Monthly Archives: October 2016

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop


One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

– Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.




by Martin Esslin


A Note on Ward Hooker’s essay on “Irony and Absurdity in the Avant- Garde Theatre.” (Kenvon Review, Summer, 1960.)


Mr. Ward Hooker’s essay contains some penetrating observations on the comic element in the French theatre from Marivaux to Beckett. His exegesis of Waiting for Godot in particular is an illuminating piece of criticism. Yet I should like to take issue with him on his use of the terms irony and absurdity’. I do not want to suggest that he uses these terms wrongly. In fact he follows common usage. My point however is that common usage is different from the meaning given to these terms by the practitioners of the French avant-garde theatre themselves. There is there-fore a considerable danger of confusion here between the meaning of these terms as generally understood in English-speaking countries and the sense in which they are used by writers like Beckett and Ionesco. And surely in critical writings about these authors it is dangerous to use the key term of their theatre in a sense widely differing from their own understanding of it.

Mr. Hooker says: “Dramatic irony is usually defined as speech or action which is more fully understood, or differently understood, by the audience than by the speaker.” He quotes the example of Malvolio. Another example would be Schiller’s Wallenstein, of whom the audience knows that he is about to be murdered, and who retires to bed with the words, “I intend to have a long sleep.” Dramatic irony can thus be meant to be funny as well as deeply tragic. Yet in the course of his essay Mr. Hooker tends to use the term “ironical” as generally synonymous with “funny.”

He regards the meaning of absurd as an intensification, a superlative of “ironical.” “If [the difference in understanding] is great enough, the resulting phenomenon may be called ‘absurdity.'” Mr. Hooker is aware of the fact that this use of the term is at variance with its use by the French avant-garde. He says, “This term has acquired a new connotation since Albert Camus has taught us to find absurdity in actions and institutions that had been taken seriously before.” (My italics.) From the juxtaposition of absurdity and seriousness it is clear that Mr. Hooker understands This “absurd” as being synonymous with “very funny” or “grotesquely funny.” He goes on to say: “But for the ordinary playgoer it may still be taken to mean the extremely incongruous, inadequate, or irrelevant.”

As I have already said, Mr. Hooker’s definition is fully justified by common usage in the English-speaking countries. The New English Dictionary, after mentioning the origin of the term from its use in music, where it means “inharmonious,” defines it as follows: “Out of harmony with reason or propriety; incongruous, unreasonable, illogical. In modern use especially plainly opposed to reason and hence ridiculous, silly.” In French, however, the meaning of ridiculous does not arise. The Petit Larousse defines absurde merely as contraire a la raison, a sens commun. Here seems to me the source of the confusion of terms. In English absurd can mean ridiculous. In French it means merely contrary to reason.

That is the meaning of the term in the French avant-garde theatre, which has been called a Theatre of the Absurd. Camus’ brilliant essay “Le Mythe de Sisyphe” ascribes absurdity not only to “actions and institu-tions” but to the human condition itself. And not because the human condition is funny, but because it is deeply tragic in an age when the loss of belief in God and human progress has eliminated the meaning of existence and has made human existence essentially purposeless and hence plainly opposed to reason.

