mardi 11 décembre 2007
samedi 1 décembre 2007
jeudi 22 novembre 2007
Emil NOLDE, Masque de l'indolence, dessin, 1896
Emil NOLDE, Nature morte aux masques, 1911
James ENSOR, Les Masques singuliers, 1892
Emil NOLDE, Coucher de soleil, 1909
James ENSOR, Le Christ calmant la Tempête, 1891
Emil NOLDE, Enfants dansant sauvagement, 1909
Emil NOLDE, La Danse autour du Veau d'or, 1910
Emil NOLDE, Danseuse, 1913
Emil NOLDE, Nature morte avec Danseuses, 1913
Emil NOLDE, La Pentecôte, 1909
Emil NOLDE, Le Christ parmi les enfants, 1910
Emil NOLDE, Le Christ et Judas, 1911
Emil NOLDE, La Légende de Marie l'Égyptienne : Le Port d'Alexandrie, 1912
Emil NOLDE, Prophète, gravure sur bois, 1912
Emil NOLDE, Égyptienne, gravure sur bois, 1910
Emil NOLDE, Au Café, 1911
Emil NOLDE, Figures exotiques, 1911
Emil NOLDE, Le Souverain, 1914
Alfred KUBIN, Die Spinne (Toile d'araignée), 1902
Odilon REDON, L'Araignée souriante, 1881
Alfred KUBIN, Le Charmeur de serpents, 1908
Alfred KUBIN, La Flamme, v. 1901
Alfred KUBIN, La Terre-Mère, v. 1900
Alfred KUBIN, Le Chemin vers l'Enfer, 1904
Alfred KUBIN, Krystalle, 1906
Alfred KUBIN, Orage, 1906
Franz MARC, Le Destin des animaux, 1913
Franz MARC, Tyrol, 1914
Franz MARC, Formes en lutte ou Formes combattantes ou Combat de formes, 1914
Wassily KANDINSKY, Composition VII, 1913
Alfred KUBIN, Animal fantastique, 1905
Alfred KUBIN, Dessin à la plume pour l'Almanach du Blaue Reiter, v. 1909
Alfred KUBIN, Ermite (image reproduite dans l'Almanach du Blaue Reiter), 1908
Alfred KUBIN, Astarté, 1915
Arnold SCHÖNBERG, Haine, 1911
Arnold SCHÖNBERG, Le Regard rouge (Vision rouge), 1910
Arnold SCHÖNBERG, Les Pleurs, 1911
Arnold SCHÖNBERG, Vision, 1911
Gustav KLIMT, Danaé, 1908
Egon SCHIELE, Jeune fille nue debout, 1910
Egon SCHIELE, Mère et enfant, 1910
Egon SCHIELE, Femme au chapeau orange, 1910
Egon SCHIELE, Autoportrait, 1910
Egon SCHIELE, Autoportrait, 1911
Egon SCHIELE, Conversion, 1912
Egon SCHIELE, La Sainte Famille, 1913
Egon SCHIELE, Deux jeunes filles gisant entrelacées, 1915
Egon SCHIELE, Nue avec un turban vert, 1914
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Portrait de Herwarth Walden, 1910
Première page du numéro 20 (14 juillet 1910) de Der Sturm avec le texte de Assassin, Espoir des Femmes et un dessin d'Oskar KOKOSCHKA destiné à l'évocation de ce drame
Photographie de Herwarth Walden devant le Herwath Walden de William Wauer, 1917
William WAUER, Herwarth Walden, 1917
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Autoportrait (Affiche Der Sturm), 1910
Photographie de Oskar Kokoschka et Herwarth Walden dans les locaux de Der Strurm à Berlin
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Pieta, affiche annonçant la représentation du drame Assassin, Espoir des Femmes, à Vienne, juin 1909
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Deux dessins pour Assassin, Espoir des Femmes, 1909
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Assassin, Espoir des Femmes, Encre et aquarelle sur papier, 1909
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Die Träumenden Knaben ; Couples en conversations, lithographie en couleurs, 1908
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Die Träumenden Knaben ; Les Assoupis, lithographie en couleurs, 1908
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Die Träumenden Knaben ; Les Éveillés, lithographie en couleurs, 1908
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Die Träumenden Knaben ; La Fille Li et Moi, lithographie en couleurs, 1908
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Portrait de Ludwig Ritter von Janikowski, 1909
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Portrait de Peter Altenberg, 1909
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Portrait du Docteur Auguste Forel, 1919
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, La Fiancée du vent ou La Tempête, 1914
Oskar KOKOSCHKA, Le Chevalier errant, 1915
jeudi 25 octobre 2007
mercredi 17 octobre 2007
mardi 16 octobre 2007
jeudi 11 octobre 2007
vendredi 5 octobre 2007
In the often anxious realm of German Expressionism, a world of virility, domination and apocalyptic visions, Gabriele Munter stands alone. One of a very few, remarkable women associated with the movement, she helped establish a style but made no theoretical or metaphysical claims for it, going unpretentiously about her business as an artist, painting still lifes, portraits and landscapes with bold shapes and glowing colors. Her vibrant experiments are currently the focus of a retrospective curated by Expressionist scholar Reinhold Heller, whose substantial research has produced a catalogue that is now the definitive source for Munter studies in English. With loans from German, Austrian and American collections, the exhibition includes 82 paintings, prints and drawings from Munter's early maturity--the Expressionist years coinciding with her artistic and romantic partnership with Wassily Kandinsky. Munter lived to regret that relationship passionately, and it is impossible to consider her work without reference to its impact on her art and life.
