Picasso and Truth: From Cubism to Guernica, By TJ Clark. Princeton University Press, £29.95
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.When do you know you've read a great book on a great artist? When it persuades you to love a body of work you've never previously cared for but thought you ought to "get"? Or when it offers a riveting account of a life spilling over with intimate (prurient) detail, perhaps because one believes this will make the work "come alive"?
Get money off this title at the Independent book shop
TJ Clark has no truck with either approach. In his introduction to Picasso and Truth, he spits with contempt at most writing on Picasso, from those suggesting "pretend-intimacy" – "I remember one evening in Mougins…" – to those who swing wildly between "fawning adulation" and a "false refusal to be impressed".
Clark's invective-flecked list of writers' crimes is so showy with relish and indignation that this reader began to wonder if she could bear this prickly Marxist art theorist. It's not just the tone that's off-putting – it's the obscurantist density of the material. Clark is not a naturally lucid writer, so it's with considerable struggle that one gets to the nub. Using Wittgenstein's Tractatus as a model (rather than the more user-friendly and influential Philosophical Investigations), Clark's attempt at aphoristic truths is unremitting.
The book is divided into six chapters, each offering a close "reading" of a single painting, mostly from the 1920s and 1930s, and culminating in "Guernica" (1937). Clark tries to explain, with rigour and exactitude, just how Picasso strives towards telling a deeper truth about the violence of modernity. The fact that the chapters started off as a lecture series might have made them more accessible, but Clark makes no such concession.
But as you plough on something does happen. By Chapter 3, Clark finally gets into his stride, less full of strain and academic bluster. He gets closer to that elusive great book about a great artist – one that makes you reconsider the way you look at a work. Clark does achieve that: a serious accomplishment.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments