Cubism. A Synthesis of Robert Hughes & E.H. Gombrich.

The first book on Art History that I ever read was Robert Hughes’s The Shock of the New. In one’s life, there are books that will leave one speechless with the sense of discovery they offer. This book was one such touchstone in my life. It led to a deeper appreciation of art, so that I wanted to see more and read more. Art evolved into a passion, and it is a debt I owe largely to Robert Hughes. For those interested in learning the history of Modern Art, I can recommend no better resource than The Shock of the New.

Recently, I came to an uncomfortable perspective concerning Hughes’s views on Cubism. Uncomfortable because it is difficult to accept that one’s heroes are fallible. Here is an encapsulation from The Shock of the New, in Hughes’s own words:

“No painting of a conventional sort could deal with the new public experience of the late 19^th Century, fast travel in a machine on wheels…the succession and superimposition of views, the unfolding of landscape in flickering surfaces…The cultural conditions of seeing were starting to change… seeing the ground from the [Eiffel] Tower…a new landscape began to seep into popular awareness. It was based on frontality and pattern rather than on perspective recession and depth…the speed at which culture reinvented itself through technology…the changes in capitalist man’s view of himself…how could you make paintings that might reflect the immense shifts in consciousness that this altering technological landscape implied? … The first artists to sketch an answer to this question were the Cubists.” (Hughes, pp. 12-16).

I fully accept this reasonable conclusion. There is no question that a radically changing culture will produce art that departs radically from its past. But my later readings of E.H. Gombrich’s The Story of Art produced a question in my mind. Why didn’t Hughes consult what the Cubists themselves said about their work? If one is an historian, doesn’t one have a responsibility to explore as much primary material on the subject as is available? Perhaps Hughes read the voluminous, first-hand accounts by Cubist artists and found the information irrelevant to his thesis.

But Gombrich read Picasso’s own accounts of his motivations for Cubism and reached a differing conclusion. Quoting Picasso, The Story of Art proceeds:

“If we think of an object, let us say a violin, it does not appear before the eye of our mind as we would see it with our bodily eyes. We can, and in fact do, think of its various aspects at the same time. Some of them stand out so clearly that we feel that we can touch and handle them; others are somehow blurred. And yet this strange medley of images represents more of the “real “ violin than any single snapshot or meticulous painting could ever contain.” (Gombrich, p. 574).

In Picasso’s opinion, he and Braque invented Cubism for internal reasons; because when one sees an object with one’s mind, the Cubist perspective represents what one sees. In Hughes’s opinion, Picasso and Braque invented Cubism because of external pressures and changes in their culture. Both views sound plausible and each represents part of the impetus for this movement.

Perhaps the differing perspectives on Cubism represent the approaches of differing disciplines. Robert Hughes, while a writer of histories, was primarily an art critic. E.H. Gombrich was an art historian. Therefore, Hughes was more likely to come-up with his own interpretations, whereas Gombrich was more likely to draw conclusions based upon the information of primary sources. So, in order to fully understand the origins of Cubism, one would need to consult both historians and critics for a full explanation. Perhaps there is an art historian or critic out there who combines the talents of both fields and can save us the trouble.

Gombrich, E.H. The Story of Art. London: Phaidon Press Limited, 1995.

Hughes, Robert. The Shock of the New. New York: Alfred A Knopf, Inc., 1980.

For a book review of The Story of Art, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-story-of-art-by-eh-gombrich.html

From Representation to Abstraction in Art. An Interpretation Based on the Writings of E.H. Gombrich.

My intention is to lay-out a bare bones description of how abstract art developed from representational forms. This is a simplified discussion gleaned from a far more complete history presented in E.H. Gombrich’s The Story of Art. Throughout this essay, I will faithfully offer citation of Gombrich’s work, to which I am so indebted. Because it is simplified for clarification’s sake, this endeavor will necessarily lack the full complexity of the whole story. But this quick and dirty approach will show trends in such a way that the reader will be able to answer the question of how we got to abstraction.

By the late Nineteenth Century, markets which artists had traditionally relied upon were gone. Commissions from the Catholic Church had virtually disappeared. Aristocratic patrons were few. Photography had eliminated the artist’s role as illustrator of scenes which required travel to observe.  “The idea that the true purpose of art was to express personality could only gain ground when art had lost every other purpose” (Gombrich, p. 503).

This left artists free to experiment and express themselves in ways which the market had formerly constrained. The outgrowth was Modern Art, which primarily took three different directions, represented by three different painters: Cezanne’s experiments with color and form inspired Cubism. Gauguin’s work resulted in Primitivism. Van Gogh used art to express his feelings (Gombrich, p. 549). It is this last artist with whom we are most concerned in this article.

“Van Gogh liked to paint…motifs in which he could draw as well as paint with his brush, and lay on the colour thick just like a writer who underlines his words…It is clear that Van Gogh was not mainly concerned with correct representation. He used colors and forms to convey what he felt about the things he painted...He would exaggerate and even change the appearance of things if this suited his aim (Gombrich, pp. 547-8). This approach was an inspiration to later artists who also used art to express feeling, labeled Expressionists.

 

But within the school of Expressionism, there were those who wished to take visual art a step further. “If the doctrine was right that what mattered in art was not the imitation of nature but the expression of feelings through the choice of colours and lines, it was legitimate to ask whether art could not be made more pure by doing away with all subject-matter and relying exclusively on the effects of tones and shapes (Gombrich, p. 569). Like music, which inspires feeling without words, painters could rely on their media without pictures, without recognizable images. They could simply use paint to create “a pure visual music” (Gombrich, p. 569).

One of the pioneers of this view was Wassily Kandinsky who “stressed the psychological effects of pure color,” exhibited some “first attempts at color music” and “inaugurated what came to be known as ‘abstract art’” (Gombrich, p. 570). To Kandinsky and his ilk, using materials without subject to express what they felt was the main point of their work. For them, a more personal, inward expression had replaced externalizing a communication to the public.

I hope this essay has served its purpose in offering a simple explanation of how one trend in art progressed from representation to abstraction. The word “progressed” has some definitions which imply forward movement towards some destination; imply improvement. I do not wish to suggest that abstract art is an improvement over representation. Art is subjective, and one may find laudable qualities from any generation based on one’s own predilections. For many, the exquisite draftsmanship of earlier masters is what they enjoy. There is no one view of art that is superior to another. I use the word progression in its most elemental sense: to describe movement from point A to point B. For those seeking a less stark depiction, I suggest E.H. Gombrich’s masterful The Story of Art, which is the best general introduction to Art History that I have seen. My material is from chapters 25 through 27 of that work.

Gombrich, E.H. The Story of Art. London: Phaidon Press Limited, 1995.

For a book review of The Story of Art, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-story-of-art-by-eh-gombrich.html

Hubble. A Journey Through Space and Time by Edward Weiler. Published in Collaboration with NASA.

On the 20th Anniversary of the Hubble Space Telescope (HST) launch, NASA personnel wrote Hubble. A Journey Through Space and Time. This oversized, Coffee Table Book contains over 150 color photos taken by the orbiting observatory, along with commentary and articles. The work begins with a brief introduction celebrating the telescope’s 20th Anniversary and presenting a retrospective of the project’s journey from inception to present. After a lesson on how HST works, comes the main event: chapters on different space phenomena encountered by the telescope, with photos and descriptions. Hubble ends with a unique section on the launch and maintenance of HST.

While Edward J. Weiler, former Chief Scientist of the HST project, gets the byline, the publisher makes it clear that this offering was a team effort of NASA employees. Some worked on the editing. Others contributed based on their specialty. This collaboration sets Hubble above similar photo logs of the observatory’s discoveries. Any publisher can present the photos. This folio gives the reader information from people who actually worked on project elements being described. The final chapter, on deploying and servicing the instrument, was predominantly written by astronauts who performed these functions. Also, because this publication’s discussions of the cosmos were written by NASA astronomers, it avoided inaccuracies that have plagued other volumes on HST.

There are some understandable blind spots in a book covering a venture, written by the very staff responsible for that venture, on its 20^th Anniversary. Hubble is an advertisement for NASA. You will not find a perspective that is critical of the expense or decision-making of NASA. Neither will you find a reflection on whether space exploration has been worth the lives lost in the Challenger and Columbia missions. There is an assumption, shared by most of us, that the untapped information contained in the greatest unexplored frontier is too important. Despite the risks, mistakes and costs, we must explore space for the expansion of our understanding.

While Hubble’s scientific information is accurate and informative, let’s face it, you pick-up a compendium in this format to be awed by the photos. In this regard, the book does not disappoint. The multitude of high resolution color photos, most of them taking-up an entire page, some covering two pages, will leave you gaping in wonder over the beauty that is beyond our planet’s atmosphere. HST photos have become ubiquitous among our international communications. Anyone with an internet connection can call-up a multitude of images. But there is great personal joy and value in taking time away from the blinking, marketing screen, to sit in solitude with this meditation on the beauty and amazing nature that literally surrounds us.

Weiler, Edward J. Hubble. A Journey Through Space and Time. New York: Abrams Books, 2010.

Commentary: Marxist History vs Marxist Revolution.

