The Price of Art

        Putting a price on art is such a complicated question that there are no complete answers.  However, as I gear up for a sale in ten days, I thought it might be interesting to bring up a few of the issues I think about, and lay them out for people to consider.

        First of all, there's the basic capitalist idea of supply and demand.  One could argue that the right price for any piece of art is "as much as the market will bear."  This allows some pieces of art to cost millions of dollars while other pieces are essentially worthless.  There are general rules of thumb that multiples are cheaper than singles, works on paper are cheaper than paintings and sculptures, and works by living artists are cheaper than works by dead artists.  But pretty much every other factor is trumped by Name.  Art by a Big Name costs more than art by a No Name.  And who's a Big Name?  It has something to do with some intrinsic and objective level of quality, but since art is so subjective it probably has a lot more to do with marketing and fashion.  Basic economic factors.

Everyone from Old King Cole to his bowl-bearer should
be able to enjoy great art.

        It seems to me, however, that if I'm going to claim that Art is something special, all about making the world a better place, then it can't be treated exactly like a pair of white socks or a spiral notebook, or any other unemotional commodity (not that those don't make the world a better place, too.)  First of all, any given piece of art is unique.  If you don't have a lot of money to buy socks, you can shop around for the cheapest pair, because there are plenty of socks in this world, and lots and lots of them are white.  If you have too much money to spend you can buy silk and cashmere socks or something, but either way you still get a pair of white socks.  Art is different.  One piece doesn't substitute for another, which is why fifty artists at an Open Studios show aren't competing with each other in the same way that fifty sock vendors would be.  None of the other artists is offering exactly the same artwork I am, and I'm not offering theirs.  Basically, if  someone comes to the sale ready to buy art and loves my block prints, they'll buy from me.  If not, they won't.  So I don't try to copy someone else's successful formula.  (Admittedly, I might make more money if I did.  Marketing has never been my strong suit.  But where would be the joy in playing wannabe?  I might as well be working at a sock factory.)

        The main force that ought to push the price of art higher is simply the time it takes to craft individual items by hand.  If you add up all the time spent on a piece, including planning, sketching, carving, printing, clean-up, matting, packaging, and selling… multiply by a decent hourly wage, and then add the cost of materials plus entry fees for shows and such, you can see why original art has to cost more than a poster at Target. 

        On the other hand, I do believe that there's also a force that should keep the cost of art from getting ridiculously high.  I believe that art is for everyone, not just a privileged few wealthy patrons.  I feel quite strongly that everyone ought to be able to have access to genuine original art, both in museums (which should not charge $2o for admission so that only the rich can afford to go!  Yes, I'm talking to you, Boston MFA!) as well as owning pieces of their own.  For that reason I make a point of keeping my own prices pretty low.  I acknowledge that my high-faluting ideals are a luxury that I can afford because D's job pays the mortgage and my art sales aren't needed to put food on the table.  I know that things can look different to my friends whose art is their primary source of income.  I wouldn't want to undercut their prices (although I'm not so worried about that because after all, we aren't all selling white socks) and nor do I want to charge so little that I don't make a fair wage myself.  Still, I make a point of having some very small, inexpensive pieces among my offerings.  And I'm pretty confident that genuine Nydams are never going to be up at auction for millions of dollars, so I don't have to worry that my democratic ideals will be assaulted that way!

         So, in conclusion, it's hard to put a price on art because

a) it's hard to compare pieces when no two are alike

b) I make art because I love making art, not because I love running a business

c) I want to have my time and effort sufficiently valued, but

d) I don't believe I should be making a luxury only for the rich.

        It's a lot to think about.  In fact, maybe I'd rather forget it all for now and just go enjoy some art instead.

[Picture: Old King Cole, rubber block print by AEGN, 2001.]

