John Baptist Jackson | Page 3

15, 37, 41, 42, 43 (also
in color), 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49 (also in color), 59, 69, 70, 71, 72, 75, 76
(photographs by John R. Freeman & Co.)
Victoria and Albert Museum (Crown copyright) 3, 35, 36, 40
Finally, I want to thank the Editorial Office of the Smithsonian
Institution for planning and designing this book; the Government
Printing Office for their special care in its production; and Mr. Harold
E. Hugo for his expert supervision of the color plates.
A grant from the American Philosophical Society (Johnson Fund),
made it possible to conduct research on Jackson in Europe.
Acknowledgment is herewith gratefully given.
JACOB KAINEN
Smithsonian Institution
September 1, 1961

John Baptist Jackson
18th-Century Master
of the Color Woodcut

Jackson and His Tradition

The Woodcut Tradition
Although the woodcut is the oldest traditional print medium it was the
last to win respectability as an art form. It had to wait until the 1880's
and 1890's, when Vallotton, Gauguin, Munch, and others made their
first unheralded efforts, and when Japanese prints came into vogue, for
the initial stirrings of a less biased attitude toward this medium, so long
considered little more than a craft. With the woodcut almost beneath
notice it is understandable that Jackson's work should have failed to
impress art historians unduly until recent times. Although he bore the
brunt as an isolated prophet and special pleader between 1725 and 1754,
his significance began to be appreciated only after the turn of the 20th
century, first perhaps by Martin Hardie in 1906, and next and more
clearly by Pierre Gusman in 1916 and Max J. Friedlaender in 1917,
when modern artists were committing heresies, among them the
elevation of the woodcut to prominence as a first-hand art form. In this
iconoclastic atmosphere Jackson's almost forgotten chiaroscuros no
longer appeared as failures of technique, for they had been so regarded
by most earlier writers, but as deliberately novel efforts in an original
style. The innovating character of his woodcuts in full color was also
given respectful mention for the first time. But these were brief
assessments in general surveys.
If the woodcut was cheaply held, it was at least acceptable for certain
limited purposes. But printing pictures in color, in any medium, was
considered a weakening of the fiber-- an excursion into prettification or
floridity. It was not esteemed in higher art circles, except for a short
burst at the end of the 18th century in France and England. This was an
important development, admittedly, and the prints were coveted until
quite recently. They are still highly desirable. But while Bartolozzi
stipple engravings or Janinet aquatints in color might have commanded
higher prices than Callots or Goyas, or even than many Duerers and
Rembrandts, no one was fooled. The extreme desirability of the color
prints was mostly a matter of interior decoration: nothing could give a
finer 18th century aura. It was not so much color printing that mattered;
it was late 18th century color printing that was wanted, often by
amateurs who collected nothing else. Color prints before and after this

period did not appeal to discriminating collectors except as rarities, as
exotic offshoots. Even chiaroscuros, with their few sober tones, fell
into this periphery. Jackson, as a result, was naturally excluded from
the main field of attention.
The worship of black-and-white as the highest expression of the
graphic arts[1] automatically placed printmakers in color in one of two
categories: producers of abortive experiments, or purveyors of popular
pictures to a frivolous or sentimental public. This estimate was
unfortunately true enough in most cases, true enough at least to cause
the practice to be regarded with suspicion. As an indication of how
things have changed in recent years we can say that color is no longer
the exception. It threatens, in fact, to become the rule, and
black-and-white now fights a retreating battle. A comparison of any
large exhibition today with one of even 20 years ago will make this
plain.
[Footnote 1: The purist's attitude was pungently expressed by Whistler.
Pennell records this remark: "Black ink on white paper was good
enough for Rembrandt; it ought to be good enough for you." (Joseph
Pennell, The Graphic Arts, Chicago, 1921, p. 178.)]
At first glance Jackson seems to be simply a belated 18th-century
worker in the chiaroscuro process. If to later generations his prints had
a rather odd look, this was to be expected. Native qualities, even a
certain crudeness, were expected from the English who lacked
advantages of training and tradition. And Jackson was not only the first
English artist who worked in woodcut chiaroscuro, he was virtually the
first woodblock artist in England to rise beyond anonymity[2] (Elisha
Kirkall, as we shall see, cannot positively be identified as a wood
engraver) and he