Studies in the History of Art

Published by the National Gallery of Art,

Washington

This series includes: Studies in the History of

Art, collected papers on objects in the Gallery's

collections and other art-historical studies

(formerly Report and Studies in the History of

Art); Monograph Series I, a catalogue of stained

glass in the United States; Monograph Series II,

on conservation topics; and Symposium Papers

(formerly Symposium Series), the proceedings of

symposia sponsored by the Center for Advanced

Study in the Visual Arts at the National Gallery

of Art.

[1] Report and Studies in the History of Art, 1967

[2] Report and Studies in the History of Art, 1968

[3] Report and Studies in the History of Art, 1969

[In 1970 the National Gallery of Art's annual

report became a separate publication.]

[4] Studies in the History of Art, 1972

[5] Studies in the History of Art, 1973

[The first five volumes are unnumbered.]

6 Studies in the History of Art, 1974

7 Studies in the History of Art, 1975

8 Studies in the History of Art, 1978

9 Studies in the History of Art, 1980

10 Macedonia and Greece in Late Classical and

Early Hellenistic Times, edited by Beryl BarrSharrar and Eugene N. Borza. Symposium Series

1,1982

11 Figures of Thought: El Greco as Interpreter of

History, Tradition, and Ideas, edited by Jonathan

Brown, 1982

12 Studies in the History of Art, 1982

13 El Greco: Italy and Spain, edited by Jonathan

Brown and Jose Manuel Pita Andrade.

Symposium Series II, 1984

14 Claude Lorrain, 1600-1682: A Symposium, edited

by Pamela Askew. Symposium Series III, 1984

15 Stained Glass before 1700 in American

Collections: New England and New York

(Corpus Vitrearum Checklist I), compiled by

Madeline H. Caviness et al. Monograph Series I,

1985

16 Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity and the Middle

Ages, edited by Herbert L. Kessler and Marianna

Shreve Simpson. Symposium Series IV, 1985

17 Raphael before Rome, edited by fames Beck.

Symposium Series V, 1986

18 Studies in the History of Art, 1985

19 fames McNeill Whistler: A Reexamination,

edited by Ruth E. Fine. Symposium Papers VI,

1987

20 Retaining the Original: Multiple Originals,

Copies, and Reproductions. Symposium Papers

VII, 1989

21 Italian Medals, edited by J. Graham Pollard.

Symposium Papers VIII, 1987

22 Italian Plaquettes, edited by Alison Luchs.

Symposium Papers IX, 1989

23 Stained Glass before 1700 in American

Collections: Mid-Atlantic and Southeastern

Seaboard States (Corpus Vitrearum Checklist II),

compiled by Madeline H. Caviness et al.

Monograph Series 1, 1987

24 Studies in the History of Art, 1990

25 The Fashioning and Functioning of the British

Country House, edited by Gervase JacksonStops et al. Symposium Papers X, 1989

26 Winslow Homer, edited by Nicolai Cikovsky, Jr.

Symposium Papers XI, 1990

27 Cultural Differentiation and Cultural Identity in

the Visual Arts, edited by Susan J. Barnes and

Walter S. Melion. Symposium Papers XII, 1989

28 Stained Glass before 1700 in American

Collections: Midwestern and Western States

(Corpus Vitrearum Checklist III), compiled by

Madeline H. Caviness et al. Monograph Series I,

1989

29 Nationalism in the Visual Arts, edited by

Richard A. Etlin. Symposium Papers XIII, 1991

30 The Mall in Washington, 1791-1991, edited by

Richard Longstreth. Symposium Papers XIV, 1991

31 Urban Form and Meaning in South Asia: The

Shaping of Cities from Prehistoric to Precolonial

Times, edited by Howard Spodek and Doris

Srinivasan. Symposium Papers XV*

32 New Perspectives in Early Greek Art, edited by

Diana Buitron-Oliver. Symposium Papers XVI,

1991

3 3 Michelangelo Drawings, edited by Craig Hugh

Smyth. Symposium Papers XVII, 1992

34 Art and Power in Seventeenth-Century Sweden,

edited by Michael Conforti and Michael

Metcalf. Symposium Papers XVIII (withdrawn)

35 The Architectural Historian in America, edited

by Elisabeth Blair MacDougall. Symposium

Papers XIX, 1990

36 The Pastoral Landscape, edited by John Dixon

Hunt. Symposium Papers XX, 1992

37 American Art around 1900, edited by Doreen

Bolger and Nicolai Cikovsky, Jr. Symposium

Papers XXI, 1990

38 The Artist's Workshop, edited by Peter

Lukehart. Symposium Papers XXII*

39 Stained Glass before 1700 in American

Collections: Silver-Stained Roundels and

Unipartite Panels (Corpus Vitrearum Checklist

IV), compiled by Timothy B. Husband.

Monograph Series 1, 1991

40 The Feast of the Gods: Conservation,

Examination, and Interpretation, by David Bull

and Joyce Plesters. Monograph Series II, 1990

41 Conservation Research. Monograph Series II,

1993

42 Conservation Research: Studies of Fifteenth- to

Nineteenth-Century Tapestry, edited by Lotus

Stack. Monograph Series II. *

* Forthcoming
Conservation Research

STUDIE S I N TH E HISTOR Y O F ART • 4 1 •

Monograph Series II

Conservation Research

National Gallery of Art, Washington

Distributed by the University Press of New England

Hanover and London
Editorial Board

ROSS M. MERRILL, Chairman

SARAH FISHER

SHELLEY FLETCHER

RENE DE LA RIE

SHELLEY STURMAN

Managing Editor

CAROL ERON

Copy Editor

ANN HOFSTRA GROGG

Editorial Coordinator

JANICE GRUVER

Production Editor

ULRIKE MILLS

Designer

SUSAN LEHMANN

Production Assistant

MARK R. BACON

Distributed by the University Press of

New England, 23 South Main Street,

Hanover, New Hampshire 03755

Abstracted by RILA (International Repertory of

the Literature of Art), Williamstown,

Massachusetts 02167

ISSN 0091-7338

ISBN 089468-178-8

Copyright © 1993 Trustees of the National

Gallery of Art, Washington

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced without the written permission of

the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

20565

This publication was produced by the Editors

Office, National Gallery of Art, Washington

Editor-in-Chief, Frances P. Smyth

Printed in Hong Kong

The type is Trump Medieval, set by

BG Composition, Baltimore, Maryland

Cover: Detail, Paul Gauguin, Parau na te varua

ino (Words of the devil), 1892, National Gallery

of Art, Washington
Contents

9 Foreword

EARL A. POWELL III

11 Introduction

ROSS M. MERRILL

15 An Investigation of Renaissance Casting Practices as a Means

for Identifying Forgeries

DAPHNE BARBOUR and LISHA DEMING GLINSMAN

31 Medieval Pasteprints in the National Gallery of Art

SARAH BERTALAN

63 The Painting Materials and Technique of Paul Gauguin

CAROL CHRISTENSEN

105 A Method for Examining and Classifying Japanese Papers

Used by Artists in the Late Nineteenth Century:

The Prints of James Abbott McNeill Whistler

ANTOINETTE DWAN

133 Two Paintings by El Greco: Saint Martin and the Beggar;

Analysis and Comparison

SUSANNA P. GRISWOLD

157 French Painting and the Use of Varnish, 1750-1900

MICHAEL SWICKLIK

177 Contributors

Foreword

Wsearch, the National Gallery of Art begins to

report regularly on the research and technical

studies pursued by its conservation division.

The National Gallery periodically has published technical studies, beginning in 1973

with a contribution to Studies in the History

of Art on the construction, treatment, materials, and scholarly studies of Peter Paul

Rubens' Deborah Kip, Wife of Sir Balthasar

Gerbier, and Her Children; this was one of

the first publications jointly undertaken by a

scholar, conservator, and conservation scientist. More recently, another volume of this

series was devoted to a single work, The

Feast of the Gods by Giovanni Bellini and

Titian. In addition, the National Gallery, under the auspices of the conservation division,

published in 1986 the first volume of a series,

Artists' Pigments: A Handbook of Their History and Characteristics, edited by Robert L.

Feller. The second volume, edited by Ashok

Roy, will be released in 1993; volume three,

edited by Elisabeth West FitzHugh, is in process, and plans are under way for volume

four. The Gallery also has reprinted important technical works such as On Picture Varnishes. Two recent publications, Art in Transit: Studies in the Transport of Paintings and

the Handbook for Packing and Transporting

Paintings, incorporate the research of major

conservation institutions and museums and

establish a new understanding of packing

procedures.

In this publication, research by Andrew W.

Mellon Fellows from 1984 to 1988 and by

members of the conservation staff at the National Gallery of Art is reported. Readers are

introduced to analyses forming the basis for

a greater understanding of Renaissance

bronzes; techniques that produced obscure

and charming medieval pasteprints,- the mystique and realities behind Gauguin's choices

of canvases and painting materials; characteristics of Japanese papers selected by Whistler; the painting methods of El Greco; and

insight into the impressionists' attitudes

toward varnish coatings on paintings.

In the format of Conservation Research,

we look forward to making available scholarly information pertaining to our collection,

and others, not only to conservators but to a

wide audience of curators, scientists, and

connoisseurs.

EAR L A . POWEL L III

Director, National Gallery of Art

9

ith the inaugural volume of Conservation Re-

Introduction

T

he publication of technical studies is not new

to the National Gallery of Art, although for

many of the authors this is a first effort to

bring their research to print. This initial volume of Conservation Research marks the

culmination of intensive effort by the conservation staff and fellowship recipients. Accumulating technical data is a painstaking process, and preparing it for publication is even

more so, especially when research is not the

primary endeavor of the Gallery conservator.

Conservation scientists often pursue ongoing

research for many years, posing the dilemma

of when to stop and articulate findings and

when to probe further for that last, elusive

bit of data that irrefutably confirms their

findings.

Technical studies and research based on

the National Gallery of Art's extensive permanent collection form an integral part of

the Conservation Fellowship Program. In addition, special exhibitions afford staff members and fellows the opportunity to assemble

information on objects from other institutions and collections. The subjects addressed

in this volume, and to be addressed in future

volumes, are wide-ranging. While all of the

papers are written from the viewpoint of the

conservator or conservation scientist, the intended audience is not only those in the conservation field but also those who may apply

the information to their particular branch of

art or scientific interest. The general reader

as well will find articles of interest. Daphne

Harbour and Lisha Deming Glinsman's study

of Renaissance casting practices forms an important foundation for recognizing spurious

works. Antoinette Dwan's classification and

examination of Japanese papers of the nineteenth century focuses on the prints of James

Abbott McNeill Whistler. Monographic

study of an artist's materials and working

techniques underlies Susanna P. Griswold's

comparison of two paintings by El Greco,

while the more general research of a painter's

oeuvre is at the heart of Carol Christensen's

analysis of Paul Gauguin's materials and

technique. The student of medieval prints

will find clarification by Sarah Bertalan of a

long-disputed issue of materials and process

used in medieval pasteprints, based on study

of pasteprints in the Gallery's collection and

others. Michael Swicklik provides factual

foundation to speculations on attitudes of

French artists beginning in the eighteenth

century toward the use of varnish coatings on

paintings, with emphasis on how impressionists viewed their use.

Conservation research, with its focus on

the material structure of works of art as revealed through modern technology, has

drawn scholarly interest, as well as general

interest for its application of exotic technology. The absence of extensive technical research in scholarly museum publications

heretofore should not suggest that up-to-date

analytical and research techniques are not

applied by many museums, but rather it indicates the difficulty of bringing a technical investigation to publication without reducing a

11
great work to a simple material artifact.

Technical studies may be regularly cited by

scholars, but seldom have been published by

their authors. As their informative contributions are becoming recognized, however, investigations by conservators and conservation scientists are finding new outlets in

monographs and exhibition catalogues. We

even find our academic colleagues taking up

applied science in their research.

The conservation division encourages collaborative projects by conservation scientists, conservators, curators, and our academic colleagues. Future issues of Conservation Research will present articles resulting

from these collaborative investigations.

Acknowledgments

The groundwork for this publication was laid

by John Wilmerding, past deputy director of

the National Gallery of Art, and was enthusiastically implemented by his successor,

Roger Mandle. Foremost in his support of our

conservation fellowships, staff research, and

other conservation programs has been the

National Gallery's director emeritus, J. Carter Brown. We are grateful for the continuing

support and encouragement of the National

Gallery leadership.

This publication is made possible through

the ongoing efforts and patience of the conservation division's department heads, the

division editor, Janice Gruver, and Michael

Skalka, conservation programs coordinator.

We are also grateful to those who have given

generously of their expertise and time in reviewing our research.

The sponsors of the Conservation Fellowship Endowment, principally the Andrew W.

Mellon Foundation, as well as the Charles E.

Culpeper Foundation, have provided fellows

with the opportunity to pursue research projects. This publication serves as a forum for

their work and that of staff members who

have undertaken special research projects.

We also are indebted to the Publications

Fund of the National Gallery for support.

ROS S M . MERRIL L

Chief of Conservation, National Gallery of Art

12


DAPHN E BARBOU R andLISH A DEMIN G GLINSMA N

An Investigation of Renaissance Casting

Practices as a Means for Identifying

Forgeries

A

series of seven small bronze busts of Pope

Paul III Farnese, attributed to Guglielmo

della Porta (c. 1516-1577), was assembled at

the National Gallery of Art, Washington, for

technical study (fig. i).1 National Gallery

curators had questioned the attribution and

authenticity of this unusual series, since no

precedent for a group of small-scale portrait

busts is known to exist in the Renaissance.2

In addition, the blatant lack of documentation for any of these busts prior to 1936,3

 although they ostensibly date from an era well

known for its meticulous record keeping,

prompted the effort to validate or refute

the attribution by investigating the casting

methods and materials of these busts.

The seven small bronze busts were first examined visually to determine whether the

method of manufacture was consistent with

sixteenth-century casting practices. They

were then analyzed to determine whether the

composition of the metal was in accordance

with that of other Renaissance bronzes or

what is known about Renaissance metallurgical practice.

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

First attributed to Guglielmo della Porta by

Werner Gramberg,4 the bronze busts depict

Pope Paul III, Alessandro Farnese (1468-1549)

(fig. 2). Guglielmo della Porta was a Lombard

artist who worked in Milan and Genoa before

moving to Rome. Giorgio Vasari claimed that

he moved to Rome in 1537,5 but the earliest

documented date for his presence there is 3

May 1546, when he was paid for marble doors

of the Sala del Re in the Vatican.6 John PopeHennessy describes him as a "sculptor of

genius" who helped mark the transition in

Italian sculpture after 1550 from Florentine

supremacy to Lombard artistry.7

In Rome, Guglielmo was introduced to Michelangelo and, through him, to the Farnese

family. It was Michelangelo who, according

to Vasari, "conceived an affection for him,

and before any other thing, caused him to

restore some antique things in the Farnese

Palace, in which he acquitted himself in such

a manner that Michelangelo put him into the

service of the Pope [Paul III]."8 When Paul

Ill's reigningpiombatore apostolico (the individual charged with making lead seals for papal bulls) died in 1547, Guglielmo procured

this prestigious position against such acclaimed competitors as Benvenuto Cellini.

As piombatore apostolico, Guglielmo was

further granted the honor of designing and

executing the pope's tomb. Between 1547 and

1567 he is not known to have completed

many sculptures, but as Vasari wrote, "It is

the characteristic of those who hold that office to become sluggish and indolent."9

The attribution to Guglielmo of the small

busts considered here is not unfounded. He

executed several portrait busts of Paul III and

received payment in 1547 for one cast in

15
bronze.10

 He also cast a seated portrait of the

pope for his tomb. Two over-life-size marble

busts of the same sitter were also reported as

having been executed by Guglielmo around

1550. Today they are in the Museo Nazionale

di Capodimonte, Naples. Gramberg considers only one (10514) to be the work of

Guglielmo (fig. 3), however; the second

(10524) is considered to be a workshop piece

(fig. 4).11 Henceforth they will be identified

as Guglielmo's bust or the workshop piece,

based on Gramberg's attribution.

The series of small busts appears to have

been derived, if not copied, from Guglielmo's

marble at the Capodimonte (see fig. 3). Except for their size (the marble is considerably

larger than the small bronzes), they are identical. It has even been suggested of one of the

small bronzes that it was a bozzetto (study)

for the Capodimonte marble,12 but the high

degree of detail and the finished quality of

the surface of the bronze busts is atypical for

bozzetti.

Based on his observation that some of the

nicks and minor losses on the bronze bust in

the Museum fur Kunst und Gewerbe, Hamburg (not available for this examination), appear to have occurred prior to casting, Gramberg believes that it was cast from a wax

model made by Guglielmo c. 1544. He also

suggests the wax model was saved from destruction to be cast later for documentation

purposes. He considers the finished quality

to be characteristic of Guglielmo's oeuvre.

i. Attributed to Guglielmo

della Porta, Pope Paul III

Famese, bronze (copper alloy)

From left to right: Herbert F. Johnson

Museum of Art, Cornell University,

Ithaca, New York; Virginia Museum of

Fine Arts, Richmond; Sotheby's, New

York; Willard B. Golovin Collection

(A and B); J. B. Speed Art Museum,

Louisville, Kentucky; National Gallery

of Art, Washington

l6 HARBOU R / GLINSMA N
Furthermore, he interprets the casual inscription, "Paolo III Farnese," excluding the

compulsory "PONT MAX.," to mean that

Guglielmo added it later, probably after the

pope had died (fig. 5).13 It could be argued,

however, that the inscription was merely"

written by an individual unfamiliar with the

proper way to inscribe a papal title and therefore could not possibly have been done by

Guglielmo. It could also be argued that what

is in fact incongruous is that the inscription

is not in Latin. "PONT MAX." would not be

added to an Italian inscription.14 This study

is not intended to prove or disprove questions

pertaining to a nonextant wax or lost-wax

model and when and who inscribed it. They

are raised to show how these bronzes, and

similar ones, have been interpreted in relation to Guglielmo's oeuvre.

DESCRIPTION

The small bronze busts depict a bare-headed,

bearded Paul III clothed in an ornamental ecclesiastical cope clasped at the neckline by a

heavy brooch. On the front of the cope are

four rectangular fields, each containing an allegorical scene. The proper right fields show

Abundance (fig. 6) and Peace, while the

proper left fields represent Justice (fig. 7) and

Victory. These four concepts, extremely important to Paul III, are frequently depicted in

his portraits. Scenes from the Pentateuch—

HARBOU R / GLINSMA N I/
the Tablets of the Law and the dead Egyptians—on both shoulders reflect the pope's

attempt to strengthen the Catholic church

against the Protestant Reformation; they exist in the identical configuration on Guglielmo's marble in the Capodimonte.15

The bases of the bronzes, which differ from

that of Guglielmo's marble, contain an inscription identifying the sitter (see fig. 5).

Flanking the inscription are reclining river

gods, perhaps inspired by Michelangelo's

river gods intended for the Medici tombs. On

several of the bronzes, the inscription is

effaced; however, excepting superficial variations, design elements remain consistent

throughout the series. The busts with legible

inscriptions all read, simply, "PAOLO III

FARNESE."

Gramberg points out that the workshop

piece has a base similar to those of the

bronzes under examination. In fact, except

for a missing inscription area in the former,

the bases of the small bronze busts and the

workshop piece are identical. In contrast,

Guglielmo's marble portrait rests on a cylindrical base that appears to be almost too narrow at the top to support the bust. It is conceivable, as Gramberg suggests, that the

bases of Guglielmo's bust and the workshop

piece were inadvertently switched. In fact,

even the rectangular inscription area that is

absent from the workshop piece is present on

Guglielmo's marble. Thus, if Guglielmo's

marble portrait of Paul III originally rested on

the marble base that is similar to the bases

portrayed under the small busts, the busts

would be entirely analogous to the marble

bust's original condition. If this is correct,

the artist who created the small bronze busts

must have done so before the bases of the

marble portraits were exchanged.16

METHOD OF MANUFACTURE

Fabrication

All the bronze busts appear to have been cast

by the lost-wax method, a technique well

known and well documented in the Renaissance. Benvenuto Cellini, Guglielmo's contemporary and competitor, recorded his own

casting methods in great length. First he described how to prepare a core, the material

that fills the center of the model enabling the

sculpture to be hollow once cast: "I made a

model in clay of just the size the figure was to

be; . . . Then I gave it a good baking, and after

that I spread over the whole an even coat of

wax of less than a finger's thickness."17

A core need not be made from the complex

recipe described by Cellini, which included,

among other things, oxhorn and dung. In fact

the only criterion is that it be made from a

refractory material, specifically one that will

2. Attributed to Guglielmo

della Porta, Pope Paul III

Farnese, bronze (copper alloy)

National Gallery of Art, Washington

l8 HARBOU R / GLINSMAN
3- Guglielmo della Porta, Pope

Paul III Famese, c. 1550, marble

Museo Nazionale di Capodimonte,

Naples

retain its shape and composition even when

subjected to high temperatures. Wax painted

over the core, in the way recounted by Cellini, served as a model with the qualities

sought in the final bronze. Sprues (rods)

made of wax were then attached in strategic

locations throughout the model. It was

through channels created by the wax sprues

that molten metal was ultimately poured.

Other wax rods attached at this time, which

were not used as channels for the molten

metal, provided vents or holes. These in turn

enabled gases to escape and eliminated back

pressure and subsequent bursting of the

bronze. Cellini perceptively recommended

that all such attachments point downward:

You fashion in wax. . .- all the vent holes for the

bronze casting, and mind that they all slant

downwards to the bottom; later when the figure

has its last and earthen mould on, these vents may

easily be turned up with clay [or mold material].18

Core pins (chaplets), used to hold the core

material in place during casting, were also

inserted at this stage. The wax model and

core would have next been covered (invested)

with a refractory material to form a mold.

When the mold had dried, it was placed in an

oven and heated slowly until the wax model

was melted out, or "lost." The investment

continued to be baked until all moisture was

removed:

In melting out the wax your fire be so tempered

that the wax does not boil in the mould, but

comes out with the greatest patience. When the

wax is all out give the mould yet another but very

moderate firing, in order to rid of any moisture

that may be left in the mould.19

The mold was then placed in a "pouring pit"

dug into the ground. Finally, molten metal

was poured in through a pouring cup at the

top of the mold into channels left by wax

sprues and allowed to cool.

In general, the lost-wax manufacturing

technique appears the same on all the busts.

That they all originated from the same

source is implied, not only because they are

visually alike but also because internal and

overall measurements of all the portraits are

comparable. The measurements differ only

slightly, and their variations are random; no

overall shrinkage is noted. For these reasons,

it is impossible to claim one was cast after

another.

There is, however, one notable difference

between the method Cellini described and

that used on the small busts. Unlike Cellini's method, where wax is brushed over a

clay model, the wax models used for the

small busts under examination appear to

have been slush cast, as evidenced by the drip

marks on the reverse of the bronzes. Slush

casting is a technique of hollow casting that

does not require a core; it is analogous to slip

casting in ceramics. A molten medium is

simply poured into a mold. In this case, hot

wax was poured into a mold of the busts.

After those areas that were in contact with

the cooler mold surface solidified, the remaining liquid wax was slushed around to

ensure that it had made contact with all areas

BARBOU R / GLINSMA N 19
of the mold and then poured out. The principles involved in slush casting were recorded

in the Renaissance by Vannoccio Biringuccio

in 1540, who described this method in conjunction with the manufacture of tin sheeting, lead roofing, and organ pipes.20

 Though

not often associated with casting procedures

used on Renaissance sculpture, the technique of slush casting certainly existed in the

sixteenth century.21

When the hollow wax model had cooled, it

was removed from its mold and polished in

the same manner used to finish the final

bronze. Likewise, superficial changes or enhancements could be made to the wax model

at this time. A core would then have been

added to the center of the model so that the

final bronze could be hollow once cast.

The remainder of the busts' casting process

is entirely analogous to the procedure Cellini

described. Core pins were inserted on both

sides of the cope, on the top of the head, and,

in some busts, behind each ear. These were

easily detected in the laboratory as they created superficial holes after the pins were removed (fig. 8). Remnants of mold and core

materials from the busts were analyzed using

x-ray diffraction (XRD) and were identified in

all cases as gypsum.22

Wax sprues, whose placement was identified by their small projecting remnants, were

then attached along the reverse edge of the

cope and neckline, on the top of the head,

and on the bottom edge of the base. Lastly,

molten metal was poured through the base

while the sculptures were overturned.

Similar placement of chaplets and sprues

on the busts reflects the work of an individual or workshop that had achieved a working method capable of yielding consistent

results. However, visible superficial differences do exist. These appear to have been

made to wax models prior to casting. For example, bases were added and removed from

the wax model; some sculptures were cast as

a single unit with the bases and others, like

those from the Virginia Museum of Fine

Arts, the Speed Museum, and the Golovin

Collection, B, were cast in two pieces and

the bases were attached with screws. The inscription, done by hand, could be easily

traced or effaced on the wax model as desired

(figs. 9-10).23 The manipulation of striations

around decorative fields on the cope further

suggests that the wax models were constantly reworked. Eyebrows, forehead wrinkles, and other superficial features disappeared from and reappeared in individual

busts. Yet in general, the overall workmanship and the type of surface deviations remain comparable on each piece. It is possible

that the minor changes were intentionally

introduced to create the illusion that each

bust had aged separately.

Casting flaws are numerous. Many of these

4. Workshop of Guglielmo

della Porta, Pope Paul III

Fainese, c. 1548-1549, marble

Museo Nazionale di Capodimonte,

Naples

2O BARBOU R / GLINSMAN
5. Detail, fig. 2, showing the

inscription in the base

6. Detail, fig. 2, showing the

cope, proper right upper field,

containing allegorical scene of

Abundance

7. Detail, attributed to

Guglielmo della Porta, Pope

Paul III Famese, bronze (copper

alloy), showing the cope,

proper left upper field, containing allegorical scene of

Justice

Golovin Collection, B

BARBOU R / GLINSMA N 21
were plugged with wax. In the Sotheby bust,

however, a large flaw in the proper left shoulder appeared as a hole. Pitting, the result of

gases trapped in the molten metal, is noted

repeatedly on all the busts. None of these

"flaws" is unusual, although casting imperfections are frequently corrected in the foundries to improve the final appearance of the

piece. Furthermore, foundries often repaired

large losses with metal rather than wax

plugs.

The patination varies significantly from

piece to piece. Most surfaces display brushstrokes indicating brush coating, and most

display several campaigns of patination, the

underlayer being very red-brown in color.

Over this, patinas that range from greenbrown to black-brown were applied. Patination, or rather repatination, can be applied at

any time, and therefore surfaces examined

now may not resemble those created at the

foundry.24

Surface finishing after casting appears negligible. Spherical metal deposits like those on

the base of the Golovin B bust, particularly

around the river gods, were caused by air

bubbles in the mold and were not chased—

finished to remove or repair casting flaws.

Fins (raised, threadlike bits of metal), resulting from cracks in the mold or where a piece

mold was not tightly joined, have not been

removed on many busts, specifically along

the back of the head of the Golovin B and

Speed Museum pieces.

Examination under magnification (16 x)

confirmed that surface working of all the

busts was completed prior to casting. No cold

working was noted in any area, including

those with sharp incisions such as the hair,

beard, or moustache. There were, however,

file marks executed on the surface of the

busts after casting. These tended to correspond to areas of wear and appeared to have

been used to expose a red patina below the

darker upper patination (fig. n). In cases

where filing was too rigorous, the bare metal

was exposed. Most frequently this occurred

on the knees of Justice (proper left upper

field), though numerous incidences were observed on all the busts. The fact that the wear

was erratic and did not always correspond to

areas of highest relief suggests that filing was

intentionally employed to create the impression of age and wear. On the Speed Museum

piece, for example, the central portion of the

proper left ear was much more "weathered"

than its outer edge.

What is unusual about the manufacture of

the small busts when compared to Guglielmo's recorded working method is that

they are riddled with flaws. Vasari noted that

Guglielmo devised a special casting method

so that his seated portrait of Paul III would be

as clean as the wax model. Clearly the final

appearance of the bronze was important to

him:

But doubting, on account of the size of the

casting, lest the metal might grow cold and the

work therefore not succeed, he placed the metal in

the vessel below, in such a way that it might be

gradually sucked upwards. And with this unusual

method that casting came out very well, and as

clean as the wax.

25

Despite the apparent incongruities between the small busts and Guglielmo's personal preferences, the lost-wax method by

which the small busts were cast is very much

in accordance with Renaissance casting procedures. Yet their superficial wear is erratic,

and the sculptures do not appear to exhibit

high-caliber workmanship. These facts do

8. Detail, attributed to

Guglielmo della Porta, Pope

Paul III Famese, bronze (copp>er

alloy), showing the chaplet o r

core pin hole, proper left low er

field

Golovin Collection, A

22 HARBOU R / GLINSMAN
9. Detail

, fig. 2, showing the

inscription

10. Detail, attributed to

Guglielmo della Porta, Pope

Paul III Famese, bronze (copper

alloy), showing the inscrip-

tion. Note the remnants of

the letters "FAR" in the lower

left corner as well as file marks

overall

Virginia Museum of Fine Arts,

Richmond

not preclude their having been made by

Guglielmo della Porta, but they certainly

raise questions that require closer scrutiny.

Composition

The compositions were analyzed by non-

destructive means to further establish

whether the busts originated from the same

workshop and whether their alloys were

comparable to other known Renaissance

pieces. If the busts had closely similar alloys,

then the assumption could be made that they

originated from the same workshop. Like-

wise, alloy composition can, on occasion, be

used to date metal objects, since methods for

producing brass or bronze changed with tech-

nological advancements. Brass-making tech-

niques in Renaissance Europe could achieve

an alloy no more than 28 percent zinc. Con-

sequently the zinc content in a copper alloy

can, in some instances, be used to determine

the earliest possible date of manufacture.

The busts were analyzed using x-ray fluo-

rescence spectroscopy (XRF).

26

 Composition-

al analysis of the surface revealed that the

alloys are high-zinc brasses, with 2-3 percent

lead, i percent tin (except for the Speed Mu-

BA.RBOUR / GLINSMAN 23
seum bust, in which tin was not detected),

and less than I percent each of iron and nickel

(except for the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts

bust, in which iron was detected at i percent). The table presents XRF data in percent

composition by weight.

The implications of the metallic composition of the busts can be better understood

with background information on the history

of metallurgy, particularly as it applies to

brass production from the Renaissance to the

industrial revolution.

Renaissance Brass Production

In the Renaissance, copper was alloyed with

tin or lead to make bronze simply by melting

and mixing the metals together. Brass, an alloy of copper and zinc, could not be prepared

in this simple way, since zinc boils well below the melting point of copper27

 and oxidizes and evaporates before alloying can occur. Technically bronze is understood to be

an alloy of copper and tin with other elements in smaller quantities sometimes present. However, the term "bronze" is commonly used in the museum field to describe

sculptures composed of any copper alloy, including brass, an alloy of copper and zinc.28

The Pope Paul III busts are, in fact, brasses.

Percent Composition by Weight of Surface Alloy of Pope Paul III Busts

Copper Zinc Lead Tin Iron Nickel Silver Antimony Arsenic

(Cu) (Zn) (Pb) (Sn) (Fe) (Ni) (Ag) (Sb) (As)

n. Photomicrograph, fig. 7,

showing the knees of Justice.

Note how the green patina has

been intentionally filed to

expose the red-brown

underlayer.

National Gallery

of Art

WillardB.

Golovin

Collection, A

WillardB.

Golovin

Collection, B

Herbert F.

Johnson Museum

Virginia Museum

of Fine Arts

J. B. Speed

Art Museum

Sotheby's,

New York

73

72

72

68

67

62

60

24

24

23

28

29

35

36

2

2

3

3

2

2

2

1 0.5

1 0.5

1 0.5

1 0.2

1 1

t 0.2

1 0.3

0.2

t

0.1

0.1

0.1

t

0.1

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t

t below detectable limit (approximately 500 ppm)

24 HARBOU R / GLINSMA N
Even though the alloying of copper with

zinc was a more complicated process than

manufacturing bronze, brass could be made

more cheaply than bronze because zinc was

more abundant and readily available than

tin. The standard method for European brass

production from the first century B.C. to the

nineteenth century A.D. was the cementation

process.29 As described by Theophilus in the

eleventh century, the zinc ore, generally calamine (zinc carbonate), was calcined (oxidized) by placing the ore on wood and roasting it until the ore glowed, thus forming the

zinc oxide:

A kind of stone is also found of a yellowish colour,

and sometimes red, which is called calamine,

which is not broken up, (but as it is dug up it is

placed upon wood, heaped up and very glowing,

and is burned until it quite glows. This stone,

afterwards cooled and broken very small,) is

mixed with coals finely divided, and is mingled

with the above-mentioned copper in the

furnace.30

Small fragments of copper were then combined with the calcined zinc ore (zinc oxide)

and charcoal, packed into a sealed crucible,

and heated to a temperature between 900°C

and i,ooo°C. This temperature was hot

enough to vaporize the zinc but not hot

enough to melt the copper. Maintaining this

temperature was crucial. Below 917°C the

zinc would not vaporize, while above

i,o8o°C, copper would melt to form a pool of

metal at the bottom of the furnace. The

sealed crucible prevented most of the zinc

vapor from escaping, allowing the zinc to be

dissolved into the copper fragments to form

brass. After this had been accomplished, the

temperature was raised and the molten brass

was mixed to make a uniform alloy.31 This

process was also described by Theophilus:

When they are glowing, take calamine [zinc

carbonate]. . . very finely ground, with coals, and

arrange them in each cup about one sixth part full,

and fill it quite with the above-mentioned copper,

and cover with coals. . . . And when the copper is

altogether melted, take a slender iron, long and

curved and fixed to a wooden handle, and carefully stir it, that the calamine may be mixed with

the copper.

32

Laboratory experiments by Otto Werner established that this process resulted in an

equilibrium among the zinc oxide, charcoal,

and copper and formed a brass with a maximum zinc content of 28 percent.33

 Even

when a brass containing 40 percent zinc was

used in these experiments, the overall zinc

content in the resulting brass was reduced to

28 percent. Generally, the zinc content obtained by this procedure ranged between 22

percent and 28 percent.34 Temperature, surface area, and the presence of other metals

dictated the amount of zinc that could be absorbed by the copper. The closer the temperature was to the melting point of copper, the

greater the amount of zinc that could be absorbed. Increasing the surface area of the copper by making the fragments as small as possible also increased the amount of zinc that

could be absorbed. Ensuring the use of relatively pure copper was important because the

presence of other metals, especially tin and

lead, reduced the amount of zinc absorbed.

Paul T. Craddock described a simplified

formula:35

theoretic zinc maximum =

28 percent -[(i x tin concentration)

+ (2 x lead concentration)]

For example, the presence of 2 percent tin

would reduce the absorption of zinc in the

copper by 2 percent, while the presence of 2

percent lead would reduce the absorption of

zinc by 4 percent. Therefore, under optimum

conditions, the maximum amount of zinc in

a brass produced by the cementation process

containing 2 percent tin and 2 percent lead

would be 22 percent. It is important to remember that the formation of a pure brass

alloy with as much as 28 percent zinc could

take place only without the presence of any

other elements, for example tin or lead, elements that are present in the busts of Pope

Paul III.

Comparison of the brass alloys for each of

the busts examined, in relation to copper and

maximum zinc concentrations, suggests that

the Sotheby and Speed Museum busts, with

36 percent and 35 percent zinc respectively,

could not have been produced in the sixteenth century. At first glance, the compositions of the Johnson Museum and Virginia

Museum of Fine Arts busts, with zinc contents of 28 percent and 29 percent respectively, appear to have been technically possi-

. ble. Yet considering that the absorption of

zinc in the copper is reduced by the presence

of lead and tin, the maximum zinc concenBARBOU R / GLINSMA N 25
tration in the Johnson Museum bust could

have been no more than 21 percent and in the

Virginia Museum of Fine Arts bust no more

than 23 percent. In other words, these alloys

contain at least 6-7 percent more zinc than

could have been achieved using sixteenthcentury Italian alloying practices. These percentages are actually conservative since they

refer to brass used directly from the smelters.

If, however, the busts had been cast from remelted brass (scrap), then some zinc (approximately 10 percent) would evaporate

from the metal with each remelting.36 The

zinc concentration of the National Gallery of

Art and both Golovin busts appear to have

been technologically possible in the Renaissance. The absence of impurities in the alloy,

however, makes them also suspect.

Electrolytic Refining

Even more revealing than the high zinc contents was the absence of impurities in detectable amounts in the busts examined. The

presence or absence of impurities within the

alloy can also in some instances be used to

date metal sculptures. From Theophilus'

time until the industrial revolution, metal

refining was performed by a process of fire

refining, involving oxidation and reduction.

This lengthy process consumed a great deal

of fuel. Although furnace design improved,

the process remained virtually unchanged

until the second half of the nineteenth century, when electrolytic refining began to be

used for purifying metals. When this process

is used for copper refining, an electric current

is passed through an acidified copper sulfate

solution (electrolyte), causing the unpurified

copper to pass into solution at the anode and

be deposited as pure copper at the cathode.

Impurities such as silver, arsenic, and antimony are left behind in the sludge.

Charles Watt, in his patent dated 1851,37

first suggested the use of electricity to refine

copper. The first person to carry out Watt's

process of electrolytic copper refining on an

industrial scale was James Elkington of the

Birmingham firm of electroplaters. He patented his method in 1865 and 1869. In 1869, he

founded the first electrolytic copper refining

facility at Pembrey in South Wales.38

The principal demand for copper at this

time came from the expanding electrical industries, which used copper wire as a conducting material. Even minute impurities in

the copper would increase the resistance of

the copper wire and reduce its conducting

power. The older process of fire refining, if

carried out very carefully, could achieve a

copper purity of 99.25 percent.39 Early electrolytic refining resulted in a copper purity of

99.96 percent. The remaining .04 percent

generally consisted of a combination of arsenic, antimony, and silver.40

The absence of these impurities in detectable amounts in the brass alloys for each of

the busts examined suggests the use of electrolytic refining of the metal. This conclusion implies that all the busts postdate 1869.

CONCLUSION

This study was undertaken to answer several

questions and define the facture of the small

sculptures in relation to one another. Visual

examination reveals that all seven busts were

cast by the traditional lost-wax method, that

they appear to originate from the same

source, and that their metallic compositions

are similar. Furthermore, the manufacturing

techniques are consistent on all seven busts.

There is no evidence of cold working to reinforce surface details; and basic casting flaws

such as excess metal deposits, fins, and large

losses were left untouched. The presence of

these flaws is at variance with Vasari's account, which suggests that Guglielmo della

Porta was concerned with the final appearance of a cast sculpture. Cold working does

appear in the form of file marks and coincides

with areas of wear, indicating it was intentionally employed to create the appearance of

aged, worn surfaces.

Likewise, the relationship of the busts to

Renaissance bronze sculptural practices is

aberrant. The compositions are inconsistent

with those achievable using sixteenth-century Italian metallurgy. The high zinc content of most of the busts would have been

technologically impossible to achieve in Europe until the early nineteenth century. In

addition, impurities generally found in Renaissance bronzes were not detected in any of

the seven busts examined. These impurities

could not have been removed until the advent of electrolytic refining in 1869. From the

26 HARBOU R / GLINSMA N
assembled evidence, it is apparent that this

series of portraits did not originate in

Guglielmo della Porta's workshop or in any

sixteenth-century European workshop.

NOTES

The authors are grateful to the institutions and individuals for their generous loans of the objects that

made this study possible. They are the Herbert F.

Johnson Museum, Cornell University; the Virginia

Museum of Fine Arts; Willard B. Golovhi; the J. B.

Speed Art Museum; and Sotheby's, New York. We are

indebted to Douglas Lewis, curator of sculpture, National Gallery of Art, who initiated this study and arranged the loan of these pieces. Thanks are also due

to other National Gallery staff, including Barbara

Berrie, conservation scientist; E. Rene de la Rie, head

of the scientific research department; Suzannah Fabing, managing curator of records and loans; and Janice Gruver, editor for the conservation division, for

reviewing our manuscript. Philip Charles, photographer, kindly photographed the sculpture many times.

Susanna P. Griswold, conservator of paintings, assisted with the translation of articles from German.

In addition, we should like to acknowledge Janet

Snyder from the Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, for her atomic absorption analyses and Paul

Craddock from the British Museum research laboratory, for taking the time to discuss the compositional

results of the busts. Finally, we are indebted to Shelley Sturman, head of objects conservation, and Alison

Luchs, associate curator of sculpture, both at the National Gallery, for their unflagging encouragement

and support throughout this endeavor.

1. The busts assembled for study included (in the order shown in fig. i) Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art

(1967.26); Cornell University, Ithaca, New York; Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (1986.163), Richmond;

Sotheby's, New York (22 June 1989, lot 95); Willard B.

Golovin Collection, A and B; J. B. Speed Art Museum

(1968.33), Louisville, Kentucky; and National Gallery

of Art (1975.6.1), Washington. All are 29-31 cm high

and 20 cm wide. In addition to the seven works illustrated in figure i, two similar busts exist in the Museum fur Kunst und Gewerbe, Hamburg, and

Muzeum Narodowe Warszawie, Warsaw, but were

not available for comparison.

2. A series of small bronze portraits of Marie de' Medici and Henri IV, c. 24-25 cm high, by the French

sculptor Barthelemy Prieur, which date to approximately 1600, are perhaps the earliest known examples. See, for instance, Meribell M. Parsons,

Sculpture from the David Daniels Collection [exh.

cat., Minneapolis Institute of Arts] (Minneapolis,

1979), 40-43-

3. The Warsaw piece was donated to the museum in

1936. Dariusz Kaczmarzyk, "Portrait de Paul III Farnese-Un Bozzetto di Guglielmo della Porta," Bulletin

du Musee National de Varsovie 2, no. 3 (1961), 85,

mentions that the will of the donor, Monsignor Adolf

Jelowicki, bishop of Lublin, refers to the bust as "un

bronze de 1'ancienne collection bien connue" but

does not identify the collection. She proposes that

Jelowicki might have acquired it as early as 1886,

when he traveled to Italy after completing his

studies. But this early journey would presumably not

have been the only trip to Italy that contributed to his

eventual collection of some three hundred objects.

HARBOU R / GLINSMA N 27
4. Werner Gramberg, "Die Hamburger Bronzebiiste

Paul III Farnese von Guglielmo della Porta," in Festschrift fiii Erich Meyer zum Sechzigsten Geburtstag

(Hamburg, 1957), 160-172.

5. Giorgio Vasari, Lives of the Most Eminent Painters,

Sculptors and Architects (1511-1574), trans. Gaston Du

C. Vere, 10 vols. (London, 1912-1915), 9:234.

6. John Pope-Hennessy, Italian High Renaissance and

Baroque Sculpture (New York, 1986), 396. For a detailed bibliography on Guglielmo della Porta, see 397,

462.

7. Pope-Hennessy 1986, 88.

8. Vasari 1912-1915, 9:235.

9. Vasari 1912-1915, 9:237.

10. Pope-Hennessy 1986, 396.

n. Gramberg 1957,160, mentions that the workshop

piece has an alabaster Bruststiick (breast piece). Kaczmarzyk 1961, 89, says that both busts in the Museo

Nazionale di Capodimonte, Naples, are partially marble and partially alabaster, as does Aldo de Rinaldis,

Pinacoteca del Museo Nazionale di Napoli (Naples,

1911), 556. A marble head of Paul HI (10517), attributed

to Guglielmo, probably intended to form part of a

bust, is also in the Capodimonte.

12. Kaczmarzyk 1961, 85. She also proposes (95) that

the Hamburg bust is a replica from a mold of the Warsaw piece, worked up in greater detail. Its higher degree of finish probably results from the difference in

the final working of the wax model prior to casting.

The seven busts we examined exhibit the same range

of differences.

13. Gramberg 1957,164.

14. Caroline Elam, editor of the Burlington Magazine,

personal communication, 21 August 1990.

15. Gramberg 1957,167. Pope Paul HI chartered the Jesuit Order (1540), established the Tribunal of the Inquisition (1543),

 and convened the Council of Trent

(1544). Counter-Reformation references are prolific on

his portraits. For a detailed discussion of Paul III and

the iconography related to his ideology, see Fredrika

H. Jacobs, "Studies in the Patronage and Iconography

of Pope Paul HI (1534-1549)" (Ph.D. diss., University

of Virginia, 1979).

16. Gramberg 1957,170-171. Two other small bronze

portrait busts of the Farnese family members with

bases identical to those of the small bronze busts under study were analyzed about the same time. The

two busts, one of Marguerite of Austria (private collection), and the other of Ottavio Farnese (private

collection), were similar in size, subject matter, and

alloy composition.

17. Benvenuto Cellini, The Treatises ofBenvenuto

Cellini on Goldsmithing and Sculpture (1568), ed.

C. R. Ashbee (London, 1898), 111-112.

18. Cellini 1898,118.

19. Cellini 1898,118.

20. Vannoccio Biringuccio, The Pirotechnia of Vannoccio Biringuccio, ed. Derek Price (New York, 1959),

376.

21. Cyril Stanley Smith, "The Early History of Casting, Molds and the Science of Solidification," in

Smith, A Search for Structure (Cambridge, Mass.,

1981), 147. A date for the origins of this technique has

yet to be established; Richard E. Stone, "Antico and

the Development of Bronze Casting in Italy at the

End of the Quattrocento," Metropolitan Museum

Journal 16 (1982), 105, noted that Antico used slush

casting for some of his sculptures.

22. JCPDS, Powder Diffraction File Search Manual

(Swarthmore, Pa., 1982). The presence of gypsum cannot be used to date the objects since its use as an investment material is not unique to the Renaissance;

in fact, it is still used today. If a larger sample of the

core material were available, the sample might have

been dated using thermoluminescence. The analyses

were performed on a Philips x-ray generator (XRG)

3100 equipped with copper target and nickel filter to

provide Cu Ka radiation, 45 kV anode voltage, and 25

mA current. Exposure time ranged from four to six

hours.

23. The inscriptions on the busts from the Virginia

Museum of Fine Arts and the Golovin Collection, B,

are effaced. All the others are legible.

24. Richard Hughes and Michael Rowe, The Colouring, Bronzing and Patination of Metals (London,

1986). It is virtually impossible to identify the materials employed for patination, especially when a surface has been chemically patinated. Chemical

patinations are frequently applied with heat and fuse

with the metal substrate. They cannot, therefore, be

isolated from the substrate for identification

purposes.

25. Vasari 1912-1915, 9:235.

26. The analyses were performed on a Kevex O75OA

energy dispersive XRF spectrometer equipped with a

BaCl2 secondary target, 6 mm collimators, 60 kV anode voltage, and 0.4 mA anode current. Several areas

were investigated from each of the seven busts.

Kevex XRF Quantex-Ray Software, using the EXACT

fundamental parameters program provided by Kevex

Corporation, was used for calculating the elemental

surface composition. It should be emphasized that

this particular technique analyzes only the uppermost surface (up to 100 microns), and bulk values

may vary considerably. To confirm the bulk values, a

sample was removed from the interior of the National Gallery of Art bust and examined by Janet

Snyder, Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution,

Washington, using atomic absorption spectroscopy

(AA). The surface was determined to be of virtually

the same composition as the bulk values. The copper,

zinc, tin, and lead values obtained using AA were

within i percent of the XRF values. The elements less

than i percent were within 40 percent.

27. Zinc boils at 9O5°C. Copper melts at i,o8o°C.

28. Eugene Farrell, "Non-Destructive Instrumental

Analysis of Medals," Studies in the History of Art 21

(1987), 35-43-

29. Ronald F. Tylecote, A History of Metallurgy (London, 1976), 96.

28 BARBOU R / GLINSMAN
30. Theophilus, An Essay upon Various Arts in Three

Books by Theophilus (nth century), trans. Robert

Hendrie (London, 1847), bk. 3, 307.

31. Paul T. Craddock, "The Composition of the Copper Alloys Used by Greek, Etruscan and Roman Civilizations: The Origins and Early Use of Brass,"

Journal of Archaeological Science 5 (1978), 9.

32. Theophilus 1847, bk. 3, 311.

33. Otto Werner, "Uber das Vorkommen von Zink

und Messing im Altertum und im Mittelalter,"

Erzmetall 23 (1970), 259-269.

34. Craddock 1978,13. A few postmedieval brasses

have been reported to have up to 33 percent zinc. See

H. K. Cameron, "Technical Aspects of Medieval

Monumental Brasses," Archaeological Journal 131

(1974), 215-237. The accuracy of these numbers cannot

be evaluated since no information regarding the

method of analysis on these objects was reported. Assuming these analyses were indeed performed on authentic pieces and the zinc values reported are

accurate, then it may have been possible to achieve a

zinc concentration as high as 33 percent. Even if the

zinc content could have reached 33 percent, the fact

that the absorption of zinc in the copper is reduced by

the presence of lead and tin indicates that the zinc

content in the majority of the busts under examination still appears too high to have been achieved in

the Renaissance.

35. Paul T. Craddock, "Medieval Copper Alloy Production and West African Bronze Analyses," pt. I, Archaeometry 27, no. i (1985), 23-25.

36. Craddock 1978,12.

37. John Kershaw, Electrometallurgy (New York,

1908), 101. No industrial development resulted from

this patent for more than a decade, since electric currents could not be obtained in sufficient quantities to

perform metallurgical refining until the development

of the dynamo, an early generator.

38. Kershaw 1908,101.

39. Tylecote 1976,151.

40. Kershaw 1908,117.

HARBOU R / GLINSMA N 29
i. Saint John the Evangelist,

pasteprint

Staatliche Graphische Sammlung,

Munich
SARA H BERTALA N

Medieval Pasteprints in the

National Gallery of Art

M

edieval pasteprints have long been the subject of inquiry and controversy. The major

issues regarding these tiny, fragile reliefs—

their damaged appearance, their composition, the problematic relationship with

identical but reversed images printed on

paper, and the questions regarding technique—seem to have generated new theories

whenever print curators and cataloguers

encountered them in the great print collections. As a result, most of the literature offers

a thoroughly confusing picture to even the

most attentive reader.

Most pasteprints have been found affixed

to the covers of fifteenth-century handwritten codices, many with provenances traced

firmly to some of the great medieval monastery libraries in Germany. Some of their compositions reflect those of printmakers active

in Germany in the latter half of the fifteenth

century, such as the Master E. S. or the Master of the Dutuit Mount of Olives. Thus,

pasteprint making is generally considered to

have taken place in southern Germany in the

latter half of the fifteenth century. Catalogued early in this century by Wilhelm L.

Schreiber, approximately 195 are known to

exist, most still housed inside the book covers that have preserved them.1

No record of pasteprint technique has survived and very little is known about their

production. One important clue to their

method is the fact that some pasteprint images also exist as prints on paper. In each

matching set, the pasteprint represents an

identical but reversed image of the print. It is

therefore likely that pasteprints were made

using an intermediate cast from the matrix

used to print the image on paper. The practices of casting and stamping from dies were

well developed in medieval workshops, and

their application produced not only the odd

and fragile pasteprint but the world-changing

invention of movable type at about the same

time. Rather than viewing pasteprints as curios of print collections, it is appropriate to

consider them in the context of the widespread experimentation and lively technical

exchange made possible by itinerant craftsmen in the latter half of the fifteenth century.

The most comprehensive study of pasteprints to date is Pasteprints: A Technical and

Art Historical Investigation (1986) by Elizabeth Coombs, Eugene Farrell, and Richard

S. Field. In this publication, the materials of

three pasteprints in the Harvard University

Art Museums have been fully identified, the

appearance of pasteprints has been incontrovertibly explained, and great strides have

been made in understanding these rare objects in the context of fifteenth-century religious life.2

 The present study has taken the

exhaustive technical analysis conducted by

Coombs and Farrell as a point of departure

and has relied upon Field's connoisseurship

for the history of pasteprint scholarship and

sources in the related areas of medieval piety

and popular culture.

31
The group of pasteprints at the National

Gallery of Art, gathered by Lessing J. Rosenwald, afforded an opportunity to scrutinize

many more examples. Only limited nondestructive analysis and sampling were used

in this study, and the results concurred with

those published by Coombs and Farrell.

However, new information has been gained

regarding the questions of composition and

technique. Most of the National Gallery of

Art pasteprints and the eighty-one examined

in other collections (see app. i) are in relatively good condition and more informative

than the Harvard University Art Museums'

examples. The preparation of cross sections,

a method often used to reveal the layer structure of paintings, was applied to pasteprints

for the first time in this study. The cross sections taken of two pasteprints in the National Gallery of Art collection demonstrate

a simpler structure than that proposed by

Coombs and Farrell, one that is consistent in

all the National Gallery of Art examples and

those examined in other collections. Finally,

mock-ups were executed that convincingly

recreate the appearance of the originals. It is

hoped that the present study will add to the

understanding of these unusual documents

of fifteenth-century conception.

APPEARANCE

Now darkened and damaged, the pasteprints

we see are woefully unlike their original

state. The best-preserved examples, Saint

John the Evangelist (82850) in the Staatliche

Graphische Sammlung, Munich, and Madonna in Glory with Four Angels (82827) in

the print room of the Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg, attest to their intended appearance as precious objects in

which the contrast of black and gold created

a glittery image (figs. 1-2). In fact, as suggested by several authors and as Coombs and

Farrell have shown, the original pasteprint

was a composite of metal foil, ink, and varnish. The foil was shaped by molding to the

contours of a matrix, probably a metal plate,

creating an image in relief. The metal relief

surface was decorated with ink and toned

glazes and, occasionally, with detailing in

paint. The images were readable because the

raised relief lines of the foil surface were

inked (black) while the (sunken) recesses of

the foil surface were uninked and toned with

glazes that made the metal appear gold.

