Institutional Heartbreak
Exhibit 1.
A large, almost squared oil painting. 2.27 per 2.50 meters of canvas of pure horror, pain, and hopelessness. Trench is Otto Dix’s 1923 opus magnum, deliberately catalogued without the definite article (the), since it depicts a common situation in the trenches of the Western Front during the First World War, in which the artist actively took part as a member of a machine-gun division. The daily reality of war is graphic and uncensored in Dix’s depiction. It takes one a good look to distinguish mutilated bodies, perforated arms and legs, displaced guts and brains scattered around the restricted space of a military trench. The eye is eventually drawn to a human figure in the upper part of the painting. A soldier impaled on the iron ruins floats over the toxic haze of the bombardment’s aftermath.
The painting earned an immediate controversy as soon as it attracted the attention of art institutions, such as the Wallraf-Richartz Museum in Cologne in 1923, right upon its conclusion. A notorious grey curtain was covering the painting’s installation, making the act of looking at it a matter of choice, thus attracting a major number of viewers. The peculiar curatorial choice of hiding it might have contributed to the heated debate around the painting that would go on for the next decade and presumably end up with its destruction. Today, the painting is considered lost due to the lack of evidence of the contrary.[1]
The critique of the painting hardly approached it from the aesthetic perspective. Some deemed it offensive towards the veterans of war; others saw the risk of disrupting the feelings of the families of those who perished. One of the most grotesque comments belonged to Meier-Graefe, who considered the visceral portrayal of the human body a “penetrant joy of detail, but not sensual detail”. A convinced enemy of the painting, the critic displayed a rather morbid fascination with the human insides, when he claimed Dix’s representation was not enough “mouth-watering”, arguing that Rembrandt’s Anatomy makes the guts so attractive “one wants to kiss it”. Besides, he was concerned with the painting’s status as a cultural representation available to the public judgment, including that of the officers from “the other side”. He was afraid such a demoralising image of the German soldiers could undermine the dignity of the military as an institution.[2]
In short, Trench made a tour around the museums that would be eventually forced to take it off, causing a heated discussion every step of the way. The society that just went through a butchery of war turned out unprepared to face its reality. Compelled by their civil responsibility, cultural institutions continued to show the painting, together with other, less controversial, artwork by Otto Dix, until his entire oeuvre was labelled as “degenerate” and partly destroyed. I presume the reasons behind this institutional interest could widely vary. Of course, some considered the painting a quality work of art and therefore, worth focusing on. On another hand, the Weimar Republic found itself in a complicated place and tried its best to keep a straight face, making cultural and artistic institutions responsible for it. The critique hardly ever mentioned the artist himself, but those who put him on display.
Exhibit 2.
A minimalist, essential website of the Wallraf-Richartz Museum in Cologne displays the latest news on a homogeneous grey background. The four sections offer news, information on the museum’s history, the list of its collections, and public events announcements. Upon further inspection, one can also discover some facts about the history and the founders of the institution. As for collections, the museum possesses funds divided into four sections: Middle Ages, Baroque, 19th Century, and Prints and Drawings. It is a remarkably commonplace museum, with a simple, unassuming outline.[3]
Very soon, I started wondering whether it was the same institution that once placed Otto Dix’s Trench behind a giant curtain, inviting a curious eye to delve into the horrors of war. Yes, it looks like the same one. The website’s page about its history briefly mentions the sad loss of 20th-century art due to Nazi looting in two sentences, mentioning Pablo Picasso, Paul Gaugin and Oskar Kokoschka (only by their last names, though). It feels almost as if the institution fell into a collective oblivion regarding the values and culture they once expressively supported.
Now, the Wallraf-Ritchartz-Museum is connected to the Fondation Corboud, which is named after a generous donor, who enriched the collection with over 170 paintings, mostly coming from Cologne school. Swiss-born, Gérard J. Corboud used to be a member of the curatorial committee of the museum, the main decision-making force of the institution.
“The museum that once housed one of the most famous and painful artworks in history, today is a place where anyone with little to no knowledge of the 20th-century scene can walk in and say “Now, this is what I call art”.”
