Lema Sabachthani "Why have you forsaken me?"

  Stations of the Cross (1958-1966), the title of a major series from Barnett Newman, is about Jesus's long agony on Mount Calvary followed by his crucifixion and death, an event reenacted yearly on Good Friday by the Catholic Church. The Aramaic subtitle Lema Sabachthani, Jesus's anguished plea while dying on the cross, widens the impact of the work: "Why have you forsaken me". Following a heart attack in 1958, Barnett Newman made two paintings which grew to a series of fourteen plus one completed in 1966, inspired by the artist facing his own demise at a time of reckoning in a post-WWII era. The fifteen paintings, gift from Robert and Jane Meyerhoff, are permanently located in the Tower 1 of the East Building at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C..

Usually quiet, the gallery is the perfect space for the fifteen canvasses of the same size (6 1/2 by 5 feet) lined up on the walls in harmony with the architecture. The high glass ceiling lets the natural light gently bathe the room and the display is an invitation to sit on a bench surrounded by the works. The neutral colors, black and white, induce a state of tranquility and contemplation. A slow walk along the stations allows an immersive view of the large rectangular paintings for an "enveloping effect" (Greenberg) intended by the artist. A description of each abstract piece would be fastidious and pointless. A brief look from the first to the sixth painting will reveal slightly different shades of  white for the background, a black vertical band of  almost the same width on the left side and black zips on the right side with variations from brushstrokes, speckles or smudges. One cannot refrain from evoking Japanese calligraphy, updated by Newman. The ninth, tenth and eleventh canvasses are beige and white and match the series's vertical design, pillars? crosses? totems? A funerary black background and white zips relate to the final stages of the journey to Calvary ending with the death of Jesus (twelfth and thirteenth paintings). Fourteenth Station (1965-1966) is white, ethereal, immaculate, so bright that it feels like looking at the sun through white clouds. It reaches perfection without visible brushstrokes. A discreet light grey strip is found on the left side. A close look reveals the "spatial infinity" Barnett Newman was pursuing as he wished to visit the tundra to "... have the sensation of being surrounded by four horizons in a total surrender to spatial infinity." Traditionally the fifteenth Station of the Cross, when present, corresponds to the resurrection of Jesus Christ, one of the mysteries of the Church. Here the fifteenth painting, of the same heavenly white than the fourteenth, features a thin jagged blood-red border on the left side, the only warm color in the show and a narrow black strip on the right. The question stays unanswered: "why have you forsaken me".  

The last two paintings provide a clue to Newman's quest for the sublime and a path to infinity, art's higher goal than a search for beauty. Inspired by the indigenous art from the Northwest Coast of North America he wrote about the typical Kwakiutl artist: "For him, a shape was a living thing, a vehicle for abstract thought-complex, a carrier of the awesome feelings he felt before the terror of the unknowable."  "The Kwakiutl artist, the abstract shape he used, his entire plastic language, was directed by a ritualistic will towards metaphysical understanding." The art historian Robert Rosenblum wrote about Newman in his essay on The Abstract Sublime: "(Barnett Newman) ...explores a realm of sublimity so perilous that it defies comparison with even the most adventurous Romantic explorations into sublime nature." Barnett Newman creates art with a new purpose and as a viewer we have to learn new ways to look at it. Contemplation requires time and introspection to reach the spiritual enlightenment the artist aims to communicate. The artist himself wrote about his work in 1967: "I hope that my painting has the impact of giving someone, as it did me, the feeling of my own totality, of his own separateness, of his own individuality and at the same time of his connection to others, who are also separate." One more quote from The First Man was an Artist : "We are creating images whose reality is self-evident and which are devoid of the props and crutches that evoke associations with outmoded images, both sublime and beautiful. We are freeing ourselves of the impediments of memory, association, nostalgia, legend, myth, or what have you, that have been the devices of Western European painting. Instead of making cathedrals out of Christ, man or "life", we are making it out of ourselves out of our own feelings.  The image we produce is the self-evident one of revelation, real and concrete, that we can be understood by anyone who will look at it without the nostalgic glasses of history." With 14 stations about human suffering, could the 15th painting be a sign of hope?  

Donald Judd who wrote extensively about Newman's work stated: "A painting by Newman is finally no simpler than one by Cézanne". Agree. 

