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Table of Contents Klaus Beekman and Jan de Vries Introduction. Criticism and Avant-Garde
7
Jean-Roch Bouiller Art Criticism and Avant-Garde: André Lhote’s Written Works
15
Ben Rebel Architectural Criticism in de 8 en OPBOUW
31
Ansje van Beusekom Theo van Doesburg and Writings on Film in De Stijl
55
Peter G.F. Eversmann The International Theatre Exhibition of 1922 and the Critics
67
Nico Laan The Making of a Reputation: the Case of Cobra
91
Hugo Verdaasdonk Avant-Garde Reviewing of New Book Releases. A Case Study from The Netherlands
119
Willem G. Weststeijn Mayakovsky as Literary Critic
139
Gregor Langfeld German Art in The Netherlands before and after World War II
157
Arie Hartog Banality in Art Criticism. Comments on the Reception of Art in the German Daily Press of the 1920s
177
6
Table of Contents
Hubert F. van den Berg A Victorious Campaign for Dadaism? On the Press Coverage of the Dutch Dada Tour of 1923
195
Klaus Beekman The Inevitability of Argumentative Criticism. Theo van Doesburg and the Constructive Review
251
Ralf Grüttemeier On Intentionality and Avant-Garde Criticism
269
Wiljan van den Akker and Gillis Dorleijn Resistance to the Avant-Garde. Criticism of the Avant-Garde in Dutch Literary Periodicals
289
Sabine van Wesemael Dutch Contemporaries on Proust and the Historic Avant-Garde
313
Hestia Bavelaar The Writing Artists of the Magazine Kroniek van Kunst en Kultuur (Chronicle of Art and Culture) in the Period 1935-1941
337
Criticism and Avant-Garde Klaus Beekman and Jan de Vries In the past, monographs have been written about avant-garde artists, avant-garde movements and various separate forms of avant-garde art, such as literature and the art of painting. Many avant-garde works have been analyzed and the avant-gardes of various countries have been put on display shown. However, in newspapers and journals, considerably less attention has been given to reviews of avant-garde literature, art, music and film. Of course, studies in this field do exist. In fact, several very interesting researches have been dedicated to the avant-garde criticism of art. Look, for example, at those by Lynn Gamwell on Cubist Critism (1980) and Prenez garde à la peinture! Kunstkritik in Frankreich 1900-1945 (1999). In these studies, many sound comments on the role of criticism have been made. This goes for, among other writings, the preface to Cubist Criticism. Here, Donald B. Kuspit, (who was also the editor of the series on art criticism, in which the book of Gamwell was also published), writes that the reaction of an art critic is “the condition for all future interpretation. His attention is the work’s ticket to history” (cit. Gamwell 1980: XVII). Furthermore, he argues that for a work of art to be admitted into the canon of masterpieces, it must first be given attention by formal criticism. But art criticism is even more powerful than this. The reviewer also has influence through ‘his naming of art’. The labels critics apply to forms of art and to art movements provide “an identity for future generations” and are frequently borrowed later by art historians. Look, for example, at art critic Louis Vauxcelles, who used classifications such as “Fauvism” and “Cubism” at a very early stage. However, that art critics actually operate in a strategic way is not a topic that was systematically analyzed in Cubist Criticism, which is why this volume of Avant-Garde Critical Studies is being made. What was the situation with criticism at the end of the 19th century? Dario Gamboni (1994) has given an answer to this question, with regards to art criticism in France. There, art criticism developed in three different directions. Firstly, there was a scientific direction, in
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which critics tried to pass objective, valid and universal judgements. In the end, these critics revealed themselves as art historians. Secondly, there was a literary direction, in which a review in itself was considered to be a piece of art. Here, the ideas of Charles Baudelaire and Oscar Wilde that had been defended at an earlier stage were elaborated upon. Although this literary direction was marginalized at the end of the 19th century, as will be illustrated below, it had a revival among avant-garde critics at the beginning of the 20th century. Finally, there was a journalistic direction, which became the dominant direction for most critics, including the avantgardes. Avant-garde artists from the inter-bellum period kept their distance from the phenomenon of journalistic criticism. This was because they believed that art criticism had become an accomplice of commercialism. At least this was the vision of art critics, gallery managers, artists and art historians who were interviewed about this by Paris-Midi in 1927 (Gaehtgens 1999: 9). An avant-garde artist like André Breton did not like the genre of criticism, because it was too commercial in character (Junod in Fleckner / Gaehtgens 1999: 255). This phenomenon was also seen in film criticism. In Germany between 1922 and 1923, the association of film journalists criticized the effect film journalists had on the film industry. The film industry wanted to make less space available to reviewers that were considered displeasing. After World War I, it succeeded in doing this by establishing its own press agencies, which advertised via dailies. The film industry also used a gigantic number of film journals (around eighty). Film journalism was fully determined by the conjecture of the twenties (Heller 1990: 35 f.) Although avant-garde artists kept their distance from journalistic criticism, they also made use of reviews. This was because they were aware that reviews, which were widely spread in the public domain, increased the chances of success for new avant-garde forms of art. So, journalistic reviews should not be considered merely as texts in which one passes judgements on art that are grounded in argument. In their reviews, critics also attempt to manipulate the cultural climate in their favour. This goes for avant-garde as well as for traditionally-orientated critics. Quite often critics also work as artists. For instance, this was the case with Guillaume Apollinaire. In these situations it is not
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uncommon for “the critic” to help out “the artist”. In his contribution to this volume, Jean-Roch Bouiller outlines this particular situation, when he shows how André Lhote, one of the most important contributors to La Nouvelle Revue Française, used his position as an art critic for reasons of self promotion. By writing reviews and publishing them abroad, this visual artist succeeded in increasing the market for his own paintings. The profession of reviewer attracted avant-garde poets, novelists, playwrights, visual artists, architects, composers and filmmakers. Many avant-garde artists could not live from art alone, so the decision to be active as both an artist and an art critic was often based on financial arguments. However, there were also other reasons that artists chose to work simultaneously as reviewers. For example, strategic considerations quite often formed another basis for the decision. In working as critics, artists gained a voice against people who kept old-fashioned ideas on art, while legitimizing avant-garde concepts. Those artists who also worked as critics were given the opportunity to pave the way for their own art and/or for the art of other members of the group. The artist/critic had the potential to conquer a place in the cultural field. Ben Rebel outlines this exact phenomenon in his article on architecture criticism in De 8 en opbouw [The 8 and Construction]. This journal for architecture was considered an important weapon in the propaganda battle for a rational architecture that was rooted in the modern world. Marinetti, Breton, Walden and other leading figures connected to the avant-garde behaved as modern impresario. They drew attention to avant-garde art forms by using well-known strategies, such as marketing (distribution of manifests via dailies and pamphlets), networks, and a combination of professions (artist, gallery holder and critic) (De Vries 2001). To conquer a place in the cultural field it was not enough to attack old-fashioned points of view. An avant-garde artist/critic also had to create a distinct profile for himself in the midst of other avantgarde artists/critics. This goes for the reviews Theo van Doesburg wrote about films by Viking Eggeling en Hans Richter. They helped to formulate Van Doesburg’s ‘own dynamic idea of New Plasticism’, writes Ansje van Beusekom in her contribution to this volume. She argues that Van Doesburg brought his ideas into action against Piet Mondrian’s conception of New Plasticism.
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Not only is it a fallacy to think that a review only has a judging function – we already pointed out the strategic function - it is also incorrect to suppose that reviewers are only guided by the work of art they review. Critics show consideration for numerous factors that are outside the reviewed work of art. They are often guided, for example, by the organizers of exhibitions. Peter Eversmann shows this in the context of the international theatre exhibition, which was organized by H. Th. Wijdeveld in 1922 in the Stedelijk Museum [Municipal Museum] of Amsterdam. Here, Wijdeveld succeeded in having the critics review the exhibition in a way that his own ideas about the theatre of the future were expressed. Nico Laan shows that critics tune their opinions to coincide with those of other dominant figures in the cultural field, such as leading critics, the editorial staff of newspapers and directors of museums. His contribution to the volume is dedicated to COBRA, a post-war avant-garde movement, to which Karel Appel, Constant and Corneille belonged. Laan questions why critics, who in the beginning reacted negatively to these experimental artists, mostly because they were merely repeating the experiments of the avant-garde artists from the inter-bellum period, suddenly became more enthusiastic about their works and ideas. Laan answers this question with the help of a theory formulated by Pierre Bourdieu about orchestration in the cultural field. He concludes that critics feed off of the opinions of other critics. Hugo Verdaasdonk also directs his investigations to the postwar avant-garde, but he looks specifically at those involved with literary endeavours. In his contribution, he states that the position taken by individual critics largely depends on the positions of their fellow-critics. To reach this conclusion, Verdaasdonk uses a research model developed by John W. Mohr. Mohr elaborates on the institutional-sociological theory of Bourdieu, but he also has his reserves, because the connections Bourdieu sees between, for example, various literary institutions, are mainly linear. Mohr states that in order to describe such relationships, a more complex research model would be needed. Following Mohr, Verdaasdonk argues that structural qualities of social and cultural phenomena can only be determined by methodically measuring their similarities and differences.
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Furthermore reviews tend to be highly colour biased and vary according to the cultural context of the critic. Willem G. Weststeijn shows this from Mayakowski’s position in the literary field: Mayakowski hated bourgeois society and was an ardent supporter of the revolution; he took up a position towards symbolists as well as towards fellow futurists. Gregor Langfeld makes this clear by comparing reactions on exhibitions of German Expressionists in Dutch museums before and after the Second World War. In the interbellum period, Dutch reviews of these exhibitions were prejudiced and chauvinistic. It was not until the fifties that this began to change, at which point Dutch critics came to have a growing understanding of the connections between German, French and Dutch expressionism, and their judgements became more subtle. It is also noticeable that critics tend to comply with the character of the periodical that they are writing for. That is emphasized in Arie Hartog’s account of the reception of Maillol in reviews of the sculptor’s work in democratic and nationalistic papers from 1928. Hartog’s research shows to what degree reviews and papers represent values which are specific to certain groups. It is especially clear in a country like The Netherlands - which in the interbellum knew a strong compartmentalization in a protestant, catholic, socialist and liberal block - to what extent this social constellation affected the judgment of critics. What has been said before about avant-garde critics is no less true for the traditional-minded opponents of avant-garde. They did not restrict themselves merely to more or less founded value judgements. Rather, they operated strategically, working to defend their positions in the cultural field. They also took into account the factors outside the works of art that had to be evaluated. The Dutch writer and critic Carel Scharten, for instance, defended the so called “sensitivism” of the aestheticists in the 1980s by emphasizing that they had invented the “art of the moment” far earlier than the Italian futurists, who were consequently depicted as “backward”. There are numerous presuppositions and prejudices about the manifestations of the historical avant-garde. Take, for example, the idea that the “Dada-tour”, performed by Theo van Doesburg and Kurt Schwitters and others in the Netherlands of 1923, was a success. Another assumption is that avant-garde poetics, condensed in numerous manifests, have not only had consequences for the creative
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output of avant-gardists, but also for their style of reviewing. Still more speculations are that the historical avant-gardists broke off from venerable poetics when the intentions of the author were crucial and that avant-garde critics primarily championed the more complex, radical forms of avant-garde, like dadaism and surrealism, which were most in need of the support. All these presuppositions have proven to be questionable. Hubert van den Bergh’s contribution to this volume makes clear that the widespread observation that the Dada-tour of 1923 was a success is primarily based on the convictions of Van Doesburg and Schwitters themselves. However, a survey of the papers and reviews delivers a significantly different picture. That the avant-gardists broke off from the past, as is often emphasized, is contradicted by the rather traditional form of Theo van Doesburg’s reviews, as they appears in Klaus Beekman’s analysis. Furthermore, Ralf Grüttemeier has concluded that, to a certain extent, the avant-gardists have remained true to the past when they maintain conviction that the meaning in a text results from the author’s intentions. In several contributions, it is questioned in what way critics that looked from a more conservative or avant-garde perspective, have reacted to phenomena such as Dada or a modernist author like Marcel Proust. In their contributions Wiljan van den Akker and Gillis Dorleijn, as well as Sabine van Wesemael, come to the conclusion that the reviewers, regardless of which camp they came from, were not charmed at all by these phenomena. As these authors show, forms of avant-gardism, which tended towards some sort of Classicism, were preferred in the Netherlands. Besides this, there was only a moderate form of avant-gardism, namely expressionism, that was approved by the critics. Hestia Bavelaar shows this in her account of the criticism of De Kroniek van Kunst en Cultuur.
Bibliography Fleckner, Uwe und Thomas W. Gaehtgens (Hrsg.), 1999 Prenez garde à la peinture! Kunstkritik in Frankreich 1900-1945. Berlin Akademie Verlag.
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Gamboni, Dario 1994 “The relative autonomy of autonomy of art criticism”. In: Art Criticism and its institutions in nineteenth-century France. Ed. By Michael R. Orwicz. Manchester U.P.: 182-194. Gamwell, Lynn 1980 Cubist Criticism. Michigan, UMI Research Press. Heller, Heinz B. 1990 “Massenkultur und ästhetische Urteilskraft zur Geschichte und Funktion der deutsche Filmkritik vor 1933”. In: Norbert Grob und Karl Prümm (Hg.), Die Macht der Filmkritik. Positionen und Kontroversen, München, Text und Kritik: 25-45. Vries, J. de 2001 “Impresario’s van de avant-garde”. In: Kunstschrift 45, nr. 2: 18-31.
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Art Criticism and Avant-Garde: André Lhote’s Written Works Jean-Roch Bouiller André Lhote (1885-1962) was an important figure in the art world of the 20th century. He contributed to cubism and the “rappel à l’ordre” movement. During his whole career, he was known for his work as a painter, as a writer and as a teacher. This triple identity led him to mingle classical artistic references with modern revival style. Above all, he occupied a central place in the debate on art literature. Indeed, he was one of the most important contributors to La Nouvelle Revue Française (La NRF) between 1919 and 1942. The problem of the “avant-garde” in his work is interesting for an art historian. This is perceptible between 1910 and 1962 in his strategy as an artist and writer, in his critical comments on the artistic field and in the question of his position within or outside the avant-garde movement.
Lhote’s Strategy The period from the end of the 19th through the beginning of the 20th century is a privileged period to observe the transformation of the artistic field. The development of avant-garde, the establishment of the “dealers-critics” system (Harrison and White: 1993), and the revival of art criticism result in many innovations and confrontations between different representations of art (Gamboni 1992: 49-54). One of these transformations results in the opposition between “strategies of the order” and “strategies of the rupture” throughout the first half of the 20th century (Bouillon 1996: 19-37). Another main transformation is the development of artists’ written works, after several years of conflict between artists and critics at the end of the 19th century (Gamboni 1989a : 208 and Gamboni 1989b: 11; 231-236). André Lhote participates in the last struggle between academism and avant-garde and between detractors and defenders of the artists’ practice of writing. He is also involved in the debates on the statute and the role of the writing. André Lhote thus personifies the 20th century figure of artist-author, as a creator and theoretician in a context where this double status was more and more prevalent but, at the same time, more and more criticized in the artistic field.
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One can find in his career a strategy in his recourse to writing and choice of reviews. Between 1912 and 1962, André Lhote published texts in more than sixty reviews and a score of books with approximately ten publishers. He always defends the practice of writing as a tool at the service of the painter rather than as an element participating in the process of creation. He also defends cubism with obstinacy and tenacity. However, his writings often vary in their form. Malcolm Gee showed that a printed text is the result of a collaboration in which factors other than the ideas or the will of the author play a major share (Gee 1993: 4 ff). It is thus necessary for a writer to learn how to use the various literary genres. In the case of André Lhote, his relationship to his texts can never be regarded as free and independent from his career as a painter. In the 1910s, understanding the importance of writing for the establishment of a painter’s reputation, Lhote relies on the support of his friends’ literary networks in order to overcome his double handicap: his lack of renown and his distance from Paris. Gabriel Frizeau (1870-1939), Jacques Rivière (1886-1925) and Alain-Fournier (18861914) are then his principal relays. Frizeau connects him, from Bordeaux, with contacts like Paul Claudel (1868-1965), André Gide (1869-1951) or Ary Leblond (1877-1953). Rivière and Alain-Fournier help him with many small services and refer him to publishers and gallery owners (Lhote, Fournier, Rivière: 1986). The fact that he lives in Bordeaux indeed obliges him to have constant recourse to these intermediaries to defend his interests in Paris, the only place where he believes he can be understood. It is thus natural that he delegates to his writer friends the work of mediating on behalf of his painting. In 1909 and 1910 Jacques Rivière writes two articles on his friend Lhote in La NRF before publishing two more general articles on modern painting in 1912 (Rivière 1909; 1910; 1912a; 1912b). But in 1912 Andre Lhote also discovers the disadvantages of this delegation. Indeed, while praising Lhote as the most promising painter of his generation in his article of March 1, 1912, “Sur les tendances actuelles de la peinture”, Jacques Rivière criticizes the other cubists at the same time. Other painters and critics’ hostility towards Lhote can be interpreted as consequences of Rivière’s unfortunate benevolence (Moueix 1969: 254-255). Lhote is isolated from the cubists’ small
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circle and his name appears neither in Albert Gleizes and Jean Metzinger’s book Du cubisme, in 1912, nor in Guillaume Apollinaire’s Les peintres cubistes, in 1913. Thus Lhote is obliged to respond and to take charge of the promotion of his career as a painter. His first writings date back from this year and he begins to look for reviews and editors to publish his texts. The first text published by André Lhote is modest in its length, in the provincial nature of the Revue de France et des pays français which publishes it, as well as in presentation: without a title, at the end of an article devoted by the critic Carlos Larronde to his painting (“L’Imagerie” in Larronde 1912: 162). Lhote, however, is already rather well known. His painting has been the subject of exhibitions and publications in circles close to the Parisian avant-garde. But it is not natural for him to be publicly presented as an author. Indeed, André Lhote does not write a new article until “Totalisme” in 1916 in Amédée Ozenfant’s review L’élan. This small review, with its limited circulation, is clearly intended for a restricted audience of specialists. In addition, the advent of the war also hinders wider circulation. The contrast between these two texts is striking and shows that in the meantime the author changed his opinion. Whereas in 1912 Lhote is in a defensive position in a review not intended to answer to the avant-garde, his 1916 article places him at the forefront of the artistic scene. Indeed, the title and brevity of this text are reminiscent of a proclamation (Blumenkranz-Onimus 1971: 351). L’élan is an example of an avant-garde review written by key actors of this circle, as testified by the fact that many artists like Derain, La Fresnaye, Laboureur, Matisse, Picasso, Dunoyer de Segonzac, and Ozenfant take part in it.1 Founded in 1915, early in the First World War, with a patriotic and optimistic title, it seeks to show that the effects of war can be surmounted by maintaining artistic activity (Silver 1977: 56-57; Chevrefils-Desbiolles 1993: 62). Lhote’s unique participation in this review as an author is a testimony to his hope to be at the same time a painter and a writer. It also indicates his reconciliation with the small circle of avant-gardists and the desire to find a place among them. Feelings of failure? Mitigated reception of his text? It is difficult to know precisely why Lhote does not persevere more in this way of diffusing his ideas to his peers. His letters in 1916 show a certain dis-
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appointment due to the reactions caused by his text.2 In 1918, the “Totalisme” of Andre Lhote still causes some smiles and the author feels the need to declare publicly that through this text he never meant to become an intellectual guide for the artists (Salmon 1918a: 1062; 1918b: 1203-1204; 1918c: 1253). His difficulty to be integrated in the circle of the Parisian avant-garde is reported by Lhote in autobiographical texts at the end of his life (Lhote 1953). At the end of the 1910s, he readjusts once again his position as an artist-author. His relationship with the Swedish painter Georg Pauli after 1913 have enabled him to be involved with pedagogy. The successes he meets in this exercise encourage him to develop this activity and to conceive writing with an explanatory and concrete approach (Gouin 1996: 98 ff). His subsequent texts are published in reviews like Flamman and La Gazette de Hollande out of the field of the Parisian avantgarde. André Lhote does not want to write any more for his artist colleagues but for the general public. His article “La composition classique” illustrates well this inversion of approach (Lhote 1919a) This change is all the more important as this text can be regarded as a predecessor of his articles in La NRF. Both the content and form of the writings, as well as their publication in traditional reviews, are similar. With the passing years, Lhote became a specialist in explaining pictorial problems to nonspecialists, in particular through seminars and conferences which he gives regularly. Thus his recourse to writing should not be understood as a simple way to gain a position in the Parisian artistic field. It is also an illustration of his belief in a pedagogy for the masses. His goal is the reconciliation of the public and modern art. This attitude is contrary to the process for unveiling works usually practiced for the ideas or achievements of the avant-garde. Their innovative character explains why they are intended, at least initially, for restricted circles of amateurs. The conversion of the public constitutes for avant-garde artists a mythical goal more than a reality. The support of a large public to an avant-garde work can even contribute to its devaluation within these small groups that are attached to the “distinction,” the intimacy and the privileged contact with works (Gamboni 1989b: 158-159). This situation can encourage artists to resort to a certain hermetism.
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André Lhote calls this process into question. He ignores the small groups of amateurs in order to directly reach a large audience. One understands then why he increases his public profile and his publications in various reviews after 1917, and why he undertakes to collaborate with La NRF beginning in 1919. The fact of appealing to a large audience is not incompatible, in his opinion, with holding a position in the more restricted field of the avant-garde. At least until 1939 Lhote considers his stature as an author in one of the most prestigious reviews of the time as gratifying, even from the point of view of his career as a painter. One can thus understand why Lhote writes in other reviews devoted to the artistic question which appeal to a large audience, reviews like L’Amour de l’art (1920-1939), edited by Waldemar George3, L’Art vivant (1925-1939), edited by Jacques Guenne and Florent Fels4, Les cahiers d’art (1925-1930), edited by Christian Zervos5. But this participation remains unimportant in spite of Lhote’s proximity to the aesthetics of these reviews. L’Amour de l’art and L’Art vivant, in particular, defend “l’art vivant”, in opposition to academic art and to avant-garde radical art. They emphasize the need for maintaining a relationship with the pictorial tradition (Green 1987: 66; 146;174; 206). One can also find articles by Lhote in traditional literary reviews such as La vie des lettres6, Les cahiers de la République, des lettres des sciences et des arts7, or Les nouvelles littéraires8, where he again adopts the subjects and tone of his articles in La NRF. At the same time, André Lhote is absent from another great type of periodical widespread after the First World War: reviews related to galleries or artistic movements (Chevrefils-Desbiolles 1988 : 88-90). Indeed, his four contributions to Le Bulletin de la vie artistique, a publication related to the Bernheim Jeune gallery, are three answers to interviews and a very short text.9 Lhote appears neither in Les arts à Paris (1918-1935), edited by Paul Guillaume, nor in Le Bulletin de l’Effort moderne (1924-1927), edited by Léonce Rosenberg, nor in reviews related to the surrealist or abstract movements like La révolution surréaliste (1924-1929), Le surréalisme au service de la révolution (1930-1933), Minotaure (1933-1938), Cercle et carré (1930), Art concret (1930), Abstraction-Création (19321936). This absence is due to his marginal position among the Parisian avant-garde.
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Thus Lhote’s collaboration with several daily newspapers varies. It takes place only from 1931 and particularly in the years 1937-1938, with a total of 37 articles published in Ce Soir, an evening daily newspaper related to the French Communist Party, created on March 2, 1937 (Livois 1965: 524-525). Lhote’s collaboration with Ce Soir shows his wish to directly address a readership even larger than that of the traditional reviews. We have to emphasize the important place in these newspapers given to an artistic literature written by authors who acquired their reputation in more prestigious and more specialized periodicals. André Lhote’s weekly chronicle constitutes a bond between the journalistic world and the artistic circle. Lastly, Lhote’s collaboration with Ce Soir shows that his ideas are close to those of the communist press at the end of the 1930s. In addition, André Lhote also collaborates with many foreign reviews. Several of these reviews, like Das Kunstblatt, Der Cicerone, and Magazine of Art, only reproduce texts already published in France. However, several others like Flamman, Sélection, Le disque vert, Cahiers de Belgique, and Revue du Caire are used by André Lhote as instruments to promote himself abroad. The foreign reviews enable him to adopt a new strategy in order to find geographically an even wider readership. The interest in diffusing ideas to foreign countries represents a true case of “artistic geography” (Gamboni 1989b: 151 ff.). The foreign reviews seem attracted by the collaboration of an author like Lhote, undoubtedly because of the reputation of Paris which is still regarded as the artistic capital of the world. Lhote also finds a benefit: the widening of his readership undoubtedly means an increase in the number of potential collectors, in a setting where competition is less strong than in the Parisian market (Bouiller 1999: 338). There is a mutual benefit for the artist and the review: each one seeks a form of legitimacy within its own artistic field and takes support from the foreign artistic scene (Gamboni 1989b: 152-153). When Lhote takes part in foreign reviews, especially in the 1910s and 1920s, he is preoccupied with the construction of a career in the long term. It is not a substitute for his search of recognition in France. The feeling to be well understood in certain foreign artistic circles, in particular in Spain, Sweden, Belgium, and even in Germany, could consolidate his strategy. However, Lhote also thinks that an artist must necessarily experience a phase of contempt in his own
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country. Then he can triumph after having been celebrated in foreign regions: “Les artistes actuellement en honneur en France depuis l’impressionnisme, ont-ils été découvert par des amateurs français, ou par des mécènes étrangers? Je penche pour cette deuxième hypothèse” (Lhote 1929). Finally, the presence of Andre Lhote in the non-French reviews can be explained by the success of his modern classical aesthetics abroad. The image as a reasonable and wise artist could harm Lhote within the Parisian avant-garde, but it was undoubtedly useful to him among foreign amateurs. Andre Lhote’s faith in writing and in a kind of universal pedagogy decreases however with the passing years, as is testified by a seminar in 1938: “A-t-on jamais vu des paroles changer quoi que ce soit à l’idée presque toujours fausse que le public se fait de la peinture ?” (Lhote 1942). By then an increasing share of his texts is intended neither to directly occupy a position in a restricted artistic field, nor to contribute to the education of the public, but to convince the readership that the author is not really a writer. The author is an artist and Lhote becomes aware that his career as a writer could harm his glory as a painter (Bouiller 2004a): “Il est bien entendu que je n’écris plus. Le peintre que je suis a été trop humilié en l’honneur de l’écrivain que je me repens d’avoir été”.10 He once again modifies his style of writing. He no longer seeks to legitimate the recourse to writing for a painter, nor to write for his peers or to convert a larger audience. He now relates the imaginary end of his career as an author, in order to promote his career as a painter. In a letter with Franz Hellens of January 15, 1946, he explains that he nailed a warning on his door: “Ne demandez ni préface, ni article, ni conférence” (Descargues 1950: 1; 5). This narration about the end of his writing career however is more a rhetorical figure than a true decision. Indeed he writes in different reviews until the end of the 1950s.
André Lhote, Observer of the Avant-Garde André Lhote is also an observer of art at a time when it changes profoundly and the opposition between academism and avant-garde gives way to a multiplicity of artistic tendencies and individual experiences.
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He is one of the most virulent denouncers of academic art, but he also sometimes criticizes the avant-garde. In 1919, in one of his first articles in La NRF, he condemns “les polémiques et manifestes d’avantgarde” (Lhote 1919b). He explains on the one hand that works of art are more important than texts about art and on the other hand that artists can nevertheless resort to theories only if it is with the aim of improving their painting. In 1933 in a general article about the artistic scene he defends the avant-garde against academism by stating that the avant-garde artist works on what is essential, the painting itself, whereas academic artists focus especially on resemblance (Lhote 1933). At this time the avant-garde corresponds for him to the workshops of Montparnasse. However, in 1934 he criticises again the Parisian artistic circles. In his eyes avant-garde is the cause of snobbery and speculation in art and he regrets that the public do not understand the artists any more (Lhote 1935). He condemns the galerists’ power as if the need to earn money could depreciate the quality of an artist. Avant-garde often corresponds for him to the art market. In an obituary notice on the painter Emmanuel Gondouin he even uses the word downfall : “Je revois ces merveilleuses salles où éclataient de tous côtés d’allègres fanfares picturales [...] et je ressens plus aigrement la déchéance actuelle de la peinture dite d’avant-garde” (Lhote 1934). In 1938, in his comments on Picasso’s painting he suggests that every avant-garde work looks like every other avant-garde work : “On est un peu gêné, lorsqu’on regarde la belle femme assise de Picasso : on a rencontré ces combinaisons de lignes et de couleurs dans trop d’endroits où s’expose la peinture d’avant-garde” (Lhote 1938). Nevertheless, in his comments about the 1937 Universal Exhibition in Paris, André Lhote considers it necessary to establish a hierarchy between academism and avant-garde (Lhote 1937). His main enemy remains academism at least until the Second World War. As an art critic André Lhote is neither in favour of the avantgarde nor against it. For example, he writes many articles about surrealism and seeks to define what could be a good surrealist picture. He obviously wants to look like a good critic without prejudice. But he is above all interested in André Breton’s surrealist’s theory. He never describes the surrealist movement as an avant-garde group and, as
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well as other authors of La NRF, he refers to surrealist works as individual paintings (Mourier-Casile 1987: 920-925).
André Lhote and Avant-Garde The fact that André Lhote can be seen at the same time as a partner and as an enemy of the avant-garde raises the question of his position as an insider or outsider. One could answer: neither one nor the other. In 1912, Lhote is invited by the art critic Roger Fry (18661934) to form part of an avant-garde group in Grafton Gallery in London, and he also participates in the avant-garde exhibition La Section d’Or, in the gallery de la Boétie, in Paris. He is not yet thirty. It is a promising beginning. At the time his bonds with the artistic Parisian circles and in particular the “Groupe de Puteaux” and with the review L’élan in 1910s remain for him important. In 1924 Robert Rey remarks: “parmi les peintres d’avant-garde, André Lhote est un de ceux dont la foule connaît le mieux le nom”. But he adds: “André Lhote semble avoir renié les derniers survivants du cubisme, qui le lui rendent” (Rey 1924: 92). At the end of his life, Lhote can still be seen as an avant-garde artist. In 1958 Jean Cocteau and Pierre Courthion refer to his “fureur combative pour défendre l’avant-garde” (Cocteau, Courthion 1958: 4). Indeed his ideas were close to those of a lot of avant-garde artists. Firstly Lhote denounces impressionism like them: it’s a commonplace opinion in the artistic field in the first half of the 20th century (Silver 1981 and Silver 1991: 181-182). Secondly he uses words and concepts that he borrows from the avant-garde vocabulary. For example he often speaks of music and musicality in paintings. We know that this parallelism between music and painting constitutes, along with the question of the autonomy of visual art, one of the main ideas defended by avant-garde artists. Wassily Kandinsky, Vladimir Baranoff-Rossine, abstract painters and French “musicalistes” all had recourse to it (Kandinsky 1989: 62, 79, 84; Catalogue Max Jacob et Picasso 1994: 166, note 13). When Lhote states that the artist must not try to please the public, he also can be seen as an avant-garde artist: “Ainsi dans le domaine de la technique comme dans celui de l’esprit, il faut se résigner à déplaire d’abord” (Lhote 1932b ; see Lhote 1932a. “[...] L’Art
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véritable ne peut être atteint de nos jours que contre le gré du public et au risque d’y laisser sa vie” (Lhote 1933: 330). In other words it signifies that concerning art the small circle of artists is right when the public is wrong. He often tries to show that artists are right in the long term. Like Kandinsky, he thinks that the artist can be a precursor and a guide (cf Kandinsky 1989: 61-68). In 1922, he writes “les peintres [...], peu à peu, forment l’opinion” (Lhote 1922: 115) and ten years later: “Il faut des générations pour que le langage singulier des novateurs soit compris par la foule. (Il est perçu d’abord par des gens du métier qui le vulgarisent [...])” (Lhote 1932a). But André Lhote also takes positions against avant-garde ideas. One of his most important convictions is his admiration for art from the past. According to him Fouquet, Ingres, Renoir and especially Cézanne should be models for young artists. It is not exactly the avantgarde view. Lhote also defends monumental heritage and contributes to the restoration of many small French villages (Mirmande, Gordes, La Cadière d’Azur) between the 1920s and the 1950s. This causes a lot of debate at the time. Avant-garde artists, like futurists, surrealists or modern architects publicly demonstrate that they have to destroy heritage in order to build something new (Ferri 2003: 146). On the contrary, Lhote proposes a synthesis between tradition and modernity. The fact that he pleads in favour of heritage causes many controversies especially with Louis Aragon and Le Corbusier.11 Lhote’s arguments in favour of heritage and tradition is a central element in his writings and does not entitle him to really be counted among avant-garde artists. In other respects, there are in his way of thinking a lot of similarities of ideas, of vocabulary, or of strategy with avant-garde positions. It is difficult to find other artists or other writers who can be compared with André Lhote. Like him, Albert Gleizes (1881-1953) or Maurice Denis (1870-1943) were painters, authors and teachers. Among the critics, René Huyghe (1906-1997), Claude Roger-Marx (1888-1977), Maurice Raynal (1884-1954) or André Salmon (1881-1969) can also be seen as independent authors neither partners nor enemies of the avant-garde (cf Green 1987: 46; 64-66; 104; 126; 146; 158-162; 187; 210). The analysis of Lhote’s written works in their diversity -- art
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criticism, art theory, pedagogy, museology, defence of cultural heritage in the artistic and literary context of his time -- confirm the existence of a third way (cf Green 1987) between avant-garde and academism. “Art vivant”, “Réalismes” (cf Clair 1981) or simply modern art? For this third way reference to tradition, reference to reality and autonomy of art are not only compatible but simply essential.12
Notes 1
Cf. Ozenfant 1968: 84-86 : “je voulais que mon journal soit un lien entre artistes et écrivains mobilisés et ceux restés chez eux”. 2
Letter with Joseph Granié, May 24, 1916, cf Gouin 1996: 152; Letter with Georg Pauli, April 24, 1917, ibid. : 152. 3
Three articles in 1923, 1925 and 1933.
4
Three articles in 1928 and 1929.
5
One article in 1933.
6
Two articles in 1923.
7
Two articles in 1926 and 1931.
8
For articles in 1934 and 1935.
9
Lhote 1923a: 472-473; 1923b: 542-543; 1924a: 12-13; 1924b: 552-554.
10
IMEC, Fonds Jean Paulhan, Letter of André Lhote with Jean Paulhan, November 21, 1945. 11
Cf. for example Lhote 1935b: 941; Lhote 1943: 38. Some letters of André Lhote also testify to these controversies. Cf Bouiller 2004b: 306-308. 12 I thank Yuka Amano and Ravi Montenegro, Estelle Minassian, Monique Nonne and Caroline Stanchina, and Isabelle Reiher.
Jean-Roch Bouiller
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Bibliography Blumenkranz-Onimus, Noëmi 1971 « Quand les artistes manifestent ». In: Liliane Brion-Guerry (dir.), L’année 1913. Les formes esthétiques de l’œuvre d’art à la veille de la première Guerre Mondiale, Paris, Klincksieck. Bouiller, Jean-Roch 1999 “De la lune aux nuages. André Lhote vu et lu par Paul Westheim et les rédacteurs de la revue Das Kunstblatt, 1917-1933”. In: Uwe Fleckner and Thomas W. Gaehtgens (dir.), Prenez garde à la peinture! Kunstkritik in Frankreich 1900-1945, Berlin, Akademie Verlag. 2004a “Articles, conférences et anthologies: les ricochets des écrits d’André Lhote après 1940”. In: Yves Chevrefils-Desbiolles, Philippe Dagen, Thierry Dufrêne, Françoise Levaillant (dir.), Les écrits d’artistes depuis 1940, Paris / Caen, Institut Mémoire de l’Edition Contemporaine. 2004b Définir et juger l’art moderne. Les écrits d’André Lhote (18851962), Thèse, Paris I Bouillon, Jean-Paul 1996“1900-1914 Naissance de l’art contemporain”. In: Jean-Paul Bouillon, Paul-Louis Rinuy, Antoine Baudin, L’art du XXe siècle, 1900-1939, Paris, Citadelles. Catalogue 1994
Max Jacob et Picasso, Paris, Réunion des musées nationaux..
Chevrefils-Desbiolles, Yves 1988 “Les revues d’art (première partie : histoire et variantes, des origines à 1970)”. In : La revue des revues, n° 5. 1993 Les revues d’art à Paris 1905-1940, Paris, Ent’revues. Clair, Jean 1981
“Données d’un problème”. In: Catalogue Les réalismes 1919-1939. Entre révolution et réaction, Paris, Centre Georges Pompidou : 814.
Cocteau, Jean et Courthion, Pierre 1958 André Lhote, Paris, Presses artistiques Weber, “Les cahiers de la peinture”, n°5. Descargues, Pierre 1950 “André Lhote: je reste au bord des contrées interdites”. In: Arts, n° 250, February 17.
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Ferri, Laurent 2003
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“Les intellectuels s’intéressent-ils au patrimoine monumental et architectural ? Un siècle de pétitions en France”. In: Livraisons d’histoire de l’architecture, n° 5.
Gamboni, Dario 1989a “Après le régime du Sabre, le régime de l’homme de lettre» : la critique d’art comme pouvoir et enjeu”. In: Jean-Paul Bouillon (dir.), La critique d’art en France 1850-1900, Saint-Etienne, CIEREC Université de Saint-Etienne, “Travaux LXIII”. 1989b La plume et le pinceau. Odilon Redon et la littératur, Paris 1992
Gee, Malcom 1993
“L’impératif de nouveauté, le rejet de la convention et la recherche d’un langage universel dans les arts des années 1880 et 1890”. In: Sociologie de l’art, n° 5.
“The nature of twentieth-century art criticism”. In: Malcolm Gee (dir.), Art Criticism since 1900, Manchester et New York, Manchester University Press: 3-21.
Gouin, Yvonne 1996 André Lhote, un individuel du cubisme (1910-1920), thèse, université Paris IV. Green, Christopher 1987 Cubism and its Enemies. Modern movements and Reaction in French Art, 1916-1928, New Haven, London, Yale University Press. Harrison C. and Cynthia A. White 1993 (1965) Canvases and Careers: Institutional Change in the French Painting World, University of Chicago Press.
Kandinsky, Wassily 1989 (1910) Du spirituel dans l’art, Paris, Denoël (Folio essais). Larronde, Carlos 1912 “Courrier des marches du Sud-Ouest: le peintre André Lhote”. In: La revue de France et des pays français, n° 4, May. Lhote, André 1919a “La composition classique”. In: Gazette de Hollande, April 16. 1919b “De la nécessité des théories”. In: NRF, n° 75, December 1: 10021013.
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1922 “Les dernières rétrospectives”. In: NRF, n° 106, July 1. 1923a “Arts mineurs” (réponse à une enquête). In: Le bulletin de la vie artistique, November 15 : 472-473. 1923b “La nature devant l’art” (réponse à une enquête). In: Le bulletin de la vie artistique, December 1, 1923: 542-543. 1924a “La querelle des Indépendants”. In: Le bulletin de la vie artistique, n° 1, January 1, 1924: 12-13. 1924b “Chez les cubistes” (réponse à une enquête). In : Bulletin de la vie artistique, n° 24, December 15: 552-554. 1929 “Exposition Raoul Dufy (Le Portique); Raoul Dufy, par Pierre Courthion; Raoul Dufy, par Christian Zervos”. In: NRF, n° 186, 1er mars: 418-419. 1932 a “Sauve-qui-peut”. In: NRF, n° 220, January 1: 130. 1932 b “Kisling (galerie Girard)”. In : NRF, n° 220, January 1: 156. 1933 « A Bâtons rompus ». In : NRF nr. 233, 1er février: 329-334. 1934 “Emmanuel Gondouin”. In : NRF, n° 246, March 1: 560-561. 1935a [“Propos”], in L’art et la réalité. L’art et l’Etat. Entretiens, Paris, Institut international de coopération intellectuelle, Société des Nations. Talks in Venice from the 25 to July 28 1934 printed in March 1935: 37-47. 1935b “De l’art utile”. In : NRF, n° 261, 1er juin 1935: 941 1937 “Première promenade à l’exposition”. In: NRF, n° 288, September 1: 491-492. 1938 “Art mural”. In: NRF, n° 299, August 1: 341. 1942 “La peinture « inspirée » et le public français”. In: Peinture d’abord; essais, Paris, Denoël. 1943 Petits itinéraires à l’usage des artistes, Paris, Denoël, 1943: 38. 1953 “Préface” in catalogue André Lhote, Paris, galerie Art vivant, May. Lhote, André, Fournier, Alain, Rivière, Jacques 1986 La peinture, le cœur et l’esprit, correspondance inédite (19071924), Bordeaux, William Blake and co. and musée des Beaux-Arts. Livois, René de 1965 Histoire de la presse française (de 1881 à nos jours), Paris, CFA. Moueix, Jean-François 1969 Un amateur d’art éclairé à Bordeaux: Gabriel Frizeau 1870-1939, thèse, Université de Bordeaux. Mourier-Casile, Pascaline 1987 “La NRF et le surréalisme (1924-1940) ou la neutralisation d’une avant-garde”. In: Revue d’histoire littéraire de la France: Les avantgardes et la critique: le rôle de Jacques Rivière 1900-1925, September - October 1987: 920-925.
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Ozenfant, Amédée 1968 Mémoires 1886-1962, Paris, Seghers. Rey, Robert 1924 Rivière, Jacques 1909 1910 1912a 1912b
“André Lhote”. In: Beaux-Arts, March 15, 92
“André Lhote”. In: NRF, n° 5, May 1: 393-394. “André Lhote”. In: NRF, n° 12, December 1: 806-808. “Le Salon des Indépendants”. In: NRF, n° 41, May 1: 890-893. “Sur les tendances actuelles de la peinture”. In: Revue d’Europe et d’Amérique, Paris, March 1: 384-406.
Salmon, André 1918a “Le totalisme”. In: L’Europe nouvelle, n° 22, June 8: 1062. 1918b “La jeune peinture française (suite): De dame nature à dame peinture, ou l’angoisse d’un classicisme”. In: L’Europe nouvelle, n° 25, June 29: 1203-1204 . 1918c “La jeune peinture française – Toute la vérité sur le totalisme”. In: L’Europe nouvelle, n° 26, July 6: 1253. Silver, Kenneth E. 1977 “Purism: straightening up after the great war”. In: Artforum - 15, n° 7, March: 56-57 1981 Esprit de corps: The Great War and French Art, 1914-1925, Ph.D., Yale University. 1991 Vers le retour à l’ordre. L’avant-garde parisienne et la Première Guerre mondiale 1914-1925, Paris, Flamarion.
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Architectural Criticism in de 8 en OPBOUW Ben Rebel It is a well-known fact that the Dutch architectural avant-garde magazine de 8 en OPBOUW, founded in 1932 by a number of functionalist architects from Amsterdam and Rotterdam, was very critical towards opposite architectural streams like the expressionist Amsterdam School. By analysing a selection of representative and critical articles from the initial period of that magazine about both functionalist and non functionalist buildings in the Netherlands, an answer was sought to the question if de 8 en OPBOUW in fact contained actual and regular architectural criticism, what was the object of that criticism and which were the criteria used. A real objective and impartial criticism in the magazine however was not probable because the main aim of the two founding associations of the magazine (“de 8” from Amsterdam and “OPBOUW” from Rotterdam) was the enhancement of Functionalism and the opposition against non functionalist architecture. An analysis of comparable projects by architects of the Amsterdam School and by prominent functionalist architects like Duiker and Rietveld made it very clear that, in judging their own functionalist architecture the critics (all architects) were inclined to neglect evident technical shortcomings, so fiercely criticised in the case of the houses and schools of the expressionist Amsterdam School. Mostly they pointed in a general way at the intended qualities of their own buildings in the field of efficiency, hygiene, sunlight et cetera. And always they emphasised in particular the modern character of these buildings, reflecting the modern world.
Introduction The first proposition in the aggressive manifest of the architectural avant-garde association “de 8” from Amsterdam, founded in 1927, runs as follows: “DE 8 IS de kritische reactie op de architectonische vormgeving van dezen dag” [DE 8 IS the critical reaction to the architectural forms of today] (“de 8” 1927: 126). There are two striking aspects. In the first place this proposition suggests being the herald of fierce architectural criticism in the field of contemporary architecture and in the second place it looks like criticism was considered to be a matter of discussing forms. Other propositions from the manifest demonstrate, however, that the architects of “de 8” were especially interested in rationality, functionality and social reform. They admitted it was already possible to design beautiful buildings, but for the time being they preferred ugly architecture to non-functional architec-
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ture. One wonders if this attitude was of any consequence for the architectural criticism in their own architectural avant-garde magazine de 8 en OPBOUW. The architects of “de 8” founded that magazine in 1932 in co-operation with their colleagues from the Rotterdam association “OPBOUW”.1 By analysing a small selection of representative and critical articles in that magazine about architectural objects in the Netherlands, I will investigate if de 8 en OPBOUW in fact contained actual and regular architectural criticism, what was the object of that criticism and which were the criteria used, like for example in the field of design (form), construction and function. I will do this against the background of the ideas and theories on architecture and town planning as formulated by the architects of “de 8” and “OPBOUW”. I will restrict myself to the first three years of the magazine (1932 to 1934), because that was the time the trend was set, but also because after that period a process started that asks for special investigation of the period 1934-1938. In 1934 Jan Duiker died. Until the end of 1933 he was the chairman of “de 8” and one of the most outspoken architects of the first generation of Dutch Functionalism.2 After him Ben Merkelbach became the chairman. Still more important was the fusion that took place in 1934 with the so-called “Groep ’32” (Rebel 1983: 122-126 en 147-162 / Bock 1983). This group was formed by a number of young and modern Amsterdam architects, all members of the Society “Architectura et Amicitia”, that was dominated by architects of the expressionist Amsterdam School. Without any exception these young architects of the “Groep ’32” had a limitless admiration for the Swiss architect Le Corbusier. After in vain attempts, from 1931 on, to gain influence in “Architectura et Amicitia” and to propagate the cause of Functionalism, they left that society in 1932 and in 1934 they joint “de 8”. But that evoked a lot of problems because the young architects refused to support a number of propositions of the “de 8” from 1927 such as “DE 8 IS A-AESTHETISCH” [DE 8 IS AAESTHETICAL]. On the contrary, they said it was time to stop concentrating on rationality and functionality alone and that it was now urgent to give form to the modern world by means of architecture. The founders of “de 8”, however, said that not all problems were already analysed and that the question of aesthetics had to wait for the time being. Eventually in 1936 the architects of the “Groep ‘32” took over the lead in the editorial staff of de 8 en OPBOUW. And after a very critical article of their foreman Arthur Staal (1937: 82-84) about a
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very pragmatic and functional office by Willem van Tijen, one of the Rotterdam leaders of the old generation, a violent discussion arose about the role of aesthetics within the design process. The reason was, that Staal openly demanded more and more attention for notions like monumentalism. And - being an aspect of feudal times from the past that was an absolute taboo for the architects of the old generation. Eventually it came to a break in 1938 and most of the young architects, together with some older ones, left “de 8”. After that crisis de 8 en OPBOUW returned back to normal until the liquidation of the magazine in 1943.
Vitruvius and the Complexity of Architectural Criticism It is useful to realise that architectural criticism is a complex business as compared to criticism in the field of the visual arts. This is directly connected with the complex character of architecture itself, having a relationship with art and engineering. The roman architectural theorist and architect Vitruvius referred already in the first century BC in his publication De Architectura Libri Decem [Ten books on architecture] to that aspect.3 Until today Vitruvius influenced in a direct and indirect way many architectural theories and architectural education systems. In the first book about architectural theory and town planning, he mentioned three branches of architecture: Buildings (public and private), clocks and machines. As far as the building process was concerned, he remarked that the architect always had to pay attention to three important aspects: “Firmitas” [durability], “Utilitas” [suitability] and “Venustas” [aesthetics]. In connection with durability he stressed the importance of sufficient foundations (the base of construction) and a correct use of building materials. In connection with suitability he mentioned the importance of a well sought-out situation of the building and a functional lay out of rooms within the building. As far as aesthetics were concerned, he stated that a building should be attractive and elegant for the eye and that the graduation of the different parts of the building should be the result of a correct calculation of well-balanced proportions. In addition thereto building in the right way was - according to Vitruvius - a question of “Ordinatio” [ordination], “Dispositio” [arrangement], “Eurythmia” [harmony], “Sym-
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metria” [well-balanced proportions], “Decorum” [appropriation] and “Distributio” [economy, by which he meant a rightful distribution of building materials and building land and a rational control over the building costs]. As we understand that the architect, according to Vitruvius, not only had to be an expert in handicraft and architectural theory, but that he also had to obtain more overall knowledge of other disciplines like draughtsmanship, history, philosophy, music, medicine, law and astronomy, the big difference with for instance the visual arts becomes obvious. Architecture obviously is - even when one leaves aside clocks, machines, music and astronomy - a versatile discipline. And that should force the architectural critic to be as versatile as the architect. His judgement will after all be based on a conscientious analysis of important aspects like construction, function and form. Despite provoking statements in the founding manifest of 1927 about the limited importance of the problem of form in the design process, these were exactly the three main aspects of architecture the architects of the avant-garde in the Netherlands wanted to deal with in actual practice. This design attitude stemmed from the character of their architectural training in the beginning of the twenties in their school Haarlem (Rebel 1983: 47-48). Most succinct this was visible in one of the concluding statements of the manifest of “de 8”: “DE 8 IS RESULTANTE” [DE 8 IS THE RESULTANT]. This statement, that was indirectly based on the inheritance of Vitruvius, but directly borrowed from dynamics, is the key to the understanding of the design attitude of the first generation of architects from the Dutch avantgarde. This attitude implied that the architects saw the different problems they had to solve during the design process - including the problems in the field of aesthetics - as forces. And these equivalent forces although very different in character - were comparable with the vectors within a parallelogram of forces. The resultant of these forces was the eventual architectural form in which all conflicting problems were solved in harmony with each other (Rebel 1998: 273).4
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Some Defining Remarks about Architectural Criticism Before discussing the content and the nature of architectural criticism in de 8 en OPBOUW en before analysing some articles about architecture in that magazine, I first want to refer to a publication by A.W. Reinink from 1975 about the Amsterdam Exchange building by H.P. Berlage. The reason therefore is that the author does not emphasise so much the Exchange itself as well as the critical reactions to that controversial building. Besides that he also wrote about architectural criticism in general. In chapter two about the nature of criticism Reinink distinguished different kinds of criticism. Because de 8 en OPBOUW was an outspoken specialist journal, written by and for architects, in this connection only the so-called serious criticism is relevant.5 Referring to J. Stolnitz (1960: 442), who quoted T.M. Greene, Reinink stated that all serious criticism regardless of mutual differences in character6, always had to contain an analysing and an evaluating aspect (“What is it” and “What is it worth?”). Further Reinink said, referring to R. Wellek (1963: 30-32), that it was advisable to reserve the expression architectural criticism for written, critical discussions about material architectural objects, although almost every discussion about architecture including architectural criticism contained a mix of components of architectural theory, history and criticism. Finally Reinink discerned in the field of serious architectural criticism, dealing with real architectural objects, three main components: Style, suitability and construction. And there we have Vitruvius again, although he spoke about beautiful forms and not about Style. But Vitruvius was an architect and an architectural theorist, whereas Reinink is an architectural historian.
The Trend Set by the Avant-Garde Magazine ABC Taking into consideration the obvious militant character of the architectural avant-garde during the inter-bellum period in the Netherlands and the above-mentioned first statement of the founding manifest of “de 8”, one could expect a substantial contribution to Dutch architectural criticism from the architectural magazine de 8 en OPBOUW. Six
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years before the start of that periodical in 1932, however, the Swiss avant-garde magazine ABC published a remarkable critical article written by both editors, the Swiss architect Hans Schmidt and the Dutch architect Mart Stam, who later became a member of “OPBOUW” (Schmidt and Stam 1926, nr. 1: 1). Under the headline KRITIK [Criticism] and referring to Adolf Behne’s Der moderne Zweckbau [Modern utilitarian architecture] (1923: 18)7, they put forward four requirements, modern buildings should comply with. In the first place the architect had to fulfill even the smallest functional wishes of the client. In the second place he should be very careful in choosing building materials with a view to treatment, durability and economy. And in the third place the construction had to be uncomplicated and financially wise. Only after these demands were satisfied, form could arise as if by itself. As a consequence a black cross was drawn upon some photographs of recent projects of traditionalist designs such as the Town hall in Stockholm by Ragnar Ostberg from 1909-23 and the central station in Stuttgart by Paul Bonatz from 1914-17. The first design was characterized as an ethical and sentimental piece of architecture made by an unsocial architect and the second as an example of pathetic monumentality. Surprisingly, however, Stam and Schmidt also attacked in the same article two modern Dutch designs. The first one was a model of a private house [“Maison Particulière”] from 1923 by Cornelis van Eesteren and Theo van Doesburg and the second one a model of the prize-winning design for an academy of art in Amsterdam from 1919 by Jan Duiker. Although Van Eesteren and Duiker would dominate the scene of modern architecture in the Netherlands and abroad a short time after that, Stam and Schmidt did criticise also these architects who were related to them, because they wanted to warn them about the dangers of wrong tracks such as escape routes to modern forms without the foundation of clarity of structure, construction and building process. In their opinion both designs were by far too much preconceived compositions of cubes, colours and materials and this they considered a sign of weakness. And they continued: “Wichtig sind die Funktionen, und diese werden die Form bestimmen”.8 Moreover, the design by Duiker was an outspoken symmetrical composition referring to monumental buildings of the past.9 It is strange that ABC didn’t pay any attention to the fact that both designs were only models and by no means elaborated plans. In the case of
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Van Eesteren and Van Doesburg it only was an experimental sketch with space, form and colour without any indication of plans. In the case of Duiker, Schmidt and Stam neglected the plans that were actually available. Probably the evident symmetrical composition was reason enough for them to give a negative judgement. And that is remarkable because this was a contradictory attitude. On the one hand they stated that modern architects didn’t put forms first and foremost, but on the other hand they rejected Duiker’s design only on the basis of an analysis of the forms. We are not informed about the functional and constructional qualities of the design. In other words: This article is, although of a very serious character, not an example of real architectural criticism, but an over-simplified provoking manifest.
The Negative Effect of the “BNA” on Architectural Criticism in The Netherlands Anyway, the critical attack by an architect on colleagues was by Dutch standards remarkable. To understand this, one has to realise that by far the greatest number of architectural criticism was produced by architects themselves. The then most important magazine was the Bouwkundig Weekblad [Architectural Weekly] of the “Maatschappij ter bevordering van de Bouwkunst” [Society for the Advancement of Architecture] and the employer’s association, the “Bond van Nederlandse Architecten” (“BNA”) [Federation of Dutch Architects].10 Most of the Dutch architects were members of the “BNA”, that, being an employer’s association, had to look after the interests of its members. Of course, this task could come into conflict with the task of the Society that had to advance the quality of architecture. This ambivalence was strengthened by the fusion with the honourable Amsterdam society “Architectura et Amicitia” [Architecture and Friendship] in 1927. After all this society had as main task the improvement of “de bloei der bouwkunst en aanverwante vakken te bevorderen” [to promote the flowering of architecture and related disciplines]. Therefore the members of the “BNA” initially rejected a former fusion plan in 1924, referring to the disloyal behaviour of architects in the magazine Architectura11. In this connection it is important to know the “BNA” had a code of honour that prohibited members to speak and write in an offensive way about colleagues and their work. And indeed, architec-
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tural criticism of a certain fierceness was as good as absent in the Bouwkundig Weekblad. In most cases the articles about recent architecture had a strongly describing character with a positive judgement. Many articles were even written by the architects of the reviewed building. And even when an authoritative critic like J.P. Mieras, who as an exception to the rule was not an architect, was very negative about the enlargement by the architect W.A. Lensvelt (“BNA”) of the old museum ‘de Lakenhal’ in Leiden, which he described as a mutilation, a storm of protests arose. In a general meeting of the “BNA” on the 28th of October 1922, Mieras was urged to restrain himself in the future, in order that the public would not get the impression that the architects were in a permanent state of war with each other.12 At that time the only thirty-one years old architect Albert Boeken was a member of the editorial staff of the Bouwkundig Weekblad. Being an outspoken supporter of Functionalism, he was not really at home there. In vain he tried to propagate the cause of modern architecture, the first promising examples of which just appeared in the Netherlands that time, in the Bouwkundig Weekblad.13 Given the aim of the magazine to look after the interests of all of its members and not of those of a specific movement, that was not surprising. This was for Boeken a reason to withdraw from the editorial staff in 1924. In 1928, together with J. Duiker he became a member of “de 8”. From 1932 on he was a frequent writer in de 8 en OPBOUW. And there he could contribute to the enhancement of Functionalism, because that was the main aim of that magazine. Strangely enough this was not explicitly mentioned at all in the magazine itself, but in the draft Articles of Association of “de 8” from 1928 on this association is formulated as main object: “The enhancement of the flowering of rational architecture in the Netherlands and the opposition against not rational architecture and town-planning” (Rebel 1983: 132-138 and 126).14 In practice this meant that the articles were mostly about outspoken examples of Functionalist architecture in the Netherlands and other countries, about the ideas as formulated during the different CIAMcongresses in the field of social housing, town-planning, new technical developments, functionalist theories about design in general. Only now and then special articles were published about architectural movements conflicting with Functionalism. Within the scope of this article especially the first and the last categories are interesting, although also the development of the own design attitude deserves at-
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tention, because most likely this influenced the character of not only the architectural production itself but also the nature of architectural criticism in de 8 en OPBOUW.
The Standard of Architectural Criticism in some Representative Articles in the Initial Phase of de 8 en OPBOUW Housing, the Amsterdam School versus Gerrit Rietveld Already in the first issue of de 8 en OPBOUW the trend was set, although, as has been said before, there was no trace of a standpoint by the editorial staff. The first article entitled WONEN [housing] was written by Ben Merkelbach (fig. 1). He made a vicious attack on the much-praised housing projects designed by architects of the Amsterdam School (1932: 1-5). His most important objection was the fact that the architects in his opinion only were interested in the external care of the facades and that they had left the elaboration of the floor plans and the rear elevations to the building contractors. Despite the fact that he argued that it was impossible to live in these houses in an appropriate way, he didn’t discuss any actual building let alone the floor plans. This implied that the reader was not able to gain a real insight into the quality of the housing conditions of actual projects on the basis of this article. With the help of close-ups on the other hand Merkelbach did mention a number of general objections such as the dominance of the streets in the townscape by using closed building blocks and the absence of room for drying the wash and the storage of bicycles and baby buggies. As a counterexample Merkelbach discussed subsequently a small row of houses in Utrecht by Gerrit Rietveld from 1931 (fig. 2). And he was very positive about them. With the help of photos of the exteriors and the interiors and of floor plans and a cross section, he analysed the houses and drew the conclusion that the quality of housing, realised by Rietveld was much higher than in the so-called “Mekka van de woningbouw” [Mekka of housing] in Amsterdam. In the basement there was enough room for the storage of bicycles and for washing and drying. The ground-floor had a kitchen with a special window for the deliverance of purchases and with a locker with one
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door opening to the kitchen and one to the exterior for the storage and collecting of garbage. Further there was a spacious living-room which
fig. 1. Cover of the first issue of de 8 en OPBOUW, 1932 nr.1 with the article by Ben Merkelbach about Wonen [Housing].
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according to one’s needs could be subdivided into different smaller compartments by means of sliding walls. The second and the third floor had six bedrooms, a bathroom, a shower cabinet, a balcony and two terraces. Big windows provided the houses with plenty of light and air. Of course the comparison with the big Amsterdam building blocks fell short, because - and Merkelbach himself admitted it - the houses by Rietveld were by no means low-cost houses as was the case in the social housing projects in Amsterdam. On the contrary, Rietveld’s project contained only four luxurious and spacious terrace houses. Merkelbach’s article was therefore only partially an example of architectural criticism. In the case of the Amsterdam housing
fig. 2. Gerrit Rietveld, 1932. Four terrace houses in the Erasmuslaan in Utrecht.
blocks it had the character of an impressionist manifest without any analysis of actual buildings and therefore also without a careful judgement on the basis of clear criteria. That was not the case with the houses by Rietveld, but there on the other hand a critical distance was completely absent. The article was an example of propaganda in accordance with the already mentioned objectives of “de 8”, namely the “the enhancement of the flowering of rational architecture in the
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Netherlands and the opposition against not rational architecture and town-planning”. Merkelbach discussed the houses by Rietveld also in the newspaper De Groene Amsterdammer and it is striking that there he did put forward some critical remarks. So, although he stated that Rietveld clearly did express his feelings for the needs of modern man for light, air, sun and comfort, he also criticised the unpractical big windows in the bathrooms [Merkelbach 1931: 17-10-1931). Only much later he admitted in de 8 en OPBOUW, that the designs by Rietveld - as is well known - more often than not had practical and technical weaknesses (1940: 137). But: “One can differ in opinion about the chosen solution, one can prefer some other details on technical grounds, but always one will come under the spell of the lively, ingenious spirit, appearing in the works designed by him”.15 This attitude was characteristic for the opinion of many members of “de 8” about Rietveld, who indeed sometimes violated one of the dogma’s of “de 8”, namely that the form never should dominate the practical demands of the assignment. But they backed him up because Rietveld preeminently was able to give a real impression of the environment of modern man. And that aspect was considered to be of great importance in the functionalist propaganda battle. In other words: The article by Merkelbach was also especially a weapon in the battle against non-rational architecture with the characteristics of a functionalist manifest and not so much an example of serious architectural criticism. Schools, an Analysis of a Design by Jan Duiker In the fourth issue of de 8 en OPBOUW again one of the buildings by an important architect of Functionalism, Jan Duiker, was analysed (fig. 3). At that time Duiker was the chairman of “de 8”. The article was written by Ben Merkelbach, at that time the secretary of the same association (1934: 33-39). In fact the article had the same character as the one about housing in the first issue. For Merkelbach started with a general dissertation on the supposed poor qualities of the 156 schools that were built in Amsterdam during the period between 1920 and 1928. It is useful to realise that in this connection the Department of Public Services was the responsible authority and that the architects in service of that department were almost all related to the Amsterdam School. At that time one could rightfully say that almost all schools in Amsterdam were Amsterdam School schools. In fact Merkelbach re-
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produced his method as used in his article about housing. But in this case he did not only criticise the schools in a general way, but he
fig. 3. Jan Duiker and Bernard Bijvoet, 1930. Third Technical school in the Zwaardstraat in Scheveningen
didn’t even publish any explaining photograph, let alone a floor plan. And also in this case the message was that the architects had paid more attention to their monumental facades than to the real problems they had to solve, namely the fulfilment of the needs of the schools and the children for space, light, hygiene, rationality et cetera. After all, according to Merkelbach, a school was not a monument but an item of everyday use. But by not discussing any floor plan, his argument was reduced to impressionist criticism and therefore the question if the criticised schools were actually inefficient, remained unanswered. Looking at floor plans of these schools, one sees immediately that the architects of the Department of Public Services in general paid much attention to the position of the classrooms, the corridors, the toilets and the playgrounds in relation to each other and also to the sun and the street. Of course the architects not always succeeded in finding the ideal solution on the given location with the classrooms on the sunny side (south) of the building, overlooking the playground within
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the building block (detached schools were hardly ever possible) and with the corridors and the toilets on the north side of the building along the street. But they always tried to find a well-considered solution on the basis of security, tranquillity and sunlight. In fact the question arises if the functionalist architects themselves always succeeded in finding perfect solutions. Duiker for instance situated his renowned open-air school in Amsterdam from 1930 as a detached unit in the northern corner of a closed housing block, thus providing the school and the playground in front of it with sufficient sunlight, but at the expense of the houses directly behind the school that remained in the shadow. Merkelbach confronted the criticised Amsterdam School schools with the third technical school in Scheveningen of Jan Duiker en Bernard Bijvoet from 1930, which he considered a typical example of an explicit clear-cut building method. What he meant by that was that the architect, uninhibited and not hindered by preconceived ideas about form, had carefully analysed all problems in the field of use, hygiene, internal traffic, toilets, wardrobe, supervision and storage and had solved them with an open mind. Noticeable were his remarks on the strong relationship between the demands in the field of use and construction such as the coherence between the dimensions of the classrooms and those of the standardised and for that reason cheap skeleton construction of reinforced concrete and the steel framed windows. (Bak 1982: 168-180). Merkelbach’s conclusion was that in this case the building was not so much a monument in honour of the architect himself as well a humane building meant for the users: the children and the teachers. The article was as far as the school by Duiker is concerned richly illustrated with photographs, floor plans and an axonometrical drawing of the reinforced concrete skeleton. Together they gave in the Vitruvian sense an impression of form, function and construction. But actually Merkelbach didn’t analyse these depicted floor plans at all. Otherwise he would have noticed that the plans of the first and the second floor were exchanged and that a great number of classrooms were located at the unfavourable north side of the building, regarding the sunlight. And notwithstanding the beautiful photographs, Merkelbach didn’t discuss the form of the school either, that betrayed outspoken preconceived intentions. The elegant play of geometrical volumes, shifted in relation to each other, was not the direct result of
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functional considerations. In fact it still showed Duiker’s fascination for the form experiments by Cornelis van Eesteren and Theo van Doesburg in 1923. And, as said before: In 1926 Mart Stam drew a black cross on that De Stijl design. Similar remarks can be made about the small tower on top of the building. There were no functional reasons for this tower with its elegant steel stair and railings, except that it could function as a basis for a flagstaff. In fact Duiker’s forms referred to the atmosphere of the architecture of ships, a much-used metaphor in modern architecture, because, according to modern architects, especially modern ships were able to give an impression of modernity. In particular the Swiss architect Le Corbusier, who was very much admired by the Dutch functionalist architects, had set th.e example in his buildings and in his theories (Le Corbusier 1923). And in 1934 Duiker wrote that Le Corbusier gradually had developed a theory, based on the living conditions of today, a theory spread over the whole world by hundreds of young architects. And he quoted him with approval: “We must create the present day [...]. First creating. Then constructing”,16 with, according to Duiker, as ultimate purpose to produce architecture, pure like an organism and with new functions, related to the Machine-Age (Duiker 1934: 133-140). Duiker’s school was just like the criticised but beautiful schools of the Amsterdam school a monument, but in his case a monument for the modern men of the Machine Age. Therefore Merkelbach concluded his article with the words: “[...] but it is the clarity of spirit, that with the help of modern means succeeded in realising a building, that for the people of today seems to represent richness”17. Merkelbach didn’t say it explicitly, but implicitly he admitted that the school demonstrated in a perfect way the meaning of one of the statements of the founding manifest of “de 8” from 1927: “de 8 IS RESULTANTE” [de 8 IS THE RESULTANT]. For Duiker tried to find a solution for all demands in the field of function, construction and form, which he treated as equivalent components. Here was no question of the often misused slogan that was attributed to the American architect Louis Sullivan: “Form follows Function” (Rebel 1983: 57 en 114-116). The conclusion again can be no other than that Merkelbach saw the school in the first place as a monument of modernity and also as an illustration to the founding manifest of “de 8” en therefore as an argument in the propaganda battle against the non-rational architecture mentioned in
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the objectives of “de 8”. Again: This article therefore was no example of real architectural criticism. Questioning Rietveld On the 11th of December 1933 a remarkable article was published in de 8 en OPBOUW, written by the Rotterdam architect J.H. van den Broek entitled Vragen aan Rietveld [Rietveld Questioned] (Van den Broek 1933: 221-224) (fig. 4). Because of its extreme critical tone
fig. 4. Gerrit Rietveld, 1933. Design of a country house for H. Buys in Laren. Not realized [Küper 1992: 152].
towards the work of Rietveld, anyway one of most prominent representatives of Functionalism in the Netherlands, it’s an exceptional phenomenon in the magazine. Van den Broek wrote his article as a result of an editorial article, entitled: GOOISCHE SCHOONHEIDSCOMMISSIE MISÈRE [Misery of the Planning Authority in het Gooi] (Editors of de 8 en OPBOUW 1933: 191). In this article a letter to the editor was published by the architectural critic and kindred spirit H. Buys about the problems Gerrit Rietveld met from the side of the
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Planning Board in connection with two small country houses he wanted to build in het Gooi. By the way, Buys himself was the client of one of them. (Buys 1933: 191-195).18 On the basis of a negative advice of the Planning Board, the municipality of Laren refused to give a building permit because the houses were considered as not appropriate in relation to the rustic scenery of het Gooi. In this district the municipality preferred traditional, rural building types and by no means modernist experiments. The editors also published, with approval, the report of a meeting on October the 11th 1933 of the local section of the “BNA”. In this report a member of the “BNA”, F. Hausbrand, expressed his concern about the fact that the members of the Planning Board (mostly also members of the “BNA”) had adopted too critical an attitude towards functionalist architecture and that as a result a conflict of interests threatened between the aesthetical judgement and the objective of the “BNA”, to look after the interests of all architects, including the young ones, who were more and more inclined to leave the “BNA”. Therefore he advocated accepting Rietveld’s houses. Without further comment the editors of de 8 en OPBOUW also published floor plans, cross sections and photographs of the models of both country houses. Obviously this uncritical attitude was unacceptable to Van den Broek, because in his article he asked if it was justifiable to bring up the heavy artillery to defend Rietveld’s designs as part of the battle for the cause of Functionalism: “Because we cannot continue for ever to use the argument, that although the project is not perfect and the actual building has shortcomings, the demonstration of these ideas is of such an extreme importance [...] that realisation has to be considered as of great value [...]”.19 Thereupon Van den Broek advocated a critical attitude as well towards functional architecture, because white walls, flat roofs and horizontal slabs did not automatically produce functional architecture, just as brick walls were not not-functional by definition. To illustrate this he formulated 18 very critical questions about the country houses by Rietveld. And doing so he implicitly, but in vain, gave the green light for a more serious architectural criticism in de 8 en Opbouw also in the case of the architecture of kindred spirits. Examples of his critical attitude towards Rietveld’s houses were the extreme minimal dimensions of the sleeping rooms, which were in addition located on the unfavourable west side of the building, while according to functionalist ideas and for known reasons sleeping rooms
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always should be located on the eastern side. Further he wrote, that the construction of the sliding windows was such that it was impossible to open the window of one room without letting the air in, in the adjacent room. Moreover the bathrooms obstructed - when used - the entrance to the toilet in one house and in the other house not only the entrance to the toilet but also the entrances to both sleeping rooms. To make it even worse Van Broek remarked that the casement doors in the living rooms obstructed the entrance to the kitchens and that the floor plans didn’t match with the models. And again he alerted his readers to the danger of an uncritical attitude towards the products of kindred spirits. Rietveld replied immediately in the same issue (1933: 224) and in a way that was typical for him. He wrote that, when people were so much in love with each other that they wanted to live in the same house, he was inclined to give the house the character of a personal feast and that he didn’t want to pay too much attention to rationally calculated regulations.20 Also the editors of de 8 en OPBOUW replied in the same issue with an article written by Duiker (1933: 226). Duiker trivialised Van den Broek’s objections and emphasised the prejudiced attitude of the Planning Authority towards Functionalism. And he concluded with the words: “Therefore, Dear Van den Broek […] We must all be very diligent indeed and do our best not to let it leak or crack [...], but you can be sure that, even if it would have been possible to use the toilets [...], the judges - because of their education - still would have been limited by the spatial perception of a frog”.21 Buys concluded the discussion (1933: 227-229) by complaining that the Planning Authorities always made their decisions referring to beauty and that - in his opinion - it was impossible to judge beauty. What Buys meant was that the concept of beauty - in contrast with function and construction - could not be judged on the basis of objective criteria. And by stating that, he denied - just like all functionalist architects did - the significance of the Planning Authorities. Therefore he started his article with a revealing quote from Le Corbusier’s Vers une Architecture from 1923: “Les yeux qui ne voient pas” [Eyes that do not see]. Le Corbusier meant that traditionalist architects did not understand that the nucleus of modern architecture was present in the products of the Machine Age, like ships, cars and aeroplanes, because - contrary to houses - they were produced as a result of a rational analysis of the problems that had to be solved and not as a result of
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prejudice with regard to form. This statement of course had nothing to do with the ramshackle houses of Rietveld and thus it became in an unintentional way a self-critical impact.
Conclusion It was evident that, in judging functionalist architecture, a rational, coherent and critical analysis of Form, Function and Construction had no priority during the first years of de 8 en OPBOUW. On the contrary, one was inclined to neglect the own technical shortcomings, that were fiercely but only generally criticised in the case of a discussion about the products of non-rational architecture such as the houses and schools of the expressionist Amsterdam School. And only in general words the authors of de 8 en OPBOUW pointed at the intended qualities of their own buildings in the field of efficiency, hygiene, sunlight et cetera. But always they emphasised in particular the modern character of these buildings, reflecting the modern world. And by doing so they reduced these buildings to their forms, loaded with symbolical values in relation to the modern world. This confirmed Reyner Banham’s characterisation of the designs in the so-called First Machine Age (Banham 1960). The architectural magazine de 8 en OPBOUW was - at least in its first years and in conformity with the objective of “de 8” - seen as an important weapon in the propaganda battle for a rational architecture, that was rooted in the modern world. In that battle there was no need for objective and critical discussions about the technical and functional qualities of modern architecture. At the very best, one praised a modern architect in a general way for having solved all the problems in harmony with each other. Therefore there was no room for serious architectural criticism in de 8 en OPBOUW. Van den Broek was the exception and by Duiker, the chairman of “de 8”, he was called to order by the editors.
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Notes 1
“OPBOUW” was a Rotterdam association of artists and architects, founded in 1920. It also rejected the dominant role of aesthetics in the discussions about architecture. In 1927 its members published five statements about town planning in i 10. They stated that traffic and not beauty should be the starting point for all town planning designs. From 1932 on “OPBOUW” cooperated with the Amsterdam architectural association “de 8" in publishing the avant-garde magazine about architecture de 8 en OPBOUW (1932-1943). In addition thereto, the members of both associations worked together at an international level within the CIAM-congresses [Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture Moderne], founded in 1928.
2
In this article I will use the common international word “Functionalism”. In the Netherlands, however, most architects of that movement used the phrase “Nieuwe Bouwen” (In German “Neues Bauen”), because they considered “Functionalism” or “Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” [New Objectivity (In German Neue Sachlichkeit)] as too much restricted to only one of the many aspects of the design-process: function.
3
I refer as regards quotations of text fragments to a Dutch translation: Peters, T, ‘Vitruvius, Handboek bouwkunde [Handbook Civil Engineering]’, Athenaeum - Polak & Van Gennep, Amsterdam 1998. The translation of the title ignores the complexity of architecture as mentioned above.
4
See also: Th.W., Adorno, “Funktionalismus heute”. In: Ohne Leitbild, Frankfurt am Main 1967 (originally in Neue Rundschau, 1966, heft 4: 585).
5
Reinink also mentions “non written criticism”, “vulgar, humorous criticism”, “blunt criticism” and “criticism as an instrument of popular education”. As a matter of fact also serious criticism can be blunt or educating.
6
In this connection he mentions criticism with fixed rules and further contextual, impressionistic, intentional (which was the objective) and intrinsic criticism (an analysis of the object). In practice, however, many examples of criticism contain a mix of some of these aspects.
7
The text of Der Moderne Zweckbau by Adolf Behne was finished in 1923, but only published in 1926. 8
9
Important are the functions and they will produce form.
One didn’t say so explicitly, but by placing Duiker’s design within the context of monumental, historical palaces one certainly suggested it.
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10 In 1919 forty members of the “BNA” joined the “Maatschappij tot bevordering van de Bouwkunst, vakvereniging van Architecten” [Society for the Advancement of Architecture, trade union of architects]. The last addition was the result of an amendment of the Articles of Association in 1915. From that moment on the name was “Maatschappij tot bevordering der Bouwkunst, Bond van Nederlandse architecten” [Society for the Advancement of Architecture, Federation of Dutch architects]. In 1927 another fusion took place with the society “Architectura et Amicitia” [Architecture and Friendship] that was dominated by architects of the “Amsterdam School”. Its magazine was Architectura and after the fusion the common magazine was called: Bouwkundig Weekblad Architectura [Architectural Weekly Architectura]. 11
Report of the general meeting of the “BNA” on September the 26th 1924, published in the Bouwkundig Weekblad 1924: 395.
12 Report of the general meeting of the “BNA” on the 28th of October 1922. Published in the Bouwkundig Weekblad 1922: 436. Anyway it was decided not to hand over the critical remarks because of the important role Mieras played in the magazine. 13
The first important building in the Netherlands was the combination of the senior secondary technical school and the technical school in Groningen by J.G. Wiebenga and L.C. van der Vlugt from 1922. 14
“De bevordering van den bloei der rationeele architectuur in Nederland’ en het ‘ageeren tegen niet rationeele architectuur en stedebouw.” The reason for the unclear position in the magazine could have been the fact that it was formally integrated in the existing but insolvent magazine Bouw en Techniek [Construction and Technique] and that its editor wanted to keep up the appearance of continuation of this rather innocent magazine in front of the original subscribers. Therefore the official name of the new magazine was (not very attractive): 14-DAAGSCH TIJDSCHRIFT VAN DE VER. ARCHITECTENKERN “DE 8" AMSTERDAM EN “OPBOUW” ROTTERDAM, OPGENOMEN IN “BOUW EN TECHNIEK [BIWEEKLY MAGAZINE OF THE SOCIETY ARCHITECTURAL GROUP “DE 8" AMSTERDAM AND “OPBOUW” ROTTERDAM, INCLUDED IN BOUW EN TECHNIEK]. To illustrate this, the first volume was indicated as third volume. Only in 1934 the mentioning of Bouw en Techniek disappeared. The name of the magazine changed several times after that, but the phrase de 8 en OPBOUW was the permanent factor and is - for practical reasons - consequently used in this article. Only in 1936 “de 8" established its Articles of Association. Documents in this regard are kept in the archives of the NAi [Dutch Architectural Institute] in Rotterdam. 15
“Men kan over de gekozen oplossing van mening verschillen, men kan bouwkundig een ander detail prefereeren, maar steeds zal men onder de bekoring komen van de levendige, vindingrijke geestkracht die uit het werk van zijn hand spreekt”.
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16
“Wij moeten heden scheppen [...] Eerst scheppen. Dan construeren”.
17
“[...] maar het zit in de klaarheid van geest, die met de middelen van dezen tijd een gebouw wist te zetten dat voor menschen van dezen tijd een rijkdom lijkt”. 18
“Schoonheidscommissies” [Planning authorities] were official committees established after the housing act of 1902. Their task was to advise local authorities about the aesthetical qualities of new projects with the purpose to prevent undesired developments. Not only officials were members of these committees but especially a lot of architects. At this moment they still exist under the name “Welstandscommissies” [Committees regarding the external appearance of buildings]. 19
“Want wij zullen niet eeuwig kunnen doorgaan met het gebruik van het argument, dat het project weliswaar geen gaaf geheel is en dat de verwerkelijking tekortkomingen vertoont, maar dat de demonstratie van deze inzichten van zoo intens belang is [...], dat de totstandkoming daarvan van de grootste waarde moet worden geacht [...]” 20
An analysis of the Schröderhuis in Utrecht from 1924 learns that this certainly was the case with this house, that was shaped according to the special wishes of Mrs Schröder who apparently had not much need for privacy. 21
“Dus, waarde Van den Broek [...]. We moeten inderdaad allemaal erg vlijtig zijn en erg ons best doen om het niet te laten lekken of barsten [...], maar wees er van overtuigd, dat òòk als de W.C. nu eens werkelijk te gebruiken was geweest [...], dan nòg zouden de beoordeelaars uit de aard hunner opleiding niet verder zijn gekomen dan de optische ruimtebeleving van de kikker”.
Bibliography Adorno, Th.W. 1967 “Funktionalismus heute”. In: Ohne Leitbild. Frankfurt am Main Bak, P. et al. (ed.) 1982 J. Duiker bouwkundig ingenieur. Rotterdam: Stichting Bouw: 168180. Banham, R. 1960
Behne, A. 1926
Theory and Design in the First Machine Age. London: Architectural Press.
Der moderne Zweckbau, München: Drei Masken Verlag A.G.
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Bock, M., et al. 1983 Van het Nieuwe Bouwen naar een Nieuwe Architectuur, Groep ‘32: Ontwerpen, gebouwen, stedebouwkundige plannen 1925-1945. Den Haag: Staatsuitgeverij. BNA 1922
“Verslag van de ledenvergadering van de BNA op 28 oktober 1922.” In: Bouwkundig Weekblad: 436.
1924
“Verslag van de ledenvergadering van de BNA op 26 september 1924.” In: Bouwkundig Weekblad: 395.
1933
“Aesthetische criteria en geestelijke vrijheid”. In: de 8 en Opbouw, nr. 22: 191-192.
1933
“Laren argumenteert”. In: de 8 en OPBOUW, nr. 25: 227-229.
BNA
Buys, H.
Buys, H.
Broek, J.H. van den 1933 “Vragen aan Rietveld”. In: de 8 en OPBOUW, nr. 25: 221-224. “de 8” 1927
“WAT IS DE 8?”. In: INTERNATIONALE REVUE i 10: 126.
1933
“Wat de redactie ervan denkt”. In: de 8 en OPBOUW, nr. 25: 226.
1934
“L’ARCHITECTURE DÁUJOUR D’HUI, LE CORBUSIER”. In: de 8 en Opbouw, nr. 16: 133-140.
Duiker, J.
Duiker, J.
Editors of ‘de 8 en OPBOUW 1933 “GOOISCHE SCHOONHEIDS-COMMISSIE MISÈRE”. In: de 8 en OPBOUW, nr. 22: 191. Küper, M. and Zijl, I. van 1992 GERRIT Th. RIETVELD 1881-1964, het volledige werk. Utrecht: Centraal Museum. Le Corbusier, 1923
VERS UNE ARCHITECTURE. Paris: Éditions Crès et Cie.
Merkelbach, B. 1931 “Nieuwe woonhuizen te Utrecht”. In: De Groene Amsterdammer, Oktober the 17th.
Ben Rebel
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Merkelbach, B. 1932 “Wonen”. In: de 8 en Opbouw, nr. 1: 1-5. Merkelbach, B. 1932 “Scholen”: In: de 8 Opbouw, nr. 4: 33-39. Merkelbach, B. 1940 “Bij het werk van Rietveld”. In: de 8 en OPBOUW, nr. 15/16: 137. Peters, T. (translation) 1998 Vitruvius, Handboek bouwkunde. Amsterdam: Athenaeum-Polak & Van Gennep. Rebel, B. 1983
het nieuwe bouwen, het functionalisme in nederland 1918-1945. Assen: Van Gorcum.
1998
“Das Manifest und die moderne Architektur in den Niederlanden”. In: Avant Garde Critical Studies 11, Manifeste: Intentionalität. Amsterdam/Atlanta: Rodopi: 259-287.
Rebel, B.
Reinink, A.W. 1975
Rietveld, G. 1933
Amsterdam en de Beurs van Berlage, reacties van tijdgenoten. Den Haag: Staatsuitgeverij .
“Antwoord van Rietveld”. In: de 8 en OPBOUW, nr. 25: 224.
Schmidt, H. and Stam, M. 1926 “KRITIK”. In: ABC, Beiträge zum Bauen Serie 2, nr. 1: 1-2. Staal, A. 1937
“Une maison, un palais?” In: de 8 en OPBOUW, nr. 9: 82-84.
Stolnitz, J. 1960
Aesthetics and philosophy of art criticism. Cambridge Mass.
Wellek, R. 1963
Concepts of criticism. New Haven/London.
Theo van Doesburg and Writings on Film in De Stijl Ansje van Beusekom Theo van Doesburg never became a filmmaker and his involvement with film was of a purely theoretical and critical nature. Between 1921 and 1923 he imported the ideas on film of Viking Eggeling and Hans Richter as a universal language of abstract images in De Stijl in order to develop his own dynamic idea of a New Plasticism. His dynamic idea, that he further developed in architecture, turned out to be fundamentally different from the static New Plasticism of Piet Mondriaan and eventually caused their break up in De Stijl.
Although Theo van Doesburg never became a filmmaker himself, making his involvement with film of a purely theoretical and critical nature, he used film between 1921 and 1923 to develop his own dynamic idea of a New Plasticism that was fundamentally different from the static one of Piet Mondriaan. The raison d’etre of the classical avant-garde, no matter what –ism, was based on overthrowing the existing arts by opposing old concepts with new ones. New art theories replaced existing ones and sometimes even a new art history was developed to replace the traditional one. Being a modern artist thus meant being an art critic who criticizes art, artists and works of art in the broadest sense of the word. This tendency was never stronger than in the 1910s and 1920s when groups of artists organized themselves to change the world, or at least the art world, in countless formations and supporting magazines. De Stijl, founded in 1917 in The Netherlands was one of those magazines, a “little review” as Malcolm Gee termed it in his classification of twentieth–century art criticism (1993:6). Art criticism in those “little reviews” was not evaluative or interpretative but rather a promotion of the vision on art within the group. De Stijl was such an international forum for modern artists from various disciplines who had dedicated themselves to the ideology of De Nieuwe Beelding or NeoPlasticism. The most important axioms of the Stijl expressed in its first Manifest in 1918 were that the new art had to replace the old art
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because it was regarded as representational and reproduced illusions of the natural and the individual. The first lines of the manifesto were: There is an old and a new consciousness of time. The old is connected with the individual. The new is connected with the universal. The struggle of the individual against the universal is revealing itself in the world war as well as in the art of the present day. 1
Instead of representations of an individual reality the new art had to present a universal reality in abstract, geometrical forms and therefore had to destroy all older natural and representational forms. That meant abandoning all visual references to the world as we know it. The New Plasticism, was mainly theorized by Piet Mondriaan who published his ideas on the new art for a world yet to come, in a series of articles “De Nieuwe Beelding in de schilderkunst” [New Plasticism in Painting] in the first year, continuing in “Dialoog over de nieuwe beelding” [Dialogue on New Plasticism] and “Natuurlijke en abstracte realiteit” [Natural and Abstract Reality] in the second and third year in almost every single issue of De Stijl until 1921. Although Mondriaan included all arts in his new system, he considered painting as the most progressed and therefore most suitable art form to theorize on. His articles can be considered as the piece the resistance of De Stijl until 1921. Most articles and manifesto’s published next to the series of Mondriaan were the responsibility of Theo van Doesburg, either as author or as editor. In theoretical articles, he proved himself a dedicated mediator of Mondriaan’s ideas, trying to explain them in larger art historical frame-work, even outside the inner circle of De Stijl.2 In tone De Stijl was quite aggressive: its manifesto’s based on the destruction of all existing art forms, making room for new ones. With these criteria for criticism it shall be clear that not many existing works of arts and artists stood the test of approval. In an alternative art history of De Stijl only abstract works of art produced by converted artists would play a role, all other artists and works of art had to be lucky to be counted in as a fore grounder of the new art. Moreover, in the future, that means in the ideal modern world, the idea of art would be abandoned all together: art would no longer exist as a separate category but would be fully integrated in modern life and would not longer need representations of the visible world. However, in the 1920s the world had not reached this enlightened state of being yet, and the idealists of De Stijl wisely never specified a date for their
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expectations about the future. Artists, ideas on art and works of art thus were still needed to lead the way into a truly modernist utopia.3 The question remains how a new truly modern technique like the film technique was treated within the concept of the Nieuwe Beelding [New Plasticism] and how existing films were classified in De Stijl and why. In the following I wish to analyze the main articles on film of Theo van Doesburg in 1921 and 1923. I will try to put his criticism of films in perspective of his own project of a new art in De Stijl. Therefore, I will emphasize Van Doesburgs change of direction after 1920, meaning a departure from Mondriaan’s theory of art. His detachment had a lot to do with his interest and involvement in the new film experiments and theory as it was shown and explained to him in person by Hans Richter and Viking Eggeling and later on by Laszlo Moholy-Nagy. Before zooming in on Van Doesburg as writer on film in De Stijl, a few words on Theo van Doesburg as film spectator in 1918. We are lucky to have access to a letter of Van Doesburg wherein he not only mentions his experience of watching a movie in a cinema but also reflects on this experience in relation to a time in space continuum. In June 1918 Van Doesburg wrote in a letter to architect J.J.P. Oud about a Keystone-Comedy he had seen the night before in a movie-theater in Leiden. He described the slap-stick containing a burlesque dance of crooks in black suits that ended in a real pandemonium, as follows: In a maximum of motion and light you saw people falling apart in ever diminishing fields, that reconstructed themselves again in bodies at the same moment. A continuous dying and reviving in the same instant. The end of time and space! The destruction of gravity! The secret of 4 dimensional motion. (Van Straaten 1983: 85)
Van Doesburg evidently saw through the figures a projection of fields of light and darkness and perceived it as a permanent movement of construction and destruction. He called this dynamic “le mouvement perpetuel”. About the same time Van Doesburg collaborated with Oud building a villa at the seaside, De Vonk. Van Doesburg designed the colour scheme of the entrance hall, including the windows and the tile floor. He described this tile floor in November 1918 in De Stijl:
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Ansje van Beusekom The floor as the most closed surface of the building needed “... a force working against gravity trough the use of flat colors and a open-space relation. [...] The development and effect of this composition: constructive / destructive, can only be experienced on the spot. (Van Doesburg 1918: 10-12)
Carel Blotkamp argues that this rather cryptic description contains a clue in the last segment. Experiencing on the spot means perceiving the effect of construction and destruction is only possible if one walks (motion) through the room (space) (1982: 134). Thus, instead of sitting still in front of a screen and watch motion in time, the spectator moves through the actual space of the entrance hall and perceives a turning and twisting pattern of the floor. Compared to the description of the slapstick Van Doesburg describes this process quite similar, but the process of perceiving motion in time was reversed to that of the film. Van Doesburgs remarks on the slapstick are a typical example of a process that film historian Yuri Tsivian has defined “cultural reception”: an active, creative interventionist or even aggressive response to what was perceived on screen (1994:1). Moreover, Van Doesburg shows himself as a exemplary artist in the audience as described by Greg Taylor who defines the project of the avant-garde as a way of life instead of a style of art or a historical movement: The avant-garde is, more properly, a mode and tradition of art making steeped in modernist precepts yet seeking a more interventionist role for the modern artist as visionary guru who helps others to see the world through a liberating modernist perspective. The avant-garde’s goals are selfconsciously political to the extent that the democratizing of artistic production is considered a radical act of emancipation from the chains of mass culture, a seizing of everyday spectatorship in the interests of a more aesthetically fulfilling life praxis (1999: 8).
In other words it is not the works but the attitude that counts in being an avant-garde artist who has an avant-garde way of seeing. If there was one Dutch artist who embodied this attitude, it was Theo van Doesburg.4 Totally different from Mondriaan, Van Doesburg was an outgoing and extravert character, who made friends and enemies wherever he went. While Mondriaan returned to his atelier in Paris after World War I had ended, Van Doesburg traveled as much as he could through Europe to be there where the action was. As a Dutch artist from a neutral country he was welcomed in both Germany and
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France and he lived and worked there for shorter or longer periods. He joined the Dada groups and Constructivists and lectured for a short while at the Bauhaus. Until late 1920 he showed no signs of any interest in film beyond that of an active spectator whose observations served his own artistic ideas in other techniques. In 1920 his interest in film grew stronger. Van Doesburgs three weeks visit to the family estate in KleinKölzig of Hans Richter in December 1920 and January 1921 spurred this interest in film more than anything. His experiences as a witness of Richter and Viking Eggeling working on their projects, resulted in his first theoretical text in De Stijl, “Abstracte filmbeelding”, published in May 1921. Moreover, Van Doesburg based his ideas on film largely on those of Richter and Eggeling as formulated in their pamphlet “Universelle Sprache”.5 Also according to Richter’s article “Prinzipielles zur Bewegungskunst”, published in the summer of 1921 in De Stijl and illustrated with fragments of Eggeling’s HorizontalVertikalorchester, they envisioned a new system of communication based on visual perception. Richter described the films of Eggeling as a step forwards in modern painting: after Cézanne and Derain who introduced rhythm in forms on canvas and Picasso who added factor “time”, Eggeling had introduced rhythm in time, that is movement, in the plane. A universal language of movements based on contrasting lines and forms could develop. Speaking of a new language, film needed to rely on a set of unambiguous elements. Furthermore, Richter would add a year later, this language would not come from the visible world around us but from the spiritual world within us: “Es sind Gestaltungen des Geistigen. Die Bewegungskunst geht nicht von der Bewegung, der ausseren mechanischen Welt, sondern von dem Innern einer Erkenntnis aus” (Richter 1922: 92). In 1965 Richter phrased the intentions of the pamphlet once more: This pamphlet elaborated our thesis that abstract form offers the possibility of a language above and beyond all national language frontiers. The basis for such language would lie in the identical form perception in all human beings and would offer the promise of a universal art as it has never existed before. With careful analysis of the elements, one should be able to rebuild men’s vision into a spiritual language in which the simplest as well as the most complicated, emotions as well as thoughts, objects as well as ideas, would find a form (Hoffman 1998:76).
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Projected light was seen as an autonomous medium to create forms in lines and planes, producing “moving pictures” that were not representations of the visible world but presentations of a modern abstract universality. They were offered the opportunity to realize their ideas on film in the UFA trick film studios and soon realized that transforming abstract drawings into visible motion through film, proved to be much more complicated. In order to achieve movement they manufactured rolls of abstract drawings that had to be transferred to film. They were disappointed by the results on film and in the end would consider their painted rolls, or Orchestrations as they called it, as works of art in themselves. A spectator was supposed to read the single moments on the roll, moving his eyes from one spot to another and constructing a theme in his head. Again, the pictures don’t move, but the act of constructing a theme by moving one’s eyes from spot to spot or follow a line suggests motion in time (Hoffman 1998: 76). Richter and Eggeling’s work had the enthusiastic response of Van Doesburg and he published Richter’s “Prinzipielles zur Bewegungskunst” a few months after his own article in De Stijl, followed a year later by Richter’s “Film”. It is not hard to see why Van Doesburg was so enthusiastic: a universal language system of abstract forms, the active spectator who perceives movement in color and light presenting time and space are very similar to his own ideas of movement (time) through a room (space) while constructing and reconstructing the colored planes of the interior walls and floor. In other words: Richter and Eggeling’s first film experiments and painted rolls fitted very well in Van Doesburgs idea of an abstract dynamic he was about to develop in De Stijl and that was different from Mondriaan’s idea of universal harmony as immutable and timeless. In “Abstracte Filmbeelding” Van Doesburg, relied mostly on Richter and Eggeling’s theory. He saw film first of all as a new Gesamtkunst that offered the artist possibilities to work entirely conceptually. Instead of struggling with the materials an artist of the future could write his compositions for film: codes for color and forms would be processed mechanically through the film apparatus and result in a perfect product. This observation cannot be based on Richters and Eggelings experiments in the film studio. Their results on film were among the most handy crafted and labour-intensive ones of the period. Van Doesburg rather described a computer artist than a film-
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maker and the text reveals that he knew very little about actual film techniques. I want to argue that he based his ideas on the painted rolls and conversations with Richter and Eggeling because he refers nowhere to actual film techniques and mentions the use of color often. Especially Richter came to the conclusion that the first experiments with the painted rolls lead to a dead end because the film was still representing something pro-filmic albeit an abstract depiction. Instead, film had to be treated as film and its elementary components as media: the screen became a form in its own right and no longer a canvas or a window. Richter divided the screen by rectangular forms that in their contrasts of black and white were expanding and disappearing. The basic elements for this new film art consisted of movement and light. His new ideas resulted in Film ist Rhythmus, later titled Rhythm 21, a film of one-and-a-half minute, made in the months after Van Doesburg’s visit. Van Doesburg returned to Germany with Nelly van Moorsel in the spring of 1921 and became a gobetween, by taking Richters film Rhythm 21 to Paris and showed it to friends on a lecture tour. Although the reception in Paris of the film was rather cold, despite the fact that Van Doesburg presented Richter as a Dane, other critics wrote encouraging of the experiment as the first true motion picture. Art historian Adolf Behne wrote in the Sozialistische Monatshefte: This film, a logical development of abstract forms of geometric precision, is a true motion picture for the first time, an independent art work not requiring any addition. The law of artistic movement sequences appears in complete clarity and tectonic discipline, which an artistically sensitive person cannot help perceiving (Foster 1998: 257).
Since “Abstracte Filmbeelding” more articles including film entered De Stijl but all fitted in the framework of Van Doesburgs premisses: actual films were rarely discussed because they all belonged to the rejected naturalistic and narrative representations. Expressionistic films like Das Kabinet des Dr. Caligari (Robert Wiene 1919), outside De Stijl regarded as utterly artistic and modern were dismissed along with American and French films. The only exception concerning films in the naturalistic mode of representation was made by Dadaists for Charlie Chaplin, or rather his film personage Charlot or the Tramp. Raoul Hausmann called him a physionist labeling every expression of
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Chaplin physical instead of psychological. Therefore Charlot was a true modernist and Leon Blumberg even honored him with the word Chaplinism. In 1923 Van Doesburg revised his assumptions on film. In “Licht- en tijdbeelding (film)” [Plasticism of light and time (film)] he described three forms of film that could eventually free film from its relation to the subjective. Firstly, there was the abstract-graphic and he described the paper roll method of Eggeling and Richter of 1921 once more. Secondly, there was a montage of naturalistic contrasts with no aesthetic composition in mind that he observed in the films of the American Charles Sheeler. Thirdly, there were deliberately deformations by placing deforming devices in front of the lens in order to distract attention from the filmed subject that he found in the films of Man Ray. Van Doesburg noted that no style in itself was completely satisfying, but that they were complementary. This did not mean that all efforts to solve the “film problem” were meaningless. He reminded how long it had taken to abstract form from the natural to a form element and with film one had to ask oneself what the primary, elementary means of film formation were in the first place. Were these means so far in almost all applications reproductive, a phase all arts had been through, for modern artists one had to know what film’s elementary productive media were. By all means, it was not the plane (screen) and the projection was not 2-dimensional. Light, x-dimensional and chaotic, was the film’s latent medium of expression. He rejected the graphic film and stated that motion and light were the elementary media of film form. Through time and space film could make a new dimension visible, but this could only be possible if a film was constructed from its primary elements. Like architecture, film was unthinkable in two dimensions. Van Doesburg concluded his article with a sharp critique on his brother in art Piet Mondriaan, however, without mentioning his name: “Our modern consciousness does not allow to deny the time element as elementary means of expression on theosophical or other imaginary grounds” (1923: 61). Film had not been the only thing on Van Doesburgs mind during his hectic travels that Sjarel Ex called his “Blitz” (1996:71). Van Doesburgs encounter and collaboration with the young architect Chris van Eesteren in 1922 was an important new impulse. Van Eesteren was able to put Van Doesburgs wild dreams about space and
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time dynamics in workable structures. Together they worked out a new physical sensibility of a dynamic perception of architectural space in colors, a realization of color in three dimensions. “Le mouvement perpétuel” would become its leading principle. They showed their work, drawings and models, in 1923 in Paris (Van Straaten 1996: 21-35). Due to the preparation of the exhibition Van Doesburg spend a long time in Paris where he regularly encountered Mondriaan and even started painting again in 1924. Their personal encounters inevitably brought their different theoretical views on presenting time to light and caused the split-up between them (Blotkamp 1994:190192). Van Doesburg presented movement in space as a crucial action of the perception of the universal as a perpetual movement, a process of construction and destruction in time. Mondriaan sees as the main purpose of the new art a process of abstraction from the natural to the universal. He explains his system and the role of the artist: the artist is bound to present the immutable equilibrium of the universal laws underlying the turbulent natural reality wherein everything is always moving and changing. In other words, presenting movement itself did not belong to duties of the modern artist, because movement did not belong to the realm of the neo-plastic aesthetics or the abstract reality (Blotkamp 1994:164). The balance of contrasts that Mondriaan tried to achieve in his theories and art was immobile, not dynamic. Mondriaan wrote his last article in the same issue of De Stijl that contained mostly articles of Van Doesburg and Van Eesteren on architecture (Mondriaan 1924: 86-88). Architecture surpassed film, but film served Van Doesburgs purpose to embed the factor time in his dynamic ideas on modern art. Theoretically he had found soul mates among the filmmakers Richter and Eggeling who convinced him of the need to go beyond easel painting and see adding time to a work of art as a truly step forward towards a modern art. Practically, Van Doesburg never was involved in making a film and he never would. He lacked the skills, patience, money and drive needed to put his heart into understanding the new film techniques. He wrote about film because it belonged to the realm of modern art and served his own agenda of the dynamic. Indeed as Malcolm Gee stated: Rather than serving an evaluative or even interpretative function, the principal goals of writing in this framework were to reflect and order the self-
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Ansje van Beusekom conceptions of a small group of artists, and through this, to project a public identity both for them and the writers who supported them (Gee 1993: 6).
Van Doesburgs writings on film show that in this context it also can be said that artists within the same group used their criticism to distinct themselves from one another and order a new self-conception. To support this new direction, Van Doesburg brought in other artist writing in his line of thinking. Critical interventions like disturbing a lecture on film as art by Henrik Scholte in The Hague during the early days of the Filmliga in the fall of 1927, show that Van Doesburg kept himself more or less up to date and had not lost interest in film entirely, but he never wrote again about film.
Notes 1
“Manifest I van ‘De Stijl’”, 1918, signed by Theo van Doesburg, Robt. van ’t Hoff, Vilmos Huszar, Anthony Kok, Piet Mondriaan, G. Vantongerloo, Jan Wils. Ín: De Stijl 2, 1 (1918): 2-5.
2
See for instance: Theo van Doesburg, Grondbegrippen der nieuwe beeldende kunst , which first had been published in two volumes in 1919 in the magazine Tijdschrift voor Wijsbegeerte and in 1925 was published in a German translation as “Bauhausbuch”: Grundbegriffe der neuen gestaltenden Kunst.
3
See for the history of De Stijl: Carel Blotkamp et. al., De beginjaren van de Stijl. 1917-1922. (Utrecht: Reflex 1982) and idem, De vervolgjaren van De Stijl, 19221931. (Amsterdam / Antwerpen: Uitgeverij L.J.Veen, 1996).
4
For more information on Van Doesburg as an avant-gardist pur sang: Ansje van Beusekom, “Cinema Militans. Spectators and Authors in the Writings on Film of Theo van Doesburg and Menno ter Braak”. In: Anja Franceschetti and Leonardo Quaresima (eds.), Prima dell’autore/Before the author. Udine: 1997: 233-242.
5
Although the printed pamphlet is lost, a draft still exists and is reprinted as the appendix, Hans Richter, “Demonstration of the ‘Universal Language’”. In: Stephen C. Foster (ed.), Hans Richter: Activism, Modernism, and the Avant-garde. Cambridge: MIT Press: 1998: 184-239.
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Bibliography Beusekom, Ansje van 1997 “Cinema Militans. Spectators and Authors in the Writings on Film of Theo van Doesburg and Menno ter Braak”. In: Prima dell’autore / Before the author. Edited by Anja Franceschetti and Leonardo Quaresima, Udine: Edizioni Forum: 233-242. 2001 Kunst en Amusement. Reacties op film als een nieuw medium in Nederland, 1895-1940. Haarlem: Arcadia. Blotkamp, Carel 1994 Mondriaan. Destructie als kunst. Zwolle: Waanders Uitgevers. Blotkamp, Carel (ed.) 1982 De beginjaren van de Stijl. 1917-1922. Utrecht: Reflex. 1996 De vervolgjaren van De Stijl. 1922-1931. Amsterdam / Antwerpen: Uitgeverij L.J.Veen. Doesburg, Theo van 1918 “Aantekeningen over monumentale kunst. Naar aanleiding van twee bouwfragmenten”. In: De Stijl 2, 1: 10-12. 1921 “Absolute filmbeelding”. In: De Stijl 4/5: 71-75. “Licht en tijdsbeelding (Film)”. In: De Stijl 5/ 6: 58-62. Ex, Sjarel 1996 “De blik naar het oosten: De Stijl in Duitsland en Oost-Europa”. In: De vervolgjaren van De Stijl 1922-1932. Edited by Carel Blotkamp. Amsterdam/Antwerpen: Uitgeverij L.J.Veen: 67-112. Foster, Stephen C. (ed.) 1997 Hans Richter: Activism, Modernism, and the Avant-garde. Cambridge: MIT Press. Hoffman, Justin 1998 “Hans Richter: Constructivist Filmmaker”. In: Hans Richter: Activism, Modernism, and the Avant-garde. Edited by Stephen C. Foster. Cambridge: MIT Press: 72-91 Gee, Malcolm (ed.) 1993 Art criticism since 1900. Manchester / New York: Manchester University Press. Mondriaan, P. 1924 “De huif naar den wind”. In: De Stijl 6, 6/7: 86-88.
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Richter, Hans 1921 “Prinzipielles zur Bewegungskunst”. In: De Stijl 4, 7: 109-112. 1922 “Film”. In: De Stijl 5, 6: 91-92. Straaten, Evert van 1983 Theo van Doesburg 1883-1931. Een documentaire op basis van materiaal uit de schenking Van Moorsel. The Hague, Staatsuitgeverij. 1996 “Theo van Doesburg”. In: De vervolgjaren van De Stijl 1922-1932. Edited by Carel Blotkamp, Amsterdam / Antwerpen: Uitgeverij L.J.Veen: 15-66. Taylor, Greg 1999
Tsivian, Yuri 1994
Artists in the audience. Cults, Camp and American film criticism, Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Early Cinema in Russia and its Cultural Reception. London / New York: Routledge.
The International Theatre Exhibition of 1922 and the Critics Peter G.F. Eversmann This article traces the relationship of the contemporary critics to the International Theatre Exhibition in Amsterdam, 1922. The origins (that lay with a playwright and critic!) and organisational set up of the exhibition are described. The role of Wijdeveld as key figure is emphasized and his ideas on the renewal of theatre are identified as the leading thought behind the exhibition and the events surrounding it. The exhibition then can be seen as a theoretical lecture proclaiming a visionary ideal of a new theatre that is mainly defined in opposition to the realistic and naturalistic tendencies of the nineteenth century bourgeois tradition. As such it provided a platform where professionals could meet and discuss this illusive theatre of the future. Next the reception of the exhibition and the role of its critics are assessed. It emerges that on the whole the press is following the lead of the organisers – reporting rather than criticizing and often quoting more or less verbatim from lectures and writings by the organisers and contributors. It is surmised that this is largely due to the fact that the critics belonged to the same cultural elitist group of artists and organisers that were responsible for the exhibition: together they created the self fulfilling image of an avant-garde reaching out for a new theatre.1
On January 21, 1922, a week later than expected, the International Theatre Exhibition at the Stedelijk Museum (Municipal Museum) in Amsterdam opened its doors to the public. Although somewhat similar exhibitions had been organized in Germany (Berlin 1910, Mannheim 1913) and in Switzerland (Zürich 1914) these had been much smaller in size and scope, so the Amsterdam exhibition can be said to be the first major showing of set, costume and theatre designs of the international, avant-garde movement in the theatre. After Amsterdam the show travelled to England (London, Manchester and Bradford) and to the United States (New York). It had a huge impact on staging practices in the Netherlands and abroad and inspired English, American and German publications as well as a national follow up exhibition in The Hague, 1923. The catalogue lists over ninety-five designers and architects from twelve countries and reads like a compendium of the now famous renewers of scenography and/or architecture in the first decades of the twentieth century with names like Adolphe Appia, Léon Bakst, Hendrick Berlage, Lovat Fraser, Firmin Gémier, Nathalie
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Gontcharova, Edward Gordon Craig, Robert Edmond Jones, Louis Jouvet, Oskar Kauffmann, Frits Lensvelt, Emil Orlik, Emil Pirchan, Hans Poelzig, Alfred Roller, Lee Simonson, Ernst Stern, Oskar Strnad, Bruno Taut, Henri van de Velde, H. Th. Wijdeveld and others – not to mention the great names in theatre (directors, theoreticians) that were indirectly presented through these artists (such as Cheney, Copeau, Diaghilev, Jessner, Reinhardt, Royaards, Verkade and others) and who in many cases came to visit the exhibition themselves. Besides the designs and models within the exhibition there was an additional study collection with books on modern stage design from all over the world where one could read “the theories which form a basis for modern drama, and which shape it”.2 Finally there was a series of lectures by Gordon Craig, Jacques Copeau, Oskar Strnad, Frits Lensvelt and H. Th. Wijdeveld where the ideas behind the designs were explained and discussed.
fig. 1. Exhibition Room for England. From Wendingen
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When one wants to assess the complex relationship between the exhibition and contemporary art criticism it is important to look at the genesis of the project, the ideas it represented as well as the self image it propagated and the reception it received.
Organizing the Exhibition The initiative for the exhibition was taken by the playwright and critic Frans Mijnssen3 who presented a plan for a modest exhibition to the society Kunst aan het Volk (Art to the People). Mijnssen’s idea was “to bring together those who were struggling for the renewal of the theatre, they who could gather round a fresh ideal”.4 As a theatre critic Mijnssen had been aware of the anti-realistic developments in the theatre abroad and had discussed these with the leading directors of the Dutch stage – Roelvinck, Royaards, Verkade – who all wanted a renewal of the old fashioned theatre that they considered to be superficial, not sincere, slavishly copying life and populistic. Mijnssen’s idea was to mount a small, educational exhibit so that “the Dutch audience could get an idea of what was done and can be done with stage building, set and costume design”5 in order that the spectators would be more prone to the contemporary experiments in scenography. So, in a sense the exhibition itself originated in a critical attitude that wanted to elevate the masses and took a stand against theatre geared not towards deeper aesthetic pleasure but rather towards entertainment – a theatre that another critic characterized as “sick concoctions of eighth-rate authors” and likened to the “overstimulating sensations of film-scenarios that appeal to the lower instincts”.6 Frits Lensvelt –illustrator, painter, set designer and one of the more prominent members of Kunst aan het Volk– heard of the plan and proposed to change it considerably.7 For Lensvelt it was the theatre building itself and not so much the designs for individual productions that should be the central concern of the exhibition. He wanted to show pictures, ground plans and scale models of modern theatres such as had been realized already in Germany, in order to contribute to the ongoing discussion about plans for new theatres in the Netherlands. In addition the exhibition should then give an impression of what would be possible in such a new theatre with regard to sets,
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lighting, costume and mise-en-scene by showing some work of the most important artists from home and abroad. Although this plan was considerably more expensive then Mijnssen’s, meaning also that it would be the only activity of Kunst aan het Volk during 1922, it was nevertheless accepted. The society set up a sponsorship drive, invited a committee of recommendation and appointed an organizing committee under the direction of its chair at the time - professor Bonger. The daily supervision of the exhibition then came into the hands of both Lensvelt and, most importantly, the secretary of the organizing committee: architect and set designer Hendricus Theodoor Wijdeveld.8 As stated in a newsletter from Kunst aan het Volk in January 1922: The management, the direction of the Exhibition rests in the best hands because for this task the Board has been fortunate enough to acquire the services of the painter Frits Lensvelt [...] and the architect H. Th. Wijdeveld [...] both gentlemen having also especially studied the theatre building itself. During the last months they have devoted themselves tirelessly - their talents and their time - to the realisation of the plan. In addition Mr. Wijdeveld accepted the secretaryship of the organising committee for the Exhibition.9
In the time that followed the content of the exhibition would shift back somewhat to the first plan so that in the end the scenographic designs took precedence over theatre architecture, but the latter was certainly not forgotten and the scope of the event was much bigger and internationally oriented than Mijnssen had originally envisioned. It can be said that this was largely due to the work of one man – the already mentioned Wijdeveld who quickly became the key figure in the organisation and more or less monopolized the endeavour as his own. To understand the exhibition and the reactions to it, it is therefore necessary to focus on his role in the organisation and on his ideas about the new theatre movement.
Wijdeveld’s Place in the Organisation Most likely Wijdeveld had been asked to fill the post of secretary because of his many connections at home and abroad. As an architect he had been trained by Cuypers and had worked in London and Paris. He also had a keen interest in the theatre and had produced several set
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designs for Eduard Verkade. The position of secretary put Wijdeveld very much in control with regard to the final content of the Exhibition. Through it he became the central figure for the artists whose work was shown, especially for the participants from foreign countries. He was already known to them as one of the prominent figures in the internationally esteemed group of architects called the “Amsterdamse School”, and as the editor of Wendingen (Turnings), an influential monthly periodical about art and architecture that has become famous for its innovations in typography and lay-out.10 It was this periodical that had already devoted issues to dance, masks, and modern theatre (Sept-Oct 1919, with illustrations of set designs by, among others, Hume, Rosse, Roller, Lensvelt, and Wijdeveld himself), constructing the foundation for many aspects of the Exhibition and establishing Wijdeveld's name in foreign cultural circles. It is therefore not such a surprise that the cooperation for this new project was great and that, generally speaking, one reacted with enthusiasm to the invitation to contribute to the Exhibition. For example Craig’s son wrote: Towards the end of 1921 a letter came from H.T. Wijdeveld, the celebrated Dutch architect and stage designer, inviting Craig to exhibit at the International Theatre Exhibition that the “Kunst an [sic] het Volk” were organizing on a really large scale at the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam; it was to be opened in the first month of 1922 and would present the first opportunity since the outbreak of the war for artists of the theatre to get together. Craig entered into the scheme whole-heartedly and nothing else was thought of at the Villa Raggio until models had been made and crated, mounts cut, pictures mounted and lists made.11
And how much credit and influence Wijdeveld had in international theatre circles can also be glimpsed from a letter that Appia sent the architect after he had visited him to discuss the transfer of the Amsterdam Exhibition to London. The letter is dated April 23, 1922: After your visit Mr. Lensvelt sent me a very cordial letter, and I'm pleased that our worries about the Exhibition in London all have been taken care of. Your generous gesture toward me marks a new phase in my life. Indeed, as you would have remarked, I did not understand the importance of my work, and, above all I could not understand it. It was necessary for you to come and tell me yourself! You have performed an absolutely necessary task: you have made me feel my responsibility, and you have clearly showed me that if I wanted to attract others to the advanced place where I find myself today, it would be essential to make them travel the
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Peter G. F. Eversmann same road that I myself have followed. This is evident, and I won't forget it. Rest assured of that.12
But Wijdeveld’s role in the realisation of the Exhibition entailed much more than his international contacts. Besides being responsible with Lensvelt for the selection of artists and having the very central position as secretary of the organising committee - running the office from his home - Wijdeveld also designed the Exhibition.13 He alone gets the credits for the interior decoration of the rooms in the Stedelijk Museum, creating the environment in which the designs, models, and masks were put on display. That work received much praise from many critics. To give one example: There was a lot to see at this Exhibition. But above all there was the design by Wijdeveld, about which Holst so justly wrote that it was a work of art in itself [...] In every respect Wijdeveld has succeeded in masking and enclosing the ugly rooms of the Stedelijk Museum so that an elegant whole has resulted.14
And not only the interior but also most other visual elements of the Exhibition - invitations, catalogues, posters - were designed by him. On top of all this there is a third aspect that should be considered when looking at Wijdeveld and the Exhibition. I refer here to the fact that he not only organised and designed the show but also had a big hand in the way it was received and documented. As will be seen some critics when evaluating the Exhibition relied heavily on his ideas. Also, one of the key documents that gives us an idea as to what the whole looked like is a special issue of Wendingen - completely devoted to the Exhibition and edited by Wijdeveld.15 He seems to have had an extraordinary talent for propaganda, seeing to it that his views (and his name!) would stand out when people remembered the Exhibition. Typical in this respect was the fact that in the series of lectures held during the Exhibition Wijdeveld had the last word, the night before closing day. This presentation gave him the opportunity to vent his ideas on theatre once more, but it also put the spotlight on him as the most important organiser of the Exhibition. Notice how, in the account of the evening by the newspaper Het nieuws van den dag Lensvelt (who had his lecture earlier on) was more or less demoted to a co-worker:
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The president of the commission “Kunst aan het Volk” thanked Mr. Wijdeveld, who after having shown his ideas for the arrangement of the Exhibition had now also expressed them in words. He thanked also his coworker Lensvelt and the playwright Frans Mijnssen, with whom the plan originated.16
All this evidence suggests that Wijdeveld should be considered as the key figure of the Exhibition: mounting and designing it, documenting it, and propagating the ideas behind it. What were these ideas? What did he think of theatre in general, on set design and on theatre building? How did he see exhibitions? With some answers to these questions we can begin to perceive just how these ideas were expressed in the actual appearance of the Exhibition. And then we can assess some of the effects it had on critics and visitors. Was Wijdeveld understood, and did his ideas come across?
Wijdeveld’s Ideas What emerges most strongly when reading Wijdeveld’s statements and articles is his conviction that a new age was dawning. The title Wendingen already alludes to his belief that humanity stood at a turning point. The old norms and values were no longer adequate to meet the needs of modern society and would be replaced irrevocably by something new - something better in which the human race would fulfill its destiny. This looking ahead to a coming Utopia is clearly related to socialist ideals.17 The betterment of society and the human environment was a necessary condition for such a Utopia, but where fellow architects such as De Bazel, Lauweriks, and Berlage proposed practical solutions that could actually be built, the designs of Wijdeveld were often more visionary in nature, not so much concentrating on practical improvement as fantasizing about the future. What exactly this new, ideal society looked like was however not clear. One lived in a state of transition, as Wijdeveld himself wrote, “in anticipation of a something which had no name yet” and at best could only be glimpsed.18 A newspaper account of his lecture at the Exhibition reported the following:
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Peter G. F. Eversmann Then Wijdeveld began to talk about the present and its social and spiritual needs: how even though we cannot accomplish something, we still have to keep a few sparks burning. How we really do not know at all what will come, but how truly great artists - the visionary dreamers - do at times make voyages of discovery to that unknown land of the future, a land where the new drama will also be born.19
This idea of the arts leading the way is a central theme in Wijdeveld’s philosophy. In 1919 he wrote, for example: Thus too flows the flourishing new dance into the great sea of modern art, where the waters continually rise and rise, until they will overflow their banks and inundate all people in a purifying bath of spiritual pleasure. Thus the dance will once again take its place among the arts, together heralding a new era, and with the word, and with music, and with architecture and all plastic arts, it will contribute to the great people's stage, the theatre, where celebrations of joy, where ceremonies of sadness, where the consecration of humanity in an offering to art will take place, and where finally, instead of the fading glow of the churches, will flourish once again a sublime ritual.20
From this quote it also becomes apparent that he placed the theatre, a synthesis of all other art forms, highest in the hierarchy of arts. And indeed he reinforced this idea time and time again. The theatre is the place where all the other arts - and the people! - come together and therefore “the most beautiful task of the modern architect [is] the construction of the theatre”.21 In his lecture he emphasized again the idea of synthesis: In the drama of the future the word will not be dominant, but word, gesture, rhythm, dance - all equal, all together forming one great unity.22
However, if theatre is a fusion of the other arts, it is no surprise that the theatre lags somewhat behind on the road to the ideal. Wijdeveld wrote: [...] and although many arts have opened new paths with rapid strides, the theatre still stands quite consciously in the realm of realism. It still imitates the time of the past with more power than that it endeavours to prophesy the future.23 But a new beginning, however vague, can also be discerned:
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Even if the struggle is still alarmingly far from victory, the first shouts of joy have already been heard in this field [of the theatre] and the stylised theatre already sees [...] a distant dawn of new possibilities.24
For Wijdeveld there were three kinds of theatre. First, the official, commercial theatre, realistic or naturalistic in nature and essentially of the past. This theatre was deplorable according to Wijdeveld. It “popularised ugliness,” had “forgotten the laws of art”25 and took place in a theatre building that was outdated - a “mockery of the Theatre born from the Will of the People”.26 Then there were the few attempts to break away from this realism, the few ‘sparks’ that although compromised by working in existing theatres - tried to generate a living space within a dead, formless space.27 These stylised set designs were not satisfying solutions within the given theatre buildings, but at least they showed some “truly new longing, new power, and new hope”.28 However, “the greatest task of modern theatre today still lies outside of the official theatre [...] the true leader of the modern theatre will not get mixed up with these official buildings”.29 Here Wijdeveld speaks of the third kind of theatre: the visionary theatre of the future for which he designed his Great Peoples Theatre, the theatre where the audience becomes part of the atmosphere and “where the popular festivities of our cities will be celebrated, where the New Theatre, stronger than the power of the Churches, will fulfill its cultural mission”.30 Indeed, for Wijdeveld this theatre rather literally takes the place of the church. He sometimes called it a “Temple” or “Cathedral”, where the actors become priests. Here, by the way, we see another important characteristic of Wijdeveld's writings: his use of religious idiom. When stating his beliefs in the coming society, he falls back upon terminology used in another belief system: Roman Catholicism. And thus theatre for him becomes religion: “Is the Drama not part of humanity in its attempt to solve the one great riddle, is it not part of their understanding, of their longing, of their doubt, of their [...] Religion?”.31 This third type of theatre was the most important one for Wijdeveld, but at the same time the most elusive. It remained a visionary's dream of harmony and beauty that existed only in Wijdeveld's mind. That dream can be glimpsed in his sketches and models, but it never took solid form in reality.
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Not much is known about Wijdeveld’s ideas for creating an exhibition. Certainly he had had a good deal of experience as a professional architect in showing his sketches, plans, and models. In a short essay that dates from 1927 he emphasized the temporary and festive character of an artistic exhibition.32 He stressed “festive” because these kinds of exhibitions do not use stable materials such as concrete, glass, and bronze but rather linen, cardboard, and paint. In addition this “world of camouflage” provides an opportunity to rise above the material world. Here for a moment one can give form to an ideal, one can sparkle without being hampered by the “real world of brick and iron”. In this vein he compared working on an exhibition to his other visionary projects: So too our ideal projects come into being; those castles in the air that grow spontaneously within us, that are born in a spiritual and celebrative mood.33
Is he refering here also to the Great Peoples Theatre? Since the environment of an artistic exhibition - “surroundings, mood and impressive background at the same time” - should match the content of that exposition, we can only conclude that Wijdeveld wished to make the exhibition of 1922 a particularly appropriate vehicle for the visionary designs that hung there. Where could these glimpses of the future be better showed than in another vision - in his own fantasy environment of cardboard and linen in the Stedelijk Museum?
Wijdeveld’s Exhibition What where the consequences for the exhibition of Wijdeveld’s above-mentioned ideas? The answer is probably rather straightforward and simple: the whole of the exhibition could be read as a theoretical lecture. It is apparent from the pictures and the plan of the exhibition published in Wendingen34 that the most prominent places were given to the visionary designs (for example: Craig and Appia in the first room; Wijdeveld’s own model of the Great Peoples Theatre in the middle of the Dutch room). Most of the other designs in the exhibition were made for the real, “commercial” theatre. They are of stunning variety but all have one thing in common: they are definitely not real-
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istic or naturalistic in nature. And indeed this seems to have been the leading thought of the exhibition. One did not show old-fashioned work in the vein of the realistic, nineteenth-century bourgeois stagings. Also, the exhibition really was not about “good” or “bad”; it rather was about being different and having a vision. Hence the big differences in quality among the designs that some critics remark upon. The most tangible and “material” works of art at the exhibition were the models of various sets. They gave concrete form to the theatrical dreams of their designers and were, therefore, almost by definition compromises meant for the “dead space” of existing theatres. The last room of the exhibition was reserved for them, as if these three-dimensional, paper-and-wood realisations could only be interpreted in the right way after one had dealt with the spiritual visions in the preceding rooms. But what about all the masks so lavishly distributed throughout the rooms? What role did they play in the concept of the exhibition? Again Wijdeveld himself gave the answer, an answer that, in the light of his aforementioned theories, does not surprise us anymore and perfectly explains their prominence in the exhibition. A local newspaper reported: [Wijdeveld] saw in them a turning away from realism - i.e. the expression of the particular, the facial mimic - and a pointing towards a synthesis. The mask does not express the sadness of this or that woman, but The Sadness, not the joy of one human being but The Joy.35
In a sense, therefore, these masks were just as symbolic and faced just as firmly toward a possible future as did their counterparts, the visionary set designs.36
The Reception of the Exhibition Was the theoretical lecture of the exhibition understood? Did the visitors grasp the meaning of the international theatre exhibition as a visualisation of Wijdeveld’s ideas? In answering this question one should first of all realise that the exhibition and the discussions surrounding it were really the endeavour of a relative small, elitist group of intellectuals and artists. The aim of Kunst aan het Volk that the exhibition should educate the masses was never realized, mainly
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because the masses didn’t come. Despite quite extensive exposure of the opening of the exhibition in the daily newspapers it is reported that on January 28 there were about fifteen visitors and the day before only ten.37 But if the general public was not ready for the experiments on display, this was clearly different for the theatre professionals who were heartened by the exhibition and found in it an occasion to meet and discuss the theatre of the future. Copeau worded this as follows: It was a moving experience to see the same artists respond to the first invitation they get for reinstating their professional ties after a horrible and long seperation caused by the war. To see the results of the work that lies behind them and to discuss the enormous expectations that we can have for the future.38
And Horace Shipp expresses the same feeling when he writes: […] one feels as an engineer who, tunneling the mountains, meets these working from the other direction. Holland, France, Germany, Austria, America, Russia, everywhere the same problems to overcome, the same labour in overcoming them; decorators, expressionists, symbolists – every method to achieve the end we all have in view; primitive art, old art, modern art, future art, all times bringing their contributions; architect, costumier, scene-designer, mask maker, theorist, every worker offering his service; and from it all comes a clearer conception of the art of the theatre.39
However, not all the reactions were positive. Some critics lamented the big differences in artistic quality of the various contributions and the amateurism of some of the models, while others remarked that there also should have been more traditional work so that one would have been able to compare. A more fundamental criticism targeted the whole idea behind the exhibition itself – stating that the living actor was conspicuously absent from the displays and attacking the emphasis that the modern movement put on the visual, scenographic elements of performance. The German playwright Wilhelm von Scholz wrote for example that the theatre is essentially an art of words and gestures and that sets are just distractions: “It is erroneous to conceive of the theatre as a union of all the arts [...] the theatre is the place of the word in its form as sound and human expression”.40 Even more pronounced were the critical writings of A.M. de Jong who started a polemic with Mijnssen in the socialist newspaper Het Volk. Although he applauds the idealism and refined taste of some of the
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contributors, he also points to the danger that the actor will be overpowered by the costly designs: The exhibition is a vey educational example of the tyranny of the servants who sent their masters to the attic and now show the audience how comfortably they settle down in the drawing room. It is a kind of revolution, but not one that will bring a new theatre.41
De Jong presents the renewal movement and the exhibition also as essentially elitist and bourgeois intellectual individualism, absolutely unfit for the workers and not worthy of a society that according to its name wants to bring art to the people. One should not force renewal from the top, but true renewal of the art can only come about through reform of the society. That De Jong stood not alone in his criticism can be glimpsed from a cartoon in De Amsterdammer were the socialist idiom of the contrast between the rich capitalist and the exploited poor is metaphorically applied to a visitor of the theatre exhibition (in bowler hat and fur coat) ignoring the begging gesture of The Art of Acting – personified by a poor woman in rags.42 (fig. 1). Still, the overwhelming majority of the press reactions were on the whole favourable to the exhibition – with sometimes a critical note towards the occasional individual artist. During the time of the exhibition the papers not only ran elaborate accounts of the opening and the lectures but they also reported on the reactions of the foreign correspondents who came to visit and gave extensive descriptions of what was on show. From these it becomes clear that the theoretical lecture of the exhibition was indeed understood and its premises largely supported. The review Keuls wrote for Het Handelsblad is a good example: First of all this is a theoretical exhibition [...] it reveals a general reaction against the bourgeois and naturalistic theatre, a reaction that has come to the fore especially in the last twenty or thirty years [...] Thus, excepting the room of honour for Gordon Craig and Appia, the exhibition makes a multifaceted chaotic impression. One finds strange expressions of personal talent next to trivial contributions with no content, and cheap romanticism next to curious modernisms.
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fig. 2. Histoire sans paroles (drawing for De Amsterdammer by Jordaan; January 28, 1922)
He then went on to discuss rather comprehensively the particular works of Craig and Appia and their ideas. After this he continued: One cannot write extensively about the other rooms. The reader is not served by an endless enumeration. The principal meaning of this exhibition lies in the importance of the subject as a whole, not in the specific value of the various and colorful experiments on display.43
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Nevertheless Keuls finished by mentioning each of the rooms and by picking out the individual works that he deems worth mentioning - in either a positive or negative way. It is further telling that most of the other critics followed a similar general structure. First they delivered rather philosophical discussions of the theatre - its nature, its history, and its place in present society concluding with some thoughts about the possibilities for the future. Only after such preliminary and often rather lengthy discourses they then came to their subject proper: the theatre exhibition and what could actually be seen there. In their philosophical introductions it is often only too clear that the critics were influenced heavily by Wijdeveld. This holds true especially for those who wrote with hindsight, after the exhibition had closed; time and again one reads echoes from Wendingen. In addition, when comparing the accounts of Wijdeveld's lecture with the retrospectives on the exhibition, one cannot fail to notice the obvious parallels - in the overall structure as well as in word choice and phraseology. For example, Wijdeveld began his lecture by sketching the development of the theatre from “early humankind, the later Egyptians, Assyrians, the early Greeks [...]” thereby adumbrating a view of drama as “the expression of human attitudes towards nature and the divine”. Compare this thought with that of Werumeus Buning, who at the beginning of an extensive retrospective article explicitly mentions the Egyptians and, still on the first page, writes: “but without this understanding of the relation between gods and human beings dramatic art is not possible.”44 Maybe not very surprising for someone who himself had contributed to the exhibition by comprising the book collection, but in the critical writings around the exhibition there are many more of such “coincidences”. In view of all these responses we can therefore conclude that the exhibition, certainly in combination with the lectures, succeeded to a large extent in communicating its theoretical content. And here it is important to notice once again that the aftermath of the exhibition was orchestrated to a large extent by Wijdeveld and a close circle around him. The special issue of Wendingen devoted to the exhibition was already mentioned, but telling in this respect is also the collection of reactions to the exhibition that made up a whole bulletin of Architectura (dated 28 January 1922). Although a notice from the
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editorial board states explicitly that “this issue did not appear on the initiative of the editor H. Th. Wijdeveld” it is hard to believe that he had nothing to do with it - especially since each of the contributors were directly involved in the exhibition or in its subsequent touring abroad.
Conclusion The international theatre exhibition was a complex endeavour that functioned as a meeting ground for scenographers and critics who found themselves united in their aversion of realism and the old fashioned nineteenth century bourgeois theatre. However, what the New Theatre must look like remained vague: a range of tastes was represented and differences of opinion abounded. Yet, organisers, artists and (most) critics alike proclaimed the exhibition as the expression of a new theatre movement and in doing so created the image of an avant-garde charting the unknown territory of an unescapable future. It is that self-image, brought with so much zeal and conviction, that can be held responsible for the huge impact of the event, both at home and abroad. Probably Wijdeveld himself realised more than anyone the multifaceted nature of the undertaking when taken in its entirety, knowing full well that the exhibition did not show one style, leading to one type of theatrical future. When one reads what he said at the end of his exhibition lecture, one suspects all the more that Wijdeveld did have some sense of relativity. As an illustration to his lecture he let three youngsters put on a few of the masks from the exhibition. They only wore them for a moment and “made some sober gestures and movements”. Right before this demonstration Wijdeveld remarked: [...] one should not prize mask-plays too highly in our time. It very well may be that the future will demand something totally different. But today we can show what possibilities lie in store here.45
In the years after the exhibition many styles and many attitudes toward theatre did develop along a variety of lines, some of them quite
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fig. 3. Kunst en kritiek bij de opening van de theater-tentoonstelling (Art and Critique at the opening of the theatre-exhibition; drawings for De Amsterdammer by B. van Vlijmen; January 23?, 1922). In the middle Edward Gordon Craig (with as caption the rhetorical question from his opening speech – “Do you want it?”- referring to the new theatre). Around him clockwise from top left: ‘Barbarossa’(pseudonym of the well known theatre critic J.C. Schröder), Cornelis Veth, Jacqueline Royaards, Dr. J.F.M. Sterck, Top Naeff, H. Wijdeveld, Nel Lensvelt-Bronger, Frits Lensvelt, Jan de Meyer, Frans Mynsen, Ed Verkade and unknown
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unpredictable for the exhibition makers. The New Theatre that Wijdeveld and the other organisers of the exhibition dreamt of never came about, but that doesn’t diminish the fact that the renewers at the exhibition prepared the ground for a theatre were visual and spatial elements were treated completely different than before. In that sense the exhibition sure showed many a possibility. As to the critics and their assessment of the exhibition it should be remarked that they were really not very critical at all. They generally followed suit to the main theoretical ideas that were propagated by the organisers – sometimes even to the point of more or less copying verbatim what they said and wrote. So, it is fair to say that the “critics” were largely only reporting the exhibition instead of critically engaging with it – and this holds true not only for the time the exhibition was on but also for the retrospective writings. The only exception to this comes from a very small minority of authors that point to the danger of the scenographic elements overpowering what to them is the essence of the art of the theatre – i.e. the living actor and the declamation of words. For the rest criticsm that was vented was directed towards individual contributions and predominantly worded in terms of “good versus bad” or “like versus dislike” without much further motivation. This state of affairs is not surprising. After all the very idea of the exhibition originated within the circle of theatre critics that rejected the old fashioned bourgeois productions and embraced the idea of renewal. As such these authors can be said to belong to the elitist avant-garde that they wrote about – an idea that is reinforced by a cartoon of people present at the opening of the exhibition were visitors, critics, artists and organisers are depicted side by side (figure 3). And it is of course this ‘inbred’ quality that accounts for both the relative lack of interest with the general public and the high praise that the exhibition was awarded by theatre professionals.
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Notes 1
Parts of this article were published in Eversmann, P. “H. Th. Wijdeveld and the International Exhibition of 1922” In: Ogden, 1992: 27-40.
2
Architectura 5 (28 January 1922). Cf. also Catalogus der boekerij, 1922. The book collection was comprised by J.W.F. Werumeus Buning, poet and critic, assisted by the actor Paul Huf. Subjects of the collection were dance, mime, plastic arts, scenery, machinery, architecture, costume, Shakespeare-on-stage and the-theatre-of-the-future. 3
Frans Mijnssen, 1872-1954, writer, playwright and critic. Translated the plays of A. Schnitzler.
4
Van Tussenbroek, 1922: 385.
5
Kunst aan het Volk 39 [Newsletter] (January 1922), 2.
6
Van Tussenbroek, 1922: 386.
7
Frits Lensvelt (1886-1945), painter, set designer and illustrator. He and his wife – Nel Lensvelt-Brongers (1879-1935) – were at the time the set and costume designers of Royaards.
8
Born 1886. Pupil of the well-known Dutch architect Cuypers. Died in 1987. He is commonly refered to as “H. Th. Wijdeveld.” This use of initials (instead of either his first name - that never appears in the documentation of the Exhibition - or the prefix “Dhr.” or “Mr.” that only rarely occurs) was obviously sanctioned (or propagated?) by Wijdeveld himself and was already standard practice in 1922. For example, the paper Het nieuws van den dag wrote on 26 February 1922: “[...] the architect H. Th. Wijdeveld, who organised the Exhibition together with Frits Lensvelt”. This use of Wijdeveld's initials in conjunction with other people who are referred to in full is by no means an exception. Moreover, it is also done in this way by Wijdeveld himself. He wrote in Jaarboek Vank, 1922: “these lectures by Gordon Craig, Jacques Copeau, Oskar Strnad, Frits Lensvelt and H. Th. Wijdeveld” (p. 56). The reason for this is not clear but perhaps we catch a glimpse here of the architect's familiar vanity. Is it not possible that he preferred “H. Th. Wijdeveld” because the use of the double initials lent some extra distinction to the name, almost an official title of some sort?
9
Kunst aan het Volk 39 [Newsletter] (January 1922), 2. Translation by the author in cooperation with Prof. D.H. Ogden.
10 Wendingen, maandblad voor bouwen en sieren. This was a publication by a society called “Architectura et Amicitia.” The literal translation of the title reads “Turnings, monthly periodical for building and decorating.” The first issue is dated January 1918. Each issue was centered around a theme but this theme was not necessarily an architectural one. There were for example issues on such widely differing subjects as dance and masks. Contributions to the issues were often in a foreign language
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(German, French, English), and this no doubt accounts also for the international response the periodical had. Although Wendingen was meant to appear monthly, it did not, and quite a number of double issues appeared. Cf. note 15. 11
Edward A. Craig, Gordon Craig, The Story of His Life, (London, 1968), 314-315.
12
The letter is in French and is kept in the “Documentatiecentrum voor de Bouwkunst” (Archive for Architectural Documents). It was kindly brought to my attention by Ben Albach. The quotation reads: “Monsieur Lensvelt m'a adressé une fort aimable lettre en suite de votre visite, et je suis heureux de la bonne issue de nos soucis au sujet de l'exposition de Londres. Votre démarche généreuse auprès de moi marque dans ma vie une étape définitive. En effet, comme vous l'aurez remarqué je ne comprenais pas l'importance de mon travail, et, surtout, je ne pouvais pas le comprendre. Il a fallu que vous veniez me le dire vous-même! Vous avez accompli là une acte absolument nécessaire; vous m'avez fait sentir ma responsabilité, et vous m'avez clairement démontré que si je voulais attirer les autres à la place avancée où je me trouve actuellement, il était indispensable de les faire passer par le même chemin que j'ai suivi moi-même. Cela est évident, et je ne l'oublierai pas. Soyez en assuré” . 13
Part of Wijdeveld's role becomes apparent from the second circular letter, where the Exhibition was announced and an invitation issued to contribute books to the “special section for literature on modern theatre.” This brochure, which dates from before December 15, 1921 (it mentions this date as the deadline for the reception of the books), stated that information was to be obtained from “the Secretariat H. Th. Wijdeveld, Vossiusstraat 50, Amsterdam” - his home address at the time. 14
Van Tussenbroek, 1922: 386.
15
Reference here is to issue 9-10, volume 4. This issue is dated September-October 1921 but actually was put together and printed much later. It was distributed to the subscribers in late August or early September 1922. From the minutes of “Architectura et Amicitia” (access thanks to Drs. J. Schildt), the reasons for this become clear: a conflict between the publishing company and Wijdeveld, each reproaching the other for being late and not living up to their promises. 16
Het nieuws van den dag (26 febuari 1922).
17
It is for example no coincidence that in the issue of Wendingen on theatre (September - October 1919) Wijdeveld published the designs for his “Great Peoples Theatre” next to an article by Henriëtte Roland Holst-van der Schalk entitled “Communism and Theatre”. 18 This quote is from a letter by Wijdeveld to Craig on the occasion of his 94th birthday in 1966. The letter is kept in the “Documentatiecentrum voor de Bouwkunst” (Archive for Architectural Documents) where it is to be found under the heading: “Uit de memoires van architect ٌ - Toneel, dans, muziek.” At the end of this letter it once
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again becomes clear that Wijdeveld's Utopia was undefined. Notice how Wijdeveld, writing in English, deliberately avoids specifying the new “something” and trails off in dots: “Convinced that the human race lives in a state of transition and out of my love for the theatre, I designed for the future the Great Peoples Theatre, in which the tragediens and actors will sublime [sic] the tragical events and searchings on the way of mankind to surrender to its fate and pass into a wonderfull NEW…. “ 19
Het nieuws van den dag (26 February 1922).
20
Wendingen 2, 3 (March 1919), 3.
21
Wendingen 1, 1 (January 1918), 3.
22
Het nieuws van den dag (26 February 1922).
23
Wendingen 2, 9-10 (September - October 1919), 9.
24
Wendingen 1, 1 (January 1918), 3.
25
Wendingen 2, 9-10 (September - October 1919), 9.
26
Jaarboek Vank (1922), 56.
27 Werumeus Buning gave a rather elaborate explanation of this compromise - “new” sets within inadequate theatre buildings, resulting in overemphasis on set design. The ultimate goal, according to Buning, was a theatre space that met the demands of the time; 1922, 229-244. 28
Jaarboek Vank (1922), 57.
29
Wendingen 2, 9-10 (September - October 1919), 9.
30
Ibidem.
31
Jaarboek Vank (1922), 56. Sometimes he went rather far in conflating theatre and religion. For example, in a critical essay on a production of Goethe's Faust, that he considered a failure, Wijdeveld spoke of the “Devil” as the main force responsible for the failure. Wendingen 1, 4 (April 1918), 3-6. Moreover, the idea of art being a religion and the artists being priests, was not just a whim of Wijdeveld but was expressed by many groups during that time. The theosophists saw the artist as the unifying element between earth and cosmos; by expressing the divine he uplifts the people. Fellow architects such as De Bazel and Lauweriks - both of whom published in Wendingen - were theosophists. And the socialist Roland Holst also described the
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artist as a kind of priest, not leading towards a spiritual ideal, but rather leading to a new society of the future. Let us not forget that Craig often likened the visual theatre he propagated to the Mass in the Catholic church: on stage, just as in the Mass, the essentials would be expressed by symbols. Thus Wijdeveld used the religious idiom not for want of something better but as part of a vocabulary rather common in his circle. 32
Wijdeveld, 1929, 128-131: “Over het tentoonstellen”.
33
Ibid, 130.
34
Wendingen 4, 9-10 (1921 [= August - September 1922]).
35
From the account of Wijdeveld's lecture at the exhibition in Het nieuws van den dag (26 February 1922).
36
The mask is dealt with in much the same vein by Werumeus Buning who compares two masks at the exhibition (a modern one by Dulac for a dance performance of Yeats and one from an island in the Pacific) in order to make a plea for a visionary theatre that should express the spititual longing of a society towards the gods and eternity. 37
Het Vaderland (29 January 1922).
38
De Telegraaf (16 February 1922).
39
Architectura 5 (28 January 1922).
40 Quoted by Albach, 1982, 155 (Es ist ein Irrtum dass das Theater eine Vereinigung aller Künste sei (…) Das Theater ist die Stätte des Wortes in seiner höchsten Ausprägung als Laut und menschliche Gebärde.) 41
Het Volk (3 February 1922).
42
De Amsterdammer (28 January 1922).
43
Algemeen Handelsblad (6 February 1922).
44
Werumeus Buning, 1922: 229.
45
De Telegraaf (27 February 1922).
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Bibliography Albach, B. 1982
Architectura 1922
Anonymus 1922
Anonymous 1922
Boer, S. de 1992
“De Internationale Theatertentoonstelling van 1922 in Amsterdam en de Duitse ensceneringskunst”. In: K. Dittrich (ed.) BerlijnAmsterdam 1920-1940: Wisselwerkingen. Amsterdam, 1982: 153159.
Architectura, weekblad van het genootschap Architectura et Amicitia 5 (28 January 1922).
Catalogus der boekerij. Amsterdam, Theatertentoonstelling, January-February 1922.
Internationale
Catalogus der tentoonstelling. Amsterdam, Theatertentoonstelling, January-February 1922.
Internationale
“Wijdeveld en het theater”. In: Jong Holland 3, 1992: 25-35.
Craig, Edward A. 1968 Gordon Craig, The Story of His Life. London. Lapidoth, F. 1922
“De internationale theater-tentoonstelling te Amsterdam”. In: Het tooneel, geïllustreerd maandblad 7, 10 (Den Haag, March 1922): 146-153.
Ogden, D. H. (ed.) 1992 The International Theatre Exhibition: Amsterdam 1922. Special issue of Tijdschrift voor Theaterwetenschap 8. Pelt, J.M. van 1996
“Januari en Februari 1922. De Internationale Theatertentoonstelling in het Stedelijk Museum te Amsterdam”. In: R.L. Erenstein e.a. (red.) Een theatergeschiedenis der Nederlanden. Amsterdam, 1996: 592-599.
Tussenbroek, O. van 1922 “De theatertentoonstelling te Amsterdam, een nabetrachting”. In: Elsevier's geïllustreerd maandschrift 31, 4, Amsterdam: 385-388.
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Wendingen, maandblad voor bouwen en sieren 1, 1 (January 1918); 1, 4 (April 1918); 2, 3 (March 1919); 2, 9-10 (September - October 1919); 4, 9-10 (1921 [= August - September 1922]). Werumeus Buning, J.W.F., 1922 “Het tooneel en de theater-tentoonstelling”. In: geïllustreerd maandschrift 31, 3, Amsterdam: 229-244.
Elsevier's
Wijdeveld, H. Th. 1929 Cultuur en kunst. Amsterdam. Wijdeveld, H. Th. 1985 Mijn eerste eeuw. Amsterdam.
Clippings, photos, and letters from the Nederlands Theater Instituut in Amsterdam. Clippings and letters from the Documentatiecentrum voor de Bouwkunst [Especially Wijdeveld: “Uit de memoires van architect Ĭ - Toneel, dans, muziek.”]
The Making of a Reputation: the Case of Cobra Nico Laan Like many avant-garde artists also Dutch Cobra members initially met with fierce resistance. But the clamour soon died down and a process of acceptance emerged. The question that this article focuses on is: how can this turn-about be explained? To answer this question recent studies on the making of a reputation have been consulted. These studies view criticism as a social phenomenon and they depart from the assumption that consensus about the quality of a work of art is reached on the basis of non-intrinsic factors. Each of these factors will be dealt with in this article. The conclusion is that even if the kind of knowledge that we have at the moment does not allow for any satisfactory or comprehensive answer to this question, it is still possible to give an idea of the direction in which the answer could be found.
Outside the Netherlands little is known about the Dutch contribution to the avant-garde. Exceptions are to be found in the areas of architecture and painting. Leaving Van Gogh aside for a moment – many see him as a precursor of various innovations in the twentieth century – these exceptions specifically concern De Stijl and Cobra. The group around De Stijl is the most famous, particularly because of Mondrian, who after his death became one of the icons of the avant-garde. Also those who are unable to read Dutch can access a wide variety of literature about him and other contributors to this magazine. This is much less true for Cobra, especially if we limit ourselves to the Dutch members of the group. Within the framework of this book this might be a good reason to focus our attention on these artists. We are then talking about seven painters: Karel Appel, Eugène Brands, Constant, Corneille, Jan Nieuwenhuys, Anton Rooskens and Theo Wolvecamp. Together they founded the Experimentele Groep (“Experimental Group”) on 16 July 1948. Shortly after that three writers joined their ranks: Jan G. Elburg, Gerrit Kouwenaar and Lucebert. The group published a magazine - Reflex - that only saw two issues. As a result the group did not go entirely unnoticed but it still led a rather obscure existence until its members joined Cobra.1 Cobra was founded in Paris on 8 September 1948. Members were artists from Belgium, Denmark and the Netherlands. Cobra too published a magazine, also called Cobra. The group burst upon the
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public in 1949 in the Stedelijk Museum of Amsterdam with an exhibition called “Exposition Internationale d’Art Expérimental”. The exhibition had hardly been opened when quarrels arose and the Dutch writers left the organization. However, they stayed in touch with the painters and kept on collaborating with them. In 1951 a second group exhibition was organized and shortly after that Cobra disbanded itself. So the group lasted only a very short time and this may be the reason why it took so long for the name of Cobra to be firmly established in the Netherlands. Critics rather preferred the terms “experimentelen” (“experimenters”) or “experimentalisten” (“experimentalists”). They did not use those terms to refer exclusively to the writers and painters that we just mentioned, but also for artists who were supposed to be related to them.2 At the end of the forties and in the early fifties the majority of critics rejected the work of the “experimentelen”. However, soon after that they were accepted and a short time later again they were seen as the most important representatives of their generation. How can this turnabout be explained? The traditional answer to such a question is that every new style or movement takes some time getting used to, especially so when it concerns art that aims at being innovative. But – so the argument runs – after a certain period of time the qualities of the new art will become apparent. This is hardly a satisfactory answer. It does not need a great deal of knowledge of the history of art to be able to see that works of art have no intrinsic or fixed value. Qualities are not recognized or discovered: they are ascribed to works of art. Therefore it is not correct to present the change of appreciation for the “experimentelen” as an inevitable thing. The critics might just as well have stuck to their former rejection. About the “experimental” writers a study has been written which tries to explain why the critics changed their mind about them, but hardly anything is known about the way they reacted to the painters. Still the turnabout there was equally dramatic. Moreover, it is often claimed that their breakthrough led to a great divide in the Dutch art world with the “conservative” or “figurative” side increasingly losing territory to the “progressive” or “abstract” side.3 So the question how it came about that the Cobra painters were so quickly accepted and respected after having been initially rejected is also important in a broader context. Since the eighties a number of books and articles have appeared on the making of a reputation
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and these have helped answer this question. Most of them are concerned with literature but there are also studies on film, the visual arts and music, which have been extremely useful. What they have in common is that they consider criticism as a social phenomenon and depart from the assumption that consensus about the quality of works of art is reached on the basis of outside factors. The nature of these factors will be discussed below.4
1. Art Criticism around 1950 Hardly anything is known about art criticism in the Netherlands at the time that Cobra existed. The only summary article on this subject runs to only four pages.5 Elsewhere additional information can be found about individual critics or certain subjects that were highly profiled at the time but it does not add up to much. Moreover, the literature that we do have shows a number of shortcomings. For instance, it is usually not very clear on what data these writings are based: did the author systematically peruse daily or weekly papers? Were public collections consulted or did the author have access to collections of cuttings of critics and artists? It seems that the perusal of newspapers was never very popular, which is not surprising as it is extremely timeconsuming. Sometimes public collections or collections of cuttings are mentioned but there is never any information about what number of art reviews the writer has considered, about possible gaps, or about the range of newspapers and magazines that were studied.6 Furthermore, these authors seem to be focused on judging the critics. In this connection the influence of the avant-garde is striking: critics are categorized as “conservative” or “progressive” depending on their attitude towards certain innovations. Not too much time and effort is spent on subtlety. Categorization often takes place on the basis of a single stance taken towards an event that was only later called “historical”.7 In these studies the question looms large if the critic belonged to the good or the bad guys and all other questions are ignored. For instance, we hardly get any answers to elementary questions such as: how much space did newspapers allow for art criticism? How many critics were active? What was their background etc., etc.? A first cursory look shows us that every daily and weekly newspaper, of some
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sort of stature - also the regional press - employed a critic. This critic did not always exclusively concern himself with the visual arts. Even in the national press we come across critics who had both literature and the visual arts in their portfolio.8 Coverage of the visual arts varied greatly. While some papers (such as Nieuwe Rotterdamse Courant and Elsevier’s Weekblad) had an extensive article at least every week, there were others (such as Trouw), which allowed much less space and sometimes paid no attention to the arts for weeks. The articles almost exclusively covered events such as exhibitions, auctions, anniversaries that took place in the Netherlands. The western part of the country, and more particularly Amsterdam, received the most attention. Trips to foreign countries were only made by critics who on average had already shown a greater interest in the visual arts. Most critics were artists themselves.9 The most obvious assumption is that one of the reasons for them to start writing critical reviews was the need to have extra earnings. Some were editors on the papers they wrote for but - like today - most of them worked on a freelance basis. So it is not surprising that some critics wrote for more than one newspaper and that turnover among critics was high. From 1949 to 1956 there were over thirty critics in the Netherlands who wrote about the visual arts, but very few of them were active as such throughout that whole period of time. There are hardly any compilations of critical reviews in this period, so most of them are going yellow in newspaper archives. Only one paper - De Groene Amsterdammer - has digitized its archives, but these are useless for our purposes as digitization stops at 1945. Fortunately, there are public collections of art reviews. For Cobra two of these are relevant: that of the Rijksdienst voor Kunsthistorische Documentatie (RKD) and the one of the Stedelijk Museum of Amsterdam. The material has been filed in different ways. Only the RKD has files on individual critics but, unfortunately, the contents are very meagre. So we have to make do with the files on Cobra, its individual members and exhibitions of both. Comparing the contents of both files, we notice that none of these collections is complete. Would they be if we added them up? That is hard to say, but searches elsewhere yield few extra reviews.10 So it seems justified to start from the data in these two collections. Of course, existing literature on Cobra has been
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taken into account too. Whenever the study of this literature gave rise to any questions or assumptions, these have been checked by systematically going through a number of newspapers and the critical reviews that were found in this way have been added to the files. The data that have thus been collected do not make it possible to compare the Dutch Cobra members with their foreign counterparts. Almost without exception critics were only interested in their fellowcountrymen. In fact, even within the group they made a selection. Their attention was almost exclusively focused on three of the seven painters: Appel, Constant and Corneille.
2. Rejected Almost Everywhere When Cobra presented itself in Amsterdam in 1949, the Dutch painters were not completely unknown, as there had been exhibitions before. The biography of Appel gives the impression that he met with resistance right from the start of his career.11 Qualifications that are cited are “childish”, “barbarian” and “horror of aesthetes”. Those quotes are from art reviews which were collected by Appel himself, but the biographer does not use them very systematically, so it is possible that we get a slightly distorted picture, the more so because she also mentions that critics considered Appel a talented painter and admire his courage. When going through the cuttings in the Stedelijk Museum and the RKD about exhibitions of Appel and other Dutch Cobra painters of before 1949, one is struck by the sympathetic attitude of most critics. They are critical, yes, especially when it concerns imitation of examples abroad, but they also often write kind and encouraging words and more than once find them promising. For instance, it is said that Rooskens may well become “quite special” in a particular genre (Trouw 1.4.1947) and Brands is called an “unmistakable talent” (De Telegraaf 30.1.1941). Whatever is the case: as soon as Cobra presents itself as a movement in 1949, the general mood is one of rejection. In literature about Cobra hardly any attention is paid to art reviews, but newspaper headlines are cited and these need no further comment: “Inarticulate Art. Heydays of Nihilism in the Stedelijk Museum”, “Unnecessary and Unwanted”, “Scratching, Blathering, and Daubing in the Stedelijk
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Museum”, “Madness Elevated to Art”.12 What complicates matters is that those headlines do not always refer to the art that was exhibited. A number of those articles concern the commotion that arose during an evening that was organized by the writers of the Experimentele Groep. As a matter of fact, Cobra drew attention from more quarters than art critics alone: also reporters of various newspapers paid attention to the exhibition and it is not always very clear whether we are reading a report, a review or something that wants to combine both. The literature that we have on Cobra claims that there were only two critics who showed some appreciation for the movement: Jan Engelman (the art critic of De Tijd) and Kasper Niehaus (the critic of De Telegraaf).13 A slightly less dramatic presentation of things seems to be in order. In our file of fourteen art reviews we find two other articles that deviate from the general mood. True, the critic of Het Vrije Volk, Bob Buys, is fairly non-committal but he does not think it “unsympathetic” that the management of the museum allows space to the group of artists. And in De Tijd we find, apart from Engelman”s review, also an article signed with “M” – probably written by the sculptor Marius van Beek- in which he literally says: “At times their talent is truly remarkable [...], at times they have a fantastic sense of colour (De Tijd 4.11.1949)”.14 When in 1951, in Luik a second group exhibition was held, the newspapers generally adopted a more moderate and appreciative attitude but it would not be correct to assume that the critics had adjusted their judgment. The few articles that appeared in Dutch papers - altogether five - were all written by correspondents or critics for the occasion. For the regular art critics Luik may have been too far away or not important enough. That the general judgment about Cobra - or to be more precise: about the Dutch members thereof - did not really change very quickly, appears from many reviews from the early fifties. A few quotes: There is no sign of a love of art, nothing of the struggle to penetrate into the spirit of things with oh, so unmanageable material, nothing of the honesty of the real artist who tries to develop the talent that he has been endowed with in the best possible manner (Algemeen Handelsblad 15.9.1951) Eyes are always the same black dots, legs are stripes, hands empty gloves picked up from the street. All this is surrounded by garish daubs of colour that faintly hint at some sort of form (Haagsche Courant 20.10.1953)
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The daubs of ripolin that are to suggest an explosion of the brilliance of a genius, but only serve to fill us with disgust may well be a feature of a world replete with culture, but they lack the disciplined dynamics to turn even this kind of nihilism into a tragic accusation (De Tijd 3.7.1954).
