“Thus, from the war of nature, from famine and death, the most exalted object which we are capable of conceiving, namely, the production of the higher animals, directly follows.
There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being, evolved.”
– Charles Darwin, 1859
In 1888, the painter Paul Gauguin wrote to his friend about some progress he had made on a self-portrait that Vincent Van Gogh had requested of him.
He was especially excited about the mini-portrait he included of fellow painter Emile Bernard:
“The design is absolutely special, a complete abstraction. All the reds, violets, striped by flashes of fire like a furnace radiating from the eyes, seat of the struggles of the painter’s thought. …The Impressionist is pure, still unsullied by the putrid kiss of the Ecole des Beaux Arts.”
– Gauguin, 1888
Gauguin was excited by how abstract his friend’s likeness had become.
But why? What’s so special about abstraction?
And why would he describe his own fine arts training as a “putrid kiss” that would sully his ability to create Bernard’s likeness rather than elevate it?
Let’s first acknowledge that all visual representations are abstractions to some extent.
No matter how realistic a painting may be, it still flattens and simplifies its subject to some extent. Photographs are typically much more faithful representations, given the right lighting and development, but even the best photograph loses its resemblance at the granular level.
And anyway, ever since photography ousted painting and sculpture from the throne of faithful representation, artists began to paint for other reasons.
Gauguin’s formal training in the arts may have made him an expert in creating realistic likenesses, but his ability to channel emotion, beauty, and spiritual power?
That came from within.
That was the profundity of the invisible transmuted into spectacle.
Such is the magic of abstraction.
The earlier artists may have been record keepers or storytellers, but the new ones felt a calling to serve as mediums.
The Swedish painter Hilma af Klint made such a realization in the early 1900s. She had spent her early career painting landscapes, and also sketched plants and animals she observed in her free time. Like Ernst Haeckel before her, Af Klint gloried in the intricate shapes, symmetries, and colors of the natural world. And yet one day, she decided she needed to make a change. She wrote as much in her diary:
“In order to create work that is strong and powerful, I have been forced to renounce the dearest wish of my youth: to be able to reproduce outer form and color.”
“Those granted the gift of seeing more deeply can see beyond form and concentrate on the wondrous aspect hiding behind every form, which is called life.”
She thus began a series of works that revealed true essences via abstract patterns.
– Af Klint, 1906-07
The Russian painter Wasilly Kandinsky was more gradual with his move into abstraction. He started with Expressionist paintings along the lines of Van Gogh, then began to put less and less emphasis on the details of his objects, and more emphasis on color, and on the overall assemblage of his piece.
By 1910, he was making images that were still technically based on discernible scenes, but just barely:
– Kandinsky, 1911
Around the same time, Kandinsky published a treatise on spirituality in art. In it, he longed for visual art to become more like music than pictures:
“A painter who finds no satisfaction in the mere representation of natural phenomena, however artistic, who strives to create his inner life, enviously observes the simplicity and ease with which such an aim is already achieved in the non-material art of music.“
“It is easily understandable that he will turn to this art and will attempt to reciprocate it with his own medium.
From this derives some of the modern search in painting for rhythm, mathematical abstract construction, colour repetition, and manner of setting colour into motion.”
What type of music do you hear when you see this painting? I for one hear Thelonious Monk’s cracked bebop, which wouldn’t exist for another few decades.
– Kandisnky, 1923
But here is the quote that really makes clear for me what Kandinsky was getting at:
“Technically, every work of art comes into being in the same way as the cosmos—by means of catastrophes, which ultimately create out of the cacophony of the various instruments that symphony we call the music of the spheres. The creation of the work of art is the creation of the world.”
Wasilly Kandinsky , 1913
Kandinsky more directly references what Gauguin was only hinting at.
The phrase “music of the spheres” comes from an old idea, first articulated in ancient Greece, then revived by the mystical Enlightenment astronomer Johannes Kepler. It was the idea that the movements of the planets and heavenly bodies created a resonance, a music that could be heard by the soul.
– Unknown Artist, 17th Century
Those who found spiritual power in abstraction were trying to hear this music of the soul. And as such, they were tapping into Neoplatonism, which regarded geometric shapes, ideas, and pure potential as sacred.
In fact, abstract shapes were believed to be objective divine truth, whereas the forms that humans perceived were distortions of the true essence, mere shadows on the wall.
In the 19th century, Neoplatonism was primarily preserved via occult movements like the Theosophical Society and the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.
