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• 1 media/Fig 23.jpg 2016-01-26T15:43:04-08:00 Printmaking, reproductive prints, and Degas 15 image_header 2016-02-11T11:22:15-08:00 Prints constituted an important part in Degas’ oeuvre and his engagement with them stems from his beginnings as an artist. His first venture into printmaking, an engraving entitled Paysage de Grèce, la Rade was executed in 1856 at the suggestion of Prince Grégoire Soutzo, an aristocrat, friend of the family and amateur artist who provided Degas with his first etching lessons.[xxv] Tentative in quality, shaded only with hatch marks, the work depicts a ship anchored in a picturesque harbor, a cragged tree in the foreground, and a squat mountain in the background. The simple linear quality of the work suggests, even without the assistance of chronology, that it was a faltering foray into a new medium. It does not possess even the adolescent assurances of Achille De Gas in the Uniform of a Cadet, a contemporaneous work by Degas in paint.[xxvi]  Paysage de Grèce provided the foundation for steady experimentation in print media throughout his career that included etching experiments with Joseph Tourney in Italy; collaborative etching sessions with De Nittis, Alphonse Hirsch and Marcellin Desboutin; the ultimately-doomed journal Le Jour et la nuit with Mary Cassatt; experiments in lithography and monotypes; and envoys into reproductive printmaking including Vingt dessins. Such experiments suggest the sustained interest in the idea of multiples, which permeates Degas’ oeuvre, whether they are etchings pulled from a press, variations on a theme, a reconsideration of a pose, or a reproductive endeavor.
  
  Degas approached the processes of printmaking much in the same manner as he did other media – in the spirit of experimentation. In the realm of printmaking, this zeal for pursuing the nuances of process was almost maniacally obsessive, as Desboutin conveys in a letter to De Nittis in 1876, writing of Degas’ recent fixation on etching: 

  Degas was the only one I saw on a daily basis, and he’s no longer a friend, a man, an artist! He’s a zinc or copper plate, blackened by printer’s ink; man and plate are laminated together by the press, into whose gearing he has disappeared completely. That man’s crazes are something quite phenomenal! He’s in the metallurgical phase, having his drawings reproduced with an ink roller and is dashing all over Paris in this heat! Hunting for an industrial enterprise to correspond to his obsession! It’s an epic in itself! His talk is all of metallurgists, plumbers, lithographers, planars, niliographers! Etc. You’ll get it when you return. I’m waiting for you to take over from me! Thanks be to God. [xxvii]

  Moving on from etching, Degas investigated lithography, monotypes and reproductive processes and in the midst of investigating the latter, he worked with Manzi to publish Vingt dessins.
  
  The concept of reproducing works from an artist’s oeuvre was not novel in nineteenth-century Paris.[xxviii] The public had many opportunities to view reproductive prints, beginning with dedicated spaces in world’s fairs and international exhibitions, starting with the Great Exhibition of 1851 held at the Crystal Palace in London. The Paris Salons also included some reproductive prints after contemporary works of art. In addition, the public had access to exhibitions of graphic work, such as the Black-and-White exhibitions at the Dudley Gallery in London in the 1870s, which did not distinguish between original prints and reproductions. Following the Dudley’s example, Durand-Ruel staged the Exposition des ouvrages exécutés en noir et blanc in 1876, which again hung originals next to reproductive prints. Many of Degas’ close friends participated in this exhibition, including Desboutin, Henri Fantin-Latour, Ludovic Lepic, James Tissot and Manet.[xxix] In 1883, an exhibition was organized in Vienna by the Society for the Reproduction of Works of Art which included works that ranged from traditional reproductive techniques to the latest processes. Exhibitions that focused on a specific graphic technique also abound in the latter decades of the nineteenth century, including the Centenaire de la lithographie 1795-1895, a retrospective of lithographic techniques held in Paris in 1895, which again featured both original and reproductive lithographs.[xxx]
  
