Rise of Cubism Daniel-Henry Kahnweller 759.915 UNIVERSITY of FLORIDA LIBRARIES

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the rise of cubism daniel-henry kahnweller 759.915 UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA LIBRARIES

Translated by Henry Aronson

The Documents of Modern Art: Director: Robert Motherwell

Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler : The Rise

of Cubism

Wittenborn, Schultz, Inc.,

New York 22, N.Y. AKCH& AUIEDAjjig Publishers' Note:

The publishers and the director of the series wish to express their gratitude and indebtedness for aid and advice to the author, copyright holder of the original edition, to the individuals and institutions mendoned in the list of illustrations, and to John Rewald, William S. Lieberman, Curt Valentin, and Bernard Karpel.

This is the first translation into any language of the original German text, written in 191 5 and published under the title "Der Weg zum Kubismus" by Daniel Henry (Munich, Delphin-Verlag, 1920).

Copyright, 1949, by Wittenborn, Schultz, Inc. All rights reserved under international and Pan-American copyright conventions. Published by Wittenborn, Schultz, Inc., 38 East 57th Street, New York 22, N.Y. Contents:

page iv Publisher's Note

vi Preliminary Notice by Robert Motherwell

via List of Illustrations

ix Writings by Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler

I The Rise of Cubism: i. The Essence of the New Painting. Lyricism of Form. The Conflict between Representation and Structure

3 2. The Forerunners: Cezanne and Derain

5 3. Cubism, the First Stage: The Problem of Form. Picasso and Braque

9 4. Cubism, the Second Stage: The Piercing of the Closed Form. The Problem of Color. Categories of Vision. Picasso and Braque Working Together

17 5. The Picture as a Productive End in Itself. Leger

21 6. New Possibilities: Representation of Movement

" if- :

Preliminary Notice

Cubism began as an analysis, of the nature oj the aesthetic. The present little boo\ is an account of the cubists' experiments by a man who was their friend and advocate, as well as a dealer in their wor\s, a man who has reflected on their achievement all his life. Kahn- weiler formulates their problem in the beginning of this boo\ in the sentence that reads, 'representation and structure conflict.' Written as early as 1915, this boot{ is the story of the solution that they worked toward; tvhen it came to be seen, it broke the bacl{, if only tem- porarily, of centuries of naturalistic representation. Since then the struggle to be free from nature has passed into other hands, and will pass in turn to still others — as long as modern society remains what it is, and man's insight into it and himself increases, the distance between the objects in the tvorld and an enlightened mind will lengthen. In accord with its analytical intent, cubism started inamood of objectivity. From this derives its famous 'purity,' from its indifference to the demands of the T before an objective problem. This morality has been inherited by many abstract artists and architects; it is indirect opposition to ex- pressionism, which asserts the dominance of the T above everything. Part of the beauty in- herent in the cubist enterprise lies in that for a time their minds were questioning and open about the forms of painting, though they scarcely transformed at all its subject-matter.

Doubtless they seized upon Cezanne too quickly, but they were eager to act, and he provided one of the few precedents for a reconsideration of modern painting. They also listened to poets tvho had been injluenced by Mallarme and the syMlbol^U, notably Guillaume Apol- linaire; they tal\ed, probably in a purely intuitive tvay, of modern science; and all the time

vi .

in their studios they were struggling with the absolutes of painting. But from their free

bohemian life they had already rid their minds of history, middle-class society, religion. Es-

sential steps. Nevertheless the cubists' painting world was filled with objects — nudes, trees,

houses, still life. Sometime in igog or igio Picasso toot{ 'the great ttep ,' as Kahnweiler puts

it, and pierced the 'sl{in' of oibjects . reducing them and the world in which they existed to what we tvould notv call subjective process. With this step cubism snapped traditional

naturalism. Wording tuith great intelligence, stubbornness and objectivity , they stumbled

over the leading insight of the 20th century,^ all thought and feeling is relative to man, he

does not reflect the tvorld but invents it, Man is his own invention; every artist's problem is

to invent himself. How stupid from this point of view to pass one's time copying nature or

history. And tvhat an invention is Mozart! T't^tgf' nn^lyrlc ^t.// „invl^ nf gr^nt nhj^rtitiity

Bra^ue_and Picasso ivere led directly to the subjective — / am speakjng of the brief period

when their insight did not waver — to the problem of inventing themselves. It is in a much deeper sense than Manolo guessed luhen he made his crude jo\e that Picasso's family would

not have recognized him at the Barcelona station if he had descended as a cubist portrait.

Cubism invented Picasso as much as he invented cubism fit r.evealed himself to himself, as painting does to every true painter, of course it made him unintelligible to others\ln loo\ing

bac\ now, one is not certain how completely the cubists possessed their insight. It is shoc\-

ing to read in this boo\ of their fears of being unintelligible, of their confusing the sudden ap-

pearance of their subjectivity with the appearances of the external world, as though one

would lool{ like the other; it is shocking too that they were afraid that the tvork^ might be

merely decorative — a mistaken image Kahnweiler still has of Mondrian and other non- figurative painters. But we must remember in tvhat a sea of confusions everyone begins,

even genius, and for that matter often ends; everyone's life has to be spent in transcending

his initial inheritances. In the sense that he has been chosen in modern times by the artist as

his special enemy, a middle-class person is one ivho is what he has learned from conventions. •>*'

Around igio-12, in cubism's highest flights, tvhat is stri/^mg is not the material structure

that Kahniveiler and most abstract artists like to speak "/ ^"' a sensitwe c'aUigraphy that/

sweeps up internal an d externalworlds into a oneness in which reality consists not oj_of-

posing_ejs£iices_ojjnafter_ and spirit, representation and ^tructttrcr but- tyf relation f, jprocess.

During these years cubism approached ecstasy. Presently it lost its intuition of the mysterious,

and they returned to Western construction , like carpenters or masons. Corot, Courbet and the

impressionists made the subject-matter of modern art secular. The cubists accepted from

them landscape and still life, and from the academic tradition the nude. These subjects the

cubists mildly transformed into their oivn intimate objects, bare rooms in place of the out-

doors, glasses, playing cards, labels, newspapers, musical instruments in place of fruit, and,

one supposes, their own girls in place of the model in a public studio. But the intrinsic con-_

flict betiveen subjettivity andthe objectjjolthe tiiprld, bettveen structure and representation,

as Kahnweiler puts it, led them slowly to abandon natural appearances as much as they

could in the interes^ts~-&f axt; this process constituted their dramatic conflict, which they

resolved long enough to liberate everyone after them, and then abandoned , for they re-

fttsed to give up their studio subjects. Tender and lyricaL . perhaps for the moment unable

to stand expressionist distortion, the cubists came to invent a new. sign language with which to refer to their familiar objects in the studio, signs tvhose meaning was arbitrary, invented

vii :

and by definition, lil{e other symbolic structures: words or relational logic or the language that Apollinaire of deaf-mutes. Cubism was filled u'ith the optimistic desire to be modern expressed; but when cubism returned later to its pleasure-giving objects, it became filled with nostalgia, with a sense of their certain decay. When the cubists painted still life they may artists have intended, as one says in French, nature morte. . . . / say these things as all of us lit^e to speal(^, not as history, but as evocative of what I have seen and guessed; nothing of interest can be spol^en of save by indirection. This was just cubism's insight. For several years the cubists painted as if no truth is true that is not subtle. Robert Motherwell, New Yor\, February 22, ig^g

List of Illustrations

(Dimensions given in inches, height precedes width)

Frontispiece Picasso, Portrait of Kahnweiler. 1910, oil, 39'/4 by 28%, collection Mrs. Charles B. Goodspeed, Chicago.

