Category: Specialty Sessions

Presented by Cher Schneider, Senior Special Collections Conservator, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign; and Harriet Stratis, Head of Paper Conservation, The Art Institute of Chicago.

In 1997, in preparation for a major renovation, collections at the Art Institute of Chicago were inventoried and temporarily relocated; during this inventory project, curators discovered two thick rolls and 26 parcels of folded newsprint tucked away on a closet shelf. This discovery turned out to be a long-forgotten collection of 157 World War II Soviet propaganda posters. Created by artists and writers under the auspices of the TASS news agency in Moscow, these large “TASS Windows” were produced and displayed daily during the war in order to boost Soviet morale. Over the course of the war, the TASS Studio produced over 1,200 individual designs and nearly 700,000 hand-stenciled posters. In addition to being displayed in shop windows around Moscow, the posters were distributed internationally to sympathetic cultural institutions; the Art Institute of Chicago began receiving posters in 1942. The Art Institute’s posters were never exhibited during the war; in fact, they had never been accessioned into the collections and though a few were mounted on linen, most remained untouched. All of the posters received conservation treatment and research was conducted on the stenciling process and materials used by the TASS studio in preparation for last year’s exhibition Windows on the War: Soviet TASS Posters at Home and Abroad 1941-1945.

The posters were created by a collective of artists, poets, and writers; at the height of the war, they were working 24/7 to produce 1500 copies of each poster daily. The artistic style of the posters falls into two broad categories: social realism, used to promote national pride and patriotism; and caricatures/political cartoons that expressed anti-German sentiments. In the very early days, TASS posters were oil paintings on canvas. They quickly moved on to the stenciling process, which became more complex over time. Posters were comprised of four parts – header, TASS #, imagery, and footer (a poem or translated text). Imagery was often one large, unified image but there were also some “comic strip” style posters. Creating the posters was a seven step process: writing the text, creating the art, editorial approval, stencil cutting, stencilling/painting, gluing, and dissemination. The studio suffered materials shortages at various times and towards the end of the war the studio was evacuated and materials were destroyed.

Just as the posters were created by collective effort, so was their conservation a collective endeavor. The posters are large – up to 12 ft tall and 5 ft wide – and were found in very poor condition. The support paper, made from highly acidic wood pulp, had become extremely brittle and discolored, especially along the fold lines and in areas where adhesive had been applied.  Treatment goals were to stabilize the paper and fill in areas of image loss in preparation for exhibition. Due to the extreme fragility of the paper, the conservators made every effort to minimize handling. Posters were placed face down on Pellon and sprayed overall to humidify; wetted Mylar was used to aid in moving and aligning detached poster pieces. The posters were then lined with custom-made Korean paper adhered with a mix of methylcellulose and wheat starch paste. Lined posters were placed face up in a drying stack. Schneider and Stratis included a series of images of the lining process step-by-step, which provided a nice illustration of the scale of the project and the collective effort required.

Visual compensation in areas of image loss took place after the posters were lined.Conservators found that colored pencils dipped in turpentine or mineral oil to soften the pigment provided a good match to the original colors. Large losses were filled with acrylic-toned Korean paper and inpainted with watercolors. After treatment, the posters were encapsulated in Mylar to protect them during further handling. For exhibition, the posters were sandwiched between artcare foamboard and UV filtered Plexiglass; these “plexi packages” were sealed at the edges with J-lar and attached to gallery walls with metal clips.

The second phase of the project was to study the posters in order to understand the materials used, trends in damage, and the stenciling process. In addition to the Art Institute’s collection, Schneider was able to look at the Ne Boltai collection of TASS posters in Prague. Many of the Prague posters had received previous conservation treatment, so this provided a good opportunity  to see how the posters responded to treatment and to gain more in depth understanding of the materials and processes used by the TASS studio. Local Chicago artist Alexis Petroff assisted with the project by recreating a TASS poster to demonstrate how the stencils were produced; click here for more information on the stencil technique and a video of Petroff at work.

Q: Tell us more about the paints used in the TASS posters. Were they oil- or water-based?
A: True nature of the paints was elusive. Conservators originally believed them to be water-based, but the fact that they could get the posters so wet without bleeding media led them to explore the oil-based option. The fact that many of the posters gave off a pronounced turpentine smell lent credence to the oil-based theory. Further inspection revealed that the stencilers used a combination of handmade and commercially available paints. As the war went on the studio’s supplies dwindled, forcing them to modify their process – they began mixing their paints with turpentine, but when that became unavailable they moved on to acetone, and then finally had to resort to using bug repellant.

