The Art of the Post: From the Pages of the Post to Museum Walls

Read all of art critic David Apatoff’s columns here.

The illustrations that appeared in The Saturday Evening Post were intended to last until the next issue came out. The Post was a “periodical,” designed only to fill a period of time until it was updated by a newer issue containing more current information, fashion trends, and merchandise for sale.

Generations of illustrators created beautiful pictures to fill the Post and other magazines, but it was always understood that they were creating temporary art; one day that thin magazine paper would turn brittle and yellow with age, and eventually crumble and return to mother nature.

It took a while for experts to recognize that illustrations had enduring value, but once Norman Rockwell’s 1951 cover for the Post, “Saying Grace,” sold for $46 million, even the most stubborn nay-sayers realized that this “temporary” art form was worth preserving.

Today illustration art is being rescued and conserved by experts, to take its rightful place on museum walls.

During the decades when Rockwell and other illustrators were exiled from “fine” art, thousands of drawings and paintings were saved from the trash heap by a hardy band of collectors and artists who had the courage to ignore the condescension of highbrow art critics. These collectors weren’t intimidated by labels. Instead, they collected for the best possible reason: they loved the images. Their love of the pure art made them fearless, and they helped preserve the art form in private collections while the experts slowly had a change of heart.

One such collector was Andrew Sordoni III, who started out as a young boy smitten by the art in Sunday comic strips. He liked Dick Tracy and Krazy Kat and a handful of other strips that were delivered to his house in the funny papers. Fortunately, Sordoni’s mother was a fashion illustrator, and she taught him to respect the craft of good drawing. For many years “craftsmanship” was a dirty word in the fine arts community, but it served as a polar star for Sordoni’s collecting. Soon Sordoni began collecting unfashionable illustrators such as Maxfield Parrish. Today Parrish paintings have sold for millions of dollars.

U.S. postage stamps featuring comics Dick Tracy and Krazy Kat. (Shutterstock)

A lifetime of collecting has come to fruition in an opening this month of a large exhibition of American illustration art at the Sordoni Art Gallery in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.

The show, which features one of the great private collections of American illustration, will run from April 7 to May 20, 2018. It was curated by Stanley I. Grand, Ph.D., a professor of art history and expert on the allegorical engravings from Giovanni Battista Ferrari’s De Florum Cultura.

The Sordoni show includes 135 works of art, including a number of illustrations that were originally seen in the pages of the Post, but which now can be seen as the artist created them.

 

The collection reflects the personal taste of Sordoni, who collected what was once ignored as “lowbrow art.” As the catalog notes, “Andrew found his own way and collected works that were considered of lesser importance at the time, but are now highly regarded both in market and aesthetic terms.”

 

The art in the exhibit includes work by famed illustrators such as Rockwell, Parrish, and N.C. Wyeth. The substantial catalog accompanying the show is a prime example of how critical attention surrounding the field of illustration art has evolved from initial skepticism to serious study by respected academics and biographers who are devoting years and substantial critical analysis to multiple biographies.

While Rockwell was a groundbreaker in being accepted by the “fine” art community, other illustrators whose work appeared in the Post are hot on Rockwell’s heels. Artists such as J.C. Leyendecker, Dean Cornwell, Bernie Fuchs, Robert Fawcett, and others all have their own coffee table art books now, and the value of their original work at auction has increased dramatically. While illustration art was once auctioned in a separate category, much of it is now commingled and sold interchangeably with traditional American “fine” art.

 

Rockwell Video Minute: The Rookie

Hoping to help them improve their 1957 season, Norman Rockwell painted “The Rookie” for the Boston Red Sox.

See all of the videos in our Rockwell Video Minute series at www.saturdayeveningpost/rockwell-video.

Rockwell Video Minute: First Sign of Spring

Norman Rockwell was a master at capturing that first moment of spring. This gardener discovering his first crocus is one of our favorites.

See all of the videos in our Rockwell Video Minute series at www.saturdayeveningpost/rockwell-video.

She Does Rosie the Riveter Proud!

In this 1943 editorial, an African-American woman describes her struggle to help America’s war effort.

