Garo Z. Antreasian

Reflections on Life and Art

Garo Z. Antreasian

• Publisher: UNM Press
• Year: 2016
• Print ISBN: 9780826355416
• eBook ISBN: 9780826355423
• Topic: Art
• Subtopic: Artist Monographs

Garo Z. Antreasian (b. 1922) belongs to the great generation of innovators in mid-twentieth-century American art. While influenced by a variety of European artists in his early years, it was his involvement with Tamarind Lithography Workshop starting in 1960 that transformed his work. As Tamarind’s founding technical director, he revolutionized the medium of lithography. He discovered how to manipulate the spontaneous possibilities of lithography in the manner of the Abstract Expressionist painters. In addition to reflecting on his work, he writes movingly about his Armenian heritage and its importance in his art, his teaching, and his love affair with all sorts of artistic media. Illustrating his drawings, paintings, and prints, this book reveals Antreasian as a major American artist.

This book was made possible in part by generous contributions from the Frederick Hammersley Foundation and Gerald Peters Gallery.

Chapter Fourteen

The Tamarind Epoch, Part One: The Tamarind Lithography Workshop Opens, 1960–1961

Implementing the Workshop: Administration and Organization / As June Wayne had envisioned Tamarind as a quasi-teaching, quasi-production workshop and a trendsetter for an artistic medium in need of reawakening, Clinton Adams’s principal task as administrative director was to establish the necessary policies and regulations for a specialized organization that had never existed before. A part of this organizational task was the establishment of a system for curating, documenting, and handling the forthcoming production of prints. There was also a need for defining the policies for invited artists as well as regulations for providing grants for printer training fellowships. Working in concert with June and in keeping with Tamarind’s legal responsibilities as a nonprofit organization, these aspects were under constant review and modification as experience dictated.

Figure 54. June Wayne, artist, founder and executive director of the Tamarind Lithography Workshop, Los Angeles, 1960. Photograph by Helen Miljakovitch, courtesy of the Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, UNM 000–574–3327.

Figure 55. Garo rolling ink onto a stone at Tamarind, Los Angeles, 1960. Photograph by Marvin Silver.

In my capacity as technical director it was my responsibility to outline the operating procedures of the print shop, including the handling of the materials, the various papers, the production procedures, and a technical record of the daily progress of each print. Meanwhile, June, as executive director, was Tamarind’s spokesperson, advocate, and proselytizer to both the art world and society at large. I must say that the personal and professional relationship between June, Clinton, and myself was remarkably smooth and efficient. We thought alike on most issues, had mutual respect for one another, and shared ideals about the ultimate goals of the project. I thought of us as “the Tamarind Troika.”

Another legal requirement of the IRS for our tax-exempt status was the establishment of a board of directors. Originally, the board consisted of June; Calvin Goodman, a systems engineer; Ebria Feinblatt, curator of prints and drawings at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art; John Entenza, publisher of Art and Architecture magazine; and Allen Greenberg, an attorney. Later, in order to provide greater national scope, the following distinguished individuals formed the board of directors: Gustave von Groschwitz, curator of prints and drawings at the Cincinnati Museum of Art; Harold Joachim, curator of prints and drawings at the Art Institute of Chicago; Benton Spruance, artist; Fred Grunwald, collector; Maurice Block, an art historian at UCLA; and James Johnson Sweeney, a critic and the director of the Guggenheim Museum. Periodically changing, this illustrious board gave valuable personal and professional assistance to the program throughout the many years of its existence.

Parallel to the board of directors was the selection panel, which was charged with the nomination of artists for grants to work at Tamarind. Notable members of this panel included: William Lieberman of the Museum of Modern Art; Alfred Frankenstein, critic; Kenneth Callahan, artist; Carl Zigrosser of the Philadelphia Museum of Art; Douglas MacAgy of the California School of Fine Arts; and Peter Selz of the University of California, Berkley. The artist fellowships were of two months duration and included a stipend of $1,000 plus airfare.

The primary objectives of the Tamarind Lithography Workshop as described in June’s proposal to the Ford Foundation were as follows:

1. To create a pool of printers under the supervision of a master printer.

2. To encourage artists of diverse styles to utilize lithography in the United States.

3. To encourage experimentation in and extension of the medium

4. To stimulate new markets.

5. To guide artisan printers to economic security.

6. To restore prestige to lithography by creating a collection of extraordinary prints.

Between the fall of 1959 and the spring of 1960, June dealt with details of organizing the construction, the gathering of equipment, and the formation of the workshop staff. Many people were consulted, including me, to assist in this task. Among the earliest was Joe Funk, who became the first apprentice printer even before the workshop was formed. In essence, he became my assistant—procuring materials, constructing furnishings and installing equipment, and doing what others could not do before my arrival. He was a tall, strong, good-hearted personality who had been a lithography student under Jules Heller at the University of Southern California. Another unsung hero of the early Tamarind staff was Lillian Lesser, hired as executive secretary. After Clinton’s departure in 1961, she became the administrator.

