I'm pretty adept with computers and Photoshop for my blog, and I

There are voices in every age that teach us not through grand speeches, but through the quiet mastery of their craft. Among such voices is Robert Mankoff, who once said: “I'm pretty adept with computers and Photoshop for my blog, and I found my style with a conversational voice and an image-ready column.” In these modest words lies a truth greater than their simplicity suggests — the truth of adaptation, of creativity reborn through technology, and of the timeless quest to find one’s authentic voice amidst the changing tools of the age. His statement is not merely about writing or design, but about how the artist endures, transforms, and speaks anew when the world itself changes beneath his hands.

The meaning of Mankoff’s words reaches far beyond the surface of technology. At their heart is the lesson that the tools we wield — whether computers, Photoshop, or the mighty brush of antiquity — are not what define us; it is the spirit that animates them. He speaks as a man who straddled two worlds: the age of ink and the dawn of the digital. Once, he drew cartoons with pen and paper; now, he paints with pixels and light. Yet his art remains the same — the fusion of humor, insight, and human connection. By embracing new tools without losing his soul, he demonstrates the ancient principle of the adaptable artist: the one who bends with the wind of change, yet never breaks from the root of truth.

The origin of these words can be traced to Mankoff’s long career as a cartoonist and humor editor, most famously for The New Yorker. For decades, he gave shape to laughter through drawings that spoke both to the intellect and the heart. But when the world moved into the digital age — when art began to migrate from paper to screen — he did not resist the tide. Instead, he learned the languages of computers, of digital art, and of blogs, transforming his voice to fit the medium of his time. In doing so, he proved that the essence of creation is not the tool, but the mind and message that wield it. His “conversational voice” — that bridge between writer and reader — became his instrument of connection, allowing him to speak directly, personally, and vividly to a world that was no longer confined to printed pages.

History has always honored those who have adapted to the transformation of their tools without surrendering their truth. When Gutenberg’s press first brought forth the printed word, many scholars of the old world feared that books would cheapen knowledge. Yet others, like Erasmus and Martin Luther, seized upon this new gift to spread their ideas farther than any monk’s quill ever could. They understood, as Mankoff does, that tools evolve, but purpose endures. The brush became the pen, the pen became the keyboard, and now the stylus traces upon screens of light — but the artist’s duty remains the same: to reveal meaning, to share wisdom, and to make others see.

Mankoff’s embrace of Photoshop and digital platforms also speaks to another truth — that creativity flourishes when the artist dares to play. The ancients taught that art is a conversation with the world, and Mankoff echoes this through his “conversational voice.” He does not speak from a pedestal, but from across the table. His words and images invite laughter, reflection, and companionship. In this, he continues a lineage that stretches back to the jesters of royal courts and the philosophers of Athens — those who used wit not to mock, but to illuminate the human condition. By pairing humor with technology, Mankoff shows that the ancient art of storytelling can find new life in modern mediums, if only one has the courage to evolve.

But beneath the humor lies a deeper message: that each of us must find our own style in a world that constantly reinvents itself. Mankoff’s journey reminds us that authenticity is not static; it grows with experience, adapts with time, and reshapes itself through trial. The world will always offer new tools, new platforms, new languages — yet none of them will speak truth unless guided by a voice that knows itself. Whether one writes, paints, teaches, or builds, the first task of creation is always to listen inwardly — to discover the tone that is uniquely one’s own, and then let that voice flow through whatever tools the age provides.

So, my listener, take from Robert Mankoff’s words this eternal lesson: do not fear the new, and do not cling blindly to the old. Embrace the tools of your time, but let your soul be your compass. If you are an artist, draw with courage; if you are a writer, speak with honesty; if you are a dreamer, build without hesitation. What matters is not the medium, but the message, not the device, but the discipline of meaning. The tools will always change, but the power to move hearts, to stir laughter, to awaken thought — that belongs eternally to the human spirit.

And thus, as the ancients would say, the wise creator does not war against the tools of change, but bends them to his will. Like Mankoff, learn to merge the old with the new — the voice of the past with the language of the future. For in that union lies true mastery: the power to speak across time, to craft beauty through every age, and to remind the world — whether on paper or on screen — that art is not a relic, but a living conversation between soul and creation.