Q: How did you finesse the water content of the lining adhesive?
A: The conservators working on this project were lucky – nothing moved as they wet out the posters. Posters were placed face down on a piece of Pellon and sprayed out evenly. No transfer or bleeding was observed. They experimented with the water content of the paste/MC mix in order to get the right amount of wetness so it could be applied easily; again, the conservators were lucky – the lining went on easily and without incident. The lining paper was toned to closely match the original poster paper, so it is possible that some discoloration moved into the lining paper and was just not very noticeable.

I had the pleasure of visiting this exhibition at the Art Institute last fall, so it was very exciting to hear a little more of the “inside scoop” about the conservation process. Schneider and Stratis illustrated the talk very well, using images taken inside the TASS studio by Margaret Bourke-White (a Western photographer allowed access to the studio) juxtaposed with images of the posters and visitors inside the gallery.

The focus of this presentation was the search –or self-described quest- by the staff of the Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen in Düsseldorf to return their collection of Paul Klee works to their original presentation formats.  The speaker began by giving the genesis of the Paul Klee collection at museum which has recently acquired their 100^th Paul Klee artwork. 

Through study of photographs of Klee’s studio and gallery exhibitions combined with the detailed handwritten cataloging Klee himself kept of completed artworks (predominately if not exclusively paintings) lends much insight into the manner in which the works on paper were likely displayed as well.  The studio catalog was transcribed in entirety in the nine volume catalog raissone of Klee.  Currently the collection of works on paper is predominately framed in a typical “gallery” style format with a gilded molding and textile covered wooden liners.   It is likely these frames were the addition of owners or dealers to increase the cache of the artworks as Klee’s original presentations were likely very modest.  The research into what the original or appropriate presentation style of these works has lead the conservators and curators to choose to display the works on paper in a uniform manner as they are not able to recreate the original presentation of each individual work.  The selected presentation format will be a simple, thin wooden molding frame, reminiscent of the plain strip frame used for many of the paintings, with a dark stain and white mats. 

In addition to the discussion of the framing of Klee’s works the speaker also touched on the topic of Klee’s use of a secondary support on which he typically made notations about the work.  She presented several examples from the Kunstsammlung’s collection in which the works have been removed from these secondary supports.  This lead to a discussion of the role these secondary supports played in Klee’s original presentation and the challenges this will present in proper display in the future. 

This was a very interesting presentation about a project which is taking a strong look at just how important presentation and framing formats can be to the intended aesthetic of a work.  While for some artists framing/presentation are secondary thoughts if thoughts at all but the scholarship of Paul Klee clearly shows that it was important to him and an integral part of the completion of an artwork prior to leaving the studio.  In this presentation Quabeck asserts that it is the duty of the conservator and curator to respect this in a similar way in which they respect the integrity of the image.

In this presentation Nancy Ash reported on a study of the working methods and materials of James Castle a self-taught artist from rural Idaho conducted by conservators and conservation scientists at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.   This comprehensive study including visual examination and analytical testing was done in conjunction with a 2008 retrospective of Castle’s work organized by the PMA.   James Castle was born deaf and scholars are unsure of the extent of his communicative ability outside of visual representations as it is believed that he could not read or use sign language.  Castle is known for creating soot and spit drawings, full color drawings and painting and constructions.   In relation to his art it was purported that Castle never used commercially made art supplies, instead using only self-made or found media/ materials.  It was this piece of the James Castle enigma that PMA conservators and conservation scientists set out to unravel.

The first component of the study Ash described was the in depth visual examination in which conservators found it necessary to develop a language specific to the methods and materials of Castle’s work.  An example of this was the phrase “wiped soot wash” to distinguish that a dilute application of a soot and spit slurry was applied with a wad of material instead of a brush since using only the term  soot wash lends itself more toward an interpretation of brush work.  I found this idea of an artist directed or at least artist specific lexicon very interesting in that it likely increases descriptive accuracy.

In addition to the examination of the artworks attributed to Castel the PMA researchers were also allowed to examine the contents of his studio that were donated upon his death to a museum in Idaho.  Within this collection poster paints, colored pencils and other commercial art supplies of school arts and crafts type were found among buckets of soot, sticks shaped by the artist, food packages and other non- “art” supplies.

Analytical testing confirmed the use of both the non-traditional art materials such as soot as well as some of the commercial art supplies found in his studio in the finished artworks.  This was the first confirmation of characteristic components of stovepipe soot and enzymes present in spit in the soot and spit drawings.  Other unique media identified in this study were laundry bluing used as paint and dyes extracted from colored papers by wetting as an ink or paint.   An additional result of this project was the establishment of a chronology for some of Castle’s works based on the date of introduction for pigments such as the chrome oxide poster paint and/or food packaging and advertising slogans or images.

This study and this presentation highlight the complexity of the art of James Castle, an artist who left only his works to speak for themselves and himself.

