Prints: A Brief Review of Their Technique and History

by Emil H. Richter

Having followed woodcut from its beginnings to the end of the fifteenth century, it behooves us now to devote our attention to the earliest intaglio process, namely, engraving.

Ever since the days of antiquity it had been the practice of metal-workers to cut decorative designs into the surface of the metal. Armorers and goldsmiths practiced this art of engraving in mediæval and Renaissance times. For our present purposes the absorbing question is this: How did the idea of printing from this decorated metal first suggest itself? We may get a clue by watching the engraver at work. With the graver he cuts a maze of lines into the metal; it is almost impossible to see the design owing to the glitter of each new-cut furrow. This troubles the engraver himself, and in order to see just what he has done, he smears the plate over with a mixture of lamp-black and oil, rubbing it well into the furrows. Then he wipes the plate clean, and now the design stands out plainly in black lines upon the shining metal surface. If he were now to take a piece of paper and press it against the plate, the black color in the furrows would adhere to the paper, and every line cut into the metal would be reproduced there. In such an accidental way, no doubt, the possibility of obtaining impressions from intaglio plates became known some time about or before the middle of the fifteenth century. But, of course, such an impression taken by hand pressure is bound to be very imperfect, and it may have been some time before some goldsmith thought it worth while to experiment with these printing possibilities. At first impressions may have seemed useful as guides for further work on the metal, or they may have served as memoranda of work done and delivered. As a matter of fact, goldsmiths did make use of this new-found mode of printing, and took impressions from their small decorative niello plates, before filling in the engraved lines with the final black enamel,—the “nigellum.”

If woodcut were dubbed the democrat among the graphic arts, certainly engraving must be called the aristocrat of the family. It originates in the goldsmith’s workshop, amidst a guild of skilled designers, who not unfrequently practice painting together with their craft. No wonder that in such hands engraving should shape itself along artistic lines from the start. In Germany engraving finds a ready welcome among other manifestations of an art essentially of the town, of the burgher, while the art of the Italian quattrocento celebrates its great triumphs in the erection or adornment of sumptuous edifices, under the fostering care of princes and prelates. The German naïvely depicts, with minute precision, the scenes and environments of his homely sphere; all subjects, whatever their time or country, are shifted into the familiar setting of his own time and his own surroundings. Hence we see the crucifixion taking place in a clearing amidst firs; we find German and Dutch burghers in the scenes of the Passion, or kneeling in adoration—as Magi—before the new-born Child.

The Italian artist is no less zealous in his search for nature’s truths, but at the same time he harks back to those remains of former artistic perfection which are just then being reclaimed from the soil, heirlooms from classical antiquity. Guided by both, he imparts a semblance of life to his ideal forms, that they may appear real, though belonging to a higher world. The cult of antiquity establishes a retrospective tendency in the choice of subjects represented. Traditional themes taken from the Bible, from legend and mythology, are used again and again with changes in the composition, in costume, lighting and color scheme, all in the constant endeavor to excel in perfection of form and composition, and in harmonious, beautiful coloring.

MADONNA OF EINSIEDELN

Master E. S.

In Germany purses are more slender, customers are content to adorn their homes with woodcuts or engravings instead of paintings. Pictures are wanted, with figures carefully drawn, explicit pictures, finished, natural in appearance, with plenty of detail in figures and accessories, something appealing to their humor, to their piety, to their own sphere of interest. Hence the tendency to carry every scene into the familiar setting of actuality; hence the interest in the natural surroundings of the scene; hence the predominance of Biblical and religious subjects which appeal to the pious; and for others the scenes of daily life, tournaments, soldiers, not to forget plates and books of designs for the use of craftsmen. The production of picture-like prints in which hand coloring was not to be considered, necessarily brought about a speedy development of technique. Even in early work it seems as though the German engraver realized, more than his Italian contemporary, the possibilities of the engraved plate; the figures are quaint, reminiscent of the Gothic past, but they are well cut, in clear, sweeping outline. The shading is simple, but not timid or awkward, and pleasantly follows and accents the form. Few of these fifteenth-century engravers have left us as much as a name or the most meager data as to their lives. In many cases we have not even a date, a sign, or an initial placed somewhere on the print, as a means of identification. We are conscious, in these early examples, of the artistic spirit in which the engraver treats the saint’s picture and the playing-card, extensive fields, exploited already by primitive woodcut. A choice between eminent representatives among the anonymous engravers would lie between the so-called Master of the Playing-Cards, the Master of the Amsterdam Cabinet, and Master E. S. An illustration of the excellence achieved by the last named artist will be found in his presentation of the Madonna of Einsiedeln. Notice the development of the picture element, the sureness with which the graver is used, long strokes and delicate touches, varying with the needs of modeling and design. This mastery over the medium is yet more apparent in the engravings of Martin Schongauer, the leading figure in fifteenth-century engraving. In his work we still discern the peculiar characteristics of the period, long slim hands and feet, an emaciation which brings the head into prominence, a tendency—reminiscent of the Middle Ages—to treat each object independently, as a unit, as a symbol of its kind; but then what purity and sincerity emanate from his figures. In his “Death of the Virgin,” what a harmonious effect, what keenness of observation. He knows little of the rendering of nudity,—all Northern artists are hampered in that way,—but his bodies, though lacking in structural skill, are wonderfully well caught in pose and gesture. His observation and his resourceful imagination were fully recognized by both Dürer and Raphael, who both availed themselves of his achievements. The graver helps to round the forms, by following the direction of the curves. Long, steady, curving strokes, emphasized in the deep shadows, breaking up—in the lights—into dots which blend into the high lights of white paper. No hesitating, little criss-cross strokes here, but a dignified simplicity of line which enhances the dignity and simplicity of his compositions. Remember that in order to appreciate these essential qualities of line and of resulting effect, you must consult the original prints; half-tone illustrations cannot be expected to convey more than a general idea of the originals.

DEATH OF THE VIRGIN