7. The Added Touch

"Miro, Miro, on the wall" . . .

Framing, Hanging, Lighting

If you follow our cardinal rule . . . and buy pictures or sculp­ture only because you like them . . . you'll naturally be anx­ious to present them at their best. This means the happy choice of frame, mat, or mounting. There's a rule here, too: never give the frame greater emphasis than its contents! It is wise to remember that, in making your selection, you should think not only of the picture itself in relation to how you frame it; but you should also think of all your pictures in relation to each other.

Mrs. Morris Wenger, a prominent collector in Philadelphia, and a member of the Woman's Committee of the Philadelphia Museum of Art says: "The pictures should belong to one an­other. Even if the painter and the period and the medium are different, proper hanging relates one piece to another. But the frames must always be secondary to the painting or draw­ing."

Many years ago, before Mrs. Wenger had put together her Pascins, Vlamincks, Kislings, Jacques Lipshitzes, and other fine works, she attended the first opening for Franklin Watkins, who is today one of America's most distinguished painters. As she looked over the pictures, Mrs. Wenger was struck by a particular painting. She said to the gallery owner, "I like this little picture. I'd love to buy it if the frame comes with it. They look perfect together." The sale was made. It was the first for Mr. Watkins. It was the start of Mrs. Wenger's fine col­lection. A frame did it! But today Mrs. Wenger and I stick to the rule that the framing, matting, or mounting should always be given secondary consideration.

Usually the first thing you have to decide is where to put a picture. It has been suggested that if you are particularly proud of the painting you should hang it in the living room; if you like it but think it's a slight work, put it upstairs; if you bought it because you like the artist but not his work, put it in the kitchen!

Wherever you hang your collection, the important thing is —as I mentioned before—the pictures should belong together. Obviously, then, you won't want to hang a very powerful paint­ing next to a delicate one. It will overpower its wall-mate. On the other hand, if you have a large group of blazing canvases don't squeeze them together on one part of the wall. They'll have a bad time outshouting each other. Strike a happy bal­ance. Perhaps two or three gentle subjects . . . then a more vigorous statement. Follow with the fragile . . . repeat a note of force again. It's a balance you will soon discover for yourself.

Bertha von Moschzisker, Director of the Print Club in Philadelphia, owns a beatiful painting by Hayter. It is strong stuff. In a room where the colors are gentle and the mood peaceful and most of the pictures are water colors and prints, this Hayter, in deep orange and red, exploded on one's eye. Solution: it now hangs right outside the front door of her apartment, in a lovely hall that is a bit apart from the actual living space. Now people no longer stop talking to one another to stare at the Hayter.

A good rule to follow for getting the most from your col­lection is to move your pictures occasionally from room to room. When you see a picture in a new setting, it makes you look at it again. Your whole collection seems fresher. Of course, this doesn't mean you have to move the entire collection . . . changing just one painting, or one print, can often make all the difference in the world. When I had my own collection photographed by John Condax for this book, a strange thing happened. I visited John's studio and saw my possessions stretched over one side of the wall in a different arrangement than I had ever put them myself. All gained new freshness for me. I saw new things in each of them. In fact, I decided to sell one on the spot. I no longer liked it. (A slight digression: You'll find as you continue collecting that you'll probably turn your collection over many times. If you grow bored with or tired of a painting, you can barter with other collectors. This, too, helps to keep your entire group of pictures vital and new. And the trading can be fun!)

I would like to suggest to anyone who works in an office that part of your collection might make an ideal replacement for the picture of your wife, two children, and the dog. The office is where I spend most of my waking hours. I like to look around and enjoy the sights. So some of my favorite paintings and prints spend time at the office with me. But I change the works more frequently than I do at home. This keeps my view a fresh one. I've found a material advantage as well. When a client drops in and I'm delayed, he can spend a happy ten minutes, rather than stare at his watch. Should a fellow collec­tor happen in, our business talk always gets off to a good start.

When you hang a picture, think about the wall as an ex­tension of the frame. It provides the larger background against which the picture is seen.

