Readings in Conservation ¥ oT Historical and Philosophical Issues Teme Ce QO mee Cee of Cultural HeritageReading 18 Crimes against the Cubists JOHN RICHARDSON Inanarticle on the great Picasso retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art (The New York Review, 17 July 1980),' I complained about the way restorers have unwittingly ruined the surfaces of Cubist paintings. Since these objec- tions are apparently shared by others in the field, I would like to investigate the matter more fully in the hope that familiarity with the artists’ expressed intentions will prevent restorers and their clients from committing further abuses, and not just of Cubist works, When I complimented William Rubin of the Museum of Modern Art ‘on the brilliant choice of Cubist works in the Picasso show and praised his museum for possessing the most comprehensive collection of Cubist art in the world, [ felt obliged to hint that pride in these great holdings should be tinged with shame, for Moma was killing its Cubist paintings with the wrong sort of kindness. The varnished surface of one masterpiece after another testified more to a desire to embellish than to any understanding of what Picasso intended. Not that MoMA was the only offender. Many other paint- ings belonging to American museums and private collectors had had their surfaces irreparably jazzed up by well-intentioned but historically ignorant restoration, True, a number of paintings from European sources showed simi- lar signs of maquillage [make-up], but they were in a minority, for Europeans are apt to leave well alone, especially if this involves saving money. “To sub- ject these delicate grounds to wax relining and, worse, a shine,” I concluded, as much of a solecism as frying a peac From Jon RICHARDSON, “Crimes against the Cubiss,” New York Review of Books 39, no. 10 (1983): 3234, Used by permission of the author.Part It | THE ORIGINAL INTENT OF THE antistT Much to my relief, William Rubin agreed with these strictures. Many of Moma’ paintings, he readily admitted, had suffered from overzealous restoration, but this had taken place before his time, and before his eyes had been opened to these abuses by no less an authority than Picasso. Interest ingly enough, Rubin said that this revelation had come about apropos te varnish on a Cézanne—which moma contemplated exchanging with Picasso— and not on a Cubist work. After pointing out the error of varnishing « Cézanne, Picasso took the opportunity of insisting that Cubist paintings were even more vulnerable in this respect. Indeed the artist maintained—not altogether truthfully—that he refused to sign any canvas that had been pok ished up with varnish. Rubin, who has always shown the greatest concer fr this problem, says that he is doing everything in his power to redress the— irreversible?—damage that has been done in the past, and that nothing of the kind can ever recur under his auspices. "The other institution that I cited in my article was the National Gallery in Washington, which had just purchased Picasso's historic Nude Woman, painted in Cadaques in 1910. I singled out this painting for special com ment on the grounds that it had acquired a meretricious sheen. The galleys twentieth-century curator, E. A. Carmean, disclaimed all responsibility fr The vamish, he said, had been applied before the painting arrived in Washington. Since the work in question came from a dealer, Ernst Beyeletof Basel, whose solicitude for the surface of paintings distinguishes him from many of his competitors (indeed the rumor that Beyeler pays a premium fa tunvarnished works is thought to have saved many a painting's face), one cin only conclude that the refurbishing occurred at some previous stop-of inthe market place. Reassuring as it is that the National Gallery is blameless in ths ‘case, is it not sad that a great institution in search of twentieth-century lan marks is obliged to purchase a painting whose surface is the reverse of what the artist intended? For it cannot be too strongly and too often emphasized that both Picasso and Braque were adamant that the surface of Cubist paintings bleh matte and never in any circumstances varnished. In the case of Braque this interdiction applied not merely to his Cubist paintings but also to all his sub- sequent work. If a shiny passage was required—and it often was—the artist could always use a lacquer or a glossy house paint like Ripolin, ot add varnish to his pigment to point up that specific passage. In this way the artist could differentiate, through texture as well as through the use of color, between surfaces that were intended to be shiny—for instance, a china jug—and sur faces intended to be matte—for instance, a newspaper. Later in his career, when Braque became more “metaphysical” (his his attitude toward reality, he carried this process a stage further and played arbitrary games with the identities of objects by deliberately send word) 86Reading 18 nicHaRDsoN ing out confusing signals: making something shiny that should be matte, Id be transparent, and vice versa. All this he did with a view to invoking mystery and establishing those equivocal pictorial rapports that he