Melina Avery first encountered ozalids during a fellowship at Northwestern University Library when a large collection of music manuscripts and reproductions arrived in the Conservation Lab. Avery reports that “Ozalid” is the patented name of a diazotype reproduction process, but in common usage in music libraries, the term “ozalid” can also refer to photostats, mimeographs, blueprints, and other pre-Xerox reproductions.

Many original music scores have never been published, and delicate originals (often written on thin, “onion-skin” paper) were frequently discarded once reproductions were made. As a result, ozalids may be rare or unique copies of a given music score. Because so many different processes have been used to reproduce music manuscripts over the years, it can be challenging to firmly identify the process used and determine best practices for treatment and housing.

Avery surveyed the ozalids in Northwestern’s collections and, through visual identification, determined that 37% were diazotypes. The diazotype process was invented in Germany in 1923 and involves a reaction of light-sensitive chemicals with ammonia to produce a blue, maroon, brown, or black image. Because the chemicals were not rinsed from the paper in this process, diazotypes tend to display distinct patterns of deterioration, including darkening or discoloration of the image-side of the paper and loss of image contrast.

Avery was fortunate to acquire samples of known types of ozalids from a local music publisher to use for further testing in order to establish treatment protocols. She focused her research on diazotypes, which were the most common type of ozalid held in Northwestern’s collections.

Despite visual identification, Avery hoped to develop objective tools for identification using FTIR. She analyzed the front and back of the ozalids, and compared results to known diazotypes. Unfortunately, the spectra gave only ambiguous results.

Avery subjected ozalid and diazotype samples to common treatments, including surface cleaning, humidification, mending, and tape removal with solvents. Although diazotypes can be sensitive to moisture and displayed feathering of the media on exposure to water, she found that humidification for up to one hour could safely be carried out. She does not recommend extended humidification due to the potential for feathering, bleeding, and sinking of the media. Diazotypes have also been reported to be sensitive to heat, but Avery’s test showed no color change when briefly heated with a tacking iron, as for mending with heat-set tissue. Ethanol and acetone both resulted in feathering or bleeding of the media, but toluene did not. Based on these tests, Avery concludes that many basic treatments can be undertaken to stabilize fragile ozalid collections.

Yasmeen Khan and Tamara Ohanyan undertook a survey to better document the bindings found on Armenian printed books, especially those printed in Constantinople during the 18^th century. Armenian manuscripts and their bindings have been well-documented, but previous reports claim that most Armenian printed books were bound in Western Europe. These assumptions were based on cover decoration that more closely resembles a Western European aesthetic rather than traditional Armenian style. While treating an early Armenian printed book at the Library of Congress, Khan and Ohanyan noted an interesting headband that appeared to be a hybrid structure of a traditional Armenian endband and a Western European front-bead endband. This discovery piqued their interest to know more about the history of the production of printed books for the Armenian diaspora communities.

The authors surveyed Armenian printed books in collections at the Library of Congress and in the Matenadaran Collection in Yerevan, Armenia, focusing on volumes in poor condition in order to examine the binding structure. Examination of the sewing, spine linings, boards, board attachment, endbands, edge decoration, doublures, and cover decoration suggest the books were bound by Armenian binders. Most of the structural elements examined appear to be based on traditional Armenian binding methods, with a general shift towards simplification and a Western aesthetic over the course of the 18^th century.

Traditional Armenian bindings included thin wooden boards with the grain of the wood positioned perpendicular to the spine.  The survey showed that this practice continued well into the 18^th century, with pasteboard appearing only towards the end of the 18^th century.

Khan and Ohanyan believe the hybrid Armenian-Western endband may be unique to bindings from Constantinople, and may help to localize and date the bindings on Armenian printed books. Towards the beginning of the century, a traditional Armenian endband is common. For this endband, a primary endband structure is sewn through each section and through holes in the board; thus the endband extends past the textblock and onto the top edge of each of the boards. A secondary endband is sewn over this structure to create a decorative chevron pattern. Khan and Ohanyan report that hybrid-style endbands began to appear on books from Constantinople in the early 18^th century. Several evolutions of the hybrid endbands were noted, including a simple front-bead endband in the Western style that extends onto the boards in a similar manner to the traditional Armenian endband. Finally, towards the end of the 18^th century, simple Western-style front-bead endbands were most common.

In the future, Khan and Ohanyan hope to further their study of Armenian printed books through examination and documentation of tooling patterns in the decoration of leather covers. Their hope is that, as for the hybrid endband, documentation of an evolution of styles will aid in the dating and localization of bindings.

Although the evolution of binding styles is interesting in itself and as an aid to dating bindings, it also reveals shifting attitudes in the production and use of books by Armenian communities.