Hilma af Klint – the forgotten visionary who gave us abstract expressionism
“I’m off to see the Klint exhibition at the Guggenheim”.
“No, no, you mean the Klimt, surely! It’s at the Neue Galerie NEAR the Guggenheim on East 86th and 5th – easy mistake; the one with the “Lady in Gold” – portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer – stolen by the Nazis and then restored to its rightful owner after a celebrated legal battle with the Austrian authorities. Great 1979 film, too – “Woman in Gold”, starred Helen Mirren ……. ”
“Actually, smartass, it’s an exhibition of the work of Hilma af Klint, the 19th/20th century Swedish abstract painter, being shown for the first time in the US. Surprised you’ve never heard of her.”
Oops! For the avoidance of doubt, in the preceding exchange I play the role of ignorant smartass. I’d never heard of Hilma af Klint, 1862 – 1944. In for a penny …. I took the advice of my savvier friend and tagged along to the Solomon R. Guggenheim’s “Paintings for the Future” show, running in New York until April 23rd.
So, who is Hilma af Klint anyway – and what’s she ever done for us? Apart, that is, from apparently being way ahead of her time in the move from figurative to abstract painting, predating Kandinsky, Mondrian and co.
Oh, yes, and apart from leaving an oeuvre of 1,200 paintings and 124 meticulously detailed notebooks explaining her life’s work. Yeah, and apart from creating canvasses that bound with vibrant colour, juxtaposing rhythmic swirling, natural patterns with precise geometrical form.
Just like Monty Python’s derided Romans, on even a cursory examination of achievements Hilma af Klint has done a hell of a lot for us, leaving a legacy only now slowly gaining the recognition it deserves; amazingly, picking up a head of steam since as recently as 1986.
Why? Because of her obsessive secretiveness. She insisted that the bulk of her work remain private for twenty years after her death and when the vast portfolio was released in 1964 her family trustees were not financially up to the job of exhibiting her properly, unable to make the jump from relative obscurity in Sweden to international renown.
But now the Hilma af Klint Foundation in Stockholm is gathering momentum, rolling out a series of exhibitions of her works. The Guggenheim show is the foundation’s biggest coup to date.
And nowhere better to introduce a ground breaking Swedish artist to the US than in Frank Lloyd Wright’s similarly challenging, upturned chocolate swirl of a gallery that raised two fingers to neighbouring 5th Avenue conventional architecture when it opened in 1959.
Hilma af Klint was born into a family highly placed in Swedish society. Her father was a naval captain. Much of her childhood was spent in the idyllic surroundings of Lake Mälaren, where she developed her love of nature. From the start she had an inquiring mind and a keen interest in mathematics, the constant thread running through her abstract work.
She studied at the Academy of Fine Arts of Stockholm and was admitted to the Royal Academy of Fine Arts at the age of only twenty.
What’s on show in Manhattan? Pretty much everything. Sixteen series of her work, ranging from early figurative painting – skilled, but conventional – through works “guided” by spiritualism, evoking natural forms and representing the rapid development of scientific understanding at the time – especially in the field of physics.
She frequently uses a symbolic lexicon of blue representing female and yellow male. The complex interrelationship between the two reflects her view of competitive engagement and the struggle for equality. In her mind, at the beginning of the 20th century, they were already balanced – optimistic painting for the future, indeed.
Lets face it. It is tempting to think she was a bit weird. Umm …. that could be understatement. She consulted with the world beyond. But, then, the spiritualist inspiration at the heart of her painting was taken seriously. Part of a “group of five” women – not all painters – she would lead séances and claim guidance from a number of superior beings who inspired her painting.
Some “guiders” were refreshingly prosaic; Ananda and Georg, who in 1904 foretold that she would be called upon to design a temple in which her works could be viewed. They would offer insights into other dimensions. Maybe the Guggenheim show is the fulfillment of the prophecy?
Was she simply nuts? Hardened cynics – me perhaps – might casually mock this bogus hooha of ditsy women gathering round a Ouija board in the gathering Swedish dusk, seeking inspiration. But the resulting work, whether actually directed by Ananda from the other world or not, conveys insights into the structure of matter and nature through abstraction that are intriguing; and, make it impossible not to treat the art seriously.
In a nutshell, Hilma af Klint’s painting does what I think art should – it takes you beyond the boundaries of your own experience. You leave with increased knowledge and a dozen new questions in your head.
Hilma af Klint’s abstract form involves considerably more food for thought than the work of the abstract impressionists who followed her. You’ve seen them, in the 50s Pathé news reels – the fashionable ones staggering about, fag dangling, dribbling buckets of paint in random swirls onto large canvasses on studio floors in a dope filled haze. I wonder who that might possibly be? Excuse me, I feel a “Life” cover story coming on.
The towering achievement of this exhibition is that it goes well beyond simply introducing Hilma af Klint’s art to a gawping public drawn by “the old spiritual guidance ploy”. It sets her fascinating life in historical context, illuminates her way of thinking, presents an involving snapshot of Swedish society, whilst also assessing the impact of cult belief on normally balanced, middle class, rational people.
Come on, now. Titter ye not. It wasn’t only those advanced Swedes who reached towards worlds beyond. Victorian Britain was not without it’s “knock three times if you’re there” lace and doily brigade.
My brutally simplistic non spiritualist rationalisation is that – guiding spooks aside – the inspiration came directly from inside Hilma’s head and it is all the more impressive for that.
It is serendipitous that her art did not sell widely while she was alive, as her collected works remain intact, allowing comprehensive exhibitions like this to be mounted relatively easily. There is meticulous detail in the exhibition, setting out the back-story to her work, well presented by the Guggenheim. Stacks of contemporary notebooks record her thought processes – as well as mystical Ananda’s instructions – and make the point of what she is trying to achieve accessible.
For example, an “Altarpiece” series consists of geometric patterns that would not look out of place in the staging of a Masonic ritual in Sarastro’s temple, set in Mozart’s “The Magic Flute”. Reading the accompanying notes beats random conjecture as to what it’s all about, allowing the observer to trace the meaning of the complex relationships of the sharp edged triangles among squares, globes and spirals with a keener eye. It’s a reflection of the contradictions of the natural world.
Tip time. At the Guggenheim it’s often best to take the elevator to the top then follow the winding galleries downwards. This strategy is, of course, motivated by strict artistic integrity. Don’t you dare suggest it’s actually driven by laziness! Downhill all the way. At this show – it actually worked, keeping the most spectacular until the end.
Just like the “grand bouquet” ending a Bastille Day fireworks display, “The Ten Largest,” hung in a separate space on the Guggenheim’s ground floor, are best viewed after the others – oddly, the opposite of the curator’s intention. They are the summation of what has gone before – and completely over the top, representing the stages of life from childhood through old age in towering canvases of subtle colour.
They were not my favourites, though. Walking through the series I suddenly came across “The Swan, No1”. There it was – one of the most beautiful and evocative paintings I have ever seen. Two swans, white and black against contrasting background washes, one above the other, beaks and one wing touching, oh so gently, at the intersecting line of colours. Breathtaking.
What was it all about? I think Hilma’s swans are saying that, even amongst opposites in nature, a common point of contact can be found. It’s a hopeful message for the future – but hardly resonates today.
Then afterwards, I went to the Neue Galerie as well, just to say “hello” to the “Lady in Gold” and enjoy a Viennese pastry in its atmospheric Café Sabarsky. So much Europe within two blocks on 5th Avenue. Does President Trump know? Oh, Lord, please don’t tell him!