The Printed World
During the late 16th and 17th centuries, the engraved and printed image came into its own as the first truly popular visual medium. For the first time an image could be reproduced and widely disseminated.
As with all new forms of media, the technology of engraved reproduction led to a new set of relationships between the viewer, the image, and the object being depicted. During the 16th and 17th centuries, the engraved image developed a rich, fraught and complicated relationship to the object which it depicted.
There was certainly no easy correlation between a picture and the thing being depicted.
As with all new forms of media, the technology of engraved reproduction led to a new set of relationships between the viewer, the image, and the object being depicted. During the 16th and 17th centuries, the engraved image developed a rich, fraught and complicated relationship to the object which it depicted.
There was certainly no easy correlation between a picture and the thing being depicted.
Consider, for example:
Micrographia
In the 17th century, Robert Hooke was using another new technology – a custom designed microscope -- to depict things invisible to the human eye. He recorded what he saw in a series of engravings published in his book, Micrographia (1665). It became the first bestselling science book. And why not? It depicted a world of monsters and fabulous creatures, invisible to the eye and directly under our noses.
In the 17th century, Robert Hooke was using another new technology – a custom designed microscope -- to depict things invisible to the human eye. He recorded what he saw in a series of engravings published in his book, Micrographia (1665). It became the first bestselling science book. And why not? It depicted a world of monsters and fabulous creatures, invisible to the eye and directly under our noses.
Or consider this:
Books of Emblems
One of the first and most popular genres that the new technology of the printing press gave rise to was the “Emblem Book.” These were collections of “Emblems,” detailed allegorical engravings with a short accompanying motto, and then a longer exegesis of the paired image and phrase.
Modern scholars aren’t exactly sure whether the actual “emblem” referred to the image, the phrase, the exegesis, or all three. Precisely.
One of the first and most popular genres that the new technology of the printing press gave rise to was the “Emblem Book.” These were collections of “Emblems,” detailed allegorical engravings with a short accompanying motto, and then a longer exegesis of the paired image and phrase.
Modern scholars aren’t exactly sure whether the actual “emblem” referred to the image, the phrase, the exegesis, or all three. Precisely.
In an emblem, meaning had no fixed abode; it was transient, fluctuating between word, image, and exegesis.
Alchemical Texts
Emblem books were, perhaps, the secular version of another new means of complicating the tenuous relationship between image and idea: the alchemical text. The 16th century saw a flourishing of fabulous books which presented series of densely allegorical images, freighted with magico-scientific significance; meaning in these images was unspooled (and frequently knotted up again) by allusive, metaphor-laden exegesis.
Emblem books were, perhaps, the secular version of another new means of complicating the tenuous relationship between image and idea: the alchemical text. The 16th century saw a flourishing of fabulous books which presented series of densely allegorical images, freighted with magico-scientific significance; meaning in these images was unspooled (and frequently knotted up again) by allusive, metaphor-laden exegesis.
The Green Lion Devouring the Sun: a popular allegorical image. It can refer to green liquid sulfate which eats away everything but gold (purification), or the process whereby plants transmute sunlight into green matter (photosynthesis).
The Splendor Solis is the most colorful of these, certainly; some of Durer’s engravings might be considered a part of this tradition (though he left the exegetical text to 20th century art critics).
Really, though, these texts defy explanation (despite the endless efforts to do just that). I’d argue that these texts actively sought to destabilize fixed meanings in the visual world. The act of reading/looking at these pages clarifies nothing; like Hooke’s engravings, these texts sensitize us to the invisible worlds shimmering around us.
These are not books that reveal wisdom. They do not clarify. On the contrary -- they dazzle us. The world is made of surfaces, each object trembling with meaning. These books seek to bewilder us. Perhaps wisdom lies on the other side of those wilds.
These are not books that reveal wisdom. They do not clarify. On the contrary -- they dazzle us. The world is made of surfaces, each object trembling with meaning. These books seek to bewilder us. Perhaps wisdom lies on the other side of those wilds.
Plates from The Splendor Solis
Cosmographia
The development of the printing press sparked another new genre. In works such as The Nuremberg Chronicle (1496) and Cosmographia (1544), history, geography, biblical lore and humanist learning were compiled and compressed into a single book. The lavish illustrations – woodcut at first, engraved later – were similarly hodgepodge.
The development of the printing press sparked another new genre. In works such as The Nuremberg Chronicle (1496) and Cosmographia (1544), history, geography, biblical lore and humanist learning were compiled and compressed into a single book. The lavish illustrations – woodcut at first, engraved later – were similarly hodgepodge.
Frankfurt, as depicted in Sebastian Munster's Cosmographia.
The city views presented in these books, in particular, seem to exist in a fraught relationship to the perceived world. They seem to hover between cartography and illustration; the perspective shifts from birds-eye to that of a passing traveler; representation fluctuates between a mapmaker’s abstraction and an artist’s depiction.
Nuremberg, from Die Schedelsche Weltchronik (also known as The Nuremberg Chronicle)
And Speyer, from Sebastien Munster's Cosmographia (1544)
The media we use to depict the world shapes the way we view it – even when we’re far from the pages of a book (or the screen of a phone). Sometimes I fear the resulting worldview is impoverished. But sometimes, as is the case in the 16th and 17th centuries, our worldviews can be enriched. Invisible worlds juxtapose themselves upon our perception: the world becomes palimpsest.