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  • The Watercolour Control Problem with Jessie Kanelos Weiner

    The Watercolour Control Problem with Jessie Kanelos Weiner
    2025/10/10

    The Watercolour Control Problem with Jessie Kanelos Weiner

    This week, I joined Jessie Kanelos Weiner —artist, author, and watercolour wizard—for a live chat about colour, chaos, and why watercolour refuses to obey. She just released Thinking in Watercolour, which made me realise I mostly think in ink, panic, and snacks.

    Jessie asked how I approach colour, and I admitted that I approach it sparingly. I used to think “real artists” painted every shadow like da Vinci. Then I saw the da Vincis at the Met and thought, Yeah… I don’t need to do all that. These days, I use colour the way comedians use silence—strategically. A dab here, a spot there. Enough to make you look where I want you to look.

    We talked about the Philadelphia Eagles poster I illustrated—a parody of the classic New Yorker cover, except it’s a jacked football player instead of Eustace Tilly. They wanted bold colour. I gave them subtle pastels amid the team’s green hue. They said, “Brighter!” I spent two days repainting and relearned my favourite rule: colour should serve the joke, not the marketing department.

    Growing up in Perth, I had almost no access to great art—just beach paintings and dial-up internet. So I learned from cartoonists like Roz Chast, Richard Thompson, and Ronald Searle, whose trauma and humour somehow coexisted in ink. My grandfather gave me Searle’s book after surviving a POW camp, so I guess drawing as coping runs in the family.

    Jessie and I agreed: restriction is, in fact, a form of freedom. Fewer colours, fewer brushes, fewer excuses. Watercolour is chaos in liquid form, and the sooner you stop trying to control it, the more alive it becomes.

    I’m still working on that part—the unclenching. But at least now, when my washes go rogue, I can say: It’s philosophy.

    ‘til next timeyour pal,

    ✏️ Thanks for reading New York Cartoons. To support more chaos disguised as art, consider becoming a paid subscriber.



    This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.newyorkcartoons.com/subscribe
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    34 分
  • The Art of Drawing Worse with Tom Toro

    The Art of Drawing Worse with Tom Toro
    2025/10/08
    Thank you Kevin KAL Kallaugher, asher, Margreet de Heer, Dan Collins, Pat Coakley, and many others for tuning into my live video with Tom Toro (and his cat, Pumpkin!) Tom is a New Yorker cartoonist, author, and the rare person who can make me feel simultaneously inspired and completely inadequate about my cartooning skills.His new book, And to Think We Started as a Book Club, just dropped, and it’s already Andy Borowitz’s October Book Club pick. The title itself is a gag from one of his cartoons—bank robbers mid-heist, one holding a crowbar (originally a shotgun, but weapons get flagged by algorithms, apparently). It’s the kind of unwieldy-but-funny title that works because the joke sustains it.The Art of Drawing WorseOne of the best moments came when Tom shared Bob Mankoff’s advice to Paul Noth: “Draw worse.”Not as an insult, but as a direction. Noth’s early work was so detailed—cross-hatching, filigree, the whole nine—that Mankoff told him the jokes were strong enough to carry simpler art. The delivery needed to be cleaner. Tom admitted he sometimes overdoes drawings when he’s insecure about a joke, like he’s compensating. I felt seen. Very seen.“The best thing about your work is the worst thing about your work,” Mankoff once told me. “You draw too well sometimes.” I’m still not sure if it was a compliment. Probably not.Fact-Checking V*ginas & Left-Handed CatchersThe New Yorker fact-checks cartoons. Tom once got a note asking if he could make a drawing “less vaginal.” (Three lion manes forming an unfortunate composition.) “I had a baseball cartoon flagged because I’d drawn a left-handed catcher—apparently, there hasn’t been one in the majors since 1972. They let me keep it, but wanted me to know.”These notes are rare, which makes them oddly precious. “It’s nice to know there are eyes on it,” Tom said. Most of the time, cartooning is just the Roman Coliseum—thumbs up, thumbs down, see you in twelve years.AI Can’t Make Good MistakesWe talked about AI creeping into cartoon spaces, and Tom’s theory hit hard: AI can’t make good mistakes. It can mimic, reproduce, even generate six-fingered hands by accident—but it can’t make the artful mistakes that lead you somewhere unexpected. The kind that gives a drawing its heartbeat.“Maybe it’s incumbent upon artists to keep pushing ourselves to realms of discomfort,” he said, “where we just make more beautiful mistakes.”That’s the hope. That’s the work.Tom’s on tour all month—Powell’s in Portland this Friday, then Connecticut, New York, Boston. If you’re near any of those spots, go hear him talk and get your book signed. Support cartoon collections. Raise all boats.‘til next timeYour pal,Referenced in the conversation:* Tom Toro’s website* And to Think We Started as a Book Club (Tom Toro)* The Borowitz Report (Andy Borowitz)* Well, This Is Me (Asher Perlman)* The Joy of Snacking (Hillary Fitzgerald Campbell)* Understanding Comics (Scott McCloud)* Matt Inman / The Oatmeal on AI* Civics 101 Podcast* Powell’s Books, Portland* St. Nell’s Writer’s Residency (Emily Flake) This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.newyorkcartoons.com/subscribe
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    58 分
  • Asher Perlman & The Art of Eugene

    Asher Perlman & The Art of Eugene
    2025/10/06
    I went into this episode of DMA expecting the usual blend of cartooning shop talk and digital doodling. What I got was a deep dive into creative authenticity, delivered by someone who's figured out that being yourself is both the hardest and most obvious solution to every artistic problem.The Eugene EmpireAsher's Hi It's Me Again had just dropped, and our conversation naturally gravitated towards his most famous creation: Eugene. For the uninitiated, Eugene is that wide-eyed, innocent character who looks like he just materialised in the world ten minutes ago and is still figuring out the rules (and nervously figuring out how to ask the barista for the bathroom code).An unexpected moment came when Asher produced an actual cardboard cutout of Eugene—because of course he has one within arm’s reach. But the real insight was his theory about Eugene's existence: having come up through Chicago improv and sketch, Asher needed a creative collaborator for the inherently solo act of cartooning. Eugene became that collaborator, a subconscious way of recreating the writer's room dynamic on paper.When a live stream viewer requested drawings of "Eugene and his dog, who looks like Eugene," the chat collectively decided the dog should also be named Eugene. Asher immediately declared this "canon." Watching creative mythology form in real time was unexpectedly moving.The Mankoff Hair DoctrineI recounted Bob Mankoff's bizarre but apt advice about finding your artistic voice. Mankoff stumped with an analogy about hair styling: "You decide to wear your hair that way... why is your drawing not as distinct as your hairstyle?"At the time, I admitted, I was too dense to understand. But eventually it sank in: stop drawing what you think a New Yorker cartoon should look like, and start drawing like myself. Asher also sold his first cartoon a month after Ellis gave him similar advice: "Don’t draw a ‘New Yorker Cartoon’, draw an Asher Perlman cartoon that could be in the New Yorker."This feels like the kind of obvious wisdom that's only obvious after you've bashed your head against the wall for years trying to be someone else.The Comedy Economics of HackBoth Asher and I shared war stories about the delicate economy of comedy crowds. His Second City experience taught him that audiences of comedy people versus regular people laugh at completely different things. The example that stuck: during the Cubs' historically bad years, any joke that simply acknowledged their terribleness would reliably kill with regular audiences, while comedy vets groaned at the predictability.I confessed to deploying hack MC material at tourist-heavy shows, earning eye-rolls from grizzled road comics. The unspoken rules of what's permissible comedy form our intricate ecosystem—one where Ellis serves as our "encyclopedia of cartoons," helping determine what's been done before.Digital vs. Analogue RomanticismBoth of us admitted to fetishising paper and pen while acknowledging the seductive convenience of digital tools. Asher confessed to tapping his page to try to undo lines when working on paper. I noted how the digital safety net makes me more confident but less skilled—a creative paradox worth pondering.By some miracle, our technical discussion revealed practical wisdom: 80-pound paper works well with iPad light boxes, draw faces first to avoid redoing entire backgrounds, and always have a brutal filing system that you'll inevitably hate.From Hackery to SubstackeryAsher had just joined Substack a month ago, and his description of the platform was refreshingly honest: "It feels like what I wanted Instagram to be, but it never was." My strategy mirrored my cartooning breakthrough—stop trying to copy what successful newsletters do, write for your own people, and celebrate the unsubscribes.The platform discussion highlighted a broader shift away from algorithmic manipulation towards intentional consumption. As Asher put it: "I prefer things that exist outside of the algorithm now because I don't like being catered to my worst instincts."The Bell House LaunchWe wrapped with excitement about Asher's book launch at Bell House, featuring Gary Gulman, temporary Eugene tattoos, and what sounds like half the New Yorker cartooning community.Related Reading:Asher's journey from frustrated imitator to distinctive voice serves as both a cautionary tale and an inspiration—a reminder that the path to originality runs directly through the abject horror of just being yourself.Thanks to everyone who tuned in to the live stream!‘til next timeYour pal,Next week: Tuesday at 12pm, I'm chasing down Kevin “KAL” Kallagher to talk to him about his 50+ years as a working cartoonist for the Economist and —until recently— The Baltimore Sun. Add it to your calendar now! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.newyorkcartoons.com/subscribe
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    57 分
  • Liza Donnelly on Breaking Barriers, Drawing Aliens, and Why Everything is Political (Including Pigs)

    Liza Donnelly on Breaking Barriers, Drawing Aliens, and Why Everything is Political (Including Pigs)
    2025/09/27
    Thank you Stan!, E. Sjule, Margreet de Heer, Loitt, Michael Maslin's Ink Spill, and the nearly 500 others for tuning into my live video with Liza Donnelly yesterday! Join me for my next live video in the app next Thursday, Sept 4th at 12pm EST when I speak with political cartoonist Kevin KAL Kallaugher. You can follow his new Substack here:Nearly 500 people tuned in yesterday for Drawing Me Anything #25, and honestly, I'm not sure if they came for the cartoons or just to watch me fumble with my drawing setup like a broken octopus. Either way, I had Liza Donnelly on—the first person I ever subscribed to on Substack, and a cartoonist who's been breaking barriers since before breaking barriers was trendy.From Watergate Kid to New Yorker PioneerLiza grew up in Washington D.C. during Watergate, which explains a lot about her political sensibilities. She wanted to be Herblock—the political cartoonist's political cartoonist—but felt like she couldn't find her voice in that arena."I looked at the political cartoonists that I admired, Gary Trudeau and Herblock. I just didn't feel like I could fit in. I didn't think that I had a strong enough opinion about things, which was not true, but I couldn't find my opinions, I guess. I was afraid to share them."So she turned to the New Yorker, which she initially thought was "stodgy" until she realised it was actually full of "subtle but subversive" cartoons. This led to her becoming one of the first women to regularly publish cartoons in the magazine since after the period in the 1920s. She came up alongside Roz Chast and a few others.The old system was beautifully archaic: Tuesdays for the seasoned cartoonists, Wednesdays for the "young upstarts" like Liza, Roz, Jack Ziegler, Mick Stevens, Bob Mankoff, and Sam Gross. After submissions, they'd go to lunch at places like The Quiet Man (an Irish bar) or The Century, sometimes hit a Mets game, and occasionally go down to Tin Pan Alley to shoot pool."Before we went to lunch, we would go to the other magazines, take your little envelopes of your rejects from the New Yorker, and you'd go to other places," she explained. The rejection tour included National Lampoon (where she sold her first cartoon), Good Housekeeping, Cosmopolitan—places that actually paid cartoonists, unlike today's one-shop reality.The Live Drawing RevolutionLiza's been doing live drawing on streaming since way before it was cool. She started during the 2016 State of the Union, using an iPad with Paper 53 and one of those chunky styluses that Apple doesn't make anymore (she had to stockpile them like they were cartoon gold)."I drew these quick drawings of what I was watching and put them on Twitter immediately because the app connects to Twitter. And nothing was like that yet on that platform at all, really. So it took off, and that's when my live drawing career sort of happened."This led to everything from drawing the Oscars red carpet to being the first cartoonist credentialed for that gig, to courthouse sketching during Trump trials (where electronics weren't allowed, forcing her back to paper and pen like some kind of analogue warrior).The CBS Morning Show Years and the ImplosionFor about four years, Liza worked for CBS This Morning, live drawing guests and hosts, connecting their social media with the actual broadcast. They sent her to the White House, the DNC, debates—until CBS imploded with the Les Moonves and Charlie Rose scandals."CBS imploded, you know, Les Moonves and Charlie Rose and all that sort of—CBS imploded. And I was no longer," she said, with the casual tone of someone who's watched media empires crumble before breakfast."Women Laughing" DocumentaryThe big news is Liza's documentary "Women Laughing," which is finished and premiering in New York this fall. The New Yorker will publish it on their site, and Katie Couric (who once commissioned me to draw a deliberately bad caricature of Larry David for Sardi's) is executive producer.The documentary features drawing sessions with contemporary women cartoonists at the Society of Illustrators, because, as Liza noted, "cartoonists are relaxed when they're drawing." It's a 35-minute short that traces the arc from the magazine's early women cartoonists through today, when about half the contributors identify as female or non-binary."We talked and drew at the same time because it's something that I've done with my children. And I know it's a way people are relaxed, at least cartoonists are relaxed when they're drawing," she explained.The Rejection Game and ReinventionWe talked about The New Yorker's brutal rejection rate—drawing eight to ten ideas a week, maybe selling one if you're lucky. It's almost masochistic, but as Liza pointed out, "without that rejection, the ability to tolerate rejection, you're not going to really last long in cartooning.""You and I, we have to really start reinventing ourselves because there's no... Magazines are dying, are almost dead, and there are no ...
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    1 時間
  • Adventure Sketching, Pickleball, & Bus Rides with Samantha Dion Baker

