Clement
Greenberg by Miles Mathis Why even bring up Greenberg,
one may ask? Wasn't Pop Art and all
that came after a successful coup de grace to Greenberg and his
theories? To Greenberg, yes. To his theories, no. Art theory since Greenberg, as Greenberg
himself maintained, has been nothing but an embarrassment to everyone but the
truly credulous. Greenberg's theories on
aesthetics were false, deluded, and self-important; but at least he took the subject
seriously, compared to his successors.
He tried, with misguided valor, to restore the dwindling importance of
art, if only in order to reflect on his own importance. He could not see that art's dwindling
importance was due, in large part, to the influence of previous criticism, and
that criticism could not possibly save it.
But despite this, subsequent theories did not conquer Greenberg's, they
simply set themselves up in the void left by his theories. Greenberg paved the way,
unintentionally, for the possibility of Pop Art and the other nihilistic
eruptions since, and maybe this should be punishment enough. But I will not leave him be. His undercurrents of historicism and
dialectical materialism have been refuted by the movement of art history since
1960, but much of his theory still stands untouched, and remains as a strong
influence even today. Art was not
moving in the direction he thought it was, even as he was trying to determine
that direction, but his theories have helped determine, in a sense, what is
critically viable in the last half-century.
His success called the present demons out of the closet. The best way to
counter-critique Greenberg, I think, is to go straight to his articles, to
begin the counterassault point for point, answering him on specifics and
building a general refutation on these answers. A logical place to start is with his famous article, “Avant Garde
and Kitsch” [Partisan Review, 1939], published at the very
beginning of his career, while he was still in his twenties. In it Greenberg asserted that what has
allowed the avant-garde to go beyond the "sameness" of
academic art or kitsch has been a "superior consciousness of
history," that is, an advanced "historical criticism." So right at the start, and under no cover
but literary opacity, Greenberg positioned himself at the top of the
pyramid. In that one sentence, the
artist becomes subordinate to, and is in the service of, the historical critic. He goes on to say, "...the
most important function of the avant-garde was not to experiment, but to
find a path along which it would be possible to keep culture moving in the
midst of ideological confusion and violence." To do this, the artist "retires from public life altogether,
seeking to maintain the high level of his art by both narrowing and raising it
to the level of an absolute in which all relativities and contradictions would
disappear. Subject matter or content becomes something to avoid like the
plague." Disregarding the absurdity of
the sentiments expressed here for a moment, I would like to focus only on the
progression of the argument. There are
two great jumps in logic in as many sentences: how does creating "absolutes"
help "keep culture moving" (much of Modern criticism has claimed just
the opposite), and how does "avoiding subject matter and content" a)
raise art to an "absolute" and b) "keep culture
moving"? Greenberg does not expound or
explain his thesis, he simply rushes ahead: "If... all art and literature
are imitation, what we have here [with Modern art] is the imitating of
imitating". Greenberg not only
gives us another definition of Modern art, failing to tie it to previous
definitions, he also continues to jump: how does the "imitating of
imitating" a) express an absolute, b) avoid subject matter or content, and
c) keep culture moving? In the very next paragraph he
starts off, "That avant garde culture is the imitation of imitating
calls for neither approval nor disapproval." (Not very critical of him, is it? It hardly seems like a superior form of
historical criticism.) He continues,
"In a sense this imitation of imitating is a superior form of
Alexandrianism [his word for academicism]". In what sense precisely? In that it takes imitation and removes it
one more step? This seems not superior,
though, but inferior. Why is imitation
inferior, but double-imitation superior?
Because, he says, "There is one important difference: the avant
garde moves, while Alexandrianism stands still." This brings to mind three questions: 1)
This idea of movement clashes with the previous idea of distilling into
absolutes. I would think that absolutes
are fairly stable. 2) Given that
Modernism moves, and that Alexandrianism does not, why is movement
categorically better than stillness?
Certainly the opposite has been argued well many times throughout
history (by Lao-Tse, Buddha, Plato, Christ).
