"Barely concealed beneath the surface of Expressionist [opera]… runs a feeling of horror that sometimes bursts out in an agonized cry."[i] Schoenberg’s Student: The Artistic Development of Alban Berg Alban Berg was an Austrian born student of the influential musician, Schoenberg. Born in 1885 to an affluent family, Berg had a tumultuous childhood when the family grew financially destitute following the death of his father. Berg struggled with school, having to repeat several grades and got into serious trouble when he had an affair with a kitchen maid at the age of seventeen that resulted in an illegitimate daughter.[ii] Despite the hardship of these early years, Berg learned how to play piano from his governess—igniting his passion for musical composition. By the time Berg was a teenager, he began composing and performing musical works for friends and family.[iii] Recognizing their brother’s love and talent for music, Berg’s brother and sister responded to a newspaper advertisement posted by a man named Arnold Schoenberg looking for musical pupils. Shortly thereafter, Berg began his formal musical training under Schoenberg in 1904.[iv] The two would develop a highly influential and extremely volatile student-teacher relationship over the next eleven years. Berg’s musical ability developed rapidly under Schoenberg’s tutelage. He was a constant presence during the creation of Schoenberg’s radically innovative atonal period. This ground-breaking musical style, which lacked a focal tone or key, helped shape the music of Berg’s future work. It was also during this time that Schoenberg created his gesamtkunstwerk, the Expressionist Opera: Die Glückliche Hand. Although the opera was not performed until 1924, it was conceived and written in 1908 when Berg was studying under the musical innovator. The influence of both Schoenberg’s atonal period and Die Glückliche Hand on Berg’s artistic development cannot be overlooked. In fact, early into their relationship Schoenberg openly criticized Berg’s initial lack of imagination. Regarding his student, Schoenberg stated that Berg’s “imagination could not work…he was absolutely incapable of writing an instrumental movement or inventing an instrumental theme.”[v] As a result, Berg was pushed creatively during this period by his mentor who was breaking every established rule found in Classical music. Within a few years, Berg wrote a musical composition that was later developed and used for his Expressionist opera, Wozzeck.[vi] Despite experiencing this artistic growth, Berg saw little work or success in his earlier career (1911-1915). Although he was no longer Schoenberg’s student he devoted much of his time towards the musical endeavors of his mentors rather than his own.[vii] He did earn notoriety, however, during a very controversial performance in March of 1913 when he composed a musical arrangement to the modernist poet Peter Altenberg’s scandalous poems. His mentor Schoenberg conducted the performance, but it resulted in a riot and fisticuffs that led to police action.[viii] From this point on, Berg’s desire to shock the bourgeoisie increased, as did his interest in new artistic styles. He fell in love with the avant-garde and befriended many of its leading artists including fellow Austrian composer Alexander von Zemlinsky (1871-1942) and painter Gustav Klimt (1862-1918). In 1914, Berg went to Vienna to see the first stage production of Georg Büchner’s (1813-1837) Woyzeck. Immediately upon seeing the play Berg exclaimed, “Someone must set this to music!”[ix] Later that year he began developing the opera that would become Wozzeck. While doing so, “Berg… [was] torn between awareness of his debt to Schoenberg and the need to assert his personal and artistic independence.”[x] He had yet to fully embark on an independent musical pursuit and Berg also knew that his volatile father-like relationship with his mentor was now inhibiting his creativity. By 1915, Berg decided to cease all communications with Schoenberg. His progress on Wozzeck the opera was still to be delayed when he was later called to serve in the Austrian Army the same year.