Inkandescence

Exhibition at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York City, September 18, 2009 – January 13, 2010

 

My first serious engagement with the art of Kandinsky occurred in 2006 while roaming through the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris. There I stood, cocking my head side to side like a confused puppy, taking in the landscapes of floating triangles and sweeping lines punctuated with yellows, reds and browns, unsure of what I was actually seeing. I was not exactly taken by the art, but I was not put off either. I simply did not get it.

 

But that does not mean I did not feel anything. Deep down, something registered. It occurred to me, without prompting from a guide or explanation of the work, or any foreknowledge of the artist for that matter, that what Kandinsky had painted were visual manifestations of music. I supposed, for whatever reason, that his abstract visualizations depicted snapshots of jazz music: the off-centered circle represented a long herald of the trumpet; the wavy lines envisioned the blows of a saxophone; the rhythmic backdrop of the bass symbolized by the square. The colors indicated how hard and fast, or slow and melancholy the music was being played—blues and dark hues for somber tunes; reds, yellows and bright colors for upbeat or frantic numbers.

 

Turns out, I was half-right. Vasily Kandinsky was inspired by music, but it was classical, not jazz, that fueled his imagination. Specifically, it was the expressionist composition of Viennese born Arnold Schoenberg that inspired Kandinsky’s great abstract breakthrough. After all, is there no art form more abstract than music?

 

Musical inspiration for Kandinsky’s work is evident throughout his portfolio. Kandinsky even borrowed from music by titling thematic creations as Composition (formally developed material after much study), Impression (based on real-life objects and subjects), and Improvisation (spontaneous creation from the subconscious), the latter of which representing his abstract explorations.

 

The retrospective at the Guggenheim Museum traces the evolution of Kandinsky’s thought process, from conventional depictions of pastoral life to groundbreaking abstraction with no root in reality. Kandinsky went from painting the everyday familiar (churches, trees, horses, picnickers) to the transcendent (wavy lines, triangles, confetti, crosses). With nearly 100 paintings (and a side gallery chock-full of drawings) the Guggenheim’s sterling exhibition presents Kandinsky’s prolonged, artistic evolution. Kandinsky’s influential foray into the Bauhaus school art is also highlighted.

 

As much as abstract figures play a role in Kandinsky’s repertoire, color holds major sway. In the beginning of his career, Kandinsky clearly realized that color triggers emotion. In 1911 he published his first major theoretical work, On the Spiritual in Art (dated 1912), in which the use of color and its effects are explored. (Here, Kandinsky also ruminates on music’s ability to illicit emotional responses). Bright colors like yellow, he said, represent moods of joy and ecstasy, while the murkier shades of blue and brown depict bleaker moods. There is no distinct happy or bright streak over his career; neither does he have versions of a “blue period.” Instead, paintings appear to actually reflect the emotional mood of the artist at the time of creation. There are bursts of yellow and red in predominantly dark paintings, such as with “Several Circles” (1923); likewise there are streaks of violent scribbles and black punches amongst a defiantly vivid painting, like in “Bright Picture” (1913). To great effect, Kandinsky uses color to punctuate the moods and flows of each artwork.

 

In Kandinsky’s early work, shapes relate to the real world, and themes start to emerge (horses, apocalypse). Meandering up the Guggenheim’s winding ramps, Kandinsky’s art evolves toward abstraction. Horses are no longer fully formed, but instead are represented in the merest outline of heads and backs and, later, solely as a brash, bold upside down V, which simply alludes to the reins.

 

 

 

The Guggenheim is to be applauded for displaying such a rich, fully encompassing exhibition. Viewers are not overwhelmed in the broken gallery spaces (with just two or three paintings occupying each wall). Dreary and cumbersome expositions, usually painted in small print in a few paragraphs on exhibit walls, are avoided. In their place brief, interesting tidbits are tucked around corners, leaving the paintings to stand alone and speak to the emotions and intellectual energies behind a particular series. The accompanying audio tour is crisp and relevant commentary. Kudos to the curator (Tracey Bashkoff) too for including in the audio guide musical selections from the likes of Schoenberg—hearing the music that inspired Kandinsky’s painting brings the art alive. Because of the Guggenheim’s thoughtful presentation, those with little knowledge of the man and his work, as well as those steeped in familiarity with his art, walk away with new found respect and appreciation for Kandinsky’s work.

 

 

 

 

frontispiece: Composition 8 (1923) by Vasily Kandinksy, courtesy of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum