This is obviously a variety of artists throughout the decades, but I love how The New Yorker’s art is both commentary and beautiful. Clean, simple lines, and somewhat pastel. It reminds me of artists like Walt Peregoy (101 dalmations) and Eyvind Earle (Stleeping Beauty). We recently subscribed and I’ve especially enjoyed the satirical covers over the last few weeks.
The articles have a dreamy, yet frank quality that I am not used to, but am devouring. Perhaps switching from news online to an actual printed publication is reteaching my brain to enjoy the beauty of taking a breath between headlines. I’m currently reading Esmé in Neverland by Jill Lepore and loving it.