Thursday, January 11, 2007
Cubism as a Religious Experience
I hope this clarification actually clarifies something.
When I first saw cubist art in elementary school, I didn't particularly care for it. I liked curvy lines better, and the blocks seemed so contrived and ugly. No, cubism was not for me as a 10 year old, but I have since changed my mind.
My art history class a few years ago coupled with the Paris portion of the LP trip really turned me onto modern art. Seriously. The Pompidou and the Tate are some of the best places in Europe -- probably even the whole freakin' universe. It's not just the art, but the whole time period where people were experimenting in different mediums (and combining them) that challenged fundamental thoughts about what art and creation are. Gertrude Stein (as aggravating as she can be) even went so far as to rethink the basic linguistic structure of her sentences. Pablo Picasso (along with Braque, Gris, and Cezanne, obviously, but Pablo's my man) altered the way that paint can be used to visually represent an object, and I think -- from my 22 year old perspective -- that it is genuinely fascinating.
I think my problem when I was younger was that I thought good art was art that recognizably looked like something. The closer the artist could get to reality, the better. I didn't understand why someone would want to take a painting and break it up into different forms, or why someone would want to mess with perspective in a new way. It certainly didn't make the painting any prettier.
When I took my art history course a few years ago, the professor (or maybe the textbook? We'll give her credit since she was a badass.) made the comment that Picasso was trying to show all sides of an object at once. That's why it seemed fragmented and as if nothing fit together, because that's not how our eyes actually perceive things.
That's analytic cubism anyway, but even with synthetic cubism, this inclusive tendency is found. By creating pieces that had all sorts of 3-D objects and crafts on them, they were expanding horizons. Instead of presenting an object or an idea using just paint, they were showing different sides of it using different materials.
Gertrude Stein goes fuckin' nuts in Tender Buttons, but even in texts that are seemingly more straightforward, she plays with perspective. In the Autiobiography of Alice B. Toklas, Stein is actually writing from Alice's point of view about herself. In class, we talked about how this affords her more freedom in the text, because she can present her actual thoughts as she thought them, and how she fits into the story that includes many many other characters. It's as if we are both inside a painting experiencing the environment and standing in front of it able to see its entirety and how it fits into the frame. She is able to show more than one side of herself by appropriating different perspectives, the internal and the external.
To me, these are all attempts to transcend one point-of-view. It shows how every experience is relative (culturally relative, even!) to where one is standing. Cubism is a way to show everything -- a guitar, a person, an idea, life -- from, not only two different perspectives, but from all perspectives at the same time. The idea is not profound, but I like it, and I like cubism. It's not about squares, but about discovering the different forms of an object and realizing that it is natural for things to seem contradictory but to actually be part of the same thing -- if only one had the opportunity to see it all at once. And it's not simple enough that all it takes is to take a step to the left or right. I can't actually get into someone's head and -- with all of their collective memories and experiences -- see things they way s/he would, but at least recognizing that prevents me from assuming too much.
Maybe even just calling this a cubist idea is one perspective (ethnocentric even?). In a class last year we read a folktale from the Congo about a two-colored robe. A man was wearing this robe that was red on one side and blue on the other, and he walked between two farmers' fields along the boundary. These farmers, who had formerly been friends, began fighting over what color the robe was and became enemies.
In the end, I think the walking man was the devil and the farmers made up, but think about if Picasso had been there. He could have painted a picture of the man and shown how the robe was both red and blue (without being purple, alas).
When I first saw cubist art in elementary school, I didn't particularly care for it. I liked curvy lines better, and the blocks seemed so contrived and ugly. No, cubism was not for me as a 10 year old, but I have since changed my mind.