While reading Gordon Wright’s France in Modern Times, I found his views largely balanced and rational. Wright, not a Marxist himself, recognized that some of his Marxist colleagues had valid points to make. In his chapter entitled “The Republican Experiment, 1848-1852,” the author acknowledged that “some of Karl Marx’s original analysis” of class conflict, and the later analysis of “the modernized Marxist version are undoubtedly sound” (Wright, p. 135). It was an important, open-minded assertion from a temperamentally conservative historian who viewed revolution with suspicion.

The flaw with Marxism is not in its interpretation of class strata, but in its application in the realm of power politics. A Marxist view on history has an ability to accurately portray the rise of a working class and a bourgeoisie, along with the relationship of these newer classes to ones ranked above them in society and politics.

The mistake that some Marxist historians make is to see in this version a logical progression towards a Marxist Communist State that would liberate workers. Marx fundamentally misunderstood human nature, and the nature of governments, which caused Europeans to arrive at the systems of inequality he saw in his lifetime.

Marx argued that the workers should revolt, forcefully take power, then establish a Dictatorship of the Proletariat. The Proletarian Dictatorship would then, over time, give away decision-making power and economic power to soviets and collectives. This would gradually disintegrate the central authority and result in equality among all the people within the system. It is a grand idea, both optimistic and fair, but it cannot work.

Human nature is the obstacle. People become political leaders because they want power and influence. This is particularly true in a dictatorship, but I don’t see any current working system where this principle does not apply. For whatever good or ill motives, politicians wish to shape the direction of their nations. Politicians recognize that they can more easily attain their goals atop a central system that does not disintegrate. Naturally, individuals who seek power would rise to the top of a dictatorship. Likewise the bureaucrats, who are necessary to keep a system maintained, would be unlikely to undermine it through tactics that would result in decay. Thence, there has never been a Communist dictatorship which determined that the time was ripe to give away power and disappear.

On the contrary, governments, over a period of time, tend to become more organized and controlling around resources and people within their realms of influence. Unchecked governments get larger, not smaller. They develop more laws and protocols as it becomes apparent to the individuals managing such governments, that these measures are necessary to make a nation function according to their plans. Instead of providing increased freedom and flexibility to their citizens, state systems usually ask more of their populations in terms of forbearance: Higher taxes are levied to pay for centralized programs (i.e. education, infrastructure, military defense). Additional laws are created to control restive populations yearning to “lose their chains.” Various agencies are created to manage crises and fill needs. This results in complex systems of greater centralized control.

So a Marxist historian may have a reasonable interpretation of power relationships. But it’s an irrational leap from that understanding to the idea that a Marxist political leader has an effective model for a future society. Additionally, the mechanism for attaining this future society is a violent revolution which would cause immense suffering and death among the workers. To propose that workers violently smash an existing system, and replace it with one whose most recent experiments have shown anything but successful decentralization, is neither responsible nor humane.

Wright, Gordon. France in Modern Times. New York: W.W. Norton Company, Inc., 1981.

For a book review of France in Modern Times, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/09/france-in-modern-times-by-gordon-wright.html

The Great Sea by David Abulafia

David Abulafia’s The Great Sea is an ambitious undertaking.  There is so much information to marshal: So many cultures, so many years, and so many perspectives from which to witness the unfolding of the history. But Abulafia does a masterful job of telling a coherent story, while packing his book with an immense volume of information. Each time I sat down with this book, I had the enjoyable experience of absorbing new knowledge. Since most histories are from a period, event or national perspective, and since this region transcends those categories, the view of history from the Mediterranean is from an angle rarely encountered.

Undeniably, there will be flaws when attempting such a far-reaching project. There are early times within the Mediterranean which we know little about. The author makes the mistake of filling the information gap with myth and legend. We know little about the origin or character of the Etruscan Civilization, so Albulafia falls back on tall tales recorded by Herodotus to explain their origins, and a myth of Dionysos to exemplify their reputation as pirates (Abulafia, pp. 101-104). It would be easier if the author stated outright that there was no evidentiary foundation to these stories. Instead, he weaves together legend and fact. While discussing Hannibal’s father, Abulafia writes:  “That Hamilcar was determined to emancipate Carthage from Roman shackles is made plain in a famous but possibly legendary tale (Abulafia, p. 184).” If a tale is “possibly legendary,” it makes nothing “plain”. In places where historical fact is lacking, “I don’t know” is a fine statement. Fortunately, this confusion of myth and legend with reality is confined to the first couple of sections in the book where information is misty.