She apprenticed herself to the future pioneer of abstraction in 1902, when she enrolled at age 26 in his evening life-drawing class at the Phalanx School, which he had just opened in Munich. "There and then I had a new artistic experience," she is often quoted as saying, "how--unlike other teachers--Kandinsky explained things in detail, clearly, and treated me as though I were a consciously striving person who can set herself problems and goals. That was something new for me and it impressed me." Her astonishment at being taken seriously, with all due respect to Kandinsky's pedagogical skills, is poignant testimony both to the inadequacy of her earlier training (barred from the art academies on account of her sex, Munter resorted to lessons from private tutors and ladies' art associations) and to the then prevailing contempt for women artists. In the exhibition catalogue, Heller describes the misogynist forces that worked to discourage women's artistic aspirations, citing, for example, the art critic Karl Scheffler in 1908: Since woman cannot be original, she can only attach herself to men's art. She is the imitatrix par excellence, the empathizer who sentimentalizes and disguises manly art forms. In Goethe's words, she "is not capable of a single idea" and "takes the knowledge and experience of man as ready-made and adorns herself with it." She is the born dilettante.
Widely read art magazines such as Jugend and Simplicissimus likewise ridiculed women artists, and in this context Munter's persistence seems additionally impressive. Finding a sympathetic mentor in Kandinsky, she pinned her hopes on him. Eleven years her senior, he may well have been a parental surrogate--Munter's father had died when she was nine, her mother when she was 20. The ensuing saga is well known: within a short time, Kandinsky, though married, pressed his student for a romance; by the summer of 1903, they were secretly engaged, pending his divorce. Fourteen years later, Munter was still waiting for him to fulfill his commitment when he abandoned her to marry another woman. As revealed in Heller's biographical chronology, a veritable page-turner incorporating heartfelt letters and diary entries, Kandinsky did not conduct himself nobly in this affair. He even neglected to tell her when it was over. After the war, he stopped writing to her from Russia, ignoring her efforts to contact him, and she learned secondhand of his marriage to Nina von Andreevskaya. His behavior was duplicitous, confused at best, and Munter suffered from it bitterly.
Sue TAYLOR, « Gabriele Münter : Espoused to Art - German Expressionist painter », Art in America, janvier 1999
[1.] My allusion, of course, is to Carol Duncan, "Virility and Domination in Early 20th-Century Vanguard Painting," Artforum, December 1973, pp. 30-39.
Much can made of the fact that too little attention has been paid to Gabriele Munter, one of the only significant female participants in German Expressionism. As a young woman, Munter, who was born in 1877 in Berlin, was a founding artist member of the Neue Kunstlervereinigung (New Artists' Society) in Munich in 1909 and the Blaue Reiter (Blue Rider) group in December 1911. But for most of us she has remained largely defined by her teacher/acolyte relationship with Wassily Kandinsky. It was a professional and personal relationship that in many ways paralleled that of Camille Claudel and Auguste Rodin. Munter's dual role as Kandinsky's student and eventually the betrayed mistress of the married artist turned out to be personally traumatic, as well as both good and bad for her work as an artist.
There is no question that Munter's work now needs to be re-evaluated in a context that takes into account recent feminist consciousness. Thus, this traveling exhibition, which began in Milwaukee in 1997 and has toured the United States, should and could have raised our contemporary awareness of a new, re-examined Gabriele, in light of, if not feminist theory, then at least of an awareness of the specific circumstances that circumscribed her art.
While her paintings, prints, and drawings certainly emit a strong visual appeal more than seventy years after they were made, the traveling show of eighty-two works lacked the animating tension and fresh interpretation that could have made this a very good exhibition indeed. Unfortunately, it broke no new ground. Instead, it essentially rehashed what has already been known about Munter for a U.S. audience.
In the catalogue preface, Milwaukee Art Museum director Russell Bowman claims the exhibition merits significance simply because his museum is the steward of one of the most comprehensive collections of German art in the United States. (It is interesting that Milwaukee's eleven Munter paintings constitute the largest cache of her work outside Germany, as well as the largest in a single U.S. museum.) According to Bowman, the most prominent motive for mounting the exhibition appears to have been "to offer an American audience an in-depth view of Munter's extraordinary achievement" (7). The guest curator, Reinhold Heller, professor of art history at the University of Chicago, states that his exhibition is similar in scope to a comprehensive 1992 exhibition of Munter's work organized by Annegret Holberg at the Stadtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus in Munich (8). But he does not describe the ways in which his exhibition is similar to the Munich show, nor does he explain why he would want to imitate it.
Hung chronologically, the exhibition charts Munter's stylistic development from a student into a fully mature artist. (No work after 1920 is included.) All in all, the chronological hanging of the exhibition made the whole scenario seem a little too smug. Perhaps a more effective strategy would have been to group the show thematically, even within a chronological format, especially since the artist's early work depicts the domestic subjects of a woman's world (consider, for example, two color linoleum cuts : Child with Bottle and Washing at the Shore, both ca. 1907-8). The influence of male artists on her development also could have been examined. (Her 1909 oil on cardboard, Still Life, Bedroom, possesses an uncanny resemblance to Vincent van Gogh's painting of his bedroom in Arles; Kandinsky's influence on Munter's improvisational abstractions is unmistakable and is discussed at length in the catalogue.)
