Sausalito News, Volume XXXXVI, Number 14, 4 April 1930 — Drawing Funny Pictures Is Big Snap Hilton Tells Inside About Making Judge Cover [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Drawing Funny Pictures Is Big Snap Hilton Tells Inside About Making Judge Cover

All You Have to Do Is Get a Hunch and Work it out Right

By NED HILTON The Ned Hilton Editor r T Is in the nature of a newspaper •St ■writer'!' scurrilous activities to write, cold-bloodedly, about the intimate details of the lives of other people: but when an editor demands that a writer turn the spotlight on himself there are liable to be strained relations around the office. “Why don’t you write about t he trials and tribulations of drawing pictures for the magazines?” says Andy. "Don’t be foolish. Why should I jabber about my own stuff?” "Because it’s news,” says Andy, ■‘don't the Lions give interesting talks about the technicalities of their various business? And aren't you one of Sausalito's major industries? Get going, and don’t be so conscientious.” “O. K. But it’s your fault.” So here’s the story. Just Bat ’Em Out At Andy's suggestion, we take as Exhibit A, the cover which appeared on last week’s number of Judge. We gaze at It and think of the multitudes of people who have said to the artist, “It must be great to do that kind of work. You just bat out a drawing and get paid a fortune for it.” But do you? And do you? Not quite. If you do that kind of work, you earn your money. You don’t bat out a drawing. You're quite apt to make four or five drawings before you get what you want. in the case of such a cover, for instance, you make, first, what is called a “’rough”— which is a small sketch embodying the idea. You draw a picture of an affectionate couple sitting on one of those rollers they use of tennis courts, with the court and the two other players *in what had been a "doubles” game in the background. You letter the caption “Settled Out of Court”, wondering if it can possibly strike anyone as funny, and send it off to Judge. Wants Ping Pong Sooner or later the rough comes back, with a letter from Jack Shuttleworth. the editor. "I think.” he says, "that this idea, as you present it. is rather old. But perhaps if you changed it from tennis to pingpong it would be amusing.” So you make another rough. You move the couple indoors and put a fast and breath-taking game of pingpong in the background And this comes back, after a grueling wait on your part, with another note. ’’This looks fine to me.” says Mr. Shuttleworth. "can you move the archway further to the left? And I’d like it done in the brightest colors possible.” And then your household goes rap- ! idly haywire. You become the sort of maniac nobody cares to live with You draw and paint and cuss and sweat and stew and steam and lose -dght of the fact that you’re being paid for being funny. First, with much care, you draw the picture in ink. Then you start to apply the paint, and discover the board on which you have drawn is no good at all for the purpose. Some bright salesman has assured you that it’s the best board in the world for tak ing a wash. And look at it! Stick to Strathmore Bristol it’s too absorbent: the wash won't flow. You get blobs of uneven color, instead of the transparent flat tint you're after. So you make a dying

i trip for another piece of paper, your old favorite paper, which you knew all along you should have been uring, and you start all over .again. You trace the drawing and transfer it to the new paper. You draw it carefully with the pen, only to discover that in the tracing you've lost the spontaneity which gave character to the first attempt. So you start on still another piece, and redraw, trying to capture the feeling that you had put. accidentally. into the rough. But this sort of thing goes on for days. When you have finally found the right materials —when paper and paint are perfect for the purpose—you discover that your color scheme is rotten. So you scrap some more attempts, and mess around with small color sketches. The trouble comes from the request for bright color, since your rough was worked out in harmonious pastel tones. You've been trying to compromise between harmony and contrast, which any truckdriver knows is impossible. So now you go in strong for contrast. That does it! Now you’re a worse maniac than ever, because it begins to look as though you're getting somewhere. Lost and Found You perform more strenuous labor, smoking entirely too many cigarettes —and dropping ashes into the wet paint—and finally the job is done. You pack it up as securely as though it were an old master, and send it by registered mail. A month goes by and the requested receipt does not come. You pester Bill Boyd, the postmaster. if the painting is lost, you'll have to do it all over again. That’s too terrible to think about. But finally the receipt comes through. Nobody knows where it lay for three weeks, it doesn't matter; the painting was delivered. And in about three months, you get an engraver’s proof. It looks pretty good. Certain little subtleties have’ been lost in the reproduction: but you should have expected that. And you're surprised to discover that people are amused by the thing. So it IS funny, after all. In the clutches of the technical complications, you had forgotten that it was meant to amuse. And then it appears on the news-stands, and people say “It must be great to do that kind of work. You just bat out a drawing . . A maniac, that’s all; just a maniac.