The strikingly exemplary scandal story of Dix’s infamous painting seems to have been buried and forgotten long ago, as the museum submerged itself into a warm bath of comfortable, uncontroversial, and somewhat commonplace collection of art that ends somewhere around the turn of the 19th century. I am not assuming an arrogant position here in affirming that, no matter how masterful and historically significant this art is, it now exists in a moral vacuum, with its uncontested importance, dwelling in the common understanding of beauty. It does not challenge the viewer to think beyond the storyline of the very artwork, the most complicated of all being, perhaps, the stylistic controversies that followed art through the second part of the 19th century. The museum that once housed one of the most famous and painful artworks in history, today is a place where anyone with little to no knowledge of the 20th-century scene can walk in and say “Now, this is what I call art”.
These two exhibits are about the brilliance of stubbornness of curation before it was even called so (exhibiting Dix’s work behind a curtain), and the institutional cowardice about accepting and owning its past, having chosen the “safer” side of art history. Unfortunately, it is hardly a singular example. We keep seeing more and more museums going for the warm waters of trends and public opinion about what is or is not art, placing smoke and mirrors where concrete actions are needed, or quite simply ignoring the reality of our post-modern condition. While it definitely is a choice made with consideration of many variables like costs of maintenance, public image and relations, the individual preferences of the curatorial committees and so on. However, I cannot shake off the feeling that these decisions might actually draw the audience away from the museums rather than attract more visitors. The art that does not call for reflection, or a curatorial strategy that keeps the museum on the “safe side” and helps it avoid critique flattens the very experience of a museum, making it a mere space with pictures inside of it.
My Point Is
Last summer, a friend of mine called me with an unusual question. She was wondering if I would be interested in curating a personal exhibition of a prominent Ukrainian artist, a person I have known and admired ever since I took an interest in art. Of course, I was enthusiastic about the idea and immediately agreed. The artist in question is a member of a large group of my friends, and, quite frankly, it is strange to see our paths cross for the very first time now, after all these years. In a phone call, he explained the essence of the matter: a European museum intended to give him space for a personal exhibition, where he would show an interesting and sharply relevant project in a very simple configuration. Although he is perfectly capable of placing the installation and following the organisational matters himself, the institution requested someone to represent him, and I felt honoured to take charge of this.
I proposed different ways to contextualise his work inside his oeuvre, as well as in the framework of the European art, and current humanitarian crisis in Ukraine caused by the Russian invasion. We agreed on everything, it promised to be an interesting experience. Besides all, it would significantly boost my career, I thought. I received a number of phone calls from the representative of the curatorial committee, and from the artist’s friend who took care of things in loco, and we took care of a professionally crafted presentation of both the artist and the project for the museum.
There are a few curious things, though, that were said along this ride. Like any institution that works with public funds, the museum in question had crafted a work plan for five years ahead. Therefore, my artist was offered space for his exhibition around the year 2029. A young Ukrainian man, actively volunteering for the needs of the Ukrainian military, living under daily raids of Russian drones, was now expected to wait five years before exhibiting an art project. In a context where it is impossible to plan shopping for groceries due to the imminent dangers of an active war, making these long-term commitments feels surreal. One needs to be completely unaware of the contemporary condition of a country like Ukraine to even think that any Ukrainian can respect a five-year plan European institutions can so comfortably afford.
“ The poorly informed cultural institutions display a disturbing lack of compassion towards the very force that powers them — the artists.”
It goes without saying that a number of things can occur to a person over five years, even without the precarious conditions of an atrocious war Ukraine is facing. However, if one’s home (together with the artwork in it) can be shelled any moment of any given day, if one can be killed in various ways (bombing, frontline service, debris from daily air attacks), or if they simply change the course of action, enrol in the military, or give up art altogether, what is the public institution in question is going to be left with, apart from a well-crafted rigid plan of public events? The poorly informed cultural institutions display a disturbing lack of compassion towards the very force that powers them — the artists.
Out project passed to another person in charge of the curation, which meant that everything had to change. Now we were required to adapt to their personal ideas about the art we represent and be flexible with our proposal. In the meantime, months passed by, our personal lives went on, and the war in Ukraine went on, as well, as we waited for every bit of information.
