Gail Singer: Care, Collaboration, and the Labor of Printmaking

In 1967, a friend of Gail Singer described the frightening onset of symptoms which led to her diagnosis with multiple sclerosis. Singer was a frequent presence at Atelier 17, Stanley William Hayter’s avant-garde printmaking studio located in postwar Paris, and the attack happened at this communal space:

“Gail was printing when she felt a wave of pain and heat in her left leg, left arm, and left side of her face. Although she could do somethings with her left hand, it was numb. [Later] she asked me with closed eyes to put something in her left hand and have her try to tell me what it was. I picked up a large serving spoon...To my surprise, she felt the cold of the metal spoon but could not tell me what it was.”

Singer was familiar with debilitating health complications, having suffered manic-depressive episodes of bipolar disorder since college and suffered from treatments before the era of lithium, often appearing highly drugged on “the sleep cure” (i.e., barbiturates).

Despite these challenges, Singer managed to produce a remarkable body of prints, paintings, and drawings—in no small part, I contend, because members of Atelier 17 supported Singer in moments of crisis and when she was not physically capable. While reconstructing Singer’s biography and career, this article considers the collaborative nature of Atelier 17’s approach to printmaking through the lens of disability studies, showing it to be a particularly accommodating for those with mental and physical disabilities.