The most negative reaction we find in Algemeen Handelsblad, Elsevier”s Weekblad, Het Parool and De Waarheid. Critics in these papers say this cannot be called “real art” and they were not afraid to use words as “messy”, “childish” and “food for psychiatrists”. One repeatedly comes across the same points of criticism, not only in the papers just mentioned but also elsewhere. First, the objection that what Cobra did, was nothing new and that they simply repeated the experiments of the inter-bellum period. That particular objection has become famous through a headline above an article in which an issue of Reflex was reviewed: “Schon dada gewesen”. Artists who present themselves as avant-garde could not be more deeply offended. Still, in the early fifties the Cobra painters never gave any reaction. The writers with whom they were associated, however, did. They did not deny the influence of the historical avantgarde, but at the same time emphasized that their work was the expression of their personal way of dealing with this form of art.15 The second objection that was formulated against Cobra was that the group started from a wrong conception of art. The critics especially disapproved of the importance that the artists attached to spontaneity. In their eyes the making of art required a certain measure of control and command and that is what they missed in the work of the “experimental” painters. This objection shows that the critics were familiar with the contents of various articles in Cobra and Reflex in which the painters tried to develop an aesthetic program of their own. A substantial part of the newspaper criticism at the end of the forties and in the early fifties consists of attempts to refute that program. Various critics fought the “experimental” painters with their own weapons. This is particularly true for their primitivism. If the artists argued that they found their models in the art of children, “primitive artists” and psychiatric patients, the critics compared their art and concluded that the painters were the losing party when compared to the examples they had set themselves:
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Nico Laan They keep running around in circles and this results in the following kind of drawings: little dolls, faces, figurines, moons, air balloons, towers, ships that we – really! - have seen before, made by children but then much better and much more spontaneously and unconsciously drawn. For children can express themselves like children and adults will never be able to enter that paradise again (Het Parool 4.10.1951).
The third and last objection that the critics formulated against Cobra actually concerned those who sympathized with them. The argument ran that the artists received protection from a small “clique” of Amsterdam socialites. The Director of the Stedelijk Museum of Amsterdam, Sandberg, was their primary target. Many art reviews attack his person and his policy and they accuse him of dictatorial management and unconditionally choosing the side of the avant-garde.16 Indeed Sandberg has been very important for Cobra. He supported the group in every possible way. First, he did so by facilitating and organizing exhibitions. The exhibition of 1949 was not the last. In the years that followed, the work of many Dutch Cobra members was regularly exhibited in the museum. So regular that even one of the few critics who was kindly disposed towards Sandberg once ironically remarked that there were “three Constant Painters in the House of the Director”, Appel, Constant and Corneille (De Telegraaf 6.12.1952). Sandberg also gave support by buying their work.17 As the museum had a very modest budget, this kind of support could only be limited. But Sandberg also acted as a consultant to De Bijenkorf and with money of this company he also bought Cobra art, which he then gave to the Stedelijk Museum to use. Furthermore, he commissioned Appel to paint the coffee room and networked for the artists. Other members of the “clique” around Cobra are not mentioned by name by the critics but they must have had in mind various collectors, such as Mr. and Mrs. Visser and Mr. and Mrs. Sanders. It is more difficult to say whether this supposed “clique” also included art dealers. Most exhibitions of the Cobra painters were one time only. Only Martinet & Michels and Le Canard were particularly interested in “modern art” but not exclusively in Cobra.18 Sandberg regularly visited both art galleries and in 1954 he asked Van Loenen Martinet if he was prepared to become Keeper of the Prints. Piet Sanders was legal counselor to Sandberg. Martin Visser worked for De Bijenkorf. It is not difficult to see that the existence of such contacts and relations gave art critics cause to speak of a
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“clique” around Cobra and that they objected to developments in the world of art that they considered dangerous. As they were almost unanimous in their rejection, they were in a very strong position and in the early fifties there seemed to be little future for the Dutch Cobra painters.
3. Change of Judgment of Leading Critics? In 1955 Appel got an exhibition in the Stedelijk Museum of Amsterdam followed by Corneille. Moreover, in 1956 the works of both were on show in the Stedelijk Museum of Schiedam. This museum used to be a historical cabinet but had become interested in “modern art”, in Cobra in particular. A study of the reviews of these exhibitions show that the attitude towards the Dutch Cobra painters is changing. There is still a lot of disapproval, yes. There are still critics who have little sympathy for them or even claim that their work does not deserve the name of art, but their numbers are dwindling. That change becomes particularly clear when we see that of the four papers who used to lead the attack, three now show themselves to be kindly disposed towards Appel and/or Corneille.19 This is rather a surprising development considering the almost general rejection of a few years earlier. When we compare the “experimental” painters with their writer colleagues we notice that the mood can change even more quickly as the writers had already become generally accepted. Appel c.s. needed to be slightly more patient but what we see is that various art critics already provide for the future by describing Cobra as an historic movement and qualifying some of its members as artists who have demonstrated their talents. When Appel and Corneile are criticized at all, the critique often concerns their current work: their earlier work, particularly that of the start of Cobra is more often praised.20 How can this change in appreciation be explained? According to the so-called institutional approach in the study of arts and literature, critics are avid readers of other critics” reviews and take good note of statements made by their colleagues. These serve to test their own judgments that cannot be checked in any other way. Also by taking into account what other critics say, it is possible
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for a critic to diminish his feelings of uncertainty – and there is a great deal of uncertainty when it concerns “modern art”.21 It is this kind of conduct that explains that judgments of critics gradually converge over time. This process is called “orchestration”, a term which is derived from the sociologist Bourdieu, who is the founding father of the institutional approach. Though the fine-tuning among critics does not result from any specific rules, it still seems to be imposed upon them. For as more and more art critics agree on the importance of a certain artist or group of artists, there is a growing tendency among those who originally thought differently to conform to this growing consensus. This does not mean there are no exceptions. Art critics are always competing for respect for their opinions and want to impose their own judgments of taste. They will look for opportunities to distinguish themselves. The most appropriate way to do so is “to discover” artists, i.e.: to be the first to identify the special qualities of a writer or a painter. This is the way to become a leading critic - someone other people look for to help them formulate their own judgments. So consensus may originate in the judgment of a single critic. It certainly helps when such a critic already is considered an authority and writes for an important paper, for then he will the more readily be listened to. But it might also be possible for a young critic with a modest position to get his colleagues to agree with him and thus bring about a change of appreciation. In order to determine whether the turnabout in the case of Cobra can be explained by means of the idea of “orchestration” it seems sensible to first discuss the older critics and then the new generation. To the group of older critics belong Jan Engelman, W. Jos de Gruyter, Kasper Niehaus and Cornelis Veth. The moment that Cobra was founded they had been active for many decades and in the course of the years had established a reputation. In the interbellum period they had more than once used their reputation and position to promote certain artists. Was the breakthrough of the Dutch Cobra painters also the result of such an action? In other words: did they - or did any of them - succeed in convincing their younger colleagues of the qualities of Cobra, aided by the authority they possessed? In one case this is highly unlikely. About Veth it is said that already before the Second World War he was very conservative in his judgments and that his frame of reference had been formed “by the art
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of half a century before”.22 Moreover our collection contains only one review of his hand. Engelman too seems not a likely candidate. One often comes across remarks to the effect that he had some difficulty connecting up with post-war innovations particularly with “experimental” writers and painters.23 Still, it was said earlier that he was one of the few who wrote a sympathetic review about the Cobra exhibition of 1949. Was this review an exception? No. In 1951 he wrote an article in which he called Appel “a talented man”, “a born painter”, “a promise”: This becomes clear from almost indefinable things in surface divisions, colour combinations, the stroke of the brush and that what one hesitates to call the “touch” (but still is). Of the savages that started a few years ago, he is the most remarkable, the most important. I am curious to know what he will develop into when this Sturm und Drang period is over (De Tijd 26.9.1951).
So Engelman is not just a straightforward conservative. However, there is no evidence that he ever made an effort to actively promote Cobra. In as far as he ever did his best to promote any artist, these were the same as he used to protect before.24 W. Jos de Gruyter seems to be the person we are looking for. He is well-known for being one of the strongest advocates of the avant-garde and one of the first in the Netherlands who wrote a book which chronicled the innovations in twentieth century art. He also shared with Cobra an interest in primitive art. From the thirties onwards he regularly wrote about this kind of art and compared it with that of the European avant-garde. Still, he did not do much to promote Cobra: he was more interested in Ouborg, a painter who had been invited to join the Experimentele Groep but had declined the invitation. On various occasions he expressed his preference for this painter and he also did so in his rewritten version of his book on European art of 1954. The final chapter of this book deals with “abstract and experimental art”. It is true that he starts his discussion on this kind of art with Appel c.s but he leaves the highest praise for Ouborg, who according to him, is partly related to the Amsterdam painters and is described by him as “the most surprising of all Dutchmen who work from similar artistic assumptions”.25 We then come to the last of the generation of older critics: Kasper Niehaus. We know him already as one of the few who in 1949 wrote sympathetically about Cobra. It is said that in the thirties he be-
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came more and more categorical in his disapproval of the innovations in art but after the war he “showed more sympathy” especially “towards younger artists”.26 We also know that he maintained very good relations with Sandberg, who considered him - together with De Gruyter- as the only critic who knew his job.27 We also come across his name in Cobra 4, which served as a covering booklet for the exhibition in 1949. Besides reproductions of the work of Cobra painters, this issue contains reproductions of two “peintres du dimanche hollandaise”, which are said to be from the collection of Niehaus. This makes one curious to know more. The files of the RKD and the Stedelijk Museum together contain four reviews written by Niehaus. As there was reason to assume that he played a role in the breakthrough of the Dutch Cobra painters, it seemed worthwhile to check existing file collections to see if he wrote anything else about Cobra until his retirement from the paper he worked for (in 1956). A systematic check of the newspaper ledgers yielded eleven more articles. However, none of these are reviews of exhibitions of (members) of Cobra - that is probably the reason why they have not been included. Partly they are articles about other subjects or other artists with side remarks about Cobra. For instance, about the art collection of the Director of the Museum Boymans-Van Beuningen, Hannema he writes: This man who thirsts for beauty even owns an Appel (Karel)! So he does not lack the insight that beauty – or truth – of the past is not essentially different from that of the present (De Telegraaf 11.9.1952).
In a later article dealing with an exhibition in the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam he defends Appel against the accusation that he would be a “coarse” painter and he calls the use of colours in one his paintings “French-refined” (De Telegraaf 7.5.1955). But even more important than these articles, there are others in which Niehaus defines his position with respect to “modern art”. In one of these articles he praises Sandberg, in two he discusses post-war Dutch art and in five others he reacts to statements of other critics.28 Especially the last five articles are interesting, as they show that Niehaus regularly feels called upon to defend “modern art”. He did so just as passionately as De Gruyter but had to admit that his current convictions were slightly different from those before the war. He explained this as follows:
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A truly modern art did not really exist at the time in our country and it exists now. For me: I am very pleased and am proud of that (De Telegraaf 1.11.1952).
Headings such as “New wave of vitality since the war” and “Dutch art is certainly alive and kicking” show that Niehaus sincerely welcomed the latest developments with pleasure. The foundation of the Experimentele Groep and later Cobra were part of these developments. Niehaus often wrote about the painters of both groups and always with appreciation. His admiration was perhaps most explicitly worded in the next passage: Averse to the refined paintings with the subtle nuances of the impressionists and “fauves” they returned to the basic principles, they rediscovered the pure means of art and gave us the beautiful blues, reds and yellows: for them too barbarism is rejuvenation. It may be true that for many people their modernism is “negro new”, their paintings may remind some of the frescoes of the snake charmers of Tanganyika rather than of expressions of the European mind. Still it would be foolish to deny that they are talented and have vitality (De Telegraaf 12.9.1953)
That Niehaus defended the Dutch Cobra painters will not have gone unnoticed among his colleagues. He was not alone. That becomes clear when we shift our attention from the older generation critics to the newcomers, i.e. to those who just before the war or - in most cases - in the years that followed started as art critics. This group consists of about thirty people. They were not all active at the same time. Some stopped their activities very soon, others stayed on for a longer period of time but only few of them can be compared to De Gruyter and Niehaus in the sense that they wrote for one or more papers for decades on end. It would be impossible to deal with all thirty of them in the same way as we did with the older generation. It is also unnecessary. If we want to determine who of these newcomers wanted to build a reputation by making a striking and innovative choice, only a few of them are really important. First we will discuss Bob Buys and Marius van Beek. Of the former we said earlier that he did not think it “unsympathetic” that the Stedelijk Museum offered Cobra exhibition space. The files of the RKD and the Stedelijk Museum altogether include five reviews of
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Buys. They are from 1949, 1954, 1955 and 1956. Although most of these appeared at a rather late date they do not show unreserved appreciation. For instance in 1956 he states that Corneille repeats himself too much. Buys also keeps his distance from Cobra so he can hardly have been the one who persuaded his colleagues to change their judgment. Neither is Marius van Beek the man we are looking for. We know him from three art reviews: one from 1949, one from 1955 and one from 1956. Two of these are favourable. But Van Beek”s very modest position makes it unlikely that his judgment was taken much note of. That is not true for Cees Doelman, who wrote both for Nieuwe Rotterdamse Courant en De Groene Amsterdammer. Both papers paid a lot of attention to the visual arts. Doelman also had other channels through which he could express his points of view. For years he was a member of the Advisory Board of Contour: a yearly exhibition, organized by museum Het Prinsenhof, which aimed at giving a survey of “frontline artists” i.e. artists whose “work is prominent at the moment and which shows the greatest potential for the near future”.29 Doelman is said to have been an admirer of Cobra.30 So it is worth investigating if he was the one who – together with Niehaus – managed to convince his colleagues of the merits of the Dutch Cobra painters. In order to find out a systematic study was made of the back volumes of two of the papers to which he contributed up to 1956. The first thing we find is that Doelman was not always an admirer of Cobra. In 1949 he was just as unfavourably disposed as the majority of his colleagues and he called the exhibition in the Stedelijk Museum a “torture of beauty” (De Groene Amsterdammer 12.11.1949). From 1952 onwards Doelman started thinking differently. In that year he wrote three articles about Cobra, one of which was on the occasion of the Contour of that year, which showed Appel and Corneille for the first time. Though still not quite won over, his attitude had clearly changed. For instance, he praised Appel for his “colour wizardry” and was pleased with the development he saw in the work of Constant.31 In later articles his reservations have completely disappeared as is shown by the passage below which is devoted to Appel: His art is the immediate reflection of intensely felt emotions and experiences and when expressing these in his art by means of his materials and
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colours, this strong painter”s temperament is carried into a state of rapture. Moreover, he surprises us again and again with his pure instinct for visual expression with his dynamic, uncommonly forceful language of colours and the expressive value of structure (Nieuwe Rotterdamse Courant 23.4.1955).
Doelman”s colleagues will certainly have taken note of these judgments, the more so as he played a rather important role in the world of “modern art” and, among other things, was a member of the committee that decided on the Dutch contribution to the Biënnale in Venice in 1954. Among the group of those who were selected were Appel and Corneille.
4. Other Factors Is there a complete and satisfactory answer to the question how and why the appreciation of Cobra changed? No, it is not as simple as that. First, it is difficult to assess the influence that Doelman and Niehaus possibly exercised. Critics prefer not to refer to each other. Neither do we come across critics who explicitly revoke earlier judgments and explain why they changed their mind. After some time we hardly ever hear that Appel c.s. copy the innovations of the pre-war artists or that children and psychiatric patients are better painters but none of the reviewers feels the need to explicitly dissociate themselves from these objections. It is not difficult to see why critics behave as they do because they would put their authority at risk if they changed their mind too often and too radically and when they do, it is in their own interest to do so as quietly as possible. It is usually their opponents or artists that suffered at the hands of the critics who draw attention to changes of judgment. For instance, the “experimental” writers made fun of critics who first rejected them and later praised them.32 Their painter colleagues had no comments. Only two art historians made – years later – ironical remarks about critics whose “caterpillars of venom gradually metamorphosed into butterflies of admiration”.33 In the absence of explanations and references we have to make do with less explicit, more subtle signals when trying to establish the influence of Doelman and Niehaus. In the analyses of the studies that were consulted for this article a reasonable case is made for the possibility to show up the workings of influence by identifying
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the adoption of certain ideas and associated vocabulary. This is not an easy task in our case. For what strikes us is that repeated attempts of Doelman to give the Cobra painters a historical place by calling them “expressionists” - quite the usual thing nowadays - were ignored by his colleagues. But they do often use the word “expression”. Furthermore, many critics - like Doelman - seem to take it for granted that the work of Appel c.s. is the “immediate reflection of intensely felt emotions and experiences”. But does this idea originate with Doelman? They may just as well have derived the idea from the artists themselves. Similarly there is uncertainty about other elements in the critical reviews of those days. For instance, from 1952 onwards Niehaus regularly refers to Appel as “the Appelles of the experimentelen”. Has this repeated reference resulted in the judgment that Appel was the most important painter? And can the distinction that is generally made between Appel and Corneille be traced back to an early review in which Niehaus writes about the “bold, strong Appel” and “the quiet Corneille” (De Telegraaf 12.9.1953)? Even if these questions could be answered affirmatively, we still have no explanation for the change in appreciation. Doelman and Niehaus may have initiated that change but they did not direct it. Frequent changes of critics played an important role in the acceptance of Cobra. From 1953 on various papers engaged new critics and every new critic was almost invariably more kindly disposed towards Cobra than his predecessor.34 Unfortunately, hardly anything is known about the reasons for these changes. It would be especially interesting to know if this was the result of any policy and if the editors or the management deliberately aimed at embarking on a new course. We know of an example in the area of literary criticism, where one of the fiercest opponents of the “experimental” writers Hendrik de Vries - was told by the editors of the paper he worked for, to leave reviews of the work of younger writers to a colleague who was especially appointed for the task. The readers of the paper were informed that someone had been chosen who was not of the same generation but “close enough to these young writers and their work, to be able to look at and judge their work from their point of view” (Vrij Nederland 4.41953). The new critic was editor of a literary magazine that had chosen the side of the “experimental” writers. Shortly after
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that one of those writers - Gerrit Kouwenaar - came to work for that same paper. This example makes clear that consensus does not only arise when critics adjust their judgment to each other: it may also be partly created by editorial boards. To be able to determine if this is not only true for “experimental” literature but also for “experimental” art, we would need to have access to editorial archives. At the moment we know of only one paper that they deliberately looked for a critic with “progressive views” on the visual arts.35 The emergence of consensus can further be influenced by artists, directors of museums, collectors or owners of art galleries. Especially artists are often very influential. From various studies it appears that art critics, essay writers and academic researchers alike consider artists as authorities - first in the area of their own work but also in a broader sense - and therefore tend to be guided by them.36 In the case of Cobra we know that various members were intensively involved in the creation of an image around the group but then we are talking about a time that comes after the period we are concerned with in this article.37 Little is known about contacts between Cobra and critics in the fifties. Much more is known about the role that directors of museums played in the breakthrough of Cobra. We already discussed the activities of Sandberg. Opposition against the course he adopted gradually diminished in the middle of the fifties. The fact that at that time not only the Stedelijk Museum of Amsterdam but also that of Schiedam and the Van Abbe Museum in Eindhoven had chosen the side of Cobra will have played a role.38 Besides it will not have escaped the critics” notice that attempts were made in the world of the museums to give Cobra a firm place in the history of art. In 1955 two surveys of Dutch art appeared. One of these was written by the Director of the Rijksmuseum Kröller-Müller, Hammacher. In the last chapter, devoted to the post-war period, he pays attention to Appel, Constant and Corneille. He was not enamoured by any of them, but he did think that they were interesting from a historical perspective. The second survey, to which a great many people contributed, went back to the sixteenth century. For our purposes only the chapter on “Painting in the Twentieth Century” is of interest. It is written by Knuttel, former Director of the Gemeentemuseum of The Hague. In his discussion of Cobra he too limited himself to Appel,
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Constant and Corneille. But compared to his colleague of the Kröller Müller he was much more appreciative.39 Just as in the case of Doelman and Niehaus it is difficult to formulate firm statements on the influence of these kinds of actions. What is certain is that they contributed to improving the climate around “experimental” and other “modern” artists. In this connection it is relevant to point out that there were close contacts between critics and museums. Some – like De Gruyter – became directors of museums and others – like Doelman – collaborated with them.40 As the Dutch Cobra painters were never exclusively tied up with any one particular art gallery, the influence of the art dealers can never have been great and the possible influence of collectors has never been researched. Finally, we need to say something about quite a different kind of influence, namely from abroad. In the course of the twentieth century art criticism has increasingly become an international affair and that has an effect on the way consensus arises, if only because the national discussion is often strongly dominated by judgments which originated elsewhere. In the case of the Dutch Cobra painters foreign countries started to play a role when Appel, Constant and Corneille left for Paris in 1950. From that moment on they made an important part of their career abroad. The Dutch newspapers informed their readers of the triumphs of these painters. In the files of the RKD we regularly come across cuttings with news about exhibitions abroad and awards that were won. Appel”s career in particular was very successful. He soon had exhibitions in Paris and Brussels, Martha Graham bought his work and in 1954 he received an award at the Biënnale in Venice. Naturally Dutch sympathizers made the most of these successes. Niehaus, for instance, devotes an article to the Biënnale award in which he subtly pointed out that “this prophet of experimentalism” was honoured abroad and that foreign critics thought much more highly of him than critics used to do in his own country (De Telegraaf 3.8.1954). At first opponents of Appel shrugged their shoulders and made sneering remarks but in the long run it was hard to keep up that attitude and foreign praise inevitably started to influence the judgments of Dutch critics. So all in all it is rather a complicated business to try to explain the growing consensus about the qualities of the Dutch Cobra painters.
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We can only indicate the general direction in which the answer to this intriguing question can be found. Furthermore, our investigation has taught us three lessons. First, clear criteria are needed for the analysis and assessment of reviews. At the moment this is done rather intuitively, as it is often difficult enough to establish whether a given judgment is positive, negative or neutral. It would also help if we had clear criteria to establish the influence of leading critics. And finally, there should be more clarity about the interaction of factors that determine reputations for only this would enable us to offer more than the kind of inventories such as are given above.
5. The Fate of the Loner The conclusion stands but the story is not finished yet. There is one loose end to be tied up which may teach us something about the way criticism works. We stopped in the middle of the fifties. In the years that followed the opponents of the Dutch Cobra painters were not quite defeated. Particularly the critic of Het Parool - Prange - put up a stubborn resistance against these and other forms of “modern art”. Sometimes he sounded tired. He then wrote that he “had already put forward his objections so many times” and had demonstrated that “all this could not really be taken for art” (Het Parool 27.7.1957). But he never lost courage because he considered it “the duty of a critic who loves art” to speak out when he is a witness to a further degeneration” (Het Parool 13.11.1957). A few years earlier this was quite a respectable opinion, shared by almost all his colleagues. But some were no longer active and in the meantime others had partly or completely changed their mind. As a result Prange lost his authority. It is the critic”s fate that he can only prove himself through his colleagues. If they agree with him, he is right. If for any longer period of time his judgment differs from that of others - or the majority - doubt will arise as to his powers of discretion and people will start wondering if he is the right man for the job. Eventually Prange had only one ally. He was Niehaus” successor: Hans Engelman, a nephew of Jan. His appointment shows that the remarks we made about the improved climate around the Dutch
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Cobra painters need some modification. Whereas all the newly hired critics had more appreciation for them than their predecessors and that in one case we are certain that the editors approved of this, it was of all papers the very newspaper that Niehaus had worked for which took on someone who did not want to have anything to do with Cobra. We do not know if this was a matter of policy but it is clear that with Engelman we are back to where we started. Not only his judgments and his arguments are echoes of the kind of criticism of the late forties and early fifties, even the very tone is of that time. For instance he accuses Appel of “forced lawlessness”, he criticized “the hollowness and poverty of his forms” and was irritated by “the nihilistic refusal to take anything whatsoever seriously” (De Telegraaf 3.12.55 and 6.2.58). Engelman”s support was not enough to save Prange. In the second half of the fifties he was increasingly considered “a case”. Colleagues avoided him; at meetings and varnishing parties he stood alone. He also suffered as an artist: according to his biographer no museum bought his work anymore, because the critic had written the artist out of existence.41 In 1957 Prange published a small book in which he summarized his objections against innovations in the visual arts. He discussed the Cobra painters only indirectly but that did not mean that he was kind. He derided their love of the art of “children and mental defectives” and illustrated his point by putting pictures of works of art next to pictures of children, remarking that the similarities were striking and the child outpainted the artist.42 His book caused some stir in editorial rooms of Het Parool. Various members of the Stichtingsbestuur (“Board of Foundation”) had more than once expressed their displeasure about Prange. When the book was scathingly criticized - a review written by Doelman - one of them informed the Board that they wanted to reconsider position of the critic. “You know that we have been warning for years”, he wrote to the General Manager, “that our newspaper adheres to a policy that is the opposite of progressive”.43 The writer of that letter was Piet Sanders. We know him already as a Cobra collector and legal counselor to Sandberg. In the small world that was interested in “modern art” in the fifties, he was a man of substance. As legal advisor he was a member of the purchase committee of the Stedelijk Museum of Amsterdam. Besides that he
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was on committees and boards of the Museum Boymans -Van Beuningen, Rijksmuseum Kröller- Müller and the Stedelijk Museum of Schiedam. Also as a result of his influence the latter museum had started to buy work of the Dutch Cobra painters.44 The chief editor of Het Parool supported their critic so Prange kept his job. However, the paper started looking for someone who could take over some of Prange”s responsibilities – a construction which, we saw, was used before in connection with “experimental” literature. Various names circulated among which was the name of Jaffé, the Deputy Director of the Stedelijk Museum of Amsterdam and those of two “experimental” writers. But it all came to nothing. A number of years later it was the readers who protested. They thought it was absolutely outrageous that anyone with such conservative ideas wrote for a progressive newspaper. But nothing changed because the chief editor ignored this criticism. Eventually Prange left of his own accord, in 1962. That was the year in which Sandberg organized his last summer exhibition titled: “The Dutch Contribution to International Developments since 1945”. And it is this very exhibition that is generally supposed to have propelled Cobra up the ladder of international art and to have given the movement canonical status.45
Notes 1
See for an extensive description of the history of both the Experimentele Groep and Cobra Stokvis 2001.
2
This applies among others to Gerrit Benner and Piet Ouborg.
3
See for a description of the emergence of the division in Dutch sculpture Teeuwisse 2004. See for critical reactions to the “experimental” writers De Jager 1992.
4
See among others DeNora 1995, Janssen 1994, Kapsis 1992, Mulkay/Chaplin 1982, Van Rees 1987 and Schwartz 1988.
5
6
Wintgens 1987.
For instance this applies to the use that Van Houts 2000 makes of Appel’s collection of cuttings.
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7
This even applies to an extremely thorough study such as that of Van Adrichem 2001.
8
Examples are Harry Prenen (Elsevier’s Weekblad, de Volkskrant), Gabriël Smit (de Volkskrant) and Jan Engelman (De Tijd). 9
This applies to among others Bob Buys, Johan Dijkstra, Jan Engelman, Otto B. de Kat, Wim Kersten, George Lampe, Kasper Niehaus, Gabriël Smit and Charles Wentinck.
10
For instance, of the Cobra exhibition of 1949 only one review was found which is missing in both collections, namely that of Nieuwe Rotterdamse Courant. 11
Van Houts 2000 (chapter 4, 5, 6).
12
Stokvis 2001: 251ff.
13
Stokvis 2001: 287n 190.
14
According to Schrama (1966: 448) Van Beek was responsible for the layout and editor for the visual arts of De Tijd from 1945 to 1959 and after that contributed articles till 1974. 15
Laan 2005.
16
Wintgens 1984.
17
See Roodenburg-Schadd 1999, 2002.
18
See Gubbels 1999 (chapter 2) for the art trade at the end of the forties and the early fifties. Information about collectors can be found in Steenbergen 2002. The term “modern art” is put between quotes because it has ideological connotations. See Laan 1994. 19
See Algemeen Handelsblad 20.12.1955 and 19.6.1956, Elsevier’s Weekblad 10.12.1955 and De Waarheid 18.6.1956. 20
See for instance Algemeen Handelsblad 19.6.1956, Haagsch Dagblad 31.12.1955 and Nieuwe Rotterdamse Courant 22.12.1955 21 Janssen 1994, Van Rees 1987. For the uncertainty in judging “modern art” see Oosterbaan Martinus 1990 (chapter 1). 22
Van Adrichem 2001: 251.
23
Feikema/Koot/Lucas 2000, Fens 2000.
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24
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Examples are Pyke Koch and Hendrik Wiegersma.
25
De Gruyter 1954: 273. See for De Gruyter and the avant-garde Van Adrichem 2001: 223. See for his primitivism Laan 2000: 103f. 26
Roodenburg-Schadd 1999: 70.
27
Leeuw-Marcar 1981: 153f.
28
See De Telegraaf 3.5.1952, 1.11.1952, 11.11.1952, 22.11.1952, 12.9.1953, 17.4.1954, 24.4.1954 and 7.8.1954.
29
Cat. exhibition Contour onzer beeldende kunsten 1951. Museum Het Prinsenhof, Delft.
30
Van Adrichem 2001: 376f. For Doelman’s taste see also Jansen 1986.
31
See Nieuwe Rotterdamse Courant 9.2.1952, 25.2.1952 and 15.11.1952.
32
Laan 2005.
33
Emmens/De Jongh 1981: 121.
34
This applies for instance to Hans Redeker (who joined Algemeen Handelsblad in 1953), George Lampe (who in the same year joined Vrij Nederland) and Lambert Tegenbosch (who since 1955 worked for de Volkskrant).
35
This applies to De Linie which in 1955 chose Ko Sarneel as a successor to Geurt Brinkgreve (Boersema 1978: 329f). 36 See for the influence of the artist apart from the studies mentioned in note 4 also Greenfeld 1989, Laan 2005 and Tempel 1999. 37
Birtwistle 1998.
38
For Cobra purchases of Museum Van Abbe see Pingen 2002: 29.
39
Hammacher 1955: 168ff, Knuttel 1955: 51ff.
40
From 1955 Doelman had been on the Advisory Committee of Museum Van Abbe (Pingen 2002: 26). 41
Rothuizen 1983.
42
Prange 1957.
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43
Mulder/Koedijk 1996: 382ff.
44 Both the managerial positions of Sanders and his collection are discussed in Steenbergen 2002. 45
Roodenburg-Schadd 2002: 19.
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Rees, C.J. van 1983 “How a Literary Work Becomes a Masterpiece. On the Threefold Selection Practised by Literary Criticism”. In: Poetics 12, 397-417. 1987 “How Reviewers Reach Concensus on the Value of Literary Work”. In: Poetics 16: 275-294. Roodenburg-Schadd, C. 1999 “Bijko, buyko, buykoop. Willem Sandberg, het Stedelijk Museum en de Bijenkorf-collectie”. In: Jong Holland 15, 2: 62-78. Roodenburg-Schadd, C. 2002 “Expressie en ordening. Het verzamelbeleid van Sandberg en Jaffé in het Stedelijk Museum, 1945-1963”. In: Jong Holland 18, 2: 1219. Rothuizen, W. 1983 “J.M. Prange in de jungle der moderne kunst”, in: M. van Amerongen / R. O. van Gennep (red.), Het orgasme van Lorre. Nieuwe verhalen, gedichten en artikelen. Amsterdam: 199-210. Schrama, N. 1996
Dagblad De Tijd, 1845-1974. Nijmegen.
Schwartz, L.H. 1988 Creating Faulkner”s Reputation. The Politics of Modern Literary Criticism. Knoxville. Steenbergen, R. 2002 Iets dat zo veel kost, is alles waard. Verzamelaars van moderne kunst in Nederland. Amsterdam.
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Tempel, B. 1999 “Ingewijden in de kunst. Israëls en zijn contacten met critici”. In: D. Dekker (red.), Jozef Israëls 1824-1911. Zwolle: 86-99. Teeuwisse, J. 2003 Wintgens, D. 1984
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“Reacties in de kranten op het beleid van het Stedelijk Museum”. In: W. Stokvis (red.), De doorbraak van de moderne kunst in Nederland, de jaren 1945-1951. Amsterdam: 93-106. “Achterhoede-gevecht tegen een artistieke voorhoede. Kunstkritiek tussen 1945 en 1955”. In: Metropolis M 7, 5/6: 34-37.
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Avant-Garde Reviewing of New Book Releases A Case Study from The Netherlands Hugo Verdaasdonk The stands taken by an avant-gardist reviewer on contemporary literary production are perceived as differing strongly from the views expressed by other critics. In this study, network analysis was used as a means of formally characterizing and weighting this difference. Reviewing is a collective practice: positions taken by individual critics depend on those taken by their fellow critics. The aim of a review is to highlight the idiosyncrasy of the text under discussion. This aim is achieved by identifying relations of complemental difference.
1. Introduction I analyzed the way in which three Dutch literary critics, Aad Nuis (b. 1933), Tom van Deel (b. 1945), and Jacq Firmin Vogelaar (b. 1944) reviewed new book releases by Gerrit Krol (b. 1934) and by Louis Paul Boon (1912-1979) in the early 1970s. At that time, Vogelaar was regarded as a major Dutch avantgarde author. In his reviews and essays, he defended the cause of a form of literature that used new techniques and showed a sharp awareness of the social and economic conditions under which literary texts were produced, judged, and read. Nuis and Van Deel expressed views which were much more comprehensive: they wrote favourably about authors whose work was rejected by Vogelaar; moreover, they were critical of the literary work and the “theoretical” stands of the latter. After the publication of Het gemillimeterde hoofd (1967), a novel, the Dutch author Gerrit Krol had acquired a reputation for producing highly original work, which was fragmentary in nature, and exhibited a variety of text types. His fiction was held to combine refined literary craftsmanship with expertise in computers and mathematics. With his two novels De Kapellekensbaan (1953) and Zomer te Ter-Muren (1956), the Flemish author Louis Paul Boon had firmly established himself as an avant-gardist with a deep concern for socio-
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political developments, in particular those occurring in Flanders at the end of the 19th century. Boon’s blend of narration and chronicle was considered to be the hallmark of his innovative powers as an artist. He was the Belgian candidate for the Nobel Prize in literature. The question of how Vogelaar regarded his two fellow reviewers cannot be answered without specifying some traits reviews have in common. I hypothesized that the aim of a literary review is to highlight in brief what is seen as the idiosyncrasy of the text under discussion. As I will argue, this aim is achieved by characterizing literary works in terms of relations of complemental difference which are supposed to hold between elements of the text under review (Section 2). A review of a new book release contributes to its author’s image among other reviewers and the reading public. An individual review is part of a collective endeavor. Therefore, the stand a reviewer takes on a new release by an author who has produced a more or less substantial body of work is often also shaped by what other reviewers had to say about this author’s previous publications or about the newly published title, or both. In the course of time, the joint efforts of reviewers, critics and scholars yield consensus about works that are regarded as exhibiting superior quality (cf. Verdaasdonk 1983). The community of literary critics oversees a repertoire of works (and authors) that constitute a nation’s literary heritage. Over time, this repertoire undergoes changes: new titles are added to it; titles included in the repertoire are maintained or removed. Such decisions require consensus about the characteristics and value of particular literary works. It is important, then, to characterize the view a critic expresses on a new release relative to what others have said about the title in question or about the author’s previous works. The collective aspect of reviewing will be discussed in Section 3. After presenting the data on the reviews in my sample (Section 4), I will argue that network analysis is an appropriate instrument for assessing the opinions expressed by reviewers and for characterizing these views relative to one another (Section 5). My approach was relational in nature. Like Bourdieu (1984) and Mohr (1998), I believe that structural properties of social and cultural phenomena can best be assessed using methods to measure the similarities and differences between individual phenomena. Social and cultural phenomena are
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multidimensional in nature, in that they are perceived on various dimensions at the same time. The results are given in Section 6. Section 7 contains some concluding remarks.
2. Relations of Complemental Difference as Mirrors of the Idiosyncrasy of Literary Works As argued elsewhere (Verdaasdonk 1979), literary criticism and literary scholarship are tightly bound up with conceptions of literature, i.e., normative ideas about the characteristics a text should have in order to be considered a form of literature. Consequently, discourses on literature have strong normative overtones. In spite of these common traits, there are substantial differences in the content of individual conceptions of literature. Literary criticism lacks an explicit meta-language specifying the conditions under which literary terminology applies to texts (cf. Verdaasdonk 2000). In consequence, there are no procedures for operationalizing terms or for testing statements about literary texts. Everyday language is considered a reliable tool for presenting insights into the composition, meaning, and value of literary works. The reading process is seen as a legitimate manner of gaining such insights (cf. Verdaasdonk 1981). It seems strange that very few efforts have been made to overcome this lack of explicit procedures and to endow the study of literature with problems and methods that are akin to those current in the social sciences. In my view, this is because literary criticism continues to adhere to an age-old ideal according to which the assessment of a text’s idiosyncrasy - its “uniqueness” is a central aim in dealing with literature. When making general statements or giving causal or statistical explanations are no objectives of research, the need for an explicit meta-language does not seem urgent. It is held here that literary critics capitalize on the absence of an explicit meta-language to suggest that they successfully capture the idiosyncrasy or “uniqueness” of a literary text. An explicit meta-language gives insight into the conditions under which terms apply to the object of research. In this way, a meta-
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language contributes to the clarity of the characterizations that are given of literary texts. A basic requirement for making descriptive statements is that it should be clear on what grounds elements identified in literary texts are placed in the same category or in different categories. A meta-language helps to satisfy this requirement. It also offers the opportunity to distinguish between the types of statements that are made, i.e., it enables the critic to determine whether statements are descriptive, interpretive or evaluative in nature. Since literary criticism lacks a meta-language, these opportunities are lost. Consequently, the distinction between descriptive and normative statements is often blurred; the categorization of elements deemed to be constitutive of literary texts strongly depends on forms of analogical reasoning (cf. Verdaasdonk 1979, 1994). From this, it follows that no clear line can be drawn between two basic operations performed by critics: those of assessing similarities and differences between elements identified in literary texts. These operations are interdependent. Since no two elements are perfectly identical, the nature of each must first be identified; subsequently, it must be decided whether or not they have a sufficient number of traits in common to be placed in the same category. In analogical reasoning, these two operations are blurred: the critic is free to use his or her discretion in determining whether or not differences between items allow them to be considered similar. Literary critics and reviewers follow a procedure in assessing what in their view constitutes the idiosyncrasy of a text. They characterize a text by observing that it contains several sharp oppositions which, in spite of the distinctness of the two terms, are judged to be amenable to neutralization. However, they never specify how this neutralization is achieved. It is taken to be the accomplishment of the author and it is seen as the hallmark of his or her literary craftsmanship. Such oppositions will be referred to below as relations of complemental difference. Their terms are held to differ strongly from each other; nevertheless, they are also believed to be similar in that both are supposed to be subsumable under a more inclusive category. In Section 5 I shall present a number of relations of complemental difference identified by reviewers in new releases by Krol and Boon.
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Relations of complemental difference can be said to highlight a literary text’s idiosyncrasy on a number of grounds. The individual items between which such relations are posited are always specific to the text under discussion. Presenting them as strongly different from each other supposes that they can be easily identified. However, when it is not clarified how the terms exemplifying a relation of complemental difference can be subsumed under a more inclusive category, each such relation is bound to remain irreducibly singular in nature. Literary critics may be said to assess a text’s idiosyncrasy by capitalizing on the absence of an explicit meta-language. A metalanguage would allow them to lay down criteria for placing items in one category and to determine its level of inclusiveness. The procedure by which critics assess the idiosyncrasy of a text presupposes the absence of an explicit meta-language. Its absence is a condition for the acceptability of the suggestion that items which are presented as strongly dissimilar may nevertheless be subsumed under one and the same category. The absence of a meta-language makes the rejection of this suggestion inconceivable. In my view, Kant’s reflections on what constitutes a “beautiful object” form a clear case of making the assessment of such an object’s unique nature conditional on the absence of an explicit metalanguage, and even on the absence of everyday language. In his Critique of judgment (1968 [1790]), Kant says that a “beautiful object” triggers an “aesthetic judgment”. Neither can be captured by concepts. This makes any “beautiful object” and any “aesthetic judgment” irreducibly singular in nature. Even the use of everyday language may seem to involve too general a view on a work of art, thus misrepresenting its uniqueness, i.e., what makes it different from all other works of art. Implicitly, then, a ban is imposed on the development of an explicit meta-language. Detecting relations of complemental difference is a way not of bridging, but of dissimulating the gap between the use of categorical terms - implying generality - and the focus on a text’s individual nature - implying a concern for differences. Identifying relations of complemental difference in various texts suggests that the texts all exhibit a similar pattern. In spite of this, the idea that the particular oppositions which are found are specific to the text under review (or to the oeuvre of an individual author) supports the belief that high-
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lighting the idiosyncrasy of a text is a major aim of literary criticism. It also lends support to the conviction that, in characterizing texts, identifying differences has priority over identifying similarities. Finally, note that when the reduction of complemental differences is thought to be an achievement of the artistic craftsmanship of an author, the assessment of such differences is strongly conducive to a positive appraisal of the text in question.
3. Reviewing as a Collective Practice That Vogelaar’s position, as an author and as a reviewer, was perceived as that of an avant-gardist implies that the conception of literature he advocated was held to be sharply different from, or even opposed to, the conceptions of literature adopted by his fellow authors and fellow reviewers. The basic tenets of Vogelaar’s conception of literature were (i) everyday language is saturated with fixed meanings expressing social beliefs and prejudices, and (ii) literary works only succeed in breaking away from these beliefs if specific techniques are used which change the way in which readers deal with texts. These issues were phrased in Marxian language. In the 1970s, “progressive” intellectuals had great sympathy for Marxist thought. Moreover, the authors whom Vogelaar considered as his examples, particularly Brecht and Beckett, enjoyed a reputation for being highly sophisticated literary innovators. Very few reviewers endorsed the views propounded by Vogelaar. It should be pointed out, however, that all factors which shape literary opinions and reputations are context- and time-dependent. There are no “intrinsic” factors, i.e., specific ideas about the nature of literature, particular characteristics of literary texts or judgements about the literary production, which, by themselves, mark a critic’s position as being avant-gardist, “traditional” or mainstream in nature. Bourdieu (1984) has rightly argued that the position held in a given social field, and the views induced by this position, depend on the positions of others in the same field during a given period of time. An avant-gardist position is on the periphery of the literary field. Consequently, it requires substantial effort to justify this posi-
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tion, since it lacks the self-evidence of positions between which no strong incompatibilities are believed to exist. A wide variety of arguments can be adduced to defend a peripheral position. In my view, however, holders of such a position are strongly committed to the idea that their stands on the nature of literature are better founded and have greater truth-value than views endorsed by holders of majority positions. However, this claim cannot be upheld. Since conceptions of literature are normative in nature, no solid arguments can be given to prefer a particular conception to another. It follows from this that reviews of new releases from an avant-gardist point of view contribute little, if anything, to the establishment of consensus about the nature and value of literary texts. As suggested above, this consensus is a necessary condition for making decisions about the composition of the repertoire of works which, in a given period, are regarded as manifesting superior quality. An avantgardist stand on contemporary literary production must be short-lived, since it has little chance of shaping the opinion of holders of other positions in the literary field. A lack of impact discourages reviewers from developing views that are too radically different from those of their counterparts. I propounded that identifying relations of complemental difference is a common aim of reviewers, and that the assessment of such relations is instrumental in enabling a positive appraisal of the texts under discussion. From the peripheral nature of an avant-gardist position, it follows that the major part of contemporary literary production does not meet the standards which holders of this position wish to apply. For them, there is little reason to identify in current new releases relations of complemental difference that constitute alternatives to those detected by other reviewers. On the other hand, when avant-gardist reviewers intend to give a negative appraisal of a new release, they often face strong limitations on the arguments they may wish to put forward. Since reviewers may be supposed to be well aware of the positions taken by their colleagues on individual texts – in particular when the authors in question have produced a substantial body of work – a negative appraisal often involves a flat denial of the presence of the relations of complemental difference which other reviewers have detected. Such denials are always perfunctory: by its normative nature, a conception of litera-
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ture does not allow it to be argued why a particular relation of complemental difference was erroneously identified. Overseeing a cultural repertoire requires a continuous and long-term formation of consensus. Avant-gardist reviewers seem to be placed at a decided disadvantage here. Their views on contemporary literary production are unlikely to be widely agreed upon by the community of reviewers. Moreover, in so far as their dissenting opinions encompass denials of relations of complemental difference identified by other reviewers, they will not issue these denials repeatedly at each subsequent publication by a given author. Engaging in a long sequence of denials and negative appraisals is harmful to a critic’s status as a member of a community that strives to reach consensus. Therefore, as far as such denials concern works by one individual author, they tend to occur just once.
4. Data on the Reviews of the New Releases by Krol and Boon As stated above, Vogelaar (1974c) represents the position of avantgarde criticism. I selected Aad Nuis (1978c) and Tom van Deel (1980c) as his counterparts. Vogelaar published his reviews in De Groene Amsterdammer, at that time a leftist weekly. Van Deel contributed to Trouw, a Protestant daily with nation-wide circulation. Nuis collaborated with the Haagse Post, a weekly that hovered between leftist and conservative views. My data set was based on Vogelaar’s (1974a) and Van Deel’s (1980b) reviews of De chauffeur verveelt zich, a novel by Gerrit Krol (1973). Nuis’ (1978b) characterizations of Krol’s work stem from his review of Halte opgeheven (1976), a collection of short stories. There is a thin line between reviewers’ assessments of the idiosyncrasy of an individual title by a given author, and their assessments of the idiosyncrasy of the body of work published by this author. Nuis and Van Deel are very positive about Krol’s work. In Nuis’ view, the author is an competent teller of stories in which other types of text, e.g., mathematical formulas, are integrated. These formulas suggest rational thinking and an inclination to logical analysis. However, Nuis sees a tension between these formulas and the emo-
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tions expressed by the narrator. He also points out that, as an artist, Krol proceeds intuitively. Although his stories are fragmented, each part is linked to the story’s central theme. Krol combines making concrete observations with abstract thinking. Van Deel wrote extensively about Krol’s work. His observations are similar to those proposed by Nuis. In Van Deel’s view also, Krol’s fragmentary way of story-telling does not harm the coherence of his texts. He has a high opinion of Krol as an original thinker. Van Deel’s conclusion is that the novel under review shows convincingly how the protagonist, by reflecting on and solving mathematical puzzles, arrives at viable insights into himself as a person, and succeeds in bridging the gap between himself and the world around him. Vogelaar rejects Krol’s novel. Including non-narrative texts in a novel is no achievement and montage is a very common literary technique. Furthermore, Vogelaar judges the puzzles solved by Krol’s main character to be childish in nature. In addition, Krol’s solutions are not the product of creativity; they are ready-made. Vogelaar has a low opinion of Krol as a thinker. The effort of using mathematics to clarify a person’s position in relation to society is negatively appraised. In Vogelaar’s eyes, the emotions felt by the main character are extremely commonplace. That the protagonist eventually finds his place in society is no feat; it is merely the result of bowing to the pressure to adapt exerted by the social system. Taken together, Nuis and Van Deel hold that the idiosyncrasy of Krol’s work is exemplified by the following relations of complemental difference: regular story-telling vs. insertion of other texttypes; formulas vs. emotions; theme vs. fragments; logical thinking vs. intuitive guessing; abstract thinking vs. making concrete observations; protagonist vs. social world; story vs. fragments, and puzzle-solving vs. arriving at insights. Vogelaar is of the opinion that the relations of regular storytelling vs. insertion of other text-types; formulas vs. emotions; logical thinking vs. intuitive guessing; protagonist vs. social world, and puzzle-solving vs. arriving at insights are not to be found in Krol’s novel. He does not discuss the other relations of complemental difference identified by Nuis and Van Deel in Krol’s work. Vogelaar and Van Deel both reviewed Pieter Daens (1971) by Louis Paul Boon. The book is about the political struggle to improve the
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social situation of Belgian workers at the end of the 19th century. The two Daens brothers, one a journalist, the other a Catholic priest, founded a political party, which competed with Catholics, socialists, and liberals. I also included the review Nuis devoted to Boon’s Het jaar 1901 (1977), which may be regarded as a sequel to Pieter Daens. Van Deel expresses great admiration for Pieter Daens. In his view, the book is a novel, although it comes extremely close to historiography. By depicting “small events”, i.e., events in the lives of ordinary people, Boon evokes “large events”, i.e., political developments on a national scale. The party founded by the Daens brothers united Catholic workers; Van Deel qualifies them as Christian democrats. However, the party met with fierce opposition from the Catholics. Van Deel quotes a diatribe of Adolf Daens, the Catholic journalist, against the Catholic Church. The love of the brothers for human beings turned the two political activists into imitators of Christ, Van Deel observes. Nuis also holds that Boon’s depictions of “small events” mirror large-scale events, and that the author successfully blends the art of story-telling with the presentation of what is historically true. In response to some of Boon’s critics, in particular to those who said that, in his later works, Boon tends to give up his socialist ideals, Nuis points out that, in his view, resignation and indignation were always mingled in the work of the Flemish author. According to Vogelaar, Pieter Daens is a book of historiography. It describes the rise of the socialist movement in the middle of the 19th century. The study complements Boon’s major novels, De Kapellekensbaan and Zomer te Ter-Muren. Vogelaar acknowledges Boon’s ability to mirror what is general in what is particular. He qualifies the members of the Daens party as “Christian socialists”. The party came under fire from the Catholics and cooperated with the socialist party. Although Vogelaar praises Pieter Daens, he thinks that, as a form of historiography, the book has serious shortcomings. Boon’s scepticism towards all political parties makes his study a contribution to political history; rather than a history of social conditions. Furthermore, in Vogelaar’s view, too little attention is paid to the economic aspects of the class struggle. Van Deel holds that Pieter Daens maintains a delicate balance between novel and historiography. Other relations of complemental
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difference are those between small events and great events, and between politicians and imitators of Christ. To this, Nuis adds that Boon blends resignation with indignation. Vogelaar considers Pieter Daens a work of historiography. In his view, the book is not a novel. On the other hand, he admits that great events are mirrored in small ones in Pieter Daens. In his review, he explicitly rejects the idea that there is a complemental relationship between resignation and indignation. Boon, he says, is simply sceptical towards political parties. His conclusion is that the Daens brothers were unsuccessful politicians. No comment is made on the idea that they were exemplary Christians.
5. Method The position a reviewer takes on a new book should not be analyzed in isolation. I have pleaded for a relational approach which accounts for the fact that reviewing is a collective practice in which individuals interact with one another and contribute to the formation of consensus about the nature and quality of literary works. Mohr (1998), a vigorous and sophisticated advocate of a relational approach to the study of culture, presents a number of formal methods that can be used to assess relations between a large variety of cultural objects. In his view, all of these methods (network analysis, multidimensional scaling, Galois lattices, etc.) are appropriate to measure relations of meaning. Although meaning is a broad concept, I did not feel that my research problem pertained to the interpretation of what reviewers say about newly published books. My problem was to determine the manner in which the opinions of individual reviewers are connected with each other, and to assess their similarity or dissimilarity. Of all methods used to investigate relations, network analysis seems to allow the greatest flexibility in dealing with the different types of relation that are supposed to exist between individual items. Knoke and Kuklinski (1982: 15f) list no less than eight “more common” types of relational content which were successfully analyzed by performing network analysis. Each chapter in the highly instructive introduction to exploratory network analysis by De Nooy et al. (2004)
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focuses on a specific type of relation and shows how this relation can be visualized and analyzed using the Pajek program. Most views expressed by Vogelaar appear to be incompatible with those put forward by Nuis and Van Deel. On the other hand, the opinions of Nuis and Van Deel seem to be strongly compatible. There is compatibility between views, when reviewers positively appraise a new book. In its turn, a positive value judgement is strongly indicated when reviewers identify relations of complemental difference in the new release. Conversely, critics have views that are incompatible when they differ in their appraisal of the book in question. When a negative appraisal is thought to be in order, the reviewer will abstain from assessing relations of complemental difference or deny that such relations which were identified by fellow reviewers are to be found in the text. In Chapter 4 of their book, De Nooy et al. (2004) discuss the analysis of friendship relations. There is an analogy between such relations and relations of compatibility between views expressed by literary critics. Two friends feel comfortable when they agree on a topic, and uncomfortable when there is disagreement. In the latter case, there is a situation of imbalance. This situation can be visualized using a signed graph, i.e., a graph in which each line carries either a positive or a negative sign. The two friends are connected to the topic by lines with a positive sign when they agree; when there is disagreement, one of them is connected to the topic by a line carrying a negative sign, the other by a positive line. In a signed graph, the Person-Other-Topic triple is represented by a cycle, i.e., a path in which the first and the last nodes (vertices) coincide. A cycle is balanced if it contains an even number of negative lines or no negative lines at all. The Pajek program has a facility which enables assessment of whether a network is balanced. This is the case if each signed graph can be partitioned into two clusters such that all positive lines are contained within clusters and all negative lines are situated between clusters. Applied to my research problem, a cluster containing positive lines encompasses reviewers who have similar and favourable views of the nature and quality of works by specific authors. These review-
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ers are connected by negative lines to dissenting colleagues in another cluster. In practice, networks are not as orderly as was suggested. Pajek offers the possibility of using an optimization technique for measuring the degree of balance in a network. This technique is explained in Doreian and Mrvar (1996). Negative lines within a cluster and positive lines between clusters yield an error score. The lower this score, the more balanced a network is.
6. Results For each author reviewed, I constructed a network in which a positive (unbroken) line ran from each reviewer to each relation of complemental difference he identified in the text under discussion. Negative (dotted) lines indicate the denial of the existence of a particular relation of complemental difference identified by others. No lines ran directly from one reviewer to another. Reviewers were linked to one another only by the same relations of complemental difference they identified in a text or by relations whose occurrence was asserted by one critic and denied by another. Pajek allows users to determine the penalty for each negative line within a cluster and for each positive line between clusters. These penalties add up to 1: i.e., when a negative line within a cluster has a penalty of 0.75, a positive line between cluster has a penalty of 0.25. The size of penalties affects the error score. The number of clusters the program is instructed to make also exerts influence on the error score. The higher the number of clusters, the greater the chance that positive lines will become situated between clusters increasing the error score. To minimize error scores, I imposed the same penalty (0.5) on each negative line within a cluster and on each positive line between clusters. Furthermore, I instructed the program to make a small number of clusters (two). Figure 1 on page 134 shows the positions the three reviewers took on new releases by Gerrit Krol. The initial error score was 5.00: i.e., 10 lines (10 x 0.50) violated the condition that positive lines are situated within one cluster and that negative lines run only between clusters. Using the optimization procedure, I obtained one solution
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without errors. The resulting network, thus, was perfectly balanced. The procedure yielded two clusters. One contained positive lines only, linking Nuis to Van Deel by all relations of complemental difference they both identified. The other cluster included Vogelaar. Negative lines ran from this cluster to some of the complemental differences posited by Nuis and Van Deel. There was a perfect polarization between Nuis and Van Deel, on the one hand, and Vogelaar, on the other. Figure 2, on page 135 gives the network containing the positions taken by the three reviewers on works by Louis Paul Boon. The initial error score was 4.00: i.e., eight lines (8 x 0.50) violated the conditions for a balanced network. The optimization technique yielded one solution with an error score of 0.50. This score resulted from the positive line linking Vogelaar to the complemental difference between great and small events, which was also identified by Nuis and Van Deel. This positive line ran between clusters.
7. Concluding Remarks The aim of reviewers of new literary books is to highlight the idiosyncratic nature of the texts. This aim is served by detecting relations of complemental difference. What makes such relations irreducibly singular in nature is that the terms exemplifying them are taken from the text under review, and, particularly, that the suggestion that the terms of such relations can be subsumed under a more inclusive category is never acted on. In proposing relations of complemental difference, reviewers capitalize on the absence of an explicit meta-language. Therefore, it may be strongly doubted that such relations have any descriptive status. Reviewing books is a collective practice. Reviews contribute to the reputation of an author in the literary field. The community of reviewers strives to reach consensus about the nature and quality of the literary production. Furthermore, stands taken by an individual critic are often influenced by the views expressed by other critics. This collective aspect of reviewing calls for a relational approach in which individual positions are weighted against one another in terms of their degree of compatibility or incompatibility.
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Identification of relations of complemental difference by a reviewer indicates a positive appreciation of the text. As argued above, such relations are supposed to exemplify the idiosyncrasy which is thought to be characteristic of all “true” art. Moreover, the neutralization of complemental differences is believed to be achieved as a result of the literary craftsmanship of the author concerned. Therefore, when two reviewers express a favorable judgement of a particular new release, their views may be considered compatible. Conversely, there is incompatibility between views when one reviewer judges a new release favorably and the other gives a negative appraisal. Network analysis offers the possibility of visualizing and analyzing such relations of compatibility and incompatibility. Reviewers who appraise a new release positively, are connected by positive lines to relations of complemental difference they have identified in a particular text. These lines also link these reviewers to each other. Negative judgements may take the form of denials that a text contains relations of complemental difference identified by others. In this case, a negative line runs between an reviewer and one or more relations of complemental difference. This affects the degree to which the network of reviewers and complemental differences is balanced. The sample used in this analysis was extremely small. I believe, however, that it was adequate to serve the aim to show how an avant-garde position on literature can be related to and be weighted against less peripheral positions. Network analysis can also be performed on a much larger sample, in particular on one that is representative of what the community of reviewers has to say about an author’s accomplishments in a given period of time. Note also that network analysis offers the possibility of analyzing longitudinal data sets (cf. De Nooy 2002). In this way, changes in the stands critics take on literary production can be identified. Since views on literature and authors’ reputation are timedependent, longitudinal analyses are required to capture how literary repertoires are overseen by the community of critics.
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fig. 1. Positions taken by the three reviewers on new releases
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fig. 2. gives the network containing the positions taken by the three reviewers on works by Louis Paul Boon.
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Distinction. A social critique of the judgement of taste. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press [1979].
“The dynamics of artistic prestige”. In: Poetics 30: 147-167.
De Nooy, W., A. Mrvar and V. Batagelj 2004 Exploratory network analysis with Pajek. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Doreian, P. and A. Mrvar 1996 “A partitioning approach to structural balance”. In: Social Networks 18: 149-168. Kant, I. 1968
Kritik der Urteilskraft. Leipzig: Reclam [1790].
Knoke, D. and J.H. Kuklinski 1982 Network analysis. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Mohr, J.W. 1998
“Measuring meaning structures”. In: American ology 24: 345-370.
Review of Soci-
Nuis, A. 1978a “De dwarskop uit Aalst”. In: Nuis 1978c: 15-20. 1978b “De spanning tussen formule en emotie”. In: Nuis 1978c: 54-59. 1978c Boeken. Amsterdam: Meulenhoff. Van Deel, T. 1980a “Zo historisch mogelijk (Louis Paul Boon, Pieter Daens, 1971)”. In: Van Deel 1980c: 27-30. 1980b “Hoe ziet onze SNIF eruit? (Gerrit Krol, De chauffeur verveelt zich, 1973)”. In: Van Deel 1980c: 162-165. 1980c Recensies. Amsterdam: Querido. Verdaasdonk, H. 1979 Critique littéraire et argumentation. Ph.D Thesis, Free University of Amsterdam. 1981 “Some fallacies about the reading process”. In: Poetics 10, 91-107. 1983 “Social and economic factors in the attribution of literary quality”. In: Poetics 12: 383-395.
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1994 “Cues for classifying literary texts. Judgments of representativeness in literary texts”. In Beekman, K. (ed.): Institution and innovation. Amsterdam and New York, NY: Rodopi: 145-161. 2000 “Zitate in Rezensionen neuer literarischer Bücher”. In: K. Beekman and R. Grüttemeier (eds.): Instrument Zitat. Über den literarhistorischen und institutionellen Nutzen von Zitaten und Zitieren. Amsterdam and New York, NY: Rodopi: 417-431. 2003 “Valuation as rational decision-making. A critique of Bourdieu’s analysis of cultural value”. In: Poetics 31: 357-374. Vogelaar, J.F. 1974a “Knutseldoos van Gerrit Krol. Gerrit Krol: De chauffeur verveelt zich”. In Vogelaar 1974c: 57-59. 1974b “Geschiedenis van een halve eeuw sociale strijd. Louis Paul Boon: Pieter Daens”. In: Vogelaar 1974c: 125-130. 1974c Konfrontaties. Kritieken en commentaren. Nijmegen: SUN.
An analysis of changes in lists of best-selling fiction, where such lists are seen as repertoires, is given in Verdaasdonk (2003). Thanks are due to Wouter de Nooy for his advice on the use of Pajek.
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Mayakovsky as Literary Critic Willem G. Weststeijn The Russian futurist poet Vladimir Mayakovsky (1893-1930) is well-known for his rebellious attitude: he hated bourgeois society and was an ardent supporter of the revolution. In his poetry he created a complex image of himself: that of a rebel, but at the same time of someone who is “unimpeachably tender” and , like Christ, is ready to sacrifice himself for mankind. Still another image appears from his literary criticism and literary activities. He was an excellent editor (Lef and New Lef), had a keen sense for what is really worthwhile in literature (Chekhov, Khlebnikov) and was an able craftsman with clear ideas how poetry should be written. His most elaborate piece of literary criticism, How Are Verses Made? (1926), that includes a description of the way in which he wrote his poem “To Sergey Esenin”, can be considered his credo.
Literary authors are, generally, not much concerned with the work of their contemporary fellow writers. That is to say, they read it, undoubtedly form an opinion about it, but do not express this opinion in the form of critical articles. There are, of course, exceptions (Thomas Mann, D.H. Lawrence, John Updike), but as a rule writers and poets stick to their own creative work and leave the writing of literary criticism to professional critics and reviewers. The Russian futurist poet Vladimir Mayakovsky (1893-1930) can be considered an intermediate case. He has one extensive critical article to his name, How Are Verses Made? (Kak delat stikhi, 1926), some pieces on the occasion of the death of authors and a number of shorter and longer declarations, statements, lectures and – stenographed – addresses and speeches at literary meetings, conferences and public appearances.1 This does not make Mayakovsky a real literary critic, but is certainly enough to study him as such and to assess what he has accomplished in the field of literary criticism. Russian Futurism appeared at the literary scene in the beginning of the second decade of the twentieth century. The movement consisted of several groups: the Cubo-Futurists, at first known as the Hylaeans, the Ego-Futurists, the Centrifuge and the Mezzanine of Poetry. The Cubo-Futurists, most of whom were artists as well as poets, hence their name, were undoubtedly the best known. Apart from Mayakovsky members of the group were David Burlyuk, Vasily
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Kamensky, Velimir Khlebnikov and Alexei Kruchonykh. The latter two laid the foundation of the so-called “zaumnyi jazyk” (transrational language), one of the most important and productive “discoveries” of Russian twentieth century poetry. Just as the painters of the time were not interested any longer in depicting reality, but tended to abstract art, an “independent” structure of colour and line, the poets did not consider the word in its referential function, but, primarily, as a constellation of letters and sounds without any definite referential meaning. This emphasis on “the word as such” (slovo kak takovoe’) was already apparent in Khlebnikov’s early poetry (from 1908), but was publicly announced only in the Cubo-Futurists’ first manifesto, A Slap in the Face of Public Taste (Poshchechina obshchestvennomu vkusu, 1912). In this manifesto the Futurists declared themselves as fierce opponents of the cultural establishment and of the entire literature of the past. To the readers of our New First Unexpected. We alone are the face of our Time. Through us the horn of time blows in the art of the word. The past is too tight. The Academy and Pushkin are less intelligible than hieroglyphics. Throw Pushkin, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, etc., etc. overboard from the Ship of Modernity. […] We order that the poets’ rights be revered: 1. To enlarge the scope of the poet’s vocabulary with arbitrary and derivative words (Word-novelty). 2. To feel an insurmountable hatred for the language existing before their time. […] And if for the time being the filthy stigmas of Your “Common Sense” and “good taste” are still present in our lines, these same lines for the first time already glimmer with the Summer Lightening of the New Coming Beauty of the Self-sufficient (self-centered) Word.2
The Futurists did not restrict themselves to rude and aggressive statements on paper, but took their aesthetic revolution out on the street. In 1913, the annus mirabilis of Russian Futurism (Markov 1968: 132), the Cubo-Futurists became notorious for their public poetry readings, which often ended in a scandal. The Futurists deliberately insulted their public and offended the audience by their provocative behaviour and ditto lectures and poetry. Mayakovsky, a born actor with a stento-
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rian voice, was the central figure of these happenings. To advertise the poetry readings he paraded along the streets in a yellow blouse with a wooden spoon in the buttonhole and with a painted face. This guaranteed success. Tickets were generally sold out before the recitals started. Despite their professed hatred for the literature of the past (particularly the work of their immediate predecessors, the refined symbolists) and their épater le bourgeois attitude, the Futurists took their poetry very seriously and devoted themselves with heart and soul to their literary profession. The outwardly rebellious Mayakovsky (“No, we don’t need your poor old songs, capable only of making a man feel sentimental… The man of the future should be hard, brave, daring, the master of life and not its slave”)3 proved to be a fine and
fig. 1. Vladimir Mayakovsky in 1915
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Mayakovsky versatile lyric poet with an excellent ear for original sound effects. Moreover, in his early poetry there was no trace of his publicly announced “hard, brave, daring master of life.” Among the Futurists he was the most personal of poets, combining a loathing for philistinism and smugness with a real concern for humanity, a full awareness of his vocation as a poet and eternal doubts about his ability to realize this vocation.
fig. 2. Vladimir Mayakovsky
Mayakovsky’s dual personality4 of which he was perfectly aware himself5, is clearly apparent in his early lyrics and particularly in his first longer poems, Vladimir Mayakovsky: A Tragedy (Vladimir Mayakovsky – Tragedia, 1913) and A Cloud in Pants (Oblako v shtanakh, 1915). The Cloud consists of four parts, each of which has a different theme: love, art, revolution and God. In the introduction to this un-
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equivocally autobiographical poem Mayakovsky gives a double image of himself: If you like I’ll rage and roar on raw meat – and then, like the sky, changing my hue – if you like I’ll be unimpeachably tender, not a man, but a cloud in pants.6
In the poem the lyric “I” rages and roars indeed, but is tender as well and, typically for Mayakovsky’s early work, compares himself with Christ, who is ready to sacrifice himself for mankind, even if it does not accept him. I am wherever pain is – anywhere; on each drop of the tear stream I have crucified myself […] And there wasn’t a one who didn’t shout “Crucify him! Crucify him!”7
Mayakovsky, the compassionate rebel and extraordinary talented poet, had a keen eye for what was really worthwhile in literature. He hated humbug and people who followed the latest fashion, but did not take the slogans of the Slap, to throw all the past literature overboard from the Ship of Modernity, too seriously. Mayakovsky’s hatred of philistinism and bourgeois smugness, combined with his excellent literary taste, is clearly apparent from an article he wrote in 1914, “Two Chekhovs” (“Dva Chekhova”), to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the death of the great Russian storyteller and playwright. The two Chekhovs of the title are, in the first place, the Chekhov as he is read and admired by the general public, i.e. the bourgeois reader, in the second place the Chekhov as he has to be read according to Mayakovsky. In his article Mayakovsky scoffs at all those readers who think of Chekhov as “the poet of twilight”, “the defender of the insulted and injured”, “the humorist” or someone “who loves mankind as a woman or only a mother loves”. For Mayakovsky Chekhov is, first and foremost, a writer, someone who re-
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who renewed the Word and introduced into literature an entirely new layer of language: the coarse and vulgar language of businessmen and shopkeepers, of “trading Russia.” Chekhov put an end to the aristocratic language of aristocratic writers such as Tolstoy and Turgenev, who only wrote about life at the country estates and he ridiculed the “chords” and “silver distances” of the symbolist poets who “sucked art out their fingers”. “Chekhov’s language is concise and laconic as “good day”, simple as “give me a glass of tea”. In this terseness and simplicity Mayakovsky sees the basis of the language of the future, which cries for austerity. As a master of the word Mayakovsky carries out the real tasks of art. From behind the for the philister already customary figure of the grumbler whom nothing can satisfy, the advocate in society of “ridiculous” people, from behind Chekhov, the “singer of twilight”, appear the outlines of another Chekhov – the strong, cheerful artist of the word.8
Although Mayakovsky in his article on the two Chekhovs attacked the symbolist poets – as he used to do whenever he had a chance – he made an exception for the greatest among them, Alexander Blok. Just as in Chekhov’s case, he realized that Blok was an extremely gifted poet, belonging, it is true, to his immediate and for that reason especially hated predecessors – Blok was only thirteen years older than Mayakovsky – but someone he could not help but admire. When Blok died in 1921 Mayakovsky wrote a short obituary. The creative writings of Alexander Blok are an entire poetic era, the era of the recent past. A wonderful master-symbolist, Blok had an enormous influence on the whole of contemporary poetry. There are some who, to this day, cannot break free of his enchanting verse – they take a phrase of Blok’s and expand it into whole pages, building all their poetic wealth on it. Others have outgrown the romanticism of his early period, have declared poetic war on it and, after getting the fragments of symbolism out of their system, are digging the foundations of new rhythms, laying the bricks of new images and fastening their lines together with new rhymes: they are putting in heroic efforts to create the poetry of the future. But Blok is remembered by the former and the latter with equal love.9
Less surprising, but equally perspicuous was Mayakovsky’s judgment of his fellow Futurist Velimir Khlebnikov. Shortly after Khlebnikov’s
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death in 192210 Mayakovsky wrote a commemorative article in the literary journal Red Virgin Soil (Krasnaya Nov’), in which he highly praised Khlebnikov, calling him “the Columbus of the new poetic continents which have now been populated and are being developed by us”.11 Of the Futurist poets Mayakovsky was by far the most popular one, conquering the public with his brilliant readings and performances. The shy Khlebnikov was, in this respect, his very antipode. Khlebnikov did not like the public performances at all and usually backed out of them. As Mayakovsky commemorates: “When reading aloud, he often stopped in midword and commented: ‘Well, anyway, etcetera.’”(1987: 167). However, Khlebnikov had other qualifications and Mayakovsky was well aware of them. More than the other Futurists and more even than Mayakovsky, Khlebnikov was the real innovator of Russian poetic language. Whereas Mayakovsky was a master of rhyme and introduced many “words from the street” into his poetry, Khlebnikov discovered the rich possibilities of language, in particular the semantic potential of the elements of language: sounds, letters and, in line with these, neologisms. For him the word was not in the first place a means to denote reality: objects, feelings or thoughts but an independent force, an independent entity, in which “hidden wisdom” may be discovered and which itself is “organizing the material of feelings and thoughts” (Mayakovsky 1987: 168). Among his fellow Futurists Khlebnikov was considered a genius, in Mayakovsky’s words “not a poet for consumers, but for producers” (1987: 167) and in any case the poet who most consistently, in his articles as well as in his poetical works, advanced the new vision of poetic language. To retain a proper literary sense of perspective, I consider it my duty to publish in black and white on my own behalf and, I have no doubt, on behalf of my friends, the poets Aseyev, Burlyuk, Kruchenykh, Kamensky and Pasternak, that we considered and still do consider him one of our poetry teachers and the most magnificent and most honourable knight in our poetic struggle. (1987: 170-71)
Contrary to Khlebnikov, who first and foremost was concerned with the revolution in poetic language, Mayakovsky was a “real” revolutionary, in the sense that he wanted to change society and dedicated himself and his poetic talent to this cause. He was an active supporter of the revolution and the bolshevist government as he sincerely believed that the revolution would clear the way for the new, wished for,
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bourgeois-less society and wrote a lot of agitprop poetry, that culminated in on the one hand his verses on propaganda posters,12 on the other hand in long, epic poems such as 150.000.000 (1919) and Vladimir Ilich Lenin (1924). As a member of the Futurist avant-garde Mayakovsky was convinced that Futurist art should become the new art of the new proletarian state. He was the moving spirit behind LEF (Left Front of Art), a group of revolutionary artists, poets and critics, who considered themselves the founders of communist culture and aimed at the complete integration of life and art. The journal of the group. Lef, that existed from 1923-1925 was edited by Mayakovsky.13 Lef was fiercely polemical. It had not only to struggle with rival organizations of proletarian artists and writers, who often had a conventional artistic taste and did not like at all or did not even understand the Futurist experimental art, but also attacked the byt, “everyday life”, which soon after the revolution threatened to become petrified by the new hierarchy of party bosses with their, seemingly indestructible, petty-bourgeois mentality. Mayakovsky’s hatred for the new philistinism and general narrow-mindedness was not less than his aversion to the same elements in pre-revolutionary Russian society. His “eternal” struggle for sincerity and authenticity in art as well as in byt is expressed most clearly in his longest and most substantial critical text How are Verses Made? The direct reason to write this article was to react once more at the death of the poet Sergey Esenin, who had hanged himself at the end of 1925 in a hotel in Leningrad. Esenin, an extremely popular poet in Russia and in the West well-known for his love-affair with Isodora Duncan, was thirty years old at the time of his suicide and left behind a farewell poem, written in his own blood and ending with the lines: “In this life it’s nothing new to die, / But to live, of course, isn’t newer.” Mayakovsky’s first reaction to Esenin’s death was the poem “To Sergey Esenin”. He wrote the poem to counteract the pessimistic feeling expressed by Esenin’s farewell poem and by the act of suicide itself, but there was, undoubtedly, more to it. Mayakovsky was intrigued by Esenin’s suicide (five years later he also killed himself) and was, moreover, jealous of Esenin’s popularity. Esenin’s melodious and singable lyrics proved to be more appealing to the public than Mayakovsky’s revolutionary verse.
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As Mayakovsky considered it his task to challenge the general feelings of pessimism evoked by Esenin’s death, his poem on Esenin lacks the elegiac tone that is characteristic for commemorative poems. Mayakovsky’s poem strikes the reader even by the absence of sympathy with a fellow poet who chose such a hard fate for himself. One of the reasons for Mayakovsky to write How are Verses Made? was to explain this seemingly cold attitude and lack of sympathy. Eventually, his text went further than that and became a general statement about his own making of verse and about the way it should be done in general. Mayakovsky, a professional and very successful reciter of poetry, has always been very attentive to the problems and possibilities of poetic technique.14 He had very clear ideas how to renew poetry, not only as regards content, but also as regards form. He was convinced that the new times needed a new kind of literature and that the old forms had to be abolished. Being, perhaps suitable for their own times, they had outlived themselves and could not express the essence of the new age. This was certainly not clear to everybody. In different literary debates, in conversations with young workers from various workshops of the word (Rapp, Tapp, Papp, etc.),15 in reprisals against critics, I have often been obliged, if not to smash to pieces, at least to discredit the old poetics. Of course we didn’t interfere with old poetry that was in itself quite blameless. It drew our wrath only if avid protectors of the old hid from new art behind the backside of monuments. […] Our chief and enduring hatred falls on sentimental-critical Philistinism. On those who see all the greatness of the poetry of the past in the fact that they too have loved as Oniegin loved Tatyana (elective affinities!) or in the fact that even they can understand these poets (they studied them at school), and iambuses caress their ears too. (1974: 11)
Mayakovsky did not believe in the general high-flown ideas about writing poetry (“the only method of production is the inspired throwing back of the head while one waits for the heavenly soul of poetry to descend on one’s bald patch in the form of a dove, a peacock or an ostrich” – 1974: 12), nor in the possibility to write real poetry according to the poetry handbooks with their rules of metre, rhyme and harmony. These books should not be called “how to write” but “how they used to write”. The new age in particular demands an entirely new and different kind of poetry.
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The Revolution, for instance, has thrown up on to the streets the unpolished speech of the masses, the slang of the suburbs has flowed along the downtown boulevards; the enfeebled sub-language of the intelligentsia, with its emasculated words “ideal”, “principles of justice”, “the transcendental visage of Christ and Antichrist” – all these expressions, pronounced in little whispers in restaurants, have been trampled underfoot. There is a new linguistic element. How can one make it poetic? The old rules about “love and dove”, “moon and June”, and alexandrines are no use. How can we introduce the spoken language into poetry, and extract poetry from this spoken language? […] It’s hopeless to shove the bursting thunder of the Revolution into a fourstress amphibrach, devised for its gentle sound! (1974: 15)
In his How are Verses Made? Mayakovsky contends that he does not know of iambuses and trochees and that when snatches of these metres are found in his poetry it is because you come across them everywhere in language. Just like a game of chess a poetical work has only a few general rules about how to begin. After a few moves everything becomes new and unexpected. The essential rules for beginning a poem are according to Mayakovsky a problem in society that can only be tackled by a work of poetry – the theme, and an awareness of the desires of one’s class – a target, aim or standpoint. Further, as material, words; then tools of production and equipment for the enterprise, from pen and paper to an umbrella for writing in the rain, a room large enough to pace up and down while at work and a bicycle for going to the publishers. Last but not least word-processing techniques, which can only be acquired after years of daily toil and which are extremely personal: rhymes, images, alliteration, headings, pathos, etc. Accordingly, Mayakovsky adds, a good poetic work will be one that has been written to the social command of the Comintern, with the victory of the proletariat as its target. It has a new vocabulary, comprehensible to all, is written on a desk as recommended by the Scientific Organization of Labour and delivered to the publisher by the latest and most modern means of transport, the aeroplane. Despite this caricaturing and exaggerated description of the poetic “rules” Mayakovsky is absolutely serious about the task of the poet and about the intensity of poetic writing: taking up the greater part of the day (from ten to eighteen hours) it results in a daily produc-
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tion of eight to ten lines. In short, writing poetry is one of the hardest and most laborious jobs there is. To illustrate this laborious job Mayakovsky describes in the second part of How are Verses Made? in what way he wrote the poem “To Sergey Esenin”, in his own opinion one of the most effective of his latest poems. When Mayakovsky met Esenin for the first time in a flat in Leningrad he was not really impressed by his decorative outfit: a peasant shirt and bast shoes, making him look like something out of a comedy and certainly not the real peasant he pretended to be. His countrified verses too were not to the taste of the Futurist Mayakovsky. Later on Esenin broke free from his idealized rusticism and developed into the direction of VAPP, the All-Russian Association of Proletarian Writers, being “rather envious of any poet who had become organically one with the Revolution and the proletariat”. In Mayakovsky’s opinion this was at the root of Esenin’s self-dissatisfaction and heavy drinking. When after Esenin’s suicide his powerful last lines were published his death became a literary fact: it was important to counteract these pessimistic lines as they were already taking effect. Such poetry had to be fought with poetry, but what to write and how? Theme and aim being established: Esenin’s death and the wish to make his last lines uninteresting, to neutralize its effects and “to replace the facile beauty of death by another beauty, since toiling mankind needs all its strength to sustain the Revolution it has begun” (1974: 32) Mayakovsky extensively describes his problems in finding the right tone and right words for the first few lines. He warns for expressions of endearment as were found in “piffle” poems by Esenin’s friends and, in general, for being too intimate with the theme or subject described: “Any description of contemporary events by those taking part in the struggles of the day will always be incomplete, even incorrect, or at any rate one-sided” (1974: 33). Distance is obligatory, contrasts often work well (take a horribly crowded bus if you want to write about the tenderness of love) and take your time: even hasty agitational poems call for highly intensive work. Mayakovsky intermingles his “rules” with a description of the creative process. Fundamental to all poetry, its basic force and basic energy, is rhythm. It comes to Mayakovsky when he walks through the city.
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Willem G. Weststeijn I walk along, waving my arms and mumbling almost wordlessly, now shortening my steps so as not to interrupt my mumbling, now mumbling more rapidly in time with my steps. So the rhythm is trimmed and takes shape – and rhythm is the basis of any poetic work, resounding through the whole thing. Gradually individual words begin to ease themselves free of this dull roar. Several words just jump away and never come back, others hold on, wriggle and squirm a dozen times over, until you can’t imagine how any word will ever stay in its place (this sensation, developing with experience, is called talent). More often than not the most important word emerges first: the word that most completely conveys the meaning of the poem, or the word that underlies the rhyme. The other words come forward and take up dependent positions in relation to the most important word. When the fundamentals are already there, one has a sudden sensation that the rhythm is strained: there’s some little syllable or sound missing. You begin to shape all the words anew, and the work drives you to distraction. It’s like having a tooth crowned. A hundred times (or so it seems) the dentist tries a crown on the tooth, and it’s the wrong size; but at last, after a hundred attempts, he presses one down, and it fits. The analogy is all the more apposite in my case, because when at last the crown fits, I (quite literally) have tears in my eyes, from pain and relief. (1974: 36-37)
In the poem “To Sergey Esenin” there was at first only rhythm. Then, gradually, the words took shape. It took quite a long time before Mayakovsky was satisfied with the first lines. In the very first line, for instance, it was extremely difficult to find the right words for the middle part of the line after the beginning and the end had been determined. You went off ra ra ra to a world above
Mayakovsky tried a number of variants that would harmonize with the rhythm: You went off, Seryozha, to a world above … You went off for ever to a world above … You went off, Esenin, to a world above …
However, he discarded them all. “Seryozha” would be false, as he was not on such intimate terms with Esenin; “for ever” is redundant: there is no return ticket to death; “Esenin” is too serious as it would suggest that Mayakovsky believed in life after death, it turns the poem into a kind of funeral ode instead of one with an aim. The final solution: “You went off, they say, to a world above” was satisfactory for Ma-
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yakovsky because of its objectiveness: “neither dancing at a funeral, nor, on the other hand, yielding to the professional mourners” (1974: 40). Mayakovsky continues with a discussion of, apart from rhythm, a number of other indispensable elements of a poem, in particular rhyme,16 images, alliteration and, closely connected with matters of technique, tone. He warns for affectation and exaggeration (“You must always remember that a policy of economy in art is the most important principle of every product of aesthetic value” 1974: 52) and underlines the relativity of all rules about writing poetry. It is not possible, Mayakovsky states, to proffer ready-made formulas for poetry since the essence of poetic activity, the basis of poetic composition is not the simple application of rules, but the ability to invent different technical devices, different ways of technically polishing words. How are Verses Made? is not meant for the poetaster, but for him who knows that poetry is one of the most difficult things to produce, but despite all obstacles wishes to be a poet. Mayakovsky ends his article with a number of general conclusions in which he once more emphasizes that poetry is production, very complex and difficult, but production. As such it needs an aim, the best materials, an excellent technique and regular hard work. However, these “universal rules” are openly endorsed only by the LEF-poets. We, the poets of the Left Front, never claim that we alone possess the secrets of poetical creativity. But we are the only ones who want to lay these secrets open, the only ones who don’t want to surround the creative process with a catchpenny religio-artistic aura of sanctity. (1974: 58)
Mayakovsky has often been accused of devoting his great talent to the revolution instead to poetry. In his own view it was not a question of either – or, but of both – and. He never yielded to the temptation to write “easy” revolutionary verse, but, on the other hand, could not leave the revolution and the desired new society out of his poetry. This led to a serious predicament as he felt himself neither understood nor accepted by the proletarian masses. A few weeks before he shot himself he stated his problem quite clearly in an address to a Komsomol club at an evening dedicated to twenty years of his poetic activity.
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Willem G. Weststeijn I’ve not spent my whole life working hard so as to make pretty pieces and caress the human ear; the upshot has always been that I’ve somehow caused everybody a lot of unpleasantness. My main work is cussing and deriding what seems wrong to me and must be fought. And twenty years of my literary work have been mainly, to put it bluntly, neither more nor less than literary snout-bashing, not in the exact sense of the word, but in the best! – that is, every minute I’ve had to defend various revolutionary literary positions, fight on their behalf and fight the inertia that can be met in our thirteen-year-old Republic. (Mayakovsky 1987: 235)
At his death Mayakovsky left a suicide note with the words: “As they say, ‘The incident is closed’”. The love boat has smashed against convention”. Usually the words “smashed love boat” are considered as referring to his ill-fated romance with Tatyana Yakovleva,17 which was doomed by the byt. However, the byt had also doomed his love for the new classless society for which he had fought during his entire career as a poet.18 Mayakovsky could not conquer the byt, but the byt could not conquer Mayakovsky. He would rather die than change his opinion about the extremely difficult art of writing poetry.
Notes 1
All of Mayakovsky’s writings have been published in the thirteen volume edition of his complete collected works (Moscow 1955-1961). This edition could appear at that time because Stalin had declared Mayakovsky “the best and most talented poet of our Soviet epoch”, which made it possible to study him in detail. To the phrase “Mayakovsky was and remains the best and most talented poet of our Soviet epoch”, which was apparently suggested to Stalin by the formalist critic Osip Brik, who had complained to him about the neglect of Mayakovsky, Stalin added: “Indifference to his memory and his works is a crime” (See Brown 1973: 370). Accordingly, it became more or less compulsory to read, study and publish Mayakovsky’s work. Of all the great avant-garde poets of the Silver Age of Russian poetry Mayakovsky was the only one to be officially accepted by the Soviet state. Boris Pasternak and Anna Akhmatova were not allowed to publish any longer after 1930, Nikolay Gumilyov was executed as an anti-communist conspirator, Osip Mandelshtam perished in a camp, Marina Tsvetayeva emigrated, went back to Russia and hanged herself after her husband had been shot and her daughter arrested. Velimir Khlebnikov, Mayakovsky’s fellow futurist, died already in 1922. The works of all these poets were suppressed during Soviet times. Complete editions of their works appeared in Russia only after the collapse of the Soviet Union.
2
Translation in Lawton 1988: 51-52.
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3
From a speech Mayakovsky made in Kishinyov. See Kamensky 1940: 103.
4
See, for instance, Jakobson 1930 and Brown 1973, especially chapters four and five.
5
In 1915 Mayakovsky wrote an article, “About the Various Mayakovskys” (“O raznykh Mayakovskykh”), in which he described himself as an insolent person and a cynic, but, by quoting from his own poetry, showed an entirely different side of his personality.
6
Mayakovsky 1955-61, Vol. I: 175. I quote the literal translation from Brown 1973: 116.
7
Ibidem, 184-85; 122-23.
8
Ibidem, 301. My translation.
9
Mayakovsky 1955-61, Vol, XII: 21. I quote the translation in Mayakovsky 1987: 166.
10
Khlebnikov died at the age of 37, just like Pushkin. When Mayakovsky killed himself he was of the same age. 11
Mayakovsky 1987: 167.
12 From 1919-1921 Mayakovsky produced, on commission for the Russian Telegraph Agency (ROSTA), more than 600 revolutionary posters with cartoon-like drawings and verse slogans. Many of the posters or “windows” as they were called were displayed in shop-windows, so that the public did not see the empty shops (after the revolution and during the civil war the economy was in a disastrous state) and at the same time were urged to support the revolution. 13
Lef was revived as Novyi lef in 1927, again under the editorship of Mayakovsky. Its last number appeared in 1928.
14
See, for instance, the article “Mayakovsky o kachestve stikha” (“Mayakovsky on the Quality of Verse”) in Khardzhiev and Trenin 1970. Many statements have been made about the important role of the audience as “co-participant” of Mayakovsky’s creative work. The best study in this respect is Vinokur 1943. Kozhinov 1976 quotes him as follows: “The first and most common stylistic feature of Mayakovsky’s diction is that it is wholly permeated by the element of the spoken and, moreover, the predominantly loud spoken word. […] A form of speech in which, as it were, direct contact with the listener is expressed is Mayakovsky’s most usual method, whether he is stating a personal and intimate theme or whether he is formulating some universally significant proposition […] It is interesting to compare, for instance, the objectively affirmative tone of Pushkin’s Monument and the inevitable address to the listener […]
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with which Mayakovsky’s own Monument begins” and adds: “It would, of course, be wrong to think that there had been no form of lyrical address before Mayakovsky’s poetry, and especially Nekrasov’s. It is only with Mayakovsky, however, that the address to the reader becomes a dominant feature of the style, and only with Mayakovsky does this address seem to demand an immediate reaction, a vocal response, urge and action” (84). 15
There were several associations of proletarian writers: RAPP, the Russian association, MAPP, the Moscow association, VAPP, the All-Russian association. 16 “[…] without rhyme […] poetry falls to pieces. Rhyme sends you back to the previous line, reminds you of it, and helps all the lines that compose one thought to hold together”. (Mayakovsky 1974: 42) 17
Tatyana Yakovleva was an emigrée whom Mayakovsky had met in Paris in 1928. She seems to have been a kind of femme fatale and Mayakovsky fell totally in love with her. He tried to persuade her to follow him to Russia and marry him. She refused to do so and married instead a French diplomat. 18
A few months before his death Mayakovsky left LEF and became a member of RAPP, the leaders of which he had attacked for a long time because they preferred Tolstoyan realism to Futurist experimental art. This desperate attempt to find a home among the proletarian writers failed. RAPP accorded him a cold reception and tried to re-educate him in the spirit of proletarian ideology. “Some people recalled that on the eve of his suicide, already cut off from friends and collaborators of long standing, he was in a state of defenseless misery as a result of his sessions with the talentless dogmatists and petty literary tyrants whose organization he had joined”. (Brown 1973: 367)
Bibliography Brown, Edward J. 1973 Mayakovsky. A Poet in the Revolution. Princeton. Jakobson, Roman 1930 Smert Vladimira Mayakovskogo. Berlin. Kamensky, Vasili 1940 Zhizn s Mayakovskym. Moskva. Khardzhiev, N. and V. Trenin 1970 Poeticheskaya kultura Mayakovskogo. Moskva.
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Kozhinov, Vadim 1976 “Mayakovsky and Russian Classical Literature”. In: Vladimir Mayakovsky: Innovator. Moscow, pp. 74-93. Lawton, Anna (ed.) 1988 Russian Futurism through its Manifestoes, 1912-1928. Texts translated and edited by Anna Lawton and Herbert Eagle. Ithaca and London. Mayakovsky, Vladimir 1955-61 Polnoe sobranie sochinenii I-XIII. Moscow. 1974 How are Verses Made ? Translated by G.M. Hyde. London (first published 1970). 1987 Selected Works in Three Volumes. Vol. 3, Plays. Articles. Essays. Moscow. Markov, Vladimir 1968 Russian Futurism: A History. Berkeley and Los Angeles. Vinokur, G.O. 1943
Mayakovsky novator jazyka. Moskva.
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German Art in The Netherlands before and after World War II Gregor Langfeld This paper shows how Dutch art critics responded to the German avant-garde during the first half of the twentieth century. These art critics played a singular role between the two world wars. They were more conservative than other circles in the art scene and thus constituted a delaying factor in the development of a canon of modern art, as demonstrated by my recently published study (Langfeld 2004).1 After 1945, however, critical attitudes towards the German avant-garde (particularly expressionism) changed from negative to positive. At first sight this seems astonishing, since fierce anti-German sentiments existed in the Netherlands following the Nazi occupation, encompassing virtually everything connected with Germany and the Germans. In this paper I will suggest some factors that may explain the sudden success of the German avant-garde during the first half of the 1950s, a period in which this art was increasingly accorded a place in the international canon. I will examine whether this change in attitude was motivated by a shift in critical emphasis, from aesthetic considerations to the political context.
Despite the less than flattering judgements pronounced by Dutch art critics between the two world wars, avant-garde circles in the Netherlands and Germany enjoyed a lively artistic exchange from the first decades of the twentieth century onwards. One example of this exchange is provided by the legendary Herwarth Walden, musician, composer, publicist, gallery owner and publisher of the journal Der Sturm. Before and during World War I this Berlin advocate of the European avant-garde organized various exhibitions of modern art in galleries such as the Kunstzaal Oldenzeel (Rotterdam) and the Kunstzaal d’Audretsch (The Hague). He also maintained close contacts with the Dutch artist Jacoba van Heemskerck, to whom he offered considerable support, the art collector Marie Tak van Poortvliet and the artist/dealer Paul Citroen. Important works of avant-garde art passed through their hands and now form part of contemporary museum collections in the Netherlands. Dutch private collectors of the international avant-garde were not as exclusively French-oriented as might be thought, since many, even most of them, also collected German art. Wassily Kandinsky, who is considered a German expressionist, enjoyed a particularly high repu-
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tation. During the 1920s friendships also existed between artists such as Theo van Doesburg and Kurt Schwitters. Societies of Dutch artists such as De Onafhankelijken [The Independents], who swiftly followed new developments in the arts, played a leading role in promoting contact with German art.2 They organized a number of significant exhibitions, at which modern German art could also be seen. Some of these exhibitions are known to have been visited by a broad public, despite, or even because of, crushing press reviews. A wide array of artists’ societies existed, from the conservative and the elitist to the progressive and the jury-free. Museums tended to collect little international art, either old or modern. The Gemeentemuseum Den Haag [The Hague Municipal Museum] was the only institution with an explicitly international collecting policy, which was mainly oriented to the 19th century. The prevailing opinion was that museums should only collect work by artists who had been dead for at least ten years, or works that were at least 25 years old. Nevertheless, some municipal museums such as the Gemeentemuseum Den Haag, Museum Boijmans (Rotterdam) and the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam laid a foundation of avant-garde art in their collections during the inter-war period in which German art enjoyed a relatively important place. If the goal of art criticism is to strive to provide balanced, objective information, the approach taken by Dutch critics in the inter-war years was totally improper. They showed themselves to be prejudiced and chauvinistic, their thinking dominated by stereotypes. Work by members of the Brücke group, for example, was described as rough, “noisy” and ugly. By way of exception, however, critics did respond positively to some abstract artists such as Franz Marc and particularly Kandinsky. Nevertheless, during the 1920s and 30s their interest in Kandinsky progressively waned, while their response to other artists of Der Blaue Reiter, if any, was mainly negative. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that Dutch critics were more positively disposed towards realistic art and the Neue Sachlichkeit [New Realism], although they also considered this movement’s work to be cold, intellectual and insensible. Käthe Kollwitz, with her range of social subjects and roots in 19th-century art, was especially highly regarded by Dutch critics. Although Dutch critics also responded negatively to the French cubists and Piet Mondriaan, additional sources of resentment prevented
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them from taking an objective approach towards German artists. They compared German art unflatteringly to Dutch art, emphasizing differences that favoured the Netherlands’ own self-proclaimed superior artistic identity. This self-image had been formed as a reaction to the presence of Germany, a major power, on Dutch borders, a presence that inspired ambivalent feelings such as fear of a loss of autonomy and national individuality. The first major exhibition of modern German art held in the Netherlands after World War I was organized by De Onafhankelijken in the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam (5 February–6 March 1921, fig. 1). Its aim was to present art produced by a range of young modern artists,
fig. 1. Exhibition ‘De Onafhankelijken’. 16e jury-vrije tentoonstelling het Stedelijk Museum te Amsterdam, 1921. In the foreground Belling, Dreiklang (Triad), 1919.
mostly members of the Novembergruppe (Exhibition Catalogue Amsterdam 1921).3 A great deal of public interest was shown in the exhibition and the catalogues soon sold out. The press characterized the German artists as revolutionary young people with long hair in many col-
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ours and worn-out clothes or velvet jackets daubed with colour, who had established their group during the Berlin riots (Anonymous 23 & M.V. 6 February 1921). Their works were dismissed as ghastly, frightening, ugly and coarse. Critics wrote about their lack of taste (wansmaak), negation, decadence and dilettantism, describing their art as sick
fig. 2. Max Pechstein, Mond (Moon), 1919, wood, h. 105 cm. Destroyed.
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and degenerate, terms reminiscent of the terminology later employed by the Nazis. N.H. Wolf ended his article in De Kunst [The Art] with the statement that, unlike the Dutch artists at the exhibition, the absence of the Germans would not have been regretted. He also described the Dutch as less bolshevist than the Germans (Wolf 19 February 1921: 246 & 26 February 1921: 258). In a similar vein Dutch critics expressed the hope that artists in the Netherlands would not espouse any characteristic of their colleagues in the neighbouring country, and repeatedly emphasized their opinion that French art was much more civilized than German. Although Cornelis Veth grudgingly called Max Pechstein the most able of the German painters, he talked in the same breath of wild, bungling horrors, affected ugliness, misdrawing, crude colours, bad taste and perverse. Veth claimed that Pechstein’s imitation of Negro art inspired nothing more than aversion in the Netherlands (Veth 8, 12 February 1921 & April 1921: 283). On the subject of Pechstein’s polychrome wooden sculptures, which were inspired by African art (fig.2), Kasper Niehaus declared that they were an invitation to descend to a barbarous primitivism that was not in “our nature” (Niehaus 12 February 1921). Nevertheless, there was praise for the Dutch naive painter Sal Meijer, while Swiss artist Wilhelm Schmid found favour on account of his “gentleness” and “mildness”. Abstract sculpture by Oswald Herzog and Rudolf Belling, the pioneer of the abstract three-dimension form, was also positively received, although critics complained about the lack of explanation for works such as Dreiklang (1919) by Belling. Several years later, when the federation of Rotterdam artists De Branding organized an international exhibition featuring many artists connected with the Berlin Sturm, the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant wrote:4 “This Branding [Dutch for surf], which generally washes up all kinds of driftwood (amongst which the occasional better piece, as with all surf) on our Dutch coast (with a few Dutchmen adding their own contribution), is the result of the Sturm [German for storm] abroad several years ago, explained at the time by a psyche shaken by war (Anonymous 7 February 1924). The critic A.M. Hammacher, who was to become director of Rijksmuseum Kröller-Müller after the World War II, also rejected the art on display as an inflexible way of proceeding and a desire on the part of the artists to free themselves from every historical connection. His judgement was patently negative when he wrote:
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fig.3. Cas Oorthuys and J. J. Voskuil, Poster for the exhibition ‘De Olympiade onder dictatuur’, 1936. Gemeentearchief Amsterdam.
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Yet those who look well will descry coarsened sentiments of little importance, primary tendencies and turbid points of view, conveyed in a clamorous, sensationalist fashion [...] There is a kind of expressionism, that through lack of nutrients, lack of supply to the inner self, results in degeneration and a return to primitive tendencies, which […] can in no way lay claim to intellectual importance and diligent attention […], a topheaviness of individual sensation, a drawing on/exhaustion of a specific inner reserve, which through lack of import in the object causes the subject to reel and become delirious with images that are only of value to the creator himself – the subject […] One finds Paul Klee, Kurt Schwitters, Otto Gleichmann (all these German elements can be seen fairly completely), Franz Marc (with a woodcut, insignificant for his personality ) [...]. (Hammacher 6 February 1924).
In the 1930s reception of German art became politicized much more than before. During National Socialism many artists in Germany were violently rejected and persecuted for their race, aesthetic preferences and political positions. Their work was declared “degenerate” (entartet), and they either fled to foreign countries, withdrew into themselves (innere Emigration) or adapted to the situation. Once the Nazis had come to power in Germany, disapproving reactions to their cultural policy did appear in the Dutch press, although this criticism was generally quite moderate. Some critics even expressed their appreciation of the fact that the avant-garde had been eliminated. Moreover, with the exception of most left-wing papers the press reacted positively to the neutral Dutch government’s censorship when Germany was criticized at art exhibitions in the Netherlands. Some societies of artists proclaimed their opposition to Nazism, a move which irritated the Dutch government. An example of the divergent positions taken by the Dutch authorities and artists is provided by the exhibition De Olympiade Onder Dictatuur (The Olympiad under dictatorship, fig.3), organized in protest against the German government’s appeal for artists to participate in a competition of the fine arts, as part of the 1936 Berlin Olympics.5 Artists who were excluded from the German exhibition, or who refused to take part in it, exhibited at De Olympiade Onder Dictatuur instead. Most of the art on display was not explicitly anti-fascist, however: only a small fraction was unequivocally protest art. When the German consul complained several times about the event, the Dutch state and the municipal authorities of Amsterdam repeatedly removed works of art from the exhibition. In Rotterdam only the documentary works were displayed and the exhibition was closed down after just a few days. The German consul was satisfied with the
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Dutch authorities’ response to his complaints and Dutch neutrality had been preserved. In 1938 Willem Sandberg, curator of the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, organized a major exhibition of abstract art in collaboration with Nelly van Doesburg, despite the fact that museum policy in general did not encompass this type of art (fig. 4). The participation of “degenerated” artists such as Otto Freundlich and Schwitters was not always easy, and some artists were afraid that this would bring trouble on them or their families. Kandinsky attempted to promote the Amsterdam show in Paris as he was convinced there was an aversion to abstract art in countries such as Switzerland, and (to a lesser extent) England.6 Kandinsky advised Sandberg to invite some younger artists to exhibit, such as John Ferren, Hans Hartung, Alberto Magnelli (who was not so young anymore) and Paule Vézelay.7 However, only Magnelli and Vézelay eventually participated. The exhibition chiefly represented the older generation, the pioneers of abstract art.
fig. 4. Exhibition ‘Abstracte Kunst’ (Abstract Art), Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, 1938.
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The press mostly disapproved of the exhibition. De Telegraaf (Anonymous 12 April 1938) judged that abstract art led to its own destruction, while the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant claimed that it lacked “the tragic” and “sensitivity”. The critic Jan Engelman thought that experiments by the earlier avant-gardes now belonged conclusively to the past; he considered it impossible to abandon the use of motifs from nature without doing away with the entire world of visual art. He called abstract artists “charlatans” and described the art on display as “mass botchery”, “infantile navel-gazing” and “an irresponsible combination of tendencies from New Realism architecture with the demolition of painting”. (Engelman 9 April 1938). On the other hand, he found that the works of Klee and Kandinsky had not lost their charm. Other reviews also regarded Klee in a positive light: his composition Autumn Branches “in the vagueness of its colour and the vagueness of its form nevertheless conveys the melancholy of autumn impressions to the viewer” (Anonymous 12 April 1938). The avant-garde journal for architecture De 8 en Opbouw [The 8 and Construction], members of whom were represented on the exhibition’s committee, devoted a great deal of attention to the show, for instance in an issue containing contributions by Piet Mondriaan and Johannes Itten. In the journal’s subsequent issue, however, other members of De 8 en Opbouw dissociated themselves vehemently from this interest.8 In 1940 the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam presented an exhibition of works from Nazi-Germany, at the urgent request of the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which claimed that the Netherlands should not restrict its exhibitions exclusively to French art.9 The exhibition was not explicitly political in character, despite being a propaganda event (although it was not regarded as such in the Netherlands). The art on display was stylistically and thematically conservative and subdued, mostly consisting of landscapes and portraits. It was not presented in a nationalistic fashion and critics noted international connections. So the event failed entirely to support the negative image of National Socialist culture; on the contrary, its art generated a sympathetic, positive response, unlike the art of the avant-garde which was received with horror by the majority of critics. In the Dutch press concern about the rigorous measures taken by the German regime against avant-garde art and artists progressively faded into the background, as did any interest in the fate of artists who had managed to escape to the Netherlands. The attitude of Dutch critics
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towards the avant-garde, that had been designated “degenerate art” by the Nazis, would only change drastically during the post-war years. After World War II great hostility existed in the Netherlands towards Germany and Germans. There were rigorous plans to deport all Germans living in the Netherlands, even those who had fled the Nazis; German language teaching was severely reduced; the Netherlands and Germany would not enter into a cultural pact until 1961, although other European countries agreed such pacts with Germany during the 1950s (Wielenga 1999: 22; 291). Logically, therefore, one might expect that Dutch museums would not have collected German art. Yet the contrary was the case. After World War II museums of modern art were much more international in their orientation, unlike the years before the war when societies of artists had been chiefly responsible for organizing exhibitions with an international flavour. During the post-war years museums would continue these activities, although their exhibitions would be less pioneering than those of the artists’ societies. Around the first half of the 1950s, museum collection and exhibition policy was geared towards the historical German avant-garde, especially German expressionism. Museums organized one-man and group exhibitions with artists such as Max Beckmann, Lyonel Feininger, Kandinsky, Oskar Kokoschka, Klee, Marc, Emil Nolde, Oskar Schlemmer and Schwitters, who increasingly formed part of the canon of classical modern art during the course of the 1950s and 60s. Another striking development was the Dutch critics’ change in attitude, from negative to positive, when reviewing such exhibitions, presumably an overdue expression of solidarity with the artists persecuted by the Nazis, or an attempt to make amends (Wiedergutmachung). After World War II most Dutch museums of modern art collected German expressionistic art. Two museum directors in particular established German contacts and devoted themselves to modern German art: Louis Wijsenbeek of the Gemeentemuseum Den Haag, who had been forced into hiding during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands and later interned in Westerbork camp, and Willem Sandberg of the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, an active member of the Dutch resistance. A salient issue in the post-war period was the question of how the visual arts should respond to the new situation. National Socialist ideas had clearly been defeated and the avant-garde was manifestly not
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“entartet”; it was art connected with Nazism that was fundamentally wrong. Many museum directors and curators considered expressionist art the only appropriate art in the wake of National Socialism. Expressionism from the 1910s harmonized well with contemporary art, which they considered expressive and irrational, an articulation of individual freedom. Both historical expressionism and contemporary art were art directed against the order, discipline, uniformity and excessive organization of a technologically oriented society. They still employed the contrast between Apollonian and Dionysian or Latin and Germanic culture as they had before the war. And also an article on the Kokoschka exhibition, held in 1947 in the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, began with the words: “The misunderstanding and often disdain of modern art, i.e. of art from the last fifty or sixty years, can be blamed to a large extent on an overestimation of the Attic and Latin spirit, against which it constitutes a fierce reaction” (Huygens 8 November 1947). Artists of the historical avant-garde, such as Kandinsky and Klee, were regarded as examples for younger artists and were thus still relevant. After the war new expressionist tendencies developed, including abstract expressionism and Cobra. Although the older German expressionists were considered rebellious and antagonistic, they had failed to pay attention to the historical, social and political context in which their art had arisen. Realism, which was associated with National Socialism on the one hand and socialism on the other, frequently took a backseat in museum collecting policy. George Grosz and Otto Dix, who had responded directly to the social and political realities of their time, were under-represented in Dutch museums. Art with an explicitly political character was mostly absent from their collections. During the later 1950s and early 1960s, Dutch museums shifted their attention to the work of younger artists and the art of the 1920s and 30s, plus constructivist tendencies. Prices on the art market played a role in this changing strategy, as the sums asked by art dealers for expressionist art increased rapidly. Moreover, by this time museums often regarded their collections of expressionist art as more or less complete. The expressionist works they had already acquired are amongst the highlights of their collections to this day.
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A regularly occurring theme in the opening speeches at exhibitions was the suffering endured by art and artists under National Socialism. An artist previously designated “degenerate” was now called a “good German” (goede Duitser). This sympathetic treatment of Nazi victims inspired a positive assessment of their works in the Dutch press. Modern German art sometimes even became more appreciated than that of their French counterparts, a situation that would have been inconceivable prior to the war. Art by the Brücke continued to cause critics the greatest difficulties. In 1958 Nolde’s work was still encountering fierce criticism, despite the fact that other artists of the group had enjoyed a positive reception at an earlier date (Langfeld 2002: 276-279). German nationality persisted in playing a major role in critical assessments of art. The more positive a critic felt, the more attention he drew to the French influences an artist had allegedly undergone, creating sometimes tenuous connections. Expressionism was “deGermanised”(ontduitst) in order to make it acceptable. Work by artists such as Paula Modersohn-Becker and August Macke was perceived as less extreme; critics claimed their art radiated tranquillity and harmony, and lacked “typically German” qualities such as gravity, tragedy, ecstasy and rawness. One critic wrote of Macke: “He is free of the ponderous, emphatic profundity and also of the aggressive sticking to principles (Prinzipienreiterei) that so often mars German art” (Brinkgreve 26 December 1953). Some critics claimed that Macke was one of the most French of the German artists, on account of his sense of colour and clarity; they believed new form meant more to him than content and expression (Doelman 19 December 1953, Anonymous 2 January 1954 et al.). Other critics, however, realized that the art encompassed by the designation German expressionism was diverse and wide ranging, with strong connections throughout Europe. Although some critics in the mid 1950s still perceived a difference between contemporary German, Dutch and French artists, most now emphasized their unity. German art had lost its radical character. While the press in general still reacted conservatively to contemporary art, few additional sources of resentment were aired in reviews of German work, which was often regarded as lacking the qualities deemed “typically German”. Such was also the criticism levelled at the Zero group from Düsseldorf, who exhibited in the Netherlands during the first half of the 1960s, along with colleagues from other countries, although all the art at these exhibitions was generally attacked. From
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1965 onwards, however, a period outside the confines of this article, Dutch critics became subtler in their judgements on this art. In 1951/52 the exhibition Expressionisme. Werken uit de verzameling Haubrich in het Wallraf Richartz Museum te Keulen could be seen in Amsterdam and Eindhoven.10 This mainly comprised German expressionist art from the collection of Josef Haubrich in the WallrafRichartz-Museum (Cologne), with works by the Brücke, Der Blaue Reiter, Ernst Barlach, Dix, Modersohn-Becker and the Norwegian Edvard Munch. Nearly all the critics who reviewed the exhibition emphasized the fate of the expressionists under National-Socialism. Articles sported headings such as “Hitler didn’t like green skies. What Goebbels swept out the door exhibited in Amsterdam” (C.A.S. 1951, fig. 5). In 1947 the critic Gabriël Smit was still writing ironically about the exhibition Expressionisme. Van Gogh tot Picasso (Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam); he proclaimed that the work of the Brücke and Jawlensky could be missed without one really missing anything, and alleged that the fierce paintings of Nolde and his German contemporaries more or less overwhelmed and destroyed the eyes (Smit 20 August 1949). Within two years, however, he had changed his opinion. In 1951 he described the Brücke artists as “in some respects outdated but nonetheless impressive and fascinating enough”; despite their “harsh colours, wild drama, [and] without a doubt much far too severe patheticism”, he still found these works of art “impressive on account of the elementary, often despairing strength they express”. He further wrote: “Although the exhibition in itself is fascinating enough, it becomes even more fascinating if you know the history”: a number of the most important artworks of the period had been condemned by a lunatic policy, but had now been fortunately rehabilitated by a wiser one. The title of his article reveals the reason for his change of view: “Paintings with a history. “Degenerate art” in the Stedelijk Museum. Victims of Nazi madness” (Smit 12 October 1951). Such titles were typical of art criticism at this time. According to the Algemeen Handelsblad the 1951-2 exhibition showed that forces other than those of Nazism had always been present in Germany (H.v.G. 27 October 1951). The reviewer described expressionist art as the manifestation of an intellectual force that would destroy Hitler; the entire exhibition represented a cry for liberation. Even reviewers still critical of this art generally regarded the Haubrich Collection as
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fig. 5. Nieuw Utrechts Dagblad, 27 october 1951.
interesting, important and fascinating (M.B., Anonymous & S. 1951), or, at the very least, a “documentary” of great importance (Smit 12 October 1951). In 1951 W. Jos. de Gruyter, one of the few critics to have written positively about the German avant-garde in the years before the war, was of the opinion that it had always required some cour-
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age to stand up for German art in the Netherlands (de Gruyter 13 November 1951); he further claimed that the situation in 1951 was little different, although there were currently signs of a change. Dutch museums, critics and politicians appear to have tried to replace the designation German expressionism with the term European expressionism. Official representatives of the German Federal Republic were often invited by museums to exhibition openings. They expressed the hope that this art would contribute to mutual understanding, and drew parallels with post-war politics. The international orientation of the historical German avant-garde corresponded with the endeavour to achieve European integration and international cooperation. This art became a symbol for peace and democracy. Longstanding aesthetic preferences can change surprisingly quickly. The reception of modern German art in the Netherlands was effectively determined by transformations in moral and political ideas since the inter-war years. The continuing, changing reception of modern German art and the formation of a canon were far removed from the artists’ original intentions and the context in which they had created their work. Non-artistic factors should not be underestimated. The continuing, changing reception of modern German art and the formation of an international canon were far removed from the artists’ original intentions and the context in which they had created their work. During the interwar period the attitudes of art critics did not fundamentally alter. Their conservative views even reflected certain National Socialist aesthetic preferences. Real change only occurred after World War II when German expressionism began to enjoy great success. This about-turn shows that longstanding preferences in the art world can change surprisingly quickly, as a result of non-artistic factors. Critical attitudes towards German expressionism in the post-war years were effectively determined by transformations in moral and political ideas.
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Notes 1
The history of collecting modern German art in Dutch museums is a central theme in this book.
2
The Amsterdam society of artists De Onafhankelijken was founded in 1912, in response to dissatisfaction with the conservative art world. One of its principal aims was jury-free exhibitions.
3
The Novembergruppe was a loose association of oppositional artists, founded under the influence of the November Revolution in 1918. Artists with different artistic and ideological origins participated in the group”s exhibitions. Many of the artists invited to Amsterdam were not actually members of the Novembergruppe.
4
In Rotterdam the exhibition was held in a former school on Goudschesingel (25 December 1923–3 January 1924), in Utrecht at the Society Voor de Kunst (30 January–10 February 1924).
5
The contemporary abbreviation for the exhibition De Olympiade Onder Dictatuur was DOOD, which means death in English. For this exhibition see also: Exhibition Catalogue Amsterdam 1996 and Vorstenbosch 1989.
6
Kandinsky to Sandberg 19 March and 13 April 1938. Archives Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, box tentoonstellingen (1938) abstracte kunst.
7
Kandinsky to Sandberg 27 February 1938. Archives Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, box tentoonstellingen (1938) abstracte kunst.
8
Boeken 1938: 81-82 and Staal 1938: 88. Like other critics they found abstract art outdated and the exhibition retrospective, without the exhibition organizers having made this clear.
9
The exhibition West Duitsche kunst – “Der Deutsche Westen” was planned to run from 20 April to 19 May 1940. German occupation of the Netherlands prevented it being seen after 9 May, as the entire museum remained closed from that date until 31 May.
10 The exhibition was first held in the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam (October/November 1951), then transferred to the Stedelijk Van Abbemuseum in Eindhoven (December/February 1951/52).
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Bibliography [Anonymous] 1921 [Anonymous] 1924
[Anonymous] 1938
[Anonymous] 1951 [Anonymous] 1954
Boeken, A. 1938
“Stedelijk Museum”. In: De Standaard (23 February).
“’Voor de Kunst’ te Utrecht. De Branding”. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant (7 February).
“De expositie van Abstracte Kunst in het Sted. Museum”. In: De Telegraaf (12 april).
“Expressionisten in Amsterdam”. In: Het Parool (11 October).
“Aug. Mackes plaats in de moderne kunst”. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamse Courant (2 January).
“De tentoonstelling van abstracte kunst en de architecten”. In: De 8 en Opbouw Vol.9, no. 9 (7 May).
Brinkgreve, Geurt. 1953 “Licht op een groot kunstenaar”. In: Elsevier (26 December). C.A.S. 1951
Doelman, C. 1953
Engelman, Jan 1938
“Hitler hield niet van groene luchten. Wat Goebbels de deur uitveegde in Amsterdam geëxposeerd. Duits expressionisme in Stedelijk Museum”. In: Nieuw Utrechts Dagblad (27 October).
“August Macke: de eerste moderne die synthese zocht”. In: De Groene Amsterdammer (19 December).
“Zooveel jaar na dato”. In: De Groene Amsterdammer (9 April).
Exhibition Catalogue 1921 De Onafhankelijken. 16e jury-vrije tentoonstelling in het Stedelijk Museum te Amsterdam. Exhibition Catalogue Amsterdam. 1996 Gemeentearchief, Een Kunstolympiade in Amsterdam; Reconstructie van de tentoonstelling D.O.O.D. 1936. Amsterdam/Zwolle.
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Gruyter, W. Jos. de 1951 “Duitse en andere expressionisten. Belangrijke tentoonstelling te Amsterdam”. In: Het Vaderland (13 November). H.v.G. 1951
“Duitse expressionisten aan Derde Rijk ontkomen. CollectieHaubrich uit Keulen te Amsterdam”. In Algemeen Handelsblad (27 October).
Hammacher, A.M. 1924 “De Branding”. In: Utrechtsch Provinciaal en Stedelijk Dagblad (6 February). Huygens, F.P. 1947
“Kokoschka: de kosmische. Van Jugendstil tot boven-persoonlijk impressionisme”. In: Algemeen Handelsblad 8 November.
Langfeld, Gregor. 2002. “Die Rezeption des Expressionismus in den Niederlanden”. Exhibition Catalogue Karlsruhe, Städtische Galerie, Nolde im Dialog 1905-1913. Quellen und Beitragsband. München: Hirmer Verlag: 268-284 Langfeld, Gregor. 2003. “Vier kunsthandelaren van moderne Duitse kunst in Nederland” in Nederland en Duitsland in het interbellum. Wisselwerking en contacten: van politiek tot literatuur. Edited by Frits Boterman and Marianne Vogel. Hilversum, Uitgeverij Verloren: 123-136. Langfeld, Gregor. 2004 Duitse kunst in Nederland. Verzamelen tentoonstellen kritieken. 1919-1964. Zwolle: Waanders Uitgevers. M.B. 1951
“De betekenis van het Expressionisme in de beeldende kunst. Een boeiende tentoonstelling in het Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam”. In: De Waarheid (27 October).
1921
“Stedelijk Museum”. In: Algemeen Handelsblad (6 February).
M.V.
Niehaus, Kasper. 1921
“De Onafhankelijken”. In: De Telegraaf (12 February).
S. 1951
“Vijf vrouwen op straat”. In: Vrij Nederland (27 October).
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Smit, G. 1949
“Picturaal dessert van het Holland-Festival. ‘Van Van Gogh tot Picasso’. Tentoonstelling in het Sted. Museum A”dam”. In: De Volkskrant (20 August).
1951
“Schilderijen met geschiedenis. ‘Ontaarde Kunst’ in het Stedelijk Museum. Slachtoffers van nazi-waanzin”. In: De Volkskrant (12 October).
Smit, G.
Staal, Arthur. 1938
Veth, Cornelis. 1921
Veth, Cornelis 1921
“Nog meer abstracte Kunst?” In: De 8 en Opbouw. Vol. 9, no. 9 (7 May).
“Tentoonstelling De Onafhankelijken”. In: Het Nieuws van den Dag (8 February).
“Tentoonstelling ‘De Onafhankelijken’“. In: Het Nieuws van den Dag (12 February).
[Veth, Cornelis] C.V. 1921 “De Duitschers bij De Onafhankelijken”. In: Elsevier”s Geïllustreerd Maandschrift. Vol.31, no. 4 (April). Vorstenbosch, José 1989 Kunstenaars tegen fascisme: de B.K.V.K. en De Olympiade Onder Dictatuur. Unpublished M.A. thesis on art history, Katholieke Universiteit Nijmegen. Wielenga, Friso. 1999
Wolf, N.H. 1921
Wolf, N.H. 1921
Van Vijand tot Bondgenoot. Nederland en Duitsland na 1945. Amsterdam: Boom.
“De Onafhankelijken. I”. In: De Kunst. Vol.13, no. 682 (19 February).
“De Onafhankelijken. II”. In: De Kunst. Vol.13, no. 683 (26 February).
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Banality in Art Criticism. Comments on the Reception of Art in the German Daily Press of the 1920s* Arie Hartog There has been a general adoption by historians of art of the 19th and 20th centuries of a methodology, whereby historical citations are sought to give support to the assumptions which ground the analysis.1 Research on reception in art history has thus assimilated a technique which has brought with it important results for research on periodical literature. Interesting outcomes can, indeed, be achieved in this way, but it should always be borne in mind that the linguistic resonance of an artwork within its immediate surroundings is something other than its context.2 The following analysis is based on a collection of material which was amassed in 1996 in connection with the retrospective exhibition, organised by the Georg KolbeMuseum, Berlin, of the work of the sculptor, Aristide Maillol. For the purposes of preparing an essay on the reception of this artist against the background of coeval discussions about sculpture,3 a search was made of all of the newspapers published in Berlin, as well as of some national titles, such as were then available in Berlin archives, for critical reviews of an exhibition of Maillol’s work at the famous Galerie Flechtheim in December 1928, the first solo exhibition of the work of this artist in Germany.4
A pattern similar to that documented in the reception of art in 19thcentury France is discernible in the art criticism published in the German daily press of the early 20th century, that is, one can trace an intellectual degradation in artistic judgment resulting in mere description of the artworks in question.5 Towards the end of the 1920s criticism has come to merely describe art; the battles surrounding the avant-gardes barely feature anymore in the feuilletons. Reviews list more or less selectively that which is exhibited and offer short critiques in subclauses. The reviews of the Maillol exhibition at Flechtheim’s highlight a problem which can be passed over all too easily by the abovementioned methodology and its selective range of quotations: the banality of art criticism in the daily press. “Maillol is a French sculptor who produces rotund female figures in the main”, is an example of the minimal consensus to be found here in innumerable variations, which
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fig. 1. Aristide Maillol, Pomona, 1910/1911, Bildarchiv UvA
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information does not, however, assist art and cultural history to any great extent. German art criticism of the twenties is characterised by such banalities and commonplace statements. Nonetheless, these can be subjected to a more detailed analysis. “Maillol is a French sculptor who produces rotund female figures in the main”, as a statement forms a consensus on a superficial linguistic level only.
The Exception: Count Harry Kessler Although Maillol had become very well-known in Germany amongst art lovers since the publication of Julius Meier-Graefe’s Entwicklungsgeschichte der modernen Kunst (1904), his oeuvre had never been extensively or comprehensively exhibited in that country. The exhibition at Flechtheim’s in November 1928 came as a direct consequence of financial difficulties experienced by the most important collector of the work of the sculptor, Count Harry Kessler, who found himself forced to sell part of his collection.6 The art dealer, Alfred Flechtheim very probably took this opportunity to combine pieces from Kessler’s ownership with several other loans and sculpture from France itself in what would be the first solo exhibition of the works of Maillol in Germany.7 On the day after the opening, Kessler put pen to paper. In a short article for the Frankfurter Zeitung he alluded explicitly to the exceptional nature of a gallery exhibition with an honorary committee. German-speaking sculptors associated with the Galerie Flechtheim made up this committee, which for Kessler had a “somewhat political flavour”.8 Such an honouring of a French artist by his German colleagues went without saying in those days, according to Kessler: “It is characteristic of the path taken by public opinion since Locarno”. Readers in the know would have understood the Count’s reference to his precarious financial situation when, in a sub-clause, he noted that Maillol was no longer favoured by “rich collectors”.9 The article for the Frankfurter Zeitung reflects Kessler’s personal conception of Maillol. For him the sculptor was the culmination of a great national art epoch in the France of the 19th century and simultaneously the beginning of a new – no longer purely French – development. This new development was characterised by a rapprochement between the art of the bourgeois and that of the people, such that
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class boundaries were transcended. Kessler’s themes encompass that of a new era and a “European monumental art, necessary to a democratic epoch, serving the entirety of the people and the larger public body. […] If you will, it is possible to speak of this art as ‘religious’ in the most open and highest sense”.10 With the exception of the sub-clause about the democratic epoch, Kessler is here depicting a fantasy belonging to the start of the 20th century. The notion of a pan-European, religious art was typical of conceptions about art from the dawn of the century. This notion died as the First World War approached, and Kessler, who held on to this fantasy for all of his life, was now trying to re-animate it in 1928. To achieve such a re-animation he would need to make reference to a restored relationship with France, which he was able to do, thanks to the Treaty of Locarno (1925). The fact that not a single critic reviewing the exhibition adopted this vision of a pan-European art indicates that Germany’s relationship with her western neighbour was by no means unproblematic. In 1928 an art connoting pan-European, religious sentiments was deemed unrealistic. Aristide Maillol was linked instead by the Berlin critics to other fantasies.
Berlin Newspapers Of the 33 Berlin newspapers consulted, 15 published commentaries on the exhibition, indicating that it was a great media success. True to its name and image, the newspaper, Tempo immediately published a review, as did the Berliner Illustrierte Nachtausgabe.11 Over the course of the next three days the usual suspects filed their reports for the Berliner Börsen-Courier, the 8-Uhr Abendblatt, the Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung and the Vossische Zeitung, the newspapers of the welleducated Bürger.12 The actuality of these reviews gives a first indication of the interest engendered and of the self-perception of these organs of the media. Where “fast newspapers” (such as Tempo or the Nachtausgabe) which focussed on the latest news were concerned, there was rarely a delay in publishing art reviews, but in the case of the Berlin bürgerlich newspapers of the 1920s it was not exceptional for this to amount to two weeks. The Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung brought the attention of its readers to the exhibition on the first page of the Saturday evening edition after the opening, with an article directly
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under the headlines. A week later the same newspaper published a reminiscence of Maillol. And it was precisely this nationalist paper, which in 1928 was anything other than francophile, that portrayed the Maillol exhibition as the event of the month of December 1928, an oddity which needs some explanation.13 If one follows the useful categorising by Peter de Mendelsohn of daily newspapers of 1920s Berlin, it becomes clear that only one nonbürgerlich newspaper reviewed the exhibition: the social democratic Welt am Abend.14 The right-leaning, agrarian Deutsche Tageszeitung is, as Mendelsohn points out, a special case. Hugo Kubsch, critic for this paper, linked the positive traits he saw in the sculptor, Aristide Maillol with the “native soil” in which he claimed the sculptor was rooted, a term which often occured in this newspaper.15 Kubsch is a critic beloved of art historians. He writes exactly what is expected of him. The newspaper had a clear political image and elements of this image are apparent in his art criticism. The paper discussed “native soil” and so did its art critic. In most newspapers, however, the link between socio-political orientation and criteria relating to art criticism cannot be as easily traced.
The Bürgertum The extensive coverage in the press suggests that there was a readership which was interested in Maillol. This was, of course, made up of the Bürger, that societal strata in whose self-conception and newspapers culture and education played a key role.16 It is impossible to categorise Maillol’s public with any exactitude, but one may presume that there was a relatively keen interest in him among readers – that is, the implied readers – of these newspapers. The Berlin newspapers indicate clearly that the great mass of bürgerlich art lovers may be divided into varying sub-groups. The case of Maillol will be employed here to demonstrate this, and the resultant analysis will be tested within a larger framework; how did varying groups with their specific societal backgrounds react to the sculptor and Frenchman, Aristide Maillol? In the following analysis it is proposed, in line with de Mendelsohn’s model, to divide the newspapers in question into two groups, which, based on their political and societal orientation, are (circumspectly) termed “democratic” and “nationalist”.17 Amongst the reviews
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found in the bürgerlich newspapers, eight were drawn from “democratic” papers and five from “nationalist” ones. All are positive about Maillol, which makes the analysis harder, although methodologically more interesting.
Truth to Nature A constant element in the writings of the disparate “democratic” authors is the stress on the natural in Maillol’s work. Anton Mayer, critic of the 8-Uhr Abendblatt says of the sculptor: “[…] with the most powerful form of the creative urge to design, he gives form to completely innocent, healthy, care-free existential perfection, […] solving in the simplicity of this affirmation the age-old question about the world’s permanence”.18 Maillol is thus deemed to depict this affirmation of life. Ernst Collin of the Berliner Volkszeitung re-iterates this sentiment: “Simple, closed, rounded, these women stand there. This is solid physique. Strong legs, wide pelvis, firm breasts. This has nothing to do with the slenderness of salon ladies of today. This is the fountain of femininity, love-bestowing, motherly, female corporeality flowing up from the earth. […] [these are] no sickly, worldly beings, [they are] women and girls with a sensual fullness of flesh: solid breasts and pelvis, thick calves”.19 The critics writing for the “nationalist” daily press retain more distance; they lay stress on an idealising, classical element in Maillol’s works, and when they sing the praises of the beauty of the human body, this is done in a completely different tone to that of the competition. What the viewer sees in this sculpture, according to Franz Servaes in Tag, “is high and unmistakable worship of the beauty of the human figure”.20 Writing for the Illustrierte Nachtausgabe, Felix Dargel describes Maillol’s works as “hieratic, calm figures, naked, heavy, far descendants of early Greek gods”.21 Nature is, however, not far away here either, since, as is pointed out, Maillol comes from a village – and not from a city. Another example of this tendency is Bruno E. Werner in the Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, “Women from the countryside with firm breasts, strong arms and thighs, solid necks and thick ankles, not
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fig. 2. Aristide Maillol, Leda, around 1902, Bildarchiv UVA
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the fine-framed beings of a late race, but instead a burgeoning, healthy, rural people”.22 When one focuses on the things supposedly not depicted by Maillol, “the sickly, worldly figures” and the “fine-framed beings of a late race”, one realises that these are just shifts in emphasis in the critique. In the background there remains the dream of humanity as healthy, typical of the Bürgertum of the time, not only in Berlin. Confirmation of this can be found in the absence of this theme in the only non-bürgerlich paper to publish a review of the exhibition. Adolf Behne, the Welt am Abend’s critic, draws back from this bürgerlich fantasy, mentioning it only in a negative way.23 In reference to the Maillol exhibition, as well as to the other exhibitions of sculpture then on show in the capital, Behne remarks upon the tendency towards the classical which he witnesses there: “Naked man in a stance from the good old Greek days; that is the only theme today”. Whilst his colleagues view this tendency as positive, Behne explicitly points to the “bourgeois narrow-mindedness hidden behind this “timeless” classicism”.24 For Behne’s bürgerlich colleagues the term classicism had many positive connotations. Maillol’s female figures had resonances for them of health, nature and honesty; however, the same terms had completely different meanings when seen from within another frame of thought, a frame which sought to articulate questions surrounding the search for a renewed Greece-inspired culture.
French or Greek National and culture historical terms played an important role in the reception of French art in Germany. The art of her neighbour was different, but how and why? Available to critics was a broad spectrum of terms which could be combined in highly unusual ways. One thinks here of terms like “German”, “French”, that is to say, national labels, but also of phrases such as “Gothic”, “Romanesque”, “Germanic” and “classical”. Maillol was a Frenchman; there could hardly be any doubt about that. But what kind of a Frenchman? I would like to make a short digression here to the beginnings of Maillol’s reception in Germany. The sculptor was introduced to the German public interested in art in 1904 by Julius Meier-Graefe in his Entwicklungsgeschichte der modernen Kunst, which gave birth to the
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topos that Maillol was related by his very nature to the classical Greeks. Meier-Graefe saw in Maillol’s figures intimations of a Romanesque race, such as were apparent in the sculpture of the ancient Egyptians and Greeks. This affinity with the Greeks was evident – for Meier-Graefe – not in individual forms; it played itself out on a higher level. It had to do with the relationship between art and nature in Maillol’s sculpture, and it was this relationship that linked it to that of the Greeks. Thus Maillol was not a classicist seeking to copy the Greeks; he was, by his very nature, “classical”.25 This judgment was often repeated in 1928, but with a shift in emphasis. Maillol is still seen as a Greek, but no longer as Romanesque. Now the term Romanesque occurs only once, but this time with a negative slant on it: in the Leipziger Illustrirte Zeitung, categorised as “nationalist”, Alfred Kuhn writes: “[…] since Maillol’s eyes are light blue, and his sharp-cut face with its narrow, bent nose is more like that of a Teuton than a Roman”.26 Thus in 1928 in Berlin Maillol had become a de-Romanised Greek and as such fitted very well into bürgerlich fantasies which sought to link classical heritage with their own nation. This sculptor might well have a French passport, but by his nature he was a Greek, and this no longer meant Romanesque but instead related to another complex of meanings, such as “honest”, “natural” and “uncivilised”. This characterisation of Maillol as a “Teuton” appears to have played a role in the conception of several of the exhibition reviews. Count Harry Kessler’s views on Locarno and on Germany’s generally good relationship with France, cited earlier, which was evidenced in his evaluation of Maillol’s work, was only half true. For his German critics Maillol is more of a Greek than a Frenchman. This probably means that the remarks regarding the health of the Maillol figures ought to be interpreted with caution as a reference to their not being French. They are not civilised – not salon ladies – thus according to a communally-held set of prejudices, not French. For the purposes of this analysis the critics were read again in this light. In the “nationalist” camp Maillol’s nationality was by no means disregarded, but he was deemed in terms of his nature not to be French. This is most evident in the Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, which presented Maillol as the cultural event of the month. In the second review of the exhibition to appear in this paper, Alfred Kuhn gives a long introduction about the origins of the sculptor, in which Spain and Greece
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play a role. “From the times of the Goths and Normans onwards Nordic sailors often landed on that Golfe de Rose coast. The artist doubtlessly has the blood in his veins of those blue-eyed races with their narrow heads and knive-sharp, prominent noses”.27 The obvious exception in the “nationalist” camp is Wilhelm Westecker, critic of the Berliner Börsenzeitung, who, unlike his colleagues and against the new trends in art, still espoused the ideal of an Expressionist German art and thus favoured artists such as Ernst Barlach and Emil Nolde. For him, Maillol’s works were full of inner harmony and “so peaceful, so completely relaxed, that they appear foreign to us Germans”.28 Westecker believed in a national style with particular expressive characteristics; his nationalist-orientated colleagues, on the other hand, did not refer to any specific form directly, but obviously prefered depictions of the nude close to nature that could serve as direct bearers of positive connotations.29 Discussions implicitly or explicitly about the “national identity” of the sculptor are not found in the “democratic” camp, although remarks are also made which link Maillol to Greece. Ernst Collin writes in the Berliner Volkszeitung about the Hellenism which he supposes to be the internal starting-point for this art.30 Hellenism in this context is understood as the “pure harmony of movement and form”, in other words, as the classicism previously mentioned by Meier-Graefe in 1904.
Conclusion Two examples of banal description of art were analysed in this article. The first instance related to the naturalness of the women depicted by Maillol. In contrast to early remarks about Maillol, there was a constant repetition in the bürgerlich camp in the second half of the 1920s of the notion that his was an art about honest, natural nakedness. Hidden desire, along with inferences against so-called civilisation, united all Bürger. In the second example - the conception of Maillol as a “Greek” - it can be seen that, as the meaning of the notion of naturalness was further loaded, the bürgerlich camp split into two groups. These remarks on the reporting of the Maillol exhibition of 1928 demonstrate that the same apparently banale terms could have different levels of meaning depending on the context. Especially those terms
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discussed here - beauty, classicism and Greek - are so imprecise that they require investigation within each context in which they are employed, it being there that they acquire their meaning. This leads me to a point about methodology which I would like to introduce as a hypothesis. Can one draw inferences about the views of large groups from the utterances of individual critics? The answer is a careful, “yes”. The newspapers of the 1920s were mass media whose effect on art cannot be overestimated, but whose importance as a source for intellectual history should not be underestimated. It was the case also in the 1920s that the media could only intensify already existing viewpoints and trends. This means, as far as art critics were concerned, that they indirectly mirrored views about art and values which were specific to particular groups. Author and public shared to a lesser degree the conclusion of the critique than the mind-set upon which it was founded. In such writings judgments about art play less of a role than general ideas and hopes, such that imprecise terminology is perhaps more interesting for researchers than that which is apparently precise. How do the critics load these terms with meaning? This article has sought to investigate the varying, and shifting, mind-sets operating behind conceptions of art. A precise reading of the differing variants of the minor remark about the “French sculptor who produces rotund female figures in the main”, demonstrates how readily the reception of art may be politicised at a deeper level of meaning. The imprecise notions and the varying mind-sets of bürgerlich groups which can be inferred with caution from such an enquiry, form the neglected context of modern art. It deserves further investigation.
Notes * This article is based on a self-critical paper given at the FU-Berlin at the invitation of the Forschungsprojekt deutsch-französische Kunstvermittlung zwischen 1871 und 1940 on 3 February 2001. I thank Kai Fischer, Alexandre Kostka and Helen Shiner for information provided and for stimulating discussion. 1
Research on periodical literature, strongly influenced by the social sciences as it is, distinguishes between qualitative and quantitative approaches to the material (see Hans Bohrmann and Peter Schneider, 1975. Research within cultural and art history on the reception of art of the 19th and 20th centuries is largely qualitative. It is thus primarily
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the quantity, the enormous range of print media which proves problematic for the art historian active within this field, since the discipline puts a methodological stress on qualitative analysis. Monika Krisch, 1997, shows that, regardless of this overwhelming volume of material, “field research” in the social scientific sense, in other words the lengthy search for reviews and resultant critical analysis, can evince important results and this far exceeds in terms of usefulness the custom of employing newspapers merely as sources of illustrative quotes. 2
For an overview of the state of research, see Andreas Strobl, 1998.
3
See Arie Hartog, 1996.
4
33 Berlin and 7 national daily newspapers (including illustrated newspapers) for the period 20.11.1928 to 10.01.1929 were investigated. Newspapers marked with an asterisk (*) were the subject of a commentary or an essay. National newspapers: Kölnische Zeitung; Frankfurter Zeitung*; Hamburger Fremdenblatt; Münchner Neueste Nachrichten; Leipziger Illustrirte Zeitung*; Der Mittag (Düsseldorf); Berlin newspapers: 8-Uhr Abendblatt*; Der Angriff; Berlin am Morgen; Berliner Allgemeine Zeitung; Berliner Börsen-Courier*; Berliner Börsen-Zeitung*; Berliner Illustrierte Nachtausgabe*; Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger*; Berliner Morgenpost; Berliner Nachtausgabe; Berliner Tageblatt; Berliner Volkszeitung; BZ am Mittag*; Der Deutsche; Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung*; Deutscher Generalanzeiger; Deutsche Nachrichten; Deutsche Tageszeitung*; Deutsche Zeitung; Deutschnationale Tagespost; Germania; Der Jungdeutsche; Märkische Volkszeitung; Nationalpost; Neue Preußische Kreuz-Zeitung; Die Rote Fahne; Der Tag*; Tempo*; Völkischer Beobachter; Vorwärts; Vossische Zeitung*; Die Welt am Abend*; Das Zwölf-Uhr Blatt; Die Welt am Montag.
5
A similar tendency in the French reception of art in the 19th century has been documented, see Martha Ward, 1994.
6
On Kessler and Maillol, see Ursel Berger, 1996; Sabine Walter, 1996, and Sabine Walter 2001.
7
Although the catalogue lists collectors and titles of works, it remains impossible to precisely reconstruct the exhibition.
8
Artists involved were Rudolf Belling, Arno Breker, Kurt Edzard, Ernesto de Fiori, Hermann Haller, Moissey Kogan, Georg Kolbe and Renée Sintenis.
9
Count Harry Kessler, 30 November 1928.
10
idem. “dem Volksganzen und der großen Öffentlichkeit dienenden europäischen Monumentalkunst, wie sie einem demokratischen Zeitalter Not ist” [...] “Wenn man
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will, kann man diese Kunst daher auch im freiesten und höchsten Sinne ‚religiös’ nennen”. 11 V. Z. [Viktor Zuckerkandl], 29 November 1928. Dr. D. [Felix Dargel], 30 November 1928. 12 Curt Glaser, 2 December 1928; Anton Mayer, 29 November 1928; Bruno E. Werner, 1 December 1928; Max Osborn, 2 December 1928. 13
Also see Martin Schieder, 2004.
14
Peter de Mendelsohn, 17 December 1928.
15
Hugo Kubsch, 4 December 1928.
16
Whilst the term Bürgertum has become a conceptual standard within historical research on the 19th century since the 1970s, and from there has transferred into art historical usage, its employment with reference to the early 20th century is problematic. Members of the broad grouping, referred to as Bürger or bürgerlich in the general parlance of the 1920s and ‘30s, defined themselves, from the introduction of universal suffrage and the start of the concomitant reduction in their political influence onwards, less in terms of general political polarities (conservative, liberal, nationalist) or of economic power, but rather according to notions held communally about ‘culture’. These notions evince themselves – in line with Pierre Bourdieu’s conception – to be a bürgerlich Habitus, that is, as a nexus of interiorised thought and perceptual patterns. In the early 20th century Bürgertum was less a clearly tangible class, but rather a grouping with a joint social history who shared particular attitudes and, especially, cultural interests. This is demonstrated clearly in the daily press. So-called bürgerlich newspapers distinguished themselves one from the other, regardless of their political orientation, also in terms of the prominent role which culture played within their pages. 17 See Kurt Koszyk, 1972; Mendelsohn, 1982. Mendelsohn categorises newspapers pragmatically according to their stance on parliamentary democracy. The term “liberal” is also employed instead of “democratic” to describe this wing of the bürgerlich press. Both terms – as is also the case for “nationalist” - are, however, very heavily loaded, and thus should be used with care. 18 Anton Mayer, 29 November 1928: “[...] im kraftvollsten Wesen schöpferischer Gestaltungskraft formt er die ganz sündenlose, unangekränkelte, unbeschwerte Vollendung des Daseins, [...] die uralte Frage nach der Beständigkeit der Welt durch die Einfachheit seiner Bejahung lösend”. 19
E. C. [Ernst Collin], 7 December 1928: “Einfach, geschlossen, gerundet stehen diese Frauen da. Es ist eine feste Physis. Starke Beine, breite Becken, pralle Brüste. Mit der Schlankheit der Salondamen von heute hat das nichts zu tun. Hier quillt noch Weibtum, liebesspendende und mütterliche Frauenleiblichkeit aus der Erde. [...] also keine
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kranken, mondänen Gestalten, sondern Frauen und Mädchen von sinnlicher Fülle des Fleisches: derb die Brüste und das Becken, dick die Waden”. 20 F. S-s. [Franz Servaes], 16 December 1928: “ist der hohe und unbeirrbare Schönheitsdienst an der menschlichen Gestalt”. 21
Dr. D. [Felix Dargel], 30 November 1928.
22
Bruno E. Werner, 1 December 1928.
23
On Behne, see Magdalena Bushart (ed.), 2000.
24
Adolf Behne, 17 December 1928: “Der nackte Mensch, in der Haltung der guten griechischen Zeit, ist heute das einzige Thema”. 25
Julius Meier-Graefe, 1904 (on Maillol, see vol. II: 395-400).
26 Alfred Kuhn, 29 November 1928: “An jener Küste am Golfe de Rose sind oft nordische Fahrer gelandet seit den Zeiten der Goten und Normannen. Von jenen blauäugigen Geschlechtern mit den schmalen Köpfen und den messerscharf vorspringenden Nasen hat der Künstler zweifellos viel Blut in sich”. 27
Alfred Kuhn, 5 December 1928.
28
Wilhelm Westecker, 29 November 1928: “so ruhig, so ganz entspannt, dass sie uns Deutsche fremd anmuten”. 29
More research needs to be done on Westecker’s apparent allegiance to Expressionism after 1933, whereas his nationalist colleagues presented as typically German the now fashionable (and again Maillol-inspired) classicising formal language. This demonstrates the lasting heritage after 1933 of diverse patterns in art reception. 30
E. C. [Ernst Collin], 7 December 1928.
Bibliography Behne, Adolf 1928
Berger, Ursel 1996
“Moderne Bildhauer. Maillol - Akademie - Huf – Kroner”. In: Die Welt am Abend, no. 295, 17 December 1928.
“Maillols internationale Karriere. Zur Rolle der ausländischen Sammler und Förderer”. In: Berger, Ursel, Zutter, Jörg (eds.), Aristide Maillol, Munich/ New York, 1996: 151-166.
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Bohrmann, Hans, Schneider, Peter 1975 Zeitschriftenforschung. Ein wissenschaftsgeschichtlicher Versuch, Berlin, 1975. Bushart, Magdalena (ed.) 2000 Adolf Behne. Essays zu seiner Kunst- und Architektur-Kritik, Berlin, 2000. Dr. D. [Felix Dargel] 1928 “Der Mann im Schatten Rodins. Aristide Maillol in der Galerie Flechtheim”. In: Berliner Illustrierte Nachtausgabe, no. 281, 30 November 1928. E. C. [Ernst Collin] 1928 “Aristide Maillol”. In: Berliner Volkszeitung, no. 578, 7 December 1928. F. S-s. [Franz Servaes] 1928 “Drei Bildhauer. Maillol, Fritz Huf, Kurt Kroner”. In: Der Tag, no. 301, 16 December 1928. Glaser, Curt 1928 “Die Maillol-Ausstellung. In der Galerie Flechtheim”. In: Berliner Börsen-Courier, no. 565, 2 December 1928. Hartog, Arie 1996
“Zwischen ‚Ausdrucks-Plastik’ und ‚Klassik’. Die Rezeption Maillols in Deutschland”. In: Ursel Berger and Jörg Zutter (eds.), Aristide Maillol, Munich/ New York, 1996: 181-189.
Kessler, Count Harry 1928 “Die Eröffnung der Maillol-Ausstellung in Berlin”. In: Frankfurter Zeitung, no. 897, 30 November 1928. Koszyk, Kurt 1972
Deutsche Presse 1914-1945 (Geschichte der deutschen Presse, part 3), Berlin, 1972.
Krisch, Monika 1997 Die Munch-Affäre. Rehabilitierung der Zeitungskritik. Eine Analyse ästhetischer und kulturpolitischer Beurteilungskriterien in der Kunstberichterstattung der Berliner Tagespresse zu Munchs Ausstellung, Mahlow bei Berlin, 1997. Kubsch, Hugo 1928
“Berliner Kunstchronik. Ein Bildhauer und ein Maler”. In: Deutsche Tageszeitung, no. 572, 4 December 1928.
Arie Hartog
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Mayer, Anton 1928
“Aristide Maillol. Zur Ausstellung von Werken des Bildhauers in der Galerie Flechtheim in Berlin”. In: Illustrierte Zeitung, 29.11.1928. “Erinnerungen an Aristide Maillol”. In: Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, no. 569, 5 December 1928.
“Aristide und Lucien Maillol. Ausstellung bei Flechtheim”. In: 8Uhr Abendblatt, no. 280, 29 November 1928.
Meier-Graefe, Julius 1904 Entwicklungsgeschichte der modernen Kunst, Stuttgart, 1904. Mendelsohn, Peter de 1982 Zeitungsstadt, Berlin, Frankfurt a. M./Berlin/Vienna, 1982: 371. Osborn, Max 1928
“Aristide Maillol. Die Ausstellung bei Flechtheim”. In: Vossische Zeitung, no. 288, 2 December 1928.
Schieder, Martin 2004 “’Franzosenhausse’. Fernand Légers Ausstellung bei Alfred Flechtheim 1928 in Berlin”. In: Kostka, Alexandre, Lucbert, Francoise (eds.), Distanz und Aneignung. Kunstbeziehungen zwischen Deutschland und Frankreich 1870-1945 (Passagen, vol. 8), Berlin, 2004: 139-158. Strobl, Andreas 1998 “Vielgescholten, gern benutzt und doch kaum bekannt. Zum Stand der Erforschung der deutschen Kunstkritik”. In: Kunstchronik, 51/1998: 389-401. V. Z. [Viktor Zuckerkandl] 1928 “Aristide Maillol. Ausstellung bei Flechtheim”. In: Tempo, no. 68, 29 November 1928. Walter, Sabine 1996
2001
“Graf Kessler, Maillol und Hoffmansthal in Griechenland”. In: Berger, Ursel, Zutter, Jörg (eds.), Aristide Maillol, Munich/ New York, 1996: 145-150. “Die Sammlung Harry Graf Kessler in Weimar und Berlin”. In: Pophanken, Andrea, Billeter, Felix (eds.), Die Moderne und ihre Sammler, Französische Kunst in deutschem Privatbesitz vom Kaiserreich zur Weimarer Republik, Berlin, 2001 (Passagen/ Passages, vol. 3): 67-93.
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“From art criticism to art news : journalistic reviewing in latenineteenth-century Paris”. In: Orcwicz, Michael R., (ed.), Art criticism and its institutions in nineteenth-century France, Manchester/ New York, 1994: 162-181.
Werner, Bruno E. 1928 “Maillol. Ausstellung in der Galerie Flechtheim”. In: Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, no. 564, 1 December 1928. Westecker, Wilhelm 1928 “Kunstausstellungen. Die beiden Maillols”. In: Berliner BörsenZeitung, no. 560, 29 November 1928.
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A Victorious Campaign for Dadaism? On the Press Coverage of the Dutch Dada Tour of 1923 Hubert F. van den Berg In early 1923, Dada manifestations were staged in several Dutch towns. This Dutch Dada tour is often regarded in Dada historiography as the last major successful Dada enterprise before Dada as a movement dissolved later that year. The assumed success is by and large based on claims by Theo van Doesburg and Kurt Schwitters in their retrospectives of the tour in Mécano and Merz. One of their main arguments for the claimed “victory” of Dada in the Netherlands was the large resonance of the tour in the Dutch press, which turned Dada according to Van Doesburg and Schwitters. A survey of the reports and commentaries in the press points in another direction.*
“[...] Like an Immense, Tremendous Victory March” In early 1923, four avant-garde artists from Holland, Germany and Hungary – Theo van Doesburg, Kurt Schwitters, Vilmos Huszár, and Petronella van Moorsel – staged a series of “Dada evenings” in theatres and meeting halls in several towns in the Netherlands. This “campaign for dadaism”, as Kurt Schwitters (1932:55) later called it, is regarded in the historiography of Dada in late 20th century as the apex of “Dada-Holland”. At the same time, this campaign is often described as the last major successful Dada enterprise before the final demise of the European historical Dada movement in the same year (cf. e.g. Schippers 1974, Bergius/Roters 1977, Dachy 1994, Meyer et al. 1994, Van den Berg 1995).1 The assumed success is largely based on the fact that the manifestations were not only attended by a considerable number of visitors, but also extensively covered by the contemporary Dutch daily and weekly press. In their retrospectives of the tour, which started in The Hague on the 10th of January 1923 and ended in Leiden on the 16th of February 1923, bringing Dada to eight Dutch towns, both Van Doesburg and Schwitters presented this extensive press covering as an univocal indication for a clear-cut victory for Dada in the Netherlands.
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In the first issue of the review Merz, devoted solely to “Holland Dada” and published in the wake of the tour, in February 1923, Schwitters (cit. in Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995:135-6) argued: Unser Erscheinen in Holland glich einem gewaltigen, unerhörten Siegeszuge. In der Zeit, als die Franzosen mit Kanonen und Tanks das Ruhrgebiet besetzten, besetzten wir das künstlerische Holland mit dada. Die Zeitungen schreiben endlose Dadaartikel und kleine Abhandlungen über Ruhr und Reparation. Während die Franzosen großen Widerstand in der Ruhr fanden, siegte dada in Holland ohne Widerstand. Denn der enorme Widerstand unseres Publikums ist dada und deshalb entkräftet. Dieser Widerstand ist »unser« Kampfmittel. Die Presse, die einsichtiger als die Masse ist, hat das erkannt und ist mit fliegenden Fahnen zu uns übergegangen. Sie bietet uns Widerstand, indem sie ihre Begeisterung über die dadaistische Bewegung unverhohlen ausdrückt. In 24 Stunden lernte ganz Holland das Wort »dada«. Jeder kann es jetzt, jeder weiß eine Nuance des Wortes, wie er es blöde schreien kann, so blöde wie möglich. Das ist ein enormer Erfolg. Der sonst so würdig scheinende moderne Kulturmensch erkennt plötzlich, wie blöde er sein kann, und wie blöde er also im Grunde seiner Seele ist. Das ist ein enormer Erfolg. Denn nun sieht der Kulturmensch plötzlich, daß seine große Kultur vielleicht gar nicht so groß ist, wie sie aussieht.
In the last issue of his review Mécano, likewise devoted to the Dada tour, Van Doesburg/Bonset (cit. in Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995:122-3) wrote: Het dadaïsme bracht Holland den genadeslag toe. De Nederlandsche pers explodeerde en vierde haar triomfen in 88 Artikelen (voor zoo ver bekend!) Van, en générale, circa 1 meter lengte OVER DADA [...]De hollandsche bourgeoisie heeft in journalistieken vorm haar zonden gebiecht. »Gisteravond hebben we in Diligentia nog eens een Dadaavond gehad. We hebben weer gebruld en gekrijscht, onverschillig of Heine gereciteerd werd, Mendelsohn gespeeld werd, of onzin uitgestooten. We hebben Huszar voor Landru uitgescholden, van Doesburg voor Broekhuijs en diens vrouw gemeenheden toegevoegd. We hebben gehuild en gejengeld, geblèrd en stommiteiten verkocht, kroegbazen- en boksersgrappen gelanceerd, alles om maar te bewijzen dat wij niet dada zijn. We hebben zoo'n helsch en volmaakt onzinnig spektakel gemaakt, dat het nu wel zonneklaar bewezen is, dat wij nog bij ons volle verstand zijn; dat is dus in orde.« (»Vaderland« 4 Febr. 1923.)
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Na het dadaïstisch jongste Gericht in de Nederlanden hebben grijze redakteuren zich op den borst geslagen en in hoofdartikelen van 2 kolommen (= 166 regels = 1162 woorden) den Heiland (den eersten dadaïst) aangeroepen en een Dadaïstische Belijdenis afgelegd: »Maar waarom zouden we de voorbeelden vermenigvuldigen, terwijl we ze vlak bij, in onzen eigen kring en in ons eigen hart voor het grijpen hebben. Hoeveel gedachten in ons leven zijn dwaze gedachten, hoeveel woorden dwaze woorden, hoeveel daden waanzinnige daden? Wanneer christenen die éénzelfden Heiland volgen, onder elkâar twisten en »ketteren« over bijkomstigheden, in plaats van met één hart en één ziel zich op te maken om de brandende wereld te redden, is dat dan soms verstandig? Neen we willen niet spotten met de Dadaïsten zonder de hand te steken in eigen besmetten boezem! Daar zit een leelijke Dadaïst in ons aller hart!« (»Christelijke Amsterdammer« Woensdag 31.Jan.1923.) [...] De dagbladen hebben (tot de »Amsterdammer« toe) hun stijl moeten veranderen, terwijl film en operette de kruimels van het dadaïstische brood onder den volke verspreidden.
These claims of a landslide victory for Dada in the Netherlands resonated in later years in the historiography of Dada, in which “Holland Dada” is often regarded as one of the main branches of the Dada movement next to Dada in Zurich, Berlin, Paris, New York, Cologne, and Hanover, despite the fact that Dada had been almost non-existent before the tour and disappeared from the Dutch public arena soon afterwards. But was the tour indeed an unambiguous success as Schwitters and Van Doesburg claimed? The fact that Dada vanished almost immediately after the tour, might already be regarded as a contraindication; a closer look at the coverage of the tour in the contemporary Dutch daily and weekly press gives indeed rise to another conclusion.2
The Absence of Dada and the Presence of “Dada” in Holland until 1923 In the years before the tour, Dada had been – as said – a rather ephemeral phenomenon in the Netherlands. Although some Dutchmen had been involved in the start of Dada in Zurich in 1916, the existence of the Cabaret Voltaire, Galerie Dada and Mouvement Dada in Zurich remained unnoticed in Holland. Only after the establishment and first clamorous manifestations of new Dada groups in Berlin and Paris,
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articles on Dada in both cities started to appeared in Dutch newspapers and weeklies from 1919 onwards (cf first section of the bibliography and Thater-Schultz 1989:687). In the same year, poems from Kurt Schwitters’ first poetry collection, Anna Blume, were recited at a soirée in Amsterdam, organised by the modernist review, La Revue du feu on the occasion of the opening of an exhibition by a related group of artists (cf. Den Boef/Van Faassen 1995). More or less simultaneously, two other artists, the Dutch Paul Citroen and the German Erwin Blumenfeld, founded a Dutch “Dada-Centrale”. Apart from some small contributions to the Berlin Dada-Almanach (cf. Citroen 1980), this Dutch dadaist “head office” led a rather secretive existence in the international network of the Dada movement. Next to their contacts in Berlin, where Citroen and Blumenfeld (had) belonged to the wider circle of Club Dada, both corresponded with Picabia and Tzara in Paris and at least Blumenfeld contributed to Tzara’s “Dadaglobe” project. In the Netherlands themselves, their “Dada Centrale” remained, though, completely unnoticed (or at least unmentioned). Some more, yet still almost negligible attention was given to the dadaist exploits of Theo van Doesburg, who – also in 1920 – became involved in Dada after a visit to Paris and started to participate in the Dada movement, however, in a – likewise – secretive way. Without abandoning his constructivist Nieuwe Beelding, Van Doesburg opened his journal De Stijl for dadaist contributions, as he had done and did for contributions from other avant-garde isms as well, in particular from a futurist provenance. Besides, he created in 1920 a heteronym for himself, I.K. Bonset. Bonset acted primarily as the constructivist poet of De Stijl, propagating and practising nieuwe woordbeelding as the literary variety of the pictorial Nieuwe Beelding. He acted, however, also as the sole Dutch representative of Dada. Whereas some intimates from the Stijl circle knew Bonset’s true identity, Van Doesburg’s double role was only revealed after his death in 1931. Bonset’s existence was confined, though, to the pages of De Stijl and a tiny related review devoted to “neo-dadaism”, Mécano. Bonset’s poems and essays, published in De Stijl from 1920 onwards remained not completely unnoticed, but did not receive any substantial attention either. Until 1923, Dada was – in short – virtually absent in the Dutch literary and artistic field. Only the – in those days – quite mar-
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ginal journal De Stijl paid regular attention to Dada. Besides, the label “Dada” can be found now and then as pars pro toto designation for formal artistic and literary avant-garde radicalism in literary and art criticism, e.g. in reviews by Frans Coenen, Hendrik Marsman and Jos. Léonard of Paul van Ostaijen’s Bezette Stad in 1921 (cf. Borgers 1971). As a – by and large dismissive, pejorative – label, either for some sort of supposed radicalism in art and literature or for any form of nonsencical behaviour, the term also circulated in the Dutch daily and weekly press from 1920 onwards. Next to the sparse covering of the activities of the Dada movement in France and Germany; several hundred mentionings of the words “Dada”, “dadaïsme”, “dadaïst” and “dadaïstisch” can be found in the digitalised versions of the Dutch dailies Het Centrum, Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant and Het Vaderland through the search engine of the Dutch Royal Library (http://kranten.kb.nl/kb/html/frameset.htm). “Dada” was, in other words, already in the early 1920s – before the tour – a household name in the Dutch press. The term was used, though – similar to the contemporary usage of the term by current-day journalists (cf. van den Berg 1999:4) – in a rather indistinct way. It referred only in a distanced way to or at least originating from the name of the avant-garde movement that started in Zurich in 1916, however, not intended as serious reference to this movement. As mentioned, now and then indeed articles were published on the Dada movement in Germany and France in the Dutch press. They were, though, quite rare (and most of them were published in 1920, when the name started to pop up in press reports). On the whole, as far as the presence of the Dada movement in the Netherlands is concerned, K. Schippers (1977:3/92) was certainly not completely wrong, when he doubted in the Dada section of the catalogue Tendenzen der Zwanziger Jahre, whether “Dada-Holland” was indeed one of the main centres of the historical Dada movement: Dada in den Niederlanden? Es ist als Frage schon zu viel gesagt. Fast kein niederländischer Künstler interessierte sich für Dada. Man war nicht informiert über die echte Explosion in Zürich. Oder man wollte es nicht sein.
This situation changed overnight, when Van Doesburg, Schwitters, Huszár and Van Moorsel started their Dada tour in early 1923.
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Dada on Tour in The Netherlands Mécano might have been a negligible review, both in size – the first issues were just one double folded folio sheet – and in regard to its very limited circulation, it served, nevertheless, as a trade card for Van Doesburg. When he organised a conference for Dadaists and Constructivists on the doorsteps of the Bauhaus in Weimar in September 1922, he also arranged a Mécano soirée, at which several (former) Dadaists gave acte de présence: Hans Arp, Raoul Hausmann, Hanna Höch, Hans Richter, Kurt Schwitters, and Tristan Tzara. Several of them participated in the stage activities, in which also Van Doesburg (in a way representing Bonset) and his partner, the piano player Petronella van Moorsel were involved.3 The succesful evening was followed by other evenings in Jena and Hannover. Impressed by these soirées, the Hungarian constructivist Vilmos Huszár, living in the Netherlands and a member of the Stijl circle, suggested a reprise of these soirées to introduce Dada at last to the Dutch public as well. Initially, it was Van Doesburg’s aim to organise a large Dada conference in The Hague in combination with some soirées, where the Dutch could inform themselves about Dada straight from the horse’s mouth (cf. Borel 1923). This plan turned out to be a financial impossibility. Only Schwitters, who had other obligations in the Netherlands – his works were shown on a travelling exhibition of the Rotterdam artist’s group De Branding –, was willing to participate without a honorarium. As an alternative, Van Doesburg developed the programme for a Dada soirée, involving himself, Pétro van Doesburg, Kurt Schwitters and Vilmos Huszár. In collaboration with a commercial theatre agency from The Hague, Internationaal Concert- en Theaterbureau De Haan, a tour was arranged to stage dada in theatres in several Dutch towns. Whereas problems for Schwitters to acquire a passport and visa to the Netherlands caused some more delay. A first evening with Kurt Schwitters scheduled on 27th of December 1922 could not take place in the planned form; Van Doesburg acted as a stand-in with a recitation of I.K. Bonset’s verses (cf. Entrop 2002). Instead, when Schwitters finally received his travel documents, the tour could begin on 10 January 1923 at the Binnenhof in The Hague with a “kleine DADA soirée”, hosted by the wellestablished local artist’s society, the Haagsche Kunstkring.
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Van Doesburg opened the evening with an “introduction in dadasophy” - the reading of the pamphlet Wat is Dada?, published as a small brochure for the occasion and sold in the auditorium. As “a gentleman with a very ordinary collar, an ordinary tie and a very ordinary costume”, Kurt Schwitters continued with recitations from his own work. His share in the programme was more or less identical with the programme of previous Merz soirées presented in Germany and the Czechoslovakia. It comprised the declamation of poems “from abstract lyrics to elemental sound”, giving an impression of his literary development from expressionist poetry in the style of August Stramm via his genuine dadaist poetry from the volume Anna Blume to his more recent constructivist, “elemental” sound and cipher poems, including fragments from his Ursonate. Besides, Schwitters also declamated some grotesque prose texts: the “Große glorreiche Revolution in Revon” and “Die Erdbeere”. Pétro van Doesburg alternated Schwitters’ declamations with piano recitals. She played Erik Satie’s RagtimeParade, rebaptised in Ragtime Dada for the occasion, and the Marcie per le bestie by the Italian composer Vittorio Rieti. Another intermezzo was a shadow play by Vilmos Huszár: a “simultaneist-mechanical dance” by a self-designed constructivist “mechanical dance figure”. To the accompaniment of Chopin on the piano Schwitters also recited Heinrich Heine’s “Es fiel ein Reif in der Frühlingsnacht” and other popular German songs. The performers alternately disturbed each other’s contributions with interruptions, slogans, shouting, senseless “banalities” of their own and aphorisms from French Dadaists like Tzara and Picabia, animal sounds and a chivari of castanets, motor horn and a children’s harp. The programme presented on this first evening was repeated the following evening in Haarlem in Zaal Rosehaghe, on the 19th of January in Amsterdam in Zaal Bellevue, on 25th and 27th of January in the Luxortheater in Den Bosch and Besterds Belang in Tilburg, as a matinée once again in The Hague on the 28th of January in Diligentia and the next evening in Gebouw K&W in Utrecht, on the 31th of January in Salon Doele in Rotterdam, on the 3rd of February again in Diligentia in The Hague, on the 6th of February once more in Salon Doele in Rotterdam and finally on the 14th of February in Leiden, in the Leidsche Schouwburg. On some occasions not all four members of the dadaistische Hauskapelle (Schwitters, cit. in Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995:130) were participating. In Den Bosch and Tilburg, only Schwit-
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ters and Van Moorsel were present, Huszár was also absent in Utrecht, Rotterdam and Leiden. There was also some minor variation in the programme. Van Doesburg read occasionally another introduction and recited now and then also poems by Bonset. Van Moorsel sometimes extended her basic programme with music composed by Honegger, Stravinsky and Poulenc.
“88 Articles with an Average Length of One Metre” Right from the start, the evenings received extensive coverage by the daily press. Already on 11 January, several local as well as national newspapers came with long and detailed reports of the previous evening at the Binnenhof in The Hague. The morning edition of the liberal, nationally distributed daily from The Hague, Het Vaderland, brought the news even on its front page. In the following days, more reports from the first soirée were published in other newspapers; accordance with a procedure not uncommon in those days, several newspapers reproduced reports previously published elsewhere: e.g. Het Centrum reproduced the front-page article from Het Vaderland, and the Leeuwarder Courant reproduced the account from De Telegraaf. In quantitative terms, one might argue that the staging of Dada was an immediate media success or found at least a considerable resonance in the Dutch press – right from the start. Also in the following weeks many more reports and commentaries followed. Besides, the daily Het Vaderland gave Van Doesburg the opportunity to present the case of Dada in a lengthy one page illustrated article, whereas the weekly Haagsche Post presented an article by Schwitters, explaining his views on Dada. Th liberal weekly De Vrijheid came with an interview with Van Doesburg. When Van Doesburg claimed in his retrospective in Mécano that eighty-eight articles were published in the Dutch press, this number was certainly no exaggeration. In fact, the total number of articles in the Dutch press may well have amounted to well over two hundred. Indeed some articles might have had a length of one meter, measuring the length of the columns, but more often, the texts were considerably shorter, in particular when more than one review of the Dada evenings was published in the same newspaper.
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Also Schwitters’ remarks that the Dutch press joined Dada “with flying colours”, spending more attention to the Dada tour than to the Ruhr crisis, must be taken with a pinch of salt. Indeed, in some issues of some dailies, Dada received more attention than the German resistance to the French occupation of the Rhineland and Ruhrgebiet, but overall the coverage of Dada never dominated the newspapers, not one single day. Also in Het Vaderland, Dada was only on the front page of the morning edition (devoted to local news); the evening edition opened with the Ruhr crisis and other international and national news. Notably the front pages of left-wing press were consecrated to news from Germany, covering the French occupation of the German Ruhr district and the worker’s resistance against the French quite extensively. The socialist newspaper Het Volk (20.1.1923) brought only one small note on the Dada tour. The note was written by the prominent Dutch social-democrat writer A.M. de Jong, who was, in fact, the most dismissive of all critics, stressing his disgust by not even mentioning the names of the performers or giving any description of the staged programme:4 “Dada” in Amsterdam. Vlegels voor en achter de schermen. Het publiek vocht om een plaatsje in “Bellevue” te veroveren ten einde zich te laten belatafelen door een botte pias, die daarvoor expesselijk uit Duitschland was overgekomen. Geen wonder, die belustheid van het publiek! Uit den aard van de trieste vertoning had het immers het recht zich vlegelachtig te gedragen in een volle zaal! Een buitenkansje, waarvan het publiek, vooral als de lichten uit waren, rijkelijk profiteerde. Als het licht op ging, hielden de dames en heren zich kalmer: zelfs tegenover elkaar nog gesteld op hun fatsoen. De vertoning was minstens zo banaal en vlegelachtig als de houding van het publiek. Het was niet eens lollig van dwaasheid, het was alleen maar grof, smakeloos, ruw en volstrekt onbeschaafd. Maar de guldens waren binnen. Een les voor de theaterdirekteuren. Laten ze dadaïst worden en het publiek op vlegelachtigheden trakteren, daarbij per advertentie maken, dat het publiek vrijelik mag tonen hoe beschaafd het precies is, en hun fortuin is gemaakt. Naschrift: Vanmorgen ontmoette ik onze partijgenoot prof. R.N. Roland Holst. Hij vertelde mij, dat men hem gevraagd had, of hij ook niet naar de Dadaïstenavond ging. Ziehier, wat hij geantwoord heeft: “Als ik er ooit ernstig over zou denken bordeelhouder te worden, dan zal ik er heengaan, want dan kan ik door hen leeren, hoe je een schaamteloos publiek moet aanpakken.” De typering is onvriendelik, maar niet onjuist.
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It doesn’t need to surprise that the communist daily De Tribune, which had only four pages per day, ignored the tour completely; on the same day, when A.M. de Jong condemned Dada in Het Volk, De Tribune devoted its art section to the staging of Rigoletto in the Amsterdam Stadschouwburg. Also many conservative newspapers left the tour unmentioned. The fact that – nevertheless – in the second week of January a considerable number of Dutch newspapers reported on Dada can be regarded – even on an international scale – as quite remarkable. There is, however, one restriction to be made. For example, the first Dada manifestations in Paris in the first months of 1920 or the Erste Internationale Dada-Messe in Berlin later that same year were not only covered in the local or national press. They received quite some attention abroad as well, among others in the Dutch press. Instead, the Dutch Dada tour remained a local, a national affair. And there are more restrictions to be made: also in single issues, the coverage of the Dada soirées remained only a relatively small item, often in the art or amusement sections. Whereas several newspapers had more than one edition a day (morning, afternoon, evening editions) or different local editions, the articles on Dada were often only published in one edition. It should be noted, furthermore, that not all evenings were covered to the same extent. Reports on the first soirée at the Binnenhof in The Hague, on the evening in Zaal Bellevue in Amsterdam as well as on the matinée in Diligentia in The Hague can be found in a dozen or more newspapers. Other evenings were mainly covered by the local press, sometimes, as in the larger cities of Rotterdam and Utrecht, by more extensive articles. In Den Bosch and Leiden, however, local newspapers only presented rather short impressions, whereas the regional conservative Catholic press in Tilburg ignored the local Dada evening. As far as the distribution of articles in the different newspapers is concerned, Het Vaderland covered most of the soirées, sometimes with more then one article. Besides, also the Amsterdam based Telegraaf and Algemeen Handelsblad as well as the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant reported and commented regularly on the Dada tour. Other newspapers confined themselves to one or two articles. The coverage of the Dada tour was still – in quantitative terms – quite remarkable, not only in regard to the previous absence of Dada
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in the Netherlands, but also in comparison with the coverage of Dada in Zurich or Berlin. Tristan Tzara (1980:28-9) claimed in the DadaAlmanach as conclusion of his “Chronique zurichoïse” in 1920: Il a paru jusqu’au 15 Oct. 8590 articles sur le dadaisme dans des journaux et revues de: Barcelone, St. Gallen, New- York, Rapperswill, Berlin, Varsovie, Mannheim, Prague, Rorschach, Vienne, Bordeaux, Hambourg, Bologna, Nuremberg, Chaux-de-fonds, Colmar, Jassy, Bari, Copenhague, Bucarest, Genève, Boston, Frankfurt, Buda-Pest, Madrid, Zurich, Lyon, Bâle, Christiania, Berne, Napoli, Köln, Sevilla, Münich, Rome, Horgen, Paris, Effretikon, Bern, London, Innsbruck, Amsterdam, Santa-Cruz, Leipzig, Lausanne, Chemnitz, Rotterdam, Bruxelles, Dresden, Santiago, Stockholm, Hannover, Florenza, Karlsruhe, Venezia, Waschington etc. etc.
Tzara might have had a considerable archive, but the claimed number of 8590 articles cannot be found in his estate in the Bibliothèque littéraire Jacques Doucet in Paris. Also later collections of newspaper articles on Dada in Zurich or Berlin (cf. Watts 2004) comprise for the five years Dada existed in both cities as many articles as the Dutch Dada tour generated in five weeks (and this is – for sure – what Van Doesburg also wanted to point out with his remarks about the number of eighty-eight articles with an average length of one meter). Both the fact that most Dada evenings attracted each time hundreds of visitors (whereas many Dada soirées in Zurich, Berlin and Paris were attended only by a few dozen people) and the quite extensive coverage in the Dutch press suggest that the staging of Dada was the Dutch cultural event of early 1923. At least, this Dada tour received proportionally far more local resonance than most previous Dada manifestations in other countries. And if success is to be measured by quantity, one might indeed regard the Dada tour as a success, yet an immediate success, which didn’t last for long.
“After the Cities, it is the Turn for the Provincial Dumps” When Tzara referred to his 8590 articles, he did not only refer to newspapers or (general) weeklies, but also to literary and art journals (and probably also the “own” dadaist press). Noteworthy in regard to the resonance of the Dutch Dada tour is here, that the tour – in con-
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trast to the coverage of the tour in the daily and weekly press – was by and large ignored in literary and art journals. An exception was De Nieuwe Kroniek, in which both the visual artist Richard Roland Holst and the composer Willem Pijper commented on the tour. Roland Holst wrote an invective critique on Van Doesburg’s Wat is Dada? – in line with his remark quoted by De Jong; Roland Holst was, in turn, directly attacked by Van Doesburg in Mécano 4/5. Pijper notably criticised the music performance: the music presented by Van Moorsel had, to his opinion, nothing to do with Dada and was, according to him, anything but revolutionary, but instead rather yesterday’s fashion (cf. also De Graaf 1987). Two other modernist reviews followed a different strategy. The art review De Kunst did not mention the tour with one word, but offered, instead, Huszár the opportunity to present his constructivist theatre conceptions in a non-dadaist context, after a separate lecture by Huszár on his theatre conceptions at the Haagsche Kunstkring. Also the modernist literary review Het Getij left the tour unmentioned. Although Het Getij had published Tzara’s famous recipe for the creation of a dadaist poem (cf. Een Dilettant 1921), and Theo van Doesburg had been a frequent contributor from the late 1910s, Het Getij didn’t speak about the tour. Instead, Het Getij presented in April 1923 a small article by Jos Léonard, in which Léonard discussed the belated arrival of Dada in Flanders: Paul Joostens’s booklet Salopes and his submission of a series of assemblages and collages to an exhibition organised by the Antwerp modernist review Ça Ira! in November 1922. Léonard (1923:57-58) criticised the imitative and epigone character of the seemingly Dadaist exploits of the fellow-traveller Joostens: Na de groot-steden komen de provinsie-nesten aan de beurt In dees kleur zijn de Dada-manifestaties van 1922 te Antwerpen aanneembaar. Ribemont-Dessaignes zijn “Le Serin Muet”dateert van 1919, Picabia’s “Pensées sans Langage” idem. Wij kunnen immers reeds in 1915/16 Dadaprodukten en Dada-voorlopers treffen. In 1922 verscheen van Paul Joostens “Salopes” – Editions Ça Ira, Anvers 1922 – met voor ondertietel “Le quart d’heure de rage ou soleil sans chapeau” versierd door de auteur zelf. Aldus valt er een retard van een zestal jaren voor Vlaanderen te konstateeren. [...] Paul Joostens stelde ook Dadaistiese gevrochten ten-toon [,] meestendeels plastieken (?) en met gekleurd papier geplakte schilderijen (?). De Antwerpse bourgeois-elite kwam en zag sterrekes. Dat is eigelik een werkelik resultaat. Het enige! Dadaisme geïmporteerd voor de lui – die niet in de gelegenheid
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verkeren ermede kennis te maken uit direkte bron – de okkasie te verschaffen er ook eens van te genieten. Een menslievend werk! Dat Vlaanderen na geïmporteerd Kubisme en Dadaisme ook waarschijnlijk de retour à Ingres importeren zal, moet vreselik heten. En dat het Vlaamse kunstenaars zijn die zich zo stelselmatig tot verbastering lenen om die vreemde manifestatiën – onder het dekkend-cachet van kunstinternationalisering – mag eveneens vreselik genoemd worden.
Although Léonard only discussed Joosten’s apparent epigonism in Flanders, he implicitly also reflected on the Dutch Dada tour, which brought Dada still some months, but nominally a year later to the Netherlands. The fact that Léonard’s letter contained the only reference to Dada in Het Getij in the first months of 1923 can be taken as an implicit critique of the tour by its editors, even if Léonard only intended to criticise the Flemish Paul Joostens. Obviously, Léonard still took the energy to write on Dada and, likewise, the editors of Het Getij still regarded Dada still a phenomenon relevant enough to be addressed on the pages of the review. Instead, other Dutch literary and art reviews ignored the tour completely. This was undoubtedly related to the fact that most of these reviews were not really interested in, let alone favourable to avantgarde experiments (cf. Dorleijn 2002). Considering the difficult discussions the editor Adriaan Roland Holst had to go through, before expressionist verses by Hendrik Marsman could be published in the well-established Gids in the same months (cf. Van Vliet 1999), it is clear that an extensive coverage of Dada was a mere impossibility in reviews like De Gids. But even when some sympathy existed for the dadaist experiments, as in the case of Hendrik Marsman in the period, cf. Goedegebuure 1981, it wouldn’t have been very opportune to express one’s sympathy for the Dada evenings, which were generally regarded as a corny charade. Although Marsman actually was in Leiden on the day of the last soirée, he apparently did not go to the Leidsche Schouwburg (or concealed his presence in his correspondence), maybe because he was simply short of money at that time – and he was! (cf. Goedegebuure 1999), whereas the entrance fee to the soirées was quite high: one guilder, almost the day income of a simple farm labourer in those days. Another reason might have been that Marsman wanted to avoid any association with Dada, although Der Sturm was both a major platform for Schwitters and a major source of inspiration for Marsman at the time. The nolens volens proximity of Marsman to
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Schwitters remained not unnoticed, as a remark in Het Vaderland on Marsman’s poem “Gertrude”, published in De Nieuwe Kroniek (cf. Marsman 1923), indicates: in the feature “Weekbladen” (28.3.1923), the anonymous reviewer noted that Marsman’s expressionist Seinen [...] hellen zeer naar het Dadaïsme. Vergelijk Anna Blume met deze Gertrude [i.e. the title of a poem by Marsman] [...] Al staat dit vers op een andere basis, het resultaat is vrijwel gelijk.
Since Marsman pursued the role of protagonist of the Dutch “young”, and not the stigma of epigone of yesterday’s fashion, let alone of a movement with a rasther bad reputation like Dada, his absence at the soirée in Leiden might well have had a strategic component. And also the silence on the Dada tour in other modernist and avant-garde sections of the literary and artistic field was probably no accident. Noteworthy is the fact that on those occasions, when local artist’s societies were officially hosting the soirées – in The Hague (c.f. e.g. De Telegraaf, 11.1.1923), in Amsterdam (c.f. e.g. De Telegraaf, 20.1.1923) and Den Bosch (cf. Provinciale Noordbrabantsche en ’sHertogenbossche Courant, 26.1.1923) –, spokesmen on behalf the societies also explicitly distanced themselves from Dada and the staged programme. Léonard’s rather dismissive formulated argument in favour of the epigone staging of Dada in Flanders – the opportunity to satisfy the curiosity of provincial followers of fashion – played undoubtedly an important role in the enormous attention for Dada both by the audiences attending the Dutch Dada soirées and the Dutch press. In several reports on the Dutch soirées, the argument can be found as well that these manifestations offered an unique opportunity to see and hear in vivo what had happened hitherto far abroad, in Paris and Berlin. For once, it was possible to inform oneself at first hand about this curious movement. Although many Dutch artists and writers attended the soirées – several evenings were even organised in collaboration with local groups of artists like the H.K.K. in The Hague and De Onafhankelijken in Amsterdam –, spokesmen for these groups explicitly dissociated themselves from Dada in their introductions or commentaries after the show. The fact that the more specialised literary and art reviews let the tour pass without any notice can be regarded as indication that at least the modernist sections of the Dutch cultural field
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apparently shared Léonard’s view on the epigonism of the whole enterprise or regarded Dada on other grounds as an irrelevant phenomenon. As far the – in contrast even more – substantial newspaper coverage of the tour is concerned, there were also other factors, which contributed to the fact that already the first soirée triggered off an immediate extensive coverage. There can be no doubt that the impact of the evening was considerably enhanced by fact that the soirée was organised by the well-established, respectable H.K.K. and not just by some new secession or some unknown oppositional group of angry young artists. What is more, the soirée was staged not just somewhere, but in the very centre of the Dutch national administration. The soirée actually took place in the same building where the queen traditionally opens the new parliamentary year in a ceremonial way each third Tuesday of September. In contrast, most previous Dada soirées in – for example – Zurich or Berlin were staged in cabarets, marginal galleries or the back rooms of some pub or restaurant. The fact that the Binnenhof was anyhow an important source for news was undoubtedly an ideal precondition for an extensive coverage by the press in combination with the actually staged programme of absurd one-liners, puzzling poetry, strange music, a weird shadow play performance and a rather ecstatic behaviour by the audience. It is also obvious that the initial extensive coverage of the first soirée created a certain internal dynamics in the press. Once the rumour about the curious Dada soirées was spread by several major nationally distributed newspapers like Het Vaderland, De Telegraaf, the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, the Maasbode, the Algemeen Handelsblad and Het Centrum, others couldn’t stay behind. Either they followed by reproducing articles previously published in these newspapers or they produced articles of their own, notably when the tour attended ‘their’ town. The circulation of wild stories about the strange soirées in the press also affected the following evenings. Publicity for the evenings was not only made through advertisements by the theatre agency De Haan, which can be found in local newspapers announcing the tour, and by small notes in the press, obviously also based on announcements by the theatre agency, as well as – in the case of the matinée in Diligentia – by posters on advertising columns. Also the involved artist’s societies played some role in generating publicity and – most
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likely – mobilised their members. Simultaneously and probably even more important for drawing large audiences to the theatres, the extensive coverage of previous manifestations created substantial additional publicity for the following evenings. The advertisement by De Onafhankelijken in Het Volk on January 18 even explicitly noted: “Fantastisch succes te Den Haag, Haarlem, enz.” Many reports on the soirée in Amsterdam indicated that an enormous crowd gathered in front of Zaal Bellevue to see for themselves what they had read in the papers: Men meldt ons uit Amsterdam: Thans heeft ook Amsterdam zijn Dada-avond gehad. De verslagen in de pers van de Dada-vertooningen elders hadden veler nieuwsgierigheid gewekt en zoo liep het lang voor het officieele aanvangsuur – 8 uur – storm aan de Bellevue-zaal. Zóó groot was de belangstelling van het publiek, dat de politie er aan te pas moest komen, en, althans in den beginne, alleen degenen toegelaten werden die al van een toegangskaart voorzien waren. De groote tooneelzaal van het gebouw was stampvol; zelfs in de looppaden stonden de menschen. (Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 20.1.1923) Na de, onbedoelde, reclame der dagbladverslagen, die zooveel ongebreidelde herrie beloofden, bleek de groote zaal van Bellevue voor de Amsterdamsche soirée nog te klein en moest de politie aan den ingang met kracht de begeerigen naar de nieuwe negatieve leer van Dada terugdringen. (De Telegraaf, 20.1.1923)
And since the press not only gave accounts of what happened on the stage, but also focused extensively on the at times frenetic behaviour of the visitors in the auditorium, they also helped to create a pattern of expectations, which in turn boosted the carnivalesque atmosphere of the evenings, where – as it seemed – deviant behaviour was the dadaist norm, according to the reports in the press. As such, following evenings attracted – accompanied by a large police presence – also many visitors, in particular students, who only came to the soirées for a nice party, as e.g. the journalist of the Utrechtsch Provinciaal en Stedelijk Dagblad (30.1.1923) after the local soirée noted: Het kabaal dat achterin de zaal en boven nu en dan opstak bleef gelocaliseerd tot de groep, die gekomen was om Dada met Dada te beantwoorden en die, blijkbaar warm gestookt door de Haagsche en Amsterdamsche verslagen de vorige weken, het er nu eens op had gezet, om hier den avond op gang te brengen. Een studentenaardigheid.
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The soirée in Utrecht is also interesting for another reason: A group of local students, including a journalist (cf. Schilp 1957), prepared an intervention on the stage, in the course of which a statue made of rotting bones from the slaughterhouse, a calla and a wreath from the local cemetery had to be installed on the stage. The intervention led to a fight on the stage with Van Doesburg. The fight continued in the auditorium. It is difficult to say, whether the involved journalist was acting as an ‘ordinary’ visitor behaving in an – at least at the Dada soirées – ‘normal’ extraordinary way or was consciously creating his own news...
“Introduction into Dadasophy”, “Grand Clearance Sale” or Constructivist Theatre? The newspaper coverage of the tour might be regarded in quantitative terms as a success. It seems rather doubtful, though, whether the way, in which the tour was covered, can indeed be regarded as an unequivocal ‘victory’ for the dadaistische Hauskapelle, as Van Doesburg and Schwitters claimed in their retrospectives. At least if one measures this ‘triumph’ by the degree, in which the objectives of the artists involved were indeed realised. It should be noted here that the involved artists were pursuing quite different aims. In the case of Petronella van Moorsel, it is impossible to say what her intentions were, since no contemporary statements about her share have passed down. The only contemporary hint about her role stems from Kurt Schwitters. In his account of the tour, Schwitters stated that Pétro van Doesburg was the one and only proper dadaist involved in the tour, whereas both Theo van Doesburg and Huszár were “nicht dada, sondern Stijl” and he himself “nicht dada, sondern MERZ” (Schwitters, cit. in Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995:132). A remark, which has to be put in perspective: at the time, constructivism was indeed the main artistic framework for Theo van Doesburg, Huszár and Schwitters. Petronella van Moorsel, whose piano repertoire consisted of works by, among others, Poulenc, Honegger, Satie, Schönberg and Stravinsky, was – at least in regard to her repertoire – neither an outspoken constructivist nor a dadaist, although works by these composers were also frequently performed at Dada soirées in Zurich and Paris and Satie himself indeed participated in Dada activi-
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ties in Paris. Schwitters’s remark is probably primarily an ironical reaction to the fact that in the – on the whole – quite negative commentaries on the Dada evenings, a positive exception was frequently made for the share of Pétro van Doesburg, whose piano play is then contrasted with the abominable rest of the performance. Regarding the role of Vilmos Huszár in the tour, there can be no doubt that he indeed acted as a constructivist. Although it was Huszár, who had encouraged Theo van Doesburg to organise the tour, and who had probably for that reason been included in the programme, Huszár’s actual share in the programme – a shadow play performance by a puppet with typical Stijl looks – was constructivist. It was for him obviously an opportunity to present his shadow play performance, which he regarded as part of a larger concept for a new constructivist theatre, to a larger audience. And it is noteworthy here that Huszár used the publicity to arrange next to the tour a matinée for himself, on the 25th of February 1923 at the Haagsche Kunstkring, where he demonstrated his mechanically dancing shadow play figure in a more serious ambience. As far as Theo van Doesburg as Theo van Doesburg was concerned (and he was acting at the soirées as Van Doesburg!), he too was “not Dada, but Stijl”. Van Doesburg had, however, his “other face” as I.K. Bonset. And, what is more, although he acted during the soirées as “iemand die aan het dadaïsme onschuldig is, [...] een nietdadaïst” – as someone innocent of dadaism, as a non-dadaist (Van Doesburg, cit. in Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995:11), there can be no doubt at all that he intended the tour –at least initially – as a propaganda campaign for and comprehensive introduction into Dada, aiming primarily at an audience interested in contemporary art. As said, most of the soirées were hosted in some way by local art circles. His brochure Wat is Dada?, published on the occasion of the tour, was a genuine introduction to Dadaist programmatics, offering a crossreading through Dada theory, in particular through programmatic texts by Huelsenbeck, Hausmann, Tzara and Picabia, adding his own views by means of his alias Bonset. It is obvious that Van Doesburg still regarded Dada as a viable aesthetic framework, not only at the time of the tour but also in the following years. He apparently only accepted little by little that the time of the Dada movement was definitely over and done, as can be taken from later letters to Tzara (cf. Van Doesburg 1992, Tuijn 2003), but
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also by later attempts to find a publisher for Dada publications by Bonset (cf. Den Boef/Van Faassen 1995). And not insignificant: the last issue of Mécano claiming the success of the Dada tour was, in fact, only published in January 1924 (cf. Hoek 2000:310). The reason for this belated publication could have been, in part, of a financial nature, but apparently, Van Doesburg believed at that time that it was still not too late for another issue of his Dada journal. In contrast with Van Doesburg, Schwitters had already abandoned Dada as a viable framework for his aesthetic activities in previous years. Already in 1921, he staged an “Anti-Dada” tour with Raoul Hausmann including, by the way, the recitation of more or less the same selection of poems he presented during the Dutch Dada tour. In a note to the booklet Memoiren Anna Blumes in Bleie. Eine leichtfaßliche Methode zur Erlernung des Wahnsinns für Jedermann, published 1922, from which he recited the grotesque story “Die Erdbeere” at the Dutch Dada evenings, Schwitters (1922c:26) explicitly clarified his stand as not dadaist, but as founder of Merz-Kunst and i-Kunst. As an alternative to Dada as an aesthetic framework, Schwitters had developed his one Merz project, which he combined, though, with further Dada activities, for which he developed an idiosyncratic Dada understanding of his own, in a way following Tzara’s Dada credo “Les vrais dadas sont contre DADA” (Tzara 1920). As Schwitters also explained in an article in the Haagsche Post on “De zelfoverwinning van Dada”, Dada was – in his particular understanding – not the name of an artistic movement, but rather his label for the “face of our time”, the incarnation of contemporary “stylelessness”: Maar... wat is nu Dada? Dada is niet speciaal »kunstuiting« maar »levensuiting«. Men is gewend de praestaties der zgn. dadaïsten met »Dada« te vereenzelvigen. Dada is meer. Dada is het wezen van onzen tijd. Er was een klassieke oudheid, een Gothische tijd, een Renaissance, een moderne Biedermeiertijd en onze tijd heet Dada. Onze geheele tijd heet Dada. De dadaïsten echter zijn niet »dada«, zij hebben het dadaïsme overwonnen. De dadaïst is een spiegeldrager. Hij houdt den tijd een spiegel voor en de tijd ziet zich daarin. En de tijd ziet dat hij Dada is. Dada is in geen geval humoristisch, zooals de meeste bezoekers der dadasoirées meenen. Dada is ook niet mystisch of transcendentaal. Dada is het gezicht van onzen tijd. Dada is het lawaai der machine. Dada is het kaartspel van den burger om een tienden »Pfennig«. Dada is, wanneer iemand met een D-trein de heide oprijdt, om in een romantisch slootje te gaan roeien. Dada is iemand die te paard zijn huis binnenrijdt. Dada is de valuta, de smokkelhandel, het »Schiebertum«, het Duitsche gemoed, Caruso op de grammophoon, de
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A one-liner frequently used by Schwitters (cit. in Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995:59) during the tour was: “Dada ist der sittliche Ernst unserer Zeit und bereitet der Zukunft den Weg.” The role of the dadaist, of the acting dadaist and, thus, in respect to the Dutch Dada tour and its actors, the dadaistische Hauskapelle, was not to participate in contemporary Dada complet (cit. in Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995:131). Instead, they acted as Spiegelträger (cit. in Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995:21), who exposed contemporary Dada. It was the duty of the dadaist – in Schwitters’s view – to make the dadaist “stylelessness” of contemporary culture visible. In regard to the absence of any Dadaist on the stage at the soirées (except for Pétro van Doesburg), responded Schwitters (cit. in Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995:132-5) to the question, “Warum kommen nicht Dadaisten, um uns dada vorzumachen?”, as follows: Kijk eens, das gerade ist das Geraffineerde van onze Kultuur, daß ein Dadaist, weil er eben Dadaist ist, nicht den im Publikum schlummernden Dadaismus wecken und künstlerisch laütern kann. [...] Kijk eens, die Zeit der Gegenwart ist nach unserer Meinung dada, nichts als dada. Es gab ein klassisches Altertum, ein gothisches Mittelalter, eine Renaissance, eine Biedermeierzeit und eine Dadaneuzeit. Unsere Zeit heißt dada. Wir leben im Dadazeitalter. Wir erleben im Zeitalter dada. Nichts ist für unsere Zeit so charakteristisch wie dada. Denn unsere Kultur ist dada. In keiner Zeit gab es so enorme Spannungen wie in unserer. Es gab keine Zeit, die so stillos war wie unsere. DADA ist das BEKENNTNIS zur STILLOSIGKEIT. Dada ist der Stil unserer Zeit, die keinen Stil hat. [...] Wir Träger der dadaistischen Bewegung versuchen nun der Zeit einen Spiegel vorzuhalten, daß die Zeit deutlich die Spannungen sieht. [...] Und nun erkläre ich, warum gerade wir, die wir nicht Dadaisten sind, am meisten befähigt sind, Träger der dadaistischen Bewegung zu sein. [...] Unser Publikum gab der Bewegung die Richting. Wir spiegelten und waren das Echo des vor uns in dadaistischer Begeisterung lärmenden Publikums. Und nun erkennen Sie, weshalb wir den Dadaismus nicht wollen. Der Spiegel, der Dein wertes Antlitz empört zurückweist und hinwegspiegelt, dieser Spiegel will Dich nicht, er will das Gegenteil. Und wir wollen den Stil. Wir spiegeln dada, weil wir den Stil wollen. Darum sind wir die Träger der dadaistischen Bewegung. Aus Liebe zum Stil setzen wir unsere ganze Kraft ein für die dadaistische Bewegung.
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To elaborate the metaphor used by Schwitters in relation with artists staging Dada, the dadaistische Hauskapelle: the dadaist resident orchestra is basically not Dada itself, but rather interpreting and soliciting omnipresent Dada complet. This resident orchestra set to music this colloquial Dada complet, making the audience to dance to their own music (as most obvious in the case of the recitation of Heine’s sentimental lyrics in accompaniment with Chopin – causing much upheaval in the auditoriums. At this point, Schwitters’s therapeutic understanding of dadaism converges with his conception of the Merz theatre. The role of acting dadaist requires that the “mirror carrier” himself is already aware of (and immune against) contemporary “stylelessness”. Merz and De Stijl as agencies of “style” are, hence, the ideal agencies to fulfil this duty. The dadaist purge of “stylelessness” is, in turn, an essential precondition for the advance of real “style”. Simultaneously, the dadaist therapy is more or less congenial to, if not identical with the theatrical version of Merz. As Schwitters outlined in a programmatic essay for the journal Der Ararat (1921:8), pivotal to his Merz project was the aesthetic forming of material of any kind, be it paint, glass, cigarette boxes, newspaper clippings, wire or – in the case of an envisioned Merz theatre – even “people themselves”: Menschen selbst können auch verwendet werden. Menschen selbst können auf Kulissen gebunden werden. Menschen selbst können auch aktiv auftreten, sogar in ihrer alltäglichen Lage, zweibeinig sprechen, sogar in vernünftigen Sätzen.
In one of his recollections of the Dada tour, Schwitters (1998:148) emphasised that “unsere Tätigkeit in Holland” was wesentlich künstlerische Leistung durch Formung dadaistischen Materials. Aber nicht immer war unsere Tätigkeit künstlerisch, z.B. wenn wir den ungeformten Dadaismus aus dem Publikum herauszulocken wußten durch Anregung, Aufregung und Abregung. Dann aber waren wir dem Urdadaismus und dem completten Dadaismus am nächsten.
In other words, sometimes the tour relapsed in Dada and was not mirroring Dada anymore. Clear-cut examples of such a reversion into “Dada complet” were the disturbances caused by the members of the dadaistische Hauskapelle themselves in an attempt to provoke a similar behaviour of the audience. Also the rather misleading presentation
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of the soirées as “Dada evenings” could be seen as a reversion into “Dada complet”, since this labelling implied that a Dada performance could be expected – not in the auditorium, but on stage. The suggestion was made that people could come to the theatre to see and hear Dada, although, in fact, neither the music performed by Van Moorsel, nor the shadow play by Huszár, nor Schwitters’s literary work, as presented at the evenings, were conceived as Dada by the respective authors. Even though Schwitters himself might have presented and defined his own artistic stand not as Dada, but as Merz in 1923, he was actually presented as famous foreign representative of Dada, as is obvious in the first announcements of the kleine DADA soirée at the Binnenhof: De dadaïst Kurt Schurtters uit Hannover, die op 27 December een dadaïstschen avond zou geven in “de Haagsche Kunstkring” – welke echter door pasmoeilijkheden niet doorging – zal a.s. Woensdag 10 Januari in de “Haagsche Kunstkring”, Binnenhof 8, zijn bekende “Anna Blume” en zijn satire “Ursachen und Beginn der Grossen Glorreichen Revolution in Revon”voorlezen. De schilder Théo van Doesburg zal dezen avond met een korte inleiding tot het dadaïsme openen. (same text in Haagsche Courant and Algemeen Handelsblad, 9.1.1923)
Consequently, Schwitters figured also in the reports, reviews and commentaries on this and later manifestations without exception as dadaist, as the representative of Dada: Da-Da is groot en Kurt Schwietters is zijn profeet! De residentie had hedenavond de eer een der beroemdste Dadaïsten van onzen aardbol in haar midden te zien. In den Haagschen Kunstkring hield nl. Kurt Schwietters uit Hannover voor leden en introducé’s een voordracht over het Dadaïsme en een bloemlezing uit zijn Dadaïstische werken. (De Telegraaf, 11.1.1923)
The Resonance in the Dutch Press In the press coverage of the tour, several different ways can be distinguished, in which the evenings were mentioned, accounted and reflected upon in the Dutch press.
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In the first place, advertisements – on the non-editorial pages – announced the evenings and the matinée. Most manifestations were announced by advertisements from the Internationaal Theater- en Concertbureau De Haan in the local press in the days before the evenings were scheduled, with a size of sometimes one column, sometimes two columns (e.g. Haagsche Courant, 20.1.1923; Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 31.1.1923; Leidsch Dagblad, 10.2.1923, 13.2.1923; Leidsche Courant 12.2.1923, 13.2.1923). On several occasions also announcements appeared in the editorial sections of the newspapers, originating either from the organising theatre agency or from the hosting artist’s societies (e.g. Haagsche Courant, 9.1.1923; Het Vaderland, 9.1.1923, Algemeen Handelsblad, 9.1.1923, 16.1.1923; Provinciale Noordbrabantsche en ’s-Hertogenbossche Courant, 22.1.1923). The most common way, in which the Dada soirées and matinée were covered in the editorial sections of the newspapers, was the publication of quite lengthy accounts of the manifestations, describing both the programme of the manifestations and the occurrences in and around the theatres. Several newspapers presented extensive accounts of the performance of the dadaistische Hauskapelle, in which they quoted at length from the written material supplied by the artists (e.g. Het Vaderland, 11.2.1923; Algemeen Handelsblad, 20.1.1923, 29.1.1923; Het Centrum, 30.1.1923, Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 30.1.1923). This was certainly facilitated by the circumstance that basically all texts by Van Doesburg and Schwitters were already available in print. Van Doesburg’s “introduction into dadasophy” was sold in the auditorium as the brochure Wat is Dada? Bonset’s occasionally recited poetry could be found in De Stijl. Schwitters’s share in the programme was by and large a recitation from the collections Anna Blume. Dichtungen (1919, 1922²), Die Blume Anna. Die neue Anna Blume (1922), Anna Blume in Bleie (1922) and the 1922 volume of Der Sturm. Most newspapers presented a potpourri of one-liners and small quotes from the introduction by Van Doesburg and the poems and stories recited by Schwitters, creating the impression that the texts read at the evenings were just arbitrary compilations of hilarious nonsense and poetry of a dubious level, making a mockery of literature, art and the audience. Another focus of the accounts of the evenings and afternoon was the behaviour of the audiences before, during and after the manifestations. In particular, after the well-covered soirée in Amsterdam, which was accompanied by a small riot in front of
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the theatre by visitors, who wanted to attend the soirée, but were not allowed in, later accounts focus more and more on the behaviour of the audience? The occurrences and incidents around the theatres gained, thus, more and more attention. This focus on the audiences also had another reason: after describing the staged programme at length on one or two occasions, newspapers, that covered the tour on a more regular basis, had to shift their attention to bring something new. It is noteworthy here that the reviews of the evenings – in general – didn’t have the character of common reviews or critiques of theatrical performances, revues or variety shows (the Dada evenings could be regarded as a kind of combination of the three), but were on the whole conceived as “normal” news reports, yet with two anomalies. In the first place, they are in most cases to be found in the sections for ‘arts and letters’ or ‘miscellenea’. The front page coverage of the tour by Het Vaderland, hence, as important news event of a general nature was an exception, and probably dictated by the fact that The Hague was the centre of Dada activity. In the second place, and here the articles indeed tend to be more critiques than proper reports, most articles also contain quite strongly emphasised – as a rule rather dismissive – evaluations of the quality of the staged performance and the (mis-)behaviour of the respective audiences. Next to these reports, which included in most cases some form of commentary, be it either through the – mostly negative – phrasing of the descriptions, be it by means of (supposed) quotes from angry or disillusioned visitors, several newspapers also presented additional commentaries reflecting both on the staged programme and on the behaviour of the audiences. Remarkably, in the light of the quantitatively extensive coverage of the tour, is the fact that only a few papers saw the necessity or relevance for a presentation of the backgrounds of the tour and of Dada as an avant-garde movement. Notably the Algemeen Handelsblad (23.2.1923) published in the wake of the tour a rather positive, well informed and quite detailed description of the Dada movement by the art critic Jan D. Voskuil. It took Voskuil, however, quite some time and rewriting before the editor of the art section of the Handelsblad, Maria Viola, accepted his article, which he had hoped to be published early January, after the completion of the tour (cf. De Graaf 1987). Three other journals presented extensive clarifications and explanatory contributions authored by the artists themselves – by Kurt Schwitters (Haagsche Post, 20.1.1923), Van Doesburg (Het Vader-
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land, 3.2.1923) and Huszár (De Kunst, 24.2.1923). Furthermore, the liberal Vrijheid published a lengthy interview with Theo van Doesburg (7.2.1923). In its coverage of the matinée in Diligentia in The Hague, Het Vaderland also included a small interview by the critic Henri Borel with Vilmos Huszár (29.1.1923). Articles like these were, however, quite rare. Noteworthy is the fact that a number of additional evenings and matinées, at which not primarily Dada, but rather the aesthetic objectives pursued by the involved artists beyond the Dada programme, remained almost unnoticed or were at least scarcely covered by the press. Both an evening of the Delftsche Studenten DebatingClub in the library of the Delft student’s society, De Phoenix on the 22th of January, at which Van Doesburg and Schwitters discussed the Nieuwe Beelding of De Stijl and the real purport of the Dada tour, as well as a “Moderne Soirée” in the dance school of the Expressionist dancer Lily Green, (The Hague, 12th of March 1923) intended as a “ernstige poging het publiek door verklaring en voorbeeld nader te brengen tot de kunst van zijn tijd” by Van Doesburg, Van Moorsel and Schwitters, received almost no attention in the press,. In this respect, the opportunity offered to Schwitters and Van Doesburg to explain themselves freely in the regular press (Huszár’s text appeared in a specialised art review), must be seen as quite exceptional. These contributions by Schwitters and Van Doesburg were certainly not indicating some sympathy for Dada, but from the perspective of the respective papers undoubtedly regarded as a scoop for their own, surpassing other papers, which “only” had reports, that could be found in almost any newspaper in January and February 1923. It is certainly no accidence either that, in turn, Van Doesburg and Schwitters referred in their own accounts of the tour in Merz and Mécano quite extensively from their own clarifications in Het Vaderland, the Haagsche Post and De Vrijheid. Van Doesburg’s panorama of dadaism in Het Vaderland was even in its entirety reproduced in the first issues of Merz (cf. Van Doesburg 1923d). By pointing at their own contributions in the regular press, they could suggest at least some acceptance of Dada in the Netherlands. More frequent is another way, through which the press reacted and reflected on the tour: the pastiche. Quite a number of newspapers commented on the Dada tour in the first months of 1923 in an allegedly dadaist way. Instead of “conventional” criticism – commentaries
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written in “normal” everyday (newspaper) language or in the common discourse of journalist criticism – , many papers contained satirical articles, written or presented in a supposedly dadaist way. These articles were interlarded by all kinds of nonsensical phrases and words as well as imitations of assumedly dadaist typography and poetry. An example is the report and commentary by “John Em.” in the feature “Onder de luifel” in the Oprechte Haarlemsche Courant (12.1.1923) on the soirée in Haarlem: Ik behoorde gisteravond tot de gelukkigen (?) die in het “ParadisDadaïste”mochten blijven. (Zie elders in dit nummer). Reeds tijdens de lezing van den a-dadaïst Van Doesburg, voelde ik ’t over mij komen. Je bent da-da, of je bent het niet. Worden kun je het niet, verzekerde hij. Toch had ie ongelijk. Dat bleek mij na afloop. Ik kon thuis de verleiding niet weerstaan ook eens een da-da-gedicht te ..... – laat ik maar zeggen – maken. ’t Lukte me maar half, waaruit ik de conclusie trek, dat ik noch a-dadaïst, noch dadaïst, ergo ½ dadaïst ben. Zie hier mijn ..... product: Rroetttssch, PattsCh, 3, 3, 3, 5, 7 Waar is het verstand gebleven, Ho, ho, Rie, ra, roE, toe, ta Snap jij iets van da-da-da-? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 Zeven, 4, 6, drie, 2, 1 MeerenberReg of ZuiDLaren Wie brengt Da, dA, da er heen? Anna Blume, Anna Blume Rot, Weisz Weisz, Rot eins zwei drie Schoensmeer, Appelstroop, Augurkies Qu’est Ce que c’eSt que ça [NB: this line is printed upside down] Hoe ist ’t met mij?
Schwitters and Van Doesburg later presented Dada imitations like this as indications for the assumed victory of Dada in the Netherlands. The bottom line of these pastiches is in general, however, the opposite. They are intended to show in an entertaining way that Dada neither required nor possessed any serious artistic or literary quality, let alone
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some sort of artistic genius, but could be produced by anybody, by any child and was actually nothing but an accumulation of nonsensical, corny banalities. In fact, this way of commenting on Dada was anticipated already by the satirical weekly supplement of the socialist newspaper Het Volk, De Notenkraker. De Notenkraker had presented three years previously a pastiche of Bonset’s experimental “X-beelden” in the feature “Van week tot week” – each week covering some events in
fig. 1. “Van week tot week”.
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Dutch politics in an ironical way – for the occasion under the title “Sterft gij oude vormen...! IJ-Beelden. Het beleid van minister Van IJsselsteijn” (see fig. 1). The “IJ-Beelden” in De Notenkraker were published shortly after the publication of Bonset’s first “X-beelden” in De Stijl in August 1920. Whereas Bonset’s “X-beelden” were qualified in the introduction of the “IJ-Beelden” as “futurist” (Anon. 1920), the author of “Van week tot week” returned to the same form in the course of the Dada tour, consciously playing with avant-garde wild typography, which was rebaptised against the background of the tour as “Dada”. Until November 1923, several episodes of “Van week tot week” were styled in this way. The understanding of Dada as a senseless joke, if not a corny banality (with an assumed fraudulent tendency) is also reflected in the advertisement sections of several newspapers in publicity for other theatrical events, cabaret and variety shows. An entertainer from Rotterdam advertised in the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant (3.2.1923) with the text: GEEN DA-DA!!! maar wel: DORA NOLL’S SCHRAMADE met haar Oud-Holl. Poppenkast, Goochelen, Buikspreken. Geestig en amusant voor kinder- en familiefeesten!
The Theater Tuchinski in Amsterdam advertised in the Algemeen Handelsblad (22.2.1923) for a comedy, Zeven jaar op zoek naar een vrouw, with a pause programme presenting [...] de nieuwste Wereldbeschouwing: DA DA !!!!!! De wereld op zijn kop – Met je beenen in de lucht en je handen in den zak van je buurman ....... HOERA!! VOOR DA DA!! MAX TAK SPEELT DA DA!! HET ORKEST SPEELT DA DA!! DE BEZOEKERS WORDEN DA DA!! NIEUWE VARIÉTÉ OP HET TOONEEL!! TOEGANKELIJK VOOR PERSONEN VAN ELKEN LEEFTIJD.
To some extent, these satirical Dada appropriations in the editorial and advertisement sections press could still be regarded as an overture and – be it only to minimal degree – a form of recognition.
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In this respect, one can indeed see that some newspapers apparently could live with the hilarious-humorous side of Dada and allowed their collaborators to play with Dada to some degree. Other
fig. 2. Oprechte Haarlemsche Courant (25.1.1923).
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papers, which regarded Dada as an overall repulsive excess, abstained from such overtures (or even abstained from any coverage of the tour). Thus, they tried to avoid any suspicion of being infected by “dadaitis”, a term used by the editors of the Oprechte Haarlemsche Courant (25.1.1923), when the paper typographically recreated the programme leaflet of the soirées in its illustration section (fig. 2), accompanied by the following ironical note: Hoewel nu de geheele geest van onze krant niet bepaald dada is, vreezen we, dat, waar deze kwaal toch tamelijk besmettelijk is gebleken, we zoo nu en dan wel da-da-bijdragen zullen moeten geven om in den geest des verlichten tijds te blijven. Om nu het publiek een weinig op te voeden in die richting, hebben we hier bereids het programma van die gedenkwaardige soiree afgedrukt en bij aandachtige aanschouwing zal een ieder toch tot de conclusie komen, dat er veel te zeggen is voor een dergelijke moderne opvatting. Waarom eigenlijk die eeuwige droge rijen van dezelfde letters? Waarom moet men dadelijk alles begrijpen wat men leest? Hier heeft men een groote en inderdaad charmante afwisseling in de letterteekens, terwijl de woorden, veelal tevens kleine en opwindende raadseltjes opleveren. Een paar aardige gedichtjes en geestige (dada-geestig) opmerkingen verhoogen nog de aantrekkelijkheid van het geheel. Niet waar, lezer, dat is toch heusch nog niet zoo gek.
This reproduction was not the only visual trace of the Dada tour in the Dutch press. Although Dutch newspapers did not have many illustrations in the early twenties, several papers presented images documenting the tour. Next to the relatively high number of written contributions on the tour, this is another indication for the fact that the evenings were indeed regarded as a major or at least a spectacular cultural event in the first months of 1923, be it not a “normal” cultural event, but rather a curious freak show. The illustrated weekly Het Leven (27.1.1923) contained both photographs of Schwitters and Moorsel as well as of the manifestation in Amsterdam accompanied by several caricature-like drawings giving an impression of the soirée in Bellevue. The Rotterdamsch Nieuwsblad (1.2.1923) interlarded its report on the first Rotterdam soirée also with several caricatures, including images of Van Doesburg, Van Moorsel and Schwitters as well as of the protesting composer Willem Pijper and the police commissioner guarding the event. In the weeklies De Vrijheid (7.2.1923) and De Amsterdammer (24.3.1923), the caricaturists Ton van Tast and Hermine Yzerdraat also addressed Dada in their contributions.
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As already indicated, in many cases, these different forms are combined in some way. Notably most accounts of the evenings also comprised some form of commentary, not only in the terms in which the course of events in and around the theatres was described, but also in some introducing or concluding remarks, in which the journalist gave his (and maybe occasionally: her) judgement on the event. On several occasions, this judgement is combined with some form of pastiche. The textual accounts are in some instances combined with images. Finally, one other strategy concerning the coverage of the tour should be mentioned, which can be found in particular in conservative provincial newspapers. Either they consciously ignored the tour (as the socialist paper Het Volk did as well after a short verdict by its leading critic De Jong) or restricted the coverage to some short reproduction of reports from the national press with the comment that banalities like these didn’t deserve any serious attention.
The Assessment of the Dada Programme in the Dutch Press If we return now to the initial question – was the press coverage indeed as successful as Schwitters and Van Doesburg claimed? –, it should be noticed first of all that the accounts as such were quite extensive and often giving a detailed account of the manifestations. Yet, few reporters tried to be objective. And even when the accounts were formulated in a neutral way (e.g. those quoted at length in Schippers 1974), there can be no doubt that even a neutral description of what was staged and what happened in the auditoriums and outside the theatres will have led to little enthousiasm for Dada among the average newspaper readers. So, even in as far as some newspapers confined themselves only to a seemingly neutral account, the seeming neutrality can be regarded as a sign of repudiation. This holds even true for the Haagsche Post, when this weekly gave Schwitters the opportunity to present his understanding of the tour. An editorial note, explicitly distancing itself from the previous text, followed his article “De zelfoverwinning van dada”:
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Nu in deze dagen Dada hier te lande onder hondengeblaf en kattengemiauw in ettelijke plaatsen wordt gepropageerd, hebben wij den Grootmeester dezer richting hierboven gelegenheid gegeven Dada uiteen te zetten. Onze lezers zijn daarvan thans ongetwijfeld zoo nauwkeurig en volledig op de hoogte, dat wij hun zonder gevaar het hier volgend gedicht uit Kurt Schwitters’ “Anna Blume”(Paul Steegemann Verlag, Hannover) te genieten kunnen geven als een zielsverheffend slot:
1 5 2 6 7 8 9 10 11 10 5
12 2 4 3 5 7 1 1 1 1 9 4
3 3 4 4 7
4 2 5 3 7
5 1 6 2 7
8 3
7 2
6 1
As far as the commentaries are concerned, either in combination with some sort of account of the soirées or as separate critique: they can be summarised overall as rather dismissive, yet with different forms of repudiation. This repudiation had as a rule a dual focus. On the one hand, the staging of Dada is scrutinised. On the other hand, the reception of the staging of Dada and the general behaviour of the audiences are criticised. Regarding the staged programme of the evenings, some saw the Dada presentations as “goedaardige krankzinnigheid” (Haagsche Courant, 29.1.1923) like the previous quoted commentaries in the Oprechte Haarlemsche Courant. More common was an assessment of the evenings as vapid nonsensical and mediocre entertainment, as the reporter of the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant (11.1.1923) concluded when writing on the first evening at the Binnenhof: De heer Theo van Doesburgh heeft met zijn voorlezing over het Dadaïsme en met zijn handlangers inderdaad alle verwachtingen van zinnelooze dwaasheid overtroffen. In de rolzaal, vol toehoorders, is het gisteravond toegegaan als in een cabaret. De avond begon ernstig. De heer Van Doesburgh keek zelfs zéér ernstig door zijn monocle, toen hij ons terecht wees: dat wij ons opnieuw in de onnoozelheid van het kind moeten begeven. Geraffineerd als zijn uiterlijke verschijning was, met monocle, de witte zijden kousen, het zwarte front met
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witte das, viel dat aan de hand van allerlei mallotige paradoxen vrij moeilijk. Doch mocht een oogenblik dit gulle schilderspubliek zich stil hebben gehouden, de gezondheid van ons volk tegenover dit gedoe kon niet lang zonder een normaal verweer. En al spoedig, nog voordat het eindelijke tumult ontstond, klonken stemmen van verzet. Eerst recht kwam dit alles los, toen een Duitscher met gillen, fluiten en opzettelijk valsch zinge, eerst uit de zaal en toen vanaf het podium af, de Dada-beweging wilde duidelijk maken. [...] Te weinig geestig of van geest vervuld om snobisme te mogen heeten, heeft deze avond, waarbij het publiek door zijn tegenwerpingen voortdurend van een krachtige reactie blijk gaf, bewezen dat het Dadaïsme in Den Haag zijn matten kan oprollen. Uitstekend heeft de heer A. Heyting de meening der aanwezigen verkondigd, toen hij aan het eind den voordragers dank zei. Hij wist niet beter te doen dan in het rhythme van den avond te blijven en concentreerde zijn dank in: “dom”, dom! dom!! dommer. dommer! dom! [...] Alles was dada, behalve de prijzen. Voor een lorretje papier vroeg men een halven gulden.
The editor of the art journal De Kunst, N.H. Wolf already anticipated this judgement in early 1920. Wolf, who was basically favouring modernist developments in the arts, radically criticised the organisers of a soirée of the modernist Revue du Feu as “een bende quasifuturisten”. The presentation of Schwitters’s verses was – to his opinion – just cheap amusement: Het meeste succes had Loe Saalborn met gedichten van den dadaïst Kurt Schnitters, omdat hij vóóraf had aangekondigd dat het publiek zou protesteeren, en ... omdat het publiek wel van zoo’n “lolletje” houdt! Toen hij den dichter dan liet zeggen: dat hij den móóien, dichterlijken naam van Anna Blume even goed van achteren naar voren als van voren naar achter kon spellen, en dat dus Anna van voren en van achteren gezien hetzelfde was, bereikte zijn lach-triumf het hoogtepunt en scheen het auditorium werkelijk in dien schater te zullen blijven...
The fact that Wolf did not cover or even mention the Dada tour in De Kunst in 1923, doesn’t surprise against the background of this early assessment.
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The final remark by the journalist of the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, who reported on the first soirée, advanced to a main point of critique in – among others – an account of the soirée by L.J. Jordaan in Het Leven (27.1.1923). Jordaan commented on Theo van Doesburg’s introduction into dadaism with the remark that Van Doesburg omitted to sum up some of the meest-interessante kwalificaties van Dada [...]. Hij zei b.v. niet: “Dada is ’n kolossaal boerenbedrog”. “Dada is ’n dood-ordinaire geldklopperij”. “Dada is “hoon van alle geachte aanwezigen”. “Dada is een grof-betaalde clownerie – ’n brutale aanval op uw Hollandsche guldens!”
The opinion by the journalist of the NRC and by Jordaan that the soirées were also to seen as an interesting venture or simply a fraud to make financial profit (apparently, the press was not aware of the fact that the artists involved didn’t receive any honorarium!), was also pivotal in other critiques. And at least the journalist covering the Dada soirée in Den Bosch in the Provinciale Noordbrabantsche en ’sHertogenbossche Courant (26.1.1923) had some argument, when he wrote: Het eerste bedrog was o.i. gelegen in den verkoop van de overigens zeer fantastische programs tegen den civielen prijs van 25 Nederlandsche centen. Het program sloeg op deze uitvoering als een tang op een varken; waarschijnlijk waren er nog over van de Amsterdamsche voorstellingen.
The sold programme leaflet was, in fact, the programme designed for the soirée at the Binnenhof in The Hague. It was, however, also sold at consecutive soirées, even when – as in Den Bosch – Huszár and Van Doesburg (both mentioned on the leaflet) were not participating... The suspicion that the soirées were intended only for financial profit was in particular directed against Kurt Schwitters, not only because he was the main figure in the staged programme, but also because he was German. Apart from apparent anti-German (or maybe rather: xenophobic) sentiments, several articles refer to the catastrophic economical situation in Germany at that time: Germany was going through a period of hyperinflation, whereas the Dutch guilder was still related to the golden standard. For that reason, several journalists and critics assumed that Schwitters just had come over to the Netherlands as an economic refugee to earn some “real” money, which was almost impossible in Germany in the period. From this perspective,
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the author of the review in the Provinciale Noordbrabantsche en ’sHertogenbossche Courant concluded his report thus: [...] in gemoede, hoe lang duurt ’t nog, dat men zich zoo laat beetnemen? Moge de vertooning van gisteren in Luxor een waarschuwing zijn voor andere plaatsen! Hoeveel marken krijgt men vandaag voor een Hollandschen gulden? Kunnen eventueel noodlijdende Duitsche “kunstenaars” niet op een andere wijze gesteund worden? Een bezoeker schrijft ons het volgende: [...] Ik ben verbaasd, dat trots enkele verslagen in grootere bladen, deze flesschentrekker en “Hochstapler”nog zóó lang zijn gang heeft kunnen gaan! Onder den wijdschen titel van Dadaisme uit de Grieksche Oudheid wordt het Nederl. publiek op brutale, schaamtelooze wijze beetgenomen. Het ergste is, dat dat heerschap zich noemende Kurt Schwitters, met cynische berekening zijn publiek beetneemt. Uit enkele inleidende zinnen bleek voldoende dat hij wel beter weet dat hij heelemaal niet hijper modern is op literair gebied. Achter deze bedriegerij op groote schaal schuilt een heel gewone, nuchter berekenende (vooral dit laatste!) persoonlijkheid. – Ik wil hem de eer niet aandoen, ook maar met één woord op zijn zinloos gedoe in te gaan. [...] Ik hoop dat deze bedrieger spoedig over de grens verdwijnt. Wat beteekent tegenover dit bedrog op groote schaal het stelen van een rijwiel of het inbreken in een broodwinkel, waartoe een arme drommel van onze Oostelijke buren door honger gebracht wordt?
The same suggestions was made by A.M. de Jong in his previously quoted invective in Het Volk as well as in a rhymed commentary on the matinée in Diligentia by Mr. A.W. Kamp in De Vrijheid (31.1.1923), who started his protest against the supposed fraud already during the matinée according to other newspapers: Dit zijn de uitgeslapen snaken die van malaise een zaakje maken, het Oweeërs-volk van het intellect dat kunstmatig een geest’lijke baisse verwekt, op effect belust, maar weinig kunnend, zich alles ontkennend een houding gunnend. [...] Als men een paar uitmiddelpuntige moffen hier in Holland dus geld ziet verdienen op sloffen dan lacht men er om voor een enkelen keer, want misschien herstelt zich de Mark zoo weer; maar op het feestprogramma kwamen ook voor een paar goede-Hollandsche namen. Nu! die hadden we er graag gemist, maar als de bok op de haverkist
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Hubert F. van den Berg sprong van Doesburgh op de Dadaprooi (Zeus hoede hem voor paranoi-a!) wij moesten bij de geest’lijke ebbe der tijden toch ook onze Dada hebben. Dada is in ’t buitenland lang al dood maar er ligt daar ginds nieuw vuil in de goot: de klu klux klan met z’n teren en veeren, van Doesburgh zal het hier introduceeren!
Several other newspapers regarded the programme not just as shallow entertainment or as a cheap trick to earn a lot of money, but rather as an expression of indecent and dangerous idiocy, like the journalist of De Avondpost (11.1.1923) from The Hague: Schrik van den clubfauteuil-bourgeois, van den konijnenfokker en den Hottentot. Tjoetoe, rrr, fietsfiets, fiets.... tam-tam, hi-hi-hi-hi-hi-héééééé! Dada is lolo, sisi, een vogel op vier pooten, ladder zonder sporten, onzin zonder zin. “Lauer Milch. Kann deine Seele Dreieck”. Kleine boomen, groote olifanten. De Bruidsmarsch van een krokodil, de treurmarsch van een vogel, de militaire mars van een mier. Blauw is geel haar – 3, 2, 4, 5, 7, dom – Domdom. Wand, wände, rolle, rolle, leise vergessen. Regen. Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T, tot 25, 26, 27, 28 (“mijn”, riep het publiek). Ziedaar, waarde lezer, een alleszins getrouw, maar impressionistisch-dom en hottentotsch verslag van de lezing des heeren Kurt Schwitters in den Haagschen Kunstkring over Dadaïsme, met inleiding van den heer Theo van Doesburg. De heer Heyting bedankte met: Dom-dom, domerdedom, meer-dan-dom, allerdomst, Dòm. Lachen is gezond. Maar in die mate als gisteravond het publiek gebruld heeft, wordt ’t levensgevaarlijk. Ligt ’t niet op den weg van Dierenbescherming om in te grijpen tegen het laten optreden van ongedresseerde krankzinnigen!
A similar assessment could be found in De Maasbode (12.1.1923): Onze conclusie? Wanneer dit alles fumisterie is, moeten wij de zaal ontruimen of door deze menschen doen ontruimen. Wanneer echter – wat wij gelooven – wij hier de volstrekt wanhopigen van ons zien, dan is het schouwspel dezer geestelijke zelfverminking zóó smartelijk, dat wij niet denken aan een lach. Het was – voor ons althans – een zeer verdrietige avond.
Some others were no less dismissive, but regarded the dadaist madness not as some personal deviancy of the involved artists, but rather
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as a sign of general cultural decay. For example, De Residentiebode (12.1.1923) reproduced sections of the rather neutral report from Het Vaderland (11.1.1923) with a commentary by an anonymous “Criticaster” under the slightly ambiguous title “De waan van den dag. Wie zijn de gekken?”. “Waan van den dag” might be translated according to the dictionary as “issues of the day”. The subtitle “Wie zijn de gekken?” – Who are the idiots?” – gives “waan”, however, also the meaning “delusion”, “insanity”, “lunacy”. After questioning the fact that Het Vaderland had reported on the Dada soirée on its front page, this “Criticaster”continued: Onder de malle gevallen, waarin in onze dagen de uiterste kunstrichtingen plegen te vervallen, is het Dadaïsme het potsierlijkste. Er zijn daaromtrent twee theorieën. Ofwel stamt het stelsel rechtsreeks uit het krankzinnigengestichtm ofwel de aanhangers zijn zóó brutaal, dat ze de overige wereld voor krankzinnig verslijten en ze als zoodanig tracteeren. Welke theorie de ware is, heb ik nog niet kunnen uitmaken. [...] Ik hel toch meer over tot de theorie, dat de wereld een gekkenhuis is en de Dadaïsten slimmerds, die op handige wijze de entrees inslikken van de dwazen, die naar zulke “kunstrichting” gaan. Te eerder geloof ik dit, waar ik in een ander blad lees, dat alles dada was behalve..... de prijzen: voor een lorretje papier vroeg men een halven gulden! Is het intusschen wonder, dat de kunst in onze dagen in discrediet raakt en fatsoenlijke menschen met geen stok de deur meer uit te krijgen zijn? Zoo gaat het, als men werkt met “negatie” van alles, allereerst van den godsdienst, waarop alles rust.....
The (Mis-)Behaviour of the Audiences All papers reported on the noisy and tumultuous reactions by the visitors. Whereas the previously quoted reporter of the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant regarded this reactions as a sound protest against the staged madness, most of the press regarded the “dadaist behaviour” by (sections of) the audiences as an expression of moral decay, as an offence against public decency, as an infringement on the Dutch – Calvinist – paradigms of constraint, modesty and retiring manners. The papers paid much attention to the ecstatic behaviour of the auditoriums, to the fact dat het Hollandsche publiek loskomt, het Hollandsche publiek dat hardop lacht, proest, niest, geeuwt, met programma’s frommelt, klapt en trappelt,
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Frequently, not only the staged programme is criticised, but also visitors are condemned for the havoc in the auditoriums. Their misconduct is more then once given as a reasons, why the soirées had to be regarded as a disgrace. For example, De Telegraaf (20.1.1923) observed in regard to the soirée in Amsterdam: Deze bijeenkomst werd [...] door welwillende medewerking van dilletantdadaïsten tot een slechte copie der Haagsche en bleef beneden peil.
In particular due to interventions from the hoek der Bolsdadaïsten die den ganschen avond een haard van verzet bleek, waaruit voortdurend natte vonkjes van dronkemansvernuft opdwarrelden.
In a lenghty account of the matinée in Diligentia, a journalist of the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant (30.1.1923) concluded his article as follows: En laten wij nu tenslotte even het verstand bij elkaar nemen en constateeren, dat het eigenlijk een nare vertooning was, hoe belachelijk ook. Wij laten er de menschen op het tooneel buiten. ’t Kan zijn, dat zij het meenden, hoewel wij de laatsten zijn om het te gelooven. Wij zien niet graag een medemensch zich verlagen tot een gewild-zinnelooze clownerie. Maar zij zijn er tenslotte maar een paar. Laat hen. De anderen? Loopen zij zoo hard, wanneer er wat goeds is te hooren? Neen, wij vreezen zeer van niet. Dan zijn zij nergens te vinden. Wij laten de goeden hierbuiten en bedoelen de herrieschoppers, die gekomen waren om herrie te schoppen. Wat een plezier ook, nu eens echt ongedwongen te mogen blêrren en schreeuwen! Waarom een mensch niet zou mogen blêrren en schreeuwen als hij er zin in heeft? Toegegeven hij mag het, maar zitten diezelfde menschen bij andere werkelijk ernstige en goede dingen niet met ernstige, quasi-aandachtige gezichten, terwijl het voor hen toch even goed dada is als het gedada van gistermiddag. Daarbij te schreeuwen zou onfastoenlijk zijn, ook al verveelde het hen veel meer dan het heele gedada, dat hun een kostelijk amusement is en waarbij zij zich eens kunnen “uitleven” en zich “den moed hunner overtuiging” veroorloven. Bij dada zijn zij safe, want ieder weet immers, dat men om dada mag en moet lachen. Maar wij hebben werkelijk even gelachen en ons verkneukeld over de manier waarop dada hen gistermiddag bij den neus gehad heeft. Op een oogenblik ging het scherm weer op, er kwam stilte. Kurt Schwitters zat aan het tafeltje bij de lamp, mevrouw van Doesburg aan de piano. Hij begon te lezen, heel gewoon, zonder dada: Es fiel ein Reif in der Frühlingsnacht en dadelijk viel Mevrouw van Doesburg in met een zachtge-
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speelde étude van Chopin, die zij zeer goed voordroeg. Diegenen onder het publiek, die dada verwachtten en niets vermoedden van de mystificatie van het oude en mooie Duitsche lied, dat toch wel haast ieder beschaafd mensch kent en de goede geijkte muziek van Chopin, waren al dadelijk weer in stuipen. Zooiets zots, niet waar, zoo echt dada! En er werd gejoeld en gelachen.... Verderop in het lied maakte Schwitters van de verzen door zijn voordracht zottigheid maar dat deed niets af aan de reactie op de eerste regels, die hij gewoon zegde. En dat is nu wat wij de narigheid van dezen middag vonden: het gevoel van de ruwe kritiekloosheid bij een deel – wij vreezen een groot deel – van het publiek van gistermiddag (en zijn er buiten hen, die zich gisteren lieten kennen, niet veel meer zoo, die er nu toevallig niet waren?) – het niet tot eenig onderscheidingsvermogen in staat zijn, van hen, die misschien morgen al klaar staan om op dezelfde manier het echte, het ware, het schoone, maar dat voor hen evenzeer dada is en blijft, omdat zij dit ook niet begrijpen, uit te joelen – wel te verstaan alleen zoolang zij nog niet gemerkt hebben, dat men voor zijn fatsoen toch beter doet het mooi te vinden!
Noteworthy in this context is the fact that newspapers from other towns, where dada was staged on a later date, even commented at length on the good conduct by a majority of “their” audience, as for example the Utrechtsch Provinciaal en Stedelijk Dagblad (30.1.1923). The daily offered an extensive account of the local soirée, which was interrupted, as mentioned before, by an intervention on the stage by some local students. As the journalist stressed in his account: Overigens geen spoor van opwinding bij het publiek dat beneden de zaal vulde, integendeel, men zat buitengewoon kalm toe te luisteren; het onbegrijpelijke op het podium mocht het auditorium ook al tot verbazing stemmen, de onaanvaardbaarheid bracht men tot uiting op die bedaarde, rustige wijze die men van het Utrechtsche publiek gewoon is.
Apart from the small group of noisy students, the audience remained calm: En zoo bleef het kabaal mijlen ver uit de buurt van de scènes, die bijvoorbeeld in Amsterdam zijn beleefd, waar het een zaalrumoer werd van de achterste rij tot de voorste, een algemeene opstand van de heele bent. Daar is gisteravond schijn noch schaduw van geweest.
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Some Positive Reactions Whereas the resonance in the socialist as well as in the conservative Christian – Catholic and Calvinist – press was on the whole dismissive about the Dada soirées, the tendency in the liberal and socialist press was also by and large negative, however, with a few exceptions. As can be taken from the appropriation of “dadaist” forms in the Oprechte Haarlemsche Courant and De Notenkraker, at least some authors regarded Dada as a good joke. Yet, whereas the liberal daily Het Vaderland confined its indeed quite extensive coverage of the tour to – by and large – neutral accounts and even allowed Theo van Doesburg to present his case on a whole page, other liberal papers like the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant and De Vrijheid contained – as quoted previously – on the whole rather dismissive commentaries, but allowed more positive commentaries as well. For example, in De Vrijheid the negative stance of the rhymed review by A.W. Kamp was countered by a long interview with Van Doesburg in the following issue. In a report on the soirée in Haarlem, an article by Otto van Tussenbroek in the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant (13.1.1923) conceded, in clear contrast to the previous report in the same newspaper on the first soirée in The Hague, be it in a distanced way, that Schwitters’s recitation of dadaist poetry was “gevoelig en knap”. And, what’s more, Van Tussenbroek also saw a positive dimension of the Dada programme in his concluding remarks: Tegenover de zwaartillendheid waarin wij Hollanders zoo knap zijn; tegenover de zelfoverschatting welke onzen kunstenaren niet vreemd is; tegenover de hersengymnastiek der filosofen; het romantisch verhalen der litteratoren en de lyriek der dichters; het naturalisme der beeldende kunstenaren en de klankzwelgerijen der musici maken de dadaïsten front met het felste en scherpste wapen dat bestaat, het wapen van den lach. De mensch als “animal rieur”, zooals Arsène Alexandre hem eenmaal karakteriseerde, vindt in dien spot jolijt. Dat verklaart dan ook het succes bij dit optreden waarvan het belachelijkste feit is dat sommigen het au sérieux nemen.
Van Tussenbroek stood in direct contact with Van Doesburg and Schwitters (cf. De Graaf 1987). The same was probably true for the critic Henri Borel, who wrote a long article on the matinée in Diligentia in Het Vaderland (29.1.1923). In his article, that also included a small interview with Huszár, Borel reflected on the purport of Dada in
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a quite positive way, assuming more or less Schwitters’s perspective on the tour: Toen ik, nog geheel dada van het gedeeltelijk dada-publiek, even ergens de Groene ging lezen, vond ik toevallig een versje van Speenhoff over eenzelfde dada-uitvoering in Amsterdam, waarvan de 4 eindregels volkomen mijn indruk van dezen middag weergeven: “Niemand wil de waarheid hooren En we maken reuze-gein Als de dadaïsten toonen Hoe dada we zelf zijn.” Inderdaad, als deze dadaïsten (die niet eens waschechte dadaïsten zijn) hadden willen demonstreeren, hoe dada het publiek is, zoo is hun demonstratie volkomen gelukt. De menschen zaten te brullen, te gillen, te blaffen, te miauwen, te snorken, op fluitjes en clarinetjes te blazen als een troep volslagen krankzinnigen en één meneer, die toch werkelijk wel behoorde te weten wat humor is, Mr. Kamp, werd nijdig en begon geducht op te spelen tegen Kurt Schwitters. Het was een herrie van belang. Merkwaardig, hoe bij zoo’n gelegenheid menschen, die toch geacht kunnen worden de vormen te kennen, zich niet ontzien grof te zijn tegen een dame (vindt u dit woord te bourgeois, zet er dan in elk geval voor: een vrouw) die een pianosolo speelt, en laat ik er bij verzekeren: zeer goed speelt. [...] Wat nu dada eigenlijk is? Als dat te definieeren was zou het al niet meer dada zijn. Maar in de catastrofale tijden van vernietiging en vulkanische eruptie op allerlei gebied, waarin wij thans leven, is er niet veel wat niet dada is. De politiek, de litteratuur, het toneel, de schilderkunst, de filosofie, noem maar op: dada! dada! dada! Lijkt de geheele wereld, zooals die tegenwoordig is, soms niet op een gekkenhuis? Dada! dada! Het tragische, en heel niet komische ervan is niet alleen dat de menschen het niet inzien. Dezelfde menschen, die nu zaten te blaffen en te miauwen, laten zich op het tooneel, van katheders, van parlementaire, soms zelfs van professorale gestoelten, uit boeken en kranten, in danszalen en cabarets (“attracties!”) waar al niet, de grootste “dada” nonsens voorzetten, véél erger en vooral véél gevaarlijker dan die zoo straks in Diligentia verkocht werd, maar dien nonsens nemen ze voor ernst op, en laten er zich door bedotten. Hetzelfde Indianengebrul is aangeheven, ik heb het beleefd, toen Kloos’ eerste sonnetten verschenen, toen Gorter’s Mei in de Nieuwe Gids verscheen, en het wordt nog steeds aangeheven bij alles wat te groot is om direct door de massa begrepen te worden. Ik heb tooneel, schilderkunst, litteratuur, voordrachten, romans hooren toejuichen en bejubelen, die volstrekt niet minder nonsens zijn dan het nonsensikale verhaal dat Schwitters deed van ’t nut van een een kachel. Om niet eens van de dikke woorden en holle frazen te spreken van politici en volksredenaars. Wat de Dadaïsten, die narren in de groote tragedie van Europa’s ondergang, willen? Niets, zullen ze misschien zeggen, maar àls ze wat willen, is het zeker ons het “dada”van onze catastrofale tijden voorhouden, het dragen van den spiegel, waarin wij onze dwaasheid kunnen zien. Dada is....