                               

  

photographs by the author:

"First Station" (1958)

View of the gallery

"Be II" (1961/1964)           

Doom and Gloom, German Expressionism and Neos at the NGA

 

German expressionism evokes blue horses, lavish nudes in natural settings, portraits revealing deep emotions- in short, a liberation from the corsets of academic art.  During the period 1900-1930, political turmoil, rumbles of war, crushed dreams of a lower class abandoned by the industrial revolution, threats from infectious diseases, contributed to a state of angst reverberating through the art world. It is also a time of inner self-discovery spearheaded by Sigmund Freud, the father of psychoanalysis and Karl Jung, his younger disciple. The Anxious Eye: German Expressionism and Its Legacy at the National Gallery of Art assembles more than one hundred works created from 1908 to 1921, selected from its permanent collection. The display of mainly prints reflects a renewed interest for the cheaper and faster process involved in their production. It also features drawings, two sculptures and illustrated books. The small size of the works allows for a rich show organized by themes, set in four galleries of the West building.

The self-portraits of Heckel and Kirshner introduce two of the founding artists of Die Brücke, an art movement established in 1905 in Dresden, heavily influenced by Munch from Norway and the Belgian Ensor. Their harsh features are barely soften by colors for Heckel or the subtle blurriness of crayon for Kirshner. The intense gaze of Max Beckmann reveals his profound sadness conveyed through deep frowns and drooping corners of the mouth. For Käthe Kollwitz, self-portraits are "psychological milestones" and if she drew more than fifty of them, she is well known for her realistic depiction of the proletariat. She found her inspiration in war, starvation, poverty, and in 1910, she represents herself with a hand on her forehead, lost in mournful inner thoughts. Did she have a premonition of the tragedies to come? She lost a son in WWI and a grandson in WWII as the world fell apart. In two woodcuts made in the twenties she adopts a tragic expression, and in 1933 draws a serene charcoal version in profile where she appears to forget her torments, absorbed by her art. The hellish portrait of Walter Gramatté who volunteered for the front at seventeen years old, could illustrate one of the Grimm's tales. The expression of fright in The Great Anxiety (1918) reflects a blood curling vision most likely due to the horrors he witnessed during the war. Portraiture, the first part of the exhibition assembles twenty five works and goes on with portraits of luminaries or anonymous sitters. Death, violence, depravity, are feeding the artists' inspiration and works from well-known artists like George Grosz (Attack, 1915) or Otto Dix (Dance of Death Anno 17, 1924) are found next to those of the elder Christian Rohlfs (The Prisoner, 1918) or lesser known Paul Gangolf (Prostitute on Cocaine, 1925). Sorrow, 1914, a grayish allegory from Egon Schiele is a fitting conclusion for this chilling first part as a last sweeping glance fails to reveal a smile among the portraits.  

Moving on, Nature and Spirituality might feature soothing landscapes, maybe even a blue sky?  Two Pietàs (Max Oppenheimer and Georg Ehrlich), Christ Bearing the Cross (1916) and The Fall of Man (1919), from Lovis Corinth, and other religious themed prints feature more harrowing scenes of suffering, suggesting a redeeming spiritual value to humanity's misery. Close by the mountains from Kirchner or the fishing steamer from Emil Nolde appear irrelevant in the midst of a tormented world while the sunrise from Heckel is filled with bad omens. Communion with nature implies nudity, and nudes are plentiful in two of the galleries. Set in primal surroundings, forests, beaches, the models are caught in playful or more contemplative activities. Kirchner is well represented so are Mueller, Pechstein and Heckel. Angular, sharp lines, sickly yellowish colors, the portraits-caricatures reflect the technique of the German expressionists, transforming the Arcadian settings into depressing sights. The erotic nude from the Austrian Egon Schiele stands out with its generous shapes and decaying flesh. Against this somber background, a carefree and permissive atmosphere floated in some circles, evoked in two lithographs about dance and cabarets. The scantily clad dancer in Tänzerin (1913) from Nolde refers to black performers favored by a white bourgeois audience looking for a steamy entertainment.

