Chapter M: J. L. Breton, deputy from Cherbourg, proposes to put to the (3)

The key-note of the modern movement in art is _expression of self_; that is, the expression of one’s _inner self_ as distinguished from the representation of the outer world.

* * * * *

Woman in Red Madras]

I have before me six of Jawlensky’s heads, painted a year or so apart. They range from almost conventional portrait studies in strong impressionistic manner to heads very like Matisse’s “Madras Rouge,” thence to the head reproduced, which was the last painted.

The series shows an interesting development of the painter’s _convictions_, his technic remains essentially the same, facile and competent, only the latest picture places a much greater stress upon his resources.

It was apparent from things in his studio, canvases ten or twelve years old, that he could have made a commercial success as a painter of portraits.

* * * * *

To say that Jawlensky’s latest heads with their strange, expressive, exaggerated eyes are not wholly new one has only to turn to any work on Greek painting wherein are reproduced some of the encaustic and tempera portraits found in the Fayum some twenty-odd years ago.

* * * * *

When asked why he preferred his latest work to the earlier, Jawlensky said:

“I have put more of myself into them; they are more expressive of what I feel.”

And he went on to say the development seemed to him natural and logical. He could not understand why the heads should strike others as queer or laughable since they were the products of absolute sincerity.

Of his work a friendly critic says:

Jawlensky, formerly an officer in the Russian army, resigned a
captain’s commission and turned to painting. Today he looks back
into an artistic past rich in changes and just as rich in successes
achieved. Gauguin, VanGogh and Cézanne have given much to him; more
recently, oriental and primitive art, Byzantine pictures and
antique German woodcarvings have not been without influence on
him. His color is peculiarly his own, with its limpidity, its
bloom, and bold modulations, the spontaneous, expressive force of
which have a most refreshing effect. In its soft and surprising
beauty one may perhaps discover a distinctly Russian quality. It is
almost an injustice toward this artist’s pictures to reproduce them
colorless. His still-life pictures excel in composition and charm
by their color effects. In his landscapes a peculiar mood finds
expression, always striking, always original, and often with great
simplicity and beauty. His heads and half figures might be termed
snapshots of the soul: a pose, a motion, a glance of the eye,
retained by the briefest and most effective means. Here, too, a
conscious simplifying and exaggeration becomes more and more
evident. For this artist, art itself has the grace of a gesture;
the soul part immediately becomes expression, and thus is shown
everywhere the creative quality of an impulsive nature that owes
its best to the inspiration of the moment, and from it proceeds to
work with a most happy facility.[46]

* * * * *

Marianna von Werefkin, a Russian, uses water color, gouache, and prefers the mystery of the night to daylight. Her pictures are interesting human documents. She does not seek startling or novel pictured effects.

* * * * *

There is another and almost unknown artist, P. Klee, who is very highly esteemed by the most advanced men. There is certainly an exquisite refinement to his line; it is so alive it scintillates.

Gabriele Münter has a vision of things quite her own, a sense of humor and of life that penetrates beneath the surface, and that manifests itself in a technic that is, one might say, almost nonchalant.

A. Bloch is a young American, living in Munich, who has allied himself with the Blue Knights and made an impression by his very personal expressions. He was given a one-man exhibition in Berlin in December last, and his pictures were highly praised in a well-written article in the Berlin _Borsen-Courier_. Absolute and unswerving fidelity to one’s ideals is the only sure road to success, and this sort of sincerity is manifest in the work of Bloch.

Franz Marc is in a class by himself. He is the animal painter of the Blue Knights, and his pictures have a fairly steady sale notwithstanding they are extreme in conception and execution. Animal forms and their phases of composition seem to appeal to him, but he often uses the forms as arbitrarily as Matisse uses his nudes to secure an effect of life or grace. His color is always delightful, and there is a flow, a rhythm to his pictures that is fascinating.

In an article in “Der Blaue Reiter” he says:

It is remarkable how _spiritual_ acquisitions are valued so
differently by men as compared with _material_. If someone conquers
a new colony for his country everybody applauds; if, however,
someone has the _inspiration_ to give to mankind a new and purely
spiritual value, it is rejected with scorn and indignation, the
gift is suspected, and the people try to suppress and crush it. Is
not this a frightful condition?

And speaking of the new movement in art, which he considers a _spiritual_ offering to the public, he says:

The public is against us, with scorn and abuse it refuses our
pictures; but we may be right. They may not want our gifts, but
perhaps they cannot help accepting them. We have the consciousness
that our world of ideas is no card house with which we play, but it
contains the vital elements of a _movement_ the vibrations of which
are felt today _the world_ over.

