An Interview of the Soul

"When the impulses which stir us to profound emotion are integrated with the medium of expression, every interview of the soul may become art,” Hans Hofmann once wrote. “This is contingent upon mastery of the medium." Born March 21, 1880, Hofmann both excelled at self-expression and teaching others to master the medium of painting. In many ways, Hofmann is the father of both Abstract Expressionism and Color Field painting in America, having taught such diverse artists as Helen Frankenthaler, Lee Krasner, Joan Mitchell, Larry Rivers, Red Grooms, and, almost, despite an introduction through Krasner, Jackson Pollock. While teaching, Hofmann continued to paint in his own unique style, creating beautiful works such as The Golden Wall (above, from 1961), which epitomizes Hofmann’s concept of “push and pull” in creating the illusion of movement and depth in violation of the classical idea of perspective.

"Colors must fit together as pieces in a puzzle or cogs in a wheel," Hofmann said in reference to his theory of “push and pull.” In Equinox (above, from 1958), for example, the cooler colors (the blues) seem to recede into the distance as the warmer colors (red and yellow) appear to move forward, creating an illusory effect of movement that intellectually you know is impossible but emotionally and aesthetically you can believe in. When PBS broadcast a special on Hofmann in 2003, they included on their website a Push and Pull Puzzle interactive feature that allows you to play with the “cogs” of color that generate such perpetual motion machines. When Pollock and the other Abstract Expressionists longed for a way to create motion on a flat canvas, they looked to Hofmann. When the Color Field artists searched for ways to express emotion through the interaction of pure planes of color, Hofmann provided the answers for them, too.

Hofmann’s life and career span almost the entire history of modern art. In Paris at the beginning of the twentieth century, Hofmann met and learned from Picasso, Braque, and Matisse. From them he developed his approach to the figure, as seen in his 1942 Self-Portrait (above). Later, Hofmann explored the world of color with Robert and Sonia Delaunay, whose Orphism certainly played a role in his “push and pull” theories. Through his teaching, Hofmann connects the roots of European modern art with the golden age of post-World War II American art. Fame for Hofmann himself, however, came late in life. His first solo exhibition came at the age of sixty-four. As his students rose to prominence and critics began searching for their origins, they discovered the talents of Hofmann, who patiently waited for his day in the sun. It wasn’t until Hofmann reached his late seventies that he finally gave up teaching to devote himself to his painting entirely. With patience not only for his students but also for the praise long overdue, Hofmann literally gave his entire life to the pursuit of art.

Chasing the Trane

I recently finished reading a great new book on my favorite jazz artist, John Coltrane (above)—Coltrane: The Story of a Sound by Ben Ratliff. What really sets Ratliff’s book apart from all the other Coltrane books I’ve read is how he not only delves into the intricacies of Coltrane’s music, but also how he places Coltrane in a larger cultural and artistic context, including the visual arts. (My short musical review: Like Coltrane’s music itself, Ratliff’s book is extremely challenging. I played an instrument for 8 years and can follow most discussions about music theory, but I labored to follow his argument at times. However, Ratliff writes well and knows the subject exhaustively. His ability to weave Coltrane’s music with popular culture, literature, and even the visual arts makes this the finest book on jazz I’ve read in years. In the second half in which he concentrates primarily on Coltrane’s influence, Ratliff manages to sum up the entire jazz world over the last 40 years at the same time. Very cool.)

I’m not sure how much of an art lover Coltrane was, but he certainly had an appreciation for artists and the struggle to create. (A 1960 photo of Coltrane at The Guggenheim Museum appears above.) In a letter from June 1962, Coltrane expressed just how much he admired Vincent Van Gogh:

I was reading a book on the life of Van Gogh today, and I had to pause and think of that wonderful and persistent force—the creative urge. The creative urge was in this man who found himself so much at odds with the world he lived in, and in spite of all the adversity, frustrations, rejections and so forth—beautiful and living art came forth abundantly… if only he could be here today.

Truth is indestructible. It seems history shows (and it’s the same way today) that the innovator is more often than not met with some degree of condemnation; usually according to the degree of departure from the prevailing modes of expression or what have you. Change is always so hard to accept. We also see that these innovators always seek to revitalize, extend and reconstruct the status quo in their given fields, whatever is needed. Quite often they are the rejects, outcasts, sub-citizens etc. of the very societies to which they bring so much sustenance. Often they are people who endure great personal tragedy in their lives. Whatever the case, whether accepted or rejected, rich or poor, they are forever guided by that great and eternal constant—the creative urge. Let us cherish it and give all praise to God.

Ratliff makes a great connection between Coltrane’s spiritual journey through music and the spiritual journeys of contemporary artists such as Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock. The picture that Ratliff later draws of artists such as Larry Rivers, Franz Kline, and Willem de Kooning sitting at the Five Spot and other New York jazz clubs of the 1950s and 1960s to hear Coltrane play sparked all kinds of associations in my head. I imagined de Kooning inspired by Coltrane’s “sheets of sound” (as described by the jazz critic Ira Gitler) to create “sheets of gesture” such as The Visit (above, from 1966-1967). Of course, de Kooning painted in that style before Coltrane developed his signature style, but the interaction between these two artists just makes them individually that more fascinating. As Ratliff would agree, John Coltrane remains the ultimate crossover artist.

Taking Aim

Always ready to take aim at American society and art history in general, Larry Rivers, born on August 17, 1923, brought a Pop Art irreverence to the New York School of the 1950s and addressed social issues in a way that Abstract Expressionist friends such as Jackson Pollock refused to. After receiving a commission to paint murals based on The Boston Massacre, Rivers expanded that theme, taking the memory of the death of Crispus Attucks and expanding it to the issues of race in America during the Civil Rights Movement, linking the country’s revolutionary past to the new racial revolution of the late 20th century. [Ready Aim (?) from Rivers’ The Boston Massacre series of prints appears above.] Artist, filmmaker, actor, and even proficient Jazz saxophonist (and friend of Jazz legend Miles Davis), Rivers’ overflowing talents and imagination allowed him to riff off of history, art and otherwise, and create new ways of seeing our world.

In 1953’s Washington Crossing the Delaware (above), Rivers takes on the American cult of personality surrounding George Washington as well as the icon of art history of the same title painted by Emanuel Leutze. Frank O’Hara, Rivers’ friend and collaborator, wrote a poem “On Seeing Larry Rivers’ ‘Washington Crossing the Delaware’ at the Museum of Modern Art” capturing some of his feelings of seeing the Father of His Country removed from his grandiose pose in the boat and placed on the banks of the Delaware River, standing as human and vulnerable as all of us. Rivers’ expansive talents and subject matter led to collaborations with other authors as well, such as Allen Ginsberg, Kenneth Koch, and Terry Southern. In many ways, Rivers straddles the worlds of the New York School as well as that of the Beats, taking the best of both spheres and incorporating them into his own vision.

I love Larry Rivers mostly for his sense of humor, not only for its silly take on art history but also for the underlying message. In I Like Olympia Black (above), his sculpture from 1970, Rivers takes Edouard Manet’s Olympia and creates a racial “negative,” reversing the roles of the white model and black maid, making us see the social constructions of race anew through what at first glance is not a racially charged work. Rivers charges all of art history with his hipster energy and irreverence, poking the Old Masters in the eye and making all of us see new things in works that had grown too stale and familiar.