The Archivist’s Nook: Cat Shamans – The Fantastic Felines of Pre-Columbian Pottery

Magner M636. Chavín Culture, Feline-Human Shaman, Terracotta. (Dimensions: 8” x 7 1/2”). Date ca. 200 BC – 900 BC.

Predating modern cat memes by thousands of years, humans have always found a way to commemorate our feline companions. The Magner Collection showcases a few superb Pre-Columbian ceramic pottery pieces to excite any cat lover.

These ceramic artifacts likely originate from the Pre-Columbian civilization known as the Chavín Culture (900 BC – 250 BC). Located approximately 10,000 feet above sea level, this ancient archaeological site is fixed in the high Andean valley. In 400 BC, The Chavín culture emerged as a “crucial religious and ceremonial hub… strategically positioned at the crossroads of trade routes, enabling interactions between diverse cultures from the Ecuadorian border to southern Peru” [1]. Defining characteristics of this early civilization note the “intensification of the religious cult, the appearance of ceramics closely related to the ceremonial centers, the improvement of agricultural techniques and the development of metallurgy and textiles”. [2]

The Chavín people are renowned for their feline reverence as portrayed by their idols, mythology, artwork, and engravings. 1970s archaeological studies of the Chavín culture reveal their ailurophilic ways (ailouros, which means “cat,” and the suffix -phile, meaning “lover”)! The Chavín’s shamans were often depicted as “half-human, half-feline monster”, “Jaguar-Men”, or as “ancestral Jaguar(s)” [3]. Chavín idols, less often, also depict hybrid human-avian and human-crocodilian figures. The shaman is master of the magical, natural, and human world. These realities blend into a fluid state that a shaman can enter, leave, and embody simultaneously. The combination of shamanism and the ideas closely related to “man-animal transformation” are inextricable to the Chavín culture’s concept of religion.

“Say cheese!”
Magner M620. Chavín Culture, Feline, Terracotta. (Dimensions: 7 1/2” x 7 3/4).”
Date ca. 200 BC – 900 BC.

I have attempted to categorize our two pre-Columbian ceramic cats according to Kano’s 1979 classification of the material:

Magner M620
Jaguar jug: (i) Shillacoto Modeled Type: Black surface colors, generally realistic, details of the face described by incision, eye-brows and nose are depicted by a single U-shape, grooved incision, nostrils made by dots inside incision, the mouth is big and rectangular with teeth showing, teeth depicted as continuous design of interlocking triangles (Kano, 17). The whiskers present on Magner M620 are not accounted for nor is its spiral tail.

Magner M636
Miscellaneous Types (PL. XII) “representations of the human face with extremely feline characteristics. [Scholars] were justified in speculating that these may have been representations of shamans (Kano, 21).

Since early civilization, people have adored and treated their cats as if the whole world revolved around them. Cats caught onto this reverence and now also believe the world revolves around them. The cosmology of the Chavín people actually did worship felines as such. Lanzón, the Chavín’s supreme deity, depicts an anthropomorphic jaguar with a feline head, distinct fangs, and a human torso. Click here to see a full 3D scan of the Lanzon. Thought to be the foundation of subsequent Mesoamerican jaguar cults, the Chavín’s repeated artistic representation of jaguars and felines exhibits deep reverence for the characteristics of these animals.

These early representations of mythological feline creatures continue to inspire national pride. In 1963, Peru released a stamp featuring Chavín art of a mythological feline.

Purrfect Together

[1] Chavín de Huántar Is Peru’s Urban Center
[2] Wikipedia – Chavín culture
[3] Tello, Julio C. “Discovery of the Chavín Culture in Peru.” American Antiquity, vol. 9, no. 1, 1943, pp. 135–60.
[4] KANO, C. (1979). THE ORIGINS OF THE CHAVÍN CULTURE. Studies in Pre-Columbian Art and Archaeology, p.7, 21, 141.

