VERMONT VOICES: HARRY BLISS
Vermont have a specific New England humor, distinct from a New York sensibility. Do you feel your cartoons have been influenced by the regional sensibility here?
Bliss: I think so, yes. But it also depends on where you are in Vermont or New Hampshire. Burlington isn’ t that different from New York City, in terms of people rushing around. There’ s a contemplative quality about rural living that’ s missing in urban environments. I lived in cities— Philadelphia for 12 years, then Nyack, New York, frequently going in and out of New York City. There’ s something nice about slowing down. I’ ve had some recent experiences that have shifted something in me. I eat slowly, savoring every bite. Walking in the woods, I’ ll stop and stare at a tree, much to my wife’ s amusement. She’ s very patient— she’ s a yogi and a teacher— but she’ ll ask if we can keep walking while I’ m mesmerized by bark. If I go to the city now, I’ m the one standing in Times Square marveling at the chaos, wondering about the electricity it takes to power everything. There’ s no anxiety unless someone’ s hostile toward me, which disrupts my calm.
Sherman: Vermont has been home to many artists over the centuries, including your fellow New Yorker cartoonist Ed Koren. Were the two of you close, or were you just colleagues during the same era?
I had many formal mentors beyond teachers, but I’ ve learned cumulatively from each. Recently, I wrote about Martha Mayer Erlebacher, who was one of my anatomy teachers at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia. She was a significant mentor. Martha taught me something crucial: Anybody can make a pretty picture. Technicians are common. But you must be smart, insightful, and deeply understand your subject, whether it’ s a tree, the human form, or an animal. Drawing becomes a way of understanding the world. Eventually, you reach a point where you can draw from memory without needing references— just from your mind to your hand to the paper.
Sherman: Returning to your new book, You Can Never Die … in the essay,“ Futility,” you say that you’ d like to be drawing when you take your last breath. Do you have an idea of what your final cartoon should be?
Bliss: I don’ t think it would be a cartoon. I think it would simply be me holding my favorite pen, watching the ink come out of it. That’ s like going back to the essence of the process. If I drew anything, it would probably be a dog. n
For more about Harry Bliss’ new book, You Can Never Die: celadonbooks. com / book / you-can-never-die
Bliss: Oh, no, we knew each other very well. There are two essays about Ed in my book. We were close— very good friends.
Sherman: Do you have any stories you’ d like to share?
Bliss: Well, they’ re in the book, but one is about when we first met at The New Yorker, and another is about the time just before he passed away. Ed was one of a kind. He loved Vermont, especially Brookfield. It’ s sad that he’ s gone.
Sherman: You spoke earlier about stewardship and creating opportunities for the next generation. Who were some of your mentors, and what’ s some of the best advice they gave you?
Bliss: There have been so many mentors. In some ways, my dad was a mentor— he was an artist. Charlie Santore was another. Brad Holland was kind of a mentor, too, for a while. Mentorship is a pretty significant relationship. Currently, Steve Martin is a mentor. Still, I wouldn’ t say
44 VERMONT MAGAZINE