The changing face of the Perfect Dyer

In my search on the development of dyeing literature a continuous focus for me is the 'Teinturier parfait', the Perfect Dyer, a handbook that was by far the most printed handbook in the 18th century. As I pointed out in an earlier post, there are several books printed with this title, but the major book (the (incorrectly attributed) Delormois book) turns also out to be a developing book.

I recently acquired a copy of the 1724 version as printed by Claude Jombert (the 3rd volume of a larger 4 volume set on many more arts and manufactures). While the later Teinturier Parfaits (as printed after 1747, maybe even the 1737 Avignon edition) have 4 parts, the 1724 edition has only half this text and describes in 23 chapters the same subject and chapters as the later editions till part 2, chapter 8. To make it even more confusing, pagination is almost the same in all editions. The earlier edition, however, uses a much larger font, and much less dense use of the pages. But is also offers slightly more: the descriptions are much more precise on some points, especially on provenance. And while some are clearly wrong (possibly simply gone corrupt and unintentional - f.e. p. 296: sieur Haghe de la Haye), most point in the same direction for authorship: a manuscript by Henri Gobelin from 1631 (p. 336), as copied by his nephew.

This also would provide the answer why some recipes are outdated, but in a highly conservative (still almost guild-like) environment as 18th-c. dyeing, they would probaly have counted as 'the good old way' and complemented with newer versions rather than replaced. It also explains the way this kind of recipe-books grew, and why the 1716 version could still furnish a reprint of a 16th century Ruscelli tractate. It depicts a closed culture where novelties were tried and tested over and over before acceptation, and excellent provenance of recipes was obligatory.

The starless, bible-black and cobblestone patterned.

Bible-black is a term that is loaded with emotion. It evokes something deeply religious, maybe sometimes in a negative way but also an honest piety.
It is a term that, perhaps only in my mind, must almost stand for one definite colour. There can be none, however. I remember an issue of the fashion magazine View on Colour (now merged in Provider) that was devoted to black, and had a small sample card of blacks that were deemed fashionable in the coming years. All blacks, but oh so different in hues, shinyness, and depth.
But it is probably just a perception of blackness. As Dali once proposed that he thought that the centre of the world was the earring in Vermeer's picture (as the light in the picture seems to come from the earring, instead of direct sunlight), I would propose another counterpart.

The way the simple stone casts a shadow on a child's grave in Walker Evans' Let us now praise famous men, that could well be bible-black.

The strange thing is that those black bibles, supposedly so basic and stark, in fact, have traits of fashion. While Dutch black bibles tend to be matte, in discreet sharkskin clad. German black bibles are made from bovine leather, polished with arabic gum. English-made bibles tend to be made from longer-grained morocco. It is not only by country that black bibles are divided, also preferences in taste over time are visible when carefully comparing.

The exact numbers are unknown to me, but certainly worth exploring. I owe it to my fascination with a word.

The joyful side of strict christianity

Combinations of religion and art forms have always fascinated me, and its more abstract components are even more interesting. To paint Biblical scenes is rather straightforward, but the clearly religious feeling in modern art (think Mark Rothko or Bill Viola) is more complex.
But also 'merely' decorative art sometimes has unusual roots. This interesting article show the link between Herrnhutter protestantism and brocade paper industry.

Job Baster and Philip Miller. The Dutch-English madder connection.

English horticulturist Philip Miller travelled to the Netherlands in the mid-18th century and is known to have met Dutch physician and scientist Job Baster at Middelburg. Shortly after, Miller published a book on the cultivation of madder in the Dutch Zeeland province (1758), probably helped in his desciption by Baster (who, in his turn, translated several of Miller's works on garden culture).
He advocates the culture of madder in England, but warns against a simple matter of planting and growing. He notices the details of soil selection for madder, and distinguishes three kinds of madder, all cultivated and traded as roots and shoots. A first without mention of origin, but supposedly the Dutch mother plants, are preferable as planting material. A second (aspera), imported from France and Spain, is decidedly inferior. A third, native to the English coast, is described as still botanically the same species, but clearly unsuitable for culture.

Painted vellum bindings: German Pietism

A few days after writing on painted vellum and with the subject still kind of murmuring in my head, I came across this beautiful, almost modern art, vellum binding on a typically Pietist German book, the Güldene Rose by Christoph Schütz.
Not unlike Jansenist bookbindings, Pietism seems to have developed an aesthetical standard of its own.

Mostly clad in solemn black on the outside (remniscent of the Dutch sharkskin tradition in Bibles), they often have fine brocade endpapers, - and even more baroque illustrations. This booklet, however, seems to imitate tortoise bindings in an abstract way. The technique is probably a simple bleach-out (unfortunately also often heavily deteriorating the leather, as are the diverse way of bleaching, staining and marbling with vitriol that were popular in the 18th century).

Painted vellum bookbindings in the 18th century

The batiked vellum bindings of the fin-de-siècle may be unique in their blend of Eastern technique with Western style, the extensive decoration of vellum in itself was not invented in this period. Although I have not yet seen much attention to it in bookbinding specialist books, there has certainly been a wave of painted vellum bindings. I have seen several Dutch examples during the past few years in auctions (alas, no pictures for now), and it seems to be a personalised trait in protestant Christian works. While the Protestant wing is for me most known for their black 'sharkskin' bibles with eleaborate silverwork (on which a beautiful book is written by Bernard van Noordwijk: De erfenis van Kortjakje - in Dutch), there certainly has been a fine and personal way of decorating religious books, maybe inspired by the baroque (but still deeply devotional) Pietist works that were made and published in Germany during the same time.
Most of these bindings feature a central gilt emblem (stamped but not from a clear mould, as front and back sides often slightly differ) and floral motifs (mostly in red). Of course the silver (double) clasps would not lack on such special bindings.
The colours that were used feature a distinct yellow (more yellow than the usual blank skin colour), the green that was also used for almanac bindings, and fiery red for the flowers.
I hope to collect more definite material, including images.
As usual: hopefully to be continued.

Lion Cachet - 'Catalogus der tentoonstelling' - 1898

Lion Cachet chose not to make a homogenous series of bindings for the (rather boring) subject of a catalogue showing objects related to the (Royal Dutch) Oranje Nassau family. Three copies for the royal family were made in purple and yellow (shown below), other copies had more orange/yellow hues.