  Another mode in which the reproductive print played an important role was in the ‘single-picture exhibition.’ Prompted by Benjamin West’s success with The Death of Nelson in 1806, Théodore Géricault exhibited his Raft of Medusa in London in 1820, alongside a lithographic reproduction. Over a six-month period the exhibit attracted 30,000 visitors who could then purchase a souvenir of the occasion in the form of a variety of reproductions.[xxxi] Sending an original work on an ‘exhibition tour’ alongside its reproductions became a frequent mode of obtaining publicity for a forthcoming reproductive print. An excerpt from an 1858 essay in The Art Journal outlines some of the modes of viewing a reproductive print during and after the exhibition of the original:

  This practice of introducing an engraving by exhibiting the picture of which it is the popular translation is becoming general, as well in our provincial cities and towns as in the metropolis; and we readily understand upon what principles such a practice should secure the public favor. People like to see the pictures which live again in engravings; they like to compare the engraving with the original, and thus the engraving attains to a peculiar interest through the power of association. Besides, in London, it is always a boon to be able to study a good picture without the glare, and crowding, and excitement of a regular exhibition; and in the provinces good pictures, which have achieved a metropolitan reputation, are sure to command the welcome that is ever afforded to strangers of distinction. [xxxii]

  Such statements provide a context from which Vingt dessins emerges.
  
  Prior to the publication of Vingt dessins, Degas participated in a number of reproductive printmaking endeavors, several of which were, in his eyes, ultimately unsuccessful in the quality of reproduction. He micromanaged these projects and was constantly frustrated with the end products, going as far as to create novel works after his own originals, rather than allow what he believed to be a subpar reproduction to be disseminated.
  
  The first reproduction of one of Degas’ works occurred in 1873, shortly after Durand-Ruel became his dealer. Two works appeared as etchings after Degas’ works in the serial publication La Galerie Durand-Ruel: recueil d’estampes gravées à l’eau-forte. [xxxiii] The first, Avant la course, etched by Frédéric Laguillermie, appeared in the fifth issue as plate forty-five and the second, The Dance Foyer at the Opéra, etched by Nicolas Martinez, appeared in the twelfth issue as plate one hundred thirteen.[xxxiv] In 1877, two other reproductions after Degas’ works appeared, the first was an etching by Degas, On Stage III, created in response to his Ballet at the Paris Opéra, which was included in the exhibition of the Société des amis des arts de Pau. The etching, along with ten other original etchings by Desboutin and others, appeared in the accompanying catalog. The second reproduction was of a drawing by Degas after one of his works in the third Impressionist exhibition, reproduced via gillotage in L’Impressionniste .[xxxv]
  
  These early endeavors not only suggest a burgeoning interest in the intersections of technology and process, but also are clearly intended to disseminate knowledge of Degas’ work to a larger audience – a worthy pursuit at this early stage in his career, and one that he would return to in the construction of Vingt dessins and its shaping of his legacy. Concurrently, Degas’ interest in reproductive printmaking also surfaced in the appearance of the addresses of two individuals in notebooks used in 1875-78: Alphonse-Alfred Prunaire, a wood engraver who had worked with Manet on the publication of drawings and Ferdinand Lefman, who also worked with Manet and specialized in gillotage and photographic transfers.[xxxvi] Elsewhere in his notebooks, Degas records the names of Firmin Gilot and David Lucas, artists working on the intersections of photography and intaglio printing.[xxxvii]
  
  La Vie moderne was launched in April 1879 by the publisher Charpentier, with Emile Bergerat acting as editor. The journal prided itself on obtaining plates of the best quality and promised a publication that would be, “admirably printed on expensive paper, convenient in format, easy to bind and combining the specialist appeal of an art review with the more general appeal of a current affairs magazine.” Continuing in his introductory essay to the periodical, Bergerat highlights an important point for our consideration of Degas’ works, he notes, “[i]t is incomprehensible to me that at a period like our own we are still trying to establish the distinction between art as such and industrial art.”[xxxviii] Such an engagement with the junctures of art and industry aligns with Degas’ own interests in pursuing advances in process and media, and thus stresses that Degas did not have objections to his work being photo-mechanically reproduced, as long as it was done according to his exacting specifications. Therefore it is not surprising that Degas agreed that La Vie moderne could reproduce his work and his Dancer was included in the May 1879 issue.[xxxix]
  
