Marmite and Klee

Let me steer you away from the realm of art for a moment, and instead let me ask you to consider the many love/hate relationships that we so often have.  Take chocolate for instance; LOVE chocolate, HATE myself afterwards (for all those who have consumed an entire large Galaxy bar in one sitting, you know what I mean….).  And then there’s Reality Television.  You know it’s wasting your life, minute by minute, and yet it can be so voyeuristically compelling.  And finally: marmite.  Of course, the old ‘you love it or you hate it’ phrase was seemingly created for this food product. Personally, I fall into the ‘love’ category, but I won’t judge if you don’t like it.  To each their own.  This leads me to… Paul Klee.
Apologies for the (apparent) abrupt change in topic, but bear with me.  If Klee were to create his paintings today, would he still be given all the acclaim that he received in the past?


Camel in Rhythmic Wooded Landscape, 1920. Oil on gauze with chalk, 48 x 42 cm. Kunstsammlung Nordrhein Westfalen, Düsseldorf











Klee deals with the abstract.  This is all well and good, but abstract art, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, is much like marmite. Ergo, Paul Klee is much like marmite.  Within the ‘pro-Klee’ camp, there will be abounding arguments such as ‘his work was groundbreaking’, ‘he offered a cuttingly sharp perspective on the events of his time’, ‘he was a creative genius, none of his works are the same’, and ‘his works almost talk to us, through them we can see his humour, his moods, and his beliefs’.  In the ‘anti-Klee’ camp, counter-arguments may well follow to include; ‘the “childlike simplicity” in his art is pretentious’, ‘he couldn’t decide which medium to work with, so he tried them all’, and ‘he couldn’t paint what he wanted to communicate straight out, he often hides his true meaning so it requires a fine toothcomb to uncover it’.


Departure of the Ships, 1927. Oil on canvas, 50 x 60 cm. Private Collection, Switzerland

Of course, if Klee were to paint today, his work would no longer be groundbreaking. Strike one.  On first impression, his work is simplistic to the point of that of a childish amateur.  It requires deeper understanding and analysis to see the depth that is actually in his work.  In today’s society, do we have the patience required to do this or have we become a ‘Banksy’ culture, where we require a message to be painted on a wall in order to appreciate it?  ...Strike two.

Thirdly and finally, are we still capable of appreciating abstract art in its pure form?  Having been to the Tate Modern and seen the nearly blank canvasses with squares of colour, and Dali’s lobster on the telephone, I have to concede.  Yes, the abstract is alive and well and living among us.  Welcome to the 21^st Century Paul Klee, it seems your art will always have a place within society.

For any Klee sceptics out there, allow me to point you in the direction of Dusseldorf’s Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, where the exhibition 100 x Paul Klee is ongoing until the 10^th February 2013. You may find yourselves acquiring a new taste for this particular artist, and as I always say to my non-English compatriots about marmite, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it!  Paul Klee aficionados will love the Klee eBook by Donald Wigal, or alternatively discover Klee in Beauty of the Beast, written by John Bascom.

Munch, un peintre horrifié ?

Edvard Munch, Le Cri, 1893.
Tempera et crayon sur carton, 91 x 73,5 cm.
Nasjonalmuseet, Oslo.

Entre 1883 et 1884, l’éruption du volcan indonésien Krakatoa est perçue jusqu’en Europe et enflamme le ciel norvégien. Dix ans plus tard, Edvard Munch s’inspire de ces couleurs flamboyantes pour peindre Le Cri. Un personnage fantomatique se tient le visage et semble hurler, debout au sein d’un paysage dénudé, enflammé à l’horizon par un ardent soleil couchant.

Plusieurs versions de cette peinture sont conservées.

En général, les critiques classent Munch dans la catégorie des peintres touchés par les épreuves de la vie, ce qui doit se refléter dans ses toiles.

L’exposition de la Tate Modern tente d’atténuer ce jugement en montrant comment il a aussi été inspiré par de simples événements du quotidien de la vie des Norvégiens au début du xx^e siècle.

Le spectateur a souvent l’impression que les personnages de Munch marchent vers lui ; ce sont des acteurs en plein action. Munch peut être considéré comme l’un des précurseurs des plans du cinéma, sans doute influencé, à son époque, par son goût pour la photographie.

Si son histoire vous intrigue, vous pouvez consulter Munch, en version imprimée et ebook.

Munch, ese que pintó El grito

Crees que sabes todo lo que hay que saber sobre Edvard Munch, ¿verdad? A tu juicio, era un solitario de alma atormentada, que pintaba escenas de trauma y desamparo y que se dejaba llevar por la angustia y la melancolía... ¿van por ahí los tiros? Pues la nueva exposición de la Tate Modern pone tu erudición sobre el noruego en entredicho y te invita a explorar las facetas más desconocidas de su personalidad a través del análisis de los temas que abordó en sus obras. Los de la Tate quieren que conozcamos más a un artista que era mucho más que «el tipo ese que pintó El grito» y nos enseñan, entre otras cosas, que su trabajo estuvo fuertemente influenciado por la deficiencia visual degenerativa que padecía y por su creciente interés por la fotografía.

Para la comunidad artística, la posibilidad de descubrir al hombre que se esconde tras el pintor y de conocer sus verdaderas motivaciones y las fuentes de inspiración de todas sus obras o de todos los periodos artísticos de su carrera constituye un sueño hecho realidad. Sin embargo, de algún modo, al completar el puzzle se pierde el halo de misterio que lo envuelve y se desvanece el carácter único y desgarrador de sus cuadros. Parece que conocer los detalles banales de la vida del artista requiere el sacrificio de su carácter legendario y del atractivo que emana el Munch torturado y ajeno al amor, ese que pintó sus obras maestras en un frenesí de contradicciones actuando como catarsis de sus traumas de juventud.