It was determined that the uniform edition size would be limited to twenty-five signed and numbered impressions. The artist was to keep ten impressions, the printer kept the bon à tirer, or definitive proof. In addition to artist’s proofs and a few trial proofs, fifteen Tamarind Impressions, so titled, were retained for the Tamarind archives. These latter impressions were printed on a highly special Japanese paper called “Japanese Nacre” that provided a distinct character to the Tamarind Impressions. It was also determined that each printer, when they qualified, would be identified with his or her own chop—a discrete seal that would be embossed on each impression of the edition together with the Tamarind chop. Lastly, a cancellation impression was printed, verifying that the image had been defaced and no additional impressions could be printed.

As an interesting aside, it might be noted that “cancellation prints” were an affectation of the printing tradition. Purportedly they were unique, and when an image was “cancelled” in a particularly artful or creative way, they were sometimes more handsome than the original. Theoretically, the cancellation was intended to show that the image was so physically or chemically altered it could no longer be printed in its original state. However, in the hands of a knowledgeable and unscrupulous printer cancellations could be falsely assimilated without actual damage to the original image. As this practice became better understood, the attraction of the cancellation generally lost its appeal and is no longer as significant as it once was.

Artists and Printers / The first artist to arrive at Tamarind was Romas Viesulas, a Lithuanian émigré who had lived in Paris and did lithographs in print shops there. He was thoroughly familiar with the European tradition of collaboration and was an experienced teacher at Temple University in Philadelphia. In the two months of his fellowship, he produced eleven lithographs in color and black and white in a portfolio titled El Toro Desconocido, dedicated to the poet García Lorca. Viesulas was a very physical Figurative Abstract Expressionist who scraped, scratched, and reworked his images like a painter. This was my first experience printing work for another artist, and the violence of his attacks on the stone made it a demanding experience for me. Joe Funk was my patient, always reliable press assistant. The theme of Viesulas’s portfolio was the drama of the bullfight—but, surprisingly, seen from the viewpoint of the bull.

The second artist to arrive was Aubrey Schwartz from Brooklyn. He had previously made prints under Leonard Baskin. Schwartz was a Figurative Expressionist, not as violent as Viesulas, but dramatic in a different way. He came prepared to work on the theme of The Midget and the Dwarf, a fascinating culture with a caste system of working strata and societies that are popularly thought of as bizarre. This was also to be a series of lithographs contained in a portfolio and executed in mostly toned black and white. Again, I was assisted by Joe, but this was a totally different working experience, adjusting in this case to a calmer-tempered creative personality.

The vast distance between these first two artists as individuals and their themes and working methods made a dramatic impression on me about the fundamental aspects of collaborative printing—especially in regard to matters of communication and adaptability between artist and printer. For example, Romas’s descriptive vocabulary was passionate and usually indirect. He often spoke by analogy, and at times it was hard to understand exactly what he was trying to say. Not being a printer, it was difficult for him to speak specifically about color. We ended up having him snip out pieces of color from magazine reproductions as a starting point from which to begin mixing a color. It took a great deal of trial proofing to reach what he could not describe verbally. On the whole, the difference in expressive needs between Viesulas and Schwartz required vastly different technical and processing procedures to prepare their work for the press. The relationship between artist and artisan is a courtly dance. I call it “the pavane of collaboration.”

Figure 56. Clinton Adams correcting an image on the stone while Garo examines the proof, Tamarind, Los Angeles, 1960. Photograph by Marvin Silver.

Figure 57. Garo Antreasian, Fragments Suite, Plate 1, 1961, lithograph. 18

× 15

in. Collection of the Indianapolis Museum of Art.

As artists June, Clinton, and I had early on discussed how to efficiently introduce this relatively strange medium of lithography to artists who had never made prints before. Since we also wanted to continue with our own creative work whenever we could, we felt that perhaps the differences in our imagery might help to provide the uninitiated with some idea of the breadth of possibilities available to them.

Complementing this notion was the concept of doing work in series. June’s experience of working serially in her livre de luxe of Songs and Sonnets by John Donne was one such example. A more modest approach was the production of related prints comprising a suite or album or portfolio. In that regard, I did a suite—my first—titled Fragments (Plates 16–19 and fig. 57). Each print in that suite was done with a different image-making or printing method. Clinton also produced a suite about the same size called The Window Suite These works proved very useful in the early years of Tamarind. We all continued to produce individual lithographs that were equally instructive.

