The duel of the centuries: When acrylic challenges oil in the ring of eternity
Imagine a Parisian studio in 1967. The walls vibrate to the rhythm of Miles Davis’ jazz, while a young man with tousled hair, David Hockney, spreads bold swathes of bright colour across a canvas with a palette knife. A few streets away, in a darker apartment in the Marais, an old master restorer murmurs as he examines a Fragonard canvas: “Just one more layer of varnish, and this rose will regain its 1770 glow.” Two worlds, two eras, two mediums locked in a silent battle that never quite meets. Acrylic, the prodigy child of American laboratories, and oil, the undisputed queen of studios for five centuries, wage a quiet war where far more than technical questions are at stake—the very soul of painting.
By Artedusa
••11 min readWhy, when acrylic has conquered the avant-garde and invaded contemporary studios, does it still linger in the collective imagination as “student paint”? Why does a cracked Rembrandt oil painting fetch tens of millions, while a 1960s Rothko acrylic sometimes struggles to find a buyer? The answer lies not just in chemistry or history, but in a subtler alchemy, where prestige, durability, and that intangible magic that allows a work to endure across time all intertwine.
Let’s dive into this duel, where each medium carries the hopes and limits of its era.
01The birth of a medium: when science invents the paint of tomorrow
It all begins in a Philadelphia laboratory in 1947. Chemists at Rohm & Haas, a company specialising in polymers, develop a revolutionary resin: acrylic. Originally designed for the automotive industry, this synthetic, water-soluble paint with its lightning-fast drying time quickly catches the attention of a small group of New York artists hungry for innovation. Among them, Barnett Newman, whose vast monochrome canvases Vir Heroicus Sublimis (1950-51) seem to defy the laws of traditional painting.
Yet the reception is mixed. “It’s housepainter’s paint,” grumbles Willem de Kooning, a staunch defender of oil. Critics sneer: “Acrylic is like fast-food art—quick, practical, but flavourless.” Behind the scenes, however, galleries are starting to take notice. In 1955, the brand Liquitex markets the first acrylic paints specifically for artists, and the movement gathers pace.
What’s striking is how quickly acrylic takes hold. In less than twenty years, it becomes the medium of choice for Pop Art, Minimalism, and even Street Art. Andy Warhol adopts it for his screen prints, Frank Stella for his geometric forms, and Helen Frankenthaler for her soak-stains—those diluted colour washes that seem to float on the canvas. “Acrylic is freedom,” she declares. “No more waiting days to layer colours. You can paint as you breathe.”
But that freedom comes at a cost. While acrylic seduces with its speed and versatility, it unsettles conservators. “How can we know if these canvases will last as long as Titian’s?” wonders a Louvre restorer in the 1970s. The question remains unanswered.
02Oil, or the art of taming time
To understand the lingering wariness around acrylic, we must return to the 15th century, to the mists of Flanders. It’s here, between Bruges and Ghent, that painters like Jan van Eyck perfect a technique that will revolutionise art: oil painting. Until then, artists used tempera—a mix of pigments and egg yolk that dried too quickly for retouching. Oil, however, offers unprecedented flexibility. “It lets you work light like you sculpt stone,” writes Giorgio Vasari in The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters (1550).
The secret? Glazes. By layering translucent washes of thinned paint, the Flemish masters achieve a depth and luminosity unmatched elsewhere. Look at The Arnolfini Portrait (1434): the convex mirror in the background reflects an entire scene, while the woman’s dress folds seem to absorb light like velvet. “Van Eyck painted the invisible,” people said at the time. And for good reason—every detail, every reflection, is the result of weeks, even months, of meticulous work.
But oil is more than just a technique. It’s also a symbol of power. In the 17th century, European courts compete for the services of oil painters, masters capable of capturing a king’s majesty or a queen’s grace. “An oil painting is a mirror of the soul… and the wallet,” jokes a Venetian art dealer. The pigments themselves are treasures: ultramarine blue, extracted from Afghan lapis lazuli, is worth more than gold. “To get a gram of this blue, you have to grind an entire stone,” explains a craftsman of the time.
Yet oil has its limits. Its slow drying time—sometimes months for a single layer—makes it a demanding medium. “You need the patience of a monk and the precision of a watchmaker,” confides a student of Rembrandt. And then there are the accidents. Cracks, those fissures that appear over time, are the restorer’s nightmare. “An oil painting is like a living thing: it breathes, it ages, and sometimes, it rebels,” explains a Rijksmuseum curator.
03The clash of textures: when material tells a story
If oil and acrylic oppose each other, it’s first and foremost in their relationship to material. One is a slow dance, the other a frantic sprint.
Take Van Gogh’s Sunflowers (1888). Each petal is an explosion of matter, a thick, swirling paste that seems to burst from the canvas. “I want my colours to scream,” the artist writes to his brother Theo. To achieve this, he uses the impasto technique: paint so thick it forms reliefs, like a two-dimensional sculpture. “When you touch a Van Gogh canvas, you feel the brushstrokes, the hesitations, the second thoughts,” explains an art historian. “It’s like reading his personal diary.”