Pasteprints generally depict saints and

other religious subjects. The images originally read clearly due to the contrast of

black-inked lines against a gold-colored

ground as described above. However, physical damage caused by compression of the relief surface, chemical deterioration of the inherently incompatible materials, and the

effects of high humidity have altered their

appearance. Because of their condition and

without the benefit of analysis, the speculation that they were composed of brown paste

appeared early in the literature, hence their

name.

Good examples are indeed rare. Most surviving pasteprints exhibit the confusing

problem we see in one of the best-known examples, Christ Crucified between Two

Thieves (82791), in the collection of the

Guildhall Library, London (fig. 3). The image

is a negative one, that is, the principal lines

are light (blank paper) against a gray-brown

layer that many authors have described as

2. Madonna in Glory with Four

Angels, pasteprint

Germanisches Nationalmuseum,

Nuremberg

32 BERTALA N
3. Christ Crucified between

Two Thieves, pasteprint

Guildhall Library, City of London,

Wiltshire Collection

4. Christ Carrying the Cross,

pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

paste. The problematic negative image was

formerly interpreted as a deliberate feature of

pasteprints, and in the past several scholars,

unaware of well-preserved examples, were

prompted to propose that the "paste" was

displaced by the action of printing, producing

a white-line image.3 Only a few authors understood that this puzzling phenomenon was

the result of deterioration, and the most considered solution was offered by Coombs, Farrell, and Field in 1986. During the printing

process, raised portions of the printing plate

compressed the "paste" and enhanced adhesion to the paper support. Although originally gold or silver in color, the layer has oxidized to gray-brown, a reversal of the original

appearance. Those lines that now appear as

bare paper were originally inked passages,

which appeared dark against the gold layer.

The lines were raised and therefore vulnerable to loss, ultimately revealing the paper

beneath.4

Looking at an example in the National Gallery of Art that is in poor condition, Christ

Carrying the Cross (82788, variant) (fig. 4),

we can perhaps understand scholars' earlier

misinterpretations of pasteprint composition. Virtually nothing is left of the artifact,

and the bright orange tone may easily be interpreted as the residue of a paste that has

stained the paper substrate. The National

Gallery of Art also possesses examples that

are only partially deteriorated and therefore

clearly illustrate the fact that the light areas

of worn pasteprints were formerly in relief.

Such raised lines of embossed tin are well

preserved in an image of Saint George and the

Dragon (S2845a) (fig. 5). Under magnification, the surviving relief of the saint's face,

his sword, the decorative emblems of his armor, and the wings and limbs of the dragon

are readily visible. They are best read by examining the contours of the face and the

lines forming the nose, mouth, proper left

eye, and chin, which are still intact (fig. 6).

Also visible in this detail is the contrasting

color of the raised lines against the yellow

pigmentation in the recessed areas. The

losses in the relief are apparent as well; for

example, the line delineating the proper left

eye and nose suddenly breaks off, exposing

what is clearly the paper substrate. Similarly,

BERTALA N 33
the line of the saint's helmet has disappeared. Where the relief has broken away, not

only the thin raised line but a significantly

wider area of the pasteprint structure is lost

as well.

COMPOSITION AND LAYERED

STRUCTURE

Authors have generally guessed about pasteprint composition without the benefit of

magnification and analysis. The layered

structure of pasteprints has been described as

a brown paste of bird lime and glue, bone

glue with egg white and tin foil, and, according to one author, black bread dough.5

 Additional confusion is due to their name. In fact,

pasteprints are not made by typical printmaking techniques, nor is paste an ingredient in their composition. The misnomer

can be traced to Johann D. Passavant, who in

1864 described several relief impressions,

which he called empreintes en pate (impressions in paste). He used the term to distinguish these objects from sulfur casts or

niello, convinced that they could not be composed of metal because attempts to remove

several examples from book covers using water had completely dissolved the impressions. He speculated that a colored mixture

with the consistency of paste was used to fill

the engraved lines of a heated metal plate.

The plate was then printed on paper that was

prepared with a yellow ground, and parts of

the paste mixture melted, producing stains

on the paper. This misleading explanation

was corrected only many years later using analytical techniques available in the conservation field.6

In 1942, Rutherford Gettens offered a clue

to pasteprint composition when he analyzed

four examples then in the private collection

of Lessing J. Rosenwald using x-ray diffraction (XRD) and microchemical testing. He

examined Saint Catherine (not catalogued by

Schreiber), Saint John the Baptist (82,850111),

Madonna and Child (S2824c), and Madonna

and Child (82825). Based on his analyses,

Gettens described the structure of all four

pasteprints as a vegetable gum sizing layer

over the paper substrate, a principal layer of

tin sulfate, an orange or brownish layer of

resin over the tin, and an ink layer. He postulated that the tin sulfate was an oxidation

product of tin foil or stannous sulfide, a substance known to have been used during the

Middle Ages to imitate gold.7 Gettens was

the first to clarify that the so-called paste was

actually a complex layered structure, thereby

linking pasteprints to the general use of tin as

a less precious replacement for gold in medieval workshops. His mention of a size layer

is misleading, however. As we have seen on

better-preserved examples, there is no evi5. Saint George and the

Dragon, pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

34 BERTALA N
6. Detail, fig. 5, showing face,

shoulders, and sword of Saint

George

dence of a separate sizing or adhesive layer,-

rather a single resin layer both reinforces the

foil relief by filling gaps where the foil is not

in direct contact with the paper and adheres

the foil to the paper support.

Gettens' analyses were cited in 1985 by

Cynthia Bowman, who drew attention to the

similarities between the materials he identified and those used to create the imitation

brocades found on fifteenth-century German

sculpture. Bowman's note was based on

studies made by German conservators who

sought to recreate the fragile pressed brocades using instructions outlined in the Liber

Illuministarius, a fifteenth-century artists'

recipe book from the Benedictine abbey at

Tegernsee. Bowman likened the composite

structure of pasteprints to that used in the

fifteenth century to create relief on sculpture

using a mordant layer, tin foil, gold leaf or

silver twist, and paint.8 The like materials

demonstrate the widespread use of tin in medieval workshops to imitate gold. Her citing

of the Tegernsee manual is intriguing because many pasteprints have survived from

this monastery. She conducted no additional

analysis, however, and referred to some unrelated medieval recipes for "paste" mixtures,

so that, rather than clarifying the misunderstandings already stated in the literature, the

nature of the "paste" was further confused.

In the most recent study of pasteprints,

Coombs and Farrell carried out extensive

analysis on three pasteprints in the collection of the Harvard University Art Museums.

They identified the lower pasteprint layer as

an oil-resin varnish because of its insolubility in cold and warm water, reactivity to a

test for resin acids, and violent positive reaction to a test for saponifiable oils. The red

lead pigment in the varnish was identified by

x-ray fluorescence. Coombs and Farrell concluded that the layer was an oil-resin varnish

containing red lead, used either to color the

varnish or to enhance drying. The next layer,

a fine white powder, was identified as tin oxide using scanning electron microscopy

(SEM) and x-ray diffraction. The authors considered this a deterioration product of an

original tin leaf layer. They attributed this

deterioration to contact with layers of acidic

varnish and conducted experiments exposing

tin foil to glacial acetic acid vapors, identifying the resulting white powder as tin oxide. A

second layer of varnish appeared to be identical to the first. Next, a gray-brown layer was

found to be tin foil coated with an organic

yellow glaze. The glaze was analyzed with

inconclusive results. Based on Auger spectroscopy, the authors ruled out egg or animal

glue as media because of the absence of nitrogen but were unable to identify the coloring

substance. The foil layer was identified,

using x-ray diffraction, as beta tin. The black

BERTALA N 35
7. Cross section of a pasteprint

of the type observed in the

Harvard University Art

Museums

From Elizabeth Coombs, Eugene

Farrell, and Richard S. Field,

Pasteprints: A Technical and Art

Historical Investigation (Cambridge,

Mass., 1986), 4.

Courtesy of the Center for

Conservation and Technical Studies,

Harvard University Art Museums

8. Cross section of pasteprint

layer structure observed in the

present study

Drawing by author

ink was analyzed using SEM and energy-dispersive x-ray fluorescence (EDX). No calcium or phosphorus was detected, ruling out

bone black. Under magnification, a distinction could not be made. The authors relied

on Gettens' microchemical tests and identified this layer as printing ink.9

 Based on the

evidence of the three examples, the authors

described a layered structure as diagrammed

in figure 7.

Observations of the structure of nearly one

hundred pasteprints examined for this study

differ from the findings of Coombs, Farrell,

and Field. There was no evidence of two

layers of tin foil in any of them. Moreover,

cross sections taken from two pasteprints in

the National Gallery of Art follow the structure diagrammed in figure 8.

The first layer in figure 8 is paper, followed

by a layer of resin that varies in thickness,

confirming the relief of the foil layer. Under

magnification the granular nature of this

layer—an amalgam of resin, red lead; and

other pigment particles—is evident. A stain

caused by the application of the resin to the

paper is also present. The stain is usually buff

or orange in tone, depending on the color of

the resin.

The third layer is deteriorated tin foil. This

layer is present in all examples. In many

areas it appears as a gray-brown layer, but in

some places it appears to be composed of a

fluffy white powder. This variation suggests that in some places the tin foil has

turned completely to tin oxide powder, while

in others it has deteriorated but remained

intact.

Layer four is a toning glaze for the tin foil.

This layer varies. In one example a yellow

powdery layer is apparent in the recesses of

the foil and appears to have been used to

color the tin. In all other cases a thin, reddish

glaze appears to have served to tone the foil

with no sign of any other coloring material.

This glaze tends to make the remaining gray

deteriorated tin foil appear brown in color,

no doubt contributing to its misidentificationsas "paste."

On all but one pasteprint, layer five is

shiny black ink that is now quite brittle.

36 BERTALA N
9. Unknown Saint (8286111),

pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

10. Unknown Saint (S286im),

pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

11. Madonna and Child

(S28i6a), pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

12. Saint Margaret, pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

EXAMINATION OF THE

NATIONAL GALLERY OF ART

EXAMPLES

Close scrutiny of the sixteen examples of

pasteprints in the National Gallery of Art

(see app. i) has yielded valuable information

for an overall understanding of pasteprint

composition. One group of eight small images came from a codex from the monastery

of Saint Peter in Salzburg.10 They depict two

unknown saints (S286m, S286im), Madonna

and Child (S2826a), Saint Margaret (S28s4d),

Saint Catherine (S2837a), Pietd (S2822b),

Trinity (S28nm), and Sudarium (SiSnz) (figs.

9-16). They follow the structure shown in figure 8, all bearing a bright orange stain resulting from a molded and heavily pigmented

resin layer, a tin foil or tin oxide powder

layer, a reddish glaze over the foil, and shiny

BERTALA N 37
blac

k ink (fig. 17). Painted borders containing

mixtures of red lead, bits of tin, and other

pigments were added to neaten the edges on

four of the pasteprints, disguising the mis-

matched foil and resin layers (figs. 18-19).

The structure of Saint John the Baptist

(82850111), also from the monastery of Saint

Peter in Salzburg, is the same as the other

Salzburg pieces, although the pasteprint is

about four times as large (fig. 20).

ll

 It has a

brown stain caused by the brownish molded

resin layer (heavily pigmented with red lead),

a tin foil layer, the toning glaze, and the ink

layer. In the figure of Saint John, the golden

areas of glazed tin are well preserved in

the recesses of the relief, though darkened

(fig. 21). In Madonna an

d Child (82825), formerly in

the collection of the Prince Oettingen-Wal-

lerstein in Mahingen and cited by Passavant,

we see a buff-colored stain, the result of the

relatively thin, molded resin layer that is pig-

mented with red lead (fig. 22).

12

 This resin

layer is now deteriorated, embrittled, and

blanched around the edges (fig. 23). The

ogival arch in the background still displays a

brilliant green varnish (fig. 24), but no gen-

eral toning layer is apparent on the foil,

which simply appears gray. One reads the de-

sign of the image, which was created using

13. Saint Catherine, pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

14. Pieta, pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

15. Trinity, pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

38 BERTALAN
16. Sudarium, pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing}. Rosenwald Collection

17. Detail, fig. 15, showing

layered structure with the

stain, molded varnish, glazed

tin foil, and black ink

18. Detail of upper left corner,

fig. 12, showing painted border

that disguises the mismatched

edges of the layers

19. Detail of lower left corner,

fig. 15, showing how the

varnish stain and the metal foil

layer are mismatched

BERTALA N 39
20

. Saint John the Baptist,

pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

21. Detail, fig. 20, shows

shining glaze still visible

22. Madonna and Child

(82825), pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosen wald Collection

23. Detail, fig. 22, showing the

deterioration and blanching of

the resin

24. Detail, fig. 22, showing the

area where a green glaze was

applied to tone the metal foil

around the arch only. This

green color is unusual in the

pasteprints in the National

Gallery of Art, Washington

4O BERTALAN
25. Detail, fig. 22, showing the

otherwise untoned metal foil.

The contrast of the black ink

against the gray foil is evident

26. Detail, fig. 22, showing the

applied flesh tone

27. Detail, fig. 5, showing the

deteriorated and blanched resin

layer

28. Detail, fig. 5, showing the

powdery layer presumably

intended as a gold toning layer

for the metal foil

BERTALA N 4!
punche

s and implements as characteristic of

dotted prints, by reading the contrast of the

gray foil against a light application of shiny

black ink (fig. 25). The face and hands of the

Madonna and Child were painted with flesh

tone (fig. 26). There is no powdery tin oxide

on this pasteprint, although the foil is indeed

tin.

Saint George and the Dragon (S2845a), for-

merly in the collection of the Albertina,

Vienna (see fig. 5), shares the same molded

resin layer as all the examples in the Na-

tional Gallery of Art and exhibits similar de-

terioration and blanching as Madonna and

Child (82825) (fig. 27).

13

 A powdery yellow

layer is intact, presumably the gold toning

layer for the tin (fig. 28). This may be an "un-

finished" pasteprint or an unusual variation,

as it lacks the shiny black ink layer. There is

also no powdery tin oxide in this example.

Little is left of Christ Carrying the Cross

(82788, variant), formerly in the Trau Collec-

tion (see fig. 4). The structure is again con-

sistent with the other examples. We see the

brilliant stain from the red-orange resin layer

(pigmented with red lead), the foil (which in

certain areas of the same layer appears as

white powder, that is, the foil layer deterio-

rated further to tin oxide), a reddish glazing

layer, and a shiny black ink layer (fig. 29).

14

Another Madonna and Child (S2824c), pur-

chased in Munich in the 19205 (fig. 30), has a

brownish stain with a great deal of red lead

left by the thin dark resin layer, of which

very little remains intact (fig. 31).

15

 The

metal foil again appears in places as a powder

layer. This example also has a reddish glazing

29. Detail of upper left corner,

fig. 4, showing all layers

30. Madonna and Child

(828240), pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing f. Rosenwald Collection

31. Detail, fig. 30, showing

pigment particles scattered in

the thin resin layer

32. Detail, fig. 30, showing the

advanced stage of deterioration

of the metal foil layer

42 BERTALAN
33- Saint Francis, pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

34. Saint Michael, pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

35. Saint Catherine, pasteprint

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

36. Detail, fig. 35, showing

correct order of the structure

on the original support

layer and a shiny, brittle black ink layer. A

great deal of grayish powder and white powder lies on the surface of this very deteriorated pasteprint (fig. 32).

Saint Francis (82843), formerly in the E.

Schultze Vienna Collection (fig. 33), and

Saint Michael (82856), from Mahingen (fig.

34), also exhibit the diagrammed structure

shown in figure 8.16 The edges of Saint

Francis have been painted over with a bright

green border.

The final, somewhat puzzling pasteprint of

BERTALA N 43
Saint Catherine (not catalogued by Schreiber)

(fig. 35] was discovered on the reverse of a

metalcut, Monogram of Christ, when Monogram was removed from an old frame in the

1940s.17 Saint Catherine was analyzed by

Gettens, and the findings were published by

Elizabeth Mongan in 1943. Mongan suggested

that the pasteprint was unrelated to the

metalcut and had become transferred to the

reverse of the metalcut support when the

Monogram was adhered over it.18 Examination of the pasteprint indicates this is entirely possible, as the layers diagrammed in

figure 8 are adhered to the support of the metalcut in reverse order, with the ink layer closest to the paper and the metal layer on top.

What remains of the layers is in correct order

on its former support (fig. 36). There was no

adhesive layer on the former support, and the

pasteprint was easily transferred to the reverse of the metalcut when the latter was

adhered with an abundant amount of glue.19

ANALYSIS

Because of the rarity of these small objects,

only limited sampling was done to confirm

the observations made under magnification

and using ultraviolet light. The preparation

of cross sections using a sample from the

damaged edge of Saint John the Baptist

(82850111) and a detached fragment from

Madonna and Child (S2824c) (see app. 2) confirmed our visual observations that the structure of pasteprints differs from that proposed

by Coombs and Farrell. In the toplit cross

section of Saint John the Baptist (fig. 37), the

paper and resin layer are difficult to distinguish, but the tin layer shows up clearly as a

discrete white layer. When examined using

the Leitz Orthoplan microscope equipped

with a Ploemopak (fig. 38), the layers are

more distinct. In this illumination, samples

are exposed to ultraviolet rays of c. 500

nanometers and certain substances fluoresce,

or emit light. Here, the molded resin layer

appears yellow and can be easily distinguished from the dark paper. We can also

note that no separate adhesive layer is detectable. The tin foil layer is still distinct, now

showing as a dark, grayish layer. The cross

section also reveals the toning layer for the

tin—a thin, even layer directly on top of the

tin that emits a bright orange fluorescence

when illuminated with the ultraviolet rays of

the Ploemopak. The top dark layer consists

of ink and other pigments used to decorate

the image. Except for the paper support,

these layers are also shown on the cross section prepared from Madonna and Child (fig.

39). When illuminated as above, we see the

fluorescence of bits of the molded varnish

layer, the dark tin layer, the bright orange

toning layer, and the dark decorative top

layer.

Early in our study, analytical methods

were used to attempt to identify a wax component or another low-melting substance in

the resin layer. It was speculated that the

melting property may have been exploited to

adhere the tin foil to paper support. The results of using simple microchemical tests

and heating were inconclusive. Aged materials no longer respond characteristically to

their original solvents or melting and charring temperatures. It later became apparent

that resin itself is heat fusible.20

37. Cross section, fig. 20,

prepared from the broken edge

of the pasteprint Saint John the

Baptist and shown top lit,

confirming the layered

structure we have observed

38. Cross section, fig. 20,

prepared from the broken edge

of the pasteprint Saint John the

Baptist and recorded using

Leitz Orthoplan microscopy

equipped with a Ploemopak

44 BERTALA N
39

- Cross section, fig. 30,

prepared from a broken area of

the pasteprint Madonna and

Child and shown using Leitz

Orthoplan microscopy

equipped with a Ploemopak

40. Detail, fig. 20, showing the

white powder of the

deteriorated tin foil layer under

the broken layer. Samples were

taken from two broken sites

near the center

41. Detail, fig. 20, showing

how the white powder of the

deteriorated tin foil layer

effluoresces to the surface of

the pasteprint

42. Ultraviolet light

photograph, fig. 9, showing

yellow-orange fluorescence of

stain and molded resin layer

under ultraviolet illumination

in the 300-400 nm range

Nondestructive testing of five of the paste-

prints showed that the metal foil layer on

each example was tin, even in cases where

the deteriorated powdery white tin oxide

layer was not observed.

21

 The ubiquitous

shiny white powder was sampled just be-

neath a broken site in the ink layer of Saint

John the Baptist (82850111) (fig. 40). This sam-

ple, analyzed by x-ray diffraction (XRD),

clearly exhibited the pattern of stannic oxide

(SnO

2

). To identify the white accretions we

observed on the surface of many of the Na-

tional Gallery of Art pasteprints, a sample

was taken from the surface of Saint John the

Baptist (fig. 41). This accretion proved to be

stannic oxide with an additional pattern that

closely matches that of sodium hydroxide.

The sodium hydroxide may be present due to

handling or as a by-product of attempts to

conserve the object. (For patterns on stannic

oxide and sodium hydroxide, see app. 2).

X-ray diffraction analysis of a sample of the

gray-brown surface of Saint John the Baptist

(82850111) revealed the mixed patterns of stan-

nic oxide and stannous oxide, the secondary

deterioration product of tin (see app. 2). The

color of the deteriorated tin in these areas is

influenced by oxidation and the organic ton-

ing glaze, which accounts for the brownish

cast. The presence of both the relatively in-

tact, brown oxidized layer and the white

powder underneath represent various phases

of corrosion of a single tin layer.

22

Based on analysis and the close examina-

tion of the National Gallery of Art examples,

it is evident that the coated tin foil deterio-

rates actively from beneath. Stannic oxide effluoresces to the surface of the pasteprint,

breaking through the brittle, fragile, oxi-

BERTALAN 45
dized and coated layer and contributing to

surface deterioration of glazing and ink

layers. This activity is comparable to that of

tin in sculpture composed of metal alloys,

where stannic oxide is the most abundant

corrosion product and is often observed to

leach out from the alloy and form deposits

on the surface. Because the pasteprint structure is so thin, the powdering of the tin and

embrittlement of aged resins constitute a

fragility that could not withstand the uncontrolled fluctuations in humidity, compression, or handling to which these objects were

certainly subjected.

No further analysis was done; however,

some interesting observations were made

while studying the pasteprints under ultraviolet light. All the pasteprints revealed a

bright yellow-orange fluorescence of the

stain and molded resin layer under ultraviolet light in the 300-400 nm range, illustrated

here in one example, Unknown Saint

(S286m) (fig. 42). This fluorescence again

suggests that the stain and resin layer are the

same material and the unusual color may be

a clue for a more specific identification of the

oil-resin varnish suggested by Coombs and

Farrell. Although identification on the basis

of ultraviolet fluorescence is not reliable, it is

interesting to note that while fresh samples

of dammar and mastic show little fluorescence, the yellow-orange fluorescence seen

here is closest to that exhibited in fresh samples of rosin or a substance called Burgundy

pitch, a tree exudate often referred to in artists' manuals of the Middle Ages.23

To Coombs and Farrell's extensive but inconclusive analysis of the top toning layer,

we can add that under ultraviolet illumination this layer fluoresces red-orange. This

fluorescence is characteristic of aged samples

of two organic materials known to have been

used by medieval craftsmen—shellac and saffron. Shellac, or "lac," was commonly used

in Europe as early as the thirteenth century

and was valued as a clear red for rendering

the folds of garments and drapery over gold

foil. Shellac is one of several organic preparations recommended by Cennino Cennini for

toning silver or tin foil.24 Saffron was often

used in fifteenth-century German workshops

for fabric dyeing, as discussed by Emil Ernst

Ploss, and is mentioned as a yellow pigment

in the Strasburg Manuscript.25

THE NATURE OF THE

PASTEPRINT PLATE AND THE

RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN

PASTEPRINTS AND METALCUTS

The nature of the plate used for pasteprints

became a subject of speculation early on in

the literature. Schreiber noted the relationships between pasteprints and certain metalcuts on paper, suggesting that some metalcut

images with black backgrounds were printed

from plates intended for "printing in

paste."26 Max Geisberg was the first to discuss prints on paper and pasteprint pairs that

represent identical but mirror images, that

43. Crucifixion (82801),

pasteprint created from a

punched metal plate

Germanisches Nationalmuseum,

Nuremberg

46 BERTALA N
44- Saint Simon, eighteenth

century, print on paper pulled

from an intaglio inked plate

(which no longer exists)

Germanisches Nationalmuseum,

Nuremberg

is, the images are reversed from left to right.

He characterized the plates used for such

metalcut prints, explaining that the essential

white line image, the use of parallel lines for

hatching, and the lack of punchwork were

typical.27 Geisberg's study of metalcut

prints, pasteprints, and two existing plates

for a metalcut and pasteprint (subsequently

lost) led to his observation that the metalcut

plate surface remained largely intact, unlike

woodcuts, where the surface is cut away except for the slim contour lines. He concluded

that metalcut plates were used to make

pasteprints. He also observed that pasteprints were relief images that reproduced all

of the depth of the plate and noted that pasteprints were attempts to print an image on

gold.28

If Geisberg intended to exclude plates executed in the dotted manner from the repertoire of potential sources for pasteprints, he

is contradicted by the series of jewellike

pasteprints in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg, of which Crucifixion

(82801) is but one example (fig. 43). All nineteen that survive from a series of presumably

twenty-eight scenes of the passion decorating

a fifteenth-century codex from Nuremberg

were formed from plates executed in the dotted manner. The images were rendered using

punches in various patterns or tools, which

removed most of the surface. There is hardly

an engraved line anywhere. These images,

published by Martin Weinberger in 1925, may

have been executed by the Dominican nuns

in the cloister of Saint Katharine, a hypothesis that is supported by the provincial nature of the work.29

Based on this series and other examples,

the matrix for pasteprints could have been

executed using punches or burins to break up

or cut away the plate surface. More important, the execution of all pasteprints bears no

relation to the sophistication exhibited in

contemporaneous printed engravings, except

in the borrowing of motifs for compositions.

The relationship between pasteprint imagery

and early engravings on paper demonstrates

the manner in which prints provided a visual

vocabulary for many decorative arts. Similarly, metalsmiths often borrowed compositions from the Master E. S. and Israhel van

Meckenem to decorate plates and liturgical

ware.30

Several pasteprints bear reversed inscriptions or present an image in the reverse of its

iconographic formula. Considering these

puzzling reversals, authors have suggested

that the metalcut plates from which such

compositions were printed were the product

of metalsmiths and may have been prepared

as decorative plates in their own right.31

In the course of the present study a new

cognate pair has been discovered that supports the suggestion that decorative plates

were used to produce certain pasteprints. No

pasteprint pair is known for the printed image of Saint Simon (82874) in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg

(fig. 44); however, its simple image is useful

for illustration. It is an unusually highly embossed impression pulled from an intaglio

inked plate.32 The plate was not engraved

with a burin but was worked with tools to

create broad lines and voids. The drapery and

figures were rendered in a cross-hatching

technique typical of fifteenth-century metalwork decoration. Varying degrees of depth

and relief were created as well. Because of

BERTALA N 47
the broadness of execution, when such a

plate is inked intaglio and its surface wiped,

the ink is easily removed from the broad

lines. Characteristically, such plates produce

a halo of ink around the edges of a given

shape, while the broad shapes remain uninked. This result is seen in the details of the

saint's shoes and in random spots where the

paper is embossed but uninked.

The printed image of Mass of Saint Gregory (82871) (fig. 45) in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg, shares the same

characteristics as the Saint Simon.33 The

plate surface was heavily worked to produce

the foliate pattern in the border and the lines

that delineate the garments in the figures.

Similar haloing of the ink is evident in the

broad shapes of the flowers at the four corners where the ink could have been easily

removed with surface wiping. It is very likely

that this plate, too, was a decorative metal

plate that has produced an unsatisfactory image when inked. That such plates were used

for pasteprints is confirmed by the exact but

reversed pasteprint versions of Mass of Saint

Gregory in the Staatsbibliothek, Munich

(82848), and the Bibliotheque Nationale,

Paris (S2848b) (fig. 46).34

The corresponding print and pasteprints

also illustrate another aspect of pasteprints

that has long puzzled many authors. In every

case where there is a printed and pasteprint

version of an image, the pasteprint is the mirror image of the print. Moreover, those lines

or areas that are uninked in the printed version and would have been voids on the printing plate are conversely those areas that were

printed or impressed on the pasteprint surface. This relationship indicates that not

only the image direction but the pasteprint

relief is the opposite of the printed version.

The flower petals, vines, halo of Saint Gregory, as well as the punched dots decorating

the altar (obviously created when an instrument cut away the surface of the plate) are

identical to the printed version but were impressed on the pasteprint. Initially better adhered to the paper than the inked lines, these

are the areas that have survived.

Other pasteprint and printed cognate pairs

illustrate this reversal. Over the course of

this study, the printed partner of the tiny

pasteprint image of Pieta (see fig. 14) in the

National Gallery of Art (S2822b) was examined in the collection of the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris (Ea. 5 res) (fig. 47). The print,

pulled from a metalcut plate that was surface

inked, is a mirror image of the pasteprint.

Again, the simple image offers an excellent

opportunity for examining the details of the

halo, eyes, and various other easily readable

lines that confirm this is a reversed relief.

This reversal of image and relief occurs in

each case where a printed image and an identical pasteprint image exist. It is best explained by supposing that a cast of the printing matrix was used to produce pasteprints.

This suggestion was first fully discussed by

Wilhelm Molsdorf while examining the large

45. Mass of Saint Gregory,

c. 1780, print on paper pulled

from an intaglio inked plate

(which no longer exists)

Germanisches Nationalmuseum,

Nuremberg

48 BERTALA N
46. Mass of Saint Gregory,

pasteprint. This is one of two

pasteprints produced using the

same plate as the Nuremberg

print. The plate no longer

exists

Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris

47. Pieta, metalcut print on

paper. This is partner to the

Pieta pasteprint, fig. 14

Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris

pasteprint in the Guildhall Library, London.

He concluded that the pasteprint was with-

out question printed from the same relief

plate used to print its cognate (82344) in the

Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich

(fig. 48) and proposed an intermediate to ac-

count for the reversal of the image.

35

 Field,

illustrating the same large pasteprint, noted

that the use of an intermediate cast of the

original matrix explained not only the re-

versed direction but the reversal of relief

from that exhibited in the print. As we see in

the details he chose to illustrate (figs. 49-50),

comparison of the pasteprint and printed im-

ages shows that the engraved lines that were

not printed when the plate was surface inked

are those preserved on the pasteprint.

36

 Field

remarked correctly that these voids would

have been in relief on a cast of the metalcut

plate and consequently would have pressed

the tin foil more firmly in contact with the

paper support. The recesses in the cast would

have yielded raised portions on the pasteprint

areas that would be fragile and easily broken

away. Eventually, the pasteprint image

would read as a reversed negative of the

print.

TECHNIQUE

Only the most general suggestions appear in

the literature regarding technique. Despite

the fact that no pasteprint exhibits a

platemark, it is usually assumed that a metal

plate was used in a press to create the impres-

sion.

37

 More recently, the technical discus-

sion has been broadened to include compari-

son to techniques used in medieval

sculpture. Close examination of nearly one

hundred pasteprints has been sufficient to

dispel some of the confusing suggestions in

the literature. By also studying contem-

poraneous artists' manuals and fifteenth-cen-

tury printing and book decoration, a plaus-

ible technique for pasteprint making can be

proposed.

Tin was widely used as a less expensive

substitute for gold in medieval workshops.

The less precious metal could be used in

more generous amounts, and as a result, tin

was often used to create relief embellish-

ments for panel and wall decoration by a pro-

cess that is the reverse of and, it would ap-

BERTALAN 49
pear, more expedient than that used for

gilding. The gilding process is consistently

described in manuals beginning with the

time of Cennini. In all cases, it requires a

mordant layer. Relief may be built up with

several applications of a ground and by molding and stamping while the ground is still

malleable. The mordant and thin leaf are

then applied. Using tin, a thicker foil could

be produced, which could be more extensively handled and treated than the relatively

unmanageable gold leaf. Again, this process

is consistently described over several hundred years.38

 Relief was achieved by molding

the tin foil by stamping or beating it with a

hammer against a carved matrix. Gesso was

then applied as a paste to the reverse to fill

the hollows of the molded shape. The foilgesso composite was trimmed and adhered to

the support with varnish, paste, or glue. Processes were also well known in which no

gesso was used and varnish was brushed on

to fill and reinforce the relief and act as an

adhesive in one step.39

This combination of resin and the less precious tin foil are indeed closer to the materials used in pasteprints, which never contain gesso and exhibit a molded resin layer, a

significant clue to their method of fabrication. Although Bowman cited the above

techniques in relation to pasteprints,40 she

did so probably because of the confusing use

of the term "paste" in many manuals. It is

important to note that paper is never mentioned in the manuals as a support for these

processes, and with good reason. Although it

is possible to obtain a certain amount of relief using gesso for gilding on paper, resin is

inevitably absorbed by paper when applied in

liquid form. It is impossible to prevent even a

viscous resin varnish from spreading and

transparentizing paper. There is no sign of

varnish or solvent absorption on any paste48. Christ Crucified between

Two Thieves, metalcut

Staatliche Graphische Sammlung,

Munich

49. Detail, fig. 3, selected by

Field to illustrate reversal of

image and relief in pasteprint

versus printed version

From Coombs, Farrell, and Field

1986, 38

50. Detail, fig. 48, selected by

Field to illustrate reversal of

image and relief in pasteprint

versus printed version

From Coombs, Farrell, and Field

1986, 38

5O BERTALA N
51. Adoration, metalcut print

on paper. This is partner to the

Adoration pasteprint, fig. 52

Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris

52. Adoration, pasteprint. This

partner to the metalcut print

on paper, fig. 51, exhibits a

molded resin varnish layer

Staatsbibliothek, Munich

print. Yet the varnish layer is molded to follow the contours of the foil and slightly

stains the paper.41 The degree to which the

resin layer was molded during the pasteprint

making process is especially well illustrated

by a metalcut and pasteprint pair of Adoration in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris

(82208), and the Staatsbibliothek, Munich

(82775), respectively (figs. 51, 52).42 Although

much of the upper layers of the pasteprint

has fallen away, the raised lines have been

unusually well preserved in the molded resin. If not applied in liquid form, how could

this molded resin, characteristic of all pasteprints, be formed?

The use of resin affords a possibility over

typical mordants—that of using heat to fuse

the metal foil to the support. This innovative

technology was introduced in the latter half

of the fifteenth century for gold tooling on

leather bindings and the early attempts to

print with gold on paper. Evidence to support

this consideration exists in the National Gallery of Art pasteprints.

Although the resin has not been absorbed

into the paper, it has penetrated the surface

to some extent, yielding the stain observed

by most authors. The cross sections prepared

for this study and the bright yellow-orange

fluorescence of the stain on all pasteprints

examined under ultraviolet illumination

show that this stain is not a separate adhesive.43

 The application of heat would allow

the resin to be fused to the paper by partial

melting (and absorption, creating the staining of the surface) while simultaneously

molding it to the contours of the heat-conducting tin foil. It is thus plausible to consider that pasteprints were made using a

heated metal form, foil, and resin and that

the foil and resin were molded in one step.44

The use of heat to fuse and mold the layers

may explain another puzzling aspect of all

pasteprints—the mismatched edges of the

foil and resin layers. Generally, the edges of

the tin and the molded resin layer match precisely within the image, but the resin extends beyond the decorated foil. Often the

resin layer has a shape that is independent of

the outline of the foil. Where the foil is out of

square with the edges of the resin, there is no

indication that the foil has shifted or that the

resin has been squeezed out from under the

foil, as may be expected if the resin were visBERTALA N 5 1
cous and the layers were subjected to pressure. Where the foil is out of alignment and

extends beyond the resin, only fragments of

the tin layer survive. The foil is intact only

where the resin has bonded it to the paper.

Where this bonding has not been effected,

the pasteprint stops, producing a skewed effect. That the foil does not survive intact beyond an adequate couch of resin may indicate

that the resin not only adhered the pasteprint

to the paper but was molded with it as

well.45

The mismatched shapes of the foil and resin may also be explained by supposing that a

heated plate was used. The resin would have

also melted where it came into contact with

the plate outside of the perimeter of the foil

layer.46

As mentioned above, two other techniques

introduced in the late fifteenth century used

heated metal forms for adhering metal foil to

a surface. Gold tooling, which appeared

around 1480, employed powdered resin or

glair to fuse gold leaf to leather with heated

bookbinder's stamps.47 Recent investigation

of two early attempts to print in gold—the

experiments carried out by the German

Erhard Ratdolt and the Greek Zacharias Callierges working in Venice—surmised that

these two printers used powdered resin (possibly the low-melting rosin) to adhere gold

leaf to vellum and paper.48

Experiments conducted for this study with

powdered rosin and the heated cast of an original carved matrix successfully reproduced

the technical details observed in the National

Gallery of Art pasteprints.49 Both the tin and

rosin molded convincingly to the contours of

the plate. The rosin extended neatly just beyond the metal foil, and rosin particles that

came in contact with the plate fused to the

paper independent of the foil layer. There

was no transparentizing of the support; however, a thin layer of melted rosin penetrated

and stained the paper in a manner identical

to what we observe in true pasteprints. The

paper was not embossed, but a slight stiffening of the sheet is visible on the verso and the

cockling of the paper around the pasteprint is

comparable to that observed in the fifteenthcentury prototypes. The need for a heat-conducting material, moreover, may further explain why all pasteprints appear to have been

made using a cast taken from an original

(possibly wooden) matrix used for printing

on paper. In order to make use of the resinmolding capability of heat, a metal form

would be required.

Although the exact method of production

may still be in question, it appears that pasteprints relied on technologies that were quite

well known and widely used by bookbinders

and printers in the fifteenth century.50 Their

limited production, in both temporal and

geographic terms, suggests that they fall

within the realm of early, not entirely successful efforts begun late in the fifteenth century to replace the slow and painstaking

labor of traditional methods with less expensive materials and more innovative techniques.51

 Further investigation may prove

that their presence in books was not an accident of survival but a deliberate decorative

scheme. In any event, their "safekeeping" in

books is the very source of their deterioration. The pressure of the pages enhanced the

bond of those areas in contact with the support while the same pressure compressed,

bent, and finally broke the relief, obscuring

forever their visual message.

52 BERTALA N
NOTES

I was initially prompted to study the sixteen pasteprints in the National Gallery of Art collection by

Shelley Fletcher, head of the paper conservation department. I would like to thank her for her encouragement of this project in all stages. I also wish to

thank Barbara Berrie, then acting head of the scientific research department, for her willingness to take

part in this project with enthusiasm, her suggestions

regarding analysis of these unusual objects, and her

contribution of a technical appendix. I thank Elizabeth Coombs for taking time to talk "yet again"

about pasteprints and for sharing Rutherford J. Gettens' correspondence and reports. I am especially

grateful to Glaus W. Gerhardt for his thoughtful responses to my inquiries and for bringing to my attention his article and additional literature on early

printing processes. I am also grateful to Shelley Sturman, head of the objects conservation department,

National Gallery of Art, and Carol Grissom, objects

conservator, Conservation Analytical Laboratory,

Smithsonian Institution, for discussing metal corrosion, and to the artists Elizabeth Peak and William R.

Bowser for their help in creating the mock-ups, from

which we learned a great deal.

1. Wilhelm L. Schreiber, Die Meister der Metallschneidekunst nebst einem nach Schulen geordneten

Katalog ihiei Arbeiten, 8 vols. (Strasbourg, 1926). Volume 6 contains the pasteprint (Teigdruck) information. All pasteprints discussed will be identified by

Schreiber numbers; the numbers are grouped by category and within each category, by subject. In many

cases one Schreiber number is given for pasteprints

located in various collections.

2. Elizabeth Coombs, Eugene Farrell, and Richard S.

Field, Pasteprints: A Technical and Art Historical Investigation (Cambridge, Mass., 1986).

3. According to Field, John Frederick Lewis and Georg

Leidinger published this assumption (see bibliography). Coombs, Farrell, and Field 1986, 29.

4. Max Geisberg first suggested that parts of the plate

had crushed the "paste," causing it eventually to fall

away. "Teigdruck undMetallschnitt," Monatshefte

fur Kunstwissenschaft 5 (1912), 314. Richard S. Field

first proposed that the negative image presented by

pasteprints may be due to the loss of certain lines in

Fifteenth-Century Woodcuts and Other Relief Prints

in the Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art

[exh. cat., Metropolitan Museum of Art] (New York,

1977). See also Coombs, Farrell, and Field 1986, 6-7,

35-38.

5. John Frederick Lewis, "Teigdrucke," Proceedings

of the Numismatic and Antiquarian Society of Philadelphia for the Years 1902-1903 (Philadelphia, 1904),

189-194; Erwin Kistner, "Studien an Teigdrucken aus

dem Besitz des Germanischen Nationalmuseums in

Niirnberg," Festschrift Eugen Stollreither, ed. Fritz

Redenbacher (Erlangen, 1950), 71. According to Field,

the last suggestion was made by Maximilian Pfeiffer

in Einzel-Formschnitte des fiinfzehnten Jahrhunderts

in derKonigl. Bibliothek Bamberg. Coombs, Farrell,

and Field 1986, 29.

6. Johann D. Passavant, Le Peintre-graveur, 6 vols.

(Leipzig, 1860-1864),

 I:IO3; Friedrich von Bartsch, Die

Kupferstichsammlung der K. K. Hofbibliothek in

Wien (Vienna, 1854), 65, 77-78. Pasteprints present

problems to the conservator both in terms of preservation and in the elucidation of artists' techniques.

Passavant's text reveals that 130 years ago pasteprints

were already deteriorated to such an extent that the

metal foil layer was water soluble. It is the determination of the present study that, except for appropriate housing in controlled environments, no

conservation methods can successfully halt the deterioration of the inherently unstable materials in these

objects. Several examples in the collection of the National Gallery of Art have been fixed or varnished in

an effort to preserve them. The effect is an unfortunate glossy surface or white, stringy accretions of

consolidant. While more appropriate materials may

currently be available as consolidants, other examples that have not been treated have survived comparatively well. Now, properly housed in a controlled

environment, the pasteprints appear to have incurred

no further damage.

7. Gettens found the size layer readily soluble in water and insoluble in alcohol. Vegetable gum was suggested because the sample tested negative for

nitrogen, ruling out animal glue. When heated with

hydrochloric acid, the residue turned greenish brown,

suggesting gum arabic. Using x-ray diffraction, Gettens provisionally identified the metal as tin oxide.

He subsequently changed this identification to tin

sulfate and confirmed the presence of sulfate based

on the formation of calcium sulfate crystals (gypsum)

when hydrochloric acid and calcium acetate were applied to the sample. Gettens analyzed the "varnish"

layer on the tin by heating it on a platinum spoon,

noting that it turned cherry red at a low temperature

and appeared to melt before charring. He found that it

did not appear to melt in warm Canada balsam. Hot

concentrated nitric acid dispersed the sample into

small oil droplets, suggesting a resin or old dried oil

film. He also noted scattered red lead in the mediumrich layer, confirmed by a strong positive test for

lead. The ink layer was analyzed by Gettens and

proved to be carbon black, probably in a soft resin

binder. Gettens confirmed these findings on all four

of the pasteprints he analyzed from the collection of

Lessing J. Rosenwald. In addition, he found a green

copper resinate varnish on Madonna and Child (52825).

This information is based on Gettens' correspondence and reports, housed at the Center for Conservation and Technical Studies, Cambridge, Mass. His

findings are also published by Elizabeth Mongan,

"Two Undescribed Fifteenth Century Prints in the

Collection of Lessing J. Rosenwald," Art in America

31, no. 2 (April 1943), 104. The correct identification—

tin oxide—was published by Cynthia Bowman after

consultation with Joyce Plesters of the National Gallery, London. "Pasteprints: A New Hypothesis about

Their Production," Print Quarterly 2 (1985), 10-11.

Extensive analysis conducted by Elizabeth Coombs

and Eugene Farrell on pasteprints in the Harvard University Art Museums' collection identified tin oxide

as a deterioration product of the original tin foil layer.

BERTALA N 53
They also reviewed the x-ray diffraction pattern produced by Gettens' sample and confirmed the identification of tin oxide. Coombs, Farrell, and Field 1986,

1-26.

8. Bowman 1985, 4-11.

9. Coombs, Farrell, and Field 1986, 8-23.

10. These pasteprints are S28nz (NGA accession

number 1943.3.795), S2822b (1943.3.794), S2826a

(1943.3.789), S2837a (1943.3.791), S2854d (1943.3.790),

S286im (1943.3.792), S286m (1943.3.793), andS28nm

(1943.3.788). According to Schreiber, who saw them in

Salzburg, the codex was handwritten about 1480 in

the monastery of Saint Peter. Originally four additional scenes were represented. Schreiber noted two

pasteprints (S286ob, S2862b) in the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich that were probably from

the same series. Schreiber 1926, 6:15. After seeing

these two pasteprints in June 1988,1 am sure they are

of the same series. A printed version of Pieta is located in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris.

n. According to Schreiber, this pasteprint was printed

on the same sheet as a representation of Saint George

and the Dragon (see n. 13). He found them in a small,

handwritten Benedictine devotional book completed

around 1474 at the monastery of Saint Peter in

Salzburg. Schreiber 1926, 6:28, 30.

12. Schreiber saw 82825 at the Furstlich OettingenWallersteinsche Fideikommiss-Bibliothek in Mahingen, but Passavant had seen it in the collection of

the Prince Oettingen-Wallerstein in Mahingen. Passavant 1860-1864,1:104. According to Schreiber, the

National Gallery of Art version is identical to pasteprints in Berlin and Vienna, lacking only a foliate

border with rosettes at the corners, which is intact on

the European examples. Moreover, the images are all

identical to, but the reverse of, a metalcut print also

catalogued by Schreiber, S2492X. Schreiber suggested

that the pasteprints were printed from a cast of the

metalcut plate. Schreiber 1926, 6:20. The edges of the

National Gallery example have been trimmed, so it

cannot be determined whether there was ever a border around it.

13. As stated in n. n, the image of Saint John the Baptist was attached to the same page as a Saint George

and the Dragon in a book found in the monastery of

Saint Peter in Salzburg. Schreiber remarked that the

Saint George and the Dragon was in very bad condition. This is not the version in the National Gallery

of Art, Washington. A second identical Saint George

and the Dragon example was also found at the monastery of Saint Peter, adhered to a manuscript from

around 1470. This is the version in the National Gallery of Art catalogued by Schreiber (828453) when it

was in the collection of the Albertina, Vienna.

Schreiber listed a Saint George and the Dragon

(82845) in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, separately, meaning that to his knowledge the image was

distinct from other representations of Saint George.

Schreiber 1926, 6:28. During the course of this study I

have been able to ascertain that the image is

identical.

14. This pasteprint was not catalogued by Schreiber,

but its similarity to 82788 was noted when the pasteprint was in the collection of Lessing J. Rosenwald.

Schreiber 1926, 6:9.

15. Schreiber saw S2824C in Munich at Weiss and Co.

and noted the mismatched layers of the impression

and the stain on the paper as well as the watermark of

an ox head with crown. Schreiber 1926, 6:20.

16. Saint Francis was catalogued by Schreiber when it

was in the Albertina, Vienna. He dated it around 1480

and noted that it was formerly in the collection of E.

Schultze in Vienna. Schreiber 1926, 6:27. An identical

version of the pasteprint exists in the print cabinet in

Dresden. Saint Michael was also catalogued by

Schreiber at the Furstlich Oettingen-Wallersteinsche

Fideikommiss-Bibliothek in Mahingen. He noted

the similarity to an engraving by the Master of the

Dutuit Mount of Olives. Schreiber 1926, 6:32.

17. The metalcut and pasteprint were adhered into a

fifteenth-century manuscript. The pasteprint is not

catalogued by Schreiber. According to Mongan (1943,

98), the metalcut was acquired in the 19305 by Rosenwald and had been in the possession of Colnaghi and

A.S.W Rosenbach. Nothing is known of its earlier

provenance.

18. Mongan 1943,108.

19. Mongan 1943,101-102. Why the image of Saint

Catherine would have been covered has to do with

the preeminence of the religious movement that popularized the motif of the monogram of Christ, as

Mongan has discussed. If the metalcut came from inside the cover of a book, it may also be due to the sixteenth-century practice of preparing pasteboards by

pasting together paper scraps. D. Rogers, "A Glimpse

into Giinther Zainer's Workshop at Augsburg,

c. 1475," in Buch und Text im 15. Jahrhundert, ed.

Lotte Hellinga and Helmar Hartel (Hamburg, 1978).

20. The results and technique are reported in appendix 2.

21. This information is recorded in an analysis report

prepared by Lisha Glinsman, conservation scientist,

National Gallery of Art, Washington, 17 November

1987.

22. For references to tin deterioration, the following

publications were consulted: S. Turgoose, "The Corrosion of Lead and Tin: Before and After Excavation,"

in Lead and Tin Studies in Conservation and Technology, United Kingdom Institute for Conservation Occasional Papers (London, 1985), 15-26; L. L. Shreier,

ed., Corrosion (London, 1976).

23. Mary Philadelphia Merrifield discussed Burgundy

pitch in the general introduction to materials, describing it as a purified pine resin, firmer and more

solid than other wood resins. Original Treatises on

the Arts of Painting, 2vols. (London, 1849,- reprint,

New York, 1967), i:ccli. Fluorescence of contemporary

samples of Burgundy pitch and shellac were examined both in solid form and painted out.

24. See Cennino D'A. Cennini, II Libro dell'Arte: A

Craftsman's Handbook (1437), trans. Daniel V.

Thompson (New Haven, 1933), 26. Merrifield (1967,

i:cxlix, cclix, 30, 686), also discusses the general use

of shellac. Lac is mentioned as a red pigment in

Strasbourg Staatliche Bibliothek, The Strasburg

54 BERTALA N
Manuscript: A Medieval Painters' Handbook, trans.

Viola Borradaile and Rosamund Borradaile (London,

1966), 99.

25. Theophilus used saffron to give tin a golden tone.

On Divers Arts, trans. John G. Hawthorn and Cyril S.

Smith (Chicago, 1963), 33. Emil Ernst Ploss discussed

the preparation and use of saffron in Ein Buch von

alien Farben: Technologie der Textilfarben im Mittelaltermit einem Ausblick aufdie festen Farben

(Munich, 1962), 62-63. Saffron is also discussed in

Strasburg Manuscript, 1966, 21, 25, 45, 91.

26. This suggestion is noted by Field in Coombs,

Farrell, and Field 1986, 32.

27. Geisberg 1912, 311-312, 314-316.

28. Geisberg 1912, 316.

29. Martin Weinberger, Die Formschnitte des Katharinenklosters zu Numberg (Munich, 1925). Kistner

(1950) identified the pasteprints as the work of the

Master of the Housemark I; however, I did not see

the mark in any of the pasteprints I examined, and

the workmanship differs significantly from other

products of this workshop. Weinberger (1925) noted

that the nuns in this convent were known to illustrate the books there.

30. The use of contemporary engravings by metalsmiths is discussed in Johann Michael Fritz, Gestochene Bilder: Gravierungen aufdeutschen

Goldschmiedearbeiten der Spdtgotik (Cologne, 1966),

383-439.

31. Another plausible suggestion, supported by evidence of fifteenth-century workshop practices, is that

they were intended for use with casts in order to print

the inscriptions and compositions properly. This explanation was first proposed by Francois Courboin

and further discussed by Pierre Gusman early in this

century. See Coombs, Farrell, and Field 1986, 30-31,

for the history of this discussion. Authors have also

suggested that the copyist workshops that proliferated prints in the sixteenth century were probably

responsible for pasteprint production. Schreiber was

the first to identify the pasteprints of the workshop of

the Master of the Housemark i. The oeuvre of this

workshop was further investigated and expanded by

Kistner. Field also discussed the pasteprint making

activity of copyist workshops in "A Passion for the

Art Institute," Print Quarterly $ (1986), 215-216.

32. Schreiber (1926, 6:43) suggested that Saint Simon

(82874) is a copy of a print by Master E. S., but

reversed.

33. According to Schreiber (52848), this print was

pulled from a plate owned by a certain Gumpelzheyn

in Regensburg in 1780. Schreiber thought that the

plate surely was intended for pasteprints. The owner

dated the plate 1497 and had several prints pulled.

Schreiber made no mention of the pasteprint version

in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris.

34. The pasteprint in the Staatsbibliothek, Munich,

was recorded by Schreiber (82848) as (and still is) adhered to a handwritten codex from the cloister

Schoenthal (Oberpfalz). The codex bears the handwritten inscription, "Ad 15. decemb. anno 87 taufft

pro 10 K," which may indicate that either the book or

the pasteprint was purchased on 15 December 1487 for

ten kreuzer. Georg Leidinger thought this would be a

lot of money for a pasteprint and believed the pasteprint was earlier than 1487. Die Teigdrucke des XV.

Jahrhunderts derkgL Hof- und Staatsbibliothek in

Miinchen (Munich, 1908), n. 23. The Munich version

is in better condition than the pasteprint in the Bibliotheque Nationale. Schreiber noted a relationship between the latter and the Mass of Saint Gregory print.

He was not aware, however, that the Munich and

Paris pasteprints are identical.

35. Wilhelm Molsdorf, Beitrdge zur Geschichte und

Technik des dltesten Bilddrucks (Strasbourg, 1921), 84.

36. Coombs, Farrell, and Field 1986, 35-39.

37. Only Kistner (1950, 75) suggests, based on the absence of platemarks in the papers, that pasteprints

were formed separately then trimmed and adhered to

the paper support.

38. Cennini (1933,109-110) describes the fourteenthcentury practice of molding tin foil to decorate caskets, and Thompson (Cennini 1933, n. 2,109-110),

points out that this technique obviated the preparation of the wood surface with a fine coating of gesso.

