–Essay–
HAMBURG — They have angry stomachs, and angrier arms, angry wrists, angry fingertips.
And when the artists are in their studios, alone with themselves and their rumbling frenzy, they don’t paint, but beat, throw, and whip their red onto the canvas, splash a squeaking green, or large amounts of black — every brushstroke, as you’d expect, is filled with anger.
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It is the cliché of the modern artist: bad-tempered, edgy and highly snappish, because in the end, had they been calm, relaxed, optimistic, they would have become dental technicians or yoga instructors with neatly trimmed beards.
But that is not the case: the artist wants to lose his temper, explore their anger, unleashed and uncontrolled. Art is a mess, and it has to be heartfelt, disturbing for the public, disturbing for the artists themselves.
Seems a little outdated, right? It’s a cliché, as I said. But there is some truth in it.
‘Set fire to the libraries!’
With no anger, with no rage towards a life that feels alienating and urgently needs to be changed, modern art would never have come into being. This anger had a beautiful element to it: it was productive, in its own way.
At the beginning of the 20th century, painters, architects, musicians, theater people and writers were already joining forces to clear the path from everything that smelled like tradition — all in the name of a bright, glowing future. In 1909, the “Futurist Manifesto” was published on the front page of the Figaro, a tirade that no editor-in-chief would print today — filled with hatred, stirring unrest. They demanded the destruction of all existing morals. “Set fire to the libraries!” they urged readers. “Take pickaxes and hammers! Undermine the foundations of the venerable cities!” No more reflection and beauty: “Art needs violence, cruelty.”
Fragmented texts, crazy screaming, lots of nakedness.
Since then, countless artists have been enthusiastic about futurism, especially the Surrealists and Dadaists. Happenings, action art and pop art — all artistic movements that strived to break boundaries and tried to shock and scandalize the public — are somehow derivatives of the angry bourgeoisie that wrote the futurist manifesto. On the theater stage: fragmented texts, crazy screaming, lots of nakedness. In rock and punk: torn harmonies and perforated eardrums, smashed guitars, televisions flying out of windows. In fashion: ripped, worn fabrics, unbridled joy in ugliness. And anger, lots of refreshing anger.
Museums neutralize the artists’ work
Violence was also considered acceptable or even necessary, at the time. The poet André Breton thought it was a fine thing to “go out into the street with revolvers in your fists and blindly shoot as many people as you can.” Maybe this is why the avant-gardists’ had a raging success: they practiced an uninhibitedness forbidden to anybody else.
They gave free rein to their evil feelings — and in doing so they provided the bourgeois, civilized society with perfect scapegoats to get mad at: outraged by all that blood, the excrement and especially by the artists’ emotional insides. That was their role in society, the goal these angry artists were trying to achieve — to make the public boil with anger. Often, without resorting to violence. Think about the work of French-American sculptor Niki de Saint Phalle’s practice: “Tirs”, a series of shooting paintings, but peaceful and without serious consequences.
On one hand, it is nice that anti-art is now part of the canon. On the other hand, it is terrible.
Art was their way of venting social urges and anger. And the more hatred it received, the more it meant it was loved.
Today’s museums are full of testimonies of absurd behavior, of provocation and arrogance. And it is not always easy for artists to see their once boiling emotions become well preserved, sterile exhibitions on white walls. On one hand, it is nice that their anti-art is now part of the canon. On the other hand, it is terrible because anger is now considered aesthetically valuable.
Museum institutions neutralize the artists’ work, turning toxic feelings into pleasure. And over the years, this has changed the role artists have in our societies.
Avant-garde or populist?
Today artists are no longer the unloved, mocked and misunderstood creatures they once were; instead, they are admired by many and looked up to as role models. Something has shifted in our social values: discipline and punctuality are no longer considered the main virtues of the working world; flexibility and, above all, creative thinking have now gained a lot of importance. The sociologists Luc Boltanski and Ève Chiapello call it the “new spirit of capitalism”, a sort of creative mentality that sees market value in everything that is different and disruptive.
The artists’ creativity has shaped our society in a very profound way and it has even become an ideal to aspire to. But what’s frequently overlooked is the way the artists’ edginess and anger have shaped society. I’m referring to a certain pride in being incoherent and always playing devil’s advocate: I rage, therefore I am.
Just as modern artists channeled their intense emotions in a free, outrageous manner, much of 21st-century society — particularly populist politicians, both on the left and right — are now doing the same.
The self-righteous anger, the arrogance — strikingly similar to today’s anti-establishment parties.
Everything is someone else’s fault, and it is crucial to always be dissatisfied with how things are going. This approach — which to us in Germany might sound like the platform of the AfD far-right party — comes directly from the avant-garde playbook. Politically, avant-garde artists were often on the left side of the political spectrum, but their emotional strategies — the self-righteous anger, the arrogance and the constant readiness to express outrage — are strikingly similar to today’s anti-establishment parties.
A second chance
Perhaps that is also the reason why art seems to be moving away from anger. The urge to always be unpredictable seems to be gone for good; today the art scene is focusing on remixing, remaking and recycling. And the old antagonistic approach artists used to have is also gone: being socially and ethically productive, working within a community, mindfulness and peace are all the rage now.
Even Marina Abramović is now preaching kindness
Marina Abramović, once so furious and radical, an artist who tore out her hair or had her stomach slit open for her art, who screamed so loudly that she almost collapsed, put her anger aside and is now preaching kindness. Counting grains of rice, walking slowly, meditation is her new art. Gone is the shouting — hours of silence have replaced them.
For a long time, art was the rage room of a conformist society. It was where people let off steam that couldn’t find an outlet elsewhere. Now, it is becoming a safe space filled with educational purposes, and that’s because the world out there is undeniably filled with rage to the very brim.
And the artists? They seem to have lost their privilege to be furious: populists have taken their jobs and they are the ones in charge of scandal and madness now.
The question is: should artists reappropriate rage and give anger a second chance? Maybe it’s still what our societies need. Then, the museum would once again become a place of dispute and feud, hosting debates that disturb our false peace. Maybe, this way the rage that fills our societies could find a way to be channeled into art.