My art history class a few years ago coupled with the Paris portion of the LP trip really turned me onto modern art. Seriously. The Pompidou and the Tate are some of the best places in Europe -- probably even the whole freakin' universe. It's not just the art, but the whole time period where people were experimenting in different mediums (and combining them) that challenged fundamental thoughts about what art and creation are. Gertrude Stein (as aggravating as she can be) even went so far as to rethink the basic linguistic structure of her sentences. Pablo Picasso (along with Braque, Gris, and Cezanne, obviously, but Pablo's my man) altered the way that paint can be used to visually represent an object, and I think -- from my 22 year old perspective -- that it is genuinely fascinating.
I think my problem when I was younger was that I thought good art was art that recognizably looked like something. The closer the artist could get to reality, the better. I didn't understand why someone would want to take a painting and break it up into different forms, or why someone would want to mess with perspective in a new way. It certainly didn't make the painting any prettier.
When I took my art history course a few years ago, the professor (or maybe the textbook? We'll give her credit since she was a badass.) made the comment that Picasso was trying to show all sides of an object at once. That's why it seemed fragmented and as if nothing fit together, because that's not how our eyes actually perceive things.
That's analytic cubism anyway, but even with synthetic cubism, this inclusive tendency is found. By creating pieces that had all sorts of 3-D objects and crafts on them, they were expanding horizons. Instead of presenting an object or an idea using just paint, they were showing different sides of it using different materials.
Gertrude Stein goes fuckin' nuts in Tender Buttons, but even in texts that are seemingly more straightforward, she plays with perspective. In the Autiobiography of Alice B. Toklas, Stein is actually writing from Alice's point of view about herself. In class, we talked about how this affords her more freedom in the text, because she can present her actual thoughts as she thought them, and how she fits into the story that includes many many other characters. It's as if we are both inside a painting experiencing the environment and standing in front of it able to see its entirety and how it fits into the frame. She is able to show more than one side of herself by appropriating different perspectives, the internal and the external.
To me, these are all attempts to transcend one point-of-view. It shows how every experience is relative (culturally relative, even!) to where one is standing. Cubism is a way to show everything -- a guitar, a person, an idea, life -- from, not only two different perspectives, but from all perspectives at the same time. The idea is not profound, but I like it, and I like cubism. It's not about squares, but about discovering the different forms of an object and realizing that it is natural for things to seem contradictory but to actually be part of the same thing -- if only one had the opportunity to see it all at once. And it's not simple enough that all it takes is to take a step to the left or right. I can't actually get into someone's head and -- with all of their collective memories and experiences -- see things they way s/he would, but at least recognizing that prevents me from assuming too much.
Maybe even just calling this a cubist idea is one perspective (ethnocentric even?). In a class last year we read a folktale from the Congo about a two-colored robe. A man was wearing this robe that was red on one side and blue on the other, and he walked between two farmers' fields along the boundary. These farmers, who had formerly been friends, began fighting over what color the robe was and became enemies.
In the end, I think the walking man was the devil and the farmers made up, but think about if Picasso had been there. He could have painted a picture of the man and shown how the robe was both red and blue (without being purple, alas).
# posted by Anna : 8:13 PM
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I totally know where you are coming from with the whole not like cubism when you were a kid thing. But after you learn why it looks that way, it blows your mind. It blows my mind that peopele would think to throw a curve ball like that, go out on a limb and try something new. I am too safe...it makes me feel worthless....damn, now Im depressed
This was a good read which greatly warmed me. I am thrilled about your discovery of a new religion/love. While I cannot argue against the impact of cubism, I can not get past the lack emotion. I admit this only to you.
It wasn't until Picasso's later works such as Guernica that he begins to freely to express an emotional perspective, rather than a observational record. For me, this was a noted mile stone.
Cheers to you, friend.
It wasn't until Picasso's later works such as Guernica that he begins to freely to express an emotional perspective, rather than a observational record. For me, this was a noted mile stone.
Cheers to you, friend.
# posted by 
: 6:57 PM
: 6:57 PM
In class we discussed this idea in Joyce, and the term parallax was specifically used. Maybe that's what I mean. Pam, don't be depressed. And, yes, Guernica is special.
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