The story of Munter's life appears in retrospect to be a classic and formative tale of female dependence, seduction, and betrayal. Though her early years in the United States developed her sense of self-reliance and independence and reinforced her ability to override external authority, her relationship with Kandinsky impeded her mature artistic career. In 1904, she became his mistress and his apprentice and collaborator, even sharing his palette. But even early on, Munter's work appears more austere, harmonious, and attentive to the significance of the mundane than that of her mentor. Kandinsky actually left his wife for her and promised to marry her after they began living together. But, breaking his vows, he never made good on his promise of marriage, and in 1915 he visited her only briefly in Stockholm, where he had fled to sit out World War I, only returning to Germany late in 1920. By 1921, they had formally broken all contact with one another. A property settlement was not reached until five years later. In her manuscript, "Confession and Accusation," written between 1925 and 1928, Munter vented her bitterness: "I allowed myself to be lied to and cheated out of my life. . . . And now I think that even what I gained from him as an artist was only half only a small quarter nothing complete, no totality" (27). The rest of the story is a postlude: by 1929 Munter had formed an apparently happy liaison with the journalist and art historian Johannes Eichner that lasted until he died in 1958. She continued to paint, embarking on a series of pictures depicting the Nazi highway project, the Olympiastrasse, in 1936; later the Nazis denounced her work. She secreted her collection of Blue Rider works in the cellar of her house in Murnau, hiding them first from the Nazis, then from the U.S. occupying troops. She never left Germany during World War II. (While she continued to make art, it is clearly the work of her early years that has earned her an art historical place.) After the war, she was rediscovered, and celebrated, as one of the few surviving members of the Blue Rider group. She died in Murnau in 1962 when she was eighty-five, a year after her first U.S. exhibitions in New York and Los Angeles galleries.
In the exhibition and even the catalogue increased analytical attention should have been paid to the significant cause and effect that the circumstances of Munter's life had on her work. It seems no accident that she evolved beyond expressionist and abstract styles while she was living in Stockholm during World War I. It was there, increasingly detached from Kandinsky's influence, that she loosened her style. (This occurred while Kandinsky was in Russia, waiting out the war himself.) The exhibition's penultimate piece is the lovely Street in Stockholm (May Evening in Stockholm) (1916), in which (in this context) a born-again woman is symbolically emerging through a fallopian tube/portico into the bright life of life. It is followed by The Future (Woman in Stockholm) (1917).
Exh. cat. Milwaukee: Milwaukee Art Museum, 1997. (Exhibition schedule: Milwaukee Art Museum, December 1, 1997-March l, 1998 ; Columbus Museum of Art, Columbus, Ohio, April 18-June 21, 1998 ; Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Richmond, Virginia, July 13-September 20, 1998 ; Marion Koogler McNay Art Museum, San Antonio, November 3, 1998-January 5, 1999).
jeudi 4 octobre 2007
In the cold North, one could only strip naked and bathe during the summer ; otherwise one is restricted to the urban studio. The imagery of Kirchner and Heckel oscillates between indoor and outdoor scenes, sometimes with an attempt to make the indoors seem like the healthier outdoors, as in Kirchner’s Fränzi with Bow and Arrow (1909-11), Girl with Cat, Fränzi (1910) and Nude Behind a Curtain; Fränzi (1910-26), where exotic nature motifs, derived from the warm tropics, form the background. The female nude fits right in, as the forest green and sky blue contours of her flattened body indicate. In Self-Portrait with Model (ca. 1910), Kirchner is implicitly naked -- the natural man -- under his robe, which is as colorful and fresh as the landscapes in his outdoor paintings. Thus the studio is an exotic and erotic world apart -- a kind of "second nature," as it were.
For Kirchner and Heckel, woman’s naked body was always primal, rather than simply a studio prop, as it often seemed to be for Matisse and Picasso, however much they used it for their own expressive purpose. Woman’s naked presence was healing, as well as emblematic of sexual freedom and pleasure.
To strip naked was a socially revolutionary act as well as a revolutionary return to origins. For the German Expressionists, the former entailed the latter : one didn’t rebel against existing society to make a better society, but to escape society altogether by returning to nature. One felt more alive and healthy in it than one ever could in society. Kirchner’s Striding into the Sea (1912) shows the existentially ideal situation : a man and woman, unashamed of their nakedness, fearlessly walking into the ocean together. Forgetting that they ever wore clothes, they have become natural creatures in a natural environment. They are lovers, rather than at odds, at peace with one another rather than antagonists in the battle between the sexes. They are emotional equals, sharing the redemptive freshness of the sea, renewing themselves by entering the element in which life originated.
Utopia is still possible, the picture suggests : one can escape society and recover one’s authenticity in nature -- escape the modern world and recover one’s sense of inhabiting the body given to one by nature, which is fundamental to one’s sense of being.
Kirchner’s new Adam and Eve are a long way from the properly dressed men and women -- their bodies are censored by their clothes -- he observed on a Dresden Street (1908), a Berlin Street (1913) and Berlin’s Friedrichstrasse (1914), just as his lush Landscape in Spring (1909) is a long way from the desolate man-made space depicted in The Red Tower in Halle (1915). The women in the two Berlin paintings are prostitutes, emotionally stunted women renting their bodies to whomever can pay the price. They are urban necessities -- socially sanctioned outlets for sexually uptight, lonely men.
In sharp contrast, the emotionally healthy nature nudes give themselves freely to the lover of their choice, without worrying about social conventions and constraints. The men they love are as comfortable with their own bodies as the women are with their naked bodies. For both, love-making is a spontaneous, natural, guiltless act rather than a compulsive rebellion against social repression, which as such is likely to be fraught with emotional problems. We see such natural lovers in a series of drawings that Kirchner made in 1909. They are daring drawings, not so much because they show naked people making love -- the quickness of the lines suggests the spontaneity with which they do so -- but because they show them smiling happily as they do so.
Kirchner and Heckel were the leading figures in "Die Brücke" ("The Bridge"), an organization of artists that originated in Dresden in 1905, and disbanded in 1913. (In 1911 Kirchner, Heckel and Karl Schmidt-Rottluff, the other major figure, moved to Berlin.) They are the seminal German Expressionists, along with "Der Blaue Reiter" ("The Blue Rider").
This latter was a more informal group of artists, loosely associated with Wassily Kandinsky and Franz Marc around 1912, the year they produced their so-called Almanac (it appeared only once). Their purpose was different : Brücke imagery oscillates between urban society and natural paradise -- the studio is an intermediate zone, a kind of limbo in which both can meet -- while Blaue Reiter imagery is mystical. Both groups were emotional revolutionaries -- emotional freedom mattered to them above all -- but the Blaue Reiter artists were more esthetically revolutionary than the Brücke artists. The former carried Expressionism to an abstract extreme -- they were in pursuit of complete esthetic freedom, which meant freedom from representation -- that the latter never approached, however free their handling. For both, esthetic freedom was a symbol of emotional freedom -- the therapeutic freedom to express one’s emotions, leading one to discover that one had emotions one didn’t know one had. But the Blaue Reiter artists were freer than the Brücke artists because they also wanted spiritual freedom -- the freedom that came with having a higher consciousness, giving one a sense of being a completely integrated self. They are less concerned with the difference between the unhealthy urban environment and the health-giving landscape than they are with the transcendence of both.
Because of this, Blaue Reiter Expressionism is different in kind from Brücke Expressionism, both in its visual dynamics and idealism. This is why it will be considered in the next chapter, along with the work of other abstract artists -- the first to emerge in the twentieth century -- with a similar interest in conveying transcendental experience by abstract means.
However much conflict there is in Blaue Reiter art, it is about resolving conflict, rather than displaying it, as Brücke art, taken as a whole, does. There may be moments of conflict-resolution in nature, but then nature is always at odds with society in Brücke art. Sexual intimacy is a short-lived triumph over society. In Blaue Reiter art, on the other hand, there are neither life-redeeming natural nudes nor life-threatened prostitutes, which clearly sets it apart.
Presumably the absence of the female factor shows its higher purpose. It is an art of sublimation -- it strives to be sublime, and to represent the sublime -- rather than of sexual anxiety. Indeed, it assumes that one can escape anxiety – Cézanne’s anxiety, countered by Matisse’s hedonism and escalating into Picasso’s destructiveness (the fork in the road of early twentieth century art) -- by becoming abstract, that is, detached from external reality (if not entirely removed from subjective reality).
Wilhelm Uhde’s advocacy of naive painting and Paul Klee’s fascination with children’s art -- already in 1912 he praised it -- were part of the same attempt to understand the nature of creativity. To be creative meant to return to primordial nature -- the implicit goal was to be as creative as nature. More particularly, it meant the recovery of primordial human nature from its social encrustations, which is what naive painting, children’s art and African masks -- and later, in the 1920s, psychotic art -- was thought to accomplish. Primitivism is peculiarly archaeological, in that it is an attempt to dig up what has been buried alive by society ; only the spiritually innocent can succeed in doing so. Kirchner’s own primitive sculptures, like Male Nude -- Adam and Female Nude -- Eve (both 1923), are magnificent examples of his wood carving, more convincing in their primitivism than Picasso’s earlier primitivist sculptures (as is Heckel’s Crouching Woman (1914) -- seem to have been excavated from the depths of the earth, as though from a forgotten layer of archaic time. They seem to have been made by someone who never knew classical sculpture -- certainly not at its most refined. Indeed, someone who was completely untrained in the making of fine art -- some anonymous person from a primitive civilization, if it can be called that.
The works of untrained artists were presumably natural, innocent expressions -- spontaneous, original creations, free of unnecessary civilized refinements. The Brücke artists struggled to achieve the untrained, primitive, naively expressive look of innocent emotionality -- Edvard Munch and Vincent van Gogh were also their models in this -- as their nudes and landscapes show. They wanted no Cubist irony -- no Cubist spatial sophistication : Cubist ambiguity was artificial and manufactured, and as such pseudo-expressive, rather than natural and spontaneous, and thus authentically expressive and experiential. From a German Expressionist point of view, Cubism (Kirchner repudiated it as inhuman, "far from the real soil of art") is an intellectual fabrication rather than an emotional response to nature that captures its originality, thereby making itself original, that is, an expression of primordial being. Cubism has a supercilious attitude to nature, and as such is blind to its elemental originality -- out of touch with what is most alive, visceral and existentially significant in it.
The critic Clement Greenberg argued that Cubism was the esthetic high road of twentieth century art, and for this reason more authentically avant-garde than Expressionism. For Cubism pointed the way to pure, autonomous art -- art that is about nothing other than itself, in an endless process of self-criticism, purging itself of everything that is beside the point of its material medium, especially what Greenberg called "human interest" (painting is not story-telling or picture-making, but rather about surface, space and color as such). Nonetheless, Expressionism remains the most influential twentieth century art because of its emphasis on self-expression in a society in which the self is at risk, as the Brücke artists recognized.
Expressionism is also far from indifferent to the medium, as Brücke woodcuts, and the general expressionist emphasis on texture and facture, indicate. In fact, Expressionism involves a constant search for new material and imagistic means to express the self, for it realizes that none are ever quite adequate to its depth and subtlety. The self quickly outgrows its medium, requiring a fresh investment of it in a new medium of expression. To an Expressionist, every medium seems limited -- the German Expressionists worked in all of them -- because self-expression is limitless, and more complex than any material.
(The woodcuts are the most dramatically primitivist and expressive work produced by the Brücke, especially because of the extremes of black and white that define their space. They have an air of precarious spontaneity that is quintessentially Brücke, all the more so because it recapitulates the awkwardness of medieval German woodcuts. They also liked working in wood -- their wood sculptures are another example -- because it was a natural material. In general, the Brücke artists were influenced by German medieval art, which they experienced as primitive, if not in the same manner as African and Oceanic art. But both had nothing to do with classical art, particularly in its Renaissance reincarnation.)
Cubism has become obsolete, but Expressionism has survived, constantly re-inventing itself, as shown by the American Abstract Expressionism of the 1940s and 1950s, and the Berlin New Fauves ("Neue Wilden") and more broadly the New German Expressionism that emerged in the 1980s. This suggests that the self remains under siege in the modern world -- that emotional freedom, or what the historian Meyer Shapiro called "inner freedom," remains rare -- and that art must serve it with every means at its disposal. This gives art a sense of inner purpose -- what Kandinsky referred to as "inner necessity" -- which it loses once it has become totally pure. Purity dead-ends in sterility, as is clear from the Post-Painterly Abstraction -- really Post-Expressionistic Abstraction -- that Greenberg advocated in the 1960s, as the next "real" avant-garde step.
The Expressionist nude in the Expressionist landscape conveys the seamless merger of human nature and the nature in which it was originally at home -- the nature that is the most authentic expression of being. The difference between the Brücke representation of nature and of urban reality parallels the distinction between the creative state of being that comes from being natural and the uncreative result of an unnatural way of life. The return to nature in Brücke imagery is a return to creative originality, which the individual loses in the crowded modern city. What was necessary was a re-naturing of the denatured individual, who could then passionately express his or her natural creativity. In short, the therapeutic goal of Brücke Expressionism was the recovery of innate creativity, more particularly, the spontaneously creative, emotionally resonant artistic expression natural to human nature.
Heckel’s dramatic juxtaposition of the living, growing, healthy, extroverted plants and the sickly, city-bred, sophisticated, introverted woman -- the tension between them is unresolved, for it is not clear that she is receptive to their vitality, not clear that she has the will to recover -- epitomizes Brücke art. Heckel’s convalescent could be a patient in the sanatorium that Thomas Mann described in his novel The Magic Mountain (1924). Like many of the patients there, she may be a chronic case. She has come for the cure, but she may be incurable -- a permanent invalid.
The contest between sickness and health -- the "sickness unto death," as Soren Kierkegaard called depression, and nature, which represents health and happiness -- has ended in a tie in Heckel’s masterpiece. Sometimes Brücke pictures are entirely about excruciating suffering – Kirchner’s Self-Portrait as Soldier and Artillery Men (both 1915) are famous examples (in the former, Kirchner has lost his painting arm, suggesting his feeling of castration, while the latter are herded together in a claustrophobic space and victimized by an authority figure) -- and sometimes they are exclusively about health, especially when they depict nature. Indeed, the Brücke artists sought health in untouched nature, the more untouched -- uncivilized -- the better. Schmidt-Rottluff traveled to the remotest reaches of Norway to find raw terrain ; Emile Nolde, who briefly joined the Brücke in 1905, found inspiration "in the brisk air of the North Sea," as Kirchner said ; and Heckel and Kirchner found it in the area around the Moritzburg lakes, where they were able to paint the female nude outdoors, as though she was a part of the landscape, her body an expression of unadulterated nature. In general, for the Brücke artists, the female body registered every nuance of nature, and the mood in which the artist expressed his nature.
Brücke landscapes are sometimes allegories of sickness and health, like Heckel’s Convalescence. Heckel’s Landscape in Thunderstorm (1913), with its burst of light from dark clouds, suggests that radiant health might come from great suffering -- from a depression that brings one to the door of psychic death. Mental suffering and physical sickness were paradoxical for the Brücke painters: they were tests of strength, will power and endurance. If one had the courage to survive them, they showed themselves to be rites of passage to a more wholesome, vigorous, natural state of being than is ever possible in society.
Sometimes sickness is explicitly mental, and incurable, as Heckel’s The Madman (1914) makes clear. The Brücke artists in general were interested in extreme mental states, just as they used extreme colors. But the disturbed person is often a young woman, as Heckel’s Sick Girl (1912) and Suffering Girl (1914) indicate, although, as Kirchner’s Sick Woman ; Woman with Hat (1913) as well as Heckel’s Convalescence show, she can be older. It is to their credit that the Brücke artists do not present woman simply as a sex object -- nothing but a desirable body -- but give women an inner life, and with that autonomy. They in fact see women as all too human in a way that Matisse and Picasso rarely do. Even earlier, in woodcuts made between 1905-10, woman is presented, by both Heckel and Kirchner, as a somewhat troubled, introverted being, except when she is extrovertedly at play in nature. The problem was to feel more alive than dead in a society that made one feel more dead than alive. Woman was the symbol of life, but she too had become tainted by death, almost losing her will to live, becoming listless and depressed -- except when she represented life in nature. For Heckel and Kirchner, woman became the battleground on which the struggle between sickness and health -- depression and vitality -- was fought.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in their fascination with the immature, unwholesome body of the adolescent Fränzi, whom both portrayed. Breastless and thin, she hardly seems a woman, even as her erotic allure -- she wears bright red lipstick -- suggests that she is a grown one. She is an unsavory mix of femme fatale and innocent child, neither exactly true to who she is. She is in fact an indifferent girl who has no identity, and as such is the perfect instrument for the artists’ fantasies. She is a blank screen on which they can project their own confused identities. Kirchner’s Girl with Cat, Fränzi and Heckel’s Fränzi with Doll (1910) are strangely sick pictures, all the more so because they turn her into an exotic native. She looks as though she’s been carved of wood, and as such theatrically contrived and crudely natural at once -- a fake primitive. In both works, Fränzi seems depressed by the role she plays, even as her bright coloration suggests her vitality. She remains unmoved by all the attention she receives, inert despite the animated color that covers her like tattoos. They eroticize her body into a fantastic mirage, but the blink of an eye shows it to be a farcical illusion. They try to make her into pure, eager, hot-blooded instinct -- which is what they felt themselves to be, for all their emotional troubles -- but underneath she remains as cold as society.
Fränzi epitomizes their ambivalence about woman -- and themselves.
Uncertain as to whether she is a naive girl or a knowing woman -- uncertain about her body and state of mind -- she represents their own uncertainty about their psychosomatic state. The manic color of their paintings, and the often depressed figures they paint, show their effort to transform sickness into health. Or else the possibility of health proposed through the color is a defense against the melancholy mood of the figures, which lifts only when they leave society for nature. Heckel’s Two Friends (1912) are a long way from the naked couple Striding into the Sea. They have to escape from society, or they will be scorned and mocked by it, like Kirchner’s Couple before the People (1924). Kirchner’s couple are free spirits, as their nakedness shows, and like Christ in many medieval pictures – Kirchner’s painting is consciously composed like one -- they are spat upon by the crowd.
"Art as the only superior counterforce to all will to denial of life," Friedrich Nietzsche wrote in one of the fragments that came to be collected after his death in The Will To Power (1901), and the art of the Brücke seems concentrated in their luminous color, which is full of life, and thus triumphs over the disease of denying life that so many of their figures seem to suffer from. Nietzsche was an important influence on the Brücke artists and Expressionism in general, particularly because he believed that the artist was -- or should be -- that most healthy and heroic of human beings, the Übermensch. Indeed, Heckel made a 1905 woodcut portrait of him looking like one -- it is worth comparing to the more demented looking 1912 portrait by Otto Dix -- suggesting just how great an inspiration he was to the Brücke artists. (Nietzsche thought of himself as an artist, although he was far from healthy physically and mentally, and had little insight into himself, however grand a conception of himself he had.) For Nietzsche "art and nothing but art... is the great means of making life possible, the great seduction to life, the great stimulant of life.... Art as the redemption of the sufferer -- as the way to states in which suffering is willed, transfigured, deified, where suffering is a great delight."
It was not exactly that for the Brücke artists, nor do they seem to have willed their suffering, but suffered involuntarily, like other victims of life. Moreover, while they regarded primitive life in nature and primitive art as healthy, they sometimes found that even primitive people suffered, as Kirchner’s crude Old Peasant (1919-20), Paula Modersohn-Becker’s pious Old Peasant Woman (ca. 1905-7) and grim Old Poorhouse Woman with Glass Bottle and Poppy (1906) indicate. The Expressionists never lived up to Nietzsche’s extravagant ideal of the artist. And art didn’t always work to redeem life for them, especially when life became exceptionally difficult, as Kirchner’s post-war mental breakdown and later suicide (1938), in the wake of being labeled a degenerate artist by the Hitler regime, suggests. Nor is it clear that they had Nietzsche’s fanatical belief in the life-giving power of art -- however much they wanted to be true believers -- as the persistent morbid undertone to their art indicates.
Max Pechstein understood that suffering was also sometimes present in pleasure, as his 1920 Self-Portrait with Death and a lurid nude suggests. (It is a work in the Germanic Triumph of Death tradition, relating particularly to Hans Baldung-Grien’s pictures of beautiful women and Death.) He has clearly come a long way from Evening in the Dunes (1911), with its voluptuous female nudes, made all the more seductive by the red of the setting sun. Unlike Pechstein, Modersohn-Becker was not a member of the Brücke, but she understood that suffering could last a lifetime -- right to death -- and she knew that flowers were hardly the consolation that Heckel seemed to think they were in Convalescence. She also knew that art was better at representing suffering than redeeming it -- better at representing the denial of life than its affirmation, as Nolde’s famous gloomy, somewhat demented Prophet (1912) suggests. Even Nolde’s primitively painted images of the life of a rather primitive Christ (1909-12) were morbid, for all their brilliant, in-your-face color. It is worth noting that they were begun after a serious illness, and seem designed to recuperate his emotional losses -- to lift him out of depression -- as their bizarre, somewhat disturbed, compulsive (certainly headlong) expression of "spirituality, religion and inwardness" (his words) suggests. They, in fact, seem to have more to do with madness than spirituality. Certainly, their grotesquely distorted figures and harsh, manic texture -- their general air of vehemence and violence -- have little to do with the usual idea of spiritual aspiration, although there is perhaps a relationship to the kind of spirituality visible in Louis Corinth’s Dancing Dervish (1904), an influential proto-Expressionist painting.
Modersohn-Becker’s Self-Portrait with Camellia (1907) and Ludwig Meidner’s My Night Visage (1913) are the extremes of Expressionist self-portraiture. To my mind’s eye, the portrait of the madman wins out over the portrait of the gently smiling woman. Meidner’s portrait seems truer to his inner life than Modersohn-Becker’s seems to her inner life. His weird expression and staring eyes -- his general confrontational demeanor -- seem more psychologically authentic than her tranquil smile, which seems posed -- all too deliberate -- however genuine the feeling of well-being it conveys may be. But even Modersohn-Becker has a dark side, as the black inner frame and her mask-life face -- it has a certain resemblance to that of Picasso’s Gertrude Stein -- suggests. Her fixed smile seems to hide something more ominous in her personality -- something evident in her imposing, primitive figure.
The German Expressionists were more attuned to dementia than happiness -- more afraid of going mad than determined to enjoy life and nature. The fear of madness poisoned their feeling for life and nature, which was an escapist antidote for it that did not always work. Apart from the fact that Meidner’s turbulent handling and dark background, broken by his illuminated figure and the lurid contrast of red and green (the blood red neck suggests that he might just be crazy enough to slash his neck, and the flash of whiteness on his forehead suggests the explosive electricity in his brain) make for a more dramatic, intense picture than Modersohn-Becker’s use of subdued tones, muted contrasts and a generally pious atmosphere, Modersohn-Becker’s picture lacks the hallucinatory quality and visionary power of Meidner’s. In 1912, in an essay "On the Nature of Visions," the Austrian Expressionist Oskar Kokoschka declared that art involves reaching "a level of consciousness at which we experience visions within ourselves."These visions impart "a power to the mind," and "can be evoked but never defined." Modersohn-Becker’s self-portrait is all too defined, and lacks the disruptive -- and eruptive -- dream-like quality that Kokoschka regards as essential to a vision. Modersohn-Becker’s portrait does not "RELEASE CONTROL" -- Kokoschka capitalizes the words that epitomize the Germanic idea of expression -- but rather suggests an all too controlled person, rather than one whose "self and personal existence" have been "fused into a larger experience" -- the experience of the unconscious. It is an experience of what the Neo-Expressionist Georg Baselitz calls "pandemonium," the sign of madness.
In short, Modersohn-Becker’s self-portrait does not show the release of conscious control -- the madness in both handling and image -- that Meidner’s does. Her face is not beside itself with unconsciousness. It has not surrendered itself to unconscious expression, to forces beyond her control: Modersohn-Becker’s face is not distorted by the urgent, uncontainable unconscious forces that have wrecked Meidner’s face, suggesting that he has almost lost his conscious sense of himself. Her self-portrait thus lacks visionary intensity : she keeps a straight face. She has a secure sense of herself. The difference between inner and outer selves -- emotional reality and outer appearance -- has not been blurred, as it has in Meidner’s self-portrait. We understand and empathize with her, but we do not understand and empathize with Meidner. It is too dangerous to do so -- to enter into the spirit of his picture is to become mad ourselves. The conflict between conscious control and loss of control because of the explosive unconscious is what makes Meidner’s visage so terrifying. Thus Modersohn-Becker’s self-portrait does not arise from the depths of her unconscious as his does.
Hers is not an unconscious self-expression, that is, an expression of her unconscious sense of herself. Her picture is not marked by the dynamics and drama of the unconscious the way genuine (self-) expression is for the German Expressionists. Instead, it reveals her self-consciousness, self-possession, self-control, however deeply moved she seems to be. But happiness is not as deep as madness, as Meidner’s genuinely expressionist self-portrait indicates.
dimanche 30 septembre 2007
His real name was not Nolde but Hansen ; his parents were Frisian peasants. He was born in 1867 and grew up on the farm which had belonged to his mother's family for nine generations. Even as a boy Nolde was different from his three brothers: he drew, modelled and painted, and covered boards and barn doors with drawings in chalk. Some aspects of the family background, however, affected him deeply. The family were Protestants, steeped in religion, and in his youth Nolde read the Bible a great deal - its images were to return to him later in life.
It was clear that Nolde was unsuited for farm work, and in 1884 he took a job as an apprentice carver in a furniture factory in Flensburg. Here he stayed for four years, drawing and painting in his spare time. In 1888 he went to Munich, to see an exhibition of industrial arts, and managed to stay on by finding a job in a furniture factory. After only a few weeks he moved to Karlsruhe, where he found a similar job and attended classes in a school of industrial arts in the evenings. Eventually he gave up his job and enrolled in day classes at the same school, drawing from plaster casts and studying perspective and anatomy. He was unable to stay more than two semesters, as his savings ran out. In the autumn of 1889 he moved to Berlin, where he took a job as a furniture designer and spent his leisure time studying Old Master paintings in the magnificent Berlin museums; he also had his first encounters with Ancient Egyptian and Assyrian art in the archaeological collections there. In 1890 he fell ill, and spent the summer on his parents' farm.
The autumn of 1891 marked a change of direction, when Nolde saw an advertisement for a teaching post at the Museum of Industrial Arts at St Gallen in Switzerland. He applied for the job and was accepted, moving to St Gallen in January 1892. His duties were to teach industrial and ornamental drawing. The job was demanding, and he could paint only in the vacations; nevertheless, the fact that Switzerland was at the crossroads of Europe enabled him to travel. He went to Milan and saw Leonardo's Last Supper, some aspects of which were to haunt him for long afterwards, and to Vienna, where he saw Durer's prints in the Albertina. Though he was a reluctant reader, his intellectual horizons were expanding. He discovered the Symbolists and Nietzsche, and he was deeply impressed by a performance of Ibsen's The Wild Duck. Like many half-educated men, he started to feel that he was alone, misunderstood and persecuted - he was to suffer from these feelings for the rest of his life, latterly with some reason.
In 1893 Nolde embarked on an artistic enterprise which he at first treated only half seriously. He made a series of humorous postcards in which he represented the most famous of the Swiss mountains in semi-human form as a race of giants. The periodical Jugend reproduced two of these in 1896, and the proprietor of the magazine was sufficiently impressed to invite the artist to his home in Munich. Thus encouraged, Nolde borrowed enough money to issue a large edition of the postcards. They appealed to popular taste, and 100,000 copies were sold within ten days. Nolde made 25,000 gold francs, and, freed from financial worries for the time being, gave up his job and went to live in Munich. He wanted to study at the Munich Academy under the most celebrated painter in the city, Frans von Stuck, but was not accepted, and instead attended two private academies. In the autumn of 1899 he moved to Paris for nine months where he worked on and off at the Acad6mie Julian, but spent most of his time in the museums and studying the special exhibitions put on for the Paris World's Fair of 1900. He was already an admirer of Daumier's lithographs and was now impressed by Manet, but not by the other, younger Impressionists. Nolde returned to northern Germany in 1900, and embarked on a tormented search to discover his own artistic personality :
I had an infinite number of visions at this time, for wherever I turned my eyes nature, the sky, the clouds were alive, in each stone and in the branches of each tree, everywhere, my figures stirred and lived their still or wildly animated life, and they aroused my enthusiasm as well as tormented me with demands that I paint them.
Despite these feelings, Nolde painted very few visionary pictures during this period - they were to come later - but instead painted mainly landscapes and portraits. In 1900 he moved to Copenhagen, where he met and married Ada Vilstrup. They soon began to be dogged by financial problems, and in addition Ada was repeatedly ill. In the spring of 1903 the couple moved to the remote island of Alsen. In 1904 they went to Berlin, where Ada made an ill-fated attempt to make some money by singing in nightclubs. This led to a serious breakdown, so Nolde took her to Taormina in Italy to convalesce, moving afterwards to Ischia. The Italian scene, for all its beauty, did not move him as his native Germany did, and in 1905 they returned. Ada was in and out of one sanatorium after another; Nolde based himself in his lonely fisherman's cottage in Alsen. His visionary feelings were stronger than ever, the calls of animals at night had the power of suggesting colours: 'The cries appeared as shrill yellows, the hooting of owls in deep violet tones.'