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Hubert F. van den Berg onzin en houdt op waar men haar begrijpt, de Dadaïst houdt van onzin, maar weet dat het onzin is, de niet-Dada:ist houdt ook wel degelijk van onzin, maar beseft nièt dat het onzin is, en dat scheelt nog al zoo wat. Ik méén dat Schwitters zoo ongeveer dit heeft willen zeggen in zijn telkens door gehuil onderbroken toespraak. Of ik dan zijn geleuter over die kachel en zijn half geloeide, half geblafte, met cijfers en alfabet onderbroken gedichten mooi vond? Neen, allesbehalve maar wat ik wèl mooi vond is de manier, waarop hij de menschen er mede blééf staan treiteren toen ze hem bemiauwden en aanblaften, en als er hier iets dada was, dan was het niet hij, maar waren het die poesjes en hondjes. Om zóó iets nijdig worden! Hebben wij, dubbelgebeide Hollanders, dan geen gevoel voor den humor van dit geval? Juicht men soms niet voordragende en dansende juffrouwen en meneeren toe die volstrekt niet minder ridicuul zijn? Er ging een gebrul op, toen op het doek een gestyleerde pop verscheen die een Egyptischen gestyleerden dans uitvoerde. Maar morgen draagt men bloemenwinkels aan en klapt men zich de handen stuk voor een malle juffrouw die ’t zelfde, alleen maar wat leelijker, doet. Alzoo: dada! dada! En men shimmy’t en stept er lustig op los, zonder het dada te voelen.
The article of Borel remained an exception and it it probably for that reason that large sections were read by Theo van Doesburg the same day, at the soirée in Utrecht.
A Dadaist Pyrrhus Victory In regard to the intentions of the performing artists, one might say that Petronella van Moorsel’s share in the manifestations – the presentation of contemporary music – was certainly not unsuccessful. Most reporters and critics acknowledged the quality of her piano play, although the apparently dadaist character of the performed music was disputed by the composer Willem Pijper and other experts on contemporary music (cf. De Graaf 1987). Huszár’s shadow play performance was regarded generally as a curious intermezzo and not treated as serious theatrical experiment or innovation of any relevance. This might be the reason why Huszár only was only involved in the first soirées (another practical reason might have been that the whole construction was not easy to transport from one location to another). When Huszár’s contribution to an exhibition on theatrical innovation in The Hague was dismissed as a dadaist nonsense in Het Vaderland,
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Theo van Doesburg even intervened on Huszár’s behalf with a clarification to Het Vaderland (23.2.1923), now again as editor of De Stijl: Hooggeachte Redactie! Naar aanleiding van de kritiek over V. Huszar’s mechanische dansfiguur en beeldend tooneel (gesigneerd L.W.), voorkomende in het Avbondblad van Zaterdag 17 Febr., zij het mij vergund eenige, in dit artikeltje voorkoomende misverstanden uit den weg te ruimen: De heer V. Huszar verkeert geenszins in de meening, dat hij dadaïst is. Hij is dat niet en wil dat ook niet zijn. Huszar behoort van den aanvang (1916) af tot de zg. Stijlbeweging. De mogelijkheid van een méchanisch-beeldend tooneel heeft hij reeds in 1917 geproponeerd en fragmentarisch, uitgevoerd. Zijn dansfiguur bv. is het resultaat van jaren lange studie en overleg. Dat deze figuur op de dada-avonden vertoond werd, wil nog niet zeggen, dat het met dadaïsme in onmiddellijk verband staat. Het vertoonen dezer figuur diende hier, evenals de klassieke poëzie en muziek, de lichtbeelden naar klassieke plastiek en schilderwerken van van Gogh (die alle te zamen even lustig zijn uitgejouwd als de rest) als contrast.
For the sake of convenience, Van Doesburg ignores the fact that Huszár’s shadow play was announced as part of the programme, unlike Van Gogh or Heine and Chopin. As far as Theo van Doesburg’s own share is concerned, there can no doubt that at least his initial intentions were only met to a small extent. The few serious in-depth articles on Dada and more or less positive reviews of the soirées as well as the few opportunities offered to him and Schwitters in De Vrijheid, Het Vaderland and the Haagsche Post to present the cause of Dada themselves, might be regarded as small successes – like the general attention in the press for the tour. A general trait of the press coverage is, however, that only few articles try to elucidate what Dada was, be it in accordance with the introductions presented by Van Doesburg or otherwise. Most journalists only presented Van Doesburg’s programmatic outline of Dada in form of a collection of whitty and corny aphorisms, without any cohension. If one observes both the short- and long-term effect of the press coverage, the success seems rather doubtful too. In the short term, the first reports attracted mainly visitors to consecutive manifestations, who either wanted to see the curious charade for themselves or pursued only an ecstatic evening, where common decency could be thrown to the winds. In the long term, the Dada tour only generated a widespread conception of Dada as an irrelevant oddity, maybe apart
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from a small, marginal group of radical young anarchists, who were organised in the Sociaal-Anarchistische Jongeren-Organisatie (SAJO). They invited Van Doesburg for a Dada evening of their own: Van Doesburg gave a lecture on the question “Wat wil het dadaïsme” in the Volksgebouw in The Hague on 28th of March 1923. The SAJO also showd its sympathy for Dada in its organ Alarm, in which positive references to Dada can be found in a special art issue in December 1923. Indicative for the negative result of the tour – even among fellow avant-gardists – is the fact that the Groningen based avant-garde artist Hendrik Nicolaas Werkman explicitly distanced himself from “het dadaïstisch grapje”, the dadaist joke, in his manifesto Aanvang van het violette jaargetijde (cf. Martinet 1977:46). This manifesto was published in September 1923, on the occasion of the launch of his avant-garde journal The Next Call, which in itself had – at least formally – a clear affinity with previous Dada publications. Werkman apparently wanted to avoid any association with Dada as presented during the “campaign for dadaism” at the start of 1923. It should be noted here as well, that initial coverage of the first evening at the Binnenhof might have attracted a large number of visitors in Haarlem and Amsterdam and the matinée in Diligentia. The riotous incidents in Haarlem and Amsterdam might have attracted even more visitors on following occasions pursuing the same havoc. The reports on the tumult surrounding the soirées, however, could also have deterred others, when the tour continued in other towns. In Utrecht, the auditorium was not completely filled and a second soirée cancelled. Likewise, only a small audience attended the last soirée in Leiden. In Bussum, an announced soirée was even cancelled, when only few people turned up. An uncomfortable fact for Van Doesburg as a conscious omission in his retrospective in Mécano indicates: Van Doesburg deleted the second sentence from the first paragraph quoted from the account of the second soirée in Diligentia in Het Vaderland (4.1.1923): “Ditmaal was de zaal maar driekwart vol.” In an inverse way, Van Doesburg implicitly acknowledged the flop of his original intent by a shift in his understanding of the tour. As obvious from reports on his presentation at the soirée in Utrecht, where he started with Henri Borel’s contribution in Het Vaderland, as well as from the letter to the editors of Het Vaderland on behalf of Huszár, Van Doesburg adopted in the course of tour Schwitters’ un-
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derstanding of Dada. This allowed him in his retrospective in the final issue of Mécano to to claim the tour as an unequivocal success. Whether the tour was indeed as successful in regard to Schwitters’ understanding of Dada and his intentions regarding tour, raises, however, some doubts as well, at least as far as the newspaper coverage is concerned. First, it should be observed that his recitation programme was – as he stressed himself in his account of the tour – in his self-understanding not Dada, but Merz. This maybe subtle, but still profound difference remained completely unnoticed. This was, however, a logical consequence of the fact that he was presented in connection with the tour not as Merz-Künstler, but as dadaist. And he obviously came to terms with this misrepresentation, if only for the time being, as a later and actually his last Dada-avond in the Netherlands in the wake of the tour may indicate. After a prolonged stay in the Netherlands, Schwitters returned to Germany in April 1923 through the northern provinces of the Netherlands on the way to relatives living in Leerort, a small village near the German, East-Frisian townlet Leer, only a few kilometres from the Dutch border. Before returning to Germany, where he continued his performances as MerzAbende in Leer and Bremen on his way back home to Hanover (cf. Blotkamp 1997), Schwitters visited the cobblers and amateur artists Evert and Thijs Rinsema in the – Dutch – Frisian townlet Drachten. The Rinsema’s were good friends of Van Doesburg during their military service in the Great War. On Friday the 13th of April, Schwitters presented in an one-man show a reprise of his Merz share in the Dada programme in the local theatre in Drachten – as “Dada-avond”. Be it under the banner of Dada, one might argue, though, that Schwitters was indeed successful in realising at least one crucial feature from the programme of his Merz theatre: the inclusion of the audience as “material” of Merz theatre. And one might argue that not only the average visitor was turned into “material” of the Merz theatre, but also most of the journalists present at the evenings. As admitted in the quote from Het Vaderland in Van Doesburg’s retrospective in Mécano, they too were to some extent infected by the Dada virus, which led in Utrecht even to the previously described unsolicited intervention by some local students and a journalist creating his own news. It is interesting to notice in respect to this incident that Schwitters apparently saw the success for his concept right away, whereas the organisers of the evening – the theatre? the theatre agency? Van
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Doesburg? – openly condemned the incident in a small note, “Een betreurenswaardig incident”, in the evening edition of the Utrechtsch Provinciaal en Stedelijk Dagblad from the 30th of January: “Wij betreuren dit incident ten zeerste, gelijk naar wij vernemen de wijze, waarop dit is uitgevallen en geschied, ook betreurd werd door de deelnemers zelf.” In the afternoon edition of the same newspaper, a report of the soiree concluded with the note: Wij vernemen nog, dat Kurt Schwitters hedenmorgen in een samenzijn met enkele journalisten heeft verklaard het huldeblijk op zichzelf buitengewoon op prijs te stellen en het zelfs een verheugend feit te hebben gevonden, dat het publiek zich op dadaïstische wijze heeft willen uiten.
At the same time, there can be no doubt that the Dada imitations in the press, regarded by Schwitters and Van Doesburg as indications for the press joining Dada, had – as a rule – another intention, namely to proof the apparent nonsensical and fraudulent character of the artistic performances. Finally, in as far as his understanding of Dada and the Dada tour aimed at a mirroring of the Dada complet of contemporary society marked by “stylelessness”, one might indeed regard it a success for Schwitters and the other performers that they managed to incite the audiences to a “dadaist” (mis)behaviour. At least for the time of the evening they suspended their “normal” civilised decency and constraint, which – in turn – was regarded by Henri Borel and others in the press as indication for the fact that the level of civilisation of many visitors was just a very thin layer of veneer. At this point, one could argue that Schwitters indeed had been successful with his therapeutic intent, that he – together with Van Doesburg, Huszár and Van Moorsel – indeed managed to show, how “stylelessness” and lack of profound morality marked contemporary society. But did this lead to a final victory of “style”, as Schwitters assumed or at least hoped for in the first issue of Merz? This for sure: it still took several decades before the style of De Stijl and Merz was accepted on a larger scale as a style worth considering in the Netherlands. And there can be little doubt that the Dada tour of 1923 played any role whatsoever in this process of acceptance and canonisation, like there cannot be any doubt either that Schwitters’s and Van Doesburg’s emphatic victory claims played quite a substantial role in the consecutive canonisation of Dada. This Dada
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was, however, not Dada as defined by Schwitters, but rather Dada in a more conventional understanding: Dada as an avant-garde movement devoted to the creation of anti-art. This late result of Schwitters’s and Van Doesburg’s victory claims had, however, a paradoxical consequence. On the cover of the first issue of the journal Merz, Schwitters had summarised the content, devoted to the Dutch dada tour, as “Holland Dada”. In his understanding of the tour, this “Holland Dada” did not refer to the performance of himself or the dadaistische Hauskapelle as a whole, but to the apparent dadaist behaviour of the audiences and press attending the Dutch Dada evenings. On the cover of the first monograph on the tour, K. Schippers’s Holland Dada, the label is used, however, for the artists staging Dada at these soirées, although at least three of them were – according to their self-understanding – representatives of constructivism, and no dadaists, maybe with the exception of Nelly van Doesburg, if she was indeed the only real dadaist in the Dutch dadaist resident orchestra of 1923.
Notes *The extensive citations in Dutch are included in this article because of their illustrative value and their importance as source-material. However the author has taken care that the article can be read and understood without these citations. 1
Parts of this article are based on previously published research. For a more extensive discussion of Dada in the Netherlands and the Dutch Dada tour of 1923 as well as more bibliographic references cf. Van den Berg 1992, 1995, 1998, 2002b, 2004 and in particular Van den Berg 2002a.
2
The following analysis is based on the survey of some hundred and fifty articles on and other references to Dada in the Dutch press in the early 1923 and the previous years. The articles were partially collected by Richard Sheppard, who I would like to thank here for allowing me to use his collection. The source material is listed in the first section of the bibliography of this article. It should be noted here that this collection is not complete. E.g. W. de Graaf in his booklet on the Dada soirée in Haarlem in January 1923 (De Graaf 1987) refers to other articles in the local press. Searches with search terms like “dada”, “dadaïsme” and “dadaïstisch” in the digitalised versions of the old volumes of newspapers like Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, Het Centrum and Het Vaderland (cf. http://kranten.kb.nl/kb/html/frameset.htm) as well as the weekly De Amsterdammer (cf. http://www.groene.nl/zylab/) show that many more articles
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were devoted to Dada then previously assumed, when the files of these papers still had to be searched in a very laborious way by hand and eye. 3
Petronella van Moorsel was already Van Doesburg’s actual life companion. She called herself and was known among friends as Nelly van Doesburg. In public, she acted as “mevrouw van Doesburg” – “Mrs van Doesburg”, although Van Doesburg was still married with his second wife Lena Milius at the time. Van Doesburg and Milius divorced early 1923. On stage, Van Moorsel acted as Pétro van Doesburg and was referred to in the press as “mevrouw van Doesburg” as well.
4
This and other quotes from the Dutch press are presented here only in the original language. For a different selection of press articles in English translation, with a partial overlap with the quotes in this article, cf. Van den Berg 2004.
Bibliography I. Dada in the Dutch daily and weekly press (1919-1923) A. Press reports and commentaries on Dada before the Dada tour of 1923 Dada in Germany: Gemengd nieuws. Da-da (Aan de Tel. wordt uit Weimar geseind). In: Het Centrum, 23.7.1919; Da-da. In: Het Centrum, 30.7.1919; Wenzel Frankemölle: Het dadaïsme. In: De Amsterdammer, 10.1.1920; Het dadaïsme. In: Het Vaderland, 12.1.1920; Tijdschriften. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 3.8.1920; Dada bestolen. In: Het Centrum, 14.9.1920. Dada in Paris: Adrienne Lautère-Heineken: Uit het Parijsche Leven. In: Haagsche Post, 10.4.1920; Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 20.4.1920; Theo van Doesburg: Dada. In: De nieuwe Amsterdammer, 8.5.1920; Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 22.5.1920; Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 30.5.1920; Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 25.8.1920; Futurisme. In: Het Vaderland, 17.1.1921; Amokmakers. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 22.1.1921; Pim Pernel: Nieuwe kunstrichtingen. In: Het Vaderland, 27.2.1921; Kunstindrukken uit Parijs. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 17.5.1921. Dada in/and Holland before December 1922: N.H. Wolf: La Revue du Feu. Openingsavond. In: De Kunst, 6.3.1920; J.H. Speenhoff: Krekelzangen. Dadaïst. In: De Amsterdammer, 20.3.1920; Gerh. van Dijk: Boeketjes Sofistiek XXXV. De Chaos. In: De Amsterdammer, 27.3.1920; Van week tot week. Sterft gij oude vormen...! IJ-Beelden. Het beleid van Minister van IJsselsteijn. In: De Notenkraker, 14.8.1920; De redactie van De Stijl meldt ons... In: Het Vaderland, 12.1.1921; De redactie van De Stijl meldt ons... In: Het Vaderland, 12.1.1921; Dadaisme. In: Het Vaderland, 7.9.1921; Henri Borel: Letterkundige Kro-
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niek. In: Het Vaderland, 26.2.1922; Dadaïsme. In: Dragtster Courant, 5.12.1922.
B. Coverage of the Dutch Dada soirées December 1922 – April 1923 Haagsche Kunstkring, 27.12.1922, The Hague: In den Haagschen Kunstkring... In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 20.12.1922; In den Haagschen Kunstkring... In: Het Vaderland, 20.12.1922; Het voornaamste nieuws. In: Het Vaderland, 28.12.1923; Dadaïsme. In: Het Vaderland, 28.12.1922. Haagsche Kunstkring, 10.1.1923, The Hague: Dada in Holland. In: Haagsche Courant, 9.1.1923; Het dadaïsme. In: Het Vaderland, 9.1.1923; Dada. In: Algemeen Handelsblad, 9.1.1923; Da-da. Een rumoerige soirée. In: De Telegraaf, 11.1.1923; Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 11.1.1923; Dada. In: De Avondpost, 11.1.1923; Haagsche Kunstkring. Dada. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 11.1.1923; Dada. Een vroolijke avond. In: Het Centrum, 12.1.1923; Criticaster: De waan van de dag. Wie zijn de gekken? In: De Residentiebode, 12.1.1923; De dadaïsten in den Haagschen Kunstkring. In: De Maasbode, 12.1.1923; Da-da. In: Leeuwarder Nieuwsblad, 13.1.1923; Het dadaïsme. In: Nieuwe Haagsche Courant, 16.1.1923; Zaal Rosenhaghe, 11.1.1923, Haarlem: John Em.: Da-da. In: Oprechte Haarlemsche Courant, 12.1.1923; [Otto van Tussenbroek]: Dadaïsme. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 13.1.1923; H.G. Cannegieter: Dadaïsten in Nederland. Dizzepie - Dizzepu Da-Da!. In: De Amsterdammer, 20.1.1923; Bij het Da-Da programma. In: Oprechte Haarlemsche Courant, 25.1.1923; Het programma van de onlangs alhier gehouden Dada-soirée. In: Oprechte Haarlemsche Courant, 25.1.1923. Zaal Bellevue, 19.1.1923, Amsterdam: Geen Dada-avond. In: Algemeen Handelsblad, 16.1.1923; Ver. v. B.K. “De Onafhankelijken”: Groote DadaAvond [advertisement]. In: Het Volk, 18.1.1923; Dada te Amsterdam. In: De Telegraaf, 20.1.1923; Dada te Amsterdam. In: Het Vaderland, 20.1.1923; Dada. In: Algemeen Handelsblad, 20.1.1923; Dada-Avond. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 20.1.1923; Een Dada-Avond. In: Provinciale Noordbrabantsche en ’sHertogenbossche Courant, 20.1.1923; A.M. de Jong: “Dada”in Amsterdam. Vlegels voor en achter de schermen. In: Het Volk, 20.1.1923; Dada in Amsterdam. In: De Maasbode, 21.1.1923; Dada. In: Het Centrum, 23.1.1923; De geest van het dadaïsme. In: Nieuwsblad van Friesland, 23.1.1923; Het dadaïsme. In: Drachtster Courant, 26.1.1923; L.J. Jordaan: Dada in Amsterdam. In: Het Leven, 27.1.1923; J.H. Speenhoff: Krekelzangen. Dadaïsme. In: De Amsterdammer, 27.1.1923. Luxor-Theater, 25.1.1923, ’s-Hertogenbosch: Dada komt ook hier. In: Provinciale Noordbrabantsche en ’s-Hertogenbossche Courant, 22.1.1923; Kurt Schwitters in het Luxor Theater. In: Provinciale Noordbrabantsche
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en ’s-Hertogenbossche Courant, 24.1.1923; De dada-avond in het Luxor-Theater. In: Provinciale Noordbrabantsche en ’sHertogenbossche Courant, 26.1.1923. Diligentia, 28.1.1923, The Hague: Groote Dada-Middag [advertisement]. In: Haagsche Courant, 20.1.1923; Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 26.1.1923; Een Dada-Matinée. In: Algemeen Handelsblad, 29.1.1923; H[enri] B[orel]: Diligentia. Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 29.1.1923; Nog een Dada-middag. In: Haagsche Courant, 29.1.1923; Dada. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 30.1.1923; A.W.Kamp: Dada-Middag. In: De Vrijheid, 31.1.1923; Dada-Middag. In: De Maasbode, 2.2.1923; Pim Pernel: Dadaïstisch Gedaas. In: Het Vaderland, 4.2.1923; Pillango: Wat is Dadaïsme? Een praatje met Theo van Doesburg. In: De Vrijheid, 7.2.23; HabITuE: Dada. Een Genoeglijke DiligentiaMatinée. Niet Ieder Kan Gek worden die ’t wil (van onzen vrijmoedigen criticus). In: Haagsche Courant, 10.2.1923. Kunst & wetenschappen, 29.1.1923, Utrecht: Een betreurenswaardig incident. In: Utrechtsch Provinciaal en Stedelijk Dagblad, 30.1.1923; Dada. In: Utrechtsch Provinciaal en Stedelijk Dagblad, 30.1.1923; Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 30.1.1923; Dada in Utrecht. In: Utrechtsch Nieuwsblad, 30.1.1923; Dada. Men verstaat vijf procent. Het publiek bederft de zaak. In: Het Centrum, 30.1.1923; Dada. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 30.1.1923. Salon Doele, 31.1.1923, Rotterdam: Dada-Avond [advertisement]. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 31.1.1923; Dada in ’t gedrang. De politie op het podium. In: Het Centrum, 1.2.1923; Dada-avond in den Doelesalon. In: Rotterdamsch Nieuwsblad, 1.2.1923; Dada. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 1.2.1923; J.G. Droogendijk: Stadsnieuws. De Dada-avond te Rotterdam. In: De Rotterdammer, 2.2.1923; Diligentia, 3.2.1923, The Hague: Dada in Diligentia. In: Het Vaderland, 4.2.1923; Dada! In: De Avondpost, 4.2.1923. Concordia, 8.2.1923, Bussum: De dadaïsten te Bussum da-da! In: Algemeen Handelsblad, 9.2.1923; Geen dadaïsme in Bussum. In: Het Centrum, 13.2.1923. Leidsche Schouwburg, 14.2.1923, Leiden: Groote Dada-Avond [advertisement]. In: Leidsch Dagblad 10.2.1923, 13.2.1923, Leidsche Courant, 12.2.1923, 13.2.1923; Dada-Avond. In: Leidsche Courant, 15.2.1923; Dada-Avond. In: Leidsch Dagblad, 15.2.1923. Moderne soirée, dansschool Lily Green, 12.3.1923, The Hague: De heer en mevrouw Doesburg... In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 9.3.1923; Wat wil de modernste kunstrichting? In: Het Vaderland, 9.3.1923; Moderne Kunst. In: Het Vaderland, 13.3.1923. Volksgebouw, 28.3.1923, The Hague: Theo van Doesburg over: Wat wil het dadaisme? [advertisement] In: De Vrije Socialist, 24.3.1923; H[enk] E[ikeboom]: Dada! In: De Vrije Socialist, 27.3.1923; Jonge anarchisten krijgen Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 29.3.1923; [Henk Eikeboom]: Wat wil het Dadaïsme? In: De Vrije Socialist, 10.4.1923;
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J.H.W[iechers]: Anarchisme en anarchie. In: De Arbeider, 14.4.1923. De Phoenix, 13.4.1923, Drachten: Dada-Avond. In: Drachtster Courant, 17.4.1923. C. Other accounts of and references to Dada in 1923 Hollandsche Kunstnijverheid (Witte de Withstraat). S. Jessurun d’Mesquita. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 5.1.1923; Kunst in Den Haag. In: Algemeen Handelsblad, 19.1.1923; Dada-Poëzie. In: Het Vaderland, 19.1.1923; Weekbladen. In: Het Vaderland, 20.1.1923; Kurt Schwitters: De Zelfoverwinning van Dada. In: Haagsche Post, 20.1.1923; Charivarius: Serenade. In: De Amsterdammer, 27.1.1923; Haagsche Kunstkring. De Branding. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 27.1.1923; Weekbladen. De Haagsche Dameskroniek. In: Het Vaderland, 27.1.1923; Kunst te Brussel.In: Het Vaderland, 27.1.1923; Penarie: Van week tot week. De R.-K. Dada-Eenheid. In: De Notenkraker, 27.1.1923; Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 30.1.1923; J.V.D.: Dada (Ingezonden). In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 31.1.1923; De Sleutel. In: Het Centrum, 31.1.1923; Nieuws uit de advertentiekolommen. In: Het Vaderland, 31.1.1923; Dada. In: Het Centrum, 2.2.1923; Rotterdam. Gemeenteraad. Vergadering van Donderdag 1 februari. Het groote havenplan. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 2.2.1923; Theo van Doesburg: Dadaïsme. In: Het Vaderland, 3.2.1923; Geen Da-Da!!! [advertisement]. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 3.2.1923; Ton van Tast: De Wekelijksche Film. In: De Vrijheid, 7.2.23; Onder den titel Merz... In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 13.2.1923; Holland-Dada. In: Het Centrum, 14.2.1923; De Nieuwe Kroniek. In: Het Vaderland, 15.2.1923; Jeevansee: De dood van Dada (eerste acte). In: Het Vaderland, 11.2.1923; De dood van Dada (derde acte). In: Het Vaderland, 16.2.1923; Theater Soesman [advertisement]. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 16.2.1923; S.: Dada. In: De Wereldkroniek, 17.2.1923; L.W.: De tooneelmaand. In: Het Vaderland, 17.2.1923; Wat de bioscopen geven. Willy Mullens in zijn nieuwe huis. In: Het Vaderland, 17.2.1923; Albert Frères zijn in de Veenestraat [advertisement]. In: Het Vaderland, 17.2.1923 and 19.2.1923; De dood van Dada (tweede acte). In: Het Vaderland, 18.2.1923; De dood van Dada (vierde acte). In: Het Vaderland, 21.2.1923; Max Linder in Zeven jaar op zoek naar een vrouw [advertisement]. In: Algemeen Handelsblad, 22.2.1923; Jan Voskuil: Het Dadaïsme. In: Algemeen Handelsblad, 23.2.1923; Theo van Doesburg: Huszar’s Beeldend Tooneel (Ingezonden). In: Het Vaderland, 23.2.1923; L.W.: Mijn meening over de inzending van Huszar... In: Het Vaderland, 23.2.1923; De wesp. In: Het Vaderland, 25.2.1923; Jeevansee: De dood van Dada. Vijfde acte. Het noodlot tegemoet (slot). In: Het Vaderland, 25.2.1923; De ontwikkeling der moderne bouwkunst in Holland: verleden, heden, toekomst. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche
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Courant, 9.3.1923; De ontwikkeling der moderne bouwkunst in Holland: verleden, heden, toekomst. In: Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, 9.3.1923; Penarie: Van week tot week. Jachtschotel. In: De Notenkraker, 17.3.1923; Jeesee: Warmte-dada. In: Het Vaderland 24.3.1923; Hermine Yzerdraat: Gekleurde Paascheieren van onzen tijd. In: De Amsterdammer, 24.3.1923; Weekbladen. De Nieuwe Kroniek. In: Het Vaderland, 28.3.1923; Penarie: Van week tot week. Helpt elkander! In: De Notenkraker, 31.3.1923; De Waart: Haagsch Dada. In: Het Vaderland, 31.3.1923; Penarie: Van week tot week. Het Rapport der Vlootwetskommissie. In: De Notenkraker, 5.5.1923; Draadloos concert. In: Het Vaderland, 5.6.1923; J.H. Speenhoff: Krekelzangen. Weelde-waanzin. In: De Amsterdammer, 9.6.1923; Penarie: Van week tot week. Beknopt overzicht van het kommunisme in Nederland. In: De Notenkraker, 16.6.1923; Draadloos concert. In: Het Vaderland, 21.6.1923; Penarie: Van week tot week. Nieuwe Jubileumzangen. Van Louis Couperus. Van Hélène Schwarth. Van P. Mondriaen. In: De Notenkraker, 30.6.1923; Penarie: Van week tot week. O.V. - 300 millioen! 300 millioen! Het Gouden Kalf. In: De Notenkraker, 18.8.1923; Moderne Fransche letteren. Cocteau –Radiguet – Soupault. Drie Bekentenissen der hedendaagsche Jeugd. In: Het Vaderland, 23.8.1923; Penarie: Van week tot week. De Sterke Man. In: De Notenkraker, 6.10.1923; Penarie: Van week tot week. Het Beeld der Rechterzijde. In: De Notenkraker, 17.11.1923; Alarm.In: Het Vaderland, 24.12.1923. II. Literature Anon. 1920 “Van week tot week. Sterft gij oude vormen...! IJ-Beelden. Het beleid van Minister van Ijsselsteijn”. In: De Notenkraker, 14.8.1920. Berg, Hubert F. van 1992 Vorwort. In: Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1992:7-14. 1995 “De ware dadaïsten zijn anti-dadaïsten”. Nawoord. In: Van Doesburg/Schwitters 1995: 145-174. 1998 Theo van Doesburg, anarchisme en dada. Een kleine documentatie met een inleidende lezing. Amsterdam. 1999 Avantgarde und Anarchismus: Dada in Zürich und Berlin. Heidelberg. 2002a The Import of Nothing. How Dada Came, Saw and Vanished in the Low Countries (1915-1929). New York. 2002b “’Originalitätssucht’ en de noodzaak tot distinctie. Dada en de Nederlandse avantgarde”. In: Van den Berg / Dorleijn 2002: 157-179. 2004 (ed.) “A Victorious Campaign for Dadaism? Dada in the Dutch Daily Press in 1923. Newspaper Reports and Commentaries on the Dutch Dada Tour”. In: Watts 2004: 441-488.
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Berg, Hubert van den, and Gillis Dorleijn 2002 (eds.): Avantgarde! Voorhoede? Literaire vernieuwingsbewegingen in Noord en Zuid opnieuw beschouwd. Nijmegen. Bergius, Hanne, and Eberhard Roters 1977 (eds.) Tendenzen der Zwanziger Jahre. 15. Europäische Kunstausstellung. Berlin. Boef, August Hans den, and Sjoerd van Faassen 1995 “Een vriendschap van concurrenten? Kurt Schwitters en Theo van Doesburg”. In: Bzzlletin 25 (229), 1995: 38-52. Blotkamp, Carel 1997 (ed.) “Liebe Tiltil: Brieven van El Lissitzky en Kurt Schwitters aan Til Brugman”. In: Jong Holland 13 (1), 1997: 32-46. Borel, Henri 1923 “Diligentia. Dada”. In: Het Vaderland, 29.1.1923. Borgers, Gerrit 1971 Paul van Ostaijen. Een documentatie. Dl. 1. Den Haag. Citroen, Paul 1980 “Eine Stimme aus Holland”. In: Huelsenbeck 1980: 102-104. Constandse, Anton 1923a “Correspondentie. G. de Groot te D”. In: Alarm, 2 (11)1923. 1923b (ed.) Kunstnummer 1923, In: Alarm 3 (6) 1923. Dachy, Marc 1994
Dada & les Dadaïsmes. Rapport sur lánéantissement de l’ancienne beauté. Paris
Doesburg, Theo van 1920 (as I.K. Bonset) “X-beelden”. In: De Stijl 3 (7), 1920: 57. 1923 Wat is Dada? Den Haag. 1923b “Dadaïsme”. In: Het Vaderland, 3.2.1923. 1923c “Dadaïsme”. In: Merz (1), 1923:16 and Merz (2), 1923: 25-32. 1923d “Huszar’s Beeldend Tooneel (Ingezonden)”. In: Het Vaderland, 23.2.1923. 1927 “Principiëele medewerkers aan De Stijl”. In: De Stijl 7 (79-84), 1927: 59-62. 1928 “Hugo Ball†, lugano, sept. 1927”. In: De Stijl 8 (85-86), 1928: 97-102. 1992 Qu'est-ce que c'est Dada? Tusson.
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Doesburg, Theo van, and Kurt Schwitters 1992 Holland ist Dada. Ein Feldzug. Hamburg 1995 Holland's bankroet door Dada. Documenten van een dadaïstische triomftocht door Nederland. Amsterdam. Een Dilettant 1921 “Bloemlezing van modernismen (en archaïsmen)”. In: Het Getij 6 (II), 1921: 135. Dorleijn, Gillis J. 2002 “Weerstand tegen de avantgarde in Nederland”. In: Van den Berg / Dorleijn 2002: 137-155. Entrop, Marco 2002
“‘Dommer-de-dommer-de-dommer-dan-dom’. De valse start van de dada-veldtocht in Nederland”. In: De Parelduiker 7 (5), 2002: 29-37.
Goedegebuure, Jaap 1981 Op zoek naar een bezield verband. Dl. 1. De literaire en maatschappelijke opvattingen van H. Marsman in de context van zijn tijd. Amsterdam. 1999 Zee, berg, rivier. Het leven van H. Marsman. Amsterdam / Antwerpen. Graaf, W. de 1987
In Haarlem snoot ik mijn neus zei Schwitters me. Dada in de Spaarnestad. Een reconstructie. Haarlem.
Hoek, Els (red.) 2000 Theo van Doesburg. Oeuvrecatalogus. Utrecht / Otterlo. Huelsenbeck, Richard 1980 (ed.) Dada-Almanach: Im Auftrag des Zentralamts der deutschen Dada-Bewegung. Hamburg. Huszár, Vilmos 1923a “Mechanisch Dansende Figuur (1920)”. In: De Kunst, 24.2.1923. 1923b “Eenige Opmerkingen over Tooneel-Dekors”. In: De Kunst, 3.3.1923 and 17.3.1923. Jong, A.M. de 1923
“’Dada”in Amsterdam. Vlegels voor en achter de schermen”. In: Het Volk, 20.1.1923.
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Joostens, Paul 1922
Knol, Meta 1997
Léonard, Jos. 1923
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Salopes: Le Quart d'heure de rage ou soleil sans chapeau. Anvers.
(ed.) Kurt Schwitters in Nederland. Kurt Schwitters in the Netherlands. Merz, De Stijl & Holland Dada. Heerlen / Zwolle.
“De intree van Dada in Vlaanderen”. In: Het Getij 8 (4), 1923: 57-58.
Marsman, Hendrik 1923 “Gertrude”. In: De Nieuwe Kroniek 2 (24), 1923: 174-175. Martinet, Jan 1977
Hendrik Nicolaas Werkman 1882-1945. “Druksels”en gebruiksdrukwerk. Een keuze uit de collecties van de Stichting H.N. Werkman, Amsterdam en het Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam. Amsterdam.
Meyer, Raimund, Judith Hossli, Guido Magnaguagno, Juri Steiner, and Hans Bolliger 1994 (eds.) Dada global. Zürich. Moorsel, Wies van 2000 “De doorsnee is mij niet genoeg”. Nelly van Doesburg 18991975. Nijmegen. Pijper, Willem 1923
“Dadazerijen”. In: De Nieuwe Kroniek, 8.2.1923.
Roland Holst, Richard 1923 “Wat is Dada?” In: De Nieuwe Kroniek, 25.1.1923. Schilp, C.A. 1957
“Dada in Utrecht”. In: Maatstaf 4, 1957: 537-540.
Schippers, K 1974 Holland Dada. Amsterdam. 1977 “Dada Holland”. In: Bergius /Roters 1977: 3/92-3/95. Schwitters, Kurt 1921 “Merz (Für den ‘Ararat’ geschrieben 19. Dezember 1920)”. In: Der Ararat 2 (1), 1921: 3-9. 1922a Anna Blume. Dichtungen. Hannover. 1922b Die Blume Anna. Die neue Anna Blume. Berlin.
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1922c Memoiren Anna Blumes in Bleie: Eine leichtfaßliche Methode zur Erlernung des Wahnsinns für Jedermann. Freiburg im Breisgau 1922d “Ursachen und Beginn der großen glorreichen Revolution in Revon”. In: Der Sturm 13 (11) 1922:158-166. 1923 “De Zelfoverwinning van Dada”. In: Haagsche Post, 20.1.1923. 1932 [Theo van Doesburg]. In: De Stijl, dernier numéro, 1932: 55-57. 1998 Das literarische Werk Bd. 5. Manifeste und kritische Prosa. Köln. Thater-Schulz, Cornelia 1989 (ed.) Hannah Höch. Eine Lebenscollage, Erster Teil, Bd. 2 (19191920). Berlin. Tuijn, Marguerite 2003 Mon cher ami… Lieber Does. Theo van Doesburg en de praktijk van de internationale avant-garde. Een beschouwing over de avantgarde in de jaren 1916-1930, gevolgd door een becommentarieerde uitgave van de correspondentie tussen Van Doesburg en Alexander Archipenko, Tristan Tzara, Hans Richter en Enrico Prampolini. Amsterdam. Tzara, Tristan 1920 “Les vrais dadas sont contre DADA”. In: Dada (6), 1920: 3. 1980 “Chronique Zurichoïse”. In: Huelsenbeck 1980: 10-29. Vliet, H.T.M. van 1999 (ed.) Tussen twee generaties : briefwisseling A. Roland Holst en H. Marsman (1922-1940). Den Haag. Watts, Harriett 2004
(ed.) Dada and the Press. New York 2004.
The Inevitability of Argumentative Criticism Theo van Doesburg and the Constructive Review Klaus Beekman Avant-garde artists raised objections about the positions and ideas of dominating art critics. They accused critics of being only the accomplices of the cultural industry and of making use of antiquated mimetic standards for measuring art. Furthermore, artists claimed that their critical form of argument intentionally created a hierarchy and condemned specific forms of art. It was especially the constructivists that were looking for alternatives to the dominating types of reviews. Guillaume Apollinaire, for example, strove towards transforming a review into a work of art. It is questionable what exact position the constructivist Theo van Doesburg took in this issue. Although he produced reviews that were reminiscent of his creative works - such as Woordbeeldingen [Wordimages], where typography plays an important role and the distinction between prose and poetry has been abolished - many of his reviews were traditional in form in that they were argumentative and passed judgment. It is likely that Van Doesburg formatted his reviews in a traditional manner because he was simultaneously defending himself against the traditional, mimetic oriented artists and avantgarde artists who were his direct competitors. This situation caused Van Doesburg in his position as critic to become predominantly active as a judge of art.
Introduction “Criticism – The truth concerning any opinion always came to light by its consequence, but editors of daily newspapers always are inconsistent. If they were consistent, they would send a goat to exhibitions of paintings.” (I.K. Bonset in De Stijl III, 10, 1920: 84)
Filippo Tommaso Marinetti was positioned at the base of Italian futurism and from this stance he had no doubts about how futurists should think about the dominant cultural institutions. In his “Manifesto of futurism” (1909) he let the reader know how art galleries, libraries and academies of any kind could be destroyed without being missed (Asholt/Fähnders 1995: 3f). According to him, these institutions could be held responsible for the production and the distribution of reprehensible traditionally cultural products and they also wrongly attributed cultural prestige to these goods. It is remarkable that in the manifests of Italian futurists not a word is written about the institution of cultural criticism, when it was critical reviews that gave these traditionally
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cultural products their aura in the first place. On the other hand, Italian futurists were aware of the important role criticism played in the cultural field. The “Technical Manifesto” (1910) of futurist painters provides evidence for this opinion. In this manifesto, the subscribers Umberto Boccioni, Carlo D. Carrà, Luigi Russolo, Giacomo Balla and Gino Severini considered the existing art criticism harmful (Asholt / Fänders 1995: 12-13). According to Theo van Doesburg, founder of the Dutch constructivist journal De Stijl, art criticism that was too current had a harmful effect. When Van Doesburg received a letter in which someone complained that his ideas on neo-plasticism were late in making it abroad, he reacted in De Stijl (II, august 1919: 96) by referring to the dubious role gate-keepers in the Netherlands would have played in passing on new ideas in the field of art and literature. By not mentioning new developments, official art criticism hoped to kill them.
Wenn die Gewichtigkeit unserer Absichten erst heute nach den ausländischen Kunstzentren durchringt, ist die Schuld daran nicht uns zuzuschicken, sondern an die apriori feindliche Haltung der offiziellen äusserst konservativen holländischen Presse, welche die künstlerische und kulturelle Bedeutsamkeit unseres Strebens von Anfang an unterschätzte oder durch vollkommenes Stillschweigen trachtete zu ersticken. Ich nenne in diesem Zusammenhange die offizielle Kunstjournalistik der Herren Plasschaert, Borel, J. de Meester, Van Eeden, Querido, Just Havelaar, Spoor, Veth & Co., kurzum alle, zu denen die ersten Offenbarungen eines neuen Zeitbewusstseins noch nicht durchgedrungen ist. (Theo van Doesburg in De Stijl II, August 1919: 96)
Avant-garde authors and critics realized they had to fight current criticism and for this they used several strategies. Some tried to occupy key positions as critics in leading papers. The Flemish avant-garde author Paul van Ostaijen, for example, hoped to penetrate into the famous Dutch daily Algemeen Handelsblad, in which the traditional author and critic, Is. Querido, was in control (Borgers 1971: 569). Others restricted themselves to criticizing the existing machinery of criticism, but there were also avant-garde critics who tried to change the appearance of criticism. In this article I would like to further explore two questions concerning the attempts to change the character of traditional criticism. Firstly, what were the main objections that the avant-garde raised against current art criticism and secondly, to what
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extent did avant-garde critics – especially the constructivist artist and critic Theo van Doesburg – succeed in finding an alternative for the traditional forms of art criticism?
A Crisis in Art Criticism A survey among art critics and gallery owners held in 1927 by ParisMidi, showed that respondents unanimously shared the opinion that there was a crisis in art criticism. To support this opinion several arguments were brought forward, all of which supported the fact that art critics had been caught in a commercial cycle (Fleckner/Gaehtgens 1999: 3-4). This kind of critical tone could also be found in the literary field. For example, the Dutch expressionist author and critic, H. Marsman, argued that in the inter-bellum period too many books were published (in particular ones of mediocre quality), which wrongly attracted the attention of too many reviewers (Goedegebuure 1981: 342f). In short, cultural industry played to large a role in orchestrating art and literary criticisms. One might expect that critics would have felt the urge to develope adequate and new criteria especially for judging modern art forms. Apparently this was not the situation in the inter-bellum period. In “Kritiker” [“Reviewers”] (1922), the avant-garde artist, Kurt Schwitters, criticized the whole group of art reviewers. He turned to irony to expound his opinions on the current critical culture. Schwitters portrayed reviewers as a group of people that had been elected to exercise its duty. He compared them to a flock of sheep and further accused them of having the conduct of school teachers in that their main actions consisted of signaling mistakes and assigning grades.
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“Kritiker sind eine besondere Art Menschen. Zum Kritiker muȕ man geboren sein. Mit ganz außergewöhnlichem Schaafsinn findet der geborene Kritiker heraus, worauf es nicht ankommt. Er sieht nie den Fehler des zu kritisierenden Kunstwerks oder des Küstlers, sondern sein eigenes Fehlen, sichtbar gemacht durch das Kunstwerk. Der Kritiker erkennt durch angeborenen Schaaafsinn gewissermaßen seinen eigenen Fehler durch das Kunstwerk. Das ist die Tragik aller Kritiker, sie sehen Fehler, statt Kunst. Kunst sehen heißt für den Kritiker die Fehler am Kunstwerk rot anstreichen und eine Zensur darunter schreiben. Kritiker sind den mit Recht so beliebten Oberlehrern ähnlich. Allerdings braucht der Kritiker kein Examen zu machen, zum Kritiker ist man eben geboren. Der Kritiker ist ein Geschenk des Himmels an die Menschheit. Mit Oberlehrerin gesäugt nährt er sich von Kunstfehlern zum Segen der Schaaaafzucht” (Kurt Schwitters, “Kritiker”, 1922).
This was not the end of Schwitters’ accusations. He also claimed that critics were using a mimetic conception of art as the basis for supporting their critical remarks. In “Was Kunst ist; eine Regel für groȕe Kritiker” [“What Art really is; a Rule for great Critics”] (1920) he put this into words in a very ironic way. Here, Schwitters proposed that it was essential for art to imitate nature before it could be considered art at all: “Kunst ist die Nachahmung der Natur. Je intensiver die Nachahmung ahmt, desto größer ist die Kunst” (Schwitters 1987: 112). [“Art is imitation of nature. The more the imitation imitates, the greater art is.”] According to Schwitters, it was a generally acknowledged rule that the kind of art that imitates nature best has a higher position in the hierarchy of art forms: “Die Plastik kommt der Natur näher als die Malerei. Daher ist die Plastik die größere Schwester der Malerei” (idem: 112) [“Sculpture is closer to nature than painting. That’s why sculpture is the bigger sister of painting”]. Within sculpture other gradations can be made. For example, in his ironical scheme sculpture made of rose-colored materials that resemble the human skin had a higher place in artistic hierarchy than sculpture created using other materials and colors. Schwitters advised artists to use wigs and glass eyes as a way of reaching higher on the mimetic ladder. Furthermore, one was expected to give preference to imitating people of noble birth rather than reproducing ordinary people. But to fulfill the highest hierarchal goals, one would strive to portray the nobility of the mind, that is to say the critic, who is regarded highest in the mimetic hierarchy of all art forms.
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Am besten stellt die Kunst Leute vom Geistesadel dar, Kritiker und so, und zwar in ihrer edelsten Beschäftigung, beim Kritisieren ihrer eigenen edlen Plastik, mit Notizbuch und Bleistift in der Hand. Das ergäbe dann eine Doppelplastik: 1. Der Kritiker in edler Ruhe und 2. derselbe kritiker, indem er seine eigene edle Plastik kritisiert, rechts daneben. In dem Notizbuch hat neben dem Namen des Darstellers zu stehen: Edel, edel, Adel, Natur, edel göttlich, Adel, natürlich, edel, edel, edel. (Kurt Schwitters, “Was Kunst ist; eine Regel für große Kritiker”, 1920).
Aesthetes and the Review as a Work of Art In “Meine Ansicht über den Wert der Kritik” (1921) [“My opinion on the value of criticism”] Schwitters posed the question of whether the main goal of a review should be to inform, to show the value of a work of art, or to advise the artist. According to him, a critic only has to inform. Schwitters also thought that in order to better characterize a work of art, a critic should be modest and well informed about the language of art. He expressed further that the education level of the readers should be taken into account. Schwitters liked to give the critic the same freedom the artist had. He even claimed to prefer reviews which were in themselves works of art in the form of language (Ewig 1999: 242). Schwitters’ point of view is reminiscent of the poetics Charles Baudelaire defended in the 19th century. Baudelaire claimed that an artist should not operate from a mimetic conception of art. Rather, he should be guided by the “power of imagination”. The critic should take the same position as the artist. This comes from an article Baudelaire published on the “Salon” of 1846, titled, “What is the point of criticism?” In this article he writes: “The best review, and I do mean this sincerely, is a review which is amusing and poetic [...]; exactly this review which – under the circumstances that a beautiful painting is nature reflected by an artist – , is that painting itself, reflected by an intelligent and sensitive mind. That’s why the best review of a painting can have the character of a sonnet or an elegy” (Baudelaire 1990: 10-11). The same conception of the review was defended by Dutch aesthetes at the end of the 19th century, the writers of the so-called
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Eighties movement, as well as by the realists that worked in the wake of these aesthetes who created a furor that was just like the avantgarde movement (especially that of the inter-bellum period). A good example of this is the Dutch author and critic Carel Scharten. Scharten (1878-1950), whose novels were labeled “psychological realistic”, saw at a very early stage that Italian futurism was quickly developing. He wrote an article about this for the cultural journal De Gids (1912) [The Guide]. In his article he “translated” several paintings of Boccioni. In other words, he converted them into language. Look, for example, at Boccioni”s painting, “Het leven der straat dringt in het huis” [“Street life forced its way into the house”], for which Scharten’s translation begins as follows: “The balconyfence, the green balcony-fence, the crooked-wrenched cross-eyedgreen balcony-fence. And the red horse, legs-floundering through the balcony-green, the vibrating-green. O! O! The horse-through-thefence!”
’t Balkon-hek, ’t groene balkon-hek, ’t krom-verdraaide scheel-groene balkon-hek. En het roode paard, poote-spartelend door ’t hekke-groen, ’t trille-groen. O! o! het paard-door-het hek! Het hek is gek van het brokklend paardepooten-rood, het róóde bruin-rood gebroken, en voorbij-brekende achter de blinde rug…. Maar o, de geel-vlagen in de rood-baaierende dagen als met spiesen óp-jagende en áán, óp uit de daverende ratelstraat! De razende straat slaat óp in het hoofd (Scharten 1912: 171).
In this way Scharten put his criticism on the Italian futurists into words. He said he understood very well the intention of Boccioni, Carra and Severini, claiming that they gave up “banal impression” and were looking for “sensation”. He expressed further that they tried to put down a “moment” of daily life in painting. However, Scharten remarked sarcastically that these ideas were nothing new and that the futurists mentioned above could only be regarded as “the alive and kicking nephews” of Dutch authors like Lodewijk van Deyssel, Frans Erens and, most importantly, Herman Gorter. In their poems and poems in prose these representatives of the so-called Eighties movement would have expressed the same sensations long before the Italian fu-
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turists did. Scharten argued that “In comparison with our sensitivists or aesthetes of twenty-five years ago”, these Italians are still only “sensitive beginners”. He elaborated this opinion by adding that sensitivism in the Netherlands was qualitatively superior to that of “backward” Italy, because it was “more graceful”, “more expressive”, “more burning” and “more true” (Scharten 1912: 173-175).
Avant-garde Authors and the Review as a Work of Art So, the idea that some avant-garde artists had let the review become a work of art was not original. What was new was the use of particular techniques. Whereas the aesthetes and realists used mostly adjectives to put their experiences into words, the futurists deliberately decided not to do so (Revier 1985: 582). Schwitters, for example, gave his reviews on painting a lyrical form, like the one on Chagall (Ewig 1999: 244-245), and wrote about the phenomenon of criticism with the help irony, exaggeration and wordplay. Furthermore Pierre Reverdy, Guillaume Apollinaire and Carl Einstein tried to develop a “cubist” review of art (Fleckner 1999: 481-535). Reverdy, for example, published “articles-poèmes” in journals like Littérature and Anthologie Dada in 1919, in which he used typography and montage to connect quotations. Apollinaire also wrote reviews in the form of poems on works such as those of Delaunay, in which he worked with simultaneous contrasts in substantives of colors. Finally, assuming that art criticism should try to translate painting into language, Carl Einstein, just like the cubist painters, tried to evoke modern experiences of space and time by using figures of speech, such as neologisms, inversion, and polemic metaphors.
Theo van Doesburg and Art Criticism Theo van Doesburg did not seem to like the review as a form of art. Referring to the art critic Albert Plasschaert, he wrote in De Stijl: “Alb. Plasschaert is one of those laymen-critics-by-the-day who amused a former generation with a kind of rhyming-criticism” (III, 10,
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1920: 86). In “Lijnenaesthetiek” [“Aesthetics of lines”] (De Stijl III, 11, 1920: 92), which Van Doesburg ironically dedicated to “the ultraindividualistic art critics”, he also seemed to have gotten even with those critics who defended the idea of translating art into poetry. The position of Van Doesburg is remarkable because one would expect this avant-garde artist to be open to potential manners of changing the traditional form of the review. But in his attack on Plasschaert and others, Van Doesburg had to think of traditional poetic forms of the review that aesthetes and realists, such as Scharten, had introduced. In the second manifesto of De Stijl (1920), Van Doesburg criticized authors who were writing “asthmatic and sentimental I- and she-poetry”, as well as authors of naturalistic prose. He condemned writers who used language only to describe something. According to him language should be re-functioned. He claimed that by “putting sentences nicely after and under each other” one could not give expression to modern time. Van Doesburg argued further that it would be impossible to do so in only one specific genre, because “the duality between prose en poetry cannot continue” any more than the duality between form and content. Van Doesburg defended the idea that the word should get “a new sense and a new power of expression”, which could be achieved by renewing typography and syntax among other things. On the base of this conception of literature he seems to conceive his own reviews. Although it may have been the case that Van Doesburg kept his distance from the translation of art into literature, sometimes in his reviews on art it becomes noticeable that he was trying to give shape to his avant-garde ideas on using language. A good example of this is a review on “Schilderkunst van Giorgio de Chirico en een stoel van Rietveld” (De Stijl III, 5, 1920: 46 / 536) [“Painting of Giorgio de Chirico and a chair of Rietveld”]: that Van Doesburg uses several kinds of typography in his review on a painting of Giorgio de Chirico and a chair of Rietveld is completely in harmony with his poetical vision. The same goes for his decision to not put sentences in succession, like in traditional prose, but instead to put them under each other, like in poetry. He also reduced the describing character of some sentences by omitting verbs. Additionally, he tuned form and content to one another by giving shape to the similarities he found between both artists (“metaphysical feelings for and mathematical designation of
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fig. 1. Theo van Doesburg: “Schilderkunst van Giorgio de Chirico en een stoel van Rietveld” (De Stijl III, 5, 1920: 46 / 536)
spaces”) and the contrasts he found (“difference in meaning, in expression, in techniques”), by repeating words (thirteen times “space”) and by contrasting them (“intentional” versus “unintentional”). The techniques Van Doesburg used in his review are, broadly speaking, the same he used in his manifestos as well as in his creative “Letterklankbeelden” [“Lettersoundimages”] (1921). On the other hand the text is strongly based on argumentation. By conducting a mutual comparison of two artists and by describing the works of art, Van Doesburg passes a judgment on their quality. The reviews Van Doesburg wrote are for the most part formulated in everyday speech. It is hardly the case that he “translates” his avantgarde principles into everyday speech. However, in “Painting of Giorgio de Chirico and a chair of Rietveld”, Van Doesburg still makes an attempt at writing an avantgarde colored review. In a review on the sound poems “R” and “Nachtkroeg” [“Night pub”] by Til Brugman and Anthony Kok respectively, which he published in De Stijl (VI, 3/4, 1923: 54-56 / 367368), he does not even have a try at doing so:
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fig. 2. Til Brugman, R The material of this sound poem can be overlooked easily. It consists of S, T, R, E, A, K, N by which more or less academic and in a eurhythmic order, letters, syllables, and words are arranged to a poem. One has started from the word material itself without a direct association with an observable item. An exciting increase has been formed by continuity, which still is accentuated by typography. It is important that the R, as the axis of the poem,
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gives the whole a spiral word movement, The whole is good in its balanced character and shows the tension of the word purely with a minimum of material. However, there is not enough contra tension of the same strength. “Night pub” by Anthony Kok is an example of suggestive sound processing. Worked through well, arranged consciously and in a considered way the material here has been set up to a closed word cone. The succession of the sound forms causes an association with observation. That’s why the poem still has a somewhat mimetic character. But one has not to forget that the poem already was made in 1915. In the Netherlands a poet never reached to such a sober and pure use of his expressive material. All these are symptoms of a new construction of poetry in the Netherlands.
This review is not different from traditional criticism because of the way it has been modeled. Rather, it is the unique use of terminology that Van Doesburg borrowed from the visual arts, which he used to comment on a literary genre. These include: “spiral word movement”, “word cone”, “word tension” and “contra tension”. As a true avantgarde artist, Van Doesburg had an eye for typography in the poems of both Brugman and Kok, as well as for their word material, such as the letters and the places they take on the paper. When the method gives away a “mimetic” point of view condemnation is the result: the used word material is not allowed to lead to associations with reality. That is why Van Doesburg was positive about the “R” by Brugman - “One has started from the word material itself without a direct association with an observable item” - and he held back on “Night pub”: “The succession of the sound forms causes an association with observation. That”s why the poem still has a somewhat mimetic character. But one has not to forget that the poem already was made in 1915”. Due to the fact that Van Doesburg disliked mimetic conceptions of art and paid attention to language in its material quality, it would be obvious for him to review Bezette Stad [Occupied City] by the Flemish avant-garde author Paul van Ostaijen, which was a piece that was conceived on the base of a constructivist conception of literature in a positive way. It was also not remarkable that Van Doesburg would review this it using a constructivist form. Van Ostaijen published Bezette Stad in 1921. In this work the author evokes Antwerp during World War I by “rhythmic typography”, based on a conception of literature according to which the subjectivity of the author was ruled out as far as possible (Bogman 1991). The work got reviews from both the avant-garde and the realistic
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fig. 3. Anthony Kok, Nachtkroeg
angle. The Dutch expressionist poet H. Marsman (1921: 87) characterized Van Ostaijen as “a futurist with dadaist leanings”. Nihilism in Bezette Stad made him think of dada, rhythmic typography of futur-
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ism, whereas he also had to think of a special type of expressionism: “the idea-and-man-expressionism” (Marsman 1921: 87). However, according to Marsman, Van Ostaijen was still far away from “neocubism”, to which Van Doesburg gave shape in his X-Figures (1920): Van Ostaijen “is not yet that far”, Marsman (1921: 88) argued. Frans Coenen (1866-1936), who enjoyed great fame as an author of naturalistic sketches, was also a well-known writer of reviews. When he reviewed Bezette Stad in 1921 in the Dutch journal, Groot Nederland, he did so under the headline “Dadaism”. His argument was meant to make clear that Van Ostaijen’s ideas, were, in fact, not at all original. Coenen established that the text contained quite a lot of sound imitations and he concluded that Van Ostaijen used a particular kind of typography. However, what Van Ostaijen did with these components had been done before, Coenen argued: “it all looks like the kind of impressionism authors of the Eighties movement made use of” (Coenen 1921: 536). To support his thesis Coenen compared Van Ostaijen with Lodewijk van Deyssel, a representative of the Eighties movement. The intention of the authors was identical in that both of them tried to give an impression of a city. The only difference is that Van Deyssel used language to give his impression, whereas Van Ostaijen turned to “docile typography” (Coenen 1921: 539). Coenen also attacked the lassitude and the weariness of the dadaists, which were also noticeable in Bezette Stad: “And is this whole book of Paul van Ostaijen not heavy, because of a fed up melancholy, which he not even tries to express in a fine or striking way?” (id.: 542) Van Doesburg joins in the discussion about Bezette Stad. However, those of whom were expecting him to choose the side of Van Ostaijen and defend this work against Coenen and others on the basis of the avant-garde character of the work were disappointed. He put a review in De Stijl (1921 IV, 12, 1921: 179) under the pseudonym I.K. Bonset. This pen name did not fool anybody.
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BEZETTE STAD. PAUL VAN OSTAYEN. 1921 De kruimels hebben zich georganiseerd en voeren strijd tegen het dadaïstische brood. Waarom deze typografische gymnastiek wanneer het in waarheid gaat om een doodnuchtere realistische roman met oorlogstendens expressionistisch in stukken te snijden. Litérair: leeg hol opgeblazen – dik geïmiteer van fransche litératuursport. Karakteristiek: gebrek aan het dadaïstische skelet (“nous voulons rien, rien, rien etc.”). Onzekerheid van begripsbeginsel demi-plebs Bowlen-sekt en schijngehakt. Algemeene karakteristiek van belgische kunstultras: bloeddorstige veroveringslust van guitige patriotten met intermezzos van diverse films: 1.Internationale beeldingsgeestdrift met galspuwapparaten (3000 Meter). 2. Franco-Vlamingantisme (7000 Meter met franschen tekst). 3. “Ik, ik, ik” (13 000 Meter). En gij Frans Coenen hebt u nog wel zooveel moeite gegeven dat dit nu het Paradis-dada was. Geen angst – deze prikkeldraadversperring is van papier. (Theo van Doesburg, “I.K.Bt”s kritische tesseracts”, in De Stijl (1921).
Van Doesburg’s judgment on Bezette Stad was crushing. According to him, Bezette Stad was not an example of a dada work of literature at all, as Coenen had suggested. In his opinion it was not even a modern work of art. Rather, he saw it as being a “newborn realistic novel with a tendency of war”. He proclaimed that it was unoriginal in its typographical organization (“heavy imitation of French sports of literature”) and that Coenen’s intention to give shape to an objective conception of literature was not accomplished, it could even be considered as being overly subjective (“I, I, I”. “(13.000 Meter)”). Van Doesburg did not want to be just an intermediary between Bezette Stad and the reader. Rather, as a reviewer he tried to defend his own (constructivist) conception of literature and his position among other avant-garde artists in the artistic field. This explains the vehement attack on Van Ostaijen. Hubert van den Berg (2002: 96-97) described the extremely negative reaction to Bezette Stad from the just perspective that this work was the first example of constructivist literature in Dutch-language, which must have been an unpleasant surprise for the editor-in-chief of the constructivist journal De Stijl. Van Doesburg did not tolerate any competitor in his field. José Boyens also supposed that there must have been strategic considerations with regards to why Van Ostaijen en Van Doesburg, who shared the same
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conception of literature, were not on friendlier grounds. Her conclusion was: “Both Theo van Doesburg and Paul van Ostaijen had the need to occupy a leading part in the field of art” (Boyens 1979: 261). The way Van Doesburg constructed his review on Bezette Stad was not new in the world of art criticism. Like the review of the expressionist, Marsman, and that of the realist, Coenen, the review of the constructivist Van Doesburg was, above all things, an argumentative text. The form of his reviews hardly deviated from those of other reviewers. It is true that his review on Bezette Stad was shorter (Van Doesburg limits himself to seven sentences) and sometimes he was more concise, because he left out verbs, gave short definitions and used enumerations. However, his reviews were still traditional in that Van Doesburg gave information about Bezette Stad by describing the characteristics such as typography, classifying the text (as realistic) and attributing value to the work.
Conclusions Most of the reviews of avant-garde critics who defended a constructive conception of literature, such as Theo Van Doesburg, used a traditional format; just like many of the manifests they published (Asholt/ Fähnders 1995; Hubert van den Berg/Ralf Grüttemeier 1998). It was from his poetical ideas that Van Doesburg drew conclusions for his avant-garde poetry like his X-beelden [X-images] (Oversteegen 1969: 67). However, between his avant-garde poetics and his critical activities, the connection was not that close. By using traditional argumentative texts appropriately he could dispute in an effective way that traditional, mimetic-oriented artists or avant-garde colleagues were, in his eyes, unable to give shape to their avant-garde point of view in a proper way. In the history of art, critics developed two opposing concepts. In the 18th century the critic as a “judge of art” came into existence. This type of critic supposed that with the help of rational arguments he could improve the art as well as its public. In the Early Romantic period the opponent of this figure came into being. This type of critic was not interested in the principles of the Enlightened Age and refused to analyse art at a distance: a review had to be part of a work of art and had to complete it (Benjamin 1973; Prümm 1990). In his reviews Van Doesburg inclined towards the Enlightened tradition.
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“Kritiker”. Tran 27. In: “Eile ist des Witzes Weile”. Eine Auswahl aus den Texten. Hrsg. von Christa Weiss und Karl Riha. Stuttgart: 119-120.
Stijl, De Maandblad voor nieuwe kunst, wetenschap en kultuur. Redactie: Theo van Doesburg. Vries, J. de and E. van Uitert 1988 “Het Nederlands modernisme”. In: J. de Vries (red.), Nederland 1913. Een reconstructie van het culturele leven. Amsterdam: 217230; 256-257.
On Intentionality and Avant-Garde Criticism Ralf Grüttemeier It seems as if around 1900 in the national and international literary debates the concept of intentionality changed and that the avant-garde movements may well have played an important role in this, especially with their manifestos. This article deals with the question in how far changing ideas about the role of the intention of the author affected avant-garde criticism. What concepts of intentionality and what type of messages are at stake in the reviews written by the avant-garde? The article tries to give an answer by analysing the reviews of the Dutch writer M. Revis and the criticism in Arthur Lehning's international journal i 10.
The way the avant-garde movements of the beginning of the 20th century dealt with intentionality seems to be one possibility to characterise them. Never before and after have programmatic statements calling themselves manifestos been used on such a scale to accompany the works of art. Explicitly, many of these avant-garde manifestos contain provocative statements concerning intentionality, up to the refusal to intend anything at all (Richard Huelsenbeck, Tristan Tzara). Implicitly, the fact that there are so many texts focusing on how to deal with avant-garde art could be read as an indication that intentionality had become problematic – it no longer goes without saying which intention is or should be given by the reader, viewer etc. to the work of art and the author (cf. Van den Berg/Grüttemeier 1998). Adding to this the generally supposed opposition of the avant-garde towards the established art and its institutional and conceptual foundations, it seems as if breaking with the traditional approaches to intentionality is part of the avant-garde program. In the historical avant-garde the traditional unity of the intention of the author which lies in the work of art and vice versa seems to be under attack. Conceptually, at the basis of many of their activities lies the conviction that the intention of the author and the intention to be derived from the work of art is not one and the same. The possibility to put into contrast the intention of the author on the one hand and the intention as presented by the work of art on the other, and then preferring the one to the other, seems to be part of the avant-garde project. Concerning the type of messages the avantgarde manifestos plea for or against, it seems that one main target was
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moralism: the avant-garde had done with authorial, explicit ethical intentions. (cf. Grüttemeier 2003) In this article, I will deal with the question how the avantgarde criticism fits into that image. Though not much research has been done on intentionality from a historical point of view (f.e. Perler 2004), especially not regarding criticism, it seems as if the standard procedure in criticism up to the avant-garde departs from the traditional unity between the intention as it can be discovered in the text and the intention of the author. Goethe coins it as follows: First one should look for and understand what the writer actually has aimed at, then one should judge on whether this aim is reasonable and acceptable, in order to decide finally, whether this aim has been realised indeed?1
Of course the author can fail in realising his intentions, as the third step of Goethes prescription indicates. But this is obviously not seen as a problem to determine what the intention of the author was. In Germany, a conflicting trade of thought breaking up that unity is seen as reaching back as far as Friedrich Schlegel around 1800. According to Wolfgang Albrecht (2001:112), Schlegel no longer sees the aim of the critic in what the author has intended, but in the intention(s) of the poetic work itself. That interpretation implies two things: first, the intention of the author and the intention of the text are seen as two concepts that can be separated from each other conceptually. Second, for Schlegel, it is not the author who dominates the intentional hierarchy, but the text. However, even if Albrecht is right in finding in Schlegel an early version of Wimsatts and Beardsley “intentional fallacy”, in Schlegel's presentation there still seems to be no doubt that the critic is able to derive an intention from the work of art itself. In the Netherlands, the poets of the 1880s, the Tachtigers, have played an important role in breaking up the traditional intentional unity, also in literary criticism. For instance, in their reviews in De nieuwe gids they criticise in several places the “fault” to present what is derived from the text as authorial intention (cf. Van der Goes 1888:189). This idea is stated most explicitly and in general terms by Willem Kloos, the leading figure of De nieuwe gids: And because it is obvious that poems, like everything, have value for what they are, and not for who or what made them, our critical judgement must
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be based upon these words and not upon the feeling of the poet when he wrote it.2
However, whenever it fits, Kloos could also argue the other way round: that not the words on the page count, but only the intention of the author when he wrote his text. This was the case in the so-called “Julia-affair”: Kloos and some fellow-poets had written in 1885 a text anonymously (under the pseudonym “Guido”) and launched it in the hope that critics would praise it: Julia, een verhaal van Sicilië [Julia, a story from Sicily]. After the text indeed generally had been received positively by most critics, Kloos and his fellow-writers triumphantly published a verdict on Dutch critics: Julia had been nothing but a practical joke, written with a lot of alcohol and laughter, and the Dutch critics could not tell literature from nonsense. It is obvious that in this case the strategy of the Tachtigers relied absolutely on the intention of the author when writing Julia, and not on the words on the page (cf. Grüttemeier 1999). Now, what position do critics related to the avant-garde – who, among other things, have gone through the futurist and dadaist claims to have done with making sense – take towards intentionality in their reviews? What traditions of intentionality in literary criticism do they adhere to and what traditions do they break with? I'll try to answer these questions with the aid of two case studies. First I'll take a close look at the criticism of one of the leading figures of the Dutch Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, which is generally seen (cf. Fontijn/Polak 1986; Goedegebuure 1992) as being part of the efforts for the modernist renewal of Dutch prose in the 1930s, after the avant-garde projects had faded out (1.). After that I'll take a look at the criticism of one of the most important Dutch avant-garde journals from the 20s, Arthur Lehnings i 10 (2.), followed by an effort to answer my leading question (3.).
1. M. Revis in De Stem During the 1930s Willem Visser regularly published book-reviews under his literary pseudonym M. Revis in the journal De Stem. All together he gave his criticism on 17 prose texts between 1933 and 1939, mostly fictional ones.3 It is striking to see that many of the re-
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viewed texts were written by authors who are regarded by recent literary history as standing in a more or less similar poetic tradition of innovation of realism as Revis himself: he reviewed prose of Jef Last, Maurits Dekker, Willem Elsschot, Ferdinand Bordewijk and Ilja Ehrenburg (cf. Grüttemeier 1995: 60ff.). When focussing on the role of intentionality in these reviews, several aspects are worth mentioning. To start with, it seems that Revis makes no difference between attributing intentions to the author and attributing them to the text. Sometimes he uses the name of the author, sometimes he speaks of “the author”, sometimes of the text when intentional questions are at stake, without conceptually keeping these aspects apart. Take for example this passage from Revis' review of F. Bordewijk's Knorrende beesten [Grunting beasts]: Each page shows examples of a unique ability of evocation, with a few words the writer evokes the image of a great place at the sea.4
This quotation is not only typical for Revis' switching in one sentence from the text – “each page” – to the author – “the writer”. It is also typical in so far as Revis is dealinorreng in each of his reviews with the author of the book, never only with the text. In his criticism, the author seems to be regarded as the ruler about every detail of the text. The same way Revis praises Bordewijk and his novel for the “exact, colourful bringing under words of impressions of the senses”, he praises Elsschot and his text for the choice of single words in telling us the decay of the hero in Een ontgoocheling [A disillusionment]: “Here we have Elsschot at his best, with simple words hiding intense sadness”. (Revis 1935a: 203) There is no doubt that for Revis the writer is responsible for the functionality of every detail in his text – so, it also goes the other way round. Because the writer is responsible for every detail, the critic can judge about the writer from the text. Revis' starting- and finishing-point is a functional continuity between text and author. So Revis claims concerning Elsschot's novel Kaas [Cheese]: “From the choice of details in the following chapter, in which a deathbed is mentioned, one can tell the born writer”. (Revis 1934a: 94) The same continuity allows for drawing conclusions from faults in texts to weaknesses of the writer himself. After having criticised the lack of reflection in Maurits Dekker's use of metaphors, for example when Dekker relates cars to fantastic animals without saying what they have in common, Revis continues:
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And also another weakness of the writer is immediately evident, namely his remarks that are intended to be ironic, which are at the most funny, but mostly vulgar.5
Similarly, Revis can tell from the sentences in the novel that the author is faking literary style: “Mister Veldman is pretending, [...] he is untrue, not authentic [...]”. (Revis 1937b: 326). Making up the balance until so far, we have found no indications that Revis wants to make a conceptual difference between the layer of the text and the layer of the author: these layers seem to be a unity and a continuum in Revis' view, also intentionally. Whether intentions work (Elsschot) of fail (Dekker), Revis has no doubt about what these intentions were and where to find them. Consequently, also the messages that Revis sees in texts are in tune with the messages the author has intended to articulate in a literary way: Ehrenburg's poems and essays from 1918 and 1919 actually were “contrarevolutionary”; he had sympathies at that time for the Whites, not for the Reds.6
In Revis’ view, the political ideas of the author find their way automatically into literature, and from literature one can tell what the political ideas of the author are. So obviously, Revis presupposes a textauthor-homology, that is the reliable basis for the work of the critic. Concerning Revis’ ideas on intentionality, it is furthermore important to stress that for him there must be a view inherent in literature and in writing. The artist must see through the empirical evidence and touch what is at the heart of man and things.7 This is the task of “the writer”: to discover with comparisons the unity of nature and human life (cf. Revis 1937c: 878). In Revis’ view, the material world and human beings are tied together in a unity in which suffering cannot be avoided: life and suffering belong together as the body that has to breath and the air surrounding it: Real life only starts with this miraculous balance between rejecting and at the same time accepting (one could call it also religion, but words are not important concerning something that cannot be said).8
With these ideas about human life and art it is not surprising that Revis criticises books that have an explicit political message, like in Jef
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Lasts documentary novels (cf. Revis 1934b: 410) or in Upton Sinclair's Ford-biography (cf. Revis 1939a: 109). What Revis wants is “suggestive power”, which is for him the only norm for literature (cf. Revis 1933a: 932). Because the type of message that Revis wants to read in literature must remain implicit, not explicit, it is not surprising that Revis (cf. 1934a: 92) declares forewords to be out of time. Putting these views together, the type of messages Revis adheres to, show no revolutionary aggression against established and bourgeois art at all. Revis seems to stand closer to symbolist poetics, with its search for the hidden unity that cannot be approached directly (cf. Dresden 1980: 11ff.), than to the avant-garde type of messages. But while in his own literary texts the symbolist affinities were contradicted by Revis' attention for documents and other means to disrupt the organic unity of the text (cf. Grüttemeier 1995: 65), his criticism shows no evidence for efforts to disrupt the closed, argumentative unity of a traditional review. Revis’ criticism concerning forewords mentioned above does actually not mean that he regards the intentional unity of text and author as problematic. On top of the arguments given above, one can see Revis use statements of the authors to characterise their texts in several places. So the reality in Ehrenburgs novels Ons Dagelijksch Brood [Our daily bread] or 10 P.K. is according to Ehrenburg himself “a montage of true events” – and Revis (cf. 1933a: 932) agrees on this. It is amazing to see in Revis’ literary criticism an unshaken belief in the homologous continuity between text and author: the intention of the author is the intention as it can be derived from the text, and vice versa. The authorial intention is not seen and nowhere treated as problematic. However, as has been mentioned in the introduction, the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is seen to have only loose ties with the historical avant-garde. What picture do we get when we come closer to the centre of avant-garde activities?
2. Arthur Lehnings journal i 10 The journal i 10 started in 1927 with an introduction in four languages: Dutch, German, French and English. So the evidence that it wanted to be an “International Revue” was given right away from the start and was expressed too in the co-operation of avant-garde minded
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contributors as Arp, Schwitters, Moholy-Nagy and Kandinsky. i 10 presented itself as “an organ of the modern mind”, documenting in an undogmatic way “the new streams in art, science, philosophy and sociology”. By this it tries “to give a general view of the renewal which is now accomplishing itself in culture” (i 10 1927:2)9. The idea that the journal wanted to be part of a movement of breaking away from established culture is more explicitly formulated in the editorial by Arthur Müller Lehning, the main-editor, that accompanies number 13, the first number of the second volume: But we are actually convinced that all relations and changes in economy, technology, society and in the mind are bound to one and the same sociological structure, though in a chaotic and revolutionary time as ours, this structure is permanently floating and changing. It would be foolish to outline that structure for the future.10
Openness for radical breaks and a strong claim for everything that is new and modern, by which the journal is in tune with far reaching structural changes in society - this is the image one gets from the selfpresentation in the editorials. What are the effects of this orientation towards renewal in the criticism of i 10? The table of content divides the journal into three sections: articles, reviews and reproductions – so the reviews had a prominent place in the journal. When i 10 came to an end in June 1929 with number 21-22, all together 55 reviews of different length had appeared in the two volumes. The first ones not before number 7 in 1927, and from then on in each journal, except for number 16. The reviews on non-fictional books outnumbered the others by far: 38. The rest could be divided into memoirs (eight) and literary texts like novels, stories etc. (nine). Literature seems not to have been one of the major battlefields of renewal for i 10.
2.1 Non-fiction and ego-documents The subject of the reviewed non-fiction books differs widely from arts in a broad sense (film, architecture, design, theatre, circus), pedagogy and philosophy, to history and politics, with a strong focus on the last domains, especially on Russia and on anti-militarism. Concerning the intentional dimension, the reviews usually contain no doubt. Typical is a long review by the wellknow Dutch historian Annie Romein-
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Verschoor on Kathrin Mayo's Mother India, according to her a sensational book full with facts and a clear message in the end: There is no doubt – this is clear from the whole loyal structure of the book that the final conclusion of the writer has not been her starting point. Obviously, her own thorough research into the very broad areas of public health, sanitary conditions, teaching, agriculture and livestock breeding brought her to the insight: only fools want independence for India, it would be irresponsible to give it to India.11
Though Romein-Verschoor has some doubts concerning the Englandbias of the American author, “brilliant in heart and mind” (i 10 1927: 372), the book makes clear to the Indians and also to the Javanese in the Dutch colony that the future maybe theirs, but that progress is still to be found in the camp of the other side (cf. i 10 1927: 372). If Romein-Verschoor with her pragmatic-reformatory view is on one side of the range of messages adhered to in i 10, on the other is the criticism of Bart de Ligt. There is nearly no review of his in which the notion “revolution” does not appear.12 Writing for example on Die sittliche Tat. Ein moralphilosophischer Versuch by Hans Driesch, he finishes with the following remarks: One can say a lot about this book: about the dualistic starting point of the writer, his ethical main notions, his practical intention. But not now: there is not enough space. Therefore I only wanted to direct the attention to the most important thing: it's revolutionary message.13
This kind of message seems to be absolutely in tune with the program of the journal, as quoted above – so it was De Ligt who got the honour to finish the journal with his reviews and with a last sentence, in which he explicitly regretted that the journal stopped (i 10 1929: 200). That i 10 offered at the same time room for – in a way – contradictory views like that of Annie Romein-Verschoor is of course an indication for the liberal policy of the editor. But what Romein-Verschoor and De Ligt share – and all the ideological positions in between theirs –, is the undisputed trust in the authorial intention. And there is no doubt too, that this intention can be found by the critic in the book, as the quotations above indicate. The same trust in the author as the intentional ruler over his book is shown by the many quotations from forewords in the reviews, very often in agreement with the views of the critic. A review of Art-
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hur Müller Lehning of B. de Ligts book Nieuwe Vormen van Oorlog en hoe die te bestrijden [New Forms of War and how to fight them] ends with the following passage: The whole book is – as the foreword informs us – a down-to-earth, nearly sober book “in which facts are confronted with empty phrases, and possibilities with impossibilities. It describes the international situation, shows where new wars might start and characterises means to prevent modern war. It appeals to the belief of the reader in humanity and - to his critical ability.”14
In this review the author gets the last word to characterise his own book. One can find a similar practice in many different reviews, from the first number with criticism, where Lehning refers to E.I. Gumbels foreword (cf. i 10 1927: 257), to the last number. There I.E. PrinsWillekes Macdonald (i 10 1929: 194) leaves no doubt about her agreement with what Lucy Wilson says in the foreword of her book The New Schools of New Russia. We should learn our lesson from Wilsons book, the reviewer states explicitly. Then comes the quote from the foreword: “We may not agree with any or many of Russia's social objectives, but we must acknowledge that her educational program is unusually significant. No educator can afford to ignore its existence”.15
Wherever renewal and revolution may happen – in the criticism of i 10 it obviously stops right in front of the intention of the author. A last argument for the point to be made here can be derived from the review of the Moholy-Nagys – apparently Lászlo (i 10 1927: 257f.) as well as Lucia (i 10 1927: 459, i 10 1929: 168) contributed criticism to i 10. In a formal sense, these reviews try to make an experimental impression in orthography and typography: they are written in German, but use no capitals at all. At the same time they do not fill up – like all the other reviews – the columns of the journal, but use text-blocks for each thought – mostly one sentence, sometimes two, with empty space around each block. But regarding the content, a difference towards other criticism is hard to see – and a difference does not exist in these formal experiments concerning the conception of the author as the ruler over the text and, vice versa, the belief in the possibility to tell about the author from the text. This continuity is expressed clearly in the review of dr. Kurt Mühsam Berufsführer für Film und Kino:
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the ideological and artistic side of film-production is seldom mentioned. one remark of the author in his chapter on the film-manuscript suggests, that this side of the problem belongs to a lesser extent to his capacities than the questions of the practical side of film.16
László Moholy-Nagy (i 10 1927: 257) also joins the practice to use a quote from the foreword to present a book – here the Czech anthology Fronta –, because it “characterises itself best” that way. Furthermore, the author-orientation of Moholy-Nagy's reviews can be seen when he writes on Karel Teige’s essay-book. In that review, he names the different titles of the earlier published essays and extensively praises the author: “teige is the czech apollinaire. vital, grasping new insights into connections, creating new connections, and furthermore one of the best-informed men in Europe”.17 Also in this praise of the individual Teige, Moholy-Nagy is in tune with the other reviews in i 10. It is striking to read how many individuals are hailed in the journal.18 It seems as if by this praising the journal tries to strengthen the ties with possible fellow-fighters or spiritual companions in the struggle for renewal. The same could be said from the reviews of personal documents – memoirs, letters and the like –, where for example Wera Figner is presented in two reviews by Arthur Müller Lehning as a symbol for heroism and as typical for the spirit and the acting of the revolutionaries in Russian socialism, before 1917 (i 10 1927: 412f.; i 10 1928: 136f.). Apart from that, already the fact that this traditional genre with a long history reaching back to Augustine and beyond is discussed in i 10, is an indication for the unproblematic way authorship and the intention of the author are dealt with in its criticism. So it comes as no surprise, that the critics derive also from the memoirs clear-cut messages. Arthur Müller Lehning writes on Angelica Balabanoff's Erinnerungen und Erlebnisse: On the basis of her own experiences she gives a devastating criticism on the demagogy and the corruption of the leaders of this International Communist Movement, which is in the hand of the Russian leaders.19
So, according to Lehning, Balabanoff's intention is to state the bankruptcy of Russian socialism – and he agrees with Balabanoff on that statement. In the same way Max Nettlau (i 10 1929: 199) stresses in
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his review of the letters of Gustav Landauer the rich thoughts in these letters, which make Landauer “the leading intellectual in German socialist anarchism, next to Max Stirner”. There is no doubt that these thoughts can be derived from the texts and that author and text form an intentional unity. This way of dealing with the ego-documents is perfectly in tune with what we have seen before in the reviews of the non-fictional texts. Do we have to adjust that image when it comes to fictional texts as for example novels or short stories?
