Source:
World Socialist Web Site
Picasso’s sculpture at the Museum of Modern Art in New York
By
Clare Hurley
18 January 2016
Picasso Sculpture
; an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), New York City through February 7, 2016
Is yet another major and uncritical exhibition of Picasso’s work
really called for? During his lifetime Picasso (1881-1973) was likely
the most famous artist to have ever lived. Forty-two years after his
death, he remains—as art critic John Berger observed in his
Success and Failure of Picasso —one of the few artists whose name most people in the world recognize, even if far fewer could actually recognize his artwork.
According to a web site devoted to the artist, there are at any given
time “perhaps dozens of exhibitions worldwide that feature Picasso,
either on his own, or as part of a group show.” And of course his
artwork is widely reproduced and imitated.
Unfortunately, the Museum of Modern Art’s current exhibit of
Picasso’s sculpture—the first major US museum survey in the last 50
years—fails to communicate anything particularly significant about the
legendary artist’s interpretation of the social reality and times
through which he lived. Or not much that could not have been done in a
much more modest show.
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Chicago Picasso (1967) |
Instead MoMA has given Picasso’s sculpture blockbuster treatment,
including more than 140 pieces, many of them repetitive or of negligible
quality. The handful of sculptures that
are a discovery tend
to get lost in the crowd. And of course, the exhibition, presented as an
opportunity to see a more “intimate” side of the artist, is very
crowded, the timed-admission tickets notwithstanding. In this, as in
many instances in the Picasso exhibition, the scale seems to be off.
Chronologically, one begins at the end, with Picasso’s sheet metal
sculptures from the 1950s–60s displayed in the balcony area that serves
as an entrance to the main exhibition galleries. Here the relatively
small size of these pieces belies the fact that many, like
Maquette for Richard J. Daley Center Sculpture
(1964), intended as a portrait of Picasso’s wife Jacqueline though it
suggests equally a dog or horse’s head, are models for pieces that were
ultimately realized over ten times larger as commissions for public
spaces.
Indeed, the question of scale taken as a function of perspective,
i.e., of relative as opposed to absolute size, is key to Picasso’s work,
his paintings as well as his sculpture. For the artist, the scale of
features and body parts, once freed from the dictates of realistic
proportions, could be as large or small—or completely absent—as his
emotional, and most often sexual desires dictated.
The justification for this, asserted through all Picasso’s restless
multiplicity of styles, was supposed to be a thorough rejection of the
aesthetic traditions that had evolved over centuries of Western art as a
means of conveying the content of life.
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Woman's Head, Fernande (1909) |
The issues bound up with Picasso’s career are very complex. His
genius, reflected in his early painting in particular, is not in
dispute. Moreover, a great deal of liberating energy was released in the
decade preceding the first World War as part of a broad cultural shift
reflecting the gathering economic and political tensions that were soon
to erupt in war and revolution. However, for reasons that were not the
fault of the artists it is questionable whether a radical new
understanding of the world and its artistic representation, as was
promised and proclaimed, ever came fully to pass. A great many processes
were still-born as the result of social developments originating
outside the realm of art.
Among the earliest works (1902–09) are small wooden figurines that
indicate Picasso’s interest, shared with other early modernists, in
African art, which would play a transformative role in how they
represented the human figure. The expressive and symbolic qualities of
bodily features was emphasized over naturalistic proportions, in an
effort to reject the conventions of Western art in favor of something
considered more pure, primal and direct.
As developed by Picasso together with fellow painter Georges Braque
(1882–1963), cubism’s breaking up of form into facets was supposed to
analyze a form’s existence in two-dimensional space by simultaneously
showing a multiplicity of views.
Woman ’s Head, Fernande (1909)—of Picasso’s mistress—is perhaps the best known cubist sculpture.
Again, one has to be critical of, or at least raise questions about,
the sweeping claims made for cubism, which often have a one-sided or
even clichéd character. No doubt a variety of political, cultural and
scientific developments [including Einstein’s breakthrough in 1905] fed
into its emergence. Typically, critic Klaus Honnef writes that behind
cubism and related trends were “dynamic” changes that had reached the
cultural world and “sharpened the awareness of receptive minds to the
fact that the one-point perspective arrangement of painting was merely
feigning an illusory fictitious world of reality.”
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Woman in the Garden (1929–30) |
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The last part of this comment, referring to “an illusory fictitious
world of reality,” is telling. The scientific advances of the turn of
the 20th century, for example, fell on an artistic-intellectual world
that was to a great extent under the influence of Nietzscheanism and
other irrationalist or subjectivist trends, including Machism, which
called into question or denied the existence of a world existing
independently of the artist/viewer’s perception.
Ultimately, hemmed in by the defeats of revolution and the rise of
Stalinism, Picasso and the avant-garde circles who pioneered 20th
century modern art were directed—and directed themselves—back primarily
to the inner, subjective world of the artist, to his or her impressions,
to a world that came to be ever more constricted in its content till it
lost much of its resonance with a broader audience. This development
can be traced through in the current show.
The chronology of the exhibition skips from 1915 to 1927, reflecting
Picasso’s 14-year hiatus from sculpture, which coincides with the period
of the First World War and its aftermath. His return to sculpture came
in the form of a commission for a monument to the poet and art critic
Guillaume Apollinaire, the close friend and intellectual mentor of the
Parisian avant-garde who is credited with having coined the terms and
elaborated the artistic conceptions of “cubism” and “surrealism.”
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Head of a Woman (1932) |
Wounded in battle, Apollinaire’s death from Spanish flu in 1918
shattered the insularity of the bohemian circle in Paris. A sense of
dislocation and horror at the mass slaughter of modern warfare
inescapably marked the generation, whether or not a given artist had
served in the trenches. Braque, who became a French patriot, had.
Picasso, a pacifist, as a Spanish national was exempted.
It took Picasso over four years to create his monument to
Apollinaire, a structure “defined by voids as much as by solids,” an
idea he drew from Apollinaire’s book
Le Poète assassiné (1916). Picasso’s
Woman in the Garden
(1929–30) is a fanciful, somewhat startled-looking bird-creature made
of bits of scrap metal coupled with household objects, oddly lacking the
gravitas one would expect in a monument to a significant artistic
figure and friend.
The next section of the exhibit, named after the Boisgeloup sculpture
studio (40 miles outside Paris), where Picasso worked from 1930–37, is a
radical departure in style from the previous one. In the post-World War
I period, Picasso and other artists reintroduced classical Greek
sculpture and other traditional motifs which they had vigorously
rejected before the war to indicate a “return to order,” while
maintaining the exaggerated, simplified proportions that had come to
define modern art. Picasso’s startling
Head of a Woman (1932)
combines the voluptuous fullness of stone (here displayed in a plaster
cast of the final piece) with a birdlike crest for a nose and etched eye
that suggests an anomalously bulbous Cycladic head.
During World War II, Picasso’s international stature ensured that he
was one of the few artists deemed “degenerate” by the Nazis who were
allowed to stay in occupied Paris after he refused offers to emigrate.
From the sculpture in the section “The War Years (1939–45),” one can
discern little of the artist’s bitter hostility to the Nazi regime; one
mostly gets a sense of the artist’s isolation and his making due with
little, albeit brilliantly.
Bull’s Head (1942) is simply the seat and handlebars of a bicycle, which he did not alter, cleverly arranged together. More evocatively,
Death’s Head (1941) suggests a molten cannonball.
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Guernica (1937) |
It is ironic that no traces of Picasso’s painting
Guernica
(1937) find expression in three-dimensional form. His artistic response
to news of the German and Italian fascist bombing of civilians in the
Basque village in April 1937, which was at the center of resistance to
Franco, became and continues to be one of the greatest anti-war
paintings. Allegedly when Nazi officers came into his apartment in Paris
and saw a photograph of
Guernica, one of them remarked, “This painting, you did this?” “No,” replied Picasso. “You did this.”
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Bull's Head (1942) |
Painted as a commission by the Spanish Republican government for the
Spanish Pavilion at the 1937 Paris International Exhibition, the
painting toured the US after Franco’s victory in 1939, as part of
Popular Front campaigns to raise money for Spanish refugees. It
continued travelling in response to popular demand until concerns over
its physical condition led to its installation at MoMA in 1956. Fiercely
anti-fascist throughout his lifetime, Picasso refused to allow the
painting to return to Spain as long as Franco remained in power; it was
only returned to Spain in 1981. Repeatedly copied and reproduced,
Guernica’s
harrowing image of the “collateral” human suffering of war is still
able to rankle imperialist war-mongers. A tapestry copy hanging in the
United Nations had to be covered in 2003 when the Security Council was
discussing war on Iraq. Not that it stopped them.
The postwar period of Picasso’s sculpture feels decidedly less
original. By this time, the once iconoclastic artist had become a
legendary “personality,” whose own fabulous wealth was such that he was
able to purchase a house in the south of France with the sale of a
single painting. The large-scale commissions of anthropomorphic
creatures out of sheet metal produced for public spaces in the United
States and Europe seem complacently “modern,” as modernism had become
the officially sanctioned style of the postwar boom of the 1950s-early
1960s.
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Little Horse (circa 1960) |
In Apollinaire’s only book on art,
The Cubist Painters, Aesthetic Meditations,
a collection of notes and observations, he wrote, “a man like Picasso
studies an object as a surgeon dissects a cadaver.” Though intended no
doubt to describe the artist’s objectivity, the remark perhaps
unintentionally says more about the chilly quality of Picasso’s
“greatest” work which often fails to move one.
However, at its best, Picasso’s sculpture can still surprise and
delight. His ability to see ordinary objects in radically transformed
ways often manifested itself in his inventive use of corrugated
cardboard, chicken wire, nails, screws and string in such pieces as
Woman with Leaves (1934),
The Orator (1933–34), and
Woman with Orange/Apple (1934) to suggest a race of hybrid creatures, only part human, metamorphosed out of ordinary, everyday materials. Others, like the delightful
Little Horse (circa 1960) made by Picasso as a toy for his son, are genuinely intimate, and not really “sculpture” at all.