The Archivist’s Nook: Throwback Thursday – The Class of 1925 and “The Big U”

Let’s turn our sights backwards 100 years to celebrate the (belated) centennial anniversary of Catholic University of America’s class of 1925– a campus known affectionally then as “The Big U”.

The (vanished) Brookland Stadium where the Przybyla Building stands today. The only surviving portion of the former football stadium is the all-too-familiar sloped grassy hill in front of the Pryz. The white structure in the background shows the now-vanished building of St. John’s Hall. Beyond St. John’s, in the center of the image, McMahon Hall stands tall. Image extracted from the 1925 yearbook, p. 128.

Campus looks quite different now– several buildings erected in the earliest days of the University have since become obsolete memories, new buildings have risen, and time marches on. Yet, change is not limited to the visible landscape of our campus. University traditions, the student body, and campus life from 1925 encapsulate a time seemingly so distant from our own. The early 20th c. collegiate atmosphere may appear quite foreign to us in 2026.

1925 Freshman Art

Yet, when we read enough history, we see through the veneer of what makes us all that different from the past. Cheeky stories and memories recorded in the 1925 yearbook colorize and animate the otherwise serious-looking black-and-grey images of the student body. Right before winter break, “Tex Kyle gets rabid as vacation time draws nigh” (Dec. 15, 1925) then, before they know it, “everyone gets back to the books” (Jan. 7, 1926). We’ve all been there!

Now and all throughout the year, first-year or prospective student tours are seen shuffling around in their guided groups from the Pryz to Hannan Hall and onward. In 2026, first-year students jitter with nerves and excitement about what unknown memories will unfold during their time at CUA. The newcomer’s biggest worries of their first year may include: meeting new roommates, navigating being away from home perhaps for the first time, not getting lost on our small but mighty (at first) sized campus, and getting the notoriously difficult class over with. In the yearbook’s 1924-1925 Diary, the beginning of the semester on Oct. 1st saw “everyone running wild around the senate room frantically filling out course cards so as not to miss any classes” (1925 Yearbook, p. 239). Some things never change even with the innovation of online maps and course schedules! On October 3rd, all university students learn about the disciplinary rules: “No cheers are heard” (1925 Yearbook, p. 239).

1925 Sophomore Art

1925’s freshman entered their first year with a wince and an imminent feeling of… food fights? A century ago, freshman and sophomores were in a sort of perpetual initiation. Freshman, Sophomores, and Juniors ran errands for their superior (in age) classmates and endured pranks galore. That is, until each successive class earned their way to the top of the class totem pole senior year.

A memory shared among the class of 1925 opens the chapter of the Senior Class History. The Seniors reminisce on an early ‘win’ in their freshman year. Speaking in the strategic language of warfare: “The day that we were organized is one that remains vivid in the minds of many even now as Seniors. Then did we dare the Sophs to come and get us … [where] we were strategically distributed throughout the flats.” And, when the “Sophs” came “across campus to seize a few of our rebellious [Seniors], a “very warm reception awaited them as they entered the building”. Ripe eggs and fruit rained down upon their entrance “eager to reach their marks”. The “Sophs” made hasty retreat and failed to make effective counterattack. Pranks extended down from one class to the next with “usual determination” as a way to “bring [each class] into conformity with C.U. life” (1925 Yearbook, p. 47-48).

1925 Junior Art
1925 Junior Art

When the tomfoolery subsided, each class made grand efforts to make memories together. The Sophomores prided themselves on their successful Sophomore Prom where “the gym [had never] seemed so beautiful and no better music has been played there than from the trumpets of Garber-Davis’ band that evening”. The Juniors enjoyed their momentary respite, the eye of the tornado, where they were both “beyond the early troubles” of freshman and sophomore prank wars and not yet “in the strife of that last strenuous year”. Juniors developed their serious academic interests in impressive, not yet oppressive, ways. The Juniors, a class made up of “so many dashing students,” whose professors “[praised] them for their “exceptional scholastic ability” were also notoriously humble (1925 Yearbook, p. 47-50).