Pagejri Picasso, Etching. 1914.

2 Picasso, Nude. 1910, pen and ink drawing, coll. unknown.

20 Picasso, Two Nudes. 1906, oil, 59% by 36%, private collection, London. 23 Picasso, Les Demoiselles d'Avignon. 1907, oil, 96 by 92, Museum of Modern Art, New York, acquired through the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest.

24 Braque, Nude. 1908, oil, 55% by 40, coUectien Mme Marie Cuttoli, Paris. 24 Picasso, Two Nudes {Friendship). 1908, oil, 60 by 40, Museum of Modern Western Art, Moscow.

25 Picasso, Oil-Mill, Horta. 1909, oil, 15 by 18, private collection, Paris.

25 Braque, Road near Estaque. 1908, oil, 23% by 19%, Museum of Modern Art, New York.

26 Picasso, Woman with Mandolin. 1909, oil, 25 by 21, Museum of Modern Western Art, Moscow.

26 Picasso, Woman with Mandolin (Fanny Tellier). 1910, oil, 39'/2 by 29, collection Roland Penrose, London.

27 Braque, Woman tvith Mandolin. 1910-11, oil, 36 by 28'/2, collection Walter

P. Chrysler, Jr., Warrentown, Virginia.

28 Braque, The Portuguese Guitar Player. 1911, oil, 46V4 by 28%, private collection, Paris.

29 Picasso, Guitar. 1912, construction in colored papers, 9'/2 inches high, owned by the artist.

30 Braque, The Clarinet. 1913, pasted paper, facsimile wood grain and crayon drawing, 37 by 47, collection Amedee Ozenfant, New York. 30 Picasso, Man tvith a Violin. 1913, pasted paper and charcoal drawing, 48% by i8'/8, collection Roland Penrose, London.

vtii .

30 Braque, The Concert. 1913, pasted paper, facsimile wood grain and charcoal

drawing, 36 by 46 '/2, collection Pablo Picasso, Paris.

31 Picasso, Glass, Pipe, Playing Card. 1914, painted construction in wood, I'iVi inches diameter, owned by the artist.

32 Picasso, Still Life. 1912-13, oil and pasted paper on canvas, 36'/4 by 25V2) collection Walter C. Arensberg, Hollywood.

32 Braque, Oval Still Life. 1914, oil, 36% by 25%, Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of the Advisory Committee.

33 Leger, Two Pipe Smokers. 191 1, oil, 51 by 38, former collection Georges Bernheim, Paris.

33 Leger, Nudes in the Forest. 1909-10, oil, 96 by 132, collection KroUer-Miiller Foundation, Otterloo, Holland.

34 Leger, Smoke over Roofs. 1913, gouache, 25'/4 by igVi, Buchholz Gallery, New York.

35 Leger, The Card Party. 1916-17, oil, private collection.

Writings by Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler

Compiled by Bernard Karpet, Librarian, Museum of Modern Art, New Yor\

1. Der Kubismus. Die Weissen Blatter (Zurich-Leipzig) v.3, no.9, p.209-222 Sept. 1916.

2. Die Schweizer Volksmalerei im XIX. Jahrhundert. Das Kunstblatt {Berlin) v. 2, no.7,

p.223-225 July 1918.

3. Vom Sehen und vom Bilden. Die Weissen Blatter (Zurich-Leipzig) v.6, no.7, P-3^5~322 July 1919.

4. Andre Derain. Das Kunstblatt (Berlin) v.3, no.io, p.289-304 Oct. 1919.

5. Expressionismus. Das Kunstblatt (Berlin) v.3, no.ii, p.351 Nov. 1919.

6. Merzmalerei. Das Kunstblatt (Berlin) v.3, no. 11, p.351 Nov. 1919.

7. Das Wesen der Bildhauerei. Feuer (Weimar) v.i, no.2-3, p. 145-156 Nov .-Dec. 1919. 8. Der Weg zum Kubismus. 55p. plus 36 plates Miinchen, Delphin-Verlag, 1920. Issued in translation as: The rise of cubism, Neu> Yorl{, i()4g.

9. Maurice de Vlaminck. i6p. plus 32 plates Leipzig, Klinkhardt & Biermann, 1920.

1 ) ( Junge Kunst. Bd. 1 10. Andre Derain. i6p. plus 32 plates Leipzig, Klinkhardt & Biermann, 1920. (Junge Kunst. Bd.15).

Also published in Dutch translation by Collection N.K., .imsterdam, 1924. Originally

issued in Das Kun'stblatt v.^, igig, and in Jahrbuch der Jungen Kunst v.i, P.9S-95 jg20.

11. \\fcT\isiaXX.en. Die Freude (Oberfran^en) v.i, p.153-154 1920.

12. Absichten des Kubismus. Das Kunstblatt (Berlin) v.4, no.2, p.6i Feb. 1920.

13. Die Grenzen der Kunstgeschichte. Monatshefte fiir Kunstwissenschaft (Leipzig) v. 13,

part I, p.91-97 Apr. 1920.

14. Andre Derain. Der Cicerone (Leipzig) v.12, no. 8, p-3i5-3i7 Apr. 1920.

ix 15. Der Purismus. Der Cicerone {Leipzig) v. 12, no.p, p.364 May 1920. Also published in Jahrbuch der Jungen Kunst, v.i, p.i^<) 1^20.

16. Fernand Leger. Der Cicerone (Leipzig) v. 12, no.19, p.699-702 Oct. 1920. Also published in Jahrbuch der Jungen Kunst, p.^oi—^o^ 1^20. i6a. Ingres: Ideen und Maximen. Das Kunstblatt v.9, no.i, p.18-24 Jan. 1925. "Zusammengestellt von Daniel Henry."

1 6b. Maurice de Vlaminck. In Flechtheim, Alfred, Gallery. Maurice de Vlaminck, mit Bei- tragen von Daniel Henry, E. Teriade, und Gedichten des Malers, p.5-6 Berlin, Werk- kunst Verlag, 1926 (Veroffendichungen des Kunstarchivs. Nr.20.) Text dated igig, exhibition held Nov. 1^26.

17. Der Tod des Juan Oris. Der Ouerschnitt {Berlin) v.7, no.7, p. 558 July 1927. 17a. Das abenteuerliche Leben des Manuel Martinez Hugue, genannt Manolo. In Flechtheim, Alfred, Gallery. Manolo. p.3-8 Berlin, 1929. Also published in Der Ouer'schnitt v.g, no.8, p.590-^gi ic)2g. 18. Juan Gris. i6p. plus 32 plates Leipzig, Klinkhardt & Biermann, 1929. (Junge Kunst

Bd.55). '

. . . , Extracts also published in Cahiers d'Art, v.8, /pjj. iSa.Elie Lascaux. In Flechtheim, Alfred, Gallery. Elie Lascaux [exhibition catalog] p.8 Ber- lin, Diisseldorf, 1930.

