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This digital exhibition explores the contrasting material and visual strategies used by Aubrey Beardsley in his illustrations for Oscar Wilde’s Salomé (1894) and William Morris’s woodcuts for The Kelmscott Chaucer (1896). By examining six selected illustrations, the exhibition demonstrates how both artists employed their chosen mediums to critique Victorian aesthetics, social norms, and industrialisation. The analysis reveals how Beardsley’s grotesque lithographs subvert Wilde’s decadent text, while Morris’s medieval-inspired designs assert a critique of the mechanisation of production, highlighting the role of materiality in shaping both visual and literary meaning.

Beardsley’s Salomé illustrations, produced using lithography on fragile Japon paper, amplify the decadent subtext of Wilde’s play. The stark contrasts of black and white and the sinuous, flowing lines found in works like The Peacock Skirt and The Climax exaggerate the erotic tension and destabilise Wilde’s dialogue. For example, in The Peacock Skirt, Salomé’s elongated neck parodies the Victorian ideals of feminine grace and beauty, embodying the grotesque sensuality that permeates Wilde’s text. The thinness of the Japon paper further heightens the contrast of ink, mirroring the tension between the play’s spoken words and the illustrations' visual subversion. Beardsley’s careful manipulation of material contributes to the critique of Victorian morality by making the grotesque both physically and symbolically sharp. Susan Owens notes that Beardsley’s use of the grotesque "renders moral rigidity absurd," reinforcing the play’s anti-establishment themes. These illustrations’ method of reproduction, through lithography, critiques industrialisation, as they depart from the standardised processes of mass printing and instead embrace a distinctive, hand-crafted visual critique.

In contrast, Morris’s Kelmscott Chaucer returns to pre-industrial techniques, using handcrafted woodcuts to align the materiality of the text with the medievalism evoked by Chaucer’s poetry. Morris’s work privileges the tactile qualities of paper, ink, and print, highlighting the rough, hand-carved beauty of the woodcuts and the linen paper that forms the base of each page. The dense floral borders and intricately designed initials in The Knight’s Tale and The Wife of Bath’s Tale echo the cadence and rhythm of Chaucer’s Middle English, creating a seamless blend between word and image. Morris’s deliberate use of medieval-inspired elements, such as indigo-dyed paper and handpress printing, rejects the uniformity of industrial printing methods, reinforcing his critique of modernity. As Julia Thomas argues, "The Chaucer's materiality is itself a political statement," as it resists the commodification of artistic production that characterised the industrial era. The rough, imperfect nature of the oak-carved initials in The Miller’s Tale complements the tale’s rustic, bawdy humour, embedding resistance to industrialisation within the book’s physical form.

By juxtaposing Beardsley’s and Morris’s works, this exhibition reveals two divergent responses to Victorian cultural anxieties. Beardsley employs the precision of lithography and the fragility of Japon paper to critique social hypocrisy and destabilise moral authority, while Morris's use of hand-crafted woodcuts and medieval aesthetics reasserts artisanal value and critiques industrialisation. Both artists, however, engage deeply with the materiality of their works to create a critique that transcends mere decoration, using visual and tactile elements to challenge cultural norms. This exhibition also draws on seminar discussions from Cardiff University’s Special Collections, where handling the original prints emphasised the physical resistance to industrial norms embedded in the works themselves. Secondary sources, including Joseph Viscomi’s analysis of Blakean craftsmanship, further contextualise these insights, offering a comprehensive understanding of how materiality shapes both the production and reception of illustrated works.

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Aubrey Beardsley, ‘The Peacock Skirt’, illustration for Oscar Wilde, Salomé, trans. Lord Alfred Douglas (New York: Dover, 1967), facing p. 2.

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Aubrey Beardsley, The Peacock Skirt (1894) 

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Aubrey Beardsley, The Peacock Skirt (1894) 

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Beardsley's The Peacock Skirt exemplifies how lithography and materiality amplify textual subversion in Salomé. Printed on Japon paper, a fragile, imported material prized for its smooth surface and ink absorption, the illustration's stark contrasts heighten the dissonance between Wilde's sparse dialogue and Beardsley's grotesque visual satire. Salomé's elongated neck, framed by sinuous peacock feathers, exaggerates her declaration, 'I will kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan', transforming textual ambiguity into a visual manifesto of erotic agency. The Japon paper's thinness intensifies the ink's sharpness, rendering Salomé's dominance both delicate and menacing, a tension emblematic of fin-de-siècle decadence.

Susan Owens argues that Beardsley's "sinuous lines parody Victorian femininity, rendering moral rigidity absurd." This is evident in the peacock's plumage, which mirrors Salomé's performative seduction while subverting it through grotesque distortion. The lithographic process, reliant on mechanised precision, becomes a tool for critiquing industrial modernity itself. Beardsley's choice of Japon paper, a luxury import, further satirises Britain's commodification of art, framing mechanised reproduction as both a product and a critique of imperialism.