  In 1881, Auguste Lauzet converted a number of Degas’ works into etchings for inclusion in L’Art impressionniste d’après la collection privée de M. Durand-Ruel, written by Georges Lecompte, a contributor for Durand-Ruel’s short-lived journal, L’Art dans les deux mondes published between November 1890 and May 1891. The reproductions in the journal were produced via etching and drypoint, but unfortunately their mediocre quality incited Degas’ anger. Pissarro reported that the perfectionist was ‘furious’ over the quality of the reproductions in the 20 December 1890 issue.[xl] Lauzet was noted for his lithographs, but this skill did not translate into intaglio printing, and Degas ended up redoing the etchings himself, but not before a number of issues were produced containing Lauzet’s reproductions. The two works, Horses in the Meadow [Lauzet; Degas] (originally a painting) and Dancer on Stage [Lauzet; Degas] (originally a pastel) seem to be created by Degas through tracing Lauzet’s image and Degas’ print compositions are the reverse of the originals. They act as more advanced prints in their own right, straying from pure reproductions.
  
  Manzi and Degas first worked together in 1889-90 on Quinze lithographies d’après Degas, a book of fifteen photolithographs by George William Thornley after Degas, published by Manzi, Boussod, Valadon & Cie.[xli] Thornley was a student of the reproductive lithographer Achille Sirouy and had distinguished himself in 1881 with a series of twenty-five color lithographs after Boucher, followed by lithographs after Puvis de Chavannes which were included in the Salons of 1884, 1885 and 1888. Modelling his process on his success with the Boucher prints, Thornley attempted to interpret Degas’ style of drawing, instead of creating perfect reproductions. He translated the works from polychromatic pastels into monochromatic lithographic drawings.
  
  While Quinze lithographies was not published until 1889, four of the lithographs were exhibited in the Boussod and Valadon gallery on boulevard Montmartre in April 1888. The works were seen there by Félix Fénéon, who wrote in a critical review that the lithographs, “through their sparse and essential eloquence, evoke the originals.” He refers to the lithographs as ‘Thornley-Degas’, which suggests the collaborative element to their creation.[xlii] He continues in a later review, when more of the lithographs were exhibited in September of the same year:

  The sagacity he displays here is truly disconcerting: it is Mr. Degas’ very spirit, at its most intimate, that he has imprinted on these plates. In order to achieve this secondary reality, he has freely treated his text, and has found remarkable equivalences when it would have been a disservice to translate the idiom of painting too literally. [xliii]

  Theo van Gogh was an active force in publicizing Quinze lithographies, seeing that four of the lithographs were included, along with a drawing by Degas, in the Black and White exhibition in the summer of 1888 at the Nederlandsche Estclub in Amsterdam.
  
  Produced in a limited edition of one hundred, the set of lithographs was advertised in a number of Goupil’s catalogues including the October 1889 edition of new publications and the 1894 general catalogue. The advertisement noted that the lithographs were available, as a set only, for one hundred francs.[xliv] The lithographic series of Degas’ works was a wise investment for the print house, as the artist was becoming very popular, and production lagged behind demand. In an 1886 review of the last Impressionist exhibition, critic Roger Marx wrote, “No reputation has a more solid foundation than Mr. Degas’ and the collectors seek his work all the more eagerly since the artist has very high standards and produces very little.”[xlv] Such an environment was ripe for the introduction of lithographic reproductions.
  
  Carrying on with a precedent established in the Lauzet debacle, it is clear that Degas kept a close watch over the production of the reproductive lithographs, touching them up as he saw fit. On 28 August 1888 he wrote to Thornley, first congratulating him on his recent marriage and bemoaning a bout of bronchitis, but quickly launching into a reprisal of the state of affairs of the lithographs since Thornley was away on his honeymoon. He related that he was shown two proofs of Chez la modiste and was displeased with the results. As a consequence, Degas immediately ordered the cessation of their production. In Thornley’s absence, Degas took it upon himself to correct the proofs and did not hesitate to point out what he believed to be the locus of the errors in the reproductive process: Thornley’s haste in creating the lithographs.[xlvi]