Anselm
Kiefer’s work is so well known, and has been so extensively written about and
exhibited, one wondered what “Anselm Kiefer: Heaven and Earth,” a traveling
survey recently at the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, could possibly add to
the dialogue. The answer: both not much and a whole lot.
Positing
the artist’s inquiry into spirituality—a Sisyphean search for heaven in
particular-as a key to understanding his symbolically rich, historically
layered oeuvre, curator Michael Auping organized a deeply engrossing,
thematically focused survey. One way to began considering this exhibition is to
remember Kiefer’s 1987 touring retrospective and the accompanying catalogue
essay by Mark Rosenthal. Rosenthal articulates the developmental arc of the
German painter’s historical iconography with a clarity that stands in stark
contrast to some subsequent treatments, such as Daniel Arasse’s 2001 monograph
and Christoph Ransmayr’s catalogue essay for the Foundation Beyeler’s 2001-2002
show “Anselm Kiefer: The Seven Heavenly Palaces 1973-2001,” which fall victim
to lugubrious prose and overwrought interpretation.
Auping
says he’s uninterested in “complicating Kiefer” and concentrates specifically on
the metaphysical content of the work, subordinating detailed analyses of
iconography and what he calls the works’ “German-ness.” (He
cites Kiefer’s earliest surviving work, The Heavens, 1969, a
delicate book, In support of his thesis.) It’s a major curatorial gamble
that risks diminishing the Import of a body of work that for more than thirty
years has explored issues of guilt, redemption, identity, and remembrance by
synthesizing images from Nazi Germany, Norse mythology, Christianity, and
Kabbalism. However, Auping’s approach succeeds in actually reinvigorating
Kiefer’s painting, sculpture, and artist’s books. The seminal painting Man im Wald (Man in the
From
this solid thematic base, Auping allowed us to follow what Kiefer calls his
project of connecting with an older knowledge and trying to discover
continuities in why we search for heaven.” It’s a refreshing way to examine the
diverse sources that inform the artist’s works, such as the thinking of the
Greek saint Dionysius the Areopagite (as addressed in The Hierarchy of
Angels, 1985-97), the theories of English mystic Robert Fludd (The
Secret Life of Plants, 2001), and the poetry of Paul Celan (Ash Flower,
1983-87). In addition, while the show was arranged roughly chronologically,
axial relationships between adjacent galleries juxtaposed works from different
periods, further sire teeming the overall spiritual theme. From a single
vantage point, one could compare Resurrexit,
1973, with Die Himmelspalaste (The Heavenly Palaces), 2004, and Palette,
1981, with Sternenfall (Falling Stars), 1995—a diverse quartet of
canvases rich in mystical iconography that feels amplified by comparison. In
one such instance of revelation, the artist’s palette in Palette, which
according to Kiefer “represents the idea of the artist connecting heaven and
earth,” is depicted tenuously suspended between two burning ropes-yet here the
painting’s mood is heroic, defiant, triumphant.
For
those new to Kiefer’s work, this exhibition was an excellent introduction. For
the rest of us, the show and its catalogue constituted an invaluable refresher
course. Auping quotes Kiefer as saying, “We cannot stand not to have a heaven
in our minds.” Fortunately for us, he doesn’t keep his thoughts to himself.
— Nord Wennerstrom