A photograph of his mother, shows a Steinbergian figure, charmingly, and why not, it is Mother's Day tomorrow.
Showing posts with label Saul Steinberg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Saul Steinberg. Show all posts
May 12, 2018
May 12, 1999
There is a website for Saul Steinberg (June 15, 1914 to May 12, 1999) ), provided for in his will and it seems a wonderful resource for this New Yorker cartoonist who was born in Romania. He is famous for other drawings, like his maps, but his cats, are incredibly apt and a testament to the genius of Saul Steinberg.
A photograph of his mother, shows a Steinbergian figure, charmingly, and why not, it is Mother's Day tomorrow.
A photograph of his mother, shows a Steinbergian figure, charmingly, and why not, it is Mother's Day tomorrow.
June 15, 2017
June 15, 1914
Saul Steinberg, the Romanian born artist, (June 15, 1914 to May 12, 1999) did lots of New Yorker covers, and lots of those had cats on them. I give you September 24, 1979.
Steinberg's periodic depressions got worse as he got older. The often verbalized concern that if an artist gets treatment he/she might lose their internal artistic resources did not prevent Steinberg from using modern medicine, even electro-shock therapy. We must not minimize, nor compartmentalize, the pain another feels. We also cannot expect any other to appreciate the power of focusing on a certain mental edge, which is a description of a brand old mental discipline. Only the clueless would adopt a more persistent than thou attitude on these issues. The seemingly similar random confluence of events could as well lead one to persevere, as falter. Still, such a discipline, when practiced, protects as well as vivifies.
I like to remember that Henri Cartier-Bresson photographed Saul Steinberg with a cat.
Steinberg's periodic depressions got worse as he got older. The often verbalized concern that if an artist gets treatment he/she might lose their internal artistic resources did not prevent Steinberg from using modern medicine, even electro-shock therapy. We must not minimize, nor compartmentalize, the pain another feels. We also cannot expect any other to appreciate the power of focusing on a certain mental edge, which is a description of a brand old mental discipline. Only the clueless would adopt a more persistent than thou attitude on these issues. The seemingly similar random confluence of events could as well lead one to persevere, as falter. Still, such a discipline, when practiced, protects as well as vivifies.
I like to remember that Henri Cartier-Bresson photographed Saul Steinberg with a cat.
February 28, 2015
February 28, 1994
On February 28, 1994, The New Yorker cover was, like many another, an art piece by Saul Steinberg (June 15, 1914 to May 12, 1999). The one below from the archives of this august magazine, has a cat in it.
Saul Steinberg: A Biography, by Deirdre Bair (2012), was reviewed in the New York Times by Deborah Soloman and she shared this from the book:
Who was Saul Steinberg? His acquaintances thought of him as an elegant dandy who seemed catlike in his refinement. In his prime, he lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, dined out most every night and held forth at dinner parties with piquant erudition and wit. But behind the thick glasses and mandarin mask lay a haunted figure, a fearful man who visited indignities upon himself and those around him. As Bair reveals, his love life was a string of infidelities, and crabbiness was his default mood. He eschewed interviews and spurned the company of very young children.
Saul Steinberg: A Biography, by Deirdre Bair (2012), was reviewed in the New York Times by Deborah Soloman and she shared this from the book:
Who was Saul Steinberg? His acquaintances thought of him as an elegant dandy who seemed catlike in his refinement. In his prime, he lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, dined out most every night and held forth at dinner parties with piquant erudition and wit. But behind the thick glasses and mandarin mask lay a haunted figure, a fearful man who visited indignities upon himself and those around him. As Bair reveals, his love life was a string of infidelities, and crabbiness was his default mood. He eschewed interviews and spurned the company of very young children.
It cannot have helped his mood that his listeners found his erudition "piquant". That adjective merely points to the fact of originating in a world everyone else has forgotten.
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