The “absurdity” of the French avant-garde dramatists thus does not spring from their use of irony. It springs from the subject matter of their plays. In fact it is the subject matter of their plays. Both Ionesco and Beckett are concerned with communicating to their audiences their sense of the absurdity of the human condition. As lonesco puts it in an essay on Kafka: “Absurd is that which is devoid of purpose . . . Cut off from his religious, metaphysical and transcendental roots, man is lost; all his actions become senseless, absurd, useless. In another essay Ionesco describes his sense of existence from his earliest childhood as one of vertigo at the thought of the transitoriness of the world: “I have known no other images of the world apart from those which express evanescence, hardness, vanity, rage, nothingness and hideous, useless hatred. That is how existence has appeared to me ever since . . .” That is why the picture of the human condition in a play like The Bald Primadonna is cruel and absurd (in the sense of devoid of meaning). In a world that has no purpose and ultimate reality the polite exchanges of middle-class society become the mechanical, senseless antics of brainless puppets. Individuality and character, which are related to a conception of the ultimate validity of every human soul, have lost their relevance (hence as Mr. Hooker rightly points out, Professor Grossvogel’s criticisms of these plays as lacking individuality in characterization completely miss the terms of reference of this kind of avant-garde Primadonna. The audience knows no more about the meaning of the mechanically senseless dialogue than do the characters themselves. What is involved is a savage satire (which is by no means the same as irony) on the dissolution and fossilization of the language of polite conversation and on the interchangeability of characters that have lost all individuality, even that of sex. Such characters lead a meaningless, absurd existence. Mr. Hooker rightly observes that the audience nevertheless finds them extremely funny. My contention is that the source of this laughter is not to be found in any irony but in the release within the audience of their own repressed feelings of frustration. By seeing the people on the stage mechanically performing the empty politeness-ritual of daily intercourse, by seeing them reduced to mechanical puppets acting in a complete void, the audience while recognizing itself in this picture can also feel superior to the characters on the stage in being able to apprehend their absurdity-and this produces the wild, liberating release of laughter-laughter based on deep inner anxiety, as Mr. Hooker has observed it in The Lesson. This is analogous to the liberating hysterical hilarity produced by the release of aggression and sadistic impulses in the old silent film comedy by the throwing of custard pies, or in contemporary cartoon films by the hideous cruelties inflicted on the mechanically conceived human and animal characters. Such laughter is purgative-but deep down the things laughed about are of the utmost seriousness.

The absurdity of the human condition is also the theme of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. The play portrays characters in the act of purposeless waiting. It is indeed a religious allegory; it deals with the elusiveness of meaning in life and the impossibility of ever knowing the divine purpose, if it exists at all.

This is the theme of all of Beckett’s published works. And Beckett also uses the term absurdity in the sense of purposelessness-as opposed to necessity. He does so even in those of his works which were originally written in English. In Watt for example, the chief character, who serves a master almost as elusive as Godot, Mr. Knott, thus meditates about his situation: “. . . he had hardly felt the absurdity of those things, on the one hand, and the necessity of those others, on the other (for it is rare that the feeling of absurdity is not followed by the feeling of necessity) when he felt the absurdity of those things of which he had just felt the necessity (for it is rare that the feeling of necessity is not followed by the feeling of absurdity).”

In the London performance (and I believe even more so in the New York production) of Waiting for Godot the play was as far as possible acted for laughs-with great success, for as with lonesco, the recognition of hidden fears causes liberating gusts of hilarity. But it is known that Samuel Beckett himself preferred the Paris performance which was taken far more slowly, seriously and solemnly. There can be no doubt that for Beckett the absurdity (i.e., the senselessness) of the human condition is anything but funny.

Nor, by Mr. Hooker’s own definition, can I see any irony at all in Waiting for Godot. If irony implies that the audience knows more about the meaning of what is going on on the stage than the characters involved, then there is a complete absence of irony in a play in which to the very last moment the audience is kept in complete ignorance of the meaning of the action as a whole. As Mr. Hooker points out, even the parallelism of the two acts is designed to show that things do not change for Vladimir and Estragon. Cunningly the audience is led to hope that subtly the second act will provide a variation on the first which will reveal the meaning of the play and the identity of Godot. But this precisely does not happen. If there is any irony involved it is at the expense of the audience, which is put into the position of Malvolio who is led to expect things which do not happen.

I do not think that it is possible to establish a continuity in the use of irony and absurdity as between Marivaux, or even Giraudoux and Anouilh, and lonesco, Beckett, Adamov and their ever more numerous followers in England, Germany and Italy. For these dramatists are a real avant-garde in the sense that they are trying to evolve a new kind of theatre, to establish a new theatrical convention, a theatre which will no longer deal with moral problems, social conditions or social conventions but with the human condition itself. In the view of these dramatists the conventional theatre has lost contact with reality by being too rigidly rational in insisting that every conflict is fully motivated in the first act and neatly solved in the final scene according to a fixed scale of values of one kind or another. Their contention is that life in our age has lost any such readily identifiable rationale, that reality itself has become multidimensional and problematical. What, they ask in fact, is reality? What is verifiable? What is the meaning of existence? Can language itself be still used to communicate between human beings? Is there such a thing as character, personality, individuality? By confronting their audiences with the senselessness of the human condition they are trying to make them aware of the avenues of liberation from the narrowness of their lives and perceptions. That is why the avant-garde theatre of our time is concerned with the Absurd – the Absurd in its metaphysical sense.

