Are Casts and Prints Art

Are Casts and Prints Art

In the quiet corners of the online forum of Northern Renaissance Art: Durer to Bruegel c1480-c1580 through the Oxford Department of Continuing Education, we were asked if prints could be considered “real art”. I vehemently stated that yes, of course, they are real art. I had a good argument for it too. And by the way, they weren’t quiet corners. There were lots of very long paragraphs of arguing between students in those forums. When you’re a photographer, prints and prints in books are the only physical manifestation of your art. How could I not defend them? But in the class, we were actually talking about prints of paintings. In the Northern Renaissance, prints were created in a way that needed skill to create, by using woodcutting or other print-making skills that I am currently blanking on (way to show your retention of the material, Sarah). I still felt that you could be looking at the artwork when looking at a print created in this way. But then we went to the Victoria and Albert Museum and walked around the room of casts— replicas of famous sculptures, altarpieces, tombstones, and even Trajan’s Column. We stood in front of Michaelangelo’s David. It was massive and magnificent, but the minute I found out it was a cast, the balloon popped. It felt like the sculpture deflated slightly. How snobby of me. I truly tried to see it for what it is, for the details of the original. I tried to appreciate that this cast had been created by making a mould of the original, not that someone else did a hack job and carved their own. And even then, I kept thinking if someone tried to recreate it by hand and came this close, shouldn’t that person be celebrated for their skill? I once read a book in which there was a mystery of who was creating paintings that were supposed to be by Matisse. In the book, I think the point was made that the copycat was actually technically better than the original painter. Of course, a copycat painter is actually creating paintings, not just making an imprint of an already existing painting or scanning a copy of it on a computer and reselling it. But even casts take skill. To make the mould and then fill it just so and get it to come out right takes skill. It definitely takes a certain amount to do that kind of work with a cake mould which is why my moulded cakes always look a little lopsided. So why is it so difficult for me to appreciate a cast? Why would I say that prints are art but casts are not? I’m at a point of internal turmoil over this debate. On the one hand, the original piece of art was created. Someone thought it up. And for me to not have to travel all over the globe to see a famous piece of art and know that the art resides in the original place where it should, I have to appreciate the fact that casts of that accuracy and caliber can be made. Still, to stand in front of an original gives me the same tingly feeling I get when I stand in a beautiful cathedral listening to a choir rehearse or getting to be there for Evensong. It’s one of those great moments in life that makes me feel closer to God, that brings my faith to the surface, and that reminds me that there are great things in this world beyond myself. Maybe it’s just mindset or maybe it’s Maybelline. Of course, it’s not the latter. This begs the question. Is it about whether a cast or a print is a real work of art, or is it the knowledge of the original being somewhere else that changes our perception of it? If I never knew that the David was a cast, would I have felt its magnificence more? Should I ask people to stop pointing out when something is not the original? Should I just stop worrying about it so much? Probably. I should probably just stop worrying about it, but these are the things that keep me up at night. This and bills and how my kids are doing and whether or not I should have eaten that extra scoop of popcorn. Such is life. Sarah Carpenter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarahcarpenter.substack.com/subscribe [https://sarahcarpenter.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]

Knitting

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Skates and Cameras

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Ted Lasso

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Reminiscing on Cannon Beach

We stood at the edge of the tide. Well, we started at the edge of the tide when it was still low. And as it came in, I felt my toes slowly sinking into the sand below my feet. It was a nice reprieve from the freezing water rushing over my ankles. It felt like I was watching God play with watercolor paints as the sunset over the Pacific Ocean. Blue turned to pale yellow and pink and orange and light purple. The water glistened with speckled rays of light. And I just stood there trying my best to soak it in, never to forget it. I was also snapping photos with every change of the sky, going through 15 shots, reloading, then another 15 more quickly than was probably necessary. I felt a tinge of guilt as the chilly breeze blew over my shoulders, knowing that I was keeping my baby girl out way too late in the air that was growing colder by the minute. The sight of her snuggled next to my husband’s chest in her baby carrier, asleep and content assuaged my guilt slightly. Side Note: Now that I’m older, and not too much wiser, with two kids in tow, I continue to break bedtimes for sunsets. I keep them out late to experience the world when we are on trips. And, occasionally, when they can’t sleep, I let them snuggle up and watch the golden sunlight that is cast across my bedroom on a warm summer night. They are only little once, right? This was the third time my husband, Ben, and I had gone to Cannon Beach. We’d gone, the first time, while on a trip to Oregon for a one-on-one workshop I was attending. It had been 100 degrees in Portland, so after standing outside Blue Star Donuts (which was totally worth it because the hazelnut chocolate ganache donut was rich and creamy and nutty and perfect), and sweating inside of Powell’s Book Store while fighting crowds just to find a book I never actually read, we decided to head to the beach. It was stunning. So different from any beach I’d ever been to. It felt protected by the cliffs and the evergreens, and Haystack Rock is massive. I always thought the photos of it had been doctored in some way. The second time we went to Cannon Beach, we had photos done with one of my favorite photographers and someone I called a mentor to me in the wedding industry. And it was such a wonderful experience, aside from the fact that a tiny baby girl cried the entire way there. But once we were there, playing with her on the beach and knowing we’d get some incredible photos of the three of us back, it was so peaceful. We ended up going back the next day. Sofie slept the entire way there this time. And the final time we went to Cannon Beach was when I was pregnant with Henry. It was 2020, and things were just opening up from Covid-19. I’d been so depressed about spending my entire pregnancy in the apartment, and I needed to get away, even if I had to strategically plan all my bathroom breaks along the way so they lined up with public toilets that were actually open, wear masks in public spaces and accept that it was just going to be a different trip. It was still magic. We roasted marshmallows on the beach, made sandcastles with Sofie, ate shrimp on the beach on a windy day. That last one ended with sand in our shrimp, so we gave up on our little picnic. We walked along the water and explained tide pools to a 2 1/2 year old. We ate pastries in bed, and we talked about how it was so strange that in just a short few months, our son would be with us. I feel a little disappointed that we never made it back to Oregon with Henry. Life is so much busier with two little kids, especially when one of them is in ballet and gymnastics and ice skating. It gets to a point where, some weekend days, I just want to go nowhere, do nothing, and see nobody. Is that just an introvert thing? Or is it a mom thing? I feel guilty, and again, disappointed that we never got family photos done with that photographer once Henry was born. To make myself feel better, I just think of all the beaches we have taken Henry to and all the places we’ll go as a family of four in the future and all the pictures we’ll be in together. But it won’t stop me from remembering my toes in that sand and the freezing tide against my ankles and the stinging from where I’d shaved that morning and the shivering I felt as I tried to keep as steady as possible so I could take a timelaps of the sun setting. I’ll never forget that place, that magical beach that took my breath away and gave me a moment of peace at a time that was so stressful. I’ll never forget smelling the sea and Christmas at the same time. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarahcarpenter.substack.com/subscribe [https://sarahcarpenter.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]