A nurses’ aide in one of the Philadelphia hospitals tells us about one of her patients. The patient is a Negro woman, mother of several children. She is in the hospital recovering from terrible injuries received in an automobile accident on her way to work at a shipyard 20 miles away. She told the nurses’ aide how she got the job at the shipyard, as a welder.

“The foreman didn’t want me. He said I couldn’t learn it anyway. I told him, ‘I’m not after this job to take away any man’s work. I’m trying to work here because you can’t get men. You don’t want women in here, and I would rather do a lot of other things better. But you need people here and I can learn this welding.’ I did learn it too. Before I was hurt I could even read blueprints and follow ’em. Why, that foreman who didn’t want me to work for him came in yesterday to see how I am getting along!”

The nurses’ aide tells us that everybody in the ward hopes this particular welder will recover rapidly, because her one fear is that she will not be out of the hospital in time to see her ship launched. That ship represents an instrument of victory which she helped build after a struggle to get a job, a lot of hard study learning how to do it, and plenty of hard work at the welding itself. Her right arm is so twisted and deformed as a result of the accident that the hospital staff are not so sure this spirited and patriotic Negro woman will do any more welding. But they are going to do their best to see to it that she gets to the water front to see “her” ship go down the ways.

Sometimes we wonder whether expressions like manpower, absenteeism, incentives and essential workers do not get in the way. After all, there are a lot of “rugged individualists” around, pushing their way into war jobs, learning how to do new kinds of work, exhibiting that fine but intangible affection which the true worker feels for the fruits of his labor. This colored woman’s story reminds us that there are phases of the great uprising by American democracy.

—“Some People Defy Statistics,” Editorial, March 20, 1943

This article appears in the March/April 2018 issue of The Saturday Evening Post. Subscribe to the magazine for more art, inspiring stories, fiction, humor, and features from our archives.

The Art of the Post: Was Norman Rockwell Secretly a French Impressionist?

The great French painter Claude Monet was mesmerized by the effects of sunlight. He noticed that his subjects looked very different depending on whether he captured them in the morning light, at noon, or in the evening, so he painted the same subject again and again at different hours. The art movement we call “impressionism” was named after one of Monet’s paintings of a sunrise.

Here are a few of Monet’s famous “haystack” paintings:

But Monet wasn’t the only great painter who was inspired by the changing sunlight.

In 1952, Norman Rockwell painted a cover for The Saturday Evening Post entitled “A Day in The Life of a Girl.”

Rockwell divided his painting into 22 separate vignettes, starting at dawn and ending after nightfall. Each vignette contains a funny or touching anecdote about the little girl, but look past the anecdotes and you’ll see so much more: each vignette is also a brilliant study of the light at that particular time of day.

The opening vignette is gilded with a brilliant yellow white color.

 

After painting the girl and her friend swimming in the midday sun, Rockwell depicts the children in the cooler glow from the light of a theater marquee.

Next he shows them illuminated by the very different light of the silver screen:

Outside again, the children’s skin takes on a completely different color in the moonlight (just like Monet’s haystacks):

Contrast the cool light of that moonlit walk with the warm glow of the bedside lamp as the girl fills out her diary:

Back in bed: compare the ending colors of the girl asleep at night with the beginning colors of her asleep in that that same bed in the morning. You’ll find that Rockwell employs a totally different palette.

It was a challenge for Rockwell to capture all those different figures and expressions properly, but it was a far greater challenge for him to distinguish the morning sunlight from the reflected light of a swimming pool, or the neon light outside a theatre, or the warm glow of a bedside lamp. Fundamentally, the real subject of Rockwell’s painting— just like Monet’s haystacks—is the effect of changing light.

It’s not hard to argue that Rockwell’s painting does a better job of describing changing light conditions than Monet’s. Rockwell describes more variations in natural and artificial light, working in a smaller, humbler space. (Monet was able to tip us off about the time of day by painting the sky light or dark in the background. Rockwell did not have that advantage; he was working with an all-white background so his only tools for persuading us were the subtle hues of the children’s skin and hair, and a few stray props.)

