When I became an associate at Leverett A. Peters, Associates, Carl Zahn dropped in one day unannounced, just to see what was going on in this new studio on Boston’s Boylston Street, across from the public library. Zahn’s professionalism was highly regarded. He knew the best set of printers from which one could choose for a specific project, the best paper houses and typographers, as most of his design addressed museum-quality related color and black-and-white reproduction of paintings and photographs for which the Museum of Fine Arts became known. He was an unrelenting stickler for detail. The stories go that if he was scheduled for a press check, sometimes the pressmen signed out sick.
I had come to Boston without deep training in print and type reproduction, although I had worked for two years with an in-house letterpress printer and metal typographer who still used only foundry type and not hot metal. The war had interrupted the evolution of printing technologies, and during those specific times, things begin to change rapidly. For instance, although the Bauhaus talked about “offset” in the thirties, the first offset presses arrived in Boston at the beginning of the sixties, give or take a year or two—not before. Also, the technology was so new that only mediocre projects were delegated to be produced by offset. For most small studios like ours, gravure printing was out of the question. Until the mid-sixties most of our projects were still letterpress. It took about a decade for offset to begin putting most letterpress shops out of business.
The new printers had to learn from the assignments handed out by designers. That is why Carl Zahn was so important. Printers were made to eliminate problems of “ghosting” by learning to reverse small type out of heavy solids, or solve problems of accurately abutting and imprinting colors, like trapping without too much spread. Although printers will never agree that designers helped them achieve high levels of fidelity in their printing, they would not have reached those levels unless designers had demanded it.
Zahn became a very valuable resource for me when I worked independently or at MIT. He also made all the introductions for me, when in 1963, I traveled to many paper manufacturers, type foundries, and type museums in Germany. He was instrumental in helping my appointment along at Harvard. He was of a different generation, but he treated me always with great courtesy.
Because he also was a very close friend of Ralph and Jackie, we often saw him socially. We were invited to his house on the Cape as well to his address in Jamaica Plains. Felicitas, also a German, and Zahn would come and visit us often. I loved both of them. There was never anything phony about them. When they liked you, they sincerely did.
Zahn, Carl F.
March 9, 1928–February 27, 2012
Carl Zahn was born and raised in Louisville, Ky. As a senior at Male High School, a supportive teacher encouraged him to apply to Harvard University. He received the Pierce Butler Atwood Scholarship, which afforded him the opportunity to attend a college that was far from home. He was accepted to Harvard in 1945 and graduated in 1949 with an A.B.
He met his first wife and mother of his three children through their mutual participation in the Harvard Glee Club. After they both graduated from Harvard and Radcliffe, they married and settled into an apartment in New York City. He then began work at the advertising agency of Benton & Bowles and attended night classes at Cooper Union to hone his art and design skills.
In 1956, he was offered a position at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, as a designer of exhibits and related publications. Eventually he became the Director of Publications for the Museum and remained in this post until 1997. During this very busy time, he somehow managed to design books and logos on a freelance basis as well as teach at the Museum School in Boston. His work at the MFA included book designs of some of the world’s most notable artists, such as Andrew Wyeth, Yousuf Karsh, and Hermann Zapf. Their trust in his ability to document and showcase their work with a superior sensitivity to design, printing, and typography earned him a reputation as an artists’ artist.
After retiring from the MFA, he and his second wife decided to leave the cold winters of Boston and divide their time between his home in Boston and a new home in Sarasota. But, he could never retire from the creative forces, and after the death of his wife, he founded Museum Publishing Partners with long-time friend and associate Cynthia Purvis.
In addition to being a talented visual artist, Carl Zahn was a talented vocalist. His singing began at age eleven in the church choir, and he continued to sing in churches throughout his college career. During the 1970s and early ’80s, he joined the Tanglewood Festival Chorus and Chorus Pro Musica, and, after moving to Sarasota, he joined the Gloria Musicae.
He was a lover of all forms of art and frequented many art shows, including student exhibitions at the Ringling College of Art and Design and the Boston Museum School. Not only was he a lover of the arts, but he was also an avid sportsman and sports fan. He was an exceptional tennis player until his mid-seventies, when his knees told him it was time to take up golf. Like most golfers, he found the game forever frustrating but loved it all the same. He was even lucky enough to make a hole-in-one on February 9, 1999, while playing with his son-in-law at Sarasota Golf Club.
When sports was no longer physically possible, and concerts and plays too difficult to attend, he spent more time with another pleasure, which was reading and discussing the various books and articles with friends and family.
Carl is survived by his three children and their spouses: Lisa Zahn and her husband, Carl Soeder, of Beverly, Mass., Karen LeMonte and her husband, Craig, of Sarasota, Fla., Richard Zahn and his wife, Kelly, of Wellesley, Mass. and two grandchildren, Mason and Karsten Zahn. He loved his work, his family and friends, and simply life itself.