DURING the 17th and 18th centuries, limners were just about indispensable to life in the New England colonies. These craftsmen‐artists traveled the countryside painting signs for merchants and turning out boldly colored, unshaded portraits of staunch Puritans, New England sea captains and humble farmers.

But the limners eventually disappeared during the early 1800's. The new daguerrotype, cheaper than the modest $3 to $25 limners’ likenesses, replaced their portraits, while many cities banned swinging signs as a menace to passersby.

Over the years, surprisingly little of the limners’ art was saved. Countless signs and portraits, thought unworthy of preservation, became scrap wood. By the early 20th century, the art survived only as a quaint memory.

But in 1957 the bold colors and the flat, unshaded forms of the obscured art reappeared. The Colonial limner returned in the person of Denise Curt. Now, for anyone wishing to have an “antique” limning, Mrs. Curt paints people as they would have looked had they lived in Colonial America. Instant Ancestors, she calls her portraits. She also creates authentic‐looking Colonial signs for businesses or homes.

In her studio, formerly a 150‐year‐old cobbler shop, at 41 Green Street in Milford, Mrs. Curt practices her art professionally with Colonial accuracy, including grinding pigments and mixing varnishes according to old formulas.

Limning means “to outline in clear, sharp detail:” The definition's derivation points to the source of the American limners’ craft—the medieval manuscript illuminators. Members of the English Painter‐Stainers Guild, who shared ideas of the craft with the illuminators, arrived in the Colonies in the 1600's. These skilled artisans became known as limners. To earn a living, at first, they painted anything. Not until after the Revolution did they find that signs and portraits were their primary business.

Limners were not schooled in portraiture. Because Mrs. Curt had such a formal background, she said, “I first had to forget rules of shading and perspective, the techniques a limner wouldn't use.”

She soon discovered that books on the craft were scarcer than the signs and portraits that remained. “Fortunately, I found a copy of a coach painter's recipe book dating from the 1700's,” she said. “This book, along with other neglected sources, listed paint formulas used by the limners and illuminators.”

Mrs. Curt suggested that the writers must have felt duty‐bound to the guild Idea of craft mystery, because they failed to mention a necessary ingredient —the preservative—and to specify the critical base without which paints would not congeal and dry. It took her five years of experimenting to discover the elusive preservative, and nearly as long to find that the base must be sour milk or buttermilk. Now, in true guitcl fashion, she keeps the name of the preservative a trade secret.

Limners were not schooled in portraiture. Because Mrs. Curt had such a formal background, she said, “I first had to forget rules of shading and perspective, the techniques a limner wouldn't use.”

She soon discovered that books on the craft were scarcer than the signs and portraits that remained. “Fortunately, I found a copy of a coach painter's recipe book dating from the 1700's,” she said. “This book, along with other neglected sources, listed paint formulas used by the limners and illuminators.”

Mrs. Curt suggested that the writers must have felt duty‐bound to the guild Idea of craft mystery, because they failed to mention a necessary ingredient —the preservative—and to specify the critical base without which paints would not congeal and dry. It took her five years of experimenting to discover the elusive preservative, and nearly as long to find that the base must be sour milk or buttermilk. Now, in true guitcl fashion, she keeps the name of the preservative a trade secret.

No trade secrets, however, are the pigments Mrs. Curt grinds to make the brilliant primary hues limners reveled in. Lapis lazuli dust generates an intense blue that matches the color of an unclouded summer sky. Frankincense begets a range of dazzling yellows; one shade is the color of ripe corn in sunlight. Red clay from Guilford helps make Colonial, or dragon's blood, red. She outlines these bold colors on paintings with pure black inks made from burnt grapevine leaves, an important step in the limning process.

Mrs. Curt's secondary colors are equally fresh. Ground shellfish create a regal purple. Emerald quartz dust and vinegar boiled in copper kettles account for pale to deep greens. Garnets panned in upper New England streams torn paints a vibrant pink.

Miss Curt's manner of dressing harkens back to an earler time. No jeans and sweatshirts for this artist. Instead, long, flowing dresses and wide brimmed hats have become her trademark. “I suppose that I'm a complete romantic,” the says. “I feel much better in clothes that move beautifully and gracefully.”

In true limner fashion, Mrs. Curt uses varnishes to protect her signs and portraits. “I make the varnishes by boiling a mixture of white lead, linseed oil, beeswax, and either gum copal or turpentine, which gives an aged appearance,” she said.

Portraits make up many of her limnings. The early craftsmen often surpassed the academically trained painters in capturing the personality of the subject. These early portraits share markedly similar poses because the limners directed all their attention to the subject's face, which they believed created the picture's soul.

“But secondary details are also interesting,” Mrs. Curt said. “For example, children posed with favorite toys or family pets. Professional men sat nears a table containing the tools of their trade. Ship captains held telescopes. Mothers posed with daughters, I also include these details in my limning.”

While the early workers painted on wood and canvas. Mrs. Curt limits her self to the former, She distinguishes Mir works by painting them on pleces of wood with historical significance, care fully identified. She, has limned on would from such diverse sources as the abolitionist John Brown's home and a mill in Sandy Hook dating to the 1600's,

“I love old wood,” she said, “I believe it should live on, taking on new meaning by giving esthetic pleasure and serviqg as a constant remind or of the past.”

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