19. Juan Gris. In Ziirich. Kunsthaus. Juan Gris-Fernand Leger. p.24-27 Paris, Cahiers

d'Art, 1933. Special edition issued for exhibitions of April and May.

20. Introduction. In Buchholz Gallery, New York. Andre Masson [exhibition catalog] 1942.

Translated by Maria Jolas. Also published in Volontes {Paris) Nov. j, 79^5. 21. La naissance du cubisme. Les Temps Modernes {Paris) v.i, no.4, p.625-639, Jan. 1946. 22. The state of painting in Paris, 1945 assessment. Horizon {London) v. 12, no.71, p.333- 341, Nov. 1945. 23. Elie Lascaux. Centres {Limoges) no.3 Feb. 1946.

24. Faut-il ecrire une histoire du gout? Critique {Paris) no.5, p.423-429, Oct. 1946.

25. Eugene de Kermadec. La Revue Internationale {Paris) v.2, no. 11, p.397-403, Dec. 1946. 26. Juan Gris: sa vie, son oeuvre, ses ecrits. 344p. plus 51 plates Paris, Gallimard, 1946. hsued in revised edition, English text. New Yor\ 1947.

27. Juan Gris, his life and work. i77p. plus 113 plates New York, Curt Valentin, 1947. A translation and revision, by Douglas Cooper, of French edition {1946). 28. A propos d'une conference de Paul Klee. Les Temps Modernes (Paris) v.2, no.i6, p.758- 764, Jan. 1947. La place 29. de Georges Seurat. Critique (Paris) v.2, no. 8-9, p. 54-59, Jan.-Feb. 1947. 30. Andre Masson illustrateur. In Skira, Albert (Publisher). Vingt ans d'activite. p.20 [Geneve, 1948].

31. L'Art negre et le cubisme. Presence Africaine (Paris-Da\ar) no.3 ^9A'^- Also published in Horizon (London), 1948.

32. Negro art and cubism. Horizon (London) v. 18, no. 108, p.412-420, Dec. 1948. 33. Juan Gris In San Francisco. Museum of Art. Picasso, Gris, Miro: the Spanish masters of

twentieth century painting, p.67-73 San Francisco, The Museum, 1948. Mallarme 34. et la peinture. Les Lettres v.3, part 3, special number, 1948. 35- Le veritable Bearnais. Artes (Antwerp) no. r 1948. '36. Ursprung und Entwicklung des Kubismus. In Jardot, Maurice & Martin, Kurt. Die Mei-

ster franzosischer Malerei der Gegenwart. Baden-Baden, Woldemar Klein, 1948.

37. Preface. In Brussels. Palais des Beaux-Arts. Henri Laurens [exhibition catalog] Mar. 1949. 38. Preface. In Malraux, Andre. Les Conquerants, illustre par Andre Masson. Geneve, Al- bert Skira, 1949.

39. Les Sculptures de Picasso. 216 photographies de Brassai. Paris, Editions du Chene, 1949. 40. The Rise of Cubism. New York, Wittenborn, Schultz, Inc., 1949. (Documents of modern

art, edited by Robert Motherwell.)

Translation by Henry Aronson of: Der Weg zum Kubismus (1920).

XI To my friend Hermann Rupf Chapter : i

Impressionism rejuvenated painting ; it brightened the palette and broke with old superfluous laws. Its goal, however, was too limited to suffice for more than one generation. With it, illusionism appeared as one last burst of color pyro- technics, sputtered and extinguished itself.

The period following Impressionism must be described as lyric, not lyric in the literary sense of mood, but lyric in the painterly sense of form. The purpose of recording history, which painting had fulfilled before Masaccio in a narrative fashion and after him in a dramatic fashion, had vanished.

And for that reason painting in our time has become lyric, its stimulus the pure intense delight in the beauty of things. Lyric painting celebrates this beauty without epic or dramatic overtones. It strives to capture this beauty in the unity of the work of art. The nature of the new painting is clearly characterized as representational as well as structural: representational in that it tries to reproduce the formal beauty of things ; structural in its attempt to grasp the meaning of this formal beauty in the painting.

Representation and structure conflict. Their reconciliation by the new painting, and the stages along the road to this goal, are the subject of this work.

Chapter : 2

At the beginning of the road two attempts may be distinguished. The first collapsed with the death of its originator, the highly gifted Georges Seurat. It was destined to collapse. Seurat's solution was not new; it resembled Egyptian painting in its effort to translate depth into plane relations. Lyricism of form could never have been realized in this way, and so the expression of the artistic intention of the time was not achieved.

The second attempt was that of Paul Cezanne, the point of departure for all painting of today. His art was lyric. In it there was no longer any motivation other than delight in form. He struggled with the object, trying to capture it in all its beauty and carry it into his painting. Where his friends the Impressionists saw only light, he used light to shape the three dimensional object. To understand Cezanne's limitations one must remember the time in which he lived. His friends were the plein air painters, worshippers of light. To be sure, he regarded the object, not light, as the essential, but he was too much of his time to have been able to renounce the concept of light falling from a single source. On the other hand, he disregarded the color of the object and concen- trated on its form.

Therefore, his renunciation of illusionism was only partial. Cezanne's tech- .

nique is as follows: perspective is mostly conceived as if the spectator stands higher than the objects in the painting. This allows a more penetrating delinea- tion of their forms without, however, destroying their fidelity to nature. As we

have already seen, light is used as a means of representing objects, but without

falling from several sides. The color is objectivated light on the object. It clings,

here too in the spirit of the time, to harmonies : a yellow gray tone in his maturity,

a red brown tone in his later years. The artist's constant preoccupation is with the structure of the work; in the structure he distorts the object, just as in the

color harmony he discolors it.

Cezanne seems to have felt discoloration to be the lesser evil; distorting the

form made him suffer more. That is evident from all his conversations. Oppo-

nents of his art, failing to understand the conflict in the soul of this artist who was so in advance of his time, tried often enough to turn these utterances against him, but closer observation will reveal that distortion of form had to occur in his

work. Art since Masaccio had no such distortion to fear since it had thrown

structure entirely overboard. It accepted transformation of color through color

harmonies calmly, as Cezanne also did. However, as soon as a lyric art sought to extoU the form of objects and, simultaneously, to comprehend them within the

unity of the work of art, distortion of the object became necessary, although

unpleasant, since it was a betrayal of just that beauty which was to be extolled. Cezanne's great contribution which has made him the father of the entire

liew art lies precisely in his return to structure. Here Cezanne took that great step

beyond the painter who must be regarded as his predecessor : Corot. Not Cprot, the virtuoso of sunsets, but the master of the Pont de Mantes and figure paintings. Corot had already made persistent attempts to grasp the three dimensional object, but had not sought structure. Therefore, one finds no distortion in his work.

