Essay

The destiny of the avant-garde

The Destiny of the Avant-garde

Avant-garde is not an artistic movement, not even a trend. It is a state of mind, a quest of the spirit thirsting for freedom. Both in the sphere of political life and in that of inner life, freedom is first and foremost liberation: to be free for something, I must free myself from (something else); from what holds me back, from the inertia of being, called pesanteur by Simone Weil, which is opposed to grace.
But theological language is not unanimously accepted. Trying to name the "something" from which the artist-in-the-making wants to free himself seems a risky endeavor. The spiritual needs of that troubled beginning of the 20th century are contradictory. There are, however, convergences that cannot be denied. Most presentations of the avant-garde begin by noting that the refusal to imitate nature seems to be the starting point of these artistic movements; it is what links them together, beyond or rather beyond their deeper divergences. The meaning of this refusal is also problematic. Is imitation denied, as historians usually say, or rather nature itself? Or both? These questions are worth asking, with the caveat that neither imitation-mimesis nor nature are simple notions.

My hypothesis is as follows: the denial of nature, or at any rate of dependence on nature - which does not exclude a possible return, under renewed conditions, to another "nature" - is the fundamental idea of the four great currents (expressionism, cubism, futurism, abstractionism) of the pre-war avant-garde.

These currents can be grouped into two pairs, the first being expressionism and abstractionism. Abstract art is one of the possible metamorphoses of expressionism. Moreover, a study in the almanac Der Blaue Reiter, in which friends Franz Marc and Wassily Kandinsky, among others, are published, suggests a quasi-identity between these trends. In each artist we find both an affirmation of the spirituality of art and a belief in its transformative power. It is the collective ego, and not just the individual, that is targeted by the will to transform. The artist's consciousness is not simply that of the isolated individual. The artist is appealing to his fellow human beings at this moment in history conceived as a Wendepunkt, a kairos, a return to the spiritual values of art. The other pair, Cubism and Futurism, is less unified. These movements express a belief in the constructive capacity of modern man: a look to the future, a transformation of the world through technology. The Cubist artist is interested in the geometric language of the new man, in the structure of the world of life, while the Futurists want to participate, through their art, in the dynamism of this world. Rather implicit in Cubism, the negation of the old world in all its aspects becomes the dominant theme of Futurist manifestos.

If the notion of "interesting" comes from inter esse, "to be between", it goes without saying that the two spiritualist currents are more interesting, insofar as their place is between the old and the new world. The same cannot be said of cubism and futurism. Despite, or rather because of their revolutionary character, these currents appear to us, at least in retrospect, as somewhat predictable. Cubism has been described as "three centuries too late", its program being a kind of translation, in terms of art, of Descartes' Discourse on Method, the manifesto of modernity published in 1637. On the contrary, Expressionism and Abstractionism assume from the outset the paradox of a metaphysical "will to art" as an alternative to "stupid materialism". It is an art that is at the same time radically modern, capable of injecting a new spirit into a modernity that has exhausted its resources, having already been devoured from within by "the unwelcome guest - nihilism" (F. Nietzsche). We can understand why the most significant writing of this school, On the Spiritual in Art, formulates from the outset an aspiration that underlies the whole movement: "Our soul, which, after a long period of materialism, is just beginning to awaken, contains hidden within it the seeds of despair at not knowing faith, at having been deprived of purpose and ideal". This art is not simply born out of an over-fullness, but out of the "despair" of the soul haunted by the "unwelcome guest". But Kandinsky's meditation also expresses the joy of the creative man, animated by the hope of world renewal. Expressionism and abstract art are therefore, by their very existence, a promise to the world and, at a deeper level, a quasi-Pascalian wager of the spirit with itself - the wager of art and its capacity for redemption. The fact that the bet was lost constitutes the tragedy of modern art, which I propose to rewrite in a larger study. The stages of a possible reconstruction will be mentioned here.