In the orthodox sense these men may or may not be religious--I do not know--but one thing is certain, there is an immense amount of religious power in their propaganda.

* * * * *

The most extreme man not only of Munich but of the entire modern art movement is Wassily Kandinsky, also a Russian.

There was one of his Improvisations in the International Exhibition.[47]

It did not hang with the Cubists, not even in the large room with Matisse and other radical men. Evidently those in charge of the hanging did not know what to make of it or what to do with it, so they side-tracked it on a wall that was partly in shadow. Visitors who paused to look at it dismissed it as meaningless splotches of paint, and passed on.

There is this to be said for the public, that with no word of explanation one of Kandinsky’s Improvisations does seem--_at first glance_--the last word in extravagance; on fourth or fifth glance it appears to have a charm of color that is fascinating; on _study_ it begins to _sound_ like color music.

* * * * *

There were three of his canvases in the London Exhibition in Albert Hall in July, 1913, “Landscape with Two Poplars,” “Improvisation No. 29,” and “Improvisation No. 30,” the last reproduced herein in color.

Of these three paintings a critic said:[48]

By far the best pictures there seemed to me to be the three works
by Kandinsky. They are of peculiar interest, because one is a
landscape in which the disposition of the forms is clearly prompted
by a thing seen, while the other two are improvisations. In these
the forms and colors have no possible justification, except the
rightness of their relations. This, of course, is really true of
all art, but where representation of natural form comes in, the
senses are apt to be tricked into acquiescence by the intelligence.
In these improvisations, therefore, the form has to stand the test
without any adventitious aids. It seemed to me that they did this,
and established their right to be what they were. In fact, these
seemed to me the most complete pictures in the exhibition, to be
those which had the most definite and coherent expressive power.
Undoubtedly representation, besides the evocative power which it
has through association of ideas,

Improvisation No. 29]

has also a value in assisting us to coordinate forms, and, until
Picasso and Kandinsky tried to do without it, this function at
least was always regarded as a necessity. That is why of the three
pictures by Kandinsky, the landscape strikes one most at first.
Even if one does not recognize it as a landscape, it is easier to
find one’s way about in it, because the forms have the same sort of
relations as the forms of nature, whereas in the two others there
is no reminiscence of the general structure of the visible world.
The landscape is easier, but that is all. As one contemplates the
three, one finds that after a time the improvisations become more
definite, more logical and more closely knit in structure, more
surprisingly beautiful in their color oppositions, more exact in
their equilibrium. _They are pure visual music._

People who do not find a _picture_ turn away disappointed and irritated, but many turn back to look again, attracted by the strength and charm of the compositions, and in the end not a few reluctantly concede, “Yes, they have fine color, but--” and then follows the old demand for some familiar object as anchorage.

* * * * *

Of Kandinsky’s qualifications from the academic point of view let it be said he is a superb draftsman, though he no longer attaches any importance to drawing _per se_; and he is a master of color combinations.

One would say that the two, mastery of drawing and mastery of color, would make a great painter, and so they _did_ and _do_.

I have at hand some of his earlier work along conventional lines, and I have seen tempera drawings of Moroccan scenes that would delight a Whistler, they are so delicate and so filled with subtle charm. Then I have a series of sketches, extending over a number of years, which show the development of his later works.

* * * * *

He has explained his theories at length in his book, “Ueber das Geistege in der Kunst,”[49] and in numerous articles, notably in “Der Blaue Reiter.”

The keynote of the entire modern movement is found in the first sentence of his book,

“_Every work of art is the child of its own times._”

A man may so steep himself in history and tradition that all he does is reminiscent of the past, but such work marks no progress and such men are negligible factors in the advancement of mankind.

It is the man who yields himself to _his times_, who absorbs all there is of good in the _life about him_, who sees everything, feels everything, who mingles with his respect for the achievements of the past a mighty admiration for the triumphs of the present--such a man is a leader among his fellows; brilliant thinker, daring adventurer, he blazes the way for the timid to follow.

If we were Greeks of the fifth century we would carve the marbles they did. If we were Romans under the Caesars we would build the buildings they built. If we were Christians of the middle ages we would rear cathedrals. If we were English, French, German, Chinese, or Japanese, we would do the things they do, like the things they like. But we are none of these peoples; we are Americans living in an age of steam and electricity, of automobiles and aeroplanes, in an age of kaleidoscopic changes, of marvelous and startling developments.

What _must_ happen in painting, music, sculpture?

Exactly what has happened in architecture.

Painting, music, sculpture that will go with our mighty steel buildings, with our factories and railroads.