Techniques for stamping tin are also described in a

fifteenth-century manuscript by Jehan Le Begue. This

manuscript also includes various organic colorants

for toning tin. See Merrifield 1967,160,162,163,165,

220, 240, 304. Another fifteenth-century source, Liber

Illuministarius from the Benedictine cloister at Tegernsee, includes directions for stamping tin foil

identical in detail to those described by Cennini. See

Marjolein Broekman-Bokstijn, J.R.J. van Asperen de

Boer, Emilie Helena van't Hul-Ehrnreich, and Karin

Verduyn-Groen, "The Scientific Examination of the

Polychromed Sculpture in the Herlin Altarpiece,"

Studies in Conservation 15 (1970), 389-390, where the

instructions are given in translation. Later examples

also exist.

39. Cennini (1933, 60-63), describes a technique for

using varnish and toning tin to make it appear

golden.

40. Bowman 1985, passim.

41. Such staining would be apparent from the front of

mounted pasteprints as well. There is also no embossment of the paper support. The paper is somewhat stiffened by the absorption of the ground, and

there is slight cockling around the edges of the

pasteprint.

42. The metalcut-pasteprint pair were noted by

Schreiber 1926, 6:5. The pasteprint is from a small

devotional book written between 1471 and 1481 in

Tegernsee. The book had contained two other pasteprints, which are lost. According to Schreiber, this

pasteprint is part of a series that includes seventeen

images, in some cases known in multiples. A related

group, described by Schreiber under 82770, is comprised of nine images, several known in multiples as

well. Both series are related to another group, whose

examples and multiples total thirteen. In all, more

than forty-seven pasteprints are related.

43. A separate adhesive layer would be apparent in

the cross sections. The yellow fluorescence is not

BERTALA N 55
characteristic of animal glue or other adhesives.

44.1 have not arrived at any explanation of when the

tin foil would have been decorated. In the manuals,

tin was generally toned in one sheet. This process

does not seem compatible, however, with the molding process involved in pasteprints. It is very likely

that, after embossing, pasteprints were hand decorated. The decoration may have been the work of a

different hand. This may explain the drips of varnish

apparent in several of the pasteprints in the National

Gallery of Art. The application of shellac or another

resin applied in liquid form in situ may account for

the threads of varnish.

45. Nor is it satisfactory to assume that the object

was formed and then adhered to the paper support afterward. If such were the case, it would be very unlikely that the resin layer would be incompletely

adhered to the foil. The foil layer would certainly be

covered by the resin layer to the very edges and the

full image would be intact. Despite the fact that no

platemark is evident, observations of surviving pasteprints strongly suggest that the impression was made

with the resin and foil in place on the paper support

rather than separately formed. Moreover, a faint

impression on Saint John the Baptist (82850111) and

a barely discernible yellow stain on Madonna

and Child (S2824c) may indicate the contours of a

metalplate.

46. A good example of an area where the resin may

have been melted by contact with the metal plate appears at the bottom right corner of Madonna and

Child (S2826a) in the Salzburg group.

47. See Ernst Philip Goldschmidt, Gothic and Renaissance Bookbindings, 2 vols. (Amsterdam, 1967), 1:83-

84; Victor Carter, Lotte Hellinga, and Tony Parker,

"Printing with Gold in the Fifteenth Century," British Library Journal 9 (1983), 1-13.

48. Carter, Hellinga, and Parker 1983, 5-10.

49. The experiments for this study were conducted

using the image of the Pieta pasteprint (S2822b) in the

National Gallery of Art, Washington, greatly enlarged

to facilitate execution. The image was carved into a

wooden matrix. Prints were pulled from this matrix.

A cast was prepared of the matrix using a low-melting

alloy of tin, lead, and bismuth. When liquid varnish

was applied to the reverse of the molded tin foil or to

the paper, the resin did not afford adequate adhesion

for the foil, nor was it possible to use the varnish

thickly enough on paper to achieve the molded layer

that is characteristic of all pasteprints. The more successful experiments with powdered rosin were conducted following the instruction published by Carter,

Hellinga, and Parker 1983,13. The paper, rosin, and

foil were placed in contact with the heated cast and

weighted in place. The details of the cast were faithfully reproduced in the foil and resin, including the

diagonal crack that developed as the cast was heated.

No doubt a higher-melting-temperature metal would

have been used.

50. In the literature there has been a tendency to link

pasteprints with Johannes Gutenberg's invention of

movable type because they share the common knowledge of casting technology. Casting was widely used

for punches for bookbinding and decoration, however, and bookbinding techniques may be the next

fruitful area for further investigation.

51. Panel stamping, a nearly contemporary bookbinding technique, was practiced from approximately

1480 to 1530 in France and somewhat later in Germany. For this technique, metalworkers were employed especially for the purpose of producing large

plates used to emboss leather instead of the more laborious work of individual, small punches. See Goldschmidt 1967,1:54-70.

56 BERTALA N
BIBLIOGRAPHY

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Berger, Ernst. Quellen und Technik derFresko-, Olund Tempera-Maleiei des Mittelalters. 1912. Reprint,

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Bonnardot, Alfred. Restauration des anciennes estampes et des livres rares. Paris, 1858. Reprint, New

York,1967.

Bowman, Cynthia. "Pasteprints: A New Hypothesis

about Their Production." Print Quarterly 2 (1985),

4-n.

Brachert, Thomas. "Pressbrokat Applikationen, ein

Hilfsmittel fur die Stilkritik." Schweizerisches Institut fur Kunstwissenschaft, fahresbericht (1963),

37-47-

Braunstein, P. "Expose introductif a Table ronde sur

'La gravure avant Diirer'." Nouvelles de 1'Estampe

(1982), 6-8.

Broekman-Bokstijn, Marjolein, J.RJ. van Asperende

Boer, Emilie Helena van't Hul-Ehrnreich, and Karin

Verduyn-Groen. "The Scientific Examination of the

Poly chromed Sculpture in the Herlin Altarpiece."

Studies in Conservation 15 (1970), 370-400.

Burch, R. M. Colour Printing and Colour Printers.

New York, 1910.

Butze, G. "Zwei bemerkenswerte Platten auf einem

Einband in Gorlitz." In Festschrift Ernst Kyriss.

Stuttgart, 1961. 281-286.

Campbell, L. "The Art Market in South Netherlands." Burlington Magazine 8 (1986), 370-400.

Carter, Victor, Lotte Hellinga, and Tony Parker.

"Printing with Gold in the Fifteenth Century." British Library Journal 9 (1983), 1-13.

Cennini, Cennino D'A. II Libro dell'Arte: A Craftsman 's Handbook. 1437. Translated by Daniel V.

Thompson. New Haven, 1933.

Coombs, Elizabeth, Eugene Farrell, and Richard S.

Field. Pasteprints: A Technical and Art Historical

Investigation. Cambridge, Mass., 1986.

Courboin, Francois. "Quelques enrichissements recents du Cabinet des Estampes." Revue de 1'art

ancien etmoderne 31 (1912], 19-28.

Dodgson, Campbell. Introduction to Early German

and Flemish Woodcuts in the British Museum. Vol. i.

London, 1903.

Field, Richard S. Fifteenth-Century Woodcuts and

Other Relief Prints in the Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. [exh. cat., Metropolitan Museum of Art] New York, 1977.

. "A Passion for the Art Institute." Print Quarterly 3 (1986), 191-216.

Fritz, Johann Michael. Gestochene Bilder: Gravierungen auf deutschen Goldschmiedearbeiten der

Spdtgotik. Cologne, 1966.

Fuchs, R. W. "Die Mainzer Friihdrucke mit

Buchholzschnitten, 1480-1500." Borsenblatt fur den

Deutschen Buchhandel (1958), 1129-1164.

Geisberg, Max. Die Anfdnge des Kupferstiches.

Vol. 2. 2d ed. Leipzig, 1923.

. Geschichte der deutschen Graphik vor Diirer.

Berlin, 1939.

. "Holzschnittbildnisse des Kaisers Maximilian." fahrbuch der preuftischen Kunstsammlungen 32 (1911), 236-248.

. "TeigdruckundMetallschnitt." Monatshefte

fur Kunstwissenschaft 5 (1912), 311-320.

Gerhardt, Claus W. "Wie haben Ratdolt und Callierges Ende des 15. Jahrhunderts in Venedig ihre

Drucke mit Blattgold hergestellt?" Gutenbergfahrbuch (1984), 145-150.

Goddard, Stephen H. "Brocade Patterns in the Shop

of the Master of Frankfurt: An Accessory to Stylistic

Analysis." Art Bulletin 67 (1985), 401-417.

Goldschmidt, Ernest Philip. Gothic and Renaissance

Bookbindings, 2 vols. Amsterdam, 1967.

. The Printed Book of the Renaissance. Cambridge, 1950.

Gusman, Pierre. La gravure sur bois et d'epargne sur

metal. Paris, 1916.

. "Un Incunable et son histoire." Gazette des

Beaux-Arts 7 (1912), 271-278.

Haemmerk, A. Buntpapier. Munich, 1977.

Hebert, Michele. Inventaire des gravures du Nord.

Paris, n.d.

Hecht, Brigitte. "Betrachtungeniiber Pressbrokate:

Rekonstruktionsversuche unter besonderer Beriicksichtigung des sogenannten Tegernseer Manuscripts." Maltechnik-Restauro i (1980), 22-49.

Hirsch, R., "The Decoration of a 1486 Book Wrapper

and Its Reappearance in 1531." Studies in the Renaissance 6 (1959), 167-174.

Huth, Hans. Kunstler und Werkstatt der Spdtgotik.

Augsburg, 1923.

Indestege, L. "Briigger Kaufmannsbucher und ihre

Verzierung." In Festschrift Ernst Kyriss. Stuttgart,

1961. 261-280.

Kistner, Erwin. "Studien an Teigdrucken aus dem

Besitz des Germanischen Nationalmuseums in

Nurnberg." In Festschrift Eugen Stollreither. Edited

by Fritz Redenbacher. Erlangen, 1950. 65-97.

Koster, Kurt. "Gutenbergs Aachener Heiltumsspiegel." In Das Werk der Bucher: Festschrift fur Horst

Kliemann. Freiburg, 1956. 284-301.

. "Gutenbergs Strafiburger AachenspiegelUnternehmen." Gutenberg-fahrbuch (1983), 24-44.

. "Pilgerzeichen-Studien: Neue Beitrage zur

Kenntnis eines mittelalterlichen Massenartikels und

seiner Uberlieferungsformen." In Bibliotheca Docet:

Festschrift Carl Wehmer. Amsterdam, 1963. 77-100.

. "Religiose Medaillen und Wallfahrts-Devotionalien in der flamischen Buchmalerei des 15. und

fruhen 16. Jahrhunderts." In Buch und Welt: Festschrift fur Gustav Ho fmann. Wiesbaden, 1965. 459-

504.

Krys, K. "Notes on a Fifteenth Century Coffret."

BERTALA N 57
Connoisseur (London ed.), September 1957, 62-66.

Lehmann-Haupt, Hellmut. Gutenberg and the Master of the Playing Cards. New Haven, 1966.

Lehrs, M. "Die dekorative Verwendung von

Holzschnitten im XV. und XVI. Jahrhundert." Jahrbuch dei KgL Preufiischen Kunstsammlungen 29

(1908), 183-194.

Leidinger, Georg. Die Teigdrucke des XV. Jahrhunderts derkgl. Hof- und Staatsbibliothek in Munchen.

Munich, 1908.

. Teigdrucke in Salzburger Bibliotheken.

Munich, 1913.

Lemoisne, Paul-Andre. Les Xylographes du XIVe et

du XVe Siecle au Cabinet des Estampes de la

Bibliotheque Nationale. Paris, 1927.

Lewis, John Frederick. "Teigdrucke." Proceedings of

the Numismatic and Antiquarian Society of Philadelphia for the Years 1902-1903 (1904), 189-194.

Mabbott, Thomas Ollive. "Pasteprints and Sealprints." Metropolitan Museum Studies 4, pt. i (1932-

1933), 55-75-

. "Seal-prints and a Seal-paste-print." Bulletin

of the New York Public Library 32 (1928), 511-519.

De Mayerne, Turquet T. Picturia sculptoria et quae

subalternarum artium. 1620. Reprint, Lyon, 1974.

Merrifield, Mary Philadelphia. Original Treatises on

the Arts of Painting. 2 vols. London, 1849. Reprint,

New York, 1967.

Molsdorf, Wilhelm. Die Bedeutung Koelns fur den

Metallschnitt des XV. Jahrhunderts. Strasbourg, 1909.

. Beitrdge zur Geschichte und Technik des

dltesten Bilddrucks. Strasbourg, 1921.

Mongan, Elizabeth. "Two Undescribed Fifteenth

Century Prints in the Collection of Lessing J. Rosenwald." Art in America 31, no. 2 (April 1943), 98-108.

Needham, Paul. Twelve Centuries of Bookbindings,

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Ognibeni, G., "Brokatapplikationen auf Wachsbasis:

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Passavant, JohannD., Le Peintre-graveur. Leipzig,

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Floss, Emil Ernst. Ein Buch von alten Farben: Technologie der Textilfarben im Mittelalter mit einem

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Ruppel, A., ed. Gutenberg Festschrift, 1925. Mainz,

1925.

Schreiber, Wilhelm L. Die Meister der Metallschneidekunst nebst einem nach Schulen geordneten

KatalogihrerArbeiten. 8 vols. Strasbourg, 1926. Volume 6 contains the pasteprint information.

Shestack, Alan. Master E. S.: Five Hundredth Anniversary Exhibition, [exh. cat., Philadelphia Museum

of Art] Philadelphia, 1967.

Shreier, L. L., ed. Corrosion. London, 1976.

Spamer, Adolf. Das kleine Andachtsbild vom XIV. bis

XX. Jahrhundert. Munich, 1930.

Strasbourg Staatliche Bibliothek. The Strasburg

Manuscript. Translated by Viola Borradaile and Rosamund Borradaile. London, 1966.

Theophilus. On Divers Arts. Translated by John G.

Hawthorn and Cyril S. Smith. Chicago, 1963.

Turgoose, S. "The Corrosion of Lead and Tin: Before

and After Excavation." In Lead and Tin Studies in

Conservation and Technology. United Kingdom Institute for Conservation Occasional Papers. London,

1985.15-26.

Wehmer, Carol. "Gutenbergs Typographic und die

Teigdrucke des Monogrammisten d." In Essays in

Honour of Victor Scholderer. Edited by D. E. Rhodes.

Mainz, 1970. 426-484.

Weigel, Theodor Oswald, and August Christian Adolf

Zestermann. Die Anfdnge der Druckerkunst in Bild

und Schrift an deren friihesten Erzeugnissen in der

Weigelschen Sammlung erlandet. 2 vols. Leipzig,

1865. 331-334-

Weinberger, Martin. Die Formschnitte des Katharinenklosters zu Nurnberg. Munich, 1925.

APPENDIX 1

Pasteprints Examined

When available dimensions are noted, height by

width in centimeters are followed by approximate height and width in inches. Many of the

pasteprints have irregular dimensions due to

their fragmented condition.

Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris

82795 Crucifixion

S28iiy Saint Veronica's Veil with Papalarius

82820 Resurrected Christ with Two Angels

82821 Resurrected Christ with Two Angels

82845 Saint George and the Dragon, identical to

828453, National Gallery of Art, Washington

S2848b Mass of Saint Gregory (fig. 46), 10.6 x 7.2

(4'Vi6 x 27/8), identical to 82848, in Staatsbibliothek, Munich. A metalcut in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg, is an

identical but reversed image.

British Museum, London

82776 Christ Washing the Disciples' Feet

82842 Saint Dorothy

Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg

82769 Annunciation

82774 Birth of Christ

82774m Christ in the Temple

5 8 BERTALA N
S2775r

 Flight into Egypt

82777 Christ Washing the Disciples' Feet

8277701 Lord's Supper

827780 Christ at the Mount of Olives

82779 Christ at the Mount of Olives

82780 Arrest

82781 Christ before Pilate

82784 Flagellation

82787 Christ with the Crown of Thorns

82801 Crucifixion

82802 Crucifixion

82803 Descent from the Cross

82807 Lamentation

828171 Christ with the Crown of Thorns

82822 Pieta

82844 Saint George

82827 Madonna in Glory with Four Angels

(fig. 2),io.4x7.5(4I/8X2IVi 6 )

8278701 Christ Mocked

827980 Christ on the Cross with Mary and John

Pieta

Not Catalogued by Schreiber

Crucifixion

Guildhall Library, London

82791 Christ Crucified between Two Thieves

(fig. 3)

Harvard University Art Museums, Cambridge

82776 Christ Washing the Disciples' Feet

82789 Christ Disrobed by the Soldiers

82851 Saint Jerome

Library of Congress, Washington

S2836a Saint Catherine (bound in a fifteenthcentury German psalter)

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

82839 Saint Christopher

S2854b Saint Margaret

National Gallery of Art, Washington

82788, variant Christ Carrying the Cross

(fig. 41,10.9x7.6 (45/i6X3)

S28iim Trinity (fig. 15), 3.9 x 3.1 (i9/i6 x iVi6)

S28nz Sudarium (fig. 16), 3.9 x 2.9 (i9/i6 x iVs)

S2&22b Pieta (fig. 14), 3.9x3.1 (i9A6 x r/s). The

metalcut in Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, is

the same size.

828240 Madonna and Child (fig. 30), 10 x 7.3

( 4 x2V8 )

82825 Madonna and Child (fig. 22), 7.5 x 4.5

(27/8 X lV4)

S2826a Madonna and Child (fig. n), 3.9 x 3.3

(I9/I6 X IS/I6J

S2837a Saint Catherine (fig. 13), 4 x 3.1

(I9/I6 X l'/8)

82843 Saint Francis (fig. 33), 10.3 x 7.4

'(4VI6 X 27/s)

S2845a Saint George and the Dragon (fig. 5),

9.9 x 7.2 J37/s x 2I 3/i6J, identical to 82845, in the

Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris

82850111 Saint John the Baptist (fig. 20), 10.5 x

S2854d Saint Margaret (fig. 12), 4x 3 (i9/i6 x i3/i6J

82856 Saint Michael (fig. 34), 10.1 x 7.3

(3I5/i6 X 27/s)

8286101 Unknown Saint (fig. 10), 3.9 x 3

(I9/I6 X lVi6)

8286m Unknown Saint (fig. 9), 3.9 x 3.2

(I9/I6 X l'/4)

Not Catalogued by Schreiber

Saint Catherine (fig. 35), 5.2 x 4 (2 x i9/i6)

Staatsbibliothek, Munich

82775 Adoration (fig. 52), 10.8x7.5 (4V4 x 2I S/i6).

The metalcut in the Bibliotheque Nationale,

Paris (fig. 51), is the same size.

S2778a Jesus at the Mount of Olives

82782 Flagellation

82783 Flagellation

82789m Christ with Mary and John

82794 Christ on the Cross

82797 Christ on the Cross

82806 Lamentation

82807 Lamentation

82808 Entombment

82809 Descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost

82810 Descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost

S28np God the Father with the Dead Christ

82816 Man of Sorrows

S28i6m Man of Sorrows between Mary and John

82817 Man of Sorrows

82823 Madonna and Child (seated), three

examples

S2827a Madonna in Glory Crowned by Angels

S2833X Saint Catherine

82834 Saint Catherine

82836 Saint Catherine

S2846a Saint George

82848 Saint Gregory

82849 Saint Helen

82852 Saint Leonard

8285601 Saint Nicholas

82858 Saint Sebastian

S286ob Saint Wolfgang

S2862a Unidentified Saint

S2862b Unidentified Saint

S2862X Unidentified Person

S2862y Unidentified Person

S2862Z Unidentified Person

Stadtbibliothek, Nuremberg

82770 Annunciation

82778 Jesus at the Mount of Olives

82783 Flagellation

S2783a Flagellation

82821 Risen Christ with Two Angels

S2833a Saint Barbara

82838 Saint Christopher

82854 Saint Maria Egyptiaca

BERTALA N 59

7.5 (41/16 x 215/16
APPENDIX 2

National Gallery of Art Scientific Research

Department Analysis Report

1943.3783 (828240)

Madonna and Child

German, I5th century

1943.3.786 (S285om)

Saint John the Baptist

German, I5th century

Pasteprints were produced in the fifteenth and

sixteenth centuries mainly in Germany. The

method of producing them has been discussed

by Coombs, Farrell, and Field.

 l The Mellon

Fellow, Sarah Bertalan, is examining pasteprints in the National Gallery's collections.

This report addresses some of the technical

inquiries made in collaboration with the scientific research department.

Many pasteprints were examined in ultraviolet radiation. The surfaces fluoresced orange

and dark purple. The orange fluorescence often

suggests the presence of shellac. Two pasteprints were examined closely: Madonna and

Child and Saint John the Baptist. Both were examined using the stereomicroscope at high

magnification. Samples were removed for x-ray

diffraction studies.2 Cross sections were removed from both to examine the construction

of the pasteprints. The cross section from Saint

John the Baptist was complete down to and including the paper substrate. The cross sections

both have a dark layer of ink as the top layer.

The ink layer of the cross section from Saint

John the Baptist was photographed before the

section was mounted. The ink appears to contain colored particles, including small red particles; these are possibly red iron oxide. In both

cross sections there is a dark brown layer underneath the ink layer. The brown layer does

not contain any visible particulate material.

When examined using the Ploemopak illumination system on the Leitz Orthoplan, a

xenon gas lamp, and a filter that allows irradiation at c. 500 nm, this brown layer fluoresces

orange. Below the brown layer is a thicker layer

that is white in the cross section from Saint

John the Baptist and light brown in the section

from Madonna and Child. This layer does not

fluoresce in visible light. The section from

Saint John the Baptist has two more layers. The

next from the surface is a light brown layer that

fluoresces yellow-green when illuminated with

c. 500 nm radiation. Close examination of the

section from Madonna and Child reveals there

is a trace of this layer at the bottom of the section. The layer on the bottom of the section

from Saint John is the paper substrate.

A whitish sample from the bottom layer observable in Madonna and Child was examined

using the Mettler FP82 hot stage on the Leitz

Table 1. Line Spacings and Intensities of Samples from the Pasteprints and Comparative Standards

SnO2, 21-1250

Unknown I Cassiterite

d,A I/I0 d,A

3-35 3-35

1

-7-7

•77 *-7°5

J

-593

1.49

J-439

I .41A T5

C

I.2I5

IOO

80

6

65

18

8

H

18

16

8

12

Unknown II

d,A I/I0

3.36 loo

2.64 50

*2.50 IOO

2.38 10

"1.78 80

1-77 15

1.675

*i.474 20

NaOH, 15-895 Unknown III

d,A I/I0 d,A I/I0

3 • 3

2.99 90

2.50 loo 2.68 20

1.77 50 2.93 5

2.41

2.3 i if0l

1.90

T ftn

1.45 14

1.65

1.49

1.44

L

34

1.32

SnO>

d,A

3-35

2.64

1.765

1.675

1.498

1-439

1.415

1.322

1.215

21-1250

IOO

80

65

18

18

16

8

12

SnO6

d,A

2.99

2.69

2.41

1.90

1.80

i. 60

1-495

1.48

-395

I/I0

IOO

35

H

H

25

25

12

12

6O BERTALA N

I/Io

2.65 2.644

2.39 2.366

1.685

1.322

I/Io

2.65 80

1.783 100

14

1.42

1.24
Orthoplan microscope equipped with a x6.5 ultropak objective. The start temperature was

45°C, rate of rise i°C/minute; the results are

summarized below.

Temperature, °C Observations

94.6

127

220

movement of sample

melting of most of

sample

charring begins

A second sample had completely melted at

193°C and charred at 220°C.

A sample of the white material from below

the ink (unknown I), a sample of white material from on top of the ink (unknown II), and a

gray-brown sample (unknown III; the sample

was grayish white and topped by a black fragment, possibly ink) from Saint John were examined using x-ray powder diffraction (XRD)

techniques.2 The data were collected over eighteen hours on film strip. The white material

contained a small proportion of red and blue

particles. Line spacings were measured using a

calibrated rule and intensities estimated visually and related to the most intense line as a

percentage—I/I0. The results are tabulated below and possible assignments made. The powder diffraction pattern of the material from the

surface of the pasteprint had two discrete sets

of lines in that one set was rather diffuse and

the other set dotted. The sets of lines were inferred to be due to different phases. The dotted

lines are asterisked and considered as a separate

set when estimating relative intensities. The

lines for known species were obtained from

JCPDS files.3

In ultraviolet light the pasteprints all have

areas that fluoresce orange and purple. Evidence of consolidation on one or two pasteprints was shown by white fluorescence. Some

pasteprints have red borders that are most

likely painted. In one instance the pigment was

shown to be red lead (Pb3O4).

From the cross sections obtained the two

pasteprints examined have a more simple structure than proposed in reference i. There are five

layers. In order from the bottom: (i) the paper

substrate, (ii) a layer that fluoresces yellowgreen suggesting an oil, resin, or oil-resin mixture, (iii) a white layer which XRD shows to be

SnO2, (iv) a layer that fluoresces orange suggesting shellac,4

 (v) black ink that contains

small red particles.

NOTES TO APPENDIX

This report was prepared in September 1988 by

Barbara Berrie, acting head of the scientific research

department, National Gallery of Art.

1. Elizabeth Coombs, Eugene Farrell, and Richard S.

Field, Pasteprints: A Technical and Art Historical Investigation (Cambridge, Mass., 1986).

2. The Philips XRG 3100 generator was used equipped

with a copper target and a nickel filter to provide

monochromatic radiation of 1.540 A. The anode voltage was 45 kV and the current 25 mA. The sample

was mounted onto a glass fiber using silicone grease

and run in a Gandolphi camera for 18 hours. When examined under high power, the bottom white layer

from Madonna and Child could be seen to contain a

small proportion of red and blue particles. In transmitted polarized light the red particles were red,

spherical, and had high relief.

3. Powdei Diffraction File JCPDS International Centre for Diffraction Data, Swarthmore, Pa.;

 1982.

4. Other materials, such as rosin and certain red and

yellow organic pigments and dyes also fluoresce orange in ultraviolet light.

BERTALA N 6l

CARO L CHRISTENSE N

The Painting Materials and Technique of

Paul Gauguin

A

Ithough much has been written about Paul

Gauguin the man—about his way of life in

the South Seas and the sources of his art—

little has been written that considers his art

from a technical viewpoint. Nevertheless, a

technical study of Gauguin's paintings is particularly interesting, because it allows us not

only to examine the degree to which his

often remote surroundings influenced his

painting technique but also to sort out a

number of contradictory impressions we

have of him as a painter within these surroundings. Was Gauguin the technical innovator and self-described experimenter1

whose creative genius blossomed in the isolation of the tropics? Or was he instead the

unhappy victim of circumstance whose poverty forced him to paint on native sackcloth?2

 How much, if at all, did his unusual

environment influence his technique?

The answers are complex. Gauguin's preference for painting in primitive tropical areas

where artists' supplies were limited meant

that he had to work in an extremely humid

climate, accept the difficulties of shipping

his art back to France where it could be exhibited, and endure long periods when he

was without art supplies. To some degree all

these limitations influenced his painting

technique. However, many aspects of his

technique generally associated with the

South Seas period and assumed to be a result

of his special circumstances there were actually first used in Brittany and Aries. Furthermore, there is little in his painting technique, apart from his use of very coarse

fabric, that is significantly different from

other nonacademic art of his time, so the notion of Gauguin as a technically radical

painter is something of a myth,3 although

his role as stylistic innovator is without

question.

Gauguin's correspondence is full of information about his materials and technique,

but unfortunately he was not always a reliable source. He talked at great length about

those aspects of his work that he wanted

to share with the public, but about other

technical matters he was silent. And because

he was a rather shrewd self-promoter, his

descriptions of technique occasionally distorted his actual creative process to sell himself to his audience.

For example, Gauguin's assertion that he

created his most important work, Where Are

We Goingl (W56i) (fig. i),4 without preparatory studies in a great burst of activity just

before an alleged suicide attempt in 1897,5

has been disproven by the existence of a preparatory drawing of Where Are We Goingl

(fig. 2), squared for transfer, and several figure studies exhibited in 1988 in The Art of

Paul Gauguin, National Gallery of Art,

Washington. Furthermore, Richard Brettell

has convincingly argued that although the

painting is dated 1897, Gauguin worked on it

extensively during 1898 but insisted on the

1897 date, possibly to link the making of the

63
painting with his suicide attempt.6

 Brettell's

evidence suggests that the painting was very

carefully planned—quite the opposite of the

impression given by Gauguin himself. This

example demonstrates the importance of

comparing the physical evidence provided by

Gauguin's paintings with his correspondence

and other contemporary documents to determine his actual creative process.

The 1988 Gauguin exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, Washington, afforded

the opportunity to examine a large body of

Gauguin's paintings, and they provided a

valuable starting point in a study that eventually included 142 works. Although it was

not possible to study all paintings in equal

depth, an attempt was made to characterize

the type of fabric, priming layer, paint medium, pigments, varnish, stretchers, glazing,

framing, and even restoration techniques the

artist used. Based on examination of about

one-third of his entire work, this study allows the following observations about

Gauguin's technique.

During Gauguin's time in the South Seas,

such aspects of his style as the thinning of

the paint layer, changes in the materials he

used to prepare his absorbent grounds, as

well as the smaller size and finer weave of

the canvases of his very late works were

clearly influenced by the hot, humid environment of Tahiti and the Marquesas and by

his periodic difficulties in obtaining supplies.

However, his use of predominantly coarse

canvas, absorbent grounds, and lack of high

impasto were developed much earlier, during

his time in Brittany and Aries. While he often justified these aspects of his technique as

a response to his special environment, in fact

he chose to paint the way he did largely for

aesthetic reasons and not because of the limitations of his surroundings. (For a brief chronology of Gauguin's life, see app. i.)

SUPPORTS

Gauguin's choice of coarse fabric for his

South Seas paintings is well known, but his

use of a wide variety of other fabrics throughout his career is less well documented. Although there is evidence that in the 18905 he

came to prefer coarse fabric as a painting supi. Paul Gauguin, Where Do We

Come From! What Are Wei

Where Are We Going!, 1897-

1898, painting on fabric

Museum of Fine Arts, Boston,

Tompkins Collection

64 CHRISTENSE N
2. Paul Gauguin, squared study

for Where Do We Come From*

What Are Wei Where Are We

Going!, 1898, brush and blue

watercolor and brown crayon

pencil over preliminary

drawing on tracing paper laid

down on wove paper, squared

in graphite

Musee National des Arts Africains et

Oc6aniens, Paris

port,7 he continued to paint on many different types of fabric even during his years in

the South Seas. Lack of supplies forced him

to paint on one specific type of fabric during

his last years in the Marquesas, but in general he was not rigid in his canvas preferences

and painted on whatever was available either

locally or through shipment from friends.

When he began to paint in the 18705,

Gauguin used the conventional finely woven, commercially primed canvas supports

popular with most of the artists of his

time, including the impressionists. In his

early paintings, the fabric texture is not emphasized, and the priming does not show beneath the thick medium-rich paint layer.

During the early i88os, however, the texture

of the fabric support began to play an increasingly important role in the visual impact of

Gauguin's paintings; he no longer consistently obscured the texture of his support

with a thick layer of paint.

Throughout the i88os, Gauguin's priming

layer became more apparent through the increasingly thin paint layers above it. In this

technique he was following a trend of his fellow impressionists, who often painted on

fabrics with extremely thin commercially

prepared absorbent grounds, which they intentionally left exposed.

During the crucial years of his development (1886-1888), when he was breaking

away from impressionism and formulating

his own style, Gauguin occasionally painted

on unprimed canvas. The roughness of the

fabric, the increasing thinness of the priming

and paint layers, and the intentionally matte

surface created a result in which the support

rather than the paint itself provided texture.

It was in Aries, where Gauguin went to

live with Vincent van Gogh for the last three

months of 1888, that the two artists first experimented with the coarse, burlap-type fabric that has been generally associated with

Gauguin's Tahitian paintings. In November

1888, van Gogh wrote to his brother Theo

that Gauguin had bought twenty meters of

very coarse fabric (toile ties forte).8 A week

later, in a letter to Emile Bernard, Gauguin

described a painting on coarse sackcloth

(giosse toile a sac), underlining the phrase for

emphasis.9 In late November, he again menCHRISTENSE N 65
tioned the coarse fabric in a letter to his

friend Emile Schuffenecker,10 and in the

same week he complained in a letter to Theo

van Gogh that the coarse sackcloth was difficult to stretch.11

 The fact that Gauguin mentioned the material so often and complained

about the difficulties he experienced with it

suggests the fabric was new to him and he

was trying to master its use as a painting support. For this reason, it seems probable that

Gauguin executed his Self-portrait Dedicated

to Carriere ^384) (fig. 3), painted on coarse

fabric, no earlier than his 1888 Aries visit and

not in 1886, as has been recently suggested.12

The supports for the Aries paintings vary

dramatically. At least four (W3O4, W3O5,

W239, W3ii) of the seventeen paintings produced there by Gauguin are on the very

coarse (4-8 threads per cm) fabric mentioned

by van Gogh in his letters. This same fabric

was used as a support by van Gogh when he

painted two of his views of the Alyscamps.13

Interestingly, though, for another version of

the same view (W3O/), Gauguin used a very

fine fabric (22-24 threads per cm) with the

qualities of handkerchief linen. Another

painting by Gauguin from this period, Farm

at Aries (W3o8), is painted on a third type of

fabric (18 threads per cm). It is clear that, in

Aries, Gauguin was experimenting for the

first time with a broad range of fabric supports, and the paintings' surface appearances

vary considerably because of the differing

textures of their fabric supports. For example, in At the Cafe (W3O5), the support is both

very coarse and unprimed, and, as a result,

the paint seems to sink into the fabric, creating a nubby, matte surface appearance more

characteristic of fresco than conventional easel paintings.

To what degree did Gauguin's choice of

fabric influence his painting style at Aries?

Examination of a number of his Aries paintings showed that those works painted on

coarse canvas usually lack the small,

hatched, vertical brushstrokes influenced by

the technique of Paul Cezanne that Gauguin

used in those Aries paintings executed on

more conventional fabric. However, in later

paintings, such as Bonjour M. Gauguin

(W322) from 1890, painted on coarse fabric,

the hatched brushstroke is again clearly evident. Therefore, it seems that although

Gauguin may have liked the look of the

paintings on coarse fabric, the choice of fabric did not specifically lead him to paint in a

broader, more smoothly blended style.

Rather, his time in Aries was simply a period

of experimentation with a variety of combinations of support and brushstroke.

In the two years after he left Aries in December 1888, when he traveled frequently

among Paris, Le Pouldu, and Pont-Aven,

Gauguin largely abandoned the use of coarse

fabric,14 painting instead on a variety of more

finely woven fabrics. The recurrence of at

least five different fabrics during Gauguin's

travels at this time suggests he probably carried rolls of fabric with him. An exception

was his June-November 1890 visit to Le

3. Paul Gauguin, Self-portrait

Dedicated to Carriere, c. 1888,

painting on fabric

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Paul

Mellon

66 CHRISTENSE N
4. Paul Gauguin, The Siesta,

date uncertain, painting on

fabric

Walter H. Annenberg Collection,

photograph courtesy Wildenstein

& Co., New York

Pouldu, during which he painted primarily

on a single type of canvas.15

Gauguin may have stopped using coarse

fabric during 1889 and 1890 because Schuffenecker wrote to him in December 1888 that,

due to this coarse, poor-quality canvas, a

shipment of Gauguin's paintings sent to the

dealer Theo van Gogh in Paris had arrived

"with the paint falling off in chunks,- it's

very awkward and it makes the pictures impossible to sell at the moment."16

Although Gauguin did again use coarse

canvas once he had arrived in Tahiti, he continued to paint on conventional artists'

canvas periodically throughout the 18905, and

he never complained in his correspondence

about having to do so. While he eventually

came to prefer coarse fabric when it was

available, as we know from his request for it

in a letter to Georges-Daniel de Monfreid,17

his friend and occasional art supplier, we

must assume that he did not consider it essential in making a successful painting since

he continued to paint on other types of fabric

when they were available to him. In fact,

according to Lieutenant Jenot, an acquaintance in Tahiti, Gauguin actually brought

both coarse and fine fabrics with him from

France.18 It is also noteworthy that, throughout Gauguin's career, there is no correlation

between subject matter and fabric choice.

Examination of the fabric supports for

Gauguin's entire oeuvre should yield information helpful in dating a few problematic

paintings. Examination of 142 of his fabric

supports has indicated that, for example, The

Siesta (Wsis) (fig. 4), the date of which is uncertain, appears to be on the same fabric used

for Matamoe (W484) and Street in Tahiti

(W44i), two works painted during his first

sojourn in Tahiti. This particular fabric does

not resemble any of the five different types

on which Gauguin painted after he returned

to Paris in 1893 (more than half of these have

been examined for this study). It is likely,

then, that The Siesta was painted in Tahiti

rather than Paris, although the most recent

catalogue raisonne of Gauguin's paintings

CHRISTENSE N 6j
suggested the work was done after his return

to France.19

During his second sojourn in the South

Seas; Gauguin received his canvas at first

from both de Monfreid and the artist Georges

Chaudet, with whom Gauguin had left the

unsold paintings from the Hotel Drouot auction. Judging from Gauguin's correspondence, these supplies generally lasted him

about six months, especially when money

was included along with the shipment. He

wrote de Monfreid in March 1897: "Two

months ago I received from Chaudet 1,035

and 1,200 francs, some medicines and painting supplies, canvas and lead white, etc. .. . I

am now set for three or four months, which

will allow me to work."20 It is during this

time that Gauguin wrote to de Monfreid of

his preference for coarse canvas: "If possible,

buy me canvas two meters wide (coarse and a

bit rough—the nubs don't bother me, they

can be cut). .. . If not [available] I need coarse

fabric like Puvis de Chavannes [uses], as little prepared as possible, but it's so

expensive!"21

Why did Gauguin eventually return to

using coarse fabric in Tahiti, after abandoning it after he left Aries? By the late 18905

Gauguin had persuaded himself that the flaking paint in his paintings was caused by a

faulty priming22 rather than by the support

itself, and for this reason he no longer felt an

obligation to avoid the coarse fabric Schuffenecker had warned him about toward the

end of his Aries visit.

Despite regular shipments from de Monfreid and others, as well as the availability of

fabric from the mail boats, canvas was often

hard to obtain from any source, and

Gauguin's correspondence during his second

Tahitian trip is filled with complaints about a

lack of fabric. The shortage seems to have

been especially acute between 1897 and 1900.

In October 1897, he complained about having

had no canvas for the previous few months.23

By December, he even lacked scraps. He

wrote, "I have carefully searched in my supplies for bits of canvas but I find none."24

 By

April 1898 he had given up painting to take a

government job in Papeete. Although he

managed to paint a few pictures during this

time, his production was limited until January 1899, when he quit his job. In August of

that year he wrote that he was again out of

canvas,25 and the following month he was

reduced by lack of fabric to working on previously unfinished paintings.26

 Perhaps these

paintings are the ones he meant when he

wrote to de Monfreid in January 1900, "Almost simultaneously with this letter you

will receive a few paintings which a sailor

wishes ta transport and which are made up of

bits and pieces."27 The fact that Gauguin appears to have given up painting from late 1899

through 1900 probably has more to do with

these shortages of canvas than with any conscious decision to abandon painting.

Bengt Danielsson, who has written extensively about Gauguin's time in the South

Seas, theorized that Gauguin turned to the

"old solution" of using locally available

sackcloth to paint Where Are We Goingl

when he was unable to get canvas from the

mail boats.28 Danielsson's phrasing suggests

that Gauguin had been using sackcloth

throughout his time in the South Seas. Although an aim of the present study was to

distinguish between locally purchased, socalled sackcloth supports and coarse fabric

sent from France, these fabrics were not visually dissimilar enough for this examiner to

distinguish them without fiber analysis of

larger numbers of individual painting fabrics.

In 1900 Gauguin stopped painting on coarse

canvas altogether because of an arrangement

proposed by the Parisian dealer Ambroise

Vollard. According to their March 1900 agreement, Vollard would send Gauguin a

monthly stipend and art supplies in return

for a steady shipment of paintings and watercolors. As part of the agreement, Vollard insisted that Gauguin's paintings be done on

conventional canvas, which he felt would endure the rigors of shipment to France better

than sackcloth, and he sent the artist the fabric he preferred. Toward the end of 1899 Vollard wrote to Gauguin: "I am willing to buy

everything you do. . . . The pictures must be

painted on good canvas, which I could send

you, and with good colors, which I could also

have sent to you."29

It is extraordinary that this arrangement

with Vollard continued, since the relationship between the two men was stormy from

the beginning. When Vollard wrote to

Gauguin that he was sending Ingres watercolor paper and watercolors, he went so far as

to stipulate that the sketches should cover

68 CHRISTENSE N
the entire paper and also that Gauguin

should make him some flower paintings.

Gauguin sardonically replied:

/ am finicky about paper; moreover your requirement that the entire paper must be covered

worries me so much that I should never dare to

begin work. Now an artist (if you consider me

such, and not a mere machine for turning out

orders) can only do what he feels, and to the devil

with dimensions. . . . You mention flower

paintings. I really don't know which ones you

mean; although I have done only a few; and that is

because (as you have doubtless perceived) I do not

copy nature—Today even less than formerly.30

Despite his acerbic tone, Gauguin did

make some flower paintings using the supplies he received in June 1900. This canvas

caused him to complain bitterly to de Monfreid: "I am baffled by the canvas Vollard

sent, accustomed as I am to an absorbent

ground. I am master of the technique and

much of the freshness of my color is due to

this. Now I must learn anew my whole

metier."31 Apparently Vollard had sent him

canvas that was unsuitably prepared.

Gauguin wrote Vollard in May 1901:

I have not yet received the canvas you promised

me. The kind you sent before is very difficult to

work on and absorbs a great deal of paint. What I

need is unsized canvas and a separate parcel of

glue for sizing. Or else canvas which you may

have simply sized but not prepared with oil; with

the glue you send I shall add a second coating

mixed with white.32

Gauguin used the unsuitable fabric as the

support for a group of still lifes (W6o2, W6o3,

W6o6, and W63i) painted in 1901. The use of

this particular twill fabric in Still Life with

Grapefruits (W63i) (fig. 5) fixes the date for

this painting, previously disputed,33 as not

before 1901, since it is painted on the same

twill fabric the artist used for all the still lifes

painted at this time and Gauguin did not use

this particular fabric in the years immediately preceding this series of paintings. He

obviously painted these still lifes in response

to Vollard's request on the fabric Vollard sent

him.

Vollard's choice of cotton-linen twill fabric

was somewhat unusual as an artist's canvas

at this time; it had only recently been marketed in France and was sold as sketching or

student canvas because it was less expensive

than pure linen. Its low cost was undoubtedly the reason Vollard selected it. Cotton

has also been identified in three other paintings predating Gauguin's association with

Vollard (Mme Alexandre Kohler, W3H, 1887-

1889; Fatata te miti, W463, 1892,- and Mahana

no atua, W5I3, 1894), and it is likely that

many more examples of cotton supports will

be noted as more of Gauguin's paintings undergo fiber analysis.

When Gauguin moved to the Marquesas in

September 1901, he became completely dependent on Vollard for fabric and paint since

nothing was available locally. De Monfreid

no longer sent Gauguin separate shipments

once Vollard agreed to act as his dealer, preferring instead to give Vollard supplies,

which the dealer was supposed to send out as

consolidated shipments. This arrangement

resulted in frequent shortages of materials,

since Vollard was often negligent about mailing the required canvas and paint. Consequently, Gauguin's letters from this period

have an increasingly desperate tone. He had

received the twill canvas in June 1900, but in

August 1901 he wrote to de Monfreid that he

was still waiting for canvas and glue from

Vollard.34 In November he wrote to his friend

that he could not paint because he had been

waiting more than a year for canvas and

white paint from Vollard.35 Another shipment of fabric finally arrived in March 1902,

but the roll of fabric was not very wide,

prompting Gauguin to write Vollard, "You

will soon have to arrange to send me more

canvas, because (figure it out for yourself)

one meter of this canvas makes only two pictures."36

 The dimensions of the fabric

Gauguin received from Vollard may account

for the smaller size of Gauguin's very late

paintings. Gauguin knew he had to send Vollard a certain number of paintings per month

to receive his stipend, and the larger the

paintings, the fewer could be produced with

the limited amounts of fabric Gauguin was

receiving. This second shipment of fabric

must have run out by August 1902, because

the following April, Gauguin wrote to Vollard: "It is now more than eight months

since you advised me of the shipment of canvases, paper, totin glue, and flower seeds. At

the present moment my health would permit

me to work hard and I have nothing to work

with."37 In fact, the shipment Gauguin referred to never left France, and a month later,

CHRISTENSE N 69
still waiting for supplies, depressed and ill,

Gauguin died.

That there are fewer paintings from these

last years has as much to do with Vollard's

slowness in sending supplies as with

Gauguin's ill health and involvement in

writing projects. As one would expect from

the correspondence, examination of the

paintings from the years 1901-1903 shows a

complete change in fabric support. Vollard

did not send the too-absorbent twill fabric a

second time, since Gauguin complained so

bitterly about it. The next shipment must

have contained plain-woven, moderateweight fabric (10-12 threads per cm), since all

of Gauguin's last paintings (1901-1903) seen

by this examiner are painted on this fabric

except Riders (W59/), which is painted on

herringbone canvas.

Gauguin painted primarily on very thinly

primed fabric because he liked the rough surface texture the fabric weave gave his paintings. Occasionally he painted on wood panel,

however, and it is noteworthy than in at least

two cases (Self-portrait with Halo, W323, and

Portrait of Meyer de Haan, W3i/), he managed to create a rougher surface by running a

coarse comb through the priming before it

had completely dried. This combed pattern

is clearly evident on the surface of both

paintings.

GROUNDS (PRIMING)

Because Gauguin was aware of the critical

importance of the priming layer both structurally and aesthetically, his correspondence

is full of references to various efforts to find

5. Paul Gauguin, Still Life with

Grapefruits, 1901, painting on

fabric

Private collection, Lausanne

/O CHRISTENSE N
one that would satisfy his requirements. The

structural stability of this layer was essential,

since his paintings had to be removed from

their stretchers for transport to Paris whether

from Brittany or Tahiti. The periodic shipment of paintings from Tahiti to France was

particularly dangerous, since during the twomonth journey by ship the unstretched paintings were extremely vulnerable to physical

mishandling and environmentally induced

damage.

Gauguin felt that he could achieve the

greatest color purity and stability by using an

absorbent ground.38 His use of these grounds

was not particularly innovative,- he was more

likely following a trend of the time. Many

nineteenth-century artists' manuals, including those written by Pierre Louis Bouvier,

Jean Francois Leonore Merimee, Jehan

Georges Vibert, and Frederic Auguste Antoine Goupil Fesquet recommended using absorbent grounds,39

 which were available

commercially at least as early as 1839, when

Merimee wrote that they were a recent innovation introduced by the Paris colorman

Monsieur Rev.40 At the time Gauguin was

painting, canvases prepared with absorbent

grounds were generally sold unstretched by

the meter or in standard sizes on stretchers.

They were available in a variety of shades.

Ernest Hareux, in his 1870 artists' handbook,

lists Rowney Company as producing "artists'

canvas prepared in a variety of ways, including pure white, tinted, single-primed, and absorbent grounds."41

Absorbent grounds had many advantages;

those noted by Bouvier in his 1844 edition

include speed of drying, lack of discoloration,

good adhesion, and absorption of excess oil in

the paint layer to enhance purity and stability of the colors painted on them.42

 Absorbent grounds are evident on many impressionist paintings, where they appear as an

extremely thin layer that is almost invisible.

Gauguin's friend and student Paul Serusier

described how to make an absorbent ground

in his ABC de la peinture: "Take a well-dried

wood panel, or a wall without moisture, or a

canvas prepared with plaster thinned with

Spanish white. The less glue you add, the

more absorbent the canvas."43 The result

was a ground that enhanced the purity of the

colors with which it was overlaid. Gauguin

also favored this type of ground because he

could achieve his desired color effects with a

relatively small amount of pigment, a real

advantage since he lacked the money to use

his paint extravagantly.44 As he wrote to de

Monfreid in 1899, "For the last twelve years,

as you know, I've been painting on absorbent

canvas and I have had to my own taste the

desired color effects and color stability."45

It took Gauguin some years to work out his

system of ground preparation. When he first

began to paint, he used the commercially

prepared canvases laid with absorbent

grounds that were popular with most nineteenth-century artists. Although he wrote as

early as 1879 in a letter to Camille Pissarro

that he was preparing his canvases himself,46

visual examination of the paintings from the

i88os suggests that he did not consistently

prepare his own canvases until 1887, which

would confirm his statement in 1899 that he

had been preparing his own canvases for

twelve years.47 While Gauguin primed a

number of his paintings himself from the

early and mid-i88os, he painted more than

half of those examined from the years 1880 to

1886 on commercially primed fabric.48

By the time Gauguin moved to the South

Seas, he was painting almost exclusively on

white priming, typically thin and uneven,

that he applied himself. He worked rather

carelessly and vigorously with a small trowel

or palette knife, and the long, arching

scratches these tools made in the wet priming are often visible in a raking light. The

priming does not usually extend uniformly to

the edges of the picture and, for this reason,

the edges of many of his paintings have been

overpainted to give them a more "finished"

appearance. It was important to Gauguin

that the priming not conceal the rough texture of the support, because he relied on the

support for surface variations that other artists created by painting in impasto. As he

wrote to Emile Bernard during his stay in

Aries with van Gogh, "As to pigment, he

[van Gogh] appreciates thick paint as Monticelli used it, while I detest any form of tampering by brushwork."49

Gauguin's priming was white with very

few exceptions,50 but its composition varied

over the years depending on what materials

were available to the artist in the often remote areas where he painted. Henri Delavallee, a painter and printmaker who knew

CHRISTENSE N Jl
Gauguin in Brittany in 1886, wrote that during the late i88os Gauguin's priming layer

consisted of a mixture of Moudon white (a

white chalk or clay powder used both as a

pigment and as an abrasive for cleaning tiles

and flagstones, also sometimes called Spanish white, and animal skin glue [colle de

peau]).51 Serusier also used this mixture, as

was noted in a contemporary review.52 As

Delavallee later commented, it is not surprising that due to the small amount of glue

mixed into this absorbent ground, a number

of the paintings done at this time turned out

to be somewhat friable.53

It is possible that, as a remedy for this

friability, Gauguin may have for a time added

casein to his priming, as was suggested in

several artists' manuals of the time. Lieutenant Jenot, who was present at many of

Gauguin's canvas preparations during his

first Tahitian trip,54 wrote that the artist

made his priming from a mixture of casein,

glue, and silver white (blanc df argent), a

chalk pigment with small admixtures of

lead, alum, or zinc.55 Gauguin wrote to de

Monfreid asking him to send casein during

his 1894 trip to Brittany,56 but since Gauguin

also used casein for restoring his own paintings, it is not known whether he used the

casein for restoration, preparation of his canvas, or both.

A casein-containing ground57 would have

been less susceptible to water damage, a useful quality in view of Gauguin's practice of

washing his paintings to create a matte surface.58

 It would have also made the ground

less absorbent, a disadvantage in Gauguin's

view. Casein was not identified in any of

three paintings specifically analyzed for its

presence in the collection of the National

Gallery of Art.59 However, no paintings from

Gauguin's first Tahitian sojourn have undergone casein-ground analysis, and it may well

be present in paintings of this period. During

his second Tahitian sojourn, Gauguin described his preferred priming when he asked

de Monfreid to send him "canvas prepared

with animal skin glue with a very small

amount of Spanish white, not tene de pipe,

added."60

The problems of Gauguin's grounds were a

recurrent theme in his correspondence. As

early as January 1889 he wrote van Gogh,

"The whole Vintage [at Aries] has flaked because of the white which has separated [from

the canvas]."61 This report does not speak

well for the stability of Gauguin's grounds,

since the picture had been painted only three

months earlier.

Gauguin was not alone in his dissatisfaction with his priming layer. During the 18905,

de Monfreid was also critical of the structural

stability of Gauguin's grounds. He was the

person to know, since it was his job to make

arrangements for restoration of damaged

paintings arriving by ship from Tahiti before

they could be exhibited and sold in Paris.

In a reply to one of his friend's criticisms,

Gauguin wrote in 1897:

You seriously reproach me with not taking care

with la matiere. Oh yes I do take care as far as the

painting goes, but the ground leaves something to

be desired. It's true. What do you expect, in my

state at the time, nervous and impatient. Then

the canvases you 're talking about were rolled up

by an ignorant naval officer (I was in the hospital),

and then left that way for two months, without

air, in extreme heat, at enormous risk.62

Judging from a letter written two years

later, in 1899, these problems had not been

solved. Gauguin attributed the instability in

his paintings at the time to the substitution

of inferior lead white for the Spanish white

(clay white) he preferred to use. He wrote to

de Monfreid:

I have thought a lot about your observations

concerning the ground [preparation] 0/1227

paintings. It comes from the poor quality of lead

white which is sold here coming from America,

prepared with tallow. Once it dries, it cracks, not

being well enough bound and then the painting

cracks. . . . This can be remedied by adding linseed

oil, but then to my despair, I'll be working on the

painting in an oily paste.63

In fact, Gauguin's preference for absorbent

grounds is probably a major factor in the often badly preserved state of his paintings.

The more absorbent the ground, the less well

bound the layer is and the more likely it is to

flake away from the fabric support. It is for

precisely this reason that artists abandoned

these brittle chalk-glue grounds for oil-bound

grounds when flexible canvas began to replace the more rigid wood panel as a painting

support in the first part of the sixteenth century. Gauguin exacerbated the problem by

rolling his paintings for transport, so that his

grounds were even more likely to separate

72 CHRISTENSE N
from their supporting canvas. Fortunately,

Gauguin applied his ground thinly during his

time in the South Seas, so that his paintings

were less prone to flaking than a thicker,

more traditional priming layer would be.