Long story short, negotiating a simple, yet poignant project, which brings relevance and artistic quality for such a long time, started feeling ridiculous. My artist received the call from the aforementioned friend, who sounded rather distressed by the entire situation. She has done her best, but the museum is stubborn, it has little to no knowledge and understanding of Ukrainian art, and it is hard to convince them. They live in their own reality, where life is so tranquil you can make plans five years ahead. Where one can dissociate from the precarious humanitarian crisis that shines from all possible directions. It feels as if European reality belonged to a completely alternative dimension, where time worked differently, and the only blood one can see is the special effect in a horror movie.
It was not long before he called me with a serious declaration to make. Look, he said, I am so sorry about this, it felt like an important thing to do, but I cannot deal with it right now. He talked about how tiring it was to deal with stubborn and poorly informed people who somehow are in charge of decisions that influence public opinion and awareness about the war in Ukraine. He also said that he felt useless, having talked about the issue in numerous interviews for the Washington Post, New York Times and other no less important journals. He felt useless while working on his art projects and trying to bring them to the European minds as a relative and on-point message about the precarious daily conditions of a country in a war. Right now, he concluded, I want everyone to forget that I am an artist. Right now, he added, I am busy doing my volunteer work and making some actual direct change that might help all of us get out of this hell. Simply put, he informed me that he had decided to stop his public activity until the end of the war.
I could hear my heart break into a million pieces. I am used to failed projects and institutional stiffness that sign my work as a curator and a researcher, this is how it always rolls. But I was not ready to hear a brilliant-minded artist ask me to forget about his art. When one finds himself in a tragic gap between the two identities that before accounted for one: an artist and a citizen; and having to pick, I bow my head in respect to whatever decision they make. The sadness quickly turned into anger. It is infuriating to realise that the museum’s arrogance creates such a dramatic dichotomy between the institution and the artist to make the latter give up on his practice for the time being.
In the meanwhile, the museum goes ahead with its carefully crafted program they set up five years ago. Some Expressionism, some Surrealism, and even some provocative but trendy contemporary art. The museum’s offspring in another city also do terrific work. It even shows some Ukrainian art along with other works from the collection, gently hinting that the country is at war. Yet, all of it seems so out of touch with the reality. The lukewarm bath that the Cologne Museum has put itself into, despite its previous involvement with very strong artistic statements, seems to be a warmed-up pool, where many institutions find comfort today.
Before writing this, I made sure I was not doing it out of place of admiration for a particular artist and a particular project, as well as hopes for my career, or banal anger. The choice of leaving out all the names and titles is due to the popularity of such a situation. This story is far from being singular, but it does not make it any less heartbreaking for me as an art critic, researcher, and Ukrainian citizen.
What public institutions today often fail to do is frequently accomplished by the private gallerists. Underrepresented art, powerful cultural and political statements, and bold curatorial decisions bring out a more dynamic pattern of relationship with art than the stiff institutional protocol. Now, claiming that all institutions are the way I described them, and every gallerist is a contemporary prodigy would be a wild generalisation. But truth be told, there is more and more hope in smaller cultural realities than large influential museums, nurtured by both artists and curators and researchers such as myself.
With the current political crisis in Europe, when governments fail one after another, culture is the first one to suffer loss of budget and consideration, and the last one to recover, eventually. This needs to change, and this change is not going to be initiated by the politicians, too busy fighting for their status quo, so who is next in line? Right, public institutions. The promotion of art as a soft power capable of making a long-lasting change, fostering knowledge and historical conscience should become one of the main focuses of the contemporary institutional system. It feels like humankind fails as such as soon as it fails its artists.
[1] Between 1929 and 1932 Dix would paint another monumental artwork related to the Weimar period: The War. It is considered a triptych, but the canvases' configuration vividly recalls those of the religious altars. The central piece is the rework of the infamous Trench, which inclines more towards surrealistic landscapes and metaphysical messages. It is now housed in Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden.
[2] Crockett, D. (1992). The Most Famous Painting of the “Golden Twenties”? Otto Dix and the Trench Affair. Art Journal, 51(1), 72–80. https://doi.org/10.2307/777257
[3] Wallraf-Richartz-Museum. Now in the museum. Retrieved June 17, 2024, from https://www.wallraf.museum/en/now/