Dumb Painting – The End of Representation

Dumb Painting

The End of Representation

– Frances Colpitt –

Painting is dead was a theory, not a fact. As such, it informed our experience and interpretation of paintings produced under the pall of such a fatalistic declaration. In the 1970s and 80s, those who continued to make paintings and there were many good artists who did risked marginalization and charges of elitism or navet. Painting went underground; ostensibly smarter and less commercial, conceptual art prevailed. Then, What the 1990s seem to have brought us, according to Christopher Knight, is the death of the death of painting, which no longer functions as an operating principle, either overt or covert.1

Painting’s first obituary is attributed to the French artist Paul Delaroche, who is said to have uttered, From today, painting is dead, upon first seeing a Daguerreotype in the late 1830s. Swayed by photography’s capacity for the faithful representation of reality, could Delaroche have overreacted? Could death-of-painting proponents be misreading irony for seriousness? Published in 1881, Gustave Flauberts Dictionary of Received Ideas a primer of clichés and a critique of bourgeois gullibility defined photography: Will make painting obsolete. (See Daguerreotype.) Implicit in Flaubert’s sarcasm is the naïve presumption that painting is, in essence, a mimetic form of art. Beyond capturing the likenesses of mortals in portraits, paintings prerogatives have always leaned toward the imaginative and evocative.

Although painting suffered little in the second half of the nineteenth century, its salvation is presumed to have been the invention of abstraction in the 1910s. Formally, expressively and sensually, abstraction gave painters something to paint. Freedom from the demands of representation, however, instilled abstract paintings first flowering from Wassily Kandinsky to Ad Reinhardtwith an overwhelming sense of doubt. Jackson Pollock is said to have denied the purely abstract nature of his drip paintings and Reinhardt was the last to defend nonrepresentational painting against the traditional association of painting with mimesis. No illusions, no representations, no associations, he wrote. The art of figuring or picturing is not a fine art.2

After Pop, which is primarily a re-representational art based on representations of representations, paintings prior options of representation and abstraction were realigned. Soliciting artists responses to the idea that painting has ceased to be the dominant artistic medium at the moment, a 1975 issue of Artforum opined: The debates between its two major ideologies, abstract and representational, have outlived their usefulness.3 Although representational painting persisted as a minor art form, the mimetic mandate shifted conclusively from painting to photography, while abstraction was split into formal and conceptual approaches, a situation that continues today. The divide characterized not only painting (including Daniel Burens decidedly anti-formal paintings followed by those of Blinky Palermo and Olivier Mosset, for example) but non-medium-specific art forms, such as conceptualism. Conceptual artists stressed the fact that their art works were abstract, in the manner of language, rather than representational or figurative. At the same time, they were adamantly opposed to formalist painting, despite its adherence to abstraction.4 Personified by Clement Greenberg and Kenneth Noland, formalism was rejected for its emphases on perception, aesthetics and taste; It’s a mindless art, wrote Joseph Kosuth in 1969.5

Perpetuating Duchamp’s distinction between retinal and conceptual art, and his association of retinal art with the slur, common in Duchamp’s time, bete comme un peintre (stupid as a painter), conceptual artists claimed intelligence for themselves. Brice Marden’s paintings are kinda dumb, declared Mel Ramsden, a member of the conceptual collaborative Art & Language. Dismissing an essay on Marden’s profundity by Jeremy Gilbert-Rolfe, Ramsden accused the critic of a rationalization or a naturalization of the parameters of media, museum and market. I think Gilbert-Rolfe’s idea of this bullshit art-criticism is that it serve as a deodorant, preventing us smelling the stink of modernism, by which he meant formalism. Ramsden’s attack was supported by an interview with Marden, who said, A painter’s just this odd weird person who has to do this dumb thing called painting.6

Gilbert-Rolfe is no intellectual slouch but his affinity for Marden (bolstered by his own practice as an abstract painter) situated his critical interpretations on the opposite end of the theoretical spectrum from Benjamin H. D. Buchloh and his support of Gerhard Richter. In his 1981 essay, Figures of Authority, Ciphers of Regression: Notes on the Return of Representation in European Painting, Buchloh hammered away at the authoritarian, patriarchal and bourgeois values of contemporary figurative painting along with its tendency to commodify history and style. In contrast to the desperately naive gestures of the Neo-expressionists, Richter’s painting served as a judicious model of the impossibility of authentic painterly expression.7 Buchloh’s co-option of Richter for the anti-painting, conceptual avant-garde formed the subtext of his interview with the artist in 1986. Commended by Buchloh for his cynical depreciation of painting, Richter adamantly disagreed. I see there neither tricks, nor cynicism. I know for a fact that painting is not ineffectual. When Buchloh interpreted Richter’s paintings as knowing illustrations of the bankruptcy of representation and abstraction, Richter countered with an affirmation of their capacity for expression and the communication of content. Incredulous, Richter asked the critic, You don’t really believe that just the dumb showing of brushstrokes, of the rhetoric of painting and its elements, could accomplish something, say something, express some kind of yearning.8 The conflict reveals Buchloh’s futile attempt to characterize Richter as smarter than he wants to be.

Richter’s work did much to blur the divide between abstract and figurative painting. Subsequently embracing both modes are artists such as Laura Owens, whose early paintings revisited the abandoned project of 60’s stain painting. Likewise thinly and inelegantly painted, her figurative works depict dreamy land- or skyscapes and evocative fairy-tale creatures. The shapes in Inka Essenhigh’s paintings have similarly evolved from amorphous anime-inspired forms to highly modeled, obviously anthropomorphic figures. The spills, stains, blobs and drips of richly hued, non-referential color in the works of Monique Prieto, Ingrid Calame and Aaron Parazette remain more rigorously abstract. Even the recent incorporation of text by Parazette and Prieto does not affect the abstract nature of their paintings. The words serve as dumb structures on which to hang sensual manipulations of color and surface.

One of the great surprises of the 1990’s was the frequent inclusion of works by Owens, Essenhigh, Prieto, Calame, Parazette and other abstract artists with the non-abstract paintings of artists such as Kevin Appel, Sharon Ellis and Adam Ross in exhibitions like Spot Making Sense (Grand Arts, 1997),  Abstract Painting, Once Removed (Contemporary Arts Museum, Houston, 1998) and Glee: Painting Now (The Aldrich Museum of Contemporary Art, 2000). Ellis and Ross paint shimmering images of visionary, otherworldly landscapes, while Appel is known for pale geometric depictions of imaginary modernist interiors. Shared by all these artists is a new interest in form, long discredited by conceptual art. More than simply retinal, neo-formalist painting appeals to the viewers body through gesture, scale and the physicality of paint. Meaning and reference to earlier art, cartoons, psychedelia and science fiction are as significant as color, space and composition. Unlike Formalist painting of the 60s, the existence of meaning does not critically dilute the nature of this painting.

In contrast to neo-formalism, conceptual abstraction is practiced by artists such as Jonathan Lasker, Thomas Scheibitz, Julie Mehretu and Damien Hirst, whose paintings derive from an anti-formalist impulse. Their works are not representations of abstract paintings as might have been thought in the recent postmodern past but inscriptions or illustrations of ideas. In a related attempt to legitimize recent figurative painting, critics have also linked it to the conceptual project. Artists such as Luc Tuymans, Neo Rauch, John Currin, Peter Doig and Elizabeth Peyton are identified with a strain of artists working conceptually with figurative painting,9 and praised for their paintings capacity to convey conceptual content.10 But that content is ambiguous rather than straightforwardly narrative, as Russell Ferguson points out in a recent essay on the crisis in representational painting.11 According to Alison M. Gingeras, the prevalence of ambiguity demonstrates that figurative painting today has lost its legibility.12 Figures, landscapes, urban settings and accessories are recognizable but not identifiable in a cumulatively narrative sense.