It was only when he ran out of Spanish

white, the white clay pigment presumably

available only through friends who sent it to

him from France, that Gauguin substituted

flake (lead) white or zinc white as the white

pigment in his priming. Technical analysis of

eight paintings from the 18905 shows that

while four are painted on a chalk-glue ground

(Parau na te varua ino, W458 [see fig. 8]); Fatata te miti, W463; Te pape nave nave, Ws68;

and the lower ground of Nevermore, W558),

four others (Te rerioa, WS57 [see fig. 13];

Where Are We Going!, W$6i [see fig. i]; Portraits of Women, W6io;

 and The Invocation,

W635) are painted on lead or lead-zinc white

grounds bound with glue.64

Shortages of supplies during his time in

the South Seas occasionally led Gauguin to

experiment with unorthodox materials.

According to Jenot, during Gauguin's first

Tahitian trip the artist substituted ripe

breadfruit for his usual ground, and he used it

on small trial paintings and several larger

canvases. No paintings with this ground

were seen by this examiner, but it is unlikely

that they would have survived the high humidity in which they were shipped and almost certain insect attack on account of their

edible grounds. Gauguin consoled himself

with the thought that this measure was only

temporary until he could again restock from

the mail boats bringing supplies from France

and San Francisco.65

A small number of works examined were

found to have two grounds,, with the upper

ground covering another painting that lay beneath. In these cases the lower ground varies,

but the upper ground is invariably composed

of lead white, whose greater covering power

was required to block out a lower design. The

practice of painting over a previous image is

not unusual in Gauguin's oeuvre and was no

doubt the result of poverty. At least six examples are known,66

 and it is assumed that

many more would be revealed if more of his

paintings were x-rayed.

PAINTING TECHNIQUE

Changes in Gauguin's painting technique are

closely bound to his stylistic development.

From the impressionist technique of painting

en plein air (out of doors) or from life in small

discrete brushstrokes typical of his early

works, Gauguin developed a "simpler" style

characterized by broad flat areas of color, less

impasto, and increasing abstraction. This

stylistic evolution coincided with his shift to

generally coarser fabric supports, leaner paint

layers, and brighter colors.

The change was also influenced to some

degree by the climate in which Gauguin

found himself painting once he arrived in Tahiti. Since he worked by applying a layer of

smooth paint over an already dry, more thinly painted underlayer, it was essential to

work out a system of paint application that

would allow each layer to dry as quickly as

possible despite the humid climate, so that

the succeeding layer could be applied. Thinner, leaner paint applied on an absorbent

ground would dry more quickly than heavily

impastoed medium-rich paint.

Gauguin argued that using less impasto allowed him to conserve his pigments, which

were at various times either too expensive for

him to buy or not available locally. In 1899 he

wrote to de Monfreid:

You say why don't you paint a richer more

painterly surface! I don't say no, and I would like

to sometimes, but this is less and less possible for

me, having to be careful about the amount of color

I use; also, I have almost none left in spite of the

economy I make with it, and I don't want to ask

you for more before knowing when my material

existence will be assured. If you can find me

someone who will guarantee me 2,400 francs per

year for five years, I'll paint in impasto, which

requires three times as much time.67

Gauguin's argument is hardly convincing,

however, considering that his paintings were

not more thickly painted when he had ample

paint supplies than when he had practically

used up his supplies. His letter to de Monfreid also contradicts his statement, made

earlier, in Aries, that he preferred to avoid

thick brushwork for aesthetic reasons.68 It is

more likely that his preference for thinner,

smooth paint rather than impasto was based

on aesthetic preferences together with the

demands of the climate and that his reply to

CHRISTENSEN

73
de Monfreid's criticism was an excuse to

avoid having to paint more thickly for the

market.

Gauguin did not paint exclusively from

models or en plein air after the early i88os.

While a student of Pissarro, Gauguin occasionally worked in the studio rather than

outside, sometimes using small oil sketches

as the basis for larger paintings done indoors.

Delavallee recalled that in 1886 Gauguin had

painted a studio-based landscape, which he

said he would finish outdoors.69

Later, even paintings that appear to have

been done outside, such as the 1888 Hilly

Landscape with Two Figures (W256) (fig. 6),

contain rather large figures that were later

painted in on top of the landscape. These figures were selected from earlier drawings that

Gauguin called documents, which he used as

the starting point for paintings, ceramics,

and prints. It is this practice of adding figures

later that explains the curious discrepancy in

scale between the two figures in this painting.70

 By the late i88os, Gauguin seems to

have been doing little painting from life, relying increasingly on his documents and his

memory. We know that when he first arrived

in Aries, he began by painting a large composition of black women, which must have

been based on sketches he made in Martinique two years earlier.71

 Not long after

Gauguin began work on the painting of the

women, van Gogh described in a letter to his

brother Theo how Gauguin was painting another picture completely from memory.72

Gauguin's practice of using drawings made

some time earlier as the basis for paintings

continued after he arrived in Tahiti in 1891,

when he wrote de Monfreid, "I am satisfied

to inspect what is within me rather than nature, to learn to draw a little, drawing is everything, and then I am accumulating documents for painting in Paris."73

This use of documents makes it difficult to

discuss Gauguin purely in terms of his paintings, because these documents served

6. Paul Gauguin, Hilly

Landscape with Two Figures

(or, Landscape of Brittany),

1888, painting on fabric

National Museum of Western Art,

Matsukata Collection, Tokyo

74 CHRISTENSE N
equally as a source for the artist's work as a

painter, ceramic sculptor, woodcarver, and

printmaker. These drawings, which he described as "my letters, my secrets,"74

 would

later be combined with elements from the

large store of photographs of both Eastern and

Western art that he kept with him, so that

the finished work of art might contain elements from Borobudur carving, Polynesian

Tikis, paintings by Pierre-Cecile Puvis de

Chavannes, or prints by Albrecht Diirer.75

These document figures might appear in a

variety of media over a two- or three-year period. The documents were stored in portfolios, photographed, and pasted into notebooks, becoming part of sketchbooks that

Gauguin kept for later reference.76

Gauguin wrote that before making these

documents, he preferred upon arrival in a

new place to have a period of several weeks

in which to observe life and absorb the local

ambience. Somewhat later he would make

drawings, and only much later would he begin to paint. He described this procedure

upon his arrival in both Aries and in Tahiti.77

During his time in the South Seas he was also

often forced by lack of painting supplies to

fall back on making additional documents for

later use.

Although Gauguin stressed in his writings

that this "incubation period" was necessary

before drawing and painting could begin, evidence from his contemporaries suggests that

he did not always follow the procedures he

espoused. We know from the letters of van

Gogh, for example, that Gauguin was painting a picture of washerwomen and a still life

within a week of arriving in Aries, although

Gauguin had written Theo van Gogh when

he first arrived that he would not paint for at

least a month.78

Why did Gauguin stress this observation

period in his writings when he did not always

use it? The practice was important to him

because it was part of his theory that the image was born in the artist's unconscious

some time before the act of putting it down

on canvas. When mature, the image would

burst forth more or less fully grown from the

artist, who gave it form in an act of release

akin to a birth.

Gauguin's underlying belief here was that

the act of creation was spontaneous and

primitive, full of raw emotional power and

mystery. This concept of art emerging without the restraint of conscious thought from

an idea preformed in the mind of the artist

was hardly original; it is similar to certain

aspects of neoplatonic thought with which

Gauguin was familiar through Paul Serusier,

who had often discussed neoplatonism with

students at the Academic Julien before he

met Gauguin.79

These documents, which made possible

the "spontaneous" birth of Gauguin's paintings, took several forms. Quick pencil

sketches were the first part of Gauguin's creative process; he made individual figure

studies when he wanted to develop a particular pose more fully. During the early part of

his career his sketches even contained careful notes on specific pigments to be used in

different design elements within the drawings (fig. 7).80

The sketches were transferred either by

squaring up or, more rarely, in the case of

larger designs, by pounced cartoons, as in the

main figures for the paintings Parau na te

varua ino (W458) (fig. 8) and Te nave nave

Fenua (W455). In the cartoon for Parau na te

varua ino (fig. 9), the transcription is exact,

apart from a lowering of the eyes made visible through infrared vidicon examination

(fig. 10), a technique allowing the layer of

drawing beneath the paint layer to appear in

certain cases on a video monitor when the

painting is examined with a camera that has

an infrared lens.

After transferring his sketches, Gauguin

next roughed in the outlines of the design in

thin dark blue underpaint, probably a 1'essence (explained below). His colors were

painted over these lines in some areas, but in

many parts of the painting these blue outlines were left visible. Although it has been

suggested that Gauguin may have sketched

in his underdrawing directly on the unprimed canvas,81

 examination of ten paintings at the National Gallery of Art indicated

the brushed underdrawing lay on top of the

priming.82

The underpaint was often applied in thin

washes, with thicker application only in the

upper layers. In the 18908, Gauguin began to

scrape thin areas of paint, and palette knife

work became more common. He continued

to avoid painting in high impasto, however,

because of the tropical climate. He wrote de

CHRISTENSE N 75
7. Paul Gauguin, "L'eglise de

Vaugirard, seen from rue

Carcel," sketch for LJne Nuit

a Vaugiiard

Statens Konstmuseer, National

Swedish Art Museums, Stockholm

8. Paul Gauguin, Parau na le

varua ino (Words of the devil),

1892, painting on fabric

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Gift of the W. Averell Harriman

Foundation in memory of Marie N.

Harriman

76 CHRISTENSE N
CHRISTENSE N 77
Monfreid: "Work in high impasto is very dangerous if you go fast; it is especially important in a hot climate to apply the color prudently and daily, to a point where it dries,

otherwise you make mud. And then [if I

painted in impasto] I would produce only

one-third of my present work."83 In fact, the

humid climate also had a disastrous effect on

Gauguin's colors in the tube, which often deteriorated while he was waiting for canvas to

arrive by ship.84

A discussion of changes in Gauguin's

painting technique must include the influence of his work in other media. The issue is

particularly relevant in Gauguin's case, because he not only worked as a printmaker,

woodcarver, and ceramic sculptor but used

the same documents as the source for his

work in all media. Because of this practice,

his work in different media is unusually interrelated not only thematically and stylistically but technically as well. His paintings

were not necessarily the end of the creative

process but an element of a continuum that

might later evolve into a pastel, monotype,

or print. Merete Bodelsen has pointed out

how this process typically developed:

Gauguin began with a drawing, from which

he created a painting; next he would use the

same motif for a pastel and then translate it

into a ceramic sculpture. The sculpture

9. Paul Gauguin, cartoon for

Paiau na te varua ino (Words of

the devil), 1892, charcoal and

pastel selectively stumped and

worked with brush and water

(or solvent), over preliminary

drawing in black chalk;

punctured for transfer; on

wove paper

Offentliche Kunstsammlung Basel,

Kupferstichkabinett

10. Vidicon, detail of fig. 8.

/S CHRISTENSE N
ii. Paul Gauguin, L'Univers est

ciee, 1893-1894, woodcut

National Gallery of Art, Washington

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

would become part of the background in a

portrait or part of a still life and would finally

appear in zincographs or woodcuts. The

drawing was often reworked for separate exhibition and occasionally even wetted so a

counterproof could be made from it.85

With this kind of working back and forth

among different media, borrowing of techniques from one medium for use in another

became inevitable. In a print in the National

Gallery of Art (L'Univers est cree) (fig. n),

Gauguin pressed twill canvas into the surface

of the still wet printed paper to create a

rough, fabriclike texture. In paintings,

Gauguin sometimes used the butt end of the

brush to incise the wet paint, as he did in

printmaking or in delineating figures on ceramics. Gauguin's work in ceramics, in

which the figures were incised and greatly

simplified in terms of color, influenced his

use of bold outlines and flat color areas in his

paintings beginning in 1887, as Bodelsen has

pointed out.86

An especially interesting parallel occurs in

Gauguin's attempts to create a somewhat

ambiguous, mysterious, and "primitive"

outline in both prints and paintings. In his

prints, he achieved this effect by intentionally printing his woodblock images

slightly off register. He achieved much the

same effect in his paintings by deliberately

leaving visible underdrawn lines and altered

contours only partially painted out in the upper paint layers.

Despite Gauguin's claim that he was a

rapid and spontaneous painter, it appears that

CHRISTENSE N 79
his actual working process was rather labored. For his major paintings, he worked out

the composition carefully before painting began. Artist's changes are more often seen in

the smaller paintings, because in these he

probably felt freer to experiment with figure

placement and color changes. For example,

the foreground in Te pape nave nave (W568)

(fig. 12) was originally painted dark blue, as in

the right half of Where Are We Goingl (Ws6i)

(see fig. i), on which it was based. Gauguin

changed the foreground color to red, however, perhaps to make it seem less derivative.

Gauguin wrote at the end of his first Tahitian sojourn that he had completed sixty-six

paintings in about eighteen months.87 Because he needed to paint thinly, allowing the

lower layers to dry before applying upper

layers, he must have worked on several

paintings simultaneously to have painted at

this rate.

We know exactly how long it took

Gauguin to complete at least one painting.

Te rerioa (W557) (fig. 13) was painted during

the ten-day delay of a mail boat's scheduled

departure. Gauguin wrote to de Monfreid

that he had profited by the delay by painting

this additional picture, which was added to

the shipment at the last minute.88

MEDIUM

Gauguin's matte, smooth paint surface has

led to speculation about his medium. Since

he wrote nothing specific about it, we must

draw our conclusions from a few ambiguous

passages in his correspondence, the recollections of people who knew him, and technical

analysis of the paintings.

Apart from the artist's requests for specific

oil paints, a single reference to Gauguin's

medium exists in the published literature:

Delavallee recalled that in 1886 Gauguin

was painting a 1'essence.89 This practice, in

which the oil is drained from the paint and

then remixed with turpentine, was common

12. Paul Gauguin, Te pape nave

nave (Delectable waters), 1898,

painting on fabric

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Paul

Mellon

80 CHRISTENSEN
13. Paul Gauguin, Te rerioa,

1897, painting on fabric

Courtauld Institute Galleries,

Courtauld Collection, London

among artists of the period; Edgar Degas and

Henri Toulouse-Lautrec were its best-known

practitioners. With the oil drained out of his

paints, there was less chance of uneven drying, about which Gauguin complained in

1885.90 It also would have ensured the matte

surface we must assume Gauguin preferred

based on his painting technique.

Beyond draining his oil paint and mixing it

with turpentine, it has been suggested that

Gauguin may have mixed wax into his

paint.91 The reasons for this supposition are:

(i) Gauguin's paintings are often very sensitive to solvents,- (2) according to Serusier, van

Gogh added wax to his paint,92 and Gauguin

could have learned the practice from him

during their time together in Aries; (3) wax

would have helped stretch Gauguin's paint

supplies and facilitated palette knife application,-93

 and (4) Gauguin wrote in 1899 to de

Monfreid, "I believe that time, with wax,

will greatly improve my paintings" (Je crois

du reste que le temps, avec le cire donnera

grandes ameliorations a mes toiles).94 This

passage does not make clear whether the wax

was mixed into the paint layer or applied on

top of it as a surface coating. In two other

letters, however, Gauguin referred to the

merits of wax as a protective surface coating

and even specifically instructed that it be applied as a surface coating once the paintings

had arrived in France.95 Given these references and because no wax was found in the

solvent-sensitive paintings that have undergone medium analysis at the National Gallery of Art,96

 it is prudent to assume that

while wax may have been added to some of

his paintings, it was not added to most of

them.

The sensitivity of some of Gauguin's

paintings to solvents is confusing since it is

not typical of a specific period or even uniform within a single painting. The most

likely explanation for this sensitivity is the

leanness of the paint used and the presence of

a wax coating on some of the paintings. If, as

Gauguin instructed, the paintings had been

coated with wax, the wax would surely have

migrated into the leaner pigment layers on

their absorbent ground, becoming, in the proCHRISTENSE N 8l
cess, a sort of de facto medium for this layer.

Paintings that are most soluble are those that

most likely were least well bound in oil. Applying a wax coating on top of them would

make them especially sensitive to the organic solvents used to remove varnish from

pictures.

Gauguin's practices of draining his paints,

using an absorbent ground, painting thinly,

and adding wax as a surface coating would

have produced a matte paint surface. We

know Gauguin worried about the possibility

of his paintings becoming glossier with time

because he expressed dismay that a painting

by van Gogh he had known earlier had taken

on a medium-rich appearance some years

later. 97

To minimize surface gloss, Gauguin

washed his paintings after they had dried.

Van Gogh described in a letter to Theo the

"degreasing" procedure Gauguin taught him

in Aries.98 The "washing" of the paint probably created a slight blanching that would

have increased the matteness of the surface.

Gauguin continued the practice in Tahiti, as

a letter to de Monfreid indicates. In discussing a shipment of paintings his friend was to

receive, Gauguin wrote: "I am worried about

the effect of the voyage on the paintings and

perhaps repairs will need to be made. Wash

them with care and many precautions to

avoid picking up the paint and ground layer,

and wax them."99

Aside from enhancing Where Are We

Going* (W56i) (see fig. i) with pastel for a

photograph, there are no published references indicating Gauguin mixed other materials with his oil paints. The pastel was not

meant to be permanent, and, after the photograph was taken, Gauguin partially washed it

off; he instructed de Monfreid to wash it

upon arrival in France to remove any remaining pastel.100

Gauguin preferred to use tube oil paints

when they were available. At de Monfreid's

suggestion, he tried making a paint medium

14. Paul Gauguin, Manau

tupapau (The specter watches

over her) (or, Spirit of the Dead

Watching), 1892, painting on

fabric

Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo,

A. Conger Goodyear Collection

82 CHRISTENSE N
from castor oil seeds, which were plentiful in

Tahiti, but he was not satisfied with the result, complaining that it was too oily.101

PIGMENTS

Color was especially important to Gauguin

because he believed color could project emotions. He described his painting Manau tupapau (W457) (fig. 14) to de Monfreid: "Its beginnings as follows (for you only): Overall

harmony; somber sad blue violet and chrome

i—the sheets [on the bed] are chrome 2 because this color suggests the night without

explicitly describing it and also serves as a

transition between the yellow-orange and

the green which completes the musical accord."102

 These references to the symbolic

and emotional qualities of color are numerous in Gauguin's writings. Although he was

critical of the dogmatic color theories of the

neoimpressionists, he experimented with

them early in his career and was purported

to have possessed obscure tracts on color

harmonies.103

Gauguin's palette became noticeably

brighter after his stay in Aries, but it was not

until he began to paint in the aesthetic isolation in the South Seas that he felt free enough

to experiment with increasingly pure colors.

Yet his palette seemed dull to him. He elaborated when discussing the landscape Pastorales Tahitiennes (W47o): "It's all made of

pure emerald green (vert Veronese] and vermilion ditto; but it seems to me to be an old

Dutch painting or an old tapestry. Why? I

think it is because I haven't seen one of my

old paintings or a Beaux Arts picture to take

as a point of reference, of comparison."104

With this kind of emphasis on pure color;

Gauguin needed a large and varied number of

bright pigments. His palette included:

Blues—ultramarine, cobalt, Prussian blue,

and a powdered pigment known as Charron

blue, composed of cobalt blue and barium

sulfate, which he had specially ground for

him.

Greens—emerald green (vert Veronese), viridian (emeraude), green earth, and "bottle

green" (mentioned in his correspondence but

its specific components are not known).

Yellows—cadmium yellow number 2, cadmium citron, yellow ochre, chrome yellow

number i and number 2.

Whites—lead (flake) white (ceruse), silver

white (blanc d'argent, or chalk white with

small admixtures of zinc and lead white),

Spanish white (blanc d'Espagne, or chalk

white).

Purples—cobalt violet (violet fonce).

Reds—vermilion, red/crimson lake (lac garance), carmine, red minium.

Browns—burnt ochre (ochre ru).

Gold powders, both red and yellow.

For a list of Gauguin's requests for individual

pigments, see appendix 2. Appendix 3 shows

results of pigment analysis on the paintings

in the National Gallery of Art and several

other collections on which pigment analysis

was undertaken.

Considering Gauguin's bright palette, it is

not surprising that his letters contain no requests for dark earth pigments, such as the

umbers and siennas, or for black, and in fact

these pigments were not found to be present

during pigment analysis.105 White figures

prominently in all his written requests for

pigments (he asked for two to three times as

much white as other colors), since he used it

so often in making tints. Pigment analysis

suggests that Gauguin used lead and chalk

whites more often than zinc white, perhaps

because slow-drying zinc white would be a

disadvantage in a humid tropical climate.

Despite his statements about pure color,

Gauguin seldom used pigment straight from

the tube, apart from ultramarine and Prussian blue, which became for him a substitute

for black. The rich vibrancy of these dark

blues, with their subtle and mysterious,

glowing quality, would have appealed to

Gauguin far more than the flatness of black

paint.

Gauguin created his vibrant flesh tones by

mixing more ochre with less white pigment

than is traditionally used. He enhanced his

glowing palette by juxtaposing the dark

ochre-colored skin of his main figures with

very light, bright colors in the middleground

and background. These bright colors are often reflected in the highlights of the figures'

skin, recalling an effect of reflected tropical

light. Gauguin also increased the vibrancy of

his palette by juxtaposing complementary

CHRISTENSE N 83
15. Pau

l Gauguin, Vahine no te

Vi (Woman of the mango),

1892, painting on fabric

Baltimore Museum of Art, Cone

Collection formed by Dr. Claribel

Cone and Miss Etta Cone of Baltimore,

Maryland

84 CHRISTENSEN
16. Paul Gauguin, Portrait of

Volte (Jeanne) Goupil, 1896,

painting on fabric

Ordrupgaard Collection, Copenhagen

colors, as he did in Vahine no te Vi (W449)

(fig. 15) by placing the purple dress against a

yellow background and by laying the upper

layer of the purple dress over a pink

underpaint.106

Although Gauguin generally used pigments that were lightfast, effects of color fading are occasionally evident in his paintings.

An example is the background of Portrait of

Voile (Jeanne) Goupil (W535) (fig. 16). Color

fading can be seen along the edges, where the

painting was once protected by the lip of the

frame. There the pink color is more intense,

suggesting it has faded in the greater part of

the background where the paint was exposed

to light. The pigment used here was probably

carmine, which is known to be light fugitive.

Despite Gauguin's requests for both yellow and red-gold powders in his letters, no

evidence of these pigments was noted during

CHRISTENSE N 85
visual examination or elemental pigment

analysis of his paintings. Since a number of

his contemporaries, including Edgar Degas,

used metallic powders in their paintings,107

it is possible that these powders might be

present in paintings not examined for this

study. Gauguin certainly used the "gold powder" for both wood carvings and gouache

paintings, where it is clearly apparent during

even casual visual examination.

Gauguin's choice of pigments did not

change significantly during his career; the

pigments in his Brittany and South Seas

paintings appear to be the same. His paintings became brighter mainly because he

mixed less white and complementary colors

into his tones after he began painting in the

South Seas.

RETOUCHING

After finishing a painting, Gauguin occasionally washed the paint surface, a standard

practice among French painters of his

time,108 and then retouched over it. In a letter to Theo, Vincent van Gogh described this

practice, as Gauguin had explained it to

him.109 Occasionally retouching was needed

when a client preferred a change in a design

element. In the case of Breton Girls Dancing,

Pont-Aven (W25i) (fig. 17), the arm of the left

figure was altered by Gauguin after it appeared unacceptably prominent when the

painting was framed. The change is only

barely visible during x-radiographic and infrared examination, although it is well documented in the literature110

 and is faintly evident during normal viewing.

Because Gauguin was known to retouch, a

conservator should proceed cautiously when

presented with a painting that may seem at

first to have been repainted by a restorer. Occasionally the retouches may have been put

there by the artist himself, especially for

paintings done between 1897 to 1900 when

Gauguin was short of canvas and was therefore reduced to reworking old unfinished

paintings. Other examples of additions to the

original paint layer were necessitated by the

distance between where Gauguin painted

and where he exhibited. He instructed de

Monfreid on at least one occasion to inscribe

titles in Tahitian on paintings already

sent.111

SUPPLIES

Because of his remote location and limited

access to artists' supplies, Gauguin relied on

friends and dealers as a source of painting

materials, so that periodic requests for

paints, brushes, canvas, and other supplies

appear in his letters.

Paints

Despite his poverty and the lack of paint in

some areas where he lived throughout his career, Gauguin never used paint he made himself, though he did once experiment with castor oil-bound pigment. Early in his career he

bought his pigments from the Paris colorman

Pere Tanguy; after his move to the South

Seas, he preferred the tube colors prepared by

the Le Franc company.

When Gauguin stayed in Brittany for long

periods, Schuffenecker and Bernard often

sent him supplies from Paris.112 It is harder

to determine what Gauguin acquired locally

after he moved to the South Seas. In terms of

pigments, we know he bought lead white

paint in Tahiti because he complained about

it in his letters,113 but it appears that most

other pigments were sent to him by de Monfreid and Vollard or were brought with him in

large quantities when he first arrived in a

new location.114 The glue that he used for

making his absorbent grounds was not available locally, because he noted in 1899 that it

was "impossible to find animal skin glue

here."115

There are only three orders for pigments in

the published correspondence (see app. 2).

These requests were made in letters dated

1897, 1900, and 1902.116 De Monfreid must

have sent Gauguin pigments during his first

Tahitian trip, as the artist thanked him for

them in a letter of 1893.117 We also know

from a letter Gauguin wrote to Emmanuel

Bibesco, a prospective patron, that de Monfreid had in Paris a list of all the supplies

Gauguin needed for painting,118 so it is possible that de Monfreid periodically shipped

Gauguin supplies without specific requests.

It is more likely, however, that other requests

by Gauguin for paint materials have simply

been lost or have not yet been published.

Several of Gauguin's letters suggest that

paint was almost certainly available in Ta86 CHRISTENSE N
i/. Paul Gauguin, Breton Girls

Dancing, Pont-Aven, 1888,

painting on fabric

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Paul

Mellon

hiti,119 which by this time was fairly heavily

settled with Europeans. Nevertheless,

Gauguin probably preferred to have his colors

sent from France whenever possible, so he

did not have to pay for them himself and

could very likely get a wider selection of

colors.

Apparently Gauguin preferred Le Franc pigments by the time he moved to the South

Seas, as he requested them five times in his

letters to Vollard and de Monfreid.120 In fact

he was irritated that Vollard did not send him

these particular paints in his 1902 shipment:

Dear M. Vollard—I shall just take a few minutes

to write to you again. I have opened your box.

Canvas and glue—perfect. Japanese paper—

perfect. But the colors!!! It is easy to see that you

are not a painter. What do you expect me to do

with six tubes of white and of terre verte, which I

seldom use* I have only one small tube of carmine

left. So you must send me the following [see app.

2], ... I know this means a large outlay, but I can't

help it. Now that I am in the mood for work I shall

simply devour paints. So buy Le Franc's

decorator's colors, they cost only one-third as

much, especially as you get a dealer's discount,

and they are much better.121

Tools

In 1897, Gauguin ordered brushes from de

Monfreid, requesting "50 assorted brushes,

and a dozen brushes en silo."122 In January

1900, he requested "a dozen and a half sable

brushes for drawing, and twenty brushes of

varying sizes."123 He seems to have preferred

sable brushes throughout his career. Delavallee remembered him saying in 1886, "I

paint . . . only with sables. In this way, the

color keeps its intensity. When you use ordinary brushes, two neighboring colors mix.

With sables you obtain colors in juxtaposition."124

Gauguin requested palette knives in August 1901,125

 and palette knife work is particularly prominent in the work of his second

CHRISTENSE N 87
Tahitian sojourn. He had used a palette knife

as early as his stay in Aries126 and probably

brought a supply of them with him from

France, since he used them both for laying on

his grounds and for paint application.

Stretchers

Throughout his career, Gauguin stretched

his canvases on keyed wooden stretchers of

standard sizes, later removing the paintings

and rolling them up for transport after they

had dried. Writing to Theo van Gogh from

Aries in 1888, Gauguin described how to restretch his paintings for exhibition: "I've just

sent a roll of canvases. . . . This sackcloth

may be difficult to stretch. The way to do it

is to stretch them as much as possible and

dampen them everywhere, and not key out

the stretcher until later when the paintings

are dry and limp from expansion."127 In Tahiti four years later, Gauguin wrote to de

Monfreid in a similar vein:

You will receive a package of paintings. . . . Ask if

the exhibition will pay the cost of shipping; if so,

then send them mounted on keyed stretchers. If

not, a roll. . . . In order to stretch them well,

dampen the fabric slightly on the reverse, and

then stretch. Put the nails in the same holes,

otherwise there will be pulls in the canvas.

128

It is difficult to describe Gauguin's typical

stretcher, since few have been documented.

Two possibly original stretchers were noted

on The Invocation (W635) and on Haystacks

(Courtauld Institute, London).129 In both

cases, the stretchers were rather thin fivemember pine specimens, with butt joins.

FRAMES

Most of Gauguin's paintings are not framed

today as the artist originally intended. From

the early i88os, Gauguin exhibited his paintings in simple white or stained wood frames.

A review of the 1882 impressionist exhibition

noted, "M. Paul Gauguin exhibits .. . in

white frames."130 In a letter to Camille Pissarro written from Rouen in 1884, Gauguin

blamed the rejection of a painting from an

exhibition there on his use of white

frames.131 After Gauguin joined van Gogh in

Aries, Vincent described in a letter to Theo

how he and Gauguin made frames from

"simple wooden strips nailed to the stretcher

and painted. .. . Do you know that it is

Gauguin who invented the white frame?"132

Theo van Gogh, who arranged a one-person

show for Gauguin in November 1888, noted

in a letter to the artist that he had displayed

"all of the paintings of size 30 ... in frames

either white or of natural wood."133

White-framed paintings appear in the background of many still lifes and portraits

Gauguin painted between 1885 and 1893, although the paintings so framed are not by

Gauguin himself but by other painters whose

works he collected. Contemporary accounts

indicate, however, that he used white frames

for his own paintings in the 1893 Durand-Ruel

exhibition. When these paintings did not

sell, he repainted the frames yellow.134 One

of these yellow frames, on Manau tupapau

(W457) (see fig. 14), is visible in the background of Gauguin's 1893-1894 Self-portrait

with Hat (Wso6) (fig. 18). These yellow

frames were probably also used for his 1894

exhibitions.

After his return to Tahiti in 1895, Gauguin

continued to use simple wood frames, both

stained and painted. Although it has been

suggested that Gauguin abandoned white

frames after 1893,135 he continued to prefer

them for certain pictures such as Where Are

We Going! (see fig. i). Gauguin sent de Monfreid the following instructions for framing

this painting once it arrived in Paris: "The

big picture needs a frame, but as cheap as

possible. A simple band of wood o.io [cm]

thick painted with whitewash—an apparent

mural."136 Because he was leaving Paris for a

time, de Monfreid left this painting and

others from the shipment with Georges

Chaudet, who wrote to Gauguin with assurances that he had followed the artist's framing instructions: "I had the large painting

framed in a white wooden frame. I had the

other paintings framed in the old frames

which I had repainted."137 These "old

frames" were probably the yellow ones framing the unsold paintings from the 1895 Hotel

Drouot auction. Gauguin also expressed his

preference for a simple wooden frame in a

letter to a prospective collector dated 1896.138

Gauguin's paintings may often have been

glazed. In 1882, he wrote Pissarro two letters

thanking him for taking a frame for a painting Gauguin had recently done to a shop

88 CHRISTENSE N
i8. Paul Gauguin, Self-portrait

with Hat, 1893-1894, painting

on fabric

Musee d'Orsay, Paris

where glass could be easily fitted for it.139

Late in his career, Gauguin still appears to

have endorsed glazing his paintings; his 1896

letter to the prospective collector instructed

him to place a recently done panel painting

in a frame under glass "which sets it off and

keeps its freshness by protecting it from the

changes that are always caused by the atmosphere of one's room" (fig. K)).140

Gauguin was not alone in the practice of

glazing his paintings. A review of an 1891 exhibition of Nabi painters notes that

Gauguin's protege, Maurice Denis, was also

showing his paintings behind glass.141 The

CHRISTENSE N 89
glazing of paintings by Gauguin and his circle

is particularly important since the paintings

were either left unvarnished or coated with

only a thin layer of wax, rather than the thick

glossy varnish typical of the academic artists'

procedures of the time, and they are therefore

particularly vulnerable to grime and vandalism if left unglazed.

RESTORATION

Gauguin frequently restored his own paintings, as well as those in his collection by

other artists.142 After returning from Tahiti,

he wrote to his wife in September 1893, "I

have . . . many paintings to repair and retouch for my exhibition."143

 It is not difficult to see why this would be necessary. During his time in the South Seas, his paintings

suffered severe damage, partly because

Gauguin removed them from their stretchers

to reuse the stretchers for works in progress.

In this state they were especially vulnerable

to damp environmental conditions, as is

clear from the account of C. Le Moine, who

inventoried Gauguin's studio after his death:

"Our disappointment was great .. . to discover only six or seven sketches painted on

packing cloth, mostly without frames or

stretchers, mostly flaking, cracked, incapable of being conveniently wrapped or of surviving the voyage [to France]."144

 Gauguin

tried to pack his paintings carefully, but occasionally he was sick and others packed for

him, causing further damage. A letter to de

Monfreid in 1899 contains a typical comment: "I know nothing about the bad condition of my last paintings: it must be that the

transport badly damaged them."145

The most common problem in Gauguin's

paintings was a damaged ground that required consolidation. This problem is hardly

surprising, since he used a ground that was

more suitable to panel paintings than paintings on fabric. As a result of the flaking

ground, he often felt it was necessary to reconsolidate his damaged paintings.

Gauguin described his method of reattachment twice, first in 1889 to Vincent van

Gogh:

It is very easy to do and may be very good for your

canvases which need retouching. You stick newspapers on your canvas with flour paste. Once dry,

you place your canvas on a smooth board and

press it down hard with a very hot iron. All your

flakes of color remain, but they will have flattened

and you will have a very beautiful surface. Afterward, you wet your covering of paper well and lift

off all the paper.

146

This technique was certainly used to repair

The Yellow Christ (W32/) (fig. 20). The print

from the newspaper facing described in

Gauguin's letter to van Gogh has transferred

onto the paint surface itself, where it is still

faintly visible throughout the upper third of

the painting.

Writing to de Monfreid eight years later,

Gauguin described a similar procedure, but

with several significant modifications:

19. Letter from Paul Gauguin

to unknown collector, 1896

Mr. and Mrs. Alex M. Lewyt,

New York

9O CHRISTENSEN
2O. Paul Gauguin, The Yellow

Christ, 1889, painting on fabric

Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo,

General Purchase Funds

You make a facing by coating a bit of paper with

flour paste and placing it on the side of the

painting which is painted; you turn it over

stretched out on a plank of wood and you apply a

light coat of almost cold glue; work it in well with

a knife and try to force it through the fabric and up

into the Spanish white [ground]. Once dry, you

pass a warm iron over it with as much pressure as

possible. When afterward the painting is well

supported on a stretcher, the paper comes up

easily enough with a damp finger—how much

work I give you—in this manner I repaired a van

Gogh which was flaking everywhere. If some

cracks remain, what does it matter.147

CHRISTENSE N 9!
In his later description, Gauguin specified

using a warm rather than a very hot iron;

excessive heat could melt the paint surface,

as he may have discovered through bad experience. He also recommended stretching the

painting "out on a board" during the application of the paste to the picture's reverse; this

step would minimize possible shrinkage of

the fabric during the drying of the paste.

These changes and a number of others

noted by Vojtech Jirat-Wasiutynski and H.

Travers Newton in their technical study of

the restoration by Gauguin of van Gogh's

Self-portrait Dedicated to Paul Gauguin,148

suggest the artist had learned by experience

how to more gently repair his paintings. In

both passages, however, Gauguin insisted on

using great pressure, so that the paint was

very flat after treatment. He even described

this flatness as "very beautiful,"149 underscoring his own preference for smooth paint

with no impasto, which may have been acceptable for his own paintings but was surely

unfortunate for the highly impastoed painting of van Gogh that Gauguin restored.

For the retouching phase of his restoration

process, Gauguin preferred to use caseinbound pigments, as he explained in a letter to

Arsene Alexandre:

The colors [in the painting] are bound to the

support by a binder, which may be composed of

either glue or oil. When they are old and therefore

starved of oil, the perfectly dry color is a layer

which is hard but porous. It goes without saying

that all of the new oil [in the restoration] is little

by little absorbed by the dry color bordering the

damaged area. From this come these brushstrokes

which yellow more each day. Make an experiment

on a porous block of dry color, for example

Spanish white. Once undertaken, it will be

obvious that oil is the enemy—Here is an

alternative method—One must fill the holes with

casein-bound paint, which alone is not attacked

by humidity, not even being soluble in a prolonged

bath of ammonia. It is not possible to match the

neighboring color, but it is easy to finish by

glazing with a glaze of oil paint degreased with

volatile spirits such as benzine or mineral spirits.

The porous body disappears and a solid layer

remains.150

Gauguin was accurate in his assessment of

the failings of oil as a retouching medium.

His choice of casein as a substitute was especially good for the restoration of his own

paintings, since this medium, made from

milk and lime, dries with a very matte surface and therefore could adequately reproduce the matteness of Gauguin's paint surface. It also dries quickly, so that the

restoration procedure would not be too time

consuming. Finally, as Gauguin wrote, it is

totally impervious to water and it does not

discolor.

SURFACE COATING

Because of his efforts to create a matte paint

surface (draining his oil paints, painting on

an absorbent ground, and washing his paintings to degrease them), Gauguin was adamant that his paintings not be varnished

with the glossy natural resin varnishes common during his time. He occasionally recommended that his paintings be protected with

a piece of glass when framed, but more often

he made reference to using wax as a protective surface coating. He wrote to de Monfreid

in 1901, "While I am thinking about it, have

you well instructed Vollard on the maintenance of my paintings using wax? because I

am always worried that they will be ruined

with this dirty disgusting varnish which

picture dealers use, and which is so

common."151

Although there is no published description

of precisely how Gauguin applied this wax

coating, it is most likely that he dissolved

the wax in warm mineral spirits and brushed

on the solution. The mineral spirits would

quickly evaporate, leaving a thin layer of wax

behind. The surface created by this method

would be matte, although it could be buffed

with a soft cloth to create a more satiny

sheen. The wax coating was never applied by

Gauguin before his paintings left the South

Seas because he was never sure in what state

they would arrive in France. It was obviously

more sensible to apply the wax coating after

damaged areas had been reconsolidated and

repaired in France.

In 1895 Gauguin described for Alexandre

why he preferred wax as a surface coating:

Varnish of extra quality is nothing more than a

conduit of resin. No matter how bleached it is, it

always returns to its origin which is yellow;

furthermore it has in its nature the weakness of

suppressing air on the painting without having the

ability to stop acids from decomposing the colors.

Resin is a good conductor of everything. You know

92 CHRISTENSE N
as I do that the unvarnished Rembrandts have

remained fresh and gray as they were on their first

day. To what can we attribute this difference, if

not to varnish. — White wax has none of these

disadvantages, we have proof in ancient paintings

made with wax. My neighbor tried wax as a

surface coating, and he has obtained the same

result. Wax prevents on paintings, as on wood,

every type of crack and deterioration.152

For these reasons, Gauguin concluded that

his paintings, "once restretched and waxed,

risk less."153 A wax surface coating, probably

original, has been noted on several paintings

by Gauguin, among them Mahana no atua

(W5I3), Nevermore (W558), Te rerioa (Wss/)

(see fig. 13), and la orana Maria (W428),154

but, sadly, one finds many more paintings

covered with the same inappropriately glossy

"dirty disgusting varnish which picture

dealers use" so despised by the artist.

CONCLUSION

This study is by no means complete, since it

is based on examination of only one-third of

Gauguin's work, and most of these examinations were not carried out with the aid of

sophisticated technical analysis. There is

also still much to be learned from several

forthcoming volumes of previously unpublished correspondence currently being edited by Victor Merlhes. However, the information gathered to date has been useful in

understanding how Gauguin mastered certain technical processes to achieve a desired

visual effect in his paintings as well as in

learning how he adjusted certain materials

and aspects of his technique in response to

his environment.

It appears that Gauguin was always ready

to experiment, from his first attempts at preparing his own grounds while a student of

Pissarro in the late 18705. This experimentation continued in the i88os, as he tried painting on unprimed canvas, framed his paintings with unconventional painted frames,

and eventually began to work on coarse fabric in Aries. In the 18905, his decision to wax

rather than varnish his paintings, his Tahitian attempt to make a paint medium from

castor oil seeds, and, if Jenot is to be believed, his use of a breadfruit priming for trial

paintings suggest that he was still prepared to

improvise with unconventional materials

when necessary.

It is also clear, however, that most of

Gauguin's technical experiments with paintings were carried out long before he traveled

to the South Seas. He established his painting technique, which consisted of painting

with lean paint on coarse fabric primed with

an absorbent ground, during the late i88os in

Brittany and Aries, and he did not radically

alter it in the South Seas. It cannot be argued

that Gauguin changed his painting technique

significantly in response to his tropical environment. As we have seen, he used the humid climate of his surroundings as an excuse

for painting less richly, mainly in an attempt

to avoid having to paint for the market. The

fact that there are no dramatic differences in

materials and technique between his Aries

and late South Seas paintings supports this

conclusion.

His environment and periodic lack of supplies did force Gauguin to adjust his painting

technique in several smaller ways. These alterations included varying the size and texture of his fabric supports, substituting

preferred priming materials when they were

not available, and layering individual paint

layers more thinly. In his last years, when he

was living in the Marquesas and was totally

dependent on Vollard for supplies, Gauguin

was most clearly a victim of circumstance, as

can be seen in the smaller size of his paintings and in his forced use of the conventional

artist's canvas sent to him by Vollard.

Even when he was most limited by his environment, however, Gauguin refused to

compromise in those technical issues where

change would have meant an undesirable

aesthetic effect. For example, although he

knew his priming would be less likely to

flake if he added linseed oil to it, he refused

to do so because the ground would then lose

its absorbency and consequently the paint

would appear oilier (that is, richer in binding

medium), a result that would not produce

the matte surface he preferred.

Gauguin's rather fussy insistence on using

Le Franc pigments exclusively is another example of his unwillingness to compromise

despite his isolation. Although it is difficult

to ascertain what range of artist's supplies

were available in Tahiti during the 18905, the

fact that Gauguin mentioned that lead white

CHRISTENSE N 93
pigment coming from America was locally

available155 suggests he was probably able to

buy other paints there as well, but he seems

to have used only those pigments manufactured by Le Franc and sent to him by his

friends.

Moreover, despite the weaknesses of his

painting technique, Gauguin refused to alter

it even in the face of criticism by his friends

and periodic reports of structural instability

that made the paintings unsalable. His disregard for good technique when it collided with

his desired aesthetic effect is most clearly

shown in his 1899 remark to de Monfreid:

"Questions of paint thickness, of care in execution and even of the priming of the canvas

. . . one can always fix it later, right?"156

As for Gauguin's occasional tendency to

distort the details of his life and his creative

process to present himself as more of an innovator in technique than he really was, this

is hardly surprising in view of his personality.

More than most artists of his time, Gauguin

tried to live out his artistic vision; and this

commitment explains why he is so endlessly

fascinating as a man as well as an artist. He

was in a sense creating himself along with

his art, and therefore he may have felt freer

than more conventional artists to alter facts

when it suited him. One must remember,

too, that there was no witness to contradict

his inventions.

It may be that Gauguin's close identification with his art was responsible for several

ways in which he was truly technically innovative. The most noteworthy is the thematic

interrelatedness of his work in so many different media. The process in which a document became a large-scale drawing, then a

painting; his practice of reworking his preparatory drawings into pastels and watercolors; his use of figures from paintings in his

ceramic sculptures, which would then later

appear in prints, monotypes, or other paintings—these practices are unique to Gauguin.

It was perhaps the only natural way of making art to someone whose artistic impulse

was so strong that it led him to make not

only paintings but also his house, his shoes,

and his eating utensils. Also technically innovative was the way Gauguin borrowed

techniques and materials from one medium

for use in another, so that the boundaries between the visual effects of painting, woodcarving, drawing, watercolor, and printmaking became blurred in a way which presaged

the art of the twentieth century.

As always in a study of this type, one is left

at the end with as many questions as one has

answered. Examination of the remaining

two-thirds of Gauguin's fabric supports is essential to establish clear patterns in the artist's use of canvas. Ultimately this information can perhaps aid in dating a number of

problematic paintings, such as the group of

Breton snow scenes that have been assigned

dates as divergent as 1894 and after 1902.

Pigment analysis should make clear precisely which pigments Gauguin used on a

larger number of paintings than it was possible to analyze in the course of this study. It

might be useful in determining attribution of

paintings such as the 1903 Invocation (W635),

which contains a manganese pigment not

identified in the other paintings studied by

this examiner. It may also help to determine

with absolute certainty whether Gauguin

varied his pigments at different stages in his

career and whether he added metallic powder

to his pigments, as did some of his

contemporaries.

Medium analysis may explain the curious

gouachelike appearance of a number of paintings such as Ta matete (W4/6), and it may

confirm or refute this examiner's hypothesis

about the general absence of wax in the artist's paint. Publication of Gauguin's correspondence from 1888 until his death in 1903

will perhaps ascertain more clearly what

range of materials was available to the artist

in Tahiti. Fiber analysis should eventually

distinguish the native "sackcloth" from the

coarse fabric Gauguin brought with him from

Europe. The role within the artist's oeuvre of

a number of large paintings on paper needs to

be more clearly explored. It is possible that

some of these are reworked cartoons. Finally,

Gauguin's motivation in making several

close variations of the same subject, as in /

raro te oviri (W43I and W432), Tahitian

Women and Parau Api (W434 and W466), Te

Fare Maorie (W^6 and W43/), Te Raau Rahi

(W436 and W43/), and Maternity (WsSi and

WsSi), should be investigated.

Late in his life and in his typical caustic

fashion, Gauguin wrote somewhat prophetically of the future of his art: "The artist dies;

the heirs fall upon his work; everything is

94 CHRISTENSE N
divided up; copyrights, auctions, and all the

rest of it. There he is, completely stripped.

With this in mind, I strip myself beforehand.

That is a comfort."157 His loss has been our

gain. As more and more of his paintings enter

museum collections, there will be greater opportunity to study his paintings and to answer those questions about his painting technique that still remain.

NOTES

This research would not have been possible without

the generous sharing of information by the following

conservators, art historians, and scientists: Albert Albano of the Museum of Modern Art; Inge Fiedler of

the Art Institute of Chicago; Richard Field of the Yale

University Art Gallery; Patricia Garland of the Wadsworth Atheneum; Tim Green of the Tate Gallery;

Gloria Groome of the Art Institute of Chicago; Paul

Haner of the Worcester Museum; Gisela Helmkampf

of the Metropolitan Museum of Art; Bruce Miller of

the Cleveland Museum of Art; David Miller of the Indianapolis Museum of Art; Kathryn Olivier of the

Harvard University Art Museums; Mary Sebera of the

Baltimore Museum of Art; and Bridget Smith of the

Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. In addition I would

like to acknowledge Charlotte Hale of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, whose unpublished 1982 project

at the Courtauld Institute, University of London, was

a valuable starting point for this research.

At the National Gallery of Art, Ross Merrill, David

Bull, and Sarah Fisher of the conservation division

supported my research efforts. Andrew Krieger, registrar's department, collected data about paintings by

Paul Gauguin in the former Soviet Union. Conservation scientists Barbara Berrie, Susana Halpine, Suzanne Lomax, Michael Palmer, and Deborah Rendahl

provided the analyses upon which much of this paper

is based.

Carolyn Villers of the Courtauld Institute, London,

as well as Charles Moffett and Arthur Wheelock, National Gallery of Art, kindly read drafts of this research and made many useful suggestions for its

improvement. Mervin Richard spent many hours retrieving this paper from computer neverland when it

was thought irretrievably lost. Finally, I would like to

thank Maria Prather, research associate in the department of modern painting, for generously sharing with

me over a period of several years her knowledge of

Gauguin and for uncomplainingly reading numerous

versions of this text.

Unless otherwise indicated, all translations are

mine and all italics are by the authors quoted.

1. John Rewald, ed., Gauguin: Letters toAmbroise

Vollaid and Andre Fontainas (San Francisco, 1943), 31.

2. Bengt Danielsson, Gauguin in the South Seas (New

York, 1966), 212.

3. It is noteworthy that although Gauguin's painting

technique may not be extremely experimental, his

printmaking techniques were. A possible reason was

that Gauguin focused on painting more fully earlier

in his career, when he was surrounded by a European

tradition. By contrast, much of his experimenting

with printmaking took place in the tropics, where

European workshop techniques would have had less

influence.

4. Georges Wildenstein, Gauguin, ed. Raymond Cogniat and Daniel Wildenstein (Paris, 1964). References

to paintings will include Wildenstein's catalogue

number.

5. Paul Gauguin to Charles Morice, July 1901, Lettres

de Gauguin a sa femme et a ses amis, ed. Maurice

CHRISTENSE N 95
Malingue (Paris, 1946), no. 174; Gauguin to GeorgesDaniel de Monfreid, February 1898, Lettres de Paul

Gauguin a Georges-Daniel de Monfreid, ed. Annie

Joly-Segalen, rev. ed. (Paris, 1950), no. 40.

6. Richard Brettell, Francoise Cachin, Claire FrechesThory, and Charles F. Stuckey, with assistance from

Peter Zegers, The Ait of Paul Gauguin [exh. cat., National Gallery of Art] (Washington, 1988], 417.

7. Gauguin to de Monfreid, January 1900, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 60.

8. Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, [5?] November 1888, Verzamelde Brieven van Vincent van Gogh,

3 vols. (Amsterdam, 1953) (hereafter van Gogh 1953),

no. 559.

9. Gauguin to Emile Bernard, n.d. [c. 2d week November 1888], Correspondance de Paul Gauguin, ed.

Victor Merlhes (Paris, 1984), no. 179.

10. Gauguin to Emile Schuffenecker, [23?] November

1888, Merlhes 1984, no. 184.

n. Gauguin to Theo van Gogh, 22 November 1888,

Merlhes 1984, no. 183.

12. Francoise Cachin, "#29: Self-Portrait for Carriere," in Brettell et al. 1988, 75-76.

13. Ronald Pickvance, Van Gogh in Aries [exh. cat.,

Metropolitan Museum of Art] (New York, 1984),

115-117.

14. Of thirty-five paintings from 1889 and 1890 examined (representing 50 percent of the paintings done in

these years), only one (Prague version BonjourM,

Gauguin, W322) is painted on coarse fabric.

15. Nine of eighteen paintings from this visit were

examined; all were painted on a moderate-weight

linen canvas with 10-12 threads per cm.

16. Schuffenecker to Gauguin, n December 1888,

Merlhes 1984, no. CI.

17. Gauguin to de Monfreid, January 1900, JolySegalen 1950, no. 60.

18. Lieutenant Jenot, "Le premier sejour de Gauguin a

Tahiti d'apres le manuscrit Jenot (1891-1893)," Gazette

des Beaux-Arts, 6 ser., vol. 47 (January-April 1956),

120.

19. Wildenstein 1964, entry for W5I5.

20. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 12 March 1897, JolySegalen 1950, no. 30.

21. Gauguin to de Monfreid, January 1900, JolySegalen 1950, no. 60.

22. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 14 July 1897, April 1899,

October 1900, Joly-Segalen 1950, nos. 34, 53, 68.

23. Gauguin to de Monfreid, October 1897, JolySegalen 1950, no. 37.

24. Gauguin to de Monfreid, December 1897, JolySegalen 1950, no. 39.

25. Gauguin to de Monfreid, August 1899, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 57.

26. Gauguin to de Monfreid, September 1899, JolySegalen 1950, no. 58.

27. Gauguin to de Monfreid, January 1900, JolySegalen 1950, no. 61.

28. Danielsson 1966, 212.

29. Ambroise Vollard to Gauguin, late 1899, Rewald

1943, 3i30. Gauguin to Vollard, January 1900, Rewald 1943,

31-32.

31. Gauguin to de Monfreid, October 1900, JolySegalen 1950, no. 68.

32. Gauguin to Vollard, May 1901, Rewald 1943, 47.

33. Richard Brettell, "#255: Still-Life with Grapefruits," in Brettell et al. 1988, 458.

34. Gauguin to de Monfreid, August 1901, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 77.

35. Gauguin to de Monfreid, November 1901, JolySegalen 1950, no. 78.

36. Gauguin to Vollard, March 1902, Rewald 1943, 52.

37. Gauguin to Vollard, April 1903, Rewald 1943,

63-64.

38. Gauguin to de Monfreid, October 1900, April 1901,

Joly-Segalen 1950, nos. 58, 73.

39. Pierre Louis Bouvier, Manuel des jeunes artistes et

amateurs en peinture, 3d ed. (Paris, 1844), 535; Jean

Francois Leonore Merimee, The Art of Painting in Oil

and in Fresco (1830), 3d ed., trans. William Benjamin

Sarsfield Taylor (London, 1839), 221; Jehan Georges Vibert, The Science of Painting, 8th ed., trans, by the

author (London, 1892), 97,102-103,108-109; Frederic

Auguste Antoine Goupil Fesquet, Peinture a 1'huile

(Paris, 1900), 23-24.