In what respect Cezanne's great follower Andre Derain goes beyond him is

easy to see ; Derain also felt transformation of color to be an evil. He strives to organize his structure in such a way that the painting, though strongly unified,

nevertheless shows the greatest possible fidelity to nature, with every object be-

ing given its "true" form and its "true" color. Light becomes for him a pure

means ; he guides it as it best supports the creation of form, and subordinates it,

whenever possible, to the local color. There is no question here of the aesthetic

worth of his austere and mighty art ; he is one of the greatest of French painters. Cezanne and Derain will stand in art history, like the masters of the Trecento, as painters of transition, but in a reverse sense. Their solution of the conflict between representation and structure in painting will never result in complete suc- cess. Encouraged by their great example Cubism seeks new paths to the solution of this conflict.

4 Chapter : 3

At the outset, a few prefatory words concerning the name of this school are necessary to avoid considering it as a program, and thus arrive at false conclu- sions. As the name "Impressionism" had been before, "Cubism" was a deroga- tory term applied by its enemies. Its inventor was Louis Vauxcelles, at that time art critic of the Gil Bias; sometime before, in the years 1904-05, he had coined another meaningless name for the avant garde of the Independants of that time — "Les Fauves," the wild beasts — a term which has since fortunately disappeared.* In September 1908 he met Matisse who was a member of the Salon d'Autorrme jury for that year, and who told him that Braque had sent to the Fall Salon paintings "avec des petits cubes." To describe them he drew on a piece of paper two ascending lines meeting in a peak, and between them some cubes. He was referring to Braque's landscapes of I'Estaque painted that spring. With the sensitivity characteristic of such bodies, the jury rejected two of the six paintings submitted. One was "fished out again," as someone put it, by Marquet, and another by Guerin, both of whom were members of the jury, but Braque nevertheless withdrew all six.

* This book was written in 1915 [translator's note]. From Matisse's word "cube" Vauxcelles then invented the meaningless "Cub-

ism" which he used for the first time in an article on the 1909 Salon des Inde-

pendants, in connection with two other paintings by Braque, a still life and a landscape. Strangely enough he later added to this term the adjective "peruvien" and spoke of "Peruvian Cubism" and "Peruvian Cubists" which made the designation even more meaningless. This adjective soon disappeared, but the name "Cubism" endured and entered colloquial language, since Braque and Picasso,

the painters originally so designated, cared very little whether they were called

that or something else.

These two artists are the great founders of Cubism. In the evolution of the

new art, the contributions of both are intimately related, often hardly distin- guishable. Friendly conversations between the two afforded the new method of

painting many advances which one or the other first put into practice. Both de-

serve credit; both are great and admirable artists, each in his own way. Braque's

art is quieter, Picasso's is nervous and turbulent. The lucid Frenchman Braque and the fanatically searching Spaniard Picasso stand together.

In the year 1906, Braque, Derain, Matisse and many others were still striving for expression through color, using only pleasant arabesques, and completely

dissolving the form of the object! Cezanne's great example was still not under-

stood. Painting threatened to debase itself to the level of ornamentation ; it sought to be "decorative," to "adorn" the wall. Picasso had remained indifferent to the temptation of color. He had pursued another path, never abandoning his concern for the object. The literary "expression" which had existed in his earlier work now vanished. A lyricism of form re- taining fidelity to nature began to take shape. He created large nudes roundly modeled in chiaroscuro. They appeared "classic" and his friends referred to a "Pompeiian Period." But Picasso's intention remained unfulfilled.

Here it should be made clear that I do not mean an established program when

I speak of Picasso's or Braque's intentions, endeavors and thoughts. I am attempting to describe in words the inner urge of these artists, the ideas no doubt clearly in their minds, yet rarely mentioned in their conversations, and then only casu- ally.

'' Toward the end of 1906, then, the soft round contours in Picasso's paintings gave way to hard angular forms; instead of delicate rose, pale yellow and light green, the massive forms were weighted with leaden white, gray and black.

Early in 1907 Picasso began a strange large painting* depicting women, fruit and drapery, which he left unfinished. It cannot be called other than unfinished, even though it represents a long period of work. Begun in the spirit of the works

* Les Demoiselles d'Avignon. Reproduced on p. 23.

6 of 1906, it contains in one section the endeavors of 1907 and thus never consti- tutes a unified whole.

The nudes, with large, quiet eyes, stand rigid, like mannequins. Their stiff,

round bodies are flesh-colored, black and white. That is the style of 1906.

In the foreground, however, alien to the style of the rest of the painting, ap-

pear a crouching figure and a bowl of fruit. These forms are drawn angularly, not roundly modeled in chiaroscuro. The colors are luscious blue, strident yel-

low, next to pure black and white. This is the beginning of Cubism, the first

upsurge, a desperate titanic clash with all of the problems at once. , Chese problem^were the basic tasks of painting: to represent three dimensions / £elor on a flat surface, and to comprehend them m the unity of that surfaced "Representation," however, and "comprehension" in the strictest and highest sense. Not the simulation of form by chiaroscuro, but the depiction of the three

dimensional through drawing on a flat surface. No pleasant "composition" but uncompromising, organically articulated structure. In addition, there was the

problem of color, and finally, the most difficult of all, that of the amalgamation, the reconciliation of the whole.

Rashly, Picasso attacked all the problems at once. He placed sharp-edged im-

ages on the canvas, heads and nudes mostly, in the brightest colors : yellow, red, blue and black. He applied the colors in thread-like fashion to serve as lines of

direction, and to build up, in conjunction with the drawing, the plastic effect. But, after months of the most laborious searching, Picasso realized that com-

plete solution of the problem did not lie in this direction.

At this point I must make it clear that these paintings are no less "beautiful"

for not having attained their goal. An artist who is possessed of the divine gift, genius, always produces aesthetic creations, whatever their aspect, whatever

their "appearance" may be. His innermost being creates the beauty ; the external

appearance of the work of art, however, is the product of the time in which it is created. A short period of exhaustion followed; the artist's battered spirit turned to problems of pure structure. A series of pictures appeared in which he seems to have been occupied only with the articulation of the color planes. This with- drawal from the diversity of the physical world to the undisturbed peace of the work of art was of short duration. Soon Picasso perceived the danger of lowering

his art to the level of ornament. In the spring of 1908 he resumed his quest, this time solving one by one the problems that arose. He had to begin with the most important thing, and that seemed to be the explanation of form, the representation of the three-dimen- /

sional and its position in space on a two dimensional surface. As Picasso himself once said, "In a Raphael painting it is not possible to establish the distance from

the tip of the nose to the mouth. I should like to paint pictures in which that would be possible." At the same time of course, the problem of comprehension — of structure — was always in the foreground. The question of color, on the other hand, was completely by-passed. Thus Picasso painted figures resembling Congo sculptures, and still lifes of

the simplest form. His perspective in these works is similar to that of Cezanne.