A less talented artist might have been tempted to paint the same skin tones and hair color on the children throughout the painting. After all, the anecdotes would be the same, and this cover was already complex enough with all those small vignettes. Consistent colors would help glue together the composition and provide welcome continuity. But Rockwell set his goals much higher than that. His extraordinary powers of observation were exceeded only by his work ethic.

It would be stretching things to suggest that Rockwell was a French impressionist at heart, but in this painting he clearly takes up the impressionist challenge and triumphs. Don’t stop with Rockwell’s anecdotes; he poured his talent into an extraordinary job of understanding and appreciating changing light conditions, and the result is just as museum-worthy as Monet.

Rockwell Video Minute: The Marriage License

Norman Rockwell captures the contrast between a gloomy municipal office and the joy of a young couple applying for their marriage license.

See all of the videos in our Rockwell Video Minute series at www.saturdayeveningpost/rockwell-video.

Norman Rockwell Goes to the Dogs

Norman Rockwell loved his dogs, and many of them ended up on the covers of the Post. Here are some of our favorite furry friends.

 

One of the dogs on this September 29, 1929 cover was a Rockwell family pet preparing for travel. Would that be the one with the “R” around his neck? It would indeed be Raleigh Rockwell. Maybe Rockwell scrounged up the other mutt from around the neighborhood. Perhaps the boy as well.

 

Music is in the ear of the beholder. It would appear that the mutt on the 1931 cover has more of an ear for music than the trumpeter. The cover is called “Practice Makes Perfect,” but from the look on the dog’s adorable face, there is a long way to go. The bag of potatoes? The “music man” was taking a break from his grocery job for practice.

 

Grandpa can snooze away a sunny day, but never fear. Fido is watching carefully to see if there’s a tug on the line. We think we know who the fisherman in the family is on this 1930 cover. Note the jug of cider staying cool in the water.

 

A hobo in 1928 is not faring so well. A family dog caught him stealing a pie, presumably left on a windowsill to cool. Rover is nipping him right where it counts. Love the polka-dot socks.

 

An irresistible cover is “Pals” from 1924. Hobos were a popular theme in the 1920’s and while this gentleman may be down and out, he’s certainly somebody special to this dog. Admit it, it kind of brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?

 

But alas, dogs will be dogs, as Rockwell shows us in the October 2, 1937 cover. A worker has painted a perfect white line on the street. At least until a rambunctious dog chases an unfortunate cat across the fresh paint. Ah, well, all in a day’s work.

Answers to “Rockwell or Not?”

Here are the answers to the “Rockwell or Not” cover gallery.

• Santa Behind Window, December 27, 1919: J. C. Leyendecker
• Wipeout on Skis, March 3, 1928: Eugene Iverd
• Hunter and Spaniel, November 3, 1928: F. Kernan
• Tipping the Scales, October 3, 1936: Leslie Thrasher
• Sport, April 29, 1939: Norman Rockwell
• Two Flirts, July 26, 1941: Norman Rockwell
• Newsstand in the Snow, December 20, 1941: Norman Rockwell
• Working on the Statue of Liberty, July 6, 1946: Norman Rockwell

Rockwell Files: Coming Home

Millions of veterans would have smiled in recognition at the Post’s December 15, 1945, cover, having recognized one of those humorous incidents faced when trying to resume civilian life.

Rockwell chose to depict a veteran of the Army Air Corps, as indicated by insignia on the jacket and cap. Back in 1942, this young man would still have been attending Arlington [Vermont] High School (note the AHS pennant). Now, after three life-altering years, he finds he has outgrown his old suit. He’s also outgrown his attic bedroom and will soon be hitting his head on those sloped ceilings.

Rockwell took his penchant for realism one step further on this cover. For his model, he used a real pilot, Lt. Arthur H. Becktoft Jr., who’d flown with the 349th Bomber Squadron. In October 1943, while piloting his B-17 “War Eagle” on a raid over Hamburg, Germany, he was shot down. Becktoft and his crew parachuted and were soon captured. They spent the next 20 months in a German POW camp. For this cover, Becktoft had reason to smile.

