{"id":10302,"date":"2011-03-07T11:17:54","date_gmt":"2011-03-07T16:17:54","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=10302"},"modified":"2011-03-07T17:47:31","modified_gmt":"2011-03-07T22:47:31","slug":"r-b-kitaj","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2011\/03\/07\/r-b-kitaj\/","title":{"rendered":"R. B. Kitaj"},"content":{"rendered":"

In 1985, art historian and critic Marco Livingstone published one of the earliest monographs on American painter R. B. Kitaj. The volume appeared roughly midway through Kitaj\u2019s career (he was born in 1932, and his very earliest works date from the late fifties) and offered significant documentation of a complex artist. Over the next two decades, Kitaj continued his prolific output of provocative and dense compositions\u2014dramatic paintings informed both by a wealth of styles and by an engagement with politics, literature, contemporary poetry, and Jewish culture. Last fall brought the fourth and final edition of Livingstone\u2019s study<\/a>, updated to cover the full span of Kitaj\u2019s half-decade of work (he died in 2007). Selections are accompanied here by passages from an essay, originally penned in 1981, by John Ashbery.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"

R. B. Kitaj, Los Angeles No. 9, 1969\u20132002, oil on canvas.<\/p><\/div>\n

\u201cOnly connect,\u201d urged E. M. Forster in Howards End<\/em>; this exhortation was the theme of his novel. A decade later Yeats noted that \u201cThings fall apart; the centre cannot hold,\u201d while T. S. Eliot appears to be replying directly to Forster through the persona of a seduced stenographer in The Waste Land<\/em>: \u201cI can connect \/ Nothing with nothing.\u201d By this time the dislocations tried out by other artists before the war had become real, as yet again life imitated art with disastrous results. The world itself, and not just a pictured mandolin and a bottle on a table, had become unglued.<\/p>\n

Faced with an altered reality, Eliot reacted as though in a stupor. Despite all his craft and scholarship, The Waste Land <\/em>achieves its effect as a collage of hallucinatory, random fragments, \u201cshored against my ruin.\u201d Their contiguity is all their meaning, and it is implied that from now on meaning will take into account the randomness and discontinuity of modern experience, that indeed meaning cannot be truthfully defined as anything else. Eliot\u2019s succeeding poetry backs away from this unpleasant discovery, or at any rate it appears to, though Four Quarters<\/em> may be just as purposefully chaotic beneath its skin of deliberateness. Yet the gulf had opened up, and art with any serious aspirations toward realism still has to take into account the fact that reality escapes laws of perspective and logic, and does not naturally take the form of a sonnet or a sonata.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\"\"

R. B. Kitaj, Tarot Variations, 1958, oil on canvas.<\/p><\/div>\n

It is not unusual to begin a discussion of R. B. Kitaj\u2019s work with a mention of Eliot\u2019s; Kitaj himself has done so \u2026 In the work of both, the picturesque is at the service of a deep-seated sense of cultural malaise that seems distinctly European (Kitaj\u2019s title \u201cThe Autumn of Central Paris\u201d captures it nicely), though presented with a directness that seems distinctly American. Like Whistler, Eliot and Pound, the crusty gentleman from Ohio plays the role of resident Yankee gadfly in London, warning the locals of the perils of both Americanization and their own imminent stagnation.<\/p>\n

\"\"

R. B. Kitaj, The Autumn of Central Paris (after Walter Benjamin), 1972\u201373, oil on canvas.<\/p><\/div>\n

If his pictures could, in some cases, be illustrations for Eliot\u2019s poetry, the poetry itself often sounds like an approximation of Kitaj\u2019s brushwork:<\/p>\n

\n

The River sweats
\n Oil and tar
\n The barges drift
\n With the turning tide
\n Red sails
\n Wide
\n To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Such a passage is less a description than a miming of a way of seeing wherein objects will clear for a moment and then blur, adjacent phenomena are compressed into a puzzling homogeneity, and clear outline abruptly turns illegible.<\/p>\n

\"\"

R. B. Kitaj, If Not, Not, 1975\u201375, oil on canvas.<\/p><\/div>\n

In addition, Kitaj is a man for whom modernism flourished and ended earlier in this century: the modernism of Eliot, Pound, Joyce and Yeats, of Matisse, Picasso and Mondrian\u2014more radical than anything that has come along since (he would argue) and hallowed by the rich patina of the old masters. In other words, he holds a position that is both conservative and, if his identification of the modern is correct, radical at the same time. The \u201cstrange moment\u201d he is always saying we live in is not so much strange for him as banal; what is strange is the way Kitaj\u2019s appropriation of images and attitudes of the recent past has produced a modernism unlike any other.<\/p>\n

\"\"

R. B. Kitaj, Amerika (Baseball), 1983\u201384, oil on canvas. <\/p><\/div>\n

The all-over picture in which no element matters more than another, as proposed by the Abstract Expressionists and disconcertingly reformulated by the Pop artists, has perhaps helped Kitaj to come to certain conclusions about the surface of a picture \u2026 More important, it has helped him to develop a surface that is different every time, in which his figures have their being\u2014a sort of magma or \u201cscorched earth\u201d \u2026 One whiffs an era\u2019s bad breath.<\/p>\n

\"\"

R. B. Kitaj, The Killer-Critic Assassinated by His Widower, Even, 1997, oil and collage on canvas. <\/p><\/div>\n

What I have been saying is that at every key point, Kitaj seems to be occupying a place from which divergent paths rush off to different destinations. I have neglected to say until now that this is precisely what for me constitutes his greatness. As often as Kitaj the grouch proclaims the need for a narrow new approach to the figure, as often is he undercut by Kitaj the philosopher, the hedonist or any of the artist\u2019s other Mabuse-like disguises. A spirit of genuine contradiction, fertile in its implications, thrives in the work, though not in the discussions of it between Kitaj and his critics. (\u201cI\u2019m an old sea-dog. Some reviewers seem to choke on my awful personality.\u201d)<\/p>\n

\"\"

R. B. Kitaj, The Man of the Woods and the Cat of the Mountains, 1973, oil on canvas.<\/p><\/div>\n

\u201cHunger and Love in Their Variations\u201d by John Ashbery, from R. B. Kitaj. (Washington, D.C., Smithsonian Institute Press.) Later appeared in Art In America <\/em>(January 1982) and
\n Reported Sightings<\/em> by John Ashbery. Copyright \u00a9 1981, 1989 by John Ashbery. Reprinted by permission of Georges Borchardt, Inc., for the author. All rights reserved.<\/small><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In 1985, art historian and critic Marco Livingstone published one of the earliest monographs on American painter R. B. Kitaj. The volume appeared roughly midway through Kitaj\u2019s career (he was born in 1932, and his very earliest works date from the late fifties) and offered significant documentation of a complex artist. Over the next two […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":109,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[67,1917,1772],"class_list":["post-10302","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture","tag-painting","tag-r-b-kitaj","tag-t-s-eliot"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nR. B. Kitaj by John Ashbery<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"March 7, 2011 \u2013 In 1985, art historian and critic Marco Livingstone published one of the earliest monographs on American painter R. B. Kitaj. 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