Illustrations by David Frampton

        I recently discovered some children's picture books illustrated with wood block prints by David Frampton.  I was delighted (and impressed, of course) so I want to share his work with you.  As a professional illustrator Frampton has done all kinds of projects, and books on all kinds of topics.  More recently he's been doing some books of his own, although he continues to illustrate works by others, too.  Frampton usually does prints using multiple blocks for multiple colors, but even so his work often demonstrates the beautiful drama of light and shadow that's one of the things I love so much about relief prints.

        I found this great interview with Frampton, in which he echoes what I was saying in my post on the value of original art.  He says:

        Often when I describe the process to someone and they come to realize just how involved and time consuming the process is, they inevitably ask, "Couldn't you get the job done faster and easier with paint or crayons?" The answer is "yes," but it's not as much fun. I just like doing woodcuts. When you look at the finished print it has a certain look, a look that says, "This picture was done by hand." You can see the process in the picture itself. You can see that someone took a flat piece of wood and carved a picture on it. You can see that paint was applied to that surface and then that surface was pressed against a piece of paper.

        I agree with him, so naturally I think he must be a brilliant and sensible man.  (He also has a sense of humor, if you read the rest of the interview.)

        Frampton has illustrated a number of various books on folk tales, mythology, legends, and such.  Just for fun, therefore, I decided to feature here some of his work that could be categorized as fantasy.  He's got plenty of other beautiful work that isn't fantasy at all, but I had to pick somehow, so I hope you enjoy these - and search out some of his other illustrations.

Okay, it's not fantasy, but it's one of my favorites.

   [Pictures: Merlin and the dragons, woodcut by David Frampton, p5 from Of Swords and Sorcerers by Margaret Hodges and Margery Evernden, 1993;

   The Feng Huang, woodcut by David Frampton, p95 from A Guide to the Imaginary Birds of the World by Joe Nigg, 1984;

   knight, woodcut by David Frampton, title page from Of Swords and Sorcerers by Margaret Hodges and Margery Evernden, 1993;

   xog, woodcut by David Frampton, from My Beastie Book of ABC, written and illustrated by David Frampton, 2002;

   sailors at a gam, woodcut by David Frampton, p19 from Whaling Days by Carol Carrick, 1993.]

Words of the Month - The Inkhorn Controversy

        These days native speakers of English have a tendency to be a bit arrogant concerning foreign languages, thinking we don't need to learn other languages because everyone else will learn ours.  But it was not always so.  Until the end of the sixteenth century English had a serious inferiority complex.  Speakers of English considered their language to be rude and uncouth compared with the other European languages, especially French and Latin.  A representative comment is that made by a translator in 1563 on "our own corrupt and base, or as al men affirm it: most barbarous language."  Translators almost invariably apologized for transforming the eloquence of Greek or Latin into the unworthy English, but nevertheless, they continued to use the vernacular.  They claimed that they needed to educate those who were unable to read the classics in the original.  This meant that, despite continuing charges of barbarism, English was being used for scholarly works.  And that practice led directly to a change in attitude about English that took place toward the end of the sixteenth century.  In order to translate the classics and say all that seemed to need saying, English had to have more words, and the choice of new words was the root of a magnificent linguistic controversy.

        Many translators borrowed huge numbers of words from their sources when they couldn't find appropriate English words.  Many writers in English made up new words with reckless abandon.  Other scholars argued against the neologisms as obscure, pretentious, and affected.  The "Inkhorn Controversy" was not concerned with the necessity of new terms in English - that was never denied.  But although Latinisms were accepted when they were required for meaning, many writers deplored the indiscriminate use of outrageous neologisms to make a more learned-sounding style.  (Purple patches, anyone?)  Sometimes the borrowings defeated the entire purpose of translation, since they made the English as difficult to understand as the original.  However, towards the end of the century there was an abrupt turnaround in attitude toward English, and suddenly the flood of new words had had an effect: English was the language of eloquence.

