THE ENERGY OF THE 1960s, part 2

Prior to the 1960s, most illustrations would dutifully focus on the subject matter being illustrated.  The content would normally be placed front and center.  But as illustrators acquired more freedom, the aesthetics of the picture increasingly dominated the subject matter.

For example, believe it or not this is an illustration of an airplane:

Verne Bowen

And here is an illustration of an aircraft carrier: 

Austin Briggs

And this is an illustration of a commuter train:

Robert Weaver

Even fairly conventional depictions of subjects such as technical machinery could be jazzed up with bold brushwork and bright colors in the background:

Neil Boyle

Sometimes the efforts to make machinery look "arty" were more successful than others:

Ed Broussard

As an example of the changes brought by the 60s, this picture of a refinery was painted by Al Dorne around 1950:

Al Dorne

But by the 1960s even refineries were looking for a bolder, more artistic image:

Dave Passalacqua

It can be fun fun to trace the development of individual artists during this era.   Robert Handville started the 60s working like this:

Robert Handville

By the end of the decade, his illustrations were far more radical:

Robert Handville

Some of the artistic freedoms that opened up in the 1960s remain available to illustrators today.  Some died a well deserved death.  But the 60s were remarkable as a period of strong experimentation where illustrators were eager to try new things, and after a while art directors and even clients encouraged them to do so.

THE ENERGY OF THE 1960s, part 1

In the 1960s illustration exploded with energy.

 The '60s were a decade of revolution and free love, of rock n' roll and civil rights protests.  After decades working on careful, skilled images, illustrators were unleashed to experiment with bolder,  more innovative styles.

Some tried an uncontrolled look, with spasmodic, convulsive lines and spattered, loose washes.

Bill Hofman

Bernie Fuchs

Another popular style was slashing, violent lines suitable for the dynamic times.

Neil Boyle

Neil Boyle (detail)

Austin Briggs

George Roth (detail)

John Gundelfinger

Cliff Condak

Cliff Condak (detail)

 Jim Jonson

Jim Jonson (detail)

I like this look for its aggressive energy, its spontaneity, and most of all for its very human fingerprint. There were many other stylistic innovations in the 60s as well. Advertising agencies would advertise for artists with hot new ideas. This 1963 ad from Young & Rubicam made clear what kind of talent they were seeking:

I've previously told the story of Bernie Fuchs, whose innovative work in the early 60s for magazines such as McCall's made him the hottest illustrator in town. When art director Richard Gangel hired Fuchs for his first assignment for Sports Illustrated, he demanded that Fuchs push himself even further: "I don't want any of that shit you do for McCall's," he said.

With time, some of the innovations of the 60s became moderated and domesticated. They remain today as cliches of illustration, like the faint echo of the big bang. But I thought it would be fun to spend a few days looking at them in their original savage state, to see if they have anything interesting to offer. 

BULL

In 1967 Bernie Fuchs drew this bull for an ad for the Henry Schroeder Banking Corporation. 

Eight years later, artist Susan Rothenberg rocked the fine art world with this picture of a horse:

When Ms. Rothenberg passed away last week, The Washington Post extolled her as "one of the most acclaimed and influential artists of the past half century."

Why?  The New Yorker explained the "asteroidal impact" of Ms. Rothenberg's horse pictures:

[T]he effect of the horse paintings that Rothenberg sprang on the world in 1975... was like an asteroid impact....her huge paintings in acrylics made some of us laugh with sheer wonderment....The works conveyed anger, exaltation, and self-abandoning intrepidity. 

The Fuchs picture is a far superior design; it's a more sensitive and observant portrayal of the animal, with a more powerful use of dense blacks, artfully contrasted with light, lacy drawings of broken china.  It is a more mature, sophisticated piece.  It even has a discernible, layered meaning. Yet, we must all concede that the Rothenberg picture is stronger in the "self-abandoning intrepidity" department.

