Fall-Out Shelters for the Human Spirit: American Art and the Cold War

FALL-OUT SHELTERS FOR THE HUMAN SPIRIT

This page intentionally left blank

FALL-OUT SHELTERS FOR THE HUMAN SPIRIT

American Art and the Cold War michael l. krenn the university of north carolina press

chapel hill and london

∫ 2005 The University of North Carolina Press All rights reserved. Designed by Rebecca Giménez. Set in Minion by Keystone Typesetting, Inc. Manufactured in the United States of America The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Krenn, Michael L., 1957– Fall-out shelters for the human spirit : American art and the Cold War / by Michael L. Krenn. p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 0-8078-2945-5 (cloth : alk. paper)

1. Art and state—United States. 2. Art, American— 20th century. 3. United States—Cultural policy. 4. Cold War. 5. Propaganda in art. I. Title. n8835.k74

2005

701%.03%097309045—dc22 2004027173

09 08 07 06 05

5 4 3 2 1

CONTENTS

Preface : ix Acknowledgments : xi Introduction : 1 1

Advancing American Art : 9

2

Art as a Weapon : 50

3

A Delightful Political Football : 75

4

Success at Brussels : 111

5

A Little Too Strange for the Average Russian : 147

6

New Frontiers for the Government and the Arts : 179

7

See Venice and Propagandize : 207 Conclusion : 233 Notes : 245 Bibliography : 281 Index : 289

ILLUSTRATIONS

Major General Lemuel Mathewson at the 1951 Berlin Cultural Festival : 72 Works of Yasuo Kuniyoshi at the 1952 Venice Biennale : 81 Highlights of American Painting exhibit in Santiago, Chile, 1955 : 123 Arshile Gorky, Betrothal II (1947) : 150 Jackson Pollock, Cathedral (1947) : 171 Nikita Khrushchev at the American National Exhibition in Moscow, 1959 : 172 Italian students protesting the opening of the 1968 Venice Biennale : 225 Henry Hopkins, Margaret Cogswell, and others plan the U.S. exhibition at the 1970 Venice Biennale : 228 William Weege demonstrating printmaking techniques at the 1970 Venice Biennale : 231 Communication Through Art exhibit in Lahore, Pakistan, February 1964 : 241 Seminar from the Communication Through Art exhibit in Lahore, Pakistan, February 1964 : 242

This page intentionally left blank

PREFACE

In the past, whenever I found myself in Washington, D.C., I inevitably ended up at the National Gallery of Art. Like the thousands of people who visit the museum every day, I wandered from gallery to gallery, stopping here to admire the fabulous skies of Turner, there to take in the beauty of Monet. I always finished up in the same place, however, the American section. From the early portraits, to the landscapes of Cole and Moran, to the often stark realism of Eakins and Homer, I made my way to the early-twentieth-century room and found a good viewing spot on one of the benches. I was sometimes there for more than an hour, drinking in my favorite artists. There was The City From Greenwich Village, by John Sloan, capturing the vibrancy of the city he loved. Edward Hopper’s Cape Cod Evening has that instantly recognized sense of loneliness, and perhaps unseen danger, so characteristic of many of his works. And then there were the works of George Bellows. The Lone Tenement and Blue Morning capture both the beauty and the sense of alienation to be found in America’s largest city. Finally, there was Both Members of This Club, which portrays the brutality, ugliness, and beauty of the sport of boxing better than any painting (or photograph) ever will. Reveling in the loveliness of these works, I often found it di≈cult to imagine how the artists, and many others of their time, inflamed the passions of art lovers, critics, and the general public, many of whom condemned the art as ‘‘too modern,’’ too unconventional, or as not ‘‘American’’ enough. During the writing of this book, however, I often went to the ‘‘newer’’ part of the National Gallery. To be perfectly honest, I had never really understood or cared much for the works of the modernists and abstract expressionists. As I studied, researched, and wrote on the role of art in U.S. cultural diplomacy during the Cold War, I was struck by the continuities in the debates

over ‘‘new’’ forms of art. As with their predecessors in the field of American art, Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, Robert Motherwell, and many others found themselves at the center of controversy. Their art, too, seemed too wild, too indulgent, too subversive, too ‘‘un-American.’’ Then one day, as I stood in front of Pollock’s Number 1, 1950 (Lavender Mist), the beauty and power of his work began to make their first real impressions on me. And suddenly the politics, the ‘‘isms’’ of the Cold War, the debates over what was or what was not ‘‘good’’ art became, at least for a moment, of little interest to me. Just as the finishing touches were being put on this manuscript, I visited the National Gallery one more time. To my dismay, Bellows, Sloan, Hopper, and many other early-twentieth-century American artists were no longer in their familiar homes. A query at the information desk elicited the answer that the Hopper was not currently on display and that the other works had been moved to the East Building with the other ‘‘contemporary’’ and ‘‘modern’’ works of art. I hurried over and there they were, looking as beautiful as ever and quite comfortable in their new surroundings. I was struck by the long, strange journey of these works of art: from ‘‘radical’’ visions, celebrated and condemned with equal vigor in the early 1900s; to ‘‘traditional’’ paintings, far removed from the world of ‘‘modern’’ art and housed in the marble halls of the West Building of the National Gallery of Art; and now, in the first years of the twenty-first century, housed with the works of Pollock and Rothko—the ‘‘radicals’’ of the 1940s and 1950s who felt the very same slings and arrows from the American public and critics. Downstairs from Bellows and Sloan, one could catch a glimpse of the large new exhibit of Rothko’s murals and, a little farther on, Pollock’s Lavender Mist. It seemed entirely appropriate that they had been brought together under one roof. As I reluctantly left the National Gallery until my next trip to Washington, I remembered the words of one of my favorite authors, Henry James, when he said, ‘‘It is art that makes life, makes interest, makes importance . . . and I know of no substitute whatever for the force and beauty of its process.’’ Of course, the angry denunciation of new art forms continues in our contemporary society, as selfappointed art critics try to decide what is ‘‘tasteless,’’ what is ‘‘pornographic,’’ what, in fact, is art. Now decades removed from the similar ugly and squalid debates surrounding American art in the post–World War II period, it is perhaps just as well that we also remember the words of Hippocrates: ‘‘Life is short. Art is long.’’

x

PREFACE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are many people I wish to thank for their absolutely essential assistance during the course of researching and writing this book. First, of course, are the archivists and librarians who helped this neophyte find his way through the worlds of both cultural diplomacy and American art: Elizabeth Andrews, Institute Archives and Special Collections, mit Libraries; Michelle Harvey, Museum Archives of the Museum of Modern Art; Anne Ritchie, Gallery Archives, National Gallery of Art; Karen Schneider, Phillips Collection; and Kenneth Heger, National Archives. In particular, I would like to thank the sta√ of the Smithsonian Institution Archives, Kathleen Williams, Bill Cox, and Bruce Kirby, who provided monumental amounts of support and constant encouragement. It was a pleasant surprise for me to find that Bruce Kirby had moved to the Library of Congress Manuscript Division, where he again provided much needed assistance. The same must be said of Judy Throm and her sta√ at the Archives of American Art, including Annie Bayly, who helped me secure permissions for use of some of the restricted oral interviews. And finally, my very great thanks to Martin Manning, who at the time of the research for this book was the head of the United States Information Historical Collection. Martin is one of those truly unsung heroes for historians, one who has always gone the extra mile to assist any and all researchers. I also owe thanks to two universities. The work on the book began during my last years at the University of Miami. I would like to thank the O≈ce of Research and Sponsored Programs at the university for providing much needed research and travel money that helped sustain this e√ort. A special thanks must go to Darby Bannard, who very kindly let me be a ‘‘student’’ in his graduate seminar on abstract expressionism at the University of Miami. In the middle of the project, I took up a new position as

chair of the Department of History at Appalachian State University. Both the department and university have been generous in their support of my attendance at conferences, during which early drafts of many of the chapters of this book were presented. Most of all, I would like to thank my colleagues in the Department of History. While chairing a department of thirty people has certainly proved challenging, it has also been the most rewarding experience of my professional life. In particular, I would like to o√er my very great appreciation to Tim Silver, who read the manuscript from top to bottom and made numerous suggestions for improvement. Sian Hunter of the University of North Carolina Press has been one of those editors that authors dream about. She was encouraging, helpful, quick to respond, and receptive to new ideas and suggestions, and she provided a sympathetic ear when my doubts about completing the project were at their highest. The two outside readers provided perhaps the best evaluations I have yet had as an author, not because they were overly e√usive with praise, but because they o√ered clear, substantive, and significant suggestions for improvement. Any problems or errors that remain, therefore, must remain the sole responsibility of the author. Last, but certainly not least, I would like to thank Margaret Cogswell. The interview I did with her in the early stages of researching this book changed its direction and focus, and very much for the better. Through that interview, I finally grasped the immense amount of passion, emotion, and pure love of art that sustained so many of the people who worked to make a U.S. international art program a reality. Yet she went beyond this by reading the manuscript not once, but twice, with some of the sharpest editorial eyes it has been my pleasure to know. She looked over documents and photos and gave me feedback and information. Most important, perhaps, she gave me constant encouragement, especially when the project seemed to be slowing down to a crawl. Now if I could only get her to write her autobiography!

xii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

In 1962, Lloyd Goodrich, director of the Whitney Museum of American Art and chairman of the National Committee on Government and Art, reflected on the ominous times in which he lived. The Soviets were ‘‘making every e√ort to diminish our will to resist by a rain of threats of mass destruction.’’ Russian leader Nikita Khrushchev declared that ‘‘he holds a ‘sword of Damocles’ over our heads.’’ In response, the U.S. government was ‘‘considering the appropriation of substantial funds to help in the construction of fall-out shelters.’’ In Goodrich’s opinion, ‘‘The individual has a feeling of helplessness, with or without these shelters, to protect himself from destruction or to foresee the conditions under which he and his family will have to struggle to survive.’’ In these chaotic and frightening times, he continued, ‘‘the arts provide fall-out shelters for the human spirit vastly more essential, more urgently needed and at infinitely less cost than those for the human body.’’ As such, he called upon Congress and the American people to ‘‘consider government aid to the arts in an entirely new light, as an integral part of the defense of our civilization.’’∞ During the post–World War II period, the American government—and American art world—followed Goodrich’s prescription and considered the relationship between government and art in ‘‘an entirely new light.’’ Recognizing both the power of art in terms of delivering political messages and the need to win the ‘‘hearts and minds’’ of the world’s people, U.S. o≈cials began to more carefully and thoroughly consider the idea of cultural diplomacy as part of the nation’s Cold War arsenal. Starting from extraordinarily humble beginnings, the United States embarked on this new form of diplomacy by sending American art and culture around the globe. Jazz became a staple on the Voice of America radio broadcasts; later, rock and roll would also

be featured. Jazz artists such as Dizzy Gillespie and Louis Armstrong were among the musicians highlighted in American propaganda, and the United States Information Agency (usia) promoted and funded tours by them and other artists. Productions of American plays were also mounted overseas, such as the popular Porgy and Bess (which simultaneously served to showcase American culture and to counteract criticisms of America’s treatment of its African American population). ‘‘High’’ culture was also well represented, as American symphonies and opera companies circled the globe. Naima Prevots, in her 1998 study, explains that American dance companies—both classical and modern—were also the recipients of government support so that they might tour overseas. Hollywood got in on the act as well, and American films were soon prominently shown in numerous foreign markets.≤ Much less is known about the e√orts to send American painting for display to foreign audiences. Aside from studies of the disastrous Department of State–sponsored Advancing American Art show in 1946, a collection that came in for harsh criticism from U.S. congressmen and others for its ‘‘un-American’’ and potentially ‘‘communistic’’ modern art, little has been written about this important and extremely controversial component of America’s Cold War cultural diplomacy. This is surprising since during the two and a half decades following the end of World War II, the Department of State, the usia, and even the Smithsonian Institution saw to it that hundreds of exhibitions of American paintings found their way to Europe, Latin America, Asia, and Africa, and eventually into the heart of the communist bloc. Requests for showings of American art, particularly modern art, flowed in from around the world. American paintings were on display at world’s fairs and at the large and prestigious international art shows in São Paulo and Venice, as well as in small urban areas in Guatemala, Iran, Senegal, and Cambodia. By the late 1960s and early 1970s, however, the program was in disarray, floundering without direction or focus, functioning on an ever-shrinking budget. Even during its periods of greatest success, the art program was a constant lightning rod for controversy; U.S. government support waxed and waned in response to criticisms from art groups, congressmen, and, in the end, the very foreign audience to which the program was directed. In a very direct fashion, Goodrich’s metaphor serves as an explanation as to what went wrong with the U.S. government’s attempt to construct a workable and e√ective international art program during the Cold War. His call for ‘‘fall-out shelters for the human spirit’’ illustrated the dilemma that both government o≈cials and supporters of the program in 2

INTRODUCTION

the private sector faced. For many art lovers across America—artists, museum directors and curators, gallery owners, private collectors, organizations and agencies dedicated to the arts—it was the ‘‘human spirit’’ that mattered most. Art, for them, was not a means to an end, but an end in and of itself. It was an international language of peace, understanding, and spirituality in a world that seemed in short supply of all of these qualities. Works of art would speak across borders, across political ideologies, and across racial, ethnic, and national di√erences and serve as a bridge to further understanding between the earth’s peoples. O≈cials in the Department of State and the usia, however, generally focused on the need for ‘‘fallout shelters.’’ For those interested in winning the propaganda war with the communists, art was an attractive tool. It could be used to reflect American diversity, dedication to culture, and artistic freedom. American art—particularly the more modern and abstract expressionist styles—would say to the world that in the United States the artist was free to paint what he or she wished, without censorship or fear of retaliation. Thus, it would stand in stark contrast to the strict ‘‘socialist realism’’ dictated by the government of the Soviet Union. And American attention to the arts would serve as an antidote to the criticisms—from friends and foes alike—that the nation and its people were uncultured, unsophisticated, materialistic, and militaristic. At least initially, U.S. o≈cials and interested members of the American art community felt that they might work together in the e√ort to bring the nation’s art to a world audience. In fact, it was so obviously necessary that they cooperate that the idea seemed a natural. The government could provide the funds for what was a relatively costly operation, and its overseas personnel would facilitate local arrangements. The American art world would provide much-needed expertise in the area of aesthetics, and their contacts with peers in foreign nations could prove valuable. Almost from the beginning, however, the conflict between these two groups became apparent. For, in truth, they saw the international program in very di√erent ways. Both sides believed that American art had an important role to play in the Cold War world. The one side sought to use art as a salve for a scarred and uncertain world; the other saw in art a valuable weapon in the ongoing propaganda battle with the Soviet Union. Thus, when government o≈cials tried to provide ‘‘policy guidelines’’ or requested that this or that piece of art or artist be excluded from a particular exhibition, members of the art community cried censorship. Similarly, when the nation’s art lovers demanded complete freedom of artistic expression, the Department of State and usia calmly observed INTRODUCTION

3

that if the government was footing the bill, it naturally expected results— in this case, propaganda victories. Unfortunately for both sides, they were never able to discover a happy medium between art as art and art as propaganda. A number of interesting studies have appeared in recent years regarding American art and politics in the wake of World War II. To a large extent, however, these works have either focused on the internal dynamics of the struggle (debates between the more conservative and ‘‘representational’’ artists and the more ‘‘radical’’ abstract expressionists), or have tried to understand that debate as largely a reflection of Cold War frictions within the American art world and society at large.≥ Other scholars, more interested in the political/diplomatic context, have turned their attention to the ‘‘covert’’ side of America’s cultural diplomacy. A number of important recent studies examine the links between ‘‘state’’ and ‘‘private’’ institutions and individuals in creating networks for carrying out the business of promoting American culture (and politics) overseas. As Giles Scott-Smith has demonstrated in his examination of the Central Intelligence Agency (cia)–funded Congress for Cultural Freedom (ccf), which numbered many prominent American intellectuals and artists among its members, the agency was certainly well aware of the potential power of culture and ideas in the war against communism and did not hesitate to put resources into initiatives such as the ccf. Turning their attention particularly to America’s overseas art program during the Cold War, some writers, such as Frances Stonor Saunders, have suggested that the relationship between an influential handful of individuals in the American art world and the U.S. government was primarily an underground e√ort, funded and supported by the cia. Arguing that the Advancing American Art fiasco left the Department of State gun-shy about supporting an overseas art program, these historians suggest that the cia, working mostly through the Museum of Modern Art (moma), arranged for ‘‘private’’ showings of the controversial modern and abstract American art abroad (mostly in Western Europe). Few of these studies of American art overseas extend beyond the 1950s or early 1960s.∂ While these earlier works have raised some interesting and controversial questions concerning America’s Cold War cultural diplomacy, the focus on the ‘‘covert’’ side of this e√ort—particularly when applied to the overseas art program—is problematic. A much more dramatic illustration of the complex interrelationship between art and government during the Cold War was the ‘‘overt’’ international art programs run through

4

INTRODUCTION

the State Department, the usia, and the Smithsonian Institution, which have been to a large extent ignored. The American Federation of Arts (afa) actually played a larger, and more important, role in the international art program than moma, and its e√orts were openly funded and supported by the Department of State and, later, usia. By 1951, before moma even got seriously involved in overseas exhibits, the afa and the State Department were already working together to organize a show that included modern and abstract art for exhibit in Berlin. By 1953, an afa show—supported now by the usia—went to India; and a 1954 exhibit of modern watercolors was sent to France. Dozens of other exhibitions soon followed.∑ What is perhaps most overlooked in analyses that suggest a covert working relationship between the American art world and agencies such as the cia is that what held true for the American government did not necessarily hold true for the art community. As Eloise Spaeth, a noted collector and vice president of the board of trustees for the afa, explained to an audience (which included usia o≈cials) in 1951, ‘‘You and I have di√erent reasons for wanting our visual arts known abroad. We are not primarily interested in using art as an instrument of propaganda. We love this particular art form (or we wouldn’t be gathered here today). Loving, we want to share it.’’∏ Understanding these di√ering viewpoints, and how they came together to first create and then eventually derail the international art program, is a key element of this study. My research suggests a complex picture, one in which the American art world was not merely a willing (or unwilling) dupe in a cia plot; nor was the U.S. government, with Machiavellian ruthlessness, simply ‘‘calling the tune’’ to which the art world danced. Both sides had their goals; both sides saw the need for compromise; and both sides, operating within the confines of the Cold War, were unable to bridge the gap between their di√ering aims. The central purpose of this book is to explain how and why the program to send American art abroad, a program vigorously supported by so many members of the American art world and a handful of o≈cials in the U.S. government, had virtually collapsed by the early 1970s. Why, even when the U.S. art world and government agreed on the importance of sending the nation’s art overseas, when American art was finally reaching a maturity that established it as a leading force in world culture, when o≈cial reports and the responses from foreign audiences suggested that the art was making a dramatic impact, wasn’t the program able to sustain itself at the same level after the 1960s? In short, despite their shared

INTRODUCTION

5

interest in exhibiting America’s art to foreign audiences, why were the U.S. government and art world unable to maintain an apparently successful e√ort in cultural diplomacy? Answering those questions leads to a broader understanding of the cultural dimensions of the Cold War. The controversies that the international art program engendered in the United States involved much more than simply matters of ‘‘taste’’ (though, to be sure, this rather vague term was always used). Art, and the artists who produced the works, found themselves enmeshed in sometimes confusing, sometimes ugly, sometimes contradictory political and ideological battles. The Cold War mind-set in the United States certainly created a distinct ‘‘us versus them’’ mentality; it also helped, at times, to create a climate of fear and anxiety. Why would art find itself pulled into these matters? For most of the artists, their work was primarily an expression of self or deep emotions; an exploration of the new and the unknown. For many viewers, however, the art spoke directly to what it meant to be ‘‘American.’’ For these individuals and groups, there was a distinctly American art, expressive of what were defined as innate American values. Modern art, and abstract expressionism in particular, challenged that perspective by moving away from works that were representational or that contained easily understood and recognizable forms and shapes. This, detractors declared, was positively not American art—if it was art at all. Had the argument stopped there, it would have remained of little interest to most Americans, for whom debates about the aesthetics of painting were of scant concern. Wrapped up in the suspicions and animosities created by the Cold War, however, the attackers soon moved on to label modern art and artists as positively subversive and quite possibly procommunist. And thus was created one of the rich ironies of the international art program. The very reason why so much modern and abstract art was sent overseas was because it was believed that it provided a potent weapon in the propaganda war with the communists. In this light, the art was actually the most American art, symbolizing democracy, freedom of expression, and creativity. The Soviets, for their part, agreed, and quickly denounced American modern art as the decadent, perverse, and subversive manifestation of bourgeois capitalism. It was a rather remarkable feat: Cold War politics somehow defined modern art as both the insidious representation of communist infiltration and a tribute to the democratic spirit. Remarkable, but also interesting in terms of how the Cold War led to a discussion and redefinition of what was—and was not—American. Following the trajectory of the international art program also al6

INTRODUCTION

lows us to understand more fully the means and goals of America’s cultural diplomacy during the Cold War. The program was designed to say something about America to what the nation’s professional propagandists defined as ‘‘target audiences.’’ The controversies associated with the program illustrate how di≈cult it was for U.S. o≈cials to project the ‘‘proper’’ image of America overseas. After all, one of the main goals of sending American art to foreign nations was to demonstrate the diversity of the nation’s culture and artistic freedom. Diversity and freedom, particularly when associated with art, were di≈cult concepts to ‘‘channel’’ precisely into the desired message. That di≈culty reflects one of the inherent dilemmas related to America’s cultural diplomacy in the post–World War II period. American o≈cials sought to portray ‘‘America’’ to others without, it often seemed, completely agreeing on what the term meant. And meaning was important, especially when those o≈cials sought to define the proper audience for American art and to measure its impact. When historians have discussed the ‘‘battle for hearts and minds’’ that took place during the Cold War, it is often assumed that the battle was for a single and well-defined ‘‘heart’’ or some sort of universal ‘‘mind.’’ As the history of the international art program demonstrates, U.S. o≈cials carefully monitored their propaganda program. Art deemed as essential and meaningful for a Western European audience would be classified as inappropriate or useless for an Asian or African audience. They classified target audiences in terms of geographic location, age, socioeconomic status, perceived degree of friendliness toward America, and even, on occasion, artistic tastes. And they always made clear their goals for the art. It might be to deliver a simple message about America’s dedication to cultural a√airs. For Eastern Europe, the exhibitions might be designed to send a more powerful message about personal and political freedom. An exhibit in Africa, on the other hand, might be set up to stress issues of racial equality and civil rights for the African American population. Yet, to focus entirely on the government’s goals, the government’s intentions, and the government’s involvement in the international program is to ignore the fact that for many private individuals and organizations in the United States art was viewed as the best and brightest hope for bringing understanding to a world in chaos, peace to a world on the verge of war, and a sense of kinship to peoples divided by walls and political ideologies. They viewed their mission of sending U.S. art abroad, to a large degree, as above the political and military jousting between East and West. Their battle was a larger one and, to them at least, much more INTRODUCTION

7

crucial. Leaders, ideologies, even nations might rise and fall, come and go, but the human spirit must endure and progress. Their pleas likely strike the scholar of Cold War diplomacy, whether realist or revisionist, as hopelessly naïve, as impossibly idealistic. However, they represent a strain of thinking during the Cold War that is often ignored in the race to find the ways in which that conflict shaped, or mangled, or destroyed aspects of American culture. The Cold War was indeed a powerful force, but it was not omnipotent—there were survivors, people and ideas who tried to find (and occasionally found) shelter from the political and ideological storms. Today, in a world where chaos has actually evolved into a theory, in which a ‘‘new war’’ has been declared, and where new walls seem to be daily replacing those torn down over a decade ago, the need for those fallout shelters for the human spirit seems more pressing than ever.

8

INTRODUCTION

1 ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

In March 1941, the United States was less than a year away from being engulfed by World War II. On the seventeenth of that month, President Franklin D. Roosevelt briefly turned his attention away from foreign policy and the economic depression that still lingered in his nation to speak at the opening of the National Gallery of Art. The first director of the gallery, David Finley, remembered that it was a ‘‘cold, blustery day,’’ and a strong wind that evening ‘‘added to everyone’s discomfort.’’ Yet, nearly 10,000 people came to hear the president open the first truly national art museum in the history of the United States. Roosevelt declared that ‘‘there was a time when the people of this country would not have thought that the inheritance of art belonged to them or that they had responsibilities to guard it.’’ The National Gallery was the physical embodiment of the change in attitude. But that was not the only thing that had changed. There had also been a time, the president continued, when Americans thought of paintings as ‘‘only works of art.’’ That did not hold true in 1941. ‘‘Today they are the symbols of the human spirit and of the world the freedom of the human spirit made—a world against which armies now are raised and countries overrun and men imprisoned and their work destroyed.’’ By establishing a great new museum in a time of such turmoil and danger, the people of the United States signaled that ‘‘the freedom of the human spirit and human mind which has produced the world’s great art and all its science—shall not be utterly destroyed.’’∞ During and immediately after World War II, a sizable portion of the American art community and the Department of State came to share President Roosevelt’s belief that art had not only come to play a larger role in the lives of the people of the United States but was also taking on a larger and more significant role in the world. While in most regards the two groups

dramatically disagreed on the precise shape and meaning of that role, for many critics, artists, curators, and museum directors, it was enough that the federal government was showing an interest in cultural matters. For its part, the Department of State was happy to use the expertise and connections a√orded by members of the American art scene in understanding the world of art. Immediately following the war, the department, ably assisted and much encouraged by vocal segments of the art profession, embarked on a bold new initiative designed to bring American art—particularly modern art—to the world. That initiative ended disastrously. Instead of dampening the enthusiasm of the nation’s art connoisseurs, however, the episode provided them with valuable lessons that they would apply during the late 1940s and 1950s to help shape and sustain America’s international art program. THE COUNTRY OF THE SOUL

In the April 1943 issue of Fortune, amidst the despair and destruction of World War II, Dr. William Macneile Dixon of the University of Glasgow took time to ponder the issue of ‘‘civilization and the arts.’’ With the nations of the world apparently bent on mutual destruction, he implored his readers to remember that ‘‘art and literature were not merely to be regarded as pursuits pleasant in themselves, . . . but beyond doubt the most valuable of allies in the long battle for a nobler and a better future, as making for the common good of human society.’’ What, he asked, had humanity’s faith in science and technology gained for the human race? ‘‘We have put our trust in political, economic, and scientific remedies— yet, judging from the present state of the world, without any very dazzling or resounding success.’’ In an ‘‘age of crowding doubts,’’ the arts could ‘‘point to a world above our heads, a transcendental world, in which, if anywhere, we may hope to find the fulfillment of our heart’s desire.’’ Only the arts, he concluded, could show the way to ‘‘a province of human life . . . to whose interests and problems the most extensive knowledge or control of nature’s machinery a√ords no entrance, a country upon which the bright sun of science sheds not a ray of light. It is the country of the soul.’’≤ As war descended upon the world in the late 1930s and 1940s, many artists, critics, and art lovers in the United States and elsewhere came to share Dr. Dixon’s concerns. They saw art not as a separate or distant aspect of life but as a powerful, vital force for peace, humanity, civilization, and democracy. Even before the conflict reached America’s shores, 10

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

Duncan Phillips, director of the Phillips Memorial Gallery in Washington, D.C., declared that ‘‘art is the antithesis of war. Art is the greatest natural language between the di√erent tribes and races. It is the symbol of the creative and social forces which unite men. . . . Art o√ers the only universal currency of thought-exchange and fellowship of the likeminded.’’ In a world being torn asunder by war, ‘‘art must go on. . . . We must keep that beacon burning.’’ With the economic, political, and social regimentation required by societies at war, ‘‘art must be the last stand, as it will be the eternal stronghold of the individual.’’≥ The ideas that art was in some way the keeper of civilization’s flame and a force for international understanding and peace were powerful ones during and immediately after World War II. As Peyton Boswell, editor of Arts Digest, suggested just a week after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, humanity was now in a ‘‘struggle for the survival of culture.’’ Art, which always left the most ‘‘enduring imprint’’ on society, was ‘‘living proof that there is a continuing line to man’s constructive progress; living proof that man has su√ered other cataclysms—and has always survived.’’ Alfred M. Frankfurter, editor of Art News, in 1943 decried the notion prevailing among some politicians and citizens that art was ‘‘just about as essential today as fan-dancers.’’ He noted the wartime work of artists with ‘‘posters and cartoons and camouflage and therapy’’ but then declared that ‘‘there is still room and, above all, the absolute need for art as art. Without that there would be fatally interrupted the very Western tradition of civilization that the whole fight is about.’’∂ As important as art was during the war, its supporters also made clear that it was equally significant for achieving a lasting peace. To a large degree, art’s principal role was seen as that of an international ‘‘language’’ that could help bring a shattered world together. The English novelist Aldous Huxley argued that artists could ‘‘do the most for enduring peace . . . by genuinely believing in transcendental values and by giving e√ective expression to their beliefs in plastic or literary form.’’ In an article entitled, ‘‘Art, A Factor for International Peace,’’ the director of art for Milwaukee public schools wondered whether ‘‘the same amount of energy, skill, money, materials, and planning which periodically is expended for destructive purposes could be used for creative e√ort.’’ He was confident it could, for certainly ‘‘the creative and brilliant minds which can work together collectively to split the atom and to devise the atomic bomb could under favorable circumstances and with adequate financial support create a world of untold beauty.’’ Such views, which bordered on the utopian, found common expression among those in the American art ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

11

community. E. M. Benson of the Philadelphia Museum of Art declared that art ‘‘can destroy the hate in our hearts, and help to create a world we can all be proud to live in—a place for the spirit to grow strong.’’ The artists themselves were primarily responsible for this healing value of art, for they were ‘‘for the most part, good citizens who make an earnest e√ort to leave this world a little better than when they entered it.’’∑ The director of the Department of Painting and Sculpture at the Museum of Modern Art, James Soby, went to the crux of the matter when he stated in 1944 that ‘‘art is international.’’ The museum, he suggested, was ‘‘aware of the desperate need for recognizing the arts as vehicles of that international communication and understanding on which the future of everyone depends.’’ Writing just a few months after the end of the war, Peyton Boswell surveyed the new world, one in which ‘‘air power and the atomic bomb have given new meaning to the shortest distance between two points.’’ The change was clear: ‘‘our thinking is international in scope, and our artists, fulfilling their traditional function, are beginning to express this world-wide scope of interlocking interests.’’ That so many artists and art lovers in the United States couched their discussions in international terms was hardly surprising. The period of the 1930s through World War II witnessed an important migration of European artists to the United States and, in turn, what one might call the internationalization of American art. Marion Deshmukh, in her study of this transatlantic movement, estimates that between 1933 and 1944 over seven hundred artists came to the United States from Germany, France, Italy, Russia, and elsewhere. The list was a virtual who’s who of modern art. Marc Chagall, Marcel Duchamp, Hans Hofmann, Fernand Léger, Piet Mondrian, Wassily Kandinsky, Salvador Dalí, and others came to America seeking refuge from war and persecution in Europe. Their impact on American art, particularly modern and abstract expressionist art, cannot be overestimated. As Deshmukh concludes, ‘‘New York had replaced Paris and Berlin as the home of Europe’s artistic avant-garde.’’∏ The tremendous significance of these developments was immediately apparent to the American art world. The December 1941 issue of Fortune contained a lengthy piece entitled ‘‘The Great Flight of Culture.’’ Commenting on the recent influx of European artists and intellectuals, the article declared that ‘‘this is a transplantation of a whole culture from one continent to another.’’ This development, which the article termed the ‘‘greatest migration of intellectuals since the Byzantine,’’ had far-reaching importance for American art: ‘‘for better or for worse it cannot escape European influences more powerful than those exerted by the mere 12

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

transatlantic interaction of past generations.’’ Writing nearly a year later, Archibald MacLeish called on Americans to recognize their ‘‘duty to French culture.’’ The gist of that duty was to provide the French artist the freedom to ‘‘do his work as a man, as Frenchman, and as artist.’’ He was confident that America did indeed ‘‘o√er such an opportunity.’’ Both the Fortune article and the piece by MacLeish would not go so far as to suggest that the center of the art world had been transplanted from Paris to New York. Peyton Boswell, just a week after the United States entered World War II, had no such qualms, informing his readers that ‘‘the first two years of the Hitlerian war shifted the art capital of the world from Paris to New York, making America, in e√ect, the custodian of Western culture. We Americans accepted the responsibility eagerly.’’ While war had raged far from America’s shores, ‘‘let it be said that we have meanwhile shielded the torch of Western culture from the aggressive blows out of the Far East and out of Hitler’s degraded Europe.’’π Yet many involved with the American art world went beyond the suggestion that the United States was serving as a mere repository for European artists and schools of art. Artist Stuart Davis proudly declared the ‘‘beginning of a great American renaissance in art’’ in 1943. Although he felt that this process had been ‘‘retarded by the war,’’ he was confident that it would be ‘‘accelerated by the coming of peace.’’ Peyton Boswell gave support to that belief in December 1945, arguing that ‘‘America is voicing her artistic reactions with a more imaginative, expressionistic art.’’ He concluded that ‘‘American art, having experienced youthful vitality and revolt, is now geared for productive maturity.’’ Two years later, artist Frederic Taubes answered the question, ‘‘Do we have a national art?’’ with an emphatic yes. The nation’s art had ‘‘at last become independent, self-reliant, a true expression of the national will and character.’’ He was convinced that ‘‘we have moved far away from the codified European estheticism, and evolved our own esthetic expression.’’∫ Nowhere was this new ‘‘independence’’ and ‘‘self-reliance’’ more apparent than at the series of exhibitions put on at New York’s Art of This Century Gallery, the creation of art doyenne Peggy Guggenheim. From the time of its opening in 1943 until its close in 1947, the gallery featured nearly every American artist who would come to dominate the field in the years to come: Jackson Pollock, William Baziotes, Robert Motherwell, Mark Rothko, and Morris Graves were just a few of the notables. In particular, Pollock and his fellow abstract expressionists led the way to a dynamic new art form that was, perhaps most important, distinctly American. As art historian Matthew Baigell sums up, ‘‘Abstract ExpresADVANCING AMERICAN ART

13

sionism was accepted in the 1950s as the movement that propelled American art to the leading position in the international avant-garde.’’ By the time critic Clement Greenberg o√ered his review of one of the first postwar exhibitions of the newest French art, the leadership of American art seemed apparent: ‘‘when one sees . . . how much the level of American art has risen in the last five years . . . then the conclusion forces itself, much to our own surprise, that the main premises of Western art have at last migrated to the United States.’’Ω It was a heady time for American art and artists. Despite the gloom and pessimism created by World War II, the American art world saw a promising ray of light. Art, often seen as a mere byproduct of society or a frivolous decoration, took on new meaning and importance, as a weapon against the forces of destruction, an agent for lasting peace and international communication, and a safe haven for the human spirit. Armies and governments might fight to protect the countries of politics and economics; art would serve as the guardian of the ‘‘country of the soul.’’ What made it all the more significant for the American art community was the fact that American art—not pale imitations of the European schools—would be in the vanguard of this cultural crusade. Little did American artists realize, however, that they were not the only ones considering such matters. Inside the Department of State, the role of art in war and peace was attracting more and more attention. PROPAGANDA IN THE BEST SENSE

The use of art as propaganda was already an accepted practice long before American artists and o≈cials began to consider the issue during and after World War II. As James Leith notes in his study of art and propaganda in France during the late eighteenth century, there have always been those who ‘‘have insisted that the main value of art lies in its usefulness as an educational force in the service of religion or some secular ideology.’’ He concludes, in fact, that the use of art by the revolutionaries and philosophes during and after the French Revolution as a way to bring about a ‘‘moral transformation’’ of French society marked the beginning of ‘‘the idea of the total mobilization of mass media in order to indoctrinate the masses.’’ Todd Porterfield carries the analysis into the mid-nineteenth century, arguing that ‘‘French artists and governments provided a rationale for the imperial project’’ in Algiers and Egypt through paintings and sculptures that celebrated French imperialism and portrayed the

14

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

areas invaded by the French as both alluring and rich in resources. Yet, while Paris became the acknowledged center of the art world in the nineteenth century, by the mid-twentieth century France found itself unwilling or unable to use its immense cultural prestige e√ectively on the world stage. The Paris International Exhibition of 1937 was a financial and cultural disappointment, and France soon found itself outstripped by other nations in the field of cultural diplomacy. As one historian concludes, for France, ‘‘Cultural prestige had become a substitute for power.’’∞≠ One of those nations that began to move past France in the arena of cultural diplomacy was Great Britain. Like the French, British government o≈cials had early come to the conclusion that art could be a means for delivering powerful and needed messages to the British masses. As Frances Borzello explains, it began to occur to British o≈cials in the nineteenth century that art—generally thought of as something that appealed only to the highest classes—might serve to uplift and enlighten the increasingly rowdy and unruly crowds of lower-class English poor and workers. They came to believe, in other words, in the ‘‘civilising powers of art.’’ Throughout the mid- to late nineteenth century, the British government established a number of commissions to study the question of art and the English public and also worked with private philanthropists to provide support for the arts, culminating in the establishment of the Tate Gallery in 1897–98.∞∞ By 1934, the British government began to more fully consider the use of art as a foreign policy tool. In their study of cultural policy, Toby Miller and George Yúdice suggest that the government’s creation of the British Council in that year was ‘‘part of its defense against German nationalist propaganda throughout Europe.’’ The council’s job was to spread knowledge and respect for the English language and British accomplishments in the fields of art. In just a few years, the council’s budget had increased to £100,000 and German propagandists were scrambling to counter its activities.∞≤ The Soviet Union, too, quickly grasped the power of art. The AllUnion Society for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries was set up in 1925 and served as both an instrument for trumpeting Soviet culture overseas and bringing foreign artists and intellectuals on specially designed ‘‘tours’’ of the Soviet Union. In 1934, Josef Stalin proclaimed that henceforth the ‘‘o≈cial’’ art of the Soviet state would be ‘‘socialist realism,’’ a form of art that glorified the worker, the farmer, and the commu-

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

15

nist regime. The Soviet state provided support to hundreds of theaters, orchestras and musical groups, filmmakers, and artists in order to infuse Russian culture with the socialist realist message.∞≥ The United States, however, was much slower in developing direct connections between the state and the arts. As one study of this uneasy relationship suggests, ‘‘American attitudes toward the arts have been ambiguous and contradictory.’’ The nation, justifiably proud of its economic and material accomplishments, seemed torn between the belief that America’s culture was as vibrant as that of any nation on earth and the nagging doubt that American art was really little more than a pale— and inferior—copy of its European peers. This was not to say, however, that the U.S. government did not make sporadic forays into the world of public art and architecture. Very often, however, these attempts ended in embarrassment, or worse. Art historian Vivien Green Fryd, for example, describes the angry debates that accompanied e√orts to decorate the nation’s Capitol building. Each painting or sculpture added and each revision of the building itself resulted in often loud and vociferous input from congressmen, private citizens, and artists about what art would be ‘‘proper’’ and ‘‘meaningful.’’ As Fryd argues, each of the participants in these debates had in mind a particular ‘‘message’’ that should emanate from the art bedecking the Capitol. Yet, even something as mundane as a sculpture of the nation’s first president, George Washington, could erupt into artistic warfare. Horatio Greenough was the artist commissioned to do the sculpture, but the resulting work—a Washington who appeared more like a Roman god or Greek senator—soon became the center of controversy. For one thing, critics complained, Washington was ‘‘nude’’ (meaning that he was shirtless). Others felt that the piece deified Washington, putting the man above the democratic principles of the nation. In short order, the statue was moved out of the Capitol Rotunda, then placed outside facing the Capitol, then carried o√ to the Smithsonian in 1908 where it languished for many years until it was rescued and put in the Museum of American History in 1962.∞∂ In the midst of the Great Depression of the 1930s came the boldest attempt to bring art and the government together. With thousands of artists, actors, musicians, and writers out of work and the American people trying to cope with the disbelief and despair that accompanied the economic crash, the administration of Franklin D. Roosevelt hit upon the unique idea of providing government subsidies to creative individuals and groups in order to bring entertainment and culture to the nation’s people. Years later, artists and government o≈cials alike could remember 16

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

both the optimism and the excitement that greeted the establishment of the Federal Arts Project (fap) under the auspices of the Works Progress Administration in 1935 and the vicious attacks by congressmen, anticommunist zealots, and some outraged artists that led to the destruction of the program less than five years later. For some of the critics, the issue was simple economics—the American people should not be providing what amounted to subsidies for a bunch of artists. Some were simply expressing the traditional American antipathy toward anything that smacked of the creation of an ‘‘o≈cial’’ art. The loudest of the detractors, however, claimed to find too strong a ‘‘leftist’’ tendency in the art (and artists) associated with the fap. Often citing the program as just another example of the New Deal’s ‘‘socialism,’’ these critics were not above suggesting that much of the fap artwork was, quite simply, communist propaganda.∞∑ As for art as part of the nation’s diplomacy, it had certainly come into use during World War I and World War II, largely in the form of propaganda posters that degraded the nation’s enemies, glorified the act of war, or urged American males to come to the aid of ‘‘Uncle Sam.’’∞∏ One could argue, however, that this was ‘‘art’’ in the loosest sense. It was propaganda, pure and simple, and there was little or no pretense concerning the government’s o≈cial support of these e√orts. Perhaps because of the longstanding antipathy toward any government involvement in the arts, or perhaps because of the always present sense of inferiority concerning American culture, the idea that America’s art—or literature, or music, or theater, or dance—could (or should) be put in the service of the nation’s foreign a√airs was much slower to develop. In fact, the United States lagged behind the French, British, and Soviets in putting art to work in the international field. The State Department’s first tentative step into the arena of cultural diplomacy took place in 1938 with the establishment of the Division of Cultural Relations. The main focus of this understa√ed and underfunded o≈ce was cultural and scientific exchanges with the Latin American republics. As historian Frank Ninkovich explains, even this relatively small gesture was undertaken halfheartedly and was primarily a ‘‘response to what was perceived as a cultural o√ensive in Latin America by the Axis powers.’’ The limited activities of the division were primarily due to the nearly unanimous opinion in the department that government should not be directly involved in the ‘‘culture business.’’ As one report noted, ‘‘It is the view of the Department that in this country the primary responsibility for cultural exchange properly resides with private agencies and institutions and the major functions of the Division is [sic] to make the good o≈ces of the ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

17

Government available to private enterprise and to serve as a clearing house for the activities of private organizations.’’ The department’s early activities related to art were indicative of this deep-seated reluctance. In 1941, an exhibit of American paintings was sent to various Latin American nations. The State Department, however, merely provided some general policy guidelines. It was the O≈ce of the Coordinator of InterAmerican A√airs (oiaa)—headed by millionaire and art collector Nelson Rockefeller—that provided the funding, with expertise coming from private groups and individuals. Within two years, the oiaa’s cultural operations had been transferred to State, but the department was still hesitant about jumping into the cultural field. In 1944, David Finley was asked by the State Department whether the National Gallery of Art would assume control of the art exchange program formally housed in oiaa. ‘‘With the approval of the trustees, an Inter-American O≈ce [iao] was established in the Gallery, using funds supplied by the Department of State for this purpose.’’ Again, a division of labor had been established, with State providing the funding and policy, and the iao supplying the expertise and organization.∞π With its tiny budget and a rather narrow charge of ‘‘administering, maintaining, and expanding a program of artistic exchange with the other American Republics,’’ the iao still managed to put on a variety of art exhibits from 1944 through mid-1946. Ten art shows were sent to Latin America, including exhibitions of American murals and Native American art, as well as a showing of nineteenth-century French prints. The iao also arranged for exhibits of Latin American art in the United States, such as the paintings of José María Velasco and separate showings of oils, watercolors, and photographs from Cuba. Despite these accomplishments, the Department of State began to seriously reconsider both the role of American art in international relations as well as its own role in exhibiting that art abroad. As Assistant Secretary of State for Public and Cultural Relations Archibald MacLeish declared in mid-1945, the nation’s cultural policy and cultural program ‘‘need a little formal recognition—a little institutional prestige—if they are going to be moved out of their present second-class quarters (second service and no deck games) on the port side aft.’’ With America sending ‘‘commercial attachés, financial attachés, and agricultural attachés’’ around the globe, ‘‘we can hardly exclude cultural attachés, unless we are ready to tell the world that everything the French and Latin Americans have ever said about us is true, and that Calvin Coolidge was right when he said that the business of the United States is business.’’∞∫ 18

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

In February 1945, as the war in Europe drew to a close, over two dozen museum directors, artists, and State Department o≈cials gathered in Washington to discuss the future of the department’s art program. This meeting of the Advisory Committee on Art to the Department of State served as a sounding board for those present to express their views as to how, and why, American art should play a significant role in the nation’s postwar foreign policy. In attendance were Grace Morley, director of the San Francisco Museum of Art, David Finley, director of the National Gallery of Art, Daniel Catton Rich, director of Fine Arts at the Art Institute of Chicago, and the artist Henry Varnum Poor III. They were joined by Assistant Secretary MacLeish, Bryn J. Hovde, who was chief of the Division of Cultural Cooperation, Margaret Garrett, acting chief of the iao, and the director of the American Council of Learned Societies, Waldo G. Leland, among other government o≈cials and invited guests. Hovde began the proceedings by announcing that ‘‘the concept of foreign relations has undergone a profound change.’’ It was obvious, he said, that ‘‘relations between peoples are as important, if not more important, than relations between governments.’’ In a world brought closer together through breakthroughs in communication technology, it would be ‘‘necessary that peoples know more and more about one another. One of the best means for increasing such understanding is the arts.’’ Echoing the sentiments of many of those in the art world who saw art as a new ‘‘language,’’ Hovde concluded that ‘‘appreciation of the arts of other peoples is comparatively easy as they melt the barriers of language.’’ Indeed, a good deal of the rhetoric flying around during the ensuing discussion at the meeting would not have been out of place in one of the wartime editorials by Peyton Boswell or Alfred Frankfurter. MacLeish, who as both a poet and Pulitzer Prize–winning author and a State Department o≈cial provided an interesting perspective on the matter, argued that sending American culture abroad would ‘‘give to peoples of other nations a picture of what we are like as a people’’; the arts were particularly e√ective mediums for ‘‘they and they alone can speak without interpreters.’’ Dr. George C. Vaillant, director of the University Museum in Philadelphia, waxed eloquently, if not entirely clearly, on how American works of art ‘‘intermesh with similar elements in other cultures to form an overall world synthesis in which we may share by virtue of the presence of these elements in our own society.’’ Yet the minutes of the meeting make clear that there was a growing consensus that American art had roles to play beyond its somewhat hazily defined work as a symbol of peace and world brotherhood. ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

19

Thomas Munro, curator of education at the Cleveland Museum of Art, went to the heart of the matter when he suggested that ‘‘there was need for clarification on whether our emphasis should be on the development of good will (on propaganda in the best sense) or on a completely free interchange of products and ideas. The two are by no means identical.’’ His fellow discussants wholeheartedly agreed with this last point and then proceeded to sketch out how art as propaganda could work most effectively for the United States. They began by noting that other nations— Britain, France, and the Soviet Union—were already active in cultural diplomacy. Each nation was ‘‘spending great sums of money in cultural propaganda out of a realization that it is one of the most e√ective means of winning friends and influencing people.’’ In order to compete with these e√orts by European nations, the committee resolved that America’s cultural program should be ‘‘broadly conceived.’’ Particularly in the field of art, the goal would be to present ‘‘the proper analysis and presentation of important art trends.’’ The discussion made clear, however, that U.S. art exhibits overseas could no longer remain the relatively unfocused e√orts undertaken in previous years. The selection of what kinds of art to display was key, for ‘‘the picture of American life which is given to other countries should be adapted to a level of understanding of given cultures and should subordinate to some extent the worst elements of our culture.’’ Munro completely agreed, and he suggested that the State Department should determine the ‘‘acceptability’’ of the art. In planning art exhibits, the United States needed to study the ‘‘obstacles to cooperation in each country,’’ such as ‘‘racial antagonism, economic rivalry, religious and linguistic di√erences,’’ to ensure the proper ‘‘understanding’’ of American art. ‘‘Specific projects,’’ he concluded, ‘‘should be fitted into a context of such understanding, as means to ends. In other words we should have scientific reasons for anticipating the results of what we do, so as to avoid mistakes and wasted e√orts. It would then be possible to select and devise exhibits and other projects of the right sort.’’ Robert Woods Bliss, a longtime diplomat and collector of pre-Columbian art, summed up the meaning of Munro’s comments: ‘‘It is entirely proper that the Department of State should control what is selected in works of art in which the United States is o≈cially represented.’’∞Ω The February 1945 meeting of the Advisory Committee on Art signaled an important shift in o≈cial thinking about how and why U.S. art exhibits should play a role in America’s postwar diplomacy. First and foremost, the call for a ‘‘broadly conceived’’ program indicated that the parameters of such an undertaking were to expand beyond exchanges 20

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

with the Latin American republics. In particular, the discussions at the meeting zeroed in on U.S. art programs for Europe; a subcommittee was established to investigate the possibilities. Second, the postwar art program would be no hit-or-miss a√air. What art was sent, and where it was sent, would be determined by analyses of the target nations, U.S. goals, and anticipated results of the exhibits. Third, it was now clear that the Department of State was poised to take a greater role in the art program. Rather than simply providing some funds or vague policy guidelines, the department would henceforth become more directly involved in every phase of the program, including the selection of the art. Finally, and perhaps most important to an understanding of the rifts that would develop in the years to come between many in the U.S. art community and the Department of State, American artworks sent overseas would not be representatives of the ‘‘country of the soul.’’ They would be propaganda—‘‘in the best sense’’—serving the national interests; they would be ‘‘means to an end.’’ Implicit in the discussions of the Advisory Committee on Art was the assumption that the role played by the iao in the National Gallery of Art was not su≈cient to the new plans for the art program. Obviously, the new ‘‘broadly conceived’’ program meant that the iao’s strict focus on U.S.–Latin American art exchanges would have to be dramatically modified. As for the iao’s current work, criticisms were mounting both inside and outside of the Department of State. Just a few months after the February meeting, Daniel Catton Rich prepared a report on the representation of U.S. art in overseas exhibits. He sharply criticized what he called the ‘‘haphazard and partial record’’ of U.S. support of such exhibits. With a direct stab at the iao’s habit of simply recycling existing art exhibits, Rich decried this practice and charged that the ‘‘sponsors’’ of these exhibits (private businesses and the iao) had simply ‘‘chosen the easier way of picking up exhibits already shown in this country with little regard for suitability outside the United States.’’ In early 1946, J. LeRoy Davidson, who was the visual arts specialist in the Division of Libraries and Institutes—part of the newly formed O≈ce of International Information and Cultural A√airs in the Department of State—was more direct in his attack on the iao’s unfocused e√orts. The entire situation had ‘‘been extremely unsatisfactory.’’ The iao had actually organized few exhibits or exchanges with Latin America, and ‘‘much has been sent down that is not what the Department would have desired.’’ This was hardly surprising, since ‘‘the Department has practically no control over the activities of the Inter-American O≈ce.’’ Davidson then made a cryptic remark concernADVANCING AMERICAN ART

21

ing iao personnel to the e√ect that the ‘‘personalities involved are psychologically unsuited to an operation of this type.’’≤≠ Other evidence suggests what Davidson meant: that David Finley and John Walker, director and chief curator, respectively, of the National Gallery of Art, were not supportive of an overseas art program run by the Department of State; and that the two men were far too restrictive and conservative in terms of the art they selected for exhibition abroad. That both Finley and Walker were uneasy with the National Gallery’s relationship with the State Department is clear. Both men saw the gallery as the repository of the nation’s greatest art treasures and themselves as arbiters of taste and culture. While they were not opposed to the international exhibition of American art per se, they were suspicious of any suggestion that the Department of State should have a greater role (which would equate to a lesser role for the gallery and themselves) in organizing and showing those exhibits. In 1944, an editorial in Art News suggested that the National Gallery was about to establish a permanent collection of Latin American art as ‘‘a continuation of the artistic e√orts of the Coordinator of Inter-American A√airs.’’ This would be a ‘‘deliberate use of art for a propagandistic end,’’ and ‘‘our southern neighbors are sure to see through the device.’’ Finley immediately responded, alerting the readers of Art News that such an exhibit would be both ‘‘contrary to law’’ and ‘‘a complete reversal of the Gallery’s established policy regarding acquisitions.’’ He asserted that the gallery did not ‘‘serve the ends of propaganda or political expediency’’ but instead set a ‘‘high standard of quality’’ as its criteria for selecting art for the museum. Finley admitted that an InterAmerican O≈ce had been established ‘‘at the request of the Department of State,’’ but its function would be to ‘‘act primarily as a clearing house of information on art activities in the American Republics.’’≤∞ Walker was even more adamant about keeping government and art separated. He was also extremely skeptical about the value of international art exhibits in terms of diplomacy. Responding to an idea for an art exhibition service run by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (unesco), he bluntly replied, ‘‘It is very doubtful to me whether exhibitions of art contribute at all to international understanding.’’ He saw no reason for ‘‘unesco muddling’’ up the already ‘‘complicated business’’ of organizing international art shows. A short time later, Walker wrote to Finley concerning a request from unesco and the Department of State for a U.S. art exhibit in Paris. He sarcastically dismissed such attempts to ‘‘make International Cultural Relations a reality.’’ He was particularly harsh on unesco’s role, arguing that ‘‘art exhibi22

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

tions arranged internationally are bound to be chaotic and worthless.’’ ‘‘Unless Congress objects,’’ he continued, ‘‘and I think it might be a good idea if it did, the State Department has committed itself to further international culture at the expense of the American taxpayer, come what may!’’ Walker also lambasted the e√orts of several private art organizations to become involved in the selection of art for the Paris show, including the Artists League of America and the American Federation of Arts (afa). He branded the Artists League a collection of ‘‘Communists and Fellow Travelers.’’ Having dismissed unesco, the Department of State, and national art groups as possible directors of international art exhibitions, Walker made it clear that ‘‘I think it is important to have the N.G.A. [National Gallery of Art] hold the reins until we decide whether or not we want to try and run the art end.’’ Finley, in response, agreed that he was ‘‘not very enthusiastic about such an exhibition.’’≤≤ As it turned out, fewer and fewer people were very enthusiastic about the international exhibitions arranged by the iao in the National Gallery. At the February 1945 Advisory Committee on Art meeting, it was noted that the iao-sponsored exhibit of nineteenth-century French prints had resulted in ‘‘criticisms voiced by certain United States citizens against the selection of French rather than American material.’’ Thomas Munro agreed, wondering whether it was ‘‘wise to send into Latin America works of art which we ourselves imported from foreign countries. Would this not confirm the frequent belief that we were a people without much culture of our own, who were merely able to buy works of art?’’ In his confidential report on international art exhibitions, Daniel Catton Rich raised an additional criticism. The exhibits sent abroad ‘‘represent a segment—rather than the whole of American art endeavor. Showings of so-called contemporary art abroad have, with some exceptions, leaned towards the conservative and academic.’’ When the Division of Cultural Cooperation learned in late 1945 that another exhibit organized by the iao would feature foreign artists, it made known its concerns. ‘‘It is felt that this sequence of non-American art unalleviated by any first class contemporary American art will tend to weaken whatever artistic prestige the United States might have.’’ The division also reiterated Rich’s point about the ‘‘conservative’’ nature of iao exhibits: ‘‘no exhibition by contemporary American artists of equal quality . . . has been sent on tour.’’ And, as State Department o≈cials were well aware, requests for showings of American modern art were coming in from overseas. The United States Information Service (usis) representative in China noted that while Chinese artists were ‘‘familiar and interested in modern French ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

23

painting, they are comparatively unfamiliar with modern American art.’’ It was ‘‘time they had the opportunity to see a few works of Marin, O’Keefe [sic], Kuniyoshi,’’ and other leading contemporary American artists.≤≥ The rupture between the iao in the National Gallery and the Department of State was apparent by late 1945, but the final blow to the relationship came from an unlikely source. In March 1945, the National Gallery announced that the Tate Gallery in London had requested that a selection of American paintings be sent for display in England. In the late spring of 1946, a collection of over two hundred paintings assembled by John Walker, Francis Taylor, director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Duncan Phillips, Daniel Catton Rich, and Alfred H. Barr of moma, among others, made its way to England. In June 1946, the exhibition formally opened at the Tate Gallery. Large crowds visited the show, and it garnered a few nice words from some British art critics. One claimed that ‘‘the national spirit can be detected everywhere. . . . endearingly honest and free from cliché.’’ The critic for the London Times informed his readers that the paintings were ‘‘the work of American artists who strike out an independent line for themselves.’’ A London Times editorial argued that ‘‘there can be little doubt that the American climate is now favorable to an indigenous art.’’ For most others, however, the exhibition was judged to be a failure on many levels. English art critic Cyril Connolly dubbed the exhibit ‘‘an American tragedy in four acts.’’ One of his colleagues, writing under the pen name Perspex, derided the notion that anything approaching an ‘‘American art’’ was to be found at the Tate. He left the show ‘‘with the sad Dickensian conclusion that ‘I don’t believe there’s no sich person,’ or if there be his presence is not to be sought at Millbank.’’ Try as he might, he could not ‘‘discover an authentic national mark.’’ The London correspondent for the Magazine of Art expressed his disappointment in a scathing review. ‘‘There is a lot this exhibition might have done—had the actual show not been poorly chosen and inadequate, poorly publicized and poorly hung.’’ Most British visitors and critics, he claimed, came away from the exhibition befuddled by the ‘‘bewildering variety’’ of the paintings. ‘‘It made no sense of American painting.’’ The critic for the Evening Standard spoke for many in the British audience when he expressed skepticism as to whether art had ‘‘found itself ’’ in the United States. For many of the reviewers, this expressed the most troubling aspect of the exhibition: the art seemed largely imitations (and pale imitations, at that) of European art. One American critic recounted an incident in which a British visitor to the gallery asked a U.S. reporter to 24

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

‘‘show me which of these things represent the American form of art. They all look French to me.’’ When the reporter ‘‘pointed out regional Americana by Thomas Benton and John Stuart Curry, the Englishman said, ‘Hmmm, thank you,’ and walked away.’’≤∂ Although there were a handful of works by America’s modern artists— Arthur Dove, Stuart Davis, Marsden Hartley, Yasuo Kuniyoshi, and Georgia O’Kee√e were some of those included—very pointed criticisms were aimed at the selection of contemporary American art for the Tate show. The news story announcing the exhibition indicated that ‘‘a particular endeavor will be made to represent the contemporary American school as fully as the scope of the exhibition permits.’’ Even before the show opened in England, however, eyebrows were being raised over the inconsistent quality and relatively small number of contemporary American paintings found in the exhibit. Peyton Boswell tried to be tactful but came to the conclusion that ‘‘the contemporaries . . . miss some of the best painters and include a few who must have come in through the back door, proving either that it is harder to judge the living or that museum directors are human.’’ Others were not as sympathetic. The U.S. cultural attaché in Paris was more to the point. He asked that the State Department send an exhibition of modern U.S. art to France. The works selected for the Tate show, however, were not what he was looking for. The contemporary paintings chosen for display in England were ‘‘to us quite disappointing.’’ The French, who would be ‘‘particularly interested in modern American art . . . would find the present selection disappointing.’’ Was there a chance, he asked, of ‘‘revising the list for Paris, throwing less emphasis on the historical angle and more on modern tendencies.’’ Critics Ralph Pearson and John Anthony Thwaites were frankly appalled by the selection of contemporary American paintings for the exhibition. Pearson noted with disdain that only thirty of the nearly two hundred paintings at the Tate represented twentieth-century American art. Of those, only eighteen could ‘‘with considerable tolerance . . . be classified as modern,’’ and only three of the moderns could be classified as ‘‘top rank.’’ To Pearson, the selection indicated ‘‘confusion.’’ Thwaites declared that ‘‘with the twentieth century the selection stopped being a selection and became a grab-bag of everyone who could pull a string.’’ The very best modern artists were either represented by ‘‘atrociously chosen’’ works or were terribly underrepresented. Writing a few months after the exhibition closed, the leading French arts weekly had the last word: the ‘‘modern section was truly catastrophic.’’≤∑ The problems with the modern art section of the Tate exhibition were ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

25

not completely surprising when one considers that John Walker, who was primarily responsible for assembling the collection, was not enthusiastic about such art. Walker was also troubled about the modern art section of the American exhibit, but for entirely di√erent reasons. ‘‘Our one mistake was in letting Duncan [Phillips] increase the number of modern pictures. There were just too many. . . . I therefore decided that rather than spoil the e√ect by crowding we would omit about half a dozen modern pictures and after three weeks put these up in place of six now on exhibition.’’≤∏ For many o≈cials involved with cultural diplomacy in the Department of State, the Tate exhibition was the final proof needed to indicate that the iao and the National Gallery of Art were not capable of running an international art program. By mid-1946 plans were well underway to embark on a dramatically new approach, one in which the department would have complete control over policy and the art. ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

In the spring and summer of 1946, the department, using funds originally appropriated to the defunct O≈ce of War Information (owi) and oiaa, purchased seventy-nine oil paintings. The collection would soon come to be known by its exhibit name, Advancing American Art.≤π The list of artists was a virtual who’s who of those who were, or would shortly become, the leaders in contemporary American art: Georgia O’Kee√e, Arthur Dove, William Baziotes, Robert Gwathmey, Marsden Hartley, Stuart Davis, Milton Avery, Yasuo Kuniyoshi, Jack Levine, Ben Shahn, and Philip Evergood were just a few of the notables. The cost of this magnificent collection was a paltry $49,000 (approximately $620 per painting). The State Department conservatively estimated that the purchase prices were based on ‘‘an over-all average discount of 25 percent on actual selling prices and in terms of then current market conditions.’’ Such discounts were due to the ‘‘generous cooperation of the dealers,’’ many of whom ‘‘eliminated their own commissions or cut prices drastically in order that the Department could carry out what they felt was a worthwhile program.’’ The oil paintings were supplemented by a collection of thirty-five watercolors that had also been purchased by the Department of State from the afa in the spring of 1946 for the sum of $5,585. The watercolors, like the oils, were in the modern style and boasted an equally impressive array of artists: Jacob Lawrence, Stuart Davis, Milton Avery, and Lyonel Feininger, for instance.≤∫ 26

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

Most of the work of assembling the collection fell to J. LeRoy Davidson, the same State Department o≈cial who wrote in March 1946 that personnel at the National Gallery of Art were ‘‘psychologically unsuited’’ to run an international art program. Despite later criticisms about the ‘‘one-man’’ selection process, Davidson was no neophyte to the world of art. Educated at Harvard University and New York University’s Institute of Fine Arts, Davidson became the assistant director and curator at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis in 1939. In 1945, following a stint with the War Department, he joined the Department of State as a visual arts specialist. After his service in the department, he earned his Ph.D. at Yale in 1951 and enjoyed a respected career as an art historian and author of books on Chinese and Indian art. In choosing the works of art to include, Davidson did conduct some ‘‘informal consultation with leading specialists in the field of contemporary American art concerning artists to be represented.’’ Among these consultants were Hermon More of the Whitney Museum, Hudson Walker of the afa, and the noted artist and art dealer Alfred Stieglitz. There had been ‘‘general, almost unanimous agreement’’ on the artists to be included in the collection. Richard Heindel, Davidson’s superior in the department, also assisted in the process.≤Ω The rationale for the collection and its exhibition overseas encompassed a variety of reasons and strongly suggested why the National Gallery’s approach was not appropriate. Not surprisingly, the developing Cold War with the Soviet Union played a role. As Assistant Secretary of State for Public A√airs William Benton explained in April 1947, ‘‘Exhibitions of this kind also make an impact among Communists overseas because they illustrate the freedom with which and in which our American artists work.’’ He reiterated an earlier State Department statement on Advancing American Art that declared, ‘‘ ‘Only in a democracy where the full development of the individual is not only permitted but fostered could such an exhibition be assembled.’ ’’≥≠ In addition, a general desire to improve America’s overseas image also motivated the creation of Advancing American Art. In describing the overall objectives for the exhibition, the State Department indicated that American painting was ‘‘a small but important’’ part of a ‘‘broad program of international and cultural relations, aimed at producing a better understanding in foreign countries of American thought in all its aspects.’’ And such e√orts, particularly in the field of American art, were desperately needed. According to Assistant Secretary Benton, exhibits such as Advancing American Art helped to create a ‘‘favorable e√ect in foreign countries. It is the sort of thing which helps to counter the ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

