Edward Sorel's artwork stands out as faithful to a dying tradition of illustrative drawing. His on-target caricatures, witty cartoons, and distinctive style (characterized by loose, energetic lines) have made him one of today's most respected and sought-after illustrators. His work has appeared in numerous publications, including Harper's, Esquire, The Nation, Rolling Stone, Time, and, most recently, The New Yorker. He has also written and illustrated a number of children's books.
Sorel's work appeared regularly in The Atlantic between the years of 1982 and 1995, during which time he illustrated several Atlantic covers and collaborated with his wife, Nancy Caldwell Sorel, a writer, on the regular feature "First Encounters," which depicted the first meetings of famous figures (such as John James Audubon and Sir Walter Scott, and Tennessee Williams and Marlon Brando).
Some of Sorel's best work from the past thirty years has now been collected, along with commentary by the artist, in Unauthorized Portraits. Ever prolific, in just the past few months he has illustrated several more New Yorker covers, written and illustrated an article on film noir for the December issue of GQ, and produced another children's book (soon to be published by Simon & Schuster).
Sorel recently spoke with me by phone from New York.
In the introduction to the Politics section of Unauthorized Portraits you describe your "tendency" as a child "to draw pictures by myself in a corner." How did your interest in art first manifest itself?
When I was nine years old I got pneumonia. In those days pneumonia was a serious illness—there was no penicillin. My pneumonia laid me up for about a year, and all I could do to entertain myself was draw pictures. Fortunately, in those days shirts came back from the Chinese laundry with white cardboard in them— that was my paper. I had a box of crayons and that was it; by the time I got well I was an artist. As to why I continued to make pictures, I suppose all artists want to create a world other than the one that they're living in. I certainly did.
There was also much conflict in my family. Especially along political lines. It was a very large family; half were communists and the other half just wished that we could all get together without discussing Stalin or Trotsky. I just found all of it very unpleasant, so I made my pictures and let the grownups yell away.
Did you use drawing as a kind of peace-making gesture?
No, it was a way of being off by myself and not getting involved with my family. I am essentially a solitary person, I think. I work at home with my wife, who is a writer; she works in one half of our loft, I work in the other. I'm happiest when I'm working.
What type of research and preparation do you usually undertake before doing a new caricature?
The first thing that you learn when you do caricatures is that you cannot do one from a single photograph. It's absolutely essential that you have several views of the face before you attempt a caricature. Sometimes a photograph doesn't look like the person. You have to have a profile, three-quarter, full face, and then you can really see where the unusual features are.
Obviously, if you're doing a caricature from life it's very different, but I'd say almost all the caricatures I've drawn have been from photographs.
How important do you think visual commentary on society and politics is, as opposed to written commentary?
|Illustration for a review
of Woody Allen's movie
Husbands and Wives in
Rolling Stone, October 1992.
(Click the image for
a larger version.)
In the early part of this century, and in the late nineteenth century, pictures on the editorial page always reflected the viewpoint of the newspapers themselves. The editorial artist was essentially a hired hand. After the Second World War, when the concept of the op-ed page in newspapers came about, writers were encouraged to espouse views that were contrary to the newspaper's. But artists were never given that same opportunity. To this day, the only editorial cartoonist who is able to draw whatever he wants without first clearing it with an editorial board is Herblock, of The Washington Post. Every other newspaper cartoonist, without exception, has to show what he's going to do in advance.
To answer your question, though: the visual has a different kind of power than the written word. Everyone accepts that Thomas Nast brought down the Tweed ring with his cartoons (which is not quite accurate; his pictures appeared in conjunction with editorials). But I think that pictures do have a kind of visceral power. That's why we don't have artists on the op-ed page saying whatever they damn please.
You describe yourself in the Unauthorized Portraits introduction as "someone who feels he's still learning how to draw." How would you describe the evolution of your artistic style over the years?
Well, I hope my drawing has become more spontaneous. When I started out I was a decorative illustrator, which means that I was working in a style that was acceptable to mainstream taste. It was impersonal—sweet, cute, the kind of thing you used to see on record-album covers in the sixties. It was ... decorative.
It seems to me that all the artists that I admire—Rembrandt, for example —got freer and more spontaneous as they got older. It corresponds to being more confident in their art.