[xi] Nonetheless, following the end of the Great War, Berg returned to his magnum opus, Wozzeck—the masterpiece that introduced Expressionism to the operatic stage. Wozzeck Wozzeck is an opera that personifies the Expressionist social conscious during the Interwar period. Based on Büchner's nineteenth-century play, the story describes the life and tragic fate of simple Wozzeck. Throughout the opera, he hovers on the brink of madness as he is subjected to both his lover’s infidelity and horrific experiments by the Doctor. Wozzeck is a soldier oppressed by poverty, brutally exploited by his superiors and humiliated by his unfaithful lover, Marie. Eventually, Wozzeck is driven insane, murders Marie and, ultimately, commits suicide. Berg's Wozzeck “embodies…the fullness of the torment of the soul that constituted Expressionism as a ‘worldview.’”[xii] The main character is isolated from society as he fails to make connections to those around him; Wozzeck waivers in and out of lucidity as hallucinations and reality become harder to separate. Berg created a “world without normality or humanity and peopled by grotesques, a haunted world of strange hallucinatory voices and visions of natural phenomena indifferent to the human tragedy being played out.”[xiii] German citizens identified with Wozzeck’s pain for they, too, felt the world was indifferent to their suffering—that the deaths of WWI had been rendered meaningless. Although Berg was inspired to write the play prior to the war, he did not finish composing the score or the libretto until 1921.[xiv] Thus, the bleak existence that constituted post-war society in Germany and Austria profoundly influenced the violent and tortured themes found throughout Wozzeck. As a result, it resonated powerfully with Berlin audiences when it premiered in December of 1925.[xv] Berg's introduction of Schoenberg's atonal and twelve-note system in Wozzeck allows the social commentary found within the opera to come to its full fruition. Berg fully conveys his Expressionistic worldview through the score’s jarring atonal sounds and ritualistic twelve-note progressions. The atonal language of Wozzeck, “constantly hovering on the edge of tonal confirmation, becomes a perfect metaphor for the emotional state of the opera’s chief protagonist” and post-war German society.[xvi] Citizens were still searching for meaning after the war, and many were left in broken emotional states that resembled Wozzeck or Kirchner in his Self-Portrait as an Invalid. The musical dissonance, created by the atonal score’s lack of an over-arching key or tone, symbolized the German people’s existential struggles at this time just as much as it represented Wozzeck’s emotional turmoil. Berg continued his social commentary on German Society in Wozzeck through another innovative musical device: the twelve-tone technique. As all notes are treated equally in the twelve-tone progression, it creates a sense of repetition, a feeling that the music will continue, but never evolve or reach resolution. The ritualistic nature of this musical style plays into the sense of fatalism that was so prevalent within Expressionism. Berg paints the tale of a society so consumed with moral decay, that the “disease is too far gone to remedy.”[xvii] Wozzeck is a good man, but the corrupt people within his life drive him into sharing their loathsome existence; the depravity is inescapable. Just like the musical notes being continuously repeated, so too will their actions. Society keeps marching on, but never changes, never evolves. During this time, many Germans felt that the new Weimar Republic was no different than the previous Wilhelmine Monarchy. Only a radical change could restore Germany to its former glory, but as Berg highlighted in Wozzeck, perhaps the opportunity for change was too late. All this had happened before, and it was probably going to happen again. “On We Go!”[xviii] Wozzeck declares ominously. Like the Expressionists before him, Berg proved to be eerily prophetic as Germany would continue in the footsteps of the past and march on towards another World War. Watch a later 20th-century rendition of Bergs masterpiece below Endnotes: [i] Padmore, “Expressionist Opera,” 47. [ii] “Alban Berg,” New Grove Dictionary of Music,” 312 [iii] Ibid. [iv] Ibid. [v] Ibid., 313. [vi] Ibid. [vii] Ibid., 314 [viii] Ibid., 315. [ix] Ibid., 316. [x] Ibid., 314. [xi] Ibid., 314-16. [xii] Biel, Total Expressionism, 40. [xiii] Douglas, “Alban Berg,” New Grove Dictionary, 317. [xiv] Biel, Total Expressionism, 40. [xv] Douglas, “Alban Berg.” New Grove Dictionary, 318. [xvi] Ibid., 317. [xvii] Padmore, “Expressionist Opera,” 44. [xviii] Ibid.