        Here are a few of the many, many weird and wonderful new words that first appeared in English as Inkhorn terms.

absterge – (1541) to wipe away, to cleanse

accerse – (1548) to summon, to be sent for

anonymous – (1601)

antique – (1540)

catastrophe – (1579) the change or revolution which produces the conclusion

     or final event of a dramatic piece; (1601 for the current sense)

commentitial – (1611) fictitious

contemplate – (1590’s)

deruncinate – (1656) to cut off that which is superfluous, to weed

detail – (c.1600)

encyclopedia – (1531) the circle of learning (This one's interesting because the p
     really doesn't belong there.  It's derived from a false reading of the Greek term
     encyclical, as in a well-rounded education); (1644 for the current sense)

enthusiasm – (1579) possession by a god, supernatural inspiration;

     (but not until 1716 for the current sense)

exaggerate – (1533) to pile up; (c.1564 for the current sense)

illecebrous – (1531) alluring, enticing, attractive

impecunious – (1590-1600)

intermure – (1606) to enclose between walls

irrefringible – (1596) incapable of being broken down or demolished

lucubration – (1585-1595) laborious work or study, especially at night

nullifidian – (1564) atheist

oscitancy – (1619) drowsiness, as manifested by yawning

pathetic – (1598) (first spelled pathetique)

peccable – (c.1600, probably earlier) capable of sinning

precipice – (1590-1600)

skeleton – (1578)

spendidious – (1560) (one of several variants at the time, of which the one that

     is accepted nowadays is splendid)

tenacious – (1600)

timid – (1549)

tranquil – (1595-1604)

        It's a complete mystery why some of these words were accepted into common speech and are words in good standing to this day, while others never caught on, or enjoyed only a brief popularity, and seem utterly ridiculous now.  If you roll them around in your mouth a bit, you really have to admit that anonymous is every bit as implausible as irrefringible, while it's hard to imagine that timid was criticized as an obscure and pretentious neologism.  As for peccable, it's just plain silly that it should have died while impeccable still lives.   So don't try to question the mysterious ways of a living, breathing language.  Just contemplate with enthusiasm the sixteenth and early seventeenth century writers who gave us such spendidious words.

        (A word on dates - There's no way of knowing when a word was first spoken, and while scholars can try to find an earliest written use of a word, you never know when there were earlier examples that no one's found.  The OED and various other etymological dictionaries don't always agree on dates, either.  So I've given what I hope is a reasonable approximation of a first appearance in English for each of the words listed.)

[Picture: David's Inkwell, wood block print by AEGN, 2000 (Commissioned as an illustration for Resistance and Obedience to God: Memoirs of David Ferris, ed. Martha Paxson Grundy, Friends General Conference, 2001.)]

WPA Printmaking

        During the Great Depression, President Roosevelt's New Deal economic program was intended to relieve unemployment by providing jobs so that people would not only have money for food and housing, but would also gain the moral and emotional value of having meaningful work.  The WPA Federal Arts Project was founded in 1935 and anyone who could demonstrate need and that they had previously worked as an artist was eligible.  Men and women, all ethnic backgrounds, all styles of art were accepted.  The government identifies 1,114 printmakers that worked under the WPA/FAP program, and it's estimated that about 11,300 different images were produced.  Moreover, the program's system of setting up printmaking studios and fostering education and innovation ended up having a huge influence on the course of 20th century printmaking.

        WPA printmakers worked with wood blocks, linoleum, lithography, etching, and screen printing.  They made both abstract and representational images, and they depicted all variety of subject matter.  Generally speaking, the works tend to be populist and reflect a democratic ideal, but (except in the poster division) there was no explicit political agenda.  A printmaker made a proof, and a workshop director would decide how big an edition should be run.  Most were very small editions, many under 25, and the prints were used to decorate government offices and other public buildings.  Except for a few proof copies that the artists might keep, everything belonged to the government.  (Even now the government claims ownership of art produced under the WPA, so there are some interesting murky issues for collectors trying to buy WPA art for private collections.)

        The program allowed artists to cross-pollinate in wonderful ways, and gave all sorts of artists access to high-quality equipment and supplies, as well as mentoring and collaboration.  Unfortunately, after the FAP program ended, the prints don't seem to have been valued much.  Some were destroyed accidentally, some lost, others used as scrap paper!

