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- Herausgeber: Edizioni Savine
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
FOREWORD TO THE 1946 NEW YORK EDITION
The Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation is publishing the first complete English edition of "On the spiritual in Art" by Kandinsky. It was translated and checked by American, English, Russian and German scholars, who have collaborated to achieve the best possible way of doing justice to the original, and of preserving and conveying, in the most reverent manner, the ideas and style of Kandinsky.1 A French edition is also being published in Paris, indicating the growing interest and demand for Kandinsky's art and his epochal advent. To enrich this book further, it was decided to enclose a short survey of Kandinsky's artistic work since 1904 to 1944, when he died in France, to give an idea of his evolution. There is also included a survey of comments made by the public in the Museum of Non-objective Painting in 1945, which proved that the vision of Kandinsky has come true and that his art has found many enthusiastic followers and co-workers.
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WASSILY KANDINSKY ON THE SPIRITUAL IN ART
FIRST COMPLETE ENGLISH TRANSLATION WITH FOUR FULL COLOUR PAGE REPRODUCTIONS, WOODCUTS AND HALF TONES
PUBLISHED BY THE SOLOMON R. GUGGENHEIM FOUNDATION, FOR THE MUSEUM OF NON-OBJECTIVE PAINTING, NEW YORK CITY, 1946, HILLA REBAY, EDITOR
FOREWORD TO THE FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION
By Piper and Company Munich, 1911
The thoughts, which I am developing here are the result of observations and spiritual experiences, which have been assembled gradually during the last five, six years. My intention was, to write extensively on this subject, for which many experiments, in the realm of feeling, would have been necessary. For the time being, due to other important work, I have had to abandon my initial plan. Perhaps I shall never be able to realize it, for someone else will do it better and more exhaustively, which is necessary, while I am forced to content myself with a mere outline. My only purpose is to draw attention to this great problem, and I shall consider myself fortunate if this appeal should not be lost in the void.
FOREWORD TO THE SECOND ORIGINAL EDITION
This little book was written in the year 1910. Previous to the publication of its first edition (January 1912), I added those further experiences which had come my way in the meantime. Six months have passed since then and my vision has grown ever freer, my horizons have widened. Yet after serious thought, I have refrained from further enlargement on what I had previously written because by doing so, only an incomplete growth of certain parts would have been achieved. I have decided, instead, to collect the new material, compiling sharp observations and experiences so, that these component parts would form basic elements, as a kind of "counterpoint of painting," which may some day, form the natural complement to this book. Thus, the second edition, which had to follow quickly after the first, has remained almost completely untouched. My article "On the Question of Form," first published in the "Blaue Reiter" (Blue Rider), is one part of the further development.
Munich, April 1912. Kandinsky
FOREWORD TO THE 1946 NEW YORK EDITION
The Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation is publishing the first complete English edition of "On the Spiritual in Art" by Kandinsky. It was translated and checked by American, English, Russian and German scholars, who have collaborated to achieve the best possible way of doing justice to the original, and of preserving and conveying, in the most reverent manner, the ideas and style of Kandinsky.1 A French edition is also being published in Paris, indicating the growing interest and demand for Kandinsky's art and his epochal advent. To enrich this book further, it was decided to enclose a short survey of Kandinsky's artistic work since 1904 to 1944, when he died in France, to give an idea of his evolution. There is also included a survey of comments made by the public in the Museum of Non-objective Painting in 1945, which proved that the vision of Kandinsky has come true and that his art has found many enthusiastic followers and co-workers.
I - INTRODUCTION
Every work of art is a child of its time, while often it is the parent of our emotions.
Thus, every cultural period creates art of its own, which can never be repeated again. An effort to revive art-principles of the past, at best, can only result in works of art resembling a still-born child. For example, it is impossible for us to relive or feel the inner spirit of the ancient Greeks. The sculptor's attempts to employ Greek principles can only achieve a similarity in form, while the work itself remains for all time without a soul. Such imitation resembles the antics of apes. Externally, the animal's movements are almost like those of human beings. The monkey sits and holds a book an inch from its nose, turns the pages, makes thoughtful faces, but there is no sense or meaning in any of these actions.
However, another exterior similarity in artistic form-principles springs from a great need. The similarity of inner tendencies in the entire moral and spiritual atmosphere, the groping after objectives already followed through, and subsequently forgotten, invokes the similarity of inner feeling for an entire period; and leads logically to the application of such forms which, in a former period, had successfully served identical efforts. Thus, our sympathy, our understanding, our inner affinity to the Primitives came partly into existence.
Like ourselves, these pure artists sought to express inner truths in their work and, in consequence, automatically repudiated all consideration of external accidents.