The inclusion of maps at the beginning of each chapter, to illustrate periods and peoples discussed, was an excellent idea. Unfortunately, the maps are little more than a repeated outline of the Mediterranean with a small number of dots representing cities. When the Greek, Roman or Ottoman empires are discussed, there is never an outline of their territory. Individual nations also lack depiction. The representation of cities on these maps is so scant that many of those covered in the associated chapter are not on the map. Abulafia talks about how Durazzo was “strategically valuable” to the Venetians (Abulafia, p. 448), but he doesn’t show it on a map so that the reader can see why. He discusses the importance to trade of “the great road that ran from Dyrrhachion through Thessalonika to Constantinople” (Abulafia, p. 269), but leaves it to the reader to connect the dots and imagine the borders between the different nations which employed the route. For those wishing to compensate for the poverty of these maps, I recommend the Oxford Atlas of World History reviewed on this blog.

Much of the sea’s history is a discourse on trade.  This is a peaceful refuge from the usual catalog of “great men” massacring populations. Trade provides evidence of cross-cultural communication and the author shows this through the variety of populations co-existing in trade towns. Readers with an economist’s view will enjoy the evolution of commercial ventures. Those interested in the chess game of competing trade empires will also find the work captivating. This is the area where Abulafia focuses most of his attention. The book occasionally gets bogged down here. The chronicler can become a bit obsessive while lengthily depicting who traded with whom and what goods they traded. At these times, The Great Sea contains all the charm and excitement of a ship’s manifest. But trade is the story of the Mediterranean, so occasionally the reader’s fascination may be a casualty. I only wish there were more information on the exchange of ideas, and less about figs and iron. It’s not that discussion of technology, science and shared learning are absent from the book, it’s just that they are more episodic than thematic.

Throughout The Great Sea, Abulafia does an excellent job of staying on point. Given the immense swath of history covered, it would be easy to have the conversation diverted onto large historical events unconnected to the Mediterranean. But the author remains focused. World War One was a huge international event. But discussion of this war is limited to how it impacted the region around the sea. Also, it would have been tempting for the author, a Jew who has an extensive knowledge of his people’s history, to spend a great deal of time on the Holocaust. But as a faithful chronicler, Abulafia covered this tragedy only to the extent that it affected his subject area. This ability to remain focused keeps the book from meandering and maintains the unifying purpose.

Though the story of this region is unavoidably fraught with conflict and greed, there is a great deal of positive exploration exhibited through the relationship between humans and their unique nautical environment. Cultures sprouted and grew like sea-dependent plants around the Mediterranean, growing and evolving with organic regularity, cross-pollinating with different peoples. The Great Sea is a well-researched record of human history around the Mediterranean, providing an exceptional knowledge base for those wishing to expand their understanding of our place on its shores.

Abulafia, David. The Great Sea. New York: Oxford University Press, Inc., 2011.

Atlas of World History. Patrick O'Brien, editor.

An atlas of world history is an unnecessary expense. You can find just about any kind of map you want on the internet. That said, the Oxford University Press Atlas of World History is a lot of fun for those interested in history or geography. If you are a visual learner, and that encompasses most of us, this offering contains “450 full color maps” according to the back of the atlas. (I swear the Oxford University Press is not paying me for this article.) Since my monkey brain likes shiny things, I enjoy pouring over the maps as an accompaniment to whatever history text I happen to be reading.

While the main attraction is the maps themselves, the articles which accompany each map are instructive encapsulations of the historical periods or issues being illustrated. This is useful both to supplement what you are studying, and to provide a sometimes contrasting view with your reading. The perspectives presented in the articles and associated maps show some uncommon erudition. There are articles and maps pertaining to South America’s Moche Culture in 375 BC, Ancient Greece’s Level of Vegetation, 9^th Century Frankish Economy and Transport Routes in Tokugawa Era Japan. Such topics are a bit obscure and a little more difficult to find on the internet.

The arrangement of the atlas is about as user-friendly as you can get. It’s entirely chronological and divided into easily recognizable sections (Ancient World, Medieval World, Early Modern World, etc.) If these categories are not helpful enough to search out a subject, the atlas is finely indexed with over 8000 entries. There is a slight bias towards European and North American topics. The editor did make an effort to represent the histories of Asia, Africa and North America, so this atlas does a better job than most Western publications. But if you were expecting a politically progressive history of the world, this is not the press to explore.

While the Atlas of World History is a luxury, it is not a very expensive one. Don’t go to the Oxford University Press site on the internet, they charge $49.95 for this book. Several other sites can get you new copies of the atlas for between $24.00 and $32.00. Obviously, used copies and previous editions are less money, and it is unlikely that the historical information on say Medieval Europe has changed in the last few years.