1925 Senior Art

Entering their final year of University, Seniors “naturally” adorned themselves with “the cloak of dignity begetting [their] position on campus”. The “public manifestations of their spirit … countless sincere deeds … and expressions of right-minded opinion” crystallized into something “beyond the capacity of written record”. These philosophers’ take away of Senior life was: “the realization that knowledge begins with the dawn of ignorance”. A fiercely loyal and high academic achievement filled the spirits of the senior class as they gazed over their eclipsing four years at Catholic U. Notable 1925 CUA Alum include none other than Edward Pryzbyla. Known for his steadfast academic success and smile, he received an unusually warm and loving description underneath his senior year photo. Pryzbyla’s fellow classmates sent the young “Eddie” off to pursue his continued education in Law at Yale University with a proud au revoir.

If you’re interested in a good laugh, the writer of this blog suggests you read through some of the descriptions of other 1925 seniors. While each senior’s description is written with friendship and comradery, the yearbook writers are surely unafraid to live up to the “boys will be boys” proverb. Some of the students/faculty made it into the 1925 Yearbook Diary: “Nov. 25: Mahony gets a haircut. McGinniss tries to tell a story.” (1925 Yearbook, p. 233) or “Stapleton passes Math” (1925 Yearbook, p. 231). The Catholic University of America in 1925 was peopled with only male students which evidently anticipates the joking and brazen recordings of CUA’s boys becoming men.

Below are some of my personal favorite entries from the yearbook’s diary:

1925 Yearbook, p. 218.

The 1925 Yearbook Diary (pp.231-238)

1925 Yearbook, p. 222.

Oct. 23. Kozak calls New York.
Oct. 26. New York calls Kozak. Father Cassidy calls on Kozak to call off all calls.
Oct. 28. Someone in the (now vanished) Albert Hall, previously a building for lay student residency, is recorded “playing the scale to death on his loud speaking cornet”. Yikes!
Oct. 29. Bishop Shahan gives a reception to the Freshmen. “They run wild throughout the village”.
Oct. 31. The (now vanished) Observatory burns to the ground. The entry laments: “Big pep meeting for the Maryland game, with a bonfire, snake dance, and many joyful huzzas. Some nut from outside spoiled it all, however, by dropping an oil station and a gross of matches into the observatory.” To this day, no one knows (or at least has come forward) about what truly happened that Halloween night.

1925 Yearbook, p. 228.
1925 Yearbook, p. 224.

Nov. 15. We slop around in the first and soggiest snow of the winter.
Nov. 21. Stapleton passes Math.
Nov. 22. Stapleton takes up crossword puzzles, Einstein and Tolstoi.
Nov. 30. The Sophomores defeat the Freshman eleven, 12-6, but have a tough time doing it. Too much near beer and pretzels.
Dec. 4. The Glee Club rehearses “The Bullfrog” for the 999th time.
Dec. 5. Couture is mistaken for a bear in his new fur coat.
Dec. 9. The Glee Club makes it an even 1,000 on the Bullfrog song despite the protests of those upstairs in the Tower.
Dec. 19. Christmas Vacation begins at noon. The big U begins to look lonesome.
Jan. 20. Sophomore banquet and nobody hurt.
Jan. 22. Wojtanowicz receives his title, Count Alphabet.
Feb. 21. Abbey Cotillion. Wardman Park is overrun with dance-mad C.U. men.
Feb. 24. Freshman banquet. Tired of waiting so long they leave the campus at 3:00 AM. More will come of this (heh heh! the villain laughed)*
Mar 3. The Glee Club gets a new song. Regan bums a ride down on a coal-truck.

*Unsatisfactorily, there is no follow-up on whatever this parenthetical implied.

