Part 10

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,

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,

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

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

of the diatonic scale, Scotch airs receive a peculiarly bright and mobile character, although we cannot say as much for the Chinese.[55]