The American artist Philip Guston (1913–1980) lived through the major political, economic, and stylistic shifts of the twentieth century. From the outset, his art took its bearings from the political and social context and from American and European visual art, literature, and poetry. The ability of art to relate to the world was vital for Guston, but so, too, was its ability to create a world of its own. Effective art, real art, could do both at once.
The desire for an art that encompassed all that could be brought to the canvas, and that had the capacity to surprise the artist with revelations unleashed in the process of making, did not dovetail with the critical understanding of American abstract painting. This divergence of opinion comes to the fore in the work of the two critics who shaped the dominant view of painting in the postwar period: Clement Greenberg and Harold Rosenberg. According to Greenberg, abstract painting was self-referential: the artist engaged with the special qualities of the medium of painting, not with the world of the emotions
Although Guston would be celebrated as a member of the New York School of painters and his work would be associated with the stylistic category of abstract expressionism, his own view ran counter to the predominant critical understanding of American postwar painting. For Guston, “art” meant not only the work of art but also the force that took hold of the creator in the process of making. Here, it is not the artist who expresses the self directly in the work of art but the work of art that reveals to the artist, and to us, what the world is or can be.
Review, a large painting of 1948–1949, shows Guston taking stock of where he has been as an artist, where he is going, and what kind of painter he would like to be. The painting responds to what is happening in the world. Indeed, it is characterized in the literature as one of three paintings that represent a transition from figuration to abstraction. Its compression of space is said to be related to photographs then emerging of the aftermath of the Holocaust as well as to the anxiety of the postwar period more generally. Yet the canvas is also animated by subtle suggestions of light and potential movement that appear to arise from within the painting itself. The objects indicated on the painter’s table—a tacking hammer, paint can, brushes, and a quill pen—are shadowy elements in this painted world.
Indeed, the objects and the relationships between them never really disappear in Guston’s supposedly abstract painting. Rather, these relations are subsumed within a mysterious, quivering space erected through color and light. In the frescoes of Piero
The two-month fellowship at CASVA enabled me to look closely at Guston’s paintings, prints, and drawings at the National Gallery of Art and, with the superb resources of the library, to refine my understanding of the particular qualities of his art. Guston’s career as a painter is narrated in the history of art as a series of stylistic shifts—from the figurative style of