Light is never more than a means to create form — through chiaroscuro, since

he did not at this time repeat the unsuccessful attempt of 1907 to create form through drawing. Of these paintings one can no longer say, "The light comes from this or that side," because light has become completely a means. The pic-

tures are almost monochromatic ; brick red and red brown, often with a gray or

gray green ground, since the color is meant only to be chiaroscuro. While Picasso was painting in Paris, and in the summer, at La Rue-des-Bois

(near Creil, Oise), Braque, at the other end of France, in I'Estaque (near Mar-

seilles) was painting the series of landscapes we have already mentioned. No

connection existed between the two artists. This venture was a completely new one, totally different from Picasso's work of 1907; by an entirely different route

Braque arrived at the same point as Picasso. If, in the whole history of art, there

were not already sufficient proof that the appearance of the aesthetic product is

conditioned in its particularity by the spirit of the time, that even the most power-

ful artists unconsciously execute its will, then this would be proof. Separated by

distance, and working independently, the two artists devoted their most intense

effort to paintings which share an extraordinary resemblance. This relationship

between their paintings continued but ceased to be astonishing because the

friendship between the two artists, begun in the winter of that year, brought about a constant exchange of ideas.

—, Picasso and Braque had to begin with objects of the simplest sort: in land-

scape, with cylindrical tree trunks and rectangular houses; in still life, with plates, symmetrical vessels, round fruits and one or two nude figures. They sought to make these objects as plastic as possible, and to define their position in

space. Here we touch upon the indirect advantage of lyric painting. It has made us aware of the beauty of form in the simplest objects, where we had carelessly

overlooked it before. These objects have now become eternally vivid in the re-

flected splendor of the beauty which the artist has abstracted from them.

Derain, too, had abandoned decorative light painting in 1907, preceding Braque by a few months. But from the outset, their roads were diverse. Derain's endeavor to retain fidelity to nature in his painting separates him forever from Cubism, no matter how closely his ideas may otherwise parallel those of Braque.

8 Chapter : 4

In the winter of 1908, the two friends began to work along common and parallel paths. The subjects of their still life painting became more complex, the representation of nudes more detailed. The relation of objects to one another underwent further differentiation, and structure, heretofore relatively uncomplicated — as, for example, in a still life of the spring of 1907 whose structure forms a simple spiral — took on more intricacy and variety. Color, as the expression of light, or chiaroscuro, continued to be used as a means of shaping form. Distortion of form, the usual consequence of the conflict between representation and structure, was strongly evident.

Among the new subjects introduced at this time were musical instruments, which Braque was the first to paint, and which continued to play such an important role in cubist still life painting. Other new motifs were fruit bowls, bottles and glasses. During the summer of 1909 which Picasso spent at Horta (near Tolosa, Spain) and Braque at La Roche Guyon (on the Seine, near Mantes) the new language of form was further augmented and enriched, but left essentially unchanged. Several times during the spring of 1910 Picasso attempted to endow the forms

of his pictures with color. That is, he tried to use color not only as an expression

of light, or chiaroscuro,' for the creation of form, but rather as an equally im-

portant end in itself. Each time he was obliged to paint over the color he had

thus introduced; the single exception is a small nude of the period (about 18 x 23

centimeters in size) in which a piece of fabric is colored in brilliant red. At the same time Braque made an important discovery. In one of his pictures

he painted a completely naturalistic nail casting its shadow on a wall. The use-

fulness of this innovation will be discussed later. The difficulty lay in the incorporation of this "real" object into the unity of the painting. From then on,

both artists consistently limited the space in the background of the picture. In a

/ landscape, for instance, instead of painting an illusionistic distant horizon in

which the eye lost itself, the artists closed the three dimensional space with a

mountain. In still life or nude painting, the wall of a room served the same purpose. This method of limiting space had already been used frequently by Ce- zanne. During the summer, again spent in I'Estaque, Braque took a further step in

the introduction of "real objects," that is, of realistically painted things introduced, undistorted in form and color, into the picture. We find lettering for the

I first time in a Guitar Player of the period. Here again, lyrical painting un- covered a new world of beauty — this time in posters, display windows and commercial signs which play so important a role in our visual impressions.

Much more important, however, was the decisive advance which set Cubism free from the language previously used by painting. This occurred in Cadaques (in Spain, on the Mediterranean near the French border) where Picasso spent

his summer. Little satisfied, even after weeks of arduous labor, he returned to

Paris in the fall with his unfinished works. But he had taken the great step ; he had pierced the closed form. A new tool had been forged for the achievement of the new purpose. Years of research had proved that closed form did not permit an expression

sufficient for the two artists' aims. Closed form accepts objects as contained by

their own surfaces, viz., the skin; it then endeavors to represent this closed

body, and, since no object is visible without light, to paint this "skin" as the con-

tact point between the body and light where both merge into color. This chiaroscuro can provide only an illusion of the form of objects. In the actual three

dimensional world the object is there to be touched even after light is eliminated. Memory images of tactile perceptions can also be verified on visible bodies. The

different accommodations of the retina of the eye enable us, as it were, to "touch"

three dimensional objects from a distance. Two dimensional painting is not con-

10 cerned with all this. Thus the painters of the Renaissance, using the closed form ^

method, endeavored to give the illusion of form by painting light as color on the

' surface of objects. It was never more than "illusion."

Since it was the mission of color to create the form as chiaroscuro, or light that

had become perceivable, there was no possibility of rendering local color or color ^

itself. It could only be painted as objectivated light. ^n addition, Braque and Picasso were disturbed by the unavoidable distortion of form which worried many spectators initiallvNpicasso himself often repeated the ludicrous remark made by his friend, the sculptor Manolo, before one of his

figure paintings : "What would you say if your parents were to call for you at the

Barcelona station with such faces.''" This is a drastic example of the relation between memory images and the figures represented in the painting. Comparison between the real object as articulated by the rhythm of forms in the painting and

the same object as it exists in the spectator's memory inevitably results in "distortions" as long as even the slightest verisimilitude in the work of art creates this conflict in the spectator. Through the combined discoveries of Braque and Pi-

casso during the summer of 1910 it became possible to avoid these difficulties by a new way of painting.

/" Dn the one hand, Picasso's new method made it possible to "represent" the form of objects and their position in space instead of attempting to imitate them through illusionistic means. With the representation of solid objects this could be effected by a process of representation that has a certain resemblance to geo-

metrical drawing. This is a matter of course since the aim of both is to render the three dimensional object on a two dimensional plane. In addition, the painter

no longer has to limit himself to depicting the object as it would appear from one given viewpoint, but wherever necessary for fuller comprehension, can show

it from several sides, and from above and below.

Representation of the position of objects in space is done as follows : instead of

beginning from a supposed foreground and going on from there to give an illusion of depth by means of perspective, the painter begins from a definite and j clearly defined background. Starting from this background the painter now works toward the front by a sort of scheme of forms in which each object's po-

sition is clearly indicated, both in relation to the definite background and to

other objects. Such an arrangement thus gives a clear and plastic view. But, if

only this scheme of forms were to exist it would be impossible to see in the painting the "representation" of things from the outer world. One would only see an

arrangement of planes, cylinders, quadrangles, etc. At this point Braque's introduction of undistorted real objects into the paint-

ing takes on its full significance. When "real details" are thus introduced the ^

result is a stimulus which carries with it memory images. Combining the "real" stimulus and the scheme of forms, these images construct the finished object in the mind. Thus the desired physical representation comes into being in the spectator's mind. Now the rhythmisation necessary for the coordination of the individual parts into the unity of the work of art can take place without producing disturbing distortions, since the object in effect is no longer "present" in the painting, that is, since it does not yet have the least resemblance to actuality. Therefore, the stimulus cannot come into conflict with the product of the assimilation. In other words, there exist in the painting the scheme of forms and small real details as stimuli integrated into the unity of the work of art; there exists, as well, but only in the mind of the spectator, the finished product of the assimilation, the human head, for instance. There is no possibihty of a conflict here, and yet the object once "recognized" in the painting is now "seen" with a perspicacity of which no illusionistic art is capable.