Painting, music, sculpture varied in form, as old and as new as the brain of man can conceive, but always and essentially _our own_. That is the secret, it must be characteristic of our age--_our own_.

* * * * *

This is not a placid age.

It is an age of feverish activities, brilliant imaginings, profound emotions.

Hence our art will not be placid, but will be an art of the imagination and the emotions.

Venturesome souls will not be content to paint things, or even people, but they will paint _themselves_, not their _outer_ selves, but their _inner_; they will put on canvas what they _feel_. That is as near the final word in art as man can utter--to _paint_ instead of _speak_ his most subtle emotions.

* * * * *

In a recent article[50] Kandinsky summarises part of his theory as follows:

A work of art consists of two elements, the _inner_ and the _outer_.

The inner is the emotion in the soul of the artist. This emotion has the power to arouse a similar feeling in the soul of the observer.

The soul being connected with the body it is affected through the medium of the senses--feelings; emotions are stirred and aroused by sensations. Hence our sensations are the bridge, the physical connection between the _immaterial_, the emotion in the soul of the artist, to the _material_, resulting in the production of the work of art.

And again the sensations are the bridge from the _material_, the artist, and his work, to the _immaterial_, emotion in the soul of the observer.

The sequence is, _emotion_ (in artist)--sensations--_work_--sensations--_emotion_ (in observer).

The two emotions will be like and equal to the extent the _work_ is successful. In this respect a painting is no different from a song, each is a message; the successful singer succeeds in arousing in his hearers the emotions he feels; the successful painter should do no less.

The inner element, emotion, must exist, else the work will be a sham. The inner element determines the _character_ of the work.

In order that the inner element which at first exists only as an emotion, may develop into work, the _second_ element--the _outer_ is used as the embodiment. Therefore emotion is always seeking means of expression, seeking a material form, a form that can stir the senses.[51]

The _vital_, the _determining_ element is the _inner_, that controls the outer form, even as the idea in the mind determines the words we use, and not the words the idea.

Therefore the selection of the _form_ of a work of art is determined by the _inner_ irresistible force--this is the only unchangeable _law_ of art.

A _beautiful_ work is the product of the harmonious cooperation of the two elements, the inner and outer. A painting, for instance, is an intellectual organism which, like every material organism, consists of many parts.

These single parts, if isolated, are as lifeless as a finger severed from the hand.

The single parts live only through the whole.

The endless number of single parts in a painting is divided into two groups:

1. The _designed_ form.

2. The _picturesque_ form.

* * * * *

An examination of a work of art, especially a painting,

Woman with Frying Pan]

Chair with Pipe]

usually discovers the presence of parts and forms drawn from _nature_, from _objects_.

As the _imitation_ of natural forms forms no part of the definition of pure art how is it these objective representations creep in?

The origin of painting was the same as that of the other arts, and of every human action. It was _purely practical_.

If a native hunter chases game for days, he is induced to do so by _hunger_.

If today a princely hunter chases game, he is induced to do so by the desire for _enjoyment_. Just as hunger is of _bodily_ value, here the enjoyment is of _aesthetic_ value.

If a savage requires artificial sounds for his dance, he is induced thereto by sexual impulse. The artificial sounds, from which through centuries the music of today developed, moved savages to an expression of passion in the form of dancing.

If the man of today attends a concert he is not seeking the music for _practical_ results, but _pleasure_.

Also here the original _practical_ motive changed to the _aesthetic_. That means that also here the practical want of the body changed to that of the _soul_.

During this progress toward refinement (or spirituality) of the most simple practical (or bodily) wants, two consequences are to be noticed throughout: The _separation_ of the spiritual _from_ the bodily element and its further _independent development_ through the different arts.

Here the above mentioned laws (of the inner element and the form) gradually apply with ever increasing force, until finally out of each art comes a _pure_ art.

This is a steady, logical, natural growth, like the growth of a tree.

The process is to be noticed in painting.

First period, _Origin_: _Practical_ desire to make use of _physical_.

Second Period, _Development_: The gradual separation of this _practical_ purpose, and the gradual ascendancy of the _spiritual_ element.

Third Period, _Aim_: The attainment of a higher stage in _pure art_; in this the remains of the practical desire are _totally separated_ (abstracted). Pure art speaks from soul to soul, it is not dependent upon the use of objective and imitative forms.

We can distinguish all of these three stages in various combinations in paintings of today.

First Period: _Realistic Painting_. The realism here is understood to be such as developed traditionally into the nineteenth century--the _practical_ desire to exhibit objective realities--portraits, landscapes, historical paintings, etc., in the direct sense.

