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An exhibit at the Boston Public Library proves that children's book author Tomi Ungerer is also one of the 20th century's greatest illustrators and satirists.
"Tomi Ungerer and the Human Comedy" at the Boston Public Library
by Mary Sherman
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Bay of Pigs, 1961. By Tomi Ungerer. Photo: M. Bertola/N.Fussler |
Boston, MA - March 13, 2006 -
Cartoons are often considered little more than
amusement -- sometimes ironic, sometimes accompanied by a stinging jab -- but
rarely more than that. Until a few weeks ago, before a spate of Danish comics,
taking aim at the Prophet Mohammed, set off boycotts and mayhem among Moslem
populations. But, actually, this isn't the first time that cartoons, political
satires or broadside prints have incited intense emotions. Artists, like Honore Daumier
and William Hogarth, deftly used their art to underscore social and political
inequities, corruption, hypocrisy and cruel injustices.
In more contemporary
times, cartoonists like Saul Steinberg dissected modern life and its foibles
with a few succinct and graceful lines, joyfully critical of the world around
them. Tomi
Ungerer is another.
To parents, Ungerer is well-known. His family
of pigs, the Mellops, has long delighted children with their adventures, as
have the characters in his later books "The Three Robbers," "No
Kiss for Mother," "Flix," "Otto" and "Moon
Man." As Maurice Sendak once said of "Moon Man": "It is
pertinent, contemporary, coolly acid in tone, and altogether magical. Of course,
since it's Ungerer, it is also very funny. ... Tomi influenced everybody."
What is less acknowledged, however, are Ungerer's
cartoons and illustrations,
or, more accurately, the range of his cartoons and illustrations. That is sure
to change. "Tomi Ungerer and the Human Comedy" at the Boston Public
Library, accompanied by cases filled with his children books, is a finely edited
survey of one of 20 th century's greatest illustrators and satirists -- on view
at a time when the Danish debacle has thrust such work back into the spotlight.
That and the children books may draw viewers into the show, but Ungerer's artistic
inventiveness is what they will take away with them.
Born in Strasbourg in 1931,
Ungerer later witnessed World War II first hand, leaving him with a bitter dislike
of war. In 1956, like many emigrants, he left Europe bound for New York with
a few bucks in his pocket and some drawings under his arm. His plan: to become
the next Steinberg. Within a year his first book, "The
Mellops Go Flying," was published to huge acclaim. From there, Ungerer went
on to produce more children's books, adult picture books and illustrations for
such publications as "The New Yorker" and "The
Village Voice" as well as images for advertising campaigns.
In the exhibition the original drawings for these works, along with more cases
of the artist's books are laid out in chronological order, allowing viewers
to follow Ungerer's different techniques and ingenious mining of artistic styles.
Like pulling rabbits out of hat, Ungerer's bags of tricks borrow from Dadaist
collage, Surrealist irrationalities and Expressionist grotesques without even
a flinch. His spare imagery remains steadfastly self-assured, his tone at turns
whimsical, his visual puns always clever.
His economy of line and playful wit
is apparent from his early picture book "Horrible:
An Account of Sad Achievements of Progress." Using magazine cutouts to
flesh out his drawings, such as his use of a roasted chicken breast to create
a raincoat for a bird-like woman, he creates absurd and memorable fissions.
Similarly in another drawing, a cutout picture of a nude, held aloft by putti,
looks like it could be a landing pad for a cartoon plane. The only other image
in this drawing is the moon; and the man in it appears to looking down on the
scene as if thinking "I can't believe this is happening" -- exactly
what we are thinking.
The drawings for "The Party" and "The New Yorker" are
images more reminiscent of Steinberg. The earlier collage elements have been
transformed into patterns and textures, but Ungerer's searing critique of modern
life remains. Turning old moneyed doyennes of the Hamptons into pinched tuxedo-ed
letches and cat-eyed socialites, he does such things as present a portrait caricature,
Miss Elmira Cattarh, literally spitting barbs out of her mouth. In many others,
the men appear prune-faced and propped up; the women's stylish dresses too tight
and frequently revealing rude appendages, befitting of such made up names as
Miss Flannery Rump and Miss Dana Hogpuss Hohldeck.
Touches of endearment, however,
also make an appearance in his work, as in a picture of small boat carrying
a fire engine, racing out to douse the burning flame of the Statute of Liberty's
torch.
Similarly, Ungerer's posters "Expect the Unexpected" for "The
Village Voice" have a certain poignancy along with a huge dose of absurdity
as when a fisherman, standing in water, holds his fish like a suitcase, which
is shown moments away from swallowing the Yellow Submarine.
Perhaps, most memorable
are Ungerer's drawings for an anti-depressant drug campaign Symptomatics.
In these, visual puns abound, as in the picture of a dotty housewife watering
her flower lampshade instead of the flowers on the table; or another
drawing of a woman in bed, with curlers both on her head and used as tracks
for an army of tanks, poised for attack. Then there are Ungerer's updated versions
of the "Dance
Macabre, Rigor Mortis" in
which lewdness dances arm in arm with death.
As great as it is to see these original
drawings with all the character of Ungerer's exquisite line held in tact, the
books reveal yet another side of his creativity -- his attention to layout.
In "The Underground Sketchbook
of Tomi Ungerer," the left page shows a soldier holding a coffin. On the
facing page is a machine gun. The horror of the image becomes apparent exactly
where the viewer's eye is drawn, to the gun: its magazine is made out of small
men, the shooting bullets are their heads, the spent casings are their headless
bodies. With this image, Ungerer sadly sums up the human cost of wars.
In this
work, as in all others, Ungerer's talents epitomize a graphic intelligence that
Photoshop's special effects can never equal. Ungerer is as serious a draftsman
as he is a cartoonist and illustrator. Although never a part of any artistic
movement or style, his satiric pictures -- impressed with the bite of reality
-- brilliantly sum up our age's absurd greed, hapless wanderings, and the ever-present
threat of madness.
"Tomi Ungerer and the Human Comedy" is on view at the Boston Public
Library through March 31, 2006.

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