identified with “poésie.” It goes without saying that these subtle but crucial contrasts count for nothing if an ignorant collector or a dealer out to dress up his wares has a painting defiled with varnish. Given the extent to which these contrasts are being obliterated in the name of bogus science, the artists in question would have more reason than most to be appalled, since for them the two-dimensional surface of a painting and its finish were sacrosanct. The illusory depths which varnish enabled tra- ditionally trained artists to amplify were anathema to the Cubists, indeed to most other progressive artists from the 1880s onward. For instead of using exe-fooling devices to make things recede as far as possible from the on- looker, the Cubists were out to bring things as far as possible back within reach: they wanted to make the picture surface the equ not a representation of it. Thus the surface of a Cubist pai ject=all the more reason to respect every detail of that surface. In the circumstances it helps to think of Cubist paintings as objects rather than illusionistic images; only then will people realize that slapping varnish on a Cubist still life is as crass as French-polishing not just the veneer but the leather top and ormolu mounts of a bureau plat (flat desk]. However, varnish is not the only danger to Cubist paintings. Wax relin- ing—a process that most restorers have at one time or another used and far too many still consider mandatory—has done even greater harm. By impreg- nating the canvas from the back with what amounts to an embalming agent, the restorer effects a complete transformation not only of the paint surface but of the entire painting structure. The intention is to preserve the paint- ing from present or future disintegration, but the result is a waxwork, a dead thing. The tragedy is that wax relining, like varnishing, is a virtually irreversible process. Complete removal of wax from infused material is tech- nically impossible, and catastrophic changes often result from heating, infus- ing, and pressing the paint, ground, and canvas. (Paintings with a lot of impasto are especially vulnerable. More than one rugose van Gogh has ended up as sleek as a Formica tabletop.) - What then should be done to protect Cubist paintings (and for that matter any other paintings) from deterioration, or to minimize damage that has already taken place? My own somewhat extremist view—one, inciden- tally, that was shared by Picasso and Braque, who would rather have had a painting disintegrate than see it undergo plastic surgery—is the absolute minimum, In view of the pollution problem, paintings of this delicacy should ideally be exhibited in a controlled environment, or, if that is impossible, 187Part under glass. (I know this makes for a shine but at least itis easily remo able and, unlike varnish, protective.) Relining should be limited to cass of dire necessity, and then only if one of the new alternatives. to wax tli ing is used.2 Here I should perhaps emphasize that my strictures had the blessing of the artists in question with whom I occasionally discussed these mates Braque was especially forthcoming: all his life he remained passionate interested in problems of paint, and he continued to stretch and prime mus of his own canvases and grind some of his own pigment. Picasso, on te other hand, took less and less interest in paint per se. He had litle patiene with the artisanal chores in which Braque took such pride, and would singly have his Parisian color merchant make regular deliveries of already primed standard-sized canvases by the hundred as well as tubes of standand-colord paints in industrial quantities However, for all their divergences in later years, the two artists comix ued to share a healthy horror of varnish and virtually all forms of restoration If an early painting developed a eraquelure, Braque would be resigned and philosophical, as was his nature, whereas Picasso would relish it: wasnt th proof that he had endowed his work with a volition of its own? If more serio damage developed: “Tant pis.” Likewise if he discovered an ink or paint it was liable to deteriorate, Picasso would appreciate the defect for the mab cious fun it afforded. He could then present tiresome admirers with grit dédicaces (dedications), secure in the knowledge that they would ultimate fade and with luck—what a tease on future restorers—even vanish Braque’ obsession with pigment partly derived from his being the en of a house painter. Apprenticed at the age of seventeen to a contre ofhs father's, he was subsequently packed off to Paris to study for a crafts diploma under a master decorator. Hence his skill at wood graining and mie bling, lettering and stenciling—vital factors in the development of Cubist Hence, too, Braque’s ability to do highly unconventional things tothe hit erto sacrosanct medium of oil paint. By adding sand, tobacco, sawdust cot fee grounds, metal filings, and plaster, he came up with @ new ranged textural effects. In this respect Braque probably had a greater understanding of his materials than any other major artist of this century. I will alas remember the pride he took in solving