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拍品專文
Born before the end of World War Il, an inauspicious moment to come into a German inheritance, Anselm Kiefer's art probes and scrutinizes his national heritage—its myths and history—as if he were searching for a positive identity amid its greatness and its sorrow. There is a sense of tragedy as well as a flickering of self-doubt cast over the assertive presence of his work, which is Wagnerian in scope, scale, and emotional tenor.
Such is the case for Tomb of the Unknown Painter, in which the strict frontality of the austere classical structure is tempered by an overall untidy and time-worn aspect. The pilasters—unornamented by fluting, volutes, or bases—indicate the most reductive of architectural orders. Yet this is not a Periclean ruin, or even the design of a later classical revivalist such as Schinkel. Rather, it resembles a memorial to fallen soldiers by one of the architects of Hitler's Third Reich such as Troost or Kreis.
The disconcerting effect of appropriating a Nazi design—normally a taboo subject—is made all the more disturbing by its ambiguous treatment, for Kiefer's handling is not simplistic. As Robert Hughes notes, he weaves “a complicated tissue of reflection and atonement laced with numerous levels of irony.”
Among the thoughts the image prompts are a meditation upon the birthright of artistic creativity destroyed or corrupted at the hands of Hitler's machine. Along with millions of human victims, a national legacy was charred and turned to ashes. Implied too is the notion that we must confront and not turn away from the tragic misdeeds of our past.
In an ironic way, the imposing monument suggests the mass inflation of current art world reputations. It might seem improbable for an unknown artist to receive the sort of grand entombment traditionally reserved for the military, but, by the same token, Kiefer’s reverence for culture and his faith in the redemptive power of art allow one to take seriously the idea that the artist should replace the soldier as the hero of our time. Finally, Kiefer's series of Monuments to the Unknown Painter can be viewed as a kind of self-cautionary tale regarding the artist’s own new-found fame. A token of his personal identification with the image is provided by the hand print seen at lower center.
The Tomb of the Unknown Painter was fashioned from large sheets and strips of paper glued together. This enormous collage is a one-of-a-kind image, the thickly encrusted ink and rather careless joining giving the print a raw and untamed power. An oversize border, created from inked planks of wood, frames the print and heightens the effect of psychological as well as physical gravity.
—D. Menaker, The Modern Art of the Print: Selections from the Collection of Lois and Michael Torf, exh. cat., Boston, 1984, p. 133.
Such is the case for Tomb of the Unknown Painter, in which the strict frontality of the austere classical structure is tempered by an overall untidy and time-worn aspect. The pilasters—unornamented by fluting, volutes, or bases—indicate the most reductive of architectural orders. Yet this is not a Periclean ruin, or even the design of a later classical revivalist such as Schinkel. Rather, it resembles a memorial to fallen soldiers by one of the architects of Hitler's Third Reich such as Troost or Kreis.
The disconcerting effect of appropriating a Nazi design—normally a taboo subject—is made all the more disturbing by its ambiguous treatment, for Kiefer's handling is not simplistic. As Robert Hughes notes, he weaves “a complicated tissue of reflection and atonement laced with numerous levels of irony.”
Among the thoughts the image prompts are a meditation upon the birthright of artistic creativity destroyed or corrupted at the hands of Hitler's machine. Along with millions of human victims, a national legacy was charred and turned to ashes. Implied too is the notion that we must confront and not turn away from the tragic misdeeds of our past.
In an ironic way, the imposing monument suggests the mass inflation of current art world reputations. It might seem improbable for an unknown artist to receive the sort of grand entombment traditionally reserved for the military, but, by the same token, Kiefer’s reverence for culture and his faith in the redemptive power of art allow one to take seriously the idea that the artist should replace the soldier as the hero of our time. Finally, Kiefer's series of Monuments to the Unknown Painter can be viewed as a kind of self-cautionary tale regarding the artist’s own new-found fame. A token of his personal identification with the image is provided by the hand print seen at lower center.
The Tomb of the Unknown Painter was fashioned from large sheets and strips of paper glued together. This enormous collage is a one-of-a-kind image, the thickly encrusted ink and rather careless joining giving the print a raw and untamed power. An oversize border, created from inked planks of wood, frames the print and heightens the effect of psychological as well as physical gravity.
—D. Menaker, The Modern Art of the Print: Selections from the Collection of Lois and Michael Torf, exh. cat., Boston, 1984, p. 133.