The year was 1979 and I was lost. Not completely so, but, on balance, I was a bit of a mess. If my life were a pie chart, there would be a slice of about one-eighth that would represent the part of my life that was percolating along fairly well. That part was my drawing. Drawing had always been an escape for me. I would draw so that I could be by myself and not be bothered. I would draw to make others happy. It was mine and it defined me when I was little, throughout my school years, and into young adulthood. It was what I did. It was who I was.
For the New Yorker Liza writes a wonderful account of her becoming a cartoonist in general
and a New Yorker cartoonist in particular.
One Wednesday, in the fall of 1979, I took the elevator to the twentieth floor and handed the surly woman behind the glass my batch for that week. Instead of the expected routine, she said, “Lee Lorenz wants to see you.” I nearly fainted.
Oh, did I mention she includes a number of delightful drawings?