Black Squares: A Century of Celebration, Triumph, and Tears

It’s not really a square. That’s my first impression when faced with Black Square, the Kazimir Malevich work from 1915 that starts off the Whitechapel Gallery’s retrospective of abstract art. It’s more like a slightly squished rectangle, and after all the hype, it’s actually pretty small. However, its size belies the huge impact that this little artistic gesture has had on modern society; over the last hundred years the black square has gambolled through Europe, zipped along the highways of America, and spread its influence across the entire globe. The title of the exhibition – _The Adventures of the Black Square _– is therefore fitting; we are invited to join this unassuming canvas as it charts a novel path into a bright, uncertain future.

We begin with four key artists, who were producing work in the 1910s and 20s, introducing us to the main themes running through this retrospective; Lyubov Popova, the Soviet constructivist whose work represents the intersection between abstract art and the built environment, catchily termed Architectonics; Gustav Klutsis’ abstracted illustrations of loudspeakers, influenced by the increasingly complex world of communication; Sophie Taeuber-Arp, whose textile work reveals the innumerable ways abstract art infiltrated everyday life; and finally Kazimir Malevich, whose black square became a null void, sweeping away the conventions of art history, making way for a new vision of a modern utopia.

Even within these four works, a myriad of themes emerge, all of which are explored throughout the exhibition. The curators have made sure not to place one type of work above the other, and there is no hierarchy of medium; thus Anni Albers’ geometric textile work, representing the pinnacle of Bauhaus arts, sit happily alongside Lebanese modernist Saloua Raouda Choucair’s rarely seen sculptures, which face a wall of Alexander Rodchenko’s dramatic photography. The works may seem disparate when seen apart, but the Whitechapel manages to show that all have been touched by the magic of Malevich’s utopian ideals.

This huge range of material is best shown by the work of the American abstract artists working in New York in the 1960s: Dan Flavin’s neon piece ‘Monument’ for V Tatlin can be viewed whilst walking over the giant lead blocks of Carl Andre’s_ 10 x 10 Altstadt Lead Square_. Steel and neon. Lead and glass. This celebration of modernity is a direct descendent of early abstract photographers like László Moholy-Nagy and Alexander Rodchenko, whose dynamic images of pylons, typewriters, and machinery transform mechanisation into an aesthetic virtue. It also forms a counterpoint to those who feel that abstraction is all about objectivity and coldness; Flavin and Andre are following in the footsteps of early constructivists like Vladimir Tatlin, for whom materiality and non-objectivity were the focal points of modernism.

The key historical marker from which Whitechapel take their cue is Petrograd’s _0.10 _exhibition of 1915, in which ten key artists displayed their vision of the future, among them Malevich, Popova, and Tatlin. This started a boom of abstract art that would spread around the world like wildfire. With the movement’s emphasis on objectivity and abstraction, a new means of communication was formed through the use of manifestos and artistic publications, a huge number of which are on display here.

Unlike some other exhibitions, these are not useful for mere historical reference, but are works of art in themselves, exemplifying the modernist emphasis on graphic design and typography that came to a head with Moholy-Nagy’s work on ‘typophotos’. The space left behind by cutting out all unnecessary detail, leaving behind only line and colour, has been filled with ideas, texts, and debate, creating a new visual lexicon of artistic theory.

Over the last 100 years, the black square has gambolled through Europe

These ideas were not only spread through texts, but also through teaching, a process which is captured beautifully by the gallery; the first area of teaching we encounter is the Bauhaus, that veritable behemoth of early modernism. As fascism became more and more powerful, artists such as Anni and Josef Albers moved to New York, where they taught students from all over the world. Thus we have exposure to a whole globe of artists, shattering the myth that abstraction was solely a Western phenomenon; from Argentina we have Tomás Maldonado’s bright minimalism; from Israel come Zvi Goldstein’s tableaus inspired by the iconography of communication; and from Iran we have Nazgol Ansarinia, whose cut and paste versions of Tehran’s newspapers draw a direct line from the dadaists to today.

Another interesting aspect of the exhibition is the focus it places on women artists. The majority of the art world is largely focussed on male artists, mostly dead, nearly universally white – the abstract modernist movement is no exception. For many art historians, the story begins with Malevich, and ends with rugged American minimalists like Flavin and Richard Serra. Slipping through the cracks are innumerable women artists, particularly those of a minority. Luckily, the curators of this exhibition have clearly undertaken meticulous research, and can offer us a wealth of little-known artists.

A personal favourite of mine is Dora Maurer, a Hungarian artist who defied the official censors of the 1970s by refusing to conform to the Socialist Realist movement; instead she pursued her interest in abstract photography in her Rotations series. Initially holding up a blank square, she repeatedly photographs herself, twisting the camera around until her form dissolves into a kaleidoscopic mirage of shape and form. Another Eastern European artist, Běla Kolářová, explores the role that feminine articles can play within art, creating abstract compositions with cosmetic samples and clothes fastening; by using such material, traditionally dismissed as frivolous and immaterial, Kolářová makes us reinterpret what we mean when we make such judgements. After all, what could be a better representation of Soviet industry than the miniscule poppers, meticulous in their detail, that make up her work?

It is easy to overlook the political and social connotations of abstract art. From our vantage point, it is difficult to see Malevich’s Black Square as anything other than a playful jibe at traditional art, let alone a severe political threat, but this is not always the case. Malevich could feel the rising tension in the USSR, and fled the country in 1927, leaving his work to be destroyed by the censors. Klutsis never got out; he was murdered by officials under the order of Stalin. This atmosphere of tragedy is one that never quite leaves the exhibition, but there is youthful optimism in there too. These artists believed, and still believe, in a better future through abstraction.

Modern political links are explored through the work of American artist Jenny Holzer; in _TOP SECRET 24 _the black square becomes areas of censored documents, the text redacted by the US government as part of their war on terror. What was in 1915 a symbol of hope and optimism now has become a tool used by an oppressive regime, a powerful reminder that art is a tool for both liberalism and totalitarianism. The very spirit of abstract modernism has its roots in revolution, with many of the original Russian constructivists seeing their art as a means of furthering the dictatorship of the proletariat, and therefore it should be no surprise that the political is intertwined with the aesthetic. Even with this expectation, however, the dearth of art coming out of Altin America during the years of numerous military juntas is still harrowing, leaving a noticeable gap in the time-frame of the exhibition.

An atmosphere of tragedy never quite leaves the exhibition, but there is optimism

We end on a brighter note, with an exploration of the legacy of the black square by Scottish artist David Batchelor; he attempts to oppose the overwhelming tendency for chromophobia among the arts community by filling the blank space with expanses of colour. He takes the square apart, filling it with coloured baubles; a black triangle becomes a pyramid, spouting beams of bright light in rainbow colours. He turns the black void on its head, and by doing so reveals the bright new future that it promises. Abstraction has always had a sense of humour and fun at its core, as well as a never-ending hope for a brighter, better tomorrow; the Whitechapel Gallery has recognised this, and avoided the po-faced seriousness that often accompanies discussion of the abstract art movement. We are invited along for an adventure that charts a century of creativity, chaos, and celebration; I suggest that you go along for the ride.

Adventures of the Black Square: Abstract Art and Society, 1915 - 2015 is running from 15th January until 6th April. Tickets £11.95 adults; £8.85 students.