Two New Yorker Artists Are Pulitzer Finalists

We learned yesterday that Peter Kuper (above, left) and Ivan Ehlers (on the right) were named finalists in the Pulitzer Prize category of Illustrated Reporting and Commentary. The Spill congratulates both of these fine folks.

Mr. Kuper began contributing to The New Yorker in 2011; Mr. Ehlers in 2021.

Peter Kuper’s website

Ivan Ehlers’ website

See the full list of 2026 winners and finalists here.

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Article Of Interest: Alan Dunn’s Architectural Drawings

From Apollo Magazine, April 27, 2026, “The Cartoonist with A Fine Line In Architectural Criticism” 

— this piece by Will Wiles comes just weeks before the publication of Gabriele Neri’s Alan Dunn: The Cartoonist As Architectural Critic (May 25, 2026. MIT Press).

Mr. Dunn was, for many years, the most published New Yorker artist.

(My thanks to Mike Rhode for the link) 

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Alan Dunn’s A-Z Entry:

Alan Dunn (self portrait above from Meet the Artist) Born in Belmar, New Jersey, August 11, 1900, died in New York City, May 20, 1974. New Yorker work: 1926 -1974 Key collections: Rejections (Knopf, 1931), Who’s Paying For This Cab? (Simon & Schuster, 1945), A Portfolio of Social Cartoons ( Simon & Schuster, 1968). One of the most published New Yorker cartoonists (1,906 cartoons) , Mr. Dunn was married to Mary Petty — together they lived and worked at 12 East 88th Street, where, according to the NYTs, Alan worked “seated in a small chair at a card table, drawing in charcoal and grease pencil.”

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More Dunn…Rejections (Knopf, 1931), and Who’s Paying for This Cab? A Book of Cartoons from the New Yorker (Simon and Schuster, 1945).

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SINGAPORE, May 5 — Singapore Parliament on Tuesday passed a new law that outlines the principles and powers for managing cross-border incidents involving the upcoming Johor Bahru-Singapore Rapid Transit System (RTS Link).

The Cross-Border Railways (Border Control Co-Location) Bill, which supports the operationalisation of the RTS Link, was passed after the third reading by Second Minister for Home Affairs Edwin Tong.

The bill will enable Malaysia’s Customs, Immigration and Quarantine (CIQ) operations in Singapore, as well as Singapore’s CIQ operations in Malaysia.

Tong said the bill comprises key principles on which Singapore and Malaysia have agreed for managing cross-border incidents on the RTS Link.

He explained that if the RTS Link completes its journey, any incident on board will be managed by the authorities of the country where the train stops.

Additionally, if a train stalls and is unable to complete its journey, the country in whose territory the train is locate will manage the incident, he said. 

“If a train stalls at the stretch of railway tracks located between the respective administrative boundary markers of both countries, represented by Pier 47 for Malaysia and Pier 48 for Singapore, both countries have agreed to use the nose of the train as the marker to determine the country with primary responsibility to manage the incident. 

“The country with primary responsibility will be the incident manager in this case, and will have command and control over incident management,” he said during the second reading of the bill on Tuesday. 

Meanwhile, in his winding up speech, Tong explained that the bill will enable a seamless travel experience for commuters at the co-located CIQ checkpoints at Bukit Chagar and Woodlands North stations.

He emphasised it also operationalises a comprehensive set of arrangements to facilitate CIQ clearance and underpins jointly developed protocols for the coordinated management of cross-border incidents.

“Ultimately, the aim is to provide a travel experience that is smooth and seamless, but at the same time, strictly without compromising on safety and security, especially at our border controls.

“This will in turn help ensure that the RTS Link experience for travellers is not only convenient, safe and seamless, but also safe and secure,” he said on Tuesday.

In February 2026, the Malaysian Parliament passed the Johor Bahru-Singapore Rapid Transit System (RTS) Link Bill 2026 to strengthen the legal framework for cross-border transport operations between the two countries.— Bernama

MAY 5 — In one of my visits to Zimbabwe, I had the opportunity to spend time in a rural village some distance away from the main towns.