As to color, its utilization as chiaroscuro had been abolished. Thus, it could be freely employed, as color, within the unity of the work of art. For the representation of local color, its application on a small scale is sufficient to effect its incorporation into the finished representation in the mind of the spectator. In the words of Locke, these painters distinguish between primary and see-— ondary qualities. They endeavor to represent the primary, or most important qualitiesy-as exactly as possible^In- painting theseare: the object 's form, and its position in space. They merely suggest the secondary characteristics such"aS" color and tactile quality, leaving their incorporation into the object to the mind of the spectator. ^^^^""^

This new language has given painting an unprecedented freedom. It is no longer bound to the more or less verisimilar optic image which describes the object from a single viewpoint. It can, in order to give a thorough representation of the object's primary characteristics, depict them as stereometric drawing on the plane, or, through several representations of the same object, can provide an analytical study of that object which the spectator then fuses into one again in his mind. The representation does not necessarily have to be in the closed man- ner of the stereometric drawing ; colored planes, through their direction and relative position, can bring together the formal scheme without uniting in closed fornis.'This was the great advance made at Cadaques. Instead of an analytical description, the painter can, if he prefers, also create in this way a synthesis of the object, or in the words of Kant, "put together the various conceptions and comprehend their variety in one perception."

Naturally, with this, as with any new mode of expression in painting, the as-

II similation which leads to seeing the represented things objectively does not im- mediately take place when the spectator is unfamiliar with the new language.

But for lyric painting to fulfill its purpose completely, it must be more than just a pleasure to the eye of the spectator. To be sure, assimilation always takes place finally, but in order to facilitate it, and impress its urgency upon the spectator, cubist pictures should always be provided with descriptive titles, such as Bottle and Glass, Playing Cards and Dice and so on. In this way, the condition will arise which H. G. Lewes referred to as "preperception" and memory images connected with the title will then focus much more easily on the stimuli in the painting.

Titling will also prevent sensory illusions of the kind which gave Cubism its name, and brought about its designation, so popular, particularly in France, as a geometric style. Here we must make a sharp distinction between the impression made upon the spectator and the lines of the painting itself. The name "Cubism" and the designation "Geometric Art" grew out of the impression of early spectators who "saw" geometric forms in the paintings.'^his impression is unjusti- fied, since the visual conception desired by the painter by no means resides in the geometric forms, but rather in the representation of the reproduced objects^

How does such a sensory illusion come about .'' It occurs only with observers whom lack of habit has prevented from making the associations which lead to objective perception. Man is possessed by an urge to objectivate; he wants to

"see something" in the work of art which should — and he is sure of this — represent something. His imagination forcefully calls up memory images, but the only ones which present themselves, the only ones which seem to fit the straight lines and uniform curves are geometric images. Experience has shown that this "geometric impression" disappears completely as soon as the spectator familiar- izes himself with the new method of expression and gains in perception. If we disregard representation, however, and limit ourselves to the "actual" individual lines in the painting, there is no disputing the fact that they are very often straight lines and uniform curves. Furthermore, the forms which they serve to delineate are often similar to the circle and rectangle, or even to stereometric representations of cubes, spheres and cylinders. But, such straight lines and uniform curves are present in all styles of the plastic arts which do not have as their goal the illusionistic imitation of nature! Architecture, which is a plastic art, but at the same time non-representational, uses these lines extensively. The same is true of applied art. Man creates no building, no product which does not have regular lines. In architecture and applied art, cubes, spheres and cylinders are the permanent basic forms. They do not exist in the natural world, nor do straight lines. But they are deeply rooted in man ; they are the necessary condi-

13 tion for all objective perception.

Our remarks until now about visual perception have concerned its content alone, the two dimensional "seen" and the three dimensional "known" visual images. Now we are concerned with the form of these images, the form of our perception of the physical world. The geometric forms we have just mentioned provide us with the solid structure; on this structure we build the products of our imagination which are composed of stimuli on the retina and memory images. They are our categories of vision. When we direct our view on the outer world, we always demand those forms but they are never given to us in all their purity. The flat picture which we "see" bases itself mainly on the straight horizontal and vertical, and secondly on the circle. We test the "seen" lines of the physical world for their greater or lesser relationship to these basic lines. Where no actual line exists, we supply the "basic" line ourselves. For example, a water horizon which is limited on both sides appears horizontal to us; one which is unlimited on both sides appears curved. Furthermore, only our knowledge of simple stereometric forms enables us to add the third dimension to the flat picture which our eye perceives. Without the cube, we would have no feeling of the three dimensionality of objects, and without the sphere and cylinder, no feeling of the varieties of this three dimensionality. Our a priori knowledge of these forms is the necessary condition, without which there would be no seeing, no world of objects. Architecture and applied art realize in space these basic forms which we always demand in vain of the natural world ; the sculpture of periods which have turned away from nature approaches these forms insofar as its representational goal permits, and the two-dimensional painting of such periods gives expression to the same longing in its use of "basic lines." Humanity is possessed not only by the longing for these lines and forms, but also by the ability to create them. This ability shows itself clearly in those civilizations in which no "representational" plastic art has produced other lines and forms.

In its works Cubism, in accordance with its role as both constructive and representational art, brings the forms of the physical world as close as possible to their underlying basic forms. Through connection with these basic forms, upon which all visual and tactile perception is based, Cubism provides the clearest elu- cidation and foundation of all forms. The unconscious effort which we have to make with each object of the physical world before we can perceive its form is lessened by cubist painting through its demonstration of the relation between these objects and basic forms. Like a skeletal frame these basic forms underUe the impression of the represented object in the final visual result of the painting; they are no longer "seen" but are the basis of the "seen" form. It is not our intention to outline a complete history of Cubism here. We would

14 exceed the limits of this work if we were to follow the development of the two artists any further, now that the definitive language of the new art has been

created. Our mission was to fix the position of Cubism in the history of paint-

ing, and to demonstrate the motives which guided its founders. This new style has taken ever greater possession of the appearance of painting; an ever growing number of painters has begun to paint "cubistically." This lyric painting is the expression of the intellectual spirit of our time. The necessary result of this will be that all true artists of the coming generation will es- pouse Cubism — in the wider sense.

Those who have already adopted Cubism include talented as well as untal- ented artists; in Cubism, too, they remain what they were. Those with talent create aesthetic products ; those without it do not. For Cubism is only an "appearance," only the result of the purpose which the intellectual spirit of the time has imposed upon painting. Whether the picture with the cubist appearance will be an aesthetic achievement, whether the aesthetically inclined spectator will be compelled to designate it as beautiful depends, as always, only on the painter's genius. Yet every talented young artist will have to come to an understanding with Cubism. He will have little chance of getting along without it, just as a contemporary of Titian in Italy could never have reverted to the style of Giotto.

