mechanical and absolute, the Cubists have missed that possible
subjectivity of movement which, in its highest degree, colour alone can
give. They have constructed only primitively ordered bas-reliefs each
plane and line of which has a distinct direction. And this direction, no
matter what is added to or subtracted from the work, will remain the
same. The planes are consequently static and absolute. In the great art
of Cezanne there is only a relative absolutism. By any alteration in one
of his pictures, the entirety is shattered: the direction of each plane
and line is changed to concur with the needs of a different order. This
is because Cezanne's work possesses the poise which is demanded in the
highest art. And this poise is what Cubism, with its rigid lines and
planes, has entirely missed. Illustratively the Cubists' conception was
new, compositionally it was old; and an art cannot be significantly
renovated save from the bottom upward. The foundation of all art is
composition, and the only means which can be accepted as vital are those
which increase the artist's power to express that which is more inherent
in painting than in any of the other arts, namely: rhythmic form in
three dimensions. That the Cubists failed to develop such means may be
perceived by comparing the compositions of Picasso's "red" period, which
were but slightly cubic and which contain a certain amount of arbitrary
form, with his late and wholly cubic black-and-white drawings and
paintings such as are seen at Kahnweiler's back of the Madeleine. The
latter are almost wholly flat. His Femme a la Mandoline marks the
transition from the early period to the late one. In all his pictures
one finds a charming rhythm of lights and darks and a slight
comprehension of surface form. But he never goes very deep. Even in his
sculptured heads, while there is order, there is no form in the
compositional sense.
To ascribe Picasso's Cubism to so childish an impulse as a desire to
square an academic drawing is both untrue and unjust. Some have pointed
to Duerer as his artistic forbear merely because Duerer once described a
number of curves which he said could be made into a human body and drew
a block-diagram of box-like forms which he said was the basis for the
body's construction. But no relationship exists between these two
artists. Cubism's first consideration was to cover the surfaces of its
canvases with form, thus doing away with the empty spaces so prevalent
in all art works, spaces which Cezanne left blank. To accomplish this
logically it was necessary either to introduce superfluous figures, or
to stretch the ones already present into impossible distortions. Since
the elimination of all unessentials was the keynote of the day, Picasso
decided to make multiplex his essentials. Herewith was born the Cubist
conception of breaking up the model for the attainment of a more
complete work and one in which there would be no dead planes. At first
an extensive linear direction, which started at the lower frame, was
carried up into the background by the demarcation of a shadow or an
object, for the purpose of holding tightly together two or more forms.
Later, in order to facilitate this procedure of multiplying their
models, the Cubists began to walk round them. This process unchained
them from the slavery to a single model and from the given contour of an
absolute subject. At the same time it permitted them a fantastically
arbitrary composition, and made their expression more dependent on the
personality of the artist, and less contingent on preconceived ideas,
than ever before.
Cubism expressed a laudable tendency toward an aristocratic vision as
opposed to the popular vision of reality. Its pictures therefore became
doubly complex, for in the contemplation of the picturisation of our
mental process, another process is started which is far more complicated
than the first. Herein we have an explanation for the fact that Cubism
is incomprehensible to the untutored person who regards art as an
imitation of nature. The very word "form" is aesthetically meaningless to
the average spectator. In order to experience its meaning, aside from
organisation, one's attention has to be given over to the object's
weight, its force, its circumferential volume. A form in a picture
cannot be considered merely as to its employment and its utilitarian
destiny, or from the standpoint of one's experience with it. To the
great artist an object exists as a volume with which to fill a given
space. He completely forgets its _raison d'etre_ in life, and views it
only as a means for tightening a picture's order. To this extreme of
pure artistic conception the Cubists never attained. And while Cezanne
advanced from Courbet's surface realism to the realism of causes, the
Cubists were unable to progress along similar lines. They simply
translated abstraction into terms of concrete expression. The profound
reasons for dynamism in art were left untouched by them. They
endeavoured to portray objectively an abstract process, expecting its
mere portrayal to be dynamic.
The dynamic, however, cannot be rendered by imitation. It is as
impossible of attainment by this method as in the dancing-girl canvases
of Degas. Behind the emotional power of nature there is a great abstract
force; and the effect of dynamism can be got only when this force is
expressed. Then the result is a natural outgrowth of a cause. Otherwise
we have only a detached effect which does not lead us back into the
undercurrents of causation. When a Cubist picture is interesting it will
at most make us puzzle over the application of its theories; it can
never move us aesthetically by the sheer power of its methods. The one
dynamic element which the Cubists have in common with Cezanne--namely:
the modification of lines and forms through contact with other lines
and forms--they have nullified by constructing with rigid tones the
planes which the lines delimit, thereby making their planes frozen and
immovable. Because ignorant of the functionality of colour the Cubists
were unable to present, at one and the same time, perfect mobility,
planar solidity and indefinite depth. As a result of too much study of
Cezanne's and El Greco's composition and too little study of
Michelangelo and Rubens, they failed to achieve, even with the great
arbitrariness and convenience of their means, a profound composition
which is a rhythmic order of volume, as distinguished from a simple
organisation of parts. Their accomplishments do not realise the promises
of their programme because their theories were too inflexible. Cubism
was too tightly bound by rigid systems and methods to produce
plastically significant results.
The Cubists' greatest _apport_ to art (not in theory but in achievement)
is their almost total abolition of the painter's slavery to nature. It
was but a step from Matisse to the complete elimination of recognisable
objects, and though Cubism did not cover the entire distance, it
nevertheless made an advance toward that pure expression which Cezanne
saw was inevitable. Even today the followers of this school are
beginning to realise their early mistakes and to throw off their
self-imposed restrictions. They are launching forth into colour and are
seeking expression in purely arbitrary form. But these new developments
have not yet been productive of a new artistic worth. Indeed, it is
doubtful if they will lead to important results so long as the
geometrical phase of Cubism is adhered to, and so long as the Cubists
ignore the dynamic possibilities of colour. In its present status Cubism
can only continue striving toward a style that goes deeper than tonal
prettiness and lyric immobility. Already Picasso has passed out of
painting altogether. An artist with his extraordinary gift to do
anything superficially well could not remain anchored to an idea after
the novelty of its method had worn off. He is not a man who is the slave
of thought, but rather an obstinate artist with a spark of genius who
has passed through many different stages with a rapidity born of
astounding dexterity and cleverness. Many of his early female heads
rival in sheer classic beauty the best of the Renaissance painters. Some
of his pen-and-ink drawings are the most sensitive of modern times.
There are caricatures done by him which closely approach the fantasy of
a Goya. Indeed it may be justly said that he is as great an illustrator
as Raphael. And in this analogy lie both his glory and his limitation.
Like Raphael he lacks that profound penetration of exteriors which would
permit him a comprehension of his greater influences--of El Greco, for
instance. But, with a glance, he can sound the depths of a
Toulouse-Lautrec, a Steinlen or a piece of negro sculpture.
Picasso's inability to conceive two elements at once and to construct a
complicated development of composition, is exemplified in his earlier
work, first, by his adherence to certain single colours at different
stages of his career, secondly, by the extreme simplicity of his circus
folk, and thirdly, by his figure compositions which, though they are
never tedious or dull and possess an almost nervous _sensibilite_, are
limited to one or two human forms. Again Picasso's limitation of
compositional conception is attested to by his stubborn use of brown and
white in his latest Cubist pictures, by his employment of line alone in
the drawings of his architectural-plan stage, and by his application of
objects at hand to the clay blocks which mark his latest metamorphosis.
But no matter what his medium or style, he remains essentially
unchanged. In all his work is felt the superficial lightness of one who
conceives order only as an ornament to decoration and who is interested
in three-dimensional form merely as an after-thought. His sculpture is
but his painting in a solider medium. It is broken up into planes and
organised as to each contour in exactly the same manner as is his work
in oils. The difference between Picasso, the sculptor, and Matisse, the
sculptor, is the difference between a man who has a slight genius for
rhythm and a block order, and one who has a slight genius for
characterisation and a perfect ensemble. The art of Picasso, having to
do with form as decoration, is admirably adapted to sculpture. The art
of Matisse, being flat and dealing with colour as decoration, is
inexpressible in clay.
[Illustration: FUMEUR ET PAYSAGE by LEGER]
Fernand Leger, with the exception of Picasso, is the most genuinely
talented artist of the Cubist movement. His work at first was much less
radical than that of his confreres and gave greater evidence of depth
because it had never completely shaken off perspective. His canvases,
Les Toits and Maisons et Fumees, represent little more than a highly
artistic angularisation of a subject which, being angular in itself,
lends itself admirably to Cubistic treatment. Leger's method is to place
in the foreground large planes which serve as a frame for the actual
picture which is seen between them as through a tunnel. By this device
he creates a diversity of form and with it a recognisable depth. His
paint at first was light in tone, but is now taking on colour. Since his
first Cubist exhibits he has made a logical progress in rhythmic
conception, and if his past development can be assumed as a criterion of
the future it is safe to prophesy that eventually he will be the most
significant man of the original group. Albert Gleizes, Jean Metzinger,
Marcel Duchamp, Georges Braque and Francis Picabia are all prominent
figures in the Cubist movement. Gleizes manifested his first Cubist
tendencies by giving form a solid angularity, thereby making it precise.
His canvases are devoid of interest because so slightly creative. His
well-known L'Homme au Balcon appears to us today almost Futuristic in
conception. In fact, it was exposed at the _Salon d'Automne_ in 1912 one
year after the Futurist show; and when we compare it with his early and
less significant Les Baigneuses, with which it was hung, it gives the
impression of having been the result of a sudden and enthusiastic
inspiration from the newer men. Later his work grew broader and simpler,
but in it there is little or no composition. Even the order is that of
the straight line. Metzinger is a better artist. In him is a greater
order, although, as in Gleizes, it is produced by the straight line.
During his artistic beginnings he was under the sway of negro sculpture
and painted in small planes of light and dark. Later, turning from the
influence of negro antiquity, he directed his talent on nature and began
to interpret form into angularities. His La Femme au Cheval, done in
1912, was a distinct step, both as to form and composition, in advance
of the naturalistic vision; and his Le Port is one of the finest
examples of the Cubist theory of synchronous picturisation and
interpenetrating lines and masses. Duchamp, a slighter talent than
either Leger or Gleizes, is the Whistler of the movement. In his
pictures are less form, less composition and less comprehension of
volume than in any other Cubist work except that of Juan Gris whose
lethargic canvases have not even the interest of an Aime Morot. Braque
has added nothing to Cubism. He followed Picasso closely, and his whole
creative impetus seems derived from the latter's canvases.
Picabia, despite his popularity, is but a second-rate Cubist. He was
quick to grasp the fact that the Cubists were working away from
illustration, and attempted to step beyond them. Where they had
endeavoured to bring about the precise stylisation of form, he merely
dealt in ribbon-like patches of colour which were without contour,
shape, proportion or volume. His canvases wherein many of these strange
amorphous hachures are grouped, have a highly bizarre appearance but are
only remotely intelligible. He used almost monochromatic schemes, as did
his master Picasso, and continued this style of work until his fellow
Cubists, by diligent research and serious study, had approached the
abstract appearance of his surfaces. Picabia then found a new impetus
in the works of the Futurists--an impetus toward movement expressed, not
by bodies, but by line. This Futurist influence resulted in his making
flat pictures of many sharply defined silhouettes tinted red, green,
blue and grey. His lines serve only to accentuate the chaos of his
ensemble, for in his work there is no definite conception of the whole.
Cubism's possibilities as a dynamic illustrative art have never been
adequately exhausted, and, since the angular mode is rapidly
disappearing as a result of newer and more vital visions, they probably
never will. Picasso was its high priest up to two years ago, at which
time colour, coming back on the wave of a counter-revolution, threw most
of the Cubists into its application. Robert Delaunay was responsible for
this reaction. Early in 1912 he came forward with a very large canvas
entitled Ville de Paris, whose surface was broken up into many angular
planes after the Cubist fashion. But instead of depicting forms and
formal relations, the picture was painted in greys and high colours
solely as a means of surface filling. Its contours recalled El Greco
despite their being disguised by triangular dislocations. The picture
represented three mammoth Graces standing before a distant Paris
landscape, and so transparent and ethereal was it that it seemed as
though a breath could have dispersed it into mist. It possessed the
delicate loveliness of a butterfly, and the eye, in running over its
glittering and pretty array of colours, was fascinated as in the
contemplation of a kaleidoscope. But the canvas, while provoking a
distinct visual pleasure, failed to arouse any aesthetic enjoyment.
Delaunay's L'Equipe de Cardiff the following year was equally
unemotional. Fundamentally this picture was the same as his Ville de
Paris, though treated differently as to surface. The same up-shooting
type of _svelte_ beauty as formerly bodied forth in his three Graces was
here repeated in the bodies of the athletes, but there was in addition a
very slight surface rhythm; and the colour, because its application was
broader, had a greater fascination. In his Ville de Paris, not daring to
paint a naturally drawn nude with the colours his sense of prettiness
and ornament dictated, he fragmentised the surface by luxating the
lines. Thus, while the sensitive contour was retained, the picture
appeared as if viewed through a polygonal prism. In the second canvas
this artifice for the sake of charm was discarded. The players were
dressed in solid colours of bright pigment; the sky was blue-violet; the
Eiffel tower, eminently appreciable, stood to the right; down the centre
of the canvas was a large _affiche_ in yellow; and overhead soared an
aeroplane. The transition from a hackneyed theme to a modern one was the
result of the artist's desire to pass beyond the methods of the day to
more vigorous ones.
Before Delaunay's decisive work was done he had been influenced by the
Neo-Impressionists, Cezanne, the Cubists and, in his two mentioned early
works, by the Impressionists. Indeed these pictures are the expression
of Impressionist methods broadened and extended to suit the dimensions
of his canvases. His cityscapes with the Eiffel tower as the principal
object are interesting though not profound, and such canvases as the
Route de Laon and Les Tours are so dainty they seem breathed onto the
canvas. He is essentially a decorator in that he works always in two
dimensions. This surface quality enters into all art, but in itself it
is never significant. Only when it is a _result_ of ordered plasticity
does it have power to move us. In Delaunay, however, there exists no
fundamental order. Consequently his power is strictly limited. His
desire is to make decoration which will be profound, instead of profound
composition which will result in decoration. By thus reversing the
natural order, effects are considered before causes; and only by the
dynamism of causes can we be made to feel beauty. Beauty such as his is
merely prettiness: it is only the objective mask of beauty, and is of no
more aesthetic importance than a view of nature. The true beauty of a
work of art is subjective; it is the effect of one's having sensed the
accumulated and sequential aspects of co-ordinated expression. Herein
lies the difference between aesthetic emotion and the pleasure aroused by
a sunset, a stage setting or a dramatic story. When one is able to
penetrate finally into art, neither dolour nor depression results, but
always a feeling of exultation and joy, for by one's intellectual
comprehension one has been physically aroused by a dynamic force, not
merely moved by a scene or story which sets in motion the associative
processes.
To the inadequate comprehension of this psychological truth is
attributable the failure of the Cubists and of Delaunay. The latter
strove to preserve the individuality of his work under the name of
Orphism, and later under the designation of Simultaneism. But his
temperamental kinship to Picasso and the Cubists is too obvious to be
denied by nomenclature. Even his latest work, while more abstract and
more luminous, is at most secessionistic. His canvas hung in the _Salon
des Independants_ in 1914 was Cubism translated into light colours and
twisted into curves and circles. Delaunay's wife, Madame Delaunay-Terk,
follows him closely in inspiration and application, but her pictures are
less ordered than his. The American, Bruce, once an imitator of Matisse
and later of Cezanne, has joined the Simultaneist ranks; and Frost,
another American, is an ardent disciple of Delaunay. The orthodox
Cubists had passed colour by, but its reappearance in the
Orphists-Simultaneists was a significant augury. Though it was not
understood by them as an element capable of organic functioning, its
mere presence was an inspiration and a call to all genuine artists to
penetrate its meaning in relation to the intensification of form.
XII
FUTURISM
The dramatic enhancement of painting by line so well understood by the
ancients, and the literary intensification of subject-matter by colour
foreshadowed by the primitives and made more conscious by Delacroix,
reached their highest development in the theories of Kandinsky and the
Futurists. With Delacroix's comments concerning the harmonising of line
and colour with subject and Seurat's and Signac's subsequent addenda to
these comments, began scientific observation in painting. So long as
these theories remained secondary to the great truths of composition
they were admissible, because they had to do only with the unimportant
ornamentation of an aesthetic organisation. But when, as in Kandinsky and
the Futurists, they became the all in all of the artist's ambitions,
they ceased to produce painting, and gave birth only to bad music, as in
the Russian, and to bad poetry, as in the Italians. But while the
Futurists' work had little to commend it to the discriminating
spectator, their ideas were interesting and inspiring, and it is from
their manifestos that has come what little influence they have exerted.
Their pictures are neither pretty nor agreeable, while Kandinsky's, to
the contrary, possess dainty and pleasing traits. In both cases the
pictures are puzzles to be deciphered at length: they are expressions of
moods brought about by half veiling reality and by making symbolically
concrete an abstract force or cause.
In music where the form is an abstract result of concrete causes and in
literature where the form is wholly abstract and represented by symbols,
moods can be easily expressed, for they are the natural outgrowth of the
media of these two arts. But in painting and sculpture, which are the
visual arts wherein the form itself is concrete, emotion can be provoked
only by a plastic poise of subjective weights. The balance and
opposition of such weights or volumes when rhythmically organised give
rise to complete aesthetic satisfaction and engender a feeling of
finality which encompasses both line and colour. The Futurists, as did
Delacroix and Seurat, count on "force-lines" to express an emotion,
thereby branding themselves two-dimensional artists. And their desire to
represent an emotion of objectivity on canvas places them at once in the
ranks of illustrators. The highest art has nothing to do with objective
reality whether as a spectacle or as a means to sensation. It is true
that painting, in becoming pure, will eventually incorporate the
associative emotions, but these emotions will be the psychological
results of abstract form, not memorial experiences produced by cognitive
objects. And the line, of which we have heard so much, will then become
a direction and equality of pure form; it will no longer be simply an
indication on a flat surface by means of a mark. The Futurists did not
strive for purity. Rather did they emphasise an irrelevant side of
painting. They declared themselves the renovators of subject-matter.
Their whole ambition worked toward that end; and it is from that
standpoint they must be judged.