A friend of mine recently had his house painted, then began to put the pictures back just where they had been before. But as he worked, a puzzled look came over his face. None of the pictures looked right. Finally, he took a picture from the dining room and carried it into the living room. He took one from the living room and changed it to the dining room. Then he relaxed. The new colors on the wall, although they had seemed neutral, had changed the effect completely.

A soft warm gray is considered best for picture walls. It neither adds to nor detracts from your collection. White, with a touch of brown added to take away the glare, is another excel­lent color background. Naturally, a wildly patterned wallpaper is something of a picture in itself; and the only thing to hang on it would be an empty space. On the other hand, some people favor no color and no texture. They say that there should be nothing to disturb the pictures themselves. Nor do they think anything should help them. Personally, I don't think this is fair to the rest of your wall and is quite an unimaginative ap­proach.

The nicest wall I have seen hung with pictures, that still remained an attractive wall in itself, was in the apartment of the Berniers in Paris. The Berniers, who publish that excel­lent magazine of art, L'Oeil, used taste and imagination for their great collection. They achieved neutrality, but not "nothingness." They took plain burlap and had it stamped with the designs of great damasks. Thus it gained texture. But it wasn't rough or harsh. It was subtle; a place where pictures belong.

Another collector I know has grass cloth on the wall. He gets a warm, neutral tone, but the texture is there so that the space between the pictures is not too bare or cold.

Of course, if you have definite ideas of exactly where you plan to hang your collection, you can choose a definite color to help the pictures. For example, a wall of mustard yellow or coral would be ideal for black and white drawings. And perhaps you have noticed the old masters in the Metropolitan Museum. These are powerful paintings, and they look brilliant against the lovely old damasks in blues and greens, rose and gold.

Lighting will, of course, affect the tone of your walls. And this is a matter that will depend on your own pictures and your own facilities. I ask only that you realize that the paint­ing was seen by the artist in his own studio—in cold north light. The idea, therefore, should be to equal these same condi­tions as much as you can, with natural or artificial lighting. But don't go overboard. If you don't own a collection of old mas­ters, resist the temptation of hanging a brass lamp on each picture. This is a pretense worth avoiding. Since you are not living in an art gallery or on a stage, spotlights and hidden ceiling lights seem inappropriate. These are all matters of per­sonal taste, but I prefer to adjust my paintings to the lighting arrangement of the room in its ordinary usage.

Now, let's leave the wall for the frame itself. In this connec­tion, I can only say that the picture should be framed as it asks you to frame it. In other words, you have to feel it, and feel what it requires. Some pictures are hardly contained in their canvases, and ask for more room to breathe. You cannot frame pictures like these because you cannot confine them. What is needed is a simple wood strip that hides the nails on the canvas. Abstracts, for example, which talk a space language, should flow right off the canvas onto your wall. On the other hand, a realistic portrait or still life should be warmly enclosed in a heavy frame. The end of the picture is clearly defined, and demands formal acknowledgment.

You can have a lot of fun, and exercise a lot of originality as you frame your pictures. For instance, go to an auction sale and find an antique frame the same size as the picture you want to frame. Remove the old brown shellac surface and replace it with a plain wax one.

Often you can give a lithograph the feeling of a painting by framing it without a mat. On the other hand, a dark print is lightened and enhanced if you use a white linen mat with a thin silver border, instead of a plain sheet of paper.

American collectors, for some reason I cannot explain, seem to have a prejudice against glass, except for framing prints, drawings, and water colors. This is not true in Europe, where caseins, temperas, and even oils are found under glass. Of course, for water colors, lithographs, and other "perishables," glass is a must. Lately there has been a tendency toward non-reflective glass. I advise against it: it seems to deaden the pic­ture and impart the feeling of a reproduction. It is far better to light your picture well and neutralize reflections.

Remember this about your drawings: even if they are framed in glass, don't hang them in a strong light. The sun, or even artificial light, will gradually fade your drawings, eventually ruining them completely.

When you frame a drawing or a print, be sure you tell the framer not to paste them down on the mats. The mat should cover the proper area, but no adhesive should be used—it greatly diminishes values.