This article is featured in the January/February 2018 issue of The Saturday Evening Post. Subscribe to the magazine for more art, inspiring stories, fiction, humor, and features from our archives.

Rockwell Video Minute: Golden Rule

In 1961, Norman Rockwell created a painting that reminded us to do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

See all of the videos in our Rockwell Video Minute series at www.saturdayeveningpost/rockwell-video.

Cover Collection: The Art of the Common Cold

It’s that time of year again where half of us are sniffling, sneezing, and wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed. If misery loves company, you’ll love our vintage Post covers of people suffering from the common cold.

In 1917 the way to take care of a cold was to curl up in a big quilt and soak your feet in a steaming tub. At least according to artist J.C. Leyendecker. Have a handkerchief handy for when the steam loosens up the nasal passages. Unfortunately, we haven’t improved this cold-treating technique much in the 101 years since this cover was published.

Remember when doctors made house calls? Well, okay, we don’t either, but some Post cover artists remembered. Artist George Hughes shows us a doctor calling on a woman taken ill. Sort of. Actually, the Mrs. is seething while her hubby is diverting the doctor’s attention. Who is the patient here, anyway? Perhaps the doctor is just good at multi-tasking.

George Hughes shows a doctor who would be a good detective. Finding a sick little boy in a bed cluttered with this many toys was a good day’s work. Hey, when a guy isn’t feeling good, he needs his creature comforts around.

Keeping a close eye on the proceedings is the boy’s dog. A very large dog. Maybe this is why doctors don’t make house calls any more.

What really stinks is when you’re sick during a big event. The young lady in Norman Rockwell’s 1937 cover is missing the big dance. Cough syrup, atomizer and hankies are poor substitutes for a pretty dress, corsage and dancing with a cute guy. This falls under the “Life is Unfair” category.

Cover Collection: Bold Women

As Laurel Thatcher Ulrich once said, “Well-behaved women seldom make history.” This collection of Saturday Evening Post images is a paean to strong women making a difference.

This cover illustrated a short story called “The Noose.” The cowgirl at the center of the story, Fan Blondell, “was already aware of her power, too, and walked among the rough men of her acquaintance with the step of an Amazonian queen, unafraid, unabashed.”

In the short story, “The Swastika” by Robert W. Chambers, stenographer Miss Grey turns out to have deeper knowledge and more intrigue than her employer expected. J.C. Leyendecker, one of the Post’s most highly regarded artists, created this Egyptian-themed cover to illustrate the story.

Artist Joe De Mers illustrated “Her Big Moment” by Lee McGiffin. In it, four accomplished women return to their college reunion. De Mers captures the sleek glamour of the 1950s.

This illustration accompanies a short story called “Petticoat Empire” by Edith Embury. In the story, Nathalie Wyman is a film producer: “She was the boss, the genius. No one ever disagreed with her — not if he wanted to keep his job.”

Artist Coby Whitmore was well known for his illustrations of confident women. This woman looks like she has already picked out her 1952 model, and will be shortly driving it off the showroom floor. It comes as no surprise that Whitmore had a fascination with cars. In the early 1950s, he designed the Fitch-Whitmore Le Mans Special with racecar driver John Fitch.

Boldness comes in all shapes and sizes; sometimes it means doing what you believe even when those around you don’t quite understand.

No gallery of bold women would be complete without Norman Rockwell’s beloved Rosie the Riveter. The model was Mary Doyle Keefe, a 19-year-old phone operator in Arlington, Vermont. During World War II, Rosie the Riveter toured the country raising money for the war bond drive. “I was very pleased that they could make all this money for the war.” Keefe said. “I am proud of this painting. It’s a symbol of what the women did for the war, to do their part.”

After her husband died, Ellen Pyle turned to painting to support her family. Her sister-in-law sent three of Ellen’s illustrations to The Saturday Evening Post in 1922, two of which were immediately selected by The Post’s famous editor, George Horace Lorimer. Over the course of the next decade-and-a-half, Pyle completed 40 covers for The Saturday Evening Post, including this archer.

