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Here's a question I've been thinking about since scheduling this session, as someone who is a card collector, appreciates art but not well versed, and appreciates vintage photos but only own a few: When Graig is deciding what to paint or when Paul is deciding what to add to the collection, how do you weigh the artistic value or merit of the image, in context with the social or cultural value or importance of said image?
Example: I love 71 Topps Vida Blue. It is such a cool and unique photo for a card. Not particularly important, but just super rad--but kinda iconic just for the cool factor. And I own plenty of cards because I appreciate their importance, even though they are not great to look at (I think multiplayer rookie cards are ugly but own several and appreciate them for other reasons). Of course, it's lovely when both of those pieces come together--53 Topps Satchel Paige as maybe the best example?
Graig, My wife and I are art collectors and I’m also a card collector with an interest in baseball history - that explains my interest and appreciation of your work. While we have paintings, our main collecting focus is on works on paper, including drawings and prints. I know you recently released some giclee prints, but do you make drawings/studies on paper? Have you considered working on lithographs or silkscreens? Thank you!
This question is for Graig. I've noticed that you sometimes write about the challenges of painting from a specific photo because of bad lighting, or bright flash, etc. This is probably a simplistic question with an easy "artist philosophy" answer, but . . . why do you feel compelled to "paint" the bright flash, for example? Why not tone it down--paint it is a more flattering light? I'll guess it boils down to wanting to honor the original image, imperfections and all? But I'm no artist so that's just a guess. Thanks in advance!
My collection primarily consists of Cuban and Latin issued baseball cards. I recently stumbled up on 2 team photos and a Martin Dihigo & Adolfo Luque type 3 photo. My question for Paul is how can I tell in the future if a photo that is not graded is a Type 1,2 or 3?
How much of price difference is there between the Type 1,2 and 3?
Do in game action photo usually go for more of premium compared to a non game photos?
This first question is for both Paul and Graig:
What advice would you have for someone who does not currently have any vintage baseball photos or paintings but is interested in adding some pieces to complement their baseball card and memorabilia collection?
A few questions for Paul:
What is your take on Type 1 vs. Type 2 photographs? I do not know much about this aside from the definition. I assume there is probably a group that feels that Type 1's are the only way to collect and that there is probably another group that feels that Type 2's are just as good and probably many that are along a spectrum. Would appreciate your perspective on this.
What are your favorite 3 to 5 photographs within your collection?
A few questions for Graig:
Was there a particular aha moment when you decided to pursue painting and if so when was it and could you describe that a bit?
What are your favorite 3 to 5 paintings that you have done?
Thank you for your time.
@chvadmin Great question, Matt! In my mind, the two are closely intertwined. I don’t think they necessarily come across in my work in the same way that they might in Paul’s collection. I think what’s so great about what he’s able to do is create and curate a narrative with what he collects—so in essence, he might have more agency about what he’s trying to say with a body of work than I would. The fact that I do this as a vocation is always going to dictate what I paint to an extent since more often than not, my clients are the ones picking my subjects, no matter how much input I’m allowed; however, there’s definitely much more room to play when I’m creating work for myself.
That being said, I’m usually gravitating towards creating paintings that have a composition or quality of light that inspire me. The subject matter itself usually becomes secondary, but that’s not always the case. Often I’ll read about a player or a moment and just want to paint them, whether it’s something that’s crucial for the game’s history (in my mind) or whether it’s simply a matter of representation for the lesser-knowns.
So, in essence, for me, my choices are all over the place. 😜
After you have collected for some time, I think it helps to ask yourself, “What am I trying to say with my collection? What stories am I trying to tell?” I think that framing the issue like that gives you a way to think about the question you raised, for which there is no one right answer.
One of the stories I have tried to tell, for example, is the story of baseball’s color line.
There are some magnificent images of Satchel Paige that I acquired from the LIFE Picture Collection; they are important historically and as works of art. They communicate visually why Paige could not be first—he was too large and independent a personality.
There is also an image of Willard Brown and Hank Thompson, the third and fourth black players in the Major Leagues, the first to play together, and in St. Louis, baseball’s most Southern city. The Browns let them go after a month, in what was certainly a blow to baseball’s great experiment. The image is not artistically executed; in fact, the flash seems to render them as overwhelmed, caught in the glare of the moment. But there is also no better image for me to tell that story-within-the-story. Though not artistic, it is what I needed.