a problem that had baffled reste: one of his paintings had turned black from being walled up during the we. “Don't let anyone touch it,” Braque told the owner. “Just leave it out inthe sun.” And sure enough the painting regained its original color, Nor willl get how he inveighed against the institution of the vernissage [varnishing] redundant process, a redundant rite,” he called it. Odd that almost no attr tion has been paid to the reaction against varnish and the significance ofthe matte surface in the history of modern painting, 188Reading 18 nicuandson Without a working knowledge of the history of the movement, a restorer would be unwise to tackle a Cubist painting. For instance, it is cru- cial to understand the Cubists’ idiosyncratic approach to color: why they fought shy of it during the early years of “Analytical Cubism,” in the belief (to quote Braque) “it could give rise to sensations that would interfere with their new conception of space”; and how they subsequently managed to reconcile it with their work when Braque saw how to use texture to represent local color by varying his paint surfaces with foreign substances and exploiting his repertory of decorators’ effects (wood graining, etc.). Lastly the restorer should understand how the invention of papier collé [pasted paper] resolved the Cubists’ coloristie problems once and for all by making it possible to depict the form of an object and its local color “simultaneously and indepen- dently of one another” without offending against the two-dimensionality of the picture surface. Picasso's genius subsequently led him in many different directions, but for Braque the equation of color with texture remained a lifelong obsession. And he would illustrate his theories by dropping a piece of velvet and a pi of calico into the same pot of color in order to show how different the results could be. He would also demonstrate how the same color could vary in value according to whether it was opaque or translucent, a lacquer or an earth color. “These are differences that every painter should learn to respect,” he would say. And every restorer, one might add. It follows that anything a restorer does to blur his or any other artist's carefully contrived distine- tions—Cubist or post-Cubist—is tantamount to altering the color and tonal- ity of a painting; as much of a betrayal of an artist's work as the substitution by a conductor of a fortissimo for a pianissimo.> The danger of all this was brought home to me on a visit to Braque’ studio, when a painting of a guitar that had formerly been signed on the back—as was the Cubists’ habit—arrived from America to be signed all over again on the front, now that wax relining had obliterated the original signa- ture. The artist’s horror at the condition of his recently restored painting was painful to observe. “Look how the blacks jump out at you,” he gasped. And indeed the black lines that had formerly served as a discreet scaffolding stood out—thanks to glossy varnish—like newly painted iron railings. Jarringly out of tone! No less upsetting to the artist was the awful tautness caused by an aluminum support that stretched the canvas tight as a drum. “Why subject it to this racklike torture?” he asked. Why indeed, since it was-quite redundant, and the canvas—of almost linenlike fineness, as is usual with Cubist works— looked as if it were about to pop. “Restorers are amazing,” said Braque. “They have transformed my gui- tar into a tambourine,” and he gave the taut oval a disconsolate tap with his paintbrush as he re-signed it. 189Parti | THe OWIGINAL INTENT OF THE ARTIST This incident took place some thirty years ago, but disfiguration of Braque’s Cubist work has not abated. In recent months one of the fines untouched Braques—the property of an illustrious institution—has fal Victim to a restorers irrepressible urge to varnish, despite a specific request from a leading expert in the field to do no such thing. “The varnish is ini ible,” the restorer said by way of justification. But these new so-called inv ible varnishes, made from synthetic resins, inevitably form a membrane between one’s eye and the picture, and their application seals the fate of painting by establishing the eventual need for their removal and replace: ment. Furthermore, their long-term effect is totally unpredictable. ‘To return to the Picasso retrospective that was my starting point: by confronting so many overpolished works with what I can only describe as virgin paintings—paintings whose surfaces had never been subjected to the restorer’s improving hand—the exhibition unwittingly drew attention t the evils of ignorant and insensitive restoration. For instance, how tawdry the victims of American beauty parlors looked compared to the paintings from the Kramar bequest in Prague's National Gallery, or the two great compos tions with fresh, frescolike surfaces that recently came to light private collection. What testimony to the value of benign—or malign?— neglect! Seventy years after they were painted, these works still looked as pristine as they must have done on the artists easel; and just as Picaso intended, they made one long to reach out in imagination and caress thee peachlike bloom. Benign neglect also explained why paintings in that other great repos: tory of Cubist art—the Russian state collections—shared in the pristine freshness of the Prague pictures. Alas, no longer. Russian restorers seem t9 be aping some of their Western counterparts in that they have recently sub- jected a few of their Picassos to drastic varnishing. Unfortunately Russian loans to the moma show were canceled at the last moment—thanks to inter- national froideur [coldness|—so it was impossible to judge how bad Russian methods differed from bad Western ones. ‘The moma show did, however, include a group of paintings that exem- plified in a highly ironical way the points I have been making, | mean the group of paintings that had been acquired en bloc from the heirs of Gertrude Stein by moma, acting on behalf of a group of private collectors who were either trustees or benefactors of the museum. The writers relatives, it willbe remembered, had removed the collection from the custody of Alice B. Tolls (who had inherited a life interest in them) on the grounds that the old lady was not sufficiently solicitous of the Stein family treasures. True, the Stein dogs had never been great respecters of Picasso's work, some of which hung much nearer the floor than the ceiling; true again, Miss Toklas’s health and sight were failing, Still can testify that, with the exception of a dilapidated PicassdsReading 18 RicuARDSoN dusty Juan Gris collage, the Stein pictures looked in far better shape—a pethaps, but otherwise wonderfully fresh—when they hung in Miss Toklas’s Is of some of New York's apartment than when they reappeared on the more prestigious collectors, enhanced in some cases with the specious glow ofa transparency held up to the light, jet, when all is said and done, what ean one expeet when publishers of art books have corrupted the public’ reproduc ions that bear the same relationship to the origi nals that magazine advertisements of Technicolor desserts do to the real thing? The fault is to some extent Albert Skira's. In 1948 this enterprising Swiss publisher brought out an album devoted to Picasso’ pottery, and in order to simulate the sheen of ceramics he had the bright idea of giving the plates a high glossy finish. Such was the success of this album that Skira used a similar look—now more or less standard, I fear—for the plates of his three-volume History of Modern Painting, a history that helped to form the ye by accustoming it to ultra-plos jons—reprodu taste of a generation of students. Since many of the plates in Skira’s History reproduced paintings that hung in a house where I once lived, I was in a pos tion to register the effect that the originals had on ey tions. Face after face would cloud over with disappointment. Where were those gorgeous couch work colors, those plastic blacks in which you could not quite see your face? A silly student even asked whether these really were ss queered by reproduc- the originals. Eyes jaded by shiny reproductions have a parallel in cars jaded by recordings. At a concert a few weeks ago, L overheard two people ining about the performance. The sound, they agreed, had been a bit thin: it lacked the resonance of a recent record —a record that I had found resonant to the point of schmaltziness. The excesses committed in the men- dacious name of hii, I concluded, were not limited to music. Like record companies and art-book publishers, restorers should stop tampering with our perceptions and betraying the works entrusted to their care. Notes 1. JonN Riciuanpson, "Pablo Picasso: A Retrospective,” New York Review of Books 27, m0. 12 (1980): [1] Some of the alter As of now cold lining with adhesives that a penetrate isthe anly gentle and reversible method of relining a eanvas in order lyin place. Fabri-Sil,« Teflon-costed fer idhesive, has been employed with considerable rand ean be traces, Poly(vinyl acetate) {ives to was relining are sill in the experimental stage. sensitive to pressure and de not to hold the paint more prepared with a silicon success, becuse it does not alter the appearance of a pai removed from the buck without leaving tell hheat-seal mixtures and wha have likewise been used as nap-bond lining,Part I adhesives, but although no impregnation is involved, they require excessive heat and pressuee. A number of products (such as Plextol) are also being investigated with a view ta achieving @ nap-bond lining with the use of ‘minimal heat. These resins ean be used with a suction table, which creates contact through a gentle air low and eliminates the distorting effects of ‘vacuum pressure, Meanwhile new synthetic fabris are being developed — ‘ones that make minimal demands on the structure ofa painting 4. [2] For the purposes of this article I have restricted myself to the Cubist paintings of Braque and Picasso. However, my strictures equally apply tothe insensitive way many other ewentieth-century artists’ work has been treated. Among contemporary painters one of the most avowed enemies of varnish is Francis Bacon, who has publicly denounced restorers for giving a ghastly sheen to the matte surfaces of his unprimed canvases tg