The Indian Question

Stephen Foutch, of the University of Dallas, calls printmaking "a democratic art form," meaning that, by their very nature, prints were meant to be seen by large numbers of people. Prints, unlike paintings or sculptures, which are unique, are, by definition, copies. The ability to mass-produce them allows them to reach huge audiences.

In the late 18th and early 20th centuries, improvements in the production of steel enlarged the audience for prints even further. This may seem like a non sequitur, but here's how.

Engraving is part of a family of printmaking methods called intaglio printing. A flat surface--like a metal plate--is incised, or engraved, with a sharp instrument called a burin. The metal plate is then covered with ink and wiped clean, but the ink remains in the lines which the engraver scratched into the plate with the burin. The plate is then pressed onto paper, and hey presto--there's an image.

Until the turn of the 18th century, most engravings were made with copper plates, but copper is a soft metal, and the pressure of smashing the plate onto the paper inevitably wore down the plates, so that later impressions are noticeably fuzzier and blurrier than the earlier ones.

Steel, however, changed that. Steel, a much harder metal, allows for inestimably greater numbers of prints to be made from the same plate (or, in printing technology, a matrix). Steel matrices last much longer than copper ones--a printer can use a steel plate more or less in perpetuity without sacrificing the clarity of the image, vastly increasing the numbers of prints which can be made from one matrix.

Steel engravings, to my eye at least, also allow for much finer lines and far greater intricacy of image. They're gorgeous to look at, and the closer you look, the more gorgeous they get. But that's an aside. The heck with the aesthetics. Back to the main point.

Steel engravings, by virtue of the ability they gave to their creators to make more of them, could thus be disseminated far more widely and thus be seen by many more people. Suddenly, art was accessible not merely to the patrons of museums and guests in private homes. It could be mass produced and distributed nationally--a democratic art form indeed.

Prints are, thus, valuable historical documents in addition to being works of art. They show not only what the world looked like to the artist--they show how vast numbers of people saw the world. Prints and printmakers helped shape the perceptions of their audiences of the world they lived in and the history of their countries.

Which is why I find prints depicting Indians--and other people of color--fascinating. I'd like to consider this set of four that I bought at The Emporium in St. Louis in 2017.

This engraving, "Incident at Cherry Valley--The Fate of Jane Wells" (1856--engraved by Thomas Phillibrown, after the original painting by Alonzo Chappel, Martin, Johnson & Co.), depicts a scene from the Revolutionary War: the Cherry Valley Massacre, when a mixed expeditionary force of Loyalists, Seneca and Mohawks attacked the village of Cherry Valley in eastern New York state, and slaughtered the inhabitants.

It would not be the last time that American Indians, angered by their treatment at the hands of the American government, would make common cause with its enemies.

The depiction of the Indian warrior in this print is both interesting and telling. His eyes are wide and staring, but curiously devoid of any expression. They're bestial. It's the kind of look you see in the eyes of a shark--no emotion, just the visual tools of a killing machine. His other facial features--particularly his lips--remind one of the contemporary depictions of African-Americans, as does his skin tone (perhaps we shouldn't read too much of the artists' intent from the skin tone--steel engravings were generally issued in black and white, with color was added later, often by well-bred ladies practicing their watercolor chops. Prints were the adult coloring-books of their day).

Compare the "Incident at Cherry Valley" with this engraving, "The Landing of Roger Williams," also published by Martin, Johnson & Co., and also based on an original by Alonzo Chappel (engraved by George Hall, though, not Phillibrown).

In this scene--I believe a depiction of Williams meeting the Narragansetts, with whom he formed a close bond--the Indians have stereotypically European features and strike recognizably European poses. They could have danced right off a Greek frieze into the Rhode Island wilderness, as they offer the respected Puritan divine Williams the ceremonial peace-pipe and a big basket of nice ripe pumpkins.

Not too dissimilar is this depiction of "The Landing of Hendrick Hudson" (also published by Martin, Johnson & Co. in 1857, based on an original painting by R. W. Weir). The Indians are a little farther away, but you can still make out their European features and poses, as they stare at the spectacle of their fellow Indians hauling Hudson and his men--conquering overlords waving banners, blowing trumpets, and brandishing their plumed hats--ashore.


Finally, there's this piece, the last of the four I bought: "Decatur's Conflict with the Algerines at Tripoli, Reuben James Interposing His Head To Save The Life of His Commander."



This one was also published in 1857, but by Johnson, Fry & Co., also based on a painting by Chappel. It depicts a scene from the Barbary War, and again, the "aggressors," the enemies of the United States, the Barbary Pirates, are hulking, brutish, and recognizably Negroid in feature.

I have not yet been able to ascertain whether these prints were issued and sold singly, or as a set, or as illustrations in a book. I'll keep looking. A little detective work ought to bring out their story. But I do find these pictures interesting, and, in the context of the years in which they were published--1856-57--suggestive. The United States was on the brink of both civil war and the Indian Wars. Good Indians--those on the side of the federal government--looked like Europeans. The bad guys looked like beastlike caricatures of black people. They, and many other images like them, helped shape the public perceptions of Indians.

My hero, Joseph Pulitzer, once wrote, "Publicity, publicity, publicity is the greatest moral factor and force in our public life." He who shapes and controls public opinion controls the nation. In prints like these, we see not only how Indians were viewed by the artists--we see what hundreds of thousands of Americans were being told about them.