40. These early "absorbent grounds" appear to have

been composed of a thin layer of oil laid on several

lower layers of distemper-bound priming. See Merimee 1839, 221, n. i.

41. Ernest Hareux, "Materials for Oil Painting," Practical Manual of Painting in Oil Colours, 3d ed., trans.

H. B. Hayes (London, 1870), 23.

42. Bouvier 1844, 535-536.

43. Paul Serusier, ABC de la peinture suivi d'une correspondance inedite (Paris, 1950), 31.

44. Gauguin to de Monfreid, April 1901, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 73.

45. Gauguin to de Monfreid, September 1899, JolySegalen 1950, no. 58.

46. Gauguin to Camille Pissarro, 26 September 1879,

Merlhes 1984, no. n.

47. Gauguin to de Monfreid, September 1899, JolySegalen 1950, no. 58.

48. This conclusion was obvious from examination of

the tacking margins. Artist-applied priming did not

extend onto tacking margins or in many cases even to

the edges of the painting. In contrast, the priming of

commercially prepared canvas extended onto tacking

margins, since it was applied before the painting was

cut and stretched onto its auxiliary support.

49. Gauguin to Bernard, n.d. [3d or 4th week November 1888], Merlhes 1984, no. 182.

50. Two exceptions known to this examiner are The

Three Puppies (W293) and Portrait of Aline Chazal,

96 CHRISTENSE N
the Artist's Mother (W385), both of which have a dark

red ground.

51. Pierre Francois Tingry, The Painter and Varnisher's Guide (London, 1804), 286-289; Charles

Chasse, Gauguin et son temps (Paris, 1955), 44.

52. "Quelques peintres ideistes," Le Chatnoir, 19

September 1891, quoted in Felix Feneon, Oeuvres plus

que completes (Geneva, 1970), 201.

53. Chasse 1955, 44.

54. Jenot 1956,120.

55. Rosemond D. Harley, Artists' Pigments, c. 1600-

1835 (London, 1970), 154.

56. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 20 September 1894, JolySegalen 1950, no. 18.

57. Casein grounds were not unusual in the late nineteenth century. Vibert (1846-1904), described the

preparation of a casein ground:

Grind zinc white in water in the proportion of 100

grammes of water to 100grammes of zinc and mix

this zinc white with 200grammes of caseine paste

already prepared. . . . The canvas should be stretched

on a frame and freed from grease with benzine. When

it has evaporated, give with a swallow-tail brush, a

first coating of paste and white. Let this dry at a mild

temperature. . . . Give a second layer.

Vibert 1892,186-187.

58. Vincent to Theo van Gogh, n.d. [c. 20 November

1888], van Gogh 1953, no. 563.

59. High-performance liquid chromatography (HPLC)

was used to search for the presence of casein in the

ground layer in Mme Alexandre Kohler (W3I4), Brittany Landscape (1888, National Gallery of Art, Washington), and The Invocation (W635).

60. Gauguin to de Monfreid, January 1900, JolySegalen 1950, no. 60.

61. Gauguin to Vincent van Gogh, 9 January 1889,

Paul Gauguin: 4sLettres a Vincent, Theo et Jo van

Gogh, ed. Douglas Cooper (The Hague and Lausanne,

1983), no. GAG 34.

62. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 14 July 1897, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 34.

63. Gauguin to de Monfreid, April 1899, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 53.

64. Composition of the grounds of Nevermore (W558)

and Te rerioa (W557) was reported in Courtauld Institute examination reports done between 1981 and 1982

by Charlotte Hale. Composition of the ground of Portraits of Women (W6io) is based on examination of its

x-radiographs.

65. Jenot 1956,120.

66. Still Life with Fan (W377), Aita (Wso8); la Orana

Maria (W428), Nevermore (WssS), Carrieres du Chou,

Pres de Pontoise (W7i), and Brittany Landscape (National Gallery of Art, Washington).

67. Gauguin to de Monfreid, May 1899, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 54.

68. Gauguin to Bernard, n.d. [3d~4th week November

1888], Merlhes 1984, no. 182.

69. Chasse 1955, 44-45.

70. Francoise Cachin, "#42: Hilly Landscape with

Two Figures," in Brettell et al. 1988, 92.

71. Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, 27 October

1888, Merlhes 1984, no. LXXXVIII.

72. Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, [5?] November 1888, van Gogh 1953, no. 559.

73. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 7 November 1891, JolySegalen 1950, no. 2.

74. Gauguin, Avant et apres, January-February 1903,

quoted in Ronald Pickvance, The Drawings of Paul

Gauguin (London and New York, 1970), 5.

75. Identification of the stylistic sources for

Gauguin's work is beyond the scope of this paper, but

it has been well-documented in the literature. See

Bernard Dorival, "Sources of the Art of Gauguin from

Java, Egypt, and Ancient Greece," Burlington Magazine 93, no. 577 (April 1951), 118-122; William M. Kane,

"Gauguin's Le Cheval Blanc: Sources and Syncretic

Meanings," Burlington Magazine 108, no. 760 (July

1966), 352-362.

76. Raymond Cogniat and John Rewald, Paul

Gauguin: A Sketchbook (Paris and New York, 1962);

Bernard Dorival, Carnetde Tahiti (Paris, 1954); Rene

Huyghe, Le Garnet de Paul Gauguin (Paris, 1952).

77. Gauguin to Theo van Gogh, 27 October 1888,

Merlhes 1984, no. 175; Gauguin to de Monfreid, 7 November 1891, Joly-Segalen 1950, no. 2.

78 .Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, 27 October

1888, Merlhes 1984, no. LXXXVIII; Gauguin to Theo

van Gogh, 27 October 1888, Merlhes 1984, no. 175.

79. Ziva Amishai-Maisels, Gauguin's Religious

Themes (New York and London, 1985), 400-401.

80. An example is the preparatory drawing for Une

Nuit a Vaugirard (Statens Konstmuseer, The National

Swedish Art Museums, Stockholm), illustrated in

Merlhes 1984,17, with transcription of notes on 346.

81. H. Travers Newton and Vojtech Jirat-Wasiutynski,

"Reconstruction of Gauguin's Aesthetic from the Evidence of His Paintings," paper presented to College

Art Association, New York, 16 February 1990.

82. This examination used stereo-binocular microscope and cross-sectional paint samples.

83. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 22 February 1899, JolySegalen 1950, no. 51.

84. Gauguin to de Monfreid, October 1897, JolySegalen 1950, no. 37.

85. Merete Bodelsen, "Gauguin's Bathing Girl," Burlington Magazine 101, no. 674 (May 1959), 186-188; Peter Zegers, quoted in Brettell et al. 1988, 84.

86. Merete Bodelsen, Gauguin's Ceramics: A Study in

the Development of His Art (London, 1964), 50-52.

87. Gauguin to de Monfreid, [April-May?] 1893, JolySegalen 1950, no. 13.

88. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 12 March 1897, JolySegalen 1950, no. 30.

89. Chasse 1955, 43-47.

90. Gauguin to Camille Pissarro, late May 1885, Merlhes 1984, no. 79.

91. Anthea Callen, Techniques of the Impressionists

CHRISTENSE N 97
(London, 1982), 162-163; Charlotte Hale, "A Study of

Paul Gauguin's Correspondence Relating to His.

Painting Materials and Techniques, with Specific Reference to His Works in the Courtauld Collection"

(unpublished project, Courtauld Institute, University

of London, 1982), 24.

92. Serusier 1950. Van Gogh's addition of wax has

been confirmed by medium analysis undertaken at

the National Gallery, London.

93. Hale 1982, 25.

94. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 22 February 1899, JolySegalen 1950, no. 51.

95. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 8 December 1892, 25 February 1901, Joly-Segalen 1950, nos. 8, 72.

96. Analysis undertaken by the scientific research department at the National Gallery of Art, Washington,

using gas chromatography and high-performance liquid chromatography, indicated the pigments in

Gauguin's Self-portrait with Halo (W323), Tepape

nave nave (W568), and Brittany Landscape (National

Gallery of Art, Washington) were bound only with

oil. No traces of wax were present.

97. Gauguin to de Monfreid, May 1899, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 54.

98. Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, n.d. [c. 20

November 1888], van Gogh 1953, no. 563.

99. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 8 December 1892, JolySegalen 1950, no. 8.

100. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 18 June 1898, July 1898,

Joly-Segalen 1950, nos. 44, 45.

101. Gauguin to de Monfreid, September 1899, JolySegalen 1950, no. 58.

102. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 8 December 1892, JolySegalen 1950, no. 8.

103. Gustave Kahn, "Au temps du pointillisme,"

Mercure de France 171 (April-May 1924), 16; Isabelle

Cahn, "Chronology, June i848-June 1886," in Brettell

et al. 1988, 9.

104. Gauguin to de Monfreid, late December 1892,

Joly-Segalen 1950, no. 9.

105. This analysis was based on energy-dispersive

x-ray fluorescence spectroscopy (EDX) and microscopy of crushed samples.

106. Mary Sebera, examination report, 1987, Baltimore Museum of Art.

107. Carolyn Villers, personal communication, September 1990.

108. Frederic Auguste Antoine Goupil Fesquet and P.

Steck, Traite methodique et raisonne de la peinture a

1'huile, rev. ed. (Paris, 1904), 63.

109. Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, n.d. [c. 20

November 1888], van Gogh 1953, no. 563.

no. Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, n.d. [c. 20

November 1888], van Gogh 1953, no. 563,- Gauguin to

Theo van Gogh, n.d. [c. 22 November 1888], Merlhes

1984, no. 183.

m. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 8 December 1892, JolySegalen 1950, no. 8. The titles are Te Faaturuma

(W440), Te raau rahi (W439), Te fare maori (W436),

and/raro te oviri (W432).

112. Gauguin to Bernard, n.d. [Aries, 1888], Malingue

1946, no. 78; Gauguin to Schuffenecker, n.d. [PontAven, June 1890], Malingue 1946, no. 104; Gauguin to

Bernard, n.d. [Aries, 3d~4th week November 1888],

Merlhes 1984, no. 182.

113. Gauguin to de Monfreid, April 1899, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 53.

114. Jenot 1956,120.

115. Gauguin to de Morrfreid, September 1899, JolySegalen 1950, no. 58.

116. Gauguin to de Monfreid, January 1887, January

1900, Joly-Segalen 1950, nos. 28, 6o; Gauguin to Vollard, March 1902, Rewald 1943, 60-61.

117. Gauguin to de Monfreid, [April/May?] 1893, JolySegalen 1950, no. 13.

118. Gauguin to Emmanuel Bibesco, n.d. [July 1900],

Malingue 1946, no. 173.

119. Gauguin to de Monfreid, late December 1892,

Joly-Segalen 1950, no. 9; Gauguin to de Monfreid, August 1892, Malingue 1946, no. 132.

120. Gauguin to de Monfreid, June 1892, January 1900,

August 1900, October 1900, Joly-Segalen 1950, nos. 5,

60, 66, 68; Gauguin to Vollard, March 1902, Rewald

1943; 50-51-

121. Gauguin to Vollard, March 1902, Rewald 1943,

51-52.

122. Gauguin to de Monfreid, January 1897, JolySegalen 1950, no. 28.

123. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 27 January 1900, JolySegalen 1950, no. 61.

124. Chasse 1955, 43-44.

125. Gauguin to de Monfreid, August 1901, JolySegalen 1950, no. 77.

126. Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, n.d. [c. 20

November 1888], van Gogh 1953, no. 563.

127. Gauguin to Theo van Gogh, n.d. [c. 22 November

1888], Merlhes 1984, no. 183.

128. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 8 December 1892, JolySegalen 1950, no. 8.

129. Hale 1982, 28.

130. "Impressionisme," Le Voltaire, 3 March 1882,

Merlhes 1984, 366.

131. Gauguin to Camille Pissarro, late July 1884,

Merlhes 1984, no. 50.

132. Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, n.d. [9-12

November 1888], van Gogh 1953, no. 561. Van Gogh's

assertion that Gauguin invented the white frame may

not be correct; the quotation is included only to show

that Gauguin was using white frames during his time

in Aries.

133. Theo van Gogh to Gauguin, November 1888, in

Merete Bodelsen, "An Unpublished Letter by Theo

van Gogh," Burlington Magazine 99, no. 651 (June

1957), 200.

134. Istvan Genthon, Rippl-Ronai: The Hungarian

"Nabi" (Budapest, 1958], 21.

98 CHRISTENSE N
135- Richard Brettell, "#16: Still Life with Vase of

Japanese Peonies and Mandolin," in Brettell et al.

1988, 41.

136. Gauguin to de Monfreid, July 1898, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 45.

137. Georges Chaudet to Gauguin, 15 January 1899,

Jean Loize Archive, Papeete, Tahiti. I am indebted to

Gloria Groome of the European paintings department

at the Art Institute of Chicago for this reference.

138. Note at the bottom of a drawing illustrated in

Pickvance 1970, pi. 83.

139. Gauguin to Pissarro, late July 1882, 2 August 1882,

Merlhes 1984, nos. 25, 27.

140. Note at the bottom of a drawing illustrated in

Pickvance 1970, pi. 83.

141. "Quelques peintres ideistes," quoted in Feneon

1970, 200.

142. Vojtech Jirat-Wasiutynski, H. Travers Newton,

Eugene Farrell, and Richard Newman, Vincent van

Gogh's Self-portrait Dedicated to Paul Gauguin: An

Historical and Technical Study (Cambridge, Mass.,

1984).

143. Gauguin to Mette-Sophie Gauguin, n.d. [c. September 1893], Malingue 1946, no. 142; see also

Gauguin to Theo van Gogh, [19-20] December 1888,

Merlhes 1984, no. 192.

144. C. Le Moine, quoted in Jean de Rotonchomp

[Louis Brouillon], Paul Gauguin (Weimar, 1906),

196-197.

145. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 22 February 1899, JolySegalen 1950, no. 51.

146. Gauguin to Vincent van Gogh, 9 January 1889,

Cooper 1983, no. GAC 34.

147. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 14 July 1897, JolySegalen 1950, no. 34.

148. Jirat-Wasiutynski et al. 1984,17-20.

149. Gauguin to Vincent van Gogh, 9 January 1889,

Cooper 1983, no. GAC 34.

150. Gauguin to Arsene Alexandre, n.d. [10 February

1895], Malingue 1946, no. 155.

151. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 25 February 1901, JolySegalen 1950, no. 72.

152. Gauguin to Alexandre, n.d. [10 February 1895],

Malingue 1946, no. 155.

153. Gauguin to de Monfreid, 14 July 1897, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 34.

154. Louis Pomerantz, n.d., conservation report, conservation department, Art Institute of Chicago; Hale

1982, 38; Gisela Helmkampf, painting conservator at

the Metropolitan Museum of Art, personal communication, 1987.

155. Gauguin to de Monfreid, April 1899, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 53.

156. Gauguin to de Monfreid, May 1899, Joly-Segalen

1950, no. 54.

157. Paul Gauguin, journal, January-February 1903, in

Paul Gauguin's Intimate Journals, trans. Van Wyck

Brooks (Bloomington, Ind., 1958), 246.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Letters

Cooper, Douglas, ed. Paul Gauguin: 45 Lettres a Vincent, Theo et Jo van Gogh. The Hague and Lausanne,

1983.

Joly-Segalen, Annie, ed. Lettres de Paul Gauguin a

Georges-Daniel de Monfreid. Rev. ed., Paris, 1950.

Lettres de Paul Gauguin a Emile Bernard, 1888-1891.

Geneva, 1954.

Malingue, Maurice, ed. Lettres de Gauguin a sa

femme et a ses amis. Paris, 1946. Rev. ed., Paris, 1949.

Merlhes, Victor, ed. Correspondance de Paul

Gauguin. Paris, 1984.

Oeuvres ecrites de Gauguin et Van Gogh. [exh. cat.,

Institut Neerlandais] Paris, 1975.

Rewald, John, ed. Paul Gauguin: Letters to Ambroise

Vollard and Andre Fontainas. San Francisco, 1943.

Serusier, Paul. ABC de lapeinture suivi d'une correspondance inedite. Paris, 1950.

Gauguin's Writings and Sketchbooks

Gauguin, Paul. The Intimate Journals of Paul

Gauguin. Translated by Van Wyck Brooks. Bloomington, Ind., 1958.

Cogniat, Raymond, and John Rewald. Paul Gauguin:

A Sketchbook. New York, 1962.

Danielsson, Bengt, and Patrick O'Reilly. Gauguin

fournaliste a Tahiti et ses articles des "Guepes."

Paris, 1966.

Dorival, Bernard. Garnet de Tahiti. Paris, 1952.

Huyghe, Rene. Le Carnet de Paul Gauguin. Paris,

1952.

Writings about Gauguin

Amishai-Maisels, Ziva. Gauguin's Religious Themes.

New York and London, 1985.

Artur, Gilles. "Notice historique du Musee Gauguin

de Tahiti suivie des quelques lettres inedites de Paul

Gauguin." Journal de la Societe des Oceanistes 38,

nos. 74-75 (1982), 7-17.

Bodelsen, Merete. "Gauguin's Bathing Girl." Burlington Magazine 101, no. 674 (May 1959), 186-190.

. Gauguin's Ceramics: A Study in the Development of His Art. London, 1964.

. "An Unpublished Letter by Theo van Gogh."

Burlington Magazine 99, no. 651 (June 1957), 199-202.

. "The Wildenstein-Cogniat Gauguin Catalogue," Burlington Magazine 108, no. 754 (January

1966), 27-38.

Brettell, Richard, Francoise Cachin, Claire FrechesThory, and Charles F. Stuckey, with assistance from

Peter Zegers. The Art of Paul Gauguin, [exh. cat., National Gallery of Art] Washington, 1988.

Cachin, Francoise. Gauguin. Paris, 1968.

Callen, Anthea. Techniques of the Impressionists.

London, 1982.

Chasse, Charles. Gauguin et le groupe de Pont-Aven.

Paris, 1921.

CHRISTENSE N 99
. Gauguin et son temps. Paris, 1955.

Danielsson, Bengt. Gauguin in the South Seas. New

York,1966.

Dorival, Bernard. "Sources of the Art of Gauguin

from Java, Egypt, and Ancient Greece." Burlington

Magazine 93, no. 577 (April 1951), 118-122.

Feneon, Felix. Oeuvres plus que completes. Geneva,

1970.

Field, Richard S. Paul Gauguin: The Paintings of the

First Trip to Tahiti. New York, 1977.

Genthon, Istvan. Rippl-Ronai: The Hungarian

"Nabi." Budapest, 1958.

van Gogh, Vincent. Verzamelde Brieven van Vincent

van Gogh. 3 vols. Amsterdam, 1953.

Hale, Charlotte. "A Study of Paul Gauguin's Correspondence Relating to His Painting Materials and

Techniques, with Specific Reference to His Works in

the Courtauld Collection." Unpublished project,

Courtauld Institute, University of London, London,

1982.

Jenot, Lieutenant. "Le premier sejour de Gauguin a

Tahiti d'apres le manuscrit Jenot (1891-1893)." Gazette

des Beaux-Arts, 6 ser., vol. 47 (January-April 1956),

115-126.

Jirat-Wasiutynski, Vojtech, H. Travers Newton, Eugene Farrell, and Richard Newman. Vincent van

Gogh's Self-portrait Dedicated to Paul Gauguin: An

Historical and Technical Study. Cambridge, Mass.,

1984.

Kahn, Gustave. "Au temps du pointillisme." Mercure de France 171 (April-May 1924), 16.

Kane, William M. "Gauguin's Le Cheval blanc:

Sources and Syncretic Meanings." Burlington Magazine 108, no. 760 (July 1966), 352-362.

Morice, Charles. "Quelques opinions sur Paul

Gauguin." Mercure de France 48, no. 167 (November

1903), 415.

Natanson, Thadee. "Expositions: Oeuvres recentes

de Paul Gauguin." La Revue blanche 5, no. 26 (December 1893), 418-422.

Pickvance, Ronald. The Drawings of Paul Gauguin.

London and New York, 1970.

. Van Gogh in Aries, [exh. cat., Metropolitan

Museum of Art] New York, 1984.

Rewald, John. The History of Impressionism. 3d ed.

New York, 1961.

. Post-Impressionism from Van Gogh to

Gauguin. New York, 1956.

de Rotonchomp, Jean [Louis Brouillon]. Paul

Gauguin. Weimar, 1906.

Varnedoe, Kirk. "Gauguin." In Primitivism in 2Oth

Century Art. [exh. cat., Museum of Modern Art] New

York,1984,179-210.

Wildenstein, Georges. Gauguin. Edited by Raymond

Cogniat and Daniel Wildenstein. Paris, 1964.

Technical References and Artists' Handbooks

Bomford, David, Jo Kirby, John Leighton, and Ashok

Roy. Art in the Making: Impressionism, [exh. cat.,

National Gallery] London, 1990.

Bouvier, Pierre Louis. Manuel des jeunes artistes et

amateurs enpeinture. 3d ed. Paris, 1844.

de Carbonnel, Katrina Vanderlip. "A Study of French

Painting Canvases." Journal of.the American Institute for Conservation 20 (1981), 3-20.

Goupil Fesquet, Frederic Auguste Antoine. Peinture a

1'huile. Paris, 1900.

, and P. Steck. Traite methodique et raisonne

de la peinture a 1'huile. Rev. ed. Paris, 1904.

Hareux, Ernest. Practical Manual for Painting in Oil

Colours. 3d ed. Translated by H. B. Hayes. London,

1870.

Harley, Rosemond D. Artists' Pigments c. 1600-1835.

London, 1970.

Merimee, Jean Francois Leonore. The Art of Painting

in Oil and Fresco. 1830. 3d ed. Translated by William

Benjamin Sarsfield Taylor. London, 1839.

Tingry, Pierre Francois. The Painter and Varnisher's

Guide. London, 1804.

Vibert, Jehan Georges. The Science of Painting. 8th

ed. Translated by the author. London, 1892.

IOO CHRISTENSE N
APPENDIX 1

A Brief Chronology of Gauguin's Life

1848 Born in Paris. Father Clovis

Gauguin, a journalist; mother

Aline Chazal, of Peruvian

extraction.

1849 Gauguin family moves to Peru;

father dies during journey.

1854 Paul and family return to Europe.

1865-1868 Employed in the merchant marine, traveling between Le Havre

and Rio de Janeiro.

1868-1871 Serves in French navy.

1872 Enters stockbrokerage firm of

Bertin, Paris.

1873 Marries a Dane, Mette-Sophie

Gad. Working at Academic

Colarossi. Begins to paint.

c. 1875 Begins to buy impressionist pictures. Meets Camille Pissarro.

1876 One of his paintings accepted at

the Salon.

1877 Friendship with the impressionists. Begins to sculpt.

1880 Exhibits in Fifth Impressionist

Exhibition.

1881 Exhibits in Sixth Impressionist

Exhibition. Paints with Pissarro,

Paul Cezanne, and Armand

Guillaumin. Paul Durand-Ruel, a

Paris dealer, buys three of his

paintings.

1882 Exhibits in Seventh Impressionist

Exhibition.

1883 January: resigns from Bertin

(works part-time until end of year).

October: moves to Rouen with

his family.

1884 November: moves to Denmark

with his family.

1885 June: returns to Paris with his

oldest son Clovis.

July-October, living in Dieppe.

1886 Exhibits in Eighth (last) Impressionist Exhibition. Begins to

work with ceramics.

June-November, in Pont-Aven,

Brittany. Meets Emile Bernard.

Exhibits in Nantes.

1887 Wife takes Clovis back to

Denmark.

April-October: in Panama and

Martinique with Charles Laval.

November: returns to Paris.

1888 January-October: in Pont-Aven.

Winter: one-person exhibition at

Boussod and Valadon, Paris, due

to efforts of Theo van Gogh.

October-Christmas: with Vincent van Gogh in Aries.

1889 January-March: in Paris.

February: exhibits with Les XX in

Brussels.

April: exhibits with impressionists and synthesists at Cafe

Volpini.

February-April/July-September:

moving between Pont-Aven and

Le Pouldu.

October-December: at Le Pouldu

with Paul Serusier and Meyer de

Haan.

October: exhibits in Copenhagen

in group show.

1890 February: returns to Paris.

June-November: in Pont-Aven

and Le Pouldu.

November: returns to Paris.

1891 February: first sale of his works at

Hotel Drouot.

April: leaves for Tahiti (arrives in

June).

1892 111, begins to write Cahierpour

Aline.

1893 March: participates in two group

exhibitions in Copenhagen.

June: returns to Paris (arrives August); receives inheritance from

uncle.

November: one-person exhibition

at Durand-Ruel, Paris; writing

Noa Noa.

1894 January: in Brussels for group

show at La Libre Synthetique.

April-November: at Le Pouldu

and Pont-Aven.

December: returns to Paris.

1895 February: second sale at Hotel

Drouot.

July: leaves for Tahiti (arrives

September). Settles in Papeete.

1896 April-August: seriously ill.

November: one-person show at

Galerie Vollard.

1897 April: receives news of the death

of his daughter Aline. Correspondence with wife ceases. Financially destitute.

October: ill.

December: alleged suicide attempt.

1898 Living in poverty.

March: takes job as draftsman for

Public Works Department.

March-August: not painting.

September: in hospital.

December: Vollard buys nine

pictures.

CHRISTENSE N IOI
1899 January: receives money from

Georges-Daniel de Monfreid.

Quits job. Contributes articles to

Papeete satirical journal Les

Guepes. Starts his own periodical

Le SouriTe.

1900 Vollard offers to buy twenty-five

paintings per year for 300 francs

monthly.

April: relative security.

December: in hospital for two

months.

1901 September: leaves Tahiti for the

Marquesas, where he settles at

Atuana (Hivaoa).

1902 Winter: seriously ill. Writing

Avant et apres. Writes L'Esprit

modernes etle catholicisme.

1903 March: sentenced to three

months in prison and a fine for

championing natives against

local authorities.

May 8: death.

APPENDIX 2

Gauguin's Requests for Pigments

in His Correspondence

Paul Gauguin to Georges-Daniel de Monfreid,

January 1897, Lettres de Paul Gauguin a

Georges-Daniel de Monfreid, ed. Annie JolySegalen, rev. ed. (Paris, 1950), no. 28

Number of Tubes Pigment

IO

5

15

5

20

5

10

5

3

2

3

ultramarine

cobalt

carminee

garance ordinaire

white

ochre ru (burnt ochre)

yellow ochre

emeraude (viridian)

vermilion

cadmium yellow

cadmium citron

gold powder, both red and

yellow

Gauguin to de Monfreid, January 1900, JolySegalen 1950, no. 60

Number of Tubes Pigmen t

25

10

5

5

5

10

5

3

3

4

20

5

5

3

5

5

5

white

ultramarine

Prussian blue

cobalt

chrome yellow

yellow ochre

ochre ru (burnt ochre)

cadmium deep

cadmium number 2

vert emeraude (viridian)

vert Veronese (emerald

green)

terre verte

vermilion

garance

carmine lake

minium

Charron bleu (wheelwright's blue)

This order was to be repeated two or three

times over, according to the letter, so it is probably the most typical pigment selection for

Gauguin.

Gauguin to Ambroise Vollard, March 1902,

Gauguin: Letters to Ambroise Vollard and

Andre Fontainas, ed. John Rewald (San Francisco, 1943), 60-61.

Number of Tubes Pigment

2

IO

5

2

2

2O

1.5 liter large

tube of powdered color

light vermilion

emerald green

yellow ochre

ochre ru (burnt ochre)

red ochre

white

Charron bleu

IO2 CHRISTENSE N
APPENDIX 3

Pigment Analysis of Paintings by Gauguin

Color

Whites

Yellows

Reds

Blues

Greens

Purple

Pigments noted in appendix 2

lead white

Spanish white (blanc

d'Espagne)

silver white (chalk 4- zinc)

cadmium citron

cadmium yellow, number 2

cadmium deep

chrome yellow, number I

chrome yellow, number 2

Naples yellow*

yellow ochre

vermilion

carmine

(lacgarance)

red minium

ochre (ru)

Prussian blue

Chanon bleu (Prussian blue

4- barium white extender)

ultramarine

cobalt blue

emerald green

(veionese]

viridian (emeraude)

verdigris *

terre verte

cobalt violet (violet fonce)

manganese purple*

A B C D E

X X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X

X X

X

Ps Ps X

X X X X X

X

X

X X P s

Ps Ps Ps X X

X Ps Ps

X X X X

X X X X X

X X

X

F G H I I K L M N O

xxxxxxxxx x

X X X X X X X

X X XX X X

X X X XX X

X X X XX X

X X XXXXXPs X

xxxxxxxxx x

X

X Ps X

X XXXPsXXX X

X X X X Ps X

X X X X X

xxxxxxxxx x

X X XX X

X

p

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

Note: Analysis was based on energy-dispersive x-ray fluorescence spectroscopy (EDX) and observation of pigment morphology

of paint samples. Unless indicated otherwise, paintings are in the National Gallery of Art, Washington.

Key:

* does not appear in correspondence but detected in pigment analysis

t not catalogued

X noted

Ps possible

t analysis performed by Charlotte Hale

A Mme Kohler (W3H), 1887

B Brittany Landscape, i888|

C Breton Girls Dancing, Pont-Aven (Wisi), 1888

D Self-portrait Dedicated to Carrriere (W354), 1888-1889

E Self-portrait with Halo (W323), 1889

F Haystacks (Courtauld Institute), 1890$, t

G Landscape at Le Pouldu (W398), 1890

H Haystacks in Brittany (W39/), 1890

I Fatata te Miti (W463), 1892

J Parau na te varua ino (W458), 1892

K Where Are We Going} (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston) (Ws6i), 1897-1898

L Te rerioa (Courtauld Institute) (W55/J, 1897$

M Nevermore (Courtauld Institute) (WssS), 1897$

N Te pape nave nave (Ws68), 1898

O The Bathers ^572/67), 1897

P The Invocation (W635)

CHRISTENSE N IO3

ANTOINETT E DWA N

A Method for Examining and Classifying

Japanese Papers Used by Artists in the

Late Nineteenth Century

The Prints of James Abbott McNeill Whistler

A

I. James Abbott McNeill

Whistler, Nude Model,

Backview, lithograph on

gampi paper viewed with

transmitted light

National Gallery of Art, Washington

Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection

fter centuries of isolation, Japan rapidly built

trading relationships with North America

and Europe following the commercial treaty

negotiated by the American Commodore

Matthew C. Perry in 1854. With the exchange

of ideas that accompanied the new trade,

Japanese art and culture soon had a remarkable impact on European artists, who

adopted both Japanese styles and Japanese

materials.1 Printmakers, in particular, were

delighted with the qualities of Japanese papers and eagerly used them as soon as they

became available. James Abbott McNeill

Whistler, studying art in Paris in the 18508,

was soon influenced by the Japanese prints

that made their way to that city and sought

out Japanese papers for his own prints and

etchings.

This investigation concerns more than two

hundred prints by Whistler in the collections

of the National Gallery of Art, Washington;

the Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington; and the Baltimore Museum of Art. Using information gleaned from

an 1885 Japanese export document, translated

for the author, Japanese papers are classified

and described using authentic Japanese paper

names instead of colloquial but inaccurate

terms such as China paper, India paper, rice

paper, japon, or vellum. Beta-radiographs

helped to identify and develop categories for

the Japanese papers used by Whistler, and the

method is described in full so that it might be

applied to other artists using Japanese paper

in the late nineteenth century.

QUALITIES OF

JAPANESE PAPERS

During the nineteenth century, printmakers

experimented liberally with a wide variety of

materials while exploring artistic possibilities. Often an artist would simply vary

the inking or print the image on a different

paper to suggest another mood. Newly introduced Japanese papers, often called "oriental," quickly became popular for developing

a range of images. Whistler and his contemporaries embraced these papers both for their

unique color and for their receptivity to ink.

One type of Japanese paper, made from

gampi fibers, the most expensive of the imported papers, introduced a new quality of

transparency that gave prints a spatial ambiguity (fig. i). Images appeared to float, and

the silky luster of the paper caught the light

of an image in a new way. Whistler's drypoint portraits on gampi paper are beautifully

rich impressions. Wood engravers also preferred gampi paper because it produced the

finest printed detail and line.

For printing lithographs, Whistler, as well

as Pierre Bonnard, Henri Fantin-Latour,

Edouard Manet, Edouard Vuillard, and

others, preferred very white and opaque Japanese papers called hosho and gasenshi, or

thicker, lustrous vellums named torinoko

and kyoku-shi, often referred to as "japon."

Paul Gauguin used a thin, sheer tengujo as a

veil in some of his woodblock prints, such as

Te Auta and Soyez Amoureuse Vous Serez

105
Heuieuses (National Gallery of Art, Washington).2

 He first printed a block in black on

a support paper, then adhered thin Japanese

paper so that the original black showed

through as gray. He then recut and reprinted

the block over the two sheets that produced a

rich impression, strong in impact yet veiled

by the thin tengujo.

Nineteenth-century printing manuals evidence concern for the aesthetic qualities of

papers, and several ranked paper by availability. At the beginning of the century there was

little choice. Writing in 1822, William Savage

explained:

The best paper for receiving an impression from

types or an engraving is India paper, which comes

from China; that which comes as the linings of tea

chests [cha-gami] is equal in quality to any, but

many object to its colour; a thicker and whiter

sort comes as wrappers for silk; both pieces may

be selected for proofs, or if sufficiently large for

octavo and frequently for quarto. A perfect paper

of large sized sheets is imported direct, in chests

of two thousand sheets ... .

The next best paper for printing, is French Plate

paper; after that English Plate paper, and the worst

of all, is our (English) hard sized paper, made of

common materials, and bleached with acid to

make it look white, but which destroys its

texture.3

A century later, Ernest S. Lumsden cited

poor-quality papers as the reason that artists

such as Whistler scavenged for old papers

from books on which to print their

impressions.

The finding of suitable paper upon which to print

is one of the most urgent and difficult problems

with which the modem etcher has to deal. Till the

ipth century—about 1820—when the adulteration

which ended in making cheap paper by machinery

began, a good quality article could be had for the

very ordering. Now it is a very different matter, as

very few firms make really reliable paper at all,

and still fewer make one which combines those

qualities necessary for the printing from an

intaglio plate. This regrettable state of affairs—

simply a matter of supply and demand—has

caused artists to fall back upon the use of old

paper. In itself it is a risky proceeding; but most

consider it the lesser of two evils, preferring paper

which will take an impression well and having the

colour which only comes from age, to a stronger

production more easily obtainable and freer from

blemishes, yet which will not print so

sympa th e tically.4

Yet the lack of suitable European printing

papers was only one of several reasons why

Japanese papers were preferred. In 1880, Maxime Lalanne gave further guidance on selecting printing papers:

India paper promotes purity of line; but as its

surface is dull, it furnishes somewhat dry and dim

proofs. Japanese paper, of a warm yellowish tint,

silky and transparent is excellent, especially for

plates which need more of mystery than of

brilliancy, for heavy and deep tones, and for

concentration of effect. Japanese paper absorbs the

ink, and it is necessary, therefore, to bring up the

plate strongly and to wipe it with the rag.

5

Along with these qualities Lumsden pointed

to additional advantages of Japanese papers:

Being absorbent... so yielding is the fibre, and so

clinging, that it picks up more ink from both

surface and line than any paper, with the possible

exception of good quality European makes, which

are almost impossible to find. It is far easier to

obtain "all there is" from a plate with Japanese

paper than with any ordinary rag paper.

In nearly all modern Western papers the

pigment employed is too crudely yellow. For

beauty of colour one has to rely upon Japan.6

These qualities explain why Japanese papers were so eagerly sought after by Western

artists such as Whistler. The most desirable

types of paper for printing during the nineteenth century were "old" papers, Japanese

papers, and "India" paper, which is actually a

Japanese (or Chinese) paper called gasenshi.

THE EXPORT OF JAPANESE

PAPERS TO THE WEST

Even after the Tokugawa shogunate broke off

trade with Europe in the 16305, the Dutch

were allowed to maintain a small trading

post in Nagasaki. In 1643-1644, the Dutch

East India Company imported two shipments

of Japanese paper (approximately three thousand sheets), which are probably the source

of the Japanese papers used by Rembrandt for

his prints. Two centuries later the Parisian

master printer Auguste Delatre (1822-1907)

was undoubtedly aware of the unique effects

Rembrandt had been able to achieve with

Japanese papers. It is possible that Delatre

was the first to reintroduce them to artists

when he printed Whistler's etchings on Japanese papers as early as 1858 and 1859. Just four

106 D w A N
years after Commodore Perry "opened" Japan, there were three British-controlled

ports. Civil turmoil, however, made it unlikely that papers were exported from Japan

in large quantities until after 1867, when

Tokugawa control was finally broken and Japan's new Meiji government set about reorganizing the country.

Japanese papers were exhibited at the

world fairs in London in 1862, Paris in 1867,

Vienna in 1873,

 and Philadelphia in 1876. In

1868, Philip Gilbert Hamerton described their

reception and his frustrated efforts to obtain

sheets.

The best paper in the world for printing etchings is

the Japanese, but there has hitherto been a great

difficulty about getting it. . . . In 1866, M. Deldtre

gave me a few sheets of Japanese paper, which

were all he was able to procure in Paris, and on

inquiry in London I could not get any larger

quantity.

When the Exhibition of 1867 was opened, one of

the first things I attended to was the Japanese

department, which I visited every day, in hope of

seeing some of this precious paper unpacked. At

last, I beheld a small cartload of it, of the most

various and beautiful qualities, some far stouter

and better than any I had yet met with. Being

unhappily, ignorant of Japanese, I tried to

negotiate for the purchase of this, in English and

French, with Japanese exhibitors who spoke more

or less of these languages, and I received a promise

of sale at a reasonable price. Afterwards this

promise was evaded on various pretexts, and

neither myself, nor a friend who pursued the

matter after I left Paris, was ever able to procure

a single ream of the paper, it had been bought in

the mass, along with various other merchandise,

by some merchant, whose name I have not

ascertained. This is the only instance, so far as I

know, of Japanese paper having been seen in any

quantity, and publicly offered for sale in Europe. It

is possible that, as a result of the Paris Exhibition,

some Parisian dealer in Oriental curiosities may

think it worthwhile to invest in Japanese paper;

but until then, there is, I fear, little chance of a

supply sufficient even for etchers. The most

striking quality of Japanese paper is its

exceedingly beautiful tone.7

In 1871 the British requested, and received,

a shipment of samples of Japanese papers

from Sir Harry Parkes, its minister in Edo

(today Tokyo).8 Yet that same year lists in

Hamerton's Etcher's Handbook did not include any Japanese papers for sale.9

 By the

end of the decade, however, Japanese papers

were available in Paris and London shops

that specialized in oriental goods. These

shops included, in Paris, Decelle's L'Empire

Chinoise on Rue Vivienne, which opened after 1850,- E. Desayne's, which opened in 1862,

and Samuel Bing's Oriental Import Shop on

22 Rue de Provence, which opened in 1888.10

In London there was Farmer and Roger's Oriental Warehouse on Regent Street, which

opened in 1863.ll

In 1885 the records department of the Japanese Ministry of Finance compiled existing

documents on the exportation of paper since

1868, the year of the Meiji Restoration and the

earliest recorded date for the exportation of

Japanese papers directly to the West.12 In 1868

these papers, described only as book papers

or "lower class" papers, went only to Italy.

Beginning in 1873 there was an increase in the

amount and types of papers exported, and

they went to the United States and a number

of European countries. Specific types of paper

were named, including gampi, gasenshi, and

senka-shi, all of which became popular with

Whistler and European artists. Between 1868

and 1878 the availability of Japanese papers in

Europe was limited. The last catalogue entry

shows, however, a substantial increase in paper exportation to sixteen European countries between 1879 and 1883.

Increased demand led to the formation of

import companies such as the Japan Paper

Company established in New York in 1901

and now known as Andrews/Nelson/Whitehead.13

 The trade went both ways, of course.

In 1872, a modern European-type of paper mill

was established in Tokyo with the help of

two Englishmen, Thomas Waters and John

Rogers.14 Between 1878 and 1894, wood pulp

began to supplement or replace traditional fibers, and by 1896 Japan was producing

newsprint.

CLASSIFICATIONS OF

JAPANESE PAPERS

The following discussion outlines a systematic means for evaluating nineteenth-century

Japanese papers found in Whistler's prints.

Describing Whistler's papers using this

method eliminates inconsistencies from one

examiner to another working in different collections and the confusion associated with

DWA N IO7
inaccurate terms such as China, India, rice,

japon, or vellum.

Descriptions of Japanese papers used in

Western artwork have tended to employ the

terms traditionally used for European papers—watermarks, chain and laid lines or

wove markings, color, texture, thickness, fiber content, sizings, and dimensions. Yet

many of these characteristics, such as watermarks, surface texture, and sizing are not significant in Japanese papers. Historians of

Japanese paper typically refer to papers by the

name and locality (such as Tosa or Mino) of

the papermaker, the dimensions, the paper's

intended use, or the fiber from which it is

made.15 Because the origin of many nineteenth-century Japanese papers is unknown

and identifying features were lost when

sheets were trimmed for use, another

method of describing these papers must be

developed.

Most characteristics helpful in identifying

Japanese papers can be categorized as primary

or secondary. Primary characteristics, including mold or pulp characteristics and fiber

type, impart inherent characteristics to the

sheet. For instance, a sheet made from gampi

fiber will have a silky and lustrous polish regardless of thickness or degree of pulp preparation. Secondary characteristics, such as

thickness, color, and texture, result from a

primary characteristic or from general papermaking procedures. (Interestingly, texture is

not usually remarked upon in Japanese papers, as they are mainly smooth, due to the

fiber, or rough because a dampened sheet has

been brushed out to dry.) Primary and secondary characteristics of Japanese papers are

described below and illustrated with beta-radiographs from prints by Whistler (figs. 2-

44).16

Confusion about specific Japanese papers

also arises out of the traditional names these

papers have been given. Definite characteristics were associated with these traditional

names, but as technology in Japanese papermaking changed, so did the characteristics of

the resulting sheets even though the traditional name was retained. Consequently,

modern samples with traditional names may

not have been made with traditional materials or methods and may not look and feel

anything like the nineteenth-century examples under discussion. Traditional papers either used by Whistler or mentioned in the

1885 export document include yoshino-gami,

tengujo, gampi, "lower class," senka-shi,

book paper, gasenshi, cha-gami, kyoku-shi,

hosho, torinoko, and abuiagami. Each is described below, following the descriptions of

paper characteristics. For a clarification of

terms used throughout these descriptions,

see appendix i.

Primary Characteristics

Pulp Characteristics

Japanese papermaking is extremely labor intensive. The degree to which the fibers are

cooked, the amount of extraneous matter removed from the pulp, how much the pulp is

beaten and washed, and the degree of homogeneity of the final pulp determine the quality of the paper.

Two primary characteristics relate to the

pulp: quality of the pulp and distribution of

the pulp on the mold. High-quality pulp consists of evenly separated fibers of about the

same length; it produces a uniform sheet (see

Amsterdam, from the Tolhuis, Kpi, fig. 10).

Medium- to low-quality pulp has a more random mixture of fiber lengths and contains

fiber knots and fiber or plant particles that

look like debris and in Japanese are termed

chin (in English, "lumps and shives") (see

Fumette's Bent Head, KS/, fig. 6).

An even sheet is formed from a uniform

distribution of the pulp on the surface of the

su—the removable screen placed on top of

the mold to catch the fibers suspended in the

bath (see Zaandam, K4i6, fig. 17). An "uneven" sheet has an inconsistent distribution

of pulp with thicker and thinner areas when

viewed by transmitted light (see F. R. Leyland, KiO2, fig. 8). Although there are variations, high-quality papers generally have

both a clean and consistent preparation of the

fibers and an even distribution of pulp, while

lower-quality sheets often show various fiber

lengths, much extraneous plant material,

and an uneven pulp distribution.

Mold Characteristics

Japanese papermaking molds are constructed

differently from European molds. They are

made of lightweight wood with the deckle—a

frame holding the su—hinged on one side.

After the fibers are deposited on the su, the

deckle is opened. The su is removed and lowIO8 DWA N
ered, paper side down, across a pile of previously stacked sheets. The 511 is then drawn

away, leaving the new sheet of paper on top

of the pile. Then the su is replaced on the

mold, and another sheet of paper is made.

The impression seen on Japanese papers that

results from the materials and construction

of the su can be confused with European

markings.

Su characteristics that are evident in a

sheet are similar to the European chain-line

intervals and laid-line frequency, although

the molds from which they are derived are of

completely different construction and materials. Laid patterns can be made by bamboo,

reed, or grass strips across the su. (Compare

the width of laid lines in Street at Saverne,

Ki9, figs. 33-34, to see the wider reed impression.) Chain lines are made with thread that

sews the strips of the su together. Chinese or

Korean papers generally have a much closer

chain-line interval than Japanese papers.

However, Japanese papers imitating traditional Chinese papers, such as the calligraphy papers called gasenshi, mimic the foreign su (see, e.g., The Unsafe Tenement, Ki/,

fig. 38; Study, W/7, fig. 35; The Duet, No. 2,

W6s, fig. 36). Often very thin papers show the

markings of a sha, a fabric covering attached

to the su that eliminates chain and laid impressions and prevents the fine fibers from

falling through while the paper is being

made. The impression of a sha can resemble

that made by a European wove mold (see

Drouet, K$s, fig. 24). Papers made with a sha

are generally very high quality and very expensive. Wove moldlike markings can also be

made by couching or drying paper against

fabric, as with kyoku-shi papers.

Sheet dimensions, determined by the

mold, are very important for identification,

as some papers are made only in particular

sizes. Unfortunately, the paper found in

prints has often been trimmed.

Fiber Type

The three traditional Japanese papermaking

fibers are kozo, gampi, and mitsumata. Each

has distinctive properties. Fiber type is a primary characteristic when gampi (see Little

Wapping, K/3, fig. 26; The Rag Gatherers,

K23, fig. 23) or mitsumata (see Rue Furstenburg, W59, fig. 29) is used. Gampi is silky,

transparent, and very expensive compared to

other Japanese fibers. Mitsumata is crisp and

translucent and, depending on how it is processed, has a pink-brown tone. Most papers

were made with kozo, and their characteristics are less distinctive. This single plant fiber yields a wide variety of effects depending

on locality, season of harvest, and method of

processing. In addition to these fundamental

fibers, some papers contain supplementary

fibers such as grasses (rice or wheat straw),

bamboo, or hemp. These and additives to the

pulp, such as clays, talc, white chalk, or

starches, may change the character of the

fibers.

Formation aids are used during Japanese

papermaking to keep the pulp disbursed, but

these are not the same as Western sizing

agents. In fact, Japanese sheets are generally

not sized by the papermaker and are therefore

very absorbent, similar to Western unsized,

or "waterleaf" sheets.

Secondary Characteristics

Thickness

Compared to Western papers, most Japanese

papers are thin and have been routinely described that way without reference to differences among them. Thin sheets require special pulp preparation and great skill by the

papermaker. Heavier sheets require more

material, considerably more fiber preparation

time, and more time at the vat per sheet.

A remarkably transparent gampi sheet (as

seen, for example, in The Rag Gatherers,

K23, fig. 23), is .01 millimeter thick. Mediumthick papers range from .03 to .06 millimeter

(see the etchings, Steps, Amsterdam, K4O3,

fig. 14, and Pierrot, K4O/, fig. 15, both on paper made of kozo fiber). Many lithographs are

on thicker paper, from .09 millimeter (see

Draped Figure, Seated, W46, fig. 43, on paper

made of gampi fiber) to .15 millimeter (see

The Little Balcony, WSQ, fig. 44, also gampi).

These thicker Japanese papers are comparable to Western medium-thick papers. (Although the thickness is the property that is

measured, thin papers are conventionally

called "lightweight" and thick papers

"heavyweight.")

Texture

The texture of a sheet is often the result of a

primary characteristic, such as the fiber type

(e.g., gampi), or the addition of fillers, such

as talc in hosho papers. Texture is also the

DWA N IO9
result of general papermaking practices.

While most oriental papers show the stroke

of the drying brush on one side of the sheet,

papers dried on sheet metal driers are usually

much smoother than those dried on wooden

boards. The latter sometimes show the wood

grain imprint of the drying surface. In the

descriptions of papers by name, texture will

be described only if it is a primary characteristic, as it is with the vellum papers and

high-quality gampi papers.

Co7or

Color in Japanese papers is usually a secondary characteristic. Unless the pulp is specifically dyed or intentionally loaded with

colored earth pigments, color is only a byproduct of primary papermaking characteristics. For example, white talc filler is added to

hosho for absorbency and opacity. The

source, locality, and species of the fiber, the

degree to which the fiber has been cleaned,

the number of washings, the amount of time

it is cooked, the method of drying, and the

use of bleaching agents, even the time of year

the paper is made—all influence the final

color and tone. High-quality gampi papers

have been cleaned and refined to the extent

that they appear light in color. (But very

white gampi sheets are often made from a

mixture of chemically bleached kozo and

gampi fibers—certainly a nontraditional

technique.) Many factors affect the color of

Japanese paper, and the color of the final

sheet can vary significantly but randomly.

In addition, aging of the papers combined

with exposure to light or poor-quality matting materials during the life of a print can

greatly affect the color, either lightening or

darkening the fiber. Sizing applied prior to

printing can also affect the color, and it can

change with age. Thin Japanese papers may

be transparent, so the color of the mat board

on which the print is mounted can greatly

influence the perceived color.

Selecting a white paper or a toned paper is a

fundamental artistic choice. In general, a

white paper creates more contrast with the

print's color range than can be produced on a

toned paper. White paper can also produce

more contrast, drama, and tension with

deeper spatial relationships. A toned paper

creates a unifying effect but shallower space

and less contrast between the line and paper

tones. Toned papers also present a softer,

more diffuse image with a narrower color

range. To document the artist's paper selection for cataloguing purposes, the main color

categories are described only as white tones

or brown tones in the section that follows.

White tones include cream colors and describe papers bleached, processed, loaded

with white fillers, or exposed to light to the

extent that all the natural color of the plant

fibers has been removed. Brown tones refer

to all the nuances of the natural brown color

of the plant fibers regardless of the degree the

color may have been modified during

processing.

NAMED PAPERS

The 1885 export document records that several specific papers were shipped to Europe

and the United States. These are described

below and illustrated with a beta-radiograph

of the paper, when possible. A few of the papers described are also mentioned in the

nineteenth-century printing manuals quoted

in the opening pages of this essay. During the

nineteenth century there were more than

two hundred thousand papermakers in Japan,

working in small shops, each with its own

methods and products. Consequently there is

wide variation within any class of paper that

needs to be considered when viewing the

beta-radiographs and trying to fit a paper into

a particular group. Examples of variations

possible within one type of paper can be seen

in the several beta-radiographs of gasenshi

and also in the book papers. For a correlation

of papers used in Whistler's etchings and

lithographs, see appendix 2.

Yoshino-gami

Yoshino-gami is a very thin, high-quality,

white-toned, kozo paper available in several

thicknesses (fig. 45). A white clay or pigment

filler contributes to its dimensional stability.

It is unsized. It is frequently seen in nineteenth-century books as an interleaf to protect images.17

 Today it is used by traditional

scroll mounters as an internal, cushioning

first lining.

no DWA N
Jkngujo

Tengujo is a very high-quality, tissue-thin,

white-toned, kozo paper, without any fillers

(fig. 46). It is unsized. Extreme care is required in pulp preparation and great skill in

its formation. Currently, it is made by only

one papermaker in Japan, Shoji Hamada of

Kochi. Layers of pulp are deposited on the

screen in both directions, a technique that

makes the paper dimensionally stable, with

little or no grain. Considering its thinness, it

is very strong and coherent. It can be seen

laminated to another sheet in Whistler's

Limehouse (W4) and in two Paul Gauguin

prints at the National Gallery of Art, Te Auta

and Soyez Amoureuse Vous Serez Heureuses.

Because of its thinness and its attachment to

another paper, this paper is difficult to see

and can easily be overlooked.

Gtf/npi-Fibered Papers

Except when used in the thick vellum papers, gampi fibers are usually easy to recognize in papers (see figs, i, 23-26). Gampi papers are silky, lustrous, and transparent.

They are usually very thin and brown toned

and may have a sha marking rather than

chain and laid patterns from the mold. As

with other papers, they are unsized. During

the nineteenth century they were approximately four times more expensive than other

imported Japanese papers.18 Early in the

twentieth century, gampi was imported as

"copying paper" for tracings.19 Gampi-iibered papers have very strong expansion and

contraction characteristics and, if improperly

mounted, can buckle and distort dramatically. Because of their thinness, they tear and

wrinkle easily, and repairs are often seen.

Several articles have been written on the conservation treatment of gampi papers.20

Lower-Class Paper

"Lower-class paper" is the direct translation

from the export document. These papers

are thin to mediumweight, low-quality,

brown-toned, kozo papers considered acceptable for export purposes. This type of paper

was one of the first to be exported to Europe,

as early as 1868. It may have been made by

prisoners on the island of Hokkaido, who

were known to make paper for export to

other countries. Many "lower class" papers

are found in Whistler's early etchings, such

as Rotherhithe (K66, fig. 7).

Senka-shi

Senka-shi is a medium- to heavyweight,

brown-toned, kozo fiber paper that is unsized

(fig- 33)- ^ was traditionally made with a

double screen that folded to make a single

"sandwich" type of paper which was very

strong. It evolved into a crisp but lighterweight paper used for books, still thicker and

rougher than other book papers. It is made in

various qualities.

