The incomparable Chris Ware delivers a Halloween-themed cover and comic for the New Yorker. (Cover, first page, second page.) All the Ware-isms are in evidence.
- Not 1mm of wasted space
- The flatly modernist feel of isometry
- A wintry desolation that savors of Chicago
- Pools of Hockney cerulean + a southwestern palette of pink-gray-browns
- Keen visual wit (viz., the children’s masks = the iPhone-lit faces of the parents)
- The quick frissons of loneliness, neglect, and distrust
- Patterns of intergenerational friction and inertia