@charlesmconlon I hear you. My collection is mostly Cuban cards. Anything I find 1945-46 that's in budget, I buy it just for the history (that set is maybe the coolest thing in my collection). I want to gather as much of that story as I can. I'm presenting in a couple of weeks on integrated baseball before Jackie, and I need images to help tell that story. Some aren't particularly great to look at, but they inform the presentation and help tell the story to my audience. For sets I don't collect, there are cards I'm glad to add because they are significant, and others that just blow me away visually. It's admittedly hard to focus or specialize with Cuban cards because you can't just jump on eBay and buy what you want. It's a slow focus in a fast-paced world (in this sense, collecting this stuff has been a great reminder to slow down, in general). Cheers!
My advice to all sports photography collectors: forget the ‘Type System,’ which is based on a definition that the authenticators themselves do not have the ability to meet. Accepting the Type System may cause you to overpay for Type 1s and miss outstanding Type 2s.
Instead, try to learn how to identify when a photograph was taken and, roughly, when it was printed. Generally speaking, photographs printed around the time the negative was executed—say, 5-10 years, are worth more than what are called ‘later’ prints and these, in turn, are worth more than ‘posthumous’ prints. Yes, everyone now believes that prints can be dated to within two years, but that does not make it so.
Various books can help you determine the possible dates for photographic agency or photographer’s stamps on the back (verso) of a print, but there is a problem with using that method, as described below.
When I criticize the ideas inherent in the ‘Type System,’ people often respond by saying that the system was a good first step in our understanding of photographic prints. Quite to the contrary, the Type System contributed nothing to our understanding, and it vastly oversimplified what had long been well understood.
By the end of World War II, if not well before, photographic archives were taking steps to separate vintage and contemporary prints. Everyone who collected photographs, including MOMA, which had launched its photography department before Pearl Harbor, understood that photographs printed around the time the negative was created carried a desirable quality. To put this in perspective, this is prior to the invention of the transistor, the microwave oven, the credit card, the first commercial computer, and oral contraceptives.
Years before the Type System, the beginnings of a method to date photographic prints had been developed, including examination of prints under ultraviolet light to detect the presence of optical brighteners—chemicals that did not become commonplace until the 1950s—and analysis of paper fibers under microscopy. Conservators and scholars have been working tirelessly to further develop analytical methods and libraries of twentieth century photographic papers to assist in creating knowledge about the evolution of materials used.
In a world in which this knowledge already existed, two baseball hobbyists developed their own vocabulary to describe what everyone in photography collecting already knew. Rather than using the term ‘vintage print,’ which was generally understood to be a print made around the time of the negative, generally within five years (as old Christie’s and Sotheby’s catalogs described it as part of their conditions of sale), they came up with the term ‘Type 1.’ For whatever reason, they randomly chose to further limit the definition to two years.
The problem with this new definition, among other things, was that it is typically impossible to date a print to within two years, unless one assumes the authenticity of an ink stamp on the verso. If you assume the authenticity of the stamp, of course, you are not authenticating anything at all.
The inventors of the Type System had the foresight to insert the word ‘approximately’ before ‘two years,’ and that word has been forced to do quite a bit of work as those profiting from the Type System began to understand just how limiting their definition is.
For starters, only news photographs have date stamps on the verso and many photographers did not stamp their prints at all, so photographs printed for private use or museum or exhibition display frequently lacked the dating mechanism on which the authenticators relied. This is one reason why so few Type 1s of Three Bows Out are thought to exist—because Nat Fein did not stamp so many of the prints he made in the first few years after 1948; it is not that they do not exist, it is that the Type System has no way to think about Fein prints that were made for purposes other than publication in the absence of a letter from the Fein estate.
Furthermore, many photographic news agencies and photographers did not change their address every two years. So the authenticator began quietly expanding the definition of type 1 to five or more years; indeed, there are encapsulated Type 1 prints in which *the image itself* cannot be dated to within five years, making it impossible to date the print to within two years. Just how expansive is the word ‘approximately’? If something is within “approximately two years,” can it be a difference of five or ten years? Should the margin of error be larger than the original estimate?
I have previously described the Type System as superficial, reductive, arbitrary, and binary; it is all of these things. Nothing is served by stuffing everything you know about a print into one of four buckets. Instead, every print should be sold with a description of the date of the image, the estimated date of the print, the name of the printer if known, the print’s provenance and publication history if known, any conservation or alteration of the print, including either original or contemporary trimming (distinguishable by the presence or absence of mint condition borders), mechanical damage and image deterioration. It is really that simple.
As for price differences, there is no one right answer. Nor is there an answer to what any of these objects that lack intrinsic value—meaning that they do not produce cash flows—are worth monetarily. Buying and selling photographs is based on the ‘greater fool’ theory. Buy what you love and pay amounts that allow you to survive your mistakes.
@vohnhenk Hey Aaron! These days I really don’t do much drawing. I used to do it every second of the day when I was younger, and you literally couldn’t find me without paper and a pencil in front of my face. But for whatever reason, I really fell out of love with drawing in general. I find that I just want to paint. Even when I do my underdrawings for the paintings, it’s the most painful part of the process.