Book Paper

"Book paper," a direct translation from the

export document, is a kozo paper with a

brown tone, of medium weight, and unsized

(figs. 47-48). It is thinner than the senka-shi

paper also used for books. It was shipped to

Europe as early as 1868 and is seen in prints

from that time. Nineteenth-century Japanese

books were made with various qualities of

kozo paper. Beta-radiographs from Whistler

etchings from the early 18705 are shown in

figures 2-8.

Gasenshi

Gasenshi is often found in several thicknesses; the lighter weight was used for chine

colle, and heavier versions were popular for

lithography (figs. 49-50). Gasenshi, translated as "imitation Chinese calligraphy paper" is probably the "India paper, which

comes from China" described by William

Savage in 1822.21 The Japanese also made

convincing gasenshi, however, with similar

materials on a mold imitating a Chinese

mold, and it is sometimes difficult to determine whether a sheet of gasenshi was fabricated in Japan or China. The 1885 export document reveals that Japan actually exported

gasenshi to China in 1873 and 1874.

Gasenshi papers are traditionally made

with mitsumata and bamboo fibers that are

both short and weak. The absorbent quality

is due to the fibers and to the addition of

warn, or rice straw fiber, digested to a powder

consistency. Wara is prepared by cutting rice

stalks, boiling them in strong caustic solution, and then pounding them until they are

pulpy. Wara is a very absorbent material, and

it fills the pores of the paper and adds a luster.

DWA N III
It is likely that it is this warn that moves by

redeposition in the paper during conservation

treatments and produces white tide lines.

Use of starch enzymes during conservation

treatments affect the filler. It is very easy to

skin (abrade) these papers because of their

weak fibers and lack of sizing, and special

precautions are needed during treatments.22

Gasenshi papers are available in a range of

qualities, from coarse papers with many

shives to very refined and clean papers.

Coarse "practice papers" are often brown and

full of shives. Better-quality papers are gray

to white in color and, due to the warn filler,

have a chalky feel, which is also responsible

for their absorbency. They are unsized. They

have comparatively narrow chain-line intervals (1.5-2.0 cm compared to 3.0-4.0 cm of

other Japanese papers). Gasenshi generally

has distinct brush marks on one side as a result of the drying process.

When gasenshi papers are printed with either etchings or lithographs, the plate area

becomes compact and takes on a glossy, burnished quality compared to the unprinted

area. Because of the paper's weak fibers and

absorbent nature, it can be difficult to retain

these burnished and matte areas during

aqueous conservation treatments. Retaining

the depth of an intaglio impression is also

difficult.

A European imitation of gasenshi, called

"Oxford India" or "Bible Paper," was made

in England in 1875;23 this could be the imitation India paper referred to in nineteenthcentury printing manuals.

Cha-gami

Cha-gami (paper for wrapping tea) is a mitsumata paper that was used to wrap boxes for

storage or transportation of tea. Although it

was mentioned by William Savage, it has not

been observed as used for artwork.

Japanese Vellums

Several traditional vellums24—kyoku-shi,

hosho, and toiinoko—are described below.

At the end of the nineteenth and beginning of

the twentieth century, the original composition of these papers was altered, and they

were made specifically for export purposes to

the West.

Kyoku-shi

Kyoku-shi is translated as "bureau paper." It

was a popular vellum paper that is generally

called "japon" (figs. 28-32). It was originally

made in 1874 by the Meiji government's

Printing Bureau of the Ministry of Finance as

security paper for bank notes and other important legal documents. Kyoku-shi is most

often made with mitsumata fiber, although it

is also made with kozo fiber; it was considered an excellent security paper since any

changes or alterations could easily be detected in its smooth, calendered surface.

Kyoku-shi was exhibited at the World Exhibition in Paris in 1878 and, starting in 1885, was

exported by the Mitsui Bussan Company.25

Kyoku-shi was made "Western style," that

is, couched between fabric; it looks very

much like a Western wove paper.

Kyoku-shi can be calendered on one or

both sides of the sheet or uncalendered.26

The calendered and uncalendered sheets are

very different in appearance. The calendered

version has a mottled quality when viewed

through transmitted light and shiny, dense

interrupted areas when viewed in raking

light. The mitsumata fibers give it a characteristic luster and a warm yellow tone. It was

an extremely popular paper for printmaking.

Used for both etchings and lithographs, it can

be found in almost all nineteenth-century artists' prints. Many of Gauguin's woodcut

prints are on kyoku-shi paper.

Of several Whistler prints on kyoku-shi paper analyzed, fiber microscopy confirmed

that Rue Fuistenburg (W59, fig. 29) and Figure Study (W76, fig. 31) were made of mitsumata fiber and one, The Red House, Paimpol (Wioo, fig. 32), contained both mitsumata

and softwood fibers, consistent with later export papers. For comparison, analysis was

made of eight exported Japanese vellum papers sold in 1910 by the Japan Paper Company

in New York and bearing its watermark. For a

sample of kyoku-shi from the Shidzuoka

mill, see figure 51. Five contained the traditional Japanese papermaking fibers kozo and

mitsumata, and three contained 5-15 percent

wood pulp fibers. The incorporation of wood

pulp fiber can be used to date late or posthumous Whistler impressions.

The kyoku-shi later produced for export

purposes was made with a variety of fibers

112 DWA N
Table 1

Fiber Analysis of Eight Exported Japanese Vellum

Papers, Sold 1910

Paper Type Fiber

Imperial Japanese

Handmade Paper

(kyoku-shi)

#3 weight, #2 weight

Insatsu mill

Japanese Handmade

Paper (kyoku-shi)

#3 weight, #2 weight

Shidzuoka mill

#i weight, Shidzuoka

mill

interleaving,

Shidzuoka mill

Ibrinoko

Mokuroku

mitsumata fiber

mitsumata fiber

85% mitsumata, 15%

wood pulp

95% mitsumata, 5% wood

pulp

55% kozo, 45% mitsumata

90% mitsumata, 10%

wood pulp

added to mitsumata, including wood pulp.

These papers appear more calendered,

smoother, without the dense fibrous areas of

100 percent mitsumata papers, and with a

browner tone. They are easily confused with

European "japon simili" papers, which were

developed later. It appears that "japon" papers from the nineteenth century were in fact

made in Japan and that not until the early

twentieth century were European "japon"

vellum papers able to imitate Japanese

vellums. During the early twentieth century,

"vellums" were made in several European

countries. In France, two mills made imitation Japanese papers. One, located at 76 Rue

de Rennes, Paris, produced a paper called

"Dujardin" with four watermarks: a stylized

chrysanthemum flower design running along

one edge, "japondujardinParis," "ORIENT,"

and "Normandy vellum." Another, Ville Sur

Saulx mill, produced a paper watermarked

"normandy vellum franee." The Van Gelder

mill in Amsterdam advertised its papers as

"simili japon papers for lithography and collotype printing." They have either the Van

Gelder design as a watermark or "simili

japon." L. S. Dixon and Company of Liverpool and London made a handmade book paper and a Bible paper watermarked "simili."27

 Strathmore also produced a paper with

the watermark "Strathmore" and "Japon."

Conservation treatments on kyoku-shi are

complex. Kyoku-shi is difficult to dry clean

since the fibers are very easily abraded.

Aqueous treatments can swell the calendered

surface and thus also swell the intaglio impression. These papers were prized by artists,

and impressions on "japon" should not receive secondary consideration.

Hosho

Hosho is a traditional Japanese wood block

printing paper and a popular nineteenth-century lithography paper that can be easily

identified (figs. 39-42). It is a highly refined

kozo paper that is generally very clean, and

its chain lines are readily visible. Talc filler

in the pulp emphasizes the contrast between

the opacity of the sheet and the translucency

of the chain lines. The talc fills the pores of

the paper, making the surface very smooth,

opaque, white, and very absorbent for printing. Hosho is sometimes sized with animal

glue and can appear slightly yellower than

the stark white unsized sheets.

The layers of each original dipping of

hosho can easily delaminate. Several nineteenth-century manuals suggest that, if there

is a printing mistake, the paper can be split

and the clean side used for printing.28 Although the talc helps the paper remain dimensionally stable, there is no sizing to protect the talc, and that makes dry cleaning

treatments difficult. Unsized sheets can be

easily skinned while removing attachments

such as hinges or old mends.

Jbrinoko

Torinoko paper was traditionally a very highquality gampi paper (figs. 43-44). Because it

was made very thick, it is opaque but retains

the polished surface qualities and crisp printing characteristics of gampi. Many of Whistler's lithographs are printed on this paper.

During its evolution, tonnoko was made

with other fiber combinations; first with

gampi and mitsumata, then with kozo fibers,

and finally with wood pulp fibers. The color

changes depend on the principal fiber: gampi

tonnoko has a brown tone, mitsumata

tonnoko has a pink-to-white tone, and wood

pulp and kozo combinations make a brown

tone. It is generally a high-quality paper, and

the chain and laid lines are difficult to distinguish. It can easily be mistaken for a Western

DWA N 113
paper. In the early twentieth century, the Japan Paper Company distributed several different types that were made in Japan with its

company watermark.

CONCLUSION

The information about Japanese papers presented here is intended to provide a reliable

technical reference for future researchers

rather than to draw conclusions. While it is

tempting to speculate on the technical and

aesthetic reasons for Whistler's choice of particular papers for specific impressions, these

will be understood only when more is known

about Whistler's technical printing decisions

and his relationship with his various

printers.

Some observations, however, can be tentatively proposed. As a substantial number of

Whistler's etchings and lithographs were executed on Japanese papers, it is certain that

he had a definite preference for their color

and printing properties. There are also patterns in his use of Japanese papers, some

based on availability and others clearly related to aesthetic properties. For instance,

his very sensitive portraits of Drouet (K55J,

Becquet (Ksi), and Maude (Kii4), and the

etching Weary (K92) were printed on the

highest quality, transparent, and extremely

delicate gampi tissue. Other etchings from

the same period are almost exclusively on a

low-quality book paper, probably the only

Japanese paper readily available at the time.

Undoubtedly Whistler overlooked the defects in favor of the warm brown tone, transparency, and printing qualities. Yet, because

he valued the portraits highly, he chose

scarce and expensive gampi paper for these

special impressions.

Generally, however, Whistler's use of Japanese papers closely relates to their availability. As more varieties were imported, he was

quick to incorporate them into his oeuvre.

By the time he did his Amsterdam series, late

in his career, he could be quite selective in

his use of Japanese papers. When he did select Japanese papers, he seemed satisfied

with the color, wiping the plate cleanly and

not leaving residual plate tone as he did on

similar impressions pulled on Western papers. It is possible that Whistler's use of plate

tone on Western papers was intended, at least

in part, to correct their color or tonal range.

With very few exceptions, the Japanese papers Whistler selected for his lithographs

were very different from those he used for his

etchings. The differences form stark contrasts: the lithographs are on opaque white

papers while the etchings are on transparent

brown papers. Since there was a large variety

of Japanese papers commercially available

when Whistler was making lithographs, his

selection seems to have been based on aesthetic or technical considerations rather than

availability. While final conclusions about

the reasons for his choices cannot be reached

until more information is available, the documentation of the characteristics of Japanese

papers he did use offers some insight.

114 DWA N
2. Soupe a Tiois Sous

low-quality kozo

1943.3.8431

3. Becquet

low-quality kozo

1943.3.8435

4. Astruc, A Literary Man

low-quality kozo

I943-3-8436

5. Fumette, Standing

low-quality kozo

I949-5-53I

6. Fumette's Bent Head

low-quality kozo

1949.5.532

7. Rotherhithe

low-quality kozo

1943.3.8442

All works by James Abbott McNeill

Whistler are in the collection of the

National Gallery of Art, Washington.

Accession numbers distinguish multiple impressions of the same print. See

also appendix 2.

DWA N 115
8. P. 1?. Leyland (i/ii)

low-quality Aozo

I949-5-538

9. Fig. 8; viewed with

transmitted light

Il6 DWA N
io. Amsterdam, from the Tolhuis

high-quality kdzo

1943.3.8457

ii. Fanny Leyland

high-quality kdzo

1943.3.8466

12. Free Trade Wharf

high-quality kdzo

1943.3.8496

13. Fishing-Boats, Hastings

high-quality kdzo

I943-3-849I

14. Steps, Amsterdam

senka-shi kdzo

1943-3-8639

15. Pierrot

senka-shi kdzo

1943-3-8643

DWAN II/
16. Little Drawbridge, Amsterdam

senka-shi kozo

1943.3.8647

17. Zaandam

senka-shi kozo

1943.3.8649

18. The Velvet Dress

senka-shi kozo

1943.3.8464

19. Florence Leyland

senka-shi kozo

1943.3.1729

20. The Garden

senka-shi kozo

1943.3.8697

21. Draped Figure Standing

senka-shi kozo

1947.10.2

118 DWAN
DWA

N 119

22. Fig. 21,

viewedwith transmitted

light
23. The Rag Gatherers

thin, transparent gampi

1951.13.22

24. Drouet

thin, transparent gampi

1943.3.8659

25. The Forge

thin, transparent gampi

1943.3.8444

26. Little Wapping

thin, transparent gampi

1943.3.8446

27. The "Adam and Eve," Old Chelsea

medium, opaque gampi

1943.3.8508

28. Greenwich Park

kyoku-shi mitsumata

1949.5.528

29. Rue Furstenburg

kyoku-shi mitsumata

1943.3.8719

I2O DWA N
30

. Fig. 29,

viewed with

transmitted light

DWAN -121
3i. Figure Study

kyoku-shi mitsumata

1946.21.369

32. The Red House, Paimpol

kyoku-shi mitsumata and softwood pulp

I943-3-8757

33. Street at Saverne

senka-shi

1943.3.8407

34. Street at Saveme

not determined

1943.3.8405

35. Study

gasenshi

1946.17.1

36. The Duet, No. 2

gasenshi

1943.3.8725

37. The Medici Collar

gasenshi

1943.3-8798

122 DWA N
38. The Unsafe Tenement

low-quality gasenshi

1943.3.8403

39. The Tyresmith

hosho kozo

1943.3.8687

40. The Fair

hosho kozo

1943.3.8750

41. The Manager's Window, Gaiety Theatre

hosho kozo

1943.3.3128

42. Sketchhosho kozo

1943.3.8792

-Grande Rue Dieppe 43. Draped Figure, Seated

torinoko gampi

1943.3.8706

44. The Little Balcony

torinoko gampi

1943.3.8710

DWA N 123
45. Yoshino-gami sample 46. Tengujo sample

47. Nineteenth-century

Japanese "book paper"

48. Nineteenth-century

Japanese "book paper"

49. Gasenshi sample 50. Gasenshi sample 51. Kyoku-shi sample, from the

Shidzuoka mill, Japan Paper

Company, 1910

124 DWA N
NOTES

I would like to thank the Mellon Foundation for

funding my position at the National Gallery of Art,

conservation division. Additional funding for this

project was provided by the Asian Cultural Council.

Ruth Fine, curator, department of modern prints and

drawings, National Gallery of Art, encouraged the

project and made many valuable contributions to it.

Shelley Fletcher, head of paper conservation, and

Nancy Ash, then senior paper conservator, provided

time for this research as well as many useful suggestions. Michael Palmer, conservation scientist, scientific research department of the National Gallery,

identified the fibers in Whistler's The Red House,

Paimpol. John Krill, senior paper conservator, Henry

Francis du Pont Winterthur Museum, provided many

references and made substantial editorial contributions. Judith Walsh, senior paper conservator, National Gallery of Art, also contributed to several

sections of this article. Timothy Barrett, director of

Papermaking Facilities, University of Iowa, School of

Art and Art History, helped by reviewing the sections

on Japanese paper characteristics. Akinori Okawa,

Kochi Prefectural Pulp and Paper Laboratory, identified the fibers in the export papers. Philip Meredith

provided samples of nineteenth-century Japanese papers. Many people in Japan assisted my research and

understanding of Japanese papers; of particular help

were Masakuni Aoki, Hiraku Kido, Yoshinari Kobayashi, Yoko Kuzume, Hisao Miyajima, Toshio Miyazawa, and Asao Shimura.

1. Several exhibitions and publications have focused

on the Japanese influence on art. See, e.g., Rembrandt: Experimental Etcher [exh. cat., Museum of

Fine Arts, Boston] (Boston, 1969), 180, for discussion

of Japanese papers used by Rembrandt; Gabriel P.

Weisberg et al., Japonisme: Japanese Influence on

French Ait, 1854-1910 [exh. cat., Cleveland Museum

of Art] (London, 1975); Robert H. Getscher, The

Stamp of Whistler [exh. cat., Allen Memorial Art

Museum, Oberlin College] (Oberlin, 1977), 4, for discussion of the mid-nineteenth-century etching revival; Society for the Study of Japonism, ed.,

Japonism in Art: An International Symposium (n.d.).

2. Andrew Robison, Paper in Prints [exh. cat., National Gallery of Art] (Washington, 1977), 24.

3. William Savage, Practical Hints on Decorative

Printing (London, 1822), 31.

4. Ernest S. Lumsden, The Art of Etching (New York,

1924), 137-

5. Maxime Lalanne, A Treatise on Etching (London,

1880), 60.

6. Lumsden 1924,137.

7. Philip Gilbert Hamerton, Etching and Etchers

(London, 1868), 345.

8. Harry S. Parkes, "Reports on the Manufacture of

Paper in Japan Presented to Both Houses of Parliament by Command of Her Majesty" (London, 1871),

in Mr. Gladstone's Washi, A Survey of Reports on the

Manufacture of Paper in Japan: The Parkes Report of

18/1, ed. Hans Schmoller (Newtown, Pa., 1984).

9. Philip Gilbert Hamerton, Etcher's Handbook (London, 1871).

10. Weisberg 1975, 3, 4.

11. Clay Lancaster, Japanese Influence in America

(New York, 1963), 25.

12. In 1885 the records department of the Japanese

Ministry of Finance compiled existing documents on

the exportation of paper since 1868. Paper was classified by type, and entries include the years of exportation, exporting harbors, destinations, prices, and

amounts. As the data were gathered from a variety of

entries, the format differs from one to another. Taken

as a whole, the document provides significant information on the kind and extent of Japanese paper exportation during the late nineteenth century.

This document, now in the Oji Paper Museum, Tokyo, was translated by Masokuni Aoki, museum director, and Toshio Miyazawa, museum manager. The

entries include information on cha-gami, "paper for

wrapping tea"; "lower class of paper"; "paper for

books"; and other papers including tengujo,

aburagami, gasenshi, and senka-shi. Italy is the only

European country identified as receiving paper shipments in 1868. Beginning in 1873 there was an increase

in the amount and type of papers exported, and shipments were sent to England, France, Germany, British East India, Austria, and the United States.

A copy of the translated document is on file in the

paper conservation department at the National Gallery of Art, Washington.

13. John Krill, "Harrison G. Elliott: Creator of Handmade Papers," Quarterly Journal of the Library of

Congress 35 (1978), 4-26.

14. P. D. Perkins, The Paper Industry and Printing in

Japan (Tokyo, n.d.).

15. For a complete explanation of Western papermaking terms, see Dard Hunter, Papermaking: History

and Technique of an Ancient Craft (New York, 1978).

For Japanese papermaking, see Timothy Barrett, Japanese Papermaking: Traditions, Tools, and Technique

(New York, 1983). See also app. I.

16. Nancy Ash, "Recording Watermarks by Beta-Radiography and Other Means," AIC Postprints, loth

Annual Meeting of the American Institute for Conservation, Book and Paper Group (Washington, 1982),

7-13-

Beta-radiography is a nondestructive method of recording paper characteristics such as fiber dispersion,

watermarks, and chain and laid lines. Its detailed

one-to-one image is the most accurate method of imaging paper characteristics. A radiograph is made

with a beta-plate—a carbon-14 source embedded in a

thin sheet of plastic. The plate emits electrons in the

form of extremely low-energy beta particles that can

measure the differences of density within a sheet of

paper. A beta-radiograph is made by placing the appropriate photographic film under the print and the

beta-plate on top of the print and exposing the film

for a period of time depending on the thickness of the

paper.

Evaluating beta-radiographs takes some practice.

The image is similar to that seen when viewing a

DWA N 125
print by transmitted light such as seen through a

light box. Wrinkles, mends, tears, and even parts of

the image must be distinguished from the paper

structure. Beta-radiographs shown are actual size,

one-quarter of the plate printed. Figures 9, 22, and 30

also show the Whistler print photographed with

transmitted light.

Whistler's prints and etchings are identified by

numbers assigned in Edward Guthrie Kennedy, The

Etched Work of Whistler Illustrated by Reproduction

in Collotype of Different States of the Plates—Compiled, Arranged, and Described, 6 vols. (New York,

1910); his lithographs are identified by numbers assigned in Thomas R. Way, The Lithographs by Whistler, Illustrated by Reproduction in Photogravure and

Lithography, Arranged According to the Catalogue by

Thomas R. Way, with Additional Subjects Not before

Recorded (New York, 1914). When possible, states are

noted.

17. John Krill, Henry Francis du Pont Winterthur Museum, personal communication, April 1988.

18. Parkes 1984.

19. R. T. Stevens, The Art of Paper Making in Japan

(New York, 1909).

20. Shelley Fletcher and Judith Walsh, "The Treatment of Three Prints by Whistler on Fine Japanese

Paper," Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 18 (1979), 118-128; Catherine Nicholson, "The

Conservation of Three Whistler Prints on Japanese

Paper," in The Conservation of Far Eastern Art, ed.

H. Mabuchi and Perry Smith (London, 1988), 39-44.

After aqueous treatments, I have had success drying gampi papers between two pieces of smooth

Gore-tex touching the artifact, with blotters and felts

on either side. The smooth surface of the Gore-tex allows the smooth gampi surface to be retained while

moisture is removed from the sheet. The light weight

and light restraint of the Gore-tex and felts help retain the impression of the print.

21. Savage 1822, 31.

22. Special precautions include providing protective

framing and limiting handling of gasenshi impressions altogether because they are especially vulnerable and current treatment options compromise

impression qualities. When conservation treatments

are necessary, especially aqueous treatment, propyl

alcohol or butyl alcohol can be successfully used as a

resist to isolate areas of the impression that do not require treatment. These alcohols temporarily bond

with the cellulose and repel water, while noncoated

areas receive the water and cleanse the paper where

necessary. Propyl alcohol is soluble in water, and

butyl alcohol is soluble in 8 percent or less concentrations. By varying the number of applications of the

alcohol resist between baths or varying the duration

of immersion, the alcohols can provide an effective

temporary resist that is eventually, and in a controlled manner, replaced with atmospheric moisture.

This approach has the advantages of "local" treatments in that the paper and impression qualities of

nondamaged areas are not affected by overall treatment. Due to the vulnerability of the paper and reactions of the wara filler, use of the suction table or

other standard local treatment options are not recommended. Because the wara filler is rice starch, starch

enzymes cannot be used during treatment.

23. E. J. Labarre, Dictionary and Encyclopaedia of Paper and Paper-Making (Amsterdam, 1952), 37,178.

24. "Vellum" originally referred to a form of parchment or animal skin. It later was used by Europeans

to describe papers, such as these "Japanese vellums,"

that are dense with a very smooth, often calendered

surface.

25. Shigo (Paper Industry Times), Paper Merchandise

Encyclopaedia: All Paper Guide (Tokyo, 1983).

26. Pulp and Paper Technical Association, Pulp and

Paper Encyclopaedia (Tokyo, 1973).

27. Harrison Elliot Paper Collection sample books,

Rare Book Room, Library of Congress, Washington.

28. Lumsden 1924,143.

126 DWAN
APPENDIX 1 APPENDIX 2

Terms Used in Describing Japanese

and European Papers

The following explanations amplify the discussion in the text and describe standards for classifying Japanese papers. Terms and spellings

vary considerably for Japanese paper making;

the source followed here is Sukey Hughes,

Washi: The World of Japanese Paper (Tokyo,

1978), 171-195-

Pulp Characteristics

High-quality: fibers are of a consistent length

overall, and no shives, lumps, or debris are

present in the sheet.

Medium- and low-quality: fibers are of various

lengths and/or shives, lumps, or debris are present in the sheet.

Even distribution: the sheet is uniform when

viewed through transmitted light.

Uneven distribution: the sheet is not uniform,

and thicker and thinner areas can be seen when

viewed through transmitted light.

Mold Characteristics

Chain-line intervals: centimeters between

chain lines.

Laid-line frequency: number of laid lines per

centimeter.

Sha texture: present or not.

Other: random occurrences; for example, irregularities in the laid lines.

Fiber

Gampi

Kozo

Mitsumata

Supplementary fibers such as grasses (straw),

bamboo, or hemp

Thickness

Thin papers or light weight: .01-.03 millimeter

Medium papers or medium weight: .03-.06

millimeter

Thick papers or heavy weight: .06 millimeter

and thicker

Color

Brown tones

White tones

Correlation of Papers in Whistler's Etchings

and Lithographs

Within the collection at the National Gallery of

Art, Washington (NGA), the separate categories

of Japanese papers found in Whistler's prints

were identified. Using worksheets (see sample

at the end of this appendix) and following the

methodology described in the text, each paper

was examined. A description of each category is

suggested as a possible catalogue entry for use

in a revised catalogue raisonne of Whistler's

prints. A similar examination was completed

for prints from collections at the Freer Gallery

of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington

(FGA), and the Baltimore Museum of Art

(BMA). These museums are designated in the

following lists by acronyms. Etchings are identified by numbers assigned in Edward Guthrie

Kennedy, The Etched Work of Whistler: Illustrated by Reproduction in Collotype of Different States of the Plates—Compiled, Arranged,

and Described, 6 vols. (New York, 1910). Lithographs are identified by numbers assigned in

Thomas R. Way, The Lithographs by Whistler,

Illustrated by Reproduction in Photogravure

and Lithography, Arranged According to the

Catalogue by Thomas R. Way, with Additional

Subjects Not before Recorded (New York, 1914).

When possible, states are noted in parentheses.

Thin, low-quality, brown-tone Japanese kOzo

paper

The etchings on this paper are similar and characteristic for prints from Greenwich Pensioner

(K34) through The Little Pool (K/4). These papers form a distinct group that includes the following characteristics: poor pulp preparation,

poor distribution, many lengths of fibers with

additional plant pieces, and often irregularities

in the mold. The papers were very loose and

thinly made. The thinness of the sheets makes

them somewhat transparent. It is likely that

these were the only Japanese papers available at

the time these early prints were made. These

papers could be the "lower class" or "book papers" mentioned in the 1885 export document.

Etchings

Greenwich Pensioner, K34 (FGA 95.7; 98.259)

Thames Warehouses, K$8 (FGA 98.264)

Old Westminster Bridge, K39 (FGA 98.265)

Limehouse, K4O (BMA Li933.53.12325)

Black Lion Wharf, K^2 (FGA 98.271)

The Pool, K43 (FGA 98.273, 98.274)

The Pool, K43 (BMA Li933.53.12326)

Thames Police, K44 (BMALi933.35.i654)

Thames Police, K44 (FGA 98.275)

Longshoremen, K45 (FGA 90.5; 98.276)

DWAN 127
The Lime-Burner, K46 (FGA 90.3)

Billingsgate, Ktf (FGA 08.189; 98.278)

A Wharf, Ktf (FGA 98.269)

Soupe a Trois Sous, K49 (FGA 98.250)

Soupe a Trois Sous, K49 (i/i) (NGA 1943.3.8431),

fig. 2

BibiLalouette, K$i (FGA 90.2; 98.254; 98.255)

Becquet, K52 (iii) (NGA 1943.3.8435), fig. 3

Astruc, A Literary Man, K53 (FGA 98.285)

Astruc, A Literary Man, K53 (ii) (NGA

1943.3.8436), fig. 4

Portrait of Whistler, K$4 (FGA 98.288)

Fumette, Standing, K$6 (i) (NGA 1949.5.531),

fig-5

Fumette, Standing, K$6 (FGA 98.286)

Fumette's Bent Head, Ktf (i) (NGA 1949.5.532),

fig. 6

Fumette's Bent Head, K5/ (FGA 98.287)

Finette, K58 (FGA 98.291; 98.294)

Venus, K59 (FGA 98.2950)

Arthur Haden, K6i (FGA 98.282; 92.1)

Annie Haden, K62 (FGA 98.297,- 98.296)

Mr. Mann, K63 (FGA 98.298)

Axenfeld, K64 (FGA 98.30.2)

Rotherhithe, K66 (iii) (NGA 1943.3.8442), fig. 7

Rotherhithe, K66 (FGA 98.265)

Rotherhithe, K66 (61^1,1933.35.7637)

The Miser, K69 (BMA 1^1933.53.9095)

The Little Pool, K74 (FGA 98.319; 90.6)

F. R. Leyland, KiO2 (i/ii) (NGA 1949.5.538), fig. 8

Thin, high-quality, brown-tone Japanese kozo

paper

Kozo fiber in these papers has been carefully

prepared so that all the fibers are of a consistent

length without any impurities in the pulp. The

paper was carefully made to produce sheets

with even distribution of pulp.

Etchings

The Pool, K43 (BMA 11933.53.12319)

Drouet, K$$ (BMA 75.29.20)

The Storm, K8i (FGA 91.8)

Amsterdam, from the Tolhuis, (i) K9i (NGA

1943.3.8457), fig. 10

Amsterdam, from the Tolhuis, Kyi (FGA 98.328)

The Model Resting, Kioo (FGA 98.333)

The Velvet Dress, KiO5 (89.25)

Fanny Leyland, Kio8 (i) (NGA 1943.3.8466),

fig. ii

Seated Girl, Kn8 (FGA 98.348)

Free Trade Wharf, Ki63 (undetermined state)

(NGA 1943.3.8496), fig. 12

Free Trade Wharf, Ki63 (BMA £1933.53.11676)

Fishing-Boats, Hastings, Ki58 (ii) (NGA

1943.3.8491), fig. 13

Medium-thick, medium-quality, brown-tone

(senka-shi) Japanese kozo paper

The Aozo paper was made with several fiber

lengths and overall uneven distribution. The

papers are very crisp and less absorbent than

other Japanese papers. They form a distinct

group typical of Whistler's late etchings, the

Amsterdam series. Earlier etchings may have

been reprinted at this later date. It is significant

that Japanese papers were not used for a substantial period in Whistler's career and that

their use was more selective in later etchings.

On these brown-tone Japanese papers, Whistler

did not need to leave a plate tone of ink, and

the impressions are cleanly wiped.

Etchings

Steps, Amsterdam, 1(403 (iii) (NGA

1943.3.8639), fig. 14

Long House—Dyer's—Amsterdam, K4o6 (FGA

06.118)

Pierrot, 1*407 (v) (NGA 1943.3.8643), fig. 15

Little Drawbridge, Amsterdam, (ii) K4I2 (NGA

1943.3.8647), fig. 16

Atelier de Bijouterie, 1(433 (FGA 06.131)

Rue Vauvilliers, K439 (FGA 03.96)

Zaandam, K4i6 (ii) (NGA 1943.3.8649), fig. 17

Zaandam, K4i6 (FGA 06.120)

The Velvet Dress, KiO5 (iv) (NGA 1943.3.8464),

fig. 18

The Velvet Dress, KiO5 (BMA 32.179)

Florence Leyland, Kno (iii) (NGA 1943.3.1729),

fig. 19

Florence Leyland, Kno (FGA 98.340; 98.341)

Maude, Standing, Kii4 (FGA 98.345)

Price's Candle-Works, Ki54 (FGA 91.14)

Melon-Shop, Houndsditch, K293 (FGA 92.14)

Lithographs

The Winged Hat, W25 (FGA 95.6)

The Garden, W38 (NGA 1943.3.8697), fig. 20

Draped Figure Standing, Wi55 (NGA 1947.10.2),

fig. 21

Medium-thick, high-quality, brown-tone

Japanese kozo paper

The kozo fiber was carefully prepared and

evenly distributed. Both the inking and the paper are very distinct, and these entries warrant

further investigation as a group. It is possible

that they were printed (reprinted?) at the same

time.

Etchings

Sketch of Ships, Ki5i (FGA 98.361)

Nude Figure Reclining, K343 (FGA 00.49)

Boulevard Poissoniere, K423 (FGA 05.1)

Balustrade, Luxembourg Gardens, K427 (FGA

06.123)

Cafe Corazza, Palais Royal, 1(436 (FGA 03.95)

Lithographs

Dancing Girl, W$o (FGA 06.154)

The Cap, W158(FGAo5.i3)

128 DWA N
Thin, transparent, brown-tone Japanese gampi

paper

These impressions are on various qualities of

gampi paper. However, the transparency, ability

of the shiny surface to reflect light, and exceptional absorbency take precedence over quality.

Gampi papers were approximately four times

more expensive than other Japanese papers.

Etchings

The Rag Gatherers, K2$ (v) (NGA 1951.13.22), fig. 23

Billingsgate, K4/ (BMA 1932.17.3)

Becquet, KSI (FGA92.32)

Drouet, K$$ (FGA98.29O)

Drouet, K$$ (NGA 1943.3.8659), fig. 24

The Forge, K68 (iii) (NGA 1943.3.8444), fig. 25

The Forge, K68 (BMA 1,1933.53.11663)

Millbank, K/i (BMA11933.53.11686)

Millbank, K/i (FGA 94.38)

Little Wapping, K/3 (i) (NGA 1943.3.8446),

fig. 26

Little Wapping, K/3 (FGA 98.317)

The Little Pool, K/4 (BMA 32.17.8)

Weary, K$2 (iia;ii) (NGA 1943.3.8458; 1947.10.5)

Weary, K$2 (FGA 98.329; 05.164,- 89.28)

Lithographs

Gatti's, W34 (FGAo6.i58)

Mother and Child #4, Wi35 (FGA 06.197)

La Danseuse, A Study of the Nude, Wi48 (NGA

1945.5.1332)

La Danseuse, A Study of the Nude, Wi48 (BMA

LI933-53-83I5)

Nude Model Standing, Wi54 (BMA

LI933-53-83M)

Draped Figure Standing, Wi55 (FGA 06.201)

Nude Model Back View, Wi65 (FGA 04.165)

Nude Model, Back View, Wi65 (NGA

1946.21.372)

Medium-thick, high-quality, brown-tone

Japanese gampi paper

These gampi papers were made thicker so that

they are opaque rather than transparent. They

have a polished surface and an absorbent

quality.

Etchings

The Unsafe Tenement, Ki7 (BMA 74.42.15)

The Forge, K68 (BMA 32.17.7)

The Forge, K68 (FGA 94.23)

The "Adam and Eve," Old Chelsea, Ki75 (ii/ii)

(NGA 1943.3.8508), fig. 27

The "Adam and Eve," Old Chelsea, KIJS (FGA

93-92)

Medium-thick, high-quality, brown-tone

vellum (kyoku-shi, or "japon") Japanese

mitsumata paper

Mitsumata fiber was carefully prepared and

evenly dispersed on "Western-style" molds.

Kyoku-shi has a smooth surface, is often calendered, and has a very absorbent quality.

Etchings

Reading by Lamplight, K$2 (FGA 98.247)

Greenwich Park,K35(ii)(NGA 1949.5.528), fig. 28

Landscape with the Horse, K$6 (FGA 98.280)

Bibi Valentin, K$o (FGA 98.251)

The Little Mast, Ki85 (FGA 98.380)

The Little Lagoon, Ki86 (FGA 05.180)

The Doorway, Ki88 (BMA 46.112.5964)

Two Doorways, Ki93 (FGA 98.390)

The Mast, Ki95 (FGA 98.394)

Lithographs

Rue Furstenburg, W59 (NGA 1943.3.8719), fig. 29

Figure Study, Wj6 (NGA 1946.21.369), fig. 31

Yellow House, Lannion, Wioi (NGA 1947.10.4)

Study—Mr. Thomas Way, No. i, Wioj (NGA

1943.3.8764)

Kensington Gardens, WiO9 (NGA 1943.3.8766)

The Russian Schube, Wii2 (NGA 1943.3.8769)

Draped Figure Standing, Wi55 (BMA

LI933-53-83I7)

Unfinished Sketch of Lady Haden, Wi43 (formerly NGA 610,855, deaccessioned)

Draped Figure, Standing, Wi55 (NGA

1946.21.365)

Medium-thick, medium-quality, brown-tone

vellum (export-quality kyoku-shi} mitsumata

and softwood pulp paper

The Red House, Paimpol, Wioo (NGA 1947.10.3;

I943-3-8757), fig- 3^

Medium-thick, white-tone, vellum (gasenshi,

or "China" or "India") Japanese paper

Mitsumata and bamboo fibers with rice starch

filler make this paper extremely smooth, absorbent, and opaque. Various qualities are represented below.

Lithographs

The Sisters, Wji (FGA 03.82)

A Portrait, Miss Howells, W75 (FGA 03.83)

Study, W77 (NGA 1946.17.1), fig. 35

The Duet, No. 2, W65 (NGA 1943.3.8725), fig. 36

Yellow House, Lannion, Wioi (NGA

1943.3.8758)

Count Robert de Moutesquiou, Wi37 (NGA

1943.3.8786; 1943.3.8787; 1943.3.8788)

Count Robert de Moutesquiou #2, Wi38 (FGA

03.215)

Count Robert de Moutesquiou #3, Wi39 (FGA

04.71)

Dancer, Wi48 (FGA 98.413)

The Shoe Maker, Wi5i (NGA 1943.3.8797)

The Medici Collar,Wi53 (NGA 1943.3.8798), fig. 37

Medium-thick, high-quality, white-tone,

vellum (hosho) Japanese kozo paper

Kozo fiber was carefully prepared, with even,

DWAN 129
clean distribution on the mold. Talc filler

makes the sheets white, opaque, and absorbent.

Lithographs

Study, W3(FGA 06.135)

The Tyresmith, W27 (NGA1943.3.8687), fig. 39

The Fair, W$2 (NGA 1943.3.8750), fig. 40

The Manager's Window, Gaiety Theatre, Wii4

(NGA 1943.3.3128), fig. 41

By the Balcony, Wi24 (FGA 05.212)

Mother and Child #4, Wi35 (NGA 1946.21.371)

Sketch—Grand Rue Dieppe, Wi46 (NGA

I943-3.8792), Hg. 42

Sketch—Grand Rue Dieppe, Wi46 (NGA

I943-3-8793)

Thick, high-quality, white-tone, vellum

(torinoko) Japanese gampi paper

Gampi fiber, possibly with supplementary fibers, was formed to produce a thick, opaque

sheet that is absorbent, with a polished surface.

Lithographs

Draped Figure, Seated, W46 (NGA 1943.3.8706),

fig- 43

The Little Balcony, W5O (NGA 1943.3.8710),

fig- 44

The Little Balcony, W5O (FGA 06.166)

Little Draped Figure Leaning, W5i (FGA 06.167)

Long Gallery, Louvre, W52 (NGA 1943.3.8712)

The Whitesmiths—Impasse des Carmelites,

W53 (NGA 1943.3.8713)

The Whitesmiths—Impasse des Carmelites,

W53(FGAo6.i69)

Tete-a-Tete in the Garden, W54 (NGA

1943.3.8714)

Le Belle Jardiniere, W63 (NGA 1943.3.8723)

La Belle Dame Endormie, W69 (NGA

1943.3.8729)

La Fruitiere de la Rue de Grenelle, Wjo (NGA

I943.3-8730)

The Garden Porch, WHO (NGA 1943.3.8789)

The Man with a Sickle, Wi4i (FGA 04.159)

Afternoon Tea, Wi47 (NGA 1943.3.8794)

Afternoon Tea, Wi47 (FGA 04.69)

Nude Model Standing, Wi54 (FGA 07.173)

Miscellaneous

These papers do not fit into a category and were

unique examples in the collections surveyed.

Etchings

Street at Saverne, Ki9 (iii/v) (NGA 1943.3.8407),

fig- 33 (probably senka-shi kozo)

Street at Saverne, Ki9 (NGA 1943.3.8405), fig.

34, not determined

The Unsafe Tenement, Ki7 (NGA 1943.3.8403),

fig. 38, a brown-tone low-quality gasenshi

The Kitchen, K24 (FGA 98.238), medium quality, many shives, brown tone

Annie Haden, K62 (FGA 92.5), medium quality,

thick, white tone

Lithographs

Study, Wi (FGA 05.205), thick, white-tone kozo

Confidences in the Garden, W6o (FGA 06.177),

high quality, medium thick, white tone

Thin, Japanese paper attached overall to

Western plate paper

These papers are difficult to identify since they

are attached overall to Western plate paper.

Lithographs

Gaiety Stage Door, Wio (FGA 88.24)

Old Battersea Bridge, Wi2 (FGA 88.28)

Reading, Wi3 (FGA 88.30)

The Fan,Wi4 (FGA 04.68)

A Portrait, Miss Howells, Wj$ (FGA 12.2)

Back of the Gaiety Theatre, W8i (FGA 05.211)

The Limehouse, W4 (FGA 06.135), thin tengujo

I3O DWAN
WORKSHEET FOR JAPANESE PAPERS

Print Title:

Accession Number:

Catalogue Raisonne Number:

number and state:

beta-radiograph:

Pulp Characteristics

pulp quality and description (high, medium,

low)

pulp distribution (even, uneven)

Mold Characteristics

chain-line intervals

laid-line frequency

watermark

presence of unusual markings (sha, wove

appearance)

interpretation

Fiber Type

Western fibers: bast, cotton, pulp

oriental fibers: kozo, mitsumata, gampi

supplementary fibers: bamboo, hemp, grasses,

wood pulp

fillers: talc, starch, other

sizing: strong, weak

Thickness

thin (.01 mm)

medium (.03-.06 mm)

thick (.06-.15 mm)

Color

white tones

brown tones

Texture (if appropriate)

Specific Paper Name (if appropriate, for example, gasenshi, hosho, kyoku-shi, senka-shi,

torinoko)

Summary (catalogue entry)

DWAN 131

SUSANN A P. GRISWOL D

Two Paintings by El Greco:

Saint Martin and the Beggar

Analysis and Comparison

E

1 Greco (1541-1614), "the Greek," was born in

Crete, but it was in Spain, between the years

1577 and 1614, that he became a major artistic

force. He was a prolific painter and, in conjunction with his workshop, produced multiple versions of his more successful paintings.

Today it is not unusual to find three or even

five smaller versions of an altarpiece in

existence.

Little is known about El Greco's creative

process of painting. We do know that, at least

late in his career, he generally sketched his

compositions with a brush and black paint

onto a red imprimatura that lies on top of the

traditional white ground. We also know that

he made color sketches for his compositions,

apparently in preparation for execution of the

final version. Such sketches, which are often

completed paintings, are known as modellos.

In contrast, copies of completed paintings are

known as ricordos. Visual analysis alone is

often insufficient to distinguish a modello

from a ricordo, as both are generally finished

paintings. Moreover, little is known about El

Greco's participation in the execution of

ricordo paintings by his workshop.

This essay originated as an investigation

into the chronological relationship of two

paintings in the collection of the National

Gallery of Art, Washington. Both were attributed to El Greco and are entitled Saint Martin and the Beggar (figs. 1-2).l

 Their chronological relationship was soon established: the

smaller version showed clear evidence of being a ricordo (and not a modello) of the larger

altarpiece.

The identification of the smaller version of

Saint Martin and the Beggar as a ricordo

raised the further question of whether it was

painted by El Greco or by his workshop. This

issue has been addressed by scholars by

means of connoisseurship. However, those

scholars who have dealt with this question

do not agree as to the authorship of the

ricordo.2 This essay serves to add detailed information about the technical differences

and similarities between the two versions to

facilitate the establishment of authorship. It

is based on a comparative study of the two

paintings that includes the supports, ground

layers, paint films, painting techniques, and

signatures, with consideration of other paintings by El Greco in the collection of the National Gallery of Art. Additional consideration is given to a smaller version of the

altarpiece of Saint Ildefonso (fig. 3), which

bears a similar relationship (modello or

ricordo) to the larger altarpiece painted for

the Hospital of Charity in Illescas, Spain

(fig. 4).

The larger of the two versions of Saint Martin and the Beggar was painted for the left

side of the altar of the Chapel of San Jose in

Toledo.3 For the other side of the altar, El

Greco painted Madonna and Child with Saint

Martina and Saint Agnes (fig. 5). The main

altarpieces, Saint Joseph and the Infant

Christ and Coronation of the Virgin, are still

133
i

. El Greco, Saint Martin and

the Beggar (altarpiece), 1597-

1599, oil on fabric

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Widener Collection

134 GRISWOLD
2

. El Greco workshop, Saint

Martin and the Beggar (smaller

version), 1600/1605?, oil on

fabric, after cleaning

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Andrew W. Mellon Collection

GRISWOLD 135
in situ, but the chapel is privately owned and

not open to the public.

The National Gallery's smaller version of

Saint Martin and the Beggar is one of four,

possibly five, existing paintings of this theme

executed on the same smaller scale (figs. 6-

9).4 No records have survived explaining the

purpose for which any of the smaller versions

were created. Presumably some were commissioned by provincial parishes in the countryside around Toledo, while one might have

remained in El Greco's possession as an example of the artist's craft.5

How can a modello be distinguished from a

ricordo? Changes made during the drawing

and painting states—an expression of the artist's creative process—are the most obvious

indication of a modello. In contrast, as a

ricordo copies the surface of another painting, compositional changes are absent.

3. El Greco, Saint Ildefonso

(smaller version), 1600/1605?,

oil on fabric

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Andrew W. Mellon Collection

4. El Greco, Saint Ildefonso

(altarpiece), 1600?, oil on fabric

Hospital of Charity, Illescas, Spain

136 GRISWOL D
5. E

l Greco, Madonna and

Child with Saint Martina and

Saint Agnes (altarpiece)

;

 1597-

1599, oil on fabric

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Chester Dale Collection

X-radiography, infrared photography and re-

flectography, microscopic examination of the

surface, and cross-section analysis were used

in this study to reveal the layering of the

paint film and its support structure.

El Greco's practice of producing smaller

versions of his altarpieces was recorded by

Francesco Pacheco

6

 and is often discussed in

the secondary literature. The question of

modello versus ricordo arises with each high-

quality version. Knowledge of the artist's

materials and techniques of translating an

idea to canvas helps answer this question,

and several scholars have examined the tech-

nical aspects of individual paintings by El

Greco.

7

 Only the following information is

known, however, about his creative process.

An inventory of El Greco's possessions in

1614, shortly after his death, recorded 150

drawings.

8

 Only a few have survived. The

only safely attributed drawing, Saint John the

Evangelist (National Library, Madrid), is exe-

cuted in black and white chalk and is squared

with black chalk to prepare it for transfer to a

larger scale.9 The 1614 inventory also lists

thirty tiazas, presumably tracings of some

sort. Perhaps these tracings were the means

by which compositions were transferred onto

canvas.

Several early paintings exhibit a type of

masterful underdrawing that defines the

outer and inner contours of the figures with

both precise and free marks. El Espolio (Up-

ton House, National Trust), Holy Family

(Prado), and Pieta (Philadelphia Museum of

Art) are small in size, have the same skillful

underdrawing that shows no signs of a copy-

ing hand, and—above all—exhibit changes

made during the painting process. These

characteristics strongly suggest that these

paintings were created as modellos.10 The

three paintings share another attribute: the

support consists only of a white ground layer.

From study of El Greco's unfinished paint-

ings, including Saint Jerome (fig. 10) and the

last Apostle series (Museo del Greco,

Toledo), it has been determined that at least

during his later years, but probably during

most of his career, the artist sketched his

compositions with a brush and black paint

onto a red imprimatura, which always seems

to lie on top of a traditional white ground.

This sketching is not detectable using infra-

red reflectography because of the low con-

GRISWOLD 137
6

. El Greco workshop (Jorge

Manuel Theotocopuli), Saint

Martin and the Beggar, 1615-

1620, oil on fabric

Contini-Bonacossi Collection,

Florence

7. El Greco workshop (Jorge

Manuel Theotocopuli), Saint

Martin Dividing His Cloak

with the Beggar, 1615/1620?, oil

on fabric

John and Mable Ringling Museum of

Art, Sarasota

138 GRISWOLD
8

. [Here attributed to

workshop of] El Greco, Saint

Martin and the Beggar,

1600/1605?, oil on fabric

Art Institute of Chicago, Gift of Mr.

and Mrs. Chauncey McCormick

9. El Greco workshop, Saint

Martin and the Beggar,

1610/1614?, oil on fabric,

present location unknown,

formerly in the Royal Palace,

Bucharest

Photograph Ampliaciones MAS

GRISWOLD 139
trast between the black drawing and the red

imprimatura.11

Among El Greco's contemporaries, Tintoretto and other Venetian artists are known

to have sketched compositions with a brush

and black and/or white paint onto a darkcolored imprimatura.12 Both El Greco and

Tintoretto are also reported to have used

clay models to establish the figurative elements,13

 strengthening the suggestion of a

close link between the two painters. Tintoretto and El Greco were associated with the

circle around Titian, and El Greco's technique of painting should be studied with his

contemporaries in mind.

As a great number of compositional

changes can be observed in all the largerscale paintings by El Greco owned by the National Gallery of Art, it seems that the artist

did not work out all compositions on paper or

in preparatory oil sketches. These findings

correspond with unpublished studies carried

out during the past few years on paintings by

El Greco owned by the Prado Museum, Madrid, by Maria del Carmen Garrido, head of

the museum's technical department.

Valuable insight into an artist's working

technique can also be gained through close

examination of the support and the paint

films themselves. Such studies are especially

useful for comparing two paintings by the

same artist. For this study we analyzed the

support (fabric fiber, fabric weave, stretcher),

the composition of the ground layers and

paint films (pigments, media, sequence of

layers), the painting techniques, and the signatures as revealed through x-radiography

and stereo-microscopical examination. The

results are reported below.

SUPPORT

Primary Support

The fabric support of El Greco's Saint Martin

and the Beggar, both altarpiece and smaller

version, were analyzed, as well as his altarpiece, Madonna and Child with Saint Martina and Saint Agnes.

Both altarpieces are painted on fabrics with

an unusual compound twill weave in irregular diamond-shaped pattern. The texture of

the fabric, which is cut from one piece, is

clearly visible on the surface of each painting

(fig. n). The tacking edges of both paintings

have been removed and the reverse of the

supports lined to secondary fabrics so that

the fabric weave can only be studied as it is

reflected in the x-radiographic image and in

the configuration of the painted surface. No

complete diagram of the weave could be reconstructed, but in a study on the treatment

and reinstallation of El Greco's Burial of the

10. El Greco, Saint Jerome,

1610/1614?, oil on fabric

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Chester Dale Collection

I4O GRISWOL D
11. Detail

, fig. 5, showing

painted surface with canvas

pattern

12. Diagram of weave of

canvas, El Greco, Burial of the

Conde de Oigaz, 1586-1588,

Santo Tome, Toledo

From Maria Socorro de los Rios y

Rojas, "Analisis del tejido de dos

muestras procedentes de la tela y el

forro del cuadro del Greco Entierro del

Conde de Orgaz conservado en la

Iglesia de Santo Tome de Toledo," in

Informes y trabajos del Institute de

Restauracion de Obias de Arte 13

(Madrid, 1977), 93

Conde de Orgaz (Santo Tome, Toledo), the

Institute de Restauracion de Obras de Arte,

Madrid, has recorded the weave for the fabric

of that painting (fig. 12), which is very similar

to, if not the same as, the weave used for the

two fabrics under discussion.

14

El Greco painted a great number of his

larger altarpieces on the same or very similar

types of fabrics,

15

 known in Spain as Mantelillo veneziano and Rosetta de Barga. Other

artists did not generally use this type of fab-

ric, although Titian's Vendramin Family (Na-

tional Gallery, London) is painted on a strik-

ingly similar fabric.

16

 The name, Mantelillo

veneziano, may refer to the Venetian origin

of the fabric.

Identification of a fiber from the fabric of

the altarpiece of Saint Martin and the Beggar

using polarized light microscopy has estab-

lished it as linen. The fiber's positive sign of

elongation and the presence of nodes and

cross markers, as well as its high bi-

refringence, indicate that it is made from flax

fibers.

17

 Fabrics used for painting were most

commonly made of linen in the sixteenth

and seventeenth centuries.

G R i s w o L D 141
The smaller version of Saint Martin and

the Beggar is painted on a fine, plain-weave

fabric cut from one piece. The painting's

original tacking edges are extant but presently flattened out and incorporated in the

enlargement of all four sides. Fiber analysis

was not carried out as no sample could be

extracted. Most of the smaller paintings by El

Greco and copies done by his workshop are

painted on fine-to-medium weight, plainweave fabric.

El Greco usually used fabric rather than

wood as a primary support for his paintings.18

 Having apprenticed in Venice for ten

years,19 he was undoubtedly familiar with

the advantages of fabric over the traditional

wooden support. Contemporaneous treatises

and letters testify to the changing usage of

support materials. Venetian artists in particular changed from panel to fabric early in

the sixteenth century.20

El Greco's use of coarse, open-weave, or

twill-weave fabrics also has much in common with the Venetians. Such fabrics were

regularly used for painting supports by Tintoretto, Veronese, Titian, and other Venetian

artists who exploited the textural fabric varieties to a greater degree than any other

school, and scholars have suggested that

these heavily patterned fabrics were chosen

by artists for their textural quality and the

effect they created on the surface of paintings.21

 Undoubtedly practical reasons, such

as availability or strength of fabric, were also

factors influencing their selection. Neither

Giorgio Vasari in Italy, however, nor any of

the seventeenth-century Spanish treatises on

painting give advice on the choice of fabric

types, and no surviving letters, contracts, or

other records testify to the motivations of the

artists. Some later Spanish artists, such as

Diego Velazquez, continued to be interested

in the textural variety of their supports,

whereas others did not.22

Secondary Support

In 1942 conservators at M. Knoedler and

Company in New York lined the two altarpieces from San Jose. According to the conservation report, the two paintings were

stretched over a "heavy frame with a solid

backing" when they arrived at the studio.