This plate encapsulates a focus on materiality as cultural critique. Beardsley's original prints revealed how Japon paper's fragility paradoxically underscores the image's transgressive power, a tactile defiance of Victorian norms. Beardsley's The Peacock Skirt exemplifies how lithography and materiality amplify textual subversion in Salomé. Printed on Japon paper, a fragile, imported material prized for its smooth surface and ink absorption, the illustration's stark contrasts heighten the dissonance between Wilde's sparse dialogue and Beardsley's grotesque visual satire. Salomé's elongated neck, framed by sinuous peacock feathers, exaggerates her declaration, 'I will kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan', transforming textual ambiguity into a visual manifesto of erotic agency. The Japon paper's thinness intensifies the ink's sharpness, rendering Salomé's dominance both delicate and menacing, a tension emblematic of fin-de-siècle decadence.

Susan Owens argues that Beardsley's "sinuous lines parody Victorian femininity, rendering moral rigidity absurd." This is evident in the peacock's plumage, which mirrors Salomé's performative seduction while subverting it through grotesque distortion. The lithographic process, reliant on mechanised precision, becomes a tool for critiquing industrial modernity itself. Beardsley's choice of Japon paper, a luxury import, further satirises Britain's commodification of art, framing mechanised reproduction as both a product and a critique of imperialism.

This plate encapsulates a focus on materiality as cultural critique. Beardsley's original prints revealed how Japon paper's fragility paradoxically underscores the image's transgressive power, a tactile defiance of Victorian norms.

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William Morris, ‘The Knight’s Tale’, woodcut in Geoffrey Chaucer, The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, ed. F. S. Ellis (New York: Dover, 1973), p. 30.

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William Morris, The Knight’s Tale Woodcut (1896) 

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William Morris, The Knight’s Tale Woodcut (1896) 

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Morris's woodcut for The Knight's Tale embodies the Arts and Crafts movement's rejection of industrial aesthetics. Printed on handmade linen paper with indigo dye, the dense floral borders and symmetrical patterns harmonise with Chaucer's Middle English verse, reviving medieval manuscript traditions. The woodblock's organic texture, achieved through hand-carving, contrasts with Beardsley's sleek lithography, materialising Morris's belief in artisanal labour as cultural renewal.

The floral motifs framing the text mirror Chaucer's structured narrative, creating a visual rhythm that echoes the tale's chivalric themes. Julia Thomas notes that Morris's "craftsmanship transforms the book into a political object, resisting mechanised uniformity." This is evident in the deliberate imperfections of the woodcut: slight asymmetries in the vines and variations in ink density assert the human hand's primacy over industrial precision.

Morris's choice of linen paper, dyed with natural indigo, rejects synthetic materials emblematic of Victorian industry. The tactile quality of the paper, rough and uneven, invites readers to engage physically with the book, countering the alienating smoothness of mass-produced texts. As highlighted in Seminar 7, the Kelmscott Chaucer's weight and texture make it a manifesto of anti-industrial resistance, its materiality inseparable from its ideological purpose.

This plate exemplifies an emphasis on word-image harmony as cultural critique. Where Beardsley weaponises industrial techniques, Morris revives pre-industrial craftsmanship to reassert artisanal value.

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Aubrey Beardsley, ‘The Climax’, illustration for Oscar Wilde, Salomé (New York: Dover, 1967), p. 14.

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In The Climax, Beardsley's lithography transforms Salomé's textual obsession into a visual grotesque. Printed on Japon paper, the plate's fluid ink lines mirror the liquidity of her dialogue ('I will kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan'), while the medium's fragility underscores the image's violent eroticism. Salomé's towering figure looms over Jokanaan's severed head, her drapery cascading in chaotic folds that contrast with Wilde's restrained prose.

Susan Owens identifies this as "visual hyperbole critiquing patriarchal power structures."⁵ Beardsley inverts Wilde's ambiguous portrayal of Salomé, rendering her dominance literal and grotesque. The Japon paper, though delicate, withstands the ink's aggressive contrasts, symbolising the tension between societal fragility and subversive desire. Lithography's precision, a product of industrial innovation, is here repurposed to satirise Victorian morality.

The plate's claustrophobic composition, with Salomé's figure dominating 80% of the frame, mirrors the suffocating constraints of gendered expectation. Beardsley's decision to leave the background minimally detailed focuses attention on Salomé's transgressions, amplifying Wilde's subtext through visual excess. As discussed in Seminar 7, the physical experience of handling this print, its stark contrasts and delicate paper, heightens its subversive impact, merging materiality with meaning.

