On abstraction in visual art

On Abstraction

Universality of abstraction in art

All art entails abstraction, as indeed does much human description and behavior.  Language requires generalized terms and abstract concepts – even a dry internal memo requires abstraction.  Any biography, novel, or poem engages in abstraction from actual or imagined events or emotions.  When a viewer interprets that a painting illustrates Mary holding the crucified Jesus, the viewer is applying imagery of a generalized woman and of a corpse, and applying the abstract concepts of Christianity.  The artist has abstracted – the figures may be larger or smaller than live figures, and the artist has likely adhered to the conventions of rendering three-dimensional figures on a flat plane.

So, abstraction is a given.  What is generally called “abstract art” is the breaking of the given culture’s conventions of rendering figures on a plane.  Paintings from a different culture or era will also seem abstract to our stereotypical current-day viewer.  (Of course, in generalizing a “stereotypical current-day viewer” we are generalizing and abstracting from the actual experiences and sensibilities of any specific viewer.)

The call for greater abstraction

Once we recognize that our consciousness is limited and limiting, it follows that the phenomena of which we are conscious are limited.  One role of artists is to explore the unconscious, and manifest elements from the unconscious so that viewers or readers might be able to lift the veil of their consciousness. 

In his support of JMW Turner’s painting, John Ruskin [1973;  originally written in 1843] “repudiates the rationalist philosophy of the 18th century, with its assumption that truth is timeless, abstract, and impersonal, and affirms the significance of another kind of truth, based on an awareness of historical or individual development, concrete sensuous experience, and the individual consciousness” [Kirchhoff, p.28].  “The artist's responsibility is to confront the appearance of nature, deduce its essence and retell or explain that essence in the work of art.” 

“When an artist experiences reality, his aesthetic experience can be expressed as either a material depiction, or an abstract formation. Van Doesburg regarded depiction as an 'indirect' form of artistic expression; only abstract formation based on an artist's true aesthetic experience of reality represents a pure form of artistic expression, as expressed by Mondrian in all his essays.[39][40][24] “  [Overy 1991: 61-62]

Ament [2002: 86] relates that Mark Tobey once advised Paul Horiuchi “’Don’t look at nature, Paul.  Feel it.’”

“Neoplasticism assumes that when the painter tries to shape reality (or truth), he never does this from what he sees (object, matter, the physical), but from what originates within himself (subject, idea, the spiritual),[59] or as Georges Vantongerloo puts it: "'La grande vérité, ou la vérité absolu, se rend visible à notre esprit par l'invisible" [The highest truth, or the absolute truth, is imagined through the invisible].[60] Mondrian calls this process 'internalization'.[7] “ [Overy 1991: 61-62]

“Non-objective” Abstraction

In 1936, Alfred Barr made the claim “The first artist to establish a system of absolutely pure geometrical abstract composition was the Russo-Polish painter Kasimir Malevich, of Moscow”. [p. 122]. 

Malevich first wrote the term Suprematism, in reference to his 1915 works, in a letter dated 24 September (old calendar) 1915 [Shatskikh 2012: 54].  In 1927 Malevich wrote “Under Suprematism I understand the supremacy of pure feeling in creative art [italics added].  To the Suprematist the visual phenomena of the objective world are, in themselves, meaningless;  the significant thing is feeling [that[ is called forth” [Malevich, trans. by Dearstyne 1959: 67].  Tupitsyn [2019] suggested that Malevich selected the term also “as an assertion of originality and preeminence over Western movements.”

Malevich’s Suprematist paintings and drawings eschew any representation of objects, people, or landscapes, except for his own visual interpretation of the feelings that such things invoke – in him, but his writing suggests that he perceived those feelings to be widespread.  Instead of visual representation, his work relies on rectilinear forms (occasionally circles or half circles) rendered in solid (or nearly solid) color (especially black, reds, and white) on a white background.

Geometric vs. Lyrical/Expressionist Abstraction

Barr [1936: 19] generalized “two main currents” of abstract art since the late 19th century:

Cézanne, Seurat  Suprematism, Constructivism, Neo-Plasticism: “intellectual, structural, architectonic, geometrical, rectilinear, and classical in its austerity and dependence upon logic and calculation.

