Paper + People is a blog about the Smith College Museum of Art’s collection of over 18,000 prints, drawings, and photographs. Here you will find a diverse array of posts written by museum staff, students, scholars, and other paper enthusiasts about anything pertaining to the collection.
Any works you see featured here are available to view by appointment.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Guest blogger Julie Warchol is a graduate M.A. student in Modern Art History, Theory, and Criticism at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. She was the 2012-2013 Brown Post-Baccalaureate Curatorial Fellow.
While I often think back fondly on my days as the Brown Post-Baccalaureate Curatorial Fellow at SCMA, my current experience as a graduate student has offered me the wonderful opportunity to further research, study, and write about the prints, drawings, and photographs which I have encountered in SCMA’s collection. This spring semester, I considered Caroline Sturgis Tappan’s collection of Samuel Bourne photographs from India (now in the SCMA) as my seminar paper topic for a class on Orientalism in the nineteenth-century. An American Transcendentalist artist and poet, Tappan (1818—1888) amassed an impressive collection of over one thousand photographs primarily from throughout Europe, the Near East, Egypt, Japan, and India as a tourist throughout the 1850s to the 1870s. Interestingly, however, it appears that Tappan never actually traveled to either Japan or India. Focusing specifically on her photographs from India, this fact led me to wonder: What was Tappan’s interest in India and why might she have collected photographs of a country she never visited?
Samuel Bourne, British (1834 - 1912). Simla: General View from Jakko, 1860s. Albumen photograph. Purchased with Hillyer-Tryon-Mather Fund, with funds given in memory of Nancy Newhall (Nancy Parker, class of 1930) and in honor of Beaumont Newhall, and with funds given in honor of Ruth Wedgwood Kennedy. Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe. SC 1982:38-312.
Tappan was a close lifelong friend of Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803—1882), who greatly influenced her Transcendentalist attitudes toward spirituality and nature. Emerson, who avidly read and revered ancient Hindu scriptures, seems to have shared his copy of the Bhagvat-Geeta (translated into English by Sir Charles Wilkins in 1785) with Tappan in 1845. After a visit to his home in Concord in 1845, she writes to Emerson from her summer home in Lenox, Massachusetts:
“I hope I shall see you soon. I knew when you were going to Boston I would be there to see you if you liked to have me—but will you not also come out here some day soon—In my boat I can row away to the woods & tell you how the birds sing there. It is what the country people call ‘rather lonesome’ here, but I endeavor to think of the Bagvat [sic]—do I?” 
In this short but telling passage, Tappan romanticizes and quite directly associates the Bhagvat-Geeta both with Emerson himself and her solitary experiences in nature. One among the many topics discussed in the Bhagvat-Geeta is the Hindu belief in nature’s sacrality, which no doubt appealed to both Emerson’s and Tappan’s Transcendentalist beliefs. Literary scholar Kathleen Lawrence has shown that throughout their letters, Tappan and Emerson associate one another with moments of divine communion with nature due to their frequent private walks together in the Concord pine woods around Emerson’s home and Walden Pond.  Mere weeks after her visit to Concord when she read the Bhagvat-Geeta, Tappan relished in the opportunity to be alone in the Berkshire Mountains, that distinctive Western Massachusetts landscape which she calls “the solitude of the mountains.” In this instance, this mountainous landscape afforded her the much-welcomed opportunity to further contemplate the Hindu Bhagvat-Geeta, Emerson, and nature itself.
Samuel Bourne, British (1834 - 1912). Specimen of the Edible Pine, 1860s. Albumen photograph. Purchased with Hillyer-Tryon-Mather Fund, with funds given in memory of Nancy Newhall (Nancy Parker, class of 1930) and in honor of Beaumont Newhall, and with funds given in honor of Ruth Wedgwood Kennedy. Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe. SC 1982:38-335
Collected some twenty-five years after she read the Bhagvat-Geeta, virtually all of Tappan’s photographs of India are the work of Samuel Bourne (1834—1912), the British photographer whose 1860s albumen photographs famously display the Indian landscape in the “picturesque” style common to British eighteenth- and nineteenth-century landscape painting. However breathtaking Bourne’s landscape photographs may be, they were rarely bought by Europeans who traveled to India. European tourists preferred Bourne’s photographs which depicted common tourist sites, such as India’s major cities and temple ruins. As she never traveled to India, however, Tappan most likely acquired these photographs through Bourne’s distributors in London or Paris and was attracted to his landscape photographs for personal and aesthetic reasons. While Tappan, as an educated member of upper class Boston society and an artist herself, was certainly well-versed in the picturesque aesthetic, I believe this only partially explains her interest in Bourne’s landscape photographs.