Is any movement better than stillness? Should we prefer even reversion or flailing to a well-centered
stasis? 3) In what sense does
"imitating imitating" move where imitation does not? Greenberg does not answer any
of these questions. I found “Avant
Garde and Kitsch” a very difficult read, not because I disagree with it or
because its terminology is beyond me, but because it is so poorly written. The man's mind was a muddle. All of his writing is a horrible awful
mess. I don't understand how it got
published, or how any normal person made sense of it. I can read Dickens and Austen and Fielding and John Donne with
nary a pause, but Greenberg is like a foreign language. Logic is completely foreign to it. We are told by his supporters
that “Avant Garde and Kitsch,” though important, was juvenilia of a sort, and
that this explains its problems. We are
assured that he sorted all that out later.
But in 1960 he was still thinking and writing like a college student who
had read too much the night before an exam.
He was still substituting coffee and cigs for sleep and braggadoccio for
understanding. In “Modernist Painters”
[Arts Yearbook, 1960] Greenberg continued the argument he had begun in
“Avant Garde and Kitsch.” There he
said, "Realistic art had dissembled the medium, using art to conceal
art. Modernism used art to call
attention to art. The limitations of
painting--the flat surface...the pigment--were treated by the Old Masters as
negative factors that could be acknowledged only indirectly.... Modernist painting acknowledges them
directly." This is one of
Greenberg's most influential ideas, although it is hard to believe now. It is difficult for a sensible person to
comprehend that this recognition of a banal fact could start a revolution in
painting that lasted for decades and that still has important devotees. It is discussed at great length to this day
in art history departments and critical journals. Certain people still find it fascinating intellectual fare. For us artists it was a non-starter. It was like noticing that grass appears to
grow out of the ground in an upward direction, displaying a conventional
predisposition toward the sun; or that cows appear to lower their heads in a
conventionally downward direction in consuming said grass, revealing a
dialectical opposition to ground-based living structures of the herbaceous variety. But people with active lives cannot be
induced to get involved in such discussions, since we have work to do. The Old Masters would have admitted the
limits of painting. But making these
limits the raison d'etre of painting would have seemed to them
creatively suicidal, critically uninteresting, and historically idiotic. Let's move on to more specific
critiques, such as Greenberg's occasional attacks on the Old Masters. In his "Review of The Drawings of
Leonardo da Vinci," [The Nation, Nov. 2, 1946] Greenberg
displays very little nostalgia for the Dominus Dominorum. He begins by accusing Leonardo "of an
unconscious hostility to accomplishment in general, not only toward
art." Greenberg gives us no
evidence to support this incredible statement, unless one considers this
evidence: "his lack of perseverance, and his very neglect of the
rudimentary physical aspects of his metier...." Once one forces oneself past the towering irony here, one guesses
that Leonardo's failure to complete a number of major works is supposed to
justify such a critique. Even admitting
these unfinished works, though, Leonardo is generally considered one of the
most accomplished people in history, both for his talents and his
achievements. Normally in any kind of
expository writing, when one makes a claim that is counter-intuitive, non
commonsensical, anti-traditional, or otherwise revolutionary (and Greenberg's
analysis of Leonardo is novel, if nothing else) one backs it up with
some sort of argument. But Greenberg's
critiques are just one bald statement after another. It would be one thing if the proofs were fairly transparent or
self-evident or generally accepted. But
they are not. They are, in fact,
preposterous, once you cut through the confident verbiage; and you begin to
suspect that there is no argument because there can be no argument. Greenberg was lauded for the terseness of his reviews, but no
one seemed to recognize that brevity is not the same thing as conciseness, and
certainly not the same thing as truth. Greenberg's articles had to be
brief: they could stand only as bald assertions. Any exposition would have undercut not just the brevity but the
thesis itself. For a false statement
cannot admit of much elaboration. I know you will find it hard to
believe that I not taking these quotes out of context, or that the rest of the
article does not clarify the remarks I have quoted. But I can only refer you to the articles themselves, which I do not
quote in greater length because it would not help if I did. Each of Greenberg's articles is an island
thesis, a straight premise that you either accept or do not accept. And this premise, in each case, is contained
as fully, and perhaps more powerfully, in the few sentences I quote as in the
article as a whole. In this case, if
you dislike Leonardo, the article will be great fun. If not, not. But there is
no question of a rational discourse, and so I do not feel obligated to try and
create one by more extensive quoting. The flat dismissal of
Leonardo's multiple genius by Greenberg as a "reluctance to commit
himself" and as a sign of "inconstant interests" is nothing less
than astounding. For we must remind
ourselves exactly what is happening here.