The American Red Cross Motor Corps were a group of women who aided the U.S. military in transporting troops and supplies during World War I. These women did everything from running canteens and military hospitals to caring for patients of the 1918 flu pandemic.

Artist Neysa McMein was involved in the war efforts during World War I, travelling through Europe with Dorothy Parker to entertain the troops. She painted a number of wartime covers, including this pilot.

Rockwell’s Four Freedoms

“We look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms. The first is freedom of speech and expression. The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way — everywhere in the world. The third is freedom from want … everywhere in the world. The fourth is freedom from fear … anywhere in the world.”

—President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Message to Congress, January 6, 1941

 

Inspired by Franklin D. Roosevelt’s famous “Four Freedoms” speech to Congress on January 6, 1941, on the eve of World War II, Norman Rockwell wanted to contribute to the war effort by creating paintings that depicted each one.

The artist struggled with how best to visualize the abstract concepts. “I juggled the ‘Four Freedoms’ around in my mind, reading a sentence here, a sentence there, trying to find a picture,” he later recalled. “But it was so high-blown. Somehow I just couldn’t get my mind around it.”

One night in bed, Rockwell was mulling over the proclamation, getting more discouraged as hours ticked by. “I suddenly remembered how [neighbor] Jim Edgerton had stood up in a town meeting and said something that everybody else disagreed with,” Rockwell said. “They had let him have his say. No one had shouted him down. I thought — that’s it. Freedom of Speech — a New England town meeting. Freedom from Want — a Thanksgiving dinner. I’ll express the ideas in simple, everyday scenes … in terms everybody can understand.”

Excited and confident, Rockwell rolled up his sketches and boarded a train for Washington, D.C., to visit the government’s propaganda department, the Office of War Information, proposing that the illustrations be made into patriotic posters that could be sold to raise funds for the war effort. “I showed the Four Freedoms to the man in charge of posters,” Rockwell said, “but he wasn’t even interested.” On his way back to Vermont, the discouraged artist stopped in Philadelphia to discuss future projects with Post editor Ben Hibbs. In passing, Rockwell mentioned his Washington trip, explained what the series was about, and then showed him the sketches. Hibbs loved the idea, telling the artist, “Norman, you’ve got to do them for us. … Drop everything else, just do the Four Freedoms.”

Rockwell spent seven months painting the Four Freedoms, which were published in four consecutive issues of the Post, starting on February 20, 1943, accompanied by essays by four distinguished writers — Booth Tarkington, Will Durant, Carlos Bulosan, and Stephen Vincent Benet. The paintings were a phenomenal success, with the Post receiving 25,000 reprint requests. A few months later, the government changed its tune, and in May 1943, the Post and the U.S. Treasury Department launched a joint fundraising campaign, sending the paintings on a 16-city national tour. More than one million people attended the exhibition that raised an astounding $132 million.

Now hanging in the Norman Rockwell Museum, the iconic paintings capture the freedoms we enjoy as Americans and the cherished ideals that unite us — timeless reminders of what we have and what we have to lose.

Freedom of Speech: Rockwell started the first painting in the series at least four times. He initially depicted an entire town meeting full of people, with one man standing up in the center of the crowd talking, but later felt “there were too many people in the picture.” He altered the composition significantly, tightening the focus on the speaker, now positioned in front of a blackboard, as townspeople listened respectfully to the speaker’s words.

Freedom of Worship: The original painting was set in a barbershop, with patrons of various races and religions patiently waiting their turns. “I wanted it to make the statement that no man should be discriminated against regardless of his race or religion,” Rockwell said. Ultimately, Rockwell rejected that scene as ambiguous. Instead, his finished composition groups faces and hands — a mélange of different cultures — in prayerful contemplation, bearing the legend, “Each according to the dictates of his own conscience.”

Freedom from Want: One of Rockwell’s most famous and beloved works, Freedom from Want became an iconic representation of America’s quintessential national holiday, Thanksgiving. To create the scene, he grouped members of his own family and friends around a dinner table for a holiday meal. After two difficult paintings (Speech and Worship), this one came easy: “Mrs. Wheaton, our cook (and the woman holding the turkey), cooked it, I painted it, and we ate it.”