Read the full text in issue 6/2012 of Arhitectura.
The avant-garde is not an artistic movement; it isn't even a trend. It is a mood, the quest of a spirit athirst for freedom. Both in the political sphere and in the sphere of the inner life, freedom is above all a release: in order to be free for something, I have to release myself from something (else); from what holds me back, from the inertia of being, termed pesanteur by Simone Weil, which is the opposite of grace.
But such theological language is not unanimously accepted. To attempt to name that "something" from which the searching artist wishes to release himself seems a risky endeavour. The spiritual needs of the turbulent dawn of the twentieth century were contradictory. Nevertheless, there were undeniable convergences. Most presentations of the avant-garde begin by pointing out that the rejection of the imitation of nature seems to have been the starting point of such artistic movements; it is what connects them, above or rather beneath their deeper divergences. The meaning of this rejection is in its turn problematical. Is it imitation that is rejected, as the historians are wont to claim, or is it nature itself? Or is it both the one and the other? These questions are worth posing, with the proviso that neither imitation/mimesis nor nature is a simple notion.

Let me formulate the following hypothesis: the rejection of nature, or in any event dependence upon nature, which does not rule out a potential return, under renewed circumstances, to a different "nature", is the fundamental idea of the four major movements (Expressionism, Cubism, Futurism, abstract art) of the pre-First World War avant-garde.

These movements can be grouped into two pairs, the first of which would include Expressionism and abstract art. Abstract art is one of the possible metamorphoses of Expressionism. Moreover, an examination of Der Blaue Reiter almanach, which published work by friends Franz Marc and Wassily Kandinsky among others, would suggest the near identicalness of the two movements. In each artist we discover an affirmation of the spirituality of art and at the same time confidence in its transformational power. The will to transformation aims at not only the individual self but also the collective 'I'. The artist's consciousness is not merely that of the isolated individual. In that historical moment conceived as a Wendepunkt, a kairos, the artist urges his peers to return to the spiritual values of art. The other pair, Cubism and Futurism, is less unified. The two movements express confidence in modern man's constructive capacity: the gaze is directed towards the future, towards the transformation of the world through technology. The Cubist artist is interested in the geometrical language of the new man, in the structure of the world of life, while the Futurists wish to take part, via their art, in the dynamism of this world. Sooner implicit implicit in the case of Cubism, the rejection of the old word in all its aspects becomes the dominant theme of the Futurist manifestos.

If the notion of "interesting" derives from inter esse, "to be between", it is self-evident that the two spiritual movements are the most interesting, inasmuch as their locus is between the old and the new world. The same cannot be said of Cubism and Futurism. In spite or rather by virtue of their revolutionary character, these movements appear to us, at least in hindsight, to be somewhat predictable. It has been said of Cubism that it came "three centuries late", its program being a kind of translation into artistic terms of the Discourse on the Method, the manifesto of modernity published by Descartes in 1637.

Expressionism and abstract art, on the other hand, accept from the outset the paradox of a metaphysical "will to art" as an alternative to "crass materialism". It is a question of an art that aims at the same time to be radically modern, capable of breathing a new spirit into the modernity that has used up its resources and is already being devoured from within by "the uninvited guest - nihilism" (F. Nietzsche). We understand why the movement's most significant text, On the Spiritual in Art, formulates from the outset an aspiration that rests at the foundation of the entire school: "Our soul, which, after a long period of materialism, is only just beginning to awaken, contains the hidden seeds of the despair at no longer experiencing faith, at being devoid of purpose or ideal".

This art does not arise from abundance, but from the "despair" of the soul haunted by the "uninvited guest". But Kandinsky's meditation also expresses the joy of the creator, inspired by the hope of renewing the world. By their very existence, Expressionism and abstract art are therefore a promise addressed to the world and, at a deeper level, a kind of Pascal's wager of the spirit with itself, the wager of art and its redeeming potential. The fact that the wager was lost is the tragedy of modern art, which I aim to describe in a longer study.

Here, however, I shall merely lay out the stages of a possible reconstruction.

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