Don't think that framers are all such experts that you don't have to exercise a little caution in dealing with them. It de­pends on the kind you patronize.

The best framer is the man who orders raw wood and cuts and shapes it to his own specifications. He hand-carves and hand-colors each frame to fit your individual picture. Al­though he considers your taste and decor, he thinks of himself as an extension of the artist. Thus he works on the frame until weight, shape, and color balance with the painting. He will probably tell you what he thinks of the picture you bought, and where you ought to hang it. Before he finishes, he will know as much about the painting and what it wants to say, as you do. He is expensive.

Then there is the framer who buys finished frames by the foot and fits your picture according to size. You choose the color and finish you want. He could be a framer with taste, but the chances are you'd better rely on your own judgment. He is not an artist in any sense; he is more of a manufacturer. But his prices are usually reasonable, and he is ideal for the routine jobs.

Then there is the "Old Gifte Shoppe," with the sign in the window, "We frame pictures." They do, but not on the prem­ises. This framer sends his stuff out wholesale to the framer in the paragraph above.

You will also find some places that stock antique frames. Some of these are two or three hundred years old. And very expensive. They are not suitable for most contemporary works; and, of course, it would be foolish to buy a frame which costs more than your picture. Obviously, if your painting costs and the frame $100, you know you've done something wrong. So save this fellow for the brilliant star in your collection. It's simply a matter of having your frame fit the picture. If you want to be extreme about it, think how an American primitive painting from the 18th century would look with a gilded, elaborately carved frame from France!

Henry Heydenryk, a recognized authority on framing, and Director of the House of Heydenryk in New York, says:

"A frame has to fulfill a number of requirements—it must protect the painting; it must limit it, according to its own intention, and separate it from its background; it must re­main harmonious and unobtrusive in order not to inter­fere with the picture. So, a frame is appropriate when it serves its purpose of protecting, limiting and separating so neutrally and quietly that the spectator is not even conscious of its task. And yet, it should be handsome enough so that when one does look at it, it is agreeable and supports the quality of the painting."

To this he appends more general notes on framing, which you should find valuable:

1.  The width and pattern of the molding must bear relation­ ship to the design and "weight" of the picture. A painting with simple, uncomplicated design calls for a plain mold­ing; lots of detail in the composition is best balanced by a rich design in the frame—ornamentation is called for.

2.  A receding molding (one slanting toward the wall) or a rather flat profile will suit two-dimensional paintings best.

3.  A concave molding (one slanting toward the painting) will enhance the feeling of perspective suggested by a composition in depth.

4.  Strong, bold patterns, as in Rouault's paintings, demand powerful lines in the frame to contain the composition.

5.  A delicate, feathery, airy composition such as a Verte*s calls for the same "frivolous" feeling in the frame.

6.  A linear composition, such as a Feininger, calls for this fine linear quality in the frame.

7.  Inserts of contrasting colors will help to separate the ornament or color in a frame from those in the picture and will help the feeling of perspective.

8.  Mats for water colors and prints should be chosen to accentuate the important colors—white is hardly ever right, as it tends to darken the picture by contrast and to flatten it.

9.  Only pastels and water colors call for special treatment as far as glass protection is concerned. A gouache or pas­tel can be as strong in color and pattern as any oil and should be framed accordingly.

Before we leave the framework of framing, a word about old masters. If you should happen on one of these and it shows signs of age and dirt, take it to a good restorer. Your museum can give you a great deal of help in this. I say only—please don't overrestore and overshellac.

Remember that, as in everything else, there are various fashions in framing. You'll find Louis XIV frames . . . and, more recently, the use of wormy chestnut wood. About 20 years ago, a blight struck the chestnut tree. Worms made tiny holes in the wood. Most of the chestnut was considered too poor to use, and was mashed into plywood. But Henry Heydenryk saw that this wood, even brand new, looked antique. He started a whole new mode in framing.

You will also find that many decorators, indeed, favor the fashion of using no frame at all when they design a contempo­rary room. Once again, the final decision will depend on your own "A.Q."

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