Freedom from Fear: The last in the series depicts children, oblivious to the mounting conflict in the world, resting safely in bed as their parents look on. The serenity of the scene is belied by the newspaper’s bold headline, “Bombing” — a reference the 1940–1941 blitz in London. Rockwell said the idea he hoped to convey was this: “Thank God we can put our children to bed with a feeling of security, knowing they will not be killed in the night.”

To read the complete Four Freedoms essays, visit saturdayeveningpost.com/fourfreedoms.

This article is featured in the January/February 2018 issue of The Saturday Evening Post. Subscribe to the magazine for more art, inspiring stories, fiction, humor, and features from our archives.

Most Popular Cover Collections of 2017

1. Salute to the 50 States

From the lighthouses of Maine to the majestic Cascades of Oregon, The Saturday Evening Post has represented every state on its cover. Here are 50 of our favorites. (Apparently they were your favorites, too!)

2. Back to School

Classrooms may have changed from pencils to PowerPoint, but our magazine has always been there to witness sending our kids back to school.

3. Tee Time

These covers show that golf is much more than a good walk spoiled. (It s a good day spoiled.)

4. Fall Video Gallery: Vintage Baseball Covers

Artist John Falter brought the fall season to life through his many covers for The Saturday Evening Post. This video highlights some of our favorites.

5. The Best Santas Ever

Over the decades, we’ve featured iconic images of Santa Claus on our December covers. Famed illustrators Norman Rockwell and J.C. Leyendecker created some of the most cherished depictions of St. Nick.

6. Time for Pie

Pie follows closely on the heels of turkey as the quintessential Thanksgiving dish. These pies plus recipes will inspire your pursuit of pastry.

7. Presidents

From Grover Cleveland to Richard Nixon, The Saturday Evening Post featured many U.S. presidents on its covers in its nearly 200-year history.

8. Celebrating America

With fluttering flags and steadfast soliders, the Post has honored the land of the free and the home of the brave.

9. Travel Nightmares

These illustrations of jaunts gone wrong might make you re-think that summer road trip.

10. Congrats, Graduates!

This moment of accomplishment has made frequent appearances on our covers, starting more than a hundred years ago.

Cover Collection: Kids and Doctors

These classic Saturday Evening Post covers show what happens when you mix kids and doctors. Results may vary!

This image by Norman Rockwell accompanied a Stephen Vincent Benét story, “Doc Mellhorn at the Pearly Gates.” The image beautifully captures the relationship between doctor and patient. Shortly after its appearance, Upjohn commissioned Rockwell to create a series of advertisements for them.

This scene will surely touch a responsive chord in every parent. The idea was suggested to artist Dick Sargent by Post readers Walter and Barbara Jackowski of Danville, Illinois, shortly after they had taken their baby, Stanley, for his first shot. Small Stanley put his parents to shame too, for he continued to gurgle and smile throughout the Terrible Ordeal. Sargent tells us that hundreds of readers have sent him suggestions for covers, but this was the first one he was able to use.

Small children, when committed to sickbeds, demand the comfort of a few favorite toys, and it’s the doctor’s job to find a patient amid the clutter. This boy recently squandered his life’s savings on two ice cream sodas and four candy bars, which proved to be at least one soda and three candy bars too many. Now he’s wondering if the doctor can learn the awful truth by tuning in on his stomach rumblings. Perhaps this doctor will inspire our young patient to be a physcian when he grows up — and his stomach settles down.

The young model for this painting was Edward F. Locke of Stockbridge, MA. The photo below shows Norman Rockwell writing him a check. The doctor was the actual town physician in Stockbridge — Dr. Donald E. Campbell. “He’s a fine, dedicated doctor,” said Rockwell, “who seldom sleeps.” Incidentally, Edward didn’t really get a shot from the doctor, only from a camera.

 

All of the children seem completely delighted to be at this doctor’s office, except for the one little girl whose name was just called. No amount of books, toys, and playmates can fool her; she knows what’s next.

