Thoughts Inspired by a Master of Caricature: Was Al Hirschfeld a Synthesizer?

Can you be great and singular? Or great, but singular?

When we think about individuals across history who have been most remarkable, we typically think of individuals who were broad as well as deep—leaders like Napoleon or Alexander, artists like Leonardo da Vinci or Pablo Picasso, or—in our own time— writers like Toni Morrison or Gabriel Garcia Marquez. These individuals had mastered various areas of knowledge and expertise and were able to weave them together in powerful ways. In my terms—though not necessarily their’s—they were excellent synthesizers.

Accordingly, when reading a review of a recently published biography, I was intrigued by the following characterization:

”The man widely celebrated as the greatest caricaturist of the 20th century. No small honor for an artist about as versatile as a Swiss Guard: But specialization appears to pay in, in medicine, football and caricature. Hirschfeld limned thespians almost exclusively; and so inimitably that he never heard footsteps “

Reading further, I learned that caricature master, Al Hirschfeld, was a child who liked to draw and did so incessantly. He sold his first newspaper caricature at age 21 and “never looked back.”  Indeed, he spent the next decades steadily improving his craft. He worked so fiercely and dedicatedly that he left about 10,000 drawings. Even those who did not know his name or his history enjoyed poring over his caricatures, because he included lines that spelled out the name of his daughter Nina. (See sample below).  Hirschfeld’s signature, so to speak.

And while Hirschfeld occasionally wrote theatrical reviews, and once joined forces with humorist S. J. Perelman on an unsuccessful play, he exhibited little inclination to undertake any other creative activities—he confessed that collaboration was not for him.

Reviewer Bruce McCall’s allusion to the fields of medicine and football raises a larger issue. To what extent are ambitious individuals, who seek to make a mark in a field, well-advised to focus on that particular field, as opposed to casting a wider net, even though that tack may require considerable additional time. Renowned is the quip: “I’ve only lost once, to someone who knew only one thing.”  More broadly, one can speculate about whether certain fields—say, chess or ballet—reward those who focus deliberately on perfecting one skill, as opposed to other fields—say, law or politics or corporate work—which favor, or even require, a broader palate of knowledge and skills?

Readers of books designed to advise parents (or their children) will recognize this antinomy. Malcolm Gladwell popularized the notion of 10,000 hours spent developing one’s area of special expertise. One could say that Hirschfeld spent 10,000 hours learning to draw evocative caricatures of those on the stage, and another 90,000 hours gaining fame and wealth in that sector. Compare this to the argument put forth in Range by Daniel Epstein. His subtitle conveys his message “Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World.”

I may disappoint you with my assertion—there is no need to choose one of these pathways over the other. But I hope to transcend any disappointment by suggesting factors that may influence both one’s choice and one’s likelihood thereby of achieving success.

To begin with, let’s consider individual differences. Individuals with great powers of concentration, particularly as manifest in one field, are likely to follow the 10,000 hour rule. The extremes would be individuals who have autism or are “on the spectrum”. There is little point in encouraging such individuals to stretch—their power comes precisely from the capacity to practice regularly, even compulsively. (Presumably, McCall—and perhaps Gladwell—had such individuals on their radar screens).

At the other end of the spectrum are individuals who can be described as having attentional disorders. Such individuals are unlikely or even unable to spent countless hours on one kind of pursuit. Rather, their proclivity—perhaps, their compulsion—is to flit from one topic or stimulus to another. Accordingly they are better suited for activities and areas where such flexibility and fertility can be exploited. We can speculate that such individuals are likely to pursue and exemplify “range” rather than “depth”.

Reflecting differences in individual personalities and temperament, there may also be different life trajectories. Economist, David Galenson, has accumulated evidence of two distinct groups of visual artists. One group emerges early with a brilliant swathe of creativity—Picasso would be one example, Keith Haring a more recent one. A second group develops much more gradually, over a longer period time—Cezanne is an excellent example. According to literary scholar Helen Vendler, one can observe similar trends among poets: John Keats and Sylvia Plath emerged early on with striking talents (and, as it happened, died very young); William Carlos Williams only in later decades. And we can also distinguish scholars who emerged very early (psychologists Jean Piaget and Lev Vygotsky leap to mind) and those who emerged more gradually (neurologist-turned psychoanalyst, Sigmund Freud, and philosopher, Immanuel Kant). In the latter cases, events over the course of early decades may prove more salient, inborn personality differences less so—that’s a claim that can be tested.

Both of these trajectories can lead to masterful synthesizing. In the case of individuals who are early bloomers, they may—like Picasso—continue to build on their early work even as they tackle new challenges. In the case of individuals who emerge over a longer period of time—say Cezanne—one can observe how later works draw on earlier practices (“draw” in both senses of that term).

 But what about an an individual like Hirschfield, who seems to know only one thing?  

With respect to Hirschfield, I suspect that he may proves an exception to both of these patterns. On the one hand, he did not have an early dramatic breakthrough—one that “shook” a domain of practice. On the other hand, he does not seem to have shown a significant evolution in his artistry: he may have become more proficient, but, like the proverbial cobbler he stuck to his initial list. In that way, he can be contrasted with American painter, Chuck Close (recently deceased), who had one primary subject (the human face) but who deepened his practice over the decades.

Thinking more broadly across the arts, for those who show talent without a dramatic breakthrough, there will be continuing synthesizing, albeit on a more modest scale—say, the Bertie Wooster/Jeeves novels of P. G. Wodehouse. In other cases, there will simply be minor variations of the same general theme—the reason that I don’t like to listen to certain baroque composers, who will remain nameless.

Reference

McCall, B. (2021). A portrait of the Art. The New York Times, p. 21.