27

propaganda which tries to label us as cultural barbarians.’’ Another member of the department was even more explicit. ‘‘The United States,’’ he declared, ‘‘has demonstrated its superb ability to manufacture tanks, airplanes, guns, and all the other implements of war. . . . The United States must demonstrate that it also has an interest in and a vigorous movement in the fields of art, music, and allied fields.’’≥∞ Yet this was a project funded and directed by the Department of State. As such, the interest in improving America’s cultural reputation among the world’s nations was directly related to increasing America’s ability to influence those nations to follow the U.S. diplomatic lead. According to Assistant Secretary Benton, the Advancing American Art exhibition was analogous to an advertising campaign. Such exhibits, he claimed, ‘‘serve the kind of purpose that music serves on a radio program: to attract the customers who are then more numerous and more responsive to the sales story.’’ Art would be especially useful in attracting ‘‘the kinds of people in whom we are interested.’’ Kenneth Holland of the O≈ce of International Information and Cultural A√airs (oic), agreed. ‘‘Art we believe helps nations understand and support us, just as some of the biggest industries in the United States believe art helps advertise their products and gain peoples [sic] support—in this case for products they sell.’’ It was essential, he concluded, that America be ‘‘understood and respected in the world today so that our foreign policy will be supported and followed by the nations of the world.’’ And a State Department report of February 1947 made it clear that the art exhibit was directed at a very specific group of ‘‘customers.’’ ‘‘The exhibition,’’ it noted, ‘‘was aimed at the artistically literate groups who constitute the opinion-forming public in many foreign countries, since their approval is di√used and creates a favorable attitude abroad toward American art.’’≥≤ Finally, foreign requests for showings of modern American art were a factor in assembling Advancing American Art. A July 1947 State Department report noted that for several years, messages from U.S. diplomatic missions and comments from American citizens traveling overseas indicated ‘‘an eager desire for greater knowledge of American art abroad.’’ Audiences in Montevideo, Uruguay, had been ‘‘tremendously impressed’’ by a 1942 exhibition organized by moma. The American embassies in Brazil and Argentina believed that ‘‘an exhibit of modern American painting would be very successful’’ and ‘‘urged the Department to send a group of original paintings by our best modern painters.’’ The intense foreign interest in American modern art was not surprising, since due to the ‘‘widespread influence of modern French art in the past few decades, 28

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

artists and art critics abroad are interested in knowing what the modern schools in America have accomplished.’’≥≥ The basic outline of the State Department’s view of art and its role in America’s diplomacy was thus clear, but it was also quite at odds with the position of the program’s supporters in the American art world. American art, to be sure, would send a message, but that message would be charged with political and diplomatic meaning. From such exhibitions, the foreign audience would learn that America was not simply a leading economic and military power but was also assuming a commanding position in the field of culture. In addition, Assistant Secretary Benton was one of the first State Department o≈cials to see how American art— particularly the modern work evident in the Advancing American Art collection—could be successfully used as an ‘‘advertisement’’ that simultaneously saluted freedom of choice in the United States and disparaged the stifling state-dictated ‘‘socialist realism’’ of Soviet painting.≥∂ Yet Benton’s assessment contained no small degree of contradiction, one that would continue to plague o≈cials responsible for the art program for years to come. It was one thing to suggest that American art was valuable primarily for its diversity and freedom of expression, and quite another to posit that the same art could be utilized as advertising script for the American way of life. Art, by its very nature, was supposed to be interpreted by each individual for its meaning and beauty. Advertising, if it was to be successful, could not a√ord the luxury of allowing audiences to ‘‘interpret’’ the message; it had to be clear and consistent if it was to be e√ective. Art, as these o≈cials would soon discover, was not just another ‘‘product’’ that could be sold to a carefully targeted audience. As a weapon in the Cold War, art was not a missile that could be armed, fired, and landed with pinpoint precision. Largely unaware of these discussions taking place in the Department of State, most major American art journals and art critics were delighted with Advancing American Art for a variety of very di√erent reasons: it served as a clear indication of the government’s support of American culture; it accentuated the new and modern in U.S. art; and it ably performed the role of serving as that ‘‘international language’’ so often remarked upon during and after World War II. When news began to get out in mid-1946 about the new art initiative by the Department of State, both Art News and Art Digest expressed pleasant surprise at the turn of events. Art News correspondent Peggy Crawford reported on the May meetings of the afa and the American Association of Museums. Assistant Secretary Benton was the featured speaker, and other department o≈cials ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

29

also appeared to discuss the oil and watercolor paintings recently purchased by State. A panel discussion followed these talks: Holland, Davidson, and Charles Child represented the department; the art world was represented by René d’Harnoncourt, Rich, and Hudson Walker of the afa. (Although the meeting was held at the National Gallery, Walker and Finley were noticeable by their absence from these proceedings.) Crawford expressed her satisfaction at the paintings purchased by the State Department, contrasting these with the Tate show organized by the National Gallery. The State-purchased artwork had a ‘‘dynamic quality,’’ whereas the ‘‘historical exhibition’’ at the Tate had ‘‘its place at the beginning of an international program, but, having been done, need not be repeated ad infinitum.’’ Crawford went further, arguing that ‘‘the American group exhibition in this country has become shockingly standardized by insistence on a ‘cross-sevtion’ [sic] approach, as well as by the drive towards inclusion of names rather than pictures.’’ In yet another indirect slap at the National Gallery’s international art activities, she declared that ‘‘to freeze our cultural exports in the hands of any group with rigid ideas of exhibition techniques would be unfortunate.’’ An Art News editorial similarly celebrated the State Department’s bold initiative, pointing out that the collection had been organized in response to ‘‘the extensive demand abroad for American art.’’ The piece focused on the thirty-five watercolors purchased from the afa. This exhibition, it proclaimed, was ‘‘dramatic’’ and demonstrated ‘‘unusual catholicity in selection.’’ Taken as a whole, the paintings ‘‘constitute a description de facto of the vitality and invention of the American artist.’’≥∑ Despite what seemed to be very sound reasons for undertaking the Advancing American Art exhibit, and despite the applause from the American art world, State Department o≈cials remained nervous. As one memorandum suggested, the department was well aware of the ‘‘great diversity of opinion about modern art, and the vigor with which all points of view are usually maintained.’’ With both diplomatic objectives and audience interests in mind, the Advancing American Art exhibition was unveiled in October 1946 in a sort of ‘‘trial run’’ at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The reason for this domestic showing of what was planned as an overseas art exhibit seemed clear: the Department of State wanted to test the waters and get some reaction to an exhibition composed entirely of modern art. Notwithstanding these concerns, the show at the Metropolitan was a huge critical success. Art News devoted a large part of its October 1946 issue to the exhibition, and editor Alfred Frankfurter was e√usive in his praise. In the past, he began, American art sent overseas had 30

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

a ‘‘blind date with destiny.’’ The foreign audience had little understanding of America’s art, coming, as it did, from a nation more famous for ‘‘such luxuries as chewing gum and comic books’’ than for its cultural achievements. Part of the fault lay with the United States, for it had ‘‘taken comparatively little trouble to correct’’ these erroneous perceptions; its overseas art exhibits were ‘‘sporadic’’ and ‘‘carelessly timed.’’ All that was about to change, he happily announced, for the Department of State had decided on a ‘‘completely new departure.’’ The Advancing American Art oil and watercolor exhibits would far better ‘‘represent in cohesion, compactness, and validity so clearly what they are labeled to be—‘Advancing American Art’—that the foreign audience is bound to understand them better than the all-encompassing good-will shows of heretofore.’’ The U.S. government had moved from a mere sponsor of such art exhibits to ‘‘an active participant in them along with the artists.’’ The paintings themselves could ‘‘stand on their own feet in any country today,’’ and would serve as symbols of the ways in which the ‘‘growing international fabric of culture has subordinated nationality in art to the poetics of the individual.’’ In lyrical terms, he concluded that ‘‘this time we are exporting neither domestic brandy in imitation cognac bottles nor vintage nonintoxicating grape juice, but real bourbon, aged in the wood—what may justly be described as the wine of the country.’’≥∏ Others joined Frankfurter in applauding Advancing American Art. While some pointed out that some of the paintings and artists were not the best, all agreed that the exhibit was important and meaningful as a cultural event. The Washington Post opined that ‘‘it by no means gives a well-rounded view of American art, but it is in many respects ahead of its predecessors.’’ Ralph Pearson, in Art Digest, claimed that the show was ‘‘important as a test case in Government sponsorship of contemporary art.’’ The art itself would ‘‘appeal to the informed opinion in each country’’ and, significantly, demonstrated ‘‘no direct reflection of Paris.’’ Most of the pieces ‘‘prove this is the age of the individual in art,’’ and Pearson believed that it was ‘‘well for us to join the family of nations on this more adult level.’’ The New York Times critic, Edward Alden Jewell, emphasized that the exhibit was ‘‘extremely modern,’’ but that this was ‘‘in accord with the expressed wishes of ‘missions’ abroad.’’ He revealed that Latin America and Europe ‘‘want to look at the more ‘advanced’ phases of American art.’’ For the most part, Jewell concluded, ‘‘Mr. Davidson has spent the State Department’s money advantageously.’’ Clement Greenberg wrote in the Nation that Advancing American Art was ‘‘the best group show of this nature to be held in New York for years.’’ He congratulated Davidson ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

31

for realizing that ‘‘the cultural situation in Latin America is such that its connoisseurs of modern art are more likely to be impressed by daring and plastic originality than by the American ‘scene’ or our home-grown surrealism.’’ Davidson had decided that it was ‘‘up to the State Department to show people whose taste is oriented toward Paris that we too keep abreast of the advances in art.’’ The exhibit was a ‘‘remarkable accomplishment.’’ Shortly after the exhibit left the Metropolitan for its overseas travels, the editor of the Magazine of Art suggested that the art was now ‘‘carrying the idea of ‘one world’ to thousands of Europeans and South Americans. At a time when the world is trying so desperately to be ‘one,’ such unanimity of feeling in our own country is, to put it mildly, most encouraging.’’ Advancing American Art was ‘‘surely an answer to those uninformed and inexperienced critics of modern art who find in it only confusion and chaos.’’≥π Indeed, the State Department was ‘‘itself surprised’’ by the nearly unanimous praise heaped upon Advancing American Art. A summary of the critical response prepared shortly after the exhibit opened at the Metropolitan was almost giddy in quoting the reviews. Art News proclaimed it the ‘‘most significant modern exhibition.’’ Newspapers such as the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the New York World-Telegram all commented positively on the exhibit. Art critics and others from the art world were almost uniformly impressed. Hudson Walker proclaimed it ‘‘a fine show with a real punch.’’ The editor of the Magazine of Art added his congratulations and stated that he felt ‘‘the paintings in the exhibition are of the highest quality obtainable and I am sure that they will prove to be stimulating ambassadors for America wherever they are sent.’’ Even foreign visitors to the showing were enthusiastic. A representative from the Netherlands Information Bureau declared that the exhibit was ‘‘magnificent—just the sort of thing I hope you will be able to send to Holland.’’ And the ambassador of Honduras stated that the show ‘‘certainly was a success from the artistic point of view and I think that the tour of these pictures in other countries of the Americas will contribute to better understanding of American art.’’ Negative reviews were rare. The Hearst-owned New York Sun made a ‘‘brief mention’’ of the show and used the exhibition as ‘‘a vehicle for an attack which ridiculed modern art in general.’’ Davidson, who was on hand for the opening, recounted that one ‘‘unknown dowager’’ commented to him that the exhibit was a ‘‘Communistic plot.’’ And the conservative director of the Metropolitan, Francis Henry Taylor, remarked that Advancing

32

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

American Art was a ‘‘willful show.’’ Perhaps as an ominous suggestion of the attacks to come, there was no reported comment from any member of the U.S. Congress, although invitations to the exhibition were sent to 135 representatives and senators.≥∫ After completing its run at the Metropolitan on October 27, Advancing American Art actually became two exhibits. Forty-nine of the oil paintings, along with the watercolors, were scheduled for showings in Europe. The remaining thirty oil paintings were to be shown throughout Latin America. The larger group of paintings and the watercolors kicked o√ the European side of Advancing American Art with a November showing in Paris as part of an international exhibition celebrating unesco Month. For reasons that are not entirely clear, the watercolors were then separated from the collection and sent o√ for exhibition in Guatemala. The oil paintings made their way from Paris to Prague, with plans for other exhibitions in Hungary and Poland. Meanwhile, the smaller collection of paintings headed o√ to Cuba, and then to Port-au-Prince in Haiti. It was planned that these paintings would then circulate throughout various other Latin American republics.≥Ω Both of the Advancing American Art exhibits were critical successes everywhere they were displayed. And, as State Department o≈cials were quick to note, the exhibits also paid o√ handsomely in the cultural diplomacy arena. In Prague, for instance, American art went head to head with Soviet art and was the decided winner. In Paris, the response to the unesco show ranged from grudging admiration to genuine surprise at the richness and vitality of the American paintings. Les Arts, the leading French art weekly, admitted that by concentrating on their most ‘‘recent trends’’ in painting, both the U.S. and British exhibits demonstrated a decidedly ‘‘ ‘vigorous aspect which has changed the summary idea which had been generally held’ that American and British art were without progressive force.’’ More e√usive in his praise was Jean Cassou, director of the Musée d’Art Moderne, who believed that the paintings were distinctly American. He wrote that ‘‘obviously a great richness and fecundity is created by the diversity of races . . . native notes are also heard, particularly from those abstractionists and surrealists who have not been directly influenced by the European styles. They received their inspiration from their imagination and from the dynamic energy of your own continent.’’ A Paris gallery manager put it most succinctly: ‘‘The American paintings are the most interesting here.’’ Following the exhibit, the Polish cultural attaché in Washington strongly urged that it be sent to

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

33

Poland, where, he stated, his people were ‘‘starved for knowledge of the latest developments in art.’’ The Hungarian prime minister implored the State Department to send the paintings to Budapest.∂≠ The Latin American part of the Advancing American Art exhibit, meanwhile, got o√ to a great start with two showings in Cuba. A State Department report gushed that in Santiago de Cuba, ‘‘134 inches of newspaper space was devoted to the exhibition. The mayor of Santiago opened the exhibition with an enthusiastic radio broadcast.’’ More to the point was a Cuban newspaper editorial that stated ‘‘this exposition of paintings of the U.S. of America demonstrates clearly that that country is able to contribute to the spiritual riches of man in general in the same way in which its machinery, its railroads, its refrigerators, and its radios have contributed to enrich and to make more comfortable the life of the common man.’’ That, of course, had been one of the main goals of the American art exhibit: to let the people of the world know that American culture extended beyond refrigerators and radios. In Havana, the leading newspaper celebrated the ‘‘beautiful foreign art,’’ calling it a ‘‘great deal’’ and very ‘‘encouraging.’’ Letters were received in Washington from ‘‘Cuban artists and educators thanking the Department for sending the exhibition.’’∂∞ It was in Czechoslovakia, however, that Advancing American Art enjoyed its greatest—and, unbeknownst to its supporters, last—success. After the close of the unesco exhibit in Paris, the American paintings were taken to Prague in March 1947. The communist presence in Czechoslovakia was powerful and aggressive; indeed, in just a year after the showing of the American paintings, a communist coup would overthrow the government and install a pro-Soviet regime. With the arrival of the Advancing American Art exhibit, the United States fired the first shot in what might be called an ‘‘art war’’ with the Soviet Union. The Czech government was eager to host the exhibit, even going so far as to contribute $6,000 to have catalogs printed. President and Madame Edvard Beneˇs turned a short courtesy visit into a ninety-minute extended tour and ‘‘carefully examined each picture and asked numerous questions concerning artistic life in the United States.’’ In the next two months, the show was taken to Brno and Bratislava. Nearly 18,000 Czechs visited the exhibit, and the critical response was little short of overwhelming. The U.S. ambassador was ecstatic about the show, noting that the impact had been ‘‘most favorable.’’ The American painting exhibit drew twice as many visitors as any other showing in the Prague museum’s history. The Czech press was adulatory, commenting on the ‘‘international flavor’’ of 34

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

the exhibit and noting that it gave the Czech people ‘‘an opportunity to become somewhat acquainted with American art. The press was also impressed that the contemporary currents and tendencies were emphasized since people in Czechoslovakia were thus given an opportunity to judge the creative vitality of American painting rather than see a historical, static show.’’∂≤ So successful was the American showing that almost immediately the Soviets announced that they, too, had an art exhibit for Czechoslovakia. According to the U.S. embassy in Prague, the Russian show, entitled Pictures of ussr National Artists, was ‘‘brought hurriedly from Vienna’’ and was approximately twice as large as the American exhibit. Although the Soviet art was dominated by ‘‘large poster and photographic type 19th century paintings,’’ in all other aspects the exhibit ‘‘copied the Dept’s in presentation, related events such as concerts and lectures, posters, location and announcements.’’ The Soviets even resorted to an aerial assault, with a plane ‘‘dropping tickets to exhibition which grant free admission and free catalogue.’’ And just in case the point was missed by any of the spectators, the Soviet ambassador ‘‘explained the creative aim of Soviet art to the audience and expressed his wish that it be understood by the simple spectator’’—a pointed comment directed at the abstract nature of the U.S. paintings. Like the U.S. exhibit, the Soviet painting show was well attended, but the critical reception was decidedly negative. The leading cultural paper in Prague, Svobodne Noviny, claimed that ‘‘the two exhibitions could not be spoken of in the same breath since the American was obviously the product of genuine artistic creative ability while the other portrayed ‘popular state art.’ ’’∂≥ BRICKS AND BOUQUETS

Richard Heindel, Davidson’s superior in the Department of State, warned Assistant Secretary Benton just after Advancing American Art opened at the Metropolitan that, because the show was both ‘‘excellent and courageous,’’ the department should expect ‘‘both bricks and bouquets, and sometimes for incompatible reasons.’’∂∂ The bouquets arrived quickly in the form of nearly overwhelmingly positive reviews from the American art world. The bricks took a bit longer to start flying, with most of them coming from sources outside the U.S. art community, the most damaging coming from Congress. It was a strange situation. Many in the American art community seemed willing to overlook the fact that Advancing American Art was primarily designed as a propaganda tool in the battle against ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

35

communism, due to their excitement over the government’s decision to support the overseas display of American art. In the end, they felt, the art would touch the world’s people in important and valuable ways that went far beyond making simple anticommunist and/or pro-American statements. Critics of the exhibit tended to dismiss its propaganda value and struck directly at the art itself, claiming that it was un-American and, perhaps, communistic. When all was said and done, the bricks proved much heavier than the bouquets, and Advancing American Art found itself crushed under the protests. Art critic Emily Genauer was among those who were ecstatic that the exhibit could correct the long-held perception that ‘‘other countries send us art and we send them machinery.’’ In Europe and Latin America, in particular, ‘‘the general impression has too long prevailed that we’re strictly materialistic people whose national genius expresses itself most eloquently in tractors.’’ In all, it was ‘‘a beautiful show, vital, imaginative, representative of the most progressive trends in American art today.’’ Then, with more foresight than she possibly knew, Genauer mused: Could be the Metropolitan was chosen because it’s out of range of Congress. . . . But I’ve a notion some of the stu≈er gentlemen in Congress, the ones who haven’t been to an art exhibition since their school days and consequently know all about art, won’t like it. They’ll fill the air with their lamentations for the poor taxpayer and his money. Too late now. The stu√ ’s been bought and paid for, and by the time Congress convenes again the pictures will be overseas.∂∑ She was right about the ‘‘stu√y’’ congressmen, but more wrong than she could imagine about it being ‘‘too late’’ for action. Despite the outpouring of critical support and praise, and even as Advancing American Art was achieving notable successes in Europe and Latin America, attacks against the project were gaining steam in the United States. In November 1946, the American Artists Professional League, a group that deplored modern art and artists, protested directly to Secretary of State James Byrnes. The league condemned the ‘‘one-sided selections of works’’ as ‘‘manifestly unfair and unrepresentative.’’ The league, the letter continued, was ‘‘the most democratic of all [art] groups,’’ but found itself locked in ‘‘combat’’ with ‘‘one group’’ which sought to ‘‘create a monopoly in museums and otherwise control criticisms and galleries.’’ The works included in Advancing American Art were ‘‘strongly marked with the radicalism of the new trends of European art. This is not indigenous to our soil.’’ While this letter brought forth little response or 36

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

interest, a brief piece in Look in February 1947 served as a catalyst for new and more potent criticisms. Entitled ‘‘Your Money Bought These Paintings,’’ the two-paragraph story was accompanied by reproductions of seven of the paintings in the collection. Beyond some factual errors (including the statement that ‘‘the collection will never be shown in America,’’ which ignored the Metropolitan showing), the article provided ready ammunition to domestic critics of modern art. Claiming that American art had been sent overseas in the past, the piece continued, ‘‘But the majority of it has been the conservative type which is popular in the U.S. today.’’ Decades later, J. LeRoy Davidson recalled the Look article, noting that it ‘‘was not intentionally against us—just [the work of ] an over-clever caption writer.’’ However, as Margaret Ausfeld and Virginia Mecklenburg point out in their 1984 study of the Advancing American Art exhibit, the accompanying pictures became the focal points of vituperative criticisms from radio commentator Fulton Lewis Jr. and various congressmen.∂∏ Lewis tore into the art exhibit during a 5 February broadcast in which he disparaged overspending by the federal government. He exploded that ‘‘you, the public, are never going to be able to get rid of the staggering cost of Government which is now on your neck.’’ Very quickly, however, he focused his wrath on Advancing American Art, using the Look article as his starting point. He decried the $40,000 spent on the paintings, declaring, ‘‘Without seeing the pictures you may be disgusted enough.’’ The fact that such paintings were to be sent around the world in order for ‘‘a few individuals to look at as means of combating antagonistic propaganda ought to sound idiotic enough to make your blood boil.’’ Anyone unfortunate enough to actually see the pictures in question would ‘‘have apoplexy.’’ Hitting his stride, Lewis denounced the paintings as ‘‘grotesque, disproportionate, totally artless and in some cases downright vulgar.’’ He concluded, ‘‘If that be American art, God save us.’’∂π The Look piece, together with Lewis’s tirade, had an immediate ripple e√ect. Within days of the Lewis broadcast, a State Department memorandum noted that ‘‘congressmen are receiving letters from their constituents, and their o≈ces are asking the people in the Department for an explanation.’’ The department had already heard from half a dozen congressmen, one of whom explained, ‘‘No Congressman . . . could ask his constituents to endorse a vote for the art program.’’ What made such statements even more disconcerting was that appropriations hearings on the department’s cultural and informational programs were scheduled to begin that summer. The furor over Advancing American Art could ‘‘be our Achilles heel.’’ The memorandum concluded, ‘‘Our hope—and it is ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

37

more than a pious hope—is that the fever will take its course, and that by the time the appropriation bill comes before the House, the art program will be viewed in its proper perspective as a very minor part of the information and cultural relations operation.’’∂∫ Such hopes—pious or otherwise—were soon dashed. Representative John Taber, chair of the House Committee on Appropriations, fired one of the first salvos, writing directly to Secretary of State George C. Marshall to register his complaints. ‘‘The paintings,’’ he declared, ‘‘are a travesty upon art. They were evidently gotten up by people whose object was apparently to, (1) To make the United States appear ridiculous in the eyes of foreign countries, and to (2) Establish illwill towards the United States.’’ He suggested that it ‘‘was about time that the anti-Cultural Relations Program of the State Department should be put to an end.’’ More ominous rumblings came from Representative Fred Busbey, who wrote to Assistant Secretary Benton in early March. He began with the now familiar questions concerning the cost of purchasing, transporting, and displaying the paintings. Very quickly, however, he moved on to ask for ‘‘a list of names of all artists whose paintings were selected and their background in the field of art.’’ When Benton responded with a list and brief biographies of the forty-six artists represented in Advancing American Art, Busbey was not assuaged. His followup letter more clearly indicated the precise kind of ‘‘background’’ information he desired: ‘‘I am particularly anxious to know what information you had regarding the Communistic background and Communistic affiliation of the various artists.’’ He also wanted a ‘‘complete biography’’ of J. LeRoy Davidson.∂Ω The basic outlines of the assault on the Advancing American Art exhibit were now clear: a charge that taxpayers’ money was being wasted on nonsensical ‘‘modern art,’’ that the art itself was of poor quality and taste and did not represent America well, and, finally, that the artists were suspected of having communistic ‘‘backgrounds’’ or ‘‘a≈liations.’’ The issue of money, while much debated, did not really amount to much. After all, the budget for the art program had already been cut from $105,000 to $58,000 from 1946 to 1947.∑≠ Artistic tastes, and politics, were the obvious focal points for the attacks. As the evidence suggests, it was the ‘‘modern’’ or ‘‘abstract’’ nature of the paintings that seemed to most infuriate their critics. One doubts whether such denunciations would have been forthcoming had the State Department purchased and displayed Norman Rockwell’s works, or the landscapes of Thomas Cole. The not-so-subtle suggestions that the artists themselves were some38

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

how ‘‘un-American’’ were merely a reflection of the growing obsession among many in the American public and Congress that communists were busily infiltrating not only the U.S. government, but also the nation’s society and culture at large. The House Un-American Activities Committee (huac) began its investigation of the Hollywood film industry in 1947, claiming that communist actors, writers, and directors were using the popular entertainment form as a means for conveying subversive messages. The resulting hearings became a scene for drama, as congressmen hurled accusations at Hollywood witnesses. Some of those testifying before the committee refused to cooperate, claiming that the entire proceedings were an infringement on their civil liberties. Eventually, a number of these ‘‘unfriendly’’ witnesses—the famous ‘‘Hollywood Ten’’—were convicted of contempt of Congress and sentenced to jail. Many others in Hollywood found themselves on ‘‘blacklists,’’ unable to find work in the motion picture industry. Other media also felt the impact of the ‘‘Red Scare,’’ including literature, television, and the theater. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that American art—particularly modern art—would soon find itself embroiled in the same sorts of anticommunist hysteria.∑∞ RETREATING AMERICAN ART

In the days and weeks following the appearance of the Look article, Lewis’s broadcast, and numerous queries from congressmen, Assistant Secretary Benton began an intense program of damage control. In later years, Davidson remarked that ‘‘Benton ran for cover’’ when the issue came to light, but the reality is somewhat more complicated. While it is true that Benton did not exactly cover himself in glory in his handling of the incident, neither is it true that he abjectly buckled under to the criticisms leveled at Advancing American Art. Benton’s initial responses to the controversy vacillated between distancing himself from the exhibit and defending the basic concept behind the project. In a memorandum written on 10 February, Benton noted that Deputy Assistant Secretary of State Charles Hulten was ‘‘deeply disturbed by the art story in Look.’’ Of the ‘‘greatest importance’’ was that Hulten ‘‘did not know that these pictures were being purchased, any more than did I.’’ This would be a consistent theme for Benton: that the paintings were purchased without his approval or knowledge. On the same day, however, Benton also wrote to Secretary Marshall defending the project. He reiterated some of the arguments that formed the rationale for Advancing American Art in the first place in ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

39

addition to answering specific criticisms: the State Department had received numerous requests from foreign nations for exhibits of ‘‘modern American art’’; other nations, such as England and France, had similar programs; it was cheaper to purchase the paintings than borrow them; the artists in the exhibit were ‘‘important nationally and are represented in leading museums and private collections’’; the total cost was small, and 90 percent of the funds came from ‘‘old appropriations of owi and oiaa’’; the exhibits had ‘‘been very well received in this country and abroad.’’ He concluded by noting that the art program budget for 1947 was almost half of what it had been for 1946. Despite such cuts, he concluded, ‘‘There are many, however, who feel that the appropriation should be large enough to permit the continuation of art purchases for showings abroad.’’∑≤ The following day, Benton once again demonstrated his two-track approach to dealing with the controversy. In a statement for the Secretary of State, Benton repeated his claim that he ‘‘was not notified of the proposed purchase of these particular pictures nor were other top operating executives.’’ The real culprits were former owi and oiaa personnel who made the decision ‘‘before they were transferred into the State Department.’’ Indeed, Benton argued, ‘‘If I had been notified I am not sure that I would have approved it. . . . I am sure that if I had approved it I would have insisted that a distinguished advisory committee be called in to help select the paintings.’’ However, he continued, ‘‘Art is well established as a form of cultural activity between nations.’’ In a direct response to the attacks by Representative Taber, Benton mentioned his previous work putting together an art collection for Encyclopedia Britannica. Many of those paintings, selected ‘‘under the direction of leading art critics in the United States would shock and startle Mr. Taber more than those in the Department’s collection.’’∑≥ Benton spent the next few days overseeing the writing of a memorandum on the art program for Secretary Marshall. The resulting document added little to what he and other o≈cials had already said about Advancing American Art, although it did emphasize that ‘‘the market value of the collection today . . . is greater than when the paintings were purchased last year.’’ Shortly after the report was sent o√ to Marshall, Benton wrote to Howland Sargeant, explaining, ‘‘I do not know what further to do on the Look story.’’ He was not entirely satisfied with the memorandum, but wrote, ‘‘it is perhaps adequate.’’ Benton then launched into a relatively impassioned defense of the controversial art exhibit then on display in Latin America:

40

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

Haven’t we overlooked in these documents one of the biggest arguments of all? Isn’t the art exhibit supposed to attract people into our institutes in Latin America, thus helping to develop these institutes, and thus give us a better chance to talk sympathetically with such visitors? In other words, don’t we need projects such as these art projects, to bring in to the institutions the kinds of people in whom we are interested? The so-called ‘‘customers’’ are then available for English language lessons, for round table and seminar discussions, et cetera. This would mean that the art exhibits serve a double purpose, not only the purpose described in this memorandum, as seen by our own people under big-time billing—, but they also serve the kind of purpose that music serves on a radio program: to attract the customers who are then more numerous and more responsive to the sales story. Then, commenting on the fact that the value of the collection had actually increased during the year, Benton suggested that Congress be informed ‘‘that it isn’t yet out any money.’’ He joked that ‘‘we could even sell the pictures! (Perhaps the Encyclopedia Britannica might buy some of them!!)’’∑∂ By the end of February, Benton sounded a note of cautious optimism in a letter to Secretary Marshall. He indicated that ‘‘there has been surprisingly little Congressional interest in the art collection incident. . . . We see no evidence of any concentrated activity to embarrass us.’’ He concluded that ‘‘this is the kind of activity that is not easy to explain to a hostile Congress, and I can only hope that the present interest in it will quickly die out.’’ The secretary himself, however, was not entirely supportive, as Benton explained in a message written that same day to Deputy Secretary Hulten. Marshall ‘‘was most dubious about the impact of activities of this kind.’’ Benton o√ered his usual defense: he ‘‘had not personally been aware that the pictures were to be purchased.’’ He then confided that he believed the ‘‘Department is extremely vulnerable here.’’ He could not ‘‘imagine many Congressmen ‘thinking much of this art program.’ ’’∑∑ As it soon became clear, Hulten did not think much of the art program either. On 26 February, Benton received an angry memorandum from three of his assistants. They had just heard that Hulten was recommending abolition of the art program and the resignation of Davidson. (Davidson had earlier o√ered his resignation, but it had not been ac-

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

41

cepted.) Hulten’s rationale was that ‘‘abolishing this position and the activities that went with it, before the Congressional hearings, would tend to appease Congressmen and prevent them from cutting the rest of the oic program.’’ The assistants (two of whom worked with Davidson in the Division of Libraries and Institutes in the oic) argued that this was specious thinking. Such actions as Hulten proposed would ‘‘not satisfy Congressmen who are critical of the Department of State, but will tend to whet their appetite.’’ If the art program was dropped because of a few ‘‘telephone calls and letters,’’ many Congressmen would naturally ‘‘assume that there are others that the Department of State would be willing to drop just as readily.’’ Furthermore, if the art program was dropped before the hearings, Congress would ‘‘suspect that the art program is elsewhere concealed’’ and would subject the department’s budget to even greater scrutiny and criticism. Finally, they argued, why should the department invite the inevitable wrath of U.S. artists, critics, and art lovers (who would be appalled by what they would perceive as an attack on the ‘‘principle of democratic freedom of expression’’), as well as ridicule from the foreign audience that would find the cancellation of the program to be evidence that the ‘‘United States lacks creative vigor.’’ Their suggestion was to let Congress take the responsibility for axing the program, thereby deflecting criticism from the State Department.∑∏ Despite these pleas, momentum for cancellation of the art program continued to mount as more attacks were launched against Advancing American Art. Representative Busbey’s probing letters to Assistant Secretary Benton in March 1947 proved to be the straws that broke the camel’s back. Benton and other State Department o≈cials initially responded to Busbey’s queries with the usual defenses: yes, the art should have been selected by a panel of experts; the art was worth more now than when it was purchased; Advancing American Art had been successful in its showings in Europe and Latin America; and cultural e√orts were an important part of America’s diplomacy. When Busbey raised the issue of communist a≈liations of the artists, however, the department’s response only added fuel to the growing fire. In a memorandum dated 2 April, Benton suggested that State did not ‘‘deem it suitable to run a security check or a personnel investigation on artists,’’ whose work ‘‘must stand or fall by artistic criteria, especially when such products are not chosen for any ideological purpose or content.’’ Benton was forced to admit, however, that of the forty-seven artists, ‘‘18 names appear in the public records of the House Committee on Un-American Activities, and three of these 18 are reported to be members of the Communist Party.’’ He somewhat 42

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

lamely concluded that ‘‘even such political listing does not mean that the artists’ products would be acceptable under Communist Party line considerations. For example, abstract art is decried by such standards.’’ Despite such evasions, Benton’s note made clear the impact of Busbey’s veiled accusations: Davidson was leaving the department, and his position as visual arts specialist was being abolished.∑π Heindel made one last attempt to stem the tide. At just about the same time that State was abolishing Davidson’s position, Heindel reminded several colleagues in the department of a warning he had issued in December 1946. Advancing American Art would almost certainly involve the department in a swirl of ‘‘debates or accusations, but it should not, by anticipation or in debate, be maneuvered into the very dangerous political and social position of doing a ‘security’ check on the producers of the United States whose artistic and literary products help to make up American culture.’’ There would be ‘‘no happy end to this sort of thing. Should such an activity become known—as it certainly would—the very structure of the information and cultural program of the Department, in my opinion, would receive a taint from which no professional integrity could rescue it.’’∑∫ It was too late. The final blow came on 2 April, when President Harry S. Truman became directly involved in the controversy. In a letter to Benton, the president began by stating that he did not ‘‘pretend to be an artist or a judge of art.’’ He then directly proceeded to his judgment of the art in the Advancing American Art collection. The work in the collection was ‘‘the vaporings of half-baked lazy people.’’ A real work of art should be one that shows the ‘‘infinite ability for taking pains’’; none of the ‘‘socalled modern paintings show any such infinite ability.’’ He reminded Benton that there were ‘‘many American artists who still believe that the ability to make things look as they are is the first requisite of a great artist.’’ Modern art failed this important test: ‘‘There is no art at all in connection with the modernists in my opinion.’’ It was later reported that Truman, upon seeing a reproduction of Yasuo Kuniyoshi’s Circus Girl Resting, declared, ‘‘If that’s art, I’m a Hottentot.’’∑Ω The end for Advancing American Art came quickly following the president’s outburst. On 4 April, it was reported that Secretary Marshall ordered that the exhibits in Czechoslovakia and Haiti be kept in place until further instructions. Less than three weeks later, a House Appropriations subcommittee voted to eliminate the oic’s funds from the 1948 budget. Just a few days after that action, Davidson’s resignation and the elimination of his position took e√ect. During the first weeks of May, both ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

43

Benton and Marshall testified before Congress in an attempt to save what they could of the oic’s budget. Marshall bluntly declared that there would be ‘‘no more taxpayers’ money for modern art.’’ Even Benton, who had continued to fight a rearguard action in defense of the art program, finally gave in, declaring, ‘‘If Congress decides it wants no art program, I do not want the art to jeopardize the broadcasting [of the Voice of America]. . . . We would kill the art if Congress so decides, even (though) those who have studied it believe it has a good deal to contribute.’’ Although Congress eventually voted to keep the cultural diplomacy program going, albeit on a very reduced budget, Marshall ordered the return of the Advancing American Art exhibit from Prague in June 1947.∏≠ After the paintings from Prague and Haiti arrived back in the United States, the only question that remained was what to do with them now that the art program had e√ectively been eliminated. To that end, the Department of State established a ‘‘panel of specialists’’ to advise it on the disposition of the Advancing American Art collection. It was a stellar group: Duncan Phillips, director of the Phillips Gallery in Washington; Grace McCann Morley, director of the San Francisco Museum of Art; Juliana Force, director of the Whitney Museum; and others of similar reputations and qualifications. They would help the Department of State deal with ‘‘this thorny question.’’ Benton, however, had already come to his own conclusion. He was ‘‘increasingly of the opinion that a considerable percentage of the pictures in this art exhibit should be sold.’’ In one of his last memorandums to Secretary Marshall before retiring in September, Benton indicated that he had already taken steps to sell the collection. Only the War Assets Administration was ‘‘legally authorized’’ to carry out such a sale of property and it had agreed to do so ‘‘without the usual procedures which might involve unnecessary publicity.’’ He reminded Marshall that ‘‘pictures are not like trucks; we owe an obligation to the artists and must not undermine their reputation.’’ Benton hoped that, with this action, Marshall would ‘‘hear no more of this; but of course you may. It, for some months, will remain potentially hot.’’∏∞ The seventy-nine oil paintings of Advancing American Art, together with thirty-eight watercolors also purchased by the State Department, were sold through a sealed-bid auction in the summer of 1948. An article on the eleven best painters in America that appeared in February 1948 might have helped sales. Seven of the artists listed were represented in the department’s art collection. In one final touch of irony, the article appeared in Look, the magazine that helped fuel the criticisms of Advancing American Art in the first place. The big winners in the auction were the 44

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

University of Oklahoma and Auburn University; each school purchased thirty-six paintings. The entire collection, which had been modestly appraised at $85,000, fetched less than $6,000. An O’Kee√e went for $50, a John Marin for $100. Other paintings went for as little as $6.25.∏≤ NOT ONE CENT FOR UNDERSTANDING

The Advancing American Art debacle was, without a doubt, a stunning setback to those who believed in an American overseas art program. Not surprisingly, most of the studies done on the episode accentuate the criticisms raised against the collection and the government’s capitulation. Indeed, Margaret Ausfeld argues that the significance of Advancing American Art lies primarily in the negative response it generated. Jane de Hart Mathews, in her 1976 article, concludes that the sad end of the exhibit indicated that, ‘‘The perception of avant-garde art as un-American had now been incorporated into o≈cial policy.’’ And Frank Ninkovich contends that the ‘‘denial of liberalism’’ at home and a ‘‘wholly negative quality of isolationism’’ abroad ‘‘converged in an apparent dead-end for cultural policy.’’∏≥ In their focus on the uninformed and sometimes irrational attacks on Advancing American Art and the miserable conclusion of the episode, scholars have tended to downplay or overlook one very important point. While the boosters of the art program—both inside and outside of the government—were certainly disheartened by the collapse of the exhibit, they did not accept that fate quietly. Their protests were vigorous and, though they did not alter the fate of Advancing American Art, served to galvanize their deeply held belief that art, particularly American art, had an important role to play in the postwar world. Many in the American art community were shocked and horrified by the Department of State’s cancellation of Advancing American Art ; a number of individuals directed their more vitriolic comments toward Congress and its role in the fiasco. Peyton Boswell called the cancellation of the exhibit ‘‘a Pyrrhic victory.’’ As for the congressmen responsible, he reminded his readers that ‘‘the number of congressmen who have any genuine interest in American art can be counted on the toes of Ahab’s one leg.’’ Edward Alden Jewell, who referred to the episode as ‘‘the art crisis’’ in the New York Times, could not contain his indignation. The department’s action in response to the criticisms demonstrated an ‘‘abject capitulation in the face of ridicule and smear.’’ Benton, Marshall, and others had been ‘‘intimidated by myopic reactionary attacks.’’ The department’s acquiescence in this sorry event demonstrated that ‘‘a powerful retrogresADVANCING AMERICAN ART

45

sive movement has already gained dangerous momentum in this country and that it may well lead to disastrous consequences unless checked in time.’’ The episode was, he concluded, ‘‘one of the most provocative and shocking developments since America became a cultural force in the world.’’ Jo Gibbs, writing in Art Digest, objected to the exhibition’s use as a ‘‘political football, involved in acres of red herrings, the subject of a mile or more of newsprint, angry petitions and Congressional investigation.’’∏∂ One of the points made most often by the defenders of Advancing American Art was that it was developed in response to requests from foreign nations, not on the arbitrary decisions of Davidson or the Department of State. As Boswell explained, ‘‘this collection was modern because it was requested specifically by foreign authorities that America demonstrate what she is producing in modern art.’’ Ralph Pearson devoted one of his columns in Art Digest to listing the various requests from Costa Rica, Uruguay, Norway, Venezuela, Hungary, and Brazil. And he reminded his readers that the real purpose of the exhibit was ‘‘to show, in response to numerous requests, the creative side of contemporary American painting, to demonstrate to the informed opinion of Europe and South America that we are holding our own in the international modern renaissance.’’∏∑ Beyond this very practical matter, many members of the American art world saw the attack on Advancing American Art as a form of censorship that would menace the concept of freedom of expression. Grace Morley described the denunciations of the art exhibit as evidence of an ‘‘intolerant, reactionary and destructive point of view, obviously so contrary to our professed profound beliefs in this country.’’ A former director of paintings for moma, James Johnson Sweeney, spoke before a group protesting the stoppage of the exhibition and decried the ‘‘criticisms that had been e√ective in stopping the tour as a threat to liberty of expression, and foresaw serious consequences if we condoned it.’’ An editorial in the Magazine of Art reminded readers that ‘‘although the present victims are exclusively modernists whom some people might feel more comfortable without, the historic pattern of censorship guarantees no amnesty to academicians in the future.’’ The editorial made clear exactly what sort of ‘‘historic pattern’’ to which it referred. ‘‘ ‘So what?’ too many Americans are saying. That’s what too many Germans said when their newspapers began using similar phrases in the 1920’s.’’ Other commentators also drew comparisons with Nazi Germany, as well as the Soviet Union, in condemning the State Department’s cancellation of Advancing American Art. Peyton Boswell noted, ‘‘A deadly parallel may be drawn from the similar 46

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

artistic products of the only two modern states that have attempted to control their creative artists—Hitler’s Germany and Stalin’s Russia.’’ A veterans group wrote directly to Secretary Marshall to voice its disapproval, reminding the general that ‘‘we fought under your leadership to preserve the Four Freedoms.’’ The organization also pointed out that ‘‘modern art as a force for the expression of democratic ideas is evidenced by the fact that genuine modernity in art was not tolerated in the Fascist dictatorships. The . . . diatribes against modern art are only too reminiscent of similar attacks by Hitler.’’∏∏ What was also evident in the criticisms of the cancellation of Advancing American Art was a deep disappointment over what was perceived as a crushing setback to the use of American art as a means for international understanding and peace. Alfred Frankfurter glumly concluded that ‘‘the State Department’s international art program is past saving.’’ He pointed the finger directly at Congress, which ‘‘besides not being art-minded, it is not culture-minded nor even international information-minded.’’ The executive secretary of the Artists League of America implored Assistant Secretary Benton to save the exhibition, claiming that ‘‘development of cultural relationship[s] with other countries will go a long way toward establishing a lasting peace and good will among the nations.’’ A letter from the afa to museums and galleries across the country asked them to join in the protest against the destruction of the international art program ‘‘so that the United States may remain an important and active force for Peace in the world through cultural understanding.’’ Journalist Marquis Childs editorialized that ‘‘there is a terrible irony in all this. Among those who sneer and jeer the loudest at any e√ort to further understanding between people are the noisiest sword-rattlers. . . . Not one cent for understanding, but billions for armaments.’’∏π Childs might have noted another irony, as did artist Peppino Mangravite. Mangravite expressed his dismay over the cancellation of Advancing American Art as an attack on freedom of expression. However, he had equally serious reservations about having artists become too involved in ‘‘political diplomacy.’’ He urged ‘‘segregating art from politics and politics from art.’’ While noting that ‘‘Secretary Marshall does not know much about modern art,’’ he also believed that ‘‘artists know less about diplomacy and politics.’’ The debate over the Department of State’s international art program had ‘‘caused widespread confusion over the meaning, use, and function of art.’’∏∫ Although Mangravite did not go into detail about the ‘‘confusion’’ he addressed, the events and discussion leading up to and surrounding Advancing American Art give us a good ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

47

idea of what he meant. Many American artists, critics, museum directors, and other art lovers were dedicated to the proposal that America’s art had important and timely roles to play in the postwar world, including increasing international understanding and assisting in the maintenance of global peace. For them, America’s art spoke for itself. They were reluctant, therefore, to consider art as American ‘‘propaganda’’ or ‘‘political diplomacy.’’ Art should speak to the human spirit—the country of the soul—not for a particular ideology or nation. This attitude stood in relatively stark contrast to the thinking proposed by many Department of State o≈cials (and some members of the art world) concerned with cultural diplomacy. They, not surprisingly, were concerned with very specific ends for the international art program: battling communism, improving America’s image overseas, and attracting allies. They sought, and eventually received, direct control over the artistic ‘‘products’’ sent overseas, selecting what was sent and where it was exhibited. This confusion over the ‘‘meaning, use, and function’’ of art in America’s cultural diplomacy provided a ready opening for the naysayers. Congressmen, journalists, and conservative art organizations battered Advancing American Art and, by implication, the entire international art program as having no value in the overseas realm, either as goodwill gesture or diplomatic initiative. The supporters of the exhibit in the American art community were branded as ‘‘radical modernists,’’ unAmerican liberals, or even communists. Their calls for international understanding, for ‘‘one world’’ of peace and brotherhood, and for art as an antidote to an increasingly mechanized world gave plenty of ammunition to the nascent cold warriors in American society who increasingly viewed the world in distinct tones of black and white, good and evil. The Department of State came under fire for wasting the taxpayers’ money and for playing into the hands of international communism by sending such lunatic and un-American art abroad as representative of U.S. culture and society. The dismal end of Advancing American Art, however, did not spell the demise of America’s international art program. Indeed, even as the last of the paintings from the exhibit were being auctioned o√, many in the art community and a few hardy souls in the Department of State who continued to believe in cultural diplomacy were planning and organizing new assaults. It would not be an easy task. They would have to convince Congress and the American people that art was a valuable international asset for the United States; that modern art was not un-American or communistic; and that art and government were compatible entities. For 48

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

American artists, museum directors, and critics and o≈cials in the Department of State, it would also mean adaptation and compromise. The former would have to come to accept the notion that an o≈cial international art program, to survive and flourish, would necessarily have to show concrete results in terms of foreign relations. Pleasant sounding rhetoric about ‘‘understanding,’’ ‘‘hope,’’ and ‘‘civilization’’ would not be enough to sustain government support. For the latter, the painful experience of Advancing American Art suggested that, like it or not, more control would have to be given over to art professionals. Somewhere between art as a salve to the ‘‘country of the soul’’ and art as ‘‘propaganda in the best sense,’’ the Department of State and many in the American art community would have to find a middle ground.

ADVANCING AMERICAN ART

49

2 ART AS A WEAPON

In June 1951, Eloise Spaeth, a noted art collector and member of the board of trustees of the afa, spoke to the group’s annual convention. In the audience were several o≈cials from the Department of State, and Spaeth praised their e√orts in the realm of cultural diplomacy. She noted with dismay, however, the recent demise of the department’s art program: ‘‘You all know the sad saga of our State Department shows. At the first word of criticism we ran for cover. Congressmen who couldn’t tell an Inness from a Maxfield Parrish demanded that the exhibitions be recalled. It was quite a spectacle. The Colossus America afraid to stand by its own paint brushes.’’ It was now time, she declared, to reinvigorate the art program, ‘‘not in a half-hearted apologetic way, but with a vigor born of pride.’’ She realized that many in the audience might recoil from the suggestion that art form a part of America’s ‘‘propaganda,’’ and she was careful to draw a distinction between the afa and the Department of State when it came to international art exhibits. ‘‘You and I,’’ she stated, addressing the department o≈cials in attendance, ‘‘have di√erent reasons for wanting our visual arts known abroad. We are not primarily interested in using art as an instrument of propaganda. We love this particular art form (or we wouldn’t be gathered here today). Loving, we want to share it. We want exchange. We want our artists to receive the stimulation of seeing what artists in other parts of the world are doing and the satisfaction of knowing that their work is going forth to unbounded audiences.’’ Spaeth realized, however, that to sell the idea of an art program in the uncultured halls of Congress would not be easy. ‘‘We can’t expect all Congressmen to share or even understand the views of our limited world, but we can expect them to be smart enough to use a tool at hand—to fight back with the same weapons our enemies are wise enough to

use.’’ In short, Congress would have to be convinced of the ‘‘need for and importance of the arts as propaganda.’’∞ In the years following the Advancing American Art fiasco, both the American art world and the Department of State stepped back to reconsider the possibilities and problems associated with an international art program. Critics, museum directors, artists, and others were bitter and frustrated over the experience but remained committed to bringing American art to the world. Department o≈cials were understandably gun-shy following the denouement of Advancing American Art, but many still believed that cultural diplomacy, including the use of U.S. art, was an important aspect of America’s postwar international propaganda program. In the wake of the ignominious disposal of the State Department’s art collection in 1948 and continuing through the first Eisenhower administration, both sides began to test out a number of theories and practices designed to facilitate a functional and e√ective international art program. Whether for the love of art or the needs of Cold War propaganda, each group was determined to find a way to sidestep the criticisms and accusations that led to the destruction of the Advancing American Art show. A GUIDING LIGHT AND ARTICLE OF FAITH

If the dismantling of the Department of State’s art program was a shocking blow to many in the American art world, it did not deter them in their e√orts eventually to make such a program a reality. In some ways, the savage attacks on Advancing American Art only served to sti√en their resolve and belief in the value of art in the post–World War II period. Grace Morley, who worked with unesco on issues related to art during the years 1946–49, recalled, ‘‘We all believed in those days that indeed, we on our level, our intellectual and cultural level, were contributing as the United Nations did on its political and military level, to the elimination of war forever. There was then a hope and a confidence that in retrospect one recalls as a sort of guiding light and article of faith.’’ Others echoed and rea≈rmed the arguments made during and immediately after World War II. Philosopher and author Irwin Edman, writing in the same month that Advancing American Art was shut down, discussed the ‘‘civilizing influence of art.’’ ‘‘The arts,’’ he argued, ‘‘restore to us . . . the birthright of the senses and education in their full and beautiful realization.’’ More important was the work of art in ‘‘restoring feeling to a society that has su√ered what Elizabeth Bowen calls ‘the death of the heart.’ The regimenART AS A WEAPON

51

tation of metropolitan life, the standardization of our urban culture, the prevalence of formulas and abstractions have tended to kill emotion as well as perception.’’ In performing these important tasks, the arts ‘‘become ideal limits, suggestions to the liberal imagination of what society ideally might be.’’≤ Both during the demise of Advancing American Art and in the years after, many American critics, artists, curators, and art lovers continued to hammer home the message that art was necessary to the health and safety of civilization and the planet. Archibald MacLeish trumpeted the value of art museums as vital to the understanding of the millions of ‘‘citizens of a new and dangerous world.’’ It was the minds and spirits of those citizens to which art—and only art—could speak. ‘‘The work to be done,’’ he declared, ‘‘is the work of building in men’s minds the image of the world which now exists in fact outside their minds—the whole and single world of which all men are citizens together.’’ To speak of defense and military strength was foolhardy, for ‘‘there are no longer physical defenses against the weapons of warfare. There are only the defenses of the human spirit.’’ Art could help in demonstrating that ‘‘the world is not an archipelago of islands of humanity divided from each other by distance and by language and by habit, but one land, one whole, one earth in which the hurt of one is the hurt of all and the menace of any part the menace of every part.’’ Galleries and museums were the ‘‘means by which new generations of mankind could find themselves in the chronology of the human spirit.’’ Turning his attention to the developing Cold War, MacLeish argued that ‘‘what is lacking is a sense on both sides of the people as people—of the people as human beings—of the people, in brief, as their arts and their literature and their technology and their physical and intellectual life express them.’’≥ Ben Shahn, one of the artists whose work appeared in Advancing American Art and came under particularly harsh attack, sounded a note at once pessimistic and optimistic in 1949. Art, he believed, was ‘‘the creation of human values.’’ Such values were in desperate shortage, according to Shahn, for mankind was ‘‘living in a time when civilization has become highly expert in the art of destroying human beings and increasingly weak in its power to give meaning to their lives.’’ In this gloomy atmosphere, ‘‘It is peculiarly within the province of the artist to minister to man in the somewhat starved area of the spirit.’’ Lloyd Goodrich, also writing in 1949, claimed that ‘‘the twentieth-century art world, like the political world, has been moving towards internationalism.’’ New York had become one of the world’s ‘‘international art centers,’’ and American 52

ART AS A WEAPON

art was flourishing through the inclusion of many foreign-born artists who had come to live in the United States. Thus, the director of the Whitney Museum reiterated the argument made by many critics and artists during the war: that art was becoming an international means of communication.∂ Bemoaning the lack of U.S. government support for American participation in the 1952 Venice Biennale, Eloise Spaeth argued that ‘‘since the last war, the peoples of the world have come to realize that what was metaphysically true in the 17th Century is political fact today. ‘No man is an island unto himself. When a clod of earth falls into the sea, Europe is the less.’ ’’ There was, she claimed, ‘‘in the peoples of the world a budding of curiosity, interest, friendliness.’’ Artists from many nations were eager to see what their peers in other countries were doing. ‘‘With the contracting of the globe through the swiftness of flight, the instanteity [sic] of the spoken word, comes a need not only to understand what others are striving for in their arts, but to make known the realities of one’s own cultural existence.’’ ‘‘What better ambassador of good will,’’ she asked, could America find than the ambassador of art?∑ These, of course, were all familiar refrains. They had been raised before and during Advancing American Art. Despite the passion with which they were expressed, however, they had done nothing to save the exhibit or the State Department’s art program. The distressing end of Advancing American Art served notice that the defenders of an international art program for the United States would have to develop new and powerful arguments against their critics. To wit, they would have to justify an art program on three grounds: first, that art was e√ective in serving America’s foreign policy interests; second, that modern art (such as that which appeared in Advancing American Art ) was not communistic but was, instead, representative of American values; and third, that government and art, far from being antagonists, were actually quite compatible. ART AS A WEAPON

In the November 1950 edition of the Magazine of Art a ‘‘Symposium on Government and Art’’ was published. Editor Robert Goldwater declared that the issue was one that had ‘‘come to sharp focus at the present time for a number of reasons. Not least of these is this country’s growing international role, and our increasing realization that both guns and butter as exports (or gifts) are insu≈cient international vehicles for a country which prides itself on its power to oppose materialism.’’ James ART AS A WEAPON

53

Thrall Soby, a trustee of both the afa and the Museum of Modern Art, was even more explicit when he stated that ‘‘in this deadly era of the Cold War, it is of vital importance that we should mobilize our cultural assets to promote a better international understanding of what we are really about as a nation.’’ The United States, he suggested, had ‘‘meekly accepted the propaganda verdict, slyly and ubiquitously spread throughout Europe, that our national biceps are dollars and guns.’’ It was imperative, he believed, to ‘‘reveal to the peoples of the world that side of American character which goes deeper than questions of power or price.’’∏ The observations by Goldwater and Soby were but two of many examples of a very clear change taking place in terms of the arguments used to support an American international art program. Prior to the Advancing American Art disaster, supporters of such a program occasionally made reference to the possible propaganda value of sending American art abroad, but they largely couched their rationale in terms of art as a tool for international peace and understanding. After the last of the Advancing American Art paintings had been auctioned o√ in 1948, however, the rhetoric began to take on a very di√erent tone. In short, instead of as a tool to create a better world, art was increasingly portrayed as a weapon that might serve the needs of American diplomacy and, perhaps, help thwart the march of communism. The ‘‘art as diplomacy’’ message crept into an article by Lloyd Goodrich in late 1948. Lamenting the demise of Advancing American Art, he argued that ‘‘one of the most important governmental art activities today should be the use of American art in our cultural relations with other nations.’’ It was time, he declared, that the world knew that America made more than ‘‘e≈cient automobiles, airplanes and atom bombs.’’ In a 1951 report to unesco on international art exchanges, L. M. C. Smith of the afa observed, ‘‘Our true attainments and ideals are truly expressed by our artists and creative minds, quite unconscious of any possible propagandistic employment.’’ Yet he quickly made clear that he was quite conscious of the diplomatic value of American art, claiming that ‘‘the trust, confidence, and respect of other nations in our country are terribly important today.’’ Demonstrating America’s very real cultural achievements would help to show the world that we were ‘‘worthy of this trust and respect.’’ Art was a perfect medium, since it could ‘‘reach thousands of people.’’ After all, ‘‘We are not a nation of nuts and bolts.’’ And in early 1953, Robert Goldwater approvingly quoted from a recent article that argued that America’s art was ‘‘what all the propaganda writers are looking for and wish were theirs, a true Esperanto. . . . From it the rest of the 54

ART AS A WEAPON

world will learn far more about the United States. . . . Let us export our music, our painting, and our literature and forget about the advertising leaflets and preliminary selling copy.’’π Eloise Spaeth, in her 1951 talk, spoke at length about the failures of the United States in terms of cultural diplomacy. She chastised America for its failure to exhibit its art overseas and challenged her government to do what most of the nations of Western Europe had already done: build a national exhibition building for the Venice Biennale, the most important international art show in the world. (The American exhibition hall in Venice had been built and was maintained by private funds; other nations had government-funded buildings.) If a few ‘‘public-minded citizens’’ in America had not lent their financial support, the ‘‘United States would have had to su√er the indignity of a ‘not occupied’ sign on the door at a time when we were terribly concerned over the possibility of the Communists coming to power in Italy.’’ She marveled that ‘‘the Voice of America was being beamed at them daily to counteract Communist propaganda. Isn’t it strange that our Government did not think of or did not consider using art as a weapon. . . ?’’ Her husband, businessman Otto Spaeth, was equally adamant about the role American art might have in the nation’s diplomacy. Citing the Advancing American Art debacle, the refusal of the United States government to construct a national exhibition building at Venice, and a more recent refusal to participate in an art show in India, he concluded that ‘‘for the people of the world, all these cases and others like them serve to confirm their suspicions about America—suspicions that Hollywood films support, that communist propaganda underlines and that we ourselves, tragically, rea≈rm again and again.’’ In sum, ‘‘Art presents American foreign policy with a tremendous opportunity’’ to counteract the widespread belief that ‘‘Americans are materialistic, with little interest in anything that doesn’t make money.’’∫ The internationally known architect, Oskar Stonorov, perhaps summed up the issue most precisely when in 1951 he urged the afa to ‘‘make strong representations to Congress for the need of such financial assistance to American art. There is so much produced artistically in the U.S. today that might be as potent a weapon abroad as martial supplies and manpower. Such artistic production must be exported—the world is most eager to see.’’Ω The ‘‘art as weapon’’ argument lingered in the background of the discussions among those in the American art world concerning U.S. overseas art exhibits prior to the stunning end of Advancing American Art. Stung by that reversal, they began to pepper their speeches and ART AS A WEAPON

55

writings with more and more references to the diplomatic value of American art, both in terms of creating greater ‘‘trust and respect’’ for the United States and in combating communist propaganda that focused on their nation’s ‘‘materialistic’’ bent. Yet, for this argument to be e√ective, it would also be necessary to remove from American modern art (the art form usually considered as that which the ‘‘world is most eager to see’’) the taint of anti-Americanism and/or communism it had acquired during the vitriolic denunciations of Advancing American Art. IS MODERN ART COMMUNISTIC?