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British colonial powers played a very specific role within India, directly affecting Indian identity and the country's deep religious traditions. National resistance to these outside Western forces on Indian Culture has taken many shapes and forms throughout the years, most notably through art and cultural production. Here we will focus on the paintings by Abanindranath Tagore and the Bengal School of Art. The Bengal School of Art was a nationalist artistic movement that fought against Western conventions and depictions of the Orient. Artists like Tagore renounced all aesthetics that had been used to denigrate or romanticize India and strove to create a new identity that could further their cause for independence. Of primary concern for the school, was how to define a cohesive national identity that would help unify the peoples of India and empower them to fight for independence from the British Empire. Tagore and the Bengal School achieved this through various means, whether it was in aligning their aesthetics with indigenous Asian traditions or focusing the subject of their paintings on the important concerns of early twentieth-century Indians such as religion, history, family, and nationalism. The School depicted how Indians see themselves and most importantly, how they wanted to be seen. Their presented identity was constructed for themselves and a renunciation against the Western perspective forced upon them through the imperialistic lens of Orientalism. Studying art is a tangible way to examine the issues India and its peoples were grappling with during British rule. Unfortunately, non-Western art and its creators have historically been discussed through the orientalist eyes of Westerners rather than the natives themselves. Therefore, as a white, Western Christian, every attempt has been made to write analysis strictly based upon the presented information from the artists themselves or discussions raised in Indian exhibition catalogues and/or reviews, newspapers, and articles. This is not an examination of an "other," for it is not about the West. It is about India and how they strove to reclaim their identity through art in the midst of their struggle for independence.
Although Bharat Mata in the painting bears four arms and a halo as marks of divinity, this is a deity that is deeply humanistic. Dressed in a traditional sari and featuring the skin tone of an Indian woman, not the trademark blue of a deity, she is a true reflection of her people. In each of her outstretched arms are the necessities for a happy and healthy life in her land. One hand contains the food of the land; another is a strand of religious beads, vastra. She is also holding a piece of clothing to cover her people and a manuscript containing the Vedas, the foundation for India's native religions. Bharat Mata is a true mother to India as she provides for the spiritual and physical needs of all her people. A key message that Tagore is trying to convey within the painting is how closely Indian nationalism is tied to the religion of the land. National independence is both patriotic and religious duty for Indians. In addition, Tagore is not just depicting a goddess or a symbolic image of India. Rather, through this image, he is making a profound political statement that Bharat Mata, the mother goddess of India, not imperial Britain, will provide for her people. In the third century BCE, the emperor Asoka of the powerful Mauryan Dynasty unified India. In Asoka, Tagore conveys his nationalist ideals by reminding Indians of their historic past. India was once unified from within and was a great power because of its own ability and resources, not due to British (or Western) influences. India can once again reach a golden age, but attaining independence must come from national and religious unity among India's citizens. Yet again, religion is at the forefront of the nationalist message. Asoka is known historically for his conversion to Buddhism and spreading its ideals throughout the land with his pillars. The painting's most important religious message, however, stems from the distant temple in the background. Depicted as the Kashmir landscape, the temple is the Shankaracharya Temple sacred to both Hindus and Buddhists and repaired and restored by Sikhs. The temple is symbolic of religious unity between three of India's indigenous faiths. In the painting Asoka, Tagore highlights two imperative factors necessary for India to attain future independence: political and religious unity. The Bengal School of art and its forefather, Abanindranath Tagore, did not just focus on the pictorial message to convey their nationalist message; they also utilized the more subtle means of aesthetics. Little to no indigenous painting exists within India prior to the Mughal Dynasty and even then, the medium and style were imported from the Persian courts. Indian miniatures find their origins in Persia, not the motherland. Therefore, the Bengal School looked to their Far Eastern neighbors for influence. Having no style to truly call their own, Tagore and other artists of the Bengal School created a Pan-Asian aesthetic. Seeking to remove itself from the opulent materialism of Western Painting, the Bengal School wanted to reflect the spiritual nature so essential to the lives of native Indians. They felt it was best exemplified in the style of early Chinese paintings. Asoka is reminiscent of the paintings of China's Southern Song Dynasty, a period known for depicting spiritual and mystical pictorial landscapes that reflected the country's Neo-Confuscist ideologies. Tagore depicts such an image as Asoka sits atop a high peak gazing upon the land he unified. Asoka is like the wise old men of the Song paintings seeking out knowledge within a mystical landscape. Here Tagore creates a painting that is deeply spiritual and lacks a Western materialist perspective. Despite its exoticism, any trace of Western Orientalism is absent in Asoka's depiction. Although its style may