The Atlas of World History is an instructive resource for the Geography or History buff. I acquired mine by suggesting it to my wife on a birthday wish list. (Aren’t I a wild man?) It is enjoyable to have it by my side as a visual adjunct to my latest history book, but I also peruse it independent of other texts as a good read on its own.

O’Brien, Patrick, ed. Atlas of World History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010.

The Compleat Naturalist. A Life of Linnaeus by Wilfrid Blunt.

The life of Carl Linnaeus is a story rich in potential for a writer. Here is a man who made a unique and important contribution to biology with his development of a binomial nomenclature for classifying plants and animals. He was both an explorer and a brilliant scientist. It should not be difficult for a moderately skilled biographer to craft an interesting, if not captivating, account of his life. Wilfrid Blunt reveals how it is possible to mishandle a promising topic.

The irony is that Blunt damages his project by working too hard to craft it. He employs a style of language that is archaic, highly embellished and pretentious. Blunt writes “To this humble sanctuary men of science came from all over Europe to pay homage to the greatest naturalist of his day”(Blunt, p. 219). It would be simpler to say “Colleagues traveled far to visit Linnaeus in his home.” Blunt’s writing is scattershot with French and Italian affectations that contribute nothing to the topic. He phrases awkwardly to show his learning. Instead of saying “Possibly Rudbeck’s wife tried to seduce Linnaeus,” Blunt writes “Possibly this hussy played Potiphar’s wife to him”(Blunt, p. 39). Blunt was seventy in 1971, when the book was published. The manner is archaic even for a man of his age, belonging more to the Victorian Era than the 20^th Century, in which the author grew to maturity.

The comical prose of the author is almost matched by that of Linnaeus. While this scientist was a skilled compiler and cataloguer of plants, he was not a compelling writer. For example:

“The actual petals of a flower contribute nothing to generation, serving only as the bridal bed which the great Creator has so gloriously prepared, adorned with such precious bed-curtains, and perfumed with so many sweet scents in order that the bridegroom and bride may therein celebrate their nuptials with greater solemnity” (Blunt, p. 34).

Our botanist can be excused since this style was not uncommon for his time (not good writing, not scientific description, but not an uncommon style). Unfortunately, since Blunt writes so poorly himself, he does not recognize bad writing when he sees it in others. So he fills pages with indented paragraphs of Linnaeus’s miserable poetry. It gets worse when Linnaeus visits Lappland on his first field study. His diary sounds as pretentious and flowery as that of a drunk wine enthusiast on his first trip to Napa Valley. As if the prose of both Blunt and Linnaeus were not enough on their own to torture a reader, the author feeds a compulsion to decorate his book with the excruciating poetry of Emily Carrington and the abject, gilt flattery of 18^th Century admirers.

Enough about the writing. What about the information? The book offers a straightforward chronology with little interpretation, which is fine. The basic information on the botanist’s life is covered. Although Blunt clearly likes his subject, he is not deceived concerning Linnaeus’s flaws. When the scientist shows his arrogance, fails to credit Georg Ehret for his contribution to the Genera Plantarum, or lies to his benefactors about the extent of his travels, Blunt does not hide from the responsibility of a thoughtful biographer to dispassionately reveal the truth.

Unfortunately, Blunt is not a scientist or even a strong critical thinker. His accounts of Linnaeus’s flaws are based on the observations of others, which he dutifully cites. The author was an art teacher, painter and curator of the Watts Gallery. With such credentials, there is a lot he misses. In the section of the book where Linnaeus first sees a Jew, Blunt neglects to discuss this zoologist’s subsequent classification of Jews as a separate “race.” While Race Classification represents the beginning of an ugly chapter in Western pseudoscience, it is not a surprise that Blunt would fail to note the significance. I’m not sure he was aware of Linnaeus’s role in this embarrassing history.

Since this biographer lacks a science background, he does not attempt to elucidate the specifics of binomial nomenclature. Neither does Blunt follow the evolution of Linnaeus’ method which led to this classification system or other observations. The most he does in the realm of science is to include, in his appendix, a discussion of Linnaeus’ system written by a colleague.

The Compleat Naturalist is more a romantic meditation on nature and the life of a man who immersed himself in its study, than it is a scientific book. I cannot help but think that a biography of Linnaeus, written by a science writer, would communicate an understanding of which this painter is incapable. So we have the topic of a scientist, written by a non-scientist. A creation based on writing, produced by a painter. For all I know, Blunt may be a fine artist with a brush, but he’s a finger-painter with words.

Blunt, Wilfrid. The Compleat Naturalist. A Life of Linnaeus. New York: The Viking Press, 1971.