In the wake of the elimination of the Advancing American Art collection, the conservative art critic Thomas Craven took part in a debate about the state of modern art in America. As evidence of what he viewed as the ‘‘degraded’’ nature of the genre, he targeted the recently abolished State Department collection. He also indicted the Museum of Modern Art—a ‘‘Rockefeller plant riddled by cultural sicknesses’’—and its director, Alfred Barr. Barr, he claimed, was the ‘‘master of a style that is one part erudition and nine parts the attenuated lingo of the hothouse,’’ and he ruled over a museum that was a ‘‘glittering depot of exotic importations and the claptrap of a few culled Americans who have nothing American about them.’’ He specifically noted that Barr ‘‘writes books on Picasso, the Red idol deified by the Parisian Bohemia that he rules, and on other such deadly phenomena.’’ In response, author Holger Cahill could only muse that Craven’s scathing attack on modern art, and on Barr in particular, was ‘‘so intemperate that it must be considered an expression of emotional tension and not a view of facts.’’∞≠ Although it was easy for Cahill to dismiss Craven’s remarks as ‘‘intemperate’’ and ‘‘emotional,’’ few could deny that they also reflected many of the sentiments that e√ectively scuttled the State Department’s art program. The suggestion that modern art was somehow ‘‘un-American,’’ combined with subtle, and not-so-subtle attempts to link modern art with communism, had been used with devastating e√ect by critics of Advancing American Art. In the months and years following that fiasco, the defenders of an American overseas art program launched a counterattack, suggesting that not only was modern art not communistic, it was instead a symbol of American creativity, individualism, and freedom of expression. Modern art, far from being un-American, was actually an amazingly e√ective answer to America’s communist enemies. An opening salvo in this counterattack appeared in 1950, in the form 56

ART AS A WEAPON

of ‘‘A Statement on Modern Art.’’ Issued by the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston, the Museum of Modern Art, and the Whitney Museum of American Art, the statement began by lauding the modern movement as ‘‘a vital force’’ in the world of art. The new forms of art were ‘‘contributing to humanism in the deepest sense, by helping humanity come to terms with the modern world.’’ Abstract art, in particular, was ‘‘an expression of thought and emotion and the basic human aspirations toward freedom and order. In these ways modern art contributes to the dignity of man.’’ The museums explicitly rejected ‘‘the assumption that art which is esthetically an innovation must somehow be socially or politically subversive, and therefore un-American,’’ and ‘‘the reckless and ignorant use of political or moral terms in attacking modern art.’’ The statement reminded readers that both the Nazis and the Soviets ‘‘suppressed modern art.’’∞∞ Sidney Hook, whose anticommunist credentials could hardly be questioned, also launched a vigorous attack on what he referred to as ‘‘cultural vigilantism.’’ ‘‘Teachers, artists, writers, editors and others in the popular eye are being pilloried because they do not see eye to eye with these selfappointed censors,’’ he argued. It was almost as if, he declared, the ‘‘cultural vigilantes hate fellow Americans whose strategy of opposing communism di√ers from theirs more than they hate communism.’’ And an article in UN World bluntly asked, ‘‘Just What Is Communistic Painting?’’ It went right to the core of the issue when it stated, ‘‘The temptation to carry the cold war beyond politics and into the fields of art has overcome both protagonists.’’ Russian artists were called ‘‘decadent’’ and ‘‘bourgeois,’’ while ‘‘American writers and painters have felt the same sort of smear-criticism.’’ Such criticisms were simply wrongheaded, since ‘‘political labels, whether commendatory or smearing, don’t make sense.’’∞≤ Not surprisingly, Alfred Barr was one of the leading figures in the fight to detach the stigma of communism from modern art. In an article in 1952, Barr chided the critics of modern art: ‘‘Because they don’t like and don’t understand modern art they call it communistic. They couldn’t be more mistaken.’’ Barr went on to suggest that totalitarian societies— specifically Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union—used much the same language to criticize, and eventually ban, modern art. It made for a clever and rather devastating argument: only the worst dictatorships attempted to censor their artists, and only the most undemocratic societies tried to stifle modern art. ‘‘To call modern art communistic,’’ Barr concluded, ‘‘is bizarre as well as very damaging to modern artists. . . . Those who assert or imply that modern art is a subversive instrument of the Kremlin are ART AS A WEAPON

57

guilty of fantastic falsehoods.’’ Writing to his good friend Burton Cumming of the afa, Barr applauded the ‘‘ ‘cultural propaganda’ ’’ of sending U.S. art overseas. He warned, however, that ‘‘such e√orts have really been outweighed ten to one by the European suspicions that the United States is running serious risks of losing its own cultural freedom.’’∞≥ The editor of Magazine of Art, Robert Goldwater, rebuked a reader who had recently canceled her subscription because of the publication’s support of modern art. In doing so, he neatly summed up the position of the defenders of modern art. ‘‘We do not believe modern art is in any way subversive of democracy but rather an expression of its freedom, and we believe that the Communists’ objection to it supports our position. And finally, we believe in freedom of expression for American artists and would not wish, as you apparently do, to suppress those kinds of art with which you happen to disagree.’’∞∂ Taken as a whole, the arguments championed by the defenders of American art formed an extremely important basis for a U.S. overseas art program. American art could serve as not simply an international language for peace and understanding, but also as a powerful component of the U.S. cultural propaganda arsenal. In this regard, modern art was particularly suitable as a diplomatic weapon. Modern art was not unAmerican. Indeed, it was symbolic of the very nature of America— freedom-loving, experimental, and humane. And as many writers were quick to ask, how could the same art branded as communistic also inspire the wrath of the Soviet (and Nazi) governments? The implication was clear: here was an art form—an American art form—uniquely equipped to serve in the war of words and ideas with the communists. Only one barrier remained to making a U.S. overseas art program a reality. Its proponents would have to overcome the deep suspicions aroused in many Americans whenever it was suggested that the U.S. government somehow support or subsidize art. ART AND GOVERNMENT, GOVERNMENT AND ART

In late 1950, James Thrall Soby clearly stated what most people involved in the American art world felt to be absolutely true. Commenting on the demise of Advancing American Art, he asked, ‘‘But cannot private enterprise do adequately the job of international cultural communication? The bald fact is that it cannot.’’ Soby cited cost as one factor. Even the art and philanthropic organizations that might undertake the exhibition of American art abroad, he claimed, were ‘‘overburdened’’ with other re58

ART AS A WEAPON

sponsibilities. Yet there was a more important point to consider. ‘‘Europeans are by now quite willing to concede that there are individual Americans who are passionately interested in the arts. What would impress them most would be a more o≈cial and direct indication that as a nation we share with them a profound and widespread concern for things of the spirit.’’ Quite simply, Soby concluded, ‘‘if our art is to take its rightful place in the international mainstream, if it is to impress those foreign peoples whose understanding we need, it will require the prestige—and the funds—of federal aid.’’∞∑ As we have seen, however, federal aid to the arts in America had a rocky and not very promising history. The U.S. government had always been what historian Gary Larson has referred to as the ‘‘reluctant patron.’’ Politicians in Washington, and many of their constituents, had long been fearful of any o≈cial connection between government and art. Some of the concerns were strictly aesthetic and focused on the issue of the creation of an ‘‘o≈cial art,’’ somewhat like the state-mandated socialist realism of the Soviet Union. Others considered it a waste of taxpayers’ money to use government funds to encourage or subsidize art. And, of course, politics entered into the picture whenever the question of what kind of art (or artist) should be granted help from the state.∞∏ The debates over the Advancing American Art collection reflected many of those old concerns—the ‘‘waste’’ of taxpayers’ money, complaints that one style or school of art was being favored over another, suspicions that the art and artists involved in the exhibit were unAmerican and possibility communist. In order for an American international art program to become a reality, therefore, the idea that art and government should remain isolated from one another would have to be dispelled. It was one thing to talk about art as a potential diplomatic weapon and another to explain how modern art was actually a potent propaganda statement against dictatorship and communism, but it would be quite a di√erent matter to explain exactly how art and government could work together in constructing a viable overseas art program. In 1948–49, shortly after the final disposal of the Advancing American Art collection, Goodrich became the driving force behind the establishment of the Committee on Government and Art (cga). Using his position as chairman of the afa’s committee of the same name, he urged that the afa support the formation of a national committee to ‘‘consider the whole question of the relation of government and art in the United States.’’ Once that organization committed to the idea, Goodrich made similar entreaties to the Association of Art Museum Directors, the NaART AS A WEAPON

59

tional Academy of Design, the College Art Association, Artists Equity Association, and the National Institute of Arts and Letters. All of these groups agreed to participate, and each appointed three representatives to what came to be known as the Committee on Government and Art. The first meeting of the committee was held in February 1950, with Goodrich as chair. What was needed, he declared in his opening statement to the attendees, was a ‘‘central agency through which the art functions of the various governmental departments could be channeled.’’ He was well aware of the ‘‘danger of over-centralized control by such an agency’’ and stressed the need for it to be ‘‘counterbalanced by professional advisory or supervisory bodies, nominated by the art professions and representing all leading fields and tendencies in the art world.’’ Although the group had as its general goal the establishment of a closer and better defined relationship between American art and the U.S. government, the specific issue of a U.S. international art program was also important to the cga. In a draft resolution prepared by Goodrich for submission to President Harry Truman, the committee declared its belief that ‘‘the works of American artists should be more extensively used in cultural exchanges with other nations.’’ The statement emphasized that ‘‘in the present international situation, such exchanges are essential to promote understanding among other peoples of America’s cultural contributions.’’ Goodrich attacked past government e√orts in this regard as ‘‘vacillating and inconsistent.’’ George Biddle, one of the representatives from Artists Equity Association, reported on a recent meeting with Secretary of State Dean Acheson and William Johnstone, director of the State Department’s Educational Exchange program. The latter stated that the department would ‘‘welcome the establishment of a bureau of fine arts, which would give added prestige to the cultural activities now being carried on by the department with unesco and with foreign governments, and at the same time would relieve the department of many headaches and responsibilities.’’∞π Goodrich reiterated this point in 1951, telling the members of the cga that ‘‘one of the most essential governmental art activities today should be exchanges of art exhibitions, material and personnel with other nations. In the present world situation, the importance of this is too obvious to need lengthy discussion.’’ Private American museums and art organizations ‘‘lack the funds or sta√ ’’ to meet the foreign demand for American art exhibits. The answer was clear: ‘‘This highly important activity can be handled adequately only with governmental financing and through the world-wide facilities of the State Department.’’∞∫ David Finley, director of the National Gallery of Art and chairman of 60

ART AS A WEAPON

the Commission of Fine Arts, was wary of both Goodrich and the cga. Even before the first meeting of the cga, Finley expressed his suspicion that ‘‘Lloyd’s hope is that the Government may spend a great deal more money on behalf of art, especially contemporary art. I think there is very little possibility of this happening at the present time.’’ In the event that he could not attend the first meeting of the cga, he urged one of the other representatives to ‘‘do your best to prevent the passage of any resolution that might have unfortunate repercussions in Washington.’’ Finley was equally clear in explaining why he opposed the establishment of some kind of ‘‘central agency’’ to facilitate greater cooperation between art and government: it already existed in the form of the National Gallery of Art. In an interview with a writer for an art magazine in early 1950, Finley proclaimed that his museum was ‘‘unique in one respect: it belongs to no one city or state but to all the people of the country.’’ The National Gallery ‘‘could operate an International O≈ce, as we did the Inter-American O≈ce, and could facilitate, in cooperation with other museums, the exchange of exhibitions between this and other countries.’’ The writer, obviously impressed by Finley’s arguments, also reflected the director’s antipathy concerning the expenditure of public funds for contemporary art: ‘‘Although in the history of the U.S. allocation of government funds for the work of living artists has been neglible [sic] when weighed against other expenditures, it has not been free from political pressures.’’ In such instances, ‘‘Government agencies are necessarily timid and touchy. That is why the National Gallery’s non-political set-up is of the greatest importance.’’∞Ω Yet Finley and his supporters within the National Gallery and the Commission of Fine Arts agreed with Goodrich on one key point: the overseas exhibition of American art was important, and the U.S. government should play a role in facilitating such a program. George Biddle, who served under Finley on the cfa, wrote him in January 1951 complaining that Goodrich was not emphasizing the point enough. It was obvious to him that ‘‘no program would receive the President’s consideration which was not intimately connected with the national defense.’’ A few days later, Finley met with President Truman and gave him a letter prepared by Biddle. The letter urged that in ‘‘the national emergency which our country faces—and will continue to face for the foreseeable future,’’ the ‘‘desirability of mobilizing the cultural activities of the Government, as of the entire country, in the overall picture of our national defense’’ was apparent. The Department of State, Biddle explained, ‘‘is aware of this situation and would welcome a greater use of art in our ART AS A WEAPON

61

national education and to sell democracy to the world.’’ The National Gallery, the cfa, and the afa stood ready to help. (No mention was made of the cga.) The next day, Truman wrote to Finley urging him to prepare ‘‘practical recommendations on how best to integrate and reorganize the present governmental art activities both in the regular set-up and the Defense set-up.’’≤≠ Finley wasted little time in taking up the task. In March 1951, he called a meeting of the cfa to consider the issue of ‘‘government and art.’’ The featured speaker was William Johnstone, the director of the Department of State’s Educational Exchange program. Johnstone applauded the cfa for its initiative, but his comments also provided interesting insights into exactly why an administration that had so recently overseen the destruction of the Advancing American Art exhibition now seemed so keenly interested in sending the nation’s art abroad. He began with very general statements about the ‘‘vacuum of ignorance about the United States in other countries,’’ and about how ‘‘Communist propaganda’’ spread insidious ‘‘distortions’’ about Americans as a people with ‘‘no culture, that we are a materialistic people.’’ The aim of U.S. cultural diplomacy, therefore, was to ‘‘demonstrate that we are not just a group of dollar-chasing Americans.’’ All of this, he claimed, was behind the passage of the Information and Educational Exchange Act (more commonly known as the SmithMundt Act) in 1948 to establish ‘‘a program to increase the understanding between the American people and other peoples.’’ Johnstone was emphatic in pointing out, however, that ‘‘a demonstration of American cultural values overseas in our minds is far more important now than it was in 1948 because . . . in the current world situation if the United States is viewed abroad as only a materialistic country, we will not get the cooperation from other peoples and other governments that we want in holding the free world together.’’ He did not elaborate on the ‘‘current world situation,’’ but he did not have to do so. All of the men gathered at this meeting understood his meaning. Since 1948, the United States had witnessed the fall of China to communism, the explosion of an atomic device by the Soviet Union, and the outbreak of a bloody and costly war in Korea. Johnstone was clear, however, in explaining how the Soviets were embarking on a new and powerful cultural diplomacy o√ensive. He had recently reviewed a ‘‘very substantial collection’’ of communist propaganda produced by the Soviet Union and ‘‘disseminated very widely.’’ In India alone, he claimed, the Soviets were ‘‘spending about $5 million a year.’’ The one theme that was ‘‘constantly recurrent throughout the Soviet propaganda is that Americans are gum chewers, movie-goers; they 62

ART AS A WEAPON

have no interest in anything except the material pleasures of life.’’ It was vitally necessary to counteract this propaganda, for ‘‘if people have no appreciation of America beyond that of a materialistic nation, then they are likely to accept that view of the United States and therefore unlikely to accept cooperative activity with us.’’≤∞ Eventually, the cga and cfa issued separate reports on the subject of government and art. The cfa’s report came out in July 1953; Goodrich’s committee followed with a report in May 1954.≤≤ Both came long after Truman left o≈ce, and neither had any notable impact in terms of acquiring more government support for the arts or in establishing any sort of ‘‘central agency’’ to coordinate government art activities. However, their calls for more government support of the international exhibition of U.S. art did manage to find a receptive audience in the Truman administration. The Cold War setbacks of 1949 and 1950 suggested that perhaps Robert Goldwater had been right in 1950 when he observed that American ‘‘guns and butter’’ were insu≈cient as diplomatic tools for the United States. All that was needed now was an opportunity to demonstrate that art could indeed be an e√ective Cold War weapon, that modern art could serve American propaganda, and that government and the art world could cooperate in establishing an international art program. That opportunity, when it came, surprised everyone. TO CONVERT AND TO PERSUADE

In September 1951, over 10,000 citizens of West Berlin came face to face with American painting. Sixty-five works of art, the vast majority of them in the modern or abstract style, were put on display as part of the Berlin Cultural Festival. For most of the German visitors, it marked the first time they were confronted with art from the United States. Among the artists on display were Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, and Georgia O’Kee√e. German critics responded with curiosity, praise, and, in more than one instance, amazement that the United States could actually produce such art. Tagesspiegel noted the ‘‘generosity of artistic view,’’ the ‘‘healthy playfulness,’’ and the ‘‘intellectual joy’’ so evident in the paintings. ‘‘American art has been almost unknown here because European art history books usually ignore what was going on over there,’’ lamented Die Neue Zeitung. The newspaper continued, ‘‘Here they are, at last, genuine American paintings.’’ Finally, Volksblatt voiced what was likely a widely held perception: the exhibit, it declared, was ‘‘all the more interesting, since—to be honest—most of us had no idea that there actually exists ART AS A WEAPON

63

something like art over there.’’ Tagesspiegel agreed, concluding that the show was ‘‘a surprise and quite a novelty in Berlin.’’≤≥ Perhaps no one was more surprised to find American modern and abstract art in West Berlin in 1951 than the U.S. government o≈cials and various members of the American art community who helped organize and fund the exhibit. After all, it had been just five years since the Advancing American Art debacle. The dramatic reappearance of American painting—particularly modern and abstract painting—in West Berlin in 1951 is therefore of particular interest. How and why did an American art style, vilified and in essence censored in 1946–48, come to play a role in the U.S. cultural e√ort in West Germany in 1951? What was the purpose of the exhibit, and how did it come into existence? And finally, how did such an exhibit avoid the same fate as Advancing American Art ? For answers to these questions, we must travel to the Berlin Cultural Festival. In September 1951, the city of West Berlin found itself in the midst of a cultural invasion. The Berlin Cultural Festival featured an almost unrelenting program of entertainment. France was represented by the Comédie Française, the Orchestre National of Paris, and an exhibition of sculptures. The British contribution came in the form of performances of Shakespeare’s Othello by the Old Vic Theatre Company, an exhibit of drawings by Henry Moore, and the Amadeus String Quartet. And West Germany added to the festivities by sending in the nwdr Symphony Orchestra, the Hamburg State Opera, and a madrigal choir. From America came opera star Astrid Varnay, the Juilliard Quartet, a performance of the opera Medea featuring Judith Anderson, the gospel song stylings of the Hall Johnson Choir, and the full-blown Broadway production of Oklahoma! And, most surprisingly, there was a large exhibit of American paintings.≤∂ In order to understand why modern American art came to be displayed in Berlin in 1951, we must first realize that the Berlin Cultural Festival was part of an unprecedented American foreign policy undertaking: rebuilding the very enemy that it had just spent billions of dollars and thousands of lives to devastate and defeat. For some U.S. officials, however, this undertaking would involve more than reopening German factories, reconstructing its bombed-out cities, and providing food, housing, and medical care for the desperate and dispirited German people. Even before the defeat of Nazi Germany, the Department of State was considering how American art might play a role in the postwar reconstruction of its former enemy. During the war, the Nazis and their allies had ‘‘destroyed intellectual groups and institutions or warped them 64

ART AS A WEAPON

into the service of tyrannical regimes.’’ Unless the United States could help ‘‘rebuild’’ these groups and institutions into ‘‘servants of a more honest and democratic way of life, Fascist perversions will persist as barriers to future world peace.’’ In addition, therefore, to the tasks of political and economic reconstruction, America would need to undertake an ‘‘intellectual and artistic rehabilitation in countries devastated by war.’’ The ‘‘growing democratic idea inherent in contemporary American art may help to play its part in reborn cultures of peoples beyond the hemisphere.’’ Just a few months after Germany’s surrender, Assistant Secretary for Public A√airs Archibald MacLeish wrote a long and impassioned letter to one of his associates. In focusing on the economic and political reconstruction of Germany, he argued, the United States was overlooking the ‘‘central problem’’ of the whole matter: the ‘‘reeducation of the people of Germany.’’ The real issue facing the Americans in trying to ‘‘rehabilitate’’ Germany was to recognize the ‘‘inhumanity of the German people.’’ That inhumanity was not singular to Germans; it was a ‘‘problem of other nations, and other races also.’’ Nazi Germany, however, had refined and sharpened inhumanity to a science. The task for the United States was one of ‘‘replacing that materialism and brutality with a positive force capable not so much of destroying it as of supplanting it.’’ Attacking man’s inhumanity to man was not enough. It had to be replaced with ‘‘a generosity of spirit, a true human morality, a human loving-kindness, upon which hope for peace can be founded.’’ It was not enough in Germany to ‘‘occupy and police and feed and punish.’’ America must act to ‘‘convert and to persuade.’’≤∑ The precise focus and goals of American e√orts at conversion and persuasion took on a more definite form in the years after 1945, as did the role of American culture in the U.S. program in Germany.≤∏ A February 1946 State Department report argued that a major aim of U.S. policy in Germany would be to increase ‘‘cultural contacts with the outside world.’’ From such contacts, ‘‘it may be expected that Germans will best acquire sanity of mind from living in that world community of civilized interests from which they were cut o√ by Hitlerite paranoia.’’ In particular, U.S. o≈cials were concerned about establishing American-German ‘‘cultural contacts.’’ In a 1950 article, the O≈ce of the High Commissioner for Germany (hicog) stated that an American cultural program was vitally necessary, since there was a ‘‘real danger that American advice and influence would be ine√ective if Germans were not enabled to realize that America was more than a nation of lady wrestlers, bloody strikes and boogie-woogie fiends such as Hitler had portrayed.’’≤π ART AS A WEAPON

65

American advice and influence were particularly important in Germany, especially in West Berlin, in order to counter communist propaganda, much of which tended to focus on the dearth of culture in western Germany. Such propaganda ‘‘sought to characterize Western Germany as an un-reconstructed, ailing, undemocratic and irredentist land having the mentality and aspirations of Nazi planners.’’ And, as U.S. o≈cials were well aware, the communist government in eastern Germany could throw some pretty impressive festivals of its own. In August 1951, the World Youth Festival was held in Berlin. The event, ‘‘intended to be entirely a Communist production,’’ eventually brought 1.5 million young people from 104 countries to participate in ‘‘cultural’’ events and sports and listen to political speeches and demonstrations.≤∫ And so, during the American occupation of western Germany and West Berlin following the war, the United States organized a massive cultural diplomacy e√ort. Uta Poiger, in her study of American cultural diplomacy in postwar Germany, concludes that an important goal of U.S. policy was ‘‘to prevent the renewed rise of German fascism through the establishment of democratic institutions and the ‘moral and cultural reeducation’ of the German population. Although the U.S. government soon realized that the implementation of the ‘four D’s’—denazification, demilitarization, decartelization, and democratization—was impractical, reeducation remained important. Reeducation measures concentrated in particular on educational policies, the media, and cultural policies.’’ According to Volker Berghahn, part of solving the ‘‘ ‘German Question’ ’’ involved ‘‘projects that were designed . . . to foster a West German civic culture and orientation toward the West.’’≤Ω From the beginning, art was conceived as having a role in cultivating the proper ‘‘orientation’’ among the German people. In 1946, the U.S. military government in occupied western Germany sponsored an art exhibit in Wiesbaden. The paintings on display had been ‘‘recovered from salt mines and air-raid bunkers’’ and would be returned to their proper places when ‘‘the bombed-out cities from which they came are once again able to provide suitable homes.’’ Entitled Northern Art Before 1600, the collection included works by many Flemish and German masters such as Jan van Eyck and Albrecht Dürer. The show followed one of a few months earlier that exhibited works by the Italian masters.≥≠ Before the State Department’s art program could begin to play a part in this cultural e√ort in Germany the Advancing American Art controversy erupted, e√ectively ending any ideas of exhibiting American art in Germany under U.S. government auspices. 66

ART AS A WEAPON

It is in light of such considerations on the part of U.S. o≈cials that we can best understand the establishment of the Berlin Cultural Festival in September 1951. The impetus for the festival came not from German authorities in West Berlin, but from the Allied High Commissioners, who, meeting in April 1950, decided that a major cultural event needed to be held in the ‘‘island stronghold.’’ The Allied representatives on the High Commission pledged DM 700,000 for the venture and also promised to provide ‘‘national contributions to the Festival program.’’ The ‘‘necessity for an intensified cultural program’’ was due to the ‘‘peculiar politicalcultural situation in Berlin.’’ An article in the Department of State Bulletin (appearing just after the World Youth Festival) made clear the intentions of the organizers: ‘‘the festival is expected to furnish irrefutable proof that the island city, though geographically isolated from the Westerndemocratic world, stands—in an artistic as well as in a political sense—in the forefront of the current struggle against Communist control and oppression.’’≥∞ MEN CANNOT LIVE FROM BREAD ALONE

How did American modern and abstract art—so recently characterized by many in the United States as subversive and possibly communistic— come to play a role in a festival so obviously designed as an answer to communist propaganda? The simplest answer is: the Germans asked for it. During a June 1950 meeting between the Allied High Commissioners and a contingent of Berlin government o≈cials and cultural leaders, the Germans made only two specific requests for the festival: a showing of Gone with the Wind (dubbed into German), and an ‘‘international exhibition of modern art.’’ There was ‘‘special enthusiasm for an exhibit of American moderns.’’≥≤ The thought of an exhibition of modern art in postwar Germany might at first glance seem a somewhat puzzling proposition. For many people emerging from World War II, the most vivid recent impression of culture and Germany was of book burnings by the Nazis. The art world was also well aware that the Nazi regime consistently branded modern art as ‘‘degenerate’’ and e√ectively banned its exhibition in Germany.≥≥ The repercussions of the oppressive atmosphere in Nazi Germany, however, were not entirely negative as far as American art was concerned. Among the hundreds of artists who fled Hitler’s totalitarian regime and, later, war-torn Europe were many noted German painters, sculptors, and architects such as Walter Gropius, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, George ART AS A WEAPON

67

Grosz, Hans Hofmann, Josef Albers, and Max Ernst. Their impact was enormous. As Marion Deshmukh explains, these artists ‘‘substantially promoted and fostered the development of American abstract art, modernist architecture, and advances in commercial and industrial design during the 1930s and 1940s.’’ In painting, Hofmann was of towering importance; he ‘‘influenced two generations of Americans through his instruction.’’ Among the American artists who studied with him during the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s were some of the leading abstract expressionists: Jackson Pollock, Robert Motherwell, Mark Rothko, and William Baziotes.≥∂ Thus, while the recent history of Germany might argue against the value of a U.S. art show in that nation, there were some unique and perhaps valuable connections between the two countries that might be exploited in the cultural diplomacy realm. And, to be honest, America needed some cultural medium with which to make an impact on the German people. Poll after poll conducted by U.S. o≈cials in Germany came to the same discouraging conclusion: Germans felt that American culture had little to o√er them. In one poll, less than 30 percent of the German population felt that there was ‘‘much or something to be learned’’ from the United States in the cultural arena. Another found that 50 percent of those polled felt that there was ‘‘nothing to be learned from America in the field of fine arts.’’ Indeed, nearly 40 percent ‘‘felt that the Americans might learn a great deal from the Germans in this field.’’ Such feelings, as Reinhold Wagnleitner has argued, were relatively widespread among European elites. ‘‘The only exception to that rule,’’ he concludes, ‘‘was avant-garde art, especially abstract expressionism, and, later, pop art.’’≥∑ In light of the resistance of the German public to American cultural initiatives, the specific request for American modern art for the Berlin festival took on special significance. Despite the potential benefits of an exhibition of modern American art in Berlin and the desires in Germany for such a show, U.S. o≈cials were initially reluctant to pursue the matter. It was not until the summer of 1951 that U.S. High Commissioner for Germany John J. McCloy formally requested such an exhibit. McCloy had become aware that ‘‘exhibitions of contemporary works of art were being prepared by France and England’’ for the festival and believed that ‘‘it would be desirable if the United States were likewise to participate.’’≥∏ McCloy’s request landed in the State Department, which viewed it as nothing less than a political hot potato. The fallout from the Advancing American Art debacle still hung heavy in the department. As one o≈cial explained, ‘‘the Department of State cannot receive a grant for activity in 68

ART AS A WEAPON

the field of art,’’ and ‘‘o≈cers in the Department cannot properly concern themselves with selections of exhibits in this field.’’ The only role the department might play would be ‘‘observation’’ and ‘‘facilitation of arrangements.’’ The request was then dumped in the lap of none other than David Finley, chairman of an ad hoc State Department committee on museums. To relieve department o≈cials from the burden of actually selecting the art to be shown in Berlin, Finley (who was no great supporter of modern art) organized a selection committee made up of some of the leading figures in the American art scene, including Bartlett Hayes, director of the Addison Gallery of American Art, and Finley’s cga nemesis, Lloyd Goodrich. In a remarkably short amount of time the selection committee came up with a show of sixty-five paintings. Fifteen of these would provide a ‘‘historical retrospective’’ of American painting, while the remaining fifty would be made up of two works each from twenty-five of the most influential modern American painters.≥π Selecting the works to be shown in Berlin was one thing; actually organizing and funding the exhibition was quite another. The selection committee decided to sidestep the issue of direct U.S. government assistance and approached the afa. (Goodrich, an o≈cer in the afa, was likely responsible for facilitating the contact.) The afa, which included many of the leading figures from the American art world, had been established in 1909 with the mission of ‘‘enriching the public’s understanding and appreciation of the visual arts.’’ Through its o≈cial publication, the Magazine of Art, it was a vocal proponent of the use of art as a means of international communication. And it was no stranger to U.S. cultural activities in postwar Germany. In the summer of 1949, Eloise Spaeth contacted the Reorientation Branch of the Department of the Army o√ering the services of the afa for the cultural program in Germany. She received an enthusiastic reply. The United States, she was informed, was already showing ‘‘color reproductions of American paintings’’ in its information centers in Germany, Japan, and elsewhere. The reaction had been ‘‘overwhelmingly favorable.’’ Indeed, the ‘‘demand for exhibitions abroad is insatiable.’’ The afa was certainly ‘‘in a position to provide us with exhibition materials useful for the Army’s overseas reeducation program.’’ Less than a year later, Spaeth wrote a colleague to say that she had just received ‘‘hush, hush word that the State Department is sending six of our Federation shows to Germany.’’ She quickly added, ‘‘Positively no painting or sculpture is to be included. We might o√end the sensitivities of some sleuthing congressman and the news would get back to Harry [Truman].’’ The State Department’s grant (which amounted to less than ART AS A WEAPON

69

$20,000) instead was intended to sponsor shows on book jacket designs, San Francisco architecture, handwrought silver, textiles, ‘‘educational toys,’’ and ‘‘Americana.’’ Even then, the department was wary of criticism. The afa was forbidden from engaging in publicity about the shows ‘‘unless same is first approved by the Department.’’≥∫ The afa remained committed, however, to the exchange of fine art— particularly painting—between the United States and Germany. In the years following the demise of Advancing American Art, a number of articles appeared in the Magazine of Art extolling the value of American art in establishing both a more democratic and humane Germany and closer U.S.-German relations. In late 1948, professor of art Helmut Lehmann-Haupt wrote about his recent trip to Germany. ‘‘The interest of the German public in the re-emergence of the modern artist has been astonishing.’’ There was, he claimed, an ‘‘almost volcanic outburst of art activities of all sorts in Germany today.’’ Numerous art exhibits appeared, lectures about art were standing room only, and art books and magazines flew o√ the shelves. Lehmann-Haupt issued a warning: ‘‘with the resurgence of Nazi sentiment the forces hostile to modern art are again beginning to make themselves felt. The inevitable struggle for the country’s youth is developing.’’ In such an atmosphere, it was necessary to provide even more art for the German people. This was ‘‘not merely a desirable step in art education; it is of fundamental importance in laying the foundations of a genuinely democratic society.’’ The Russians were already actively involved in bringing art to Germany, using it as an ‘‘instrument of propaganda.’’ Unfortunately, the U.S. government lagged far behind; as yet, there was no section of the U.S. occupation bureaucracy devoted to ‘‘a reorientation of German art life. . . . In the highly competitive atmosphere of cultural Germany this has been a decided handicap.’’ Three years later, art professor Charlotte Weidler reported on her trip to Germany. The Germans, she claimed, desperately clamored for art after the war. The French moved quickly to fill the void, exhibiting the modern art of Georges Braque, Pablo Picasso, and Joan Miró. Although somewhat taken aback by this style of art (which had been e√ectively banned by the Nazis), the exhibit turned out to be a great success. Everywhere in Germany, she was asked about American contemporary art and the possibility of an exhibit of U.S. paintings. In particular, Germans were interested in abstract art, the form that was coming to play ‘‘a leading role in German art today.’’ America needed to be aware that the Soviets were ‘‘trying hard to win Berlin’s artists over to their camp,’’ though with little

70

ART AS A WEAPON

success: ‘‘They are aware of the Soviet hatred of modern art.’’ She praised the e√orts of the afa in organizing a recent exhibition of German modern art in the United States. ‘‘This evidence of American-German friendship and the opportunity for German artists to exhibit in this country are of tremendous value in counteracting Russian propaganda.’’≥Ω The exhibition of German art to which Weidler referred was organized in late 1950 by the afa, with Weidler herself serving as one of the consultants. It included nearly sixty paintings and drawings in the modern style by contemporary German artists. The State Department ‘‘supported the project to the extent of facilitating the shipment of the paintings from Berlin to the United States.’’ The U.S. commander in Berlin saluted the undertaking as ‘‘important not only to the artists concerned but also to the people who will visit the museums in America where these pictures will testify to the creativeness of the present generation of artists in Berlin.’’ He hoped that this exchange would ‘‘extend to Berliners the possibility of seeing exhibitions of contemporary American painting.’’∂≠ Thus, it was no surprise that the afa eagerly accepted the challenge of putting on a major exhibition on such short notice and, together with the selection committee, immediately tackled the problem of funding for the show. Since the State Department apparently could not accept or spend money for modern art, a private source would have to be tapped. Into the breach stepped the Oberlaender Trust, a philanthropic organization headquartered in Philadelphia. The trust was the work of Gustav Oberlaender, an industrial tycoon who in 1935 established it with the goal of assisting cultural e√orts, particularly those aimed at closer AmericanGerman relations. With a grant of $15,000 from the trust, and the assistance of numerous galleries, museums, and private art collectors in the United States in loaning works of art, the exhibition was rapidly put together. It opened in Berlin on 18 September 1951 to a crowd that included Major General Lemuel Mathewson, U.S. commander in Berlin; the governing mayor of Berlin; and the French and British cultural a√airs directors.∂∞ The response from the German audience, if the newspaper editorials cited above are any indication, ranged from restrained praise to outright enthusiasm. Nearly 3,000 people visited the exhibit in the first week after its opening. As a summary of the U.S. art exhibit exclaimed, with no little satisfaction, the press in East Berlin ‘‘ignored it completely.’’ This, the report declared, was an ‘‘indication that it is at a loss to know how to develop criticism for such a well-planned and well-executed exhibition.’’

ART AS A WEAPON

71

Major General Lemuel Mathewson, commander in Berlin, confronts the modern art of Milton Avery at the 1951 Berlin Cultural Festival. (American Federation of Arts records, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution)

Despite this cold shoulder from the East Berlin media, ‘‘many persons from the East Sector [were] among those visiting the exhibit.’’∂≤ As a part of America’s cultural diplomacy, therefore, the exhibit seemed to be a success. Yet how did it avoid what had destroyed Advancing American Art, that is, scathing denunciations from U.S. politicians, conservative art groups, and Oval O≈ce art critics? Both the Department of State and the afa had learned their lessons from that earlier fiasco. Advancing American Art had been very publicly, and proudly, announced to the world, with a grand opening at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, news releases, and reviews in most major newspapers and magazines. Not so with the Berlin art show. Mum was the word, and few outside of West Berlin even knew the show existed. The first article on the Berlin Festival in the New York Times, in May 1951, did not even mention the possibility of an American art show. Other stories from August and September 1951 continued to remain silent about the American paintings. The first and only mention of the art exhibit was on 19 September, a twenty-two-line blurb buried on page thirty-three. The story noted the roles played by the afa and the Oberlaender Trust; the State Department and hicog were not even mentioned. The August 1951 article in the Department of State Bul72

ART AS A WEAPON

letin merely noted that ‘‘a variety of side attractions’’ were planned at the festival, including a ‘‘series of special art exhibits.’’ There was not a word about American art in Berlin.∂≥ And the afa was also extraordinarily circumspect in commenting on the show. The Magazine of Art did not carry a word about the exhibit until January 1952. Even then, the article accentuated the fact that ‘‘o≈cial participation was at a minimum’’ in setting up the painting exhibition. Indeed, the afa did not even prepare a news release about the show until after the exhibit had closed in West Berlin. In commenting on the release, afa o≈cials wished it to point out that ‘‘the whole idea of the Berlin Festival originated with the Berlin City Government’’ (which was a lie) and that it was a ‘‘countermeasure to recent Russian Cultural Propaganda’’ (which was true). They also wished that the ‘‘point of private initiative and financing of such cultural international activities be stressed again in the light of current Congressional opinion about spending tax money for such ‘entertainment’ activities.’’∂∂ The afa and Department of State need not have worried. The virtual cloak of secrecy that surrounded the exhibit of American modern art in Berlin in 1951, together with repeated references to the ‘‘private’’ nature of the undertaking, ensured that not a peep was heard from congressmen fuming about costs and communism, critics who saw modern art as a sign of the coming apocalypse, or even presidents preaching about ‘‘lazy’’ modern artists. The department and the afa had learned well from the Advancing American Art disaster. If modern art was to be shown abroad, it would necessarily have to be largely a private undertaking, with the State Department merely ‘‘facilitating’’ such exhibits. It also helped to include some ‘‘classic’’ works of American painting to take the glare o√ of the modern works. And, at least for the time being, exhibitions in which there was even a suspicion about o≈cial U.S. government involvement would have to be kept a virtual secret from the American congress and public. Privately, both organizations were ecstatic about the results of the art show. Reports from U.S. o≈cials in Berlin claimed that ‘‘critical and public interest in the exhibition has been gratifyingly good’’ and that an ‘‘unusually large number’’ of Germans took in the exhibit. Such reports were liberally sprinkled with selections from German newspapers praising the paintings. In sum, the entire festival resulted in ‘‘increased international understanding between the three Western Allies and the people of Berlin.’’ The afa was also gratified by the German response to the exhibit, but for di√erent reasons—the positive reception demonstrated ‘‘a ART AS A WEAPON

73

genuine interest in a phase of American culture which is little known or appreciated in Germany.’’ In his speech outlining the afa’s fall 1951 activities, President Lawrence M. C. Smith pointed with pride to the Berlin exhibition as part of ‘‘a bridge linking our culture with other cultures.’’ He declared, ‘‘The present world situation increases enormously the importance of what we are doing—call it ‘Point Five,’ ‘Cultural Development and Exchange,’ or what you will, the meaning and value of our civilization is being attacked before the vast majority of the peoples of the world. Guns and dollars alone cannot win for us.’’ And he made clear the need for greater private-government cooperation to assist in these cultural endeavors. The afa, he claimed, due to its ‘‘unique position and 42-year history, must accept great leadership.’’ As he noted, ‘‘No governmental agency can represent our civilization in the field of art. Art, as we know it, is the spiritual stronghold of the democratic mind, of free initiative, and of the individual in this struggle against communism and dictatorship.’’ Nevertheless, it was also apparent that the afa’s ‘‘financial resources are inadequate to meet the heightened task before it.’’∂∑ At the conclusion of the month-long whirlwind of events in West Berlin, the governing mayor of Berlin addressed his fellow citizens. Speaking amongst buildings that still bore the scars of the recent war, to people who were still coping with an uncertain economy, and in a city that had just recently relied on airlifted food and medical supplies for its survival during the Berlin Blockade, he thanked the American, French, British, and German performers for reminding the people of West Berlin that ‘‘men cannot live from bread alone.’’∂∏ The U.S. o≈cials and members of the American art community who had been instrumental in organizing the exhibit of modern American art could not have agreed more. As they discovered during the convoluted maneuverings to put on the painting exhibition at the cultural festival, however, a deep irony infused this particular e√ort at U.S. cultural diplomacy. Despite a foreign audience that was often quite receptive to, and even admiring of, the modernism and abstract expressionism which were at the vanguard of American art, it was apparent that most U.S. o≈cials remained much more comfortable with sending guns, dollars, and bread rather than Rothkos, Motherwells, and Pollocks to our allies overseas.

74

ART AS A WEAPON

3 A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

As the movement continued to build for government support of the arts, particularly assistance in the sending of American art overseas, Russell Lynes, assistant editor of Harper’s Magazine, sounded a note of caution. Whereas the champions of an international art program often cited Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union as examples of what happened when a state tried to censor art, Lynes turned the argument around and used Russia as a ‘‘perfect example of state patronage of the arts.’’ The Soviet government did indeed support the arts, but the cost was clear: ‘‘There is no question of good taste and bad taste at work in Russia; there is only o≈cial taste. We want no part of that.’’ He warned that ‘‘individuals and groups now lobbying for Government support of the arts conceived of art as active propaganda.’’ Lynes then recalled the fate of the Advancing American Art exhibit when it came into contact with the ‘‘marketplace of Congressional ideas’’: it had been condemned as ‘‘Communist propaganda.’’ Lynes sadly concluded, ‘‘Thus modern art is a delightful political football.’’∞ Lynes demonstrated that, even with the success of the U.S. art show in West Berlin, criticisms of any program designed to send abroad American paintings—particularly those done in the modern or abstract styles—were certain to continue. Perhaps unwittingly, Lynes also defined the crux of the problem for the supporters of a sustained, government-supported international art program. To achieve that level of government support, the idea of an overseas art program would necessarily have to be politicized. That was precisely what had happened with the show in Germany: its supporters argued that it would serve American political interests by helping with the democratization of the German people and serving as a weapon against communist propaganda.

It was clear, however, that the success of the U.S. art exhibition in West Berlin, while celebrated by members of the American art world, was in many respects quite limited. The entire a√air was nearly unheard of outside the confines of the city. Once the Berlin Cultural Festival ended, so did the exhibit; it was not shipped o√ to other nations for viewing. O≈cial government support was small and given somewhat grudgingly. The success or failure of the entire show hinged on acquiring the funding necessary to mount the exhibition. As was evident in the frantic search for support that ensued, neither the Department of State nor private art groups such as the afa were willing and/or able to provide the money. It was only through the last-minute gift from the Oberlaender Trust that the show was saved. And as Goodrich, Smith, and other supporters of an overseas art program knew, such philanthropic largesse was unlikely to be available always. For a sustained, enlarged, and credible program to function it was obvious that the federal government would have to take on a substantially greater role. For that to occur, State Department o≈cials would have to be convinced that the diplomatic benefits of sending American art—particularly modern art—abroad outweighed any possible domestic criticisms of such an endeavor. During the years following the Berlin Cultural Festival, State, and then the newly formed United States Information Agency, took the first tentative steps toward directly reinvolving the government in the business of sending U.S. art abroad. Private museums and art organizations, encouraged by the new government attitude, also accelerated their e√orts to send American paintings overseas. By 1954–55, the future seemed brighter than at any point since the heyday of Advancing American Art. By the end of 1956, however, the international art program was in shambles. Ironically, communism provided the impetus for both its growth and its near destruction. OUR ART ABROAD

In the period following the Berlin art show, it finally appeared that a U.S. international art program would become a reality. The afa, the Smithsonian Institution, and the Museum of Modern Art all embarked on programs designed to circulate American paintings overseas. More important, the Department of State (and, in 1953, the usia) became increasingly involved in the business of sending American art abroad. None of this involvement was as direct as that demonstrated by the infamous Advancing American Art exhibit. The foreign policy bureaucracy still had vivid and painful memories of that episode. Instead, support (either in 76

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

the form of grants, shipping, or other means of facilitation) was provided to groups such as the afa to make the art exhibits a reality. In the space of just a few years, dozens of U.S. art shows were being shipped to nations in Europe, Asia, and Latin America. The afa, coming o√ the success of the exhibit in Germany, was the first to take advantage of what seemed to be a new attitude toward sending American culture overseas. Even before the show in West Berlin ended, Lawrence M. C. Smith notified the organization’s trustees that the afa needed a stronger presence in Washington, D.C., to focus on ‘‘circulation of international exhibitions, both abroad and at home, contacts with foreign governments, and dealings with the U.S. State Department, unesco, and Congress.’’ The afa also needed a strong personality to head the Washington operation; someone who would not mind a ‘‘relatively low salary’’ and would enjoy ‘‘the real opportunity to be of service to the country at a time when international exchange of art exhibitions is of the greatest importance.’’ The man selected by the afa was writer and Washington resident Paul Hyde Bonner. Bonner eagerly took up the task, for he believed that overseas art exhibits would serve two important purposes. The first was ‘‘the benefit which inevitably accrues from the elimination of cultural barriers between peoples; a benefit which is manifest in increased knowledge, increased understanding, increased tolerance and the spirit of kinship which is conveyed through the arts.’’ A second factor, however, was the ‘‘political necessity at this moment in history of demonstrating that we are a people in whom the desire and need for culture in all its forms is fundamental. . . . In other words, that we are not the imperialistic, money-grubbing materialists which our enemies, and many of our friends, are inclined to believe. Until this truth is understood, our e√orts to maintain peace through collective security will be impeded by distrust and suspicion.’’ To carry out this important work, the afa would need the U.S. government to ‘‘assume its rightful place as sponsor and benefactor.’’≤ An editorial in the Magazine of Art in early 1952 echoed Bonner’s sentiments. Pointing to the success of the art exhibit at the Berlin Cultural Festival, the publication pleaded, ‘‘let us furnish people beyond our shores with some visual images to give substance to the constant stream of radio and newspaper words, and to suggest, too, that Hollywood is not America. . . . We may thus use art as an instrument to show that for a democracy, art is also an end.’’ The afa, the piece concluded, ‘‘is planning to play its part in meeting these requests.’’ However, ‘‘only greater government participation’’ could ensure the success of such a program. At about the A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

77

same time, Roy Neuberger, a wealthy businessman and one of the foremost collectors of American art, undertook a trip through France and Italy. At the request of the afa, he investigated the needs and possibilities for afa-organized art exhibits in those nations. Neuberger was optimistic about the opportunities, for both France and Italy were desirous of hosting American art shows. The State Department people he met in Paris, Rome, Florence, and elsewhere were also supportive of e√orts in this regard but had little money. The afa, he concluded, ‘‘should be carrying the ball.’’≥ The organization proceeded to do just that. Less than two months after the closing of the Berlin Cultural Festival, a group of German museum directors meeting in Munich issued a call for yet another American art exhibit, this time focusing on works from the nineteenth century. The size of the show they had in mind was immense—nearly 150 oil paintings, watercolors, and drawings. The Department of State, with another grant from a philanthropic organization (the Wyomissing Foundation) agreed to bear the costs of putting together and insuring the collection. When it came time to choose the art, State again turned to the afa for assistance, and again the afa responded with vigor and enthusiasm. afa director Burton Cumming informed the organization’s trustees that the State Department and the afa were ‘‘all interested in the same goal.’’ The exhibition would allow the Germans to see an example of American culture ‘‘which is as yet little known or poorly understood in Europe.’’ In addition, ‘‘the Exhibition will be immensely useful in counter-acting current Russian anti-American propaganda.’’ A selection committee chaired by Lloyd Goodrich assembled a breathtaking exhibit featuring works by Thomas Cole, Thomas Eakins, Winslow Homer, Albert Ryder, John Singer Sargent, George Caleb Bingham, and Albert Bierstadt. In all, ninety paintings and watercolors were assembled for shipment to Germany. The process was not without its moments of exasperation. When the Germans expressed concern that the exhibition was much smaller than they desired, Goodrich fumed, ‘‘We finance the whole show, we do all the work of selecting, securing loans, shipping, etc., and all they have to do is to hang it—and then they want to cancel because it isn’t big enough!’’ He quickly calmed himself by noting that ‘‘this exhibition is one of the most important the Federation could undertake from the standpoint of international cultural relations, and I think every e√ort should be made to carry it through.’’ The show opened in Frankfurt in March 1953 and later was shown in Berlin, Düsseldorf, Munich, and Hamburg. Nearly three hundred people attended the opening of the exhibit in Hamburg, and both the mayor of the city and Mrs. 78

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

James Conant (wife of the U.S. High Commissioner for Germany) gave opening addresses. A State Department o≈cial noted that the German press ‘‘reviewed the exhibition very favourably so far.’’∂ In fact, the show proved so popular that it was sent to Italy following its exhibition in Germany. The reception was, if anything, even more positive than in Germany. The opening night in Rome brought 1,000 people to the National Gallery of Modern Art. Eventually, over 5,000 people saw the show in Rome; another 8,500 attended the exhibit when it was shown in Milan. Popular and critical responses accentuated several themes: that the art was ‘‘superior to what we expected,’’ that it was original and vital, and that, despite the obvious European influences in the art, it ‘‘could not be called other than American.’’ A State Department report gushed that the exhibition was ‘‘an unpredicted success’’ and served to demonstrate to ‘‘cultivated and well informed Italians’’ that ‘‘the U.S. has cultural interests, tastes and traditions in common with Europe.’’ When the show returned to America in April 1954 to be exhibited at the Whitney Museum, a critic from the New York Times declared that it was evidence of a ‘‘growing realization of the value of our art as an uno≈cial ambassador abroad.’’ He was hopeful that the exhibit, which was ‘‘highly noncontroversial,’’ would lead to more government aid in the field of international exhibits. Tellingly, the article was entitled ‘‘Our Art Abroad.’’ America no longer seemed embarrassed about exhibiting its paintings.∑ At the same time that plans were being made for the nineteenthcentury show in Germany, the afa embarked on an even more prestigious project—the first ‘‘o≈cial’’ U.S. show at the Venice Biennale. As Grace Morley of the San Francisco Museum of Art explained, it was time for the afa to expand its horizons, artistically and politically. Venice, she declared, was ‘‘an area where our art can struggle with the art of other countries of the world for recognition on a completely free basis. To put it another way, I think our art in Germany and Japan is propaganda for our way of life, and constructive, but with the limitations of propaganda.’’ In Venice, American art would be ‘‘on its own.’’∏ In a very real sense, American art had always been ‘‘on its own’’ at Venice. In fact, by the time of the 1952 Biennale, the United States was the only major country that did not have a government-owned pavilion in which to display its art. The small, neoclassical building that served to exhibit American art was built by the Grand Central Art Galleries of New York through private donations in 1928–29. In 1930, the first exhibition of American art at the Biennale took place; these exhibitions continued through 1940, and then World War II put an end to U.S. participation in A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

79

the Biennale until 1948. All of these shows were orchestrated by the Grand Central Gallery, acting through handpicked commissioners. Following the 1948 show, the gallery, finding the expense of putting on the American exhibit at the Biennale to have become too burdensome, approached the U.S. government with an o√er to sell the pavilion. However, 1948 was a bad year to bring up anything related to government and art, since Advancing American Art was at that precise moment crashing and burning. In 1950, moma stepped in and took responsibility for organizing the exhibit together with the Cleveland Museum of Art. There matters stood as the 1952 Biennale approached, with the American pavilion (and American art) standing as something of an orphan in Venice.π It was at this point that the U.S. embassy in Rome ‘‘pestered’’ the Department of State to finally step in and sponsor the American exhibition at the Biennale ‘‘for the sake of United States prestige.’’ The department agreed and o≈cially accepted the invitation from the Italian government to participate at Venice. Once again, David Finley was chosen as the point man for the U.S. e√ort when State selected him as the U.S. Commissioner to the Venice Biennale. In what was becoming a pattern, Finley reached out to the afa to select the art, noting in his letter to afa president Lawrence Smith that Biennale regulations called for ‘‘an exhibition of contemporary art.’’ Finley also let Smith know where the funds for the exhibition were coming from: an ‘‘anonymous donor’’ who gave $7,500 to the Grand Central Art Galleries for safekeeping. In keeping with the magnitude of the undertaking, the afa set up a large selection committee which included Robert Hale of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Hermon More of the Whitney Museum, Andrew Ritchie of moma, John Walker of the National Gallery, and Eloise Spaeth. After what were by some accounts grueling meetings, the committee chose four artists: Edward Hopper, Stuart Davis, Yasuo Kuniyoshi, and sculptor Alexander Calder.∫ In announcing the choices, Eloise Spaeth waxed eloquent. The work of Hopper, Calder, and Davis, she stated, ‘‘intensely expresses their time and place—America in the 20th Century. . . . everything about their work is really as American as the Grand Canyon.’’ Kuniyoshi, while ‘‘not typically American,’’ served as an example of the kind of art ‘‘that could only be brought to fruition in a country where the artist feels free to develop his particular tradition, where no conformity is expected of him.’’ In another piece, Spaeth announced with pride that ‘‘at our first o≈cial showing in the Venetian Biennale, Alexander Calder won the top international prize in sculpture.’’ The response to the American art in Venice was ‘‘immediate 80

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

The works of Yasuo Kuniyoshi on display at the 1952 Venice Biennale. The work on the far right, Strong Woman and Child, is in the style of Circus Girl Resting, the painting from the Advancing American Art exhibit that inspired the wrath of President Harry S. Truman. (American Federation of Arts records, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution)

and gratifying.’’ Yet she also chided the ‘‘government’s attitude toward art: timid, hesitant, elated over the honor accorded America in Calder’s triumph but lacking the foresight to follow through’’ with more exhibits to Europe. ‘‘It is,’’ she concluded, ‘‘an opportunity that is being passed by.’’Ω Despite Spaeth’s momentary pessimism, however, the afa did not allow the momentum from the German and Venice shows to dissipate. In late 1952, the afa learned about an international art exhibition being planned in India. The Indian government approached U.S. ambassador Chester Bowles to arrange for a showing of American art. As Spaeth derisively noted, ‘‘Ambassador Bowles approached the State Department but you all know the answer there.’’ As it happened, however, a representative of the Ford Foundation was in India at that same time. An art lover himself, he concluded that an American show should be mounted and o√ered the financial backing of the foundation. By February 1953, the Ford Foundation announced that twenty American artists would be represented at the exhibition by one painting each. And, despite the fact that the foundation o≈cial in India pleaded for a ‘‘very conservative’’ selection, the afa presented a rich mixture of styles ranging from social realA DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

81

ism (Ben Shahn and Jack Levine) to abstract expressionism (Pollock and Arshile Gorky).∞≠ The next year, the Ford Foundation and the afa cooperated once again, this time planning a watercolor exhibit for France featuring over sixty works by seventeen American artists. The exhibition came at the specific behest of the cultural a√airs o≈cer in the U.S. embassy in Paris who wrote the afa about the ‘‘constant requests for American shows’’ in France. Commenting on the exhibit, the New York Times critic claimed that it ‘‘pretty much runs the gamut of work being done today from textural realism to complete abstraction. It should at least prove that our thoughts are not exclusively preoccupied with the H-bomb and help to counter the Communist line that we are utterly materialistic and warmad.’’ Even more encouraging was a follow-up exhibit of works in India. Again the Indian government requested American participation, and again the afa volunteered to assist. This time, however, direct U.S. sponsorship was provided—not by the State Department, but by the relatively new usia. Sixty-three watercolors by seven American artists, including Edward Hopper, Winslow Homer, and Andrew Wyeth, toured four cities in India before going o√ to shows in Ceylon, the Philippines, and Pakistan. The afa was thrilled with the results, and ‘‘those viewing it have been uniformly impressed by its high quality and by the fact that such an outstanding collection had been sent to the various countries of Asia.’’∞∞ Even better news arrived in September 1954. Richard Brecker, chief of the Exhibits Branch of the usia, contacted Lloyd Goodrich about the possibility of more work for the afa in the area of international art exhibits. According to Brecker, ‘‘recent appropriations for the Information Agency will permit sizable amounts to be spent on art exhibitions,’’ and the usia ‘‘would very much prefer to work with the Federation rather than to organize exhibitions itself.’’ Less than a year later, the relationship between the usia and the afa became o≈cial when the two parties signed an agreement in which the former granted the latter $25,000 to ‘‘conduct preliminary research and planning, and submit recommendations to the Agency, for the preparation of proposed exhibits for circulation abroad.’’ By late 1955, the scope of the proposed usia-afa collaboration became clear when several afa o≈cials met with two usia representatives. One of the usia representatives immediately made clear the goal: ‘‘two major exhibitions per year for each of four areas: Europe, Latin America, the Near East, and the Far East. Each of these would be correlated with at least one, but preferably a number of ‘follow-up’ exhibitions.’’ By ‘‘major exhibition,’’ it was meant that these would be ‘‘in all cases a large-scale 82

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

exhibition of American art on the highest level, in any medium.’’∞≤ The afa’s dream of a large-scale e√ort to send American art abroad, supported by the U.S. government, seemed to have become a reality. CULTURAL REINFORCEMENTS

The afa, however, was not the only game in town. Other institutions, most notably moma and the Smithsonian, also jumped into the international art exhibit arena during the early 1950s. Although the various programs tended to overlap on occasion (with attendant jealousies and territoriality expressed by the individual organizations), they were in fact relatively distinct. moma’s program was largely a private a√air, sponsored by the museum and its well-to-do patrons, particularly the Rockefeller family. The Smithsonian, while it became an active participant in overseas exhibits, generally steered clear of controversial art exhibits and focused instead on crafts, architecture, and older art forms. Nevertheless, a brief summary of these organization’s activities during the period under discussion is necessary to understand the widespread and varied nature of the push to have American culture displayed for an international audience. One of the first hints that moma was readying itself to enter the overseas art exhibition field came in a typically gossipy letter from John Walker to David Finley in July 1952. Over drinks with Porter McCray, director of moma’s Department of Circulating Exhibitions, Walker was informed that the ‘‘five Rockefeller sons’’ had just given the museum $1 million to spend on international art shows. Somewhat gleefully, Walker announced that this ‘‘finished the Federation’s hopes, and I think takes the government out of this end of art for some time.’’ While Walker was completely o√ target with these conclusions, he was correct about the new moma initiative. In April 1953, the museum announced that the Rockefeller Brothers Fund had made a five-year grant of $125,000 a year for an ‘‘international exchange of art under the jurisdiction’’ of moma. Three shows of modern American painting, watercolors, and sculpture, one in Paris, another in Tokyo, and the third at the São Paulo Bienal, were already planned. The director of the museum, René d’Harnoncourt, announced that it was the intention of moma to ‘‘give those Europeans who know what they want the kind of thing they request.’’ John Hay Whitney, chairman of the board of directors of the museum, suggested that ‘‘the Museum has always believed that the arts, as a universal mode of communication, are an important means to foster understanding and friendA DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

83

ship among nations.’’ Noting the sad lack of any government program for overseas art exhibits, Whitney proudly declared that moma’s new initiative signified that ‘‘modern American art has a special contribution to make in the exchange of creative ideas’’ and would ‘‘enhance the vigor of cultural life throughout the world.’’∞≥ moma’s program met with instant praise from domestic art critics. An editorial in the New York Times applauded the e√ort to correct the foreign perception of American culture, which was too often represented by ‘‘Class B movies and worse.’’ Sounding a now familiar refrain, the author continued that ‘‘the arts need know no barrier of nationality or language. They speak the universal tongue and it can be universally learned and loved. . . . It reaches across oceans just as it has reached across the centuries.’’ The newspaper’s critic, Aline Louchheim, congratulated the museum for being ‘‘willing to assume responsibility for spreading knowledge of our contemporary art and architecture abroad.’’ More so than the U.S. government, moma ‘‘recognized that one of the most e√ective weapons of the cold war is proof of our cultural activity and that one of the paths to peace is cultural interchange.’’ Art Digest argued that ‘‘international confidence is never granted on the basis of political power; to earn respect, a nation must prove that its culture is as strong as its army; that its arts are as flourishing as its industries.’’ Unfortunately, the U.S. government did not seem to adequately appreciate this point. Fortunately, ‘‘the naiveté of our o≈cials is in some degree compensated for by the cultural sophistication of our private citizens, institutions and agencies,’’ notably moma and its new international program. This was ‘‘the most e√ective antidote to the virulent anti-Americanism that exists today all over the world. We can be grateful that we have private citizens and institutions of su≈cient conscience to undertake them and su≈cient means to pay for them.’’∞∂ Foreign critics were not always as kind, however. The first exhibit put together by moma was the Twelve Modern American Painters and Sculptors show first put on display at the Museé National d’Art Moderne in Paris in mid-1953. While the art in the show was certainly modern, it was by no means dominated by abstract expressionism. To be sure, Pollock and Gorky were on display, but so too were realists such as Hopper and Shahn. A summary of the French press reaction noted that coverage was widespread and intense, with interest being shown even by publications that typically avoided art and culture. While one critic applauded the ‘‘laudable eclecticism’’ of the show, and another christened it an artistic

84

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

‘‘cocktail’’ that ‘‘happily avoided the unbridled commitment to shock value, the ‘new look’ or ‘advancing art’ of some recent exhibitions,’’ others lashed into the show with vigor. The critic in Preuves argued that the eclecticism of the exhibit was in fact its greatest weakness; the organizers had not ‘‘reflected that it would always be better to be daring and run a great risk rather than make small compromises with the hope of pleasing everybody and thereby succeeding in pleasing nobody.’’ Les Lettres Françaises also came out swinging, declaring, ‘‘It seems impossible that a big country and a great people cannot present something better.’’ The art work was made up of ‘‘ridiculous eccentricities and all sorts of perversions, ferocity and cruelty expressed in pieces of sculpture painful to behold, ignominy displayed in paintings complacently depicting physiological miseries.’’ The entire exhibition was a ‘‘booby-trap. . . . Nobody can try to tell the French public that it is impossible to gather throughout the United States half-a-dozen artists who at least would not be a disgrace to their country!’’ Finnish critics, viewing the show nearly a year later, were somewhat kinder, noting that since their nation was ‘‘almost totally unacquainted with the contemporary art of the United States,’’ such a show was ‘‘particularly welcome.’’ Overall, the Finns found that American art was ‘‘still in an immature phase of development,’’ but it demonstrated a ‘‘healthy vitality.’’∞∑ moma also stepped in to fill an embarrassing gap in American art by purchasing the American pavilion at the Venice Biennale in 1954. The Grand Central Art Galleries, which had built the pavilion back in the late 1920s, were no longer able to bear the costs of operation and had been trying to unload the pavilion since 1948. Almost immediately, moma began organizing for the 1954 Biennale, finally settling on an exhibition featuring the works of the social realist Ben Shahn and the abstract expressionist Willem de Kooning. Critical reaction was mixed. The art editor of Time was not impressed. The exhibit was ‘‘forceful though far from representative.’’ Shahn had been ‘‘overtaken in his later work by his weakness for arty picture-making of an allegorical sort.’’ De Kooning’s early works ‘‘looked like angry snarls of tar, snow, syrup and a little blood dexterously applied with a bent spoon.’’ He glumly concluded, ‘‘If the purpose of painting were, as some have claimed, simply the release of emotion, de Kooning would have to be accounted great.’’ Writing for the New York Times, Stuart Preston was more complimentary, claiming that the works on display were ‘‘thoughtful and thorough selections which do them maximum justice and which clearly advertise two main currents in

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

85

American art today—social realism and abstract expressionism.’’ Shahn obviously made a hit with the judges at the Biennale, winning the ‘‘top purchase price’’ award of $800.∞∏ Also in 1954, moma announced that a new organization, the International Council, was being formed to take over the responsibility of overseas art exhibitions by the museum. Mostly, the new council was supposed to raise the funds necessary to keep the program going. Eventually, nearly forty patrons of the arts, including Mrs. John D. Rockefeller III as chairperson, came together in 1956–57 to formally install the council as the chief financial backer for moma’s international exhibition program. More exhibits, such as Modern Art in the United States, were sent overseas. And, again, these e√orts were cheered by American art critics. Aline Saarinen hailed moma as ‘‘our cultural ambassador.’’ Stuart Preston, believing that ‘‘American visual arts have been woefully represented abroad,’’ saluted the new International Council and wished it ‘‘every success in its inspiring and patriotic program.’’ Under the heading, ‘‘Cultural Reinforcements,’’ a New York Times editorial exclaimed that moma ‘‘deserves encouragement and support in its e√orts to reinforce the cultural bonds underlying the acknowledged common destiny of the nations of the West.’’∞π To a di√erent degree, the Smithsonian Institution also got into the overseas art exhibit business. As with the afa, the Smithsonian’s opening came about in Germany. In June 1951, the State Department requested that a $30,000 grant-in-aid award be made to the institution for the purpose of organizing a series of exhibits ‘‘designed to create a helpful influence on the German people’’ as part of State’s ‘‘reorientation’’ program. As the request made very clear, the Smithsonian would accept the grant in ‘‘its private capacity.’’ By September, the amount of the grant had grown to $45,000, and the Smithsonian’s Traveling Exhibition Service was arranging twelve exhibits for display in West Germany and Austria. The exhibits would accomplish many things, including: ‘‘Imply a humane philosophy based upon universal brotherhood’’; ‘‘Instill an appreciation of the political principles upon which the United States was founded and is developing’’; and ‘‘Impart information concerning phases of American industrial progress as the achievement of free individuals operating in a democracy.’’ Few of the planned exhibits, however, had anything to do with painting, much less modern art. Ceramics, ‘‘American wall papers,’’ textiles, ‘‘American containers and packaging,’’ glass, and multimedia presentations centered on ‘‘the world of Paul Revere’’ and ‘‘the Mississippi’’ (featuring the works of Mark Twain) were to be the 86

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

highlights of the Smithsonian contribution. Eventually, folk art, some Audubon prints, and the Native American paintings of George Catlin found their way into the exhibition schedule. By 1952, the State Department had broadened the purview of the Smithsonian exhibits to include ‘‘priority’’ countries such as Italy, Austria, France, Yugoslavia, and Greece: ‘‘All these countries are especially endangered by Communist influence and must, therefore, be singled out.’’∞∫ Apparently, even the ‘‘private capacity’’ of the Smithsonian could be brought to bear in the cultural Cold War. A POSITIVE ANSWER TO COMMUNIST PROPAGANDA

In the space of just over a half-dozen years, American art had gone from a pariah to an o≈cially sanctioned part of the international information functions of the U.S. government. The afa, the Smithsonian, and moma were taking the leading roles. For the afa and moma, in particular, the change was neither sudden nor e√ortless. For years, the leaders of these organizations pressed for a greater U.S. role in exhibiting the nation’s art overseas. When that role was slow in developing, first the afa and later moma jumped in to fill the void by organizing foreign exhibits with funding from private sources. It must have been extraordinarily satisfying, nevertheless, finally to receive o≈cial validation of their e√orts. Government grants and contracts with the afa, moma, and even the Smithsonian Institution slowly began to appear in the early 1950s. The role of American art in the nation’s cultural diplomacy seemed assured. How di√erent it was from the dark days of 1947–48, when the U.S. government made it quite clear that art—and most particularly modern art—was unwanted and unneeded. By 1955, paintings and watercolors by many of the leading figures of American art (including abstract expressionists) were traveling the globe with partial or full support by the Department of State and/or the usia. What could account for such a dramatic reversal of policy? As with almost any o≈cial foreign policy undertaking of the U.S. government during the Cold War, anticommunism is the key to understanding the newfound support for exhibiting American art overseas during the early 1950s. Writing in 1953, former assistant secretary of state Edward Barrett informed his readers that, ‘‘little noted by Americans, the Soviets began, in late 1950, an ambitious intensified ‘cultural o√ensive.’ ’’ The Russians, he argued, ‘‘recognized what we Americans have been slow to learn: that there are many nations where ‘culture’ isn’t a politically A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

87

abhorrent term and where intellectuals wield substantial political power (vastly more, it would seem, than American ‘egg-heads’).’’ The Soviet Union, Barrett noted with no small degree of apprehension, was sending out books, art, ballets, and thousands of its own citizens to serve as cultural ambassadors. He estimated that it was spending $1.5 billion on propaganda. Soviet e√orts in France were a perfect example of the communist modus operandi: ‘‘The unending theme, sometimes open, more often subtle, is that the United States is maintaining a fascist-type occupation and is hell-bent on plunging Europe into a war that neither France nor the U.S.S.R. wants.’’∞Ω And, as historian Frank Ninkovich clearly points out, the Soviet ‘‘cultural o√ensive’’ was coming hard on the heels of the outbreak of the Korean War, an action that ‘‘infused the U.S. government with a renewed determination to check the Soviets.’’ Part of that ‘‘renewed determination’’ was reflected in a new emphasis on U.S. information and propaganda e√orts: ‘‘Whereas the usis employed 1,500 persons at its low point in 1948, and spent less than $20 million per year, by 1952 its sta√ of 8,900 was dispensing more than $100 million annually.’’≤≠ In addition, America’s overseas propaganda campaign received a tremendous boost with the election of Dwight D. Eisenhower as president in 1952. Walter Hixson, in his study of U.S. Cold War propaganda, concludes that ‘‘Eisenhower himself quietly planned to elevate psychological warfare to the center of Cold War strategy.’’≤∞ U.S. o≈cials, and the American people, were certainly aware of what was referred to as the Soviet ‘‘cultural o√ensive.’’ A 1954 article from the New York Times declared that the ‘‘new, more subtle o√ensive’’ being conducted by the communists was ‘‘beginning to induce previously hostile people to soften their attitude toward the Soviet Union.’’ In the area of ‘‘cultural relationships,’’ the Russians ‘‘suddenly have become more internationally minded.’’ This interest manifested itself in forms ranging from high art (sending a Soviet orchestra to Norway and a ballet company to India) to somewhat less lofty programs (such as the Russian e√ort to bring the Sonja Henie ice show to Moscow). The news story was quick to remind readers, however, that ‘‘beneath the new veneer of amiability, the basic Soviet policy of disruption and hostility to the West remained unchanged.’’ Later that year, at a meeting of the U.S. Advisory Commission on Information (established to provide the usia with policy suggestions), the scope of the Soviet cultural o√ensive in East Germany was laid out. It was an impressive undertaking that included the rebuilding of an important opera house in East Berlin, free tuition to Humboldt University for 2,000 students, cash bonuses to members of the Soviet Zone 88