Edvard Munch, El grito, 1893.
Témpera y cera sobre cartón, 91 x 73,5 cm.
Nasjonalmuseet, Oslo.

La nueva mirada que los expertos han arrojado sobre Munch revela que conocía muy bien las técnicas y los efectos visuales que empleaba y que su principal motivación para retomar sus temas preferidos una y otra vez no era otra que su viabilidad comercial. Si es así, el tipo ese sabía jugar sus cartas... Tal vez, la Tate debería tomar ejemplo y ofrecernos a ti y a mí lo que queremos, es decir, al Munch abatido y desesperado que creemos conocer. Según tengo entendido, El grito no se vendió nada mal...

Tienes la oportunidad de visitar la exposición Edvard Munch: The Modern Eye en la Tate Modern hasta el 14 de octubre de 2012 y ver cómo se te cae un mito o llevarte a casa este eBook y disfrutar de la aflicción de Munch en su apogeo.

Edvard Munch - soviel mehr als nur ein Schrei

Wer den Namen Edvard Munch hört, mag wohl zuerst an eine Landschaft aus Blau und Rot denken, in der sich eine Brücke diagonal in den Bildhintergrund verjüngt. Zwei Personen sind am Ende der Brücke nur schemenhaft zu erkennen und im Vordergrund zeigt sich dem Betrachter eine scheinbar verzeichnete Figur, die Hände an den Wangen, mit weit aufgerissenem Mund und Augen. Der Schrei, so laut und doch stumm, hat es nicht zuletzt aufgrund des Diebstahls 2006 oder dem mit einem dreistelligen Millionenbetrag höchsten je erzielten Auktionsergebnis im Frühjahr 2012 auf die Bestsellerliste geschafft.


Edvard Munch, Der Schrei, 1893.
Tempera und Pastell auf Karton, 91 x 73,5 cm.
Nasjonalmuseet, Oslo.


Aber Munch ist so viel mehr als ein Symbolist mit pessimistischer Lebensphilosophie, seine Bilder sind so viel mehr als reine „Stimmungsbilder“. Er ist einer der großen Wegbereiter des Expressionismus, Inspiration in der Art und Weise, wie er den Raum in Farbflächen auflöst. In seinen dynamischen Bildkompositionen wird die Perspektive von wenigen Linien suggeriert, Farben scheinen zu fließen und Figuren bewegen sich auf den Betrachter zu.

Motive wiederholen sich, werden zu Varianten und verselbstständigen sich schließlich. Auch Zeichnungen, Grafiken, Lithografien und Fotoarbeiten kennzeichnen das umfangreiche Werk des Norwegers. Selbstporträts aus allen Medien entwickelten sich bewusst zu einer visuellen Biografie.

Und die Tate Modern London verspricht noch viel mehr in ihrer aktuellen Ausstellung Edvard Munch, The Modern Eye, die Sie noch bis zum 14. Oktober 2012 besuchen können. Oder überzeugen Sie sich mit dem Buch des Parkstone-Verlages als Print- oder E-Book- Ausgabe davon, dass Edvard Munch mehr als nur ein „pessimistischer Stimmungsmaler“ ist.

Munch ado about nothing

So you think you know Edvard Munch? Think again. That’s the tag-line for the Tate Modern‘s new Munch exhibition, whose premise is that Munch is an under-analysed artist, pigeonholed as a troubled loner and worthy of reassessment. They profess that there were more sides to his personality than just ‘the man who painted The Scream’, and the exhibition seeks to find out what else made him tick through an analysis of the other themes in his work, such as his debilitating eye disease, the theatre and his burgeoning interest in film photography. They implore us to see past the “angst-ridden and brooding Nordic artist who painted scenes of isolation and trauma”, but do people really want to strip off the interesting layers to reveal the normal, everyday Eddie underneath?

Within the art community, it is a dream come true to find another piece of the missing puzzle, to “discover” the man behind the artist and to know exactly what his motives and inspirations were for every piece or artistic period in his life. However, representing the “whole picture” detracts from what made the artist interesting or unique in the first place, or even what makes the paintings so breathtaking. It is scientifically proven* that the longer you spend with a partner, the less interesting they become; in this way, the more you know about the banal aspects of an artist’s life, the less legendary they are. Stick to what makes Munch alluring – a tortured, unloved soul who expresses himself through his harrowing, yet awe-inspiring paintings.


Edvard Munch, The Scream, 1893.
Tempera and crayon on cardboard, 91 x 73,5 cm.
Nasjonalmuseet, Oslo.

It is more than agreeable to believe that Munch painted his masterpieces in an oxymoronic frenzy of despair – catharsis for his traumatic youth. But this new wave of “understanding” of every aspect of Munch’s life has led to an interpretation that Munch was well aware of the techniques and visual effects that he employed to such devastating effect, and that it was in fact the commercial viability of reproducing a popular painting that drove Munch to rework his favoured themes time and again. If this is the case, then Munch knew how to play us like a fiddle.

Have these people learned nothing from Munch? Angst sells, big time, and if the Tate wants to increase its footfall, it too should sell out and give the people what they want – a slice of the despondent Munch we think we know. I’ve heard that The Scream is supposed to be a pretty good painting...

Edvard Munch: The Modern Eye is showing at the Tate Modern from 28 June – 14 October 2012. Or, to view some of Munch’s popular works (including The Scream), why not try this Munch art e-book?

*it is not really scientifically proven.