This glimmer of spiritual closeness is, in spite of its great importance, , no more than a spark. Our soul, after the long period of materialism, at last begins to awaken from despair born of unbelief, lack of purpose and ideals. This nightmare of materialism, which has turned the life of the universe into an evil, useless game, has not yet past. The awakening soul, while trying to free itself, is still under its domination. Only a feeble light flickers, like a tiny star, in the vast encircling darkness. As a presentiment, the soul does not as yet courageously admit its fear, that the light might be a dream and the encircling darkness, reality. This doubt and still-lingering oppression, through the materialistic philosophy, divides our soul from that of the Primitives. Like a precious vase dug up, though cracked, from the depths of the earth, our broken soul does not ring true. Thus, any return to the Primitives, now experienced in the temporary assimilation of form, can only be short-lived. The similarity between art forms of the past and present can easily be seen, though diametrically opposed to each other. The first is purely external and, therefore, without a future. The second is spiritual, therefore, containing the seed of infinity. After the period of materialistic temptation, to which the human soul apparently succumbed and from whose evil attraction it finally has freed itself, the soul emerges purified by trial and suffering. The elementary, baser emotions such as fear, pleasure, sorrow, serving the contents of art during this period of temptation, will hardly attract the artist. He will endeavor to awaken more subtle, undefined emotions, as he himself lives a comparatively complicated, subtle life. His creative work will surely arouse in observers, who are capable of deeper response, emotions which cannot be2 defined in words.
The observer of today, however, is seldom attuned to those subtler vibrations. In the realm of art, he seeks a mere imitation of nature by serving a practical purpose (a life-like portrait of depiction in the ordinary sense); an imitation following certain conventions (Impressionist painting); and, finally, those expressions of an inner feeling called "Stimmung" by the Germans and best translated as sentiment*) concealing its true essence in nature-forms.
All these forms, when truly artistic, fulfill their purpose and (as in the former instance) become food for the spirit. It is particularly so in the third instance, where the observer becomes conscious of a responsive vibration within his soul. Of course, such harmony (or contrast) cannot be either worthless or superficial. Indeed, the "Stimmung" or sentiment of a painting can intensify the observer's sentimental mood and purify it. In any event, such works of art safeguard the soul from coarsening its frequency, and keep it at a certain height, much as a tuning fork pitches the strings of a musical instrument. Yet, the refined measure of time and space in sound will remain one-sided and does not at all exhaust the utmost possible effectiveness of art.
• •••••• • •
Visualize a large, a very large, a smaller or medium size building divided into various rooms. All the walls of the rooms covered with small, large and medium sized canvases. Through the medium of colour, items of "nature" are represented: animals — drinking water or lying in the grass in light or shade; next to them a crucifixion, painted by an artist who disbelieves in Christ; flowers; or human figures sitting, standing, walking, frequently naked, many naked women (often fore-shortened from behind); apples on silver dishes, the portrait of Councilor N; a sunset; a lady in Pink; flying ducks; the portrait of Baroness X; flying geese; Lady in White; calves, dotted by the bright yellow sunlight; the portrait of His Excellency Y; another lady in Green.
Carefully listed in a book are the names of artists, the titles of their pictures. People carry these books in their hands as they go from one canvas to another and turn over the pages and read the names. Then, they go away neither richer nor poorer in spirit than when they entered; and are at once, again engulfed by their personal interests, which have nothing whatsoever to do with art. Why did they come? Each painting mysteriously contains an entire life, a life of many sufferings, hours of doubts, of enthusiasm and of delighted inspiration. Whither does this life go? Whereto directs the artist's soul its active creativeness? What is its message? "To send light into the depth of human hearts is the artist's vocation," said Schumann. "An artist is a man who can draw and paint anything," said Tolstoi. Of these two definitions of artist’s activity we must choose the second, if we think of the exhibition just described. With more or less skill, virtuosity and vigor, objects are re-created on a canvas, painted either roughly or smoothly. To harmonize the whole onto the canvas is the road which leads to art. With cold eyes and indifferent spirit the spectator regards this work. The connoisseurs admire "skill" (just as one would admire the prowess of a tight-rope dancer), and enjoy the "painting" (as one would enjoy a pastry). Hungry souls leave as hungry as they came.
The masses stroll through the rooms and state their opinion; some canvases are "nice," others, "splendid." The man who could have said something to the other man, did not say it, and he who could have heard, heard nought. This condition in art is called, "L'art pour I'art."
This destruction of the inner sound (the very life of colour) is the scattering of the artist's strength into emptiness, as is such "art for art." The artist seeks material reward for his skill, his power of invention, or vision. His purpose becomes the satisfaction of vanity and greed. Instead of intensified, co-operative work amongst artists, they scramble for possessions. There are complaints about too much competition and overproduction. Hates, partisanship, cliques, jealousy, intrigues are the result of this aimless, materialistic art.3)
"Understanding" is the approach of the observer to the artist's viewpoint. Yet, quietly the observer turns away from artists, who cannot see their life’s purpose in such an art which is not needed, but who aspire to a higher goal. To understand is to elevate the onlooker to the artist's level.
Art, as the child of its age, can only repeat artistically what is already expressed in the contemporary trend. This art which bears no potentiality for the future and which, therefore, is only the child of its time, cannot grow to be a mother of the future. It is, therefore, a barren art; it is of short duration and does not survive the passing of the period nor the atmosphere which made it possible.