        Obviously, I tend to appreciate the relief block prints, although of course there are also some wonderful lithographs and other print media works.  I particularly love the industrial scenes and some of the landscapes.  I've posted what I could find on the internet that I especially liked, and I hope you enjoy it, too.

[Pictures: Railroad Bridge, wood block print by Edward Jansen, c.1937;

Near Franconia, N.H., wood engraving by Isaac J. Sanger, c.1937;

Coal Barges, wood block print by Isaac J. Sanger, c.1937;

My Backyard, wood block print by Hyman Warsager, c.1937;

Mountain Pines, wood block print by Charles Reed Gardner, c.1935;

An Old Town in Illinois, wood block print by Todros Geller, 1940;

Railroad Crossing, wood block print by John P. Heins, c.1937.]

(I found much of the above information in an article by John A. Stewart, and the pictures are all from the Gibbes Museum of Art and Rona Schneider Fine Prints.  I appreciate that all these resources are posted where I and everyone else can use them.)

Shock Tactics

        Back when I was teaching middle school art I took a couple of classes at MassArt during the summers.  Those classes for art teachers are the only two proper art school classes I’ve ever taken, and I found the glimpse into the Art World Establishment fascinating – and food for much thought.  Today I’m reminded of a comment from an artist and art professor who came in as a guest teacher once.  He conceived of his work as powerfully political, and he said, “If everyone likes your art, something is wrong.”

        There is certainly a place for art and literature that make people uncomfortable and shake us out of our complacency.  Indeed, that’s one of the ways art and literature can make the world a better place.  Consider Picasso's "Guernica" for example, or Upton Sinclair's The Jungle.  But where is the line between a wake-up call and gratuitous shock value?  I’ve never been impressed by comedians whose only joke is to use fouler language than anyone else.  (Although clearly I cannot make the absolute statement, "That's not funny!”)  I’ve never cared for the work of Damien Hirst, or Robert Mapplethorpe, or for the infamous “Piss Christ,” all of which seem more interested in self-advertisement than in accomplishing anything constructive.  It isn’t that I deny their right to make such pieces or that I advocate censoring them.  It’s just that I don’t think such pieces are very good art, and I’m not much interested in viewing things designed merely to shock, outrage, and sicken me or other viewers.

        There are books, too, that hope to whip up sufficient notoriety to become bestsellers.  Furthermore it seems that even in less aggressively controversial works there’s a clear pressure to be edgy, gritty, raw…  In the field of fantasy, and even more in sci fi, I'm thinking of all the dystopian visions of places where Good not only fails to triumph but doesn't even get to be represented by the protagonist.  Apparently, if you want to get taken seriously you have to push the envelope…  But why?  Or more specifically, why is the envelope of ever more extreme sex and violence the one that must be pushed?  Why not push the envelope of wonder, or the envelope of breaking stereotypes, or the envelope of gratitude, or the envelope of creative problem-solving?  Human society is limited by countless conventions in countless directions, so why try to break down the conventions that might keep us from utter brutality when we might instead be trying to break down the conventions that hold us back from becoming better?

        As I was sitting at my table during an Open Studios show once, I overheard a couple strolling by discussing the work.  The woman pointed to one of my block prints of an industrial site and said, “Oh, look.  That’s edgy!”  I had to restrain myself from totally cracking up.  It was the first time, and probably the last time, anyone will ever call my art “edgy.”  Which brings us back to the artist who said, “If everyone likes your art, something is wrong.”  Obviously not everyone likes my art, or my writing, but the people who don’t care for my work are unlikely to be offended by it or made uncomfortable – they probably just find it boring.  Does that mean something is wrong?  No one wants to be thought boring, I suppose, but is boring the only possible alternative to depravity?  Are my only options Damien Hirst or Thomas Kinkade?  If no one is offended by my work does that indicate a lack of depth and an inability to be serious art?  Or is there a place for art and literature that aim for serious joy?

