Author Archives: Mark Addison Kershaw

Mark Addison Kershaw says his influences include James Thurber, Jean-Jacques Sempé, Charles Schultz, Berke Breathed, and several cartoonists from “The New Yorker.” Kershaw was born and brought up in Nebraska, spent college dabbling in philosophy and a few decades during/after in Minnesota, and now makes his home in Atlanta, Georgia, where he may be spotted walking his dog around the lake behind his home, taking photographs, and thinking cartoonish thoughts.

The Unbearable Sweetness of Being

“Have I described to you, Dear Reader, the perfect, summer sweetness (that of a warm berry, fresh-picked from the bush, in July) of many of Addison’s cartoons? I believe it is the single most impossible (of a palette of impossibles) and ineffable component of the cartoonist’s art.”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring Addison By Mark Addison Kershaw ATLANTA Georgia—(Weekly Hubris)—1 […]

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Song of Myself

“Greater Addisonia is a large and populous place. To riff on Walt Whitman, ‘It is large, it contains multitudes.’ Some of those multitudes will be familiar to regular visitors of Addisonia: the mustachioed painter (and his ribald muses), the adorable and pudgy offspring (with something up their sleeves), the not-so-suburban couples, with their dubious coiffures, […]

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Touch That & You’re a Dead Man

“Generally speaking, I reach out to Addison (the artist formerly known as many other things) by email, asking him if he feels inclined to send Tim (Weekly Hubris’s Assistant Editor) some ’toons. Then, they are forthcoming, or not (no verbiage, or very little, appended), and go up on what we at the magazine call The […]

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The Bells of St. Fred’s

“TBD.”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring Addison By Mark Addison Kershaw ATLANTA Georgia—(Weekly Hubris)—1 March 2022—Editor’s Note: Mark Addison Kershaw has salted my life with wonders. Every morning—these days, after tackling Wordle and Byrdle—I turn to his wall on Facebook, er, Meta, to see what he’s captured with his pen in the last 24 hours. In my library, I have […]

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From the Oracle of Tucker

“Technically, Kershaw lives in Tucker, but there are many place-names in Georgia (Iron Stab, Shake Rag, Snapfinger, and Hog Mountain occur to me right offhand) that I would not want to claim as a home address. And Atlanta does sound better than Tucker. But, as I have run the artist/photographer known as Addison to earth, […]

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Athwart July (and August)

“Mark Addison Kershaw, like the greatest of cartoonists (and there should be a better collective noun than cartoonists, which does not nearly suffice) stands at a certain remove from the quotidian. Vis-à-vis the quotidian, Addison demands a preposition, or adverb, such as athwart. He and his cartoons, and the quotidian, run wildly athwart.”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring Addison […]

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South Paw in Spring

“As a former journalist (or, rather, recovering journalist), I still retain some sleuthing chops, but I must admit that I have not been able to discover any salient details about Weekly Hubris’s resident single-panel cartoonist, Mark Addison Kershaw. I haunt (a term of art) his Facebook page for clues, though, and have recently inferred that […]

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Amish Phone Sex, Anyone?

“We’ve not seen hide nor hair of Mark Addison Kershaw, aka The Artist Known as Addison, since September 2020. He has been on Facebook, in his dual roles as Lockdown Cartoonist-at-Large and photographer-in-residence in less-and-less-wooded-and-birded exurban Atlanta, but we are very pleased to have him back here at Weekly Hubris, with or without a beard, […]

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I Miss Facts, Too

“Mark Addison Kershaw, aka The Artist Known as Addison, is usually to be found out in left field. This month, some 63 days before the United States’ presidential election, he’s also sequestered in the Deep South, pen in hand, riffing on Meisje met de parel (look it up), and imagining himself escaping from home confinement, […]

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Not Quite Beyond The Pale

“If you attend to Mark Addison Kershaw on Facebook, you will encounter a person of very little language, spoken or written, accompanied by a dog, enamored of a cat; someone who, even before the current plague, stuck pretty close to home. He comes armed with a pen (for drawing) and a camera (for preserving Georgia […]

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