The journey itself was unhurried. The road gradually gave way to narrower paths, and the landscape opened into wide stretches of land where daily life followed a rhythm quite different from what many of us are used to.

It was early morning when I stepped outside the house where I was staying. The air was cool, and the light was still soft.

Not far from where I stood, a few women were already walking along a narrow path, each carrying a container. Their pace was steady and purposeful.

Later, I learned that they were on their way to collect water from a well some distance away.

There were no pipes running into the homes, no taps to be turned on. Water had to be fetched, carried and used with care.

A woman gathers water from a shallow well near a river, as temperatures soar during the El Nino-related heatwave and drought affecting a large part of the country in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe March 7, 2024. — Reuters pic

What might appear, at first glance, as a limitation was in fact part of an established way of life. The task was not hurried. It was shared, understood and quietly integrated into the rhythm of the day.

As I spent more time in the village, I began to notice other small details. Tasks that modern conveniences have simplified elsewhere were carried out here through skill, memory and cooperation.

Knowledge was not written down, but practised and passed on through daily living. There was a sense of attentiveness, both to the land and to one another, that did not need to be stated.

At first, I found myself observing these practices from a distance, trying to understand them through familiar categories. It is easy to describe such conditions as lacking in comfort or convenience.

Yet the more time I spent with the families, sitting with them, listening to their stories and watching how they organised their lives, the more I began to see something that was not immediately obvious.

There was a quiet coherence in the way things were done.

One morning, I was offered a small twig to clean my teeth. At first, I was unsure how to use it.

I was then shown how the end could be gently chewed until it softened into fine fibres.

These fibres were then used to clean the teeth, much like a toothbrush. The process was simple, but effective.

It was explained to me that certain plants are chosen not only for their texture, but also for their natural properties.

Some contain compounds that help maintain oral hygiene. What seemed, at first, to be a rudimentary practice was in fact grounded in careful observation and accumulated knowledge.

It was not merely about the twig itself, but about the way knowledge had been developed and sustained.

This was not knowledge acquired through formal instruction or technological systems, but through long engagement with the natural environment.

It reflected an understanding that had grown over generations, shaped by necessity, attentiveness and continuity.

The experience brought to mind something I had learned many years ago as a boy scout.

Lord Baden-Powell, the founder of the Scout movement, had spent time in Africa and was deeply influenced by what he observed there.

Many of the skills later associated with scouting, like reading the land, finding water, and using natural materials, were not inventions but lessons drawn from indigenous communities who had long understood how to live attentively within their environment.

What was taught to us as outdoor skills was, in its original context, simply a way of life.

Over time, I began to reflect on how easily such knowledge can be overlooked. In many modern settings, we are accustomed to associating progress with complexity, speed and technological advancement.

Solutions are often expected to be sophisticated, engineered and scalable.

When we encounter practices that do not fit this pattern, we may be quick to dismiss them as outdated or incomplete.

Yet experiences like this invite a different kind of reflection. They suggest that not all knowledge moves in a single direction.

What appears simple may in fact carry a depth that is not immediately visible.

What seems familiar to one community may be entirely unknown to another.

In this sense, learning is not always about acquiring something new, but sometimes about recognising what has been quietly present all along.

As I prepared to leave the village, I once again saw people walking along the same narrow path, carrying water as they had done earlier in the day.

The movement was steady, unhurried and purposeful. Nothing about the scene had changed, yet my understanding of it had shifted.

What I had initially observed as a routine task now appeared as part of a larger pattern of life, one that reflected resilience, knowledge and a deep connection to the natural environment.

It is easy to travel across places and return with photographs or descriptions of what we have seen. It is less common, perhaps, to recognise how those encounters have quietly changed the way we see.

And perhaps that is where the deeper lesson lies.

Learning from nature is not always about discovering something new. Sometimes, it is about learning to recognise the wisdom that has been there all along, waiting patiently for us to see it.

* Ng Kwan Hoong is an Emeritus Professor of Biomedical Imaging at the Faculty of Medicine, Universiti Malaya. A 2020 Merdeka Award recipient, he is a medical physicist by training but also enjoys writing, drawing, listening to classical music, and bridging the gap between older and younger generations. He may be reached at ngkh@ummc.edu.my

** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.