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

Academy of Fine Arts, ‘national prizes’ for achievements in culture, subsidies for book publication, the establishment of a college of music, ‘‘an exhibit of ‘Patriotic art’ . . . at the Soviet Zone German Arts Academy,’’ and heavy involvement in radio shows. In addition, foreign delegations of artists, politicians, and others were given the ‘‘red-carpet treatment’’ when brought to East Germany or the Soviet Union.≤≤ U.S. concerns over communist cultural activities soon increased. As one o≈cial noted, ‘‘1955 was a major year propagandawise. During the year the Russians completed the shift begun in 1953 from the hard line to the soft line.’’ The Soviets increased the cultural attack ‘‘in all media: broadcasting, the printed word, films, exchange of persons, trade fairs, and exhibits.’’ There was particular note of the increase in the number of books published, movies produced, and attempts to use television as a propaganda medium. And as a brief news story from 1956 suggested, the Soviets were also active on the fine art front. The Soviet Culture Ministry, it was announced, would spend $9 million each year to ‘‘encourage production of works of art for museums and traveling exhibits.’’≤≥ Against the backdrop of heightened Cold War tensions in the wake of the Korean War and an ominous (and apparently e√ective) ‘‘cultural o√ensive’’ thundering out of the Soviet Union, it was hardly surprising to find the supporters of an American overseas cultural program loudly proclaiming the value of art, not so much as an instrument of international communication but instead as a weapon against communism. This line of argument had, of course, been developing ever since the destruction of the Advancing American Art exhibit in 1948, but it now took on a new urgency. Thornton Wilder, reporting to the Department of State on the unesco International Conference of Artists, clearly noted the subtle change in emphasis. An international organization of artists, he declared, should first work toward ‘‘promulgating the doctrine of the freedom of the artist as a weapon in the ideological warfare against totalitarian governments.’’ The next goal, of course, was to create ‘‘one more bond in international cooperation and understanding.’’ The rest of Wilder’s report veered between the two poles: art as art, and art as propaganda. Yet he was clear in his conclusion: ‘‘A purpose of this Conference is to rea≈rm the doctrine of liberty of the artist as a challenge and counterweapon to Soviet propaganda. With the decay of responsible contracts as a medium of diplomacy, international relations have been forced to descend to the Soviets’ substitute for an honored agreement—namely, propaganda.’’≤∂ Even George F. Kennan, the father of the ‘‘containment policy,’’ joined A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

89

in the chorus. Speaking at moma in 1955, he warned his audience that ‘‘we are gradually becoming aware for the first time of the frightening extent to which negative conceptions about us prevail to one degree or another abroad.’’ America was increasingly viewed as a nation that was ‘‘vulgar, materialistic nouveaux riches, lacking in manners and in sensitivity, interested only in making money, contemptuous of every refinement of esthetic feeling.’’ It was important, therefore, for the United States to ‘‘show the outside world both that we have a cultural life and that we care something about it.’’ If this could be done, Kennan believed, ‘‘I for my part would willingly trade the entire remaining inventory of political propaganda for the results that could be achieved by such means alone.’’ Composer Aaron Copland went directly to the heart of the matter when he commented in 1952 that ‘‘the future will prove that the Government needs artists just as badly as artists require Government interest.’’≤∑ The calls for a government-sponsored overseas art program accelerated dramatically in 1954 and 1955, just as the Russian emphasis on the ‘‘soft line’’ in their propaganda also reached a crescendo. New York Times art critic Aline Louchheim in 1954 lamented the lack of a full-scale U.S. program in cultural diplomacy—‘‘an art we neglect,’’ as she put it. She commented on the recently concluded São Paulo Bienal, the largest international art exhibit held in the Western Hemisphere. England, France, Germany, and even Yugoslavia were represented by large, and government-sponsored, exhibitions. The United States was there, too, but ‘‘everyone was aware that our exhibition was not sponsored by our Government.’’ Instead, moma, with a grant from the Rockefeller Fund, filled the breech. Noticeably absent from the opening ceremonies was the U.S. ambassador. As one of the Brazilian hosts remarked, ‘‘He’s probably playing golf. Isn’t that what Americans in public life do?’’ None of the other countries were surprised. After all, it simply substantiated the suspicion that ‘‘we are cultural barbarians.’’ Worse, however, was the fact that ‘‘the Communists capitalize’’ on that attitude. William Ainsworth Parker, secretary of fellowships for the American Council of Learned Societies, could only agree. ‘‘Technological engineering is no longer our first line of defense against Communism. I sincerely doubt that it ever was, because the struggle between democracy and Communism is one which is being waged all over the world within the minds of men and women.’’ Greater government support for the arts would ‘‘greatly increase the prestige of the United States throughout the free world. I believe that it would also provide a positive answer to Communist propaganda against this nation.’’ The Soviets were showing their art ‘‘in 90

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

quantity outside of Russia,’’ and their propaganda suggested that Americans were ‘‘merely money-mad and heartless.’’ ‘‘For our own sakes,’’ he pleaded, ‘‘we must turn a spirited face towards the peoples of the world.’’ Using almost the same precise terms, Willard Swire of the American National Theatre and Academy warned Congress in testimony in 1955, ‘‘It is a known fact that our political enemies abroad portray the United States as a materialistic country glorying in our motor cars, refrigerators, air conditioners, bathrooms and similar industrial possessions. By the same token they label us ‘cultural barbarians’ with little or no intellectual accomplishments, lacking in native culture and content to subjugate our minds to the primary activity of acquiring money.’’ With government support of an overseas cultural program, Swire argued, ‘‘the time is upon us when we must correct the misunderstandings that have been deliberately planted.’’≤∏ Additional support came from unexpected sources. The Young Democratic Clubs of America, at their national convention in 1955, argued that the United States was ‘‘consistently presented in the worst possible light as a Nation of materialistic barbarians while the U.S.S.R. is presented as the cradle of culture in this propaganda o√ensive’’ against America. The Russians were enjoying ‘‘great influence in winning the minds and hearts of men throughout the world and among the uncommitted people.’’ In a resolution, they called on the federal government to ‘‘establish a program of cultural interchange with foreign countries to meet the challenge of competitive co-existence with communism.’’ Even the afl-cio voiced its concerns, arguing in a resolution of its own that ‘‘we favor cultural relations with the peoples behind the Iron Curtain. We are firmly convinced that if it were possible to have such an exchange of ideas and information among the peoples of both sides of the Iron Curtain, it would always work to the advantage of the democracies.’’≤π As was also often noted by advocates of a stronger U.S. cultural diplomacy program, it was not just the Soviets who were providing competition in this field. British e√orts were often pointed to as an example of how cultural diplomacy could work. It was certainly the case that Britain made a concerted e√ort at supporting the arts in the years after World War II. However, even though the British Council (which handled the overseas advancement of British culture) complained during the early 1950s about its ‘‘increased workload,’’ in fact Great Britain’s stabs at cultural diplomacy remained ‘‘patchy,’’ at best. J. M. Lee, who has produced one of the most through studies of British cultural diplomacy during the Cold War, suggests that the British were ‘‘slow’’ to pick up the idea. One A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

91

problem was the di√usion of cultural policy through a host of o≈ces. Even the British Council was not recognized as a permanent part of government policy planning until 1955. Lee contrasts this with the Americans and Soviets, who more quickly brought cultural diplomacy under one agency or o≈ce, such as the usia. In addition, Britain’s growing immigrant population and its colonial ties made it di≈cult to construct a cultural ‘‘message’’ that was both distinctly British as well as palatable to di√erent ethnic and national groups. It was only in the mid-1950s, when the British were faced with the Soviet cultural o√ensive and nationalistic threats to its interests in the Middle East, that they began to construct a more consistent and coherent program. And, as Janet Minihan suggests, a very di√erent outlook from their American compatriots drove the British in their cultural diplomacy: ‘‘If the glorious days of empire and naval hegemony were gone forever, and if the war had reduced Great Britain to financial dependence on the United States, there was still cause enough for pride in British cultural strength.’’ As such, British e√orts often concentrated on England’s cultural heritage and past achievements.≤∫ The supporters of an American program had far more grandiose notions. America’s cultural diplomacy would focus on the leadership (even dominance) of U.S. art, and would present that art as a powerful force against the stifling totalitarianism of the communist bloc. The same general theme, of course, had been used since at least the late 1940s by advocates of an American overseas art program: art as a weapon in the Cold War. The di√erence, certainly by the time Eisenhower came into o≈ce in 1953, was that someone was now listening. Even in Congress, long dismissed by many in the American art community as a den of Philistines and ignorant, self-appointed art critics, positive action began to brew. Representative Charles Howell (D-N.J.), part of a three-person Special Subcommittee on Arts Foundations and Commissions in 1954, was furious when he could not get his two fellow congressmen to see the necessity for an expanded U.S. cultural diplomacy e√ort. Without such an e√ort, he argued, ‘‘the Communist parties in the various countries and the Russians find it extremely easy to spread their lies that we are gumchewing, insensitive, materialistic barbarians. I, for one, do not propose to make it easy for the U.S.S.R. to win the minds, the hearts, and the souls of men throughout the world. I believe the time has come, indeed it is long overdue, for the United States to mount a countero√ensive against the huge Soviet cultural drive which includes everything from athletes to ballerinas to chess players.’’ Although Howell lost a bid to move to the Senate that same year, his colleague in New Jersey, Representative Frank 92

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

Thompson, continued the fight. He was not alone, nor was he entirely unsuccessful. According to newspaper reports, in addition to Thompson’s bill asking for a national arts center in Washington, D.C., a dozen ‘‘similar bills were filed by nine Democrats and three Republicans.’’ Thompson successfully lobbied for increasing the appropriation to the Commission of Fine Arts so that it could aid the federal government in ‘‘cultural matters.’’ Another bill set up a commission to begin plans for the national cultural center Thompson called for in 1954. And Congress acted to extend the President’s Emergency Fund, ‘‘with an appropriation of $5 million for international cultural exchange and for trade fairs.’’ Half of that amount had already gone to the State Department’s International Educational Exchange Service, underwriting an art show in France, a tour of Porgy and Bess to Yugoslavia, and tours by the Philadelphia Orchestra, nbc Orchestra, the New York Philharmonic, the New York Ballet Theatre, and Martha Graham’s dance troupe.≤Ω IKE LIKES THE ARTS

Even before the 1952 election of Dwight Eisenhower, an advocate of a strong U.S. propaganda program, and the establishment of the usia in 1953, it was apparent that the calls for action on the cultural diplomacy front were having an impact. Assistant Secretary of State for Public A√airs H. Howland Sargeant, speaking to the cia-funded and -supported Committee for Cultural Freedom in early 1952, noted that ‘‘American intellectuals had a great responsibility to defend freedom against the world-wide cultural o√ensive being waged by the Soviet Union.’’ His charge to the nation’s intellectuals followed the announcement by the Department of State that ‘‘a new operating agency’’ was being established to run the U.S. overseas information and propaganda programs.≥≠ All of this, however, took place too late in the Truman administration to e√ect substantial shifts in the area of American cultural diplomacy. Such changes awaited the election of Eisenhower and the establishment of the usia. The election of Eisenhower signaled a dramatic acceleration in the use of American culture in the Cold War, although such a change was not immediately evident. In fact, shortly after the new president’s inauguration, one State Department o≈cial lamented that ‘‘the Korean War had caused a major change in the concept [of the American information program], shifting the emphasis to outright anti-communist propaganda.’’ This was, he felt, ‘‘largely due to Congressional pressure for a positive program against Soviet expansion.’’ Given this outlook, he was A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

93

dubious that there would be ‘‘any further government funds for art exchange.’’ He badly misread the incoming administration, however, for it soon became clear that the notion of American art as a weapon in the Cold War had taken hold.≥∞ One of the first clear signals of this changing attitude came in October 1953. Andrew Berding, an o≈cial with the new usia, spoke to the afa at its annual convention. The title of his talk was telling and straightforward—‘‘The Arts as Our Ambassador.’’ He began by a≈rming the usia’s commitment to ‘‘fruitful contact’’ with the afa. He also noted that two art exhibits, one a collection of Native American portraits by George Catlin and the other an exhibition of historical prints, were being shown abroad at that very moment under the auspices of his agency. Berding admitted that one of the ‘‘gaps’’ in America’s cultural diplomacy ‘‘has been in the field of art, particularly the fine arts.’’ This was hardly earthshattering news to his afa audience, which had worked for years to fill that ‘‘gap.’’ He made clear, however, that the United States now realized the error of its ways. And he also made clear the primary motivation behind this epiphany: ‘‘The Soviets have made extensive use of the cultural theme in their campaign to divide the free nations.’’ The Russians were whipping up anti-American sentiment with their propaganda about the ‘‘ ‘uncultured American barbarians.’ ’’ It was time, Berding declared, to go on the attack. The Soviet ‘‘cultural o√ensive,’’ was really nothing of the sort. ‘‘Soviet weakness in the cultural field is recognized both by artist and Party.’’ This was particularly true in painting, where ‘‘socialist realism’’ dominated, and art became merely ‘‘propaganda of the crudest sort.’’ Instead, the Soviets ‘‘flourished propaganda-wise on denunciations of American art, art which with Europeans are so unfamiliar. We must admit that in this we have aided them materially by our neglect of the artistic front.’’ All of this must have been tremendously satisfying to the afa members in the audience. After all, however one wished to portray the overseas exhibition of American art—as an international language of peace and understanding or as a weapon against totalitarianism and communism—the end result would be the same. Yet Berding took the occasion to remind his audience that the usia was ‘‘not interested in art for art’s sake. We do not intend to embark on a vast program for spreading all and any American art abroad.’’ American art must be ‘‘a means of interpreting American culture to other peoples.’’ Clearly, then, ‘‘our Government should not sponsor examples of our creative energy which are non-representational to the point of obscurity.’’≥≤ It was the old bugaboo

94

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

about abstract expressionism, but if the afa felt any misgivings at the time it did not air them. After all, the exhibits at the Berlin Cultural Festival, the 1952 Venice Biennale, and the show in India had all featured modern art, and the follow-up show to Germany focusing on nineteenthcentury American art indicated that the afa was not wedded to any particular style. In the heady days of 1953–55, when it appeared that American art would finally receive the support it so desperately needed to reach an international audience, Berding’s warning could be shrugged o√ as merely the uninformed musings of another amateur art critic. What certainly did become evident following Berding’s speech was a new and powerful emphasis on the role of art in the nation’s propaganda. And as a report prepared for the usia in 1953 made clear, American exhibits overseas would be far di√erent from domestic art showings. ‘‘Traditional exhibits of art and cultural products,’’ it began, ‘‘whether in public museums or private commercial galleries, have had as their purposes the creation and maintenance of high standards of taste in art, or the purchase of the objects displayed.’’ E√ectiveness, in these cases, was measured purely in terms of ‘‘attendance and patronage’’ or ‘‘sales.’’ However, usia cultural exhibits had ‘‘a very di√erent objective.’’ The reasons for exhibiting American painting or other artistic mediums overseas were to ‘‘convey information about the United States—for example, to correct misimpressions, or to increase knowledge of this country,’’ or to ‘‘shape attitudes toward the United States—for example, to create a feeling of identification with U.S. aims, or respect for U.S. culture.’’ Evaluation, therefore, would also need to be far di√erent. Questions about who attended and why must be asked. Has the exhibit ‘‘influenced the visitors in the fashion intended by the sponsors’’? The usia needed to establish ‘‘priority target groups.’’≥≥ In such a world of ‘‘cultural products’’ and ‘‘target’’ audiences, there was nothing said about the ‘‘country of the soul’’ or the healing power of art. As a newspaper article in 1954 proudly declared, there was a ‘‘new drive to fight Red lies about this country by tightening cultural ties with people all over the world.’’ The ‘‘chief weapons’’ would be ‘‘lectures, exhibits, concerts, literary works, films, and radio and television programs.’’ An article in U.S. News & World Report summed things up nicely under the headline, ‘‘Ike Likes the Arts, So—U.S. May Export Culture.’’ To get the point across, the piece included what would become a staple of such stories—a picture of Eisenhower, an amateur painter, happily at work at his easel. But as the article made clear, Ike’s likes or dislikes aside,

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

95

the president was convinced that more e√ort was needed on the cultural diplomacy front. He had been ‘‘stirred’’ by reports from abroad concerning Soviet cultural activities; they were ‘‘sending singers, dancers, musicians, actors and art exhibitions’’ all around the world. And the Russian artists were ‘‘making a deep impression,’’ while ‘‘American prestige . . . su√ers in proportion.’’ In response, Eisenhower provided the usia with funds to send our own regiments of cultural performers abroad. Painting? Well, that was another matter. The usia was sending a few shows overseas, but the memories of congressional attacks on Advancing American Art were still alive: ‘‘Too much abstract art, they said, and too many ‘reds’ and ‘pinks’ among the artists whose works were displayed.’’ Nevertheless, Eisenhower—whose painting style ran more toward pictures of farms, dogs, and landscapes—was committed to doing what he could to ‘‘capture the imagination of the people of the older, art-loving nations of the world.’’≥∂ It was now a full-scale cultural battle between the United States and the Soviet Union. By mid-1955, another piece in U.S. News & World Report suggested that America was turning its full entertainment-world firepower on the overseas audience. Porgy and Bess traveled to Latin America, Europe, and the Middle East; Medea, starring Judith Anderson, took Paris by storm, as did the New York City Ballet; Oklahoma! was bound for France and Italy; Martha Graham’s dance company would soon be dancing through Asia; the Symphony of the Air orchestra was a hit in Japan. To make the point more graphically, the piece included a world map showing various countries with letters by the name of the nation. A legend indicated what the letters meant: ‘‘A’’ for art exhibit, ‘‘B’’ for ballet, ‘‘C’’ for concerts, ‘‘D’’ for drama, and ‘‘M’’ for musical comedies. And as the article breathlessly explained, such e√orts were just in the nick of time. The Soviets were in the middle of a ‘‘big cultural drive,’’ sending hundreds of artists and performers around the globe. The Americans, unfortunately, were ‘‘making up for lost time.’’ Nonetheless, successes were already apparent. An American art show in Ceylon shamed an ‘‘inferior’’ Russian show, and the Japanese seemed to prefer the Symphony of the Air to a recent Russian ballet troupe. By the end of the report, the writers noted with some relief that ‘‘judging by audience reaction’’ the U.S. cultural e√ort was ‘‘doing very well in the world-wide battle developing between American and Communist artists.’’≥∑ The battle against communism had proven to be the salvation of the U.S. international art program. But in just a matter of months, the battle against communism would very nearly destroy it. 96

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

SHACKLED TO COMMUNISM

The early and mid-1950s witnessed ever more frenzied attacks by America’s cold warriors on aspects of the nation’s culture that they perceived as having been infiltrated, or even taken over, by communists and other subversives. In 1953, two of Joseph McCarthy’s chief assistants, Roy Cohn and David Schine, made headlines and raised eyebrows during a nearly three-week romp through Western Europe. Calling it a ‘‘fact-finding’’ mission, the two men made a specialty of terrorizing usis libraries by claiming that they had discovered nearly 30,000 ‘‘subversive’’ books by ‘‘communist’’ authors such as crime novelist Dashiell Hammett and John Steinbeck. Playwright Arthur Miller was called to testify before huac in 1956. Refusing the committee’s demand that he point the finger at other suspected subversives, Miller was found guilty of contempt and fined a small amount. Television, entering what some would later call its ‘‘golden age,’’ followed Hollywood’s lead and created blacklists that kept many performers, writers, and directors from working in the medium. Even rock and roll, just in its infancy, found itself condemned for being unAmerican and damaging to the morals of the nation’s young people.≥∏ The fate of the Symphony of the Air provides an example of what could happen when politics and culture met on the Cold War battlefields. The Symphony of the Air began in 1954, following the announcement by nbc that it was disbanding its nbc Symphony Orchestra (which had been led by famed conductor Arturo Toscanini since its formation in 1937). Many members of the nbc group decided to keep the tradition alive with the new Symphony of the Air. In 1955, the orchestra was asked by the American National Theater and Academy (anta) to conduct a tour of Asia. anta was acting on behalf of the Department of State which, despite its decision to get out of the ‘‘art business’’ still maintained a toehold in cultural diplomacy through sponsoring the performing arts. The trip was a smashing success, as the symphony played to sold-out audiences in Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, the Philippines, Thailand, Singapore, Malaysia, and Ceylon. As music historian Donald Meyer concludes, ‘‘The Symphony of the Air’s tour of the Far East was a triumph both musically and for cultural diplomacy.’’ A few months later, it was announced that the symphony was preparing for a similar tour to the Middle East, again supported by the U.S. government. Then, without warning, the tour was canceled. The reason soon became clear. Congressman John Rooney (D-N.Y.) had heard rumors that ten of the musicians in the symphony were communist sympathizers or actual communists. An fbi investigaA DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

97

tion confirmed Rooney’s worst fears, and soon Rooney had a government o≈cial before him at a congressional hearing during which he demanded to know why fbi name checks had not been run on the symphony members. The ‘‘evidence’’ for Rooney’s accusations and the fbi report was, as Donald Meyer notes, ‘‘flimsy at best.’’ Nevertheless, on 23 March it was reported in the newspapers that the tour had been scuttled. The Symphony of the Air, Meyer concludes, ‘‘never recovered from this altercation. . . . The orchestra never regained its stride and never left the country.’’≥π It was in this atmosphere that the defenders of America’s overseas art program battled for its survival. As previously noted, in the years following the destruction of the Advancing American Art exhibit the defenders of a U.S. international art program directed much of their attention toward ‘‘de-linking’’ American art (particularly modern art) and artists from the issue of communism. During the congressional attacks on Advancing American Art, insinuations—sometimes direct, and sometimes more subtle—were made that modern art was itself a form of communist propaganda and that a number of American artists were communist sympathizers. Despite the efforts of individuals such as Alfred Barr, Lloyd Goodrich, and others in the art world to counter these assaults, they continued with increasing ferocity during the late 1940s and early 1950s.≥∫ The leading voice in these attacks was Representative George A. Dondero (R-Mich.). Latching on to the anticommunist hysteria that swept over America in the years after World War II, Dondero singled out modern art as one of the preferred tools of the communist conspiracy during a series of vitriolic speeches beginning in 1949.≥Ω In August of that year, Dondero charged that modern art was ‘‘shackled to communism.’’ With an ignorance that must have left critics and artists alike astounded, the congressman declared: ‘‘Dadaism aims to destroy by ridicule, Surrealism—by the denial of reason, Cubism by designed disorder, Futurism— by the machine myth, Expressionism by aping the primitive and insane. . . . Abstractionism aims to destroy by the creation of brainstorm. The four leaders of the ‘isms’ were Picasso, Braque, Leger, & Duchamp. Leger & Duchamp are now in the United States to aid in the destruction of standards and our traditions. Communist art aided and abetted by misguided Americans is stabbing American art in the back with murderous intent.’’∂≠ Three years later, Dondero was still on the o√ensive, speaking about ‘‘Communist infiltration in one of the greatest fields of American culture—that of art.’’ American museums, he claimed, ‘‘have been infiltrated 98

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

by the cultural fifth column.’’ And to those who defended modern art by claiming freedom of expression, Dondero shot back that this was merely ‘‘communism under the guise of cultural freedom.’’ The modernists, he argued, were ‘‘strangling American art.’’ He warned his listeners that ‘‘Soviet news releases reveal that culture is a major weapon that the Communist conspiracy has selected for use in non-Communist countries.’’∂∞ Before he was done (Dondero retired in 1957), he managed to incriminate nearly every major modern artist, museum director, and museum in the United States. The list was truly breathtaking: Alfred Barr, the Museum of Modern Art, Peggy Guggenheim, Yasuo Kuniyoshi, Stuart Davis, James Thrall Soby, Daniel Catton Rich, Reginald Marsh, John Sloan, Lloyd Goodrich, Milton Avery, René d’Harnoncourt, the afa, Grace Morley, and Van Wyck Brooks all took their lumps. Foreign artists did not escape his attention, as Salvador Dalí, Picasso, and Marcel Duchamp were also cited as threats to America. Dondero did not always know their first names (Braque, Baziotes, Léger, and Miró), nor was he always able to get the spelling correct (‘‘Mark Chagoll,’’ ‘‘Jackson Pollack,’’ and ‘‘Kadinsky’’), but like any good amateur art critic, he knew what he did not like.∂≤ Dondero captured a good bit of the anti–modern art spotlight with his charges, but he was not the only person to find communists lurking under every easel. Katherine Thayer Hobson, a noted sculptor, wrote to Senator Joseph McCarthy in 1953 to complain about the purveyors of ‘‘modernistic art, men with neither ability nor craftsmanship but of distinctly radical ideology.’’ These individuals had ‘‘wormed their way into our museums, Foundations, and the art departments of our schools and colleges—to say nothing of the art departments of the press.’’ She strongly urged McCarthy to carry out investigations of college art departments. Of course, she realized that the senator, ‘‘busy with the subversive elements in our government,’’ might not consider the issue of art to be of much importance. However, art was a ‘‘most complete camouflage for communist infiltration.’’ Consistent with Dondero’s tactics, she lashed out at artists such as Léger and Kandinsky (which she spelled correctly). She also attacked ‘‘Albert [sic] Barr,’’ who, in correctly noting that Soviet art despised the modern trends, failed to note that Russia’s modern artists had been ‘‘allowed to creep out from under the Iron Curtain to live in the west, where they have continued to produce their destructive revolutionary art.’’ Hobson also claimed that the recent American art show sent to India under the auspices of the Ford Foundation and the afa contained works by five artists who were members of groups ‘‘listed as subversive by A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

99

the UnAmerican Activities Committee.’’ She concluded her letter with the ominous warning that ‘‘in no department of American life has communist infiltration been as successful and as unsuspected as in the field of art.’’∂≥ Conservative art groups, such as those that attacked Advancing American Art, also maintained a steady stream of accusations against modern art. Wheeler Williams, president of the American Artists Professional League and a longtime critic of the new art, claimed that modern art was ‘‘part of the communists’ diabolical plot to use ‘Art as a Weapon.’ ’’ All of the leading modern artists, he argued, ‘‘are, or were in their lifetime, communist party members, although of course many of their cult are just untalented dupes.’’∂∂ The attacks on modern art as communistic went beyond mere words, however. As New York Times art critic Aline Saarinen noted in early 1955, works of art were being put in danger. In Los Angeles, the city council found a ‘‘stylized metal figure sculpture’’ so objectionable that they wished for it to be ‘‘melted down or otherwise disposed of.’’ The Nebraska state legislature was incensed by a mural of the state’s history done in the modern style, which apparently included a ‘‘square bull.’’ As one state senator fumed, ‘‘ ‘Every time I see it I get madder. If that is art, thank God I am not an art critic.’ ’’ Saarinen’s article also focused in on the hotly contested ‘‘Refregier murals’’ in San Francisco.∂∑ The story of these murals and the uproar they caused is covered in some detail in a number of other studies.∂∏ Su≈ce it to say that the murals, painted by Anton Refregier at the Rincon Annex Post O≈ce in San Francisco, found themselves at the center of an ugly confrontation after they were unveiled to the public in 1949. Though they were not painted in an abstract style, neither were they traditional depictions of California life and history. Complaints were soon raised about the ‘‘rectangular heads’’ of people depicted in the murals, as well as what seemed to some observers as an unnecessary focus on the less savory aspects of San Francisco’s past. As Congressman Gordon McDonough explained in 1951, ‘‘The people of this community believe that the murals in this Post O≈ce should represent early California history . . . rather than the type of murals that cast derogatory and improper reflection on the character of California pioneers.’’ Many of his constituents believed that the murals were expressly designed to ‘‘spread communist propaganda and promote racial hatred and strife.’’ The president of the Society of Western Artists soon joined the fray, claiming that Refregier ‘‘is on the list of communist and fellow travelers.’’ The ‘‘ ‘Red and Pink Brotherhood’ ’’ was ‘‘out in force to save 100

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

the murals. Frankly they could not be more subversive, in my opinion were they on the walls of the Kremlin.’’ In short order, Congressman Hubert B. Scudder introduced a bill to have the murals removed and destroyed. This attempt eventually failed, but not without years of angry debate and denunciations of the murals.∂π What was most disturbing to many in the art world were suggestions that the federal government was taking these attacks seriously. The October 1954 issue of the Nation contained an article decrying what it called a ‘‘secret blacklist’’ of American artists, writers, and performers assembled by the usia. It was charged that the agency had developed a ‘‘combined whitelist and blacklist of writers, artists, and composers. Today there are sixteen large files.’’ These files contained charges against the artists: that they were ‘‘avowed Communists,’’ or ‘‘invokers of the Fifth Amendment,’’ or were ‘‘persons convicted of crimes involving the security of the United States.’’ This ‘‘graylist, which is in fact a blacklist,’’ now included names such as Aaron Copland, Dorothy Parker, and so many other American creative artists that it ‘‘reads like a ‘Who’s Who’ in the realm of American culture.’’ Just a month later, George Biddle, the ‘‘painting’’ representative on the Commission of Fine Arts, wrote to the New York Times to express his dismay over government security checks of artists. He stated his ‘‘surprise and indignation’’ to find that ‘‘outside the orbit of the Soviet totalitarian states, our Federal Government is the only nation I know of that employs a secret organization to investigate the political background of painters and sculptors.’’∂∫ In response to the attacks by Dondero and others, and the apparent government complicity in censoring American art and artists, the afa, artists, critics, and many others associated with the art world launched a sustained, and apparently e√ective, counterattack. Writing to David Finley, the Artists Equity Association strongly condemned the actions taken against the Refregier murals. The murals were ‘‘important expressions of our living culture,’’ and to attack them would mean that the ‘‘respect due artistic expression will fall to a new low, subjecting American culture to the ridicule of the entire world.’’ Julian Huxley, the former director of unesco, wrote from England to express not ridicule but heartfelt concern over the situation in San Francisco. The attacks were symptomatic of ‘‘the growing tendency in your country to try to exert political control over freedom of thought and expression.’’ One had only to look to the Soviet Union to see ‘‘what happens when creative thought and expression is [sic] subjected to control on political or ideological grounds.’’ It seemed most ironic that ‘‘just when the free world is protesting against this form A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

101

of tyranny in the Iron Curtain Countries,’’ the attacks on the murals indicated that some in America were ‘‘trying to introduce a similar tyranny into your great country.’’ Grace Morley of the San Francisco Museum of Art was incredulous: ‘‘It does seem a little fantastic, however, that a good work of art, paid for by the Government and of recognizable value, of which San Francisco can be proud, can be seriously challenged on political grounds of such flimsiness and can risk destruction from such attacks.’’∂Ω Art critic Aline Saarinen enumerated the various attacks launched by local, state, and federal o≈cials against modern art across the United States, including the Refregier murals, and concluded that, ‘‘It seems fairly obvious that what all this adds up to is the fact that such legislators lack the most elementary notion of what art is.’’ She worried that these misguided assaults would also a√ect the nation’s ability to send its best art overseas as part of its cultural diplomacy. Did the government not realize, she asked, ‘‘that our culture will be judged in Europe and Asia by intellectuals with higher esthetic I.Q.s than most Congressmen?’’ Artist Ben Shahn, who often found his art attacked as ‘‘subversive’’ or ‘‘unAmerican,’’ responded to allegations of government investigations of artists in a 1953 article. ‘‘What tragic bu√oonery lies in the investigation by an F.B.I. man—any F.B.I. man, even the best of them—into the meaning of art, into the motives of any humanist or liberal in politics, into whether education is or is not subversive, or whether a poem, or a piece of music, or a novel is a Communist threat?’’ He fretted that this ‘‘bu√oonery’’ had a decidedly serious impact on our relations with other nations and the battle against communism: ‘‘if we, by o≈cial acts of suppression, play the hypocrite toward our own beliefs, strangle our own liberties, then we can hardly hope to win the world’s unqualified confidence.’’ The afa took a more direct approach. Alarmed by Dondero’s verbal assaults and the more serious threat to the Refregier murals, in October 1954 the organization issued a ‘‘Statement on Artistic Freedom.’’ Artistic freedom, it read, was ‘‘fundamental in our democracy.’’ Art should be judged on its artistic merits, not ‘‘political or social opinions.’’ The document ended with a warning that threats to artistic freedom in America were damaging to the nation’s international reputation. ‘‘We believe that in this period of international tension and threats to democracy from both without and within our country, it is essential that our nation should champion these fundamental rights in all its cultural activities.’’ The United States should oppose dictators ‘‘by democratic methods, and give no cause for accusation that it is adopting the methods of its opponents.’’ America needed, more 102

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

than ever, to ‘‘demonstrate the artistic freedom and diversity’’ of its society, for these were the ‘‘most e√ective answers to totalitarian thought control and uniformity, and the most e√ective proof of the strength of democracy.’’∑≠ George Kennan turned his trenchant commentary on those who ‘‘march, in one way or another, under the banner of an alarmed and exercised anti-communism.’’ There was, among these individuals, ‘‘conscious rejection and ridicule of intellectual e√ort and distinction.’’ If allowed to continue, they would ‘‘stifle the interchange of cultural impulses that is vital to the progress of the intellectual and artistic life of our people.’’ Resorting to the language of the cold warriors, Kennan argued that through e√orts to control or censor American art and culture these ‘‘zealots’’ would ‘‘begin to draw about ourselves a cultural curtain similar in some respects to the Iron Curtain of our adversaries.’’ The result would be ‘‘cultural isolation and provincialism.’’ Even President Eisenhower was drawn into the growing controversy. In a message to the audience attending moma’s twenty-fifth anniversary, the president declared that artistic freedom was ‘‘one of the pillars of liberty.’’ He desired ‘‘healthy controversy and progress in art,’’ but only when the American people ‘‘have unimpaired opportunity to see, to understand, to profit from our artists’ work.’’ Eisenhower concluded that ‘‘when artists are made the slaves and tools of the state, when artists become chief propagandists of a cause, progress is arrested and creation and genius are destroyed.’’∑∞ If the father of containment and the president (himself an artist of sorts) so strongly condemned attempts to censor American art and artists, perhaps the wild attacks by Dondero, Hobson, and others could be safely ignored. SPORT—AND POLITICS—IN ART

Given the intense debate going on concerning communism, freedom of expression, and art, it is not surprising to learn that politics were never far from discussions between the afa and the Department of State and usia in reference to overseas art exhibits. Despite the increasingly close relationship between the art group and these agencies during the mid-1950s, a constant source of controversy was the government’s rather ill-defined policy about sponsoring art exhibits that contained ‘‘communist’’ or ‘‘communist sympathizer’’ artists. Tensions first appeared during the negotiations related to the 1952 Venice Biennale. A letter from Eloise Spaeth to John Walker strongly suggested that there were some grave reservations from the State Department about including Yasuo Kuniyoshi—the A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

103

same artist who drew so much fire from congressmen and President Truman for his works included in the Advancing American Art exhibit. The selection committee, she stated, would ‘‘not even compromise with Kuniyoshi,’’ despite the fact that she had carefully explained ‘‘the various angles they might encounter in State Department thinking, namely the fact that State has been working quietly to undo some of the damage done by the ill-fated State Department show, etc. . . . etc.’’ The selection committee’s response was that ‘‘if State has a list of artists that are not acceptable to them, the committee should be apprized [sic] and given their names.’’ The committee made its selection based on ‘‘aesthetic grounds and they must stand on these grounds.’’ In the end, Kuniyoshi remained in the show. It was one of the last major showings of his work before his death in 1953. Two years after the Venice show, Spaeth provided even more details about the selection of artists in a letter to fellow afa trustee Daniel Longwell. Trying to get State Department approval was a long, drawn out process. Hopper and Calder were both ‘‘safe,’’ but in the case of several other artists ‘‘we ran into a blind wall. None of these people were card carrying communists, mind you, they merely belonged to that vast pink world that I am sure both you and I have woven in and out of.’’ The first list forwarded to State, with Hopper, Calder, and two other artists included, was ‘‘sent back to us.’’ David Finley told the selection committee that the two additional artists ‘‘would never pass the State Department.’’ At that point, the selection committee resigned. Spaeth pleaded for compromise: ‘‘It was the first time the State Department had ever accepted the Biennale invitation and I felt it would be the last time if we couldn’t work with them.’’ The committee relented, and picked two other artists. Again, State passed. Using her legendary powers of persuasion, Spaeth somehow convinced the committee to try one more time. This time, it chose Kuniyoshi and Davis.∑≤ Tom Messer, who was then afa’s director of exhibitions, recapped the rocky relationship in a note to Lloyd Goodrich. Following the Venice ‘‘incident,’’ the afa’s relationship with the usia was ‘‘restricted in scope and limited to the historical fields in which political issues could not easily arise.’’ He referred to Andrew Berding’s 1953 speech to the afa in which the ‘‘government’s unwillingness to be identified with ‘experimental’ art’’ was clearly stated. Then in 1954–55, the government ‘‘indicated a renewed interest in art exhibitions.’’ usia director Ted Streibert met with afa o≈cials in October 1954 to discuss future exhibits. The afa was primarily interested in ‘‘the Government’s position toward artistic styles.’’ It was finally agreed that ‘‘contemporary shows’’ would be ‘‘representative 104

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

of all important idioms.’’ Streibert announced that ‘‘usia policy does not permit sponsorship of work by communists and communist sympathizers.’’ After ‘‘inconclusive discussion’’ the matter faded away, with the afa and usia agreeing to an ‘‘enhanced collaboration.’’ The 1955 contract between the organizations was evidence of how close the relationship became. Throughout this time, ‘‘the political issue remained but was successfully avoided by a mutual determination not to provoke it as long as this could be done with the policies of the organization involved.’’ What that meant, in practical terms, was ‘‘partial avoidance of the controversial contemporary field and a planning e√ort which to some extent foresaw objections and stayed clear of them.’’ There was no ‘‘censorship’’ per se, for the very good reason that the usia never made its standards clearly known. When the usia prepared contracts for exhibits containing the ‘‘stipulation that any work of art is subject to withdrawal,’’ the afa refused and insisted on a new contract. And, of course, the usia could likewise refuse the afa request.∑≥ There matters stood until the Sport in Art exhibit of 1956. In April 1955, representatives from the afa, the usia, and Sports Illustrated met to discuss the possibility of a large-scale exhibit entitled Sport in Art. The general outline of the plan was that Sports Illustrated would contract with the afa for the selection and organization of an exhibition of nearly one hundred works of art—oil paintings, watercolors, drawings, and sculptures—centered on the theme of sport. All of the works would be American. The magazine would then pay for the costs of sending the exhibit around the country. Once the domestic shows were completed, the usia would then step in and assume the costs for sending the exhibition to Australia, where it would be shown in conjunction with the festivities surrounding the 1956 Olympic games scheduled for Melbourne. Following this initial meeting, Tom Messer, who was by now director of the afa, immediately went to work establishing a selection committee and contacting U.S. museums to see whether they would like to host the exhibit.∑∂ On the face of things, the exhibit seemed like a perfectly sound idea— after all, what could be more American than sport? The first two domestic showings—at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts in November 1955 and the Corcoran Gallery in Washington, D.C., in early 1956—were successful and well attended.∑∑ When the exhibit came to Dallas in February 1956, however, it created a furor not seen since the days of Advancing American Art. In some ways, the fiasco in Dallas should not have come as a complete surprise. Even before Sport in Art hit town, an organization that A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

105

called itself the Dallas County Patriotic Council had already made a name for itself by attacking at least two previous art exhibits: one of sculpture by William Zorach, and one entitled In Memoriam, with paintings by the late John Sloan and Yasuo Kuniyoshi. The council charged that that all of these artists were either communists or members of communist-front organizations; therefore, their art should be banned from the Dallas Museum of Fine Arts. While these self-appointed art critics were entirely unsuccessful in getting the o√ending artists’ works removed from the museum, they quickly found another opportunity for attack when it was announced that Sport in Art was coming to Dallas.∑∏ Even before the exhibit opened in Dallas, the Patriotic Council launched its assault. This time, it charged, there were at least four artists featured in the Sport in Art exhibit who were suspected of communist ties: Ben Shahn, William Zorach, Leon Kroll, and the perennially accused Kuniyoshi (even though it was three years since his death). One of the council’s o≈cials declared that this was not a question of taste or ‘‘traditional versus modernistic art.’’ The issue was very simple: ‘‘We don’t want the exhibition in any public building of works by artists with communist front records.’’ Another was highly suspicious of the exhibit’s backer, Sports Illustrated, a publication of the Time magazine group. As he noted, ‘‘no one has ever called Time magazine an anti-Communist publication.’’ Two other members of the council argued that exhibiting the works by the suspect artists ‘‘lends prestige to their paintings,’’ thereby assisting them in selling their works for higher prices ‘‘and thus give[s] money to the Communist co√ers.’’ Finally, the chairman of the council argued that his group was ‘‘concerned only with the fact that our tax money is going into the pockets of artists devoted to the destruction of our way of life.’’∑π As far as the Dallas show was concerned the histrionics of the Patriotic Council had absolutely no impact. The Dallas Museum of Fine Arts trustees promptly and vigorously rejected the council’s charges. None of the artists named as communists had ‘‘ever been identified as a Communist before the House Un-American Activities Committee.’’ The museum was not concerned with the ‘‘political a≈liations, religion, or personal credos’’ of the artists it exhibited. While there would always be ‘‘disgruntled persons and groups who would run the Museum in a di√erent manner,’’ only ‘‘history’’ would have the final say, not ‘‘local Patriotic Societies, however well-intentioned they may be.’’ The artists under attack were already exhibited in nearly every major art museum in the country. Thus, the museum would conduct its business according to the ‘‘laws of the land, but not at the dictates of any minority pressure group.’’ 106

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

The trustees pleaded that it was ‘‘important once and for all to dissipate this nonsense that any single group in our community is the custodian of the patriotism of the rest of us.’’ The ‘‘fundamental issue at stake is that of Freedom and Liberty.’’ A short while after the museum’s response, the Dallas Park Board (to which the Patriotic Council had appealed following the dismissal of its complaints by the museum trustees) rea≈rmed that the show would go on as planned. And so it did, with an embarrassingly small protest organized by the council, which amounted to leaving leaflets on museum patrons’ cars.∑∫ And with that, it seemed, the ugly episode was over. At the same time that the Dallas museum trustees were making their stand for freedom of the arts, however, o≈cials of the usia were meeting to come to their own conclusions regarding the debate in Texas. On 14 March (less than ten days before the announcement that the Symphony of the Air’s Middle East tour had been canceled), the operating committee for the usia came to two conclusions: one, that ‘‘the works of four artists should be removed from the Sport in Art exhibit before the Agency sends the exhibit to Australia’’; and, two, that ‘‘a national Agency name check should be instituted on all artists who are to be used in future exhibitions sponsored by the Agency.’’ The response of usia o≈cials responsible for the overseas exhibits was ambivalent. The deletion of the four artists from Sport in Art presented no great ‘‘mechanical di≈culty,’’ since the usia could add or delete any art it wished from an exhibit it was sponsoring. However, there would be a ‘‘public relations problem potentially a good deal more serious than the one we are attempting to avoid.’’ More to the point, the usia would ‘‘jeopardize our cultural status in the world’’ and might have to ‘‘forego the services of organizations [such as the afa] throughout the country on whom we must depend.’’ Name checks for all artists were also problematic. The process was incredibly time consuming, and perhaps unnecessary since ‘‘we are now aware of most of the names of other United States artists who are apt to cause public relations problems.’’ What was eventually proposed was a more streamlined system. Artists who died ‘‘prior to 1917 shall be ipso facto considered cleared.’’ Those artists who were already known as ‘‘avowed Communists’’ or ‘‘Fifth Amendment Refugees’’ or who had been ‘‘convicted of crimes involving the security of the U.S.’’ would be automatically excluded. The other artists—such as those in the Sport in Art controversy—who were neither long-deceased nor o≈cially named in any of the various lists of subversives would have to go through the name check system.∑Ω A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

107

Whether Shahn, Zorach, Kuniyoshi, or Kroll were put through the machinations of this system is unclear from the available documents. What is absolutely clear, however, is that in May the usia announced that it was canceling the Australian exhibition of Sport in Art. The agency was somewhat less than open in disclosing its reasons, explaining to Sports Illustrated that ‘‘budgetary considerations’’ were behind the move. It also o√ered the less than convincing argument that it already had a photographic exhibit of sports in Australia and saw no need to replace it with the painting exhibition. When a usia spokesperson was asked if the events in Dallas had any impact, the answer was a terse, ‘‘No comment.’’ Alfred Barr of moma and the afa was not taken in by these rather transparent evasions. He immediately wrote to John Hay Whitney, a leading figure at moma, with his concerns. Sport in Art had been canceled because of what happened in Dallas, he declared. In addition, the afa had been informed by the usia that another exhibit in preparation, Universities Collect, would need to have three artists deleted—Shahn (again), Lyonel Feininger, and Pablo Picasso. And, finally, another afa-organized exhibition, American Painting, 1900–1950, was facing a similar problem. Such ‘‘acts of censorship,’’ while perhaps understandable in the light of ‘‘Congressional opposition’’ to cultural diplomacy would, in the end, ‘‘endanger its entire future program.’’ Whitney forwarded the message to usia director Ted Streibert. Streibert’s reply was brusque: ‘‘The matter has nothing to do with freedom of the arts.’’ The question was actually a very simple one: whether or not the usia ‘‘may decide for itself which artists are to be represented and which works of art displayed.’’ According to Streibert, the usia always had a policy that the agency would not support overseas exhibits that contained works by ‘‘Communists’’ or those who had a ‘‘close association with Communist fronts and groups.’’ This was a necessary policy for good ‘‘public and congressional relations.’’ In addition, it was needed to ‘‘prevent the exploitation by Communist elements overseas of controversies aroused in the United States if the works of artists who are Communists or Communist sympathizers were to be used.’’ Streibert apologized for the snafu with Sport in Art. The usia’s policy should have been made clear right from the start. That it had not been was due to a ‘‘drastic reorganization’’ that the agency was undergoing at the time. He then went back on the attack, referring specifically to the Universities Collect exhibit and the usia request to delete the work by Picasso. Such a deletion might place the agency in an ‘‘unfavorable light,’’ but it was ‘‘indefensible for a Government Agency to be responsible for the exhibition abroad of works by the artist who is respon108

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

sible for the Communist dove.’’ (Picasso’s painting of a ‘‘dove of peace’’ was used at the 1949 communist-organized World Peace Conference.)∏≠ In June 1956, the New York Times broke the story that the usia was withdrawing its support of the American Painting, 1900–1950 exhibit because at least ten of the artists to be included were ‘‘unacceptable’’ due to political reasons. This was seen, in some ways, as even more damaging than the earlier withdrawal from the Sport in Art exhibit, since American Painting was a massive collection featuring one hundred American artists that was to be displayed throughout Europe. The story did not name the suspected artists, but it was not hard to imagine some of them: Kuniyoshi and Shahn were both included in the exhibit, as was realist painter John Sloan (who died in 1951), often noted for his ‘‘leftist’’ politics.∏∞ In fact, the afa had known about the problem for weeks. James Schramm, president of the organization, was desperately searching for a way to save the exhibit when he wrote to Robert Hutchins, president of the Fund for the Republic. The usia had informed the afa that the works of ten painters would have to be withdrawn because they were ‘‘public relations hazards.’’ The afa, sticking to its 1954 declaration of artistic freedom, refused. Although the usia did not divulge the names of the artists, ‘‘assumptions damaging to the reputation of a great many among the participating artists will ensue.’’ The damage to America’s reputation would be irreparable. ‘‘Public notice will be served to the world that freedom of expression (of which freedom of the arts is an inseparable part) is subject to o≈cial and serious infringement.’’ Schramm still hoped that the usia would ‘‘reconsider their action,’’ but he was not optimistic. In response to the Times article, the afa also prepared a statement emphasizing its commitment to artistic freedom. Margaret Cogswell, who worked with the afa’s foreign exhibits division, was told to simply read the statement to anyone who called the o≈ce and to make it clear that the afa did not know the names of the suspect artists.∏≤ With the cat out of the bag, the usia finally admitted what everyone already knew. Even then, the agency did not make a public announcement. Instead, Streibert, in a closed session of a Senate Foreign Relations subcommittee, stated that the usia had ‘‘a policy against use of paintings by politically suspect artists in its touring art shows.’’ A few days later, Streibert wrote to Tom Messer at the afa formally announcing that the usia was canceling the contract for the 1900–1950 show. The reason: ‘‘over-all program considerations.’’ In a handwritten postscript, he stated that he was ‘‘very much disappointed that the publicity prevented arranging private sponsorship’’ of the exhibit. Messer’s reply is not found in the A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

109

documents. Instead, he turned his attention to the sad duty of informing the museums and collectors who had contributed works to the exhibition of the usia decision. In one letter to the Des Moines Art Center, he briefly summarized the usia’s demand that some artists be withdrawn from the show. The afa, Messer declared, ‘‘never wished to find out which ones’’ but instead took a stand for ‘‘freedom of the arts.’’ No private sponsor for the show had been found (the Fund of the Republic passed), so the paintings were now being returned. He tried to sound a note of optimism when he said, ‘‘Perhaps the only consolation we all have is the realization that the issue has come into the open and that the resulting debate will undoubtedly contribute toward the clarification of an important principle.’’∏≥ Messer’s deep disappointment was understandable. As Margaret Cogswell remembers, the feeling in the afa was ‘‘disbelief that it was happening.’’ The organization, she felt, also had a feeling of ‘‘great pride’’ in ‘‘standing up to the pressure.’’ The usia kept pressuring the afa to modify the exhibit, but it refused; ‘‘within the whole art world there wasn’t one soul who thought we should cancel.’’ The fact remained, however, that the shows were canceled. Just a year before the fiasco in Dallas, the future for a government-supported overseas art program had looked brighter than ever. Whether as a common language for humanity or a Cold War weapon against the communists, it finally appeared that American art would be sent across the oceans as ‘‘cultural ambassadors’’ for the United States. Then came the wild rantings of Dondero, Hobson, and others about ‘‘subversion’’ and ‘‘communist propaganda.’’ Yet until the explosion in Dallas it seemed that these kinds of charges (the same kind that had sunk Advancing American Art years before) might safely be ignored as hurtful but essentially harmless demagoguery. The usia’s hasty and unseemly retreat following the accusations against Sport in Art, the attacks on the Universities Collect exhibit (which was eventually allowed to proceed), and the cancellation of the 1900–1950 show were all evidence that brave talk about artistic freedom was not enough to sustain government support of international art exhibitions. In the months that followed, Messer certainly got the ‘‘debate’’ he wanted. Whether ‘‘clarification’’ resulted or not depended a great deal on one’s definition of the ‘‘important principle’’ at hand.∏∂

110

A DELIGHTFUL POLITICAL FOOTBALL

4 SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

For Representative George Dondero, 1956–57 was a time for celebration and reflection. He was bringing his career in Congress to a close, but as he did so he could take pleasure in the fact that his crusade against modern art—particularly when supported or exhibited by the federal government—seemed to have won the day. On one front, he continued the battle against the Refrieger murals. Writing to the ‘‘past commander’’ of the San Francisco American Legion, Dondero vented, ‘‘Modern art is a term that is nauseating to me.’’ The cries of freedom of expression being raised were nonsense: ‘‘No one is attempting to stifle self expression, but we are attempting to protect and preserve legitimate art as we have always known it in the United States.’’ He highly suspected that there were those in the government who were of the ‘‘opposite political faith and whose thinking is so far to the left that it is un-American.’’ He urged the American Legion to keep up the good fight against the murals. In early 1957, with his retirement from Congress, Dondero undertook a number of speaking engagements to spread the word about modern art. In February, he opined that the ‘‘modernists’’ generally relied on their ‘‘witless conceit and brazen egotism’’ in dealing with the public. In particular, ‘‘abstract art is so obscure in meaning that only a few people profess to understand it. These few may be fakeing [sic].’’ Only the most ‘‘gullible are swindled by their own vanity to patronize the grotesque and gaudy gimcrack ‘drivel’ that passes, for the moment, as artistic talent.’’ Speaking before the American Artists Professional League in March, he centered his speech on his favorite topic: ‘‘communism and art.’’ He had learned, since his opening salvos in 1949, about the ‘‘extent of radical infiltration and exploitation in the field of American Art and the knowledge of the techniques of Marxist Cultural conquest.’’ America’s enemies be-

lieved that ‘‘art is a very potent weapon.’’ He then turned his attention to the recent e√orts to send American art abroad. ‘‘The practice of sending abroad second-hand radical destructive art manifestations and works by Communist and Communist-fronters as examples of American art and culture—to combat communism’s cultural o√ensive abroad is absurd.’’ Indeed, this ‘‘is just the way the Soviets would like it.’’ But Americans did not care for it, and ‘‘Dallas, Texas proved that.’’ Just in case the message was not clear, Dondero thundered, ‘‘red stooges do not make good U.S. Cultural Ambassadors.’’ He warned his audience to keep an eye out for any e√ort by the government or private groups and individuals to ‘‘impose the taste of a few as the reflection of American culture.’’∞ Dondero did not realize it at the time, but the ‘‘modern art lovers’’ he so despised and defamed were already engaged in launching a counterattack. It was di√erent from the response after the Advancing American Art disaster, when only a few art organizations and individuals raised their voices against what they perceived as government censorship of the arts. Following the usia’s cancellation of the Australian showing of Sport in Art and the 1900–1950 exhibit, protests from the art world were matched with equally loud criticisms from politicians, the press, and even—in an oblique (one might say ‘‘abstract’’?) way—the president of the United States. While attacks on modern art and U.S. government e√orts to display such art abroad would continue throughout the end of the 1950s, 1956–57 marked a turning point in which those in favor of an international art program went on the o√ensive and those opposed to such a program were steadily reduced to irritating but largely ine√ectual sniping. By 1958, the proponents of an overseas U.S. art program embarked on the most audacious exhibition yet undertaken. INDESTRUCTIBLE RICHES

At just about the same time that Dondero was accepting the accolades of the American Artists Professional League and celebrating the demise of the Sport in Art exhibit, Hermon More of the Whitney Museum adopted a more optimistic attitude toward the future of the relationship between art and the government. Writing to the director of the Detroit Institute of Arts, More claimed that ‘‘there will probably be a more liberal and reasonable attitude towards art and artists now that Senator McCarthy is dead and your representative, Congressman George Dondero has retired.’’≤ ‘‘Tailgunner Joe’’ was indeed deceased, and Dondero would have to carry on his crusade in an uno≈cial capacity, but even so More’s words 112

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

might seem strange considering that he was at that moment standing amidst the wreckage of what had only recently seemed such a promising international art program. Yet More sensed what others were also feeling: that Dondero and his ilk, though they had won the battle over Sport in Art, were even at that moment losing the war. Writing to the usia in the wake of the Sport in Art cancellation, Harold Weston of the National Council on the Arts and Government gave a blistering summary of the current situation: ‘‘Our pathetic ‘posture’ (what a word) in the cultural cold war calls for a bit of back strengthening—not only in Congress. What valuable allies the communists have in certain Congressmen and certain outsiders! In my opinion, the time has come when liberal and enlightened Americans should no longer rely on defense but must take an a≈rmative stand and not only in relation to the arts— but that is all we are concerned with here.’’ Weston enclosed a resolution adopted by the board of the U.S. Committee of the International Association of Plastic Arts, which declared that the ‘‘rapidly increasing importance of the arts in the cold war calls for an a≈rmative statement by Congress in recognition of the value of artistic and cultural endeavors and a rea≈rmation of our American belief in freedom of expression and our antipathy to government censorship and political or aesthetically partisan dictatorship.’’≥ Weston’s call for an ‘‘a≈rmative stand’’ was answered again and again during the period immediately following the Sport in Art debacle. Tom Messer of the afa was gratified at the response from the public. ‘‘Oral, written, and printed comments continue to come in. They are without exception in support of afa’s stand. I have no doubt that up to now responsible opinion is entirely in back of us and that this will be of importance in any future development.’’∂ Just how important, Messer could not have guessed, but he was, if anything, minimizing the public relations nightmare the usia stirred up with its actions. One of the first people to vent their anger over the fiasco in Dallas was, perhaps not surprisingly, Leon Kroll—one of the artists identified as a ‘‘subversive’’ by the Dallas County Patriotic Council. Congratulating the trustees of the Dallas Museum of Art for their ‘‘adult and courageous stand,’’ Kroll proceeded to launch into an attack on those who ‘‘wrap themselves in the American Flag in order to cover motives in need, at least, of honest selfexamination. Some of these people would install the Gestapo or the Ogpu [the Soviet secret police] in our free country. That kind of patriotism has been defined by Dr. Samuel Johnson as the last refuge of the scoundrel.’’ A short while later, Kroll wrote directly to President EisenSUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

113

hower to register his disgust with ‘‘mis-informed members of Congress.’’ Accusations that certain artists were ‘‘subversive’’ were ‘‘outrageous.’’ He pleaded with Eisenhower for at least ‘‘a word of encouragement’’ to members of his administration concerned with international art exhibits. This, he hoped, would ‘‘hearten members of it and perhaps stop interference with their splendid work.’’∑ Kroll’s volley was but the tip of the iceberg, however, as the usia soon found itself under unrelenting attack by organizations and individuals in the American art world. New York art critic Emily Genauer (a veteran of the Advancing American Art war), lacerated the agency’s craven surrender to the ‘‘die-hard art reactionaries’’ in Dallas. She scored the ‘‘idiocy of the whole episode and the fact that it makes us look absurd at home and, more important, abroad.’’ Two of the leading art journals in the United States soon joined in the denunciations. Art News, after a long and pessimistic review of the Sport in Art episode, plaintively inquired, ‘‘How can artists contemplate future collaboration with the Government on any project?’’ Thomas Hess, executive editor of the magazine, continued the assault in a letter to the New York Times. The sad fact of the matter was that ‘‘the Government’s position is that it wants to use culture in order to show the world a true aspect of America, but insists that culture conform to a governmental fashion of security clearance.’’ Hess concluded, ‘‘It is a pity that Washington cannot realize that the whole point of art is that it can never be ‘reliable’ and that its merit often lies precisely where there is ‘risk.’ ’’ Arts took a more direct approach, publishing an ‘‘open letter’’ to President Eisenhower. It reminded the president that in 1954 he spoke at moma and declared that ‘‘freedom of the arts is a basic freedom.’’ The letter then argued that ‘‘the various art exhibitions which have been sent abroad have been received with enthusiasm as cultural ambassadors toward world peace in a free world. They have counteracted Soviet propaganda, which has tried to picture the United States as barbarian and materialistic.’’ The usia’s act of censorship was, therefore, particularly regrettable. ‘‘The free world,’’ the letter concluded, ‘‘is presently engaged in a crucial battle for the hearts and minds of men. America’s greatest assets in this struggle are our cultural heritage and achievements. When these are silenced, we not only stifle creative art, we forfeit the respect of people in other lands.’’ Arts publisher Jonathan Marshall (one of the authors of the open letter), also wrote to usia director Ted Streibert to express his dismay. The decision to cancel the art exhibitions was ‘‘a blow to freedom of art as well as other American freedoms, all essential to democracy.’’ Since the usia would apparently no longer send ‘‘contempo114

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

rary American art abroad,’’ perhaps it could at least send art magazines. These might ‘‘do much to counteract Russian propaganda which calls America materialistic and uncultured.’’∏ Lloyd Goodrich, who as chairman of the Committee on Government and Art was a one-man army against censorship in the arts, congratulated Marshall and his magazine for the letter to Eisenhower. As usual, Goodrich pulled no punches, blaming the current mess on a ‘‘small group of extreme-reactionary artists who have for years attempted to smear as communistic all art outside their own narrow viewpoint.’’ The usia’s policy would, in e√ect, mean a ban on most contemporary U.S. art in overseas exhibitions. This kind of ‘‘o≈cial censorship furnishes solid ammunition to those hostile elements abroad who contend that our government does not practice the freedom it professes.’’π For Goodrich and many others, all of this must have seemed like a tremendously disturbing case of déjà vu. These same arguments, and many more, had been used when Advancing American Art was destroyed in 1947–48. Yet a very heartening change had taken place, and people such as Goodrich were now joined by other voices calling for an international art program and decrying the usia’s policy toward ‘‘subversive’’ artists. One of the first organizations to lend its support was the American Civil Liberties Union, which joined with the National Council on Freedom from Censorship in telegramming Ted Streibert to express their dissatisfaction. The groups declared that ‘‘important questions of freedom of expression were involved’’ and that ‘‘the accused artists had been given no chance to disprove the allegations against them.’’ The Committee for Cultural Freedom stated that the usia’s actions reflected ‘‘ ‘muddled or frightened thinking’ that does this country great harm abroad.’’ Art, the ccf argued, should be ‘‘judged on its merit, without political qualifications.’’ Members of the ccf, including critic Clement Greenberg and artist Robert Motherwell, also wrote to the New York Times. The cancellation of Sport in Art ‘‘holds us up to derision abroad.’’ It was a given that ‘‘totalitarian regimes’’ used political considerations in judging the acceptability of art. However, ‘‘It would be our hope that if Government o≈cials are to concern themselves with the arts they do so with intelligence, discrimination and courage.’’∫ The usia also came under attack in Congress. Senator Hubert H. Humphrey (D-Minn.) denounced the agency for its ‘‘timidity, hesitancy and cowardice’’ in dealing with the art issue. The usia’s actions were doubly confounding when one considered that Americans had ‘‘ ‘heard a good deal lately about the importance of people-to-people contacts, a SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

115

wider exchange of persons, taking advantage of every breach in the Iron Curtain and utilizing every opportunity to demonstrate our free way of life.’ ’’ In light of the urgency posed by the Soviet threat, the cancellation of Sport in Art and the 1900–1950 exhibition demonstrated a ‘‘ ‘discouraging, unimaginative approach’ toward countering Soviet propaganda.’’ His colleague William Fulbright (D-Ark.) argued that the usia’s policy was ‘‘ ‘directly contrary to the policies of President Eisenhower.’ ’’ Fulbright was initially ‘‘doubtful’’ that the usia really canceled the overseas art shows because of ‘‘politically unacceptable’’ artists, but was stunned to find that this was the case. In light of this, the senator glumly concluded that ‘‘unless the agency changes its policy, it should not try to send any more exhibitions overseas.’’Ω The press also entered into the fray, most notably the New York Times. In two editorials in the summer of 1956, the newspaper poked fun at the Dallas County Patriotic Council and scolded the usia. The paper could not understand ‘‘how a picture of a baseball game, a winter scene, an elderly fisherman or a bevy of skaters could make persons in Australia or other distant lands turn Communist.’’ Obviously, these individuals ‘‘assume that what they call their patriotism makes them competent critics of the graphic and other arts.’’ The end result was that ‘‘foreigners laugh at us.’’ And, once again, the usia had ‘‘been bullied into a position that gives a false and distorted picture of our country that could rejoice only the hearts of our enemies.’’ The agency was ‘‘implying that art must undergo a test of the political legitimacy of the artist.’’ This was ‘‘uncomfortably close to the Nazi and the Communist concept, which is diametrically opposed to the basic philosophy of free American culture.’’ Even in America’s heartland the usia’s actions rankled. The Des Moines Register raked the agency over the coals for making ‘‘concessions to this yahoo standard of art and literature during the brief rein [sic] of terror by Senator Joseph McCarthy.’’ Streibert had adopted a ‘‘scared jellyfish role.’’ And what was he afraid of ? ‘‘McCarthy is still rumbling, but no one pays much attention any more.’’ Dondero, an ‘‘art-hater from way back,’’ was hardly a terrifying ‘‘dragon.’’ The Iowa paper concluded: ‘‘Thus what might have been a dignified and interesting demonstration that America does after all have some culture becomes another weapon for propagandists that culture doesn’t have a chance here. It also provides proof to foreigners that we don’t live up to our own principles of artistic and cultural freedom.’’∞≠ And on the same day that Thomas Hess’s scathing letter to the editor appeared in the New York Times, President Dwight D. Eisenhower spoke 116

