What follows is his edited conversation about such topics as Canadian perceptions of U.S. politics, the influence of 1964 Photography winner Robert H. Jackson and future projects.
PULITZER PRIZES: Having grown up in Canada, when did you become attuned to American politics?
BARRY BLITT: Growing up in Canada was certainly no impediment to being attuned to American politics (or anything American) — Canadians are fascinated by this country. I think the whole world is. (If Hollywood is the major export of the USA, Washington, D.C. isn't far behind.) But I had little interest in politics until the late '90s — I'd moved to the States in 1989, and most of the assignments I was getting focused on pop culture — I had a regular gig with Entertainment Weekly, for instance. But then Bill Clinton became embroiled in a scandal that seemed to turn politics into pop culture overnight. All the art directors I was dealing with were suddenly asking for drawings of politicians, and it's been that way for over 20 years.
PP: The depictions of President Trump in your Prize-winning portfolio paint his actions in many lights. How would you describe your holistic vision of this figure you’ve drawn again and again?
BB: I wouldn't know where to start, honestly. To me, he's a fictional, archetypal character come to life. He's the Babe Ruth of negative American stereotypes.
PP: You depicted Robert Mueller hopping on a proverbial social media carousel. How do you engage with social media?
BB: Social media sort of scares me, the waves of approval or disapproval to work you post can be immediate and overwhelming. It's nice to get a little reaction to a cartoon — I'm so used to the years of sending off my artwork to publications and not hearing anything —even from the assigning art director. So that part of it is pretty irresistible. As well, it can be used to "workshop" an idea, in the way a standup comedian may test and refine a joke in front of an audience: As an example, recently, I had a cartoon that seemed a little risqué, I was worried it might be too incendiary. I put it on Facebook, visible to "friends" only, with a question: "Bad cartoon or terrible cartoon?" (The mostly horrified reactions assured me it might be something to sit on for the time being, and I took it down.)
PP: Likewise, your "Redacted Cover" cartoon was pegged to the Mueller Report. Do you feel it also could be read as a meditation on the key journalistic problems of our time, such as overclassification, judicial secrecy and salvos against the First Amendment? How did you conceptualize this piece?
BB: I think that piece can be read that way, and several other ways. The best cartoons reveal truths, but honestly, I've had the best luck just trying to construct a visual joke, without worrying too much about interpretation. I trust a good metaphor, and a genuine laugh.
In the case of the Redacted Cover, I was working from the visual angle of the topic — we were seeing pages and pages of text with swaths of lines blacked out, and that led to imagining Saul Steinberg's well-known writing desk assemblages, pens and pencils and stacks of paper (this is The New Yorker we're talking about, and he'd produced reams of this sort of iconic imagery for their covers). The rampant crossing out worked as a kind of interruption to the otherwise harmonious arrangement of the objects. That was the gag. And of course it led to crossing out the logo as well, which can be read a whole bunch of ways, but is ultimately the punch line of the image.
PP: Your cartoon on the death of Jeffrey Epstein ("The Conspiracy Continuum, Continued") inserts a caricature of Epstein in the tableaux of Robert H. Jackson's 1964 Photography Prize-winning photo of Lee Harvey Oswald's assassination by Jack Ruby. Can you describe what inspired the comparison?
BB: Oh, I'm sure it's kind of a gratuitous comparison. A criminal in custody who "knows too much" is taken down. Or that's the angle I was going for. But it's a good illustration of the cartoonist's process — draw on visual clichés and iconic imagery, Jackson's photo in this case — to throw a little perspective or humor on a situation or phenomenon.
PP: Your New Yorker work has coincided with the tenure of Françoise Mouly as art editor, who has precipitated a resurgence in the magazine's visual orientation. Has that editorial relationship shaped your work?
It's coincided with her tenure, but it's no coincidence. I'm one of many artists whose work has been shaped by Françoise. Visually, she has a great understanding of how to tell a story in a single image (something I've always struggled with). And her instincts as a rabble-rouser are contagious — she's encouraged me not to self-edit, and helped me out of my comfort zone to make some graphic statements I'd ordinarily have been too meek to attempt.
PP: We're in a transitional era of American political cartooning. Although our cultural orientation is highly visual, many digital newsrooms do not retain cartoonists and positions at legacy newspapers have been eliminated. What do you see as the future of the form?
BB: You're asking me to predict the future? I still can't work my fax machine, better to ask me about the past.
PP: What was it like to learn you had won the Pulitzer? And what projects are on the horizon?
BB: It's almost three months ago that I received word, and I have to admit I'm still pretty amazed and excited about it. (I still suspect it's all a big practical joke that everyone's in on but me.) Regarding projects: I have a couple of kids' books I'm working on, but mostly, I've got sketchbooks filled with ideas I'm trying to put ink to, it's hard to keep up with the such a rich and crazy news environment.