Gauguin, Matisse  Kandinsky, Miro, Arp  Abstract Expressionism, action painting, lyrical abstraction:  intuitional, emotional, organic or biomorphic, curvilinear, and romantic in its exultation of the mystical, the spontaneous and the irrational. 

However, can we say that art of any sort is irrational?  Most art (of all disciplines) is rational, insofar as the artist:

• has a set of goals in mind (generally, regarding responses from an audience) and works systematically toward them;

• solves problems based on experience and observation;  and

• works with cognizance of the responses that other artworks have received;

The artist generally assumes that the intended audience will respond out of some prior experience with the genre.

Geometric Abstraction

At least three major movements in early-twentieth-century Europe attempted to create a common visual language for painting, sculpture, applied and graphic art, industrial design, and architecture:  Russian Constructivism (1915-34), De Stijl in the Netherlands (1917-28), and the Bauhaus in German (1919-33).  This ambitious goal seemed feasible because of a reliance on pure geometric forms, a reaction against florid design the late-nineteenth century, and the use of steel, concrete, and glass in architecture.  Purity and beauty were sought through simple geometric forms and primary colors [Overy 1991;  Jaffé et al., 1983].

Biomorphic Abstraction

Biomorphism in visual art refers to a style where abstract forms are modeled on naturally occurring patterns and living organisms, such as cells, embryos, or plants. It emerged as a distinct movement in the early 20th century as a reaction against the rigid, mechanized world of the industrial era the geometric abstraction of Constructivism, Suprematism, and de Stijl.  The movement drew from: 

·      Henri Bergson’s emphases on the élan vital or “vital impetus” as the source of truly new innovation and evolution, and on the superiority of intuition over intellect for perceiving the essence of reality;

·      Sigmund Freud’s emphasis on the subconscious as a driver of human behavior;  and 

·      Carl Jung’s emphasis on archetypes shared by all humans (the Self, the Persona, the Shadow, and the Anima/Animus).

In addition to the formal elements of curving and sometimes intersecting organic shapes, these philosophical and psychological underpinnings encouraged artists to engage in spontaneous modes of creation (“automatism’) that supposedly resulted from subconscious experiences or observations.

Most of my own biomorphic paintings are as rigorously planned as my geometric abstractions, but use curvilinear, seemingly organic, and irrational figures and grounds.

REFERENCES

Ament, Deloris T.   2002.  Iridescent Light: The Emergence of Northwest Art.  Photographs by Mary Randlett.  Seattle & London:  University of Washington Press.

Barr, Alfred H.  1936.  Cubism and Abstract Art.  New York:  The Museum of Modern Art.

Jaffé, H.L.C.; Bock, Manfred; Friedman, Mildred, eds.  1983.  De Stijl: 1917-1931. Amsterdam: Meulenhoff/Landshoff.Kirchhoff.

Frederick.  1984.  John Ruskin.  Farmington Hill, Mich.: Gale.

Malevich, Kazimir,  trans. by Howard Dearstyne.  1959.  The Non-Objective World.  Chicago:  P. Theobald.  (Originally written and translated into German in 1927.)

Overy, Paul.  1991.  De Stijl.  London:  Thames and Hudson.

Ruskin, John. 1873.  Modern Painters, Vol. 1.  American Publishers Corporation. 

Shatskikh, Aleksandra, trans. by Marian Schwartz.  2012.  Black Square: Malevich and the Origin of Suprematism.  New Haven:  Yale University Press.

Tupitsyn, Margarita.  2019.  The subject of nonobjective art.  Post (1 May).  https://post.moma.org/the-subject-of-nonobjective-art/, accessed 5 Nov 2020.

Authenticity in art

Last autumn, I suggested this topic for the January 2026 TCC Art Salon.  I didn’t give any further explication at the time, though what I meant was “What does it mean for a work of art – in any discipline – to be authentic?”

One colleague, who is very concerned about art produced from prompts to AI (artificial intelligence) agents, focused on whether the artist produced the work themselves, versus having asked an AI agent to produce the work from specified parameters. 

Another colleague, a photographer, opined that a photograph’s authenticity hinges on its presentation of what the artist saw, with limited post-shoot modification.