Hilma af Klint was an active Theosophist, and most of her paintings attempted to transfer the ancient truths she absorbed from founder Madame Blavatsky’s written works to the visual medium.
– Af Klint, 1920
Kandinsky reserved a bit of skepticism toward the movement, but nevertheless praised their spiritual universalism, and would sometimes incorporate esoteric signifiers into his work.
I imagine most people will see some planets and moons in this piece below:
– Kandinsky, 1927
But will they see the reference to Kabbalah, the medieval Jewish mysticism that became one of the foundations of European occultism?
The nodes in the Kabbalah tree of life can represent planets, God’s celestial creations.
But they also represent the knowable aspects of God that are discernible through one’s inner spirit, like an early precursor to a theory of mind. Just as the legendary figure Hermes Trismegistus is believed to have said: “As above, so below.”
And as within, so without. All are God’s creations. All contribute to the music of the spheres.
Paul Klee, Robert and Sonia Delaunay, Piet Mondrian, Frantisek Kupka:
Virtually every painter associated with pioneering abstract art was deeply interested in theosophy, seances, and occultism.
Given the chaos of daily life, the materialism and crass commercialism, and the erosion of trust in established institutions, it’s not surprising that some artists found peace by turning inward and contemplating a grand order that organized the world as they knew it, from the largest galaxies to the atoms they’re made of.
Madame Blavatsky’s theosophical society was the first of its kind to mix Hindu and Buddhist philosophy into the syncretic, colonial Neoplatonist stew of Hermetic occultism. The movement also took an interest in the science of the day, translating findings about natural laws into supernatural truths. And unlike the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, the theosophists spread their messages far and wide.
For all these reasons, theosophy sowed the seeds of what we now considered to be New Age spirituality: a grab bag of Neo-pagan spiritual wisdom that individuals can pick and choose and synthesize as they like.
It’s an outlook that more and more young people these days turn to, or can at least appreciate.
Interestingly, one scientific theory that Madame Blavatsky did not agree with was Darwin’s theory of evolution by natural selection.
The notion of evolution being unguided by a knowable divine plan disturbed her, which is understandable, as it had disturbed Darwin himself. Yet she also did not like his implication that all humans are basically the same, save for differences in individual traits like height or hairiness.
She believed in spiritual and racial hierarchies, with descendants of the so-called Aryan race being the most spiritually gifted.
As such, theosophy didn’t just help to give birth to New Age spirituality. Some of its assumptions and symbols were used to form Ariosophy, a nationalistic occultism which was subsequently incorporated into Nazism. Hence the Nazis’ use of Indian swastikas and Nordic runes.
The line between tuning into what others are missing and tuning out what you simply don’t want to hear is hard to distinguish sometimes, and selfish desires are easily rendered as ancient wisdom.
– Mondrian, 1911
In lieu of Theosophical swastikas, something more inspiring.
But overall, the employment of occult mysticism by the abstract artists is a heartening chapter in our story of modernism. It’s a brand of art that’s sometimes scoffed as empty, meaningless, cynical decoration. Yet in fact they were carefully considered works of serious spiritual import.
They were an attempt to bring meaning and peace of mind in a hectic modern world.
Music to my eyes. There is grandeur in this view of life.
Won’t you tune in and hear what they’re playing?
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Gee, and I thought I liked Klint, Kandinsky, and Mondrian because their paintings look nice. Thanks for the insight!
As a music fan, you liked what your eyes were hearing. Or maybe you couldn’t resist their spell…
That is the most un-Mondrian piece of art I’ve seen from Mondrian. I think of him as the vital vertical / sublime horizontal guy, with art like this:
Yeah, “Evolution” was the last piece that Mondrian did before his big adaptation to full-on abstraction. But it also makes his mystical connections a little more transparent.
Oh, it’s called Evolution. I’ve seen this before and wondered if the cover art for The Apples in Stereo’s Tone Soul Evolution was inspired by Mondrian. Full disclosure: I did not know who Piet Mondrian was ’til now. I just wanted to write a simple sentence.
If it is, the album should be called Tone Soul De-evolution, or Piet Mondrian, Age 9.
Looking at the album cover that’s on Wikipedia, I was going to say, “yes, definitely inspired.”
Looking further, it is confirmed. So let it be written on Wikipedia, so let it be law.
Though I imagine the “evolution” bit was just coincidence.
The fallout from watching sports is that I’m not well-versed in the high arts: Classical(opera) music, paintings, and, you know, just a wide breadth of topics. You made the right choice.
If you were to pick one classical composer to buy a complete works of, who would that classical composer be?
Likewise.
Art.
I’m neurotic.
What artist would be perfect for a neurotic person to zero in on?
Also, do you think most of contemporary literary fiction is in fact not all that literary, but rather, middle-brow, and albeit entertaining, won’t stand the test of time?
On contemporary fiction, I’m sure there’s great stuff, but I do think a lot of the stuff is more entertaining than it is challenging and enriching. I am a bit of a classicist when it comes to literature. That said, I absolutely loved the “Song of Ice and Fire” fantasy series.
On classical music, that’s hard to answer without knowing more about what kind of music you would want. My quick answer is Mozart, but I used to hate Mozart. And my wife even now only grudgingly like him. It all depends.
On neurotic art, check out my next entry!
First film in a box set called Bo Widerberg’s New Swedish Cinema is called Elvira Madigan. The soundtrack consists solely of Mozart. Bored out of my mind during the first twenty minutes, then stuff happens. The name Bo doesn’t exactly scream Swedish, or does it?
Your take on contemporary literary fiction confirms a scathing essay I read about books today. The critic wrote that it’s all middle-brow, and creative writing programs pressure their students to write like the novelists who provide blurbs for other novelists.
Second paragraph: I commented about this article on the mothership. And I’d like to apologize to the person I wrote this to. I have a feeling it came across as pretentious. Just got excited. 21st century fiction never gets talked about.
First thing that came to mind was Swedish-born actor Bo Svenson, so I looked it up and apparently the name itself originates in Sweden (not counting its use as a nickname).
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bo_(given_name)#:~:text=Bo%20is%20a%20mainly%20Swedish,is%20uncommon%20as%20a%20surname.
I knew very little of this, but these artists have always spoken to me. The Impressionists and post-Impressionists will always have my heart, but there is plenty of room in there for many types of art.
I’m not sure if you know Hilma af Klint; she’s not as popular as the others because her work was only recently rediscovered. But if not, her paintings are well worth checking out. Some beautiful stuff.
I have a print of this one hanging in my bedroom:
Art as music. I like that concept and looking at the Kandinsky / Be Bop confluence it makes sense. Never thought of it that way. Appreciate the insight and bringing new light to artists I’ve been looking at a long time.
Bringing us back to last week this is an interesting adjunct to the Rites of Spring that just came up. An orchestra playing it from memory. As someone that is musically challenged and is used to rock and pop where they always play live from memory I’d never considered how difficult it might be for an orchestra.
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2023/aug/30/proms-aurora-orchestra-stravinsky-the-rite-of-spring-from-memory-nicholas-collon
Interesting. Sounds like they have been rehearsing like hell to make sure that they get the piece played correctly on performance night. Which is damn impressive, but it’s essentially a grand recital.
I think it would be more interesting to see where the reconstructive nature of memory could take such an ensemble effort. Not saying I would pay a ton of money to see such a concert, but I might go as high as $15.
Whereas if the Portsmouth Sinfonia reformed for a crack at it I might go as high as a ton of money.
I would also allow you to pay a ton of money so that I could go.
Have to admit, for this article in particular, I had to double take the Homes.com ad, as a severely foreshortened photo of a kitchen fit fairly well into the series of abstractions. Also, thanks for broadening my art knowledge, Phylum!
As you all probably know, the ads are automatically placed by the calculating overlords of Google. I have no control whatsoever over the content, or which advertisements everyone is seeing.
Which might explain why I keep getting an advertisement to buy a book about fear of flying.
Just to let you all know that while the ‘verts are a necessary evil, I appreciate you all putting up with them.
I’m certainly not complaining, mt. I somewhat understand the realities of running a website. Just an amusing juxtaposition.
Oh, you’re certainly correct! I agree! It’s often hilarious to see what pops up.
“Which might explain why I keep getting an advertisement to buy a book about fear of flying.”
I remember that one, by Erica Jong. Something about a zipless something-or-other..
Thanks, Aaron3000. I get to share some miscellaneous information about Erica Jong. When Doris Lessing was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature, Jong wrote:
“I’d heard they’d been looking at Phillip Roth for this prize, and I was so relieved we didn’t have to see a Nobel for his paeans to his penis.”
Thanks!
Speaking of which, look at the bottom of this screenshot from a few weeks ago:
Weird, second try:
Stooges…