Given the personal associations Tappan formed between the ancient Hindu Bhagvat-Geeta, Emerson, and nature in her 1845 letter mentioned above, it is notable that a large percentage of her Bourne photographs are his images of northern India’s Himalayan Mountains and pine forests. Curiously, these depictions show some superficial geographical resemblances to elements of the Massachusetts landscape which Tappan repeatedly romanticizes in her letters to Emerson dating from the 1840s to the 1870s—most particularly the Berkshire Mountains and Concord’s famous pine woods. In one of several such letters, Tappan writes to Emerson from Rome: “Do you not think I remember the Concord pine woods because I am here among the Italian cypresses[?] Mere cypresses will never wave to every breeze as the pine trees wave.”  For Tappan, pine trees and mountains were symbolic of her Massachusetts homeland, particularly during her years abroad.
Importantly for this consideration of Tappan’s interest in Indian landscape photographs, the picturesque aesthetic which Bourne and other photographers throughout the British Empire employed was a visual strategy for homogenizing foreign landscapes, in effect making them appear rather similar to the homelands of European and Anglo-American tourists.  For instance, in Bourne’s Simla Snow Scene (shown above), Tappan might see an exotic India through its unfamiliar-looking houses and fences, but could have imaginatively projected herself into the role of those tiny figures to mentally relive her numerous prior experiences walking through such snow-covered pine forests in Concord, Massachusetts. Similarly, when viewing Bourne’s Mountain with Lake (shown below), she might have been reminded of both her walks to the similarly tree-enclosed Walden Pond with Emerson or even her solitary experience in Lenox when she rowed out onto a lake amidst the forests and Berkshire mountains to contemplate the Bhagvat-Geeta and nature’s sacrality in 1845. While Tappan may have been physically located in Europe when she acquired these photographs in the late 1860s or early 1870s, her Bourne landscape photographs offered her the opportunity for such romanticized and imaginary aesthetic experiences of both Massachusetts and India, the land she had temporarily left and another to which she would never travel.
 Eleanor M. Tilton, ed., The Letters of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Volume 8 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991), 27, n. 86.
 For more on Tappan and Emerson’s relationship, see Kathleen Lawrence, “The ‘Dry-Lighted Soul’ Ignites: Emerson and His Soul-Mate Caroline Sturgis As Seen in Her Houghton Manuscripts,” in Harvard Library Bulletin 16, no. 3 (Fall 2005).
 Sturgis-Tappan Family Papers, Sophia Smith Collection, Smith College, Northampton, MA (autograph letter: Tappan to Emerson, May 23, 1857).
 Jeffrey Auerbach, “The Picturesque and the Homogenisation of Empire,” in The British Art Journal 5:1 (Spring/Summer 2004): 47-54.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Guest blogger Saraphina Masters is a Smith College student, class of 2017, majoring in Classical Studies and Art History. She is the 2013-2015 STRIDE Scholar in the Cunningham Center for Prints, Drawings, and Photographs.
Allegory is defined in the Encyclopedia Britannica as “a symbolic fictional narrative that conveys a meaning not explicitly set forth in the narrative.” In the visual arts, allegory can be used to add additional layers of meaning to the existing depiction.
Allegory in art can range broadly in terms of complexity, meaning, and appearance. It can be simply executed, such as the use of colors that are associated with particular emotions (for example: black to signify death or grief). Equally, allegory can be incredibly complicated, with an artist depicting an entire scene full of subtle details that the viewer must decipher individually and then combine to read the greater meaning. Allegory relies heavily on the observers’ interpretations of the meaning that is being set forth. An artist may depict a dove perched in a tree in the background of a work and depend upon the viewer to notice it and associate it with its colloquial meaning of peace. A picture may seem to be about one particular subject, but when an allegorical detail is made clear, the whole meaning can change or be enhanced.
Elihu Vedder. American, 1836 – 1923. Sorrow, n.d. Crayon and chalk drawing on two layered sheets of gray wove paper. Gift of the American Academy of Arts and Letters. Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe. SC 1955:12
For example, Sorrow, a drawing by the American artist Elihu Vedder (above), shows a sad looking woman with her face framed by a wreath of leaves. From both the title and the appearance, it is clear that there is a theme of grief here. However this theory can be supported by the allegorical meaning of the plant, which appears to be acanthus leaves. Acanthus leaves were very common in the Greco-Roman artistic tradition and symbolically represent enduring life. Moreover, they were often present at funerals. Thus, knowledge of the type of plant, which makes up a frame that might too quickly be dismissed, can in fact make the meaning of the work of art clearer or more powerful.
Hubert François Bourguignon Gravelot. French, 1699 – 1773. Allegorical Figure for a Title Page, n.d. Black chalk on off white antique laid paper. Purchased. Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe. SC 1969:58-8
Ancient Greece is one particular origin point for the allegorical tradition. The ancient Greek society had a fascinating proclivity for assigning corporeal forms and personalities to abstract concepts. They used figures to represent a massive range of subjects, from emotional and political concepts to phases of life and even celestial events. A few examples of this are the allegorical figures of Democracy, Poverty, Love, Rumor, Youth, Fear, and many more. Once these ideas were given human shape, they could then be active participants in mythological stories as well as be depicted in art. This tradition carried over into the Roman world. The Romans, like the Greeks, depicted many of the same concepts as well as new ones. A common allegorical figure was Rome herself. Usually called Roma and always portrayed as a woman, she was the entirety of the city encapsulated into one figure. This was an artistically and politically useful tool, as the use of allegory makes a large or intangible concept much more understandable and accessible for the viewer. This increased appreciation of art and even loyalty to a place and society. This custom extended many places conquered by the Romans and gave birth to the allegory of Britannia, the personification of Britain during the time of her Roman occupation.