I provided a bit more context:  I often read that really good art is grounded in the creator’s experiences and psyche, and requires the artist to be open to remembering, feeling, and expressing those experiences and psyche.  Is that true, and if so, what does that mean in an artistic process?

A third colleague interpreted this using the phrase “authentic voice.”  He and others went on to elaborate the factors that get in the way of an artist using their authentic voice in their work:

·      thinking about the audience for the work;[1]

·      working on commission for a specific patron;

·      holding back aspects of the self that may be too strong or objectionable to some audiences;

·      repeating a process or theme that you’ve used several times before;

·      knowing exactly what outcome you want.

There’s another part of the claim boldfaced above:  that there is objectively “really good art,” and art that fails to meet that bar.  One artist asked “Who defines ‘good’ or ‘bad’ – shouldn’t it be the viewer?”  She went further – shouldn’t the viewer determine whether the work feels authentic to them?

In a subsequent conversation, a poet friend argued strongly that “good” denotes quality of technique and production, and command of key antecedents of the artist’s work – these are qualities of art that will influence others and stand the test of time.  However, art that isn’t “good” by these standards can still bring joy to the reader or viewer.  Art is indeed a conversation between artist and viewer/listener, and the meaning/import of the conversation depend on both.

If an artist is working quite strictly according to an existing popular (or historic) style, can the work be authentic?  No firm answers to this.  However, participants seemed to agree that when an artist develops their own “style,” they can retain authenticity even when staying within the parameters of that style.

I concluded for myself that authenticity means reflecting the sum total of the artist’s experiences, observations, and emotions – including those that differ from what others might expect from that particular artist.  This yields a certain amount of vulnerability, and a certain amount of originality. 

[1] He went further, suggesting that when you’re contemplating or working on a piece of visual art, the moment you realize that someone else is going to look at it, your process loses some authenticity.  If true, the only way to avoid this is to produce (some) works that you will not let anyone see.

My motivations and their manifestations

The experience of blackness is more than having a brown body.  I want to engage people in emotions and experiences that transcend the body.  Abstract, non-objective imagery can convey and elicit feelings and understanding that are more universal and permanent than the transitory ways in which we often perceive humanity and nature.  Its power is heightened because it does not preach;  instead, it reinforces the uniqueness of the viewer’s interpretation.

Geometric abstraction forms the basis of many of my compositions.  Geometric shapes interact with plain or carefully mottled backgrounds.  Their relative slopes, colors, and heft imply movement or stasis, balance or imbalance, and even power relationships.  I am especially inspired by non-objective “Suprematism” championed by Kazimir Malevich and his contemporaries in pre-Revolutionary Russia, and I am generally inspired by 20th-century hard-edge and color-field paintings. 

Over the past two years, I’ve been pursuing color-rich biomorphic abstraction.  These carefully crafted, curvilinear forms interact in visually playful ways, sometimes portrayed against wildly gestural backgrounds.  The forms are quite abstract, some seeming more animal-like, some more plant-like.  Viewers are more likely to uncover (within themselves, really) meaning and interaction when the forms seem organic – but are sufficiently vaguely rendered to prevent ascribing characteristics of any particular species.  The paintings are also just plain fun to observe!

“The Impossibility of Knowing,” the title of one on-going series, refers to the strength of memory and imagination, compared to what is “real” or “observed.”  In these paintings, a solid shape, figure, or silhouette interacts with its mirrored outline, against a shadowed background.  Something that seems substantive is augmented with its mirror, shadow, future, or past.  The interplay creates visual dynamism as each shape is pulled in its opposite direction, and interpretive dynamism as each object or figure interacts with its complement.

The Gallery at TCC Juried Show

My painting Rending the Fabric received a Juror's Choice award in the The Gallery at TCC's 23rd Annual Juried Show.  The show is up now through the closing reception on Thursday 14 August (7-9pm).  
The Gallery at TCC is Bldg 4 of the Tacoma Community College campus;  parking in Lot G, entered off S. 12th St. near Mildred.  Open TWTh 10-4, Fridays 10-3.

With Rending the Fabric at The Gallery at TCC —