Second Period: _Naturalistic Paintings_ in the form of Impressionism, of the New Impressionism and Expressionism--to which partly Cubism and Futurism belongs: The separation of the _practical_ aim and the _general preponderance_ of the _spiritual element_; from Impressionism through Neo-Impressionism to Expressionism always increasing separation and always increasing preponderance of the spiritual.

Apparently in this finer development _nature_ as such is no more taken into consideration; but this is only “apparently” so, for as a matter of fact nature is used as a motive, a background, a basis for the pictures, and if the attempt is made to separate the natural or _objective_ part of the picture from the purely artistic, the result is the picture falls for lack of support.

* * * * *

In other words, in most of even the very abstract paintings, such as even Picasso’s, there is a foundation, a background of objects without which the pictures would not exist.

Picasso may refine a “Woman with a Mandolin,” to a dozen intersecting lines that disclose neither woman nor mandolin, but _both_ were present in his mind’s eye when he created his work, and without them the work has no reason for existing.

It is here that one begins to understand Kandinsky’s attitude, and how diametrically he diverges from Picasso. The two have nothing in common save the desire to produce more abstract art, but Picasso abstractions are based on the _outer_ world, while Kandinsky’s are based on the _inner_.

When Picasso has refined nature, that is, things _outside_ him, to the _last degree_, to the simplest mode of expression in line and mass, he has reached an _impasse_, further progress is impossible, further scientific subdivision in unattainable, his art in _that direction_ is finished.

But Kandinsky has before him an unlimited view. With him the elimination of nature, of all things _physical_ from his compositions, simply gives him greater freedom in the painting of compositions representing things--moods--_spiritual_.

* * * * *

To go on with his own explanation, not in his exact words, but in substance:

It is thus seen that in both the first and second signs in the development of art, the objective foundation or background is not of simply secondary importance, but of _first_; it is essential because without it the work would not exist.

To create _pure art_ it is necessary to eliminate this background of the physical, and substitute for it _pure artistic form_, which alone can give the picture independent life.

This step we find in the _dawning third period_ of painting--_Compositional painting_.

According to the scheme of the three periods, we have arrived at the third one--which was designated as the _Aim_.

In the _compositional painting_ which is developing today we see the signs of the attainment of the higher step of _pure art_, in which the remains of the _practical_ desire (all evidences of objectivity) can be perfectly separated, which can speak from soul to soul in purely artistic language.

The conscious and oftentimes also still unconscious striving, which strongly (and ever stronger) shows itself today, to replace the objective (subject paintings) by pure construction (pure composition) is the first sign of the dawning of that _pure art_ to which the past art periods inevitably led.

I have been trying to briefly deal with the entire development and
more especially the situation today in broad schematic outlines;
therefore there are many deficiencies (gaps) which necessarily
remain uncovered, and there are passed over many interesting lesser
developments, which are inevitable in progress, like smaller
branches on the tree, which extend outward notwithstanding the
tree’s growth upward.

The further development, which is pending in painting, will still
have to suffer many seeming contradictions and diversions, as was
the case with music, which today we know already as pure art.

The past teaches us that the development of humanity consists in
the increasing _spirituality_ of various factors. Among these
factors art takes the first place.

Among the arts painting is following the road that leads it from
the _practical_-efficiency to the _intellectual_-efficiency. From
the _subject-picture_ to the _pure composition_.

To better understand the foregoing take the “Improvisation No. 30.”[52]

It is a very pure example of _compositional_ painting, but it

Improvisation No. 30]

is not _absolutely pure_, in that it contains many more or less obvious suggestions of familiar forms and objects.

Some workmen who happened to be handling the painting, referred to it as the “War Picture,” and many casual observers insist it is an impression of war or of a battle field.

This is because two cannon are quite plain in the lower right-hand corner, and the two oblong blue masses projecting from the cannons’ mouths would seem to be the smoke of the discharges.

Then, too, the seeming cataclysmic effect, the suggestion of a helmet, a tottering tower, banners, aerial flashes or fireworks, all accentuate the impression of conflict and explosions.

If one looks long enough in this mood it is not difficult to read into the canvas all sorts of interpretations of a warlike character.

Yet the painting was “improvised”--_composed_ with no _direct_ intention of suggesting war.

In his own personal note book wherein he keeps a record of all his work, Kandinsky identifies the picture by a hasty pencil sketch and the words, “Blue Splashes,” or “Masses,” and “Cannons.”

Of the painting he says in a letter:

The designation “Cannons,” selected by me _for my own use_, is not
to be conceived as indicating the “contents” of the picture.