The artist, as the executor of the unconscious plastic will of mankind, identifies himself with the style of the period, which is the expression of this will.

Just as the illusionistic art of the Renaissance created a tool for itself in oil painting, which alone could satisfy its striving for verisimilar representation of the smallest details, so Cubism had to invent new means for an entirely opposite purpose. For the planes of cubist painting oil color is often unsuitable, ugly, and sometimes sticky. Cubism created for itself new media in the most varied mate- rials: colored strips of paper, lacquer, newspaper, and in addition, for the real details, oilcloth, glass, sawdust, et(C) In the years 1913 and 1914 Braque and Picasso attempted to eliminate the use of color as chiaroscuro, which had still persisted to some extent in their painting, by amalgamating painting and sculpture. Instead of having to demonstrate through shadows how one plane stands above, or in front of a second plane, they could now superimpose the planes one on the other and illustrate the relationship directly. The first attempts to do this go far back. Picasso had already begun such an enterprise in 1909, but since he did it within the limits of closed form, it was destined to fail. It resulted in a kind of colored bas-relief. Only in open planal form could this union of painting and sculpture be realized. Despite current prejudice, this endeavor to increase plastic expression through the collaboration of the two arts must be warmly approved; an enrichment of the plastic arts is certain to result from it. A number of sculptors like Lipchitz, Laurens and Ar- chipenko has since taken up and developed this sculpto-painting.

Nor is this form entirely new in the history of the plastic arts. The negroes of the Ivory Coast have made use of a very similar method of expression in their dance masks. These are constructed as follows: a completely flat plane forms the lower part of the face; to this is joined the high forehead, which is sometimes equally flat, sometimes bent slightly backward. While the nose is added as a simple strip of wood, two cylinders protrude about eight centimeters to form the eyes, and one slightly shorter hexahedron forms the mouth. The frontal surfaces of the cylinder and hexahedron are painted, and the hair is represented by raffia.

It is true that the form is still closed here; however, it is not the "real" form, but rather a tight formal scheme of plastic primeval force. Here, too, we find a scheme of forms and "real details" (the painted eyes, mouth and hair) as stimuli. The result in the mind of the spectator, the desired effect, is a human face.

i6 Chapter : 5

Our subject is the rise of Cubism. Therefore, we cannot discuss here the numerous artists who later joined the movement, but only those who created it.

One of these is Fernand Leger. It would be unjust and false not to name him among the pathfinders of Cubism, along with Braque and Picasso. He does not stand contemporaneously with them at the beginning of the road, but, following their stimulus, he developed in his own way, and arrived at different results. Leger had been a painter of light. Then one day he exhibited a large painting which was completely different from his previous work. It appeared in the Salon des Independants of the year 1910. It depicted men between trees.* Everything was reduced to the simplest forms ; the trees were like stove pipes, the men composed of cylinders and spheres. The color was delicate and harmonized. This was not Cubism, somebody said, but "Tubism."

The years following brought only one change in Leger's art: in the color. In

1910 and 191 1 it was still harmoniously tuned, pale and delicately applied, as if the forms were created out of mist. Slowly it increased in intensity until the pic-

* Nudes in the Forest, 1909-10. Reproduced on p. 33.

17 tures burst into an exultation of radiant blue, red and white in the purest tones. As can be seen, Leger did not begin modestly, with uncomplicated subjects.

He has seldom painted still lifes, and has never engaged in desperate struggle

with the object because his treatment of the object is much more arbitrary than

Picasso's and Braque's. However, he does not succumb to the delusion of "ab-

stract art" which is only ornamental. There is in his work always a point of departure grounded in visual experience. Sometimes he strays far from this point, treating the experience variously in different pictures, indulging, I might

say, in variations on the theme. The result is an architecture of form which no

longer conveys to the spectator the original visual experience. Leger's goal is the painting itself, and he subordinates everything else to it. For him, the subject

is often a pretext rather than a theme.

One may well ask whether this is still Cubism. Certainly it is, even if Leger at- taches too exclusive a significance to the unity of the painting at the expense of diversity of the visual experience. But, adherence to the visual experience is still and nevertheless the basis of Leger's work, and it is still adherence in the cubist sense. We have recognized Cubism as the endeavor to capture the three dimensional diversity of the outer world within the unity of the painting. Cubism seeks to reproduce that three dimensional diversity — the dimension of depth — in contrast to the "playing cards" of Manet, Gauguin and Matisse, and the plane projections of Seurat. As the silly name "Cubism" put it, with accidental

correctness : Braque and Picasso emphasize the cubic.

Leger does the same: he is a cubist. But he emphasizes it with other means than those of Braque and Picasso. Because of that he is entitled to a place in this work. Leger simplifies and coarsens his forms. He returns them to shapes most closely resembling the basic forms of cube, sphere and cylinder, while showing a special preference for the cylinder. In doing this he is always careful to pre- serve the closed form, never reaching the point of rupturing it. A figure painted by Leger appears like a powerful Golem, a clumsy puppet. The forms are molded and arched through chiaroscuro in the simplest, most significant way.

Light serves only to depict the form. This is done with the greatest possible em- phasis by lighting one side and shading the other. Little attention is given to the space; the relative position of the objects in the painting is made clear through overlapping, and sometimes through ordinary linear perspective. The eye is led, as in pre-cubist painting, deep into the "background."

Leger is not shy about distorting the object. A powerfully undulating rhythm of forms organizes the planes of his paintings. In the wake of this rhythm, the objects which make up the picture are ruthlessly distorted.

i8 In the above description we see again to some extent the tendencies we recognized as significant for the years 1908 and 1909 in the work of Picasso and Braque. But Leger departs entirely from these tendencies in his treatment of

color. That is easy to understand. Leger is, as I have said, much more arbitrary in his attitude toward the object than the other two painters. What to them was only a necessary passing concession — the suppression or the coarsening of de-

tails — is Leger's final goal. He oflfers the spectator big lumpish syntheses im- prisoned in a cyclopian, piled-up structure. An artist who treats the forms of the

object so outrageously certainly cannot regard its color as inviolable; that is un- derstandable. He colors the forms in his paintings arbitrarily, in accordance with

their function in the work. He is hardly concerned with the actual color of the

represented object. In this respect also he is basically different from Braque and

; Picasso who devoted so much effort in the years from 1910 to 1914 to the repro- duction of this "local color." The endeavor of those two artists, devoted to the I most penetrating expression of the object, is completely foreign to Leger.

And now, what does Leger really want ? He wants to produce an effect. He

strives for the weightiest three dimensionality of form and for stridency of color.

He is animated by a desire to endow his painting with power, to make it domi-

nate and sweep everything before it. Leger's work shows a wealth of unspent, boundlessly seething strength.

^9 Picasso, Two Xiides

20 Chapter : 6

Many artists who use the cubist language of forms have tried to use it for aims other than those we have outHned. Only two of these attempts deserve mention here, for only these two have a palpable significance.

