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<text id=91TT1270>
<title>
June 10, 1991: Visual Jazz from a Sharp Eye
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991
June 10, 1991 Evil
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
ART, Page 72
Visual Jazz from a Sharp Eye
</hdr><body>
<p>A retrospective in Harlem illuminates the keen human observations
of collagist Romare Bearden
</p>
<p>By ROBERT HUGHES
</p>
<p> Romare Bearden (1912-88) was one of the finest collagists
of the 20th century and the most distinguished black visual
artist America has so far produced: the only one, perhaps, who
rivaled in his own time and field the achievements of Ralph
Ellison and James Baldwin, Alvin Ailey and Arthur Mitchell, Earl
Hines and Duke Ellington in theirs. His retrospective at the
Studio Museum in Harlem is an exhilarating show marred by a
sloppy catalog. This will not matter too much to the audience
the exhibition will acquire as it moves around the museums of
America, ending in 1993 in Washington. The art, as always, is
what counts.
</p>
<p> Without making a real point, the catalog strikes postures
about the slights handed down to Bearden by a hegemonic white
art world. He had at least 10 museum shows in the last
quarter-century of his career, including one in 1971 at the
Museum of Modern Art in New York City. From 1964, when he first
displayed his photo-based collages at Cordier & Ekstrom gallery
in Manhattan, he had a steady market at high prices--not,
certainly, the crazed inflationary ones of the '80s, but
respectable all the same. Most artists would kill for this kind
of neglect and misunderstanding. So what does the case for
Bearden-as-unjustly-marginalized-artist rest on? Apparently his
exclusion from the "mainstream" of American art as defined by
American white art historians, which happened, the catalog
implies, because Bearden was black.
</p>
<p> Now the concept of a "mainstream" is a phantom, an
artifact of overcategorizing minds. The Tiber as a symbol of
aesthetic transmission has been replaced by the Everglades. The
idea of the "mainstream" is kept alive by pluralists, rather as
Stalin maintained the memory of Trotsky--as a bogey. But
whatever prejudices and illusions "mainstream" thinking once
depended on, racism was not among them, and Bearden got left out
of the history books because those who wrote them lacked the
imagination to find a frame in which to put his work. Such was
the fate of the reflective, mildly conservative artist--which
Bearden certainly was--in a culture dedicated to the
proposition that only "radical" change matters. The complete
institutional sweep made by Abstract Expressionism, by hostility
to narrative and by the cult of the huge-object-as-spectacle
rudely elbowed Bearden to the side. But this also happened to
a lot of fine artists who happened to be white: try finding
references to Fairfield Porter's work in the books of the time.
</p>
<p> The catalog's nagging about the "mainstream" seems all the
more pointless because Bearden possessed a deep aesthetic
education: he was immersed in the self-sufficient culture of
Western painting from Giotto right through to his own time, as
well as in African art. It may be that curator Sharon F. Patton
thought she was paying him some kind of compliment in writing
that "like Pollock, de Kooning...and Rothko, Bearden, too,
rejected the modernist tradition," but this is nonsense: none
of those artists, Bearden least of all, did any such thing.
</p>
<p> Indeed, one of the most moving aspects of his work is the
way he thought constantly about his heritage, including that of
Modernism. This reflection sometimes becomes the essential
subject of the collage. A particularly fine example is Artist
with Painting and Model, 1981, a veritable love letter to
Matisse. Bearden plays marvelously with the ambiguous nature of
collage. The figure of the model is a reddish-brown silhouette,
but the artist's studies on the floor are real drawings of a
standing model--pencil on paper--pasted down, and the
painter's white shirt is more used drawing paper whose
accidental smudges become purposive shading: three levels of
representation, to begin with.
</p>
<p> On the way to such images, Bearden traversed a lot of
ground and did not find himself early. The son of intellectuals
in New York City, themselves deeply involved in the Harlem
renaissance of the '20s, Bearden spent long stretches of his
boyhood and youth in the rural South and industrial Pittsburgh.
The range of his acquaintance, from field hands, ironworkers and
Storyville pimps to such heroes of black culture as Duke
Ellington, was large: wild enough to make a novelist--or, in
Bearden's case, to give the young artist an abiding love of
actuality and pictorial anecdote that abstract art could not
possibly satisfy.
</p>
<p> He went the route of many young American abstract painters
in the late '30s and '40s: colonial Cubism diffused into
WPA-style figure painting. His sympathies did not lie with
Abstract Expressionism, the avant-garde style of '50s New York.
"When Delacroix began to transcribe his romantic vision,"
Bearden wrote, "he had the heritage of Herder, Schelling,
Schiller and all the French Romanticists who were of his time.
So when I look at Stamos, Baziotes and the rest, I wonder what
point their work has, and to what end does it drive."
</p>
<p> An excellent question, to which Bearden found no answer.
In 1951 he went to Paris and there suffered a severe attack of
painter's block, from which he gradually extricated himself by
copying old masters and then, in the late '50s, doing
derivative, pastelly Ab-Ex pictures. What caused this crisis
neither the exhibition nor its catalog indicates. But he got out
of it through collage.
</p>
<p> Bearden's largish photocollages of the '60s and '70s
remain his most distinctive work, for two reasons: their use of
the medium and their sharply observant, full-blooded,
encyclopedic imagery of black life. Since the work of artists
like Max Ernst, John Heartfield and Hannah Hoch in the 1920s,
collage had always been small--keyed to the actual size of the
reproduced images in print, which the artist cut up and
rearranged. Bearden, however, had the original images, his
source material, photographically blown up so that the eyes,
faces, hands and mouths could make larger, more wall-holding
pictures. The human features were all cut to a razor profile,
with sudden abutments, breaks and repetitions that functioned,
for him, as a visual equivalent to the jazz he loved.
</p>
<p> Having moved to a larger scale, he could use paint more
freely and combine his effects with the "pure" collage, the
painted and cut sheets of paper without printed design, that his
idol Matisse had employed in his last decoupages. Bearden was
a gifted colorist whose yellows, deep blues and fuchsias played
against the photographic gray and produced, in works like Three
Folk Musicians, 1967 (his riff on Picasso's Three Musicians in
MOMA), a truly lyrical zing. But always the human effigy
predominated: those crowded faces and bodies, shouting, working,
grinning, making music, suffering, pressed with ebullience and
awkward grace against the picture plane like people on the other
side of a window--Here I am! Notice me! "I felt," Bearden
once explained, "that the Negro was becoming too much of an
abstraction, rather than the reality that art can give a
subject. What I've attempted to do is establish a world through
art in which the validity of my Negro experience could live and
make its own logic." In this he succeeded, and the show is the
proof.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>