These contents are indeed what the spectator _lives_, or _feels_
while under the effect of the _form and color combinations_ of the
picture. This picture is nearly in the shape of a cross. The
centre--somewhat below the middle--is formed by a large, irregular
blue plane. (The blue color in itself counteracts the impression
caused by the cannons!) Below this centre there is a muddy-gray,
ragged second centre almost equal in importance to the first one.
The four corners extending the oblique cross into the corners of
the picture are heavier than the two centres, especially heavier
than the first, and they vary from each other in characteristics,
in lines, contours, and colors.

Thus the picture becomes lighter, or looser in the centre, and
heavier, or tighter towards the corners.

The scheme of the construction is thus toned down, even made
invisible for many, by the looseness of the forms. Larger or
smaller remains of _objectivity_ (the cannons, for instance)
produce in the spectator that secondary tone which objects call
forth in all who feel.

The presence of the cannons in the picture could probably be
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

Portrait of Self]

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

Scene in Tahiti]

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,

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.”

But that is just the question that every great artist is obliged to put to himself, “Shall I write or paint so that others will understand, or shall I express myself in my own way even though no one but myself comprehends and even I fail at times?”

It is just as bad to paint with the sole purpose of being understood--_commercialism_--as it is to paint with the sole purpose of being misunderstood--_charlatanism_.

VIII

COLOR MUSIC

Color music is no new idea, but of late it is finding new expression.

While painters are beginning to paint color harmonies that are independent of the representations of natural objects, others are seeking the same emotional effects with colored lights.

A “color organ” has been invented[60] which deals with color for its own sake as music does with sound, thereby opening up a new world of beauty and interest as yet to a great extent unexplored.

When you enter Mr. Rimington’s English studio you see at one end of
it a curious instrument with a keyboard and stops, while at the
other end is a white screen, hung in folds to give greater depth
and life to the colors playing upon it. What happens when the
instrument is played is thus described by Mr. Rimington:

“Imagine a darkened concert room. At one end there is a large
screen of white drapery in folds, surrounded with black and framed
by two bands of pure white light. Upon this we will suppose, as an
example of a simple color composition, that there appears the
faintest possible flush of rose color, which very gradually fades
away while we are enjoying its purity and subtlety of tint, and we
return to darkness. Then, with an interval, it is repeated in three
successive phases, the last of which is stronger and more
prolonged.

“While it is still lingering upon the screen, a rapid series of
touches of pale lavender notes of color begin to flit across it,
gradually strengthening into deep violet. This again becomes shot
with amethyst, and afterward changing gradually into a broken tint
of ruby, gives a return to the warmer tones of the opening passage.

“A delicate primrose now appears, and with little runs and flushes
of pulsation leads through several passages of indescribable
cinnamon

Old Woman]

Woman Seated]

color to deep topaz. Then suddenly interweavings of strange green
and peacock blue, with now and then a touch of pure white, make us
seem to feel the tremulousness of the Mediterranean on a breezy
day, and as the color deepens there are harmonies of violet and
blue green which recall its waves under a Tramontana sky. More and
more powerful they grow, and the eye revels in the depth and
magnificence of the color as the executant strikes chord after
chord among the bass notes of the instrument.

“Then suddenly the screen is again dark and there is only a
rhythmic and echoing beat of the dying color upon it. At last this
disappears also, and there is another silent pause, then one
hesitating tint of faded rose as at the opening of the composition.

“Upon this follows a stronger return of the color, and as the
screen once more begins to glow with note after note of red and
scarlet, we are prepared for the rapid crescendo which finally
leads up to a series of staccato and forte chords of pure crimson
which almost startle us with the force of their color before they
die away into blackness!

“This,” says Mr. Rimington, “is an extremely simple example, but it
may suffice to show the kind of effect produced by an unadorned
form of mobile color not accompanied by music. In some cases a
musical accompaniment was found to add greatly to the interest of a
color composition. The nearest approach to color music in nature is
to be found in certain sunsets.” Of the emotional and aesthetic
effect of color music on various beholders we read:

The amount of pleasure and interest derived from color compositions
varies immensely with individuals. An interesting instance of this
was the case of a well-known London doctor, who told the author,
after first seeing a recital of color-music, that he was absolutely
unappreciative of any form of “sound music;” that it was, in fact,
a pain to him, and that he had always detested it. “But,” he said,
“from the moment that I first saw a display of mobile color, I
realized what I had missed all my life through my inability to
appreciate music. It opened up a new world of sensations to me and
gave me the greatest mental pleasure I have ever experienced.” This
clearly shows that to some persons mobile color would, or does,
fill the place which music can not occupy in their lives.