Such art, capable of further evolution, sprang from its spiritual period, while, at the same time, it is not merely its echo or mirror, but contains a wakening to prophetic power, which can have a deep and far-reaching influence.
Spiritual life, to which art belongs and of which it is one of its mightiest agents, is a complicated but definite and simplified uplifting movement. This movement is one of perception. It can take various forms, but basically it retains the same inner sense and purpose.
Veiled in obscurity are the causes moving us forward and upward by "the sweat of the brow," through suffering, evil, and pain.
II - THE MOVEMENT
Many grievous obstacles along this road must be conquered, so as to arrive at the first stage; and even then an evil, unseeing hand may toss more obstacles in the way, so that this road sometimes appears to be totally impassable, as all landmarks vanish.
It is then that there unfailingly arises some human being, no different from the rest of humanity but for a secret power of "Vision" within him.
He sees and points the way. Sometimes he would prefer to lay aside his power, as it is a heavy cross to bear; but he cannot do so. Though scorned and hated, he never lets go but drags the cartload of protesting humanity after him, ever forcing it forward and upward, over all obstacles in his way.
Yet frequently, long after his disappearance from this earth, when no vestiges of his bodily "I" remain, many seek to retain the form of his futile body in various ways, often in gigantic scales in marble, iron, bronze, or stone, as if there had been any intrinsic value in the embodiment of these divine servants of humanity and martyrs, who so decidedly despised the material, and only served spiritual aims. At any rate, this last resorting to the marble effigy shows that many, by now, have reached that high pinnacle, where he, whom they at last strive to honor, once stood so utterly alone.
A large acute triangle divided into unequal segments, the narrowest one pointing upwards, is a schematically correct representation of spiritual life. The lower the segment the larger, wider, higher, and more embracing will be the other parts of the triangle.
The entire triangle moves slowly, almost invisible, forward and upward and where the apex was "today," the second segment is going to be "tomorrow,"4) that is to say, that which today can be understood only by the apex, and which to the rest of the triangle seems an incomprehensible gibberish, tomorrow forms the true and sensitive life of the second segment.
At the apex of the top segment, sometimes one man stands entirely alone.
His joyous vision corresponds to a vast inner sorrow, and even those, who are closest to him, do not comprehend him. Angrily, they may call him a knave or a fool. So it was with Beethoven, who at his very highest peak also stood alone 5).
How many years had to pass until a greater segment of the triangle reached the spot where once he stood? Despite statues erected to him now, are there really men who have risen to this level6)? Artists are to be found in every segment of this imaginary triangle. Each one of these artists, who can see beyond the limits of his present stage, in this segment of spiritual evolution is a prophet to those surrounding him and helps to move forward the ever obstinate carload of humanity. However, one of those not possessed by such vision, or misusing it for base purposes and reasons, "when he closes the triangle may be easily understood by his fellow men and even acclaimed. The larger the segment (that is, the lower it lies in the triangle), the greater is the number of people to comprehend the words of the artist. In spite of it and correspondingly every group consciously or unconsciously hungers for spiritual food.
This food is offered by its artists to the next following segment which will be stretching out its hand tomorrow.
•••••• • •
This schematical presentation, however, does not express the spiritual life. Among other things, it does not show the shadowside, a large deadly black spot. However, it happens too often that a low level of spiritual nourishment satisfied some, who are already in a higher segment. Even food becomes poisonous, and in smaller quantities affects their soul in its higher segment, gradually lowering it to a lower section; while taken in larger quantities this poison casts the falling soul into ever lower spheres. In one of his novels Siemkiewicz compares spiritual life with swimming; whoever fails to work untiringly and does not continuously fight against sinking, will surely go under. Here, a man's gift, "The Talents," (again used in the sense of the Gospel can become a curse, not only to him, but to all those, who partake of this poisonous intake. Such an artist uses his strength to feed his lower needs; ostensibly garbing it in artistic forms, he presents the impure; attracting weak elements to himself, he constantly mixes them with evil; he induces others to betray themselves while convincing all, to quench their thirst from the pure spring of spirituality. This impedes the movement, drags back those, who strive onward and contaminates all around them.
Of course, there are periods, when art lacks a high champion altogether, when there is no spiritual nourishment. These are times of retrogression in the spiritual world. Ceaselessly, souls fall from the higher to the lower segments, and the entire triangle appears to be motionless. It even seems to move down and backwards. During these dumb, blind periods, men lay special and exclusive stress on outward success. They are only interested in material possessions and welcome any technical advancement, which only helps man's body, proclaiming this servitude as an achievement of major magnitude, while spiritual forces are neglected, if not completely ignored. •
The solitary seekers, the hungry of soul, the visionaries are derided or dubbed as spiritually abnormal. Those rare souls, however, who refuse to be lulled into lethargy and forever yearn, however vaguely, for spiritual life, advancement, and knowledge, sound disconsolate and lamentful amidst the coarse materialistic chorus of spiritual darkness. Agony surrounds these terrified souls and their followers. Sorely tormented by doubt and fear and losing strength, they often prefer creeping obliteration to this sudden leap into darkness.