This construction was undoubtedly original,

as El Greco used the same type of support for

the altarpieces of Santo Domingo el Antiguo.

Of the nine paintings that adorned the original altar at the church, Saint John the Evangelist, Saint John the Baptist, and Resurrection of Christ are still in situ. Each is

mounted on a strainer and pine panels. The

fabric is glued only to the sides and face of

the strainer; the remainder rests against the

pine backing.23

A logical improvement over a simple

strainer, this kind of support served not only

as a moisture barrier but also prevented damage from impact on the back. Although this

hybrid between a solid panel support and a

fabric support was quite common during the

sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,24 it was

gradually replaced by mortise and tenon

stretchers of today and is now rarely

encountered.

No records have survived testifying to the

type of original secondary support of the

smaller version of Saint Martin and the Beggar. At present, the painting is mounted on a

recent mortise and tenon stretcher.

GROUND AND PAINT LAYERS

Ground

A thin-to-moderately thick white ground was

found on the two paintings under examination as well as on Madonna and Child with

Saint Martina and Saint Agnes and Saint IIdefonso. X-ray diffraction powder analysis

and microscopy on the grounds of the two

versions of Saint Martin and the Beggar indicated that both consist of a mixture of gypsum (calcium sulfate in the unburnt, dihydrate form, CaSO4.2H2O) and lead white

(2PbCO3.Pb(OH)2), with calcium sulfate predominating. The use of this type of gypsum

for the preparation layer was a standard practice in Venice, although calcium sulfate in

both the anhydrite and dihydrite form was

more common in other areas of Italy.25 To

date, no comprehensive research on Spanish

grounds has been carried out.26

A sample of the ground revealed the medium to be glue based, as suggested by its

sensitivity to water. As a confirmation, the

ground of one cross section, taken from the

smaller version of Saint Martin and the Beg142 GRISWOL D
gar, was stained using amido black 3. The

result indicated a proteinaceous medium. All

samples of the ground exhibited a yellow-tobrown color when observed under the polarized light microscope. Cross sections of

grounds that are bound with glue often look

brown when viewed with transmitted light,

as old glue is quite yellow. The ground applied to the panel support of El Greco's Espolio, however, has been found to be still in a

pure white condition, suggesting that perhaps a staining by absorption of layers lying

below the ground could also be responsible

for the yellow-to-brown color.27 No difference could be determined in terms of composition, thickness, or application of the respective grounds of the two versions of Saint

Martin and the Beggar.

When artists changed from wood to fabric

supports, they no longer needed a thick and

smooth white ground. Thinner preparations

could be used, and later more flexible materials became popular so that the canvas could

be rolled up and transported.28 El Greco prepared most of his canvases with both a white

ground and an oil-based, relatively thick red

imprimatura over it. Some of his early works

painted on the traditional wooden support

were prepared with a white ground alone.

Imprimatura

Analysis of the imprimaturas of the two

versions of Saint Martin and the Beggar,

Madonna and Child with Saint Martina

and Saint Agnes, and Saint Ildefonso revealed that all were composed of the same

pigments—iron oxides, red lake, carbon

black(s), and lead white—in varying quantities that produced corresponding differences in tonality. These variations suggest

that the paint for the imprimatura was individually prepared from the same general formula.29

 A single layer of imprimatura on the

larger version of Saint Martin and the Beggar

was detected by means of a scanning electron

microscopy (SEM) micrograph (see detail of

cross section G).

The imprimatura is always applied with a

brush to achieve an even and smooth appearance. Frequently, however, a thinning out of

the ground and the imprimatura can be observed toward the edges of the painting. The

two altarpieces from San Jose, but not the

smaller version of Saint Martin and the Beggar, show a thinner application of the preparation layers along all four edges compared to

the central field of the fabric, perhaps reflecting an effort to economize on materials.

Pigments

Analysis of pigments helps to evaluate the

time frame in which a painting was painted.

For the purpose of comparing two paintings,

an analysis of the palette can establish incongruities and advance an understanding of the

artist's technique.

For the two versions of Saint Martin and

the Beggar it was not possible to sample the

paint film in exactly the same locations.

X-ray fluorescence spectroscopy (XRF) and

polarized light microscopy show, however,

that the palette used for both versions is virtually the same.30

 One minor exception is

the use of red lead for a highlight on the stirrup of the smaller version; the presence of red

lead was not confirmed in the larger version.

These findings and other pigment studies of

paintings by El Greco suggest his palette was

fairly consistent and quite restrained.31

METHODS OF PAINTING:

A COMPARISON

A comparison of the x-radiograph mosaic of

the two paintings of Saint Martin and the

Beggar strongly suggests their different intents and premises. Direct comparison is facilitated by the similarity of palette. Lead

white and lead-tin yellow are the two most

highly x-ray absorptive pigments within

these paint films. They appear white or gray

of different gradations on the x-radiograph

and create clear images of the horse, Saint

Martin, and the green cloak. The beggar and

the landscape are painted with a lesser

amount of x-ray opaque pigment, exhibiting

an image that is not of very high contrast.

Most striking on first sight is the forceful

modeling of the horse of the larger version.

Closer examination of the chest of the horse

reveals that during the early process of painting, the neck strap with martingale was originally placed slightly higher than its final position (figs. 13-14). This change was made

when the white paint was still wet, as some

GRISWOL D 143
13

- X-ray mosaic, fig. i faokW,

5omA, 35)

144 GRISWOLD
14- Detail, fig. 13

15. Detail, fig. 13

lead white from the chest was carried up by

the brush to the point where the neck strap

disappears underneath the saddlecloth. The

painting of the neck strap in its final position

was carried out soon thereafter, as the wet

lead white was pushed aside, forming a ridge,

when the brush carrying the black paint

passed over.

Another change in the larger version is

strongly suggested by a heavy buildup of a

very dense material, probably lead white,

along the outline of Saint Martin's right

shoulder (fig. 15). The x-radiograph also reveals that the raised position of Saint Martin's left-hand index finger was painted after

having been initially sketched in a lower

position. In contrast, changes or adjustments, often an integral part of the creative

painting process, are completely absent from

the x-radiograph mosaic of the smaller version (fig. 16). In fact, the artist who carried

out the smaller version repeated the final position of the horse's saddle gear shown in the

larger version, first sketching in the neck

strap with martingale, the rein, and the

sword directly on the red imprimatura and

continuing with the white and gray modulations of the horse. It can be assumed that the

artist had the large altarpiece or a similar version in front of him as a model for this

painting.

The painting process for the two versions

GRISWOL D 145
16

. X-ray mosaic, fig. 2 (35kV,

5omA, 35)

146 GRISWOLD
i/. Photomicrograph, fig. 2,

showing remnants of the

signature

of Saint Martin and the Beggar can also be

studied by comparing cross sections (see

app.). Cross section E was taken next to a

loss on the larger version of Saint Martin and

the Beggar, from the connecting metal piece

of the rein and the bit under the horse's lower

jaw. This element of the horse's bridle overlies the green cloth and the blue sky behind

it. The cross section includes nine, perhaps

ten layers, suggesting that the artist first outlined a figurative element such as the horse

or the horse's bridle with gray paint over the

red imprimatura and then sketched in the

sky. On top of that layer followed the painting of the green cloth and the two layers defining this specific part of the horse's bridle.

In contrast, cross section F, taken from the

same area on the smaller version, reveals just

two layers—a white layer and a gray layerlying on top of the imprimatura. These two

layers mimic the surface of the same area of

the larger version without having gone

through the compositional painting process.

The cross sections taken from the larger version of Saint Martin and the Beggar were generally composed with a more complex layering. Black or gray layers on top of the red

imprimatura, or close to that layer, suggest

preliminary sketching with gray or black

paint in several places (cross sections A, E,

and G). In contrast, the cross sections taken

from the smaller version have a simple layering of colors applied to achieve the same results shown on the surface of the larger

version.

SIGNATURE

The remnants of the signature of the smaller

version of Saint Martin and the Beggar are

too few to suggest conclusions (fig. 17). The

individual letters are placed at the bottom

edge of the left-hand corner and are very

small. A signature with exceptionally small

letters is characteristic of El Greco's works of

the last decade of the sixteenth century, the

decade during which the San fose altarpiece

was painted. However, El Greco's signatures

varied in style and location on a painting

throughout his life. Saint Joseph and the Infant Christ, the painting that still adorns the

main altar of the Chapel of San Jose, carries a

signature with the same small letters. Some

paintings attributed to El Greco's workshop

also have this miniature type of signature.

The altarpiece of Saint Martin and the Beggar

carries a larger signature in cursive Greek letters. The painting created for the other side,

of the side altar of San Jose, Madonna and

Child with Saint Martina and Saint Agnes,

shows the artist's initials.

GRISWOL D 147
AUTHORSHIP CONCLUSION

Technical evidence has established the chronological relationship of the altarpiece and

the smaller version of Saint Martin and the

Beggar in the collection of the National Gallery of Art. Technical evidence does not provide us with an answer regarding authorship

of the smaller version, however. Factors such

as workshop practices of the time32 and the

relationship of other small versions of other

subjects with their respective larger altarpieces need to be considered and compared.

Consideration here of Saint Ildefonso (see fig.

3) is fruitful. This Saint Ildefonso was also

painted as either a modello or a ricordo of the

larger altarpiece (see fig. 4). X-radiographs of

the smaller version do not reveal any changes

of composition, suggesting that the painting,

like the smaller version of Saint Martin and

the Beggar, is a ricordo. But the two ricordo

paintings are very different in execution. The

small version of Saint Martin and the Beggar

has a tightness and lack of energy that are in

sharp contrast to the painterly freedom and

sophistication of Saint Ildefonso. The "dressing-out" of the artist's brush, for example,

often seen on authenticated paintings by El

Greco, is visible along both vertical edges of

Saint Ildefonso but not on the smaller version of Saint Martin and the Beggar. This discrepancy in execution suggests that the two

paintings are by different hands. However, it

is reasonable to assume that El Greco, like

other artists such as Titian, touched up

ricordo paintings copied by his workshop.

The extent of these touch-ups would likely

have varied according to the purpose of the

ricordo painting and the degree of success in

execution by the workshop. As the smaller

version of Saint Martin and the Beggar in the

collection of the National Gallery of Art,

even though tight in execution, is the most

successful version of the smaller ricordo

paintings of this theme, El Greco may well

have participated in the final stages of

painting.

Evidence resulting from this study at the National Gallery of Art establishes that the

smaller version of Saint Martin and the Beggar is a copy of an already existing image.

The x-radiograph of the larger version reveals

the dynamic force with which this painting

was created, an energy also translated onto

the surface of the. painting. The smaller version lacks that energy. The difference is confirmed by the technical analysis. The

changes made during the execution of the

larger altarpiece and the lack of such changes

in the smaller version demonstrate that the

smaller version was not created as a modello

for the altarpiece but is instead a copy, or a

ricordo, of the altarpiece. The much greater

complexity of the paint layers of the altarpiece of Saint Martin and the Beggar, compared with a simple layering of colors of the

smaller version, supports this conclusion. Indeed, it appears that none of the smaller versions still in existence was created as a modello, as the design of the larger altarpiece is

closely repeated in each version. It is yet to

be determined whether any preparatory

works were created for this composition, as

most of El Greco's works of art on paper have

vanished.

148 GRISWOLD
NOTES

Pigment, medium, and fiber analyses were carried

out by Barbara Berrie, then acting head of the scientific research department of the National Gallery of

Art, Washington. The research was made possible by

the support of the Mellon Foundation and the National Gallery of Art.

I wish to thank the members of the painting conservation department for their generous assistance

and Ashok Roy, National Gallery, London, for helpful

comments on the manuscript.

i. The larger format Saint Martin and the Beggar (National Gallery of Art, Washington, Widener Collection) is an altarpiece painted for the lateral altar (left

side) of the Chapel of San Jose in Toledo. Inscribed at

the lower right in Greek cursive letters:

translated as "Domenikos Theotokopoulos made it."

The original contract for the painting is not extant

but is cited in a subsequent agreement for payment of

1599. It is generally assumed that it was painted between 1597 and 1599. Today's measurements: height

1.935 m, width 1.030 m.

The smaller format Saint Martin and the Beggar

(National Gallery of Art, Washington, Andrew W

Mellon Collection) is one of four, possibly five, existing smaller versions of the same subject (see n. 4).

Conservation treatment in 1987 uncovered remnants

of a signature in Greek cursive letters in the lower

left-hand corner (see fig. 17). Various dates have been

assigned to the painting: 1600-1605 by Harold Edwin

Wethey, El Greco and His School, 2 vols. (Princeton,

1962), 2:247,-1604-1614 by Manuel B. Cossio, El Greco

(Barcelona, 1972), 386; 1604-1612 by August L. Mayer,

Dominico Theotocopuli El Greco (Munich, 1926), 48.

Today's measurements: height 1.043 m, width 0.603

m. Original measurements: height 0.995

 m/ width

0.550 m. The painting is hung with the nonoriginal

areas covered by a period frame, thus permitting the

viewer to see the painting with the original

dimensions.

2. Wethey 1962, 2:247; Cossio 1972, 386; Mayer 1926,

48.

3. Wethey 1962, 2:11-13.

4. Wethey 1962, 2:246-248. The other three versions

are in the Contini-Bonacossi Collection, Florence;

John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art, Sarasota;

and Art Institute of Chicago. The fifth version, location presently unknown, was formerly housed in the

Royal Castle, Bucharest.

5. The inventory taken in 1614 after El Greco's death

listed "un S. Martin" still in the possession of the

artist. Many other paintings in the inventory appear

to have been smaller versions of the artist's commissioned altarpieces (see n. 6). Francisco de Borja de San

Roman y Fernandez, El Greco en Toledo (Madrid,

1910), 193. A second inventory taken in 1621, listing the

possessions of El Greco's son, Jorge Manuel, included

two paintings of Saint Martin and the Beggar. Francisco de Borja de San Roman y Fernandez, "De la vida

de El Greco," Archivo espanol de arte y arqueologia 3

(1927), 301, 303.

6. Francesco Pacheco wrote in his treatise, The Art of

Painting (1649), "In the year 1611, Domenico Greco

showed me a cupboard of clay models by his hand

which he used in his works; I also saw something else

exceeding all admiration—the originals of all he had

painted in his life, painted in oil on small canvases

and kept in a room that he instructed his son to show

me. What will the presumptuous and lazy say to this?

How is it that they do not drop dead, hearing of such

examples? Seeing such diligence among the giants,

etc." Artists' Techniques in Golden Age Spain: Six

Treatises in Translation, ed. and trans. Zahira Veliz

(Cambridge, 1986), 40.

7. Hubertus Falkner von Sonnenburg, "Zur MaltechnikGrecos," Miinchner fahrbuch (Munich, 1958-

1959), 243-255,- von Sonnenburg and Frank Preusser,

"El Grecos Entkleidung Christi (Espolio) in der Alten

Pinakothek," Maltechnik-Restauro 82, no. 3 (July

1976), 142-156; Elisabeth C. G. Packard, "A Problem

in Technical Research: The Walters St. Francis—A

Contribution to El Greco Studies," Journal of the

Walters Art Gallery 23 (1960), 49-71; Institute de Restauracion de obras de Arte, "El Entierro del Conde de

Orgaz: Nueva Instalacion Estudio cientifico y tratamiento," in Ministerio de Cultura, Direccion General del Patrimonio Artistico, Archivos y Museos

(Madrid, 1977); Maria del Carmen Garrido and Jose

Maria Cabrera, "Estudio tecnico comparativo de dos

Sagradas Familias del Greco," Boletin del Museo del

Prado 3, no. 8 (May-August 1982), 93-101; Maria del

Carmen Garrido, "Estudio tecnico de cuatro Anunciaciones de El Greco," Boletin del Museo del Prado

8. no. 23 (May-August 1987), 85-109; Ann Massing,

"The Examination and Restoration of El Greco's El

Espolio," in The Bulletin of the Hamilton Kerr Institute: The First Ten Years (Cambridge, 1988), 1:76-82.

8. San Roman y Fernandez 1910,195.

9. This drawing is a preparatory drawing for the figure

of Saint John the Evangelist in the altarpiece of Santo

Domingo el Antiguo in Toledo. Diego Angulo and Alfonso E. Perez Sanchez, A Corpus of Spanish Drawings, 1400-1600 (London, 1975), 43-45,159.

10. El Espolio: Massing 1988, 76-82; Holy Family:

Maria del Carmen Garrido, "Un dessin sous-jacent

du Greco comme critere d'attribution des dessins

isoles du meme auteur," in Dessin sous-jacent et autres techniques graphiques, ed. Roger van Schoute

and Dominique Hollanders-Favart (Louvain-laNeuve, 1985), 182-187; Pieta: unpublished infrared reflectograms at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1981.

11. Infrared reflectography of unfinished areas of El

Greco's Saint Jerome (National Gallery of Art, Washington, Chester Dale Collection) confirmed this findGRISWOL D 149
ing, as early outlines of black paint, lying directly on

the imprimatura, could be studied without overlying

paint layers.

12. Hubertus Falkner von Sonnenburg, "Beobachtungen zur Arbeitsweise Tintorettos," Maltechnik-Restauro 3 (1974), 133-143; Joyce Plesters,

"Tintoretto's Painting in the National Gallery of

Art," National Gallery Technical Bulletin (London) 4

(1980), 32-49; Joyce Plesters and Lorenzo Lazzarini,

"Preliminary Observations on the Technique and Materials of Tintoretto," in Conservation of Pictorial

Art, ed. Norman Brommelle and Perry Smith (London, 1976), 7-26. Plesters and Lazzarini examined ten

grounds of canvases by Tintoretto. Two canvases had

dark brown grounds lying directly on the canvas, two

canvases had a dark brown or blackish upper layer of

ground lying on a thin white ground, and six canvases

had only a thin white ground layer.

13. Von Sonnenburg 1974,135; El Greco's use of clay

and wax models was observed by Pacheco. Veliz 1986,

40. The inventory of 1614 lists twenty models in clay

and wax. San Roman y Fernandez 1910,195.

14. Maria Socorro Mantilla de los Rios y de Rojas,

"Analisis del tejido de dos muestras procedentes de la

tela y el forro del cuadro del Greco Entierro del Conde

de Orgaz conservado en la Iglesia de Santo Tome de

Toledo," in Informes y trabajos del Instituto de Restauracion de Obras de Arte 13 (Madrid, 1977), 93.

15. Besides the published examples of this type or

similar types of fabric (e.g., Garrido 1987,106; Mantilla de los Rios y de Rojas 1977, 91-98), many of El

Greco's canvases evidence this characteristic texture.

Among them are Madonna of Charity, Nativity, and

Coronation of the Virgin (all Hospital of Charity,

Illescas), San Bernardino di Siena (Casa del Greco,

Toledo), andEspolio (Cathedral, Toledo).

16. Based on photographic records provided by the

conservation staff of the National Gallery, London.

17. Martha Good way, "Fiber Identification in Practice," Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 26, no. I (1987), 27-44.

18. Of El Greco's generally accepted body of works

(Wethey 1962), only eleven paintings are on wood. After the late 15705 he no longer used wooden supports

at all. All of the wooden supports he used are small,

ranging from .17 x .24 m to .66 x .84 m.

19. It is generally accepted that El Greco spent ten

years in Venice, from about 1559/1560 to 1570; then he

traveled to Rome. A letter from Giulio Clovio has

survived, introducing "un giovane Candiotto" (from

the city of Candia, Crete), "discepolo di Titiano" to

S. Cardinale Farnese. Wethey 1962,1:3-19; Jose Camon

Aznar, Dominico Greco, 2 vols. (Madrid, 1950), 1:95;

Ellis K. Waterhouse, "El Greco's Italian Period," Art

Studies 8 (19301,61-88.

20. According to Giorgio Vasari, painting on fabric

was already common practice in Venice in the fifteenth century. He wrote in his biography on Jacopo

Bellini:

All those and many others were painted by Jacopo

[Bellini] with the aid of his sons, and the last scene was

done on canvas, as has nearly always been the custom in

Venice, where they very rarely make use, as they do elsewhere, of panels of wood made from the tree known to

many people as poplar and to some as silver poplar. . . .

But in Venice they do not make panels, and when they

occasionally do so they use only wood from the fir, of

which that city has an abundance, because of that river

Adige which brings a great quantity of it from German

soil. . . . So then it is much the custom in Venice to paint

on canvas, either because it does not split or become

worm-eaten, or because they can make pictures whatever size they wish, or again for the convenience, as said

elsewhere, of being able to send paintings where ever

they want, with little bother or expense.

Lives of the Artists (1568), trans. George Bull, 2 vols.

(London, 1987), 2:59. The reasons for choosing fabric

rather than panel seem to have been very much the

same for the Paduan artist Andrea Mantegna. In 1477

he wrote to his patron, the marquis of Mantua:

/ do not understand since your excellency wants them so

quickly in what manner they are to be done. In a drawing

only or in color. On a panel or on canvas and what size. If

your lordship wants to ship them faraway they should be

done on thin canvas so they can be wrapped around a

little pole.

Italian Art, 1400-1500: Sources and Documents,

comp. and trans. Creighton E. Gilbert (Englewood

Cliffs, N.J., 1980), 12. Also in Spain, Pacheco, fatherin-law of Diego Rodriguez de Silva Velazquez, advocated the use of canvas for primary supports. He

wrote in 1638: "The invention of oil painting was very

useful because of the risk of panels splitting, and because of the light weight of canvas and the convenience of being able to carry a painting to distant

places." Art of Painting, Veliz 1986, 68.

21. Garrido 1987, ioo; Madeleine Hours-Miedan, A la

decouverte de la peinture par les methodes physique

(Paris, 1957), 23.

22. Hubertus Falkner von Sonnenburg, "Zur Maltechnik Murillos," Maltechnik-Restauro 88, no. 3

(July 1980), 60.

23. Zahira Veliz, "Three Unlined Paintings by El

Greco," paper presented at the American Institute for

Conservation, Vancouver, 20-24 May 1987, excerpt in

AIC Preprints, I5th Annual Meeting (Washington,

1987), 215-216.

24. According to Pacheco (Veliz 1986, 68), it was common practice in Spain to protect large canvases from

humidity by stretching and nailing them over thick

panels, "where they last many years."

25. Rutherford J. Gettens and M. E. Mrose, "Calcium

Sulphate Minerals in the Grounds of Italian Paintings," Studies in Conservation i, no. 4 (1954), 182-183.

Recent x-ray diffraction powder analysis of white

grounds carried out at the National Gallery, London,

has confirmed these results.

26. F. Ewald-Schuebeck has studied the varying luminosities created by combinations of white ground

layer with transparent and opaque imprimaturas.

"Estudios sobre la Tecnica de los Pintores Espanoles y

especialmente sobre los cuadros de Murillo," Archivo

Espanol de Arte 149 (1965), 43-57.

27. Massing 1988,1:80.

150 GRISWOL D
28. Giorgio Vasari wrote:

Unless these canvases intended for oil painting are to remain stationary, they are not covered by gesso which

would interfere with the flexibility, seeing that the gesso

would crack if they would roll up. A paste however is

made of flour and walnut oil with two or three macinate

of white lead put into it, and after the canvas has been

covered from one side to the other with three or four

coats of smooth size, this paste is spread on by means of

a knife, and all the holes come to be filled up by the hand

of the artist. That done, he gives it one or two more coats

of size and then the composition or priming.

Vasari on Technique, trans. Louisa S. Maclehose, ed.

G. Baldwin Brown (New York, 1960), 236.

29. Analytical reports are on file in the scientific research and painting conservation departments of the

National Gallery of Art, Washington.

30. Lead white, carbon black pigments (type was not

identified), azurite, iron oxide(s), red lake, copper resinate or verdigris, and lead-tin yellow. Red lead was

used for a highlight of the stirrup of the smaller

version.

31. Garrido and Cabrera 1982; Garrido 1987.

32. El Greco is known to have had assistants while

working in Toledo: Francisco Preboste, an Italian by

birth, followed El Greco to Spain; Jorge Manuel, El

Greco's son; and Luis Tristan, El Greco's pupil and

assistant during the first decade of the sixteenth century. No documents relating the workshop practices

have come down to us, however. San Roman y Fernandez 1910,142,155-156,160; San Roman y Fernandez

1927,161-164, 276-277.

GRISWOL D 151
Cross sections A-H

Photomicrographs were taken of paint cross

sections of paintings by El Greco in the

National Gallery of Art, Washington. All

samples were prepared and photographed by

Barbara Berrie, then acting head of the scientific research department, National Gallery of

Art. The cross sections were photographed by

reflected light at 220 x magnification.

*The white ground layers of the photographic

reproductions of cross sections A-H exhibit

differences in transparency and color. This is

due solely to the photographic process and

not to differences of composition of the

ground.

* * Examination of the green layers in plain

and in polarized transmitted light revealed

the presence of birefringent particles of verdigris mixed in an isotropic green medium,

suggesting verdigris and copper resinate. The

birefringent particles could be unreacted verdigris in the oleo-resinous medium.

* * *The type of black pigment has not been

identified.

Cross section A: Saint Martin and the Beggar

(altarpiece), green drapery next to the horse's

abdomen

1. * White ground (trace]

2. Imprimatura: iron oxides, lead white,

* * *carbon black(s), red lake

3. Light gray layer: lead white, carbon

black(s)

4. Pinkish dark gray layer: carbon black(s);

some lead white, red lake

5. White layer: lead white, some carbon

black(s)

6. * * Green layer; verdigris and/or copper

resinate, some lead-tin yellow

Cross section C: Saint Martin and the Beggar

(altarpiece), mottled green landscape

1. * White ground (trace): browned with glue?

2. Imprimatura: iron oxides, lead white,

* * * carbon black(s), red lake

3. * * Green layer: verdigris and/or copper

resinate, lead white, some lead-tin yellow

4. Dark green layer: verdigris and/or copper

resinate, some lead white, some carbon

black(s)

5. Light blue "swirl": azurite, lead white

Cross section B: Saint Martin and the Beggar

(smaller version), green drapery next to the

horse's abdomen

1. * White ground (trace): browned with glue?

2. Imprimatura: iron oxides, lead white,

* * * carbon black(s), red lake

3. White layer: lead white

4. **Green layer: verdigris

and/or copper resinate, lead

white, some lead-tin yellow

5. Dark green layer; verdigris and/or copper

resinate, traces of lead-tin yellow

3 and 4 are

painted

wet in wet

Cross section D: Saint Martin and the Beggar

(smaller version), brown foreground

1. * White ground: browned with glue?

2. Imprimatura: iron oxides, lead white,

* * "carbon black(s), red lake

3. Dark brown layer: carbon black(s), umber

152 GRISWOL D
Cross section E: Saint Martin and the Beggar

(altarpiece), horse's bridle

1. * White ground (trace): browned with glue?

2. Imprimatura: iron oxides, lead white,

* * *carbon black(s), red lake

3. Dark gray layer: carbon black(s), lead white

4. Light blue layer: azurite, lead white

5. **Green layer: verdigris and/or copper

resinate, lead white, lead-tin yellow, and

an iron oxide particle

6. Dark green layer: verdigris and/or copper

resinate

7. Disrupted black layer: carbon black(s)

8. White layer: lead white, carbon blackjs),

and a particle of azurite

9. White layer: lead white,

carbon black(s)

10. Gray layer: carbon blackjs),

lead white

9 and 10

maybe

one layer

Cross section G: Saint Martin and the Beggar

(altarpiece), blue saddle cloth

1. * White ground (trace): browned with glue?

2. Imprimatura: iron oxides, lead white,

* * * carbon blackjs), red lake

3. Gray layer: lead white, carbon blackjs)

4. White layer: lead white with just a few carbon black particles

5. Dark, pinkish gray layer: carbon blackjs),

lead white, red lake

6. Purplish blue layer: azurite, lead white, red

lake

7. White/blue layer: lead white, azurite

8 and 9. Discolored varnish layers (absent

from cross section A, C, and E)

Detail of cross section G: Saint Martin and

the Beggar (altarpiece), blue saddle cloth.

SEM micrograph of cross section (Photograph

courtesy of Melanie Feather)

1. * White ground (trace): browned with glue?

2. Imprimatura: iron oxides, lead white,

* * * carbon blackjs), red lake

3. Gray layer: lead white, carbon blackjs)

4. White layer: lead white with just a few carbon black particles

5. Dark, pinkish gray layer: carbon blackjs),

lead white, red lake

6. Purplish blue layer: azurite, lead white, red

lake

7. White blue/ layer: lead white, azurite

8. and 9. Discolored varnish layers

Cross section F: Saint Martin and the Beggar

(smaller version), horse's bridle

White ground is absent from this cross

section.

1. Imprimatura (trace)

2. White layer: lead white

3. Gray layer: lead white, * * * carbon black(s)

Cross section H: Madonna and Child with

Saint Martina and Saint Agnes, dark blue

drapery of Madonna (see also figs. 5 and n).

White ground is absent from this cross section.

1. Imprimatura: iron oxides, lead white,

* * * carbon blackjs), red lake

2. Blue layer (underlayer): azurite, some lead

white

3. Dark blue glaze: ultramarine

GRISWOL D 153
APPENDIX

ANALYSIS OF PAINT LAYERS

Green Cloth, Saint Martin and the Beggar

(both versions)

The green cloth that Saint Martin is dividing to

share with the beggar was sampled on both

paintings next to the horse's abdomen (cross

sections A and B). The layering of the two samples differed significantly. The larger version

exhibited six layers. Starting from the bottom,

they are: (i) traces of a white ground layer, (2)

followed by the imprimatuia, (3) a light gray

layer, (4) a pinkish dark gray layer (early outlinings of the composition), (5) a white layer

(horse's abdomen), and (6) a green layer, consisting of verdigris and/or copper resinate

(green cloth).1

In contrast, the layering of the smaller version (cross section B) shows only one intermediary layer, which is white. Above the white

layer (horse's abdomen) are two thick green

layers (green cloth). Below lie the imprimatuia

and traces of a white ground layer.

Landscape, Saint Martin and the Beggar

(altarpiece)

Cross section C was taken from the landscape

of the larger version. Here the green layer consists of two distinct layers. They are, starting

from the bottom: (3) a layer of verdigris light in

color and/or copper resinate, lead white, and

some lead-tin yellow; and (4) a darker layer of

verdigris and/or copper resinate, some lead

white, and a few carbon black(s). A few azurite

and lead white pigments on top of the green

layer (5) stem from a swirl of blue paint of the

sky that was pulled over the green layer.

No opportune location was found for sampling the landscape of the smaller version of

Saint Martin and the Beggar.

Brown Foreground, Saint Martin and the

Beggar (smaller version)

The brown foreground of the smaller version is

made from umber and black pigments, applied

in one thin layer (cross section D). The imprimatuia and the ground are the only two

other layers.

X-ray fluorescence spectroscopy and a scraping of the brown foreground taken from the

larger version suggests the same composition of

the paint layer.

Horse's Bridle, Saint Martin and the Beggar

(both versions)

A sample was taken from the larger version of

the connecting part between the rein and the

bit of the horse's bridle, where a sizable loss on

the larger version provided an opportune place

(cross section E). Again, a complex layering

was found. Starting from the bottom, the layers

are: (i) a trace of white ground, (2) followed by

the imprimatuia, (3) a dark gray layer (early

outlining of the composition), (4) a light blue

layer (a swirl of sky), (5 and 6) a thick green

layer and a thin, dark green layer (green cloth),

(7) a disrupted black layer (more outlining of

the composition?), (8) a thick white layer

(horse's neck), (9) another white layer, and (10)

a gray layer (horse's bridle) that may be the

same layer as (9).

Cross section F taken at the same location on

the smaller version exhibits only one white

layer (horse's abdomen), lying directly on the

imprimatuia and a thinner gray layer on top of

the white layer (horse's bridle).

Blue Saddle Cloth, Saint Martin and the

Beggar (altarpiece)

Taken from a highlight of the blue saddle cloth

of the altarpiece, cross section G exhibits the

following sequence of layers. Starting from the

bottom, they are: (i) a layer of white ground, (2)

followed by the imprimatuia, (3) a gray layer

(early outlining of the composition), (4) a white

layer (horse's body), (5) a dark, pinkish gray

layer (sketching of saddle cloth), (6) a purplish

blue layer (saddle cloth), and (7) a white/blue

layer (highlight on saddle cloth). No opportune

location was found for sampling the blue saddle

cloth of the smaller version.

The admixture of red lake to azurite to give

the blue a more purplish hue can be observed in

the works of Italian artists from the early Venetian masters onward, such as Cima da Conegliano.2

 It has also been encountered in blue

paint films of other paintings by El Greco, such

as in the dark folds of the blue robe of Saint

Ildefonso.3

The Use of Ultramarine, Madonna and Child

with Saint Martina and Saint Agnes

For this study azurite and ultramarine were analyzed in the altarpieces of Saint Martin and

the Beggar and Madonna and Child with Saint

Martina and Saint Agnes. A varied approach

was found in the blues of the Madonna and

Child with Saint Martina and Saint Agnes.

Cross section H, taken from a dark fold of the

Madonna's blue mantle, reveals that the blue

color was built up with a first layer made from

azurite and some lead white and a second layer

of ultramarine applied as a glaze, a technique

well known in Italy as well as in northern Europe.4

 These two blue layers lie on the imprimatuia. The white ground is absent from

this cross section.

It was thought that the use of ultramarine

was rare in Spain during El Greco's period,5 as

154 GRISWOLD
Francesco Pacheco referred to "ultramarine

which is neither used in Spain nor have the

painters enough wealth to use it."6 But this assumption seems to be inaccurate, at least for

the more well-to-do artists, since ultramarine

has not only been found in several of Diego

Velazquez' paintings,7 but has recently been

discovered in several of the works of El Greco

as well.8 El Greco's use of the precious blue

pigment is also documented. The prior of El Escorial was ordered in a royal decree to satisfy

El Greco's request for ultramarine for use in his

painting Saint Maurice (Escorial, Chapter

House).9 Unfortunately, we do not know from

which source the prior imported the costly

pigment.

NOTES TO APPENDIX

1. Examination of the green layer in plain and in polarized transmitted light revealed the presence of birefringent particles of verdigris mixed in an isotropic

green medium, suggesting the use of verdigris and

copper resinate. The birefringent particles could be

unreacted verdigris in the oleo-resinous medium.

2. See, for example, the study of the work of the Venetian artist Cima da Conegliano by Jill Dunkerton and

Ashok Roy, "The Technique and Restoration of

Cima's 'The Incredulity of S. Thomas'," National

Gallery Technical Bulletin (London) 10 (1986), 14.

3. El Greco, Saint Ildefonso (smaller version), scientific research department report, 29 September

1987, conservation file, National Gallery of Art,

Washington.

4. Of the many published examples, two references

are given: Joyce Plesters, "Tintoretto's Paintings

in the National Gallery of Art," National Gallery

Technical Bulletin (London) 4 (1980), 32-47,- David

Bomford, Ashok Roy, and Alistair Smith, "The Techniques of Dieric Bouts: Two Paintings Contrasted,"

National Gallery Technical Bulletin (London) 10

(1986), 39-57.

5. Joyce Plesters, "Ultramarine Blue, Natural and Artificial," Studies in Conservation n, no. 2 (May 1966),

64-65.

6. Francesco Pacheco, The Art of Painting (1649) in

Artists' Techniques in Golden Age Spain: Six Treatises in Translation, ed. and trans. Zahira Veliz (Cambridge, 1986), 75, see also n. 76. Later in his discourse

on blue pigments, Pacheco qualified his earlier statement, writing that he did not approve of glazing blue

unless it is with ultramarine.

7. Enriqueta Harris and Herbert Lank, "The Cleaning

of Velazquez' Portrait of Camillo Massimi," Burlington Magazine 125 (July 1983), 410-415; Manuela

Mena Marques, "La restauracion de Las Meninas de

Velazquez," Boletin del Museo del Prado 5, no. 14

(May-August 1984), 87-109; Maria del Carmen Garrido and M. T. Davila y Rocio Davila, "Las Hilanderas: Estudio tecnico y restauracion," Boletin del

Museo del Prado 7, no. 21 (September-December

1986), 145-166.

8. Maria del Carmen Garrido, "Estudio tecnico de

cuatro Anunciaciones de El Greco," Boletin del

Museo del Prado 8, no. 23 (May-August 1987),

104-105.

9. This much-cited document was first published

in Eugenic Llaguno y Amirola, Noticias de los Arquitectos y Arquitectura de Espana desde su restauracion, 4vols. (Madrid, 1829), 3:349, doc. 26.

GRISWOL D 155

MICHAE L SWICKLI K

French Painting and the Use of Varnish,

1750-1900

p

Claude Monet, The Japanese

Footbridge, 1899, oil on canvas

National Gallery of Art, Washington,

Gift of Victoria Nebeker Coberly in

memory of her son John W. Mudd,

and gift of Walter H. and Leonore

Annenberg

icture varnishes traditionally have been applied as protective coatings over the paint

film and as a means of giving a uniform surface to the work of art. The exact origin of

varnishing paintings is not known, but by

the sixteenth century it appears to have been

a relatively common practice. Two kinds of

varnish were used, those containing resin

and oil (oil varnish) and those that simply

contained resin dissolved in a solvent (spirit

varnishes). It is believed that the oil varnishes were the first in common use. They

would have given a thick, very glossy appearance to a varnish layer. By the seventeenth

century, spirit varnishes are thought to have

been more common. They could have been

applied more thinly, giving a somewhat less

glossy look to the painting.

As the style of French painting evolved

from the opulence of the rococo in the eighteenth century to the controlled, polished

surface of the nineteenth-century academic,

through the frenetic brushwork of the romantic school associated with artists such

as Eugene Delacroix, and to the loose,

highly impastoed works of the impressionist

painters, artists' techniques changed radically. The manner in which varnish was used

was only one of many technical modifications, yet a very important one, as the

amount of varnish applied to the surface of a

completed painting and the addition of varnish to media or its absence have such significant consequences that they are an essential

aspect of the appearance we now associate

with each style. By examining the treatises

of French academicians, the journals of Delacroix, and the words of the French impressionists as well as of dealers and critics, conservators and art historians can gain a sense

of the changing use of varnish and understanding of the method prevailing at the time

a particular painting was made.

THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY

APPROACH

The founders of the French Academy sincerely sought to nurture good craftsmanship

among painters by implementing a rigorous

course of instruction. "Master painters,"

they declared, "in all their artworks made

either at their ateliers or elsewhere are obligated to employ good colors and well fabricated, properly prepared canvases."1

 Yet by

the middle of the eighteenth century their

system was wanting in this very respect. The

academy had, according to the historian Albert Boime, "split into cliques that significantly emphasized its administrative and

honorary functions over and against its pedagogical responsibilities. Professional duties

were neglected and the once rigorous system

of instruction lapsed into an arbitrary and capricious eclecticism."2

 This state of affairs

led to government-enforced reforms that included the formation in 1748 of the Ecole des

Eleves Proteges. This school, an official effort to raise the level of technical training,

157
was designed to present the craftsman's approach to painting and sculpture to the most

promising students. With the renewed concern for the teaching of sound techniques to

young artists, one painting professor, JeanBaptiste Oudry (1686-1755), came under fire

for neglecting his duties as a teacher. To compensate, Oudry delivered two lectures at the

business meeting of the academy about issues of interest to the student painter. The

first, in 1750, was on color. The second, and

more important for our purposes, was delivered in 1752; this lecture, entitled "Underdrawing, Underpainting, and Retouching,"

was entirely about sound painting practices.

The academy's business meeting served as

the forum for debate among members on

both philosophical and practical matters.

Therefore the delivery of a lecture at one of

these meetings guaranteed an influential audience and enhanced the lecturer's credibility in official circles. Today "Underdrawing, Underpainting, and Retouching" is a

valuable record of academic technique of the

time and an ideal point of departure for a discussion of the uses of varnish in the eighteenth century.

Oudry's lecture was straightforward. He

described how to prepare the canvas and then

how to draw the sketch that would serve as a

guide for the painting on top of the ground. It

was not until he was well into his exhaustive

treatise that he first mentioned varnish, suggesting it be used on top of the sketch:

I know that this practice of varnishing the sketch

is not in general use but I am able to say that it

does a great deal of good. When you take up this

practice you will become conscious of your brush

grabbing hold of the surface and operating with

greater facility. You will see your colors flow with

ease and cover perfectly. You will never have the

disagreeable experience of seeing them sink into

the sketch, nor consequently will you have the

trouble of recalling them with oil. . . . It is

necessary however to proceed with caution and

varnish this sketch as thinly as you are able.

Nothing then will prevent the work on top from

forming a union with that underneath because the

spirit of the turpentine which makes the base for

this varnish evaporates instantaneously, leaving

only that which is necessary to remove the spongy

quality of the sketch.3

According to Oudry, what he called the "underpainting," or the main body of the paint

film, should be placed on top of the varnished

sketch. Once the Underpainting was complete, it was again time for varnish. Oudry

went on to say:

When the Underpainting is complete over the

entire painting and is left to dry completely, then

it will tolerate varnishing. It must be varnished

very lightly, with a very soft brush. . . . One must

varnish the painting from one side to the other

and to see clearly by this means what could be

done to give the painting a beautiful harmony, a

lightness of brushwork, or a particular finish. . . .

If properly done the artist should never fear that

this foundation would be able to form an obstacle

to the intimate junction of the retouches with the

more thinly painted areas of a freshly painted

picture.4

This is Oudry's last mention of a varnish

coating. He still expected, however, that the

artist would need to add a few discriminate

touches of color on top of this coating to give

the painting its final harmony. It may well be

that he intended another, thicker coating of

varnish to be added after the final touches of

paint, but he did not say so in his lecture.

Oudry promulgated the use of intermediate layers of varnish that were to be applied

as thinly as the artist's capabilities permitted. He insisted that these varnish layers

would not interfere with the union of the top

and bottom layers of paint and would provide

the artist with "a solid and durable technique."5

 Oudry thought it imperative that

the artist not use too much varnish. Although his system for thin varnish layers was

innovative, he was adamant in warning the

artist not to add varnish directly to the paint

medium so that the layers would dry more

solidly and maintain greater durability.6

As simple as this counsel seems, it apparently was not simple enough for the majority

of painters in this period. The connoisseur

and biographer, Abbe Louis Gougenot, commented on Oudry's lecture:

One finds universal agreement with the research

he has done on the care which one must bring to

the choice of colors and to the procedure to which

one must keep in employing them. . . . However,

his advice on varnishing seems contrary to the

general maxim—which is painting the layers

directly on top of one another.7

A review of eighteenth-century artist's

manuals indicates that Gougenot's observation was correct: most recommend that one

layer be painted directly on top of the pre158 SWICKLI K
vious layer.8

 Even Oudry acknowledged that

his method was not then generally practiced

by contemporary artists. Gougenot also indicates a universal agreement that varnish

should not be added directly to the paint medium. Both common practice and Oudry's

specific instructions suggest that eighteenthcentury use of varnish was far simpler than

the methods involving combinations of varnish and oil developed in the nineteenth

century.

The intellectual climate surrounding the

reforms of 1748 also made discussions among

artists about their materials commonplace

during academy business meetings. One of

these discussions provides special insight

into the properties of varnish that the academy members found particularly desirable.

An entry in the 1749 proceedings describes

these properties:

Two particular associates have found the secret of

composing a white varnish, without odor, clear

and transparent, which saturates the colors and

which is always able to be removed without

damaging the painting. . . . These associates

beseech the Academy to permit them to make a

trial with their varnish on an appropriate painting

under the watchful eye of its members in order to

prove its properties.9

The trial was approved, and approximately

eight months later the members declared the

varnish to have the good effects claimed for it

and recommended its use.10 Unfortunately,

they did not specify the components of this

varnish.

THE REFORMS OF THE FRENCH

REVOLUTION AND THE

NEOCLASSICAL APPROACH

French artists' approaches to varnishing remained essentially the same until the academic reforms initiated following the French

Revolution. Among the most significant

were those that established the Fine Arts Division of the Institute of France, as two organizations: a separate French Academy for

honorary functions, and an Ecole des Beaux

Arts for pedagogical functions. Although it

would seem that the creation of a separately

administered school would enable the student to be free of the constraints of the academy, that was not the case. The academy still

controlled the philosophy of the professors at

the Ecole. According to the rules of the institute, all the teachers had to be members of

the academy.11

In the early years of the reformed institution, before 1830, the prejudices of the

academy-member professors ensured that the

Ecole curriculum reflected the ideals of

Jacques-Louis David (1748-1825), who rose to

artistic preeminence following the French

Revolution and initiated the adoption of neoclassical style. One of the most important

Davidian concepts for the technical training

of an artist at the Ecole was "the dutifully

finished work." Accordingly, only paintings

exhibiting the highly polished surface now

associated with the oeuvres of AdolpheWilliam Bouguereau, Jean-Leon Gerome,

Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, and JeanLouis-Ernest Meissonier, among others, were

considered suitable for public exhibition.

Sketchiness implied artistic indolence and

sloth.12 The ramifications of the Davidian

concept for the methods employed by a

young academic painter schooled in this system cannot be underestimated. The elimination of any brushwork to create a jewellike

surface necessitated a technique quite different from that required to produce the lively,

rococo style favored in the eighteenth century by academic salons.

Jean Francois Leonore Merimee's Art of

Painting in Oil and in Fresco is an important

source for analyzing the changes in nineteenth-century academic technique that

were brought about by the shift to Davidian

philosophy. When he first published his manual in 1830, Merimee (1765-1836) was secretary to the academy. In the introduction to

Merimee's book, Quatremere de Quincy,

who at that time was the secretary to the

Institute of France, recapitulated the findings

of a commission he appointed to review the

book: "We are of the opinion that we have

carefully pointed out the great utility and advantages that must result to the art of painting from this publication. . . . The Academy

approves of this opinion."13 Merimee's Art of

Painting in Oil clearly had the strong approval of the academic hierarchy. Its credibility as representing the accepted academic

technique of the time is comparable to

Oudry's lecture in the eighteenth century.

A major point of departure from Oudry was

SWICKLI K 159
Merimee's recommendation that varnish and

oil be combined in the medium. According to

Merimee, this combination "gives greater

brilliancy and transparency to the color and

allows the production of more clear and

transparent tints."14 While it is true that

Merimee presented his techniques as his own

rediscovery of the secrets of the old masters,

particularly the combination of oil and varnish in the medium, it is curious to note that

Oudry also considered himself to be revealing the true secrets of the masters in advocating precisely the opposite. Oudry spoke from

his experience as a successful painter; Merimee spoke as an official in the academy. Although Merimee does offer some proofs of

this discovery, they are not particularly convincing.15

 Rather, the text reads as if this is

Merimee's opinion of the way in which old

master painters must have painted. For the

academic artists who were interested in

smooth, transparent, enamellike finishes,

the greater translucency, brilliance, and glazing ability provided by the combination of oil

and varnish were of paramount importance.

Merimee might well have found it politically

advantageous to present the academic technique of the time as being the long-lost secret

of the old masters.

Merimee considered a number of media to

be suitable. He referred to them as English

varnish, oil-copal mixtures, Flanders varnish, and Italian varnish and gave recipes for

preparing each. All contained both oil and

varnish. Merimee's deviations from Oudry's

standards and those of other eighteenth-century academic artists were not confined to

the preparation of media. Merimee had his

own opinions on all aspects of painting. Unlike the extremely thin layer of varnish that

Oudry had recommended putting on top of

the sketch, Merimee recommended in some

cases that a smooth white ground be prepared

with a very viscous coating of varnish rubbed

on with a stiff brush. And while Oudry did

not mention the final varnishing of a completed painting, Merimee advised:

One part of oil should be used for two of copal

which should afterwards be diluted with oil of

turpentine. . . . The best way of preserving

pictures would be to varnish them lightly with

copal at first and when this layer is perfectly dry to

lay over it a couch of mastic. In a few years this

will become yellow or chilled then it may be

removed. The copal varnish being extremely hard

will not suffer by the removal of this covering but

will preserve the picture so well that even the

glazing cannot be endangered in the cleaning.16

Merimee recommended a series of thin,

transparent glazes with a high proportion of

varnish added to the medium—anywhere

from 16.5 percent to 44 percent varnish in

most cases, and, in some cases, 100 percent

varnish. These practices and applications

produce a surface that is easily worked by the

artist, and they facilitated the development

of smooth painting techniques. But Merimee

was also aware that such painting practices

produced surfaces that were not very durable.

His scheme of applying a relatively insoluble, thin, protective coating to preserve the

glazes during cleaning is strikingly different

in spirit from Oudry's belief that the entire

technique should be "solid and durable."

The practices advocated by Merimee facilitated production of the enamellike finish favored by the academic school. Despite his

position in the establishment, however, not

all painters followed his advice. There was

much heated discussion, in fact, about the

relative merits of the sketch compared to

"the dutifully finished work," and while

most painters adopted the academic preference for a highly polished finish, the more

"romantic" painters objected to the academy

in everything—approach, subject matter, and

painting technique—and favored "sketchiness" as a final form of presentation. Presumably they had less need for Merimee's

recommendations.

The academy's preferred system of artistic

education still relied heavily on a few chosen

ateliers where the major responsibility for

the technical training of the young painter

fell to the master in charge. Naturally, advice

varied from atelier to atelier, but those masters who were particularly good at preparing

students for the academic competitions were

inclined to teach Merimee's methods.

The techniques taught by Adolphe-William Bouguereau (1825-1905) represented the

epitome of mid- to late-nineteenth-century

French academic painting. Bouguereau began

as a student at the Ecole des Beaux Arts in

1848 and was granted a professorship there in

1875. Not only was he one of the most successful and popular of the academic artists,

but as a teacher he was extremely influential

160 SWICKLI K
in perpetuating the academic style. Because

of his close ties to the academic mainstream,

the techniques that he learned, used, and

subsequently taught others offer excellent insight into the instruction offered at the Ecole

and can be used to gauge Merimee's accuracy

in describing the academic technique.

Recently discovered notebooks that are

still in the hands of his descendants contain Bouguereau's studio notes describing

his working methods in detail. They are

strikingly similar to those advocated by Merimee. Bouguereau's notebooks show that

with a stiff brush he would lay a layer of viscous varnish on top of his prepared canvases.

For this layer he used a varnish consisting of

a mixture of mastic, oil, and two types of

drying agents. After painting in his sketch,

he fixed it with a coating of copal and oil

diluted with turpentine. For painting the

body color, Bouguereau employed a medium

consisting of one part gum elemi and five

parts picture varnish to which he added several drops of oil and a siccative. He completed the picture by glazing with more of his

painting medium, which he adjusted to contain a higher proportion of picture varnish

and to which he added mineral spirits.17

Essentially, both Merimee and Bouguereau

advocated a system with layers of varnish

containing paint interspersed with an intermediate and very viscous coating on top of

the sketch.

THE CHANGING APPROACH OF

DELACROIX

While the change from Oudry's to Bouguereau's methods of employing varnish

seem considerable, they are slight compared

to the radical changes from Bouguereau's

methods to those of the impressionists, who

used no varnish at all in either the medium

or on the surface of the completed painting.

This shift requires examination of the techniques that made such changes possible.

In the nineteenth century the academic

artist who wanted to experiment technically

faced serious constraints. To achieve success

in academic competitions and exhibitions,

painters had to exhibit a highly polished,

enamellike finish. Independent artists, who

were likely to be proponents of the sketchy,

romantic style, had to survive outside the

academy. If they could, they were free to experiment at will, and many of them did so.

Many, in fact, abhorred the academic look

and deliberately adapted their style and technique to create an appearance that was obviously different. Eugene Delacroix (1798-1863)

is one such artist, and his practices can be

examined as a transition between neoclassicism and impressionism.

Delacroix was always opposed both to the

philosophy and appearance of the highly polished surface that was the Davidian ideal. He

also felt that this philosophy's stranglehold

in the teaching institutions made it impossible for him to get technically sound artistic

training there. Consequently, he was largely

self-taught and an innovator and experimenter. Throughout his career, for example, he

was known to have used unconventional

combinations of media such as oil on tempera, wax on oil, and wax mixed with oil.18

Although this experimentation was often

designed to facilitate the production of a

painting with all the flourish of brushwork

now associated with his style, Delacroix

sometimes adopted particular techniques

more from chance than from a thorough understanding of their effects. Frustrated because he could not solve technical problems,

he consulted his trusted artists' colorman

Etienne Haro.19 When really uncertain, he

tended to turn to the old masters. Many entries in Delacroix's journal discuss the painting methods of Veronese, Peter Paul Rubens,

and other artists he particularly admired.

Some entries even suggest that he turned to

Merimee's treatise for guidance.20 Considering Merimee's stated goal of revealing the

secrets of the old masters, his treatise was a

logical source for Delacroix despite its affiliation with the academic style.

Clearly, Delacroix was not able to solve all

his technical problems through Merimee;

later journal entries describe continuing frustrations. An entry from 1857, for example,

outlined comments on varnishes for the

"dictionary on the Arts," a definitive treatise

on all aspects of painting that Delacroix often

discussed in his journal and had been preparing for years. "Varnishes," he wrote, "their

deadly effects. Sparing use made of them

on old paintings. Quote passages from

Oudry."21

SWICKLI K l6l
Oudry's lecture had been preserved in

manuscript form in the Ecole des Beaux Arts,

and apparently Delacroix had read it. Rejecting the practice of the nineteenth-century

academy, he seemed to concur with Oudry

that varnish should be used sparingly.