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

to a gathering at the White House about a new vision in American cultural relations with the world. He called it the People to People program, and he made it clear that he foresaw a ‘‘partnership’’ between the federal government and ‘‘professors and students and executives,’’ in which the latter would travel abroad as informal ambassadors for the American way of life. It was not, in many ways, the most elegant of speeches: he began by admiring the ‘‘cross-section of American brains’’ in the room. Yet when one considers it in the context of the full-scale assaults being launched against the usia and its mishandling of America’s cultural diplomacy, its significance becomes clear. Anyone hearing the speech or reading it in the newspapers could not fail to see that Eisenhower’s language and general themes were precisely those being made by artists and art critics, journals, and organizations as they raged against the usia’s ‘‘censorship.’’ In short, just as he had done in 1954 with his presentation celebrating moma’s anniversary, Eisenhower took the opportunity to reiterate (in an admittedly oblique fashion) his commitment to the idea of artistic freedom. People around the world, he began, were being taught that the United States was ‘‘warlike, that we are materialistic.’’ There were two possible approaches to take in dispelling such ‘‘ignorance.’’ There was the ‘‘communist way,’’ to have the government ‘‘subject everything to the control of the state and to start out with a very great propaganda program all laid out in its details—and everybody conforms.’’ However, the American way was ‘‘di√erent.’’ Here in the United States, said Eisenhower, ‘‘We marshal the forces of initiative, independent action, and independent thinking of 168 million people.’’ Echoing Humphrey’s words about creating a ‘‘breach’’ in the Iron Curtain, Eisenhower declared that ‘‘what we must do is to widen every possible chink in the Iron Curtain’’ by personal contacts and by spreading the truth about America. This, he felt, was the ‘‘truest path to peace.’’ Instead of spending ‘‘billions’’ on defense, he suggested that resources be directed toward the achievement of a ‘‘positive constructive e√ort that leads directly toward what we all want: a true and lasting peace.’’∞∞ Taken as a whole, these were powerful and insistent voices being raised in defense of an international art program and in criticism of the usia’s policy toward ‘‘subversive’’ artists. Through the use of logic, shame, and, on more than one occasion, invective, they served notice that although Dondero and his supporters may have won the skirmish in Dallas, the war was far from over. Donald Shank, executive vice president of the Institute of International Education, issued a call in December 1957 for an accelerated program of American cultural diplomacy. In light of the SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

117

recent shock of the Soviet challenge to America’s technological superiority—the launch of Sputnik—the use of culture as a weapon in the Cold War was needed more than ever. He reported on a recent meeting of American artists; they concluded that ‘‘much more should be done, while the world is racked with misunderstanding, to deepen and widen the channels of communication between nations through the separate yet related arts.’’ In this crucial time, Shank believed, it was incredibly shortsighted to believe that ‘‘the creative arts are not burningly needed.’’ International exchanges of art would result in a ‘‘deepened understanding of the indestructible riches of the human spirit.’’∞≤ MANY NEW FRIENDS FOR THE UNITED STATES

The debate caused by the Sport in Art debacle was not entirely new. In fact, it had been going on since the Advancing American Art controversy of the late 1940s. By the mid-1950s, the positions of the two sides of the debate were already well staked out. Proponents argued that an overseas art program was vitally necessary as a tool for international communication, a valuable asset in the search for world peace, and a weapon in the cultural Cold War with the Soviets. Opponents fired back that the art— and many of the artists—was subversive; indeed, the art actually promoted communism. Thus, any government e√ort to send American art abroad was castigated as both costly and counterproductive to U.S. foreign policy goals. One important factor that began to tip the scales in favor of the program’s supporters was increasing evidence from abroad that U.S. art shows were having a favorable impact on foreign audiences and simultaneously serving as e√ective broadsides against anti-American propaganda. Another was provided by a most interesting source, for it became apparent during the 1950s that the Soviets despised modern art and saw it as the instrument of bourgeois capitalism. Could anything that the Soviets so hated and feared be all bad? Throughout the mid- and late 1950s, reports flowed in to the usia and the State Department noting both the demand for American art exhibits and the positive receptions accorded those exhibits. A summary from 1954 cited requests from U.S. o≈cials in over twenty nations for ‘‘visual’’ exhibits. A number of these, particularly from American posts in Asia and the Middle East, argued that such exhibitions were desperately needed in nations where a large proportion of the population was illiterate. From the usis center in Tangier came a plea that ‘‘displays on architecture, education, art, decoration . . . should be regular Center features.’’ 118

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

A U.S. o≈cial in Tel Aviv complained that France, Italy, and Spain sent collections of ‘‘original paintings’’ instead of the reproductions of American art provided by usia. The U.S. embassy in Wellington, New Zealand, declared that ‘‘much to our embarrassment usis has . . . lagged behind the Legation’s of other countries, particularly the French, ussr and the British Council, in making available cultural exhibits and materials.’’ There was ‘‘considerable acceptance for book and art exhibits’’ in Argentina, and U.S. art shows would ‘‘contribute toward the achievement of objectives in the country plan.’’ And a study of Mexican and Brazilian attitudes toward U.S. culture emphasized the ‘‘demand for American books, music, and art.’’ All of this suggested that ‘‘the culture of the Old World, notably that of France and Italy, which was formerly so admired among Latin Americans, no longer has the same attraction for them. It would appear that the dynamism which Latin Americans have traditionally associated with the material life of the U.S. is becoming associated with its cultural life as well.’’∞≥ Many of the requests from foreign nations for American art emphasized their desire for contemporary works. Writing in early 1958, David Finley (who had by now also taken on the job as chairman of the Fine Arts Committee for Eisenhower’s People to People initiative) noted that he was ‘‘constantly hearing from institutions, organizations, and individuals in foreign countries which need specific types of art materials.’’ Most of these requests came through the usia or the Department of State. Finley, no great enthusiast for modern art, admitted that ‘‘by far the greatest number of requests from these and other sources express an interest in knowing more about American art, particularly contemporary work.’’ Typical of these requests to which Finley referred was one forwarded from the usis post in Caracas. The Museum of Fine Arts in Caracas asked for an exhibition of American art that would emphasize ‘‘the flowering of American painting in the period between the end of World War II and present, during which time the U.S. has come to be recognized as a world leader.’’ Young artists in Venezuela were particularly interested in American abstract artists, such as Pollock, de Kooning, Gorky, Baziotes, Tobey, and Rothko. The executive director of the Fine Arts Committee of the People to People program echoed Finley’s sentiments, reporting that the group was receiving a number of requests from foreign institutions and individuals for exhibits. ‘‘By far the greatest number of requests received express an interest in contemporary art and architecture.’’∞∂ At the exact moment that Sport in Art and the 1900–1950 shows were SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

119

being planned and then canceled by the usia—and in the months and years to follow—reports from U.S. o≈cials in dozens of nations suggested that American art exhibits were having a powerful impact on foreign audiences. The American watercolors show organized by the afa and sponsored by the usia toured several Asian nations in 1954–55. The responses were almost entirely positive. In India, the deputy foreign minister marked the grand opening of the exhibit by stating, ‘‘While politics divides, slogans irritate, art unites.’’ Nehru himself declared, ‘‘I welcome this exhibit as these cultural exchanges bring greater understanding and appreciation than, perhaps, any other approach.’’ When the show toured Pakistan, usis o≈cials reported that 2,000 people a day attended the exhibition. The Pakistani people were ‘‘pouring in’’ to see the American art. The fact that America ‘‘sent an exhibition of valuable art here—and invited everyone—not just the upper classes—is a great boost to local pride . . . it means that we look upon them as cultural equals.’’ In Ceylon, over 13,000 people saw the show. Especially noteworthy was the fact that ‘‘among the sophisticated art lovers of Ceylon, the exhibition was unanimously received with appreciation and praise.’’ The highest praise for the show came from the Philippines. While only about 3,500 people visited the exhibit, many of these were artists, art students, and Filipino o≈cials. A local newspaper reviewed the show under the headline, ‘‘A Good Week for a Reassurance that America is not Merely Hollywood, Not Merely the Dollar.’’ The author somewhat grudgingly conceded that ‘‘once in a long while, America contrives to muster enough of her native genius to present to the rest of the world the best that she can give. When this happens, the bitterest critics of America and the American way of life restrain themselves . . . and reluctantly admit that Americans are not exactly a cross between the Bowery bum and the soda fountain waitress.’’ Other articles followed, including one that claimed, ‘‘This is the propaganda we would go out of our way to welcome. It is the propaganda that will really sell the United States anywhere, be it Europe or Asia.’’∞∑ The usis station in Kuala Lumpur reported on an exhibit of works by the Asian-American artist Dong Kingman in 1956. While awful weather and other factors conspired to keep attendance relatively low at the beginning of the tour, American o≈cials expressed satisfaction with both the art and the artist. He was a perfect example of the ‘‘poor boy makes good’’ story. The response of the Malayan audience was ‘‘astonishing,’’ and the number of people attending steadily increased. Kingman saw himself as a cultural ambassador for the United States and reported that the communists in Asia were ‘‘spreading their political philosophy through their 120

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

culture much more than we do—we are behind them in that.’’ Kingman’s exhibit was followed in 1958 by a showing called Contemporary American Prints, which received ‘‘very favorable comments from a large percentage of those attending.’’ The ‘‘artistic circles’’ in Kuala Lumpur were particularly impressed with the ‘‘dynamic quality’’ and ‘‘vitality’’ of ‘‘modern American art.’’∞∏ In Jakarta in 1956, one usis o≈cial took the unusual step of setting up an exhibition of American painting that included his own original (and quite abstract) works. The show was ‘‘an impressive entrée for American cultural pursuits into Indonesia’s art world.’’ Up to that moment, the communist cultural o√ensive had ‘‘deeply infiltrated such art associations as Indonesia’s lekra, and that in the field of art and art appreciation, for propaganda purposes, neither the Soviets nor the cpr embassy seems to spare any horses.’’ The exhibit, which combined a collection of reproductions of American art and original oil paintings by the usis o≈cial, was tremendously popular, with large numbers of Indonesian o≈cials and students particularly in evidence. While the more ‘‘realistic’’ set of reproductions proved popular to more people, the ‘‘abstracts and the modern created the most comment and excitement.’’ There was no question but that the event ‘‘made many new friends for the U.S.’’∞π In 1957–58, the Fleischman Collection toured Latin America. This large survey of American art (focused heavily on nineteenth- and earlytwentieth-century art), owned by businessman Lawrence Fleischman, was a hit wherever it was shown. With facilitation and some funding from the usia, the collection made its way through nations such as Peru and Chile. In Lima, ‘‘Press reaction during the exhibit was 100% favorable.’’ The show was well attended and ‘‘contributed toward furthering the usis objectives in Peru.’’ An excerpt from a review published in one of the local newspapers declared that the exhibition helped to erode the Peruvian perception of ‘‘the absolute standardization of Saxon American production in its various aspects—from economy to art.’’ The show proved even more popular in Chile, where nearly 11,000 people viewed the art. Here again it was noted that while the general public preferred the ‘‘realistic’’ paintings, the ‘‘sophisticated’’ observers ‘‘expressed preferences for some of the modern works over the more conservative ones.’’ In fact, the usis post noted that ‘‘we should have an exhibit of modern American art of the best artists. Some of the most critical intellectuals were not as enthusiastic as the general public and questioned our failure to show our best works.’’∞∫ Surely the most popular American art exhibit of the mid-1950s, if one SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

121

judges merely on the basis of the number of people who saw it, was Highlights of American Painting. In 1953, the Department of State contacted the afa about the possibility of arranging an art exhibit made up entirely of color reproductions of examples of American art from the colonial period through the twentieth century. While the afa was initially reluctant to pursue the job due to concerns over possible State Department interference in the selection of the artists to be included, it eventually accepted the task and put together a relatively representative collection of American art. The most modern and abstract works, however, were scantily represented in an obvious attempt to sidestep the whole issue of ‘‘subversive’’ artists. By the time the collection was ready to go, the usia had taken over the cultural side of American diplomacy. One of its o≈cials, Lois Bingham, wrote the catalog for the show. More than simply a brief history of American art, the catalog also explained to the reader the meaning of this particular aspect of U.S. culture. The nation’s art was marked by ‘‘variety, even diversity.’’ The Highlights of American Painting collection ‘‘reflects the character of the American people who are drawn from a variety of countries and races and who have brought with them traditions and customs that have been woven into our national heritage.’’∞Ω The reproductions (much cheaper and easier to transport than original works of art) were shown in Latin America, Europe, Asia, and Africa during the mid-1950s. As with any exhibition of this sort, however, there were always unexpected complications. During a show in Guayaquil, Ecuador, for example, the opening night of the exhibition had to compete with both a major fire (‘‘and no form of entertainment can compete with a Guayaquil fire,’’ wrote the usis station) and ‘‘several riveters’’ who remained hard at work all through the evening’s speeches. Nevertheless, in Guayaquil, Quito, and smaller Ecuadorian towns the show attracted enthusiastic crowds. The usis station attributed this partially to that nation’s ‘‘cultural vacuum’’ and the pride it felt that America ‘‘thought their community was su≈ciently important for presenting the exhibit.’’ In Quito, however, the usis report was more specific. The exhibit was a hit with ‘‘painters, writers and intellectuals generally, a primary usis target group.’’ The very high quality of the reproductions made ‘‘the job of influencing intellectuals in Ecuador infinitely easier.’’ Even a ‘‘heavily communist-infiltrated’’ local art organization had been impressed by the show, leading the usis to conclude that it was ‘‘unduly influenced by communists posing as intellectuals largely through default and through lack of democratic personal contacts which can orient them correctly.’’≤≠ 122

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

An audience in Santiago, Chile, takes in one of the most widely viewed exhibits of prints of U.S. paintings, Highlights of American Painting, at the Binational Center in 1955. (Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 321, Box 66, folder ‘‘Highlights of American Painting [1955]’’ [2004-50606])

In Europe, Highlights of American Painting also received generally favorable comments. In Italy, the usis reported that even the communist mayor of Sarzana ‘‘commended the exhibit to the young artists of the area!’’ The report from Brussels was more cautious. The reception had been ‘‘favorable,’’ but the more sophisticated Belgian audience wanted to see ‘‘ ‘live painting.’ ’’ In addition, a ‘‘principal negative criticism of the present ‘highlights’ is that it emphasized traditional paintings of an historical or folklore interest, at the expense of modern developments.’’ When the exhibit was shown in Belgrade, a distinct di√erence in audience reception was noted. Most of the reproduced art was already well known to Yugoslav artists and students; they were, therefore, ‘‘of primary interest to the layman.’’ Thus, ‘‘they have little interest for the professional painter, the art student, the art critic, or other opinion-moulders [sic] in the cultural field here.’’ The usia needed to ‘‘present an exhibit to the local cultural audience that will command their interest and respect. This can best be done by an exhibit of original American paintings or prints, preferably contemporary, that would correspond at the minimum to recent exhibitions of Yugoslav art in the U.S.’’≤∞ SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

123

Despite the embarrassing setback of the Sport in Art exhibit—and the firestorm of protest over the cancellation of its overseas showing—the U.S. government, particularly the usia, read the requests for American art shows and the reports of their impact on foreign audiences with greater and greater interest. At several meetings of the Advisory Committee on Cultural Information (a joint State Department–usia committee established in 1956 to coordinate America’s cultural diplomacy e√orts) in 1957–58 several points came into sharp focus. First and foremost was the belief that overseas cultural activities were an increasingly vital part of the nation’s diplomacy. As one State Department o≈cial declared, ‘‘it was felt we, as a nation, were falling down very much in not being able to demonstrate our cultural achievements abroad. The idea of America’s cultural inferiority continued to exist, not only in Europe but also in other parts of the world.’’ Recent U.S. exhibitions overseas, however, ‘‘have been received extraordinarily well and they are achieving the goal of enhancing the appreciation of our cultural development. The program has been uniformly successful.’’ At a later committee meeting, the discussion concentrated on U.S. cultural activities in the Near East, South Asia, and Africa. America’s fine arts were ‘‘a bridge for establishing communications contact and opening doors which can lead to the placement of materials that directly enhance U.S. policy objectives. . . . In almost every country in the area, something is being done to keep alive or to create more understanding of the basic American concept—the democratic concept.’’ A report prepared by the Operations Coordinating Board (ocb) in 1958 agreed: ‘‘Our modest activities in cultural presentations and trade fair participation under the President’s Special International Program contribute to the formulation of a psychological climate favorable to U.S. foreign policy objectives by projecting American achievements overseas.’’≤≤ It was also clear that the Soviets were continuing their own cultural o√ensive. The ocb report noted that ‘‘the Soviets and other countries of the Communist orbit are utilizing all possible means to further their e√orts at psychological penetration of non-Communist countries.’’ And the Advisory Committee on Cultural Information often prefaced its discussions of America’s cultural activities abroad with discussions of those of the Soviets. In a presentation dealing with India, for example, the communists were said to be using cultural blandishments in addition to economic and technical aid to try and sway the Indian population to their side. A ‘‘Soviet Fine Arts Exhibit’’ in New Delhi was but one instance of this ‘‘friendly, constructive’’ approach taken by the communists. Par124

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

ticularly in such underdeveloped regions, the communists had an immense advantage because they were dealing with people who were by and large ‘‘young and dynamic and have the feeling they haven’t been given a fair chance in life.’’ However, America had a powerful weapon at its disposal—American art. One of the ‘‘vulnerabilities’’ of the Soviets was the fact that their system was bent on ‘‘enslaving individuals and forcing ideas upon them.’’ This was particularly noticeable in the area of art. ‘‘In the field of painting and sculpture the contemporary works of the Soviet Union are weak. The ussr will not permit artists to exhibit or receive a government subsidy unless the works have State content. The Communist elements try to soften this rigid control by loud shouts about uncultured Americans.’’ But this communist tactic was falling flat. As a summary of Lawrence Fleischman’s trip through Europe in 1958 explained, ‘‘In most European countries the few art exhibits which the Agency has set up have attracted the intellectuals of not only our friends, but the Communists. In discussing the Fine Arts Exhibits with the usia people in Paris, Mr. Fleischman was told that the Communists always come to watch.’’ And as a usia report to the National Security Council (nsc) in 1957 observed, communists were not the only people who came to ‘‘watch.’’ ‘‘Geared to nsc overall objectives, several thousand cultural exhibits, in multiple copies, ranging from a group of posters to pavilionsize exhibits, were shown to three million registered spectators throughout the world.’’ (Exactly what becoming a ‘‘registered spectator’’ entailed was not defined.) The art exhibits, in particular, were proving extremely e√ective. ‘‘Detroit industrialist Lawrence Fleischman’s quarter million dollar private collection of American paintings circulated, under Agency auspices, in Latin America, gaining great respect for United States cultural maturity. Holland, the art dowager of Europe, felt after seeing an Agency art show that the U.S. could no longer be considered inferior.’’ Perhaps, as one Advisory Committee member put it, ‘‘the ‘culture mission’ type of work could be used as a means to an end.’’≤≥ For American art exhibits, the ‘‘end’’ was clear: to simultaneously win respect for U.S. culture and serve as a counter to the Soviet cultural o√ensive. Interestingly, the Soviets themselves provided some of the ammunition that would be used to rebuild the idea of an American international art program after the shattering demise of the Sport in Art exhibit. Throughout the mid- and late 1950s, news reports and usia studies indicated that American art—particularly modern and abstract art—was despised by the Soviet government. Art critic Aline Saarinen was surprised to find in 1954 that she was featured in the o≈cial publicaSUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

125

tion of the Soviet Ministry of Culture. The focus of the piece was a commentary on an article Saarinen had written about the São Paulo Bienal art show, but it was really a wholesale attack on modern art. The Soviet writer began by noting that abstract art had as its goal the ‘‘drawing of the masses aside from the materialism of the earth.’’ Thus it was that modern artists in America, supported by ‘‘millionaires,’’ ‘‘carefully divert the masses from the vital problems of life in capitalistic reality.’’ The ‘‘bourgeois ‘free creative genius’ is ‘dollar freedom’ and the ‘new method in art’ is the debasement of art.’’ Was it any surprise that the ‘‘workers of authentic art with a feeling of loathing are turning their glances away from ‘Abstract,’ which is paid o√ with Guggenheim dollars?’’ Saarinen found it interesting that the Soviet publication would devote so much time to decrying American art and its display overseas. This suggested to her that America’s art was a ‘‘potent and necessary weapon.’’ ‘‘The men of the Soviet Union are past masters at winning friends and influencing people by use of the artistic ambassador.’’ The United States, she declared, needed to realize the importance of ‘‘an impetus for real e√orts in this direction.’’ A few years later, a usia study summarized recent attacks by the Soviet Union on U.S. culture. In most cases, American culture was ‘‘generally presented as a product of decadent bourgeois society.’’ In particular, Soviet critics focused in on modern art. As an o≈cial from the Central Committee argued in 1957, ‘‘since American society is crumbling and decadent, U.S. art necessarily reflects a philosophy of doom, helplessness, pessimism, tragedy.’’ Hitting his stride, the communist o≈cial declared that modern art ‘‘engenders every sort of thug and corrupt types acting in a fascist and a devil-may-care manner, all sorts of bright fellows in the cultural sphere who think they are writers, artists, or musicians, and who desecrate all the spiritual sacred works created by man.’’ Another Soviet publication reached nearhysterical levels, proclaiming that the extension of American culture overseas was ‘‘done for the fulfillment of delirious plans of conquest by world domination, of enslavement of all freedom-loving peoples—plans matured by the imperialists of the usa.’’ Indeed, another Soviet writer noted, America’s attempts at cultural diplomacy were merely a reaction to the successful Russian overseas cultural program. The United States, however, ‘‘could not match Soviet cultural achievements because it was putting all of its money into military bases.’’≤∂ Sharp-eyed U.S. o≈cials might have also noted that modern art, though o≈cially denounced by the Soviet government, held a certain

126

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

fascination for a number of Russian artists and intellectuals in general (the same people cited as a ‘‘primary usis target group’’). Just one day after an article in the New York Times announcing that the 1900–1950 art exhibit was being banned from overseas presentation because of ‘‘subversive’’ artists, another article covered the reception to a show of modern French paintings in Moscow. The paintings had been banned from the Russian public since the closing of the Museum of Modern Art in Moscow at the beginning of World War II. To celebrate the visit of French premier Guy Mollet, however, the works of art were again on display. The paintings, by artists such as Renoir and Gauguin, were impressionistic rather than abstract, but they still stunned many of the Russian viewers, who were used to seeing the sterile socialist realism art dictated by the state. Crowds for the show were large and enthusiastic, and a number of Soviet artists left their thoughts in the visitors’ book provided for the occasion. As one boldly declared, ‘‘Dear comrade artists, give up your boasting! Learn! As we see here, there is something we can learn!’’ This boisterous declaration for artistic freedom was indicative of what Renee and Matthew Baigell found during their interviews with Russian artists conducted during the 1990s. ‘‘From the late 1950s until the advent of perestroika in 1987, many artists in the Soviet Union rebelled against the styles and ideology of socialist realism.’’ This opposition ‘‘became quite visible during the Khrushchev Thaw of the late 1950s and early 1960s.’’ As one of the interviewed painters noted, ‘‘We were cut o√ from culture, from art, and from a general knowledge of the rest of the world. Each of us who became a dissident tried to find something in Western art and in Russian avant-garde art of the 1920s. . . . Spiritually, artists like Jackson Pollock and Kandinsky meant a great deal to me.’’≤∑ The irony was almost overwhelming: a Russian artist turning to the ‘‘subversive’’ and communistic modern and abstract art of America to fuel his dissent from and disillusionment with the Soviet government. Perhaps the art lovers in the United States had been on to something all along. AN UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY

In March 1958, at a meeting of the International Association of Plastic Arts, Lloyd Goodrich o√ered his gloomy summary of recent e√orts to achieve a government-sponsored international art program. Up to the present time, he opined, ‘‘congenital indi√erence and censorship had hampered the government’s programs.’’ However, he o√ered a brighter

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

127

assessment of future possibilities, suggesting that he had recently been informed that ‘‘there has been a change in o≈cial attitude about censorship and he had been assured that political considerations would not enter into the selection of artists for exhibition abroad.’’≤∏ The exact source of Goodrich’s startling declaration is not clear, but in the next few months it became clear that the usia and the Department of State were indeed reconsidering the use of art as a diplomatic tool in the wake of the Sport in Art disaster. Less than six months after pulling the plug on the Australian showing of Sport in Art and the overseas exhibition of the 1900–1950 collection, the U.S. government began to gear up for its most significant foray into international cultural diplomacy. In October 1956, the Department of State established the O≈ce of the United States Commissioner General (confusingly abbreviated as bre) and appointed former New York Port Authority director Howard Cullman as U.S. commissioner in charge of American participation in the 1958 World’s Fair, to be held in Brussels.≤π The fair in Belgium was to be the first post–World War II world’s fair, and U.S. o≈cials were cognizant of the importance of the American exhibition. In requesting congressional funding for the U.S. pavilion at the fair, the Department of State argued that ‘‘the maintenance of American prestige abroad requires our participation.’’ O≈cials from State began to busily define the scope and purpose of U.S. participation in the fair, which they viewed largely in terms of propaganda. American participation, they felt, should ‘‘acquaint the world at large with American ideals and the American way of life. The theme and the main features of the Exhibition are peculiarly suitable for exploitation in connection with our foreign policy, and o√er us a large forum in which to make an e√ective counter appeal to anti-American propaganda.’’ From the beginning, it was clear that American culture would be a focus of the U.S. e√ort. The fair ‘‘will a√ord a major opportunity to advance important U.S. objectives.’’ While most Europeans were su≈ciently informed about America’s ‘‘economic and military strength, . . . many underrate the quality and consistency of our culture.’’ Clearing up that misconception would require careful planning. ‘‘Most of the 35,000,000 visitors expected at the fair will come from Western Europe and most of those for economic reasons will be leaders in their own communities. This fact will magnify the impact of our exhibit on the area. At the same time, the relative cultivation of this audience requires on our part the greatest subtlety and sophistication in our presentation.’’ Naturally, the United States would have to be ‘‘sensitive to Soviet plans, but we expect to counter them by 128

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

elevating the character of our own exhibit, not by crude, direct counterpropaganda.’’≤∫ The defining theme for the U.S. pavilion at the fair was to be that America ‘‘constitutes a society in ferment’’ (‘‘controlled ferment,’’ as the report made clear). The American people should be shown as ‘‘dynamic, energetic, impatient and restless for change.’’ The entire ‘‘American way of life will be manifest in the diversity of the exhibits themselves. Thus, this theme may apply readily to diverse elements as electronics or contemporary art.’’ As one planning meeting concluded, ‘‘Of all the nations, great and small, the United States today is probably the most widely known—[and] also the most widely misunderstood. To this day, ours, to the foreigner, remains an undiscovered country.’’ It was necessary to overcome the view of ‘‘America as the land of gadgets and gimmicks— and little else.’’ The world was already well aware (perhaps too well aware) of the ‘‘material’’ side of American life. What was needed was an American exhibition that would put on display the ‘‘inwardness of our outlook and way of life,’’ that would succeed in ‘‘dazzling the visitor’s eye with the brilliance and scope of an unsuspected reality about us.’’ In particular, U.S. o≈cials wanted to emphasize some key points. There should be an ‘‘accent on the future’’ which should ‘‘leave no doubt in the visitor’s mind as to who holds the key to the future.’’ Another focus would be on ‘‘youth’’ and ‘‘young people.’’ All of this would be combined in America’s presentation of its culture: ‘‘Formation of a new cultural base— Recognizing the contributions of other nations, the concept of dynamic culture of music, the arts, dance, architecture, etc., that has evolved within this country and is wholly its possession.’’ As Cullman explained, the U.S. exhibit ‘‘tried to keep away from two-pants suits, skyscrapers, machines and other manifestations of wealth and power. We tried to show the American way of life in terms of culture and spirit.’’≤Ω A year after the 1958 World’s Fair closed, Cullman summarized the government’s attitude toward U.S. representation there: The program, therefore, would have to be broad, almost an abstraction, to deal with the phenomenon that is the United States. To state this phenomenon accurately, the American program would have to show our ‘continuous revolution’; that Americans are distinctly dynamic, energetic, impatient and restless for change, and that because of the vastness of America, the diversity of our people and the free conditions pertaining to American enterprise, thought and action, we are committed to a constant, unremitting search for an improved way SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

129

of life. These principles provided, in e√ect, the ‘ideological glue’ for the ultimate series of exhibits involving such natural but diverse elements as nuclear energy and fine arts, industrial design and South Polar exploration, hot dogs and opera.≥≠ Certainly hot dogs and opera could be used to represent the ‘‘diversity’’ of the American people, but if U.S. o≈cials really wished to present a program heavy on ‘‘abstraction,’’ then what better way than with abstract art? There was little discussion as to whether or not American art would be on display at the U.S. pavilion in Brussels, for it was clear that culture and fine arts would be defining elements of the World’s Fair. The Belgian government set the overall tone by establishing a very broad, but humanistic, theme: ‘‘we want to draw up a balance sheet of all human activities, to help people bring a sharpened and dynamic realization to their obligations.’’ The fair would seek the ‘‘re-humanisation of the modern world’’ and find the common links among the world’s peoples. It was ‘‘futile to display the most e≈cient of machine tools, the most outstanding mechanical brain or the perfect nuclear reactor’’ unless one could also understand more clearly the humans who made such things. The goal was nothing less than bringing together a ‘‘veritable treasure house of humanism.’’ And just to make sure that art would play a role in the festivities, the Belgian government organized a simultaneous international exhibition of contemporary art. At the final meeting of the Cambridge Study Group (made up of bre o≈cials and individuals from the private sector, including W. W. Rostow, then a professor of economic history at mit who would become special assistant for national security during the Kennedy and Johnson administrations), it was recommended that American culture be on display in two ways at the fair. First, there should be a part of the pavilion ‘‘devoted specifically to ‘Culture,’ since Europeans would look for this and the absence would be conspicuous.’’ Second, ‘‘manifestations of our culture’’ should be displayed ‘‘wherever possible.’’ In particular, the exhibits should emphasize ‘‘significant new American art forms—jazz and other forms of music, news photography, industrial and display art, architecture, development of the dance.’’ (A focus on ‘‘new American art forms,’’ however, did not naturally mean an emphasis on the modern. One of the ‘‘new’’ dance forms to be displayed was square dancing.)≥∞ In addition, U.S. o≈cials were convinced that ‘‘a general o√ensive of the Soviet theatre and arts will be launched at Brussels. . . . This ‘cultural o√ensive’ brought at great cost is going to prove to the world that Mos130

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

cow produces not only missiles, sputniks, and heavy machinery,’’ but great art as well. A usia research report indicated that the Soviet exhibits at the fair would include ‘‘well-known paintings shown for the first time in the outside world.’’ The point of the Russian cultural display would be that ‘‘the Communists have drawn extensively from their country’s cultural heritage, have perpetuated it, and have enriched it with their own valuable contributions which reflect the strength of their new ‘socialist’ society.’’≥≤ This knowledge, combined with the desire of American o≈cials to display the less ‘‘materialistic’’ side of the United States, inevitably led to discussions of exactly what kind of cultural exhibitions should be mounted in Brussels. Given the controversy that had historically attached itself to U.S. art shows overseas, it was perhaps no surprise to find that the e√ort to organize a display of American paintings for the 1958 World’s Fair got o√ to a rocky start. The trouble began when the American o≈cial in charge of coordinating the fine arts program for the U.S. pavilion, George Staempfli, jumped the gun and went directly to Lloyd Goodrich and the Whitney Museum of American Art for the choice of paintings. Goodrich, of course, leaped at the chance and quickly agreed to organize an exhibit of two or three works each by twenty or so American artists. In fact, he had already come up with a list of twenty-three artists from which to choose; nearly all were abstract expressionists. Just two weeks later, however, Goodrich was informed that ‘‘the situation within our own organization has changed materially’’ due to a ‘‘severe budget cut.’’ Therefore, instead of contracting with an individual museum such as the Whitney, the bre had decided to ‘‘undertake much of it ourselves.’’ The real source of friction, however, came from members of the Fine Arts Advisory Committee for the World’s Fair. When one of its members stated that he was ‘‘horrified’’ at some of the suggestions for the painting display and was in favor of it being ‘‘skipped . . . altogether,’’ a bre o≈cial responded that ‘‘we would leave ourselves wide open to criticism if we ignored all contemporary painting in our pavilion.’’≥≥ John Walker, director of the National Gallery of Art, was appalled by Goodrich’s suggestions. Abstract expressionism, he claimed, was ‘‘very much out of fashion’’ in Europe. He favored abandoning the whole idea of a painting exhibit ‘‘unless we can send one more inspiring than the work we saw.’’ Approaching Goodrich for input, he believed, had been ‘‘ill-advised.’’ Francis Henry Taylor, director of the Worcester Art Museum, completely agreed with Walker’s assessment. He was troubled by the fact that he ‘‘failed to note a single Anglo-Saxon name on the list nor am I able to find any dealer or artist’s SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

131

representative outside of Manhattan.’’ They both agreed that at the next Advisory Committee meeting they would make their complaints clearly and loudly known.≥∂ Exactly how loudly Walker and Taylor complained is not known, but at the very next meeting of the Advisory Committee it became clear that Goodrich and the Whitney were definitely out. A motion was made and carried that the contemporary American art exhibit at the fair should represent the ‘‘three areas of the U.S.’’—the ‘‘Eastern area, the MiddleWestern, and the Far-Western.’’ The afa would take charge of the exhibition, utilizing a jury of art experts: Robert Hale, curator of American painting at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (East), Grace McCann Morley, director of the San Francisco Museum of Art (West), and Daniel Catton Rich, chief curator of the Art Institute of Chicago (Midwest). (Rich, who was in the midst of moving on to the position of director of the Worcester Museum of Art, was ultimately not available and was replaced by H. Harvard Arnason, director of the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis.) Harris Prior of the afa would be the nonvoting secretary for the jury. It was further decided that the artists selected should be ‘‘under 40 years of age.’’≥∑ The decisions of the Advisory Committee were consistent with the post–Sport in Art attitude of the usia governing the selection of American art to be sent overseas: the emphasis would be on the quality of the art rather than the politics of the artists; the afa and appointed art experts would make the final selections; and the insistence on judges from various geographical regions of the nation emphasized the need for ‘‘diversity.’’ Finally, both the afa and the jury of selection were given fairly explicit instructions: the art would be ‘‘contemporary’’ and the artists would be under forty years of age. The first requirement was easy to understand. As the requests from various usis posts in Europe made clear, the European audience wanted to see what was new in American art. The second restriction seems at first glance to be arbitrary and somewhat befuddling. As the instructions for the jury prepared by the afa indicate, however, the aim was very clear: ‘‘In order to avoid a great deal of controversy, it seems necessary to fix the age limit quite definitely at 40.’’≥∏ It was, in fact, an interesting way of meeting both ‘‘artistic’’ and ‘‘political’’ necessities. Highlighting works by painters under forty would necessarily create an exhibit of some of the very newest works. And since words like ‘‘dynamic,’’ ‘‘modern,’’ and ‘‘youthful’’ filled the o≈cial discussions of the kind of theme the United States wanted to portray in its pavilion, focusing on young artists made perfect sense. Yet, the recent 132

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

ugly episodes concerning Sport in Art and the 1900–1950 exhibit also played a role in the decision to set an age limit. One had only to consider the birth years of the four artists—Kuniyoshi (1889), Shahn (1899), Kroll (1884), and Zorach (1887)—who were at the center of the protests in Dallas. With the Brussels show limited to artists aged forty or younger, many of the ‘‘subversive’’ artists who came to maturity during the 1930s and early 1940s would automatically be eliminated. And younger artists would have been far less likely to be involved in any ‘‘radical’’ or ‘‘subversive’’ organizations during those years. It was a compromise, but one with which the afa could apparently live. As Harris Prior made clear, however, the afa went into the project with its eyes wide open. Writing to Goodrich in July 1957, Prior admitted, ‘‘I am going into this thing with considerable reluctance, because I feel that it is a hot potato, at best.’’ Nevertheless, the afa’s position in the art world meant that the organization was ‘‘morally bound to take on this sort of project and do the best we can with it.’’ Prior repeated his misgivings in a letter to Daniel Longwell, complaining that the ‘‘afa, as usual, has been stuck with the hot potato and is doing the American show for the U.S. Pavilion.’’ Contract negotiations with the bre were professional, but tensions and suspicions lingered. Peg Cogswell apprised Prior of a recent contract meeting at which she ‘‘discussed the afa point of view as formulated around such situations as the ‘Sport in Art’ controversy.’’ She specifically asked the bre representatives what would happen if ‘‘one or more of the artists might be ‘found’ (by such groups as those in Dallas, for instance) to be of doubtful political color.’’ In such a situation, she felt, ‘‘there might be demands that his work be withdrawn, that the government might be compelled to accede to this, and that the afa would then be in an untenable position.’’ She tried to assure the bre o≈cials that the afa was ‘‘most sympathetic with the govt. dilemma and had been trying to find a formula that would work for both.’’ The bre representatives reciprocated, stating that they were ‘‘sympathetic with the afa position.’’ The bre even agreed to one minor change in the charge to the afa by increasing the age limit for artists in the exhibition to forty-five. Prior argued that the art show at the World’s Fair should be ‘‘the strongest possible exhibition of American paintings’’ and that the under-forty age limit would necessarily mean that many fine artists—including William Baziotes (born 1912) and Robert Motherwell (born 1915)—would be excluded.≥π By August 1957, the selection jury produced a preliminary list of about thirty artists, from which it was assumed that fifteen would be chosen for SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

133

display at the fair. George Staempfli, the bre representative on the jury, reported in October that the ‘‘guiding standard of selection has been artistic quality. Regional representation and adherence to any specific school of painting have been of a secondary nature.’’ And then, in a comment that would prove in the months to come to be a gargantuan understatement, he concluded, ‘‘It is fair to say that this exhibit will have a certain shock value and may not completely satisfy those among us to whom Norman Rockwell represents the height of American art.’’ That assessment was borne out when Prior delivered the names of the seventeen artists chosen for the exhibition. Abstract expressionists dominated the list. Only a few of the artists were well known at the time, such as Baziotes, Motherwell, Ad Reinhardt, and Grace Hartigan. A number of names would be familiar only to the best-informed art aficionado even today.≥∫ Of course, much of this was by design. After all, the emphasis was on ‘‘new’’ painting, which was precisely what the Europeans seemed to want to see the most. The age limit, even expanded to forty-five, meant that some leaders in the abstract expressionist movement (such as Mark Rothko, born 1903) were automatically excluded. And finally, the much larger international contemporary art show going on in Brussels at the same time would include the better-known American painters, including Jackson Pollock (who died in 1956). None of this would matter, however, to the critics who quickly descended on the American painting exhibition at the 1958 World’s Fair. THE DECADENT PAVILION

The U.S. pavilion in Brussels attracted a variety of very vocal critics. The building, one reporter noted, was ‘‘the loveliest’’ at the fair, but it was ‘‘not a building to show anything, except possibly a circus, a rodeo or a bullfight.’’ A constituent of Senator Styles Bridges (R-N.H.) felt that the entire exhibition was ‘‘bewildering and completely unlike the America we know.’’ He was o√ended by so many things, it was di≈cult to know where to start: the etching of a ‘‘woman bare to waist,’’ the pond with a ‘‘scum coating with floating orange peels and other refuse,’’ the overpriced hamburgers and milkshakes, and little or no industrial or technological exhibits such as those found in the Russian pavilion (which left the American visitor ‘‘dumbfounded’’ by its ‘‘imposing’’ exhibitions).≥Ω When all was said and done, however, there were two elements of the U.S. exhibit at Brussels that caused the most sustained protest and criticism. The first was the Unfinished Business exhibit, wherein the United States displayed 134

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

some of its problems—soil erosion, urban housing, and segregation. The depiction of the latter issue as a ‘‘problem’’ came in for the hottest attacks, usually from southern congressmen. (The entire exhibit was eventually closed down.)∂≠ Except for the firestorm of protest that was leveled at the segregation section of the Unfinished Business display, no other part of the American exhibition came in for as loud and consistent criticism as did the contemporary painting display. Congressional critics weighed in even before the exhibit o≈cially opened. Senator Leverett Saltonstall (R-Mass.) indicated after a tour of the pavilion that there was ‘‘possibly too much of a ‘longhair’ influence,’’ and suggested that the fine arts displays be moved to the ‘‘rear of the pavilion.’’ Representative Wint Smith (R-Kans.) admitted, ‘‘I know nothing about art,’’ but he was equally certain that ‘‘these modern concepts of art are as far removed from making one remember the high ideals of our country as anything possibly could be.’’ He concluded that ‘‘this modern concept of art and sculpture will have as enduring an e√ect upon life as Charlie Chaplin had in hitting someone in the fac[e] with a custard pie.’’ Representative Albert Morano (R-Conn.) was ‘‘at a loss to understand why the great names of American painting have been deliberately omitted from our display. I see . . . no Trumbull, no Peale, no Remington or Sargent, nor even Grandma Moses.’’ Senator Ralph Flanders (R-Vt.) was more direct in his assessment of the modern art such as would be on display in the American pavilion: ‘‘I don’t like it and I am unashamed.’’∂∞ To a large extent, the congressmen were responding to some savage attacks launched against the exhibition in the American press. Thomas Hess of Art News got o√ one of the first shots, labeling the painting show a ‘‘public, comic scandal.’’ He lambasted the selection of paintings, arguing that it should have been more broadly representative of the field of abstract expressionism by including works by Pollock, de Kooning, Kline, and other notables. Hess also focused on the age limit set on the artists, claiming that this arbitrary figure ‘‘reveals the basic lack of seriousness in the project.’’ New York Herald Tribune critic Emily Genauer went on a one-woman crusade, publishing several articles decrying the selection of art for the World’s Fair. Many of the artists chosen for the exhibition were ‘‘unknown even to art-world professionals.’’ Gathering a head of steam, Genauer declared that the ‘‘absurd’’ selection process meant that America had once again ‘‘bungled an invaluable opportunity to demonstrate to the world the importance, vitality, and diversity of creative life in America today.’’ The almost complete focus on abstract expressionism reflected SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

135

‘‘incredible provincialism’’ and ‘‘shortsightedness.’’ She earnestly hoped that the entire exhibit, like some of the performing arts presentations at the U.S. pavilion, would be removed after a few weeks. An article in the Nation entitled ‘‘The Decadent Pavilion’’ applauded the decision of U.S. o≈cials to emphasize American culture over materialism but then declared that in this regard ‘‘the U.S. pavilion is a failure.’’ ‘‘One cannot hope to demonstrate American culture by asking the Museum of Modern Art [an error on the part of the writer; moma took no part in the selection of the art] to throw together some paintings, most of them bad.’’∂≤ Even fellow artists found grounds for complaint. The United States Committee of the International Association of Plastic Arts, which counted among its member organizations the National Academy of Design, protested to Commissioner General Cullman that the painting exhibit represented ‘‘just seventeen young Americans of astonishingly similar aesthetic points of view.’’ Likewise, the American Artists Professional League went straight to President Eisenhower with its objection to the ‘‘perverse selection of works’’ selected for display at the fair. While many ‘‘Europeans are well aware that America has not escaped its share of the radical isms of so called modern art,’’ most did not ‘‘realize the continuing strength of the main stream of American Art, imbued with faith in the verities of our common heritage of great Art, of and for the Ages, but none the less essentially, vitally, and contemporaneously American.’’ In an addendum, the question was posed, ‘‘Was the intent to convey the false impression that we have had no great National Art but that our young (?) nation had advanced (?) from these primitive beginnings suddenly into the maelstrom of the pathological modern?’’∂≥ Finally, President Eisenhower entered the fray. After a report from usia director George Allen that indicated that the ‘‘prime di≈culty’’ with the painting exhibit seemed to be that it was too ‘‘modernistic and impressionistic in concept,’’ Eisenhower wondered whether the ‘‘fair was the place to try to teach sophistication to the public or to American tourists.’’ Writing to Cullman the next day, Eisenhower noted that one of the exhibits that ‘‘seems to be creating an unfavorable impression at times is what is regarded as an over-abundance of futuristic or abstract art.’’ Yet, the president o√ered no solution, merely stating, ‘‘You know me too well to believe that I would set myself as a critic of any artistic exhibition. I send you this communication for study and not as a directive.’’∂∂ By the time the president sent his ‘‘communication,’’ e√orts were already underway to address the numerous complaints about the uniformity of the U.S. painting exhibit. In March, just after the torrent of 136

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

complaints from congressmen and some art critics, the bre hit upon the idea of a second, and more varied, painting show for the U.S. pavilion. For this supplemental art exhibit, the bre approached none other than Lloyd Goodrich and the Whitney Museum. Such a request ‘‘might be a wonderful way to palliate them.’’ Goodrich hesitated, insisting that the Whitney would be the sole organizer of this new exhibit and that it would be ‘‘completely separate’’ from the contemporary art exhibit. The bre rapidly agreed and was soon shown a ‘‘marvelous group’’ of paintings. Unlike the contemporary exhibit, it was ‘‘varied and certainly of a very high caliber.’’ When one bre o≈cial ‘‘laughingly remarked that the group might outshine some of our other art shows,’’ one of the Whitney’s curator’s ‘‘eyes sparkled evilly at that and said that this was his express intention!’’ Eventually, the Whitney lent fifteen paintings. The whole negotiation had been a ‘‘rather delicate situation’’ since the bre had ‘‘snubbed them a while back.’’ Edward Stone, who designed the American pavilion, remarked that the new collection should ‘‘put oil on the troubled water in that quarter, and it should combat some of the criticism.’’ Cullman’s o≈ce immediately put out a press release announcing the new exhibit, which would include not only other (but better-known) abstract expressionists such as Gorky and Morris Graves, but artists such as the precisionist painter Charles Sheeler. The paintings were not in the exhibition areas of the pavilion, however; they would decorate the reception area and o≈ces of Commissioner General Cullman. Nevertheless, critics like Genauer were satisfied that a ‘‘much broader and more impressive representation’’ of American art would now be on display.∂∑ All in all, it was a rather stunning change from the Sport in Art controversy of just two years before. Yes, there was plenty of criticism about the paintings, but the issue of ‘‘subversive’’ artists was almost totally absent. True, a woman from New Jersey wrote directly to fbi director J. Edgar Hoover to complain about the ‘‘work of fanatics’’ being shown at Brussels. All of the artists were ‘‘members of the Museum of Modern Art that sponsors subversive art and recognizes the members of ‘The John Reed Club.’ ’’ Hoover duly forwarded the message to the Department of State, noting that his organization ‘‘has conducted no investigation concerning the Museum of Modern Art nor the individuals mentioned in the correspondent’s letter.’’ Staempfli actually took the time to respond to the woman, arguing that the art was chosen because of ‘‘artistic merit’’ and that ‘‘abstract paintings cannot in any way be used to disseminate political concepts.’’∂∏ Instead, the criticisms focused on the quality of the paintings and the narrowness of the collection (mostly abstract expressionSUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

137

ism). And, unlike Sport in Art, the show went on in Brussels. None of the paintings in the contemporary art exhibit were moved or deleted. Even the additional paintings from the Whitney were not incorporated into the exhibit, but were instead set o√ in a relatively inconspicuous spot. Perhaps more noteworthy was the resistance mounted by the defenders of the art at the world’s fair. It was, taken as a whole, much more focused, sustained—and e√ective. Partially, this was due to the defenders being freed from the unsavory duty of fending o√ hysterical attacks about ‘‘red’’ art and artists. This allowed them to concentrate their arguments on issues of artistic quality and audience appreciation, where they believed that they stood on much more familiar and solid ground. More important, however, was that this exhibition had been designed with a specific propaganda purpose: it was to appeal to a specific audience for a specific purpose. In short, the exhibition was part of the overall ‘‘themes’’ of the U.S. pavilion—to demonstrate the diversity, vitality, and ‘‘ferment’’ of American society; to illustrate the ‘‘newness’’ of American culture, emphasizing its ‘‘youth’’ and originality; and to suggest that the future of the world (and the world of art) lay with the United States. Of course, it should also serve as a counterpoint to the Soviet cultural o√ensive at the fair. The target audience was not Americans, but Europeans, particularly sophisticated Europeans who could appreciate culture and the fine arts. As the supporters of the contemporary painting exhibit made clear, the works of art served a very distinct and valuable purpose at the fair. The fact that most of the criticisms of the art exhibition focused on the quality of the art and/or the preponderance of abstract expressionism gave the U.S. o≈cials in charge of the U.S. pavilion the opportunity to provide an immediate and virtually unassailable response: we did not choose the art; we left that job to a representative group of experts. Cullman and Staempfli dutifully responded to each and every letter of criticism sent to them by outraged congressmen or representatives of art groups. Cullman’s letter to Representative Morano was typical. Like the congressman, Cullman began, ‘‘I am not myself a Fine Arts expert.’’ However, like Morano, ‘‘I appreciate art in many ways.’’ Therefore, in casting about for the best way to select the American art for the world’s fair, he sought ‘‘the best kind of professional help available.’’ John Walker of the National Gallery of Art helped him select a seven-person Fine Arts Advisory Committee ‘‘consisting of eminent American museum directors.’’ Letters to Senator Flanders and Representative Smith were nearly carbon copies. In response to another critic, Cullman simply admitted that ‘‘there are many di√erent ways American art can be repre138

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

sented abroad and I am deeply aware that even the most highly qualified committees of experts may be forced to impose arbitrary limitations on their choices.’’ Staempfli, as coordinator of the fine arts program in the U.S. pavilion, often took the attacks more personally, and his answers were sharper than Cullman’s. In one letter, he specifically focused on the March 1958 Art News editorial, stating that it ‘‘seems more courageous and liberal to me to show the artistic experiments of a young school of painters next to older and more traditional art than to collect a dazzling group of established and generally admired foreign masterpieces.’’ His anger was evident as he concluded, ‘‘It goes without saying that the composition of our advisory board could have been di√erent, that the jury could have been di√erent and that this would have influenced the results, but I want to assure you that, under the given circumstances, American art and the people who create it will be represented ‘honestly and proudly’ and without local prejudice.’’∂π As for Genauer, the most vocal art critic, most U.S. o≈cials seemed to shrug o√ her assaults. Brenda Gilchrist of the New York o≈ce of the bre expressed the feelings of many when she exclaimed in a letter to Staempfli, ‘‘Well, we really got it in the neck this time—and on the front page of the Herald Tribune no less! That old bag was really out for blood!’’ Gilchrist also subtly hinted where the real problem lay. After providing Genauer with mountains of information and answering ‘‘a thousand questions,’’ Gilchrist became reluctant to answer the critic’s ‘‘loaded questions’’ about the individual most responsible for choosing the art. Gilchrist suggested she speak to John Walker, chairman of the Fine Arts Advisory Committee. After Genauer’s article appeared, Walker became infuriated, claiming that he had ‘‘no responsibility, absolutely none, for the art exhibits.’’ As Gilchrist sarcastically concluded, ‘‘Other than the fact that he is chairman of the Fine Arts Advisory Committee, helped appoint the jury that selected the US paintings for the pavilion, and presumably presided over all meetings of the Committee, he knows nothing, but nothing about the contents of any of the exhibits.’’ Instead, he was engaged in a campaign of finger-pointing at other o≈cials such as Staempfli and Deputy Commissioner General James Plaut. Gilchrist left the decided impression that Walker, no friend of abstract art, supplied Genauer with ammunition for her attack.∂∫ American o≈cials and those who participated in the establishment of the contemporary art exhibition, however, went beyond these simple— but e√ective—defensive arguments. Quickly dispensing with disagreements about ‘‘artistic quality,’’ they moved directly to the heart of the SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

139

matter. American art at the World’s Fair served important propaganda purposes: signaling the cultural maturity of the United States, demonstrating the ‘‘freedom’’ and ‘‘individuality’’ of the American artist (and, by extension, the American nation), and serving as a very direct and visual symbol of American democracy juxtaposed with the stagnant, state-directed art of the Soviet Union. The contemporary art at the fair, therefore, was designed to speak to a very particular audience in Europe. Harris Prior, in the foreword to the exhibition catalog, noted that ‘‘Americans are aware of their artistic heritage as never before’’ and were beginning to more seriously examine ‘‘their past and present role in Western culture.’’ Although it was true that American artists ‘‘return from time to time to Europe to drink again at the fountainhead, they are no longer as dependent as formerly. They even give something in return.’’ Returning to a theme that had been advanced since the 1940s, Prior concluded, ‘‘As the world becomes smaller and the community of mankind moves inexorably closer together, the free artists of America speak their own particular dialect of the international language of art.’’ Grace Morley, in her introduction to the modern painting section of the catalog, declared that the seventeen American artists were a ‘‘significant part of the ‘growing edge’ of creative expression in the United States.’’ While most of their works were abstract, Morley defended them as ‘‘abstraction charged with emotion. In general, vitality, impetuosity, intensity and strength are obvious.’’ She emphasized that the exhibit showed the ‘‘strong individuality of the artist, his e√orts to find his own expression and to be himself in his work, his knowledge of the international movements of today, yet his determination to find his own personality in relation to them.’’∂Ω With U.S. o≈cials wary of the Soviet ‘‘cultural o√ensive’’ at the fair and the fact that the American and Soviet pavilions were constructed directly across from one another, it was not surprising to find U.S. commentators making comparisons between the two Cold War edifices. After all, by the time the fair opened the United States was in desperate need of a propaganda victory against the Soviets. The year 1957 had not been a good one: Sputnik challenged America’s role as the scientific and technological leader of the world, while the ugly racial violence in Little Rock, Arkansas, that began when several African American children tried to attend the all-white high school seriously damaged the nation’s claim to moral leadership of the Free World.∑≠ As Andrew Berding suggested, ‘‘The rivalry with the adjacent Soviet pavilion has been intense.’’ The ‘‘huge’’ Russian building, packed with ‘‘heavy machinery,’’ a massive statue of Lenin, and, of course, Sputnik, ‘‘has a kind of heavy e√ective140

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

ness. It certainly has a high curiosity value.’’ However, ‘‘European evidence is that our approach—relaxed, attractive, more indirect—has been more successful.’’ Leo Cherne, director of the Research Institute of America, toured both pavilions. He applauded the contemporary painting show, calling it a ‘‘brilliant exposition,’’ not only for the art (which he knew would raise ‘‘controversy’’), but also for the artists who were represented by short biographies and pictures of them at work and at home. The exhibit presented a ‘‘picture of creative America in all of its variety and vigor.’’ It demonstrated ‘‘the degree of recognition the young creative artist receives in America as well as, incidentally, his economic ability to live and raise a family.’’ He drew a sharp contrast between these art works and some large murals that dominated the Soviet pavilion. These, he claimed, were the ‘‘essence of banality, to which Russian artists have been driven by a generation of police control of art and artists and Joseph Stalin’s abhorence [sic] of anything other than photographic, socialist realism.’’ One of the American guides at the U.S. pavilion believed that Europeans were well aware of the meaning of the American art. ‘‘The point we are making with these pictures is that in America we have the freedom to paint what we like. It is a way of telling the world of our freedom in the arts. The message may be subtle, but I can tell that our European visitors, living in or close to the curtain, understand what we are driving at.’’ An article in the Christian Science Monitor went even farther, noting that ‘‘some 100,000 visitors have come from behind the curtain, and of these about 2,000 have decided not to go back. Perhaps America’s controversial but freedom-filled modern art played a role in this decision.’’∑∞ Reaching ‘‘European visitors,’’ in particular some very important target groups among them, was clearly a primary goal of the American contemporary art exhibit. As one State Department o≈cial put it, the Europeans seemed to enjoy the U.S. pavilion, and the ‘‘European press has been enthusiastic. Since the basic purpose of the U.S. participation is to reach and please the foreign audience, not Americans, these may be considered as symptoms of success.’’ Focusing specifically on the art exhibit, Deputy Commissioner Plaut declared, ‘‘The European public and press reaction has been uniformly enthusiastic, and we have had a particularly happy reaction to the young American painters show. This is a reaction that has come primarily from the European audience which we had hoped to attract—the critics, students, collectors, professionals and enlightened laymen.’’ Based on these reactions from the intended European audience, other defenders of the art exhibit were quick to brush SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

141

aside complaints from American observers. Grace Morley stated, ‘‘Obviously, the section of contemporary art is directed at that segment of the European population sophisticated in contemporary art.’’ As the fair progressed, Morley concluded, ‘‘My own observation leads me to believe that the criticisms, as far as the art section of the U.S. pavilion goes, come largely from Americans, who are not very sophisticated in art nor very well informed on the art of their own country, while they have no understanding at all of European standards of interest. From my European friends I have so far heard only expressions of interest and often quite warm praise for the art aspect of the U.S. pavilion. Obviously, they are art museum people or artists, and after all, their standards are high and they represent the judgment of informed Europeans.’’ Staempfli agreed, arguing that the modern paintings were ‘‘very popular with our largely European audience.’’ As for American visitors, undoubtedly there were those ‘‘who would prefer to see the latest Cadillac models and who feel that American art would be better represented by Norman Rockwell and Grandma Moses. Europeans, on the other hand, are far more interested in seeing what is happening in American art today and they welcome this chance of getting acquainted with some of our most promising though lesser known artists.’’∑≤ TO EMBELLISH AND TO DOCUMENT

In 1959, James Plaut published an article summarizing the role of art at the 1958 World’s Fair. It was no surprise to the former deputy commissioner general that culture was so heavily emphasized in Brussels: ‘‘art mirrors the state of man in his contemporary image, it is an important element in any larger statement of human progress.’’ At the fair, various nations, including the United States and the Soviet Union, ‘‘attempted by means of formal exhibits in their own pavilions to reveal facets of the nation’s artistic activity.’’ In short, ‘‘art was used both to embellish and to document.’’ For America, this meant that the U.S. pavilion was designed to ‘‘bring to a predominantly Western European audience a fresh image of the American people.’’ It emphasized the ‘‘great individual diversity within the national unity.’’ The response from the approximately 40 million visitors had been ‘‘gratifying’’ and ‘‘laudatory.’’∑≥ Yet when all was said and done, exactly how successful had the American pavilion—and most particularly the painting exhibit—really been? In general, the European press responded quite favorably to the U.S. pavilion, though comments directed specifically at the contemporary art 142

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

were rare. British newspapers immediately sensed that ‘‘there was a lot of rivalry today between the Americans and the Russians.’’ The United States was up to the challenge, and the pavilion showed ‘‘America at her most enviable, and idiosyncratic.’’ The Belgian press, not surprisingly, devoted a tremendous amount of coverage to the fair and was also quick to note the contrast between the U.S. and Russian pavilions: the former ‘‘depicts free choice, illusion, humor, simplicity’’; the latter was deemed ‘‘too harsh.’’ In general, the contemporary art exhibit met with ‘‘mixed reaction.’’ To the shock of absolutely no one, the French press often took sarcastic potshots at the U.S. attempts at ‘‘culture’’ at the fair. As one critic sni√ed, the only possible uses for the American pavilion were a ‘‘market hall or locomotive shed.’’ Nevertheless, many French visitors were struck by the di√erences between the Soviet and American exhibitions. They found the Soviet pavilion to be ‘‘overwhelming’’ and ‘‘devoted to propaganda only.’’ A very rough translation of one editorial read, ‘‘Besides Soviet Russia—groundling, dull, lacking of audacity in art, there comes lively, aerial American freed from conventional servitude of dollar, skyscraper.’’ It might be true, another article admitted, that the Soviets drew more people, but the visitors to the U.S. pavilion found it to be a ‘‘happy surprise.’’ Perhaps no other nation’s press captured the Soviet-American competition better than Spain’s. One newspaper commented wryly on the ‘‘gigantic Russian-North American pugilism that constituted the predominant note of this historic competition.’’ Another wrote that the ‘‘Russian and North American pavilions face each other as in the thrilling finals of a Cup match.’’ In general, the ‘‘North Americans’’ came out ahead in the opinion of the Spanish press.∑∂ But what of the contemporary art that was the source of so much criticism from many of the American visitors to the fair? Surveys conducted of visitors to the U.S. pavilion revealed a decidedly mixed response to America’s fine art. In one poll, the fine arts exhibits were found to be the second-least-interesting part of the U.S. exhibition (far behind the ‘‘fashion show’’ that became a favorite target of European critics). However, they were also found to be the fifth-most-interesting part of the pavilion, ranking behind color television, Disney’s Circarama, the ramac computer display, and an exhibit on nuclear energy. The polls also indicated that more visitors responded favorably to the ‘‘fine arts and music’’ of the Soviet pavilion than to the ‘‘fine art’’ across the way in the U.S. pavilion. This was somewhat misleading, because the Soviets put a premium on music and dance presentations, even bringing in the worldrenowned Bolshoi Ballet. Concerned about the generally negative reacSUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

143

tions to the American fine arts, the usia conducted a separate poll in September 1958 that focused specifically on European visitors’ responses to the modern art exhibit. At first glance, the findings seem devastating. Nearly 50 percent of the visitors found the modern painting exhibit to be ‘‘poor’’ or ‘‘very poor.’’ No other exhibit in the U.S. pavilion received more than 20 percent in those categories. Europeans came away from the American displays with a higher opinion of the nation’s ‘‘scientific’’ and ‘‘intellectual’’ levels, but a lower opinion of its ‘‘artistic level.’’ Indeed, nearly twice as many Europeans who viewed the modern art exhibit came away with a lower opinion of America’s artistic level (34 percent to 18 percent).∑∑ Defenders of the exhibit, however, would read the numbers a di√erent way: that nearly 30 percent of the European visitors found the modern art to be ‘‘good’’ or ‘‘excellent’’; that 32 percent of university-educated Europeans felt the same way; and that nearly 20 percent had a higher opinion of America’s artistic level after seeing the paintings. After all, the o≈cials and members of the art world who established the exhibition were well aware that it would have a ‘‘shock value.’’ And despite scattered references to art as an international language and symbol of peace capable of reaching out to the masses, the Americans who constructed the modern art exhibit for the 1958 World’s Fair were very open in admitting that it was designed for a very specific and important (albeit relatively small) audience: critics, students, intellectuals, and artists. Modern art was definitely not for everyone, but for the proponents of a U.S. international art program it had proven itself e√ective in promoting important American themes, countering the Soviet cultural o√ensive, and reaching a small but influential target audience. The defenders of the modern art in Brussels found additional support for their position after the world’s fair closed and the Seventeen American Artists exhibition moved on for a showing in London. British art critics and intellectuals had not been particularly kind to American art in the postwar period; the disastrous 1946 show at the Tate was still remembered by many. In sharp contrast to that earlier debacle, British critics and audiences embraced the exhibit of new art. The usis post in London reported that over 12,000 people swarmed to the show. Some reviewers responded with surprise. As one critic noted, the English were used to considering recent American art as ‘‘violent and lacking in refinement.’’ The present exhibition, though somewhat ‘‘uneven,’’ contained ‘‘ample evidence of the continuing vitality of American painting.’’ An-

144

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

other declared, ‘‘Twenty years ago most Europeans would have ridiculed the notion that the U.S.A. would ever set the tone of modern painting all over the world.’’ The work of these seventeen American artists, however, demonstrated the ‘‘energy’’ and ‘‘assurance’’ of contemporary American painting. The Times called it ‘‘an exhibition of considerable quality.’’ U.S. o≈cials were ecstatic over the reception. Opening night attracted ‘‘London’s prominent personalities in cultural, political and business life.’’ The exhibit, along with a one-man show of Jackson Pollock’s work sponsored by moma that was also on display in London, ‘‘were the talk of the town.’’ The director of the Tate Gallery (scene of the unhappy 1946 show) gushed that the art was ‘‘great and [that he] wished he could have some on permanent show.’’ In addition, ‘‘Letters of appreciation were received from artists and museum directors,’’ and the response from the ‘‘ ‘artist in the street’ was very enthusiastic.’’ In summing up the impact of the exhibit, the usis post concluded that ‘‘it has confirmed the post’s convictions that good major art exhibits do support usis aims and are welcomed by a wide and diversified public.’’ The show was ‘‘particularly significant here because of London’s reputation as a major cultural center.’’ The ‘‘art elite and students form an exceptionally large and influential part of the cultural population and are thus a priority group for usis.’’ There was an ‘‘intense interest in American abstract art by the younger population,’’ and the recent exhibit was a good ‘‘means of counteracting local misconceptions as to what American painters were doing today.’’∑∏ The exhibit of abstract expressionist art in the U.S. pavilion at the 1958 World’s Fair was a watershed in the e√ort to develop a fully functioning international art program. While the criticisms of such a program were never entirely mu∆ed, the days of embarrassing setbacks such as Advancing American Art and Sport in Art were over. Under the intense scrutiny of both the domestic and international audience, America’s modern art had proven its mettle in Brussels. To be sure, government o≈cials and members of the American art world had to compromise a great deal in order to see the exhibition to fruition. The usia, the Department of State, and the bre essentially relinquished control over the final selection of art for the show, relying instead on the critical judgments of museum directors and the afa. Those individuals and the afa, however, selected the art only after the usia and other governmental o≈cials had carefully defined the theme and goals for the art exhibit. A new relationship between the art world and the government had started to take shape and would be further strengthened in the years to come. Art, for better or worse, was now

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

145

clearly accepted as a valuable tool for America’s cultural diplomacy and a useful weapon in the Cold War against the Soviet Union. With the success of the World’s Fair and London shows behind them, proponents of the international art program now considered the next logical step: taking American modern art to the rest of the world and, in the boldest move yet considered, directly into the belly of the beast.

