Wright Auction

A decade before Harry Bertoia ever began creating three-dimensional sculpture, he was hard at work producing experimental prints at the Cranbrook Academy in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, developing a passion that would continue for the rest of his life. 

Many of the techniques that Bertoia used were unique to him and the nature of the work encouraged an instantaneous expression of his creativity.

These spontaneous works, made within minutes, were created by trial and error, testing different tools and techniques to achieve desired effects. Rather than using a traditional mechanical pressing process, he would apply ink to a glass or smooth Masonite plate with a sheet of paper laid directly on top. Then, tools such as brayers, dog-hair brushes, styluses and different parts of his hands were employed to draw or “press” the images on the back of the sheet. Rice paper was almost always used due to its semi-translucent nature, allowing Bertoia to have limited visibility of what was happening but ultimately, there was always an unpredictable nature to the finished work, which never ceased to delight him. 

Many of the techniques that Bertoia used were unique to him and the nature of the work encouraged an instantaneous expression of his creativity. Each work was a singular composition with imagery ranging from linear works to fantastic forms to poetic tonal landscapes. He received almost no input from other artists, giving his body of work a rare purity and a deeper manifestation of himself as an individual. 

From his first year of printmaking in 1940, Bertoia quickly amassed a large collection of unique works. The compositions were strongly tied to the non-objective movement, which while it had become popular in Europe, was still in its nascent stages in the US. There were few proponents to be found in the 1940s and rather than any of the staff or students at Cranbrook, it was Hilla Rebay, then Director of the Guggenheim Museum of Non-Objective Art, who gave Bertoia the encouragement and promotion that he needed. In 1943, Bertoia sent approximately 100 monotypes to Rebay for review. After receiving the prints, she reached back out to him and in a surprise turn, offered to buy them all. Bertoia spent a sleepless night trying to determine a fee, finally deciding on $1000, and Rebay in turn began including them in the museum’s exhibitions. 

More than a thousand monotypes were created over the course of his 38 years of printmaking experimentation, likely making the collection the largest body of unique prints ever produced by a single artist. 

The Guggenheim shows succeeded in putting Bertoia’s name out into the world. He began exhibiting his works at Neierndorf Gallery in New York on a regular basis and was provided a stipend to ensure a steady supply of prints until Karl Neierndorf’s death in 1947. By the 1950s, Bertoia’s career as a sculptor was taking off and commissions were coming in but despite his increasingly busy schedule, he continued to work on his monotypes as a favorite form of relaxation in the evenings. His prints had often been a source of inspiration for later sculptures, but now he began to also employ the medium while in the studio during the day as a way to work out questions and ideas in regards to his designs. As such, there ended up being more monotypes produced during the decade than at any other time in his career. 

He continued to work in this way throughout the 1960s and as much as his health would permit, up until his death in 1978. Prints were made not only for personal fulfillment but also as a method of record-keeping for completed works and authentication of commissions to be given to the clients as all works were unsigned. By the end of his life, the body of work he had produced on paper provided a sweeping record of his thoughts and ideas throughout his career. It was a sort of journal that was deeply personal and sentimental to him as the monotypes informed much of his other work and responded to the rhythms of his life. Reluctant to ever part with his beloved prints, most remained at his home studio in a system of custom-built cabinetry. More than three thousand monotypes were created over the course of his 38 years of printmaking experimentation, likely making the collection the largest body of unique prints ever produced by a single artist. 

Beloved to family and friends, as well as the Chicago art and design community, Fern Moss Kalai—also known as Fern Simon—passed away on February 16, 2024. Yet her legacy as a passionate collector and a knowledgeable dealer lives on through the many people she touched plus the enduring influence of her longstanding retail boutique, Arts 220.

In many ways, Fern was born into her eventual vocation. Along with her twin brother, the acclaimed design expert, Murray Moss, and her late sister, Jean Moss, an award-winning Esquire portrait photographer, Fern was raised in an aesthetically focused atmosphere by her mother and father. “My parents had remarkable and prescient visual acumen,” Fern told Chicago Tribune Magazine in 2009, “and passed it on to us, so there must be a genetic component involved.” Her father was Merton Moss, an engineer who invented and manufactured X-ray machines. His “hard-core, ultra-modern industrial ideals” contrasted in a stimulating manner with the playful outlook of Fern's mother, Ann, in which the lively unruliness of art often prevailed over logical design imperatives.

If someone were to ask me did I know my twin sister Fern well, given we lived our adult lives in different cities, I would have to say I didn’t know, but I, like most everybody who knew her, suspected so, hoped so.

Certainly I knew her the longest. We grew up comfortably together in my mother’s womb and yet she was the one who left first, diving into the world headfirst, leaving me alone on March 29, 1949, for six minutes until I had to come looking for her, I’m sure inspired by a pre-natal excitement she triggered even then—as well as a curiosity and her faith that there was a world out there rich with the complimentary contradictions she so loved.

It was the first time and I believe the only time I lost her even for a moment. Until now.

But in following her for 75 years, I early on found evidence of her looking almost everywhere, in every direction, determined to find a signpost that one would find at a junction in the road, with a hundred different arrows pointing to “Modernism, German Expressionism, Brutalism, Abstraction, Giuseppe Napoli, Picasso, Maarten Baas, Portanier.”

Fern delighted in the richness of human artistry—Fern was looking for the best way to get lost, to wander further and further into unknown, or known but overlooked, ideas expressed in art and design by famous and unfamous creators.

Please understand: Fern Moss was not a Collector. She was a Guide, with an ever-blooming passion for art, a visceral connection to historic and diverse ways of thinking and to the unique ways artists expressed that thinking. Fern led the way for many of us into the human heart that she was able to unearth in art.