Fuchs' failure to master self-abandoning intrepidity will always remain a serious drawback to his art. But he did seem able to tell the difference between a horse and bull.

THE GREAT NOEL SICKLES, part 5

Unlike many artists who hedge their bets with numerous fine lines, Sickles often used bold lines and dry brush.  

In the following close ups, look how his highly selective use of broad dabs of ink and watercolor create the impression of a tightly rendered figure, but without the same manual labor.

An artist who employs a thousand lines to make a picture can make a lot of lazy or even wrong choices with impunity.  Sickles' approach requires a more sure artist.

In the next detail, see how Sickles uses a swipe of dry brush where lesser artists might be drawing wood grain and knot holes with a hundred strokes of a crow quill pen:

In this next picture of a cannon fusillade, we see a similar approach

Sickles does his best to eliminate unnecessary details, but he just can't help his obsession with how the engineering of his subject works:

THE GREAT NOEL SICKLES, part 4

Here are some hopefully edifying close-ups of a Sickles drawing:

Sickles was assigned to illustrate technicians at work on a nuclear reactor... not exactly an artist's dream assignment.   But the resulting drawing shows how Sickles rotated and cropped the image to turn a complex subject into an interesting design.

Sickles' philosophy was, "For reportorial drawing one needs a draftsman, an artist who goes beyond a literal rendering and who interprets and selects.  He can often make the slightest sketch significant and can bring life, meaning and vitality to a drawing as well as the imprint of a personal style."

Sickles was famous for his location drawings, which pioneered the trend in American illustration away from "finished" drawings, and toward the acceptance of more spontaneous sketches.  This trend was later developed further by artists such as Robert Weaver, Franklin McMahon, Alan Cober, Paul Hogarth and Tom Allen, before it became the dominant style in illustration. 

In his excellent book On-The-Spot Drawing, Nick Meglin quotes Sickles on this transformation in taste:

My drawings were mostly observations, details, compositions, ideas and just plain visual notes to myself...a wagon wheel looks like this...an oak tree looks like that.  You'd go to an editor with your drawings and he'd say-- "Yes, fine.  This is what we wanted.  Now go home and do me a finished one." Today he says-- "Yes, fine.  This is what we wanted." Then he reaches over and rips it out of your sketchbook and prints it, charcoal smudges and all."

The craftsmanship and technique may not be the same, but as public awareness increases, the demand for the true picture, the natural picture, has become the important thing.

I don't know whether this drawing of the nuclear reactor was done with the aid of photo reference; I do know that if you follow Sickle's pencil line close up, you can see that he did not slavishly follow the line of any photograph when it came to the human figures here.

Even when he draws the machinery, we can see from the detail below that Sickles made a few sparse guidelines with some mechanical tool to make sure the basic structure was squared off, then drew the reactor freehand with a natural spirit using uneven, overlapping and transparent forms.

  

Sickles  knew exactly how tight he wanted to make this drawing, and no tighter.

THE GREAT NOEL SICKLES, part 3

Noel Sickles was a capable painter...

...but he was first and foremost a draftsman.  He used the most basic black and white tools to achieve the most extraordinary results.  For example, working on a small scale with humble materials he was able to create the illusion of epic events:

The following is Sickles' drawing of one of the worst disasters in Naval history-- the night collision of the aircraft carrier USS Wasp with the USS Hobson.  You'd think that such an immense topic would require a big canvas and a full range of colors.  But look at what Sickles was able to accomplish with graphite on a small piece of illustration board:

Sickles gives us a sense of the scale by his extreme foreshortening of the Hobson and his depiction of the looming Wasp, lit from below by the sparks from the collision.  The tilt of the lumbering Hobson gives us a sense for the immense weight of these ships.

A less skilled hand would dramatize the impact using bright fireballs and plumes of smoke.  With a highly limited value scale, Sickles does a more potent job.  (I've often quoted Thucydides: "Of all manifestations of power, restraint impresses men most.")

