The stories behind The New Yorker's iconic covers

So 24 years ago,

I was brought to the New
Yorker as art editor

to rejuvenate

what had by then become
a somewhat staid institution,

and to bring in new artists

and to try to bring the magazine
from its ivory tower

into engaging with its time.

And it was just the right
thing for me to do

because I've always been captivated
by how an image can --

a simple drawing --

can cut through the torrent of images
that we see every single day.

How it can capture a moment,

how it can crystallize a social trend
or a complex event

in a way that a lot of words
wouldn't be able to do,

and reduce it to its essence
and turn it into a cartoon.

So I went to the library,

and I looked at the first cover
drawn by Rea Irvin in 1925 --

a dandy looking at a butterfly
through his monocle,

and we call it, Eustace Tilley.

And I realized that as the magazine
had become known for its, [well] --

in-depth research and long reports,

some of the humor had gotten
lost along the way,

because now, often Eustace Tilley
was seen as a haughty dandy,

but in fact,

in 1925,

when Rea Irvin first drew this image,

he did it as part of a humor magazine

to amuse the youth of the era,

which was the flappers
of the roaring '20s.

In the library,

I found the images that really
captured the zeitgeist

of the Great Depression.

And it showed us not just
how people dressed

or what the cars looked like,

but also what made them laugh,

what their prejudices were,

and you really got a sense of what
it felt like to be alive in the '30s.

So I called on contemporary artists,

such as Adrian Tomine here.

I often call on narrative artists --

cartoonists,

children's book authors --

and I give them themes such as,

you know, what it's like
to be in the subway,

or Valentine's Day,

and they send me sketches.

Once the sketches
are approved by the editor,

David Remnick,

it's a go.

I love the way those images

are actually not telling
you what to think.

But they do make you think,

because the artist is actually --

it's almost a puzzle;

the artist is drawing the dots,

and you, the reader,
have to complete the picture.

So to get this image
on the left by Anita Kunz,

or the one on right by Tomer Hanuka,

you have to play spot the differences.

And it is something that ...

It's really exciting to see

how the engagement with the reader ...

how those images really capture --

play with the stereotypes.

But when you get it,

it rearranges the stereotypes
that are in your head.

But the images don't
just have to show people,

sometimes it can be a feeling.

Right after September 11,

I was at a point,

like everybody else,

where I really didn't know how to deal
with what we were going through,

and I felt that no image
could capture this moment,

and I wanted to just do a black cover,

like no cover.

I talked to my husband,

cartoonist Art Spiegelman,

and mentioned to him
that I was going to propose that,

and he said, "Oh, if you're
going to do a black cover,

then why don't you do
the silhouette of the Twin Towers,

black on black?"

I sat down to draw this,

and as soon as I saw it,

a shiver ran down my spine

and I realized

that in this refusal to make an image,

we had found a way to capture loss,

and mourning,

and absence.

It's been a profound thing
that I learned in the process --

that sometimes some of the images
that say the most

do it with the most spare means.

And a simple image can speak volumes.

So this is the image
that we published by Bob Staake

right after the election of Barack Obama,

and captured an historic moment.

But we can't really plan for this,

because in order to do this,

we have to let the artist experience
the emotions that we all feel

when that is happening.

So back in November 2016,

during the election last year,

the only image that we
could publish was this,

which was on the stand on the week
that everybody voted.

(Laughter)

Because we knew somebody
would feel this --

(Laugther)

when the result of the election
was announced.

And when we found out the result,

we really were at a loss,

and this is the image that was sent
by Bob Staake again,

and that really hit a chord.

Again,

we can't really figure out
what's going to come next,

but here it felt like we didn't
know how to move forward,

but we did move forward,

and this is the image that we published
after Donald Trump's election,

and at the time of the Women's March

all over the US.

So over those 24 years,

I have seen over 1,000 images
come to life week after week,

and I'm often asked
which one is my favorite,

but I can't pick one

because what I'm most proud of
is how different every image is,

one from the other.

And that's due to the talent
and the diversity

of all of the artists that contribute.

And now,

well,

now, we're owned by Russia,

so --

(Laughter)

In a rendering by Barry Blitt here,

Eustace has become
Eustace Vladimirovich Tilley.

The butterfly is none other than
a flabbergasted Donald Trump

flapping his wings,

trying to figure out how
to control the butterfly effect,

and the famed logo that was
drawn by Rae Irvin in 1925

is now in Cyrillic.

So, what makes me really excited
about this moment

is the way that ...

a free press is essential
to our democracy.

And we can see from
the sublime to the ridiculous

that artists can capture
what is going on --

in a way that an artist armed
with just India ink and watercolor

can capture and enter into
the cultural dialogue.

It puts those artists
at the center of that culture,

and that's exactly where
I think they should be,

because the main thing we need
right now is a good cartoon.

Thank you.

(Applause)