It is said that one of the first artists to have worked in series would be Claude Monet with his famous series on nympheas. In any case, I found this statement at an exhibition in Giverny, dedicated to Monet and Rothko. I think, however, that a number of counter-examples can be found; I am thinking, for example, of 36 views of Mount Fuji by Hokusai. It's a little curious as a statement, knowing that Monet was himself quite admirer of Hokusai — but not just from him —, Japanese prints in general. Besides, when visiting his home in Giverny, there are many examples.
Why do artists work in series?
In general, it is to be interested in a given subject, a given problem. At Monet, the subject is nympheas; At Hokusai, it's Mount Fuji. I am no exception to this rule: for my part, it is the study of a new material.
The series, therefore, is a collection of works crossed by the same subject. It's exactly the same in music: We call it an album. In an album, you can feel that there is a common unit to all tracks, something that brings them together. This indicates an important character of the series: the concept of coherence. All works in a series are consistent with each other, in any case from an aesthetic point of view.
Selection
Moreover, when I constituted the series LuminotypeI put away the paintings that were too far away from that unit that I had in mind. Sometimes the concern lay in the outcome of the work in question. It may also be that the canvas in question was too different and was worth its own series. — in the sense that its singularity could constitute a series in its own right.
I like this notion of series because it gives a framework, allows to target a given question, and requires to create an aesthetic at the service of our object of study. This leads to a formal reflection on how to design, assemble and articulate the elements that form our series.
I told you here about the vision of the creator, of the artist. On the viewer's side, consistency should be imposed on itself: the series, in order to exist fully, must be perceptible as such without any need to explain it.
The constraint is fertile
In any case, it is certain that the constraint in which we place ourselves is a motor of creativity. The constraint is fertile. Somehow, it is the tightening that opens. To reformulate, I will ask the following question: by respecting the constraints imposed on us, how can we invent, decline, enlighten, nourish, deepen our subject and bring it the necessary light?