2.2 Literature In the criticism on literary genres in a restricted sense, one can find seven novels and a French prose-anthology as well as a book with children-stories by Henri Poulaille. Seven of the literary reviews were written by Walter Benjamin, who actually also reviewed non-fiction books for i 10. In the first volume Benjamin paid attention to the children's-book and the anthology mentioned above, and then mostly to French novels by Philip Soupault, again Henri Poulaille, Martin Maurice and the Swiss Pierre Girard: In the second volume of i 10 Benjamin reviewed Julien Green’s Adrienne Mesurat.20 Besides, Hendrik Marsman wrote about John Dos Passos’ Manhattan Transfer and Arthur Müller Lehning about Upton Sinclairs novel Boston, in which Sinclair dealt with the case of Sacco and Vanzetti. All together, the choice of the texts looks quite arbitrary, maybe with a stress on the realist dimension of literature (Poulaille, Green, Sinclair, Dos Passos), less on the avantgarde (Soupault). As we have seen in the reviews of M. Revis, also in i 10 there is no systematic difference made whether the critic talks about the book or about its author. These two levels usually seem interchangeable. So Walter Benjamin on the one hand writes about Poulaille’s novel L'Enfantement de la paix, telling a post-Great-War-story, that “Poulaille has given us in his story a most devastating account of the fate of the ‘home-comers’, who have lost all rights and are powerless”. On the other hand, the same could have been said by Benjamin with using “the book” in place of “Poulaille”, as indicates the sentence “The book tells the things as they are” (cf. i 10 1927: 323). Furthermore, the reviews depart from the idea that the writer is in charge of everything that happens in his novel. Take the following passage from Marsman's review on Manhattan Transfer:
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Ralf Grüttemeier Here lies my only and important criticism: Manhattan Transfer destroys the people, nearly without exception all people. Maybe one will answer that it is not Dos Passos who does this, but New-York, and that the writer, even if New-York does not do it, is absolutely free to let New-York do it in his novel.21
Marsman does not contradict the idea of the author as the ruler over his text, let alone that he would doubt the possibility that the writer can rule his text. All he wants to say is that Dos Passos should have reinforced the little cathartic power of his book with “transforming formal imaginative force” (“transformerende vormkracht”, i 10 1929: 198). Just because the writer is ruling all the details and the whole of his text, Dos Passos should not have let the material side win: Dos Passos, in spite of his enormous creative capacities that let this world live with a power, an essential presence which is the strength of the real great writers, has not absolutely succeeded in reworking that human and material side of this world in a way that it – transformed into a work of art, an epos – can bring about the (lasting-)cathartic effect which is in the end the only essential norm for the value of each work of art.22
Apart from Marsman’s criticism, it is hard to tell in this quote whether it stresses the power of the writer, who can bring a textual world alive, or whether Marsman concludes from the fact that the literary world in the novel is so powerful and alive, that the text must have been written by a real great writer. But for the question dealt with in this article, the answer can remain open: in both cases, Marsman implies a homogeneous continuity between the author and his text. That Marsman does not agree with the materialistic message of Manhattan Transfer means for him, he does not agree with Dos Passos. For Marsman, the message derived from the text is what Dos Passos has intended – and the other way round. The unquestioned dominance of the author over his text gets an even sharper outline in the reviews of Walter Benjamin. In Benjamins criticism of Philippe Soupaults Coeur d'or he has no doubt that the story of the lonely hero longing for the beloved one is the story of the author himself. In one sentence, Benjamin blends both sides together: The man who has suffered what this book tells us, has been easily sliding down as an author the hill that he has climbed suffering as a lover. And the reader gets nothing.23
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Author and narrator/person are not distinguished conceptually – for Benjamin, we hear Soupault speaking about himself in his book, and when we read the book, we read about Soupault. This line holds even when it is extended beyond the author to his background. When talking about Pierre Girards fairy-tale-like story Connaissez mieux le coeur des femmes, Benjamin does not hesitate to bring the humour of the text in relationship with the Swiss national background of the author, like in 19th century literary history.24 Whereas the similar style of Robert Walser can be brought back to the character of the German speaking Swiss, which is complicated and rough (“das Verschachtelte, Spröde”), Girard has a Swiss-French background, showing “an emancipation of French gracefulness from romanic forms and conventions” (i 10 1927: 323). There is not a shade of doubt in these lines, that the national character is to be discovered via the author in the text. Whatever one may think about these ideas and about the representativity of these lines for Benjamins criticism and his ideas on literature – these lines do not claim a renewal concerning the concepts of authorship and intentionality.25 It fits into this image that Benjamin not only tells us many details about the biography of Julien Green - born American, a painter until the age of 23, who then wrote within five months his first novel (cf. i 10 1928:116) – but also quotes Greens extensively, for instance on his ideas on fiction and personal experience. After that Benjamin continues: This suits perfectly well with the strange impression that all works of the writer make. In spite of the exact details, of their drastic catastrophes they give you the feeling, this could, maybe this must have been written by somebody who has experienced nearly nothing, let alone this. [...] but only the purest, greatest works can evoke such an impression.26
The explaining words of the author are confirmed by Benjamins interpretation of the text – or, the other way round: what the text shows, is what the author explicitly has wanted to do. The authorial intention rules undisputedly in the reviews analysed here.
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3. Conclusions The analysis of the criticism of a leading figure of the Dutch Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, M. Revis, and of Arthur Müller Lehnings international journal i 10 has shown several things concerning the intentional dimension in this criticism. To start with, the type of intentionality at the basis of the reviews seems to be traditional. There were no indications that in the criticism analysed here anything else was ruling but the intention of the author. More specifically: the reviews show a conception of an intentional continuity and unity, wherein the question for the intention of the author, the intention to be derived from the text and the intention the critic discovers, are not seen as three questions but as one. The author is in charge of and responsible for every detail of his text, and from the text one can draw conclusions concerning the author. The extensive use of quotes from forewords in the reviews confirms this homogeneous view on author, text and intentionality. Compared to what the avant-garde has done in its manifestos and works of art, avant-garde criticism has not picked up this reflection on intentionality. In the reviews of the avant-garde, the authorial intention stands unshaken. Also the type of message in the criticism analysed here gives no clear indications for breaking away with traditional messages. This is definitely not the case with M. Revis, who favours efforts to show the hidden unity of man and universe, in this maybe closest to Marsman’s review on Dos Passos. The other reviews – whether on fiction or not – very often stress the importance of facts that are presented in the books. But the conclusions drawn from this are ideologically widespread – only some reviews push towards revolutionary messages, most prominently Bart de Ligt. It seems as if the renewal that i 10 wanted to be part of, did not touch upon the reviews – neither in the magazine itself, nor in the reviews of its heirs. An explanation for this is hard to give. Obviously the need for allies – potentially the authors of the book to be reviewed – and the need for clear positions weighs so strongly in these texts, that the authors stick to basic conventions of argumentation more than in their artistic works.27 However that may be, what the avant-garde seems to have done with intentionality in its manifestos and its works of art, it has not done in its criticism.
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Notes 1
“Zuerst soll man untersuchen und einsehen was denn eigentlich der Dichter sich vorgesetzt, sodann scharf beurtheilen, ob dieses Vornehmen auch vernünftig und zu billigen sey, um endlich zu entscheiden, ob er diesem Vorsatze denn auch wirklich nachgekommen?” (cit. Albrecht 2001: 110).
2
“En daar het duidelijk is, dat gedichten, als alles, zooveel waard zijn als zich zelven, en niet zóóveel als de bewegende oorzaak, die hen schiep, kan het niet anders of ons oordeel moet afhangen van die woorden en niet van het gevoel van den dichter toen hij schreef” (Kloos 1888: 173).
3
From 1936 onwards Revis incidentally paid attention to non-fictional books: L. Szekely: Van oerwoud tot plantage (Revis 1936: 821); Emil Ludwig: Der Nil, Lebenslauf eines Stromes (Revis 1937c: 875-879) and Upton Sinclairs Ford-biography (Revis 1939a: 109).
4
“Elke bladzijde levert voorbeelden van een zeldzaam vermogen tot evocatie, in een paar woorden toovert de schrijver ons het beeld van een groote badplaats voor oogen” (Revis 1933b: 1024).
5
“En ook een ander gebrek van den schrijver demonstreert zich dadelijk op overtuigende wijze, nl. als ironie bedoelde opmerkingen, die op zijn hoogst grappig, doch meestal ordinair zijn” (Revis 1934c: 1115).
6
“Ehrenburg's gedichten en feuilleton’s uit 1918 en 1919 waren trouwens ‘contrarevolutionair’; zijn sympathieën neigden toen naar de witten, niet naar de rooden” (Revis 1935b: 834).
7
“En toch moet de wereld der zintuiglijke waarneming ook door den kunstenaar niet alleen worden gezien, maar ook doorzien. Hij moet de verhoudingen tusschen geestelijke en stoffelijke wereld zoeken, hij moet tasten achter het beeld der uitwendigheden, hij moet raken tot in het hart der menschen en der dingen” (Revis 1933b: 1025).
8
“Het eigenlijke leven begint pas met dit wonderlijke evenwicht tusschen verwerpen en tegelijk aanvaarden (men kan het ook religie noemen, maar woorden doen verder niets ter zake bij iets dat niet te formuleeren is)” (Revis 1934c: 1117).
9
Except from the quotation from the editorial in the firster number of i 10, all English translations are from my hand. To reduce the amount of bibliographical lemmata, all the reviews are quoted under referring to i 10. So the scheme is: (i 10 1927: 2). The text around the reference should make clear who is the critic.
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“Maar wij zijn tenslotte overtuigd, dat alle ekonomische, technische, maatschappelijke en geestelijke verhoudingen en veranderingen gebonden zijn aan éénzelfde sociologische structuur al is deze in een chaotischen en revolutionnairen tijd als de onze in een voortdurende verschuiving en verandering en is het dwaasheid die voor de toekomst te willen omlijnen” (i 10 1928: 1f.). 11 “Er valt niet aan te twijfelen – dat is uit de heele loyale opzet van het boek duidelijk – dat de eindconclusie van de schrijfster niet haar uitgangspunt is geweest. Kennelijk zijn het haar nauwgezette onderzoekingen van heel het breede terrein der volksgezondheid, sanitaire voorzieningen, onderwijs, landbouw en veeteelt geweest, die haar tot het inzicht hebben gebracht: het zijn dwazen, die zelfbestuur voor Indië eischen, het zou onverantwoordelijk zijn het te geven” (i 10 1927: 371). 12
The revolutionary claim is attributed by Bart de Ligt (i 10 1929: 200) to the ethics of Albert Schweitzer but also to pedagogic theory (i 10 1927: 413); in the case of the book of Colin Ross on Africa, de Ligt misses the only true solution: “la solution révolutionnaire” (i 10 1927:414) and the school-director J.H. Bolt pays not enough attention to “les conceptions révolutionnaires” in pedagogy, according to de Ligt (i 10 1927: 414).
13
“Er is over dit boek veel te zeggen: over het dualistisch uitgangspunt van den schrijver, zijn zedelijke hoofdbegrippen, zijn practische bedoeling. Thans echter niet: ruimte ontbreekt. Daarom slechts aandacht gewekt voor het belangrijkste: zijn revolutionaire strekking” (i 10 1929: 200). 14
“Het geheel is – zooals het voorwoord bericht – een nuchter, bijna zakelijk boek ‘waarin feiten tegenover phrasen en mogelijkheden tegenover onmogelijkheden worden gesteld. Het beschrijft den internationalen toestand, kenschetst nieuwe oorlogsmogelijkheden en geeft middelen aan, om den modernen krijg te voorkomen. Het doet een beroep op de menschelijke gezindheid van den lezer en – op zijn critischen zin’” (i 10 1928: 67). 15
And in her review of Jessica Smiths Woman in Soviet Russia, published in the same series, she quotes the editor of the series on the Soviet Union who – “quite rightly” – states in his foreword: “No matter how good or how bad the Soviet-system, we should know all about it. Instead we have been ruled by propaganda and hearsay”. – these are the last words of the review of Prins-Willekes Macdonal (i 10 1929: 195).
16 “die weltanschauliche und künstlerische seite der filmproduktion wird kaum berührt. eine bemerkung des autors im kapitel über das filmmanuskript lässt vermuten, dass diese seite des problems von ihm weniger gut beherrscht wird als die fragen der film-praxis” (i 10 1927: 258). 17 “teige ist der tschechische apollinaire. vital, neue zusammenhänge erfassend, neue zusammenhänge schaffend, und dazu einer der best-informierten männer europas” (i 10 1927: 258).
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18
One could mention here the praise of Baty (i 10 1927:320) and Léautaud by Walter Benjamin (i 10 1927: 321), of Schneck by Oud (i 10 1928: 64), of Ter Braak by Lehning (i 10 1928: 136); of Rühle by “R.” (i 10 1928: 137) or of Driesch by de Ligt (i 10 1929: 200). All of them are praised for exceptional individual qualities. 19
“[...] op grond van haar eigen ervaringen geeft zij een vernietigende kritiek van de demagogie en de corruptie van de leiders van deze Internationale, die in de handen ligt der russische machthebbers” (i 10 1927: 412). 20 According to Peter Unger (cf. 1978: 174), Walter Benjamin has written about 170 reviews, of which about 30 are on French literature and literary theory. 21
“Hier ligt dan tevens mijn eene en groote bezwaar: 'Manhattan Transfer' vermorzelt de menschen, vrijwel zonder uitzondering àlle menschen. Men zal misschien zeggen dat niet Dos Passos dit doet, maar New-York, en dat de schrijver, al deed New-York het eens niet, volkomen vrij is, haar in zijn roman deze vermorzeling wèl te laten begaan” (i 10 1929: 197). 22 “Dos Passos is er, ondanks zijn enorme scheppende capaciteiten, die deze wereld laten leven met een vehementie, een wezenlijkheid en onmiddellijkheid die de kracht is der grooten, niet geheel in geslaagd haar menschelijke en stoffelijke materie zoo te verwerken, dat zij, tot kunstwerk, tot epos getransfigureerd de (duurzaam)-zuiverende werking teweegbrengt, die in laatste instantie het eenige wezenlijke criterium is voor de waarde van ieder kunstwerk” (i 10 1929: 198). 23
“Der Mann, der das gelitten hat, was dieses Buch erzählt, hat als Autor den Abhang, den er mühsam als Liebhaber hat erklimmen müssen, behaglich auf der andern Seite sich herunter rutschen lassen. Und der Leser geht leer aus” (i 10 1927: 322). 24
Nico Laan (1997: 96ff.) has shown that the ideas about the writer being the product of many things – family, soil, nation etc. – was widespread, especially in Germany, in the beginning of the 20th century and was not restricted to positivism at all. 25 When Peter Unger (cf. 1978: 191) comes to the conclusion that the critic Benjamin is aiming at “eine Kritik an der linearen, selbstmächtigen Auffassung vom Subjekt der Geschichte”, his thesis is based upon his focus on the notion of criticism (“Kritikbegriff”) that he is trying to reconstruct – the focus is not on the practical side, the reviews themselves. Furthermore, Ungers heavy theoretical bias combining Critical Theory and Derrida makes it difficult to distinguish between Ungers and Benjamins notion of criticism. However this may be, the result of Ungers research cannnot be confirmed by a close look at the reviews themselves: Benjamins reviews show the concept of a powerful author in control of his text. See also Braese 1998. 26 “Das stimmt durchaus zu dem seltsamen Eindruck, der allen Werken des Dichters eignet. Trotz ihrer präzisen Details, ihrer drastischen Katastrophe geben sie denn doch das Gefühl, es könne, ja vielleicht es müsse einer sie geschrieben haben, der fast
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nichts, geschweige denn solches erlebte. [...] aber nur die lautersten, gewaltigsten Werke können solchen Eindruck im Leser wecken” (i 10 1928: 116). 27
Maybe this has something to do with the fact that the world of criticism is in a sense smaller than the world of works of art. The reviews are part of the specific profile of a journal – they are controlled by editors and the publisher and the writers reviewed are always addressed directly, too. Maybe therefore criticism sticks closer to the rules of a face-to-face-communication. This suggestion would fit into the explanation that the splitting up of of the unity of intention (author, text and reader) in the course of the 19th century and the rise of the intentio operis after that has something to do with the literary field getting so extended, anonymous and heterogeneous that literature had to function without the reader knowing anything about the authorial intention (cf. Grüttemeier 1999). It seems that, in comparison, the field of criticism has a lesser extension, heterogeneity and anonymity.
Bibliography Albrecht, Wolfgang 2001 Literaturkritik. Stuttgart/ Weimar. Berg, Hubert van den / Ralf Grüttemeier (Hg.) 1998 Manifeste: Intentionalität. Amsterdam/Atlanta. Braese, Stephan 1998 “Auf der Spitze des Mastbaums. Walter Benjamin als Kritiker im Exil”. In: Claus-Dieter Krohn (Hg.): Exil und Avantgarden. München, 56-86. Dresden, S. 1980
Symbolisme. Amsterdam.
Fontijn, J./ I. Polak 1986 “Modernisme”. In: G. van Bork/ N. Laan (red.): Twee eeuwen literatuurgeschiedenis. Amsterdam, 182-207. Goedegebuure, Jaap 1992 Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Utrecht. Goes, F. van der 1888 “De kritiek van dr. J. te Winkel”. In: De nieuwe gids 3, 181-207. Grüttemeier, Ralf 1995 Hybride Welten. Aspekte der “Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” in der niederländischen Literatur. Stuttgart. 1999 Intentionalität als Kippfigur. Oldenburg.
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2003 “The Message of the Avant-Garde. On the Intentional Dimension of Cultural Repertoires”. In: Gillis J. Dorleijn/ Herman L.J. Vanstiphout (ed.): Cultural Repertoires. Structure, Function and Dynamics. Leuven/ Paris/ Dudley, MA, 161-178. i 10 1927-‘29 Internationale Revue i 10. Hoofdredactie Arthur Müller Lehning. Jaargang 1 (1927, nummers 1-12). Jaargang 2 (1928-1929, nummers 13-21/22). Amsterdam. Kloos, Willem 1888 “Literaire kroniek”. In: De nieuwe gids 3, 172-179. Laan, Nico 1997
Het belang van smaak. Twee eeuwen academische literatuurgeschiedenis. Amsterdam.
Perler, Dominik 2004 Theorien der Intentionalität im Mittelalter. 2. Auflage. Frankfurt/M. Revis, M. 1933a “Verstarde Satyre. Ilya Ehrenburg, Ons dagelijksch brood”. In: De Stem 13, 931-933. 1933b “Woordplastiek 1933. F. Bordewijk, Knorrende beesten”. In: De Stem 13, 1024-1025. 1934a “Tragedie der alledaagschheid. Willem Elsschot, Kaas”. In: De Stem 14, 92-94. 1934b “Talent en tendenz in conflict. Jef Last, Partij Remise”. In: De Stem 14, 407-410. 1934c “Radio-rhapsodie. Maurits Dekker, De menschen meenen het goed met de menschen”. In: De Stem 14, 1115-1117. 1935a “Ongeneeslijke levensliefde. Willem Elsschot, Een ontgoocheling en Tsjip”. In: De Stem 15, 202-204. 1935b “Russische onderwerping van den enkeling. Ilya Ehrenburg, De tweede scheppingsdag”. In: De Stem 15, 831-834. 1936 “L. Szekely, Van Oerwoud tot plantage. A.J.D. van Oosten, Rutschbaan en Slagen op de ruit”. In: De Stem 16, 821-822. 1937a “Stilstand in Roth's oeuvre. Joseph Roth, Beichte eines Mörders, erzählt in einer Nacht”. In: De Stem 17, 105-106. 1937b “Jan Veldman, De verlossende vlucht”. In: De Stem 17, 325-326. 1937c “Het leven van een rivier. Emil Ludwig, Der Nil, Lebenslauf eines Stromes”. In: De Stem 17, 875-879. 1939a “L'auto c'est moi! Upton Sinclair, “Het gezond verstand ben ik”. De geschiedenis van Ford, autokoning, idealist en werkgever”. In: De Stem 19, 109. 1939b “J. Henk Hoornweg, Warenhuis”. In: De Stem 19, 439.
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1939c “De eerste winnaar van den vredes-nobelprijs. Martin Gumpert, Dunant. De roman van het Roode Kruis”. In: De Stem 19, 939-942. Unger, Peter 1978
Walter Benjamin als Rezensent. Die Reflexion eines Intellektuellen auf die zeitgeschichtliche Situation. Frankfurt am Main etc.
Resistance to the Avant-Garde Criticism of the Avant-Garde in Dutch Literary Periodicals Wiljan van den Akker and Gillis Dorleijn Although the historical avant-garde in the Netherlands was in step with that in other countries, it was a rather marginal phenomenon. There is a thorough awareness of developments in the avant-garde abroad, but it is generally regarded with lack of interest, disdain or even derision. This contribution offers an explanation for that resistance, analyzing the reception of the avant-garde in Dutch periodicals from different parts of the literary field: the liberal, Protestant, Roman Catholic, socialist circles, and the quarter of the younger neutral authors of the ’20s. The avant-garde was kept at arm’s length for what could be called negative, conservative motives, the influential poet and critic Martinus Nijhoff could be called progressive for the way in which he cut off the march of the avant-garde, propagating a. neoclassical modernism that was much more up-todate, when the avant-garde was already losing its lustre.
1. Rejection O du, Geliebte meiner siebenundzwanzig Sinne, ich liebe Dir! – Du Deiner Dich Dir, Du mir. – Wir? Das gehört (beiläufig) nicht hierher. Wer bist Du, ungezählter [sic] Frauenzimmer? Du bist – bist Du? – Die Leute sagen Du wärest. – Lasz Sie sagen, sie wissen nicht, wie der Kirchturm steht. Du trägst den Hut auf Deinen Füszen und wanderst Auf die Händen, auf den Händen wanderst Du. Hallo, Deine roten kleider, [sic] in weisze Falten zersägt. Rot liebe ich, Anna Blume, rot liebe ich Dir! – Du Deiner Dich Dir, Du mir. – Wir? Das gehört (beiläufig) in die kalte Glut.
These lines are quoted by the anonymous editor of the Roman Catholic review Boekenschouw that wanted to show that the Dadaists are entirely depraved (Anonymous 1920/1921: 94). It is 1920. The Dada campaign is not yet underway in the Netherlands, but this Jesuit critic is wise to the ways of the world, but also to its aberrations. His reaction is characteristic for the attitude taken in the Dutch periodical press at the time. There is a thorough awareness of developments in the avant-
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garde abroad, but it is generally regarded with disdain or even derision. As early as September 1909, Greshoff expresses his ironic excitement about futurism: “Oh , the exaggerations of the iconoclast Mr F.T. Marinetti are wonderful, magnificent, grotesque! [We hear him] breathlessly gasping the strangest imprecations [...]: ‘une automobile rugissante, qui a l’air de courir sur de la mitraille est plus belle que la Victoire de Samotrace....!’”. And there are numberless other critics to be quoted, all rejecting the new as bizarre (see also J.H.A. Fontijn and I. Polak 1986: 182-207). Resistance against the avant-garde is the attitude most generally taken. In this contribution we wish to offer an explanation for that resistance, without falling back on vague generalizations, such as the following: New developments only reached the Netherlands fifty years later, only with the Fifties Movement did the Netherlands start to play a part in the avant-garde. For the Netherlands were not later at all, as we now know. There is general agreement among literary historians that the historic avant-garde in the Netherlands was in step with that in other countries (The Style group, including Theo van Doesburg and Piet Mondriaan), but it was, at least compared to the situation in France or Germany, a particularly marginal phenomenon. The literary field in the Netherlands was not uniform, however. For the period starting in 1900, various well-defined circles of critics, periodicals and authors can be distinguished. Prominent among them was the so-called neutral circle, which was, however, subdivided into several sub-circles. In addition, there were the circles which resulted from denominational divisions in society: Protestant Christians and Roman Catholics.1 There was even a socialist circle, although its development was not very strong. It is interesting to see how representatives of these circles responded to the avant-garde. Their reactions can be found in some of the periodicals that were representative of the various circles.
2. The Neutral Circle One of the most authoritative magazines from the neutral circle was De Gids.2 This venerable periodical, which at the time was still struggling against the conservative odium of having failed to recognise the importance of the new generation of the 1880s, the Eighties Movement, an-
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nounced its own rejuvenation in 1916. Emphatically, young writers were encouraged to contribute. It turned out to be only lip service to innovation, for younger writers like Herman van den Bergh, Ernst Groenevelt and C.J. Kelk – all of them young writers united in the small, progressive magazine Het Getij – were rejected, as was Van Doesburg’s story ‘De zwarte vlek’. Even the young Martinus Nijhoff, certainly not an avant-gardist, initially hardly met an enthusiastic reception. De Gids, then, remained mainly conservative. In 1919 this appeared to be changing. The editors appointed the coming man of Dutch poetry, A. Roland Holst, then in his early thirties, as coeditor for poetry. He promoted the work of other members of his generation, all a bit older than the real innovators, and that of Nijhoff, which was not entirely to the liking of the other editors. Only with the young Marsman did Roland Holst really get his way, and only after a major struggle. He stimulated the young poet and critic to write on German literature and some of these pieces were then accepted, albeit grumblingly. In 1922, when Marsman submitted his Stramm-like poems (later known by the title ‘Seinen’), a major storm blew up among the editors. Huizinga wrote, “this poetry is a desecration [...] of the holy miracle of language” and “a betrayal of poetry itself”. “Anyone can produce this, it is really nothing, nothing, nothing”. “Please let’s have the courage to be old-fashioned, and arrogantly ignore this type of work”. Eventually, against the prevailing current, Roland Holst succeeded in getting two of the four poems included. Very soon afterwards, however, Marsman offered his products to a fresh magazine, De Vrije Bladen. Where Roland Holst was prepared to lend a hand to Marsman, he baulked at the real avant-gardists. In 1920, Piet Mondriaan submitted “Klein restaurant – palmzondag” with the reassuring words, “It’s not as Dada as all that, you will see!”. It was rejected nonetheless, as was the work of other moderns. That epitomises the attitude of an important magazine from the neutral circle: roundly antimodern, and only when an editor (himself anything but avant-garde) made an effort, innovations were grudgingly admitted. But not too many. It was quite remarkable that Marsman, who was certainly part of the international avant-garde in the early 1920s, was acceptable to Roland Holst. But then Marsman, in the mid-1920s, showed a growing ambivalence with regard to modernity. In another leading magazine from the neutral circle, Groot Nederland, he reviewed a collection by a
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young poet (Johan Theunisz) who, according to him, was a hanger-on of the avant-garde, and so behind the times. Marsman distanced himself from the modern aspects of his work and appreciated its more traditional characteristics: “For I regard not the modern, but the traditional elements in his work to be its essence, and I have great hopes (and some trust), that the latter will prevail in time. [...] Johan Theunisz is acting, for the time being, mistakenly, modern: the new elements have done him grave damage!” (H.M. 1923: 766). In his critique, moreover, he does show thorough knowledge of the artistic vanguard in an aside on the ‘modern’ poet Hendrik de Vries (who is compared to Theunisz), which is larded with all sorts of avant-garde classifications, in reaction to other critics and dropping the term cubist, with the aim of profiling himself in relation to Dada: “Vlamrood [a collection by De Vries] was fully modern: the perceptions were called impressionist, sensitivist, but that is incorrect; though partly understandable: it is due to the sparking, lightning flashes of movement: In vain, of course, it wanted to be ‘futuristic’, ‘simultaneistic’: to catch simultaneously within time(!), but it did suggest this. The builder of these verses, however, measured and calculated, is more ‘cubistic’ (forgive the -isms)!” (H.M. 1923: 765). We will have reason to return to Marsman’s ambivalence. In spite of Marsman’s contributions to Groot Nederland, the periodical cannot be accused of showing great interest in the avantgarde during the 1920s. The collection Bezette stad by the Flemish avant-gardist Paul van Ostaijen was reviewed by the editor Frans Coenen, but this figure, too, remained uncommitted, as the representative of an older generation that he was. What is remarkable is that he did perceive the innovative fervour of this ‘Dada’ poetry, while at the same time reducing innovation in Netherlands culture as defined by the Eighties Movement – the group of authors who, in the 1880s, put paid to the rhetorical poetry of clerics and introduced an autonomous artistic status. “You get the overriding impression that all this is original, never seen before, unknown, from spiritual spheres entirely different from our own”. “But then, upon consideration with as little prejudice as possible for what then evidently are the ‘stories’, intimations of a world of sense and thought appear, not really all that far removed from one's own”. And that is what is typical of what was established by the Eighties Movement: “For immediately, the similarities to the impressionism of the writers of the 1880s is striking, so that a similar phenomenon
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immediately springs to mind, the regeneration of a purely sensual life, renewed vitality, ignoring all reflection for the moment”. But eventually, the similarity is only apparent, for 1880 showed real vitality, and the avant-garde is essentially fatigued going down the road of nihilism that leads nowhere: But Dada is not a splendid rebirth [of Eighty]. It is more like the drying up of all life, like the heavy apathy of French romanticism after the Napoleonic Wars. Now again, many young people have grown tired and weak with the restless, aimless, madding crowd, with its phrases and delusions, with its secret egotism and its vanity... with all things human, really, that is always grubbing, never progressing, never growing wiser, milder, better, and in spite of best intentions, is blindly lost in daily mires. (Coenen 1921: 535-543)
3. The Roman Catholic and the Protestant Christian Circles The denominational magazines similarly showed very little initial interest in the avant-garde. Futurism was duly acknowledged and found strange. “It will make us lose our minds entirely, and very shortly”, according to the Catholic Van Onze Tijd in 1912 (Anonymous 1911/1912: 351), and the Protestant Ons Tijdschrift shows derisive sympathy with the modern critic who is obliged to embrace the new: “A progressive connoisseur of art must be able to foresee tomorrow’s art, must be forward-looking [...] Regrettably, however, there is nothing to see here [...]”. But after an entire line of dots expressing the transportation of the modern critic, this fire and brimstone Protestant exhorts his readers to show some backbone: “How wonderful it is: to dare, to be able to say ‘no! no!’ to the fashion of the time! Moral fashion. Material fashion. Artistic fashion” (Anonymous 1912: 763). Here we find, then, the antithetic attitude habitually taken by Protestants with regard to those of other persuasions.3 Yet the word modern has a high frequency in magazines like the Protestant Ons Tijdschrift and the Roman Catholic De Katholiek. It usually refers, however, not to avant-garde or modernist movements, but to the Eighties Movement. The Eighties were modern, well into the 1910s. The religious movements had put up quite a fight against this set of values, of which especially the drive towards autonomy ran counter the aims of the religious groups, and they struggled to find a
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form for assimilating the new values (See Van den Akker and Dorleijn 2000: 1-14). Around 1918, this process of assimilation had more or less run its course and attitudes were more outward looking, but generally the new, ‘real’ avant-garde was still kept at arm's length. The Protestants only showed an interest in the weaker forms of avant-garde expression, which took an ethical-metaphysical turn. The issue then, however, was more that of modern life experience and feeling of division, of conflict and hesitant seeking of values in chaotic modern times, instead of the radical stakes that the historic avant-garde played for. In the 1920s, changes became apparent in Catholic circles. A new generation arose in periodicals like Roeping (from 1922) and a little later (from 1925), in De Gemeenschap. This generation was highly charmed by things modern. They published poems with avantgarde features, for instance by Henri Bruning, Albert Kuyle and the self-renewing elder Catholic Flemish poet Karel van den Oever. Discussions regularly referred to the avant-garde, both national (Van Doesburg) and international, the latter especially in De Gemeenschap. Part of the avant-garde was not really absorbed. You were most modern when reacting to older Catholics. There were a few short contributions attacking the conservatism of Boekenschouw and De Beiaard, conveying the implicit message: We younger Catholics are certainly modern! Thus, in Boekenschouw modern architecture was ridiculed with a derisive reference to avant-garde movements. De Gemeenschap responded immediately and in its turn ridiculed father Gielen and his magazine, asking for the disclosure of the name of the anonymous author: “we will send it to Kurt Schwitters, who will make another Merzbild and turn it into something very picturesque” (Anonymous 1925: 300. The young Catholics wanted to keep an open mind with regard to the modern, hectic times. That also required awareness of the latest artistic developments. Moller was much in favour of things modern and advocated a “modern Catholic art”, by which he meant “Catholic art of this new era” (Moller 1923/1924: 262). He sympathetically discussed a volume by Karel van den Oever, characterised by expressionism, whom he appreciates from being “a true artist of our days” (Moller 1922/1923: 70). Still, the Catholic point of view prevailed with Moller, Van den Oever and other writers from this circle. Van den Oever rejected
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the more radical avant-garde of non-Catholic poets like Victor J. Brunclair and Paul van Ostaijen, favouring writers like Wies Moens and Marnix Gijsen who successfully combined their modernity with ‘conservation of the Christian-ethical norm’ (Van den Oever 1925/1926: 131). It goes without saying that Van den Oever had to reject Dada on the grounds of its nihilism, which was incompatible with Catholic ethics. For the same reason, the immediate catholic competitors in modernism, the Bruning brothers, were equally rejected by Van den Oever, because, for instance, they “attempt to render the obsolete French ‘isms’ of Dada into Dutch, producing nothing but rhetoric” (142). Here was an elegant argument for rejecting the new: it was old-fashioned! The Bruning brothers, who made up the Dutch trio of Dadaists together with Marsman, because they were level-headed Dutchmen, according to Van den Oever, did not dare to take their Dada very far. But that was only another reason for their failure: they are not even really Dada! “It was especially their Dada [which] appears so fake [...] because it conflicts with their own level headedness” (144). The conclusion was clear: for the artist, God again “had to become the prism that refracted the light of modern life” (Van den Oever 1923/1924: 211). For the same reason, in spite of all his innovative drive, Dada was a bridge too far for Moller. Modern artists who trusted their own inner life were going down the wrong road, for that life was weak because it was not led by “an essentially divine life”. And that was what produced the follies of Dada, of which Theo van Doesburg said that it was “a ladder without rungs, a three-legged cock” (Van den Oever 1923/1924: 211). To Gerard Knuvelder, all the interest which fellow-Catholics of his generation showed for the avant-garde, rested on nothing less than the misconception “that material phenomena from so-called modern life were an essential part of creating modern art”. In that way the focus was only on non-essential externals, whereas the essence was of course in ‘poetic inspiration’, and then modern or not modern was no longer an issue: “So let us not say: our era requires art in contemporary form. Both the modern and the un-modern can be effective, as long as the voice of a real poet can be heard. Or, more radically: Anti-modern = ultra-modern. For his words are determined and blessed by God himself” (Knuvelder 1925/1926: 42-43). De Gemeenschap was in fact more open to modern tendencies than Roeping, showed more signs of awareness of the changing, modern aspects of the times and had its own faster, more vital heartbeat,
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unequivocally focused on modern art, music, architecture, including the avant-garde, but did not underwrite the radical conclusions of the last mentioned: under the flag of the ideas of Jacques Maritain, whose thomist reasoning dulled the sharp edges of modern art in order to assimilate it to the Catholic world, De Gemeenschap succeeded in making the avant-garde harmless (see also Ruiter and Smulders 1996: 227243).
4. The Socialists And then there were Socialists. Or rather, they were hardly there at all. For certainly compared to that of the Protestants and the Roman Catholics, the socialist literary circle was hardly worth mentioning. There were a few well-known older socialist writers, whose importance was also acknowledged outside their own circle, such as Herman Gorter, Henriette Roland Holst and C.S. Adama van Scheltema. In addition, there were regular literary contributions to De Nieuwe Tijd. But the literary ambitions of this publication were limited. Really successful literary journals with socialist leanings by the younger generation were also lacking. Yet there are a few statements on avant-garde movements to be found. The radical nature of the avant-garde was not regarded as welcome support in the socialist struggle against bourgeois society. On the contrary, the avant-garde was regarded as individual excess in a bourgeois society, which was fast disintegrating after the First World War. Van Doesburg’s volume Drie voordrachten over de Nieuwe beeldende Kunst [Three lectures on the new fine arts] was reviewed in De Nieuwe Tijd by Richard Roland Holst, somewhat ironically. He regarded Van Doesburg as an “extremist”, but he did admit some charm to this extremism: “The same kind of attraction produced by the crystal clear eyes of the persuasive teetotaller, or which we feel when listening to the passionate arguments of militant advocates of common land possession [...]. They are so pathetically in earnest, and aren’t they responding to the disgusting excesses produced by the culture of bourgeois society itself?” (Roland Holst 1920: 23). Behind the irony, there is a palpable distaste for De Stijl. For the purification of forms advocated by this group, was extremely sus-
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pect from a Marxist point of view. The “anti-Tendenz” nature of Van Doesburg’s ideas was in fact most clearly bourgeois and an expression of “the typical bourgeois perversion against any movement in art” (Roland Holst 1920: 25). The avant-garde itself, furthermore, was a discreditable bourgeois excess. The reader gets the impression that Roland Holst rejected Van Doesburg and De Stijl precisely because of its revolutionary zest and the innovative drive in all artistic fields. Communal art, then, was the domain of the artist R.N. Roland Holst and his circle. Members of a younger generation with related, but more radical ideas, were not embraced as allies, but rejected as competitors. Roland Holst’s aversion to Van Doesburg evidently had an artistic-political foundation (see also Tibbe 2000: 167-212). But socialism and the avant-garde were not always incompatible in the Netherlands. In 1918, the young artists Toon Verhoef (a pseudonym for Karel Luberti), published a couple of cubist sketches in prose accompanied by a short essay, “Het kubisme in de litteratuur”.4 According to Verhoef, cubism was a general, synthetic art movement of the future (as such cubism “was futurism, a matter for the future”), which went beyond “the Italian whistlers, woodwinds, grunters”. Like so many avant-gardists, Verhoef took an antithetic stance, also with regard to other avant-garde movements: cubism was superior and made them superfluous, just like it included everything that had preceded it. “In cubism, all ‘movements’ were presumed but also subsumed. Realism, mysticism, impressionism, expressionism, eventually all of them find a point of contact with all the others” (Verhoef. 1918/1919). But cubism can only reach full realisation in a socialist society. That is why artists had to be socialists. For A.M. de Jong, editor of the Nieuwe Stem, Verhoef’s socialist cubism was far too utopian. He did accept his contributions, but would always accompany them with his own critical remarks. His response may be regarded as typical for the anti-avant-garde attitude we have found elsewhere. Just like R.N. Roland Holst, De Jong claimed that cubism was too elitist, because it did not produce generally accessible art, and did certainly not appeal to the man in the street (De Jong 1918/1919: 112-114). The dialogue was continued in the socialist daily Het Volk and subsequently in De Socialistische Gids. This monthly offered Verhoef ample opportunity for airing his views on modern art (Verhoef 1922).
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But the editors did anticipate some opposition to these ideas, for the first piece was accompanied by a note in which they made reservations: “The inclusion of this series of articles does not imply the agreement with the views therein expressed” (Verhoef 1922: 584). The socialists, then, were amenable to a degree of artistic innovation, in the main they rejected the avant-garde. Eventually, the socialists showed the by now familiar response of rejection concerning the radical ideas and forms of expression of the avant-garde. They simply had too little ideological affinity with the movement. Ideological arguments were used to support their rejection: the avant-garde was too individualistic, and therefore an expression of the decadence of the bourgeois artistic order, and moreover it was not accessible to the man in the street. When in the early twenties it became clear that, for instance, the Italian futuristic movement had almost completely “melted into fascism”, that was understandably not a recommendation in socialist circles (Proost 1925: 72).
5. De Stem The periodical De Stem, which started publication in 1921, was founded on a humanist, non-denominational religious ethic for all persuasions. The magazine expressed the desire to include all authentic expressions of modern man, and was showing an ambition to bring innovation and to represent the new. Initially, De Stem lived up to this ambition: Nijhoff, Marsman, Houwink, Ter Braak en modern Flemish poets like Wies Moens, Victor J. Brunclair and Marnix Gijsen contributed, and in the beginning there was an extensive debate on (Flemish) modern poetry (see Buelens 2001). On the other hand, De Stem was certainly not unconditionally in favour of the modern. The moment that modern contributions were lacking in ethical foundation, and lapsed into radical and disengaged, inhuman games, the magazine drew the line (See Coster 1921: 2-6). That severely limited the opportunities of the radical avantgarde, and certainly the Dada variants with their destruction of values. – It is not surprising, then, that contributors repeatedly rejected the other, surrealism and Van Doesburg cum suis, both explicitly and implicitly. The line taken was much closer to the equally modern, but much less radical German ethical expressionism with its Menschheits-
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und Allgefühl (and so closer to the position of the group around Roeping). This was also apparent from an influential anthology by Coster, Nieuwe Geluiden [New Sounds] (1924), and part of the introduction was prepublished in De Stem. Coster tried to subsume modern young writers under an ethical formula, marginalising the radicalunethical, such as Van Ostaijen in Bezette stad (Van Doesburg/Bonset were not even mentioned, and certainly not included) (Coster ed. 1924). In many cases, anti-avant-garde noises were made by Flemish poets like Moens and especially Urbain van de Voorde.5 That was understandable, because the radical avant-garde was much more visible in Flanders than in the Netherlands (and meant tough competition for the above-mentioned writers). With regard to Dutch production, the critics from De Stem were often restricted to “fake-dadaists”, often from a Roman Catholic background, such as for instance the collection Grote Ogen by a certain Jean de Voort. The following is a sample of his texts, with comments by the critic Johan Theunisz: These verses pretend to modernism, but the only manifestation is the lack of all punctuation and other externals, as follows: Mijn God Vult Gij mijn tank met durende benzine van Uw kracht en olie Uwer wijsheid [My God please fill my tank with lasting petrol of your power and oil of your wisdom]
and this: Gij zijt de goal mijn God naar Wie ’k mijn leven schop! [You are the goal my God at which I kick my life] These lines are nothing but garbled stammerings. You think Dada? They are not. Nachklänge of the Eighties Movement, der Sturm, and the modern Flemish poets. (Theunisz 1925: 235)
The modern Flemish writers were given ample opportunity in De Stem to defend themselves against the avant-gardists in Flanders, the Nether-
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lands and elsewhere, which is a certain indication of the editors’ outlook. But the magazine also had a clear position with regard to the less radical fighters from the northern Netherlands who had in the meantime developed anti-ethical and anti-Stem positions. The younger writers indicated by Coster possibly included Marsman, who had indeed made anti-Stem noises in the venerable periodical De Gids (H.M. [= H. Marsman] 1922: 518-520), but it was mainly the young writers in Het Getij, their direct competitor in the market for the modern, at which they aimed their ridicule. This was all the more remarkable, since they had generally taken a positive approach to Coster, and the literary views of several Getij writers, among whom the editor Groenevelt himself, were clearly ethical. Some of the younger Getij writers, then, were not as far removed from the ethical principles of Coster’s magazine as they were then prepared to acknowledge. But the literary political situation made them distance themselves.
6. The Younger Generation But what was the attitude towards the avant-garde taken by Het Getij itself? Half-hearted.6 For the limited period of 1917-1923 – before and after there is no relevant material – favouring the modern was in the first place the active participation of Theo van Doesburg: especially his discussions on avant-garde fine art and literature were of importance. Beside Van Doesburg’s (and Bonset’s) contributions to De Stijl, their writings, especially ‘Nieuwe woord-beelding’ (in two parts) and ‘Revue der Avant-garde’ (in four parts), meant a substantial avant-garde boost. In addition, letters from Flanders by Jos. Léonard deserve mention, which could give the Dutch readers the impression that developments in Belgium were much more exciting than in their own country. The same letters elevated Paul van Ostaijen to a leading modern, held up for admiration. Van Ostaijen himself also made one contribution to Het Getij in the form of a very long and theoretical letter to the editor, in which he wished to rectify a misunderstanding by Léonard with regard to Bezette stad (Van Ostayen 1922: 85-91). Under the heading “Anthology of modernisms (and archaisms)”, running for several years and signed “a dilettante”, there was a quotation from Picabia, “We Dadas, made out to be madmen, windbags and play actors” had turned
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out to be “the great success”, and with reference to Het Getij: “That is also our great success. We are Getij people, windbags, movers” (Anonymous 1921a: 136). Roel Houwink reviewed the Calligrammes by Apollinaire, Blaise Cendrar’s Du monde entier and quite a number of modern Germans, in short, all symptoms of the avant-garde (Houwink 1922a: 55-58 and Houwink 1922b: 59-62). The same Houwink, however, also complained that “Our younger generation” were still in the dark with regard to Modernism. “Original stylistic features are to be found in very few of their works” (Houwink 1920: 416). The younger generation indeed appeared to want innovation, but they shied away from any radical steps. Martin Permys, one of the young writers in Het Getij, in his review of Du monde entier by the dadaist Blaise Cendrars, even showed that he did not really appreciate the avant-garde. “We only mention this book as a lamentable example of a pitiable psychopathology”, he wrote among other things (Permys 1920: 166). When we look at key figures with Het Getij, like Van Wessem, Herman van den Bergh and Groenevelt, the most we see is a hesitant modernism, not oriented on the radical avant-garde, however. Van den Bergh did launch an appeal to leave the conventions of the Eighties Movement, but at the same time he clearly realised that the writers of Eighty had laid the foundations for modern literature. The same volume in which Van Doesburg reviewed the avant-garde opened with an editorial which concluded that “it is better to join forces and improve the existing, than to disappear with the new” (Redactie 1921: 1). And the most important young poet to come forward through Het Getij was not in the least led by Paris or Berlin, but published “Een avond van Tristan Corbière” and notes on Jules Laforgue (Slauerhoff 1921: 85-86, and 1922: 52-55). There can be no other conclusion than that Het Getij was not an avant-garde periodical. That also appeared from results of a survey held by the editors among contributors and readers. They were asked the familiar question to name six books which they would take to a desert island (Anonymous 1921b: 121). Slauerhoff chose Bâgavad Gîtah, Rilke, Poe, Corbière, Leopold or A. Roland Holst, and a “boring book by Beets or Perk, or Van der Palm”, not exactly a modern selection. And the same was true of nearly all of the 51 entries. The top 10 consisted of: the Bible, Goethe, Cervantes, Dante, Homer, Shakespeare, Eckhart. The avant-garde was hardly mentioned. There was one instance of Apollinaire, Jarry and Cendrars (the reader wanting to take
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these avant-garde writers also put Van Deyssel, one of the members of the Eighties, in his bags) (Anonymous: 1922:1-8). That leaves us with Van Doesburg. But his contributions to Het Getij can also do with some annotations. He was more a trend follower than a trendsetter and was mainly concerned with promoting his own domain. A fellow avant-gardist like Van Ostaijen was not embraced by him as an ally, to make a common front, on the contrary, he regarded him as a competitor. According to Van Doesburg, the Flemish writers were too subjective anyhow, for behind a Dada form they hid their impressionist attitudes (by far the most serious possible insult in these circles). They were superficial imitators. “A similar spirit of imitation pervades Bezette Stad by Paul van Ostayen” (Van Doesburg 1921: 29. See also Entrop 1986: 31-39, 64). A key figure among the young writers was Marsman, who was continually determining his strategic position within the modernistavant-garde discourse, usually by adopting a superior and at the same time ambivalent attitude. Thus, he appeared to start a debate with Bonset when he called Van Ostaijen, in typifying his Bezette Stad, a futurist with Dada leanings. So not the superficial imitator at all, but a member of the avant-garde who had not yet drawn the conclusions that Marsman himself had: that modernism could be taken one step further, to neo-cubism. And subsequently he could use this measure to characterise Bonset as old-fashioned, as a writer still too much attached to Dada. Marsman deserves more discussion, although it is impossible within the confines of this article to do even a measure of justice to his ideas and his importance for the avant-garde debate in the Netherlands. For present purposes, attention will be drawn to a few of his contributions to Den Gulden Winkel, the magazine that gave room to all movements and persuasions without taking an explicit stand. One of Marsman’s key publications was his review of Van Ostaijen’s Bezette Stad, which he published in Den Gulden Winkel in 1920. It is also due to Marsman that in the general picture of Dutch literary development the idea has taken root that in this country nothing much in the way of avant-garde, or certainly very little, ever took place. For instance, he pronounced it “a scandal that in our frog country, where except for Bonset and the odd expressionist, nothing new is happening on the literary front”. In contrast to Belgium, where they had Van Ostaijen and
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where they, “dance, I think, the latest Western European dance” (Marsman 1921b: 87). Marsman showed himself to be a real advocate and especially a connoisseur of all things modern and avant-garde. He generously scattered all the known isms and labelled all poets with sometimes strange combinations like Futurist-Dada, and placed the modern movements in a broad perspective. Thus, for instance, he regarded Dada as the cultural parallel of scientific relativism, hoping to prove that any claim to eternal value in art was based on an illusion. “Sometimes you’ll have subtler sensations when savouring a cigarette, than when contemplating ‘immortal’ cathedrals” (Marsman 1921b: 86). How backward the Netherlands really were, according to Marsman, appears from the remark that expressionism was already on the wane, even before it had reached this country: “Although these things have not really penetrated to this country (least of all in literature) those belonging to the avant-garde are of the opinion that all expressionism is already from the day before yesterday” (Marsman 1921a: 3). No wonder that the younger generation who wished to break with tradition and who regarded embracing the modern as an opportunity to distinguish themselves as new and different, soon regarded Marsman as their leader. But when you read his essays and reviews carefully, it is at the same time clear how ambivalent Marsman’s position really was. The sentence following the remark on expressionism as a movement past its peak, quoted above, runs: “Indeed, it is no longer perfectly ‘modern’: Being an artist is never a question of being far (or hardly) advanced in what was then called: modernity, but due to completely different graces” (Marsman 1921a: 3). After Marsman had typified Van Ostaijen with the aid of modern labels like futurism, Dada, expressionism, simultaneism, nihilism, cubism and neo-cubism, showing that he was very knowledgeable regarding all the fine distinctions, he made clear that as a connoisseur of the modern he was able to rise above all this and preferred reading Stefan George: “For the time being, however, I prefer reading George, among others, with whose world I am more familiar, and whose artistry, even though I myself am differently oriented, I appreciate most of all present writers. But one should realise, I think, that art can come into being in thousands of ways, and that even the most modern among the modern, when they are able to give form to what is ‘life’ to them, deserve the name of poet, fully” (Marsman 1921b: 89).
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Marsman here laid the basis for what in Dutch debate would grow into one of the most important issues: Anyone wishing to achieve the ultra or super modern through the modern, was part of the tradition and automatically went back to the past, and so even to a negation of the meaning of the concept of “modern”. As Greshoff put it a few years later: “There are no modern poems and there are no modern writers. There are poets living in these times; and they sometimes use motifs which their predecessors did not have at their disposal, such as cars, planes or the T.S.F. But who would be so foolish as to attribute essential poetic characteristics to these objects? As a poetic motif, there is no difference between a locomotive and a forget-me-not” (J. Gr. [J. Greshoff] 1928: 95).
7. Neoclassicism “Sounds or delusions?”, was the opening of a series of articles on Bonset by C.J. Kelk, and with that the tone was set. Kelk acknowledged that Dutch poetry failed to sufficiently express its own times and that in Bonset’s work “the echoes of the 20th century are better audible”. But he went on to wonder whether poetry needed to be as topical as all that. It was the conventional form, which could express essence, provided light-footed imagination was applied, which was sought in vain in the sound images (Kelk 1921: 77). Kelk’s response is interesting because it apparently echoed a new trend beyond the avant-garde, socalled neoclassicism. Especially in Paris in the early twenties, many people had grown tired of the avant-garde. Picasso left cubism behind and returned to figurative painting, his so-called retour à Ingres. (Later on, during the ’30s, he became connected with the surrealist movement and became politically engaged, in reaction to the brutality of fascist aggression in the Spanish Civil War.) Among other things he made during the ’20s was the scenery for Stravinsky's Pulcinella ballet, which was based on compositions from the first half of the 18th century: Stravinsky, another avant-gardist (the Sacre!) who relinquished radical avantgarde for neoclassicism, an exploitation of old forms and conventions. A writer like Cocteau, former cubist, was also converted to this new trend. In 1922, Valéry published his Charmes, which was immediately recognised as a neoclassical signal. The historic avant-garde wanted to
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break with tradition. The neo-classicists were looking for a tradition again, – not of the 19th century, but an earlier one, the 18th century or earlier. This neoclassicism, which can be easily subsumed under socalled international modernism, and which is sometimes beside, sometimes opposite the historic avant-garde,7 was also found in the Netherlands, in Kelk and Van Wessem and especially in M. Nijhoff. And there we have the key figure of the 1920s who finally changed the course of literature away from the historic avant-garde in the direction of neoclassical modernism. It is well-known what an important position Nijhoff as a critic held in the 1920s (Van den Akker 1985). In his writings he introduced a new poetics, linking up to the international modernism of Eliot and Valéry. He discarded the expressive poetics which had dominated the Netherlands since the Eighties Movement, but in the same movement turned on expressionism, Dada, verselibrism, anything with even a touch of avant-garde. He made a strong impact. Marsman, who started out as a revolutionary, increasingly came under Nijhoff’s spell, being torn between tradition and innovation, which earned him the predicate of being the greatest waverer that the literary Netherlands had ever produced (Anbeek 1990: 126130). De Vrije Bladen, in which Het Getij writers like Kelk, Houwink, Van den Bergh and Van Wessem had found shelter, and in whose pages Marsman followed in Nijhoff’s tracks, had precisely this neoclassical-modernist identity. Marsman in his turn, was the leader of the new young generation. Where earlier and elsewhere the avant-garde was kept at arm’s length for what could be called negative, conservative motives (one wanted to keep what one had), Nijhoff could be called progressive for the way in which he cut off the march of the avant-garde. Neoclassical modernism was much more up-to-date, the avant-garde was already losing its lustre. Nijhoff was especially clever in incorporating into his poetics a number of basic principles of avant-garde literary views: the autonomy of the work itself, the importance of creative form, deindividualisation, the cognitive function. (And that need not come as a surprise, for Nijhoff in fact based himself on the symbolic poetics of the same Mallarmé whom Van Doesburg had nominated as the patriarch of his avant-garde) (Van Doesburg 1921b: 124).
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8. The Persistence of the Movement of the Eighties We have attempted to show how resistance against the avant-garde in the Netherlands can be understood by looking at literature-political interests of the literary circles. But that is not all, of course. The ‘anti-avant-garde’ was not unique to the Netherlands, of course. Georg Bollenbeck has shown, for instance, that resistance to the avant-garde in Germany – more the home of the avant-garde than the more indolent Netherlands – was vehement (Bollenbeck 2000: 467504). He spoke of a negative Resonanzboden, that could be explained from the presence of a deeply rooted Bildungsbürgertum that dominated cultural thinking and action in Germany. Central concepts from this cultural tradition are the following: people (art emanates from the people), cultural civilisation (Bildung, art serves individual and national civilisation) and beauty. The dominant conceptions were (German) nationalist and metaphysical-religious ones. This complex of ideas to a certain extent defined the avant-garde, and at the same time formed the opposition to it. The attack by the avant-garde on bourgeois culture resulted in profiling, but also in rejection, according to Bollenbeck. The thinking of the defenders of German Kultur was occasionally echoed in the Netherlands, for instance in Huizinga’s complaint against the “Dada” poetry by Marsman, which he found a desecration of the beauty of language. Yet such a critique of the avant-garde was much weaker in this country and much less widespread. In both cultural fields we found the same disqualifications, such as “decadent”, “excesses”, and “degenerate”, but in the Netherlands, on the contrary, invectives like “Jewish”, “Bolshevik-culture” or the equivalent of “undeutsch” were highly unusual. A bildungsbürgerliche tradition characterised by a nationalist mentality was not strongly developed in the Netherlands. Another difference between the two countries was that the avant-garde and the opposition against it in Germany soon took on political dimensions and became more radical. The resistance to the avant-garde was directly followed by the official measures taken against entartete Kunst by the Third Reich. In the Netherlands, neither the avant-garde, nor resistance against it were highly politicised. Not only in Germany, but also in Russia, Italy, France and Belgium8 the avant-garde not only showed a stronger development, but it also had an
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explicitly political dimension. This was in contrast to the countries where the foothold of the avant-garde was more tenuous – in the Netherlands, but also in Britain for instance. Whatever the case may be, the resistance to the avant-garde in the Netherlands apparently had a different background from that in Germany. For the Netherlands, the following explanation may hold water. The historic avant-garde may be regarded as a struggle against, and the settling of accounts with the values and a norms of, broadly, the nineteenth century. Away with the past of an older generation, new beginnings. (That the avant-garde itself was deeply rooted in romanticism, is beyond the present discussion). That struggle against the nineteenth century, however, against the obsolescent culture, had already been fought in the Netherlands, by the Eighties Movement. From the 1890s until well into the late 1920s, new and modern simply meant: the Eighties. Any survey of the critical articles from Dutch magazines of the period, focusing on these terms, will make this clear. Radical innovation had already been fervently advocated by the men and women of the Eighties, and successfully so. At least in the sense that writers, critics, readers, teachers, students, in short anyone who was culturally aware was thoroughly convinced of the fact that modern, new literature started with the Eighties Movement (See Van den Akker en Dorleijn 2000: 1-14). When the avant-garde movement rose, the niche for the modern was already occupied. We cannot but conclude that here is at least one reason for the lack of success of the avant-garde in the Netherlands. The Eighties Movement had already put paid to the past. In the Netherlands, the historic avant-garde simply came too late.
Notes 1
For the different circuits see: W.J. van den Akker and G.J. Dorleijn 1997: 75-112 and W.J. van den Akker and G.J. Dorleijn 2000: 1-14.
2
The facts about De Gids are taken from W.J. van den Akker and G.J. Dorleijn 1985: 146-177.
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3
For the tensions between the Protestant literati and the outside-world, see: W.J. van den Akker and G.J. Dorleijn 1997
4
For Verhoef and his influence on the artist Lou Loeber see M. Bloemheuvel 1993: 14-15.
5
See for instance W. Moens 1922: 868-881), W. Moens 1923: 86-89 and U. van de Voorde 1922: 967-979.
6
See Ton Anbeek 1990: 112-133. See also M. Entrop 1986: 31-39, 64.
7
See M. van Buuren and E. Jongeneel 1996: 80-103 and W. Bronzwaer 1988: 88-110.
8
For Belgium see Geert Buelens: “Een avantgardist is (g)een groep; over de wankele avantgardestatus van de flaminganten tijdens het interbellum” and Kris Humbeeck: “God geven dat wij Staatsgevaarlik wezen!; mijn kleine oorlog en de retoriek van het linkse activisme”. In: Hubert F. Van den Berg and Gillis J. Dorleijn (eds) 2002.
Bibliography Akker, W.J. van den 1985 Een dichter schreit niet. Aspecten van M. Nijhoffs versexterne poetica. Utrecht. Akker, W.J. van den and G.J. Dorleijn 1985 “Stemmen uit de redactie. Een documentaire over het redactiebeleid van De gids tussen 1916 en 1926.” In: W.J. van den Akker and G.J. Dorleijn (eds.): Traditie en Vernieuwing; opstellen aangeboden aan A.L. Sötemann. Utrecht etc: 146-177. 1997 “Poetry by the numbers: On the historiography of modern Dutch poetry.” In: J.P. Snapper and Th. F. Shannon (eds.): The Berkeley Conference on Dutch Literature 1995; Dutch Poetry in Modern Times. Lanham, New York, Oxford: 75-112. 1997 Dameskoor “Het zingend vedertje” of de geschiedschrijving van de moderne Nederlandse poëzie. Utrecht, 1997. 2000 “Hoe lang duurt Tachtig? Reproductie van normen en literatuurgeschiedschrijving”.In: L. Korthals Altes and D. Schram (eds.): Literatuurwetenschap tussen betrokkenheid en distantie. Assen: 1-14. Anbeek, Ton 1990
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Doesburg, Th. van 1921a “Revue der Avant-garde. België”. In: Het Getij 6 (1921), 2: 25-29. 1921b “De nieuwe woordbeelding. Vervolg inleiding”. In: Het getij 6, 1: 83-89. Entrop, M. 1986 “Theo van Doesburgh en Het Getij”. In: Jong Holland 2, 2: 31-39, 64. Fontijn, J.H.A. and I. Polak 1986 “Modernisme”. In: G.J. van Bork and N. Laan (eds): Twee eeuwen literatuurgeschiedenis; poëticale opvattingen in de Nederlandse literatuur. Groningen: 182-207. Gr. [= Greshoff], J. 1928 ”Korte overwegingen”. In: Den Gulden Winckel 27: 93-96. Houwink, R. 1920 “Het decadente in de moderne litteratuur”. In: Het Getij 5: 414-425. 1922a “Moderne Fransche lyriek”. In: Het Getij 7: 55-58. 1922b “Over moderne Duitsche litteratuur”. In: Het Getij 7: 59-62. Jong, A.M. de 1918-1919 “Naschrift”. In: De Nieuwe Stem 1, 1: 112-114. Kelk, C.J. 1921 “Klank- of waan-beelden? Naar aanleiding van I.K. Bonset’s opvattingen”. In: Het Getij 6, 2: 77-78. Knuvelder, G. 1925-1926 “Katolieke kunst en Albert Kuyle”. In: Roeping 4: 42-43. M., H. [Marsman, H.] 1921a “Divigatie over het Expressionisme”. In: Den Gulden Winckel 20: 35. 1921b “Bezette stad”. In: Den Gulden Winckel 20: 86-89. 1922 “Jan Dideriksz: De keten. Sonnetten”. In: De Gids 86, 1, p. 518-520. 1923 “Johan Theunisz: Het klare dagen”. In: Groot Nederland 21 (1923), 2: 765-766. Moens, W. 1922 “Het nieuwe dichten”. In: De Stem 2, 1922: 868-881. 1923 “Karel van den Oever: Het open luik”. In: De Stem 3: 86-89. Moller, H. [W.E.] 1922-1923 “Nieuwste dichtkunst. Karel van den Oever”. In: Roeping 1,2:
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69-72, 139-144. 1922-1924 “Merkwaardigheden. Roomse kunst en Moderne”. In: Roeping 2, 1: 261-264. Oever, K. van den 1923-1924 “Het moreel tekort van het Van Nu en Straks geslacht en het nieuw Roomsch inzicht”. In: Roeping 2, 1: 201-211. 1925-1926 “Rond wat men noemt expressionisme. (Een volkskauserie)”. In: Roeping 4: 130-148. Ostayen, P. van [= Ostaijen, P. van] 1922 “Over de typographie van zijn “Bezette stad”. Open brief aan Jos. Leonard”. In: Het Getij 7 (1922): 85-91. Permys, M. 1920 “Letterkundig nieuws uit Frankrijk”. In: Den Gulden Winckel 19: 166. Proost, K.F. 1925
Socialistische kunst. Arnhem.
Redactie 1921 “Wederom?”. In: Het Getij 6, 2, p. 1. Roland Holst, R.N. 1920 “Th. Van Doesburg: Drie voordrachten over de Nieuwe beeldende Kunst”. In: De Nieuwe Tijd 25: 23-26. Ruiter, F. and W. Smulders 1996 Literatuur en moderniteit in Nederland 1840-1990. Amsterdam etc. Slauerhoff, J. 1921 “Een avond van Tristan Corbière”. In: Het Getij 6, 2, p. 85-86. 1922 “Aanteekening over Jules Laforgue”. In: Het Getij 7: 52-55. Theunisz, Joh. 1925 “Jean de Voort: Grote ogen”. In: De Stem 5: 235. Tibbe, E.P. 1994
R.N. Roland Holst - Arbeid en schoonheid vereend. Opvattingen over Gemeenschapskunst. Amsterdam.
Tibbe, L. 2000 “Nieuwe werelden met en zonder grenzen. Rondom een polemiek tussen R.N. Roland Holst en Theo van Doesburg over herkomst en toekomst van hun kunst”. In: L. Tibbe: Vier kunstdebatten omstreeks 1900. Nijmegen: 167-212.
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Verhoef, T. 1918-1919 In: De Nieuwe Stem 1, 1, p. 106-111, 244-247, 250, 368-371. 1922 “Over socialistische kunst”. In: De Socialistische Gids 7: 584-597, 716-746, 832-845, 925-946, 1107-1114. Voorde, U. van de 1922 “De eeuwige lyriek”. In: De Stem 2: 967-979.
Dutch Contemporaries on Proust and the Historic Avant-Garde Sabine van Wesemael Nowadays literary critics have reached a consensus regarding the distinction that has to be made between “modernist” writers such as Marcel Proust and the representatives of the Historical Avant-Garde. But how did contemporary critics evaluate modernism and Avant-Garde? Did they use notions such as “modernism” and “modernistic” and if so what was meant by them? How did catholic and non-confessional critics of the inter-bellum period see the connection between, for instance, Proust and the surrealists and how did they judge their artistic products?
During the last years of his life Marcel Proust witnessed the rise of the Historic Avant-Garde. Usually the relationship between Proust and the surrealists in particular is taken to have been extremely hostile. For instance, J.-Y. Tadié’s biography says on this subject: “Le mouvement littéraire le plus important de l’entre-deux-guerres, le surréalisme est indifférent à l’oeuvre de Proust, quand il ne l’attaque pas” (Tadié 1996: 212). Sure enough, a large number of surrealists from the very beginning, including Louis Aragon, regarded Proust’s work with disfavour. In 1919, in response to Pastiches et Mélanges, Aragon would write in Littérature, the journal he founded together with Soupault, Eluard, Tzara and Breton: “A vrai dire, mon estomac supporte mal les mélanges” (Aragon 1919: 24). And in 1920, when Proust was awarded the Prix de Goncourt, he sneered: M. Marcel Proust est un jeune homme plein de talent, et comme il a bien travaillé, on lui a donné un prix. Allons, ça va faire monter le tirage. Excellente affaire pour la Nouvelle Revue Française. On n’aurait jamais cru qu’un snob laborieux fut de si fructueux rapport. A la bonne heure, M. Marcel Proust vaut son pesant de papier. (Aragon 1920: 30)
However, Proust would arouse admiration all right in other AvantGardists such as Philippe Soupault whom he corresponded with and who, in 1920, asked him to contribute to the Littérature journal. Proust would submit a fragment from Le Côté de Guermantes, which was subsequently published. The attitude of the leader of the surreal-
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ists, André Breton, towards Proust is a mixture of admiration and disgust, thus illustrating maybe to the utmost the overall position the avant-garde took up in regard to Proust. On a few occasions Breton spoke to Proust personally because he proofread Le Côté de Guermantes for Gallimard in 1920, a job he performed to the author’s dissatisfaction. Proust writes to Soupault on this subject: Donc l’autre jour [...] déjà très fatigué [...] j’ai vu que mon prochain livre, pourtant relu par monsieur Breton, contenait tant de fautes que si je ne dressais pas un erratum j’en serais déshonoré [...] Surtout que Monsieur Breton ne prenne pas cela pour un reproche, même amical, mais pour une excuse. (Proust 1992: 473)
Breton had nothing or little against Marcel Proust as a person, but he did have something against a number of aspects in his work. He detested Proust’s rationally explicative psychological considerations and was averse to his fascination for the decadent Paris Belle Epoque salon life. For instance, Breton in turn writes about his proofreading: Valéry, alerté, est venu à mon secours, ainsi que Gide. Ils m’ont trouvé un petit emploi chez Gallimard. Sur leur recommandation, je fus aussi chargé de revoir sur épreuves un ouvrage de Proust qui, par suite des incessants ajoutages et surcharges de sa main, présentait, comme vous savez, l’aspect d’un laybrinthe. L’oeuvre de Marcel Proust, en raison du milieu social qu’elle dépeint, ne me sollicitait guère mais l’homme, qu’ainsi j’ai souvent pu rencontrer, était d’un grand charme et d’une affabilité extrême. (Breton 1970: 212)
And in his first Manifeste du surréalisme of 1924 he would disapprovingly say on A la recherche du temps perdu: “L’intraitable manie qui consiste à ramener l’inconnu au connu, au classable, berce les cerveaux. Le désir d’analyse l’emporte sur les sentiments” (Breton 1988: 315). Obviously, the social “arrivé” and analyst Marcel Proust hardly appealed to the admirers of surrealism who were to flirt with communism at a later stage. Proust failed to see any social significance reserved for art, unlike the surrealists who had a social revolution in mind as well and for whom aesthetic actions had to hold social implications. Proust’s personal-impressionist conception of art, purely aesthetic and focussed on beauty, was at odds with the AvantGardists’ group projects, works of art ready-made and chanceinspired. His literary œuvre is little like a party game.
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Yet this does not alter the fact that on a few points there was mutual sympathy and that they had, to a certain extent, common ambitions. For instance, like the Avant-Gardists, Proust was forwardlooking, appreciating progressive works of art, ranging from the ballets russes to the music by Eric Satie. Proust did not believe so much in the advancement of the arts as in the notion that each artist, as if he were a new Homer, had to re-invent literature. However, a considerable difference between Proust and the Avant-Gardists is that Proust would cherish the cultural heritage, whereas the Avant-Gardists would not show any respect for the collections of museums, libraries and so on, built-up down the centuries, or anyway were selective in a most peculiar manner. Their rupture with the past is more radical than Proust’s. Another striking similarity between Proust and the AvantGardists is their anti-intellectualism and in connection with this the importance either of them would attach to non-rational sources such as the dream and the subconscious. The therapeutic effects of the dream and so of literature grafted on the logic of the dream, the importance of which Breton so emphasizes in his first manifesto, does not seem to have escaped Proust: Et une fois que le romancier nous a mis dans cet état, où comme dans tous les états purement intérieurs, toute émotion est décuplée, où son livre va nous troubler à la façon d’un rêve plus clair que ceux que nous avons en dormant et dont le souvenir durera davantage, voici qu’il déchaîne en nous pendant une heure tous les bonheurs et de tous les malheurs possibles dont nous mettrions dans la vie des années à connaître quelques-uns, et dont les plus intenses ne nous seraient jamais révélés parce que la lenteur avec laquelle ils se produisent nous en ôte la perception. (Proust 1989: 84)
This anti-intellectualism strongly emerges also in the meaning both Proust and the Avant-Gardists would attach to analogous thought and hence to the evocative, spontaneous and poetical dimensions of language as they can be expressed in metaphors. Like the Avant-Gardists, Proust wants to re-invent and rename reality. In this way the impressionist paintings of Elstir evoke the following consideration in Proust’s narrator: Mais j’y pouvais discerner que le charme de chacune consistait en une sorte de métamorphose des choses représentées, analogue à celle qu’en poésie on nomme métaphore, et que, si Dieu le Père avait créé les choses en les nom-
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In his L’Ambivalence romanesque (1980) Peter Zima pointed out that Proust’s associative narrative techniques to a certain extent anticipated, for instance, the surrealist “écriture automatique” and Marinetti’s “Parole in libertà”; an interpretation which, to my taste, much is to be said against. On a metaphoric level, for instance, Proust’s two parts of the comparison are much closer than those of the AvantGardists who would seek their metaphors completely at random. Often Proust’s metaphors are much more traditional: comparing a woman to a flower (Odette) is far more classical than associating a woman to a machine gun as did, for instance, the futurist Marinetti in his Slag bij Tripolis [Battle of Tripolis]. This difference originates from the fact that, unlike the Avant-Gardists, Proust would not believe our subconscious to be linguistic. As a result, he was less convinced of the selfactivation of language as an uncontrollable expression of the subconscious. Proust was not considered modern by the Avant-Gardists. For that he would seek beauty too much, cherish the cultural heritage too much, be too much a man of his milieu and a builder of cathedrals; his work is the result of a very conscious creative process, which by all appearances often left little to the spontaneous inspiration of the author’s hand. The differences between Proust and Breton, for instance, will be clear when the following two definitions of the artistic process as they suggested them are juxtaposed: “L’essence de l’oeuvre d’art tel que je l’envisage c’est la recréation d’impressions puis la transformation en équivalents d’intelligence”, Proust writes; “Dictée immédiate de la pensée en l’absence de tout contrôle de la raison et sans préoccupations esthétiques ou morales” runs Breton’s definition of writing as surrealism aims at it. Only future generations were really to recognize Proust’s modernity. In the late 1930s, experimental surrealist-influenced writers such as Raymond Queneau and Michel Leiris already recognized him as a kindred spirit. However, Proust was to be reputed as a modernist not until the 1950s when French nouveaux romanciers would speak highly of him on a mass scale. Alain Robbe-Grillet, Nathalie Sarraute, Michel Butor and Claude Simon would see him as a leading source of inspiration for the revolution of the French novel they had in mind.
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As to literary development, academic criticism from this time on makes a distinction between “modernism” with authors such as James Joyce, Virginia Woolf, Thomas Mann, André Gide and Marcel Proust, and “Avant-Garde” or “Historic Avant-Garde”, an umbrella term for a number of movements including Dada, surrealism, futurism and constructivism (see for instance: Fokkema and Ibsch 1984, and Van den Berg and Dorleijn 2002). This division does not go unchallenged and raises several questions as to its historical legitimacy. Did Dutch contemporary literary critics of the inter-bellum period make a distinction between modernism and avant-garde? What is meant by notions such as “modern”, “modernistic” and “avant-gardistic”? How would they see the connection between, for instance, Proust and the surrealists? So as to give answers to this and other questions I will next make a comparative analysis of the reception by Dutch literary critics of the inter-bellum period of Proust’s A la recherche du temps perdu and the works by the avant-gardists. As to evaluating Proust I will rely on my thesis De receptie van Proust in Nederland [The Reception of Proust in the Netherlands] (Van Wesemael 1999), which describes the development of the reception of A la recherche du temps perdu by Dutch criticism throughout the twentieth century. For a description of the reception of the Avant-Garde I will elaborate on the analysis of G. J. Dorleijn (Dorleijn 2002: 137-156). Both protestants and socialists having completely ignored Proust, my analysis will focus on catholic media and media not bound by socio-political groups [non-pillarized media] of the inter-bellum period. Dutch protestants would pay little attention to foreign literature anyhow and the socialists could not possibly see how they were to make a connection between Proust’s work, which apart from the character of Françoise takes no notice of the social lower classes, and their socialist manifestos.
Catholic Resistance In the interbellum period Dutch Catholics were primarily oriented to France, which is small wonder given the catholic revival that manifested itself in France after the war. France had a number of great catholic writers, Claudel, Mauriac, Green, Bernanos and strong catholic ideologists such as Maritain and Massis. The Dutch considered
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their own catholic culture ineffectual and patterned themselves on France, that is on the writings of the conservative denomination within French Catholicism with a representative such as Massis. More clement voices could be heard in France from catholic quarters. For instance from Mauriac, who may have objected to Proust and Breton, but who also defended them against views all too dogmatic. Dutch Catholics were far more conservative than their French peers. For instance, Van Duinkerken’s position in Katholiek Verzet [Catholic resistance] against Proust can be traced back to Massis’s analysis in Le drame de Marcel Proust. This French disposition also explains why Catholics would pay attention to Dadaism and surrealism only, ignoring the other avant-garde movements. Professional literature tends to make a distinction between very conservative catholic journals such as Boekenschouw [Book View] and Boekzaal [Book Hall] and more moderate periodicals, that is, uninspired by ethical considerations to the exclusion of anything else, periodicals such as Roeping [Mission] and De Gemeenschap [The Community] in particular. This distinction will hardly show in my analysis. As to Proust and the avant-gardists, most catholic critics agreed: they are very dangerous writers. The only exception is Jan Engelman, one of the most enlightened critics of De Gemeenschap, who in 1935 would respond unfavourably to the famous 1926 article by Gerard Bruning, “Van André Gide tot André Breton” [“From André Gide to André Breton”], stating that Bruning, just like Massis in France, is not the most understanding opponent to Gide and the surrealists. The most remarkable thing to the catholic reception of Proust and the avant-gardists is the fact that more or less the same arguments would be raised against either. What is it the Catholics held against these modernists in early twentieth-century literature? They condemned their atheism, their amoralism, their aestheticism, their special attention to new sources of information such as the dream and the subconscious and to sensuality. For instance, on 3 June 1926 the column “Op den kandelaar” [On the candlestick] in De Nieuwe Eeuw [The New Century]: But Maritain will not keep on laughing. Without bitterness, yet with sadness he will speak about some Paris milieus and the movements over there. He considers surrealism a devil’s machination with Gide as its grandparent. What he taught surrealists will pursue to life with iron consistency. In this
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way, they will come to the demolition of everything, from the total desperation of one’s personality to contrived despair. And their cultivating dream life as well, with all risks that go with it, their keenness for occult and spiritistic experiments! Youngsters ending up in these circles are lamentable. (Anonymus 1926a).
