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by
William R. Carr
Have you ever
wondered what happened to art? I have, because at one
time I thought I might
become an artist. Art, (or native drawing ability)
happens to run in my family.
Like my father and his brother before me, and now my
son, I was gifted with the
ability to draw.
During
my school years, I could never figure out the popularity
of abstract art. It
made no sense. To me, most abstract expressionism was, and
still is, merely a
form of juvenile doodling taken to absurd, yet very
serious, lengths and called
art. At best, I considered it as a modern version of
"primitive" art—or
an artistic regression toward our more primitive roots.
With the advent of modern abstract art, literally
anybody "determined to become an artist" can become
an abstract
artist. Native art, or drawing ability, is no longer a
requirement. (Picasso did
have abundant art ability, but he was also a mercenary
with a great sense of
humor, and gave a foolish public what it craved—junk—and
laughed all the way
to the bank several times.) The fact that abstract
expressionism had become a
coveted "art" form, and the ability to do realistic work
downgraded to
"mere" illustration, discouraged me from seriously
attempting to
pursue art as a career. I didn't have the artistic sense
of humor of a Picasso,
nor the singular focus that would have been required to
overcome my sense of
alienation from the contemporary popular art mainstream. I
became a merchant
mariner instead.
Making it possible for anybody with sufficient
motivation to become an "artist" might be a positive
development, but degrading traditional classic art ability
has discouraged many talented artists. My
son is perhaps an example. He possesses more talent than I
ever had, yet he reported that, with very few exceptions,
his school teachers seldom commented favorably on his
drawing and artistic
ability. Thus he was not encouraged by our school system
to value his natural art ability.
I
assume it is considered socially insensitive in this day
and age, to praise
real talent in the public schools, fear that would reflect
unfavorably
on the untalented. After all, those who were not born with
artistic talent should have just as much right to become
artists as
the truly talented. This is in stark contrast to my
experience in school in the 50's,
at which time talent was still openly and regularly
praised. I never had a
teacher that did not encourage me and compliment me on my artwork. I
actually thought I
would someday be a famous artist. But then, as time went
by, reality set in.
Modern
art has continued to "progress." Now we see crucifixes in
glasses of
urine, ("Piss-Christ") and American flags as foot-wipes
honored and
praised as fine art, not to mention some really swell
looking junk piles that
pass for great sculpture. Of course a lot of modern art is
interesting,
colorful, eye-catching, and even very attractive. I
suppose some of it really is art (in fact I'm sure of it),
but art has
by now attained a rather broad definition.
When
I came across the following article by Frances Stonor
Saunders, (which appeared
in the London "Independent on Sunday," on October
22, 1995) I
understood what had before been totally puzzling. It sheds
some light on why
abstract art attained it's initial popularity in the
United States. It had help
from an unsuspected quarter. No doubt other strange things
that tend to baffle
some of us have become popular for similar reasons. I've
reproduced the article
here in its entirety.
Of
Spies and Splatters
For
decades in art circles it was either a rumor or a joke,
but now it has been confirmed. The Central Intelligence
Agency used American modern art—including the works of
such artists as Jackson Pollock, Robert Motherwell,
Willem de Kooning, and Mark Rothko—as a weapon in the
cold war. In the manner of a Renaissance prince--except
that it acted secretly--the CIA fostered and promoted
American abstract expressionist painting around the
world for more than 20 years.
The connection is
improbable. In the 1950s and 1960s, the great majority
of Americans disliked or even despised modern art.
President Harry Truman summed up the popular view when
he said, "If that's art, then I'm a Hottentot." As for
the artists, many were leftists barely tolerable in the
America of the McCarthy era and certainly not the sort
of people normally likely to receive U.S. government
backing.
Why did the CIA support them? Because this new artistic
movement could be held up as proof of America's
creativity, intellectual freedom, and cultural power.
Russian art, strapped into the communist ideological
straitjacket, could not compete.
The decision to include culture and art in the U.S.
cold-war arsenal was made as soon as the CIA was founded
in 1947. Dismayed at the appeal communism still had for
many Western intellectuals, the agency set up the
Propaganda Assets Inventory that could influence more
than 800 newspapers, magazines, and public-information
organizations.
Then, in 1950, the International Organizations Division
was set up under Tom Braden. This office subsidized the
animated version of George Orwell's Animal Farm and
sponsored American jazz artists, opera recitals, and the
Boston Symphony Orchestra's international touring
program. Its agents were placed in the film industry, in
publishing houses, and even as travel writers for the
celebrated Fodor guides. And, we know, it promoted
America's anarchic avant garde movement, abstract
expressionism.
Philistinism, exemplified by Truman's Hottentot remark,
combined with Joseph McCarthy's hysterical denunciations
of all that was unorthodox, discredited the idea that
America was a sophisticated, culturally rich democracy.
To resolve this dilemma, the CIA was brought in. It was
a haven of liberalism when compared with a political
world dominated by McCarthy or with J. Edgar Hoover's
FBI. If any official institution in a position to
celebrate the collection of Leninists, Trotskyites, and
heavy drinkers who made up the New York School, it was
the CIA. To pursue its underground interest in America's
lefty avant-garde, the CIA had to be sure its patronage
could not be discovered. "Matters of this sort could
only have been done at two or three removes," explains
Donald Jameson, a former CIA case officer. "Most of [the
artists] were people who had very little respect for the
government, in particular, and certainly none for the
CIA. If you had to use People who considered themselves
one way or another to be closer to Moscow than to
Washington, well, so much the better perhaps."
The centerpiece of the CIA campaign became the Congress
for Cultural Freedom, a vast Jamboree of
intellectuals, writers, historians, poets, and artists
that was set up with CIA funds in 1950 and run by a CIA
agent. It was the beachhead from which culture could be
defended against the attacks of Moscow and its "fellow
travelers" in the West. At the congress's height, it had
offices in 35 countries and published more than two
dozen magazines.
The Congress for Cultural Freedom also gave the CIA the
ideal front to promote its covert interest in abstract
expressionism. The congress would be the official
sponsor of touring exhibitions, and no one, the artists
included, would be any wiser.
Because abstract expressionism was expensive to move and
exhibit, millionaires and museums were called upon to
help. Preeminent among them was Nelson Rockefeller,
whose mother had co-founded New York's Museum of Modern
Art. His museum was contracted to the Congress for
Cultural Freedom to organize most of its important art
shows. The museum was linked to the CIA by other
bridges. William Paley, the president of CBS and a
founding father of the CIA, sat on the members' board of
the museum's International Program. And Tom Braden of
the CIA's International Organizations Division was
executive secretary of the museum in 1949.
Now in his 80s, Braden lives in Woodbridge, Virginia, in
a house packed with abstract expressionist works. He
explained the purpose of his International Organizations
Division: "We wanted to demonstrate that the West and
the United States [were] devoted to freedom of
expression and intellectual achievement, without and
rigid barriers as to what you must write, and what you
must say, and what you must do, and what you must paint,
which was what was going on in the Soviet Union I think
it was the most important division that the agency had,
and I think that it played an enormous role in the cold
war.
Braden confirmed that his division acted secretly
because of the public's hostility to the avant-garde:
"It was very difficult to get Congress to go along with
some of the things we wanted to do--send art abroad,
send symphonies abroad, publish magazines abroad.
Would abstract expressionism have been the dominant art
movement of the postwar years without the CIA's
patronage? The answer is probably yes. Equally, it would
be wrong to suggest that when you look at an abstract
expressionist painting, you are being duped by the CIA.
But look where this art ended up: in the marble halls of
banks, in airports, city halls, boardrooms, and great
galleries. For the cold warriors who promoted them,
these paintings were a logo, a signature for their
culture and system that they wanted to display
everywhere that counted. They succeeded.
Frances
Stonor Saunders, "Independent on Sunday" (centrist),
London, Oct. 22, 1995.
Quoted
from the WORLD PRESS REVIEW · JANUARY 1996.
Personally, I have a
few
reservations as to the beneficial results of the CIA's
successful attempt to
manipulate our cultural.
W.R.C.
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