The House of Art

By rejecting beauty, the artist rejected humanity, and this was the sin of the post-war artists. Unwittingly, they took art into the realm of logic, mathematics and philosophy, dispossessing it of its power to inspire the heart, banishing it from the soul, trapping it in the mind, forcing it to share its space with science. The door had been opened and in came Picasso with his juvenile paintings tucked under his arm. The masters such as Caravaggio, Velázquez, Vermeer (and even Moritz Daniel Oppenheim) must have chuckled as the young Spaniard attempted to hang his paintings on the wall. But no sooner had the laughter subsided than everyone noticed the visitor refused to go, claiming that as the first one there to present such art, he had the right to stay.

Suddenly, as if the shock of World War One had awakened them from a dream, the esteemed guests began to notice that other paintings had been hung (close to the floor or high up toward the ceiling) which were not of the standard befitting their beautiful home. Arnold Böcklin bent down and for the first time noticed someone had hung a rather mediocre still life by a fellow named Matisse. Alfonse Mucha climbed up on a chair and found a shamefully unschooled picture—he couldn’t call it a painting—by a peasant named Chagall. “How did that get here?” he thought, looking over to his friend Delacroix in amazement.

But it was too late. Picasso had hung his paintings and approached Caravaggio: “My art is unique,” he declared, clapping the dust from his hands, “The world has never seen paintings such as these, and, in fact, your paintings are unique, too.” Pablo looked around at everyone in the room and waved his arm. “All of your paintings! This is the reason I look up to you. Each one of you took art in new directions. This is the reason your paintings are hung in this house.”

Caravaggio broke out laughing. “Of course, my paintings are unique! Just as my ugly face is unique! Everybody is unique! Haven’t you noticed? And that has nothing to do with art! Our paintings haven’t been hung in this house because they’re unique. Ha! Now that’s an idea! My boy, they’ve been hung here because they’re good.”

Pablo lost his smile and with hatred in his eyes scowled at the great painter. “We’ll see about that, old man.”