Colors and size of the seventeen works in the last gallery contrast with the mostly black and white display so far. A dozen artists, from various backgrounds and continents have been selected and their works cover about seventy years, from the 1950's until today. They have little in common and never met, but are assembled under the theme: German Expressionism Reimagined. If the works from Georg Baselitz and A. R. Penk both Germans relate to neo-expressionism, a loosely defined international movement born in the 1980s, it is odd to find David Driskell's  self-portrait inspired by "African art but as seen through the lens of ancestral legacy rather than European colonialism" (wall text). On the American side, Leonard Baskin with The Hydrogen Man (1954) belongs to the list of neo-expressionist artists. His self-portrait is hung between Shikō Munakata, a printmaker inspired by Van Gogh, Buddhism and Japanese folk art, and a woodcut from Kerry James Marshall. One can question the inclusion of Sam Francis considered an abstract expressionist painter or the choice of a monochrome red abstract screen print from Rachid Johnson about COVID, BLM and George Floyd, according to the press release. Figurative is one of the hallmark of neo expressionism, in reaction to abstract.  The three women selected for the show, Miriam Beerman, Nicole Eisenman and Orit Hofshi meet the neo expressionism criteria, from technique to subject. All the works reflect angst, a few of them are related to German expressionism. 

The ambitious goal of  the exhibition as stated by Kaywin Feldman, director of the National Gallery of Art is "to invite visitors to consider the striking parallels between the intensity of human emotion and experience conveyed in the work of the German expressionists during a transformational historic period in the early 20th century and current responses to the cultural and political shifts taking place in our world today." The result is a superficial review of German expressionism through prints. The wall texts give little information about the political context or the influence of Die Brücke which is not even mentioned. For decades, the poorly understood movement in France and even America was labelled as "une erreur gothico-teutonique" (a gothico-teutonic mistake). The sweeping statements erode history especially art history and imply that expressionism was invented by German artists. The means of conveying inner emotions in an expressionistic way is independent of time. The wall texts are cursory and offer little information about the artists who might not be well known by some visitors, missing the educational mission of the museum. The exhibition leaves a chilling message: a look at the past does not forebode well for the future. 

                                                

photographs by the author:

Erich Heckel "Portrait of a Man (Self-Portrait)", 1919

Otto Mueller "Two Bathers", c. 1920

Leonard Baskin "The Hydrogen Man", 1954

Emil Nolde "Dancer", 1913 

Rothko, Known and Unknown

 

Two major exhibitions recently opened, ending the year on a high note: Mark Rothko a retrospective at the Fondation Louis Vuitton in Paris and Mark Rothko: Paintings on Paper  at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. Both organized in chronological order gather more than one hundred paintings each, some of them rarely seen, selected from renown institutions like the The Phillips Collection, the National Gallery of Art or the Tate, and from private collections. Since my memorable encounter with the artist's work at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston in 2015, I thought Rothko had no secrets for me. My peregrinations allowed me to visit both shows which left me dazzled by the richness of their content.

It would be overreaching and repetitious for me to discuss Rothko's work, subject of numerous analysis by famous art critics and historians, likewise to write a review of the flawless exhibitions organized by experts and top curators. I prefer to look back at my encounter with the paintings of the famous abstract expressionist artist and to assess what resonates within me. To "see" Rothko, I take advice from Michael Findlay who quotes the poet Wallace Stevens in his book Seeing Slowly: Looking at Modern Art in the chapter "Ignorance Is Knowledge?":

                           You must become an ignorant man again

                           And see the sun with an ignorant eye

                           And see it clearly in the idea of it.    

In preparation for my visit, I adopted some sort of mental vacuity to receive the full impact of the paintings. It is a solitary, personal endeavor. I think that Rothko would agree.  

Starting in Paris, I was struck by a self-portrait made in 1936 near the entrance. The thirty-three-year-old artist, somber and enigmatic, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, appears to scrutinize the viewer. Other than this unsettling painting, Rothko's portraits are forgettable as confirmed a few weeks later looking at his works on paper. The figurative urban scenes of the 30's are followed by the often ignored paintings from the early 40's, foundations of his practice. In search of a universal "new myth" he incorporates motives from Greek mythology, then moves to surrealistic dreamscapes as he slowly veers to abstraction with his "Multiforms" until shapes become simple colored blocks floating on limitless monochrome backgrounds filling vertical canvasses. Rothko's practice reaches its acme in the 50's and the display of such a great number of works from the period is enthralling. Being surrounded by the paintings radiating in the semi-darkness is a unique experience. Each of them stirs deep emotions through a gamut of moody blues, elating yellows, oranges, reds, a symphony of colors mostly joyous until we reach the display of  darker paintings introducing black, wine color, and a room filled with the Seagram Murals travelling from the Tate Modern in London, followed by several "Blackforms". Rothko's attempt to make black glow in the dark to let paintings "generate their own light", a rehearsal for the Rothko Chapel at The Menil Collection, engenders the same feeling of gloom and doom that besets me following my visits at the chapel itself in Houston. Braving a line of visitors, I spent a few minutes in the small gallery in which the Rothko Room from The Phillips Collection is recreated minus one painting. As a frequent visitor of the venue in D.C., I have been able to contemplate the paintings in total serenity time and again. On the highest floor, a unique display assembles iconic sculptures from Giacometti and Rothko's late acrylic paintings (1969-1970) from the Black and Grey series, highlighting the influence of Giacometti's works on the painter. I could not recall seeing these before, but if I had, the uninspired grayish masses under flat black rectangles did not catch my attention. As a final note, three vibrant paintings made in 1967 in the small adjacent gallery remind us that Rothko never renounced the use of colors in his practice. 

Back in Washington, I could not miss the exhibition at the National Gallery even as I thought it might be redundant or worse, disappointing. It was full of surprises. With about a dozen paintings per room, the show unfolds in the same chronological order starting with figurative landscapes, portraits and nudes, providing a glimpse in the nascent artist's career. The wall texts add moving details about Rothko's life and the poor response to his works at the time. The next two rooms are a journey into the artist's surrealist period through a succession of paintings from the mid-40's I had never seen before. Each of them tells a story born from deep connections to mythology, prehistory, a primal world in which the artist searches for a new myth to reach spirituality. I spent some time looking at the biomorphic shapes floating in soft watery colors, savoring their content and the delicate brush strokes. Slowly, the paintings undergo some kind of purification as they become more abstract and the next works mirror those on canvas from the 50's, although smaller in size precluding a total immersion in the landscapes of colors. As we progress, the tones get darker and on the next floor, we reach the Brown and Grays series on paper echoing the Black and Grey series on canvas. Nearby, black paintings slowly appear to glow revealing drips of luminescent paint. The effect is working this time, possibly due to a careful lighting? Close by, in a separate space, a life size photograph of Rothko walking toward a huge easel gives a concrete idea of the painter's physical labor, and a few unfinished paintings on paper reveal Rothko's technique. Moving on, the last room is another delightful surprise, "an ethereal suite of paintings on paper with soft, cloudlike edges surrounded by margins of pale paper". The wall text gives a perfect description of the paintings, evoking the soft colors of the surrealist period. These late works, contemporary to his Brown and Grays series, close the show on a ravishing note.

"Why paint at all?" The answer is found in these two landmark exhibitions giving an in depth look at the path of Rothko's practice, reflection of his inner and most private life. The artist, a master of colors did not want to be called a colorist. Painting for him is not about beautiful hues, but is a catharsis in his search for the spiritual and his interest in "expressing basic human emotions". We can participate to the artist's journey as he arises a primitive angst common to all of us and translates the unspeakable through his art. A quote from Robert Rosenblum about the abstract sublime seems very appropriate: "These infinite, glowing voids carry us beyond reason to the Sublime; we can only submit to them in an act of faith and let ourselves be absorbed into their radiant depths."

Rothko was concerned about his legacy: "A painting lives by companionship, expending and quickening in the eyes of the sensitive observer. It dies by the same token." The unavoidable crowd of selfie takers somewhat spoils the visit, and the images of Rothko's paintings on the phone screens do not allow to "look and see". Everyone recognizes "a Rothko" and moves on. 

Just a reminder that we are responsible for the artist's legacy as the two exhibitions resonate well beyond the visit. 

                                        

photographs by the author:

1-"Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea", 1944 (Fondation Louis Vuitton)

2-"Untitled", 1948 (National Gallery of Art)

3-"Blue, Yellow, Green on Red", 1954 (Fondation Louis Vuitton)

4-"Untitled (Forest Interior)", 1933 (National Gallery of Art)

Philip Guston at the National Gallery of Art

 

After a two-year-long delay, the exhibition  Philip Guston Now  just opened at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. Expectations are high following earlier showings at the Museum of Fine Arts Boston and the Museum of Fine Arts Houston. Guston (1913-1980) disappeared more than forty years ago, and a retrospective of his career which spans half a century allows to take a fresh look at his work in today's context. Time has come to reassess the artist's legacy overshadowed by controversy. The exhibition assembles more than two hundred paintings and drawings from public and private collections, displayed in the temporary exhibition area near the auditorium of the East building designed by the architect Pei.  

Like advertisements, a video, two iconic paintings (Rug, 1976, and Painter's Table, 1973, from the National Gallery of Art's permanent collection) and a wall text, introduce the exhibit. The artist's short biography provides the thread for the show organized in chronological order, and includes at the bottom a warning about its content. At first glance it feels like being in the wrong place: Picasso? De Chirico? Max Ernst? and more... The self-taught artist ( Guston could not afford art classes) gets his inspiration from the bests and acquires a flawless technique producing works like Mother and Child, c.1930, or Female Nude with Easel, 1935. In Bombardment, 1937, a tondo about Guernica, Guston expresses the horror of the dramatic event with evocative images surrounding a fiery explosion. He finds work as a muralist, influenced by artists like Orozco and Siqueiros. Early on, the "student" introduces personal marks like a lightbulb in Nude Philosopher in Space-Time, 1935 or a hood in Drawing for Conspirators, 1930, rich in symbolism. 

The path of the artist veers slowly to abstraction with tight compositions like The Porch, 1946-1947 and The Porch II, 1947, followed by three dark red paintings made from 1947 to 1950 in which shapes are hardly visible, like fading hieroglyphs. Guston's move to New York City, where he reunites with his high school's friend Jackson Pollock and the group of abstract expressionist painters, appears to be a new beginning, and the next gallery is filled with colors from  paintings lined up on both sides: the pinnacle of Guston's abstract period is represented by about ten works starting with an earlier piece White Painting I, 1951, and ending with Fable, 1956-1957, and Voyage, 1956.  Guston rejected the fame brought by the exhibition of his works at the Guggenheim in 1962, and his black-grey self-portraits Smoker, 1963, Painter III, 1963, Head I, 1965, reflect his mood at the time. All along, the display of drawings combined with the paintings highlights the artist's reliance on the technique, foundation of his practice. In the late sixties, he literally went back to the drawing board. The artist's struggle comes to light through about twenty of his studies (1966-1968) organized on a wall, starting with a line, a shape then an object, followed by twenty five small images of painted objects (oil on panel) set in a narrow passage. From design to colors, lightbulb, iron, curtain, nail, book, shoes, ..., reach a "Gustonian" status and define his cartoonish alphabet. A sign at the entrance of a gallery on the right side warns the visitors about its content: the famous Marlborough paintings, at least some of them. In 1970, the exhibition at the Marlborough gallery with thirty new paintings represents a watershed in Guston's practice and life. Being surrounded by key works from Guston can be overwhelming: bigger size, pink color, content. It takes some time to look at The Studio, 1969, Caught, 1970, City Limits, 1969, ... more than ten paintings from the period next to each other. The omnipresent hooded figures, intellectually acceptable in Guston's context, remain culturally sensitive and the show's lay-out allows to skip the area filled with the paintings representing the crux of Guston's practice. 

Following the Cyclops series, which include the famous derisive self-portrait Painting, Smoking, Eating, 1972, the tone becomes intimate with the inclusion of Musa, his dedicated wife. Never the focal point, she is depicted as a remote but powerful presence, with on top of her head, a hairpiece like a sunset. The Ladder, 1978, depicts a touching scene in which the painter climbs a blue wall to reach Musa, a spiritual endeavor. Guston is facing aging and illness, torn between his roles as caregiver and artist. He holds his brushes tight while embracing Musa in Couple in Bed, 1977. The background is black and grey with a watch in the center of the painting. Time is running out. In a corner, a few drawings commissioned by the Navy and studies for murals made between 1936-1942 feel out of place as the exhibition progresses toward the last decade of Guston's career defined by  darker works like Flame, 1979, Talking, 1979 or Kettle, 1978, facing a series of smaller canvasses still lifes from 1980, on view for the show in Washington only. Before reaching the last gallery, the ominous hand of God emerges from a puffy cloud, drawing a line (The Line, 1978). Six more late paintings, three of them about the studio, make up the grand finale including a one hourlong documentary about the artist in the nearby theater.

The exhibition is flawless from the selection of works, to the wall texts and intermingled artist's quotes complemented by an essential catalog. It highlights the tight connection between Guston's life events and his practice and rejuvenates his paintings seen in a new social and political context. The visit of  his career's most controversial period is softened by appropriate wall texts and the plan of the galleries. Projecting his personal conflicts on the canvass, the artist makes himself vulnerable as he brings along a great dose of cynicism and humor. He does not shy from his personal demons which brought him to adopt a most reviled figure as his doppelganger: "The idea of evil fascinated me,..., I almost tried to imagine that I was living with the Klan. What would it be like to be evil?"

 Another quote about the Vietnam war gives a key to his practice: 

"...What kind of man am I, sitting at home, reading magazines, going into frustrated fury about everything- and then going into my studio to adjust a red to a blue?" Guston did not believe in art for art's sake. It appears that if his early years including his abstract expressionist period deserve attention, Guston really thrived when he became himself: a storyteller.

                                              

photographs by the author:

"Self-Portrait", 1944

"Dial", 1956

"The Studio" 1969

"The Street", 1977
         

Rothko's Journey at the MFAH

Mark Rothko's large paintings with their signature rectangular fields of color stand out in museums, galleries, art fairs, attracting eager visitors. Creativity appears to have struck the artist like lightning, leading to swift recognition and fame. The exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston Mark Rothko:A Retrospective will dispel such an assumption with more than sixty works displayed in chronological order offering a glimpse into the painter's career.
Most of the works are on loan from the National Gallery of Art and the first room is filled with early pieces from the 1930's. Figurative scenes featuring familiar surroundings like crowds in the New York subway, primitive compositions à la Gauguin or inspired by Greek mythology veer to surrealist and abstract pieces influenced by European movements. Forwarding to the late 40's with the series of "Multiforms", made of biomorphic colored blurry shapes followed by a period of "Transitional Paintings" in the adjacent room, Rothko's vocabulary is maturing with vertical abstract landscapes made with oil paint bleeding into the canvas. Yellows, oranges, reds surround the visitors as the walk through the exhibition leads to the "Classic Paintings" from the 50's. Rothko gave numbers to his paintings or left them untitled. Scholars and art critics defined and named periods according to the painter's technique and biography. Bathing in colors, I felt elated and heard music (The Ode to Joy from Beethoven to be precise). Following Rothko's advice, I stood 18 inches from the canvasses, letting my eyes overflow with luminous colors and limitless horizons. Being surrounded by the paintings radiating energy and life, is a unique experience which offers an occasion to participate in the artist's search for sublime goals. A similar exhilaration overtook me a few weeks later at the Phillips Collection while contemplating the four paintings from the same period in the Rothko Room.  The transition to his next endeavor is brutal. Drama, tension and ultimately doom transpire from the four variations in red commissioned for the Seagram's Four Seasons Restaurant followed by the black and violet compositions realized for the Rothko Chapel located a few miles away at The Ménil Collection. The paintings are somber and the commissioned works lack spontaneity. Lost in the darkness of the black fields, I could not find the thread leading to meditation. The last paintings are reflecting the artist's physical limitations. He changed his technique radically, downsizing the canvasses and using acrylic for his two-toned compositions in black and grey. However his last message is a vision in red, ethereal, a scream for life and hope, radiating pure energy.
The exhibition offers not only a didactic way to look at Rothko's career, but is also a unique venue to experience the physicality of his paintings. Expressing his philosophy through his work, Rothko makes it universal and timeless. Before undertaking his career shortened by his self-inflicted demise, Rothko reflected on art and philosophy in the early 40's and his writings gathered by his son Christopher were published in "The Artist's Reality: Philosophies of Art".

As a whole, the exhibition allows to follow the maturation of the artist's technique and his parallel inner journey and growth.
Rothko was very protective of his works and when looking at them I keep in mind this quote from the artist himself:

"A painting lives by companionship, expanding and quickening in the eyes of the sensitive observer. It dies by the same token. It is therefore a risky and unfeeling act to send it out to the world."

photographs by the author

"Underground Fantasy", 1940
"Number 2", 1947
"Number 7", 1949
"Untitled", 1970

The Other Miró

From the Tate in London to the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, the works of Joan Miró are travelling with the exhibition Joan Miró: The Ladder of Escape. The text at the entrance makes it clear, the visitor will discover a politically engaged artist, an often ignored side of Miró's work.

The National Gallery of Art's website provides a detailed overview of the exhibition, with an outline of the    different periods presented by chronological order. What strikes the visitor is the rapid maturation of the artist. The Portrait of Vincent Nubiola, 1917, inspired by Cézanne, is followed by naive, primitive paintings depicting Miró childhood's surroundings, among them The Farm, 1921-22 (bought later by Ernest Hemingway). The styles collide with obvious influence from Cubism (which Miro found too bourgeois) and Surrealism like in The Hunter, 1923-24. After meeting with André Breton, Max Ernst and other members of the surrealist movement in Paris, the artist assimilated their theories and put them in practice. His subjects stayed regional with the Catalan peasants series which became a symbol of oppression. The message is subtle with its description of peasants: red hat (the barretina which alludes to the red phrygian hat worn by the sans-culottes during the French Revolution), mustaches, eyes and pipes. The shapes are getting leaner with stick like bodies. A closer look shows symmetrical lines built on a grid lightly delineated on the background. The canvas is pierced several times with a blunt object, a call for rebellion?

In the same room, three Animated Landscapes look peaceful and poetic with their monochrome backgrounds animated by a few floating objects, moon, hare, dog and the symbolic ladder, a way to escape from reality to an imaginary world.

Following these, the political message becomes louder. Wars, politics, social upheavals influence paintings like Man and Woman in Front of a Pile of Excrement, 1935 or The Two Philosophers, 1936, clouds gather on the horizon with the start of the Spanish civil war which lasted till 1939. Miró uses bright, angry colors, convoluted shapes to create beastly creatures and an hallucinatory landscape. Across these, the "savage" pastels, which sounds like an oxymoron, works of small format on paper, oil on copper, collages, masonite, tar, caseine and sand, six Metamorphosis dark, with a rough texture. Then, several symbolic paintings like Still Life with Old Shoe, 1937 introduce new objects: a fork piercing an apple to represent oppressive regimes, bread, a shoe to represent the people. The colors are screaming on a black background and express violence, anguish, destruction. The artist's use of simple symbols  evokes propaganda posters. The following paintings made in 1939 are dada in their absurdity. This is the end of a terrible war...and the start of another. The Constellation series made in 1940-41 is a nice break after these dark works. The automatic drawings, a total of twenty-three, are of small format, cosmic with stars, abstract symbols, ladders, eyes, birds, female shapes on soft colored backgrounds. 

 But the painter's preoccupation with war, dictators, is always present and The Barcelona series (1939-1944) line up a wall, threatening lithographs in black and white. Suns are black, shapes have teeth, angry features, sexual appendages hanging of noses. In contrast, across the room, the gigantic triptych Mural Painting I-III, made in 1962, in the Color Field painting technique, is blinding with the uniformly saturated canvas orange-yellow, green and red with a few cryptic signs, a dot, a line.

The last room erupts with protests: May 68 inspired by the French riots is a colorful green, red, orange, yellow, blue painting defaced by thick black lines.

The painter is all action, splashing grey paint on the canvass for the triptych titled Fireworks,1973, a firework of doom and ashes. Two works from the Burnt Canvases series (five total), made also in 1973 conclude the exhibition. In a dramatic gesture of despair, the artist well-known by then, burned five paintings. His message never changed just got stronger. The visitor leaves the exhibition with these few words from Miró:

"When an artist speaks in an environment in which freedom is difficult, he must turn each of his works into a negation of the negations" (1979)...The artist became very good at this.

photographs were not allowed
"The Farm", 1921-22, Wikimedia
"Head of a Catalan Peasant", 1925, Wikimedia
"The Morning Star" (from Constellations series), 1940-41, Wikimedia

"Persons in the Presence of a Metamorphosis", 1936, photograph by the author: permanent collection, New Orleans Museum of Art