To the class of 1925: we honor you and the “memories [you made] that even time can never erode” (1925 Yearbook, p. 51).

Special thanks to graduate student Lara Loutfi for scanning these images.

The Archivist’s Nook: Love is “One Glorious Picnic Day” – A 1935 Letter to Dorothy Deex

LoC – Clarence H. White School Of Photography, Steiner, Ralph, photographer. Typewriter Keys. , 1921

On an early morning in 1935, a 24-year-old year old Robert T. Meyer begins his day by typing a letter to a Ms. Dorothy Deex. Robert, a young grad student at this time, was so tired he nearly “used [his] typewriter as a pillow”. He daydreams in courier new about his future in academia: “… why, maybe, I will be hired to teach the course in some university. By that time, I will have written books which, whatever their titles of subject will be, will be dedicated to Dorothy Emma,,,, only the name won’t be Deex anymore.” Recovering from his “slumber-sickness”, he details his morning to this point: picking tomatoes, reading Herodotus, getting a haircut “to really get a job”, taking a bath, breaking into a cellar with his pocket-knife only to stumble into a basket of fruit, milking the cows, retrieving the scoundrel cows who had broken out of their pasture— all accomplished before breakfast. This list would be difficult to believe had I not, reader, skimmed his collection of diaries (1932-1983) where he notes a remarkably early rising almost every day for fifty years. In a 1955 CUA Alumni faculty profile, Meyer was described “[arriving] to campus in complete darkness long before most of the university was awake,” where “he would be pouring through old Irish manuscripts”. 

This letter, so far, may not appear to be much of a love letter— but it becomes that. Naturally, without instigation, Meyer shifts from the to-do list of a working class man to expressing the truest profession of his love for Dorothy. Reminiscing on the previous weekend they’d spent together, Meyer recounts how “it was so lovely to be with you last Wednesday evening, those three minutes,” where not a moment feels taken for granted. The next day, he fondly writes about their “walk to the “U” together. Then, Friday, when they went on a drive to Notre Dame before returning home together. Absolutely each moment with Dorothy, by Robert Meyer’s standards, was something he “always wanted to remember”. Where the days are more lovely with her in it, days “parting from [Dorothy] lay like a dark cloud on a beautiful day”. Meyer, both a romantic and an academic, could not truly encompass his love for Dorothy without likening her to one of his favorite things– “when I see you now, [you have] … the refreshing smell of an old book with a new shiny binding”. And, like an old book, every page in Meyer’s mind “has [her] stamped in it”. Meyer remembers some philosophic musings from the 1883 novel Doctor Claudius by Marion Crawford which sweetly encapsulates both his smarts and his adoration for Dorothy. In this novel, Doctor Claudius says “that two souls are ready for real love when they suddenly realize that their past has been a common one for the last days, months, or years”. Well, that gave the young scholar something to think about. Robert and Dorothy had spent quite a bit of time together by this point– so much time that “it [was] really hard to think of anything, but that [Dorothy] belongs to that thought too”. What follows is a direct quote from Meyer’s letter, as no one can word something so beautiful as a soul in love: “A lot of young people think that the good times they have together, are something that is out of the common. But, the only good thing that lifted all our good times out of the common was that we were together. Together we did nothing out of the commonplace. But what was grand and beautiful about it, was that my Dorothy was with me. Dorothy, I do so believe that our life together is going to be successful. I said our life— not our lives. By this I mean that our life will be but one life blended together. Just to think that we will always be together is such a fine and  wonderful thing. It is the one thing that I am really sure of. It doesn’t matter that I finish school or not, that I have millions in cash, no darling, those things are all too complicated, and if real Love depended upon them, then all life, everything, even God Himself would be a mockery. But down in everyone’s heart, deep under the cheap glitter of money, pleasure, fame and glory, is the desire of loving and being loved in return. Isn’t it wonderful how much love counts upon two? Plants need earth, animals feed, and everything requires something. But man’s soul desires something far better than mere food to live. He needs love and that which implies loving in return…”