Delacroix did not suddenly come to this conclusion; it developed from his constant experimentation. In fact, he later proposed an

even more radical approach.

Little is known about Delacroix's use of

varnish early in his career. His journal begins

in 1823, and from that time until 1832, where

there is a gap until 1847, there are no entries

pertaining to this subject. An 1827 order for

artists' materials from the shop of Haro's father requested large amounts of mastic, copal, and Venice turpentine—all of which

were commonly used for varnishing.22

By 1849, Delacroix was experiencing great

problems with the condition of some of his

early large paintings. Dante and Virgil, for

example, was in such poor condition that by

the early i86os it was completely transferred

to avoid "imminent loss."23 Although it was

not actually restored until 1861, this painting

was known to be in poor condition in the

18405 and had been worrying Delacroix for

some time.24 It appears that the paint loss

caused Delacroix to reevaluate his varnishing

technique. From a section of his journal that

suggests he was reviewing Merimee's book at

the time, an entry reads:

While I have been working on my picture, The

Woman of Algiers, I have discovered how pleasant, how necessary even it is to paint on top of the

varnish. The only thing needed is to find some

means of preventing the varnish underneath from

being attacked when the top coat of varnish is

removed at some later date.25

Although Delacroix was painting with at

least one intermediary layer of varnish, this

statement indicates that he was experimenting but that complicated layering was not yet

his common practice.

It is easier to establish Delacroix's use of

varnish after 1849, as there are many journal

entries on this subject. Most appear to concern the final varnishing or at least entire

coatings of varnish at some intermediate step

of painting rather than the additions of varnish to the media. He came to believe that

"it was necessary to let the painting dry more

thoroughly before putting on a new varnish."26

 Merimee had warned against varnishing a painting too soon after completion,

lest it crack, and this warning may have

caused Delacroix some anxiety. After he had

done his own retouchings on Dante and Virgil, he sent a letter to the minister in charge

of the restoration pleading for restraint in

varnishing: "I would urgently request of you

that the painting not be varnished until after

the most considerable lapse of time possible."27

Restorations of Delacroix's earlier paintings were actually more common in the 18505

than in the i86os. Often these restorations

included cleaning, and the results caused Delacroix still more anxiety about his use of

varnish. Concerning the cleaning of the Massacre at Chios in 1854, he wrote in his journal: "I am inclined to agree that the painting

has not gained by varnish removal without

even having seen it. The painting would have

lost the transparency of the darks—it is

nearly without fail that this happens."28

Delacroix elaborated on his objections a

month later:

The effect is only too likely to occur of its own accord as the colors darken in the course of time. The

dark colors become even darker in relation to the

light colors which retain their value better. . . .

Varnish sticks to the dark parts of a picture and

is not easily detached, so that the dark parts

gradually become more intense until a background that appeared only moderately dark when

the picture was painted will in the course of time

become sheer obscurity.29

Delacroix's anxieties concerning both the

premature cracking and the cleaning of his

paintings eventually led to further experimentation with varnishing. In 1852 he wrote:

"To mat the paintings, Haro made use of wax

dissolved in rectified turpentine with a light

addition of essence of lavender. This mixture

rubbed with wool produces a varnish that

does not have the inconveniences of other

varnishes."30 Here Delacroix suggested that

a wax varnish, if adequately buffed, can substitute for a more conventional varnish coating. Presumably, the "convenience" of this

varnish is that it is superior in preventing the

tendencies of standard varnishes to discolor

or cause a painting to crack. Another coating

Delacroix tried in order to prevent the cracking he attributed to hasty varnishing was "a

l62 SWICKLI K
type of provisionary varnish of gelatin sold at

the butcher shop that is dissolved in warm

water and applied to the painting with a

sponge."31 He also experimented with a varnish made from garlic juice.32

Not surprisingly, these forays with other

materials did not seem to solve Delacroix's

problems. He had a predilection for unconventional media throughout his career that

virtually guaranteed the deterioration of his

paintings. As his frustration mounted,

Delacroix blamed his old nemesis, David. In

one journal entry from 1857 he wrote:

The most perfect technique is to be found in the

works of the greatest masters: Rubens, Titian,

Veronese, the Dutch painters; the special care

they took in grinding colors, in priming and

preparations, in drying the different layers of

paint. The tradition entirely lost in modern

painting. Hence bad results; neglect of preparations, bad canvases and brushes, execrable

oils—impermanence—carelessness on the part of

the artist. David was responsible for this

carelessness because he affected to despise

material means.

33

Delacroix went on to make reference to

Oudry, already cited, and added, "Varnishes

should be a kind of protective armor to the

picture as well as a means of bringing out its

brilliance."34 Although Delacroix had come

to believe varnish should be used sparingly,

he still felt it necessary for protecting the

painting.

By 1858, Delacroix's conservative approach

to the use of varnish became, at least briefly,

even more unyielding. For some time controversy had raged over the cleaning of paintings

by Veronese and Rubens in the Louvre.

Delacroix's friend Frederic Villot was

charged with overcleaning them, and when

the painter Henri Joseph Constant Dutilleux

asked Delacroix to comment, Delacroix reiterated his dislike of the extreme contrast between light and dark that he found typical

after most picture cleanings. He did concede,

however, that the result of the cleaning of the

Rubens painting was really quite good. He

concluded: "It is desirable that one never varnish. Our descendants would then without

doubt have a more exact idea of our

paintings."35

While Delacroix may not have acted on

this conclusion by adjusting his technique,

his statement indicates that the impressionists were not the first painters to question the

automatic use of varnish. Clearly, Delacroix

developed a conservative approach toward

the use of varnish that he believed to approximate painters' methods before the nineteenth century. Moreover, since other independent artists of this period were also

inclined to explore older methods, Delacroix's musings are more than just a

painter's response to frustrations.36 Reacting

to the failings of academic techniques, they

returned to earlier techniques and a more

limited use of varnish, thereby laying the

groundwork for the techniques later adopted

by the impressionists.

THE PRACTICE OF VERNISSAGE

In addition to the attitude of the independents toward varnishing, one additional factor may have influenced the impressionists:

the system devised by the French Academy

to ensure that the paintings in its exhibitions

had a final varnish coating.

In 1804, Pierre Francois Tingry, a Swiss

writer on painting methods, declared, "Great

masters rarely varnish their pictures after

they are finished; they protect their tints by a

coating of white of egg and do not varnish

them until a year after."37 This practice had

apparently been common for centuries. On 12

January 1644 Nicolas Poussin wrote to his

friend A. M. de Chantelou regarding a shipment of his paintings from Italy to Paris:

"When you receive them you can stretch

each one onto their stretcher, and with a

sponge and clean water perhaps with some

orange juice added, remove the temporary

coating. When they are good and dry have

them varnished by someone who knows

how."38

In addition to confirming Tingry's assertion about the use of temporary varnishes,

Poussin mentions another common custom—the use of a surrogate varnisher. For

Poussin and undoubtedly other painters who

followed, the matter was probably one of

convenience: Poussin was in Italy, he did not

want to ship his paintings varnished, so he

needed to have them varnished in France. In

nineteenth-century France, this assistance

became increasingly formalized by the institution known as vernissage.

SWICKLI K 163
As the more widely appreciated understanding of vernissage is based on the British

system, it may be illuminating to describe

the English Royal Academy's procedure before discussing the French rite of vernissage,

which is significantly different. Beginning in

1804, only members of the Royal Academy

were allowed to enter the exhibition hall after their pictures were hung to retouch and

varnish them before the opening. The practice could be viewed as a privilege, for it allowed academy members to adjust their own

paintings in a manner that might make them

more prominent than the paintings of nonmembers. But it also led to some extraordinarily unsound painting practices. It is well

known, for instance, that J.M.W. Turner, in

an effort to make his final enhancements,

would sometimes add multiple layers of

paint and varnish, one on top of the other,

even before those underneath had a chance to

dry. Despite the many attempts to abolish

this practice and the technical abuses it generated, it remained in effect until 1852. Ironically, one reason for its continuance was

that the works of Turner improved so dramatically from the results obtained on varnishing days that it would have hurt Turner

to withhold the privilege. It cannot be mere

coincidence that the date of its abolition—

1852—was one year after Turner's death.39

In England, many academicians took advantage of its system, and on varnishing days

one might have encountered a crowded exhibition hall with artists up on their ladders

applying layer upon layer of paint and varnish while the critics milled about below. A

varnishing day in France was likely very different. The earliest French reference to it is

from an 1803 entry in the minutes of the

newly formed Fine Arts Division of the Institute of France, which described "one day for

hanging and varnishing."40 The occasion was

the Prix de Rome competition, and the aspirants were given a precise length of time to

complete their work, after which the entries

were locked up to dry.41 In this case, it is

unlikely that the artists would have then

been allowed back in to the exhibition to

retouch and varnish the paintings. In describing this portion of the installation, the

artist Alexis Lemaistre said, "After the paintings were hung they were given a single coating of varnish."42

Perhaps developing out of the rules for

competitions, a day was also set aside for varnishing prior to the openings of the official

Salons that were the major yearly exhibitions

in the academic system. Unlike the English

system that allowed the alteration of every

painting belonging to a Royal Academy member, in France the regulations stipulated that

the paintings to be varnished were supposed

to be only those that had been painted too

recently to varnish when they were deposited

at the exhibition hall. Typically, the painter

had to deliver his painting six weeks before

the opening of the exhibition.43 As the artists

almost always painted up until the last possible moment, there were inevitably a number

of newly completed and, therefore, unvarnished paintings to be exhibited. Initially,

there seems to have been no specific regulation prohibiting the artists themselves from

participating at the Salon vernissage, but this

practice became increasingly rare as the nineteenth century progressed. The artists were

present at the hanging to ensure a favorable

location for their paintings, but they let

others do the varnishing, which they disdained as too lowly to perform in the presence of onlookers.44

 Generally, the varnishing was left in the hands of artists' colormen,

who were trusted advisers on technical

matters.

One fascinating aspect of the role of the

artists' colorman as varnisher was that a single highly skilled colorman could perform

this crucial finishing step for artists of vastly

different styles—even for artistic rivals.

Etienne Haro was one such varnisher. By the

mid-i84os, he had, according to a contemporary, been "admitted for many years into the

Galleries of the Louvre in order to varnish

the paintings on exhibition there."45 He was

then the most influential and popular colorman among Parisian artists. He had a special

relationship as an adviser to Delacroix, for

whom he also often cleaned, relined, and varnished paintings. It seems extraordinary,

considering the extreme difference in painting styles, that while Haro enjoyed such a

strong relationship with Delacroix, he was

performing many of these same functions for

Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres. Haro was

also known to have varnished for Edouard

Manet and perhaps also for Jean-BaptisteCamille Corot, Gustave Courbet, Jean-Fran164 SWICKLI K
gois Millet, Edgar Degas, and Alfred Sisley,

all of whom he often advised on technical

matters.46

Unlike the English system, which allowed

the artist greater access to his work at the

vernissage, the more restrictive French system made it less likely that technically unsound retouching would have been applied to

the painting just before exhibition. With a

single colorman charged with varnishing the

paintings of a number of different artists—

and by using the same pot of varnish—it is

also less likely that the paintings on exhibition would have received a varnish toned in a

manner specific to each artist. Unfortunately, although the abuses the French vernissage fostered were less severe than those

in England, the system was not trouble free,

as not all artists could avail themselves of the

services of a colorman with the expertise of

Haro, who assured a competent job. The following account of the nineteenth-century

French vemissage proceedings, written in

1922, attests to the heartbreaking results a

lesser-known artist might have experienced:

On the day of the vernissage, when the painters

most want to present to the public their genius,

they give to their color merchants the number of

their paintings and one sees these worthy

employees courageously slathering these

paintings with varnish. Mounted on their ladders

the colormen summon up the colors to a

brightness resembling a poster. As it is necessary

that they proceed quickly and time presses, they

apply the varnish with large fat brushes, in

abundance but unevenly. The brilliance which the

paintings take on in this manner is frightening to

behold. Like many modern paintings which

contrast light impastoed areas to darker, flatter

areas, at the junction between these areas the

darks sparkle to such a degree that one is not able

to see the painting at all.47

THE APPROACH OF THE

IMPRESSIONISTS

Perhaps some of the great impressionist

painters, in their early years, had experiences

like this. Denis Rouart recalled the following

story about Degas:

Degas had sent his painting to the Salon. I no

longer know in which year. The day of the

vernissage he looked anxiously at his painting, not

finding that it looked very well on the wall. It was

very freshly painted (he had been working on it on

into the night) and was evidently full of sunken-in

areas and appeared very dull. He advised the

varnisher who was just then passing by with his

brush and pot of varnish "Go up and give my

painting a coat of varnish. " Whether the painting

gained by the operation I don't know but upon

seeing it again in his studio Degas decided to

remove this varnish and to then repaint it. The

result was disaster! In removing the varnish he

naturally removed the better part of the

painting.48

Elsewhere Rouart identified the painting as

Mademoiselle Fiocre in the Ballet La Source.

According to John Rewald, this painting was

first exhibited in the Salon of 1868.49 Rouart's

account suggests that Degas found some aspect of the varnisher's work unsatisfactory;

otherwise he probably would not have tried

to remove the coating.

Pierre Auguste Renoir recalled another incident as late as 1879:

The day before the opening a friend came and told

me that he had just been to the Salon and that

something queer seemed to have happened to my

Mademoiselle Samary. / dashed to the Salon and

found the picture almost beyond recognition—it

looked as if it were melting away. It seems that

the framer instructed the delivery boy to varnish

another picture that he was delivering at the same

time. The boy had a little varnish left over and

decided to give me the benefit of it. Ididn 't

varnish mine because it was still wet, but he

thought I was being economical! The result was I

had to repaint the whole thing in an afternoon.50

It seems from these accounts that if purely

practical considerations eventually encouraged impressionist artists to forego varnishing, dissatisfaction with the work of surrogate varnishers could have been one of them.

As Renoir's recollection points out, the extended drying time that their higher impastos required probably made a general vernissage before exhibition undesirable.

In the early i86os those artists who would

become the impressionists were beginning to

emerge from their atelier training and find

their way in the art world of Paris. They may

have known Delacroix's opinions on the dangers of varnish from the pamphlets published

on the cleaning controversy,51 or they may

have sought them out. Delacroix's methods

were so intriguing, for example, to Claude

Monet and Jean-Frederic Bazille that they

peered through the window of a friend's

apartment to watch him paint in his garden

SWICKLI K 165
studio.52

 Certainly varnishing was a subject

of discussion among these young artists.

Renoir recalled: "I remember a great discussion which took place at Tortoni's between

Wolff and another man. .. . It was Robert

Fleury I believe. . . . They were arguing about

whether it was better to varnish a painting

immediately .. . or to leave it to time."53 In

any case, the approach to varnishing that the

impressionists eventually adopted was similar to that which Delacroix suggested.

Edouard Manet and the Early

Impressionists

Regardless of Delacroix's possible influence,

other factors were at work in shaping the impressionists' approach toward the use of varnish. These artists had studied in the most

progressive ateliers in Paris. Monet, Renoir,

and Sisley all trained in the atelier of Charles

Gleyre, and Manet had been a pupil of

Thomas Couture. Neither of these masters

was a staunch supporter of the academic tradition. Although Gleyre taught a technique

that was similar to the system represented by

the Ecole des Beaux Arts, he encouraged his

students to experiment,54 and Couture had

devised a system that was much closer to

Oudry than Merimee.55 Drawing on his early

training in Couture's studio, Manet developed his own system, which, not surprisingly, was similar to Oudry's. He simplified his layering structure and abandoned

the use of varnish in his medium.56 As he

was often the inspiration for the other artists,

the influence of Manet (1832-1883) must be

considered in speculating about the origins of

the impressionists' attitude to varnish.

Despite Delacroix's warnings, there is little evidence that the young impressionist

painters abandoned the final varnishing in

the i86os. The major vehicle for exhibition

was still the official Salon, and by exhibiting

there these painters would have almost invariably subjected their work to the vernissage had it been submitted unvarnished.

Monet continued to submit his pairitings already varnished. He wrote to Bazille in 1864,

"My painting of flowers is finally varnished,

framed, and on exhibition."57

There is at least one instance of a painting's being exhibited unvarnished, however;

it is found in reference to a painting by Edma

Morisot. Madame Marie-Josephine-Cornelie

Morisot wrote to Edma on the occasion of the

opening of the 1865 Salon:

It seems tome, particularly with the flowers, that

your paintings have not been varnished. This is

being too careless of the appearance of painting

when the aim is to please the untrained eyes

susceptible to the first impression. I think that it

is not necessary that you disregard what is

customary practice.58

There are a number of ways to interpret

this letter. The first question that comes to

mind is whether Morisot actually intended

this painting to be shown unvarnished—that

intention would be remarkable at such an

early date. It is conceivable, after all, that her

varnisher simply forgot this picture in the

vernissage. If the painting was deliberately

left unvarnished, it would be the first known

example of an impressionist artist doing so in

an exhibition. It is safest to view this instance as an anomaly rather than as the start

of a trend. The concern expressed by Madame Morisot over her daughter's unvarnished painting suggests that the taste of the

day still strongly favored a glossy surface.

Careful consideration of the final varnishing practices of Manet during the same

period makes the unvarnished painting exhibited by Morisot even more perplexing. In

fact, awareness of Manet's methods in this

period suggests that Morisot may have applied such a thin coating of varnish to her

painting that it merely appeared unvarnished

in comparison to the other paintings in the

exhibition. Manet instructed Haro: "I would

like you to go and varnish for me a painting

which I have on exhibition at the circle of the

Rue de Choiseul 12. I would like you to varnish it very lightly and with your best

varnish."59

Manet's request for Haro's best varnish applied thinly suggests his concern about eventual discoloration. Obviously a thin layer of

discolored varnish would be far less distorting to the colors than a thick one, and an

excellent quality varnish would discolor

much more slowly than one of poor quality.

The instructions may also suggest a dislike of

high gloss, for a thinly applied varnish would

likely, although not inevitably, be more

matte than a heavily applied layer. A thinly

applied final varnish was also in keeping, as

Delacroix had discovered, with the techniques of the old masters. Later, Renoir re166 SWICKLI K
called that in the early years the impressionist painters tried "to induce painters to get in

line and follow the masters."60

During the i86os and 18705 the impressionists, while aware of the problems of discoloration, continued to accept the final varnishing as standard practice. In 1878, for

example, Camille Pissarro wrote to the

writer and collector Eugene Murer, "I am

going to recommend to the colorman that he

varnish your painting only with a varnish

that is uncolored."61 Pissarro's insistence

that the varnish be uncolored may have

arisen from his discovery of a "strange yellowness" on some of the paintings he had

already sold.62 Toned varnishes were commonly used to modify what was considered

unacceptably intense color. In the 18705 the

dealer Georges Durand-Ruel often applied

them to make impressionist paintings more

salable to a public that was hardly clamoring

for these works.63 When Monet was told of

Durand-Ruel's interference, he was said to

have replied, "You can imagine that I was not

thrilled by this idea but what is one going to

do—Even an artist has to eat."64 As late as

1880, Monet appeared perfectly willing to varnish some of his paintings for a collector.65

A Clear Preference by 1880

By that time, however, most impressionists

clearly preferred the unvarnished look. Constant references to the impressionists'

"matte impastos" in a review of the 1876 exhibition by the critic Edmond Duranty suggest that these artists had forgone the custom

of vernissage by this date.66 The first conclusive evidence of the impressionists leaving

their paintings unvarnished comes in their

independent exhibition of 1881, which included works by Pissarro, Morisot, Gauguin,

and Degas. The critic f. Karl Huysmans

observed:

It is important to have these exhibitions of the

independents frequently to fully appreciate the

innovative uses of materials which they bring to

their work. . . . They have corrected the shimmer

of oil painting coated with varnish and adopted for

the most part the English system, which consists

of leaving the painting matte and covered with a

sheet of glass. They avoid in this manner a

glistening look with many shining areas and are

content simply to remove the woolly and dull

aspects from the painting.67

Huysmans had reviewed the 1880 exhibition

as well, and although it included works by

the same artists, he did not comment on

any divergence from the Salon style of

varnishing.

In exhibiting their paintings glazed (covered with glass), the impressionists were replicating, in a sense, the saturating capabilities of varnish. They were not—yet—

opting for a completely matte look. In all

probability, they were concerned about critical acclaim and sales. Moreover, Berthe Morisot, Manet, and perhaps other impressionists were at the time experimenting with

bare, unprimed canvas as an element in their

compositions. They would not have wanted

to compromise their experiments by saturating their canvases with varnish,68

 and glazing offered an intermediate approach.

Glazing also protected the paintings.

Huysmans referred to glazing as "the English

system," and glazing paintings on exhibition

had been common practice in England since

the mid-i87os. With academic painters working in England, such as Lawrence Alma-Tadema and fames Tissot, it was prevalent.69

 At

that time, glazing was also particularly popular, as the National Gallery had launched a

massive glazing campaign to prevent damage

similar to that caused by climatic extremes

in its newly opened wing.70

Not all the impressionists participated in

the 1881 exhibition. Monet and Renoir had decided not to exhibit, and it is instructive to

examine their opinions on the use of varnish

after 1880. It is also instructive to examine

the opinions of the artists who did participate, and Pissarro especially, as he changed

his aesthetic most drastically in embracing

pointillism.

Pierre Auguste Renoir

The one impressionist artist reluctant to

adopt the new unvarnished aesthetic was Renoir. Despite the near disaster his Mademoiselle Samary suffered in the 1879 Salon vernissage, he seems not to have objected to the

use of varnish generally. He had not varnished the painting himself only because it

was still wet, and by exhibiting paintings at

the Salon every year until 1884 and again in

1890, where they would have been subject to

vernissage, Renoir showed little appreciable

concern for this issue.

SWICKLI K 167
If Renoir did experiment with unvarnished

surfaces, he most likely did so during his socalled dry period, 1883-1889,71

 which roughly

corresponds with his nonparticipation in Salon exhibitions. During these years Renoir

was influenced by the look of fresco painting

and experimented with removing a good part

of the medium from his paints to create a

dryer surface. Of his work he commented:

"After having studied fresco, I had fancied I

could eliminate the oil from the color. . . .

Another reason that induced me to dry the oil

out of my color was my search for a means of

preventing the paint from darkening."72

This technique would have created a very

lean, matte surface. As the reason for removing the medium was to keep the paint from

darkening, it is likely that Renoir would have

considered resaturating the paint with a coat

of varnish counterproductive. Renoir's experimentation with this method of painting was

brief. When he decided to abandon the technique, his reasons were unequivocal: "The

surface became too dry and subsequent layers

did not adhere well. .. . I later discovered

that oil is the very thing which keeps the

color from darkening."73

Shortly after returning to his standard

technique of dipping his brush directly into

the medium while painting, Renoir resumed

varnishing as well. He wrote to Durand-Ruel

on 15 April 1891: "I am going to send you two

small canvases in order that you choose one

and put it in the Brown sale. I am having

frames made by Dubourg who will bring

them to you. I count on your kindness to

varnish and place into the sale the one you

find most appropriate."74 In another letter,

dated 18 April 1891, he wrote, "I sent you a

small case containing a small head of an infant for the Brown sale. There are with it two

other small things which I put in to fill the

case. I would be very obliged to you if you

would varnish them for me because with all

the sunken in areas it is impossible to see

anything."75

Renoir apparently continued to desire an

absolutely saturated surface throughout the

rest of his career. Late in life he told the

dealer Vollard: "I can't keep that bottle of oil

full. I'm always afraid my pictures will be too

thin. What a perpetual problem it is to paint

rich and fat."76 Marc Elder, one of Renoir's

biographers, concluded, "He loved his paintings unctuous, paintings that should be varnished."77

 Unlike the other impressionist

painters, Renoir seems not to have worried

about the potential obscuring or discoloring

effects of varnish coatings. He commented

on Rubens' Helena Fourment and Her Children: "The white dress is full of dirt due to

the layers of filthy varnish they have put on,

but it's magnificent just the same. There's

painting for you! Nothing can spoil splendid

colors."78

Camilla Pissarro

Camille Pissarro's views were diametrically

opposite to those of Renoir. A review of an

exhibition in 1882 reveals that Pissarro's

paintings were exhibited under glass, presumably because they were unvarnished.

Phillippe Burty commented, "Beneath glass

Pissarro's paintings become like powerful

pastels."79 This exhibition was only one year

after the 1881 independent exhibition at

which Huysman observed glazed, unvarnished impressionist paintings. Clearly,

Pissarro was an early convert to this style of

presentation.

During this period Pissarro's paintings

were sometimes mistaken by reviewers as

pastels, an indication of how very matte

Pissarro's surfaces were at that time. Writing

to his son Lucien on 13 May 1883, Pissarro

complained:

My Market 012 which I worked so much since

last year is splendid in a white frame. Today's

L'Intransigent mentions it. It is taken for a pastel.

I haven't a single pastel—ah yes—a tiny one in a

dark corner. They confuse everything, gouache,

tempera, oil. What connoisseurs!80

Had Pissarro been varnishing his paintings

according to fashion, the reviewers would

not likely have found identifying various

media a problem.

By the early i88os, Pissarro was adamant

about his unvarnished aesthetic. On the reverse of the Louvre's Paysage a Chapxonval,

dated from this time, an inscription in the

hand of Pissarro reads "Veuillez ne pas vernir" (please do not varnish).81

 He was even

more resolute by the middle of the decade,

when he adopted the pointillist technique introduced by Georges Seurat and Paul Signac.

These artists, whose system of painting maximized the intensity and purity of color by

l68 S WICK LI K
juxtaposing small dabs of pure tones, would

not have wanted to apply a varnish film that

had the potential to discolor and thereby ruin

the very effect they were seeking. Seurat

himself confirms this point in a letter to

Octave Maus in January 1887:

It is appropriate that I tell you of my horror of

varnish. Often some paint shop proprietor will

apply varnish without being told to, thinking he's

doing the right thing and sending in his little bill.

VETO. I'm against any varnishing of my canvases,

either free or for a fee.82

In a brochure for the major neo-impressionist

exhibition of 1886, Felix Feneon, a writer and

critic, succinctly confirmed this point in

comparing the impressionist method to that

of the postimpressionist:

Misters Pissarro, Seurat, Dubois Fillet, and Signac

apply their colors flat; applied in broken touches

their impastos are better able to maintain

elasticity They escape in this way the danger of

the drying—craquelure. The sunken in areas

disappear beneath the glass, just as they would

beneath a varnish. Under the example ofAlmaTadema, fames Tissot, etc. they put their canvases

under glass; they thereby have little fear of the

inevitable yellowing from even the most pure

varnishes.83

While the unvarnished look had apparently

become a matter of choice for the impressionists, it was a matter of dogma for the neoimpressionists, who by then also included

Pissarro. Their painting method had become

so precise that any deterioration causing any

change was considered abhorrent. According

to Feneon, even their technique of placing

one small dab of paint in close proximity to

another was designed to prevent deterioration by cracking. As Huysmans suggested in

his 1881 review, the glazing of the paintings

provided the unifying effect otherwise

achieved by varnish, which would even out

discrepancies between matte and glossy

areas. In all likelihood, it was their fear of

discoloration more than a specific desire for

matteness that prompted their preference for

not varnishing.

The validity of Feneon's assessment was

confirmed by Pissarro. Before publishing his

brochure on the neo-impressionist exhibition, Feneon sent a proof directly to Pissarro

to check for technical inaccuracies. Pissarro

found Feneon's statements "only too accurate,"84

 perhaps fearing that such detailed

information would spawn imitators of their

style.

Pissarro ceased painting in the pointillist

style around 1891, returning to his earlier impressionistic style. But from this time until

his death in 1903, there is no evidence that he

resumed varnishing as well. It seems unlikely, as he had abandoned varnish long before he began painting in the pointillist style.

Moreover, he continued to experiment with

matte painting techniques through the 18905.

On his 1893 experiments with a casein borax

mixture suggested to him by John L. Brown,

Pissarro said with obvious pleasure, "The results are exactly like pastel."85

 During his

later years, he would send as many as a dozen

paintings at a time to his restorer, Portier, for

cleaning. We do not know exactly what was

removed from the paintings in the process,

but when they were returned Pissarro considered them "resurrected," and described them

as "grey, lusterless."86

Claude Monet

While Pissarro and Renoir represent opposite

extremes in an approach to varnishing,

Monet took a middle ground. In 1880 he had

been willing to varnish a painting at the request of a client, but in the early i88os he was

also known on at least one occasion to have

preferred a painting unvarnished.87 In 1883

Monet explained to Durand-Ruel that he

needed to redo some decorative panel paintings because they had to be unvarnished.88

These examples do not really clarify the

depth of Monet's commitment to the unvarnished aesthetic, but it likely increased as

the decade progressed. In Monet's case, however, the impetus came from his preoccupation with the series paintings he had begun

around 1887 rather than from a foray into

pointillism.

In choosing the motifs for these series,

Monet carefully considered their potential

for an extended investigation of light, shape,

color, and emotional effect. His descriptions

of his intent always centered on capturing a

distinct moment in time to show changes of

light from one painting in a series to another.

Paradoxically, although he was trying to record an instant in time, his working method

became less and less spontaneous as he

painted these series. He reworked some canSWICKLI K 169
vases years after he had painted them. Often,

in retouching sessions he lined the canvases

up one after the other and compared them to

decide where to apply paint. Consequently,

the paintings in the series must be considered not only representations of single distinct moments in time but also as collective

works, with one painting inexorably linked

to the next.89 Monet's fascination with effects of light and the care with which he

worked out the relationship of one painting

to another suggest an interest in color effects

every bit as strong as that of the pointillists.

It was no surprise, then, to find that Monet

was less inclined to varnish the series paintings than earlier works. In a review of an exhibit in New York in 1896 of a series of the

Rouen cathedral paintings, Octave Mirbeau

said that Monet "abhorred the trituration of

his colors with varnish."90

The American artist Lila Cabot Perry remembered visiting Monet's studio in the

18905 and offered some fascinating insights

that underscored Monet's concern for the

preservation of his effects in the series

paintings:

[Monet] said he was sure some of Rembrandt's

pictures had been painted even more thickly and

heavily than any of his, but that time with its

leveling touch had smoothed them down. In

illustrating this he took out from one of the

grooved boxes in which he kept his pictures a

view of the Rouen Cathedral that had been kept in

the box practically ever since it had been painted

and put [it] beside . . . one that had been hanging

on the wall of his studio for some two or three

years. The difference between the two was very

marked, the one which had been exposed to the

air and to the constant changes of temperature had

so smoothed down in that short space of time that

it made the other one with all its rugosities look

like one of those embossed maps of Switzerland

that are such a delight to children.

Perry's account suggests that Monet was

greatly concerned about the longevity of the

textures in his paintings.91

Another visitor to Monet's studio recalled

seeing the artist actually squeeze out his tube

colors onto blotting paper to absorb out some

of the oil prior to painting,92 as Mirbeau had

also observed.93 This method is often associated with Monet's desire for a matte effect;

naturally, the removal of the medium from

the paint would create a very lean and matte

surface. But Perry's account of her visit suggests another possible motive: Monet may

have hoped to reduce the leveling effect on

his impastos by eliminating some of the medium that shrinks on drying. In removing the

medium, Monet was approximating the

methods used by Renoir in the i88os; like

Renoir, Monet could have painted dryly to

prevent the darkening of his colors. Whatever his reasons, it seems clear that Monet

was greatly concerned that the effects he

worked so hard to achieve would remain

unaltered.

Because Monet apparently eliminated both

the final varnish and some medium from his

series paintings, the final effect must have

been quite matte. Unlike Pissarro, who

painted with such diverse media as casein,

pastel, and gouache while demonstrating a

genuine interest in matte surfaces, it appears

that Monet considered his technique as the

most expedient means of preserving the appearance of his paintings. Rene Gimpel, one

of Monet's dealers, believed that Monet rejected varnish because he thought the old

masters had not used very much varnish

themselves.94 Other impressionists may

have thought similarly. Elder offers what

may be the best explanation for Monet's attitude. He records Monet's dismay at the deterioration of some paintings by Delacroix,

Courbet, and Rembrandt in the Louvre:

The patina, the varnishes what horrors! Do you

believe the gold colored Rembrandts—what

nonsense! Do you believe that the collars o/The

Syndics were not strikingly white when they were

painted; Do you believe the limpid landscape in

The Carpenter's Family^ Varnish is death to the

color!95

Here Monet is in striking disagreement with

Renoir, who did not find that the color

changes induced by aged varnish spoiled

Rubens' Helena Fourment and Her Children.

It is unlikely Monet used varnish after he

began painting the series paintings. After

1900 his works became larger in size, but his

concern about the effects of color became

even more concentrated. At the end of his

life, when he was negotiating the donation of

his large series of Water Lilies to the Musee

de 1'Orangerie, Monet stipulated in the contract that they could never be varnished,96

evidence of his determination that his later

pictures remain unvarnished. Many of

Monet's paintings are still preserved in an

I/O S WICK LI K
unvarnished state, especially the series

paintings.

CONCLUSION

Comparison of two influential treatises on

painters' techniques in the eighteenth and

nineteenth centuries indicates quite different

approaches in the use of varnish. Oudry's

eighteenth-century lecture advocated the use

of very thin intermediate layers of spirit varnishes while cautioning the artist to never

add varnish directly to the painting medium.

Merimee recommended painting in thin

glazes with varnish-containing media, perhaps adding a coating of viscous varnish on

top of the ground and a final varnish containing oil. In the eighteenth century, Jean Felix

Watin recommended only spirit varnishes for

the final varnish. Both Merimee's and Oudry's approaches facilitated the academic

style of their time. The changes in technique

that Merimee's nineteenth-century manual

suggested did not increase a painting's

durability.

For artists working outside the academic

mainstream, Delacroix in particular, the issue of durability seemed to take on increasing importance as the nineteenth century

progressed. By the 18505, Delacroix argued for

a more cautious approach in the use of varnish, primarily out of concern for the longevity of his paintings. He looked back to the

approach advocated by Oudry as more sound

than the practice of his contemporaries.

The impressionist painters emerged from

their atelier training in the i86os aware of

Delacroix's concerns and in the midst of a

major cleaning controversy that made the effects of aged varnish prominent news and a

vernissage system that guaranteed the artist

little control. It would be difficult to imagine

that the cautious approach toward varnish

that they later adopted was not in some measure influenced by this climate.

Just as the impressionists' rejection of varnish cannot be seen as an isolated event in

the development of artists' techniques, it

cannot be generalized to include all the artists of the school from the beginning of their

careers. Most impressionists cautiously accepted the use of varnish in the i86os and

18705. By the i88os, however, many deliberately left their paintings unvarnished to

achieve specific aesthetic effects. Yet, while

Pissarro and Monet were committed to an

unvarnished look, Renoir seemed to advocate

precisely the opposite approach for most of

his career. And even as Monet and Pissarro

rejected varnish, they did so for different reasons: Pissarro because of his desire for a

matte finish; Monet lest it discolor his effects. During Pissarro's pointillist period, he

rejected varnish as a matter of dogma; for

Monet it always seemed a matter of choice.

Research into the use of varnish by French

painters is useful to the curator or conservator working in modern times. It explains

more concretely the reasons that cleaning

nineteenth-century French academic paintings is generally much more technically

problematic than cleaning those from the

eighteenth century. It indicates that with

French paintings an intact original varnish

layer should not necessarily be presumed to

have been applied by the artist. Furthermore,

in spite of the best intentions of the impressionists, the system in France by which

paintings were varnished by color merchants, framers, and dealers almost guaranteed that paintings would receive a coating of

varnish not long after they left the studio.

Finally, this research suggests some guidelines for deciding whether to revarnish an

impressionist painting after cleaning. Given

the evidence, it is probably appropriate to revarnish most paintings by Renoir, while it is

probably inappropriate to give the strong appearance of a coating of varnish to post-i88o

paintings by Monet and Pissarro. With paintings by these two artists, the later the painting, the more inappropriate the revarnishing.

SWICKLI K I/I
NOTES

This paper was made possible by the efforts of a great

many people. I would like to thank Ross Merrill,

David Bull, and Sarah Fisher for their administrative

support at the National Gallery of Art, and my colleagues Carol Christensen, Paula DeCristofaro, Susanna P. Griswold, Ann Hoenigswald, and Cathy

Metzger for their suggestions and encouragement. I

especially appreciated the editing efforts of my wife,

Mary Sebera, and of Janice Gruver of the National

Gallery of Art conservation division. The contribution of my French colleagues, Isabelle Leegenhoek

and John Wade, was also crucial. Most of all, I would

like to thank the Mellon Foundation, which provided

the funding that made this research possible.

Unless otherwise indicated, all translations are

mine.

1. Quoted in Henri Testelin, Memoirs pour servira

1'histoire de L'Academie Royale de Peintuie et de

Sculpture, ed. M. Ametole de Moutaiglon (Paris,

1853), 42.

2. Albert Boime, The Academy and French Painting

in the Nineteenth Century (London, 1971), 5.

3. Jean Baptiste Oudry, "Discours sur la pratique de la

peinture et ses precedes principaux, ebaucher,

peindre a fond, et retoucher," paper presented to the

French Academy, 2 December 1752, published from

the manuscript in the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Le Cabinet de 1 'amateur: Nouvelle serie, ed. Eugene Piot

(Paris, 1849), no.

4. Oudry 1849, 115.

5. Oudry 1849, 109.

6. Oudry 1849, no: "Always keep from making your

colors with both varnish and oil. This makes a painting that always stays sticky and cracks on drying."

7. Quoted in Henry Jouin, Conferences del'Academic

Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture (Paris, 1883], 403.

8. Le Pileur d'Apligny, Traite des couleurs materielles

(Paris, 1779); Pierre Joseph Macquer, Dictionnaire raisonne universel des arts et metiers (Paris, 1773); Jean

Felix Watin, L'Art de faire et d'employer le vernis

(Paris, 1772). Watin (300), for example, advises:

It is only necessary to varnish a painting in order to recall

the colors and to conserve them and not to further color

them or to give them a brilliance which obstructs one's

ability to distinguish the subject. It is necessary also to

avoid that which would make them dull; they should be,

on the contrary, clear, light, and soft. With varnish made

in alcohol the painting would crack; varnish made with

oil would be too colored and too matte, and make the

colors sticky; varnishes made with oil veil the colors like

a drapery, obscuring them with a coating that cannot be

cleaned off because one would necessarily remove the

colors at the same time. These inconveniences lead us to

reject all varnishes made with alcohol and oil for paintings, and lead us to adopt those made in turpentine for

this purpose. . . .

To make the best varnish which provides perfect

nourishment for the canvas, maintains the colors in their

original state, and can always be removed without endangering the painting, compose your varnishes with

mastic and turpentine.

9. Proceedings of the academy, 26 July 1749, Procesverbaux de 1'Academie Royale 1648-1/93, ed. Paul

Cornu, lovols. (Paris, 1909), 6:172,173.

10. Proceedings of the academy, 7 March 1750, Cornu

1909, 6:200.

11. Boime 1971, 6-7.

12. Boime 1971, 20-21.

13. Quatremere de Quincy, introd. to Jean Francois

Leonore Merimee, The Art of Painting in Oil and in

Fresco (1830), 3d ed., trans. William Benjamin

Sarsfield Taylor (London, 1839).

14. Merimee 1839, 86.

15. Merimee 1839, 7-10. Merimee's evidence for admixtures of varnish and oil in the medium are as follows: First, "the van Eycks mixed them because the

idea of incorporating the two being so simple, we

must infer that it would naturally, in the first instance occur to the mind of van Eyck" and "van Eyck

and his followers' colors could not have simply been

used with oil of a more or less drying quality but that

they were mixed with varnish which is the cause of

the surprising preservation which we witness in so

many of the earliest pictures." Second, Leonardo

used varnish in his medium, as testified by Pope Julius II, who visited Leonardo's studio and saw only

chemical apparatus and utensils, which he understood were for the preparing of varnish. Third, the

most certain way of knowing that the earliest

painters mixed varnish with oil in their medium is by

consulting those regularly responsible for restoring

them. We learn from their researches that the color of

those pictures that belong to the first epoch of oil

painting are of a harder body than those of a later date

and that they resist solvents much better; if they are

rubbed with a file they show underneath a shiny appearance resembling that of a picture painted with

varnish.

The first two of these reasons suggest to me paint

that did not have varnish mixed with it; the third reason makes little sense.

16. Merimee 1839, 91-92.

17. Louise d'Argencourt, Bouguereau [exh. cat.,

Musee du Petit Palais] (Paris, 1983), 77.

18. Louis de Planet, Souvenirs de travaux du peintre

avec M. Eugene Delacroix, ed. Andre Joubin (Paris,

1929), 21-23.

19. Eugene Delacroix, Correspondance general de Eugene Delacroix, ed. Andre Joubin, 4 vols. (Paris, 1936).

Letters between Etienne Haro and Delacroix discuss

matters related to Delacroix's technique. See, for instance, letters of 6 June 1860, 5 August 1860,10 September 1860, Joubin 1936, 4:183,187,196.

20. See, e.g., Eugene Delacroix, journal, 5 October

1847, Journal de Eugene Delacroix, ed. Andre Joubin,

3 vols. (Paris, 1932), 1:241-244. The entries surrounding the discussion of technique in October 1847 show

remarkable similarities to Merimee.

21. Delacroix, journal, n January 1857, Joubin 1932,

3:12.

22. Nathalie Sauvaire, "Role de la famille Haro dans

1'oeuvre de Delacroix" (master's thesis, University of

172 SWICKLI K
Paris, 1978), copy in Bibliotheque Doucet, Paris. This

receipt is preserved in the Cabinet des Dessins,

Musee du Louvre.

23. Sauvaire 1978, 98.

24. Sauvaire 1978, 98. Letters concerning this matter

are in the conservation archives, Musee du Louvre.

25. Delacroix, journal, 7 February 1849, Joubin 1932,

1:259.

26. Quoted in Sauvaire 1978,100.

27. Quoted in Sauvaire 1978,101.

28. Delacroix, journal, 27 June 1854, Joubin 1932,

2:206.

29. Delacroix, journal, 29 July 1854, Joubin 1932, 2:221.

30. Delacroix, journal, 4 October 1852, Joubin 1932,

1:490.

31. Delacroix, journal, 19 October 1853, Joubin 1932,

3:132.

32. Sauvaire 1978, 97.

33. Delacroix, journal, n January 1857, Joubin 1932,

3:12.

34. Delacroix, journal, n January 1857, Joubin 1932,

3:12.

35. Delacroix to Henri Joseph Constant Dutilleux, 8

August 1858, Joubin 1936, 4:42-43.

36. See, for instance, Gustave Courbet, Courbetreconte par lui meme et par ses amis, ed. Pierre Courthion (Geneva, 1948), 209-210, for Courbet's criticism

of contemporary artistic education and praise for the

Renaissance system.

37. Pierre Francois Tingry, The Painter and Varnisher's Guide (London, 1804), 136.

38. Nicolas Poussin to A. M. de Chantelou, 12 January

1644, Nicolas Poussin: Lettres etpiopos surl'art, ed.

Anthony Blunt (London, 1964), 86.

39. William Sandby, The History of the Royal Academy of the Aits (London, 1862), 274-275.

40. Proceedings of the Institute of France, 14 May

1803, Proces verbaux de 1'Academie des Beaux Arts,

ed. Marcel Bonnaire, 2 vols. (Paris, 1940), 2:157.

41. Philipe Grunchec, Le Concours pour la Prix de

Rome de 17970.1863 [exh. cat., Ecole Nationale, Superieure des Beaux Arts] (Paris, 1983), 26.

42. Alexis Lemaistre, L'Ecole des Beaux Arts (Paris,

1889), 349-

43. Jules Adeline, Lexique des termes d'art (Paris,

1884), 411.

44. Genvieve Le Pavec, interview with author, Paris,

July 1985. Madame Le Pavec related this information

from an interview she had had with the grandson of

Pierre Louis Rouillarde, who exhibited in the Salons

of the early 18705.

45. Monsieur La Place, minister of finance, to Monsieur Calleux, director of Musees Royaux, 1847, cited

in Sauvaire 1978, no.

46. "Letters to Haro," MS, Bibliotheque Doucet,

Paris. Letters from all of these artists to Haro concern

various technical issues. The letters from Delacroix

are published in Joubin 1936. Some of the letters from

Ingres are published in Andre Joubin, "Haro entre

Ingres et Delacroix," Amour d'Art 17, no. 3 (March

1936), 85-93.

47. Jean Gabriel Goulinat, La technique despeintres

(1922), 2d ed. (Paris, 1926), 54.

48. Denis Rouart, Degas: A la recherche de sa technique (Paris, 1945), 9.

49. John Rewald, The History of Impressionism, 3d

ed. (New York, 1961), 437.

50. Quoted in Ambroise Vollard, Renoir: An Intimate

Record (New York, 1934), 96.

51. Frederic Villot, "Restauration des tableaux du

Louvre," Annuaire des artistes et des amateurs (Paris,

1860), 265-274; Emile Galichon, Restauration des tableaux du Louvre, reponse a un article de Frederic Villot (Paris, 1860); Galichon, Nouvelles observations

surla restauration des tableaux du Louvre, reponse a

M. Ferdinand de Lasteyrie (Paris, 1861). Emile Galichon's pamphlets practically repeat the contents of

Delacroix's letter to Dutilleux.

52. Rewald 1961, 596.

53. Quoted in Vollard 1934, 82.

54. Gaston Poulain, Bazille et ses amis (Paris, 1932),

40-50.

55. Albert Boime, Thomas Couture and the Eclectic

Vision (New Haven, 1980), 441-457. This discussion

describes Couture's method, which is comparable to

that of Oudry.

56. Anne Coffin Hanson, Manet and the Modern Tradition (New Haven, 1977), 143-177.

57. Claude Monet to Frederic Bazille, 15 July 1864, in

Daniel Wildenstein, Biographie and catalogue raisonne de Monet, 4 vols. (Paris, 1974), 1:420.

58. Marie-Josephine-Cornelie Morisot to Edma Morisot, 8 May 1865, Correspondance de Berthe Morisot,

ed. Denis Rouart (Paris, 1950), 68-69.

59. Edouard Manet to Etienne Haro, n.d., Bibliotheque Doucet, italics in original. The letter is filed

among letters from the i86os.

60. Quoted in Vollard 1934, 62.

61. Camille Pissarro to Eugene Murer, 1878, Correspondance de Camille Pissarro, ed. Janine BaillyMerzberg, 4 vols. (Paris, 1980), 1:110.

62. Pissarro to Theodore Duret, 5 May 1874, BaillyMerzberg 1980,1:94.

63. Rene Gimpel, Journal d'un collectionneur:

Marchanddes tableaux (Paris, 1963), 95.

64. Quoted in Gimpel 1963,128.

65. Alice Hoschede to Earnest Hoschede, 14 February

1880, Wildenstein 1974, 1:446: "M. Coqueret est venu

ce matin demander pour vernir ses tableaux."

66. Edmond Duranty, La Nouvelle Peinture: A propos

du groupe d'Artistes qui expose dans les galeries Durand-Ruel (c. 1876), new ed. (Paris, 1946), 23.

67. J. Karl Huysmans, L'Artmoderne (Paris, 1883), no.

6'8. Charles F. Stuckey and William P. Scott, Berthe

Morisot: Impressionist (New York, 1987), 196.

69. Felix Feneon, "L'impressionisme scientifique,"

SWICKLI K 173
L'art moderne, 19 September 1886, in Feneon, Felix

Feneon: Au-dela de 1'impressionnisme, ed. Francoise

Cachin (Paris, 1966), 77.

70. William Gregory to Charles Eastlake, 25 October

1880, National Gallery, London. This letter discusses

the glazing of all the paintings in these galleries.

71. Quoted in Vollard 1934, 118.

72. Quoted in Vollard 1934,123.

73. Quoted in Vollard 1934, 123.

74. Renoir to Durand-Ruel, 15 April 1891, Les archives

derimpressionnisme, ed. Lionello Venturi, 2 vols.

(Paris, 1939), 1:147.

75. Renoir to Durand-Ruel, 18 April 1891, Venturi 1939,

1:147.

76. Quoted in Vollard 1934, 202.

77. Marc Elder, Introduction to L'Atelier de Renoir

(Paris, 1939), 25.

78. Quoted in Vollard 1934,138-139.

79. Phillippe Burty, "Les Aquarellistes, les Independants et le Cercle des Arts, liberaux," La Republique

FranQaise, 8 March 1882; Bailly-Merzberg 1980, 158.

80. Camille Pissarro to Lucien Pissarro, 13 May 1883,

Camille Pissarro: Letters to His Son Lucien, ed. }ohn

Rewald (New York, 1943), 32.

81. Joyce Hill Stoner, Winterthur Art Conservation

Graduate Program, personal communication, 1985.

82. Georges Seurat to Octave Maus, January 1887,

Georges Seurat, 1859-1891, ed. Robert L. Herbert [exh.

cat., Metropolitan Museum of Art] (New York, 1991),

405.

83. Feneon 1966, 77.

84. Camille Pissarro to Lucien Pissarro, 15 September

1886, Rewald 1943, 81.

85. Camille Pissarro to Lucien Pissarro, 17 October

1893, Rewald 1943, 212.

86. Camille Pissarro to Lucien Pissarro, 17 October

1893, Rewald 1943, 219.

87. Wildenstein 1974, 3:494.

88. Claude Monet to Durand-Ruel, 21 November 1883,

Venturi 1939,1:263: "J'ai du encore les recommencer

car invernis."

89. Grace Seiberling, Monet's Series (New York, 1981),

150-160.

90. Octave Mirbeau, A Catalogue of Marvelous Paintings of the Cathedral Rouen (New York, 1896), 9.

91. Lila Cabot Perry, "Reminiscences of Claude

Monet from 1889 to 1909," American Magazine of Art

18 (March 1927), 122.

92. Gaston Bernheim de Villers, Little Tales of Great

Artists, ed. and trans. Denys Sutton (Paris and New

York, 1950), 79.

93. Mirbeau 1896, 9.

94. Gimpel 1963, 89.

95. Quoted in Marc Elder, A Giverny chez Claude

Monet (Paris, 1924), 52.

96. J. P. Hoschede, Claude Monet: Ce mal connu, 2

vols. (Geneva, 1960), 2:25-26.

174 SWICKLI K


Contributors

Daphne Harbour, associate conservator of

objects, received her M.A. in art history and

Certificate in Conservation of Art from New

York University's Institute of Fine Arts. Before joining the National Gallery of Art staff

in 1987, she completed internships at several

Smithsonian Institution museums and the

Harvard University Art Museums. Her current research includes technical studies of

Saint-Porchaire ceramics published in the

National Gallery of Art catalogue, Sculpture

and Decorative Arts of Medieval, Renaissance, Classical, and Other Periods (1992).

Sarah Bertalan received her B.A. in art history and languages from Hope College. She

has worked in curatorial, administrative,

and research positions at the Robert Lehman

Collection, Metropolitan Museum of Art,

and completed her M.A. in art history at the

Institute of Fine Arts, New York University.

After also completing a Certificate in Conservation at the Institute of Fine Arts Conservation Center, she held internships at the

Philadelphia Museum of Art, Worcester Art

Museum, and the Library of Congress. She

was a Mellon Fellow at the National Gallery

of Art from 1986 to 1988. Currently she is a

free-lance paper conservator and consultant

in Washington, D.C.

Carol Christensen joined the National Gallery of Art in 1981, where she is presently

associate painting conservator, after receiving her M.S. degree from the Winterthur Art

Conservation Program. She took a leave of

absence in 1983 to work at the Gemaldegalerie, Berlin, where she was a Fulbright

Scholar in the area of conservation studies.

Although she has published on Raphael and

Van Dyck, Gauguin has been her special

interest for the past five years.

Antoinette Dwan holds a B.A. in English literature and art studio from the University of

California, Berkeley, and an M.S. in art conservation from the University of Delaware/

Winterthur Museum. She was a Mellon Fellow at the National Gallery of Art, 1984-1985,

in the paper conservation department. She

also worked at the National Museum of

American History, Smithsonian Institution,

the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art,

and the Baltimore Museum of Art. At

present she is a private conservator.

Lisha Deming Glinsman joined the National

Gallery of Art in 1987 as a conservation scientist, where her work in the scientific research department has included x-ray

fluorescence analyses on hundreds of Renaissance bronze objects. She received her B.A.

in chemistry from the College of Saint Rose,

Albany and has worked in industry and as a

research chemist for the National Institute of

Standards and Technology (formerly National

Bureau of Standards). Currently she is working on statistical analyses based on the elemental surface composition of the National

Gallery's Renaissance portrait medals.

177
Susanna P. Griswold holds an M.A. from the

University of Michigan. She worked at the

Palazzo Pitti, Florence, and the Detroit Institute of Arts, and was an assistant conservator

at the J. Paul Getty Museum. From 1986 to

1988 she was a Mellon Fellow in painting

conservation at the National Gallery of Art,

where she is presently a conservator of

paintings.

Michael Swicklik received his B.A. in art

history from Colgate University and an M.A.

and Certificate in Conservation from the

State University of New York. He was associate conservator at the Kimbell Art Museum.

A Mellon Fellow at the National Gallery of

Art from 1984 to 1986, he is a conservator of

paintings.

178