He was rescued from his isolation by the young artists of Die Brücke, who recognized in him a kindred spirit. Schmidt-Rottluff saw some paintings Nolde was exhibiting in Dresden, and wrote inviting him to become a member of their group. He followed up his letter with a visit to Alsen, and in 1907 Nolde moved to Dresden, putting Ada into yet another sanatorium there. His official membership of Die Brücke did not last long - Nolde was essentially not gregarious and soon withdrew, though he maintained friendly relations with individual members. His young colleagues had an important influence on his work: in particular, he followed their example in making woodcut prints, and in addition they encouraged him to return to lithography, which he had tried in Munich.
Nolde's art became much freer: he began to see that 'dexterity is also an enemy' and he allowed himself to create fantastic paintings 'without any prototype or model, without any well defined idea ... a vague idea of glow and colour was enough. The paintings took shape as I worked.' The fantasies and the Biblical paintings he created at this time are generally considered his greatest works.
He was becoming a well known and controversial figure in the German art world of the time. In December 1910 he wrote a violently critical letter, with nationalist and racist overtones, to Max Liebermann, the greatly respected President of the Berlin Sezession, who happened to be a Jew. As a result he was expelled from the Sezession. When Max Pechstein and other Expressionists formed the Neue Sezession in the following year, Nolde duly joined, and helped to give the new organization much of its aggressive character. He was invited to take part in the second Blaue Reiter show in Munich, and also in the 1912 Sonderbund exhibition in Cologne, which brought together all the avant garde painters in Germany. In the same year the museum in Halle acquired his painting of The Last Supper despite the violent opposition of Dr Wilhelm von Bode, the great savant who had been largely responsible for building up the magnificent collection of Old Masters in Berlin.
In 1913, for reasons which remain somewhat mysterious, Nolde was offered a unique opportunity to expand his horizons. The German Colonial Office invited him to take part in an expedition to the German territories in the South Pacific. Its main purpose was medical - to study health conditions among the natives - but Nolde, who had no professional qualifications for the task, was asked to research the racial characteristics of the population. He and Ada travelled via Moscow, Mukden, Seoul, Tokyo, Peking, Nanking, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Manila and the Palau Islands to Rabaul, in German New Guinea. In 1914 he made trips to Neu Mecklenburg (now New Ireland) and the Admiralty Islands, before setting off again for home, travelling via the Celebes, Java and Aden. When Nolde and his wife arrived at Port Said they found that the First World War had broken out, and were only able to make their way home by obtaining Danish passports. On this journey Nolde noted the damage done by Europeans, even in China, which possessed such an ancient civilization of its own. 'We live in an evil era,' he said, 'in which the white man brings the whole earth into servitude.'
On his return he resumed what had now become a customary pattern, which was to spend the spring, summer and autumn in the countryside, and the winter in Berlin, where he drew rather than painted. He gave up his house on Alsen in 1916, and returned to his native Schleswig, living first at Utenwarf, which became Danish after the war. In the immediate post war years he travelled quite widely, going to England, France and Spain in 1921, and to Italy in 1924. In 1927 he settled on the German side of the frontier, building a house to his own design on the site of a disused wharf which he named 'Seebull'. His reputation now stood very high in Germany. In 1927 his sixtieth birthday was celebrated with an official exhibition in Dresden; in 1931 he became a member of the Prussian Academy of Fine Arts, and in 1933 he was offered the presidency of the State Academy of Arts in Berlin.
The Nazi takeover did not effect Nolde immediately, but he had other troubles to think about. In 1934 it was discovered that he was suffering from stomach cancer. He had a successful operation in Hamburg in 1935 which was followed by a long convalescence in Switzerland, during which he met Paul Klee, who was also in poor health. The two men genuinely admired one another. Nolde once described Klee as 'a falcon soaring in the starry cosmos', and Klee reciprocated by calling him 'the mysterious hand of the lower region'.
Despite ominous signs to the contrary, Nolde had assumed that he would be immune from the Nazi campaign against Expressionism and other forms of modern art. In a certain sense the Nazi philosophy resembled his own, which continued to owe a debt to Nietzsche. He was stripped of his illusions by the events of 1937, when his work was included in the Degenerate Art Exhibition in Munich (his protests to the authorities went unheeded); when more than a thousand of his works were removed from German museums; and when the official celebrations for his seventieth birthday were cancelled. Worse was to follow. In 1941, the Reichskammer der Bildenden Kunste demanded that he send in his entire production for the past two years. Fifty four of the works he sent were confiscated, and he was forbidden to practise his vocation as an artist. Later Nolde went to Vienna to appeal personally to the Nazi gauleiter Baldur von Schirach - in vain.
He had already given up his apartment in Berlin, and had begun to produce what he called his 'unpainted pictures' - hundreds of small watercolours which he hid in a secret cache in his isolated house. He was very much alone. His wife became ill again in 1942 and was taken to hospital in Hamburg. The opportunity to leave Germany was long past - at one stage Nolde could have done so easily, by crossing the nearby Danish frontier, but apparently he never entertained the idea.
He survived the war, as did his invalid wife, who died in November 1946. As the grand old man of German art, Nolde now enjoyed a new lease of life. In 1947 there were exhibitions in Kiel and Lubeck to celebrate his eightieth birthday. In 1948 he married a twenty eight year old woman, the daughter of a friend. In 1952 he was awarded the German Order of Merit, his country's highest civilian decoration. He continued to work with tremendous energy, producing oils based on the watercolours he had created during the years of persecution. His last oil painting was done in 1951, and he was able to make watercolours late in 1955. Nolde died in April 1956, aged eighty eight.