As always,  Sickles' linework-- even in a night scene-- reassures us that he is firmly in control of the structure of his subject:

Delicate details such as this were important to show on the Hobson, so viewers would understand its vulnerability in the path of the  huge, implacable Wasp.

THE GREAT NOEL SICKLES, part 2

This is Noel Sickles' preliminary sketch...

for this finished illustration of runaway horses on main street:

Unlike many artists, Sickles rarely made detailed preliminaries.  For him it was most important to analyze how his subject worked.  Once he'd mapped out the structure of the street, the sweep of its curve, the strategic location of key landmarks such as that parasol in the road he could proceed directly to the final drawing of the horses, carts, etc.

Henry Pitz noted that Sickles was such a remarkable draftsman, once he walked around a stagecoach and understood how it worked, he could rotate it in his mind and draw it from any angle.  His brain was equipped with CAD/CAM software. 

This may look like a painting, but as you can tell from this close up of the original, this remains primarily a drawing:

Here is another preliminary sketch...

for this finished illustration of the siege of Leningrad:

Again and again, Sickles' sketches demonstrate the approach of a structural engineer:

If he can figure out how the thing works, he is confident his drawing will be authentic.

THE GREAT NOEL SICKLES, part 1

In an era plagued with viruses, squabbling politicians and fake news, the honest drawings of Noel Sickles make a great disinfectant.

Here you'll find no cheating, no gimmicks, no subterfuge.  Even in this tiny spot illustration, notice how Sickles captured the sagging of the stagecoach and the foreshortening of the road.

Even a small truth is not to be discounted in this day and age.

Sickles didn't draw the surface of things; he understood their underlying structure and that gave his line speed and courage.  His drawings don't hide or obscure-- to the contrary, they share Sickles' x-ray vision with us.

Sickles might be better known today if he'd had a more flamboyant style.  But so many artists use "style" to conceal weaknesses in draftsmanship.  Sickles' only style seemed to come from his sincere love of drawing.  For example, on the following cover there are no sharp cinematic techniques, no wide angle shots or close ups of faces.  Sickles doesn't experiment with inventive media or stylistic exaggerations.  This is just a straight-on drawing of the backs of 25 people from a distance:

    
Yet, Sickles shows us that if you're good enough, a long distance drawing of 25 backs can make a strong picture.
                                                                        

Sickles can't even bring himself to paint that great big backdrop of a sky with a wash, he draws it with the same churning strokes than he applied to the overcoats in the crowd, only amplified to the scale of the sky:

I don't manufacture Purell sanitizer so perhaps the best substitute I can offer is a few days of Noel Sickles' honest drawings, which I'll start tomorrow.

A GRATUITOUS JULIAN SCHNABEL PAINTING

I had no interest in posting a picture by celebrity artist Julian Schnabel.  Then I read the following in the New Art Examiner:

Wishing to reproduce a work of art by Julian Schnabel....[w]e phoned the Pace Gallery in New York, Mr. Schnabel's dealer, and requested a photograph of any of his recent work.  Their response? "All requests for a photograph of Julian Schnabel's work must be made in writing along with the complete textual passage that discusses him; these requests are forwarded to the artist for his approval."

Such an extreme provocation compels any public spirited citizen to set aside their legitimate labors and post a gratuitous photograph of Schnabel's work without his permission.  Here's mine:

And here's my "textual passage that discusses him:"  In my opinion this is a noisy, clattering, third rate painting by a noisy, clattering, third rate painter.  Adoring fans tell us that "Schnabel's use of broken crockery as a painting surface signaled an overtly defiant departure from the almost sacred 'flat surface' rule of Minimalist painting," but Schnabel's picture is minimal in more important ways.  Devoid of taste and substance, it is to be appreciated primarily as a highly successful marketing gimmick by a true master of publicity.

Section 107 of the U.S. copyright law states: "the fair use of a copyrighted work... for purposes such as criticism, comment...scholarship, or research, is not an infringement of copyright" and if Julian Schnabel doesn't like that he can kiss my butt.