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3 - Modes of Art and Modes of Being

Stokes, Adrian Harris Meltzer Trust ePub

Carving and modelling i

So we shall now attack the vital though confused aesthetic distinction between carving and modelling. There must be a profound aesthetic distinction between them. As everyone knows, carving is a cutting away, while modelling or moulding is a building up. Agostino's virtue will shed new light upon the high imaginative constructions which common fantasy has placed around each of these antithetical processes (imagination itself is a plastic agency, fashioning its products with fragments). Agostino's virtue will illumine afresh the field of visual art. For the distinction between carving and modelling proves to be most suggestive in relation to all visual art.

That distinction between carving and modellingii is for me one of the most fruitful in the visual arts: it applies to all of those arts. I enlarged in this distinction in Stones of Rimini. I showed that in the early Renaissance there was an architecture and sculpture that is the epitome of carving conception. Also in The Quattro Cento I showed that there is constancy of life in early Renaissance stone ornaments, a tense communion with the plane from which they were cut. These ornaments do not give the effect of having been stuck there. On the contrary they are integral with their background plane. They appear to be more than decoration: for through them we witness powers in the wall on which they lie, just as his face shows the man. Whatever its plastic value, a figure carved in stone is fine carving when one feels that not the figure, but the stone through the medium of the figure, has come to life. Plastic conception, on the other hand, is uppermost when the material with which, or from which, a figure has been made appears no more than so much suitable stuff for this creation […].

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2 - Art and the Inner World

Stokes, Adrian Harris Meltzer Trust ePub

Painting and the inner world i

It seems desirable that I give a precise account of what I mean by the inner world, the one of Freud and Melanie Klein. Apart from the fact that I claim no precise picture, there is always the difficulty that the concepts of psychoanalysis are little known and far less understood, yet it is impossible to interpolate several treatises available elsewhere.

The aspect of the psyche that most concerns our context is the potential chaos and the attempts to achieve stability whether predominantly through defences of splitting such as getting rid of parts of the psyche on to other people, or through denial, omnipotence, idealization, or whether predominantly by the less excluding method, the prerogative of the truly adult being, that entails recognition of great diversity in the psyche under the aegis of trust in a good object. The word “object” may seem obscure but it is used with determination. By means of introjection, the opposite of projection, the ego has incorporated phantasy figures (and part-figures such as the breast) both good and bad. These are objects to us not only because they have come from without but because they can retain within the psyche their phantasied corporeal character. The ego itself may be much split: many parts may have been projected permanently to inhabit other people in order to control them, an instance – it is called projective identification – of the interweaving of outer and inner relationships. Though this phantasy-commerce be deeply buried in our minds, it colours, nevertheless, as I have indicated, the reception of sense-data in much-transposed terms. Form in art, I have urged elsewhere, reconstitutes the independent, self-sufficient, outside good object, the whole mother whom the infant should accept to be independent from himself, as well as the enveloping good breast of the earliest phase, at the foundation of the ego, the relationship with which is of the merging kind. In this reparative act the attempt must be made to bring less pleasing aspects of these objects to bear, parallel with the integrative process in the ego as a whole that art mirrors no less.

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CHAPTER ONE The quest for sanity

Stokes, Adrian Harris Meltzer Trust PDF

CHAPTER ONE

The quest for sanity

One day men will learn to think of sanity as an aesthetic achievement.

(“Living in Ticino”, 1964)

The arts of life i

W

hile I might welcome the accusation of being continuously in touch with the quality of psychoanalytic thought, I should find it uncomfortable were my abstractions or my method laid at the door of that science; if only because I bring non-clinical material to bear: and again, the use I have made of my own experience is effected with little particularization except in the outside world. But more than that: the kind of mirroring I attempt is unconnected with a scientific procedure; is undivorced from an even longer preoccupation with the arts.

I do not find that these two angles of focus for existence are at variance. From the angle of the arts of life, it is at first disquieting

i From the foreword, Smooth and Rough, 1951, pp. 11-12; Critical Writings

II, pp. 215-216.

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Appendix 1

Stokes, Adrian Harris Meltzer Trust ePub

Donald Meltzeri

On 15 December 1972, in a lovely terraced Georgian house in Church Row, the most beautiful street in Hampstead, the country playground of eighteenth-century London, Adrian Stokes (1902–1972) died quietly and with great dignity, painting to the very last despite the impairment from brain metastases of a rectal carcinoma. His life was both a private and a public one of unflagging devotion to art and to psychoanalysis – and to building a bridge between the two that will stand for generations.

He was born in London and educated at Rugby and Magdalen College, Oxford. Handsome and sociable, a superb tennis player and gifted speaker, his life was equally divided between the scholarship of art history, painting, and participation in the worlds of art and psychoanalysis. He numbered many of the most distinguished figures of both worlds among his personal friends: Ezra Pound, Naum Gabo, D. H. Lawrence, Roger Money-Kyrle, Ben Nicholson, Barbara Hepworth, and many, many others. He served the Tate Gallery for several years and saved the work of the Cornish primitive, Alfred Wallis, from destruction at the time of the artist's death in poverty and obscurity. He was among the first patients of Melanie Klein when she came to England, and this experience coloured his life and activities thereafter. In 1950, with the musician Robert Still, he founded the Imago Society of London.

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Appendix 2

Stokes, Adrian Harris Meltzer Trust ePub

Eric Rhodei

Far from being Olympian, Adrian Stokes was among the most hospitable of men: alert to distress in others and willing, at considerable cost to himself, to be of help; both receptive to ideas and able to enjoy the pleasures of small talk. But even on a first meeting with him it became clear that the essential Stokes was a very private person. He was involved in some communion with himself that could not be intruded into; at the same time, and in no manner, could this communion be ignored. It shone forth in his aspect: in crowded rooms his look of vulnerable nobility set him apart. And its richness spilled out in conversation, as in his sometimes obscure stating of a viewpoint that fascinated by the breadth of its connections, or in the lucid, casual remark that could cut to the quick of an argument. He had nothing to do with what he describes in one of these papers as the “unceasing expostulation” of polite society.

It would be natural, yet too limited, to see the content of his thought in terms of his life-long allegiance to the arts or, more accurately, to the idea of art itself. Two memories throw light, perhaps, on the varied intensities of this allegiance. On the opening morning of the great Matisse retrospective, held at the Hayward Gallery in 1968, he seemed overwrought, even wild – like some young man about to take out his beloved for the first time. However, on a later visit to the National Gallery he gave every sign of being at home. We wandered among the Venetians. Whenever he made an observation on the paintings, as when he referred to Titian's deftness in suggesting the contours of an old man's shoulder, he did so sparely. His pleasure was intimate. Although he sometimes wrote about art as a kind of theology, he declined to see the process of making or appreciating it as hierophantic. They were both embedded in practicality, as robust as agriculture and not entirely dissimilar. In much the same way as he distrusted the motives of artists who work everything up into a frenzy, he sensed the envy underlying the post-Romantic idealization of the artist that attends so much modern publicity.

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