. . . this bull is a bull and this horse is a horse . . . if you give a meaning to certain things in my paintings it may be very true, but it is not my idea to give this meaning.[2]
If this leads us to believe he didn't care about the content, it is deceptive: he was,
appalled at the explosion of hatred that occurred in Spain . . . sometimes, when he thought he was alone, Dora Maar heard him heaving sighs which sounded like groans.[3]
The extensive eclecticism woven into Picasso's work makes it difficult to pick out a dominant philosophy. He seems to have viewed art as his contribution to the ongoing fight to make sense of life. ‘Painting is not done to decorate apartments,’ he asserted. ‘It's an instrument of war for attack or defence against the enemy.'[4] Seeing life as a heroic fight is an attitude which is easily aligned with the existentialism of friend and philosopher, Jean-Paul Satre. The artist's willingness to embrace life and to back his own creative judgment demonstrates, however, a joie de vivre that is a long way from the introspective uncertainties of the movement's leading novelist. The Nietzchian portrait of the artist as Dionysian ‘superman’ is much closer.
Politically, anarchism and communism both put in an appearance. We need go no further than George Orwell's animated account of his brief career in the Spanish Civil War to know how desperately they could clash.[5] Picasso experienced the movements in situations that differed greatly from each other, and from that of Orwell.
Anarchism was an overt attraction during his formative days in Barcelona.[6] It was mediated through a social group for whom the ‘renaissance’ of Catalonian culture, as exemplified by the Modernista movement, was the main driving force.[7] Anarchism seemed a natural home for anyone interested in regional autonomy, and it would have suited Picasso's journey away from the strictures of the Madrid Academy toward the ever-increasing creative freedom that he was soon to discover in Paris.
Communism was the one serious contender for Picasso's political loyalty. The Spanish government was supplied with arms by the Soviet Union, which was the only foreign power to give material support to the Nationalist cause, albeit at a price. In the end, this support proved a mixed blessing.[8] For those who, like Picasso, were horrified by the growth of a militarised Fascism, it encouraged a somewhat uncritical embracing of both Soviet propaganda and communist ideals. Picasso had more personal reasons for eventually joining the French Communist Party. Long-standing friendships and social networks were of greater importance than ideology.
Internationally, capitalists and communists alike found fault with Guernica and its creator on the spurious grounds that it, or he, seemed closer to their antagonist's values than to their own. As Françoise Gilot, his partner from 1943–1953, explained, 'In Russia they hated his work but liked his politics. In America they hated his politics but liked his work,’ adding Picasso's own take on things: ‘I am hated everywhere, I like it that way.'[9]
Native Soil
Picasso was always his own man. Few alliances, be they romantic, artistic, philosophical or political, could deflect his vision. The great constant was his identity as a Spaniard. Like the proverbial cat, Spain is a nation that walked alone. Standing slightly apart from other European countries it developed its own particular culture, often through violent conflict. Paradoxically his artistic lineage is frequently traced by reference to precursors in French art.[10] This is only part of the story. To analyse the thought processes behind Guernica, it is important to see how rooted they are in his native soil.
The rhythms of the bullfight are typically Spanish. The horse appears in the opening phase. Its task is to support a rider, the picador, who will drive a lance into the bull's neck to begin the process of tiring the bull. Horse and rider then leave the ring. Enthusiasts know what to expect.
Picasso was an enthusiast but he changes the script. In Guernica it is the bull which becomes an onlooker whilst the horse takes centre stage. The horse is collapsing on a fallen warrior. A spear is lodged in its body; another lies broken beneath it; there is a stigmata shaped gash in its side. From the development of this theme throughout the studies, it is apparent that the horse and the human have tragically wounded each other. This unexpected change of roles transforms the ritual into a macabre parable of civil war.[11]
Political Protest?