In the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, the Christian tradition took over and rather than representing deified aspect of pagan life, artists used allegorical representations of high moral concepts and religious virtues. Faith, Hope, Justice, Temperance, and more were all depicted as human forms. During the same time period, secular art also made use of allegorical figures. The Seven Liberal Arts were often represented as individuals. Grammar, Logic, Rhetoric, Geometry, Arithmetic, Astronomy, and Music were frequently depicted in art as scholarly people. They were often accompanied with signal accessories that hinted to their identity. Geometry or Arithmetic may hold a pen or stylus with which they will solve math problems, Grammar most likely has books nearby, and Music consistently has an instrument at hand. Above you can see an allegorical painting of the personification of Painting herself. A relatively obvious example of allegory, you can see the creation of a painting, as well as a paintbrush and the female figure holding a pot of paint.
The woodcut above features more abstract example of allegory. A female figure assaulting a male figure does not immediately lend itself to easy identification. However, the viewer can dissect the image by looking for meaning in different aspect of it. Firstly, the figures are on a cloud in a heavenly environment. This may mean that the theme is related to high morality or mental concepts. Secondly, there is clearly a theme of conflict and opposition between the two concepts these figures are meant to embody. The female figure is positioned higher than the male, with her arm raised in a strong and imposing gesture. This may indicate that she is the morally superior figure and the ugly, suffering male figure she is suppressing is likely a vice or sin. The title of the print, Truth Attacking Envy, supports these inferences made from the image’s allegorical markers. Interpreting allegory in art is something akin to detective work; requiring attention to detail, fact-based hypothesizing, and a healthy dose of curiosity.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
This post is part of a series about the growth of the print, drawing and photograph collection at Smith College. Contemporary Inuit Art is on view in the Works on Paper gallery (2nd floor) until April 2015.
Tivi Etook (Inuit (1928 - ). A Story about Ekeagualuk, 1974. Stonecut on white paper. Gift of Mr. and Mrs. James A. Houston (Alice Watson, class of 1959). Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe. SC 1979:35-15
The Cape Dorset printing workshop emerged from an unusual seed: a pack of cigarettes. In 1957 a Canadian artist, James Houston, lived on Baffin Island in Cape Dorset, the Canadian Eastern Arctic. To the Inuit group that lives there, Baffin Island is Kingnit, and they are the Kingnimuit. The Kingnit men and those from other Inuit groups in the area have a long tradition of carving miniature sculpture, often with intricate designs etched into the surface. They used the materials at hand - stone, ivory, bone – culled from the environment around them to make art.
Oshaweetok (Inuit, 1923-2005). Hawk, 1955. Green stone. Gift of Mr. and Mrs. James A. Houston (Alice Watson, class of 1959). Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe. SC 1988:52-7
That year, Houston was spending time with his friend Oshaweetok, an artist famous around Cape Dorset for his sophisticated stone carvings, such as this Hawk carved from green stone (above).
Oshaweetok, also known as Osuitok Ipeelee, was examining the illustration on a pack of Player's cigarettes, an image of a sailor's head. As he studied each detail, he turned to Houston and said: "It must be very boring for someone to sit and paint each on like that."
Houston was surprised. As he put it, "I just assumed he knew [about the process of printing], but I don't know why."
Peter Aliknak (Inuit, 1928–1998). Sorcerer's Contest, 1966. Stonecut printed in black on ivory paper. Gift of Mr. and Mrs. James A. Houston (Alice Watson, class of 1959). Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe. SC 1979:35-12
Houston's language skills were not up to the task of explaining the art form, so he decided to show it instead. Oshaweetok had a small ivory carving nearby. Houston borrowed it, and then grabbed some ink and a few sheets of onionskin paper. He spread the ink over the pattern on the carving, and lay the toilet paper down on top. The ink transferred, and left the incised design on the paper. The germ of a prints workshop was planted that night, and grew into a thriving cooperative that is still in operation.
Helen Kalvak (Inuit, 1901–1984). Fate of a Caribou, 1967. Stonecut on ivory paper. Gift of Mr. and Mrs. James A. Houston (Alice Watson, class of 1959). Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe. SC 1979:35-11
The Cunningham Center has a great collection of Inuit drawings and prints, thanks to a close connection: James Houston married Alice Watson, a Smith College graduate of the class of 1959.
Kananginak Pootoogook (Inuit, 1935–2010). Eider Duck, 1962. Engraving on ivory wove paper. Gift of Mr. and Mrs. James A. Houston (Alice Watson, class of 1959). Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe. SC 1979:35-9