Workshop manuals on lithography tend to be written with art students in mind and the information they contain largely focuses on technical aspects of the process. It is, however, difficult to put into words the nuances of this printmaking practice, and consequently, handbooks rarely refer to sensory information and phenomenological experience. In light of this issue, my intention in Listen is to test the potential and limitations of written language as a means through which to describe the tacit and embodied knowledge of a lithographer. To aid this task, I created a two-minute video recording of myself preparing a lithography stone and this video features as a central element in the text. Prompted by a process of transcribing its sound, this video became the protagonist of a transdisciplinary encounter between lithographic sound and words. Structured as an intertextual narrative, Listen couples the transcription of the video with a historic, geological and cultural survey of sonorous stones. Punctuating the dialogue, are quotations from lithography handbooks that tether this serendipitous exchange to its intention: that being to speak about the perceptual realms of lithographic practice. At the core of Listen, is the subject of graining limestone—a process that requires both careful attention, to ensure that the surface is even and free from unwanted marks, and a tolerant sensitivity to the abrasive noise of graining stone. These two aspects, attention and noise, are entwined in the content, critical interests, and metaphorical dimensions of Listen. As a piece of written material from ongoing practice-led research that explores the intersection between lithography and language, Listen knowingly tests the protocols of academic language. My intention through this unconventional approach, is not to present the results of an enquiry, but to offer the reader a scriptural space for contemplative reflection. Somewhat akin to the practices of stone lithography, I suggest that the act of engagement that Listen proposes is rewarded by intimate attention and sensitivity to the presence of noise.

A solicited Note in Print Quarterly

A guide to the prints and drawings at the Oriental Club in London. These are mostly Daniells but also Fraser, Havell and Hodges etc. The guide also includes nineteenth century Mughal and RAjput watercolours.

Nowadays, there is no doubt that early modern prints played an instrumental role in the development of European visual culture by allowing for the reproduction and dissemination of a vast number of pictures. This article attempts to show how, in this context, print amateurs developed a certain awareness of rarity and then attributed to the latter a specific value. It then describes the development of early limited print editions intended to produce scarce impressions and give them additional value.

This article examines the role of printmaking in Helen Frankenthaler’s practice. While Frankenthaler
is primarily known for her monumental abstract paintings and invention of her ‘soak-stain’ technique, printmaking formed a vital part of her oeuvre over five-decades. Countering ingrained material hierarchies, I consider how the printerly manifests within Frankenthaler’s studio practice. In a January 1970 lecture at Yale University, Frankenthaler asserted that that there was ‘a lot more room for development’ within painting and the ‘best of it is going someplace’. Taking up Frankenthaler’s proposition, I argue hat her painting developed in the ‘someplace else’ of printmaking. As such, this article moves beyond the narrow confines of a medium specific discourse. Printmaking offers an alternate vantage point – spatially and materially ‘someplace else’ – through which to reconceptualize where and how Frankenthaler extended painting as an aesthetic category, subject and site of artistic production. Focusing on Frankenthaler’s work of the 1960s and 1970s, this article offers an exploration of the parallel reinvention of painting, printmaking and, concomitantly, the studio and workshop during this period.

This article argues that the French caricaturist and draughtsman Jean Ignace Isidore Gérard, known as J. J. Grandville (1803–47), used plates from Goya’s Caprichos (1799) as inspiration for his illustrations to Jean de La Fontaine’s Fables and Cent Proverbes (1845), as well as other illustrated books. In turn, it is also noted that La Fontaine’s Fables were the source of some of Goya’s Caprichos and Desastres de la guerra (Disasters of War) prints (1810–14). Examples of Grandville copying Goya, as well as of Goya using images from La Fontaine are here presented.

Beginning in the early 1960s, with only the meager budget of a part-time art history professor, Leo Steinberg (1920–2011) amassed a collection of more than 3,500 prints that spans the medium’s five-hundred-year history in the West. Akin to books on a shelf, Steinberg’s prints formed a visual library that shaped his scholarship in fundamental ways. His collection, incorporating the work of artists both famous and obscure, illuminates his claim that in the era before photography, prints functioned as the “circulating lifeblood of ideas,” disseminating figures, compositions, and styles across boundaries of geography, time, and medium. Through close observation of his own prints, Steinberg developed some of his most innovative arguments about the instructive richness of the copy and the expressive potential of body language, while also challenging reigning orthodoxies about modernism. This lavishly illustrated volume with essays by Holly Borham and Peter Parshall examines the development of Steinberg’s remarkable collection and its role in his scholarship. It also serves as a detailed guide to the collection, now housed at the Blanton Museum of Art, and as an introduction to the history of Western printmaking that it broadly encompasses.