146

SUCCESS AT BRUSSELS

5 A LITTLE TOO STRANGE FOR THE AVERAGE RUSSIAN

In 1962, Lois Bingham, who was responsible for many of the art exhibitions organized and funded by the usia during the late 1950s and early 1960s, reflected on the previous few years of America’s international art program. She began by discussing the ill-fated Sport in Art and 1900–1950 exhibits, where questions about some of the artists ‘‘shrouded’’ the shows in ‘‘controversy.’’ Bingham then stated, ‘‘When Mr. Streibert left the Agency [shortly after Eisenhower’s reelection in 1956], he told me that his decision would have been di√erent had he been aware of the importance to the Agency of the principles involved. Undoubtedly, it was this realization which curtailed his o≈cial statement on the incident to, ‘No Comment.’ ’’ Since those unfortunate decisions, however, ‘‘when the Agency lost nearly all its friends in the Art world, it has gradually rebuilt confidence among the museum people, art dealers, and collectors by demonstrating ability to organize art exhibitions of aesthetic merit appropriately designed for the particular part of the world for which they were destined.’’ The usia had ‘‘shown, with basic integrity, a liberal point of view limited only by the Agency’s program requirements.’’ Naturally, these ‘‘requirements’’ needed to take into account ‘‘current Congressional attitudes which might influence our appropriations.’’ Thus, ‘‘our ‘art policy’ is fluid, becoming as liberal as possible within practical limitations.’’∞ Bingham’s assessment, circumspect though it might be, was essentially accurate. Since the unpleasant events of 1956–57, the usia had adopted a more ‘‘liberal’’ attitude, one that combined respect for ‘‘aesthetic merit’’ with rather cold calculations as to whether each exhibit was ‘‘appropriately designed’’ for the target country and audience. The formula seemed to work marvelously at the 1958 World’s Fair. With the contemporary art exhibit for the U.S. pavilion, the usia established the general pro-

gram guidelines (contemporary art, by artists forty-five or younger), and then left the selection of particular pieces of art and artists to its ‘‘friends in the Art world.’’ There were criticisms, but these dealt with issues of ‘‘taste’’ and ‘‘diversity’’ rather than ‘‘subversion’’ and ‘‘communism.’’ And although the response from the European audience (for whom the exhibit was primarily intended) was mixed, U.S. o≈cials and organizers of the exhibition concluded that it had been ‘‘appropriately designed’’ to reach the intended target groups—intellectuals, artists, and students. Most important, despite the criticisms, the usia stuck to its guns and left the exhibit unchanged for the duration of the fair. In the wake of the success in Brussels, American modern art began to penetrate the farthest corners of the globe—and, in 1959, the heart of the Soviet Union. NEW FRONTIERS OF STYLE AND IDEAS

In 1958, at almost the precise moment that the U.S. pavilion at the World’s Fair was opening its doors, the usia unveiled a new overseas art exhibit. It was entitled Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting, and, like the earlier Highlights exhibit, was made up of sets of reproductions that could be distributed to numerous usis posts around the world. Di√erences, however, were also apparent. First and foremost, the new Highlights show focused exclusively on twentieth-century American art. This was not entirely surprising, since many of the usis posts reported that the response to the earlier Highlights exhibit indicated a desire by the foreign audience to see more of the modern art of America. Thus, this new collection of reproductions included the works of leaders in the abstract expressionist movement, such as Pollock, Gorky, and Mark Tobey. Second, the twentieth-century collection featured a number of artists— notably Ben Shahn, Gorky, and Lyonel Feininger—who had earlier been at the center of many of the accusations concerning ‘‘subversive’’ artists. Finally, the design of the catalogs that accompanied the two exhibits demonstrated some subtle but important di√erences. The cover of the earlier Highlights of American Painting catalog emphasized that the works were selected by the afa. The usia identification was at the bottom of the page. For the twentieth-century exhibit catalog, however, the cover proudly declared, ‘‘Organized by the United States Information Agency.’’ For the earlier show, Lois Bingham of the usia wrote the catalog’s introduction. She devoted two lines to a discussion of the ‘‘abstractionist movement’’ and included within that group such diverse artists as Geor-

148

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

gia O’Kee√e, Charles Sheeler, and Feininger. The introduction for the catalog to the new show was written by Dorothy Adlow, a respected art critic for the Christian Science Monitor. She gave half of her essay over to a discussion of developments in American art during the 1940s and 1950s. The painters of contemporary America demonstrated through their abstract expressionism (‘‘with an American accent,’’ she quickly added) ‘‘their dedication to exploring new frontiers of style and ideas in an atmosphere of free speech and free expression.’’≤ Since the twentieth-century collection was made up of reproductions and was intended for a foreign audience, U.S. critics took little notice. However, prior to the works being sent overseas the usia arranged for a showing at the Whitney Museum (in what was perhaps another e√ort to palliate Goodrich). Only the New York Times took note of the exhibition. Its critic stated that the reproductions were ‘‘more than usually faithful in color’’ and commented favorably on the variety of artists featured, with nearly every important American artist of the twentieth century from Eakins to Pollock included. He applauded the e√ort of the U.S. government in ‘‘disseminating knowledge of our art’’ overseas. There was, however, one rather insurmountable problem with the reproductions—their size. Many of the abstract expressionist works were huge. When it came to the reproductions, they shrank drastically: ‘‘ridiculously so in the case of the Pollock which comes down from 49 by 106 inches to a reproduction about 13 by 29!’’ In light of the millions being spent on the U.S. pavilion at the World’s Fair, the critic lamented, ‘‘why, oh why, can we not spend enough to have original works of art in our embassies and important posts abroad?’’≥ What Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting lacked in size, it more than made up for in terms of audience. As with the first Highlights exhibit, the package of reproductions was inexpensive to produce, ship, and mount; and, since there were several copies of the collection produced, it could be shown in many locations at the same time. During the last years of the 1950s and continuing into the 1960s, thousands upon thousands of people saw the forty reproductions that made up the collection. Perhaps because of the rather lukewarm European reception to the reproductions in the earlier Highlights show, Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting was shown mostly in Latin America, Asia, and even Africa and the Middle East. For many of the nations in these regions, this marked the first important showing of American art. usis posts, therefore, devoted some very detailed reports to evaluating the

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

149

Arshile Gorky, Betrothal II (1947), from the Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting exhibit. This exhibit essentially replaced the older Highlights of American Painting exhibit beginning in 1958 and focused entirely on prints of more modern American art. (oil on canvas, overall: 50 3⁄4 x 38 in. [128.9 x 89.06 cm], framed: 51 3⁄16 x 39 x 1 15⁄16 in. [130 x 99.1 x 4.9 cm], Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; Purchase 50.3)

150

e√ectiveness of the exhibit in terms of reaching the intended target groups, getting across important messages about American culture and society, and, if possible, countering communist propaganda. The twentieth-century highlights collection proved to be particularly popular in Latin America. And, as usis o≈cials explained, it was especially useful as propaganda. In Nicaragua, for example, nearly 6,000 people viewed the exhibit as it toured the country in late 1958 and early 1959. Typical comments were to the e√ect that the reproductions ‘‘certainly don’t look like European works; the Americans have developed their own styles.’’ In Managua, ‘‘leftist ‘intellectuals’ and artists’’ boycotted the showing. As a U.S. o≈cial noted, however, as the show went on, many artists and students visited the exhibit, ‘‘including some of the ‘boycotting’ art group.’’ All in all, the collection ‘‘helped in combatting [sic] the myth that the United States is a fine arts vacuum.’’ It also served to dispel the notion that American art was simply a pale reflection of finer European works; this had been replaced by a belief in ‘‘the originality of American schools and art movements.’’ The usis post in Martinique, French West Indies, also reported great success with the exhibit. Nearly 4,000 people visited the collection, which the post supplemented with photographs of ‘‘racially integrated audiences at museums and in art classes’’ and American artists at work and play. ‘‘The general theme of the a√air pointed out the essentially peaceful and culturally conscious nature of present-day America whether in the art museum, camp, school or home.’’ The exhibit was useful, too, in helping to ‘‘relieve the more obvious information and propaganda nature of the usis mission.’’ The savvy Martinique audience, well acquainted with French art, was somewhat disappointed by the fact that the collection was made up of reproductions instead of ‘‘real’’ paintings but generally praised the exhibit. And, despite the usis belief that such an exhibit was less ‘‘obvious’’ than some of its more blatant propaganda e√orts, the newspapers in Martinique were well aware of the message. The show illustrated the ‘‘extension of the American world tied to the political power which it emits,’’ they pronounced, and was ‘‘the expression of a civilization which is rising and has already drawn its outline.’’∂ The show hit its target audience in Bahia Blanca, Argentina, where it was displayed at the National University of the South. In less than a week it drew ‘‘thousands of students, educators and people from the cultural field in an atmosphere which some sources state is heavily infiltrated with communists.’’ Indeed, the ‘‘democratic forces’’ in the area were ‘‘fighting the communistic influences with some success and supported the Exhibit A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

151

as a means of helping to counteract the anti-democratic elements entrenched in the University.’’ In Paraguay, where over 4,000 people visited the exhibit, the majority were ‘‘university students’’ and their professors. The reaction to the reproductions was ‘‘unanimous enthusiasm,’’ even from those Paraguayans who did not particularly like modern art. When the exhibition closed, the usis post presented the collection to Paraguay’s National Museum of Fine Arts for permanent display. One U.S. o≈cial noted, ‘‘It is amusing that three persons prominent for their Leftist political identification are making every e√ort to obtain through influential friends a number of the pictures for their homes.’’ In terms of sheer numbers, few showings could compete with the four-month-long exhibition in Honduras. usis o≈cials reported that close to 50,000 people saw the reproductions. The show had been perhaps a bit too ‘‘modern’’ for most Hondurans; however, teachers, artists, and the ‘‘very, very few intellectuals’’ appreciated the later works. As in Paraguay, at the conclusion of the exhibition, the reproductions were donated to the Honduran School of Fine Arts. There, they would be a ‘‘constant reminder to students and viewers that United States artists are leaders in this cultural form.’’∑ The reproductions were also seen throughout Asia. The show in Taipei was cut short by the appearance of a typhoon, but still managed to attract over 4,000 viewers. At least a quarter of the visitors were students, and nearly half were Chinese government o≈cials. The usis post reported that visitors’ comments were ‘‘favorable’’ and that the entire exhibit demonstrated the ‘‘remarkable artistic achievements made by American painters during the first fifty-five years of the 20th Century.’’ Problems also arose during the show in Hong Kong. The lack of an available exhibition space limited the exhibit to a three-day showing. Nevertheless, nearly 1,000 people, mostly students and teachers, came to see the reproductions. The former ‘‘seemed to show particular interest in the modern abstracts,’’ while the latter ‘‘preferred the conventional style of art.’’ The most popular artists were Tobey, Pollock, Don Bothwell, and Shahn. Press coverage of the event was limited, but ‘‘it was rather significant that a pro-Communist newspaper, the Tsun Wan Yat Po . . . came forth with a very favorable review.’’ Approximately 2,000 people saw the show when it came to Kuala Lumpur in September 1959. U.S. o≈cials reported that the Malayans responded very favorably to the collection, which seemed to ‘‘evoke sincere feelings of empathy’’ in the viewers. The exhibit was also discussed on a local radio show, with one of the speakers declaring, ‘‘If America in your opinion is a land which lives only for the dollar, this show proves it also has many men and women who live by the 152

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

philosophy of the poet who wrote, ‘What is life, if full of care, We have not time to stand and stare?’ ’’ Two years later, the reproductions were again on display as part of a larger exhibition of American art. ‘‘usis feels that an intensive program of cultural activities with a democratic message will be particularly useful and productive here.’’ The usis post in Korea also noted the political value of the twentieth-century highlights exhibit. At the opening ceremony in Seoul, a U.S. o≈cial began the evening by pointing out the ‘‘interdependence of political freedom and artistic integrity.’’ An estimated 3,000 people, including students, ‘‘the country’s top cultural leaders,’’ and government figures, visited the exhibition.∏ Even when the exhibit failed to completely achieve usis goals, reports from U.S. o≈cials could still be extraordinarily informative concerning the goals of America’s cultural diplomacy. The September 1958 showing in Cambodia was a perfect example. The show ran for over two weeks, attracting about 1,500 visitors, including most Cambodian government o≈cials and representatives from the other foreign embassies. Most of the Cambodian visitors were students. The response was mostly polite, though many of the Cambodians were ‘‘perplexed’’ by the more abstract works. The usis evaluation was candid, to say the least. Cambodia was a ‘‘culturally underdeveloped’’ nation, and its people were ‘‘perhaps still not ready for non-representational art.’’ Only a very small ‘‘elite,’’ such as those who had traveled in France, understood modern art. Still, the exhibit made its mark: it was a ‘‘ ‘cultural shocker’ and educational in every sense of the word.’’ Clearly, the usis believed that it had a great deal of education to dispense in Cambodia. ‘‘Understanding and comprehension are still low at a show of this type but Phnom Penh feels that it has now done some spadework in art education.’’ The post now believed that a show of more traditional American art was needed. It was ‘‘most cognizant of its ‘civilizing mission’ and would like to draw Agency attention to the fact that most of our exhibits have been notable firsts for Cambodia.’’ The ‘‘audience target is understandably small,’’ and usis also had to cope with the knowledge that a ‘‘definite identification with French culture has been established.’’ Nevertheless, U.S. o≈cials believed that they were ‘‘awakening the artistic conscience of its target group.’’ What was called for was ‘‘a greater amount of American ‘cultural chauvinism’ which should be reflected in less Max Weber and more Whistler.’’π In Africa, approximately 600 people saw the exhibition in Luanda, in the Portuguese colony of Angola. It was a ‘‘small but appreciative audience,’’ and the show was important as ‘‘many Portuguese of all classes tend to regard the United States as being devoid of ‘spiritual’, i.e., cultural A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

153

values.’’ Over 1,000 visitors, ‘‘both white and Negro,’’ came to a showing in Southern Rhodesia. Letters to the usis post were enthusiastic about the art, and an introduction to the show prepared by a local art council stated, ‘‘Contemporary American artists reflect the international character of most Western art today, but show a distinctly American quality.’’ U.S. o≈cials indicated their great ‘‘interest in collections of original contemporary American art of all kinds. Such an exhibition of originals would arouse great interest here.’’ During a four-city tour of Syria, over 5,000 people came to view the American art. It had an ‘‘immediate and stimulating impact on local art teachers,’’ and in the smaller cities visited ‘‘took on the color of a major cultural event.’’ Australians, who had previously been able to see only one work of American art in their nation’s galleries (a Grandma Moses), did not seem overly impressed. One critic sni√ed that ‘‘the exhibit reinforced the criticism that most American art was copied from various Paris schools.’’ Nevertheless, the Australians came out in droves to see the works—over 7,000 visitors in all. The usis post requested that ‘‘an exhibit similar to the Twentieth Century Highlights should be provided to posts each year.’’∫ The Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting exhibit, although made up entirely of reproductions, must be counted as one of the single most important undertakings in the history of America’s international art program. It was shown (and often reshown) in dozens of nations in the late 1950s and well into the 1960s. On each occasion, hundreds and often thousands of people flocked to the exhibit. Its significance goes far beyond these numbers, however. Of singular importance, of course, was the fact that not only was the exhibit proudly labeled a product of the usia, but it also contained works by a number of artists who had been the source of so many headaches for that agency just a few years before. And, in contrast to the earlier Highlights collection, it focused heavily on modern and abstract art, the target of so much congressional and public criticisms in the past. Having come to the conclusion that America’s contemporary art was a valuable Cold War weapon, issues of censorship and ‘‘subversion’’—though they never entirely disappeared—were being pushed into the background. It was evidence of a new, professional approach by the usia toward the exhibition of American art overseas. This was art with a purpose, and the detailed analyses provided by posts from all over the globe stress the propaganda value of American art—particularly modern art. The post reports are remarkably similar in many ways. They point out that key audiences (students, intellectuals, government o≈cials) were the specific targets of the exhibit. 154

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

In most cases, they comment on the value of the show in terms of increasing respect for American culture and leadership in the arts. And, on more than one occasion, they note the power of the art to support ‘‘democratic’’ thoughts while simultaneously attacking communist propaganda. Reproductions of paintings by O’Kee√e, Gorky, Shahn, and Pollock might have been less ‘‘obvious’’ forms of propaganda, but they could be just as e√ective. Having penetrated Western Europe (with the Brussels exhibition), Latin America, Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and Australia, there was only one place left to go. A ‘‘CORNER OF AMERICA’’ IN THE HEART OF MOSCOW

A few months after the closing of the 1958 World’s Fair, usia Director George Allen wrote to Howard Cullman to congratulate him on his fine work as the U.S. commissioner general at the fair. Allen declared, ‘‘How many rocks and shoals you had to steer past!’’ He mused about some of the specific obstacles: ‘‘how well I recall the row over ‘Unfinished Business,’ the nude Indian maiden, and the modern art.’’ Now, with the fair over, he said, ‘‘It’s wonderful to be able to look back on these and many more tempests which seemed likely to blow the ship to pieces at the time but which were surmounted or sailed through, with your steady hand on the tiller.’’ Although perhaps overestimating Cullman’s role in the modern art ‘‘tempest,’’ Allen made an important point. Despite the controversy over the modern art exhibit, it had all eventually blown over, leaving the defenders of America’s international art program well satisfied with the outcome. Now, however, it was time to look forward to an even bigger challenge. ‘‘We are entering another exciting experience with our exhibition in Moscow coming up this summer.’’ Allen suspected that ‘‘there may be a blow or two before we get through this one,’’ but with the shining example of Brussels behind them, ‘‘we shall weather whatever storms arise and make monkeys out of those who said it couldn’t be done.’’Ω Neither Cullman nor Allen could ever have imagined exactly how many ‘‘blows’’ would befall the organizers of the Moscow exhibit. The American National Exhibition in Moscow in 1959 was the outgrowth of the new emphasis on cultural exchanges by both the United States and the Soviet Union in the late 1950s. In January 1958, the two nations signed an agreement designed to increase cultural contacts. One element of this agreement specifically noted the ‘‘usefulness of exhibits as an e√ective means of developing mutual understanding.’’∞≠ Historian A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

155

Walter Hixson argues that both nations saw benefits arising from these cultural exchanges. For the United States, exhibits of American art and material culture in the Soviet Union would demonstrate both America’s commitment to freedom and its bountiful wealth. For the Soviets, the exchanges would quiet complaints about a Russian cultural ‘‘iron curtain.’’ In addition, the display of American products in the Soviet Union might prod the Russian citizenry to even greater e√ort and sacrifice to achieve the same level of material comfort in their own land. It was in this context that in late 1958, the United States and the Soviet Union agreed to set up national exhibits in each other’s country. The Soviet exhibition came to New York City in June and July 1959. The American National Exhibition opened in Moscow on 25 July 1959 and ran to 4 September. In six weeks, an estimated 2.7 million Russians crowded in to see the exhibits in Moscow.∞∞ The broad purpose of the American exhibition in Moscow, as imagined by U.S. o≈cials, was to ‘‘increase understanding in the Soviet Union of the American people, the land in which they live, and the broad range of American life, including American science, technology and culture.’’ Through a mixture of displays, including massive amounts of U.S. consumer goods, model homes, cars, fashions, machinery, and art, the Russian people would see how ‘‘America lives, works, learns, produces, consumes and plays; what the American people are and what they stand for; America’s cultural and spiritual values: all these will be reflected.’’ The Soviets leased about two city blocks in Sokolniki Park in downtown Moscow to the Americans. On the site would be two main exhibit halls. One would be the ‘‘idea building. . . . the information center about America.’’ The other would display ‘‘the abundance of our economy, broadly shared by all of our people.’’ Here, Russian visitors would see ‘‘ready-mix foods, frozen foods, home appliances, clothing, Hi-Fi, television, model apartments, and other displays reflecting a strong, growing economy.’’ There was also to be a strong ‘‘cultural content’’ in the American exhibition. ‘‘American painting, sculpture and photography, and evidence of achievements in music, literature, the theatrical arts’’ would be located throughout the exhibit area. Both the Russians and Americans had agreed that at their respective exhibitions there would be no censorship.’’ And, denying the very basis of the ongoing cultural Cold War between the two superpowers, ‘‘Political content is to be avoided by both sides.’’ In short, the U.S. exhibition would be ‘‘a ‘corner of America’ in the heart of Moscow.’’∞≤ Part of that ‘‘corner of America’’ would be taken up with an exhibit of 156

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

American art. The usia selected Franklin Watkins, a painter and member of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts; Lloyd Goodrich, director of the Whitney Museum of American Art; and Henry R. Hope, head of the Fine Arts Department at the University of Indiana as the jury to choose the paintings. Acting on a recommendation from the Advisory Commission on Information, the usia agreed that it would accept the jury’s selections as final. The jury would be advised that it should pick a few paintings from the late nineteenth century and ‘‘include the best examples of paintings and sculpture up to the present.’’ Finally, it was suggested that ‘‘an outstanding personality (or personalities) well-versed in the field of Fine Arts . . . be sent with the Exhibition of paintings and sculpture to lecture about it or give informal gallery talks.’’∞≥ The jury began its work in February 1959. It was first briefed by a usia o≈cial who gave them a general understanding of the scope of the exhibit and ‘‘informed them that their decision regarding the content would be final and not subject to review by anyone.’’ Watkins, who served as chair of the jury, quickly took the lead and summarized for Goodrich and Hope his views on the state of the arts in Russia. The aim of Soviet art, he stated, was to ‘‘glorify the military, the athletes, prominent public and political figures,’’ and ‘‘agricultural peoples’’ and ‘‘workers.’’ There was never any suggestion of ‘‘humor, no satire appears anywhere.’’ The o≈cial style was ‘‘social realism,’’ which required ‘‘technical perfection,’’ but was primarily designed to ‘‘cast a pleasant aspect on Russian life and scenery.’’ With these facts in mind, Watkins declared, ‘‘This show can have a terrific impact in our favor if we are astute in our selection.’’ Goodrich and Hope agreed. The jury was ‘‘fully aware of the fact that it could choose a show tailor-made to Russian taste that would curry favorable reactions and comments in Moscow.’’ Watkins felt, however, that ‘‘the show should not necessarily be liked by the Russians, but that it should needle them, making them aware of the di√erences between art in America and art in the ussr.’’ The show he had in mind would ‘‘virtually ‘make their mouths water’ by its expression of freedom and vitality.’’ While aesthetics and artistic quality would certainly be kept in mind, ‘‘The jury discussed all choices in the light of their probable impact on the Russian audience attuned to its own art of social realism.’’ Many pieces were selected based on how they might ‘‘contribute to the Russians’ edification concerning our art.’’ Others were included to demonstrate ‘‘that U.S. artists could match the Russians technically, could treat their subjects with imagination, were free to experiment with treatment and style, and could express themselves according to their own personal convictions and whims.’’ The A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

157

jury then explained why particular paintings and artists had been included. A ‘‘realistic’’ picture of a blacksmith by Eugene Speicher showed an ‘‘individual with personal pride and dignity—not an idealized, symbolic figure such as a Russian artist would portray.’’ Jack Levine’s painting, Welcome Home, was an unflattering portrait of American military and political figures. The point would be clear: ‘‘in the ussr what artist would dare satirize a high-ranking military hero? Or freely express personal dislike of class-consciousness?’’ There had been a good deal of discussion about including the painting, but in the end the jury believed that ‘‘it was imperative that the U.S. show the artists’ freedom to deal in this manner with a subject toward which the Russians must show only laudatory respect, even reverence.’’ Selections by Pollock, Tobey, Motherwell, and de Kooning could not be ignored as they represented the most important currents in the development of modern art in America.∞∂ At the time, none of the jury members noted the irony in the selection of art specifically to make a political point in response to the strict social realism of the Soviet Union which demanded that art make a political point. Working quickly, the jury came up with a list of forty-eight painters, each of whom would be represented by a single work of art at the exhibition. As Goodrich explained, the emphasis was on contemporary art, ‘‘since both the American and Soviet expositions were to concentrate on the contemporary scene.’’ However, the jury was also aware that an exhibit ‘‘composed entirely of our present-day art would be bewildering to the Russian public, which has had little contact with contemporary art outside the Communist world.’’ Thus, the jury settled on works from the past three decades. Included were a handful of artists from the ‘‘realist’’ school of painting, including Edward Hopper and William Glackens, as well as Thomas Hart Benton and Grant Wood, representing the ‘‘American scene’’ school. Much more heavily represented were modern and abstract artists, such as Pollock, Rothko, Gorky, Baziotes, Motherwell, and de Kooning. Goodrich declared that it was ‘‘the broadest, most balanced representation of recent American painting . . . so far shown abroad by our government.’’ It was also, Goodrich might have noted, completely uncensored. Two of the three painters who were the targets of attacks during the Sport in Art fiasco were included—Ben Shahn and Yasuo Kuniyoshi. In addition, William Zorach, the lone sculptor attacked by the zealots in Dallas in 1956, was also selected. Even the radical John Sloan found a place in the show.∞∑ Shortly after the jury made its selections, it was announced that Edith Halpert, director of the Downtown Gallery in New York City, would 158

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

travel with the collection and remain in Moscow as the first curator of the art exhibition. Dr. Richard McLanathan, director of the MunsonWilliams-Proctor Institute in Utica, would take over responsibilities from Halpert later. In addition, Alfred Barr was invited to give a lecture on contemporary art in America. All that remained was for the jury to solicit the owners of the pieces of art to loan them to the American exhibition in Moscow. In a form letter, the jury informed contributors that the basis for selection had been ‘‘artistic excellence regardless of style or subject.’’ In addition, the members of the jury had been ‘‘assured absolute freedom of selection without pressure from any group, institution or governmental agency.’’ The planned painting exhibit would ‘‘be of enormous significance in developing our cultural relations with the Soviet Union,’’ since ‘‘little information about American cultural achievements has been available to the Russian people.’’ There was ‘‘much evidence of ignorance, misinformation, and curiosity’’ among the Soviets, and the exhibit of American painters would be a great opportunity to ‘‘show the strength and originality of American art to a predicted three or four million Russians.’’∞∏ With everything in place, in July 1959 American art invaded the Soviet Union. THIS IS VERY BAD ART

Recounting the work of the jury of selection, Goodrich stated, ‘‘In view of the chequered history of past governmental art exhibitions, all concerned were prepared for repercussions from the extreme right of the art world and of Congress.’’∞π Dondero and McCarthy might be gone, but a cast of characters—both new and familiar faces—quickly leaped to the attack. And even Goodrich, a veteran of so many of these battles, would be taken aback by the intensity of the assault. The art displayed in Moscow came under unrelenting criticism from a variety of sources in the United States. The loudest protests came from Representative Francis Walter (D-Pa.), chairman of the House UnAmerican Activities Committee. In talks and articles, Walter claimed that more than half of the painters and sculptors represented in Moscow had ‘‘records of a≈liation with Communist fronts and causes.’’ He carefully noted, however, that some of the artists had ‘‘relatively inconsequential’’ connections with communist organizations. Nevertheless, this still left fully one-third of the artists with ‘‘significant records of a≈liation.’’ It was, therefore, ‘‘repulsive’’ that the U.S. government should ‘‘glorify socalled artists who stand for nothing that this country represents and for A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

159

everything it is opposed to.’’ He dismissed as ‘‘plain poppycock’’ arguments about ‘‘art for art’s sake’’ and the notion that by displaying American art in Moscow, ‘‘Khrushchev and his gang of international outlaws will cease being Communists dedicated to world revolution.’’ Walter also appeared on television on the Today show to promote his views. Reiterating his belief that a majority of the artists were communist sympathizers, he also dismissed the modern art on display as ‘‘doodling and things of that sort.’’ His interviewer, Martin Agronsky, went on the o√ensive from the start, asking Walter, ‘‘Why do you constitute yourself, sir, as a censor?’’ Walter hemmed and hawed, merely repeating his charge that many of the artists were communist dupes. Agronsky would not let up, however, and asked Walter whether he was afraid of being likened to Russian censors who had recently banned Dr. Zhivago. Was Walter calling for the same type of ‘‘political censorship’’? The congressman responded, ‘‘Not at all. The basic di√erence is that Dr. Zhivago is a very good story. This is very bad art. That’s the basic di√erence.’’ Agronsky threw in the towel at this astounding answer, handing the questioning over to Charles Van Doren. Van Doren asked Walter whether censoring the U.S. art in Moscow might not give the Soviets a great propaganda angle. Walter recalled the Advancing American Art debacle of over a decade before as precedent for such action and declared, ‘‘we’re merely asking that there be substituted for these things that are not nice, the better works of art.’’ Van Doren quickly returned to the Dr. Zhivago comparison, noting that when Russians in Moscow were asked about copies of the banned book, the Russians responded with inquiries about censored American art. The latter suggestion that American paintings had been removed from the show was untrue, Van Doren admitted, but only because Walter’s ‘‘e√orts for censorship, perhaps, were unsuccessful.’’ The congressman, obviously sagging under the attack, could only respond that the art would be used by the Soviet Union as propaganda for communism and then blurted out that ‘‘a large percentage of these people were born in what is now Communist Russia.’’ Van Doren, now tired of the chase, returned the questioning to Agronsky, who tried to pin Walter down on his precise reason for attacking the art: because it was ‘‘bad art’’ or because of the ‘‘background of the artist.’’ Should we, he asked, judge art ‘‘on its artistic merits or on the political background of the artist?’’ ‘‘Not at all,’’ was Walter’s ba∆ing answer, followed by the equally puzzling charge that ‘‘the artists have, of course, injected a communist party line in their work.’’ Agronsky merely replied, ‘‘Uh-hum. Well, that’s your opinion on it then.’’∞∫ Journalists, artists, and private citizens joined Walter in condemning 160

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

the exhibit. Washington reporter Fulton Lewis, who helped demolish the Advancing American Art exhibit years before, declared that much of the art looked like the work of a ‘‘backward first grade primary school that couldn’t a√ord a painting teacher.’’ The paintings were ‘‘not representative of America.’’ He fumed about the ‘‘phony trash,’’ ‘‘dowdy doodlings,’’ and ‘‘monstrosities’’ on display in Moscow. Dispensing with any niceties about censorship, he thundered, ‘‘It is twaddle, of course, to present that Art should be free from political consideration.’’ After all, the ‘‘Communist conspiracy does not permit that to happen.’’ Lewis sarcastically concluded, ‘‘let’s say that one percent of the American people understand and like the junk. In that event, let there be one such piece for every 99 others.’’∞Ω Wheeler Williams, president of the American Artists Professional League and a veteran in the assaults against modern art, thanked Walter for alerting the American people to the communist leanings of many of the artists. He argued that the choices were ‘‘lamentable and with a few exceptions a discredit to American art.’’ All in all, he claimed, it was a ‘‘dismal, dreary and technically trivial array,’’ and he scored the usia for not having the ‘‘courage to admit failure and recall this Red saturated exhibition.’’ He was joined in the assault by another familiar name, sculptor Katherine Thayer Hobson, who had written to Senator McCarthy in the early 1950s to complain about communist infiltration of the arts. She now wrote to two congressmen to seek help in combating the U.S. art exhibit in Moscow. To Representative John Lindsay (R-N.Y.), she complained that at least six of the artists included in the show were ‘‘native born Russians,’’ and that most of these individuals had ‘‘records of subversive a≈liations.’’ As an aside, she also noted that there were ‘‘other foreign born men, German, French, Spanish, even one born in Egypt.’’ Hobson was quick to point out that she was not questioning the loyalty of all naturalized American citizens. After all, America was the world’s ‘‘melting pot.’’ But what about ‘‘the men who fail to melt’’? She scolded Senator Philip Hart (D-Mich.), asking him how a nation that contained ‘‘less than 1%’’ communists could send an art exhibit to Moscow in which more than half of the artists were a≈liated with communist organizations. The Soviets would naturally believe that most Americans were ‘‘sympathetic to Soviet ideology—what propaganda material we are giving them!’’≤≠ As was the case with other controversial art exhibitions, private citizens joined in the fray. One Washington, D.C., resident wrote directly to President Eisenhower to ask, ‘‘If we send them [the Russians] unlovable, A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

161

grotesque or incomprehensible pictures and sculptures do we not defeat our purpose?’’ Personally, he would prefer a picture of ‘‘an American family grouped about the Thanksgiving table, such as Norman Rockwell could paint.’’ Lawyer Kenwood Ross mailed his complaints to usia Director Allen. He began with the inauspicious admission, ‘‘I am not an artist and I pretend to know nothing about art.’’ Nevertheless, for a page and a half, Ross proceeded to tell Allen why the U.S. art in Moscow was bad art. Unlike Walter and others, he was not interested in the issue of communism. He was interested in the art itself, and what art meant to him personally: ‘‘I like a picture because I like it and not because of the personal convictions of the artist who made it. I like it if it pleases my eye, if it soothes my soul, and if it appears to be clean and wholesome.’’ That, unfortunately, was not what he saw in the Moscow exhibit. He could not conceive how such art was ‘‘truly representative of the American scene.’’ Zeroing in on a painting by Philip Evergood (who painted in a ‘‘realist’’ style), Ross roared that he could find over one hundred other paintings that would represent America better than ‘‘this ugly, degrading, nauseating, disgusting, shameful, hideous, repulsive, ridiculous, lamentable, shocking creation.’’ In his opinion, the selection committee owed ‘‘an apology for what may reasonably suspected to be a gross dereliction of duty to country.’’≤∞ Instead of an apology, the selection committee went on the attack, writing directly to President Eisenhower in July 1959. The art, the committee declared, was chosen ‘‘based on our judgment of artistic quality and of appropriateness for this particular exhibit.’’ The show was ‘‘diversified’’ and representative of America. It was not ‘‘communistic, negative or un-American.’’ It was also not ‘‘pretty idealized pictures of our country, such as artists of totalitarian nations are obliged to paint.’’ In fact, the paintings demonstrated the qualities that ‘‘mark a democratic society.’’ The attacks by Walter and others were based ‘‘almost entirely on the alleged personal opinions and backgrounds of some of the artists.’’ This issue was ‘‘irrelevant,’’ since America was ‘‘not exhibiting the artists, but their works.’’ The exhibition was ‘‘a living demonstration of the freedom of democracy.’’ Any attempts to censor the art would ‘‘give communist propaganda the weapon it needs.’’≤≤ The committee was joined in answering the critics by its own group of supporters in Congress, the media, and the art world. Senator Hart, who had incurred the wrath of Katherine Hobson, read into the Congressional Record the names of the selection committee, whom he referred to as ‘‘distinguished Americans.’’ He then had a very complimentary article by 162

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

Emily Genauer inserted into the Record. He concluded by stating, ‘‘I believe that it is the Soviet Union which has lost face by attempting political censorship of its artists. We do not want to get ourselves into that situation.’’ There were many people around the globe who believed that ‘‘one can judge a civilization and the soul of a people more clearly by looking at its works of art and sculpture than by counting its plumbing and automobiles.’’ Senator Jacob Javits (R-N.Y.) stated, ‘‘It seems to me that what we are trying to demonstrate is that there are no o≈cial censors of art in this country—we want no Pasternak case here.’’ He also noted that ‘‘while American art is the subject of stirring controversy, nobody thinks anything about Russian art, which is dull, stultified and unimpressive.’’≤≥ As Hart’s speech before Congress indicated, even Genauer, who attacked the U.S. show at the World’s Fair with no little amount of venom, found the show in Moscow to be extraordinarily praiseworthy. As the critic noted, even though America had ‘‘bungled the opportunity’’ in Brussels in 1958, ‘‘we will be putting our best foot forward in Moscow’’ with an exhibit that would ‘‘include every significant aspect of our art’’ during the twentieth century. The New York Times lashed out at Walter’s ‘‘diatribe,’’ but concluded that usia’s refusal to buckle under to the ‘‘loquacious gentleman from Pennsylvania’’ was gratifying and was evidence of ‘‘America’s growing cultural maturity.’’ Philadelphia’s Evening Bulletin dismissed Walter as ‘‘silly’’ and deserving of a ‘‘rich reward for giving aid and comfort to Moscow propagandists.’’ It cited with approval Franklin Watkins’s defense of the exhibition as a symbol of ‘‘freedom of expression and the vitality in American art today, as opposed to the restrictions put on painting in Russia at this time.’’ With a last swipe at Walter, the piece concluded, ‘‘The chairman of the House Un-American Activities Committee might ponder this statement, to refresh his own Americanism.’’ A Connecticut newspaper also berated Walter, a ‘‘master of hounds for the old witch hunt, a position held by the late Senator McCarthy.’’ Other newspapers, such as the Baltimore Sun, merely focused on the art, calling it a ‘‘collection any country would be proud of.’’≤∂ Not surprisingly, a host of individuals from the American art world also came to the defense of the Moscow exhibition. Leonard Bernstein declared that he ‘‘wept with pride’’ upon seeing the American exhibit. ‘‘When I walked into the United States Art Exhibit at the Fair, there was a world of art, a complete world. There was Jackson Pollock, Jack Levine and everybody in the world, all looking di√erent and representing a vital, varied art life in this country, and I was terribly proud of that.’’ He A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

163

referred to the controversial Jack Levine painting and defended it as a surefire answer to Soviet critics of America. When the U.S. guides were asked by Russian visitors how they could hang such a work of art ‘‘on the wall and call it American,’’ they simply responded, ‘‘ ‘we do not have to like it—I’m not sure I like it myself—but there it is and a lot of people do like it and it does move some people in our country, and as such it has a right to be exhibited.’’ Inevitably, ‘‘Every Russian who asked that question and got that answer walked away defeated or convinced.’’ Artist Ben Shahn, who was shown at the exhibit and was no stranger to controversy, made a statement during House Un-American Activities Committee hearings. The reckless accusations of Walter and others had served to ‘‘turn us into an international laughing-stock, to lose us respect and friendship on every hand, to earn us the reputation of being a Philistine nation—which we are not.’’ The committee seemed to wish to ‘‘vilify and humiliate’’ a group of American artists who were ‘‘among our greatest international assets.’’ John Rood, president of Artists Equity Association, condemned the ‘‘dreary account of o≈cial Washington’s disapproval of what our leading artists are producing.’’ He was astounded that people would charge that individuals such as Goodrich, Watkins, and the artists themselves were ‘‘party to some devilish un-American plot.’’ America should instead be celebrating the fact that ‘‘for the first time in our history, creative activity in the arts is equally as outstanding as our creative activity of a scientific and industrial nature.’’ He asked, ‘‘What is the matter with us? Are we afraid to show that we have brains as well as brawn?’’≤∑ Watching this battle between the detractors and defenders of the Moscow art exhibit with no small degree of anxiety was the Eisenhower administration. Already bruised and wary following the wars over the Sport in Art and 1958 World’s Fair shows, the president and his advisors must have felt an ominous sense of déjà vu as the attacks on the art selected for the American exhibition continued. Eisenhower was briefed by usia Director Allen very early in the controversy when questions about the ‘‘political leanings of the painters involved’’ were raised. Allen reported to the president that after conferring with Secretary of State Christian Herter (who replaced the dying John Foster Dulles), the decision was reached to keep the exhibition as it was. Eisenhower seemed to have little interest in the politics of the artists, but he did evidence ‘‘curiosity as to the nature of the paintings selected.’’ Allen replied that ‘‘only 10% of the paintings selected would be abstract’’; the others would be ‘‘representative paintings’’ (Herter probably meant ‘‘representational’’ 164

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

paintings). Eisenhower, himself an amateur painter, pointed Allen’s attention toward a painting hanging on his wall as evidence of his own personal taste in art: ‘‘This painting of ducks on a wall came from the Whitney museum.’’ As the debate over the art heated up, Eisenhower weighed in more directly. In a letter to Representative Walter, he noted that he personally believed that the art in the Moscow show ‘‘represented an extreme form of modernism’’ and that much of it was ‘‘unintelligible to the average eye.’’ And in a press conference, Eisenhower remarked that Levine’s Welcome Home ‘‘looks more like a lampoon than art as far as I am concerned. What America likes is after all some of the things that ought to be shown.’’≤∏ Despite Eisenhower’s misgivings about the art on display in Moscow, his administration finally decided against e√orts to censor any of the paintings. Deputy Director of the usia Abbott Washburn explained the rationale. Yes, the paintings had come under severe attack as being the work of communists. However, ‘‘In actuality none of them is an acknowledged Communist, none has taken the fifth amendment.’’ The response by the ‘‘nation’s art critics and the press has been overwhelmingly favorable’’ toward the exhibit. Washburn was also aware that Vice President Richard Nixon was on record as saying that ‘‘the worst thing we could do would be to withdraw any of the art at this point.’’ If the government were to order the removal of the most controversial painting, Levine’s Welcome Home, the results would be disastrous, and the usia would ‘‘run the risk of creating an American Pasternak.’’ The painting was certainly ‘‘satirical,’’ but it was also ‘‘an example of the freedom of expression enjoyed by artists in the United States today, and as such, could be expected to have great impact on Soviet artists who are so narrowly restricted.’’ In addition, the Russians were ‘‘making hay out of the Walter charges. His actions, a la McCarthy, they say, demonstrate that America’s much-vaunted freedom of expression is in reality ‘a myth.’ ’’≤π While no paintings were deleted from the exhibition, the Eisenhower administration did decide to add twenty-six additional paintings, all from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, to ‘‘supplement’’ the exhibit. A press release announced, ‘‘The additional canvases were assembled to give greater depth and perspective to the art exhibit, in keeping with President Eisenhower’s desire that more attention be given to paintings by American artists of the pre–World War I period.’’ The new paintings included works by George Caleb Bingham, Childe Hassam, George Catlin, John Singer Sargent, Frederic Remington, and George Bellows, as well as the president’s personal favorite, Wild Duck, Hanging on a Green Wall, A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

165

by George W. Cope.≤∫ As for usia Director Allen, he was just happy to get the controversy behind him. During remarks to the National Press Club in August 1959, he rather jokingly declared that one of the questions he anticipated from the assembled journalists was, ‘‘ ‘What about art?’ ’’ He defended the modern art on display in Moscow as a ‘‘great attraction, despite the astonishment with which the average Soviet visitor views the examples of abstract art.’’ When the U.S. guides were asked to explain the works of abstract art, they merely replied that they had been included because ‘‘many painters in the United States and the rest of the free world are painting abstractions today, and that artists in America are free to paint as they like and are not told what to paint by any governmental authority.’’ Commenting directly on Levine’s painting, Allen stated, ‘‘Whether one admires or rejects ‘Welcome Home’ as art, and whether the artist is politically naïve or worse, his painting has become, by a strange turn of fate, a symbol of freedom in contrast to a closed society.’’≤Ω Strange turns, indeed. From ‘‘very bad art’’ painted by ‘‘communist sympathizers,’’ the works in Moscow had been transformed into symbols of American freedom. A LITTLE TOO STRANGE FOR THE AVERAGE RUSSIAN

The idea that the American art in Moscow was both a valuable symbol of democracy and freedom of expression as well as a powerful counterpoint to the lack of artistic freedom in the Soviet Union was given expression by those in the American art world who were most directly involved in the exhibition. This was not altogether surprising, since supporters of a U.S. government–supported international art program had for years been pointing out the value of American art, most particularly modern and abstract art, in the battle against communism. In Moscow, they got the opportunity to show just how e√ective a propaganda weapon American art could be when it came face to face with the enemy. Edith Halpert, the first U.S. curator for the art show in Moscow, emphasized over and over the impact the art had on the Soviet audience. In a letter to a State Department o≈cial summarizing the Moscow exhibition, she declared, ‘‘I want so much to see the usia program continued—to see democratic exhibitions sponsored by a democratic State— to appropriately present the visual symbol of freedom of expression in the countries where this is imperative.’’ Through many personal contacts with Russian artists, students, and other professionals she learned that 166

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

the exhibit had been ‘‘most e√ective propaganda; that it will be spread by many visitors to all parts of the Soviet Union.’’ Like other forms of American propaganda—such as Voice of America—art exhibits could spread the American story far and wide, ‘‘and the cost proves mighty small per capita.’’ She believed that ‘‘before long growing protests will bring more freedom to the Soviet artists in various fields, and will thereby reduce their value in Soviet propaganda.’’ In her view, one had to consider the fact that while the Russian masses might not have appreciated the paintings, Russian artists, students, and professionals did. In recognition of this, she began shutting down the exhibit for two hours each afternoon to accommodate special groups composed of just such people. ‘‘Many,’’ she claimed, ‘‘expressed the belief that the art exhibition was the most e√ective evidence of a free democracy, that it inspired them toward a closer kinship, a deeper understanding of mutual spiritual goals.’’ Thus, ‘‘despite the published Soviet propaganda, the artists realized that ours was a true people’s art.’’ Halpert quoted a Russian art critic who called the art exhibit the ‘‘most vivacious’’ section of the American exhibition, ‘‘arousing so much commotion that it drowns out the voices coming from the nearby tv demonstration.’’≥≠ Richard McLanathan, who followed Halpert as curator of the exhibition, completely agreed with her assessment of its impact on the Russian audience. Metal barriers had to be installed to protect the art from the crush of the massive crowds, averaging 15,000 visitors a day. Originally, it was thought that perhaps 200,000 to 400,000 Russians would come to the art exhibit; in the end, McLanathan estimated, nearly 1 million Soviet citizens viewed the paintings. In fact, ‘‘the crowds were so dense as to make lecturing or docentry impossible and even dangerous.’’ The discussions during the special two-hour tours each day convinced him that ‘‘the Art Exhibition proved of especial value in the realization of the purposes of the Fair . . . by demonstrating dramatically and e√ectively American concepts of individual freedom of expression and of choice.’’ Evidence of the impact of these special tours was the fact that Soviet guards did their best to screen the visitors. ‘‘This was just one of the many small devices used by the Soviets to hamper the workings of those activities at the Fair which were proving disturbingly e√ective.’’ In communist nations such as the Soviet Union, ‘‘our experimental art has assumed a special significance there as an expression of freedom of the individual creative spirit.’’ Though one visitor wrote in the comments book placed at the exhibit that the abstract art might be a ‘‘little too strange for the average Russian,’’ McLanathan concluded that ‘‘the very strangeness to the Russians of A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

167

some of the more abstract art merely served to emphasize’’ the ‘‘freedom of expression and of choice in America.’’ He quoted one elderly Russian artist during one of the tours: ‘‘I do not understand all that I see around me here, because much of it is new to me, but I know what it all means, that you in America have inherited the leadership, and you represent freedom and the future.’’ Catalogs for the show soon became highly prized (and highly priced) items on the Russian black market. The meaning of all of this was clear. ‘‘In the Communist dominated countries conformity is enforced at a level unbelievable to us in the west, therefore our experimental art has assumed a special significance there as an expression of freedom of the individual creative spirit.’’ He concluded his report with an impassioned plea: Our modern art, including both the visual arts and music, is now almost universally accepted as the most progressive, most promising and most adventurous in the world today. Surely this represents in itself an aspect of the American tradition, in its emphasis on individualism and the creative side of life, of which we have always been justly proud. If we would only have the faith in our own cultural contributions that many of the more discriminating Europeans have, we would use every such means to encourage, by cultural exchanges of exhibitions, of performers, of individuals from the world of art, those in other parts of the globe who share our views of life, our convictions of the rightness and essential value of our system, and our basic belief in human freedom.≥∞ While Americans discussed the art exhibit in terms of what was American and what was not American, and whether the art was communistic or a proud symbol of democracy, the real issue, as Halpert and McLanathan pointed out, was what the Russians thought of the art. In Moscow there was no doubt among the Russians who viewed the exhibit that it was completely and definitively American. For the crowds that gathered around the paintings in Moscow, it was really more of a question of exactly what kind of America was on display. The o≈cial Soviet opinion was quite clear: the art demonstrated that American society was su√ering from deep and profound mental problems. Victor Kemenov, of the Academy of Arts of the ussr, wrote a long and generally negative review. Viewers, he stated, were treated to ‘‘enormous canvases covered with spots of dirty paints and fragments of freakish lines.’’ It was, he concluded, ‘‘fruitless to try to see in this senseless chaos any connection with America’s nature, and her people, or their lives and activities.’’ The 168

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

paintings by Pollock, Rothko, and others ‘‘overwhelm the viewer by their meaninglessness, the licencious [sic] confusion of their gaudy and dirty colors.’’ Abstract art, he continued, with its ‘‘degenerating influence, consists in the fact that it tears the painter away from the viewer and the people.’’ Kemenov then directly addressed the exhibit catalog, in which Goodrich defended abstraction as a sign of freedom and individuality. ‘‘Let us imagine an insane asylum,’’ Kemenov ominously began. The freedom of which Goodrich wrote was ‘‘merely an illusion.’’ Abstract art ‘‘distracts the attention of the people from the hard problems that are created for them daily by life under the conditions of capitalist reality’’ and serves as ‘‘a more insidious form of o√ense by the reactionary bourgeois ideology.’’≥≤ Abstract art also came under attack in an article in Communist, one of the o≈cial organs of the communist party in the Soviet Union. In the article, which never directly mentioned the American exhibit in Moscow, abstract art was described as ‘‘the ugly dying gasp of imperialism, the last stage of capitalism.’’ Modern art paintings were ‘‘blends of spots and streams of paint or cold combinations of lines and planes.’’ As a whole, it ‘‘belittles human reason, supports irrationality and takes mysticism over realism.’’ According to the magazine, the rapid development of modern art in the United States was not by mere chance. Instead, it was ‘‘part of a big over-all plot by reactionary bourgeois forces to keep the minds of the people away from the social contradictions in the real world.’’≥≥ The overall reaction of the Soviet public was only a little better. According to a study prepared by the usia, the American art attracted the second-highest amount of unfavorable comments from visitors. (The ‘‘lack of science and technology’’ exhibits ranked as the primary complaint.) The comments book that accompanied the exhibit certainly supported that analysis. Some typical remarks: ‘‘keep it at home and use it on ranches to scare o√ crows’’; ‘‘daubing by dumb animals cannot be called art’’; ‘‘my daughter at three years of age drew better than that’’; ‘‘we feel a great sympathy for the American people’’; ‘‘poor Americans.’’ One of the comments overheard by the American guides summed up much of the criticism, ‘‘Why paint something people don’t understand. Art should serve the people.’’≥∂ Despite this rather chilly reception from many corners of Soviet society, most of the Americans a≈liated with the exhibition still considered it a great propaganda success. Instead of focusing on the negative comments, they pointed instead to signs that the art exhibit had hit its mark. While it may have been the second-least-popular part of the U.S. exhibiA LITTLE TOO STRANGE

169

tion, it was also the ninth most popular (beating out fashion, sports, music, and even Pepsi-Cola). The comments book also contained very favorable notes. A group of ceramic arts students wrote, ‘‘We like your exhibition and the abstract art.’’ One unknown commentator joyously declared, ‘‘The search for something new!’’ Another defiantly claimed, ‘‘Each type of art has a right to existence! Every person has his own taste! Art is free and everyone has a right to create.’’ A newspaper account of the exhibit noted that by the time the art exhibit closed in September 1959, the chorus of criticism was being challenged as ‘‘more and more Russians themselves are answering the questions and openly defending the exhibit.’’ While ‘‘loud gu√aws and jeering gestures’’ were still being directed at the paintings, ‘‘many visitors study these paintings carefully.’’≥∑ Eleanor Mitchell of the Fine Arts Committee of the People to People program passed along to Franklin Watkins and others direct evidence of a more positive Russian response to the art. A ‘‘Russian correspondent’’ had written that although the ‘‘average visitor’’ had some ‘‘horrible things’’ to say about the exhibit, many people enjoyed it. ‘‘People nearly killed themselves to get the art catalogs.’’ And the exhibit generated a ‘‘hot discussion’’ in two of the leading cultural publications in Russia, with many artists claiming that ‘‘contemporary life must be reflected in new, contemporary forms.’’ The president of the Soviet Academy of Fine Arts ‘‘closed the discussion’’ with a very pointed declaration in favor of ‘‘socialist realism.’’ As Mitchell concluded, ‘‘Let’s see what will come of it.’’ According to Renee and Matthew Baigell, who conducted interviews with Soviet dissident artists in the 1980s and 1990s, what came of it was just the kind of ‘‘protest’’ by artists that Edith Halpert hoped would occur. ‘‘From the late 1950s until the advent of perestroika in 1987, many artists in the Soviet Union rebelled against the styles and ideology of socialist realism.’’ Artists’ ‘‘opposition to o≈cial artistic ideology surfaced after Stalin’s death in 1953, became quite visible during the Khrushchev Thaw of the late 1950s and early 1960s, and was suppressed or tolerated to a greater or lesser degree in the following decades.’’≥∏ Frank Getlein, art critic for the New Republic, witnessed the ‘‘revolutionary’’ impact of the American art firsthand during his visit to the American exhibition. Most Russians were indeed shocked or disgusted by the abstract works. Getlein believed, however, that a number of Russians were getting the message—that American art reflected the freedom and diversity of American society. ‘‘These points were not lost on some Russians, particularly some young art students and some older critics. For some years there has been a semi-underground ‘abstract’ movement 170

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

Jackson Pollock, Cathedral (1947), one of the works of abstract expressionism that so befuddled most Russians at the American National Exhibition in Moscow in 1959. (enamel and aluminum print on canvas, 71 1⁄2 x 35 1⁄16 in. [181.61 x 89.06 cm], Dallas Museum of Art, gift of Mr. and Mrs. Bernard J. Reis. ∫ 2004 The Pollock-Krasner Foundation/Artists Rights Society [ars], New York) 171

Russian leader Nikita Khrushchev is escorted through the grounds of the American National Exhibition in Moscow, 1959. Khrushchev’s loathing of modern art was well known, and so he never viewed the U.S. painting show at the exhibition. (Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 321, Box 62, folder ‘‘Moscow Show’’ [2004-50605])

among Moscow artists. The American show is a kind of rallying point for them.’’ He found it both amusing and troubling that, ‘‘the loudest protests made at the art show in Moscow came not from Russians but from an American businessman as indignant as any Communist at what our artists had done to his idealized notion of life.’’≥π McLanathan, Halpert, and other Americans who came to the defense of the 1959 show seemed unaware of the ironies and contradictions contained within their e√usive praise. Just as they celebrated artistic freedom, they easily glossed over the savage attacks on the art from numerous elements of American society. Indeed, it quickly became clear that the only reason the Eisenhower administration did not censor some of the paintings at the exhibit was fear of a propaganda windfall for the Soviets. Furthermore, the rather smug assurance that the superiority of American art was, at least in part, due to the fact that Soviet art was judged only by its service to the state overlooked the fact that they themselves measured the success of the Moscow art exhibit in terms of its service to American diplomacy and propaganda. It remained for one of the Russian visitors to the exhibit to get the crux of the irony. As Halpert described it, a ‘‘smart cookie’’ asked about ‘‘our press reports wondering why our o≈cials called 172

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

abstractions ‘communist art’ as opposed to their o≈cial press which condemned the same paintings and sculpture as symbols of the ‘degradation of capitalism.’ ’’≥∫ Perhaps abstract art was a bit too strange for the average Russian and the average American. ART IS ALSO PROPAGANDA

In August 1959, as the Moscow exhibition drew to a close, Lloyd Goodrich wrote to Roy Neuberger reiterating his concern over the controversy engendered by the choice of paintings and its impact on the future of a government-sponsored international art program. He wanted to make sure that in the future, ‘‘an artist’s work must be judged on its merits, and not on his personal opinions, associations or activities; and that no artist’s work should be excluded because of the latter.’’ Goodrich suggested that representatives from the afa, the American Association of Museums, the Association of Art Museum Directors, and the College Art society should meet and formulate guidelines to govern future overseas art exhibits which could be presented to the Department of State and usia for their approval. Despite the savage attacks on the Moscow art show, Goodrich took heart from the ‘‘many expressions of support from leaders in the art world.’’ He believed that ‘‘the time is ripe to bring about a change in o≈cial policy that will assure the future of governmental art activities.’’ Donald Cook of the Department of State’s Advisory Committee on the Arts agreed. Writing to another member of the Advisory Committee, Cook exclaimed that ‘‘an opportunity is available . . . to consolidate the gains made, to help to chart a future course in such matters.’’ He hoped that the committee would take up the matter at its next meeting in October 1959.≥Ω As usual, Goodrich wasted little time in pressing ahead with his plan. In mid-October, representatives from the four museum and art groups met at the Whitney to discuss the international art program. They prepared a statement for presentation to the State Department and usia. The groups represented at the meeting were ‘‘seriously concerned about the future of art exhibitions in governmental cultural exchange programs with other nations.’’ To cease such exhibitions would be to give ‘‘the world a false picture of American culture.’’ In establishing future exhibits, the U.S. government should ‘‘draw on qualified professional experience and judgment’’ and ‘‘adhere to high artistic standards.’’ In its dealings with art professionals, the government should ‘‘respect professional ethics.’’ The statement then briefly noted the unhappy conclusions of many art shows A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

173

in the past; cancellations of art exhibits had ‘‘serious consequences . . . on public opinion [in] this country and other countries.’’ The ‘‘basic issue is simple.’’ The government needed to realize that an ‘‘artist’s political opinions and a≈liations are personal matters, distinct from his work, which much be judged on its merits.’’ If the government would adopt a ‘‘commonsense policy, the political attacks will lose their point.’’ If it would not, then ‘‘we doubt whether such exchanges can be continued.’’∂≠ Goodrich then arranged to have the representatives meet with the State Department’s Advisory Committee on Art just a few weeks later and present the statement. This meeting also took place at the Whitney Museum. After a ‘‘full discussion,’’ the representatives and members of the Advisory Committee found themselves ‘‘in complete agreement.’’ The next step was to present the statement to the usia for its approval. Shortly thereafter, Goodrich appeared before the Advisory Committee on Cultural Information for the usia and presented the same statement. A ‘‘long and thorough discussion’’ ensued. Goodrich understood that the usia Advisory Committee ‘‘passed a resolution recommending that future art exhibitions be placed in the hands of professional institutions, and that their decisions as to the artists included should be final.’’ He hoped that this development would ‘‘lead to a clarification of governmental policy on these issues.’’∂∞ During the next few months, both the State Department and usia advisory committees discussed the recommendations from Goodrich and other representatives of the American art world. In July 1960, the Advisory Committee on the Arts prepared a final statement for consideration by both State and usia. The document began by fretting over the nature of America’s cultural contacts with the rest of the world. Much of this was ‘‘spontaneous’’ and without ‘‘conscious supervision.’’ This inevitably led to a mixed bag in terms of what the foreign audience received: sometimes the contacts focused on ‘‘the sensational, the frivolous, or even the unsavory aspects of our society.’’ This made the responsibility for oversight of government-sponsored cultural activities ‘‘proportionately greater.’’ To counteract communist propaganda about America’s lack of culture, it was necessary to send abroad those artists and works ‘‘of which we are most proud.’’ If not, then ‘‘our national investment in these programs as a means of dispelling ignorance, or of countering misrepresentations and falsehoods concerning American standards and objectives, is misapplied.’’ Such programs, however, were inherently ‘‘controversial.’’ Art, by its very nature, was based on the premises of ‘‘freedom and personal initiative.’’ Government e√orts to try and control art were 174

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

‘‘immediately discernible.’’ Fortunately, even with the ‘‘immense variety of artistic media and of widely di√ering styles, it is possible to identify quality and to maintain high standards.’’ Therefore, ‘‘Only art of the highest quality should be sent abroad.’’ Another factor to be considered was that the ‘‘criteria of judgment may vary as di√erent parts of the world, or even of a given country, are under consideration.’’ Thus, what might be ‘‘appropriate for a rural or provincial locality may be singularly inappropriate for a large metropolitan center.’’ These were the crucial factors to consider in selecting American art for exhibition abroad, and so ‘‘it follows that the personality, character or beliefs of the artist, unless he is to accompany an exhibit, are largely irrelevant.’’ In general, there should be ‘‘neither over-emphasis on nor neglect of particular fields in the arts or particular ‘schools’ within these fields.’’ In all cases, ‘‘proper care’’ needed to be given in writing up descriptive materials to accompany art exhibits to fully explain them to the foreign audience. The document then moved to the practical side of establishing art exhibits. In all cases, ‘‘responsibility for judgments of artistic quality should not be assumed by Government o≈cials’’; this should be left to ‘‘recognized experts in the particular form concerned.’’ In particular, ‘‘professional and scholarly organizations’’ should carry the responsibility for selecting the art. The government’s role would be to provide these experts with ‘‘clear-cut instructions as to the purposes to be served by a given project and its desired scope and content.’’ Once the experts made their decisions, however, these should be ‘‘respected and upheld by the Government.’’ The document was later included in the report from the chairman of the State Department’s U.S. Advisory Commission on Educational Exchange to Congress.∂≤ The statement was significant on many levels, but its primary importance lay in the fact that it marked the first real attempt by the government to adopt a professional attitude toward sending American art overseas. Prior to this time, the program had been a hit-or-miss a√air, usually with a shoestring budget, with exhibits hastily assembled (and sometimes just as hastily dismantled) due to the whims and vagaries of requests from foreign governments, ideas floated by groups such as the afa, and ‘‘art critics’’ in congress. What this statement made clear was that the usia now considered American art a definable tool in America’s Cold War arsenal. As with any such tool, specific rules for its use must be established guiding its goals and means of application. Issues such as the personal politics of the artists or criticisms from this or that ‘‘school’’ of art would now be pushed aside by the single most important consideraA LITTLE TOO STRANGE

175

tion: what kind of art should be sent to which countries to best achieve America’s diplomatic goals? Yet, the statement also marked a compromise position between those such as Goodrich, who demanded complete freedom of the arts, and those in the usia and State Department who believed that they should have complete control over exhibits financed and sponsored by the federal government. The new guidelines did defend the idea of artistic freedom and explicitly gave control over the selection of the art to professionals in the field. However, that freedom to choose the art and artists had its limits. O≈cials in State and usia would make the decisions about what kind of art should go where. And those decisions would not be based on issues primarily related to aesthetics. No one stated the situation more explicitly than William Benton, who well remembered his own disastrous experience with Advancing American Art. By late 1959, he was the publisher and chairman of Encyclopedia Britannica. In November, he wrote to Goodrich after reading the latter’s introduction to the catalog for the Moscow show, which was currently on exhibit in the Whitney Museum. Benton chided Goodrich, ‘‘I of course do not think that the problem is as simple as you portray it.’’ In the catalog, Goodrich chastised those who engaged in ‘‘reactionary attacks’’ on contemporary art exhibits; these assaults led to the cancellation of many valuable art exhibits. As Benton noted, however, ‘‘Art is not only art when it is involved, as these government-sponsored exhibits were, in an international political contest. Art is also propaganda.’’ Exercising a bit of selective memory, Benton claimed that the Advancing American Art exhibit had not been canceled because of any reactionary attacks, ‘‘but simply because it was bad propaganda.’’ He concluded, ‘‘The State Department will always be in the propaganda business’’; it would ‘‘never be in the art business.’’ Indeed, ‘‘ ‘Art’, judged from the standpoint of the U.S. Government and its Congressional appropriations, applied to overseas activities, must always be judged from its impact as propaganda—and never from its impact as art.’’∂≥ Benton’s arguments went to the crux of the problem. Members of the art world, such as Goodrich, desired government support for an overseas art program but did not want politics to intrude in the selection of the art. The State Department and usia would only provide support when they believed that particular art shown in particular places would have particular propaganda advantages. In the years 1958–60, the art world and the U.S. government were compelled to compromise in order to sustain the program. Goodrich and his associates knew that only govern176

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

ment sponsorship could make an international art program a reality. They also knew that such sponsorship would come only if they agreed to certain restrictions to fit the propaganda needs of the government. State and usia came to the realization that art—particularly modern art—was not only a popular form of American culture but could also be a devastating weapon against the Soviet Union as a symbol of American freedom and diversity. However, they also realized that for the painting exhibitions to be e√ective the government needed professional help in order to insure that the highest quality works were sent overseas. They also came to the conclusion that any e√orts at censorship would be destructive of the very propaganda value they wished to gain from the art shows. And overhanging all of their considerations was the very practical issue of congressional appropriations for ‘‘controversial’’ art. Thus, the shows of 1958 and 1959 were compromises. In Brussels, the government established the basic guidelines. Contemporary art would be on display, not for any particular aesthetic reasons but because this was apparently the kind of art the Europeans wanted and because the ‘‘new,’’ ‘‘young,’’ ‘‘dynamic’’ modern art of the United States best fit in with the themes that the usia and State Department wished to develop at the fair. The artists, however, would have to be under forty-five years of age in order, hopefully, to bypass the issue of ‘‘subversive artists.’’ In Moscow, the government again asked for contemporary art—not for aesthetic reasons, to be sure, but because such art would appeal to an important ‘‘target audience’’ and serve as valuable propaganda against the stifling artistic atmosphere in the Soviet Union. In both cases, when criticisms arose the government quickly responded by establishing an ‘‘alternative’’ art exhibit (Brussels) or by integrating more ‘‘representative works’’ into the exhibit (Moscow). The afa, the various selection committees, and individuals such as Goodrich, Watkins, and Halpert chafed under these government guidelines, which often seemed to them arbitrary and destructive of the aesthetic qualities of the exhibitions. Yet by accepting them they had been able to establish shows that would have been unimaginable just a few years before. And while the art world representatives were often bothered by the insertion of other art works into the exhibitions, they could take comfort in knowing that none of the original paintings from either the Brussels or Moscow shows had been removed. As the 1960s dawned, a somewhat tenuous but apparently e√ective relationship had been forged between members of the American art world and the usia and State Department. For really the first time, a (relatively) solid foundation for a permanent overseas art program A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

177

seemed to be in place. The obvious propaganda impact of the U.S. exhibit in Moscow convinced the U.S. government that art could indeed be more than art when used as part of America’s cultural diplomacy o√ensive. However, as many in the art world would find, an art program that was based not on aesthetics but on its e√ectiveness as propaganda was on shaky grounds. For what would happen when American art was deemed to have lost its power to influence both the friends and enemies of the United States?