Periodically, as Joe Funk and I adjusted to the scheduling needs of the artist fellows and our own work, June would issue short-term invitations to significant local artists to come in and make lithographs. This, too, not only increased our printing experience but also added to the artistic variety of work produced. The stature and quality of the artists were naturally never equal, but the integrity of the printing and the basic goals of the program were never yielding.

In the fall of 1960 we were informed without advance notice that the US State Department was coming over to Tamarind with a contingent of Russian arts administrators and school officials to observe our activities. Within the hour, about a dozen burley officials and a tiny, popular Russian artist came into the shop. Clinton, June, and I gave them a tour with help from the State Department translators. Some of the visitors smiled, nodded, and said they were pleased to see that we executed our work much the same as it was done in Russia. We had hurriedly ground a litho stone for the artist, and he made an impromptu crayon and wash drawing of a small group of clever, humorous vignettes of Hollywood street scenes. While the guests were seated for a hastily catered lunch, Joe and I quickly processed and printed a dozen impressions of the Russian artist’s drawing.

Meanwhile, Romas Viesulas and Aubrey Schwartz had been quietly working in their respective corners. When it came time to leave, we presented the Russian artist with his packet of prints and jolly toasts were exchanged. On their way out, one of the delegation peered over Romas’s shoulder to look at his drawing. When introduced, he recognized the Lithuanian name, and said in a loud voice, “What are you doing here? You should have stayed with us.” Whereupon, Romas could contain himself no longer. He let go with a string of Lithuanian curses and insults that no one could mistake, rising, bellowing, and shaking his fists. The horrified State Department functionaries rushed their guests out the door, after which we joked that a minor international incident had been averted. Romas told us later that he had listened quietly while the Russians were whispering their astonishment and their awe at the skills and resources while saying something quite different to the translators.

Toward the end of the year it became evident that more funds were needed to operate the shop and keep up supplies of paper, inks, and equipment. June devised the idea of selling four of the nine sets of Tamarind Impressions for additional revenue. The price was $5,000 per set for one year’s production. Over the years, various museums, collectors, and investors committed to this annual production, sight unseen. The concept increased the pressure on our production schedule and pumped the volume of artists nominated by the selection committee.

By chance, about this time June had been informed about a Czechoslovakian lithographer who was working a menial job in Chicago as a paint mixer even though he had been a professional lithographer in Prague and Paris for many years. Bohuslav Horak was his name. He arrived in November 1960 and was given the title of technical advisor.

Horak arrived at the right time to ease the enormous workload carried by Joe Funk and myself. Being a professional, he quickly familiarized himself with the workshop routine, and I assigned him to work on a series of prints with the New York artist Adja Yunkers. The series was to be titled Skies of Venice (fig. 60).

Yunkers was a well-established Abstract Expressionist painter who had gained notoriety by creating very large color woodcuts outside the usual mainstream of printmaking in the 1950s. As his work progressed, I felt he was the first artist at Tamarind to extend the possibilities of lithography. With Horak’s advice and technical assistance, Yunkers produced some...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half title
• Title
• Dedication
• Contents
• Preface
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction Garo Z. Antreasian: An American Regenerator
• My Armenian Family Background
• My Pre–Grade School Years, 1922–1928
• Boyhood Play and Competitive Pastimes
• My Grade School Years: Awakening to Art, 1928–1936
• My High School Years at Arsenal Tech, 1936–1940
• The Herron School of Art, Pre-War Years, 1940–1941
• A Second Year at Herron, under a Cloud of War, 1942
• The War Years: A Coast Guard Artist in the Pacific, 1942–1945
• The Postwar Years: Marriage, Return to School, and Study in New York, 1946–1949
• Jeanne: Her Life and Her Family, 1921–2010
• Beginning Professional Life in the 1950s: Course Development and Artistic Advances
• The Lure of Lithography
• Prologue to the Tamarind Epoch: A Chance to Revitalize Lithography in America
• The Tamarind Epoch, Part One: The Tamarind Lithography Workshop Opens, 1960–1961
• The Tamarind Epoch, Part Two: Return to Indianapolis, 1961–1964
• The Tamarind Epoch, Part Three: Continuation of the Los Angeles Workshop, 1964–1970
• My Early Years at the University of New Mexico, 1964–1970
• The 1970s: Turbulent Times and the Transfer of Tamarind to UNM
• The 1980s: Art Department Politics and a Journey of Disappointment and Discovery
• The Pursuit of Art: An Overview of My Artwork, 1970s–1990s
• Confronting the Millennium
• The Enduring Ties
• Plates
• Biography, Exhibitions, and Publications
• References
• Checklist
• Index
• Copyright