Although it might seem to defeat the purpose of conceptually based art, ambiguity was also an essential quality of the most rigorous strain of 60s conceptualism. Intentionally difficult and practically indecipherable, Art & Languages text pieces demonstrate the impossibility of transparent representation. While the words make sense, they have no relationship to objects or events in the real world. The difficulty encountered in the interpretation of works by Art & Language extends to Richter’s painting, as Buchloh understood it. David Salle’s arbitrary juxtapositions of unrelated figures and images exhibit a comparable ambiguity, as do Rauch’s inexplicable episodes of human interaction in spatially expansive, retro-futuristic tableaux. The ambiguity and the instability of meaning, which seems arbitrary or at least in a constant state of flux, are hallmarks of contemporary figuration.

Despite revisionist attempts to resuscitate the reputations of Alex Katz and Fairfield Porter (in The Undiscovered Country at the UCLA Hammer Museum in 2004) and Francis Picabia and Bernard Buffet (in Dear Painter, paint me at the Centre Pompidou in 2002, in which Martin Kippenberger is celebrated as the prototypical conceptual painter), representational painting appears to be exhausted. While its goal of depicting observable reality was long ago assumed by photography, nonrepresentational painting both figurative and abstract is widely practiced and displayed. Given the potential for duplicity in photography (think Yves Kleins leap into the void) and Photoshop (think Oprah’s head on Ann Margarets body), painting’s capacity for truth-telling surpasses technological reproduction.

The veracity of figuration and abstraction derives from their human origins, whether expressed through the artists touch or mechanical devices, such as spray guns, masking tape or computer-generated sketches and studio assistants. As a paint-covered thing, rather than an immaterial image like a photograph or video projection, a painting has a convincing physical presence. There is something more to art than its skin, Thomas Hess wrote in 1968. Painting is not stuffed derma, and there are some physical and metaphysical bones beneath the illusion of two dimensions.13 To be seduced mentally, visually or bodily by a painting is no longer a stupid crime but a pleasure.

1.Christopher Knight, Fresh Paint, Los Angeles Times, 4 April 1999, Calendar, 6.

2.Ad Reinhardt, Art-as-Art: The Selected Writings of Ad Reinhardt, ed. Barbara Rose (New York: Viking, 1975), 50, 55.

3.Painters Reply, Artforum 14, no. 1 (September 1975): 26.

4.See Ian Wilson, Conceptual Art, in Conceptual Art: A Critical Anthology, eds. Alexander Alberro and Blake Stimson (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1999), 416-417 and Joseph Kosuth, Art as Idea as Idea: An Interview with Jeanne Siegel, in Art After Philosophy and After: Collected Writings, 1966-1990, ed. Gabrielle Guerico (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1991), 47-49.

5.Kosuth, Art After Philosophy, in Art After Philosophy, 18.

6.Mel Ramsden, Jeremy Gilbert-Rolfes As-Silly-As-You-Can-Get Brice Mardens Painting (Artforum, October 1974, The Fox 2 (1975): 8-10.

7.Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, Figures of Authority, Ciphers of Regression: Notes on the Return of Representation in European Painting, in Art After Modernism, ed. Brian Wallis (New York: New Museum of Contemporary Art, 1984), 120

8.Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, Gerhard Richter: Legacies of Painting, in Art Talk: The Early 80s, ed. Jeanne Siegel (New York: Da Capo Press, 1988), 111-17.

9.Matthew Higgs, quoted in Linda Yablonsky, What Makes a Painting a Painting? Art News 104, no. 4 (April 2005): 101.

10.Alison M. Gingeras, Lieber Maler, male mir Learning from Kippenberger: Figurative Painting as Provocative and Sincere, Critical and Sentimental, in Dear Painter, paint me Painting the Figure Since Late Picabia (Paris: Centre Pompidou, 2002), 10.

11.Russell Ferguson, The Undiscovered Country (Los Angeles: Hammer Museum, 2004), 94.

12.Gingeras, Lieber Maler, male mir, 10.

13.Thomas B. Hess, Willem de Kooning (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1968), 23.