178

A LITTLE TOO STRANGE

6 NEW FRONTIERS FOR THE GOVERNMENT AND THE ARTS

In 1962, James S. Plaut, former director of the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston and deputy U.S. commissioner for the American exhibition at the 1958 World’s Fair, surveyed the first year of John. F. Kennedy’s presidency. ‘‘Certainly the most appealing and least controversial achievement of the first year of the Kennedy administration has been the positive impact of the White House on our cultural life.’’ Both the president and his wife had ‘‘given warm and welcome encouragement to the whole creative world.’’ From Robert Frost’s poetry at the inauguration ceremony, to a White House performance by the famed cellist Pablo Casals, to Jacqueline Kennedy’s untiring efforts to beautify the White House and restore it to its former glories, it was clear that a new attitude toward art had taken root in Washington. This was welcome news, and while it was perhaps too much to claim that the president and Mrs. Kennedy had ‘‘triggered a ‘culture explosion,’ ’’ it was certainly the case that ‘‘the revelation of their cultural interests to the American people has encountered an enormously sympathetic response, not only from artists eager for recognition, but from a public eager to find some respite from the harsh realities of the cold war and the nuclear threat. In an age now firmly established as overwhelmingly scientific and technological in emphasis, the arts can only, at best, play a leavening, lightening and humanizing role.’’ Plaut was somewhat more pessimistic as he turned his attention to the international cultural e√orts by the U.S. government. Attempts by the government to encourage cultural programs met the inevitable criticism: that in the ‘‘American tradition, our cultural pursuits are regarded as the fruits of free enterprise; there is the parallel implication that o≈cial support of the arts will bring on political interference with creative freedom.’’ Plaut recognized that the argument was not entirely ‘‘groundless,’’ but

nevertheless countered that the European nations had ‘‘long accepted the cultural responsibility as a natural obligation of government.’’ That was not, sadly, the case with America’s cultural diplomacy. ‘‘The State Department and the U.S. Information Agency presently share the details of a program which is essentially propagandistic in nature and planned entirely for overseas consumption. By European standards, our ‘cultural exports’ are pallid and our domestic program virtually non-existent.’’ Still, he remained hopeful. ‘‘Radical changes in the government’s role in the arts, coming as the result of an imaginative and sophisticated program inspired by the President himself, may well occur before the New Frontier is much older.’’∞ Plaut’s optimism concerning the government’s encouragement of the arts was reflected during the early 1960s in the nation’s international art program. Showings of American art continued to circle the globe; new programs were started; and, in an extremely important development, the usia assumed responsibility for the ‘‘big shows’’—the Venice Biennale and São Paulo Bienal, in particular. Yet Plaut’s fears about the possible entanglements between art and politics (the art as art versus art as propaganda argument) and his concerns over the ‘‘pallid’’ nature of his nation’s cultural exports serve to characterize the mid-1960s, when the usia, in a dramatic turnaround, washed its hands of the shows in Venice and São Paulo and prepared to divest itself of the always controversial overseas art program. NEW FRONTIERS FOR GOVERNMENT AND THE ARTS

The 1961 annual report for the National Council on the Arts and Government (ncag) fairly glowed with enthusiasm. Under the heading, ‘‘New Frontiers for Government and the Arts,’’ the ncag declared, ‘‘The climate in Washington . . . has most noticeably improved for the arts.’’ The report particularly noted several key appointments in the new Kennedy administration. Abraham Ribico√, who had been named Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare, had a ‘‘real interest in art’’ and would be ‘‘quite sympathetic to constructive measures for the arts.’’ Philip Coombs now occupied the position of assistant secretary of state for education and cultural a√airs, a new—and higher—rank that suggested a new importance for cultural diplomacy. Finally, Edward R. Murrow was the new director of the usia. In light of e√orts at censorship of the arts in recent years, it was comforting to know that Murrow would act strenuously 180

NEW FRONTIERS

to deflect ‘‘any attempts to censor the arts in any unwarranted manner.’’ The afa expressed its views more directly, writing to President Kennedy shortly after his inauguration. ‘‘We noted with great enthusiasm your recognition of the arts in inviting to the inaugural ceremonies outstanding representatives in this field.’’ The afa stood ‘‘ready at all times to be of assistance to your administration in any way that we can.’’≤ The Kennedy administration did represent a decidedly new attitude toward the relationship between government and the arts. This was apparent at the inaugural festivities in 1961. Among those in attendance were Arthur Miller, who had just years before been grilled by huac about his political leanings; John Steinbeck, who saw his books removed from usis libraries in the 1950s; and Mark Rothko and Franz Kline, whose abstract expressionist art had been decried as subversive during the past decade. The new president went beyond such gestures, however. In 1962, he named August Heckscher, who was at that time director of the Twentieth Century Fund, as Special Consultant to the President for the Arts. Facing resistance in Congress to an expanded role for government in support of the arts, Kennedy established the Advisory Council on the Arts through executive order in mid-1963. Before any further progress could be made, however, Kennedy was assassinated in November 1963. In recognition of Kennedy’s e√orts to provide increased support for American art, the new administration of Lyndon B. Johnson pushed through legislation calling for construction of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington.≥ In some ways, however, the early and mid-1960s still echoed with the themes developed by many in the American art world who supported an international art program in the first years after World War II: that more than ever, humanity needed the arts; that the arts were an international language of peace and understanding; that America had become a leader in cultural matters; and that the American government had a responsibility to support and nurture its art and artists. Perhaps this was due to the great successes in the overseas art program during the late 1950s, particularly the show in Moscow in 1959 that served both artistic and propaganda functions. Or perhaps it was due to a general thawing taking place in America’s artistic life after nearly two decades in which filmmakers were imprisoned, books banned, and modern art ridiculed and attacked by the nation’s self-appointed cultural cold warriors. In other ways, however, the general tone of various speeches and articles in the early 1960s reflected the notion that as important as art might be to the human spirit, it was equally important as a tool with which to combat the NEW FRONTIERS

181

nation’s enemies. This was hardly unexpected. After all, the idea of art as propaganda was what had secured the government support so vital to sustaining an international art program. Arthur Schlesinger Jr. expressed his wariness about too much government involvement in the arts in a speech given before the afa in 1962. The artist, he warned his audience, could ‘‘be killed by neglect as well as by love; he can be starved as well as su√ocated.’’ Nevertheless, Schlesinger considered it ‘‘nonsense to suppose that this nation cannot work out ways which will help the arts without harming the artist.’’ And such help was needed more than ever if the United States aspired to become a truly great power. ‘‘Our times require greatness as well as bigness—and greatness is a matter, not of the arsenal or of the pocketbook, but of the spirit. We will win the world to an understanding of our policy and purposes not through the force of our arms or the array of our wealth but through the splendor of our ideals.’’ Industrialist, art patron, and Kennedy arts consultant August Heckscher agreed with much of Schlesinger’s analysis. In his opinion, ‘‘the United States will be judged—and its place in history ultimately assessed—not alone by its military or economic power, but by the quality of its civilization.’’ He noted a growing public interest in the arts, combined with an increasing role of government in the cultivation and support of America’s culture. The U.S. government, which had not always demonstrated ‘‘consistent concern for the state of the arts,’’ was now poised to make real progress in the area of American art. While Heckscher was primarily concerned with the domestic implications of this new interest on the part of the federal government, he also believed that ‘‘cultural exchange’’ was important. He was dismayed that the budget for sending examples of American culture abroad was so thin; the ‘‘funds for travelling [sic] art exhibitions are totally inadequate.’’ If America wished to exhibit overseas the ‘‘vitality and quality of art in the United States,’’ funds must be found.∂ For A. B. Bonds Jr., president of Baldwin-Wallace College in Berea, Ohio, the need for art in the contemporary world was overwhelming. The artist had a ‘‘tremendous role to play in redressing the balance of man’s current preoccupation with merely quantitative disciplines.’’ It was impossible, he declared, to ‘‘really find meaning in our life unless we can relate our lives to something that has a meaning above itself.’’ Unfortunately, ‘‘the real poverty of our time lies in the widespread neglect of those disciplines which speak to the spirit and reason of man.’’ Those sentiments were shared by George Winchester Stone Jr., emeritus English professor from New York University. ‘‘The basic enemies we fight today 182

NEW FRONTIERS

are not Russia, cancer and the atomic bomb, not colonialism and race relations, but the perpetual ones of ignorance, muddleheadedness and crassness.’’ The first could be cured by ‘‘knowledge,’’ and the second by ‘‘development of a kind of operative logic.’’ Crassness, however, could ‘‘only be cured by the development of the imagination.’’ He hoped that foreign scholars could be invited to America not only to visit its justly vaunted research libraries but also to ‘‘take the measure of our scholarly commitment to literature, music and art.’’ And in a direct assault on the dulling e√ects of the Red Scare, the president of cbs, Frank Stanton, was clear in announcing that government did have an important role to play in sustaining the arts in America. The United States, and other nations, should ‘‘promulgate and implement broad principles of freedom for an international flow of cultural and intellectual activities and materials.’’ The world’s nations needed to act to ‘‘remove all censoring devices, overt or covert’’ on the flow of artistic and cultural materials.∑ The death of John F. Kennedy in 1963 was as much a blow to the American art world as to American society as a whole. Nevertheless, the optimism concerning the nation’s cultural life begun during the days of Camelot did not immediately evaporate. Writing just a few months after the president’s assassination, the afa implored Congress to support the arts more strongly than ever. ‘‘We can no longer pretend that the United States is so young a country that it has no responsibility in supporting the arts of peace. The new frontiers are not only those of space, but also those of the arts of wisdom and leisure.’’∏ And although no one ever confused the rough-and-tumble new president, Lyndon B. Johnson, with the cultured Kennedy, the man from Texas proved that he, too, could be a patron to the arts. The United States Committee of the International Association of Art, which represented nearly a dozen painting and sculpture groups in America, noted with approval the following comments from President Johnson in early 1965: We fully recognize that no government can call artistic excellence into existence. It must flow from the quality of the society and the good fortune of the nation. Nor should any government seek to restrict the freedom of the artist to pursue his calling in his own way. Freedom is an essential condition for the artist and in proportion as freedom is diminished so is the prospect of artistic achievement. But government can seek to create conditions under which the arts can flourish: through recognition of achievements, through helping those who seek to enlarge creative understanding, through increasing the access of NEW FRONTIERS

183

our people to the works of our artists and through recognizing the arts as part of the pursuit of America’s greatness. That is the goal of this administration.π THE ART CENTER OF THE WORLD IS NOW NEW YORK

In the first years of the 1960s, the international art activities of the U.S. government suggested that the art world’s optimism was not unfounded. Art exhibits continued to be displayed around the world; some were new shows, but the old reliable Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting got plenty of extra mileage. There was even a completely new program, designed to bring American art to U.S. embassies. And, finally, there was the stunning announcement that the usia would take responsibility for American exhibitions at the largest of the international art shows, including the Venice Biennale. Exhibitions of American art circled the globe during the early to mid-1960s. The Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting reproductions, though getting a bit ragged around the edges, continued to attract large audiences. In Indonesia, where big crowds had formed to see the earlier Highlights of American Painting exhibit in 1956, the new twentieth-century collection faced an overwhelming response. Nearly 6,000 people saw the exhibit in Surabaya, and during three showings in Bali 8,000 visitors became aware ‘‘of developments in contemporary art and the central role played by American artists.’’ And in the ‘‘relatively isolated but strongly anti-Communist provincial city’’ of Makassar in South Sulawesi, another 8,000 Indonesians came to see the reproductions. The collection also made its way into the ‘‘hinterlands’’ of British Guiana and made return visits to Australia and Martinique.∫ The reproductions did not always receive as warm a welcome as usia o≈cials might have hoped. In the Jordanian city of Nablus, a show coupled with a lecture was nearly boycotted when it coincided with the visit of a U.S. o≈cial to Israel. The people of the city, ‘‘strong Arab nationalist[s]’’ and ‘‘conservative,’’ nevertheless let the show go on and, in fact, packed the lecture hall. Though usis o≈cials on the scene heard an ‘‘outpouring of local sentiment’’ on U.S.-Israel relations, the event was generally marked by ‘‘pleasant hospitality.’’ On some occasions, the cultural chauvinism of American o≈cials was in evidence. Reporting on a showing of the collection in Dahomey, a usis o≈cial declared that the exhibit was ‘‘playing to the European or snob Dahomean element which 184

NEW FRONTIERS

is largely ignored in other aspects of usis programming.’’ He was amazed to find that the exhibit appealed to elements of Dahomean society beyond that elite group. Thus, he declared, usis had ‘‘unwittingly brought some Culture with a capital ‘C’ to over 1,000 persons.’’ Even this unexpected attendance he chalked up to a ‘‘gimmick’’: ballot boxes put out for guests to vote on their three favorite works. (Edward Hopper’s Barbershop placed first.) On its own, the usis post added four reproductions from the older Highlights collection, three of which featured ‘‘Negroe Subjects.’’Ω As successful as the Twentieth Century Highlights exhibit was, it was not exactly what many usis posts had been crying for: exhibitions of original works of American art. In the early 1960s, these requests continued and even intensified. In some cases, the requests from usis o≈cials were prompted by local individuals or groups who desired shows of American art; in other cases, the usis posts simply felt that art exhibits would serve U.S. purposes. The Buenos Aires post, for example, forwarded a request from Dr. Jorge Romero Brest, director of the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, for an exhibition of contemporary American art. He was ‘‘very enthusiastic’’ and felt that there would be a ‘‘high degree of interest’’ in Argentina for such a show. It would have ‘‘an important impact, both culturally and politically.’’ The Chilean Association of Painters and Sculptors was more specific: it wanted works by Pollock, de Kooning, Rothko, Motherwell, Kline, and Tobey. The director of cultural a√airs for the Pan American Union urged the usia to assist in sending the works of important American ‘‘modern art’’ to Latin America. Such an exhibit would ‘‘greatly serve the cause of goodwill between our peoples which we are trying to serve.’’ usia o≈cials agreed that Latin America needed more U.S. art exhibits. For its post in Brasilia there was a very definite desire for ‘‘contemporary American art for its walls and display area.’’ Not only would this art complement the building’s architecture but also ‘‘the taste of the people who come there.’’∞≠ Europe and Latin America had always been key target areas for the American art program, but increasingly in the early 1960s requests for exhibits came from usis posts in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. The Tokyo post complained that it was unfortunate that in Japan, ‘‘where good art is held in such high esteem, the impact of the United States in this field is pathetically poor.’’ The Japanese were constantly approaching usis for art shows, but lack of funds and a reluctance of American museums and patrons to allow their art to be sent to Asia frustrated all e√orts. ‘‘This post feels strongly that the United States cannot a√ord to NEW FRONTIERS

185

pass up serious requests for American art exhibits.’’ U.S. o≈cials in Manila were confronted with two problems: finding ‘‘representative American works of art to hang in U.S. Government o≈ces,’’ and securing ‘‘original American works of art to the Philippines in a continuing e√ort to establish the U.S. as the international leader in the field of contemporary art.’’ They requested that the usia act immediately to bring modern American art to the Filipino audience. The usis in Baghdad believed that ‘‘a good exhibit of modern American art would be a very valuable contribution to the American cultural exchange program in Iraq.’’ There were many good artists in Iraq, and other nations, including the communist countries of Yugoslavia, Romania, and the Soviet Union were quite active in putting on art exhibits. The costs involved in putting on a U.S. show might be ‘‘prohibitive,’’ and so the post requested a collection of good reproductions. And, having heard of the success of the American Vanguard exhibition in London, the usis post in Cairo asked if it might tour Egypt. Egyptians were ‘‘sophisticated’’ and would be ‘‘o√ended’’ if they believed that ‘‘the United States considered anything suitable for showing in Europe not suitable for showing locally.’’ Perhaps getting a bit carried away, a U.S. o≈cial declared that such an exhibition ‘‘might materially a√ect the course of the visual arts in the uar.’’∞∞ To a large extent, the foreign audience and U.S. o≈cials overseas got what they wanted. In Asia, a collection of abstract watercolors (put together by moma, but facilitated by help from usia) traveled through India; an exhibit of contemporary prints was exhibited in Tokyo; and a special collection on modern American art was established in the usis center in Taipei. American artists were also exhibited in Africa and the Middle East. The works of U.S. printmakers were shown in the Congo, while an exhibit of modern American art (again assembled by moma) was shown in the U.S. embassy in Damascus. A showing of U.S. prints in Nablus, Jordan, was successful, and the Jordanian audience noted that ‘‘for a change, we did not mix political propaganda with our cultural presentations.’’ And for the first time since it began in 1954, the Tunis International Art Exposition featured American works ‘‘worthy of remark.’’ A local newspaper ran a feature on four of the American artists represented in the show—Hopper, Rothko, Hans Hofmann, and Charles Burchfield.∞≤ The idea that art exhibits, particularly in Africa, might serve as demonstrations of America’s attention to its racial problems was one that intrigued the usia. In 1964, the Bowdoin College Museum of Art put together an exhibit entitled, The Portrayal of the Negro in American Paint186

NEW FRONTIERS

ing, 1710–1963 and asked whether the usia might like to sponsor overseas showings of the collection. usia director Carl Rowan seriously considered the proposal, but in his letter of regret to the museum, he suggested that ‘‘some of the implications of the paintings and titles might make this exhibit not quite right for showing overseas.’’ He wondered whether the show could be ‘‘augmented by some recent pictures providing added light on the present state of Negro advancement in America.’’ Rowan felt that the exhibit in its unaugmented form ‘‘gives too much attention to the Negro as a servant or as a person of some other lower economic class.’’ The Bowdoin Museum’s director was taken aback by Rowan’s remarks. He wrote one of Rowan’s assistants, ‘‘As much as we might like, we cannot rewrite American history, although I am beginning to think that the usia is giving that notion a good college try.’’ Obviously, the exhibit ‘‘is not su≈ciently propagandistic for your purposes.’’∞≥ Despite that stinging rebuke, the usia did not give up on the idea of trying to kill two birds with one art exhibit: simultaneously convincing the world that America was neither materialistic nor racist. Also in 1964, the usis post in Senegal informed Washington that the African nation was to host a Negro Art Festival in 1966. Showing the same hubris exemplified by the usis o≈cial in Dahomey, the post remarked, ‘‘It is highly likely that to a large extent the success or failure of the festival will hinge on American participation.’’ The post strongly urged that an American presence be supported in order to achieve three goals: ‘‘to demonstrate that Negroes are genuine participants in the ‘mainstream’ of 20th century American life’’; ‘‘to break the communications barrier (or ‘camembert curtain’) surrounding Francophone nations as to the state of American arts and letters’’; and ‘‘to demonstrate the interest of the United States in Negro and African art.’’ In preparation for the art festival, the usia printed a new pamphlet, ‘‘The Negro in America’s Arts.’’ Its purpose was to tell of the ‘‘dramatic contributions being made by America’s Negroes to the arts.’’ In April 1966, the World Festival of Negro Arts opened in Dakar, Senegal. The American role in the festival, funded and arranged by the usia, the Department of State, and the Agency for International Development, included ‘‘exhibits of contemporary Negro art in all fields.’’ A usia memo to President Johnson noted with some alarm that the Soviet Union was sending ‘‘520 ‘spectators’ and may possibly rent a ship as a hotel.’’ Because of the ‘‘worldwide significance’’ of the festival, the usia suggested that an o≈cial U.S. delegation visit the exhibit at some point: ‘‘This view is shared by others interested in obtaining maximum usefulness for U.S. objectives.’’∞∂ NEW FRONTIERS

187

In Latin America a number of shows were put on in the early 1960s. The Sara Roby Foundation Collection, which stressed representational art over abstract works, was exhibited in many of the largest cities in Latin America, including Buenos Aires and Santiago. usis posts facilitated the exhibition by arranging galleries and talks and sometimes printing a catalog for the show. And as pop art grew in audience appeal in the 1960s, it was inevitable that exhibits of its leading practitioners would be staged. The usis post in Buenos Aires commented approvingly on a recent exhibition of Andy Warhol works which drew ‘‘large and interested crowds.’’ As in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, usis o≈cials in Latin America also helped with shows put together by moma. A one-man show of paintings by Josef Albers went to Buenos Aires and Lima, while an exhibit of abstract drawings and watercolors visited several cities, including Lima. These moma shows, although a ‘‘welcome contribution to the U.S. cultural program,’’ sometimes proved embarrassing to usis o≈cials who often found themselves put in the position of being pressed by the Latin American governments to provide funds for setting up the exhibits. Although moma provided transportation for the works of art from New York to Latin America, once in Latin America the actual establishment of the exhibition was left to individual museums. They, in turn, often looked to the United States for help in funding the shows. In addition, moma o≈cials often took verbal expressions of interest from Latin American museums as concrete agreements to show the exhibits. The end result was that there were ‘‘times when usis has had to store moma exhibitions because bookings fell through.’’ As one usia o≈cial put the matter, with obvious annoyance, ‘‘They [moma] would like to prepare the exhibitions—with no interference or guidance from us—and have the Agency pay all costs for circulation among exhibitors.’’ This was unacceptable: ‘‘usis should not be expected to bail them out.’’∞∑ Exhibits of American art in Western Europe in the first years of the 1960s leaned very heavily to the contemporary side. A small show in Amsterdam featured thirty contemporary American prints, and this same show later moved on to Brussels, where usis o≈cials estimated that 15,000 to 20,000 people visited the exhibition. usia put together a much larger collection of original paintings for the American Vanguard exhibit that toured many European nations in the early 1960s. The agency sponsored the exhibit but relied on experts from moma and the Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation for the selection of works. The show included over eighty works by thirty of the leading ‘‘abstract expressionists or action painters.’’ Included were some ‘‘older artists’’ such as Milton Avery 188

NEW FRONTIERS

and Stuart Davis, but the emphasis was most definitely on more recent artists such as Pollock, Gorky, Kline, de Kooning, and Rothko. The catalog for the exhibit stressed the newness and vitality of American painting: ‘‘it is varied, it is experimental, it is healthy, it is prolific; and it exists in an environment where experiment is accepted and encouraged. This promises well for the future.’’ American Vanguard went on to lengthy shows in England and Germany; in the latter, nearly 7,000 people visited the show when it opened in Darmstadt. Germany continued to be a prime target for U.S. cultural exhibits, and in 1965 the usis post in Hamburg organized a showing of the German émigré artist Hans Hofmann. A German professor of art opened the exhibit by claiming that he saw in America ‘‘the modern Rome which saves Europe from oblivion. The fact that Spengler’s prediction of the ‘Decline of the West’ did not become fact . . . is due mainly to the U.S. which gave haven to European culture and is now giving Europe new cultural and political currents.’’ The French were also bombarded with American art shows. A 1964 usis post report noted that in recent years, works by American masters such as Mary Cassatt, John Singer Sargent, and George Catlin were shown, together with the modern works of artists including Leonard Baskin and Loren MacIver. Unlike the German art professor, however, the French were not yet willing to pass the torch of western civilization to the upstart Americans. As one usia o≈cial noted, ‘‘It is di≈cult for the French to accept the idea that the art center of the world is now New York instead of Paris.’’∞∏ Following up on the success of the American exhibition in Moscow in 1959, a good deal of attention was focused on the Soviet Union. Both U.S. o≈cials and members of the American art world were fascinated and intrigued by the communist attitude toward culture, particularly modern and abstract art. In January 1962, Art News published an article by a Soviet journalist condemning abstract art. The magazine printed the piece partly to demonstrate that although the author sounded like a ‘‘selfconscious Agitprop functionary,’’ the article also ‘‘sounds like that of almost any typical American newspaper critic.’’ The similarities were striking. The Russian denounced the art as ‘‘irrational’’ and the paintings themselves as ‘‘ungainly.’’ Referring to a Pollock, the author claimed that the canvas ‘‘presented an arbitrary and chaotic combination. . . . There was nothing in this picture even vaguely suggesting any shapes drawn from the real world.’’ Such art ‘‘served the narrow and selfish interests of the parasitic groups which command the destinies of millions under capitalism.’’ Alfred Barr, who led the journalist through a tour of moma, responded that the Russian’s criticisms reminded him of the condemnaNEW FRONTIERS

189

tions of modern art under the Nazis. Abraham Brumberg, who edited the usis publication Problems of Communism, noted with some concern Nikita Khrushchev’s harsh attacks on modern art. At a showing of some experimental Russian art, Khrushchev became enraged, denouncing the paintings and claiming that ‘‘one cannot tell whether they have been painted by a man’s hand or daubed by the tail of an ass. . . . Let them understand their errors and work for the good of the people.’’ Soviet publications followed suit, lashing out at the art as evidence of ‘‘bourgeois decadence,’’ ‘‘rotten liberalism,’’ and ‘‘foreign influences.’’∞π usia and State Department o≈cials also kept a close eye on Soviet attitudes toward art. A summary of articles, speeches, and statements made by Russian artists and government o≈cials in early 1963 was replete with attacks on modern and abstract art. Such art was ‘‘doomed to complete oblivion in the near future. Lies have short legs.’’ Most true art critics were ‘‘fed up with this nonsense.’’ Soviet artists, who were ‘‘marching at the head of the most progressive movement and building the first communist society in the world’’ would not ‘‘lower our dignity and the dignity of the people by mocking the arts and denigrating the most beautiful that is in the arts—man.’’ Using language certainly familiar to U.S. o≈cials, the Central Committee secretary declared that ‘‘to win the battle for communism, it is essential to conquer the minds, hearts, and souls of the people. Therefore, it is essential to keep our ideological weapon in order.’’ Another Russian artist commented on the recent appearance of nonrealistic paintings in Soviet exhibits. Fortunately, the party had ‘‘repeatedly corrected these erring people.’’ A few years later, the U.S. embassy in Moscow reported on renewed e√orts by the Soviet government to exert a ‘‘tighter rein on Soviet culture.’’ This was necessary due to the fact that Russian artists in all fields were increasingly chafing under the strict state controls over the arts. A ‘‘relatively liberal atmosphere’’ was appearing in Soviet literature, theater, and painting, and this was obviously disconcerting to Communist Party o≈cials.∞∫ Acting on the assumption that anything that disturbed the communists was good propaganda, the usia planned an ambitious schedule of exhibitions for the Soviet Union. Some were rather mundane—exhibits of books and toys—while others concentrated on the fine arts. The purpose of the latter was to ‘‘demonstrate to the Soviets that we have a dynamic culture; that freedom of expression and experimentation are the essential ingredients of this culture, that only through individual expression can a truly representative art form be realized.’’ Certainly one of the largest and most controversial was the Graphic Arts: usa exhibit that 190

NEW FRONTIERS

opened in Moscow in December 1963, featuring over 2,000 pieces of work that included such things as book and magazine covers, corporate logos, packaging, posters, cartoons, and an exhibition of fifty original graphic art pieces by such well-known American artists as Leonard Baskin and Josef Albers as well as lesser-known printmakers. According to usia calculations, more than 700,000 Russians saw the show in Moscow, and nearly 100,000 more visited the exhibition when it traveled to Alma Ata in Kazakhstan. The response from the Soviet government was predictable. Tass reported—falsely—that people had simply stopped attending the show because it was ‘‘out of touch with the present.’’ Another reviewer claimed that the Russian people were turning their backs on the abstract prints because abstraction was ‘‘anti-humanitarian.’’ Two Soviet journalists toured the exhibit and came to this conclusion: ‘‘Fine, to each his own. Advertising is the god of Broadway. And the artists loyally serve this god—the dollar.’’ One of the most savage attacks came from an art critic in Alma Ata. He sneered at the abstract artists represented in the show: ‘‘Let somebody else struggle, su√er and accomplish great feats—the artist who is engulfed in a world of his sensations couldn’t care less!’’ Such art appealed only to ‘‘rich people’’ who bought the work not because of any innate love of art but simply to ‘‘display their own means. The price interests them more than anything else.’’ And, as at the 1959 exhibition in Moscow, a ‘‘comment book’’ was provided for the Russian visitors. Typical comments were: ‘‘You couldn’t have brought anything worse’’; ‘‘This exhibit is proof of the decadence of American art’’; ‘‘Junk!’’; and, ‘‘Stupid! Long live Soviet art.’’∞Ω As in Moscow, however, U.S. o≈cials took such attacks as signs of success. Following the review from Alma Ata, one usia o≈cial joyously declared, ‘‘We’ve really drawn blood this time.’’ According to a newspaper report reprinted in the Congressional Record, usia judged the value of its exhibits in the Soviet Union using a simple equation: ‘‘the more frequent the criticism the more impact it is having on Soviet audiences.’’ usia director Carl Rowan exclaimed, ‘‘Without question, the American abstract art in the exhibit caused the greatest discussion. Debates between Russians even broke out on the floor. Interestingly, visitors sometimes cut short hecklers with comments such as: ‘You’re saying the same thing that Izvestia said. Shut up. We came to hear what the Americans have to say!’ ’’ And among the many negative statements in the comment book, there were a number of very encouraging signs. One Russian stated with wonder, ‘‘While I was in the hall, it seemed that I was in a new world.’’ Another wrote, ‘‘We welcome your art; we are grateful for your art. For NEW FRONTIERS

191

the peace, friendship, and well-being of all peoples.’’ More typical was the admission that, ‘‘On the whole I liked the exhibit. Of course, there is much that I did not understand, but obviously this depends upon the spirit in which we, the Soviet youth, have been taught. I wish you success.’’≤≠ ACCESS TO ANOTHER SIDE OF UNCLE SAM

In addition to continuing its support of individual exhibits of American art to foreign nations, the usia and the Department of State also embarked on new programs designed to acquaint the world with American painting. One new initiative involved working more closely with U.S. businesses that owned large art collections in order to facilitate their exhibition overseas. More spectacularly, the State Department established the Art in Embassies program in 1964, which sought to turn U.S. embassies into small art galleries. In 1962, Edward R. Murrow, who was then director of the usia, proclaimed a ‘‘new and, I think, significant development’’ in terms of art patronage in the United States. This was the ‘‘increasing interest of large corporations—Big Business as an institution, as opposed to the big businessman as an individual—in giving financial backing to our performing and creative arts.’’ As the ‘‘ ‘interpreter’ of America to the rest of the world,’’ Murrow was particularly excited by this development: ‘‘The mere fact that profit-motivated corporations in a price-directed economy find good reason to subsidize the arts speaks eloquently against those who see in our system only the grossest materialism.’’ He was particularly excited about the o√er by S. C. Johnson & Son, Inc. (the floor wax giant) to send its large collection of contemporary American art around the world, sponsored by usia. Consisting of one painting each (painted between 1959–1961) by over one hundred of America’s ‘‘finest artists,’’ the exhibit would be extremely useful. As Murrow put it, ‘‘when our government alone speaks for America in foreign countries it speaks with an impediment; by definition, it is speaking ‘o≈cially,’ and while in many areas of international dealings the o≈cial word is the only important one, in this area of cultural relations it implies the fixed smile and ulterior motivation of propaganda.’’ The Johnson collection, in contrast, was ‘‘demonstrably not ‘propaganda,’ and I think its impact will be immense.’’≤∞ The Johnson collection (under the name Art: usa: Now) traveled widely in 1963 and 1964, but the impact was somewhat less than ‘‘immense.’’ By and large, critics in foreign countries attacked the exhibition 192

NEW FRONTIERS

on a number of levels, calling it too large and confusing a collection, decrying the lack of adequate representation (only one painting per artist) and the notable omissions of some modern artists (Rothko, Pollock, and Gorky, for example), and, most frequently, complaining that the works selected were far from the best ever done by most of the artists represented in the show. In London, the show was gored by English critics. The usis characterized the response as ‘‘pretty dismal.’’ While some newspapers printed ‘‘barely polite comments,’’ many others ‘‘took the gloves o√ and threw pretty hard punches.’’ One of the most brutal reviews stated, ‘‘The vulgar advertisement style of the title rises above the utter fatuity of the performance advertised. That the Royal Academy of Arts, with its glorious traditions, should have stooped to stage this pitiful exhibition is truly deplorable.’’ The executives of the Johnson corporation had ‘‘no sense of what is art.’’ Other reviewers labeled the show ‘‘lamentable’’ and a bad example of ‘‘Adman’s Art.’’ In Brussels, the exhibit ran into more hostile press coverage. The usis post tried to put on a brave face, however: ‘‘Unfavorable criticism in itself can be a healthy and stimulating thing.’’ The Swiss were somewhat less critical, but the usis post still noted that at least one leading magazine ‘‘attacked the collection rather viciously.’’ Viennese critics had no trouble finding negative terms for the exhibit: ‘‘very disappointing,’’ ‘‘mediocre pictures,’’ ‘‘a number of pictures . . . have to be termed below average,’’ and ‘‘a jumble lacking quality.’’≤≤ Somewhat more unusual was the pop art collection commissioned by the Philip Morris tobacco company in 1965. As a company press release breathlessly noted, this was the first time an American company had acted to ‘‘commission an entire exhibition specifically for circulation throughout the world.’’ In a letter to Lois Bingham of the usia, the company’s director of fine arts explained that Philip Morris had arranged for some of America’s best pop artists—including Andy Warhol, Jim Dine, and Roy Lichtenstein—to produce original prints that would then be circulated throughout Latin America and Europe under the sponsorship of the usia. The company would assume nearly all of the costs associated with the exhibit. Patriotism and a love of art, however, had little to do with the tobacco giant’s funding of the collection. In a set of ‘‘publicity guidelines’’ prepared for the company’s representatives overseas, the goal was clear: use the exhibit as a form of advertising. The guidelines suggested that the representatives host receptions to open the exhibit, keeping in mind that, ‘‘in particular, your major customers, and potential customers, should be included among the guests, and this can NEW FRONTIERS

193

give your sales representatives an opportunity to improve liaisons under relaxed, social conditions which will pay o√ on the follow-up.’’ For the company, pop art had a special appeal. ‘‘Retail salesmen can use the Pop art project as a talking point with tobacconists when they are making their calls. The average tobacconist may not be sophisticated in the art sense, but nevertheless, Pop art has an easy, timely appeal to the man in the street, and this is a unique promotion for a tobacco company.’’ Retailers could put on a ‘‘Pop display’’ in the windows of their shops; and, of course, give ‘‘prominent space to Marlboro (or the appropriate brand).’’≤≥ The reception to the collection’s tour through Latin America was mixed. In Guatemala, the response from critics was ‘‘lukewarm’’; the ‘‘overwhelming consensus was that there was little of enduring artistic value in most of the show.’’ In addition, the usis post experienced di≈culties working with Philip Morris. The company, despite its promises, did not mat, frame, or cover the prints, and no catalog was provided, leaving the post on the hook for these costs. U.S. o≈cials also found themselves confronting the ‘‘commercial angle’’ of the exhibit. In one case, they rejected the use of an ‘‘opened Marlboro package’’ as an invitation to the show. The exhibit had better luck in Venezuela, largely because one of the artists, Roy Lichtenstein, attended the opening and gave a series of talks and presentations to local groups. The usis post in Caracas used the exhibit to good e√ect by distributing pamphlets at the show, including one entitled, ‘‘Why Vietnam?’’≤∂ In 1964, the Department of State began the Art in Embassies program. Though limited in scope, the program turned out to be one of the more successful e√orts to display American art overseas. (And certainly the longest-lasting such program; it still operates under State Department guidance today.) The idea that representative pieces of U.S. art should be displayed in American embassies and consulates began in the early 1950s when usia director Ted Streibert proposed such a plan to Secretary of State Dulles. There is no evidence of a reply from Dulles, and given the State Department’s recent embarrassment over the Advancing American Art exhibit perhaps that is understandable. It was not until 1956–57, and the establishment of the People to People program (one of Eisenhower’s pet projects for encouraging more private e√ort in the realm of cultural and educational international relations), that the art for U.S. embassies idea took o√. The People to People program established a Subcommittee on American Art in American Embassies and Consulates, which included John Walker, David Finley, Mrs. Henry Ford II, and art collector Julius Fleischmann. The subcommittee noted that there was no o≈cial mecha194

NEW FRONTIERS

nism for obtaining art for display in American embassies and consulates. However, with its urging the Department of State had ‘‘agreed by letter to accept the gift of paintings, sculpture, prints and drawings for the decoration of American embassies.’’ Gifts of American art had already been received by the subcommittee, and donations were being solicited in order to purchase other works of art. The total budget for the program was a little over $100,000. With these limited resources, it was not surprising that by 1961 very little had come of the e√ort. Only eighteen paintings had been donated to the Department of State; less than sixty were loaned for varying amounts of time. A copy of a Gilbert Stuart portrait of John Adams was given to the U.S. embassy in the Netherlands, and a drawing was given to the U.S. ambassador in Rome for decorating his residence. In April 1962, the Fine Arts Committee of the People to People program voted to disband, and with it went the faltering art for embassies initiative.≤∑ For a short time, moma picked up the idea and supplied works of art to U.S. embassies. August Heckscher, who was chairman of moma’s International Council and in 1962 became the special consultant on the arts to the Kennedy White House, was one of the prime movers in this initiative. Perhaps sensing the increasingly futile e√orts of People to People to sustain such a program, moma began its own Art in Embassies project in 1960. By 1962, nearly two hundred works of art had been loaned to U.S. embassies in Europe, Asia, Africa, Canada, and Latin America. moma’s role in the program was largely to obtain loans of art from museums, institutions, and private collectors. As such, moma also determined the types of art that would go to various embassies and ambassadors’ residences. This was done in ‘‘close consultation’’ with the U.S. ambassadors, taking into account ‘‘their personal tastes and interests.’’ Consideration was also given to the layout of the embassy or residence, lighting, and interior decoration. Strictly political interests did not appear to be taken into account. As an article about the program explained, most of the art was by American artists and varied in style from ‘‘the realism of Winslow Homer to the various abstract tendencies of today.’’≤∏ The Department of State and usia, however, soon developed very definite concerns with moma’s Art in Embassies program. Almost as soon as the program began, a usia o≈cial reported that the collection of art selected for display in the U.S. embassy in Bonn contained work by at least four artists who were classified as ‘‘artists we would have di≈culty with.’’ Two other artists had not undergone the usual security check. In late 1961, Assistant Secretary for Cultural A√airs Robert H. Thayer proNEW FRONTIERS

195

duced a lengthy study of the problems associated with displaying art in American embassies. He strongly supported the idea, but placed much more emphasis on the political aspects of such a program (something the moma program did not do). The job of ‘‘conveying to the peoples of the world information and understanding of the culture of the United States’’ was ‘‘accepted today as a vital part of the task of implementing our foreign policy.’’ It was clear to Thayer that America’s embassies were ideally suited for carrying out this duty. He called for the appointment of an art specialist in the Department of State who would work with a ‘‘Selection Panel of distinguished individuals in the field of art.’’ This panel would ‘‘screen’’ the works of art and should ‘‘be prepared to answer criticism from those seeking political advantage or publicity as well as from those who sincerely question the conduct of the program, and would a√ord ample protection to the Department on the many controversial issues which exist in the field of the arts, particularly in the field of contemporary art.’’ It was important that the art selected be American art. (moma’s program often sent works by non-American artists such as Picasso or Matisse for exhibition in the embassies.) The art itself should present ‘‘an accurate picture of American culture.’’ According to Thayer, ‘‘American works of art cannot be sent to embassies abroad in wholesale fashion to be used as decorative objects anywhere.’’ Instead, ‘‘slection [sic] must be made on the basis of a thorough knowledge and understanding of the people of the country in which the embassy is situated and who are to be the recipiants [sic] of the cultural impact.’’ This would necessitate a ‘‘close relationship’’ between art experts and specialists ‘‘in the understanding of the cultural relations between the United States and the country concerned.’’≤π Thayer’s report languished for nearly two years, as the new Kennedy administration dealt with other, more pressing problems in Cuba, Berlin, and Vietnam. In one of his last o≈cial acts before his assassination in November 1963, President Kennedy put Thayer’s suggestions into action by appointing Mrs. Nancy Kefauver (widow of the late Senator Estes Kefauver) as the first ever Advisor on Fine Arts to the Department of State. Kefauver was a well-known personality among the best social circles in Washington, D.C., and was also a painter. Taking o≈ce in January 1964, she immediately turned her attention to establishing what came to be known as the Art in Embassies program (aiep) located in the State Department. Relying on her social connections and what appeared to be an endless reserve of energy, Kefauver soon was watching over a program that was sending hundreds of American art works around the world. As 196

NEW FRONTIERS

she explained, the department (by which she really meant herself and her small sta√ ) sought out private museums and collectors who would agree to loan art for display at American embassies, usually for a period of two years. The new aiep would ‘‘coordinate’’ its activities with those of moma, which would continue to ‘‘lend art for the Residences of U.S. Ambassadors.’’ aiep, however, would provide the art for the embassies. By 1966, nearly two hundred lenders had loaned to the Department of State over 1,200 works of art, worth in excess of $1 million. American art was on display in nearly forty embassies, with requests from nearly fifty others yet to be fulfilled. Kefauver was also a wily publicist, and favorable reviews of the new program appeared in the New York Times and the Washington Post. By the time of her death in 1967, Kefauver had established a program that would continue into the twenty-first century.≤∫ THE BIG SHOW IN VENICE

Greater cooperation with private business in sending art exhibits overseas and the creation of the aiep were further evidence of the growing role of art in America’s cultural diplomacy. Both initiatives certainly fulfilled the goal of exposing U.S. art to a wide international audience. Yet U.S. o≈cials had always wished to go beyond merely exhibiting American art in foreign countries. One of the important messages they wished to send was that the United States, already considered dominant in the military and economic spheres, was now ready to take its place as the cultural and artistic center of the free world. To do that, however, the usia and the State Department would have to consider taking a step that they had long avoided: o≈cially sponsoring the American exhibit at what writer and journalist Calvin Tomkins referred to as ‘‘the big show in Venice.’’≤Ω From 1950 to 1962, American representation at the Venice Biennale, then the premier international art exhibition and competition, was handled by moma. On some occasions, moma organized the shows for Venice on its own; at other times it collaborated with other museums or organizations—the afa in 1952, the Art Institute of Chicago in 1956, and the Baltimore Museum of Art in 1960. These shows were not without their successes. In 1952, Alexander Calder won first prize in sculpture. American painters also did well. Ben Shahn won a prize from the Museu de Arte Moderna (São Paulo) in 1954, Mark Tobey won second prize from the Commune of Venice in 1958, and Franz Kline won first prize from the Ministries of Public Instruction at Venice in 1960.≥≠ By 1962, however, no NEW FRONTIERS

197

American painter had won the grand prize for painting. And the United States was still the only participant without a government-sponsored pavilion or other exhibition area. The absence of o≈cial U.S. representation at the Venice Biennale was not from a lack of e√ort on the part of private American art organizations and museums. In the early 1950s, the original owners of the American pavilion, the Grand Central Galleries of New York, tried to convince the Department of State to take over operation of the building. Failing in this e√ort, Grand Central Galleries then passed the pavilion on to the control of moma. In 1960, moma informed the usia that because of the high costs associated with upkeep of the building and putting on exhibitions in Venice it would no longer be able to sustain a presence at the Biennale. The Baltimore Museum of Art, which had been selected by moma to organize the 1960 show, also appealed to the usia for assistance, but help was denied. However, at the same time that it was turning its back on the 1960 Biennale, the usia was seriously reconsidering its relationship to such major international art exhibitions. Perhaps the recent successes at Brussels and, more important, at the Moscow exhibition in 1959, encouraged the agency’s o≈cials to begin to think bigger. In early 1960, a usia report noted that ‘‘unless some means of financing is considered the U.S. may not be represented’’ in a number of international art exhibits, including the Venice Biennale. ‘‘The Agency believes, however, that o≈cial U.S. participation in such events are of importance and possibly the usia should budget and control such projects to the extent possible.’’ It would be a costly proposition; a show at Venice would cost between $25,000 and $35,000. Nevertheless, the agency concluded that U.S. participation at the big international art shows ‘‘should be handled as regular projects fully controlled by the Agency (unless U.S. government participation should not be made public).’’≥∞ In 1962, moma made it o≈cial when it informed usia director Murrow that the International Council had voted to end its support of U.S. participation at both the Venice Biennale and the São Paulo Bienal. The response from the American art world was immediate. The New York Times editorialized that moma’s decision left future participation at Venice and São Paulo in the hands of ‘‘the Federal Government.’’ O≈cial sponsorship was ‘‘imperative.’’ For the United States to ‘‘have no sponsorship and hence no representation at all would be unthinkable for anyone interested in the arts or in this country’s foreign relations.’’ The Washington Post quoted Adelyn Breeskin, director of D.C.’s new Gallery of Modern Art, to the e√ect that it was time for ‘‘Uncle Sam’’ to come to the 198

NEW FRONTIERS

rescue of the American pavilion in Venice. Roy Neuberger, president of the afa, wrote directly to the usia to o√er the services of the afa in setting up the rapidly approaching show in São Paulo in 1963. In response to this situation, in May 1962 Assistant Secretary of State for Educational and Cultural A√airs Lucius Battle, Ed Murrow, and August Heckscher met to discuss the government’s options. At that meeting, ‘‘the Government o≈cially committed itself to provide American exhibitions.’’ United States o≈cials also pondered the issue of the American pavilion in Venice. It was reported to be ‘‘in rather bad shape and requires constant repair’’ and was ‘‘not ideally suited for a prestige national exhibition.’’ Despite some rather hazy talk about constructing a ‘‘more appropriate, maintenance-free structure,’’ in the end moma retained ownership of the structure, merely loaning it to the U.S. government.≥≤ Having accepted the task of sponsoring U.S. shows at the two most important international art shows in the world, the usia had to act quickly—the next show in São Paulo was scheduled for September 1963; the thirty-second Venice Biennale opened in June 1964. For the São Paulo Bienal, the usia turned to the Walker Art Center, located in Minneapolis, to organize the American exhibition. The show featured ten American sculptors and a one-man exhibit of the paintings of Adolph Gottlieb. It was a critical success, and Gottlieb took home the Grand Prize for painting.≥≥ All that now remained was to conquer Venice. The usia selected the Jewish Museum of New York City to organize the 1964 American exhibition at the Venice Biennale. Alan Solomon, the museum’s director, would be the U.S. commissioner at the Biennale. The museum was chosen because it had ‘‘recently produced a number of exhibitions of contemporary art that were widely acclaimed.’’ Solomon was ‘‘exceptionally well-qualified to prepare the type of exhibition we consider both timely and appropriate.’’ Since the usia was providing the funding, ‘‘the selection is reviewed and approved by the Agency.’’ There was a definite ‘‘pop’’ feel to the exhibition selected for the 1964 Venice Biennale. Well-known pop artists such as painters Robert Rauschenberg, Jasper Johns, and Jim Dine and sculptor Claes Oldenburg led a group of eight artists chosen for display. The size of some of their works caused a bit of a complication, since they were too large to fit into the old American pavilion. To accommodate the entire collection, the U.S. received permission from Biennale o≈cials to house part of the showing in the American consulate in Venice. In explaining why these artists were chosen, the usia commented that their art had ‘‘excited the interest and imagination of others around the world.’’ In particular, Italian o≈cials NEW FRONTIERS

199

requested that Rauschenberg be shown. It was clear that ‘‘this new American art is news.’’ It obviously belonged at the Biennale, long famous as a ‘‘show case for the latest, the most avant-garde art of the day.’’ To have selected ‘‘conservative, well-known, traditional art’’ would have been ‘‘inconsonant with the intent of the international art festival where more than 50 nations exhibit the most provoking work of their contemporary artists in pavilions owned by their governments.’’ As in São Paulo, the Americans again walked away with a major award. Rauschenberg became the first American artist to win the Grand Prize for painting.≥∂ In the space of little more than a year, American artists claimed the top prizes for painting at the two most significant international art exhibitions in the world. American claims to dominance in the field of art were now validated by the foreign audience. Taken together with its expanding program of individual art exhibits being sent around the globe, active support in sending business-owned collections to Europe and Latin America, and the establishment of a new program to make U.S. embassies into miniature art galleries, the U.S. government’s role in supporting the American shows at São Paulo and Venice seemed to finally and completely cement into place the position of the international art program as a vital part of the nation’s cultural diplomacy. And then, just as quickly as it reached the heights of success in the international art arena, the usia washed its hands of any further involvement in sending American painting around the world. DROPPING A HOT POTATO

In February 1965, the usia presented its annual budget request to Congress. Included in the request was a stunning reversal of the agency’s recent decision to become involved in the big art shows in São Paulo and Venice. ‘‘Notwithstanding the cultural and political significance (of the biennials) . . . the agency believes that United States representation . . . is properly the concern of the art community.’’ Grace Glueck, writing in the New York Times, sadly concluded that ‘‘an old hot potato has once again been dropped with a thud.’’ Writer Calvin Tomkins, writing about the striking success of the U.S. exhibition at the 1964 Venice Biennale, called the government’s action ‘‘perplexing.’’ The American art community reacted with anger and frustration. Glueck claimed that ‘‘art talkers’’ in America were all wondering, ‘‘Who’ll put up the money for the U.S. participation in the Venice Biennale of 1966?’’ The more bewildering question was why did the usia, just three years after deciding to sponsor 200

NEW FRONTIERS

American shows in Venice and São Paulo (where, it might be noted, American art enjoyed tremendous success), decide to once again ‘‘drop the hot potato’’ of art? The most compelling factor was the same one that had existed since the beginnings of an international art program in the 1940s: a nearly overwhelming fear of criticisms that might be directed at the agency’s support of unpopular or ‘‘subversive’’ art and artists and result in a loss of funding from Congress. Both Glueck and Tomkins were well aware of the problem. The former quoted an ‘‘uno≈cial U.S.I.A. spokesman’’ to the e√ect that ‘‘the agency had always been ‘nervous’ about submitting requests to Congress for support of ‘abstract art.’ ’’ Tomkins noted that the usia had consistently been subject to ‘‘politics, propaganda requirements, and the fear of stirring up Congressional ire.’’≥∑ Such criticisms seemed to fly in the face of the usia’s new stance, adopted in 1959–60 (and discussed in Chapter 5), that artistic merit would be the deciding factor in what art was sent overseas and that the politics of various artists would no longer be taken into account when selecting works for international exhibition. In fact, the usia never gave up the policy of conducting security checks on artists proposed for inclusion in shows under its sponsorship. In September 1959, Robert Sivard of the usia laid out the guidelines for putting together usia-sponsored art exhibits. Once an organizer had been selected for a particular show ‘‘a security check is initiated.’’ Once an exhibit was organized, the ‘‘list of proposed artists are submitted for a security check.’’ If ‘‘problem’’ artists were detected, a usia o≈cial would meet with the organizer to see whether any ‘‘artists’ names should be removed from the list for reasons of Agency policy.’’ Should such deletions be necessary, ‘‘this must be done by suggestions which do not reveal an intent of political censorship, but which deal exclusively with aesthetics and content.’’ Well into the early 1960s, security checks were routinely performed on the artists included in proposed exhibitions. A 1959 review of five overseas art exhibits found nine ‘‘problem’’ artists and a number of others who remained ‘‘unchecked.’’ Unfortunately, all five of the exhibits were already on tour, so no action was advised. In April 1961, usia o≈cials were relieved to find that none of the artists in the proposed Contemporary Painting exhibition fell ‘‘within the prohibition of the July 15, 1953 Book Policy Instructions.’’ A similar check for moma’s Abstract Drawings and Watercolors exhibit revealed just one suspect artist, whose suspicious behavior included signing a petition protesting the attacks on the Refregier murals and teaching at the California Labor School. Ben Shahn continued to be a particularly problematic artist. (His name was menNEW FRONTIERS

201

tioned twice in the 1959 review of the five exhibits.) In August 1961, usia o≈cials debated whether to include one of his prints proposed for the show Recent American Prints. Shahn had a ‘‘security rating’’ that fell ‘‘into a dubious category.’’ Nevertheless, the recommendation was to include the work—‘‘delicate, linear, and exquisitely subtle’’—in the show. After all, the ‘‘subject matter of the print [Wheat Field] is completely innocuous.’’≥∏ usia o≈cials seemed particularly sensitive to such criticisms—or even the possibility of any criticism at all. Even before the Johnson collection left the country, Murrow wrote to the chairman of the company and suggested that ‘‘to keep appreciation of these works on a cultural plane, the subjects of the paintings should not invite political or religious controversy, nor should they engender harmful criticism of the United States.’’ usia o≈cials made clear to the Johnson company that there were five paintings in the collection—by Shahn, Larry Rivers, Paul Cadmus, Jacob Lawrence, and Siegfried Reinhardt—that ‘‘might cause public disturbances.’’ A company o≈cial immediately allayed those fears by assuring the usia that it would ‘‘exchange the paintings under discussion with other paintings of which you approve.’’ Once Representative Walter (who was still chair of the Committee on Un-American Activities) weighed in, Murrow moved to quickly assure the congressman that the collection was not sponsored by the usia. Company o≈cials had already been warned about possible problems, and Murrow had been informed that ‘‘five of the paintings originally shown to us have been removed from the collection which will go on tour.’’ In a 1965 report prepared for the U.S. National Commission for unesco, the U.S. Committee of the International Association of Plastic Arts complained that usia’s program for the visual arts had ‘‘been cut and cut until now it is almost extinct.’’ The problem, however, was not ‘‘due to Congress but rather to a policy within the U.S.I.A. The Visual Art Program became sort of nakedly exposed to criticism which aroused immediate expressions of feelings.’’≥π Such complaints, however, need to be put into their proper perspective. At least in part, the usia’s fears about congressional attacks were very real and grounded in hard experience. The history of the agency, from its inception in 1953, was a constant struggle for acceptance and, more important, an adequate budget.≥∫ Even the successful 1964 Venice Biennale show was not immune from criticism—or the insecurities those criticisms engendered in the usia. Harold Weston, representing the United States Committee of the International Association of Plastic Arts, warned usia director Rowan that his 202

NEW FRONTIERS

organization was extremely concerned about the selection process to be used for American art at the 1964 show in Venice. The artists whose work was chosen for display at the Biennale had resulted in ‘‘consternation at the limited scope of the work included and the questionable status of several of the participants.’’ Artists such as Rauschenberg and Johns might be the ‘‘latest vogue,’’ but Weston wondered whether their work was ‘‘more expressive of what is done largely for ‘kicks’ by artists who seek the limelight through startling innovation.’’ He hinted that the selection of such controversial art was ‘‘playing directly into the hands of those Members of Congress who are not prone to approve the use of public monies for the arts and on whose support your Agency depends for future appropriations.’’ Rowan took the letter from Weston seriously enough to ask one of his subordinates for suggestions on how to respond. This o≈cial responded that the group that Weston represented was ‘‘not an important or representative organization.’’ However, he went on, ‘‘the opinions expressed by Mr. Weston are shared by a lot of people and there is no doubt that we have a show on our hands that provokes controversy among various schools of art criticism.’’≥Ω Despite the fact that Rauschenberg won the Grand Prize for Painting, some American art critics expressed decidedly mixed sentiments toward the U.S. show in Venice. Emily Genauer wondered exactly who were the targets of the American exhibit at Venice. In her opinion, ‘‘our pavilion, to judge from most of the critical comment already published in the European press . . . is proving infuriating.’’ Perhaps, she concluded, the United States was ‘‘looking for showmanship for its own sake.’’ Coverage in Newsweek, while celebrating Rauschenberg’s triumph, stressed the opinion that the overall tone of the Biennale (and the American pavilion) was rather superficial. The magazine cited one critic who dismissed the exhibition by saying, ‘‘You seem to be looking at Western civilization itself in a gilded nutshell, a fine essence of culture and commerce and gilded trash.’’ The article contrasted the ‘‘carnival’’ atmosphere of the show with the staid ‘‘academicism’’ of the Russian pavilion. However, it concluded, ‘‘No one was defending the Russians, but not everyone was swallowing the Biennale’s super-modernism with a lip-smacking smile.’’ Milton Gendel, writing in Art News, also commented on the ‘‘bazaar aspect’’ of the Biennale. As for the U.S. pavilion, he declared that the ‘‘showiest of the guests are the Americans.’’ He also praised Rauschenberg, but declared that Dine’s work was simply ‘‘silly’’ and criticized Oldenburg’s contribution as a ‘‘limp black plastic typewriter.’’ The Europeans, he concluded, were not overly impressed with most of the work. NEW FRONTIERS

203

Some of it already seemed to belong to ‘‘familiar traditions,’’ while from the more ‘‘pop’’ works ‘‘an atmosphere of giddiness emanated, as of some cosmically escalated private joke, and peripheral activities around the Biennale took on as much importance as what was happening at the center.’’ Calvin Tomkins quoted longtime art patron Peggy Guggenheim, who acidly stated, ‘‘I detest pop art. The painters are no good, and so the Biennale is no good, either.’’ A New York Times critic reported that ‘‘weary travelers, straggling back from the big show in Venice, are telling tales of woe about the U.S. exhibit.’’∂≠ More worrisome to usia o≈cials, however, were reports concerning the reaction of the European audience to the American exhibition. Newsweek cited some reactions from Italian critics. One viewer dramatically declared, ‘‘God does not exist, the soul does not exist, love does not exist, the heart is a tomato, religion is dead, the Renaissance is dead, architecture is dead, ornament is dead, the figure is dead, art is dead.’’ Using language usually reserved for the pages of Soviet magazines and newspapers, others characterized the art as having ‘‘sadistic overtones’’ or as ‘‘expressions of a grave moral disorder.’’ Even the Vatican entered the fray, banning its clergy from attending, claiming that the art was ‘‘indecent.’’ Although some commentators derided the Vatican’s action, it was also strongly suggested that its declaration was the primary factor in explaining why the Italian president did not attend the opening ceremonies for the Biennale for the first time in its history. Rauschenberg’s victory also did not sit well with many in the European audience. Life reported that the announcement of the award to the American painter ‘‘brought forth European headlines of treason at venice and blasts at the Americans’ ‘grotesque pieces of junk and trash cans.’ ’’ The usis post in Rome substantiated these negative reactions. ‘‘Most of the reaction ranged from sarcastic comments on the objects represented in the ‘American Pop-Art’ school to blistering attacks on American sponsorship of a ‘dehumanized’ and ‘despiritualized’ art.’’ According to many Italian critics, the American works on display in Venice were ‘‘devoid of all human values.’’ One of the most influential newspapers was absolutely scathing in its review: ‘‘We Italians reject an America which does not defend the value of the spirit, which does not believe in art, which contributes to dividing the world, which continues to pick up all the hateful and stupid inanities of Europe, all the stale materialism and nihilism dreamed up by so-called intellectuals and ignorant enemies of culture.’’ In a bizarre twist, one of the only Italian newspapers that applauded the U.S. pavilion was Avanti—the publication of the Italian Socialist Party. In a follow-up report, the usis post 204

NEW FRONTIERS

announced that Italian newspaper coverage had, ‘‘if anything, become more derogatory in discussing what many papers call the ‘scandal’ of the Biennale.’’ Bitter criticisms of the new ‘‘pop art’’ were not always directed entirely at the American artists, but it was ‘‘clear that the United States is somehow considered the center of ‘contagion’ and that the ‘mechanistic’ and ‘mass-production’ philosophy thought to be typical of American ‘pragmatism’ has caused the spread of ‘this new barbarism’ to the rest of the world.’’∂∞ Quite obviously, this was not the message the usis wished its sponsored art exhibits to convey. American art was supposed to serve as a symbol of humanity, not barbarism. The very point of sending such art shows to the world was to dispel the notion that the United States was ‘‘mechanistic’’ and consumed by ideas of ‘‘mass-production.’’ America was also supposed to supplant Europe as the center of the art world, not follow the latter’s ‘‘inanities.’’ And, it went without saying, American art was supposed to infuriate the left, not earn its respect and adoration. From a purely propaganda point of view (the only view the usia could expect to have), the show in Venice was a failure in many regards. Even Rauschenberg’s victory simply seemed to whip up anti-American animosities. Robert Sivard and Lois Bingham, the ‘‘art’’ specialists in usia, tried valiantly to put a better spin on the events in Venice. Bingham characterized the American artists as ‘‘deeply committed to the idea of attaching a new importance to subjective feeling and to the expression of personal responses.’’ Thus, they were part of America’s revolutionary heritage, the ‘‘climax of the long process of liberating the individual and his unique sensibility from any external demands or limits, a process which began almost 200 years ago.’’ This new art had ‘‘excited the interest and imagination of others around the world.’’ Once the negative reactions began to come into the usia (particularly the very critical responses of the Italian critics and press), Sivard jumped to the defense of the American exhibit. The Biennale, he informed one of his superiors, had ‘‘never attracted a predominantly favorable press,’’ since it usually emphasized the ‘‘avant garde in art.’’ Did this negative press mean that ‘‘an art show has failed as a medium of propaganda?’’ According to Sivard, the answer was no. He pointed to the 1959 show in Moscow, which opened to ‘‘unanimously unfavorable press’’ but ended up as ‘‘an outstandingly e√ective propaganda weapon for us.’’ And the fact that Rauschenberg won the grand prize was noteworthy. It suggested that America had achieved ‘‘pre-eminence in a major cultural field,’’ and this ‘‘deserves to be looked at rather carefully—even by hard-headed propagandists.’’∂≤ NEW FRONTIERS

205

They were already fighting a losing battle, however. The combination of a continuing paranoia about ‘‘subversive’’ art, extreme sensitivity to domestic criticisms of its art program, and doubts about the e≈cacy of American art (even prize-winning American art) to serve as a useful propaganda tool led some usia o≈cials to float the idea beginning in late 1964 that the art side of the agency’s e√orts should be jettisoned. One of these was Bingham, a longtime veteran of the agency and by 1964 the chief of its Fine Arts Section. In this position, she had helped organize most of the major art exhibits sponsored by the usia during the late 1950s and early 1960s. By the time the 1964 Venice Biennale was over, however, her frustration with the agency’s ‘‘hot and cold’’ attitude toward the art program began to boil over. Talking the matter over with David Scott, director of the National Collection of Fine Arts in the Smithsonian, she stated that ‘‘the State Department and the U.S.I.A. are both rather embarrassed by their connection with fine arts exhibits. They are afraid that anti-modern-art politicians will make an issue of their activities, even if major prizes are won.’’ Just a few weeks later, William W. Warner, assistant to the secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, dined with two other usia o≈cials. They o√ered the opinion that ‘‘there was considerable sentiment within usia to get out of the art or ‘cultural’ type of exhibit program altogether, and stick to informational (i.e. propagandistic) exhibits.’’ By January 1965, Bingham was convinced that despite the successes of many American art shows overseas, ‘‘at home, the relationship between the fine arts program and political aims to many people appears incompatible within the framework of Agency budget and objectives.’’∂≥ The time had come for the usia and art to part company. Separating art from politics, however, would be an entirely di√erent matter.

