24, 1999, p. 71

In 1999 Miss Ross wished to present Hemingway in a far more generous light than the 1950 piece, but forty-nine years is a long time to wait before applying damage control. Fortunately, Sorel, quietly ignoring Ross's good cheer, royally allowed himself an artist's fun with a famous author full of himself, and a still rising journalist not quite sure of what she was in for. The small background image of a photographer in the oval mirror with his flash, even reduced on the magazine page, is a masterful touch in a drawing far more elegant, accurate and funny than the Ernest in the Gopnik piece, though in fairness to Blitt, his Hemingway is clearly intended to be more illustration than target. It's unlikely that Sorel's drawing wasn't lodged in Blitt's memory; there was no reason to compete. But both artists are certainly on firmer ground than Reginald Marsh. His portrait of Ernest was left out, unfairly I think, when Simon & Schuster in 1961 reprinted the Ross profile in a very attractive clothbound 65-page book and retitled Portrait of Hemingway, the year of the author's death.

Portrait of Hemingway by Lillian Ross

* * *

With an illustration by Reginald Marsh and a cartoon by Barney Tobey

https://archives.newyorker.com/newyorker/1950-05-13/flipbook/036/

With an illustration by Edward Sorel

https://archives.newyorker.com/newyorker/1999-05-24/flipbook/070/

With a header by Timo Kuilder and an illustration by Barry Blitt

https://archives.newyorker.com/newyorker/2025-02-17/flipbook/150/

Note:  My thanks to David from Manhattan for surprising me with today's piece. This is his sixty-sixth contribution to Attempted Bloggery.

* * *

"Notice the little ruffle, which gives it that feminine touch."
Barney Tobey
The New Yorker, May 13, 1950, p. 37

* * *

The Critics
Timo Kuilder
The New Yorker, February 17 & 24, 2025, p. 150

 04878

Eldon Dedini Illustrates French

It was news to me that cartoonist Eldon Dedini illustrated a textbook of introductory French in 1970. David from Manhattan knows a surprising amount of its history. He writes:

In 2014 eBay offered a group of six letters, part of a presumably larger correspondence from the legendary Eldon Dedini to Michael Kim, a young man he was mentoring in the 1980s. Kim went on to become a storyboard artist, writer, and director of "The Ren and Stimpy Show" and "Family Guy," the letters demonstrating Dedini's generosity with his advice for an aspiring artist. One letter, from 1984, talks about illustrating books for publishers, and to make a point about reading the fine print before signing anything, Dedini included a file copy of an old contract from Holt, Rinehart and Winston.

The book, written by a friend, Yvette de Petra, in 1968 a professor at Crown College in Santa Cruz, had the provisional title First Year College French with Dedini to provide illustrations.

When it was published in 1970, it had become a 413+ page hardbound textbook, La Clef: Introduction Au Français Elementaire, replete with photographs, prints, an appendix of full-color maps, and best of all, 22 full-page b&w drawings, plus the cover, and numerous smaller drawings, all by Dedini.

The original owner of my copy was Prof. Mary M. Rowan, who made notes, creased page corners, and is credited online as a pioneer in "the study of French convent writing."

A selection of illustrations show Dedini taking different approaches to his task, all in his recognizable style, which for the purposes of a textbook he simplified, and perhaps in a playful nod to his work in Playboy, nearly all the men and women are young, attractive and happy. 

The book also includes literary excerpts from many French luminaries, though Dedini contributed to just two: Colette, with a small drawing of her fictional stand-in, Claudine, and Anatole France, with a sketch of a schoolboy running through autumn leaves. The artist may not have been comfortable with this part of the project, or de Petra decided on another approach; the balance of the excerpts use only author photos. Dedini's contributions end on page 265, with "Faisons un rêve," which shows a young woman dreaming of a New York City visit on her own and returning via Air France safe & sound to her boyfriend. If Dedini had a dream, it may have been to finish his work and take a vacation far from college textbooks.

La Clef was published more than 54 years ago. It's out of print, and other than listings for the book, there's no information on Yvette de Petra to be found on-line. Fortunately, the correspondence between Yvette and Eldon still exists, as does the original artwork, all courtesy of the vast Dedini archives at the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum, an important part of the Ohio State University library system in Columbus.

Note:  Merci beaucoup to David from Manhattan. This is his sixty-fifth contribution to Attempted Bloggery. Furthermore, he finally figured out how to sneak mentions of "The Ren and Stimpy Show" and "Family Guy" into my otherwise serious blog. 

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