There's a Print Club, and I'm In It

 

As some of you know, my recent hobby-obsession is art collecting. And while I don't limit myself to one particular medium, to the extent I have a concentration, it's on prints.

Being the self-reflective sort, I wondered why editioned prints in particular appeal to me so much. The standard "pitch" for prints is that they are a cheaper and more accessible point of entry into the fine art world than other mediums. We've talked before about how the same A-tier artists whose paintings go for a million dollars-plus have editions available you can snag for a thousand dollars or less.

Being a cost-conscious sort (and certainly not a megamillionaire), that's definitely playing a role. But there are some other things I like about prints in particular.

One is that prints are limited editions, but not one-of-a-kind. People who are purists about paintings over prints often harp on the uniqueness of the former. But I actually kind of like the communal aspect of sharing in a particular work -- at least, to a limited extent. A club that anyone can join is pointless, but a club that only has one member is pretty boring. Print ownership is like being part of an exclusive but still interesting club.

For example, the image pictured above is an etching I recently acquired by Leonard Baskin, titled "Artemis". In addition to his "regular" artistic career, Baskin founded and owned the Gehenna Press, which published limited edition fine arts books. One such book was an edition of the Greek tragedy Hippolytus, of which only 200 copies were made, and included with the book were ten illustrations, "Artemis" being one of them. Outside those 200, Baskin created a supplemental edition of 90, which is where my copy comes from. So 290 total -- not too many, in the scheme of things. And even better is who else is in that small circle. For "Artemis", I now know that a piece on my wall also is in the collection of (among other locales) the Delaware Art Museum and the Cornell University Art Museum. That's pretty neat! I won't claim that all or even most of the works I own are represented in museums, but I do have pieces that also are found in the National Gallery of Art, the Walker, the National Gallery of Australia, and Cambridge's Fitzwilliam Museum. That's a pretty good club to be a member of!

And lest we find all this talk of museums and exclusive clubs a bit too posh, there's a related phenomenon that I am quite sure plays a large role in my love for prints: they're numbered. "Artemis", for instance, is numbered 68/90 (the 68th example from the edition of 90). And I love those numbers.

Why? Well, you see, long before I was an art collector, I was a baseball card collector. That was my big childhood hobby, and while I've long since gotten out of that game, I still have my old collection. Interestingly, even as a child one of my favorite things to collect were vintage cards from the 1950s and 60s. But in terms of contemporary cards, the coolest ones were the rare inserts. And the coolest of the inserts were the cards with an individual serial number.

We in the baseball card collecting biz were very naive when this started to become a thing. The 1998 SPx Finite set's common cards were individually numbered to 9000 -- huge, by art world standards, but I remember thinking it was the coolest thing in the world. And of course, some cards were rarer, and some were a lot rarer. I have a Greg Maddux numbered to 11 and a Scott Rolen numbered to 25 that I kept in a bank deposit box for decades, less because of their value than because I was freaked out at the prospect of losing them.

Anyway, the point is that seeing a limited edition print numbered X of Y pulls on a deep, deep well of childhood excitement and enthusiasm and nostalgia. A painting may be unique, but it doesn't have the number attached to it. And while that might not be the most sophisticated impetus for a collecting interest, I think there are worse grounds for a building a hobby than that.