The Catholics found Proust’s purely aesthetic notion of art (“La vraie vie, c’est la literature”) very hard to take in the first place, this notion contrasting sharply with the community art they advocated themselves: first and foremost art is a faith. In a lengthy elaboration in Le temps retrouvé Proust’s narrator indeed makes an indisputable stand against any form of committed literature. This purely aesthetic notion of art brought Proust much criticism, not only on the part of the Catholics. During World War I, when “war literature” was in demand, Proust felt compelled to decide against publishing his novel any longer. Most volumes of Recherche were published after 1918. So the Catholics blamed Proust for defending the primacy of art. Here it is remarkable that the catholic critics would time and again make a connection between Proust and the Historic avant-garde movements. Owing to his purely aesthetic notion of art Proust, together with other modernists such as Gide and Valéry, is considered the father or grandfather of avant-garde movements such as Dadaism and surrealism, of which Bruning’s article “Van André Gide tot André Breton” is a most illustrative example. So the Catholics had little eye for the social implications the avant-gardists attributed to artistry: The well-known writers who, over the last fifty years, attracted sympathy from the “new generation”, generally represented themselves in that they considered themselves completely pure, open-minded, free and unbiased. In this notion “pure” would not mean they acknowledged moral restrictions or cultivated a particularly strict moral purity, but purely or mainly that life could not evoke interest but by its artistic value and that only this notion had to be expressed: all religious, political or social convictions had to be renounced. In this sense, Flaubert was “pure”, and in this respect it harmed Barrès and France that they fail to look “unbiased”. This notion of severance, of inwardness and of dilettantism almost all of the modern school’s top people would share: Proust, Gide and Valéry. Never has “purity of art” been under discussion as much as since 1918; and even now this theme will be raised fervently […]. All our modern literary groups of cubists, Dadaists, surrealists claim “purity” and their enthusiasm and belief in the “pure form of art”. (Anonymus 1926b)
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In the literary-theoretical sphere the Catholics reproached Proust with his purely aesthetic notion of art. In the moral sphere he was thought to be not pure enough, or rather very impure indeed. Proust was blamed for his atheism and in a more general sense for his impartiality, his intellectual amoralism. Recherche does lack any form of credo and Proust’s perspective narrative style ensures the avoidance of any moral value judgement. For instance, both the Dreyfusards and the anti-Dreyfusards are allowed to speak at great length, the narrator refraining from any moral judgement when he is confronted with the sexually perverse behaviour of, for instance, the baron de Charlus. As a result, catholic criticism was of the opinion that Proust’s work is of a pessimistic nature by lack of morals. In 1927, H. Rongen would write in Boekzaal: God is absent from Proust’s œuvre in a dreadful manner. From a purely literary point of view this is his weakness and his limitation: the human conscience is lacking. None of the creatures which populate his œuvre have any moral concern, timidity or remorse, or craves perfection. Almost nobody knows the proper meaning of purity; or, if they live a pure life, like the hero’s mother and the grandmother do, they do so without their knowing it, in just such natural and effortless ways as the other personages besmirch themselves. Here it is not the Christian who judges. The lack of moral perspective weakens the human nature, created by Proust, restricting his world. (Rongen 1927: 275)
In this matter, too, the Catholics would see in Proust and Gide two authors who had started off the deterioration of morals, which was to dominate the Avant-Garde as well. Here, Bruning’s analysis of the avant-gardist tribute towards Gide is the most marked example. The nihilistic perception of the human race or the world Dadaists and surrealists had, can, in his view, be traced back to Gide’s non-conformist attitude towards traditional values and standards: “Famille, je vous hais!” He writes, for instance, on the “Umwertung” both Dadaists and surrealists wished to bring about: Useless, everything has grown useless; the great vanitas [vanity] of humankind without God […]. Their will to live [of the Dadaists] can settle nowhere after the destruction of all religious, moral, intellectual and aesthetic values; life was deprived of any purpose and just vitality they could celebrate as the sole and most precious possession, which also is to materialize into nothing more. […] To Breton, deriving strength from religion seems a vulgar thing to do, he will sense little or no respect for culture or erudition,
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logic is a culpable weakness, reason lost its value, not a single truth is standard, as man could only confuse his fellow man […]. (Bruning 1926: 101, 107 and 131)
The negation of God implicated complete affirmation of humankind. In the eyes of the Catholics, Proust, Gide and the Avant-Gardists created a detestable image of humankind dominated by low desires, a proclivity for the subconscious and a morbid craving for introspection. In 1929, D.F. Rigen would state in Boekenschouw: The philosopher Proust could hardly be assumed not to have thought much and continuously on the issue of eternity, but that does not alter the fact that his skepticism in the sphere of religion can clearly be acknowledged. In this respect, too, he is a child of his unhappy times, just as the impudent way in which he dissects all feelings without a single exception so that his works make for very dangerous reading. (Rigen 1929/1930: 395)
The Catholics considered psychologism one of the main digressions of modern times, targeting their arrows on the leading explorers of the soul from the beginning of the century: Proust and Freud. Proust was unfamiliar with the work of Freud but, like the Avant-Gardists, he shared great interest in dreams and the subconscious and the genetic point of view on the emotional development of mankind: learn young, learn fair. Proust’s Recherche can easily be read from a psychoanalytical angle. However, in my introduction I already indicated that there is also a considerable difference between the Avant-Gardists and Proust as to their approach of the human psyche. Proust’s rational, explanatory psychology was a thorn in the eyes of the Avant-Gardists. In this matter, too, the Catholics would tar Proust (and Gide as well) and the Avant-Gardists with the same brush: they have been dangerously preoccupied with the subconscious stirrings of the human psyche. For instance, in 1939 Dom. J. Varthaire would write in the catholic newspaper De Tijd [The Times]: The war and post-war moral and social wrongs definitely prevented educational authorities from exerting their wholesome influence on the young. Moreover, Freud’s confusing psycho-analysis has found fertile soil for developing all kinds of unwholesome spurs, the evidence of which is Proust’s work. (De Varthaire 1930)
And as to the Avant-Garde, Bruning states in De Gemeenschap:
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Sabine van Wesemael And these aberrations are especially the negation of reason and will (also in conjunction with Freud’s theories) the discovery of the subconscious, dangerously exploited since Dostojevski and André Gide. (Bruning 1926, 54)
In Bruning’s eyes, Gide’s work is a long hymn to sensuality. Rather than striving for higher aims, man is exclusively motivated by their low desires. In Katholiek Verzet Van Duinkerken joins in this opinion, stating that Gide, but Proust also, are morbidly preoccupied with sensual desire: The tragic side of this perverted craving for infinity is, in this century, experienced at its most cheerless by the novelist Proust. He never preached a doctrine, but depicted life of the desirous in lengthy books of dreary fatigue, without any proper beginning or end but for the genius he was given by God, perhaps for a higher purpose. (Van Duinkerken 1932: 64)
In this matter, too, the Catholics would view writers such as Proust and Gide as the forerunners of Dadaists and surrealists. For instance, Bruning writes on Dada: But in addition to these last few, now considered in a higher order, viewed against reality, Dada has to be rejected as just the joining of a bestial craving for life, a fantasy focussed on insanity, an overstrained intellect and an inner life keen on the psychology of sexuality yet deprived completely of any sense of reality, deprived completely of love. (Bruning 1926, 106)
So the Catholics consider the works of Dadaists and surrealists as a more radical expression of characteristics, tendencies and inclinations already perceptible in modernists such as Proust and Gide. In this way they make a close connection between modernism and Historic AvantGarde. Either movement is met with strong disapproval. Two critics only, Léopold Levaux and Jan Engelman, would strike a more charitable note. In 1935 Engelman would respond in De Gemeenschap to Bruning’s analysis in a speech he delivered to the Utrechtse Filmliga [Utrecht Film League] by way of introduction to a performance of surrealist films. Engelman describes in broad outline the aesthetic ambitions of the surrealists, concluding his argument with the following value judgement: Reviewing the matter after this brief sketch which could mention only in passing the artistic value of surrealist work, surrealism proves to be an ambition of modern romantics considering themselves total revolutionists of
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the world view indeed, yet - in a slightly more historical sense - yet who are a new link in the chain of attempt to escape the rational nature of civilization. It is odd, yet understandable, that surrealism had to start on French soil rather than anywhere else. It is turned against balance, visual perfection and closeness, the harmonious nature of the Latin cultural complex, it is a strong reaction against this, or rather against its bourgeois and conventional expressions, which must be seen as a consequence of cataclysms of the intellect the youth experienced at and behind the front in 1916. It is a kind of lay mysticism, the spontaneity and craving for love of which can be called its virtues, but the complete lack of any ascesis, both spiritual and physical, not at all […]. One aspect of Romanticism is or was surrealism, but renewing the face of the world? Probably not for some time. The Salvation Army is doing more about it. (Engelman 1935: 239)
So Engelman admires in surrealism the craving for rising in a romantic manner above materialistic reality. A similar notion can be seen with Levaux who, by the way, otherwise rejects Proust’s work decisively: He (Proust) is an important temperament, and we praise in him a creative force contrasting like nobility against the banality of an era of vulgarisation in the extreme, in which the highest values tend to diminish, and in which the purely intellectual efforts in particular have become increasingly difficult by the hostility and the indifference of a society grown hollow by a utilitarian materialism. (Levaux 1927/1928: 395)
Proust a Modernist? With the exception of the socialists, the non-confessional critics turned their backs on all ideological criticism and on any kind of community art. For instance, Greshoff states: I maintained obstinately that literature has nothing to do with the Salvation Army and that only he who is deliberately an outsider of his time and society has a chance to be able to report something to next generations. Rarely ever did something good come from community spirit, least of all art. (Greshoff 1969: 215)
As a result, the way in which non-confessional criticism judged Proust and the Avant-Gardists differs materially from that of the Catholics. The media not bound by socio-political groups paid much attention to Proust, judging him as a rule unusually favourably. Except for Avant-
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Garde journals such as De Stijl [The Style], which this analysis is leaving aside, interest in the Avant-Garde was less and opinion varied. The close connection the Catholics make between Proust, Gide and the Avant-Garde was refused by the non-confessional critics. They would rather stress the differences between modernism and Historic Avant-Garde. As a result, I will discuss the reception of either separately, starting with the judgement of Proust. In circles of non-confessional periodicals Proust is reviewed in a wide variety of journals: De Nieuwe Gids [The New Guide], De Gids [The Guide], Groot Nederland [Great Netherlands], Den Gulden Winckel [The Golden Rule], De Vrije Bladen [The Free Journals], Forum [Forum] and Criterium [Criterion]. In political journals such as Nu [Now] and Links Richten [Aiming Left] which were determined by a non-literary principle like the religious periodicals, his name is nowhere to be found. The same goes for the magazine for the young Het Getij [The Tide] and the avant-garde periodical De Stijl. During the inter-bellum period, the reception of Proust in the noncompartmentalized periodicals hardly characterizes any tendencies within Dutch literary criticism because he is discussed mainly in periodicals such as De Gids and Groot Nederland, which lacked a clear platform. These non-confessional periodicals, too, would as a rule focus strongly on France. Any journal would publish a column on French literature on a more or less regular basis. Although the non-pillarized critics, like their catholic colleagues, would not see much in a psychoanalytical approach of literature and were generally, like them, if for different reasons, opposed to the literature of the epigones of Tachtig [the Eighties movement], it can still be said that the orientation within non-confessional periodicals is largely at odds with that of the catholic journals. They were opposed to any ideological criticism, showing a strong affinity for the purely aesthetical notion of art of authors such as Proust. For instance, G. de Bruijn would write in Groot Nederland in 1930: What Proust, maybe also thanks to the naturalists, is free from, is moral bias. As a writer he accepts life, just like they do, in all its manifestations, confessing emphatically that the value of a work of art as such is independent from the importance of the chosen object. (De Bruijn 1930: 416)
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In contrast with Catholic criticism, Proust’s new psychological opinions were praised on almost all sides, putting him repeatedly next to figures such as Freud and Bergson. In Forum, Vestdijk in particular was opposed to a Freudian interpretation of Proust’s work as it was quite the fashion at the time, especially in France. In its second year of publication, he fulminated against a review of Proust’s work by J. Andurski-Schubert in the Berliner Tageblatt: On Freud we read: “Proust linked the fashionable intuitionism of Bergson’s to the Freudism floating in the air at the time, filing it down to a wonderfully sharp tool of his research into exposing ‘I’”, a priceless stylistic howler, this filing down something afloat in the air!). However, it can be assumed for sure that Proust never knew Freud […] Before 1914, when Proust’s “method” had been fully formed anyway, Freud was not afloat in the air either, at least not in France. Besides, there is also a fundamental incompatibility between Proust and Freud, making the writer’s claim all the more absurd. They share a certain attitude towards the subconscious (but Freud is taking things much further), as well as the introspection method, but that is all. And besides, the difference in their attitudes to life, in “tone”, in diapason! Proust is, insofar as he grows scholarly, typically platonic: beauty is at least as important as truth; the artists creates the world; eternal ideas will be seen in moments of blessing, whereas Freud’s more common sense “aristotelism” considers beauty a residue which cannot be analysed away as an “autism”. (Vestdijk 1933a: 621)
Especially in Forum circles, a similar attitude of anti-Freudianism was not unusual. Du Perron and Ter Braak, too, wanted little to do with a psycho-analytical approach of literature, as is shown by the following statement of Du Perron’s in response to Multatuli: “As to my comments, if any method for throwing false light on Multatuli would seem foolproof to me, it would be that of unleashing on him the current clichés à la Freud-Proust-Joyce” (Du Perron 1956: 12). Central to discussions on the psychology of Proust is the principle of dissociation of personality; man as a multitude of intermittent personalities. Proust’s renewing psychological perceptions are commended almost everywhere. For instance, in 1920 Jan van Nijlen would write in Groot Nederland: “The most telling quality of A l’ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs is the depth and peculiar accent of psychological perception” (Van Nijlen 1920: 351). Proust is primarily considered the leading innovator of a genre of novels typically French, the psychological novel. Only the professor of Romanticism Tielrooy will challenge the renewing nature of his work, placing Proust within the framework of
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the positivistic late nineteenth-century mental climate, represented by Hippolyte Taine. Vestdijk was to follow his example in 1948. In an essay for De Gids, “De psychologie in de roman” [Psychology in the novel], he expresses his admiration for the innovating aspects of Proust’s psychological perceptions, indicating at the same time that he aspires to a more intuitive approach of the human psyche. Through the 1930s, we can see, among other things in imitation of the New Realism movement, this psychological aspect of Proust’s work being attacked in places. Sure enough, the literature of Proust and the New Realism notions on the novel hardly match. For instance, in his 1932 Forum essay “Aesthetiek der reporters” [Aesthetics of reporters], Marsman, though no great advocate, would consider the New Realism a beneficial reaction to the psychological novel by authors such as Proust: […] First of all, the fight for a new realism in novel-writing ought to be considered a fight against psychologism. The impressionists, the psychologists, the unravellers of the human mind such as Thomas Mann, Schnitzler and Wassermann, to name but a few, would employ techniques so analytical, detailed and subtle that in their books analysed corpses rather than living people were to be found, creatures pulverized into atoms […]. The modern reader, [...] driven by exciting reports, wants knowledge of the modern world and all its phenomena and of the interaction between modern people and these phenomena […] Could, for instance, to a twenty-year-old intellectual from Sovjet-Russia, a more boring author be found than Marcel Proust? (Marsman 1932: 146)
And at about the same time as Van Duinkerken, yet this time not on the basis of ethical grounds, Frans Erens also starts to rebel against Proust’s psychologism in De Nieuwe Gids: Over time, naturalists were displaced by the symbolists. The unanimists were to follow later. We have brought psychology to a head by Marcel Proust […]. Yet today no perfect novel could be named among the products of world literature. Proust’s novels have already expanded into the psychological. Had he been able to keep himself in check there, he might have come close to perfection […]. Marcel Proust tyrannizes the reader. Every author ought to leave room to certain suggestions, but Proust is not so generous, he will say everything himself, block all paths from the reader, making him walk in the chains he had put them in himself. Someone so capable of unintentionally captivating the reader so well, of keeping him in check so firmly, and making him go exactly where he wants him to go, is a great author; yet people wish for a certain freedom of thinking and feeling, and this is what Proust denies his readers. (Erens 1935: 468-469)
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As yet, the non-compartmentalized journals do not discuss much Proust’s position within literary history. In 1924, Tielrooy would think the literature of Proust highly original, yet outdated. It fails to express current issues: We may wonder whether from this Proust, widely read, loved and admired by the young, a new literature could originate. We may have reason to be doubtful about this, if only because, obviously, copying such original work is doomed to futility, but also because today the world is in need of direct help and is expecting solutions to pressing problems. Should for this reason Proust be considered as belonging to a bygone era, that is fine with me. (Tielrooy 1924 : 276)
Only De Ridder would, in 1920, place Proust within the neo-classicist framework. In his view Proust is too meditative, reasoning too philosophically, too anti-dramatic for him to be counted among modern literature: also through this mind-set Proust will remain far apart from the younger generation, as it manifests itself by its own emotions and understanding of life in writers such as Salmon, Carco, Giraudoux, Jacob, Orlan etcetera about whom I often spoke here. As a human being as well as a writer, he is on his guard too much, not adventurous or enthusiastic enough, not even ironical […] He suffers from too many difficulties. Also, he is too remote from life, too much an outsider; living rather in embellished memories than in real life, attracted by meditation rather than action. (De Ridder 1920)
Most critics, however, can see in Proust an innovator of the novel. De Bruijn, who wrote a four-part essay on Proust for Groot Nederland, and Greshoff consider Proust’s work mainly to be a reaction to nineteenth-century realism and naturalism and as an upbeat to the twentieth century. In his article “De brieven van Proust” [“The Letters from Proust”], Greshoff particularly stresses the anti-realistic tendencies of Proust, believing him to be a transitional figure: “Between Zola and Gide, Proust’s œuvre is as a water parting between two basins” (Greshoff 1932: 197). Greshoff discusses a few innovating characteristics of Proust’s work - later to be at the forefront of modernistic interpretation - such as mixing literature and essay, breaking the realistic, naturalistic conventions of cause and effect, the conventions of reasoned action, the conventions of the plausible plot and those of the omniscient narrator, but as has been said he would, before all else, see in
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Proust a transitional figure. De Bruijn, too, has difficulty putting away Proust definitely into one of the drawers of the history of literature. He considers his work primarily a reaction to realism, but he also thinks symbolism should not include Proust: “But the way of the symbolists, who escape reality by their means of expression, was not the way he went. Reality remained his observation ground, albeit the inner reality […]” (De Bruijn 1930: p. 417). De Bruijn is the only critic who will pay attention to the relationship between Proust and the Historic Avant-Garde, taking the view that the surrealists have unprofitably internalized Proust’s anti-intellectual notions and his receptivity to the dream and the subconscious: “In conclusion to this study, it only remains for us to remark that Proust failed to develop any literary school, yet his influence is noticeable. Though for the time being, not yet in a very pleasing manner. Dadaists and surrealists admire in him his receptivity to the subconscious and his recognition of the intellect not being the right source to know life. But in flat contradiction with Proust’s ideas, they dismissed reason also as a servant, and devoted themselves without any control to the obscurities of the subconscious” (De Bruijn 1930: 427). Proust will scarcely be connected with contemporaries such as Gide, Larbaud, Joyce, Mann and Woolf, which is remarkable because the authors who were later to be numbered among modernism had been reviewed in the Nouvelle Revue Française as early as the early 1920s. Yet it should be observed that, with the help of critics such as Jacques Rivière, France will consider Proust especially a neoclassicist. The Netherlands, too, will rather stress the differences between Proust and the above-mentioned authors, which has everything to do with the fact that Proust’s work was not experienced as modern. For instance, J.C. Hol would write in De Nieuwe Gids in 1922: He [Proust] ranks, together with André Gide, among the very best French prose writers. But they are antipodes. Both like persiflage, which makes many a ridiculity bearable for us. Gide, however, hints, prefers aphorisms which leaves more to sense and guess, than he actually says. […] In his novels, in La symphonie pastorale in particular, he would not for a moment lose sight of the plot; he will work up to the catastrophe. Proust, on the other hand, is elaborate; will go into great detail […]. And a plot within Proust’s mightily constructed work is not to be found or cannot be perceived in what has so far been published”. (Hol 1922: 685)
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The term “modernism” has so far not been generally employed concerning Proust. The only exception to this is Tielrooy’s 1935 review of the essay Modernes by Denis Saurat. We have seen that in 1924 Tielrooy portraited Proust as an anti-modern writer, but will reconsider this later on. In his view, writers such as Proust, Valéry, Supervielle and Kafka may belong to an international modernistic movement. The main characteristics of this movement are: epistemological doubt, anti-realism and anti-intellectualism, amoralism and scepticism as to an unambiguous character profile: personality is an illusion (Tielrooy 1935: 427-429).
Resistance against the Avant-Garde? In his article “Weerstand tegen de avantgarde in Nederland” [“Resistance against the Avant-Garde in the Netherlands”] G.J. Dorleijn analyses the reception of the Historic Avant-Garde in the Dutch interbellum period journals. As to the non-compartmentalized media, his conclusions are that in non-programmed journals such as De Gids and the humanitarian De Stem reception met with downright disapproval. The response from the magazine for the young Het Getij he called a half-hearted one. In Het Getij Van Doesburg defends the Avant-Garde whereas M. Permys expressed quite an unfavourable opinion on Du monde entier by dadaïst Blaise Cendrars. Rereading the inter-bellum period journals once more will provide a more balanced picture. The avant-garde was discussed in Forum, Den Gulden Winckel, De Stem, De Gids, Groot Nederland, De Vrije Bladen and Het Getij. Assessment of the Avant-Garde in these journals was determined rather by the presence of certain critics than by any programmed principles. W.F.A. Roël, for instance, would speak highly of surrealism in both De Vrije Bladen and Den Gulden Winckel. In turn, Van Doesburg would defend the Avant-Garde in Het Getij and Groot Nederland alike. In 1931, the latter journal offers him ample room to expound his views on surrealist literature. The Avant-Garde was judged unfavourably in Forum and De Gids. In Forum, attention for the AvantGarde there was none. Only Vestdijk briefly refers to it in an article on Valéry: “In particular the representatives of any surrealism, of any ‘poésie pure’ - by - Bremond, will shrivel up, compared with him, into a knot of insignificant clowns” (Vestdijk 1933b: 778). The unfavour-
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able reception in De Gids is to a great extent determined by the person of M. Vermeulen who, for that matter, was also highly critical of Proust. Vermeulen has great difficulty with the Avant-Garde’s exploring the subconscious: “I can no longer tell the difference between the art of a Ribemont-Dessaignes, calling himself a surrealist, and the professional book of contemporary psychiatrists […] They [the surrealists] are just in the early stages of broad indications. Their suitability for the demonology of the subconscious seems to me so little, that I am amazed to see how they should goad themselves in this direction” (Vermeulen 1927: 174-175). The avant-gardist style experiments, too, are a thorn in Vermeulen’s flesh: With cuttings from newspapers in various fonts he [Breton] will paste poems together which, ma foi, are not lamentable anymore than what, over the last twenty years, revolutionists have been jabbering to us as echoes of Anima Mundi. These monsters could not care less that we call such pursuits, with which they entertain themselves during surrealist evenings and which these revolutionaries deem nobler and less middle class than playing bingo or jack of spades, these helplessly lost souls could not care less, I say, that we call their mess a profanation, both of intuition and of intellect. (Vermeulen 1929: 112)
Mixed opinions on the Avant-Garde can be found in Den Gulden Winckel, Het Getij and De Vrije Bladen. Dorleijn had already written about the unfavourable reception Permys met with in Het Getij, but the same critic also wrote on French literature for a large number of other journals including Den Gulden Winckel. In this journal, too, he writes on the avant-garde in an unfavourable way: “Du monde entier is the title of a collection of poems by the ‘Dadaist’ Blaise Cendrars. This book is mentioned only by way of a sad example of pathetic psychopathology. It may be known that to Cendrars the highest art is “l’absence d’art” (Permys 1919: 166). However, Permys’s views are not of overriding importance to the picture of the avant-garde Den Gulden Winckel would evoke. In 1925 and 1926 W.F.A. Roëll wrote on surrealist art mainly in a constructive way. He would, with approval, describe the main ambitions of the surrealists as to exploring the subconscious, new forms of expression such as automatic writing and social revolution. In response to Soupault and Aragon, for instance, he wrote: “Why are we enjoying so much Soupault’s novels or the magnificent “Le paysan de Paris” by Aragon? Because the dream source has enriched their generally human qualities in uncommon
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ways. And their styles, that of the latter in particular, are in a word excellent” (Roëll 1926: 251). Reporter for NRC in Paris H. van Loon, too, commented favourably on the novel Elisa by RibemontDessaignes, commending it for its amoralism: From birth Elisa has been written down and efforts to stop her up the slopes are all in vain. The great merit of the author is to instil in the reader the fatality of this event without any dogmatism. Won over and captivated, we follow the narrative inch by inch. […] Ribemont-Dessaignes is anything but a soldier in the Salvation Army. A lesson or a sermon is abhorrent to him […] and this life story of awful deviation is like a relief, because, as he wrote, the writer was independent of everything. (Van Loon 1932: 82).
As has been said, Roël would write not only for Den Gulden Winckel but also for the journal for the young De Vrije Bladen. There he would discuss La Révolution surréaliste, in his view a “highly interesting monthly journal”, the development of the subconscious, the techniques of automatic writing and dream analysis. In Roëll’s view, the experiments of form of the surrealists generate interesting literature: “This ‘pensée parlée’ suffered from lack of construction indeed, yet displayed so many qualities of poetical emotion, brilliant images and unexpected comical force as well, that the pioneers thought they had discovered a poetical material of supreme order and complete originality” (Roëll 1925: 18). Quite happy with the explorations of the subconscious and the dream, Roëll also comments: the literary effects of this new material is still found wanting: It is hard to pass judgement on the only just budding Surrealism as early as now. As to art, the rehabilitation of the subconscious cannot but work favourably in over-conscious, hyper-logical France. […] But would not their extreme subjectivism be a no-through road? In the long run, their dream stories, in which a few diamonds shine in a mountain of ore, will make a wearisome-monotonous impression. It is unsophisticated poetical material asking for development. (Roëll 1925: 21)
The reception of the Avant-Garde in De Vrije Bladen was for the greater part favourable, the only exception being the review by E. de Roos on Tristan Tzara’s “Mouchoir de Nuages”. She expresses her disapproval of the nihilistic nature of many Dadaist art expressions: “The main theme of the piece is disconsolately gloomy, the hopeless bleakness and uncertainty Dadaism left: ‘On fait les choses ou on ne les fait pas, le résultat est toujours le même: on crève à la fin’” (De
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Roos 1925: 84). De Stem pays very little attention to the Avant-Garde. According to Dorleijn this journal rejects the Avant-Garde in a radical way, yet the only explicit reference to be found in it is absolutely favourable. In 1925 Marsman would write favourably on the unconventional nature of many Avant-Gardist art expressions: Three art forms. - movements (futurism, expressionism, cubism); - directions, if you like, prevailed in Europe around 1918; as separate schools they are for the greater part over, if not entirely over and done with, but still they make their influence felt, openly or covertly, in all modern art. It is not true that the so-called “isms” have primarily been short-lived madness; first of all, they were the forces which over the last decades have relieved European art of numerous forms of conventional rigidity […]. (Marsman 1925: 481)
The most favourable picture of the Avant-Garde would emerge in the non-programmatic journal of Groot Nederland, not in the least due to J. van Nijlen and T. van Doesburg contributing to it. Van Nijlen thought surrealist theories not always just as understandable, but his opinion on texts by Soupault and Aragon is absolutely favourable. In response to Le Libertinage by Aragon, for instance, he wrote: “The preface mr L. Aragon wrote to his book entitled Le Libertinage is, in a way, a document. However, it should be read with caution, as this young writer was known to belong to the Dadaist group, and not all statements made by these clowns, by no means lacking in talent, should be accepted just like that” (Van Nijlen 1924: 668). Van Nijlen thinks Soupault’s En joue talented and Aragon’s Traité du style quite nice. Yet it was to be Van Doesburg’s 1931 contribution in particular which determined the image as to the Avant-Garde in Groot Nederland. Here, Van Doesburg discusses surrealist literature in France, the line which could be drawn from Mallarmé, via Appolinaire to the surrealists, the influence of Freud’s psycho-analysis and the techniques of automatic writing. His discussion is exemplified by fragments from texts by Rimbaud (Alchimie du Verbe), Mallarmé, René Ghil, Apollinaire and Breton (Poisson soluble).
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Conclusion In the eyes of the inter-bellum period critics the work of Proust should, before all else, be seen as an up-beat to the twentieth century. By opposing the conventions of the nineteenth-century realistic novel of intrigue, he revived the novel indeed, but he cannot be said to be genuinely modern. Proust is generally considered a transitional figure. Proust’s portrayal of Belle Epoque decadent salon life does not seem modern and his craving for understanding and rational explanation is often either experienced as classical (in line with the great French moralists such as Montaigne) or connected with the late nineteenthcentury positivistic mental climate, as would Tielrooy. In addition, Proust’s strongly impressionistic style of writing and his essentialism are mainly linked to symbolism, with the only exception of the academic Tielrooy who employed the term “modernism” in connection with Proust for the first time in 1935. As I have said in the introduction, not until the 1950s and 1960s would the modernistic interpretation of Proust get going through the agency of interpretations of the “nouveaux romanciers” and structuralists such as Genette. However, it remains an academic affair. Within public criticism, Proust’s work has to this day continued to be seen as an upbeat to the twentieth century. In 1948, Vestdijk phrased this viewpoint, which to this day has not lost its topical interest, as follows: In many respects, Proust was the counterpart of a modern writer; apart from positivism, symbolism, neo-symbolism, impressionism, fin de siècle, his books are haunted by the style of the most approved French maxims. It is quite an old type of memoir offered here, employed with modern subtlety, albeit without the most modern means. (S. Vestdijk 1948: 95)
The catholic media excepted, the opinion on Proust’s work was usually quite favourable. Only the Catholics would see a connection between A la recherche du temps perdu and the Historic Avant-Garde. Both Proust and the representatives of the Avant-Garde work from an amoralistic viewpoint, sharing a special interest in the dream and the subconscious. The non-pillarized media would more likely indicate differences: the Avant-Gardists would break nineteenth-century realism in ways much more radical than Proust would; automatic writing is miles apart from the elegant style of writing of the author of A la recherche du temps perdu; Proust would break existing standards in
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less radical a manner than the Avant-Gardists; social ambitions are unknown to Proust and the Avant-Gardists consider his rationally explicative psychology a mendacious approach to the inner stirrings of the human psyche. In short, the Avant-Gardists contrast with Proust by their radicalism in many areas. This radicalism is likely to explain why opinion on the AvantGarde was far more mixed, though less unfavourable than it has often been supposed. However, there was little attention for the AvantGarde, surrealism being the main focus of interest at the expense of other movements. Vestdijk, Vermeulen and Permys would express an unfavourable opinion, whereas Marsman, Van Nijlen, Van Loon and, of course, Van Doesburg would make every effort to raise sympathy for the renewing aspirations of the Avant-Garde.
Bibliography Anonymus a 1926 “Op den kandelaar: Jacques Maritain”. In: De Nieuwe Eeuw, 3 juni. Anonymus b 1926 “De mystieke crisis in de hedendaagse Franse literatuur. Twee groepen: katholieken en communisten”. In: De Nieuwe Eeuw, 9 december. Aragon, L. 1919 “Livres choisis”. In : Littérature 7 (1919) : 24. 1920 “Livres choisis”. In : Littérature 11 (1920) : 30. Berg, Hubert F. van den / Gillis J. Dorleijn (samenstelling) 2002 Avantgarde ! Voorhoede ? Vernieuwingsbewegingen in Noord en Zuid opnieuw beschouwd. Vantilt. Breton, A. 1970 Entretien avec Madeleine Chapsal, Marguerite Bonnet, Paris. 1988 Oeuvres Complètes I. Bruijn, G. de 1930 “De Proustiaanse kunst- en levensbeschouwing”. In: Groot Nederland: 414-428. Bruning, G. 1926
“Van André Gide tot André Breton”. In: De Gemeenschap, April and May: 101, 107 and 131.
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“Weerstand tegen de avantgarde in Nederland”. In: Hubert F. van den Berg / Gillis J. Dorleijn (samenstellling), Avantgarde ! Voorhoede ? Vernieuwingsbewegingen in Noord en Zuid opnieuw beschouwd. Vantilt: 137-156.
Duinkerken, A. van 1932 Katholiek Verzet, Van Dishoek. Fokkema, D., Ibsch, E. 1984 Het Modernisme in de Europese letterkunde. Amsterdam A.P. Engelman, J 1935 “Het surrealisme”. In: De Gemeenschap: 239. Erens, F. 1935 “Invallen”. In: De Nieuwe Gids: 468-469. Greshoff, J. 1932 “De brieven van Proust”. In: De Gids, deel II: 197-220. 1969 Afscheid van Europa, “s-Gravenhage. Nijgh & Van Ditmar. Hol, J.C. 1922 “Marcel Proust”. In: De Nieuwe Gids: 685-695. Levaux, L. 1927/”28 “Marcel Proust”. In: Roeping : 392-397. Loon, H. van 1932 “Een post-dadaïstische roman”. In: Den Gulden Winckel, 1932: 8084. Marsman, H. 1925 “Over de verhouding van leven en kunst”. In: De Stem: 478-482. 1932 “Aesthetiek der reporters”. In: Forum: 141-150. Nijlen, J. van 1920 “Marcel Proust, A l”ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs”. In : Groot Nederland : 350-352. 1924 “Buitenlandsche literatuur”. In: Groot Nederland: 668. Permys, M. 1919 “Letterkundig nieuws uit Frankrijk”. In: Den Gulden Winckel: 166. Perron, E. du 1956
Verzameld Werk IV. Amsterdam.
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A la recherche du temps perdu, Pléiade, Paris, I. Correspondance XIX, Plon, Paris.
Ridder, A. de 1920 Marcel Proust”. In : De Telegraaf, 13 november. Rigen, D.F. 1929/”30 “Marcel Proust”. In : Boekenschouw: 392-396. Roëll, W.F.A. 1925 “Surréalisme”. In : De Vrije Bladen: 18-21. 1926 “Brief uit Parijs: surrealistische troebelen”. In: Den Gulden Winckel: 250-251. Rongen, H. 1927 “Marcel Proust”. In: Boekzaal: 273-275. Roos, E. de 1925 Tadié, J-Y. 1996
“Over Tristan Tzara”s “Mouchoir de Nuages”. In: De Vrije Bladen: 83-86. Marcel Proust, Folio, Gallimard, Paris.
Tielrooy, J. 1924 “Marcel Proust 1871-1922”. In : De Gids, deel II : 249-276. 1935 “Klassicisme, romantiek...thans: modernisme”. In : Critisch Bulletin : 427-429. Varthaire, J. de 1930 “Een enquête onder de europeesche jeugd”. In: De Tijd, 1 mei. Vermeulen, M. 1927 “Fransche letteren: over Ribemont-Dessaignes, Céleste Ugolin”. In: De Gids: 174-175. 1929 “Fransche letteren: André Breton, Manifeste du surréalisme”. In : De Gids : 111-113. Vestdijk, S. 1933 “Eine neue kritik über Proust”. In: Forum: 619-622. 1933 “Valéry en het duistere vers”. In: Forum: 776-779. 1948 “De psychologie in de roman”. In: De Gids: 95-112. Wesemael, S. van 1999 De receptie van Proust in Nederland, Historische Reeks.
The Writing Artists of the Magazine Kroniek van Kunst en Kultuur (Chronicle of Art and Culture) in the Period 1935-1941 Hestia Bavelaar Due to its broad approach the Dutch cultural magazine, Kroniek van Hedendaagsche Kunst en Kultuur can be justly called a mirror of the time. The magazine’s repeatedly proclaimed goal to give an objective section of artistic expressions that are seen as valuable for the own time reinforces the appropriateness of this name. Although the KKK-signature was not utopian and also not avantgarde, it gives a more adequate and factual image of the road most Dutch artists travelled in that time than the avant-garde magazines had done. One of the direct incentives for the foundation of the KKK was the authoritarian art policy of Nazi-Germany, where artistic freedom was severely curtailed. Looking for the right attitude, the KKK-artist chose alternately for individualism or social and political engagement, between (cultural)-pessimism and confidence in a better future. Emphasis will be put on articles about the fine arts, because these form the largest part within the magazine. By sketching the artistic face of the KKK in the thirties justice will be done to the complexity of the Dutch art in this period. Long time art of the thirties in Holland is identified with Magical Realism and Neo-Realism and a large number of other artistic trends and views are ignored. An analysis of the KKK sheds light upon the attitude of a large group of Dutch artists toward the avant-garde, retour à l’ordre, the decline of culture and the purpose of the artist in society.
Since the mid-twenties one can speak in the Western countries of a cultural transition. This is characterized by scepticism towards the avant-garde movements of the two preceding decades and the search for a synthesis of traditional and contemporary values. The cultural transition became manifest in the rehabilitation of traditional artistic notions that had been denied by modernism, such as mimesis, the importance of handicraft, the classical genres and academic rules. Especially artists who can be called the pioneers of such revolutionary experiments as Fauvism, Cubism and Futurism rediscovered the tradition. These artists include Pablo Picasso, George Braque, André Dérain, Fernand Léger, Gino Severini and Carlo Carrà.1 In the thirties the young generation overtly preferred figurative art that was based on traditional principles. By then, experimental and abstract art had left
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their heydays. Internationally a large range of neo-realist tendencies came to the fore, among which were New Objectivity (Neue Sachlichkeit) (Georg Grosz, Otto Dix, Christian Schad) in Germany, Magical Realism (Magisch Realisme) (Carel Willink, Pyke Koch, Raoul Hynckes) and Neo-Realism (Charley Toorop, Dick Ket) in Holland and the trompe-l’oeil-approach of Surrealism (Salvador Dalì, René Magritte, Paul Delvaux) in France. The reorientation on the tradition was seen as a contemporary form of classicism. This tendency did not restrict itself to painting, for it can also be found in the architecture of the international style, in classicist sculpture and in neo-baroque music. Jean Cocteau’s frequently cited book, Rappel à l’ordre, 1926, greatly influenced the mentalities of a number of Dutch artists in the twenties and especially the thirties. It is important to note that the opposition to the previous period was not as radical in Holland as it was in France, Germany and, to a lesser extent, Belgium. Of course, Holland also had several important modern artists,2 but in the Dutch context it is not possible to identify clearly defined movements, such as Fauvism, Futurism, Cubism, Dada and Constructivism. An exception lies with the explicit avant-garde mentality of De Stijl. It was mainly due to the active participation of Theo van Doesburg, who combined the Neo-plasticism of Mondrian and later his own Elementarism with futurist and dada features, that the Dutch art world, which was known for its indolence, was given a dynamic and innovative impulse. In June, 1935, the first number of the general cultural magazine, Kroniek van Hedendaagsche Kunst en Kultuur (Chronicle of Contemporary Art and Culture) – from now on called KKK – appeared in Holland. This happened to be precisely the time that both artistic and political life were in an idealistic vacuum. The editors of the KKK consisted of the sculptor and writer, Leo Braat, the painters, Jan Wiegers and Matthieu Wiegman, the writer, Edouard de Nève, the architect, Sybold van Ravesteyn and the journalist, Henri Wiessing (fig. 1). The plastic artists all lived on Amsterdam’s Zomerdijkstraat, in the functionalist studio-building that was completed in 1934, known as the “Amsterdamse Montparnasse”. One of the direct incentives for the foundation of the KKK was the authoritarian art policy of NaziGermany, where artistic freedom was severely curtailed. Alarmed by the disquieting reports of the German immigrants who tried to find
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asylum in Amsterdam, the future KKK-editors thought Holland lacked an art magazine with a militant and artistically progressive signature. The literary magazine Forum, in which the writers Menno ter Braak and E. du Perron had expressed
fig. 1. Foundation circular of the Kroniek van Hedendaagsche Kunst en Kultuur, January 1935. (Archives L.PJ. Braat, Letterkundig Museum, Den Haag)
their fierce criticism on national-socialism, was by 1935 already dead and gone. Furthermore, the anti-nazi protests that could be found in
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the communist general magazine, Links Richten, managed and edited by the writer Jef Last, came to an end in 1933, when the magazine
fig. 2. Cover of no. 4 of the KKK, February 1936. During the first two annual volumes the KKK appeared with the cover of graphic designer Piet Worm.
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stopped being produced. The KKK-group of Amsterdam artists strove through their multidisciplinary magazine to combat the threat of western culture. The KKK would also be the only magazine in that time to open their columns widely to German immigrants.3 It is not only due to its broad approach that the KKK can be justly called a mirror of the time (the literal meaning of chronicle). The magazine’s repeatedly proclaimed goal to give an objective section of artistic expressions that are seen as valuable for the own time reinforces the appropriateness of this name. With this allencompassing starting point, the KKK differed a great deal from the avant-garde artists of the first two decades who had propagated their one and only artistic ideal and who condemned what in their eyes were hopelessly obsolete ideas of their forerunners. Another striking difference with the avant-garde is the lack of a justifying theory. The KKK-editors didn’t let themselves be structured and led by a few art theoretical systems. On the contrary one can find quite regularly in the KKK the point of view that individual theories have mostly led to “grotesque thinking-results”. In art it should deal in the first place, with purity and authenticity. This ‘un-intellectualist’ character of the KKK could be one of the reasons why it enjoys a lower status and is less well known than such magazines as De Stijl, i10 and Forum. Moreover, the pre-war KKK distinguished itself from contemporary art magazines like Maandblad voor Beeldende Kunsten, Elsevier’s Geïllustreerd Maandschrift and Prisma der Kunsten. This was done not only through its idealist and multidisciplinary character, but surely as well by the numerous articles about the relation between artist and public, the strivings for a renewed humanist art and for the maintenance of spiritual values. The attention that was given to the cultural and political context of art makes it possible to detect a binding artistic program. Since I shall focus here on the art of the thirties, the volumes after the Second World War will not be dealt with (the KKK stopped in 1965). Further emphasis will be put on articles about the fine arts, because these form the largest part within the magazine. By sketching the artistic face of the KKK in the thirties I hope to do justice to the complexity of the Dutch art in this period. Long time art of the thirties in Holland is identified with Magical Realism and Neo-Realism and a large number of other artistic trends and views are ignored. An analysis of the KKK can shed light upon the attitude of a large group
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of Dutch artists toward the avant-garde, retour à l’ordre, the decline of culture and the purpose of the artist in society.
L.P.J. Braat L.P.J. Braat (1908-1982) was, from the very beginning, the pivot on which the KKK turned. From 1937 until 1965 he was the coordinator, organizer and animator, but still he contented himself with the modest title of secretary. His frequent stays in Paris and, after the war, in London, made it possible for him to persuade a large number of artists and art critics to write for the KKK.4 Moreover, Braat wrote, by far, the most articles of all the editors and contributors. To prevent an overkill of the name Braat, he often only used his initials or the pseudonyms Jeroen B. van Gelder, H. Uurling and F. Boudewijns. Braat was born in Arnhem and was the third child in a well-to-do doctor’s family. Although his parents wished for him to be a doctor or a lawyer, they always generously supported his artistic aspirations. At the age of sixteen he attended private lessons of the classicist sculptor Gijs Jacobs van den Hof and later he became a student at the School of Arts and Crafts ‘Kunstoefening’ in Arnhem. With its stress on the human body and portrait, Braat’s sculpture in the thirties corresponded clearly to the classicist tendency. It was only after the Second World War that he assimilated influences of Henry Moore, Henri Laurens and Maya-and Aztecan-sculptures. The war meant for the KKK a forced interruption, because they were suspected by the nazi-occupation of being a French propaganda-magazine. Many KKK-artists (among others Braat, Jac. Bot and Albert Helman) were active in the resistance-magazine De Vrije Kunstenaar (The Free Artist) (1942-1945) and they also contributed to the left magazine De Vrije Katheder (1942-1950). In 1945 the KKK rose again in a large format. The tasks and goals were practically the same as before the war. Most of the KKKartists had lost their wild hair and were by then respected as important leading cultural persons. We can read this recognition and ‘institutionalizaton’ of the KKK into the relatively high subsidiary of the Ministry of Education, Art and Sciences (OK&W). The government thought of the KKK as a cultural instance with an important informing and educative role. The KKK-mentality joined
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the current opinion that the experience of beauty through art could exert an elevating effect. In this way, the KKK fitted nicely into the cultural policy of the Reconstruction in the fifties.
The Artistic Preferences of the KKK; Amalgamation and Deepening The KKK-editors did not adhere to a utopian ideal, but they thought the time was ripe to gather the harvest of the numerous foregoing experiments. Art of the past, including that of the near past, was thought of as a part of the cultural heritage, which should be respected. The editorship shunned a one-sided approach of art (like the despised declaration of modern art being degenerate). Within the KKK we can find the view that the emphasis of the two first decades which was on the specific characteristics of the medium (after the war referred to as Modernism) had been a necessary analytical phase with a purifying effect.5 Art should develop by tempering the extreme expressions and by melting together the experimental and traditional elements. The modernist movements were, in a way, already considered as being ‘obsolete modernism’ - a transitional phase. The poet and influential art critic, Jan Engelman, who wrote regularly for the KKK about the plastic arts, expressed this view strikingly in his book, New Painting in Holland (1933). He wrote that the concepts of De Stijl would “lead to painfully sterile art” and “the revolutionary form-research” of Cubism, Futurism and Expressionism were only capable of provoking a smile: When we at this time read the publications (of the avant-garde artists – HB) with the very detailed often utterly boring and all too serious and also rather silly Dutch theories, we can hardly suppress a smile. Things we look upon merely as a small transitional phase, were in that period often seen as all erasing, totally recreating novelties (Engelman 1933: 22).
The relativity of the belief in progress can also be seen in the lack of glorification of technology and science, like is to be found in most avant-garde magazines. Already in the editorial of the first number, the idea of “historical continuity” stood high in the agenda. The importance of lasting values in art became more and more explicit
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over the years. In September 1939, Braat gave a programmatic annunciation of the discontent about the urge for novelty: “Actuality is in the end tiresome and it is the lasting things in life that ensure us the calm respiration, the conditio sine qua non of our existence” (KKK 4, 1939, 21/22: 330). This rejection of so called fashionable art culminated in the striking out of the additive “contemporary” in the name of the magazine in December 1939. In the editorial in the edition of January 1940 we can even find the conviction that the essence of art is “conservative”, because art by definition always grows slowly and patiently from the past. Apart from the above mentioned differences with the avantgarde, an important resemblance is the international – that is to say European – inclination of the KKK. In 1939 the editors were quite explicit about this: “The spirit of internationalism, this necessary of life for whole of mankind and especially for the domain of art and culture, is again in danger of going down for a long time in stupid nationalism and blind xenophobia” (KKK 5, 1939, 1: 1). However, this internationalist orientation did not prevent attention from being given to their own national culture. Thus it was stated in 1941 that the “ancient Dutch civilisation” would be used as a point of departure for the reinforcement of the spiritual life and, from there, contact would be sought out with “the best expressions of other peoples” (KKK 6 1941, 1/2: 1). Although the KKK regularly published articles written by German immigrants and the Dutch artistic character was thought of as quite similar to the German northern art, it was France that was considered as the ultimate art nation. A lot of attention is given to French artists in the regular heading “Parisian Chronicle”. The writer Jan Greshoff even went so far as to consider France, or more specifically Paris, as being synonymous of the whole of Western civilisation: Paris, however the masses will destroy it tomorrow, will always be the active factor in our spiritual life. The facts teach us that we can identify ‘civilized’ with French. Everything that is peculiar to nations only gets its full meaning and value by the French fertilization. One can compare this with the working of precious stones. The stone itself, the core, the essence, only becomes attractive and commercially valuable if it is shaped according to all the rules. We are the stone that must be shaped in Paris. (KKK 4, 1939, 10: 164)
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Moderate Expressionism. “The psychic Loaded Simplification of the Form” It was especially in a restraint and supra-individual form of expressionism that the KKK-artists hoped to find a purified art. Engelman spoke about the “psychic loaded simplification of form” opposed to “the spontaneous explosion of feeling, which is bound to be transitional”. According to Engelman, this ‘Romantic Realism’, which is characterized by lyrical and melancholic elements, betrays the northern, and in particular the German nature of the Dutch artist. Most of the Dutch artists in the KKK already enjoyed recognition around 1920 and worked in a moderate expressionist style: Jan Sluijters, Leo Gestel, Hendrik Wiergersma, Charley Toorop, Matthieu and Piet Wiegman, Hendrik Chabot and Herman Kruyder (fig. 3). As for foreign artists, the KKK also focused on the expressionist style: Constant Permeke, Frits van den Berghe, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, James Ensor, Albert Marquet, Manuel Ortiz de Zarate and Marc Chagall. Attention was also given to Francisco Goya, El Greco and Matthias Grünewald, who were seen as forefathers of Expressionism. In almost all of the articles about expressive art, a restored and close contact with reality is referred to. This kind of reflection on nature was not considered a return to pre-modernist methods. Rather, it was seen as being a result of the preceding expressionist and cubist phases. The art critic Jos de Gruyter explained in the KKK why he preferred a tempered form of expressionism to the German Expressionism. Firstly, he stated that the Dutch are too stern and thoughtful to give themselves over to the “noisy impulse of life of the expressionist”. Especially the melancholic and dark period of Van Gogh was imitated by the younger generation and in the hued colours of the School of Bergen one can find the romantic pessimism of the late Breitner. Furthermore, De Gruyter wanted to convince the reader that when the expressionist way is lacking genius it quickly can result in indifference and decorative exaggeration: “Perhaps one should have the genius of a Kirchner or Matisse to bring forth in this style works of lasting and undeniable meaning” (KKK 1, 1936, 9: 263). Poetic form of realism with slight deformations and colour deviations are also givens prominent places in the KKK. Artists like J.
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fig. 3. Herman Kruyder: “Melkvrouw” (“Milkwoman”), 1928. Printed in KKK 3 (1938) 7.
Sjollema, Otto B. de Kat, Jan van Herwijnen, Germ de Jong and Wim Oepts were working in this ‘expressionist impressionist’ style. The synthesis between, on the one hand, experiment and tradition and, on the other hand, the search for balance and order was thus found in a controlled form of figurative and careful expressionism. This also explains why Cézanne, who translated nature in an animated order (think of his words “Je veux refaire Poussin à la nature”), was considered one of the most important forerunners of twentieth century art. Another example of this synthesis was the work of Charley Toorop, who strove for a compromise between Mondrian’s dualism of ‘plastic seeing’ and ‘natural seeing’: “Taking part of the cosmic comprises the recognition of the natural element that leads to plastic seeing”. Already at an early stage, the art historian G. Knuttel Wzn. took notice of this retour à l’ordre in Holland. In 1926 he pointed out
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that contemporary art, in all its outer diversity, is stimulated by the search for purity and a certain detachment of the emotions.6 In the following fragment he proves to be the Dutch equivalent of Cocteau in that same year: That the same artists of the subjectivist period are now almost all searching for a new dependence, to a beauty that doesn’t flower coincidentally or in trance, but that grows through a carefully thought over and calm working method, proves clearly that one has become reflective and that one considers the immediately preceding art as an expression of lack of selfdiscipline, precision and artistic conviction (Knuttel 1926: 10).
Abstraction. “The Leaven of Realism” The dominance of the neo-realists and the moderate expressionists in the thirties can also be explained by the absence of the two important exponents of abstract art: Mondrian had left for Paris in 1919 and was followed by Van Doesburg in 1923 and in 1931 the latter deceased. Bart van der Leck isolated himself from active art life and Vilmos Huszar only occupied himself with interior and graphic design. The avant-garde impulse of the magazines De Stijl and i10 stopped after the last issue in 1927 and 1929 respectively.7 The only Dutch magazine in the thirties that still breathed avant-garde spirit was the architecture magazine De 8 en Opbouw, which propagated functionalist architecture and graphic design. In general, the art critics in the thirties wrote critically and often mockingly about De Stijl and Constructivism. Jan Greshoff for example condemned the theories of Mondrian and Van Doesburg in the following disenchanting manner: And in retrospect we wonder how it was possible that we let ourselves so easily be carried away by the sweet-sounding phrases about the mysticism of the composition, the magic of colours and the truly amazing truths that are manifested in the simple play of proportions (Forum 2, 1933, 2: 113).
Although so devastating a judgement you would never have been found in the ever so differentiated KKK, abstract art also did not receive overwhelming attention here. In most cases abstract art was mainly thought of as being interesting from an art historical point of view. Worth mentioning is the April publication of 1938 that was
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dedicated to abstract art. The issues presented here outlined the theoretical background of the exhibition about abstract art in the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam, organized by Willem Sandberg. The KKK-editors had succeeded in winning several outstanding artists and art critics. These included, among others, Piet Mondrian, Wassily Kandinsky, Sigfried Giedion and Georg Schmidt. The different views about abstract art published in this issue are illustrative of the state of affairs of the theories concerning abstract art in the late thirties.8 The sceptical attitude of the KKK toward abstract art is already evident on the cover, which was created by the painter and editor Gerard Hordijk. Here a constructivist composition in the style of El Lissitsky or Moholy-Nagy displays a circus-entourage where circus-horses and trapeze-artists perform their tricks (fig. 4). The KKK-artists thought abstract art had come to a dead end and the supposed absence of subject matter, soul and individuality were seen as clear shortcomings. The difference between the pioneers of abstract art and the KKKmentality can be best illustrated by the article of Leo Braat titled, “Abstract Realism”. According to him, every work of art should be based on visible reality while simultaneously containing a certain amount of abstraction. This abstraction is the presence of an idea that transcends outer reality. For Braat, this concept of abstraction, that he called the “leaven of abstraction” represents the reconciliation of the dialectical opposition between realism and abstraction.
Magical Realism and Surrealism It is remarkable how little attention in the KKK is given to NeoRealism and Magical Realism. These cool and polished works, which often have an estranged and harrowing content, did not conform to the humanist mentality of the KKK. The reception of surrealism in the KKK and for that matter in Holland, was not particularly enthusiastic. The surrealist idea that unconscious and irrational impulses form the foundations of human behaviour was considered the manifestation of a disturbing period. In his review of the surrealist exhibition of 1938 in Paris, the regular KKK-contributor, H. van Loon, indicated clearly why surrealism was not appreciated. He condemned the surrealist call for spiritual liberation, claiming that it was a nihilistic “revolt against human values”. The surrealists’ attempt to enter the domain of the
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fig. 4. Cover of the April-issue in 1938 with a drawing of Gerard Hordijk.
unconsciousness was, according to Van Loon, nothing more than an egoistic revelling in an orgy of the instincts. Furthermore, he equated the surrealists with a sick person: “The sick breeds its illness, sprinkles pepper on the wound, he wallows in blood, pus and
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excrements” (KKK 3, 1938, 4: 126). Thus, the KKK was an adequate mirror of the down-to-earth and chaste Holland, which was not very sympathetic towards the anarchistic and anti-aesthetic attacks of the surrealists.
The Artist as Saviour of Western Civilisation. “A Healthy Cultural Mind Doesn’t Fear the Heavy Load of the Values of the Past to go Forward” The scepticism towards innovation and the “dictatorship of originality” in the KKK is closely related to the culturally pessimistic mentality of those days. The subcutaneous culture pessimism broke out as a result of the 1929 stock market crash and the mass unemployment and poverty that followed. When Hitler was brought to power in 1933, this culture crisis came to an end. Every utopian thought was smothered, not only by the national-socialist threat and the economical crisis, but also by fear of the “masses with the impassive senses”. Many articles in the KKK bear witness of the conviction that Western culture is threatened by a “weakening of the spirit”. The KKK-writers could find ample ideas about the ever growing gap between the selective minority and “the will and ‘opinionless’ mass” in the writings of contemporary omen-prophets, such as Oswald Spengler, José Ortega Y Gasset, Julien Benda. Also of notable mention is the famous social historian Johan Huizinga and his nephew, writer, Menno ter Braak. Huizinga’s aversion to the blind urge for innovation that corresponded with the signature of the KKK is clearly expressed in the following passage taken from his publication, In the shadows of tomorrow ( In de schaduwen van morgen), diagnosis of the spiritual suffering of our time (1935): The impulse for progress can result in extremes in such a way that he degenerates in yearning for in vain and restlessly for the ultimate new, while despising all that is old […]. A healthy cultural spirit doesn’t fear the heavy load with values from the past, to go forward (Huizinga 1935: 24).
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Furthermore, Huizinga’s observation that modern man cannot cope with the technical and scientific developments, which had led to spiritual regression (“puerilism”) can be found again in the KKK. Braat attributes art with a healing function for the modern “soulless and half-developed man, overloaded with cerebral information”. The separation between knowing and feeling has brought modern man out of balance: Man of today and the artist in an intensified way is suffering from an enormous weight of technical knowing and capacity. He is constantly surrounded by thousands of books, faultless photographs, numerous documentary films who serve him without failing. (KKK 3, 1937, 1:1)
The spiritual revolution, as predicted by Kandinsky, Mondrian and Malevich, obviously had not taken place. This explains why the concepts “spirit” and “idea” were frequently mentioned in the KKK to serve as a counterbalance for the ever-increasing materialism. Art and culture were reckoned to the spiritual sphere and so they distinguished themselves from more practical and material areas. These included topically social, economic and political issues. The preoccupation with spirit had nothing to do with the metaphysical notions of esoteric movements like theosophy and the Rosicrucians, which exerted an irresistible attraction on many intellectuals and artists in the first twenty years of the 20the century. Rather, for the KKK, the spiritual related to the higher human capacities, such as his intellectual, creative and moral activities. Many articles speak about the discontent over the little interest that the Dutch public had in art and about how nice it would be if this public was more subservient to art instead of the other way round. A typical complaint about the marginal position of the Dutch artist can be found in Braat’s programmatic article titled, “Art and society”: And for example in Holland, where the artist stands completely isolated and unprotected in the middle of the mass, whom he can, if need be, understand and appreciate, but who (the mass – H.B.) is not yet capable to stand behind him in matters of the mind, like is the case in France for example, it seems almost a reckless deed to say out loud no!, where raging barbarians brag yes! (KKK 2, 1937, 4: 125)
The cause of the indifference of the public was attributed to the duality between “the knowing and not-knowing”, an observation
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probably adopted from Ortega Y Gasset’s book La Rebelion de las Massas (1923) (The rebellion of the masses), that was published in Dutch translation in 1933. Ortega’s dislike of the “mass-man” resounds evidently in Braat’s article “Praise of Folly” in 1936. Here, he indicates the meaning of Laus Stultitiae by Erasmus for the own time. The Dutch humanist philosopher Erasmus, who also lives in a time of changing values, criticized the abuses of church and state, but also the general stupidity of mankind. So he described the people as a gigantic and mighty monster that are “easily led by all kinds of trifles”. Braat concluded that four centuries after “Praise of Folly” the world had not changed for the better. Referring to the mass-psychosis which was caused by Hitler and his companions, he writes: Don’t we see expressions of mass-hysteria during football competitions and other rather unimportant ‘national’ happenings? Don’t we see that complete peoples, that are kept intentionally stupid, or half-stupid – which is even more dangerous! – are whipped up to a state of derwischen madness by dramatically presented horror-tales, by oratorical conjuring tricks, performed by men in solemn and illegal dress (KKK 1, 1936, 4: 102)
Art Criticism and the KKK: a Carefully Personalist Attitude: “Of one Thing we are Absolutely Convinced: Artist and Art Critic Belong to the Same Camp” The admiration of the KKK-editors for erudite writers can be deduced from the invitation to the writer Jan Greshoff, who together with Menno ter Braak and E. du Perron formed the core of the magazine Forum, to become editor of the KKK. Greshoff’s acceptance in 1936 was not only an encouraging intellectual injection, but also brought something of the Forum-blood to the artist-magazine. His ‘vitalist’ and ‘personalist’ attitude was unmistakably manifested in his warm plea in the KKK for subjectivity in art criticism: Since objective criticism is a fiction, I prefer the open and passionate subjectivity to subjectivity, that is ashamed for itself and covers itself by a mask. The indifference abhors me, and, alas, in by far the most cases al impartiality, every justice, every longing for objectivity is based on an inveterate indifference”. (KKK 3, 1937, 1:2)
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The question of whether art criticism should be subjective or objective dates back to the twenties, when a large group of artists expressed their discontent about the supposed inadequacy and arrogance of art critics.9 At the time the KKK was founded these protests were calmed down, but the question about the criteria of good criticism still remained important. The KKK positioned itself between subjective and objective criticism. Given the fact that the editorship of the KKK consisted of artists, it could be easily presumed that the side of the artists on this matter was chosen. That is, that only an artist can give a justified opinion. However, if we look at the writers about the fine arts in the KKK, it seems to be, instead, a heterogeneous company of artists and non-artists. Much interest is taken in a strong argumentation of the personal point of view by profound knowledge of the facts and a highly developed intuition. Braat had great respect for critics - mostly writers - who were able to write with expertise about literature, art and theatre. The difference between the writers of Forum and those of the KKK are symptomatic for the Dutch art world in the interbellum. It is possible to clearly differentiate between the liberal intellectual writers of Forum and later Groot-Nederland and the progressive partly left orientated artists who were related directly or indirectly to the KKK. Although these two groups shared their cultural pessimist mentality, there was unmistakably a distance between them. The KKK was in the first place a magazine written for and by plastic artists, whose point of view was mostly based on their own experience and their intuition. In Forum and Groot–Nederland the numerous references to Nietzsche, Spengler, Ortega Y Gasset, Huizinga, Malraux and Gide and above all the high literary quality, betray the much more intellectual character of the essays. Remarkable as well is that the writers and critics of Forum often wrote humorously, whereas the artists of the KKK always remained very serious and rather pompous. This division in two groups of artistic circles also manifested itself in the different anti-fascist protest movements that were developing in the thirties. The first group can be found in the ‘Comité voor Waakzaamheid’(‘Committee for Vigilance’), formed in 1936 by Ter Braak and Du Perron (inspired by the in 1934 founded French
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Comité de Vigilance des Intellectuels Antifascistes), the second group is the ‘Bond van Kunstenaars ter Verdediging van de Kulturele Rechten’ (BKVK)( Alliance of Artists in Defence of the Cultural Rights), founded in the same year, 1935, as the KKK and consisting of 300 artists. The sceptic attitude of the BKVK towards the communists was probably the reason why Ter Braak and Du Perron looked down upon this association, which actually had quite similar goals. The superior attitude of Du Perron is strikingly expressed in his description of the BKVK: “that association of half-baked artists and ‘ratés’, who defend the rights of artists or something of that kind” (Mulder 1978: 119). The KKK and the BKVK belonged clearly to the same artistic circuit. The KKK was an important platform for the BKVK and, especially after Forum stopped in 1935, it was the most factual and constant antidote for the suppression of artistic freedom.
A Carefully Political Engaged Attitude: Art and Culture as Spiritual Mobilization. The prohibition of the KKK by the German occupants is rather surprising, because the anti-national socialist protests in the KKK were on close inspection, not that numerous and, above all, often very concealed. A slight preference for left was in those days quickly interpreted as an embracement of the enemy of the national-socialists, communism. The accusations that the KKK cherished communist sympathies were prompted by the fact that the KKK wrote regularly about the cultural situation in Spain and the Soviet-Union. The amendment of the law in 1934 through which offence was a crime against which the Public Prosecution Service could take action without a charge, combined with the addition of a new section to the Penal Code, which made “insulting the head of a friendly foreign state” an offence, made one cautious in expressing political opinions. Constant and open criticism was embodied in the anti-Nazi drawings by Charles Roelofsz. In an attempt to escape censorship, he masked these drawings by adding bible-texts. However, combining drawings with bible-texts did not leave sufficient room for multiple interpretations (fig. 5).
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fig. 5. Ink drawing by Charles Roelofsz, 1936. Printed in KKK 1 (1936) 4
This manoeuvring between left and right occasionally made the editorial policy somewhat half-hearted. It is especially in the editorials of the sculptor Johan Polet that the careful attitude towards political subjects seems to border on self-censorship. In an article of 1936 he stressed that the KKK-editorship did not want to commit itself in any
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fig. 6. Cover of the June/July issue in 1938 with the drawing “There is no sing-ing in sing-sing” by Eppo Doeve. In this issue the composer Piet Ketting wrote with indignation about the ‘Entartete Kunst’ exhibiton in Düsseldorf in 1938.
sense to a political party, because “a contemporary magazine can only be a mirror of its time in which can be reflected calmly without being dependant on certain fashionable political aspirations” (KKK 2, 1936,
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1: 2-3). A year later he warned the reader not to be surprised if the editorship would continue its work for the KKK in the near future in complete anonymity, which, consequently, never happened (KKK 3, 1937, 1: 2-3). A comparable problematic relation between art and politics can also be found in the last two annual volumes of Forum. The Forum-editors had made an agreement with the publisher – just like the KKK-editors had done – that political issues would be avoided and that only cultural subjects were addressed.
Degenerate Art and the KKK At first sight the KKK seemed to deviate from its starting point, which aimed at separating art and politics with its attention on the declaration in nazi-Germany of modern art as degenerate (‘entartet’). But the KKK-editorship considered this as a logical consequence of the magazine’s point of view: the authoritarian state-interference in Germany was evidently the living proof of the irreconcilability of art and politics. It is in the KKK that the most informative and elaborate articles about this subject appeared quite regularly. (fig. 6) The KKK not only denounced the denigrating accusation of modern art as being degenerate, but also published articles about ‘degenerate’ artists like John Heartfield, Ernst L. Kirchner, Georg Grosz, Paul Hofer, Max Beckmann, Wassily Kandinky and F. Vordemberge-Gildewart. These artists were rarely found in other Dutch magazines of the time. This attention for the German ‘politics of purification’ was also prompted by the conviction that in Holland one was practically unconscious of the fact that this threatened the unhampered development of art. The following fragment from the editorial, “Between Scylla and Charybdis” (1939), is illustrative of this indignation towards the indifference of both colleagues and the general public: Politics should not interfere with art! The last few years we see also in Holland a shameless and annoying interference and much too little protest! […] In magazines and newspapers the best that is painted, composed and written in Holland is slandered on merely political grounds and no single protest can be heard. These are ominous signs: a public that allows his judgement to be corrupted drives the artist back to the ivory tower, although this position was, in the eyes of this same public, so despicable (KKK 4, 1939, 24: 377).
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Hestia Bavelaar
The KKK in the Thirties: An IntermezzoGeneration? In danger of being accused of modernist and, for that matter, dogmatic linear thinking, I cannot do away with the impression that the most important reason why the thirties-generation is dubbed the ‘forgotten generation’ or the ‘intermezzo-generation’ is because of its search for the golden mean between tradition and renewal. Clearly it cannot be denied that the KKK had only a faint interest in the revolutionary experiments of the previous generation. Moreover, the KKK-artists felt uncomfortable with the revival of the avant-garde movements of the first two decades in the sixties. Although the KKK-signature was not utopian and even less sensational, it gives a more adequate and factual image of the road most Dutch artists travelled in that time than the avant-garde magazines had done. One could designate this mentality as conservative, but it might as well be possible to recognize from the present perspective (2005) several postmodernist traits. When taken into account that in the thirties and the forties the climax of international modernism was in fast descent and that eclecticism, moderation of renewal and the rediscovery of art from the past were the usual course of things, it is not far fetched to see a parallel with the Postmodernist mentality that came to the fore in the eighties. The multiplicity of simultaneous existing movements and styles in both episodes caused the feeling that the idea of progress was a mere fiction. The unmasking of the concept of originality by the American October-group from the mid seventies onwards, with the help of structuralist and poststructuralist notions, can in a certain sense be indicated – that is to say in a much more uncomplicated version – in the views of Leo Braat. For example, in the following fragment from his article “Devaluation of originality”(1950), Braat writes: “Sometimes it appears to me that one of the most typical phenomena in the present chaotic cultural life is the constant search for and whining and bragging about originality”. This troubles, in his opinion, the essence of creativity, because complete originality does not exist at all. According to Braat, artists have always “varied on a rather
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limited amount of themes”, he theorises that they will continue to do so. A gifted and honest artist assimilates all previous impressions in his own original way. In this way the genius Picasso is drawing constantly upon “the immensely rich collections of art periods and art movements from all times and countries” (KKK 11, 1950, 2: 28-49). An important difference though between the two periods is that in the thirties one still believed that after the falling apart of art in the numerous –isms there should be strived for the recovery of the ‘eternal values’ in art. Whereas Postmodernism, which is much more cynical and artificial, is mainly characterized by the notion of ‘lost innocence’. The manoeuvre of the KKK between a suffocating conservatism and an uncritical urge for renewal, described by Braat as “Shaping one’s course between the Scylla of petrifaction and the Charybdis of cultural trends”(KKK 15, 1955, 10: 217), was especially prompted by the supposed threatening decay of western culture by national-socialism and the rise of the masses. Looking for the right attitude, the KKK-artist chose alternately for individualism or social and political engagement, between (cultural)-pessimism and confidence in a better future.
Notes 1
For a study of retour à l’ordre tendencies I recommend: Cowling 1990.
2
Jan Toorop, Jan Sluyters, Leo Gestel, Kees van Dongen, Jacoba van Heemskerck, Otto and Adya van Rees, Jacob Bendien, Erich Wichmann, Piet Mondriaan, Theo van Doesburg and Bart van der Leck.
3
For an elaborate study of the Kroniek van Kunst en Kultuur I refer to my dissertation Kroniek van Kunst en Kultuur. Geschiedenis van een tijdschrift 1935-1965, Leiden 1998 (Primavera Pers). 4
From 1935 until 1965 no less than 880 authors have written for the KKK.
5
Illustrative for the tendency to map and assess the experiments of the previous thirty years are the surveys that appeared in the middle of the thirties: Engelman 1933; Bendien 1935; De Gruyter 1935; Fierens 1933 en Huyghe 1935.
6
Regarding this anti-expressionist direction Knuttel introduces the term ‘Nachexpressionismus’ of the German art historian Franz Roh. He referred with this
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term to a movement that started to surpass expressionism: Realism, which strove to represent ‘Das Ding an sich’ – this explains the name Neue Sachlichkeit. Roh wrote this in his book about the different realist tendencies in the twenties: Nachexpressionismus/Magischer Realismus, Probleme der neuesten europäischen Malerei (1925). 7
In 1931 a last special issue of De Stijl came out, dedicated to Theo van Doesburg.
8
In this issue (KKK 3 (1938) 6) one can find the following articles about abstract art: Mondriaan, Piet, “Kunst zonder onderwerp”; Kandinsky, W., “Abstract of concreet?”; Schmidt, Georg, “Constructivism”; Braat, L.P.J., Abstract realisme”; Buys, H., “Abstrakte Kunst?”; Citroen, Paul, “Bij de tentoonstelling van abstracte kunst”.
9
In 1926 a few art societies had founded a ‘Critique Commission’. The research by the members on art criticism resulted in 1927 in the brochure Public criticism on works of living masters. In this publication most critiques were accused of being inexpert and failed colleagues, who applied themselves out of frustration on criticizing artists who were far beyond them. The most heard reaction of the accused critiques was that a critical judgement on art works was necessary and inevitable for a healthy art life. Furthermore, the critiques shared as common point of departure for writing good art criticism that the personal judgement was of essential importance and not so much the rendering of the intentions of the artist. The battle of the ‘Critique Commission’ against “the humiliating situation of defencelessness towards the public criticism on their work”, lasted until 1932, but in 1927 the interest already started to wane.
Bibliography Bavelaar, Hestia 1998 Kroniek van Kunst en Kultuur. Geschiedenis van een tijdschrift 1935-1965. Leiden: Primavera Pers. Bendien, Jacob 1935 Richtingen in de hedendaagsche schilderkunst. Rotterdam. Cowling, Elisabeth 1990 On Classic Ground: Picasso, Léger, de Chirico and the New Classicism 1910-1930. Londen. Dittrich, K, Blom, P., Bool, F. (red.) 1982 Berlijn-Amsterdam 1920-1940. Wisselwerkingen. Amsterdam: E.M. Querido uitgeverij. Engelman, Jan 1933
Nieuwe schilderkunst in Holland, een uitgave van De Vrije Bladen 10 (1933), schrift 7
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Fierens, Paul 1933
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L’art hollandais contemporain. Parijs.
Gruyter, Jos de 1933 Wezen en ontwikkeling der Europeesche Schilderkunst na 1850. Amsterdam. Huizinga, Johan 1933 In de schaduwen van morgen, diagnose van het geestelijk lijden van onzen tijd. Haarlem. Huyghe, R., Bazin, G. 1933 L’Histoire de l’art contemporain. New York. Knuttel, G. 1926
Het classicisme en de kunst van heden. (Openbare les, gehouden op 21 oktober 1926 aan de Universitiet van Utrecht). Utrecht.
Kroniek van Kunst en kultuur 1935-1941. Mulder, Hans 1978
Kunst in crisis en verzet. Een onderzoek naar de houding van Nederlandse kunstenaars in de periode 1930-1945. Utrecht/Antwerpen: Uitgeverij Het Spectrum.
Ortega Y Gasset, J. 1982 De opstand der horden. Den Haag (vertaling van La Rebelion de las masas, 1923)
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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33
Amsterdam/New York, NY, 2006 165 pp. (Internationale Forschungen zur Allgemeinen und Vergleichenden Literaturwissenschaft 104) Paper € 35 / US$ 47 ISBN-10: 9042020199 ISBN-13: 9789042020191
Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement Steve Plumb
Neue Sachlichkeit is thought by many to have too many diverse elements to be a unified movement. Originally divided by G.F. Hartlaub into two ‘wings’, Neue Sachlichkeit has since been broken down by critics into more groups, sometimes with opposing styles or regional influences. However, the importance of these divisions has rarely been explored in depth. Unlike previous surveys, which accept Neue Sachlichkeit as a divided entity, this book shows for the first time that in spite of its divisions, it may still be regarded as a unified, coherent movement. While different artists may have sought to express different specific concerns, what they all had in common was that they were uncomfortable with the world as it stood, and it is the way that this was expressed, making use of the object, that gave Neue Sachlichkeit its unity. This was just as true of the literature and photography of Neue Sachlichkeit, where the same themes as those found in the painting were frequently used. The fact that these are shared themes across different cultural media demonstrates that Neue Sachlichkeit reflected a mood of its time, and this book explores the ways in which this mood was expressed.
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The Beast at Heaven’s Gate Georges Bataille and the Art of Transgression
Amsterdam/New York, NY, 2006 156 pp. (Faux Titre 282) Paper € 32 / US$ 42 ISBN-10: 904202013X ISBN-13: 9789042020139
Edited by Andrew Hussey
The essays in this collection were originally given at the international colloquium Cent Ans de Bataille: La Bataille de Cent Ans held at the Fondació Tàpies in Barcelona in September 1998. They are written from a variety of perspectives but are drawn together by the singular aim of addressing and interrogating Georges Bataille as our contemporary whose fascination with the rupture between mythical and experimental forms of discourse defines our own age as much as it did in Bataille’s own time. More precisely, the essays in this collection range over Bataille’s status as a novelist, a poet, an art critic, a philosopher and a prophet of postmodernity with this aim in mind. They not only seek to advance and clarify debate about Bataille’s present status in the post-modern canon but also shed new light on the complex relation between Bataille and the present generation of readers who have come to him through the prism of postmodernist thought. It is of significance for each writer in this collection, most crucially, that the premonition of catastrophe which defined Bataille’s fluid political positions is also located between tragedy and irony.
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[email protected]–www.rodopi.nl Amsterdam/New York, NY, 2006 XVI-282 pp, incl. 88 ill. (Psychoanalysis and Culture 13) Paper € 60 / US$ 78 ISBN-10: 9042020113 ISBN-13: 9789042020115
Freud’s Italian Journey Laurence Simmons
Freud’s Italian Journey takes the psychoanalytical texts of Freud on the visual arts and literature as its objects for analysis. While the biographical figure of Freud appears throughout its pages, it is not simply a psychobiographical reading of Freud, his personal circumstances and their relationship to his texts. Rather the processes of interpretation begun by Freud are turned on Freud himself, thus eventually displacing and questioning his theoretical mastery. Freud’s Italian Journey also argues that Freud’s interest in, frequent journeys to, and obsession with Italy profoundly shaped and informed his elaboration of psychoanalysis. The volume organizes its material around the major Italian cities which were the destinations of Freud’s travel, and the sites of the artworks he examined. Freud’s many Italian holidays were crucial for his self-analysis and methodology, but it is also argued here that his papers on Italian subjects must be read as texts marked by fascination and allurement, crossed with anxiety and resistance, inscribed by memory and forgetting.
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Provisionality and the Poem Transition in the Work of du Bouchet, Jaccottet and Noël
Amsterdam/New York, NY, 2006 244 pp. (Faux Titre 278) Paper € 48 / US$ 62 ISBN-10: 9042019395 ISBN-13: 9789042019393
Emma Wagstaff
Much poetic writing in France in the post-1945 period is set in an elemental landscape and expressed through an impersonal poetic voice. It is therefore often seen as primarily spatial and cut off from human concerns. This study of three poets, André du Bouchet, Philippe Jaccottet and Bernard Noël, who have not been compared before, argues that space is inseparable from time in their work, which is always in transition. The different ways in which the provisional operates in their writing show the wide range of forms that modern poetry can take: an insistence on the figure of the interval, hesitant movement, or exuberant impulse. As well as examining the imaginative universes of the poets through close attention to the texts, this book considers the important contribution they have made in their prose writing to our understanding of the visual arts and poetry translation, in themselves transitional activities. It argues that these writers have, in different ways, succeeded in creating poetic worlds that attest to close and constantly changing contact with the real.
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