Unknown couple
[Unknown couple having picnic together]
Since their very first kiss, Meyer admits, he “put in a special prayer in my evening prayer that if it be God’s will someday you will be mine for to have and to hold forever. I mean forever too […] and what I wanted so much on earth, I will have in heaven, but then there will be no parting, no more work, no more school, no more worry, no more parting for another week. Just one glorious picnic day, a long vacation, grander than any honeymoon. Darling I must close now with kisses, Goodbye – Robert. RXRXRXRXRXRX…”

As we wish every love story to end, so I shall leave you here. Robert and Dorothy would marry on a cold spring day in April 10, 1937. Robert and Dorothy would have two sons, two daughters; and, by the end of his life, they would have three grandchildren. They lived in a quaint house near Gaithersburg, Maryland where he lived with “his wife, her looms (she is an expert weaver), their three children (at the time of publication), his four thousand books, and his garden” (CUA Alumnus Summer 1955, p. 12). They would indeed be together forever just as he had wished as a young man. What was once a typewritten daydream, signed off with hand-written kisses, we know now came true. He would become a CUA professor, he would write several monographs, and he would soon wed Ms. Deex into Mrs. Deex-Meyer. Long after their final days on this earth, their love lives forever in this yellowed and unsuspecting letter.

 

The author of this blogpost could not locate any definite photos of Robert and Dorothy together. The photos here are supplementary and not held in CUA’s archives.

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The Archivist’s Nook: Robert T. Meyer – “Bespectacled Linguist” and Friend of J.R.R. Tolkien

Robert Theodore Meyer was born August 6, 1911, third-generation in a lineage of farmers, in the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio. He grew up working on the farm milking animals, taking care of the garden, eating cherry tomatoes, and rising well before the sun. Some of Meyer’s earliest memories recall his “one-room red school house”, which was often closed by the Pastor for fear “strong winds would blow it down” [1]. Meyer’s introduction to classical linguistics— a subject which would become the passionate pursuit of his life— began during his time at Saint Ignatius High School where he took four years of Latin and three years of Greek. Meyer’s upbringing was of the humble, blue-collar sort; as such, he did not come from money and instead entered academia with unflinching stamina, passion, and a dream.

Written on the back of this photo: “μέγα βιβλίον, μέγα κακόν” (Big book, big evil) describing how this massive volume was stolen from Meyer on the CUA campus in 1967 and never returned.

His dreams would come to fruition. Dr. Meyer graduated from John Carroll University in Ohio where he earned his master’s degree in classical languages and philology (1934). He earned his doctorate at the University of Michigan in classics and Indo-European linguistics (1943). At CUA, he served as a Professor of Celtic and Comparative Philology from 1947-1976 and was a leading scholar on early writers of the Christian Church. While serving as a Professor, Dr. Meyer also held The Order of Hibernians Chair in Celtic Studies. In the summer of 1970, Meyer was a visiting lecturer in Celtic studies at Oxford, Harvard, and Cambridge University; lectured on such subjects as: Anglo-Saxon literary analysis, Old Irish, English philology, German philology, comparative philology; and served as assistant editor of the Middle English Dictionary. In 1971, Robert T. Meyer became a permanent Ordained Deacon of the Archdiocese of Washington, D.C. In 1976, Dr. Meyer became Emeritus Professor of Celtic Studies. Like many fervent scholars, he continued to lecture well beyond his retirement [2].

Dr. Meyer writes a Cornish saying in white chalk: “Too long a tongue, too short a hand. The tongueless man though, lost his land.” (circa 1961.)

In what is perhaps the best depiction of Dr. Meyer’s personality I could find, the author of The Washington Post’s article Ancient Cornish Tongue Revived [3] remarks on the quirky professor’s demeanor during their interview: Dr. Meyer, “the stocky, bespectacled linguist, [who was] somewhat wistfully flipping the pages of a deteriorating copy of the 15th-century Cornish miracle play Gwreans arbys … is [a] true scholar who is wholly absorbed in the joy of his work, never happier than when he is leading [students] through intricate ways of comparative Indo-European grammar” [4]. 

“A poster for a talk given by Dr. Meyer about his friendship with Tolkien. A reproduction of his notes for the talk can be found at the Catholic University archives.”

If we consider, for a moment, who else was an ardent student of classical linguistics around the same time as Robert T. Meyer’s visits to Oxford, we arrive at a famously known friendship of Meyer’s– that of J. R. R. Tolkien. In 1979, Meyer hosted a lecture at CUA titled: My Reminisces of J.R.R. Tolkien. Unsurprisingly, Tolkien was a bizarre fellow. Meyer’s recollections offer a rare window into the author’s life, quirks, and apparently frequent irritations. Tolkien was, to loosely paraphrase Meyer, not the imagined, dreamy, prototype of the Oxford professor. Tolkien “hated driving” and didn’t buy his first vehicle until after age 40. According to Meyer, no one— especially while in a crowd— is safe when Tolkien was behind the wheel. Regardless of who or what was in his path, the author would drive onward yelling “charge!” effectively scattering the pestilent phenomenon known as pedestrians.  Meyer recalls one occasion where Tolkien “reportedly knocked down a stone wall” in one such driving incident. Tolkien would give visitors five minutes “to have their say”. After that, an alarm would bellow and Tolkien would remove himself. Meyer made sure he “only talked about three minutes at one sitting with the scholar”… lest he overstep [5]. Robert T. Meyer’s collection at the CUA archives is an important and unusual archive for Tolkienist scholarship. 

50 years of Robert T. Meyer’s journals (1932-1983).

The Robert T. Meyer Collection consists of 22 boxes– ranging from letters to friends and family, photographs, publications, manuscripts, successful grants and scholarships, denied grants and scholarships, travel ephemera, every postcard he’d ever received, 50 years of nearly-full journals, publications, editorial work, financial documentation, love letter(s?), identification, a J.R.R. Tolkien lecture manuscript & retro flyer, and a certain five-page document. I would like to finish with this five-page document as I believe it shows the kind of remarkable, one-of-a-kind, professor Dr. Meyer was. From 1947 to 1980, Dr. Meyer kept a list titled: “My Students Who Made Good” (document in image carousel below). At the end of the long bulleted list, he writes: “There you have them, only a fraction of those with whom I have kept in touch. Take them as they are, teachers, priests, directors of religious house, librarians, business men, deans of colleges, a chancellor of a university, missionaries, high school teachers, chaplains, a member of a state legislature, presidents of colleges, archivists, writers, diocesan tribunal workers, government workers, some still working for an advanced degree but have already shown high promise”. 

Robert T. Meyer would pass away a few short years after wrapping up this decades-long list. In 1987 at age 76, Meyer’s life came to an end in Swansea, Wales following a conference at Oxford University. He was survived by the love of his life Mrs. Dorothy-Deex Meyer, two daughters, two sons, and three grand-children. 

The author of this blog post is honored to share the former CUA professor Dr. Meyer’s legacy. 

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[1] CUA Alumnus Summer 1995, p.12.

[2] Robert T. Meyer – Curriculum Vitae, Harpers Ferry, W. VA. September 1, 1981. 

[3] The Washington Post, Ancient Cornish Tongue Revived, August 19, 1961.

[4] CUA Alumnus Summer 1995, p.12.

[5] ‘Lord of the Rings’ Author Led Eccentric Life Style, Pocatello, Idaho – Idaho State Journal, Dec. 1, 1978

The Archivist’s Nook: Images to Inspire – The Accidental Invention of Lithography

Picture of the Sacred Heart of Mary, “NMC 609.29”, c. 1860.

