Known for his bright, whimsical paintings of simple household items, Thiebaud's delightfully accessible style renders even the most ordinary objects new and appealing. This spectacular array of originial prints--from bowties and gumballs to landscapes and figures--is accompanied by insightful essays on the artist and his work. 70 full-color and 8 black-and-white reproductions.
On a few lucky occasions a first proof pulled from the press appears to be complete. But this is a rare occurrence because most often the print needs adjustments, further work, and several additional stages. ...While such a procedure is going on it is possible to see alternatives that suggest fresh directions and result in new prints. At other times the process... may make the artist feel utterly hopeless. ...learn to use the nerve of failure as a positive tool.
I think Thiebaud must be a good teacher.
This book includes a wide selection of hand colored prints, including ones that show drastic variation: drastic changes in color selection, lines added in, the same scene shifted from day to night.
At the end is a brief history of the hand colored print, by Robert Flynn Johnson.
I discovered Thiebaud in college though I don’t remember specifically when. My first feeling associated with his paintings was nostalgia for their content. This was in the 1980s and they evoked a sense of childhood as I looked with wonder and desire at cakes, pies and candies.
I thought his art was simply mimetic and my response to it flooded me with a longing for a past that wasn’t mine but something collective. But then I saw other works of his which exaggerating the steepness the San Francisco hills or the flatness of the California delta region. These paintings also made me feel something but this wasn’t nostalgia. It was an inner opening, a response to spatial exaggeration . When something Thiebaud paints causes a reaction, it is alway one of longing. Now I believe that quality comes from the artistry itself and not the content. There is something in the way he engages with the canvas that makes me want the results to be the thing represented rather than a painting of it. Ironically it is the painting that makes me aware that I can’t have the thing represented as a thing existing outside the frame.
This volume isn’t a reproduction of his paintings but reproductions of his hand colored prints. They evoke a different feeling despite them being close in content to his paintings. This medium pulls out another response in me. They make me miss what he can do with paint but also gets at a deeper essence of a representation. Rather than subtly painted shadows he repeats dark lines or uses harsh cross hatches which add a symbolic quality to the idea of shadow rather than merely a trick of the eye.
Thiebaud raises the question; why does the mind deny the evidence of artifice to believe in the substance of the represented object? Why are we so desperate to anchor ourselves in a reality of our own making?