Acrylic offers a completely different experience. Look at David Hockney’s A Bigger Splash (1967): the surface is smooth, almost immaculate, like a mirror. “Acrylic is the paint of the moment,” the artist admits. “It dries so fast you don’t have time to doubt.” This speed allows effects impossible with oil: perfect flat colours, fluid gradients, crystalline transparencies. “It’s like painting with coloured water,” enthuses Helen Frankenthaler.
But this difference in texture has consequences far beyond the studio. “An oil painting is a conversation with time,” explains a restorer. “Each layer tells a stage of the creative process.” Acrylic, on the other hand, often erases these traces. “It’s a paint without memory,” laments a collector. “It captures the moment but forgets the journey.”
Yet some artists have turned this amnesia to their advantage. Mark Rothko, for example, switches from oil to acrylic in the 1960s for his Color Field Paintings. “Acrylic lets me create pure fields of colour, without brushstrokes,” he explains. “As if the colour floats in space.” A radically different approach from Rembrandt, for whom every brushstroke was a signature.
04The battle of conservation: who will survive the test of time?
“A work of art is like a human being: the older it gets, the more valuable it becomes… provided it survives.” This remark, made by a Getty Museum conservator, sums up the stakes of durability.
Oil has proven itself. The Mona Lisa, painted in 1503, is still there, intact, despite the ravages of time (and a stone thrown at it in 1956). “A well-prepared oil painting can last centuries,” explains an expert. “The secret? Meticulous preparation of the support—canvas or wood panel—and stable pigments.” Yet even masterpieces aren’t safe. Cracks, caused by temperature or humidity fluctuations, are the restorer’s bane. “Look at Rembrandt’s The Night Watch,” the expert continues. “The edges are so damaged they had to be trimmed in the 18th century.”
Acrylic, on the other hand, is an unknown. “We lack perspective,” admits a Tate Modern researcher. “The first acrylic canvases date from the 1950s. How can we know if they’ll last until 2100?” Studies are contradictory. Some show that acrylic resists humidity and UV better than oil. Others, like the Modern Paints Uncovered project (2006), reveal worrying problems: yellowing, loss of adhesion, sensitivity to solvents.
“The real danger is ignorance,” explains a specialist restorer. “Many artists in the 1960s-70 used cheap paints mixed with dubious mediums. Result: some canvases are literally disintegrating.” A striking example? The works of Sam Francis, whose bright colours have faded over time. “They look like they’ve had too much sun,” jokes a collector.
Yet progress is being made. “Today, high-end acrylic paints are much more stable,” assures a manufacturer. “We’ve even developed slow-drying mediums, so artists can work longer.” But doubts remain. “An oil painting is like a fine wine: it improves with age,” concludes an expert. “Acrylic is like soda: it fizzes at first, but then…”
05The art market: when value transcends technique
“A Rembrandt oil painting is worth millions. A Warhol acrylic is too. But for radically different reasons.”
This remark, made during an auction at Christie’s, encapsulates the complexity of the art market. “Oil is history,” explains a dealer. “A master’s canvas is a piece of heritage. Even if it’s damaged, it has inestimable value.” Salvator Mundi, attributed to Leonardo da Vinci, sold for $450 million in 2017, despite doubts about its authenticity. “Collectors buy a legend, not just a painting,” the dealer continues.
Acrylic still has to prove itself. “In the 1980s, 1950s-60s acrylics were considered curiosities,” recounts a New York gallerist. “Today, they’re reaching new heights.” Mark Rothko’s Orange, Red, Yellow (1961) fetched $86.9 million in 2012. “The market has understood that these canvases are the manifestos of an era,” he explains. “They embody the spirit of the 1960s: freedom, abstraction, a break with the past.”
Yet a hierarchy persists. “A Hockney acrylic is worth millions, but an oil by the same artist would be worth ten times more,” confides an expert. “It’s a question of perception. Oil is noble. Acrylic is modern.” A paradox, given that some artists, like Gerhard Richter, switch between mediums without distinction.
“The real criterion is emotion,” tempers a curator. “A canvas, whether oil or acrylic, must speak to you. Otherwise, it’s just an object.” A lesson the market seems to have forgotten, too busy speculating on labels.
06The future: towards a reconciliation of mediums?
“What if the opposition between oil and acrylic was just an illusion?” This question, posed by a contemporary artist during a conference at the Centre Pompidou, resonates like a manifesto. “The boundaries between mediums are blurring,” he explains. “Today, we mix oil and acrylic, use hybrid mediums, experiment.”
Julie Mehretu, for example, layers acrylic, ink, and oil to create her dynamic canvases, where abstraction and movement intertwine. “Acrylic gives me speed, oil gives me depth,” she explains. “Together, they create something new.”
Even manufacturers are getting in on the act. “We’re developing oil paints without toxic solvents and more stable acrylics,” reveals a chemist. “The idea is to combine the best of both worlds.”
Yet one question lingers: “Who, in five hundred years, will remember our acrylics?” A query that hides another, deeper one: “What gives a work of art its value? Its durability? Its history? Or simply the fact that it touches us, here and now?”
Perhaps the answer lies in studios, where artists continue to choose their medium like one chooses a language. Some prefer oil’s slowness, others acrylic’s liveliness. But all know one thing: “A canvas, whatever it is, is just a support. What matters is what you put into it.”
And you—what paint would you choose to cross the centuries?