One cannot get far in any museum or archive before encountering a lithograph print. In the case of the Catholic University of America’s Special Collections, you need not look further than our office walls in Aquinas Hall to see examples of such a familiar, kitschy, art style. From the unknown artists behind recognizable Catholic images (like the Sacred Heart of Mary pictured here) to Salvador Dali’s “The Biblia Sacra” 1963 series, lithographs have been ubiquitous in religious households since the turn of the century. Even though many of us have seen these prints, we may not be able to recognize or know, truly: What is a lithograph? 

The word “Lithograph” marries two classical Greek words: λίθος (lithos) or “stone” + γράφω (grapho) – the word “[to] write”. Simply put, lithography is a print-making process where a design is drawn onto a stone and transferred to paper by means of a chemical reaction. Accidentally invented in 1796 by German playwright Johann Alois Senefelder, lithography quickly became a success among contemporaries as it generated a new, more affordable, method for print production. Senefelder’s invention spurred from his realization that he could make copies of his scripts by writing his words on limestone with greasy wax crayons, then imprinting the words on a piece of paper. Limestone retains ink quite well; and, as a result, it makes an excellent medium for creating numerous prints from a single image. The playwright’s invention was originally associated with printing theater scripts, then music, maps, until finally establishing its mass adoption in the art world. Famous artists like Pablo Picasso and Andy Warhol later incorporated this technique into what became perhaps some of the most recognized lithographs in the world.

“This House is Consecrated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus”. Currier & Ives lithographic print. “NMC 2560.48” c. 1880s.

Lithography dominated as a printmaking medium between 1820 and 1860. Replacing the
copper engraving machine, Lithography was quickly adopted by the changing American economy during the later part of the Industrial Revolution. The dissemination of these affordable images supplied the still slow-crawl of a literate public with an opportunity to engage with and experience their religiosity outside of church alone. Now, artwork was available to the lower-class families to adorn their homes with Mary’s sacred heart, powerful biblical images, Jesus’ sacred heart, and so on. The eventual globalization of Catholic art “flourished in its many lithographic prints” creating “images that could at once teach, persuade, and inspire devotion”(1).

These black and white or hand-colored prints are not to be confused with chromolithography which was developed in 1837— forty years after Alois’ patent. Although Alois had introduced the subject of coloured lithography in his 1818 “Vollstaendiges Lehrbuch der Steindruckerey” (A Complete Course of Lithography), printmakers in other regions were eager to do the same. Ultimately, Godefroy Engelmann was credited as the inventor of Chromolithography in July of 1837; although, there is room for debate (2). A type of lithography, Chromolithography dramatically improved upon the original black and white artistic limitations of its predecessor. Strictly speaking, a chromolithograph is a colored image printed by many applications of lithographic stones, each using a different color ink (if only one or two tint stones are used, the print is called a “tinted lithograph”) (3). The chromolithographic layering process (done well) can cheaply create images resembling lavishly expensive oil paintings.

The Catholic University of America’s lithograph collection has both classic devotional images as well as some rarer lithographs depicting historic and hallowed figures such as: Daniel O’Connell, The Most Rev. M. J. Spalding D. D. / Archbishop of Baltimore, The Apostle of Ireland, St. Patrick, Pope Pius IX, Pope Leo XIII, and St. Jean / Sn. Juan. We encourage you to look through the gallery below to see selected lithographs held here in our special collections.

 

Click here to see a step-by-step “how to create a lithograph” courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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Sources:

  1. https://smarthistory.org/reframing-art-history/sacred-baroque-catholic-world/
  2. Ferry, Kathryn. “Printing the Alhambra: Owen Jones and Chromolithography.” Architectural History 46(2003): 175–188.
  3. https://antiqueprintsblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/chromolithography.html
  4. http://dixieartcolony.org/2021/02/11/doris-alexander-thompson-press-2/
  5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chromolithography