The Enigma of Prints. Heikki Malme Curator, Finnish National Gallery, Helsinki

Transcription

1 Heikki Malme Curator, Finnish National Gallery, Helsinki The Enigma of Prints The programme leaflet of the 2nd IMPACT states that one aim of the conference is to discuss the relationship between traditional craftsmanship and modern technology. So I think it is only appropriate that as an art historian I will approach my subject, titled The Enigma of Prints, from a historical point of view and start by looking at some essential developments in the history of European printmaking. These have a decisive bearing on printmaking even today and on the problems that arise when speaking of the originality of graphic art. In the history of graphic art, the technical developments in themselves provide an extremely fascinating subject. Although it is not always possible to talk of original prints or artist's prints, technical developments have provided the artist with a wealth of methods from which to choose and, if desirable, further evolve and adapt. Technically, therefore, print art contains a great deal that is old and much that is new, and there seems to be no limit to further progress. Traditional methods, like the woodcut and intaglio techniques, have been in active use for many hundreds of years already, and lithography for two centuries. And if photographic processes and serigraphy are also included, then you have a pretty complete arsenal of techniques. From then on it's just a question of applying and combining trusted methods. New plate materials have been invented and tested: light alloy plates, for instance, have done much to expand the potential of prints, above all by enabling larger sizes. Before the 1960s, graphic art was characterised by its small size. Many modern printmakers typically experiment with new methods and combinations of different techniques, and the results have often given new inspiration to the whole field of art. The number of different methods is unlimited. Then there are the applications of individual artists, the precise nature of which often baffles their colleagues and experts. Most applications have been developed Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact

2 during the last fifty years. Printmaking is thus both a traditional and highly innovative branch of the visual arts. In no other branch does technique play such an important role. In no other sector are the problems of technique and image production discussed so much. It is just these technical aspects that often both fascinate and confuse the public at large. With respect to the invention and development of the above-mentioned traditional techniques, very few of them have been the result of artistic endeavour. The primary motive force has been to produce ever better and more exact knowledge. The knowledge or aesthetic requirement in the earliest reproduced pictures, the devotional woodcuts from the beginning of the 15th century, was still minimal. In the imaginations of those who possessed them, these unpretentious pictures assumed mystical proportions and were treated almost as talismans. Not until the woodcut became secularised and used to illustrate scientific books did the demand for greater knowledge and accuracy appear. Unable to meet this demand, the woodcut soon lost its vogue. In spite of the undoubted skills of the craftsmen used by, for instance, the book publisher Anton Koberger to execute original drawings on block, wood ultimately had to give way. It was engraving onto copper plate that met the demand for accuracy, and in the 16th century provided the means for the reproduction of images. It must be remembered, however, that for almost a century, engravings were independent artists' prints, original prints. The meaning of the term 'original', of course, did not then carry the same connotations as it did a few centuries later. At that time, the same person might well be responsible for the drawing, engraving and even the printing of an image. In all probability, the unrivalled independent engravings of Albrecht Dürer were produced in this way The situation changed when certain painters began using prints to publicise their works and artistic reputations without personally participating in the production process. Raphael was the first to appreciate the significance of a widely distributed duplicated image, and he employed skilled engravers who worked almost exclusively reproducing his works. The immortalisation of the artist's name was naturally not the only function of print reproduction. The primary considerations were, perhaps, the dissemination of knowledge and the illustration of ideas and Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact

3 examples. In fact, this became the main task of print art for some three centuries. Raphael himself owned some of Dürer's prints, and these inspired him in his own work. Giorgio Vasari wrote of Raphael's chief engraver Marcantonio's works that they were made as models for poor painters who do not draw well, in order that they make use of them. The hegemony of reproductive prints lasted at least until the 19th century. Intaglio printing gradually lost its position and became subservient to other processes. Print collectors, of which there were many already in the 16th century, were mainly interested in the motifs, or in obtaining reproductions of some master's works. It is curious that as the sole means of reproduction, prints gained a great truth-value. As it was often virtually impossible to see the original works, it was believed that the reproduction was a faithful copy, naturally within the limits set by the technique. In reality, however, the engravers took artistic liberties, almost invariably adding or omitting details, changing the page order or giving a classical touch to a baroque work. Many of these reproductions have even led later art researchers to false conclusions concerning the original works. At the beginning of the 16th century etching appeared alongside engraving. Etching simply meant drawing on a grounded plate. It could easily have led to the making of independent graphic art. Instead it became a subservient technique to engraving and was forced to imitate its normative line style. In time, more advanced methods were developed with the aim of using graphics to get as close as possible to the original work and interpret the materials and tones used in them. Mezzotint and soft ground etching in the 17th century, and aquatint in the following century, were responses to this demand. The skilled workmanship of the finest reproductive engraving approached perfection, and became something admired for itself. It is not the pompous portrait that we admire, but the tremendous skill and months of patient work embodied in the engraving, qualities which are completely unobtainable today. Due to this technical virtuosity the image itself became refined. Without this aspect there would have been no widespread interest in collecting prints. When we imagine a print collector, the picture that springs to mind is of a man in a chamber examining his prints and admiring their techniques. Indeed, professional engravers were held Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact

4 in high esteem. The best proof of this is the decree Colbert had passed in France in 1660, which officially freed engravers from guild restrictions. It was almost as though they had been raised to the status of free artists. This, then, was the mainstream of graphic art. Of the few artists who clearly departed from this line, I'll only mention Rembrandt from the 17th century and Francisco Goya from the 18th century. They used etching, drypoint and aquatint to produce original and innovative prints free from all norms. All the relief and intaglio methods developed by the end of the 18th century required considerable technical skill to transfer an image to the block or plate. Lithography, invented in the last years of the 18th century, was the first technique that allowed an artist to create images without any particular technical acumen. He simply drew the picture on stone as though it were paper. Only when the stone was prepared for printing did the picture become a matrix, a process that could well be left to the lithographer. For the first time it was possible to produce pictures quickly. For example, when Honoré Daumier went to the offices of Le Charivari to draw a caricature on stone, a few days later it was delighting thousands of readers. Lithography offered a variety of means for artists to simplify the making of prints. It also enabled the making of larger-sized and coloured prints. The absence of technical prowess was no longer an obstacle. In actual fact, lithography revolutionised the pictorial arts more than any other technique in centuries. Lithography remained the best method of reproducing images until the arrival of photography, which quickly made many picture makers redundant. As the photograph was thought to give a precise image of reality, there was no point in artists continuing to compete in this field. The copying of reality was replaced by personal, imaginative interpretations of reality, such as cubism, and a greater emphasis on the use of colour. Seeing the world through a camera lens also helped artists to see in a new way. The human eye functions in the same way as a camera lens, as it cannot focus on near and far objects simultaneously. This was stated quite clearly by John Ruskin already in 1843 in his book Modern Painters. This optical observation can be Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact

5 noticed, for instance, in James McNeill Whistler's prints from the 1850s. In his etching of Black Lion Wharf the picture focuses on the riverbank buildings. The influence of the photograph can also be seen in the way that the only moving object in the picture, the boat on the right, is portrayed. Even when photography is used directly as the model, it has not been used to restrict expression but to free it. Here we have a print by Haden based on a photograph. Thus from the point of view of print art, the advent of the photograph can be seen as wholly welcome influence. As a continuous, progressive development, graphic art only arises in the mid 19th century. That is when it broke away from its secondary role, first in Britain and France. Eventually, the print was recognised as a valid aim of an artistic process, a work of art. The mechanical style of line was abandoned: each artist was to leave his personal mark. The innovators of new graphic art realised that printmaking offered its own unique means of expression. Graphic art therefore merited equal standing with the other visual arts. Printmakers in the 19th century had a whole array of metal techniques at their disposal, the latent potential of which was obscured by the limited uses for which they had been developed. It took some time before artists could use such technically demanding methods as mezzotint and aquatint, as very few of the now unemployed engravers were able to independently produce print art. The art of printmaking contains many secrets that remain concealed from ordinary viewers, and even sometimes from the so-called experts. It is possible to seek the answers to these secrets from the blocks and plates used to create the work of art on paper. It is somewhat paradoxical that the artist's hand is most clearly evident only from the plates or matrices on which he has worked the image. The plate, however, is not a work of art. All the artistic and aesthetic qualities that an artist strives for in his work by choosing a specific technique or combination of techniques are only visible in the print itself. Printmaking has always involved a considerable dose of craftsmanship. A mastery of techniques, for instance, is essential before trying to implement some artistic vision. The special skills required in the various stages of printmaking have often Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact

6 been divided among different people. At a very early stage printmaking became concentrated in workshops in which there was a clear division of labour: one person drew the picture, another cut or engraved it on a block or plate, and a third pulled the proofs. This became most highly developed in the ukiyo-e woodcuts of the Edo period in Japan. A long process was involved before the original drawing became a woodcut in which the woodcutter's and printer's hands were most evident. Seldom, however, do we know the names of these craftsmen. Even when the artist has worked the block himself, it may well be that the taking of the impression is entrusted to a trained craftsman. This has happened to a varying extent throughout the long history of printmaking. In this respect, even today the share of workshops is growing. What then is the relationship between the plate and the print? This question arises when comparing an impression made by the artist to those made in the workshop. Is there any difference between them? On the other hand, has the public learned to appreciate that a print is original even though the artist himself has not made it? And furthermore: is the artist's signature sufficient proof of authenticity and a guarantee that the print is indeed graphic art? When someone other than the artist himself takes the impressions, we must ask this: Does the block or plate always contain sufficient instructions for the printer to produce a correct and consistent impression? Any 17th-century copperplate, for instance, contained such instructions. The plate may well have been sold or loaned to another publisher, but it still yielded identical impressions so long as the engraved lines retained the ink. The plate was completely worked. The ink was spread and wiped so that it remained only in the grooves. If the plate had large blank areas, as for instance in Tiepolo's etchings, they were kept quite toneless. Here the printer had nothing to think about or interpret. In such cases the question of the authenticity of a print lost its meaning. Particularly with old prints, the question of authenticity should be avoided and more attention paid to the quality of the impression, as this is directly related to the condition of the plate. It is quite pointless talking of Rembrandt as a great graphic artist if the only works examined are impressions taken long after his death. It is ironic that these often pale, lifeless prints have become valued simply because they have been pulled from the original Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact

7 plates. My meaning can be clearly demonstrated by this pair of pictures of a drypoint by Albert Edelfelt. One is an early proof made by the artist himself in 1899, the other is a late impression from a worn-out plate. A private collector has recently paid for the latter one thousand Finnish marks. If, however, the plate does not contain all the necessary instructions, then the ultimate work is created when the impression is taken, and so the results may vary from one to the next. Thus there is no direct relationship between the plate and the impression. With such a plate only the artist himself can pull the print. The more scope a plate allows in the printing, the more difficult it is to allow someone else to take the impression. Whistler's prints of Venice are good examples of this. In one of his Nocturne etchings, for instance, he has worked the plate very frugally. Using short vertical lines, he has impressionistically drawn the horizon behind the bay, above which rises the silhouette of a ship at anchor and the church of San Giorgio. Just a few lines have been used to indicate the water in the foreground. From this plate, he took impressions that nearly all vary from each other. By altering both the quantity and colour of the inks, and wiping the plate in different ways, he could present the scene during different seasons and change the lighting at will from dawn to dusk. Whistler declared that only the artist himself can print proofs. 'Originality of the print' was given a new meaning. Whistler's way of thinking was much in vogue among fin de siècle graphic artists. Hugo Simberg, one of the pioneers of Finnish graphic art, added colours to his plates in order to produce prints with quite different moods. This can be seen in his Kelkkamäki (Sledge Slide) work, where the mood varies from a bright frosty day to the milky grey gloom of early winter. Another, slightly different example, also from Finnish art, is Ellen Thesleff's original woodcuts based on lines cut with a single knife and over-painted. All the colours were painted and printed at the same time. The borders of the image may vary from one print to another as they were not bound to the size of the block. Who else but the artist herself could print from such blocks? These examples show that a block can offer many possibilities when there are no precise instructions. The block does not necessarily produce identical impressions, but quite unique ones that only the artist can take. This leads to a multiplication of the originality of the print. Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact

8 Opinions concerning uniqueness and the uniform quality of editions have fluctuated over the years. Some decades ago it was a principle that an edition of prints had to be absolutely even. The buyer had to be assured that the first print in an edition of 30 was no better or worse than the last. In a way, this was the guarantee and cornerstone of the divided originality of graphic art and remains so today. Duplication and large editions, however, would no longer appear to be the aim of young printmakers, but rather uniqueness, often combined with large size. The aim of uniqueness has led to an increase in personalised modifications and combinations of techniques. It is no longer a simple matter to distinguish even the traditional methods. The aim is to clearly diminish the role and importance of technique, but unfortunately this question always arises when talking about printed art. Technique and technical questions are always in the forefront of discussions about graphic art. But just in the same way as a block or plate is not a work of art, neither is technique, although it may be the thing most admired when looking at a print. Technique, however, has never restricted expression. The desire to express a certain idea in a certain way comes first, then the technique is found, either an old trusted one, some modification, or one based on an entirely new, personal experiment. I have sometimes compared print blocks or plates to musical notation or a score. To 'come into itself', the work done on a plate must be performed; i.e., an impression taken. The graphic artist can produce various interpretations of his work, like Whistler, Simberg and Thesleff did. Only graphic art has this great advantage, and it also emphasises the individual craftsmanship involved. On the other hand, print art strives for uniform reproduction and high quality, in which know-how and craftsmanship are also emphasised. Unfortunately this is the same aim as that of advanced printing and copying methods. This has led to a variety of printed products and reproductions being offered in the name of graphic art. They should, however, be treated like counterfeit money. Unfortunately, many artists are guilty of having such reproductions printed. Earlier this summer, the police asked me to examine a large lithograph reputed to be by Joan Miró, which had been sold for a high price to a private individual. Shortly after buying it, this person began to doubt its authenticity and, being unable to obtain sufficient explanation, reported the matter to the police. This is Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact

9 nothing particularly unusual in respect of Miró's prints. I was forced to conclude that the work appeared to be exactly what it purported to be, it appeared to be a lithograph, the paper was of good quality and the signature appeared to be genuine. Even so, I could give no incontrovertible evidence of its authenticity. Neither could the paper conservator's examination shed any further light. And all this was simply because printing and copying technology today is so advanced. In 1991 the Danish police asked the Fundació Joan Miró for their opinion on 142 Miró prints that had come into their possession. In pronouncing the works to be mostly forgeries, the Foundation's director made the following statement: 'The method most frequently used, and the one which is relevant here, is the unauthorised copying of an original print by Miró and the production of an edition based on the copy. Although prints in this category are copies of Miró images, they cannot be considered "original" or "authentic" works or works "by" Miró, since they were not created or produced "by the hand" of Miró.' Thus a forgery of this kind contains all the aesthetic qualities and values of the original work. And why not, if even an expert cannot always say whether it's a hand-pulled impression or a printed picture? But because the hand of the artist did not produce it, it has no value. Genuineness is a value in itself, and in art this is the most important aspect when talking commercially. If the Miró print I saw turns out to be a printed copy, then its value tumbles to that level. On the other hand, it could also be genuine. Even on the basis of my fairly long experience, I could not say with certainty one thing or the other. The above cited statement contains the interesting expression: 'not created or produced "by the hand" of Miró.' We know that Miró made more than a thousand prints in the Arte workshop established by Aimé Maeght in Paris. There he had the help of top lithographers with whom he consulted and who contributed much to the final results. So the lithographs of Miró, like those of many other modern masters, were also printer's art, art produced under the master's strict control. The high quality can be seen in each impression of an edition. A skilled printer is to be Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact

10 compared to the artist's right hand. Above all, lithograph and serigraph printers are indispensable in producing art based on these two techniques. When printed reproduced pictures first appeared on the market at the turn of the 15th century, they had a revolutionary impact on the lives of medieval people, an impact that was actually far greater than the invention of book printing. A picture always has that incomparable quality of expressing more than a thousand words. Thus a picture and the experience of it were no longer tied to place and time, but became personal property. We are now in a situation where the duplicated picture exerts a kind of hegemony. Nothing appears to stop the flood of pictures. The greater part of information is absorbed via the medium of the picture. Printed material offers high-quality pictures of original works of art. Furthermore, thanks to high-tech reproductive, printing and copying technology, fine copies are available to all. Not only the experiencing of pictures but also the making of duplicate images, which ultimately is what graphic art is all about, has become extremely easy and within the reach of all. It is no longer necessary to make a block or plate; all you need is a matrix of some kind. And this can be produced on a computer with only a few instructions. Herein lies the great threat to original graphics. Although there should be no limits to the means of artistic expression, it should still be important to clearly distinguish graphic art from printed matter or computer printouts. Signatures and numbering will not make them any more valuable than the high quality printed pictures of paintings with which museum shops abound. Unfortunately, the public at large is not always able to distinguish between graphic art and printed matter. No wonder, because not even the so-called experts are always successful in it. Heikki Malme / The Enigma of Prints 2 nd Impact