This image epitomises the exploration of industrial techniques as tools of critique. Where Morris seeks harmony, Beardsley weaponises dissonance, using lithography to destabilise, not decorate, the text.

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William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones, ‘Border for The Wife of Bath’s Tale’, The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, ed. F. S. Ellis (New York: Dover, 1973), p. 16.

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William Morris, The Wife of Bath’s Tale Border (1896)

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William Morris, The Wife of Bath’s Tale Border (1896)

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Morris's border for The Wife of Bath's Tale exemplifies the Arts and Crafts movement's fusion of image and text. Printed on handmade linen paper with indigo dye, the organic, intertwined vines mirror the Wife's subversive narrative voice, harmonising Chaucer's Middle English text with visual motifs of fertility and agency. The border's dense foliage, carved into woodblocks and pressed with a hand-operated screw press, rejects the uniformity of industrial printing, asserting the value of artisanal labour.

Joseph Viscomi notes that Morris's "medieval revivalism was not nostalgic but a deliberate critique of industrial modernity." This is evident in the border's irregularities: slight asymmetries in the vine patterns and variations in ink density celebrate human imperfection, contrasting with Beardsley's mechanised precision. The linen paper's rough texture, enhanced by natural indigo dye, invites tactile engagement, positioning the book as an object of sensory experience rather than mass consumption.

The border's floral motifs echo the Wife's prologue, where she equates marital sovereignty with natural abundance ('Welcome the sixte, whan that evere he shal'). By framing Chaucer's text with organic imagery, Morris visually reinforces the tale's themes of autonomy and vitality. As discussed in Seminar 7, handling the Kelmscott Chaucer's thick pages and indigo-rich ink underscores its role as a manifesto of anti-industrial resistance, where materiality and message are inseparable.

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Aubrey Beardsley, ‘Enter Herodias’, illustration for Oscar Wilde, Salomé, trans. Lord Alfred Douglas (New York: Dover, 1967), p. 8.

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Beardsley's Enter Herodias employs lithography's industrial precision to destabilise Victorian gender norms. Printed on Japon paper, the plate's stark contrasts and angular lines reduce Herodias to a geometric abstraction, her androgynous form clashing with Wilde's textual portrayal of her as a 'daughter of Sodom'. The Japon paper's smooth surface amplifies the ink's sharpness, materialising the tension between societal expectations and subversive desire.

Susan Owens argues that Beardsley's "grotesque minimalism parodies binary gender roles." This is evident in Herodias's elongated limbs and stylised drapery, which render her simultaneously feminine and monstrous. The lithographic process, dependent on mechanised reproducibility, ironically critiques industrial modernity by framing it as a tool of satirical excess. Where Wilde's text ambiguously condemns Herodias, Beardsley's visual reductio ad absurdum exposes Victorian hypocrisy.

The plate's sparse background, devoid of decorative detail, focuses attention on Herodias's confrontational gaze. As observed in Seminar 7, the physical fragility of Japon paper juxtaposed with the image's bold lines heightens its transgressive impact: a delicate medium bearing a visually aggressive critique.

This illustration epitomises the exploration of industrial techniques as vehicles for cultural dissent. While Morris seeks harmony through medievalism, Beardsley weaponises dissonance, using lithography to fragment, not decorate, the text.

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William Morris, ‘Pictorial Initial for The Miller’s Tale’, The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, ed. F. S. Ellis (New York: Dover, 1973), p. 52.

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William Morris, The Miller’s Tale Initial (1896)

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William Morris, The Miller’s Tale Initial (1896)

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Morris's initial for The Miller's Tale embodies the medieval revivalism central to his anti-industrial ethos. Carved into oak woodblocks and printed on linen paper with indigo dye, the rustic design mirrors the tale's bawdy humour, its rough-hewn texture rejecting the polished aesthetics of Victorian mass production. The initial's asymmetrical curves and uneven ink distribution celebrate artisanal imperfection, a deliberate rebuke to mechanised uniformity.

Julia Thomas notes that Morris's "craftsmanship politicises the book, transforming it into a site of resistance." This is evident in the initial's organic motifs, which echo Miller's subversive narrative. The hand-carved grooves, visible in the ink's varying density, assert the human hand's role in creation, contrasting with Beardsley's impersonal lithography.

The linen paper's tactile quality, coarse and absorbent, enhances the reader's physical engagement with the text. As discussed in Seminar 7, the Kelmscott Chaucer's weight and texture make it an object to be handled, not merely read, embodying Morris's belief in art as a holistic experience. The initial's simplicity, eschewing decorative excess, reflects the tale's earthy pragmatism, harmonising image and text through material restraint.

This plate crystallises an emphasis on materiality as ideological critique. Where Beardsley fractures Victorian norms through industrial satire, Morris reconstructs pre-industrial harmony, positioning craftsmanship as cultural renewal.

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