I am referring in the first place to that movement called Futurism, which in- cludes the Italian school of that name as well as several isolated artists, like Mar- cel Duchamp, who have pursued similar aims. Even before the Futurists went over to Cubism, while they were still using Divisionist techniques, the subject of all their manifestoes was dynamism, the endeavor to represent movement in painting and sculpture. This idea has not been abandoned since that time, for a book by Boccioni, one of the school, which was published in 1913 contrasted "static" Cubism with "dynamic" Futurism. The Futurists tried to represent movement by depicting the moved part of the body several times in various positions, by reproducing two or more phases of movement of the entire figure, or by lengthening or widening the represented object in the direction of the movement. Can the impression of a moving form be awakened in the spectator in this way .''

It cannot. All of these solutions suffer from the same mistake which renders that impression impossible. In order to produce "movement," at least two vis-

2/ ual images must exist as succeeding points in time. In Futurism, however, the various phases exist simultaneously in the painting. They will always be felt as diflferent, static, single figures, but never as a moving image. This is borne out by fact, as observation of paintings by Carra, Severini or Boccioni will show.

In this way, therefore, the representation of movement in the plastic arts is impossible. But, if it were possible, such representation would be a tremendous source of enrichment. Instead of acting through one single impression, the plastic arts would also call into participation those emotions heretofore aroused in us only by music, which extends in time. These emotions are associated with tension and release, sensations possible only in a succession of time. Is there such a possibility ?

There exist, in fact, two possibilities, both of which Picasso has indicated in conversations, without even suspecting their scientific basis; nor has he as yet applied them in practice.

The first corresponds to the actual movement of the body. This would involve imparting movement to the work of art by means of a clock mechanism, and could be accompUshed with statues as well as paintings — in paintings as with targets in shooting booths which are set into motion by the marksmen's direct hits.

There is still another way of bringing about the impression of movement in the mind of the spectator — the stroboscopic method, upon which the cinematograph is based. If images differing to a small enough extent in their spatial defi- nitions are shown in rapid enough succession, an illusion of one object in movement results. The first visual image establishes the object, and the succeeding images establish the object in movement. This method has already been employed for humorous drawings. By painting the various pictures on a transparent material and showing them through a cinematograph projector, a new field with immeasurable possibilities would open for painting.

In addition to Futurism, there is another tendency, which, designating its aim as non-objective painting, harmoniously composes colored forms on canvas without any relation to natural objects.

We can have no doubts about this tendency. It can certainly create pleasant works, but it is not painting. It does not know the basic problem of painting: the comprehension of the diversity of the physical world in the unity of the work of art. It by-passes all of the problems which have occupied lyric painting for years.

Its works seek only to be decorative. This tendency was not called forth by the artistic, but by the decorative urge. What the followers of this movement are cre- ating is simply ornament.

But as ornament, it does not make use of the proper means when it uses the

22 paper strips and other media of Cubism, instead of the rich world of ceramics, textiles and glass. When this tendency, finally cognizant of its true nature, de- cides to give up all claim to being painting, and when it makes use of all of the possibilities of ornament, it will bring new blood to handicrafts, and will create the style of our time.

For a style grows organically out of the aesthetic creation of its time, and Cubism has pointed the way — Cubism, which Picasso and Braque created through their intense labors.

Picasso, Les Demoiselles d'Avignon

23 Braque, Nude

Picasso, Two Nudes

24 Braque, Road near Estaque

25 Picasso, Woman with Mandolin Picasso, Woman with Mandoliii {Fanny Tellier)

26 Braque, Woman with Mandolin

27 Braque, The Portuguese Guitar Player

28 ^. '«t4!'' "'dS -fe^

30 Picasso, Glass, Pipe, Playing Card

31 Picasso, 5/;// Life

Braque, Oial Still Life

32 Leger, Two Pipe Smo/^ers

33 Leger, Smo^e over Roofs

34 Leger, The Card Party

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from the Germon by Sir Michael Sodleir, with rowisions by I'. Golffng, M, Horfison. ond F. Ojtertqg: prose poems Ironslated by Rolph Monheim. Editioi" by Mme. Kar

dinslcy, with nfw footnotes and additions by Kondinsky, ?3pp., i I2.2S.

d.m.i'. ft On My Way, by .icon (Mons) Arp. Esjoys ond Poems, 1912-1947 in fnock. jornion. Eng! Edited by Robert Motherwell. Tronslofed from the French end Gefmc-

with 2 woodcuts especially done by the artist for this pvblicotior* ond

Iribution fay Carolo Giediori-Welckei. Bibliography by B. Korpef, 148 pp., % crigmoi

woodcuts, 48 ill., 1948. $4.50.

ci of three originol woodcuts signed by the artist. $12,00,

iJ.ii • Beyond Painting, with other *e/ts by A, Breton, NC

D^5;'»i,iie5, T„ i fbon. Edited bv Robert Moihefwsll

40 ill., 1948. $«.0O.

'.lades: Am Aiuiiology, -.. Breton, O. But"'

G. Hugnet, «. ' , -Dessoignes, H, Ri,. others. Edited by Robert (s^dtherwelL Tranjioted frow the Ere

Md^l^eim ond others. (First publ. in English of most of the matfi

The Rfse of Cubisrn, by Dotiiel-Henry l^ah^.v.;!c' "ri-nml^or-

.( from the German by Henry ^

inort'vr ;v,-p;;r(;;i;on ri->e .Modern Arts in Review. A '

l.tbrifnr,ri i>> Biirnord Karpol, Thf; Museum of M, -

FtlUVism by Georu i=ir$t tronslalion into E«7'

From Baudelaire to Surrealism by Marce'

'''roblems of Contemporary An

T, bemg a coreh-oll for texji relating to the immedloi

-- p : ?orm anfl sense, by Wolfgong Poolen. . 1945. Out-of-p

Herbert 19 ".;,. ;:,,; the Gross Roots of Art, by Read. 92 pp , m, (he Way Beyond 'Art*; The Work of Herbert Bciyer, bv ^ r- T pen. (. Possibirtfiei?; 1. An occosionol Review, edited by ''>t>^ C^iio |ii^ 'horeau (orchi-

vobcrt Motherwell (ort), and Hoi'oi<; !947-48. (lon-

,..„...,,.. , >. I i by Abel, Arp, Boilotos, Colli, Colv... ./fer, Hulbeck,

Miro, Motherwell, Niemeyer, Poe, .1. Pollock, H, S ' Smith, Virgil

Thomson, Voresff, Ban Web|r. l!2 pp., 49 lllus., $2.'.r> (lypojftjpt:/ by r^ie editois;

>'ainHngs, Sculptures, l^eflntions, by t;,.r„o--. vr.,v,.^,%n..f;-,,^ y>,,(^r^ Kv Mnv

pp., 50 ill., 2 color plates, 1948. $3.00, iiiacfiveprc r.sibiiities: 2., (See No, 4 obo*e.!

Covets Odd typo5<8phy (unless otherwise rio»ed)^ Paul Sortd

Wifteiibenit, 5.

Date Due

Due Returned Due Returned 'mim^mmim

©ECi & »Inov2S

JiPilj ^ :. MAR ^ 6 1985 fj^Y 3 ia. DEC ft 9 1985 v^Sos 8 .S^

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3 lEbs D3ED7 ^^b^

ARCH & Pine arts LIBRARY

V,W«.,omUF.Sa,ve,ed«oWe™.Artive

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