Leonardo, perhaps the greatest, the most prolific and varied,
genius of all time, the embodiment of the Renaissance man (in fact, the
source for the very idea of a Renaissance man) is being called lazy and
nihilistic (having an "hostilty to accomplishment") by a man whose
only accomplishment is criticism--praising or damning another's accomplishment. The thought of Greenberg sitting in his
little Modern cubicle, legs crossed (knee to knee, of course), affectedly
smoking his damn cigarettes, looking up every once in a while with a terribly
clever, terribly satisfied look in his big droopy eyes, musing on
Leonardo's or Michelangelo's shortcomings, is enough to give me a heart
murmur. Greenberg even criticizes
Leonardo for "only taking the initial steps "down many scientific
paths due to his "lack of a scientific method." Greenberg is guilty here of the cardinal sin
of historical analysis: judging a man by the standards of a later age. He does not remember, or finds no truth in,
Newton's admission that "if I have seen farther than other men, it is
because I have stood on the shoulders of giants." But dismissing Leonardo's scientific
discoveries (which were legion) because they were not complete in themselves is
like dismissing Newton's physics because he did not discover Relativity. Greenberg might retort, "But we have
dismissed Newton's physics." No we
haven't. Einstein perfected
physics, he did not invent it. Without Newton, Einstein would have had no field
in which to theoretically wander. And
without the advances of Leonardo, among others, Newton would never have reached
the height he did, as he was the first to admit. Greenberg's attitude toward
history is a common one. It is both a
symptom of the Modern age and one of its causes. The Modern man forgets that history is a palimpsest, a page
written and overwritten, corrected but never finished. He sees it instead as spiral notebook or a
pad of post-it notes, where he tears out the top page, crinkles it up,
and throws it away before going on to the next page. Unfortunately when he gets to the end, there is just one pathetic
page: and it had better be right, because all the notes are in the fire. The worst consequence of this
attitude toward history is a vain and self-glorifying ingratitude. Greenberg's dishonor of Leonardo, although
meant to be self-serving, is not even that.
For in failing to recognize his own support, Greenberg was doomed from
the start. Greenberg's field is art,
and whether he likes it or not that field owes its very existence to artists
like Leonardo. Without the Renaissance
there is no post-Renaissance. Without
art history there is no art. Without
great artists there is no art history.
In reviews like this one, attacking artists like Leonardo, Greenberg
spent his capital. He went broke. And
in founding or perfecting a movement, he bankrupted contemporary art. In the same article, Greenberg,
unsatisfied with this puerile assault on Leonardo, also aims his peashooter at
Michelangelo: "Michelangelo's
Sistine frescoes constitute one of those rapes of the medium that result in
something splendid and extraordinary but that leave us admiring the scale and
force of the artist's nerve more than his art." As Michelangelo's defender, I will respond that Greenberg's critiques
constitute one of those rapes of the medium in which something splendid and
extraordinary is destroyed, leaving us admiring only the scale and force
of the critic's nerve. For he follows up with, "And since
these works [of Leonardo and Michelangelo] have such a deleterious effect upon
artists who come afterward, they amount almost to acts of hostility toward
art." Greenberg's theory of
criticism seems to be, "il faut s'abetir" [It is necessary to appear foolish-- Pascal
]. What we are to understand here
is that the two greatest geniuses in history have been bad for art, and that a
Modern critic is its savior. One gets
the feeling, although it is never spelled out, that the "deleterious
effect" just mentioned is nothing more or less than the "little
brother" complex. The Renaissance
masters planted a flag so far up the mountain, actually achieved so
much, that their successors, especially at a distance, despaired of climbing at
all. I can't figure out any other way
to make sense of Greenberg's complaint.
Michelangelo's "hostility toward art" is simply his forgetting
to leave us something to do, or forgetting to leave us something we can do easily. In this sense, achievement itself is
inimical to the sort of "progress" the Moderns demand. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In "'American-Type'
Painting" [Partisan Review, Spring 1955] Greenberg says,
"Though it [painting] started on its 'modernization' earlier perhaps than
the other arts, it has turned out to have a greater number of expendable
conventions imbedded in it, or these at least have proven harder to isolate and
detach. As long as such conventions
survive and can be isolated they continue to be attacked, in all the arts that
intend to survive in modern society.
This process has come to a stop in literature because literature has
fewer conventions to expend before it begins to deny its own
essence...." On first reading this
I was torn between two strong emotions,
the second much more violent than the first.
At first I felt the pure joy of a researcher who discovers his thesis,
or the proof of his thesis, in the mouth of his archenemy. But then it began to dawn on me: the
enormity, the absolute blundering conceit, the blind (if not outright
malicious) presumption of such a statement from an art critic. Greenberg is cautious in his
own field (he is, after all, a litterateur), careful not to attack
conventions in literature heedlessly lest its "essence" be lost. But in considering painting, all restraint
is gone. So much more here appears
"expendable"--another man's inspiration, like his money, is so
much easier to "expend". Why
walk gingerly in someone else's garden? --his tomatoes are not my
tomatoes. Purify, distill, vivisect
everyone else's means to expression, all in the name of Science, of progress;
but leave one's own alone, of course. This is why the critic cannot, must
not, be allowed to control, or even inform, the artist's agenda. Not being an artist, the critic cannot know
what is expendable and what is not.
Intuitively unaware of painting's "essence" he cannot know
when it is in danger of being encroached upon.
Nietzsche called religion's
goal "the minimum metabolism at which life will still exist without really
entering consciousness."
Greenberg's goal in art is analogous: the minimum metabolism at which
art can exist (by definition) without really entering the consciousness of the
artist or viewer. An art stripped of
everything but its "essence": meaning art as a terminal patient, with
only the faintest pulse. Such an art is
"alive", assuredly, compared to a corpse, compared to no
art. But is this all there is to a
definition of a thing--its minimum definition? What of its maximum definition?
Or even its viable definition?
Modern art is art in the same way that the tiniest peak or trough on an
electrocardiogram is life. But is this
blip what we want as a viable definition of life, as a definition of what life
can be or should be at its fullest?
Would it even be correct to call this blip the "essence" of
life? I don't think so. Greenberg is confused not only about the
essence of art, he is confused about what the essence of any given thing might
be. It is not the stripped down bare
bones of a thing. It is not the least
common denominator. It is not what is
left after all "conventions" have been "expended". If anything it is the process of spending
these conventions: not transcending them or excising them, but transforming
the necessary conventions through the process of creativity into an original
expression. Art is not the negation of
all conventions. It is the proper use
of the proper conventions, just like anything else is. Whittling away all but "flatness" from painting is like whittling literature
down to the alphabet, and asserting that is literature's essence. It is like disallowing writers from forming
words, or sentences, or ideas because these conventions betray a kitschy love
for "content and subject matter." For it doesn't take a savant to see
that painting's essence has been expended, if not extinguished, in the last
50-100 years, and that fools like Greenberg, meddling with unctuous arrogance
where they had no business, are to blame.
Perhaps the most maddening part of this quote is "in all the arts
that intend to survive," as if we, as painters, are in some sense
obligated to justify ourselves to self-proclaimed judges like Greenberg. But I say I am the creative one here,
I am the one producing something, I am the primary source without
which Greenberg and his ilk would be unemployed (and perhaps
unemployable). Let them justify
themselves to me! If this paper was useful to you in any way, please consider donating a dollar (or more) to the SAVE THE ARTISTS FOUNDATION. This will allow me to continue writing these "unpublishable" things. Don't be confused by paying Melisa Smith--that is just one of my many noms de plume. If you are a Paypal user, there is no fee; so it might be worth your while to become one. Otherwise they will rob us 33 cents for each transaction. |