[Picture: February 15, 1999 - Boston Sand & Gravel, rubber block print by AEGN, 1999 (sold out).]

Technofantasy

        Wikipedia defines steampunk thus: “Steampunk is a sub-genre of science fiction and speculative fiction, frequently featuring elements of fantasy... The term denotes works set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used — usually the 19th century, and often Victorian era Britain — but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy, such as fictional technological inventions like those found in the works of H. G. Wells and Jules Verne, or real technological developments like the computer occurring at an earlier date…”  Recently I’ve encountered a few juvenile fantasy books that are clearly somewhere in the steampunk continuum, and I see a bit of a recent trend toward two strains of steampunk influence in juvenile fantasy.  One theme is the pseudo-Victorian style (and alternate reality setting) and the other is the addition of technological fun and games to the magic.  The books I’m thinking of aren’t really sci-fi, and the “-punk” suffix isn’t really appropriate to books without the dystopian vibe.  So in the spirit of the constant crop of new subgenre coinings, perhaps I should call these books “steamfantasy” or “technofantasy” or something.

        Whatever you call them, here are a few I’ve enjoyed.

Alternate reality settings with magic (but no emphasis on technology)

        1. Jonathan Stroud’s Bartimaeus Trilogy (set in un unspecified not-long-ago era with an alternate history).  The character of the demon Bartimaeus is what I like best about these books.  While he is, well, a demon, his intelligence and sense of humor make him far more likable than the human characters, even the ones who are protagonists.  The setting is nifty, the plots ingenious, and the conception of magic is original and interesting.

        2. Wrede and Stevermer’s trilogy beginning with Sorcery and Cecelia (set in 1817).  These books are a delightful romp through Regency society from the point of view of a pair of spirited cousins who discover that magic and magicians are all around them plotting devious plots that must be foiled, all without interfering too much with The Season.  (It looks like Stevermer’s new book Magic Below Stairs involves the same cast of characters, and it’s definitely on my reading list.)

James Bond meets Magic (technology & magic go together in the present)

        1.  Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl series.  I admit that I haven’t read the last couple of these books, and the series keeps getting longer… but what an original vision of fairyland!  The blend of high-tech high-jinks with leprechaun (or should I say LEP Recon) gold is good fun.

        2.  E. Nesbit’s Fairy Stories.  Well, for us now it’s a historical setting and I can’t exactly cite her as part of a recent trend, but her stories were set in what was the present when she wrote them.  Nesbit was fascinated with exciting new technology such as diving bells and elevators, in a time when most fantasy writers were strictly pre-industrial romanticists.  She offers a charming blend of speculative builders and magic golden apples, beautiful princesses who solve their problems with math, and dragon-cursed nations who advertise for their rulers at the registry office.

Steamfantasy

        1.  Howard Whitehouse’s series beginning with The Strictest School in the World (no magic as such, but still clearly fantasy, set in 1894).  Zany, madcap adventures beginning with a girl who wants to invent the airplane and discovers the perfect partner in her experimentation: an Indestructible Boy.  One of my favorite parts of the first book is that involving the hockey-stick-wielding Josie, but bloodthirsty Princess Purnah’s fractured English alone is worth the price of admission.  I keep hoping that the trilogy will turn into a quadrilogy. (Addendum: I really need to add that two and a half years later this remains one of our favorite series and P and T still reread it themselves and ask me to reread it to them.)

        2.  Catherine Webb’s Horatio Lyle series (Victorian).  This probably qualifies as true steampunk, with faerie villains and Faraday’s inventions sharing the stage with the muddy underbelly of Victorian London.  I find it interesting to be cheering for the (mostly ruthless) humans when the (mostly ruthless) faeries’ arguments often seem the more compelling, so I’m curious how this conflict will develop.  I’ve read the first two so far, and I have the third on my reading list.

        [Pictures: Fantasy Clockwork I and Fantasy Clockwork II, rubber block prints by AEGN, 2008.     (Fantasy Clockwork I was commissioned for The Paper and Ink Kaleidoscope by C.P. O'Brien, a not-yet-published technofantasy adventure set in Boston.)]

One Inch Stamp Project

        This is a project that I did for many years with sixth grade students.  It's a great introduction to relief printing, and also a lot of fun for anyone, whether you're a long-time expert or have never before tried your hand at carving a printing block.  Here's what you'll need to give it a try:

     1. carving tools - I use the Speedball linocut tools I use for all my rubber blocks, and that's what my students have used, too.  A basic set of tools is available at most art supply stores and should cost in the neighborhood of $7.  (You could also try it with an x-acto knife or any similar carving tool.)

     2. a 1" square of carving rubber - There's nothing magic about this size, but it's easy to get hold of a small piece of rubber like this: just get a plain white rubber art eraser and cut a square length off the end.  You do need to make sure that your eraser has a smooth surface, because some brands have logos imprinted on them, and if they're in a cardboard wrapper you might not see it without checking.  Also, this project works best if you have a reasonably accurate square, regardless of its exact dimensions.

     3. ink - You have plenty of options when it comes to ink.  The easiest is a standard stamp pad, but more fun is a set of nice, juicy wide-tip markers.  The most successful with my classes was the Mr Sketch brand, which have lots of ink and a good chisel tip.

     4. white paper - any kind will do, or you could experiment with any light colored paper

The block on the left makes the design above, and more below.

        The carving is simple - just doodle any old design as you carve.  Don't sketch first, don't plan too hard, just carve.  Part of the fun of this project is that often the most random designs work the best.  The black stamp shown here is one I carved from a block that a student had begun and then abandoned, claiming it was ruined.  My point is that you really can't ruin the project.

        One thing I do recommend is to try to involve at least one or two of the corners, instead of carving a design that floats in the middle of your square.  Using the corners always leads to interesting results.  (Of course, you'll have two sides to your rubber block, and you can get two mini-blocks out of any normal eraser, so you'll get at least four opportunities to experiment with different ideas.  So you can try a couple with elaborate schemes if you like, and still try a couple spontaneously.)

        The interesting thing about this project is not the single 1 inch design (which often doesn't look like much in itself) but what happens when you print the design repeatedly, as if you were tiling a wall with it.  My students were required to do some sample experimentation, arranging their multiples in several different ways before they decided on their favorite.  It's always a surprise to see what happens when you get the different patterns going.  One pattern you should definitely try is what I think of as "tiling."  To help yourself keep track of the corner you're rotating around, use a permanent marker to mark the corner on the vertical edge of the mini-block (as shown in the photo of the carved stamps above).  Time after time a student would complain that her design was boring… only to squeal with surprise and delight when she saw what happened when the block was printed with rotational symmetry.

Experimenting with repetition

Stamp as carved

A different "tiling" pattern -
compare with the design above.

Stamp as inked
with 3 colors

        And finally you get to play with the variable of color.  This is where the markers are fun.  My classes found that you can color your block with as many as three different colors in each stamping.  More than that and the first colors dry up before the last colors are applied.  (Tip: if your first color isn't printing, try blowing a warm, moist breath over the mini-block right before you stamp.  That often refreshes the ink enough to make it print.  But you do need fresh, juicy markers.)

        That's it!  You can use your mini-block to make little works of art suitable for framing, you can make notecards for your correspondence, you can make wrapping paper, you can decorate paper for use in all sorts of crafts…  If you use acrylic paint for your inking you can even stamp fabric (although that works best with a design that isn't so detailed)…  So go find yourself an eraser and get carving!

[Pictures: Mini-block by AEGN;

Flashback to the 60s, by L. Walton, 2000;

Flowers in a Field of Diamonds, by K. Mika, 1999.

(L. and K. were sixth grade students of mine.)]

P.S.  Thanks to amazing artist Nan Daly for pointing me to her post with some similar ideas - and some different directions for more fun with mini stamps.  Check it out at her blog Collage Lab By Two here and here.