Our furry friend is planning to either bite the doctor for causing pain to his little master or lick his mustache; there’s no way of knowing which way it will go. Old-fashioned, pre-needle doctors were the smart ones; they prescribed a treatment and departed forthwith, leaving mother holding the spoon, the dog, and the kicking patient.

Everyone seems concerned in this situation, the dog most so. Let’s hope it’s nothing too serious. While penicillin was discovered in 1920, it wasn’t used widely until 1942.

This 1929 cover is one of the most beloved of all time. If you’ve ever had to wait in a doctor’s office, you’ve probably had time to study this scene. The “doctor” was model Pop Fredericks, who had ambitions of becoming an actor, a dream that never quite panned out. But Pop was immortalized on Post covers if not the stage. Rockwell used him as a model time after time. He appeared on the canvasses of the great artist as a cellist, a tourist, a politician, Ben Franklin, Santa Claus, and, of course, one of America’s most beloved doctors.

This was one in a series of paintings Rockwell completed in the 1940s, including “Norman Rockwell Visits a Country Editor” and “Norman Rockwell Visits a Country School.” For this painting, Rockwell portrayed his home town’s family physician, George A. Russell. In this room he heard a quarter century of troubles, and delighted Rockwell by an occasional shrewd bull’s-eye diagnosis. “The only trouble with you,” he told one woman during the cool Arlington summer, “is that you have too damn many guests.”

Cover Collection: Holiday Fun and Silliness

Humor is like a magic trick. To succeed, it needs to look effortless, and the devices used to make it must work invisibly. Comedy is often found in the unexpected, a contrast between the serious and the frivolous or the modern and the old-fashioned. Or it may be discovered in the all-too-familiar. Such is the case here with Richard Sargent’s portrayal of a dad who is about to be vanquished by his Christmas Eve wrapping project. Sargent, who referred to himself as “king of the pregnant pause,” tended to de-emphasize an illustration’s background, drawing full attention to his subject matter.

Whatever our age, we never lose our inner child, particularly at Christmas. Russian-born Constantin Alajalov specialized in illustrations gently pointing out human frailty. While a youth in St. Petersbug, his life was disrupted by the Russian Revolution. For years he survived by painting propaganda murals and posters, but he managed to defect, first to Turkey and finally to the United States. He quickly found success in America as a muralist. His magazine careerwas launched when a friend suggested he send some paintings to The New Yorker. To his surprise, they were accepted and used as covers. He would eventually complete 74 lighthearted covers for the Post.

Rockwell went to extraordinary lengths to create verisimilitude. Here, instead of working in the studio, he set up his easel in Chicago’s Marshall Field’s department store even though all we see of it is the back of a sales counter. The store happily provided the setting and toys for the scene, but the artist felt the picture needed more dolls, so he went out and purchased a number of them. He reported the Post editors that he owned more dolls than any other 53-year-old-kid.

As the camera became ubiquitous, the new tradition of the family Christmas card was taking hold. But it’s not always so easy getting everyone to cooperate. Sewell was widely known for his skill in capturing average Americans — and children in particular — with humor and affection.

We were delighted a few years ago to receive an email from Betsy Norfleet with information about the creation of this iconic 1951 cover. Betsy told us that it was her mother, Betty, who portrays the housewife directing her harried real-life husband, George. As the story goes, George was not only brutally scratched by the needles but also threw his back out posing in the scrunched-up position for house on end.

Dutch-born Prins turns this over into a vivid story that umps off the page like a movie sequence. Notice his clever evocation of the passage of time in the differing differing degrees of light shining (or not shining) through the kitchen window. This sweetly humorous illustration also has a wistful quality: All those weeks of preparation — the buying of gifts, the careful wrapping — then suddenly we’re left with a roomful of shredded paper.

The outdoors beckons, and there beneath the tree are some keen skates that would be great to take to the pond. Unfortunately, this young man has some work to do. It may prove to be a long afternoon, with just two letters written and five more to go.

 

These illustrations and many others are featured in the Post’s Special Collector’s Edition, Norman Rockwell: Christmas in America. This edition can be ordered here.