How do the Political Effects of Pictures Come About? The Case of Picasso's Guernica

Abstract

This article' is not concerned with the history of Guernica 's creation nor with the uniquely welldocumented process of its making, which have been discussed on numerous occasions.2 Nor do I intend to deal with the controversies over the correct interpretation of the symbols in the picture, those endless disputes concerning the precise meaning of the bull and horse.3 Rather, I wish to offer a few observations about the political effect of the work, and then try to indicate what general conclusions we might be able to draw from this. Picasso painted the picture on commission from the Spanish Republic and its Popular Front government for the Spanish pavilion at the International Exhibition held in Paris in 1937. Unlike most other nations, the Spanish Republic did not represent itself in the exhibition in terms of its economic power, but in terms of its cultural values, among which works of art of the avant-garde took pride of place (Picasso, Calder, Miro, Gonzalez and others had all offered works of art). In this way the Spanish Republic embattled as it was by the fascists enlisted international solidarity with the help of artists. Though the Spanish pavilion was first opened in June 1937, too late to be included in the illustrated guides, and though the press hardly took any notice of it, its impact, and in particular that of Picasso's work, seems to have been considerable. If one is to believe the observations published in the Cahiers d'Art, the basic content of the picture was readily recognised by the visitors, who were in no way an artistic audience.4 Picasso himself called the picture his answer to the bombing of the Basque town of Guernica after which he named his painting by the German fascists.5 Guernica was then on everybody's lips and had come to serve as a symbol of the victims of the fascist terror.6 Not surprisingly, Picasso's picture was criticised, as was the whole avant-garde, both by the left and the right. Much more surprising, however, is the amount of spontaneous acclaim it received, both from the left and from the liberal bourgeoisie. Though the organ of the French communist party, L'Humanite, refrained from taking any view on the subject, a number of communist artists expressed great enthusiasm over the picture. One only needs to think of Eluard's tributes, or the following comments by Johannes Wiusten, a German artist living in exile in France:7 Picasso's great work, the bombing of Guernica, is in no way second to Dix's trench scenes, as far as horror is concerned. (Nobody would have anticipated that abstract forms had such a realist impact! ) Art critics may consider its value for art history. What grips me about it, immediately in the same sense that there is something that severs any possible connection between the defeatist Dix and the militant anabaptist Griunewald is the bull, which raises itself up from the midst of the catastrophe; it pauses, imperturbable, in the midst of this hell. No muscle hints at flight amid the general rout. It watches out, its sharp horns at the ready, its tail nervously lashing about only it does not yet see the opponent which it will fall upon in a moment....