Cutting to the Chase: 'Woodcuts' Lacks Laughs

If you consider yourself a historian, or are interested in what the first pin-up girl looked like, then by all means, pay your 85 cents for the subway ride over to the Museum of Fine Arts (MFA).

The MFA has recently devoted a gallery to the little known art of French printmaking in the 16th and 17th centuries. The prints displayed served a purpose, that purpose, when translated into modern standards, ranges from billboard images to the poor man's substitute painting. The prints were either displayed in local taverns, public notice-hanging walls or kept in a private collection. Among the assembled prints at the MFA, are both the first "pin-up girl" (a partially nude woman, her left breast exposed) and the first comic strip. Peddlers wandered, carrying mass copies of these various prints on their backs, selling them for pennies each.

The more expensive prints were purchased through an engraver, who either sold you the actual engraving plate (at a much more expensive price) or a single print off the plate. One could purchase the cheaper "etching," a process in which the artist scratched out places that he wanted to appear dark upon printing on a metal plate, or the more expensive "engraving." Engravings involved much more skill on the part of the artist; it took many years to train the hand to hold the carving utensil that shaped the metal beneath it.

These prints are precursors to the later invention of the camera. The appeal of this style to the masses was that, for the first time, everyday people saw artwork in which their life was replicated. Print artists recorded familiar scenes in extreme detail. The market place, the country landscape, the butcher's meat market all are recorded with such accuracy that the viewer's mind dizzies at the intricacy with which lines are drawn. The prints were also used in order to display political or social allegories, much like the political cartoons of today's newspapers. All in all, the French world was thrilled to finally have an artistic movement that encapsulated them, and not the royal or religious scenes they were used to.

I have described the historical aspect of the prints in order to illustrate the dearth of the exhibit. That is to say, the appeal of this exhibit is not the quality of the prints as artistic creations, but within the context they were created and the meaning they had for the time period. To call most of these prints "superb works of art" would be the same as placing the Marlboro Man ads in the upper regions of artistic greatness. The two, after all, were displayed in similar places. We do not proclaim a political cartoon a masterpiece; rather, it is clever, as are the majority of these prints.

Of course, it is undeniable that it takes quite a bit of skill to create the French prints. Line structure is extremely complex; contrast between light and dark areas within the print is obviously extremely difficult, given the task of creating depth with only two colors is a challenging feat in any medium. Indeed, these prints do deserve approval from a technical standpoint.

But it is impossible to be moved by these prints, which is the essential motivation of art. The prints vary a little stylistically, but all have the same overall feel. The portraitures appear regal, the frames are often etched in with the figure, the allegorical prints are dramatic because of the contrast given to points of the artist's interest, and the everyday scenes are all recorded in concise detail. What all of these themes possess as motif are their underlying static feeling. These prints are immobile; the figures in them are frozen. Today, a viewer cannot relate to these scenes of the past through the mind and eyes of a 16th century village person, therefore, there is no dynamic between the two.

The exception to this immobility is in the religious section of the gallery. Here, the most famous printmakers of the time have shown the viewer that it is possible to incorporate some fluidity into printmaking. The artists in this section exercise particularly difficult printmaking techniques, my personal favorite being the head of Jesus, which is made up entirely of concentric lines all relating to one recurring middle point, from which the circles emanate. The more famous artists were able to give this separate life to the print through a mixture of increased technical difficulty and uniqueness in perspective.

The potential for appreciating the prints' technical value was high. Despite this, I did not enjoy the exhibition. I did not feel much pleasure from looking at flat but detailed images. If you're like me, you'll stay at home and read the comics in The Crimson.