    Adventure Sketching, Pickleball, & Bus Rides with Samantha Dion Baker
    2025/07/01
    I spent an hour yesterday drawing with Samantha Dion Baker —artist, author, and one the best Substackers on drawing—and came away feeling like I'd just had the best kind of therapy session. Which, as it turns out, is exactly what Sam's work is all about.Sam joined me from her studio in Dumbo, and what started as a casual chat about pickleball evolved into a masterclass on using art as a tool for presence, sense memory, and genuine human connection. It’s crazy I get to speak to people like this every week (it’s even crazier that they speak back.)The Accidental ArtistSam's artistic journey is one of those creative pivots that make you believe in second acts. She spent years as a graphic designer (same!), creating pristine designs—all clean typography and careful spacing. Then life happened: kids arrived, screens became suffocating, and she found herself reaching for a sketchbook just to remember things."I was drawing things so well or comfortable drawing things," she told me, flipping through pages of her early work. "I was just doodling like letters and arranging things. It was very designy."But here's the thing about doodling when you're not trying to be an artist: it becomes honest. Sam started documenting daily moments—not because she planned to publish them, but because drawing made her more present. The practice was meditative, almost inadvertent therapy.When she published her first collection, Draw Your Day, Amazon classified it in the art therapy section. "I didn't really think about it when I was writing it," she said, "but I was like, oh, yeah. That makes sense."The Art of Paying AttentionWhat I love about Sam's approach is how unforced it feels. She's not precious about her sketchbooks—they're repositories for whatever catches her attention, regardless of artistic merit. We talked about the tyranny of the "perfect sketchbook," those Instagram accounts full of museum-quality watercolours masquerading as casual sketches."I'm not happy with 90% of my pages”, she admitted. But that's the point. The sketchbook isn't a performance; it's a practice.Her upcoming book, Draw Your Adventures (out July 15th—pre-order it now!), explores this idea of documentation versus decoration. It's not about capturing the Sistine Chapel; it's about noticing the "Call Your Mum" mural near your son's new apartment, or the woman across from you on the bus."Sometimes it's completely unrelated," Sam explained, "but it will still bring you back if you're present and you're taking it in."The Technical Bits (For the Process Junkies)Mid-conversation, we naturally gravitated toward tools—because what are two artists without strong opinions about pencils? Sam's a devotee of Blackwing pencils and has worked with them for years (she even illustrated their iconic poster of all the limited editions). But her real secret weapon is Derwent Inktense paints."I always describe them as like a cross between acrylic wash because they dry flat and watercolour," she said, layering colours on a portrait of her friend's dog, Wayne. "They're more forgiving than watercolour." (Watch the video above to see her drawing Wayne!)I confessed my own tool obsession whilst wielding a Wren fountain pen I'd discovered the night before at a comedy show (thanks Lauren Layne and Anthony LeDonne). We compared notes on everything from mechanical pencils (neither of us likes them) to date stamps (both obsessed) to that magical Faber-Castell 14B pencil that somehow exists despite breaking all the rules of graphite grading.(This is probably where I should mention that Sam's giving away 50 copies of her book at her launch party on July 15th in Dumbo. RSVP required—don't just show up like you're crashing a wedding.)The Interrupted ArtistOne of the most honest parts of our conversation was when Sam talked about working around constant interruptions. Her artistic practice developed not in some pristine studio, but in the margins of motherhood—quick sketches between playground emergencies, continuous line drawings because she might have to stop mid-pencil stroke."I was constantly being interrupted," she said. "So my process, I've learned to work in stages."This resonated deeply. How I often wait for the "perfect" time to create—the uninterrupted afternoon, the ideal lighting, the moment when inspiration strikes like lightning? Sam's work is proof that creativity thrives on constraint, that the most meaningful art often happens in the spaces between other obligations.Adventure as a State of MindAs we wrapped up (Wayne the Cairn Terrier now immortalised in both our sketchbooks), Sam explained the philosophy behind her new book. Adventure isn't necessarily about passport stamps or mountain peaks—it's about approaching the world with the curiosity of someone who might want to draw it.When you're carrying a sketchbook, you notice differently. You see the baroque curve of a fire escape, the precise way someone holds their coffee, the particular ...
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    1 時間 2 分