not be indigenous, Asoka is painted in a style that is decisively not Western. It unifies Asia artistically through aesthetics while highlighting the importance of religion and spirituality. Tagore and The Bengal School of Art were keenly aware of the underlying political motives behind seemingly benevolent forces like artistic mediums and styles; thus, they successfully utilized their adroit ability to render a new Pan-Asian style in such a fashion that would only further their nationalistic ideals. Religion is inseparable from Indian Culture and the lived experience. In Ganesh-Janani, Tagore depicts a loving Parvati playing with her son Ganesh within the Indian landscape. The deep-rooted connection between indigenous faith and the land of India itself is apparent. These deities dwell within the motherland; India is their home. This a point further emphasized with Mount Kailasa in the distance. This painting does not just depict two deities living within India, but rather expresses that the native religions of India are engrained in the land. India is infused with religious and spiritual meaning that must be harnessed and recognized for the sake of its future independence. Furthermore, Tagore once again does not depict a goddess, Parvati, in the traditional manner of a blue-skinned deity. Rather, she is simply a loving mother playing with her child. Continuing to break away from Western artistic ideals, Parvati may be idealized, but Tagore ensures that she is not exoticized. Parvati, in fact, could be any Indian woman. India: its gods, land, and people are all being depicted through the eyes of Tagore, an Indian, not the Orientalist eyes of a Westerner. The Bengal School of Art renounced the mediums used within Western forms of art and chose a more indigenous form of painting. Therefore, the artists within the school no longer used oils. Tagore looked to India's oldest surviving paintings, the caves of Ajanta for inspiration. The ancient artists of the caves used a medium called gouache, also a popular medium for Persian miniatures. However, the medium was embraced not out of familiarity, but for its roots to the artists of ancient India. Nearly all of Tagore's paintings, including Ganesh-Janani, are painted in gouache. Just as the artists of The Bengal School of Art returned to its roots for inspiration, so too must Indians return to the historic origins of their homeland to find a path to national independence. Twilight was far less politically motivated for Tagore than other paintings created within The Bengal School of Art. The painting subtly hints at the fading British Empire, that their time will indeed end. Yet, this is not the focus of Twilight. It is an illustration conveying the deep instilled Indian values of family. Here Tagore paints himself in discussion with his aging artistic uncle, Rabindranath Tagore, atop their family home in Calcutta. The two share a bond of mutual respect and love as Rabindranath passes along his knowledge and experience to Abanindranath. Family is a primary foundation to the lives of all Indians, but it must also remain of the utmost important as India navigates through the rough journey of independence. As knowledge continues to be shared from the wise elders to the active youths of India, then Twilight will end, and along with it, the reign of the British Empire. A new dawn for India will begin and the importance of family will continue to endure. What I have in mind is that art may be bad, good or indifferent, but, whatever adjective is used, we must call it art, and bad art is still art in the same way that a bad emotion is still an emotion. - Marcel Duchamp We have heard the phrases uttered hundreds of times. Perhaps, you have even said one of them yourself: "Even I could paint that!" "My child could do a better job than this!" While few who make these claims boast any art historical education, most feel they do know what quantifies as art, and most notably, good art. The fallacy stems from the belief that successful art, high-art, is representational, pleasing to the eye, grand and beautiful; anything less, is simply deemed bad art, or sadly, fails to qualify as art at all. As highlighted in the above quote from Marcel Duchamp, famous Dada artist and the king of creating works deemed unworthy of the 'art' title: there is indeed bad art and good art. Nonetheless, it is still art. This brings about the reasoning for why this is the first post on The Artist's Job. First, so that you will begin to recognize art as art despite your preconceptions. Second, and most importantly, that although you may not find an artwork visually pleasing, you can appreciate why it is deemed of worth. Ultimately, artwork is deemed significant if it embodies the beliefs and ideologies of the artist. The worth of art does not lie in its ability to render the world around us to near photographic quality. Yes, art is about color and form and line, but most importantly, art is an idea made tangible. It is the execution of that ideology through the means of painting, sculpting, architecture etc., that renders a work of art successful. Sometimes the idea a work of art comes to represent, however, is far more complex than the work of art itself. One such instance is Kazimir Malevich's Suprematist painting, The Black Square from 1913. "Malevich didn’t intend for the Black Square to be a representation of a real thing, but a sign of a dawn of new age" (Holtham & Moran, 2014). Upon first glance a black square does not appear revolutionary until one understands the visual history of the Eastern Orthodox Church. For centuries, Russia's churches maintained the same interior space, one filled nearly from floor to ceiling with religious icons. Malevich was making a bold statement to the Russian ways of old when declaring that a black square, not a saint or Christ figure, was the icon of the new modern Russia. Malevich painted a black square not from an inability to render the human form, but to destroy it.
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