I am hoping to release some more giclées in the future, and maybe even some in lithograph form, but the right opportunity really has to present itself for the latter. I was hoping I’d be able to make another release later this year, but I’m not sure if that’s gonna happen considering how behind I am these days. Woof.
@goldsaga My thought on the ‘Type System’ is to learn why it is meaningless. I went into some detail on this point in an answer to Victor Pina above. Vintage prints are, of course, more desirable than later prints but many vintage prints are not ‘Type 1.’
My favorite photographs are a print of Javan Emory, a black catcher who played in the 1880s, and whom I spent 500 hours researching and writing about. Looking at this image helped teach me how to see.
Other favorites are Conlon’s extreme closeups of eyes (Meyers, Crawford, Wagner, Gehrig), grips (Walsh, Cicotte), and hands (Archer, Rariden, Kauff, and others).
Then there is a group of images of Satchel Paige by George Strock for LIFE magazine. I could go on and on.
@kevmcewing Hey Kevin! My problem with the flash is moreso what it does to form. In essence, you’re shining a super bright light at your subject for a second to capture your photograph, and as a result, there are then multiple light sources to contend with. Usually the flash wins the battle, and since it’s so incredibly bright, all of the wonderful nuance to be found in light and shadow tends to get lost. It would be possible to paint a scene and subtract the flash, but it would have to be completely restaged and photographed to capture all of that stuff properly—making it up would just be too weird, I feel. Granted, I’m sure there are some artists who are able to it convincingly enough, but I’m just not one of them.
Sometimes I don’t mind it. Typically when I’m dealing with a single portrait with a simplistic background, it’s not the end of the world. But more often than not, it’s too much of a fingerprint of the photographer, if that makes sense. Not as much of a naturalistic scene as I’d like it to be.
@goldsaga Hey Garrett! Thanks so much for the questions.
In terms of advice for what to add when it comes to artwork, I guess it depends on what you're really going for in your collecting pursuits. If it's something that's personal and for your enjoyment, I'd say to find artists who create work that you like and go from there. I know that many of them have options for acquiring their stuff that aren't limited to originals--tons of them have cards (whether they offer those themselves or through the likes of Topps/UD and the such), most of them offer prints and lithographs, and some even have books and/or portfolios of their work for sale. In the end, if you don't see what you like, a commission is always a great way to not only get something you're sure that you'll enjoy, but also it's a great way to get to know the artist. That last part is something I'm a big fan of.
If you're looking to get into it for investment purposes, it's a bit different. I'd probably look for the artists who seem like 'safe bets' as a starting goal. Those who have had long careers and those who are consistent with the quality and style of their work are going to be the blue chips. It's more of a marathon than a sprint with that sort of thing, so you have to have a lot of patience with what you've acquired and hope that the artist continues to grow and thrive. It's a little tougher to gauge with newer artists, but really, I'd just start with the artwork of folks you genuinely *like*.
My biggest 'ah hah' moment came when I was a senior at the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan. I had entered the school determined to make a career for myself as a fantasy/sci-fi book cover illustrator, but early on into being there, I realized that it wasn't where my heart was. I floundered a bit during my junior and senior years there, and just couldn't find a focus that tugged on my heart strings. I still worked my butt off and painted as often as humanly possible, but very few things even lit a spark. Then, in my last year, I was in my portfolio class and we were given an assignment to illustrate a relationship. The teacher would give very general directions for what he asked of us, so we could run off and do whatever we wanted to with it. For whatever reason, one of the first things that came to mind was the relationship between a pitcher and a batter. Immediately I was brought back to those days as a kid when I was drawing from my father's late-40s/early-50s Bowman and Topps issues. So I figured I would do a painting of Mickey Mantle for my father (his hero). And since I knew how anal baseball fans were about...um...everything, I knew that the painting had to be historically accurate in every way possible. Mantle had to look like Mantle. The jersey had to fit right. The batting stance had to look right. The ballpark had to look right. The research process was just something I absolutely fell in love with. And for whatever reason, it hit all of the notes I had never hit with anything else. When the painting was completed, it was well-received by the teacher and the folks in the class, and more importantly, it was the start of something much bigger. I wasn't necessarily thinking I was going to be a baseball artist or even make a living off of this new direction, but I finally was *excited* to do the next painting. That's never gone away, thankfully.
In regards to my favorite paintings, it's honestly really hard to pick. One of my favorites of the last few years has been a portrait I did of José Méndez with Almendares in 1910. Based off of his exceedingly rare 1910 Punch Cigarros card, there was just something about the image that spoke to me, something about it that had a real presence. And I think I was able to translate that into the painting.
