explained by the constant war talk that had been going on
throughout the year. But I did not intend to give a representation
of war; to do so would have required different pictorial means;
besides, such tasks do not interest me--at least not just now.
This entire description is chiefly an analysis of the picture which
I have painted rather subconsciously in a state of strong inner
tension. So intensively did I feel the necessity of some of the
forms, that I remember having given loud voiced directions to
myself, as for instance: “But the corners must be heavy!” In such
cases it is of importance exactly to discern all things, the
weight, for instance, by the feeling. Generally speaking, I might
almost declare that where the feeling that lies in the soul, in the
eye, and in the hand is strong enough to faultlessly determine the
finest measurements and weights, “schematism” and the much-dreaded
“consciosity” will not become dangerous. On the contrary, in this
case, the said elements will even prove immeasurably beneficial.
I would that all my pictures might be judged exclusively from this
point of view, and that the non-essentials might completely
disappear from the judgment.
* * * * *
In subsequent letters he said:
Whatever I might say about myself or my pictures can touch the
_pure artistic meaning_ only _superficially_. The observer must
learn to look at the picture as a graphic representation of a
_mood_ and not as a representation of _objects_.
* * * * *
All that anyone can say about pictures, and what I might say
myself, can touch the contents, the _pure artistic meaning_, of a
picture _only superficially_. Each spectator for himself must learn
to view the picture _solely_ as a graphic representation of a mood,
passing over as unimportant such details as representations or
suggestions of natural objects. This the spectator can do after a
time, and where one can do it, many can.
Given a work of art, painting, sculpture, music--anything--its
appreciation and understanding depend upon the _attitude_ of the
audience.
A work of art may be, and ultimately must be viewed from two very
different points of view--the point of view of the _artist_, and the
point of view of the _observer_.
The great majority of people view a painting only from the latter point
of view, only in the light of _their preconceived_ notions and
prejudices--hence the ridicule of the strange and the protest against
the new.
A very, very small minority--a minority so small it numbers scarce one
in ten thousand--view a new work searchingly and at the same time
sympathetically _from the artist’s point of view_, seeking diligently to
find out what he is trying to do, and not permitting a single prejudice
or preconceived notion of their own to bias their judgment.
_After_ this class of observers have ascertained what the artist
intended, _then_, and not until then, do they turn and view the work
from their own point of view--that is, in the light of their own likes
and dislikes.
Their final appreciation may be that _granting the theories of the
artist_ the picture is a fine one, but they do not agree with the
artist’s theories, hence the picture from their point of view is a
failure as a work of art.
To rightly view a work of art is an _act of creation_; the true observer
is a painter; the true reader is a poet.
* * * * *
It is not at all strange that the great majority referred to should
resent Kandinsky’s improvisations, for they are not easy to understand,
though most of them are undeniably fascinating in color.
It is not even strange that a large percentage of the intelligent and
sympathetic minority should finally reach the
conclusion that the theories of the artist are not sound, and
therefore all his work based on his extreme theories fails as art
work, but the attitude of this fraction of the minority is an
attitude of intelligent and conscientious conviction, reached after
long and impartial investigation, while the attitude of the great
majority is that of impulsive ignorance and irritation, reached on
first impression and without the slightest attempt at
understanding.
* * * * *
To illustrate: The great majority of people on first hearing Chinese
music exclaim, “What a horrid din!” and turn away.
A very, very small minority, about one man in a million, say, “True, it
sounds to us like a din, but to a people of extraordinary civilization
it is music; the matter is worth investigating,” and on investigation it
would be found that Chinese music from time immemorial has been under
state supervision.[53]
The very ancient scale was pentatonic--five tones. It was in the seventh
century, B.C., that the Asiatic flute was introduced into Greece and the
Greek Doric scale transformed into one of five tones.[54]
Among the more cultivated nations, the Chinese, and Celts of
Scotland and Ireland still retain the scale of five notes without
semitones, although both have become acquainted with the complete
scale of seven tones.
The division of the octave into twelve semitones, and the
transposition of scales have also been discovered by this
intelligent and skilful nation.
But, generally speaking, both the Gaels and the Chinese,
notwithstanding their acquaintance with the modern tonal system,
hold fast by the old. And it cannot be denied that by avoiding the
semitones
[Illustration: GAUGUIN
Portrait of Self]
[Illustration: GAUGUIN
Farmyard]
of the diatonic scale, Scotch airs receive a peculiarly bright and
mobile character, although we cannot say as much for the
Chinese.[55]
While we are content with a scale divided into semitones, the more
delicate oriental ear requires _quarter_ tones. The Arab octave is
divided into _twenty-four_ intervals. A distinguished musician on a
visit to Cairo wrote Helmholtz as follows: “This evening I have listened
attentively to the song on the minarets, to try to appreciate the
_quarter-tones_ which I had not supposed to exist, as I had thought the
Arabs sang _out of tune_. But today as I was with the dervishes I became
certain that such quarter-tones existed.[56]
In discussing the development of our modern, _equal_ temperament
(adopted commercially in England for pianos not until 1846), Helmholtz
says, “Amiot reports equal temperament from China long previously even
to Pythagoras.”[57]
The Chinese are the only people who, thousands of years ago,
possessed a system of octaves, a circle of fifths, and a normal
tone. With this knowledge, however, their eighty-four scales, _each
of which has a special philosophical signification_, appear all the
more incomprehensible to us.[58]
“The Chinese believe their music to be the first in the world. _European
music_ they consider to be _barbaric_ and _horrible_.”[59]
* * * * *
All this goes to show how hazardous it is to jump to the conclusion that
what we don’t understand has no meaning.
To one ignorant of Chinese or Japanese or Hebrew handwriting it seems
just as absurd and meaningless as a drawing by Picasso or a painting by
Kandinsky, but to the earnest
and indefatigable searcher after hidden meanings the strange
handwriting and the strange pictures both deliver up a message.
* * * * *
Of such paintings as Kandinsky’s improvisations it is often flippantly
said, “They paint that way because they can’t draw.”
As a matter of fact most of the extreme moderns such as Picasso,
Matisse, Kandinsky, are past-masters of the art of drawing.
But they do not now attach the importance to drawing, merely for the
sake of drawing, they once did.
Kandinsky’s own attitude is expressed in the following extract from a
letter:
As regards other artists, I am very tolerant, but at the same time
most severe; my opinion of artists is influenced but little by
considerations of the element of form, pure and simple; I expect of
the artist to bear within at least the “sacred spark” (if not
“flame”). There really is nothing easier than to master the form of
something or someone. Boecklin is quoted as having said that even a
poodle-dog might learn how to draw, and in this he was correct. At
the schools I attended I had more than a hundred colleagues who had
learned something, many had in good time managed to draw quite well
and anatomically correct--_still_, they were not artists, not a
pfennig’s worth. In short, I value _only_ those artists who really
are artists; that is, who consciously or unconsciously, in an
_entirely original form_, or in a style bearing their _personal
imprint_, embody the expression of their _inner self_; who,
consciously or unconsciously, work _only_ for _this end_ and cannot
work _otherwise_. The number of such artists is very few. If I were
a collector I would buy the works of such even if there were
weaknesses in what they did; _such_ weaknesses grow less in time
and finally disappear entirely, and though they may be apparent in
the earlier works of the artist still they do not deprive even
these earlier and less perfect works of value. But the _other_
weakness, that of _lack of soul_, never decreases with time, but is
sure to grow worse and become more and more apparent, and so render
absolutely valueless works that _technically_ may be very correct.
The entire history of art is proof of this. The _union_ of _both_
kinds of strength--that of intellect or spirituality with that of
form, or technical perfection--is most rare, as is also
demonstrated by the history of art.
* * * * *
From his exceedingly abstruse article “On the Question of Form” in “Der
Blaue Reiter,” I take and paraphrase the following:
At certain times our inner forces--impulses--mature and the result is a
longing to create something, and we try to find a material
form--manifestation--for the _new value_ that exists in us in spiritual
or intellectual form.
This is the seeking of the _spiritual_ for material expression. Matter
is but the store house out of which the spirit selects the necessary
elements to secure the objective result.
Thus the _creative spirit_ is hidden in the matter, behind the material
manifestation through which it must make itself known. But often the
material envelope is so dense that only a few people can discern the
spiritual idea within and behind it; some people never penetrate behind
the matter at all, and therefore, never comprehend the spiritual
message.
While many comprehend the _spiritual_ content behind the _outward_ forms
of religion, they do not realize that there is, or should be, a
_spiritual_ content behind the _outward_ forms of art.
There are whole epochs when men seem blind to the spiritual truths that
are behind material manifestations; generally speaking, the nineteenth
century was a century of _materialism_.
It is as if a _black hand_ were placed over the eyes of men so they
should not see the spiritual forces behind the material, and the
production of new spiritual values is fought by mockery and calumny. The
man who produces the new value is held up to ridicule and called a
charlatan.
The _joy of living_ is the _perpetual victory_ of the new, the
_spiritual value_. But even as men learn to appreciate the new of
yesterday and today they establish it as a barrier against the new of
tomorrow. Spiritual development and evolution are a constant throwing
down of these bars that are as constantly re-erected by the materialism
and blindness of mankind.
Therefore the important thing is not only the impulse to create new
spiritual values, but _liberty_ to do so.
The spiritual is the _absolute_, the outward form is _relative_, it is
born of the place and the hour. Therefore one should not fall into the
worship of a particular form, but should use whatever form best serves
to express the spiritual content.
And, naturally, each artist must use _his own form_ to express his own
ideas, and _form_ should have the stamp of _personality_.
Each nation, each epoch will develop its own forms, or peculiarities of
forms, and it is the reflection of the nation, the epoch, the individual
in the particular form that is known as, or makes the _style_.
When a group of artists is animated by the same spirit the forms they
use will be so alike the result will be a “movement” or “school” in art;
but a “school” should not be permitted to dominate the freedom of
others. Every individual must be at liberty to choose the form that best
expresses the spiritual message he wishes to utter.
The form--picture--may be agreeable or disagreeable, beautiful or ugly,
harmonious or disharmonious, but it must not be judged on its outward
appearance; it must be judged by the _idea_, the _spiritual value_
behind it. We must look _through_ the form to the spiritual, as we would
look through the deformed body of the cripple to the soul of the man.
In practical life we never meet a man who, if he wishes
[Illustration: GAUGUIN
Scene in Tahiti]
[Illustration: GRIS
Still Life]
to go to Berlin, gets off the train at Regensberg. But in spiritual life
it is a common thing to find people who step out at Regensberg.
Sometimes the engine driver refuses to go on and all the travelers have
to leave the train at Regensberg. How many who are _looking for God_
stop before a _carved image_! How many who are looking for art are
caught by some form that has been used by some great artist to express
_his_ ideas!
And in conclusion he asserts, it is not of vital importance whether the
_form_ is personal, national, according to prevailing mode, or whether
it is related to “schools,” “movements,” etc., etc., or is isolated.
“_The important question is whether the form has grown out of the inner,
spiritual necessity._”
* * * * *
In art, especially in painting, we have today striking richness of form
which shows the immense striving that is going on.
To adhere stubbornly to one form is to travel a lane that has no outlet.
Many call the present state of painting “anarchy,” and so they say of
music, but this appearance of anarchy, of lawlessness, is due to the
workings of spiritual forces that cannot be expressed in old forms, but
demand new manifestations.
It is one thing to reproduce on canvas an accurate representation of an
object, but such a representation is no more than the outer shell; to
find out whether the picture has any real, any spiritual value one must
get rid of this outer shell. Step by step the “objective,” the
photographic elements are eliminated until in the end there may be no
trace of any object, and with this elimination the spiritual content
becomes plainer and plainer. The steps are:
Realism--abstraction--
Abstraction--_reality_.
* * * * *
Objects need not necessarily be eliminated from a picture, but they
should be used _not_ for the sake of forcing their photographic
likenesses upon the observer, but solely to more perfectly express the
inner, the spiritual significance of the work.
If a painter introduces a suggestion of a landscape or a bit of still
life it should be for the purpose of making _his_ meaning, _his_ inner
feeling plainer to the beholder, and not for the purpose of making a
colored photograph of a field or flowers.
Therefore it does not matter whether _actual_ or _abstract_ forms are
used by the artist, so long as both are used to express _spiritual
values_. The sole question regarding form the artist should put to
himself is, “Which form, or combination of forms, shall I use in this
case to express most fully and plainly my spiritual mood?”
* * * * *
The _ideal art critic_ is not the critic who tries to discover mistakes,
ignorance, imitations in the form, but he who tries to _feel_ and
_understand_ how the form _expresses_ the _inner feeling_ of the artist
and who tries to make the public understand.
A painter may use new and strange forms for the sake of the forms, just
for the sake of painting new and strange pictures, but the result will
be lifeless.
It is only when new and strange forms are used _because_ they are
necessary to express a spiritual content that the result is a _living_
work of art.
“_The world reverberates; it is a cosmos of spiritually working human
beings. Thus matter is living spirit._”
* * * * *
Rather a fine philosophy, is it not?
One cannot but feel that out of such thoughts good works must come.
* * * * *
To quote once more from a personal letter:
“I have now been exhibiting for almost fifteen years, and for the same
fifteen years I have been hearing (although more rarely of late) that I
have gone too far on my way; that in time my exaggerations will most
surely decrease, and that I would yet paint in an ‘entirely different
manner'; that I would ‘return to nature.’ I had to hear this for the
first time when I exhibited my studies painted on the naturalist basis
with the horn (spatula).
“The truth of the matter is that every really gifted artist, that is, an
artist working under an impulse _from within_, must go in a way that in
some mystical manner has been laid out for him from the very start. His
life is nothing but the fulfillment of a task set for him (_for him, not
by himself_). Meeting with enmity from the start, he feels only vaguely
and indistinctly that he carries a message for the expression of which
he must find a _certain_ manner. This is the period of ‘storm and
stress,’ then follow desperate _searching_, pain, great pain--until
_finally_ his eyes open and he says to himself, ‘There is my way.’ The
rest of his life lies along this path. And one must follow it to the
very last hour _whether one wants to do so, or not_. And no one must
imagine that this is a Sunday afternoon’s walk, for which one selects
the route at will. Neither is there any Sunday about it; it is a working
day, in the strongest sense possible. And the greater the artist, the
more one-sided is he in _his_ work; true, he retains the ability to do
‘nice’ work of other kind (by reason of his ‘talent'), but _innerly_
weighty, infinitely deep, and immeasurable serious things he can achieve
_only_ in his _one-sided_ art. Talent is not an electric pocket lantern,
the rays of which one may at will direct now hither and then thither;
it is a star for which the path is being prescribed by the dear Lord.
“As far as I am concerned personally, I was as if thunderstruck, when
for the first time and in only a general manner I began to see my way. I
was awed. I deemed this inspiration to be a delusion, a ‘temptation.’
“You will easily understand what doubts I had to overcome, until I
became convinced that I had to follow this way. Of course, I clearly
understood what it means ‘to drop the objective.’ With what doubts I was
troubled regarding my own powers! For I knew at once _what_ powers were
_absolutely_ required for this task. How this inner development
proceeded, how _everything_ pushed me on to this way and how the
exterior development slowly but logically (step by step) followed suit,
you will see from my book that is to appear shortly (in English). All
that I still see _ahead_ of me, all these tasks, the ever-increasing
wealth of possibilities, the ever-growing depth of painting I cannot
describe. And one must and _may_ not describe such things: they must
mature _innerly_ in secret confinement and may not be expressed
otherwise than by the painter’s art.
“If in time you acquire the ability to more exactly _live_ my pictures,
you will have to admit that the element of ‘chance’ is very rarely met
with in these pictures, and that it is more than amply covered by the
large positive sides--so amply, indeed, that it is not worth while to
mention those weak spots.
“My constructive forms, although outwardly appearing indistinct, are in
fact rigidly fixed as if they were cut in stone.
“These explanations lead us too far; they could help only if illustrated
by examples. Also, this letter is already much longer than it ought to
be. I trust that I have expressed myself clearly! These things are so
infinitely complicated,
[Illustration:
VLAMINCK
Village
]
and how often do I deviate from my theme and thus (instead of producing
‘clarity') cause confusion to become worse confounded!”
* * * * *
The result are paintings such as the four reproduced in color and
half-tone.
The brilliant color combinations and harmonies of the originals are
inadequately disclosed in the reproductions, the scale is too reduced.
But the forms are well indicated, strange, curious forms, meaningless on
first impression but _insistent_.
Most people are repelled at once by the landscapes because they seem so
badly drawn a child could do better; but even as landscapes, as
impressions of nature--or rather of _something in nature_--the pictures
will not be denied.
If they were intended to be accurate representations of natural scenes,
mountains, fields, trees, houses, they would be ridiculous indeed, but
they are not so intended, therefore they should not be so judged.
In looking at these pictures--compositions, rather, it is but fair to
look at them from the point of view of the painter, try to _read_ them
as he _wrote_ them.
* * * * *
“_Compositional_” painting is no radical departure, no new discovery.
The instinct of the child is to “compose,” to create. It is only after
much chiding and correction that the child draws literally--copies what
it _sees_.
* * * * *
It takes a big and strong man to pass through schools and academies and
come out unscathed. The art school is a godsend to talent and
mediocrity; it is a menace to genius.
Most paintings are “compositional” to _some_ extent. But from the
literalness of Monet’s hay stacks to the abstract qualities of
Kandinsky’s improvisations the interval is great.
There is, too, a difference in kind, as well as degree, between the
compositions of the painter who simply re-arranges nature, persons, or
objects to secure a pleasing or effective result, and the painter who
uses nature, life, or objects as so many signs or notes to express his
inner feelings; the former paints to _impress_ others, the latter paints
to _express himself_ to others. The one is thinking all the time of his
picture, the other is thinking all the time of his message.
All great painters have combined the two attitudes, they have _expressed
themselves_ in pictures that not only convey the message but _as
pictures_ impress others--that is characteristic of the world’s great
art.
At the moment the pendulum is swinging toward the extreme where
everything is subordinated to the expression of the artist’s _self_, and
the indications are that some subtle and wonderful things will be
painted before the pendulum swings back.
* * * * *
To what extent the public generally will accept pure compositional
painting it is impossible to say; but the number of those who enjoy it
will steadily increase until there will be many lovers of art who will
collect only the most abstract works.
* * * * *
A Russian painter of great strength but entirely different inspiration
and technic was asked, “Do you like Kandinsky’s Improvisations?”
“Very much.”
“Do you understand them?”
“No.”
“Then why do you like them?”
“Because they give me pleasure and I am sure that as I look at them
they excite in me the same pleasure they excited in him when he painted
them; he has succeeded in conveying to me his own emotions and that is
the most any artist can hope to do.”
Which brings us back to the proposition laid down in an earlier chapter:
the emotional reaction to music and painting may be and usually is quite
independent of the intellectual, and while it may be either increased or
diminished in _volume_ by _understanding_, it is necessarily _changed_
in character.
* * * * *
Another artist, an Austrian, was asked:
“How do you like Kandinsky’s Improvisations?”
After a moment’s hesitation he replied slowly: “They interest me
immensely, and I admire the man’s courage to express himself in his own
way regardless whether people understand him or not, but he goes so far
that it is almost impossible for even his friends and sympathizers to
understand his pictures. He goes so far he is quite alone, no one can
follow, and therein I think perhaps he makes a mistake, for after all
pictures should be so painted that those who earnestly try can
understand them.”