206

NEW FRONTIERS

7 SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

On 14 June 1965, a Festival of the Arts was held at the White House. The festival featured films, photographs, paintings, and sculpture, as well as dance, theater, and musical performances by some of America’s best-known cultural figures. Director of the Smithsonian’s National Collection of Fine Arts David W. Scott cited the festival as ‘‘an extraordinary event.’’ He was particularly pleased that ‘‘at the request of the White House, museums have chosen and sent their finest works of contemporary art for this festival.’’ President Lyndon Johnson’s action in calling for the festival marked a ‘‘decisive recognition by the Presidency of the importance of the role of the creative artist in our society.’’ The message of the event was clear: ‘‘this exhibit proclaims to the world that our government finds our art worthy of the viewing—even more, is willing to take the time and e√ort necessary to view it!’’ George Kennan, who had been a consistent supporter of the arts during the 1950s, spoke in glowing terms about the deeper meaning of the festival. ‘‘Without the arts,’’ he declared, ‘‘no national culture can be fully formed.’’ For Kennan, America’s achievement in the arts was but another step in its march to global prominence. If ‘‘this new stormy civilization of ours, which in so short a time has conquered a continent and risen to the acme of world power, is to take a place in history remotely commensurate with its material achievements, then it, too, is going to have to project in a major way its spirit, its dreams, and its struggles on to that plane of special refinement which we know as the cultivation of beauty.’’ American art, he believed, was ‘‘on the threshold of great developments.’’ Kennan went on to explain, ‘‘I have an impression that all these things, which we may call for lack of a better term, the national spirit, are now beginning to work within us in a new way and to find expression as they have never done before, with a power and

eloquence little short of revolutionary, on that special plane of human feelings,’’ culture. In this fashion, American art could ‘‘contribute to the progress of life throughout our troubled and tortured planet.’’∞ Yet there were signs of discontent at the festival. Poet Robert Lowell wrote to President Johnson to explain that he would not be attending the celebration. ‘‘Although I am very enthusiastic about your domestic legislation and intentions, I nevertheless can only follow our present foreign policy with the greatest dismay and distrust. . . . We are in danger of imperceptibly becoming an explosive and suddenly chauvinistic nation, and we may even be drifting on our way to the last nuclear ruin.’’ Harold Taylor, former president of Sarah Lawrence College and a well-known writer on art and culture in American society, noted that a group of artists and performers, including Lowell, met before the White House festival to discuss the possibility of a ‘‘Counter-Festival of the Arts.’’ The counter-festival never occurred, but writer John Hersey made sure that politics made its way into the celebration of the arts. Before reading from his book, Hiroshima, Hersey warned his audience: ‘‘Let these words be a reminder. The step from one degree of violence to the next is imperceptibly taken and cannot easily be taken back. . . . Wars have a way of getting out of hand.’’ Other participants in the festival also expressed uncertainty about their role in a festival sponsored by an administration that was following an increasingly disturbing policy in Vietnam. Johnson tried to quiet these doubts by telling the gathered artists, ‘‘Your art is not a political weapon. Yet much of what you do is profoundly political. . . . The Presidency is not just a center of moral leadership. We are, for example, using this great power to help move toward justice for all our people, not simply because I believe it, although I do, but because American freedom depends on it. And we are trying to stimulate creation, not because of our personal tastes or desires, but because American greatness will rest on it.’’ Taylor listened to Johnson’s speech and came to the following conclusion: ‘‘In other words, the relation between the arts and society, between political and moral values, and between aesthetic and political policies is clearly one in which art and politics are fully involved with each other whether they want to be or not.’’≤ That issue, of course, had always been at the crux of the problem concerning an American international art program. Did the government and the arts want to be ‘‘fully involved with each other’’? Should they be so involved? What happened when politics tried to influence art? Could art, desirous of government support, really remain free from political considerations? For a short time in the late 1950s and early 1960s, it 208

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

appeared that a modus operandi could be established between art and politics wherein the government would provide support (without censorship) for American art sent overseas, while art would recognize that in order to sustain that support it must, to one degree or another, serve political ends. But as the words of Lowell, Hersey, and Taylor suggested, the politics of art was becoming a much more complicated point of contention. By the end of the 1960s, America’s overseas art program would be threatened not so much by domestic critics of modern art or congressmen searching for communist artists but by a foreign audience and American artists who were increasingly at odds with U.S. foreign policy. THE GOOD GRAY SMITHSONIAN

By late 1964, the usia was preparing to divest itself of most of its international art responsibilities. Years of criticism from domestic art groups, insinuations from various congressmen that the art program was riddled with subversive art and artists (and usia fears that these charges would lead to diminished appropriations for the agency), and uncertainty about the propaganda impact of American art exhibits on the foreign audience led to a growing feeling that the usia should get out of the art business altogether. Some o≈cials, such as Lois Bingham and Robert Sivard, tried to head o√ this action with various defenses of the art program, but by the time the 1964 Venice Biennale ended even Bingham could not control her growing frustration with the agency’s o√-and-on relationship with the visual arts. She became convinced that it was time for the usia to drop its involvement with the international art program. However, as she explained to friends at the Smithsonian, ‘‘they can’t drop the responsibility unless some other agency of the government will take it on.’’ In short, however ‘‘embarrassing’’ its involvement with the art program might be for the usia, unceremoniously dumping the arts could prove just as damaging. Bingham was ready with an answer: ‘‘She feels that the ideal agency would be the Smithsonian. She also says that she and her sta√ (3 or 4 people) would gladly move to the S.I. [Smithsonian Institution].’’≥ A few weeks after Bingham’s suggestion was made, Assistant to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution William Warner lunched with two usia o≈cials. They also believed that the time had come for the usia to ‘‘get out of the art or ‘cultural’ type of exhibit program altogether.’’ Both also agreed with Bingham: ‘‘si was the logical candidate to take up the torch in the arts.’’ Warner wrote to Secretary of the Smithsonian SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

209

S. Dillon Ripley and urged that the Smithsonian ‘‘pursue this, even though it is a bit of a hot potato they wish to hand us.’’ By January 1965, the wheels were fully set in motion. Bingham made a formal proposal to usia deputy director Donald Wilson for the transfer of the agency’s art exhibition program to the Smithsonian Institution. She suggested that the Smithsonian was in the midst of great changes, and it was already embarked on cultural activities that would soon ‘‘equal those of longstanding international repute in the scientific field.’’ The institution’s Traveling Exhibition Service was being reinvigorated and ‘‘is expected to include international exhibition exchanges.’’ According to Bingham, the benefits of a transfer to the Smithsonian were many. In particular, ‘‘Such a move would ease the Agency’s uncertainties relating to the compatibility of art and political objectives. Art exhibitions could be prepared by the Smithsonian to meet the needs of the Agency. They could be circulated abroad under the auspices of usis. To the advantage of the Agency, these exhibitions would bear the Smithsonian banner rather than the Agency’s credit line when representing the U.S. Government abroad.’’ The usia would also no longer have to worry about congressional attacks. While under the Smithsonian, ‘‘the preparation of art exhibitions would be appropriately allied with an accepted cultural operation; and Congress, when asked for appropriations, would consider the activity a normal part of the Smithsonian’s function.’’∂ A short time later, the usia approached the Smithsonian with the outlines of a proposal for transfer of its art activities to the institution. In reply, Dillon Ripley raised four main questions: what would be the scope of the art program envisioned for the Smithsonian; what kind of exhibits would be handled by the institution; what role would usia continue to have in terms of policy for the program; and, finally, where would the budget for the program come from? usia director Rowan addressed each of these concerns in his response, which came several months later. He believed that the Smithsonian should ‘‘take the full responsibility for the complete program of presenting the U.S. arts abroad.’’ It would be unfortunate, he felt, ‘‘if one agency would do the projects that are pleasant and prestigious, leaving the task of less rewarding projects to the other agency.’’ Therefore, the Smithsonian would take over the handling of the Venice and São Paulo shows ‘‘along with the servicing of the requests for other fine and applied art exhibits and materials from every U.S. mission abroad.’’ The usia would ‘‘screen’’ these requests and ‘‘only those we consider desirable will reach the Smithsonian.’’ As for content of the exhibits, Rowan was clear that the Smithsonian would handle only those 210

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

concerned with the ‘‘fine and decorative arts,’’ leaving the ‘‘scientific, political, or technical’’ shows for the usia. In terms of policy, Rowan envisioned that ‘‘usia would be informed of, or participate in, the planning of each project.’’ Yet, since the agency’s advice would ‘‘concern itself primarily with the suitability of the exhibits for the particular foreign audience it is not anticipated that any di≈culties over aesthetic questions would arise.’’ Funding, unfortunately, would be ‘‘the major problem.’’ The usia had already informed Congress that it was not asking for any further appropriations for the Venice or São Paulo shows. Nevertheless, the agency wanted the Smithsonian to ‘‘assume responsibility for these festivals immediately.’’ Rowan hoped that his agency might help with the ‘‘smaller exhibits.’’ The agency also promised to provide to the Smithsonian the services of Lois Bingham.∑ Even before Rowan’s letter arrived at the Smithsonian, o≈cials at the institution were eagerly anticipating the transfer of the art program. The necessity of such an action seemed to them self-evident. It was obvious that the Johnson administration had an ‘‘intense interest in the fine arts as a means of communication between people.’’ This was matched by increasing popular interest in the arts. Unfortunately, there was not at that time any ‘‘one element of the United States Government charged with sending the best of American art abroad.’’ Nor was there any agency at all concerned with the problem of bringing foreign exhibitions to the United States. ‘‘The Smithsonian is well qualified to meet both these needs.’’ The institution’s own interests would be well served by taking over the international art program. While it had for years been host to many fine exhibits from foreign nations, it had ‘‘not been able to reciprocate by sending art exhibits abroad.’’ In a meeting between usia and Smithsonian o≈cials, David Scott raised a more specific benefit: ‘‘As Smithsonian Institution rather than usia, we may have better reception— people are interested in art but suspicious of propaganda. We just might do better for that reason.’’ One of the usia o≈cials agreed: ‘‘Yes—even some cia agents introduce themselves as usia representatives.’’∏ As the Smithsonian quickly discovered, however, other o≈cials were not as receptive to the idea. The Bureau of the Budget’s International Division, upon hearing of the proposed transfer, was ‘‘especially negative.’’ In its opinion, ‘‘cultural exchange programs were in support of our foreign policy and should therefore remain with those most concerned with international a√airs.’’ William Warner believed that the Smithsonian could ‘‘marshall a lot of support for a more moderate view’’ on ‘‘the notion of art exhibits as a direct arm of foreign policy.’’ Inside the usia a SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

211

heated debate was also taking place. The leading figure in the fight to keep the art program with the agency was Robert Sivard. When he became aware of Bingham’s suggestion to move the program to the Smithsonian, he noted that he recognized ‘‘the frustration she feels in the Agency where many o≈cers exhibit no real understanding of the objectives of exhibiting works of art.’’ Nevertheless, moving the program would not solve that particular problem, and would create others. The Smithsonian, Sivard observed, was ‘‘primarily oriented toward the U.S.’’ and toward satisfying an American, not foreign, audience. He also wondered whether the usia should continue to fund a program that would be located within the Smithsonian. Unless these issues were dealt with, he believed, ‘‘I fear the program would quickly sink into a morass of bureaucracy and become totally unproductive.’’ When it became clear that plans were moving forward despite his protests, he responded with his characteristic bluntness: ‘‘I think it only fair, however, to tell you that I presently believe the program would quickly prove even more unworkable than the trade fair Commerce agreement. It appears to me that these exhibits are a usia responsibility which cannot be delegated any more than you could delegate the Book Program to the Library of Congress.’’ O≈cials at the Smithsonian fumed at what they termed Sivard’s policy of ‘‘shamelessly sandbagging and stalling the e√orts of his superiors to e√ect the transfer.’’ They expressed some glee, therefore, when they learned that ‘‘he was put on the carpet at a recent usia sta√ meeting and walked out, red faced with rage.’’ Sivard’s frustration did not fade even when faced with the inevitability of the transfer. Writing to Bingham in July 1965, his anger was clearly evident. He would make ‘‘the transfer complete and quick.’’ He then warned Bingham, ‘‘As you may have learned, I do not su√er procrastination gladly.’’ Sivard wanted the transfer done ‘‘quickly and thoroughly,’’ and he concluded, ‘‘Let’s not leave the wound open any longer than necessary.’’π With Sivard’s surrender, Smithsonian o≈cials now moved forward with definite plans for the transfer of the art program. They estimated that the first-year costs of the program would be nearly a third of a million dollars and hoped that this ‘‘might be within our present (or slightly augmented?) capabilities.’’ The Smithsonian Institution was also glad to know that the usia was willing to e√ect the transfer immediately, rather than use some sort of ‘‘trial period’’ during which the agency would monitor the Smithsonian’s success (or failure) to carry out the initiative. As Warner declared, ‘‘We were somewhat piqued by this, of

212

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

course.’’ Since ‘‘the longer the trial period, the more chance there is for them to change their minds,’’ it was far better to ‘‘nail it down now and have done with it.’’ Warner also informed Ripley that on the issue of ‘‘policy advice’’ from the usia, ‘‘we have had no di√erences with them in this area.’’ In November 1965, a memorandum of understanding between the usia and the Smithsonian was signed, o≈cially transferring the art program to the latter’s control. The Smithsonian Institution would ‘‘immediately’’ take control of the overseas fine arts program, including the U.S. representation at Venice and São Paulo. The only exception would be exchanges with the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, which came under the dictates of the Cultural Exchange Agreements signed with communist bloc nations in the 1950s. The exhibits would be limited to the ‘‘decorative arts.’’ The usia promised to make funds available to carry out activities in this field for fiscal year 1966 and to immediately detail three usia employees to the Smithsonian. For fiscal year 1967, the agency would provide funding for many of the costs associated with the overseas exhibits, but by 1968 the Smithsonian would be on its own. usis posts overseas would, however, continue to assist with publicity and bookings ‘‘within the limits of their capabilities, resources, and policies.’’ The usia and the Department of State would provide ‘‘policy guidance’’ to the Smithsonian on ‘‘international relations and psychological factors, respectively, which would influence the program.’’ The Smithsonian Institution would have control over the ‘‘selection of works and general artistic quality of exhibits.’’ In January 1966, the usia informed its posts around the world that the transfer of the art program to the Smithsonian was complete.∫ The American art world’s reception to the announcement that the usia was dropping the art program and the Smithsonian was picking it up was mixed. Stephen Weil of the Marlborough-Gerson Gallery in New York wrote to Rowan to explain ‘‘how sad this makes all of us who are deeply concerned with American art.’’ For Weil, it was ‘‘terribly ironic that the news of this curtailment should come just when we were all so hopeful that our government’s activities in this field would take on increased strength and purpose.’’ Grace Glueck, writing in the New York Times, called the Smithsonian the ‘‘new angel’’ of the international art program. However, she also hinted at the suspicions some had that the institution was simply too conservative to carry out a really first-rate program. The work, she concluded, would now be carried out by ‘‘the good gray Smithsonian Institution.’’Ω Mostly, however, the art community seemed to adopt a wait-and-see attitude. By January 1966, however,

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

213

two things were clear. The usia, for all intents and purposes, was out of the art business. And it was now the Smithsonian’s turn to confront the delights and dilemmas of America’s overseas art program. SHEDDING OLD BARNACLES

Between 1966 and 1970, the Smithsonian Institution was responsible for sponsoring and/or organizing dozens of art exhibits for display around the world, often in response to specific requests from usis posts. The focus of the remainder of this chapter, however, will be on the ‘‘big’’ shows in Venice (1966, 1968, and 1970) and São Paulo (1967 and 1969). As a summary of the Smithsonian’s overseas exhibition program prepared in late 1969 pointed out, its ‘‘emphasis during its period with ncfa [National Collection of Fine Arts] has been directed toward the large exhibitions.’’∞≠ These were the shows that attracted the most attention and best illustrated both the strengths and weaknesses of the Smithsonian’s new initiative. Most were also plagued by political controversy, although this controversy was of an entirely new and unexpected variety. As soon as the transfer of the art program from the usia was complete, Lois Bingham got her wish and was detailed to the ncfa in the Smithsonian. Here, she took on her new position as chief of the International Art Program (iap). Her delight in this change was evident. Responding to a letter from an artist in February 1966, she noted the recent switch of the overseas art program from the usia to the Smithsonian. ‘‘We believe that it will have the chance to flourish in this cultural climate that was absent in the politically attuned usia.’’ Writing to the director of public a√airs for the Smithsonian, she found his interest in publicizing the program ‘‘a delightful surprise.’’ As she remarked, ‘‘Perhaps the precepts of usia, like barnacles, are not easily shed. Long ago I gave up trying to convince usia that the taxpayers . . . not only deserve, but would enjoy’’ news about the e√ort.∞∞ The ncfa was also excited by the possibilities opened up by the transfer of the international arts program to its jurisdiction. In many ways, the ncfa saw the assumption of this new duty as merely one more step in creating a truly national art museum. A 1966 report reprinted the words of a recent review of the collection’s activities: ‘‘ ‘France has her Luxembourg, England has her Tate Gallery—now for the first time in history the United States has a National Collection of Fine Arts worthy of its name.’ ’’ The ncfa was particularly pleased with its new international role. ‘‘At this time in our history,’’ the report proclaimed, ‘‘when the United States has 214

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

assumed a position of world leadership in the arts, there is an intense and wide-ranging international interest in our artists and their works, and it is highly important that we be well represented abroad.’’ It was quickly noted that the ‘‘most significant single aspect of the entire program is the United States representation at the two great international biennial exhibitions (Venice and São Paulo). The eyes of the entire world are focused on the United States at these large festivals.’’ Beyond the worldwide interest in American art, ncfa o≈cials were also aware of the foreign policy implications of the program. David Scott, director of the ncfa, noted that the ‘‘importance of these exchanges, of America’s cultural ‘image’ abroad, if you will, is becoming increasingly recognized.’’ It was believed that ‘‘Western Europe will not completely trust the United States as the leader of the Western Alliance until it is o√ered convincing proof of America’s cultural maturity.’’ And in Latin America, ‘‘individuals familiar with the area state that the path to successful negotiations in either business or diplomacy, is via the cultural route.’’ He also believed that America was now ‘‘recognized as a leader in art,’’ but this was not su≈cient. ‘‘It needs to be demonstrated,’’ and the iap ‘‘provides the tangible evidence.’’ The iap was already at work on numerous exhibits, ‘‘planned and assembled to achieve the maximum impact in specific areas of the world, from the newly emerging ex-colonial nations to the most sophisticated cities of Western Europe.’’∞≤ The initial excitement, however, was somewhat tempered by the daunting task immediately facing the new iap: preparing for U.S. participation at the 1966 Venice Biennale. Things got o√ to a rocky start in early 1966 when the iap first approached—and then just as quickly dumped—the Guggenheim Museum to organize the American exhibition. On the face of things, the story was relatively simple and straightforward. The iap asked the Guggenheim to propose a show for Venice. The museum’s curator, Lawrence Alloway, put together a list of works by Pollock, Lichtenstein, Joseph Cornell, and sculptors David Smith and Ernest Trova. He was almost immediately overruled by museum director Thomas Messer, who replaced Pollock and Lichtenstein with two additional sculptors. Alloway responded by resigning as curator in June. The iap’s response was that the all-sculpture show would be too expensive to ship and that the museum had taken far too much time to come up with the list. Thus, it would look elsewhere for an exhibition organizer. Now stuck with no exhibition and a rapidly approaching Biennale, the iap called upon the services of Henry Geldzahler, a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. With little time to spare, Geldzahler put together a fourSEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

215

person show of works by Helen Frankenthaler, Ellsworth Kelly, Jules Olitski, and Lichtenstein.∞≥ American art critics immediately pounced on the story, suggesting that there was much more to it than simply a case of artistic di√erences between Messer and Alloway. Grace Glueck quoted a source who suggested that Messer’s emphasis on sculpture was because the Guggenheim’s 1967 international art show would focus on that medium. ‘‘ ‘The Biennale exhibit would be like a movie trailer for the big feature,’ ’’ sneered the observer. She also quoted an art dealer who found both Guggenheim lists equally deplorable: ‘‘ ‘Europe doesn’t want our stale news.’ ’’ Writer Katharine Kuh questioned the iap’s argument that it was too expensive to mount the sculpture show proposed by Messer. ‘‘Are we to believe that a government as prosperous as ours was unable to finance a representative sculpture exhibition, or are we to believe that certain powerful, vocal elements in the art world disapproved of these choices?’’ She was also curious at the choice of Geldzahler, ‘‘barely thirty years old,’’ to head the American exhibition. His quick choice of artists for the Biennale was so fast as to ‘‘unnerve those of us who regard the organization of this exhibition as a major project.’’ The artists chosen were a ‘‘fashionable, lightweight group of vigorously promoted artists.’’ Kuh noted that the artists selected in 1964 and 1966 were ‘‘represented by only three dealers,’’ all from New York City. The most vigorous attacks came from John Canaday, writing in the New York Times. The Venice Biennale, he began, was usually characterized by a bit of spectacle and hilarity, but ‘‘as a curtain raiser to the main event the people involved in selecting the American representation put on a pretty funny act themselves.’’ The last act of the play, in which the iap dropped the Guggenheim, was particularly noteworthy. Canaday wrote, ‘‘there was never really a question as to whether or not the United States would participate in this politicking, expense-account, art-degrading free-for-all, and Washington dropped the commission into the lap of Henry Geldzahler with an alacrity that carried all the symptoms of relief at getting rid of the Guggenheim.’’∞∂ Once the critics turned their attention away from the intrigue behind the selection process and focused on the American art chosen for the Biennale, the knives really came out. Canaday started out with some sarcastic jibes at the ncfa. The ncfa was ‘‘currently engaged in polishing up its formerly dusty image, and desired the jazziest (our word) possible avant-garde show as an indication (our supposition) of its new git-upand-git spirit.’’ He was surprised, therefore, by the ‘‘unexpectedly conservative list’’ of artists for the show in Venice. ‘‘Instead of a shocker, Wash216

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

ington is getting a totally bland show, devoid of surprise and even by Biennale standards, stale.’’ Geldzahler’s choices were ‘‘strangely out of date.’’ Charlotte Willard, writing in the New York Post, agreed: the show ‘‘couldn’t be more bland.’’ The ncfa had ‘‘been trying to alter its ‘image’ of government conventionality and conservatism by insisting on allowing Europe only young recent work.’’ In Venice, however, it failed miserably. In contrast to the outcry in Europe over the American art in Venice in 1964, ‘‘I doubt that a single eyebrow will be lifted or a voice heard in protest in Europe to the works of these painters.’’ Hilton Kramer o√ered a blunt postmortem of the 1966 Venice Biennale. ‘‘The 33rd Venice Biennale is one of the most dismal surveys of contemporary visual art ever assembled.’’ As for the American artists, only Lichtenstein ‘‘seems to excite much interest.’’ The other featured American artists demonstrated a ‘‘steady and informed seriousness’’ but failed to attract much attention. In sum, ‘‘The o≈cial cultural representatives of 37 of the most advanced nations in the world have joined to produce a gigantic flop.’’∞∑ It was hardly an auspicious start for the iap. ncfa director Scott tried to make the best of things in his report to Smithsonian director Ripley, but his report sounded more like an apology than a celebration. ‘‘Although the United States did not win the grand prize . . . our show attracted considerable attention and was received with respect by the critics, not only from the U.S. but from Europeans as well.’’ Examples of this ‘‘respect’’ and ‘‘attention’’ were in short supply, however. Scott could only include one review from a German newspaper and, somewhat surprisingly, a reference to Canaday’s review, which cited the ‘‘steady and informed seriousness’’ of the American exhibition. Cognizant of the criticisms rained upon the U.S. pavilion, Scott could only conclude, ‘‘In sum, we feel that the American section of the 33rd Venice Biennale was a success.’’∞∏ Even Scott, however, must have been taken aback by the general theme of the criticisms: that the show was too conservative. This must have been astounding to individuals such as Bingham who for years had to confront charges that the American art sent overseas was too radical and possibly subversive. Now, it was ‘‘bland’’ and boring. As the ncfa discovered, it was also terribly expensive. Writing to David Rockefeller in April 1966, David Scott explained the economics of the forthcoming Venice Biennale. The usia ‘‘made no provisions whatsoever for this year’s biennial.’’ The ncfa felt that ‘‘U.S. participation was so vitally important that (lacking any funds of our own) we determined to try to put on the American show this year by appealing for private support.’’ Fortunately, the National Council on Arts had stepped in to SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

217

provide matching funds, but that still left the ncfa on the hook for half of the estimated $76,000 it would cost to sponsor the show in Venice. The immediate future was bleak. The ncfa’s budget had been ‘‘cut back severely, and at best we will have only a fraction of the funds the U.S.I.A. was formerly granted.’’ With that in mind, continued U.S. participation at Venice and São Paulo would mean ‘‘continued appeals for private support.’’ A later ncfa report noted that ‘‘by hook or by crook’’ it had raised $28,000 from over 250 donors to support the American showing in Venice. However, the donors had been quite clear: ‘‘they would do it in view of the emergency, but did not expect to be called on again.’’ For the 1967 São Paulo show, most of the costs came ‘‘out of our own hide.’’ The 1968 Venice Biennale would not be cheap. Although the Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery of the University of Nebraska was organizing the show and raising funds, it was expected that the ncfa would have to put in at least $50,000 in matching funds. The report concluded, ‘‘This has been a somewhat satisfactory solution, but it’s not something that should be continued year after year. Why? Because there is the long-term danger of dealing only with those who can provide the money, rather than those who can be the best spokesmen for American art.’’∞π By 1969, there was a note of desperation in ncfa reports on the International Art Program. Under the program’s sponsorship, nearly forty separate exhibits of America’s fine art had been shown in over eighty countries. In addition, the iap had been able to sustain an American presence at the large international shows. However, ‘‘problems of sta≈ng and financing bring iap to its moment of truth.’’ When the Smithsonian acquired the responsibility for the iap in 1966, it did so with the very clear notion that ‘‘the acquisition of a penny-ante program held no appeal.’’ Instead, the Smithsonian took on the iap ‘‘contingent upon the program’s potential growth to dimensions compatible with si’s overall objectives.’’ The ‘‘ideal budget’’ would be about $750,000, with a ‘‘minimum sta√ ’’ of twenty-five. Instead, in three years the iap’s sta√ had only grown from three to six. Budget constraints meant that the program could only support the shows in Venice and São Paulo and a handful of ‘‘urgent requests’’ for fiscal year 1970. The future was bleak: ‘‘by January, 1970, iap’s reduced productivity will be evident around the world.’’∞∫ Finally, another problem that became apparent throughout the period 1966–70 was that tensions between the usia and iap were slowly mounting. The 1966 agreement between the Smithsonian and the usia was fairly specific: the agency (together with the State Department) would provide ‘‘policy guidance’’ for the international art program, while the iap would 218

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

be responsible for the aesthetic side in terms of selecting the paintings to be exhibited overseas. Almost from the beginning, however, it was clear that the old ‘‘art as propaganda’’ versus ‘‘art as art’’ argument still lingered. The usia talked a good game in terms of leaving questions of ‘‘taste’’ and ‘‘style’’ to the iap, but in reality the agency still had very definite ideas about what kinds of art should be shown overseas. In October 1967, a usia o≈cial contacted the iap about agency guidelines for exhibits in Western Europe. What was needed, he stated, were two types of fine arts exhibits, ‘‘both designed to project an image of Americans as a cultivated people.’’ The first category entailed those exhibits directed toward ‘‘the artistic elite in Western Europe, including the artists themselves, the critics, and educators who pass on their opinions to others.’’ The second category was composed of those art shows aimed at the ‘‘broader cultivated public which, while less sophisticated in its taste for art, forms its judgment of peoples in part at least from what it knows or thinks it knows of their cultural achievements.’’ These general guidelines were then followed by more specific requests as to the types of exhibits that would appeal most to these respective groups. For the first group, the shows should feature the ‘‘most advanced and talked-about work from our contemporary production.’’ These kinds of exhibitions would include the Venice Biennale. For the second group, the iap should strive to set up exhibitions that were ‘‘good shows, not inferior in quality, but less ‘avant-garde’ and more comprehensible to the non-professional audience. These shows could be retrospective in theme.’’ As examples, the usia o≈cial suggested ‘‘a retrospective of this sort could be made on a subject such as the Hudson Valley [sic] School’’; in other words, an exhibit that would demonstrate that ‘‘the U.S., too, looks back on an artistic heritage.’’ Or, perhaps a show on ‘‘Europe Through American Eyes,’’ including ‘‘European landscapes, seascapes, and individual types (e.g., a Normandy fisherman, a Spanish civil guardsman, etc.) painted by Americans.’’ Even a show of ‘‘illustrators of children’s books’’ might be appropriate. In a concluding comment about the iap’s activities thus far, the o≈cial rather glumly noted, ‘‘In general, it has not been a bad year; but it has not been an exciting one, either.’’∞Ω The iap resented the usia’s interference and rather ham-handed suggestions about the most appropriate art for the overseas audience. Lois Bingham, in a 1975 summary of the early years of the iap, declared that ‘‘one of the di≈culties of the past stemmed from having program policies determined by a few Government o≈cials whose judgments and viewpoints, quite naturally, were professionally oriented and often at odds SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

219

with those of the cultural community.’’ As Bingham, David Scott, and others quite clearly noted, they truly believed that the ncfa was now poised to take a leadership role in the field of American art and, with the iap, to carry that leadership role into the international arena. Critic John Canaday, in an otherwise sarcastic review of the ncfa’s e√orts at the 1966 Venice Biennale, did get one thing right: the ncfa was ‘‘engaged in polishing up its formerly dusty image.’’ Fellow critic Charlotte Willard agreed. ‘‘It is no secret,’’ she wrote, ‘‘that the National Collection has been trying to alter its ‘image’ of government conventionality and conservatism by insisting on showing in Europe only young recent work.’’ Statements from ncfa o≈cials left little doubt about the direction they wished to take the iap. An October 1966 report was quite clear: the iap would carry out its responsibility for exhibiting American culture overseas by focusing on ‘‘contemporary prints.’’ David Scott put the matter very directly when he argued, ‘‘At the heart of the program, therefore, lies the encouragement of American contemporary art by presenting exhibits here and abroad.’’ The purpose of the iap, as Bingham made clear in a letter to the editor of Artforum, was ‘‘to show current activity in the visual arts, in vivid and informative installations, geared to sophisticated European audiences.’’≤≠ Obviously, such a focus on recent contemporary art and a target audience of ‘‘sophisticated Europeans’’ meant that the iap had little interest in sponsoring exhibits of the Hudson River School, seascapes and Normandy fishermen, or illustrations from children’s books. Quite simply, the iap, the ncfa, and the entire Smithsonian Institution saw themselves as having a distinctly di√erent mission from the usia. While they often gave lip service to ‘‘policy guidance’’ from the agency and sprinkled their documents with statements about ‘‘planning’’ exhibits in terms of ‘‘target audiences’’ and their supposed diplomatic ‘‘impact,’’ they also made clear that the international art program must be ‘‘compatible with si’s overall objectives as an institution concerned with the broadest possible dissemination of knowledge.’’ As Bingham noted, the move of the program from the usia to the ncfa placed it squarely within the purview of the Smithsonian, ‘‘where it joined other activities to contribute to ‘the increase and di√usion of knowledge among men’ according to that mandate of the si charter.’’≤∞ For Bingham and others associated with the iap, that ‘‘mandate’’ was more than mere rhetoric. It marked the di√erence between an overseas art program designed as a propaganda vehicle and one designed to inform and uplift the human spirit and intellect. The conflict between 220

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

those two views had gone on for nearly a quarter of a century. Now, as the late 1960s dawned in America, and despite budget woes and irritation with attempts at usia meddling, it appeared that the ‘‘art as art’’ side had won the war. The iap would act to bring the newest and most meaningful art to the people of the world, unfettered by the complications and distractions of politics. That, in any case, was the plan. SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

In June 1970, Lois Bingham observed that ‘‘organized opposition’’ was pressuring American artists to withdraw from the upcoming Venice Biennale. The Emergency Cultural Government (ecg), a group composed largely of New York artists, critics, art dealers, and other friends of art, had formed shortly after the U.S. incursion into Cambodia and the resulting tragedy at Kent State University. Its goal was to organize artist boycotts of government-sponsored exhibitions overseas, thus ‘‘denying the government the use of our art as a cultural veneer to cover policies of ruthless aggression abroad and intolerable repression at home.’’ Bingham lamented: For nearly two decades [Bingham was referring back to the early 1950s when the usia began its art program], the International Art Program has worked, not only to show the vitality and creativity of contemporary American artists to other nations around the world, but to separate art from politics, to establish through its world-wide program professional aesthetic standards compatible with our cultural maturity. It would be regrettable if now, in the heat of justifiable disappointments, we gave up hard-won ground by deliberately setting art back in the political arena. Art must not be used as a hostage.≤≤ Bingham’s anguish was heartfelt, for she was a true ‘‘art lover’’; one who believed that art served an important role in the peaceful and progressive development of human society. However, she was a bit misleading when she argued that the goal of U.S. government–sponsored art exhibits in the post–World War II period had been to ‘‘separate art from politics.’’ As we have seen, in the Cold War years such a separation was virtually impossible, and both the attacks on and defenses of America’s overseas art program were politically charged. In the late 1960s, however, the political climate both at home and abroad was changing dramatically. America’s Cold War consensus was breaking apart, as the Vietnam War forced many Americans to reconsider SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

221

their nation’s diplomacy. Massive antiwar protests erupted, highlighted by the riots outside the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in 1968. Abroad, America’s prestige and reputation were under steady assault as the nation’s image su√ered a blow with every bomb dropped in Vietnam. The domestic and international turmoil that characterized the mid- to late 1960s soon began to wash over into the world of American overseas art exhibits, and as Bingham’s warning concerning the ecg indicated, American o≈cials approached the 1970 Venice Biennale with no small degree of trepidation. Storm warnings had already appeared at the 1968 Biennale and at the 1969 São Paulo Bienal. The American exhibition in Venice in 1968 suffered the same shaky start as the show in 1966. The iap selected Norman Geske, curator of the Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery of the University of Nebraska to both organize the exhibit and serve as U.S. commissioner for the Biennale. In addition, the university agreed to match the iap’s budget contribution of $40,000 to fund the show. Bingham defended the choice of the little-known Geske by stating that he had ‘‘built up one of the choice collections of contemporary American art in the United States.’’ In addition, by selecting a ‘‘midwestern institution’’ to help sponsor the exhibit, the iap would be ‘‘pointing to important cultural activity occurring in the United States outside such internationally recognized centers as New York and Los Angeles.’’ As she explained, the iap originally approached the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, but the museum’s proposal was ‘‘not adequately developed with regard to either the exhibition content or the anticipated cost of the project.’’≤≥ All of this might have been perfectly reasonable, but when news leaked out about the selection of Geske as commissioner and his choices of artists for the Biennale, American critics were once again ready to pounce. The main criticism of the American art for the 1968 Biennale was the same as it was in 1966: the art was decidedly dull and uninspiring. Hilton Kramer commented that Geske had assembled a ‘‘distinguished, if conservative, historical collection’’ at Nebraska. The ‘‘New York art world,’’ he claimed, was ‘‘completely taken by surprise’’ by the choice of artists. Kramer felt that the European art world would see the exhibition as continuing ‘‘a trend toward limiting United States representation in the big international shows to more conservative artistic tendencies.’’ He had nothing personal against the two main artists selected for the U.S. show—painter Edwin Dickinson and sculptor Reuben Nakian—but they were both in their seventies and hardly representative of current trends. Kramer also suggested that the refusal of the Los Angeles County Mu222

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

seum’s proposal was due to its insistence on including artists such as Edward Kienholz, ‘‘whose tableau-constructions on contemporary social themes have caused much controversy.’’ He left the last word on the subject to Henry Geldzahler, who seemed to have a short memory about the criticisms of his own selections for the Biennale in 1966: ‘‘We are putting our best historical foot forward rather than, as in the last two Biennales, the best of our vanguard artists.’’ Grace Glueck was likewise disappointed with the U.S. selections. She noted that Geske seemed defiant about his choice of artists who clearly represented a more ‘‘representational’’ rather than ‘‘abstract’’ school of thought. He wanted to show that the Biennale was not just ‘‘a commercial showcase for the avantgarde.’’ The U.S. pavilion was ‘‘going to be something else.’’ As Glueck remarked, ‘‘Something else it certainly is, but what?’’ She agreed that some of the artists chosen were very good representatives of a more ‘‘conservative’’ art. However, even this small victory was negated by the ‘‘company that the better artists are forced to keep.’’ One American ‘‘flirts insipidly with the surreal,’’ another created ‘‘weak figurationist’’ works and had ‘‘not the germ of an original idea.’’ To make matters worse, the works of art were ‘‘shamelessly squeezed into the space of half a room in the grossly inadequate United States Pavilion.’’ In a follow-up piece, she also scolded the iap for passing on the Los Angeles County Museum proposal—a ‘‘more interesting proposal,’’ in her opinion. Publicly, the iap claimed that the decision was made for ‘‘budgetary considerations.’’ Glueck’s conclusion: ‘‘The perennial scarcity of exhibition funds could mean that he who gets there first with the necessary cash lands the Biennale commission.’’ And European critics were distinctly unimpressed with the proposed American show for Venice. One of the leading German newspapers lashed out: ‘‘It is a selection which does great harm to the o≈cial American art exchange, the activities of American art dealers and art critiques. The selection of the obscure provincial museum director is most unusual.’’ With one exception (Ernest Trova, who withdrew his work before the Biennale opened), ‘‘there is not a single artist who is ‘in.’ ’’≤∂ It was not the harsh words of critics that caused the most concern among U.S. o≈cials, however. In Venice in 1968, protests by Italian students threatened to shut down the exhibit. Even before the Biennale opened, students were calling the art exhibition an ‘‘example of control of cultural life by capitalism.’’ Italian o≈cials responded by warning that the police would be out in force to forestall a student ‘‘occupation’’ of the exhibition grounds. Matters quickly got worse. The panel of jurors for the Biennale announced that they were resigning out of sympathy with SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

223

the student protests. It was also reported that ‘‘three members of the French contingent refused to show their works, the Swedish Pavilion closed its doors and one Italian artist turned the painted sides of his canvases to the wall and stormed out of his pavilion shouting, ‘The Biennale is Fascist.’ ’’ As the opening of the exhibit approached, over 1,200 Italian police crowded in and around the grounds. The student protesters wisely kept clear of this massive show of force, but mocked the entire spectacle: ‘‘We’ve already made our point that this is a fascist, capitalist commercial art show and it is the police who are the exhibits, not the phony paintings.’’ Opening day was a fiasco, as o≈cials proclaimed the start of the Biennale and then almost immediately closed the grounds because they feared violence might erupt. A small number of protesters did enter the grounds and seemed to take particular delight in targeting the U.S. pavilion, shouting ‘‘Yankee go home’’ and ‘‘Ho Chi Minh.’’ Grace Glueck, writing from Venice, warned readers, ‘‘To catch the Biennale, you’d better look fast.’’ The ‘‘student rebellion has closed all or part of the French, Swedish, Italian and, at last report, the German Pavilion (a fifth, the Russian, has not yet opened because of ‘technical di≈culties’).’’ In something of a classic understatement, Geske reported that, ‘‘1968 will undoubtedly be considered, historically at least, as the year of the ‘trouble.’ ’’ As for the protests specifically aimed at the U.S. pavilion, Geske opined that ‘‘the administration of President Johnson and the Vietnam war were obvious targets, but there seemed to be a feeling as well that we were also to blame for whatever was wrong with the Biennale.’’ Margaret Cogswell, deputy chief of the iap, who was on hand at the U.S. pavilion, remembered, ‘‘There were a lot of demonstrations—Carlos the Jackal was said to have been there, stirring things up. We found it exciting, but rather alarming, especially from the point of view of the safety of the works borrowed for the exhibition. I recall a demonstration in front of the US Pavilion, and worries by Norman Geske, US Commissioner, that something terrible might happen.’’ Although the student protests did not force the cancellation of the Biennale, the criticisms that the art show was becoming too commercialized and too nationalistic did have one important impact: after 1968, the Biennale no longer awarded prizes for painting and sculpture.≤∑ To add insult to injury, the cost of the Biennale was, according to Lois Bingham, ‘‘staggering.’’ In more precise terms, Geske and his team of organizers went $52,000 over budget. ‘‘I feel sure,’’ Bingham complained, ‘‘there will be serious problems for Nebraska as well as for the Smithsonian.’’ By February 1969, the iap was still trying to find a solid legal 224

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

Italian students outside the U.S. pavilion at the 1968 Venice Biennale protesting the opening of the art festival. A note scribbled on the back of the photo by a U.S. o≈cial said that it was ‘‘more sound than fury’’ and that the ‘‘only damage [was] caused by cameramen who stood up on the plaster sculptures and chipped them.’’ (Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 321, Box 150, folder ‘‘Venice 1968’’ [2004-50609])

foundation on which to base a request to the University of Nebraska to pay for half of the cost overrun. Unfortunately, the contract between Nebraska and the iap left the latter with ‘‘an arguable, but not a solid, airtight case.’’ As one Smithsonian o≈cial remarked, ‘‘Mr. Ripley better not learn of this or ‘he would hit the ceiling.’ ’’≤∏ Matters deteriorated even further in 1969, when American artists, protesting what they believed to be a vicious dictatorship in Brazil (and the U.S. support of the regime), refused to participate in the 10th São Paulo Bienal. Planning for the Bienal began innocently enough, with the iap contracting with Gyorgy Kepes, director of the Center for Advanced Visual Studies at mit, to organize the American participation. Two months before the Bienal was to open in September 1969, Kepes received the first of a number of disturbing messages from American artists selected for exhibit. John Goodyear declared that he was withdrawing from participation in the show in São Paulo. He wished to show his solidarity with Brazilian artists who were protesting against their SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

225

government’s dictatorship and attempts at artistic censorship. U.S. participation would only serve to ‘‘strengthen the intimidating o≈cial position.’’ An exhibit of works by American artists, even if those artists were in sympathy with their Brazilian counterparts, would ‘‘run too great a risk of being distorted and misused.’’ Just a few days after Goodyear’s letter, Grace Glueck reported in the New York Times that six other artists were joining the boycott. One of the artists published an o≈cial statement in which he argued, ‘‘The American Government pursues an immoral war in Vietnam and vigorously supports fascist regimes in Brazil and in other areas of the world. . . . All expositions of the American Government are made to promote the image and the politics of this government. . . . The energy of artists is channeled to serve a politics that these same artists scorn with good reason.’’ In response, Kepes issued his own statement. He firmly believed that there was no ‘‘divorcing art from life,’’ nor could one consider art as ‘‘separate from the issues that trouble our contemporary society.’’ By now, he admitted, nine of the original twenty-three artists had withdrawn from the show. Regretfully, ‘‘the aim of the exhibition as originally conceived cannot now be realized due to the withdrawals.’’ After several futile attempts to find a ‘‘substitute’’ exhibition, the iap finally admitted defeat and canceled U.S. participation at the Bienal. America was not the only no-show: Belgium, the Netherlands, Sweden, and the Soviet Union also withdrew, and artist groups in several other nations made loud complaints about their nations’ attendance in São Paulo.≤π As the 1970 Venice Biennale approached, it was apparent that the entire context of American art exhibits overseas was in the midst of dramatic change. Whereas in the 1950s and early 1960s the U.S. government attempted to portray American art as a symbol of democracy, freedom, and individuality, by the late 1960s the United States—and its art—were being attacked as symbols of vulgar capitalism, a bourgeois mentality, and destructive militarism, not by Soviet propagandists, but by the very people at which the iap was aimed. And American artists, who during earlier years had to defend themselves and their art against charges of anti-Americanism and even communism, now chafed under the notion that their paintings and sculpture would be used as diplomatic tools to help lend support to what they perceived as odious government policies. As Margaret Cogswell saw the situation, ‘‘by 1968 at the Venice Biennale when artists withdrew and the São Paulo Bienal of 1969 when people were disappearing and being killed in Brazil, there was a totally

226

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

di√erent point of view. . . . Artists felt, along with many others, that the government was not always telling the truth. The hard thing for us was that we often personally agreed with things that were being said by the artists and others.’’≤∫ To avoid more ‘‘trouble’’ of the sort seen at the 1968 Biennale and the angry denunciations by American artists that led to the cancellation of the 1969 São Paulo show, U.S. o≈cials hurried to redefine the American exhibit for the 1970 Venice Biennale to fit the new political, diplomatic, and artistic realities. It was an ironic turn of events, as the U.S. government, which had for decades enmeshed art in the politics of the Cold War, now sought to ‘‘separate art from politics.’’ In August 1969, Bingham excitedly laid out plans for a bold ‘‘experiment’’ at the 1970 Biennale. In short, what she proposed was that the U.S. pavilion be turned into an international ‘‘workshop,’’ principally centered on the production and display of graphic arts. A group of American artists would serve as ‘‘artist-professors,’’ not only producing their own work but also serving as mentors for other artists from America and other nations. In particular, the ‘‘student body’’ for the workshop would be made up of ‘‘outstanding American and Italian art students,’’ who would hopefully ‘‘carry back to their universities a heightened sense of empathy for the international community of artists.’’ And, she might have added, hopefully not spend their time picketing outside the American pavilion. In early 1970, she declared that the American pavilion would ‘‘be a departure from the 75-year-old format and will serve as a pilot project directed toward discovering ways to make international cultural events alive and pertinent to the situation of art in today’s world.’’ In a stunning reversal of the idea that such exhibits should serve as advertisements for American society, Bingham hoped that the workshop would ‘‘lay a foundation for breaking away from national presentations in future Biennals [sic], for developing truly international projects and workshops sponsored by groups of collaborating nations.’’≤Ω Henry Hopkins, who was director of the Fort Worth Art Center and the U.S. pavilion at Venice in 1970, was even more ecstatic in describing the new American approach. He made it clear that the American participation in 1970 should ‘‘not be associated with representations of the past for the approach is new and idealistic.’’ He wanted the exhibit to ‘‘extend beyond national boundaries.’’ To those who would argue that ‘‘our primary purpose in Venice is to prove the importance of art produced in America,’’ he answered, ‘‘but we have nothing to prove.’’ By now, it was clear that the focus of the workshop would be on silk screen and

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

227

Henry Hopkins (far right), Margaret Cogswell (far left), and others work on plans for the U.S. exhibition at the 1970 Venice Biennale. (Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 321, Box 181, folder ‘‘Venice 1970’’ [2004-50611])

lithography, and Hopkins stressed the future educational value of the new workshop idea, rather than the ‘‘competetive [sic] past.’’≥≠ The thrust of the comments from both Bingham and Hopkins was clear: the U.S. exhibit in 1970 would be international rather than national in character, cooperative rather than competitive, fresh and vibrant rather than old and fixed in its ways. The intent was perhaps less immediately clear but equally important. U.S. o≈cials, having witnessed the problems associated with the 1968 Biennale and the 1969 São Paulo show, were determined to ‘‘de-politicize’’ the American exhibit in Venice in 1970. To mute potential anti-American attacks on the U.S. pavilion, the international, rather than the purely American, aspect of the exhibit would be accentuated. To bring disgruntled U.S. artists back into the fold, their roles at Venice would be redefined. Instead of symbolic ambassadors of American society, they would be teachers (and students) working with their peers. This ideal situation was never fully realized, however, due to a number of factors. First and foremost was the decision by the Nixon administration to launch an o√ensive into Cambodia in April 1970. That action set in motion massive protests across the United States, culminating in the tragedy at Kent State University in May. In response, a number of New York artists, critics, gallery owners, and patrons formed the ecg. Its broad purpose was to ‘‘stop the use of artists’ work by [the] U.S. government for 228

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

the purpose of lifting the image of [the] administration’s atrocious policies and instead to take all showings of American art abroad into [the] hands of [the] artists themselves.’’ In a short time, the ecg announced that a number of important artists were demanding that their works (prints and lithographs in support of the workshop concept) be withdrawn from the Venice show. This list included Roy Lichtenstein, Claes Oldenburg, Robert Rauschenberg, Robert Motherwell, and Andy Warhol. Lichtenstein declared that he was ‘‘not protesting against the people in the Government who are handling the art program. I’m doing it to be understood that I’m not acquiescing to our foreign policy.’’ U.S. o≈cials admitted that the planned print exhibition was ‘‘severely curtailed’’ by these withdrawals.≥∞ It was the formation of the ecg that inspired Bingham’s pained declaration about separating art from politics. Appealing to the supporters of the iap, Bingham argued that the new format of the American exhibit was actually a first step in meeting the demands of the artists. It would provide a ‘‘non-political setting’’ in which the artists could work toward ‘‘achieving that international understanding and respect which are essential to any semblance of world peace.’’ S. Dillon Ripley was more pessimistic. He declared that ‘‘it is clear that the insistence of a very large number of this country’s most distinguished artists that art and politics can not be separated must raise serious questions about the future of our International Art Program.’’≥≤ Both Bingham and Ripley laid the blame for ‘‘politicizing’’ the exhibit in Venice at the feet of the ecg and various American artists. In truth, however, politics was never far from the American planning for the Biennale. At about the same time that Bingham was setting forth the ‘‘new’’ direction for the American pavilion, she was writing to the Department of State for help in securing funding for the event. American participation, she claimed, was essential, since ‘‘other countries consider American participation an important endorsement. Lack of participation on the part of the United States is construed as an insult not only to the host country but to the other participant nations.’’ In addition, she added, ‘‘It goes without saying that with anti-American feeling running high in many parts of the world the positive reception our participation brings is of utmost importance to the United States.’’ The American show in Venice ‘‘constitutes a unique dimension to our international diplomacy’’; as such, American participation was ‘‘in the paramount interests of our government.’’≥≥ Already, one of the major contradictions of the new focus on ‘‘de-politicizing’’ and ‘‘de-nationalizing’’ the U.S. exhibit was clear: in SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

229

order to secure funding from the U.S. government, the organizers of the show had to demonstrate that it served the political interests of that government—which, of course, was precisely what the ecg was protesting. But the politics extended beyond the planning stage, influencing the actual operation of the American pavilion. Two examples will su≈ce. The foreign artists and students invited to participate in the print workshop were supposed to be simply a representative group of the best and most promising artists. That was not always the case, however. In the middle of the workshop, a U.S. o≈cial stationed in Malaysia strongly urged that an invitation be extended to a local artist. His credentials did seem impressive, but the real reason for the request was found at the conclusion of the o≈cial’s letter: ‘‘Our own small e√ort to project creative America in a country which is still very much directed towards the former metropolitan power would be greatly enhanced by an Ibrahim Hussein returned from Venice.’’ In short order, Mr. Hussein was invited to attend. The results were little short of disastrous. As it turned out, the artist had little or no background in printmaking, and by the time he arrived most of the instructors had departed. Indeed, the organizers of the workshop had previously asked that no additional artists be asked to participate at such a late date. Ibrahim complained that he arrived to find ‘‘total confusion, indi√erence, no workshop worthy of the name, the amenities promised unfulfilled, and, what bothered him most, rudeness.’’ Upon hearing these complaints, Hopkins made it clear that political—not artistic—factors were to blame: ‘‘The primary problems with Ibrahim’s visit had to do with his time of arrival and the fact that he was not a printmaker—neither problem being controllable by the workshop administration or the sta√, since the solicitation was done from Washington.’’≥∂ Even the U.S. artists who did participate in Venice were subject to the creeping influence of political considerations. These ‘‘master’’ printmakers were supposed to be involved in an entirely freewheeling, expressive atmosphere where they would, according to Bingham, demonstrate how art was ‘‘pertinent to today’s world.’’ One American artist who did so quickly discovered that the line between being pertinent and impertinent was very thin indeed. The trouble concerned William Weege. Within weeks after the opening of the American pavilion, Weege was busily producing prints and assisting other artists. However, one of his products caused a serious disturbance. Weege produced a poster with the words, ‘‘Impeach Nixon’’ emblazoned on it. He also began displaying the poster and distributing copies to interested passersby. The artist quickly found himself in hot water. Bingham was furious and ordered Weege to cease his 230

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

William Weege demonstrating printmaking techniques at the U.S. pavilion during the 1970 Venice Biennale. Despite Weege’s business card introducing himself as an ‘‘All-American Artist,’’ his ‘‘Impeach Nixon’’ silk screen at the Biennale caused a furor which led to his temporary departure from the show. (Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 321, Box 66, Record Unit 321, Box 181, folder ‘‘Venice 1970’’ [2004-50610])

activities. As she explained to one of her superiors, ‘‘once an American goes abroad, especially if he is on an o≈cial government project, he is an American first and always, and his representation should be strictly what Bill’s card says, ‘Bill Weege, All-American Artist.’ ’’ Weege took o√ense to what he perceived as censorship, and temporarily left the exhibit. Upon his return, Bingham tried to smooth the waters, but merely succeeded in hammering home the point that politics, not art, was the primary concern of the U.S. government. An American artist sent abroad, she reminded Weege, was ‘‘first and foremost a representative of his country.’’≥∑ The ultimate futility of the ‘‘experiment’’ in Venice in 1970, however, can be measured in the critical and foreign response to the work produced at the workshop. Many art critics savaged the American pavilion, none more so than Gregory Battcock, who wrote: ‘‘The naïve, knownothing exhibition in the American pavilion is, quite simply, humiliating. The kindest thing the art public can do at this stage of the game is to stay away. The most intelligent thing to do would be to burn it down.’’ Grace Glueck took a somewhat more sympathetic view but admitted that ‘‘the pavilion was something less than a crowd-puller.’’ She quoted the new ncfa director Joshua Taylor as saying, ‘‘It didn’t fulfill our desire for SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

231

a smashing Biennale show, but it was a very human thing at work and I’m happy it will come to an end.’’ In an e√ort to gain some positive publicity value out of the exhibit, a number of the prints produced at the pavilion were sent on tour. Most of the reviews were scathing. Yugoslav representatives who were asked if they wished the show to tour their country were ‘‘cool to strongly negative.’’ The prints got a ‘‘so-so reaction from the public and a panning from the art critics’’ in Stockholm. The usis post indicated that the show ‘‘can only charitably be described as second rate.’’ In Helsinki, the exhibit was decried by the Finns as ‘‘disappointingly mediocre,’’ with ‘‘publicity both meager and sharply critical.’’≥∏ On almost all levels, the iap-sponsored shows at Venice in 1966, 1968, and 1970 (and the canceled São Paulo show of 1969) were disappointing failures. They were extremely costly and drained the resources of the Smithsonian. The critical reception to the art on display at the exhibitions ranged from tepid approval to outright hostility. The iap’s handling of the selection process was also often in question. Most troubling, however, were the new political controversies that surrounded the ‘‘big shows.’’ In the past, the problem had been finding ways to show the works of certain American artists who were considered ‘‘subversive.’’ By the late 1960s, the issue had become how to convince American artists to participate in exhibitions that were increasingly branded as propaganda tools for a war-mongering and repressive U.S. government. Matters had taken a decidedly downward turn since the initial optimism of the early 1960s. By 1970, the battlefields might have changed, but American art and politics were still engaged in conflict.

232

SEE VENICE AND PROPAGANDIZE

CONCLUSION

By 1970, American art and politics had been locked in a Cold War struggle for nearly a quarter of a century. For U.S. o≈cials, whether in the Department of State, the usia, or the iap at the Smithsonian, American art was often seen as simply another weapon in an ever-broadening diplomatic arsenal. Military might and economic strength were not enough for America to assert and actively pursue its leadership of the ‘‘free world.’’ The United States also needed to demonstrate that it was in the vanguard of cultural developments, most particularly in the fine arts, where American contributions had for years been dismissed by other developed nations as imitative or unsophisticated. Seen in this fashion, American art was to be a means to an end: convincing the nations of Western Europe that the United States was deserving of its leadership role; helping to bring the people of western Germany back into the fold of civilized— and anticommunist—nations; assuring the world’s people that America was not a militaristic, materialistic, anti-intellectual nation; and, particularly through the use of modern and abstract art, serving as a message of freedom and individuality in contrast to the strict dogmas of the Soviet Union’s ‘‘socialist realism.’’ Like an atomic weapon, a multilateral defense agreement, a massive foreign aid package—or, perhaps, a fallout shelter—art would serve the interests and dictates of America’s foreign policy. That narrow view of the role of American art in the postwar world was extraordinarily distasteful to many members of the art world in the United States. Even before World War II came to a close, they saw a much broader—and much more important— mission for American art. It would serve as an international language of understanding and healing in a world left scarred and divided by global war. It would remind the world’s people,

who had personally felt the destructive power of weapons designed by science and produced by massive factories, that there was still a very human spark in the world. If art was indeed a ‘‘fallout shelter,’’ its aim was to protect the ‘‘human spirit.’’ The idea that the work of American artists would be used as mere propaganda for purely national or defense interests was frankly appalling. As the two sides soon found, however, their shared interest in seeing American art displayed overseas would necessarily mean compromise. As the State Department, the usia, and the iap discovered in their turn, trying to develop an international art program was harder than it might have first appeared. The program was costly, and in the budget-conscious Congress the idea that taxpayers’ money should be used to send art to foreign countries seemed both irresponsible and ridiculous. There was also the long-standing American suspicion of government-sponsored art programs. For some, such a program smacked of favoritism toward one or another particular art form; for others, it raised the specter of censorship and ‘‘o≈cial’’ art. Most spectacularly, there were attacks on the various art exhibits that stressed the politics of the artists and art. McCarthy, Dondero, and Walter were only the loudest among many voices vigorously protesting the inclusion of ‘‘subversive’’ artists and their works in shows sponsored by the U.S. government. Finally, there were always doubts about the impact of the program on its intended audience— foreign nations. What kind of art was the right art to send to Europe, to Asia, to Latin America or Africa? Did the art really work as propaganda? For members of the American art world, their antipathy to government control over cultural a√airs was tempered by the fact that they simultaneously desired government support of the arts. That support was important on two counts. First, it sent a desirable message to the world (and the American people) that art was something meaningful, something important. And, of course, the cost of sending American art overseas would require resources far beyond the capabilities of private individuals and institutions. For twenty-five years, various government agencies and a host of private art lovers and organizations tried to find a workable modus operandi for an international art program in which the latter would handle the ‘‘aesthetic’’ end of the business while the former provided the funds and ‘‘policy guidance.’’ There were, to be sure, some notable successes. The art program in western Germany brought some of the best American art to an appreciative German audience, while State Department o≈cials were satisfied that the art was an e√ective means for pushing the American 234

CONCLUSION

propaganda agenda in that nation. The 1959 Moscow exhibit, though unpopular with many American critics (and most of the Russians), was judged to be both an artistic and a propaganda success. By the mid-1960s, American artists were reaping the highest awards at the large international art shows in São Paulo and Venice. There were also striking disappointments and setbacks. The colossal failure of the Advancing American Art exhibit was only the first of many for the international art program. Charges about ‘‘communist’’ artists crushed the Sport in Art show and very nearly killed the program. Government uncertainty left the United States as the only nation without o≈cial representation at the Venice and São Paulo shows for years. When the usia finally decided to step in and support the American exhibitions at the major international shows, it almost immediately backtracked because of the costs and fears of domestic attacks on the program. The Smithsonian, acting through the iap, tried to find the happy medium between art as a propaganda tool and art as art. Yet when it put on the big shows at Venice and São Paulo in the late 1960s, it found itself attacked on both artistic and political grounds. The disturbing events of 1968–70, and others before and during the American exhibit at Venice, demonstrated the American government’s inability, or unwillingness, to fully understand the political context in which art operated. Aghast at political protests leveled against American art exhibits abroad, and angry and frustrated over the ‘‘politicization’’ of art by groups such as the ecg, Bingham, Hopkins, and others attempted to redefine the iap for the 1970 Biennale. Their e√orts to depoliticize the American exhibit were laudable in many ways, but also contradictory, hypocritical, and, in the end, fruitless. Many American artists still refused to participate and political considerations still impacted on issues such as the format of the exhibit, who was invited, and what could be produced. U.S. o≈cials, quite simply, were caught in a no-win situation. If they demanded that the U.S. pavilion serve as home to fresh, innovative ideas, producing art that was ‘‘pertinent’’ to the present day, then they could hardly be surprised or angry when that art (and the artists) reacted to present-day issues—such as the war in Vietnam. And if they demanded a neutral, international, noncompetitive atmosphere, they could hardly turn around and justify the government expense on the grounds that the pavilion served definite—and quite national—interests. Nor could they insist that the American artists remember that they were ‘‘representatives’’ of their country. In short, U.S. policymakers sadly overestimated their ability to use art CONCLUSION

235

as a weapon in the Cold War. Many seemed to believe that a painting or other work of art, much like a surface-to-air missile, could be ‘‘aimed’’ and ‘‘fired’’ with no small degree of precision: ‘‘target’’ audiences were identified, the United States loaded up the most appropriate ‘‘weaponry’’ (modern art for some, more traditional art for others), and ‘‘launched’’ the art exhibits. In their view, art was merely another form of propaganda. It was not, of course. A Pollock or a Rothko was not a World War II recruiting poster. Government propaganda was designed with a message in mind. With art, U.S. o≈cials were trying to control the meaning and impact of something that, by its very nature, was essentially uncontrollable. Particularly when dealing with modern art and abstract expressionism, which tried to eschew any political connotations, American policymakers were faced with a situation in which the propaganda ‘‘product’’ necessarily had to be interpreted by the viewer. Glossy catalogs that espoused the idea that such art was representative of American freedom might have an impact; but they might not. As a Cold War weapon, then, art was terribly imprecise. And, of course, the art needed to be considered within a specific context in order for its propaganda value to be most successfully achieved. During the 1950s and early 1960s, the Department of State and usia worked diligently to establish that context. Art became a mirror of the Cold War world they wished to depict to their target audiences: in it, the viewer would see reflected the power of American democracy and freedom in contrast to the increasingly banal state-controlled art of the communist world. Yet, as U.S. o≈cials discovered to their great discomfort in the mid- to late 1960s, the very same art (and artists) that at one time could be held up as exemplary of the American system could just as quickly be used as a means to decry American imperialism and the war in Vietnam. Members of the American art world were, however, not entirely blameless in the ultimate failure of the international art program. While government o≈cials held on to the belief that they could indeed promote a political message with art, American artists, critics, curators, and others seemed to blithely believe that art, even when supported and sponsored by the government, could somehow be kept entirely free of any political connotations. At best, this type of thinking was somewhat naive. At worst, it involved the American art community in a web of hypocrisy. Hoping to encourage government support of an international art program, advocates soon jettisoned proclamations about art as an international language or a healing force for a crippled world. When their 236

CONCLUSION

early attempts, such as Advancing American Art, fell prey to Red Scare politics, that message quickly changed. Alfred Barr and others went to great lengths to distance American art from any possible connection to subversive or communist organizations or thinking, to ‘‘depoliticize’’ the art. Almost simultaneously, to encourage government support of their efforts, they began to emphasize the idea of art as a powerful weapon in the Cold War. In doing so, they perhaps inadvertently destroyed their original intentions for art in the international field. By arguing for the anticommunist appeal of American art, they de facto gave it a political meaning, thus weakening their position that art should be judged simply as art. In addition, this ‘‘politicization’’ of art by members of the American art world worked at cross purposes with their stated desire to have art serve as an ‘‘international’’ language that transcended borders and ideologies. Their arguments in support of art as a Cold War weapon made a mockery of that desire. For those arguments to make sense art could hardly be neutral; it had to ‘‘take sides’’ in the battle between democracy and communism. Furthermore, the arguments rested on the assumption that only American art had the power and presence to send the desired message. Indeed, in some of their statements, members of the U.S. art community adopted what one might call an ‘‘artistic jingoism’’ to publicize American art. Calling New York the ‘‘center of the art world’’ became as much a political slogan as an artistic assessment. Throughout the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, it appeared that the international art program had lost its direction and focus. As a State Department report noted in 2000, ‘‘In the face of budget cuts and the push for balanced budgets in the 1990s, usia was faced with tough decisions and had to cut valuable programs.’’ One of these was the art program. In 1999, the usia was folded into the Department of State. The move did not reinvigorate the arts program. ‘‘The budget for cultural presentations in FY-2000 is almost exactly what it was in the 1954–1962 period—about $2 million annually—but in dollars not adjusted for inflation.’’ What the report failed to note was that in the period 1954–62 dozens of U.S. art exhibits circled the globe. By 2000, the Department of State had to be satisfied with supporting a twelve-nation tour of an Andy Warhol retrospective.∞ Perhaps in part the gradual dissolution of the international art program after 1970 was due to the fact that so many of the leading figures of the American art world who participated in the earlier successes and controversies surrounding the program were gone by that time. Many of the most modern and/or ‘‘subversive’’ of the American artists had passed CONCLUSION

237

away: Gorky in 1948, Kuniyoshi in 1953, Pollock in 1956, Shahn in 1969, and Rothko in 1970. Goodrich lived until 1987, but he left the Whitney Museum in 1971 when he was nearing seventy-five and devoted the rest of his life to writing studies of major American artists. Eloise Spaeth outlived them all, passing away in 1998 at the age of ninety-six, but the energy she demonstrated in the 1940s and 1950s slowly evaporated. And the two men who led the charge against the program in Congress were also gone. Walter died in 1963; Dondero followed him in 1968. In a somewhat ironic turn of events, by 1978 most of the artists who had been located at the center of controversy in the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s found themselves prominently displayed in the new ‘‘modern’’ addition to the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. Today, the ‘‘controversial’’ art of the moderns and the abstract expressionists is viewed by millions every year. What e√ectively stalled, and eventually destroyed, the international art program, however, was its failure to adequately resolve a major internal ideological conflict. This conflict revolved around the art as propaganda versus art as art debate. The program was never merely a propaganda tool, because the necessity to involve experts from the American art world and maintain the support of organizations such as the American Federation of Arts prevented this. Nevertheless, it never became what those art lovers wished it to be—art for art’s sake—because of the necessity of obtaining government support for the e√ort. The art world would not support an e√ort to use art as simply a state-supported vehicle for the delivery of appropriate ‘‘messages.’’ The government had little interest in supporting a program (particularly one as controversial as the art program) that did not serve definite national interests. When artists and art organizations felt that the government was trying to censor or control the art, they rebelled. When the State Department, the usia, or, to a lesser extent, the iap, came to believe that the art (or artists) was sending a wrong or ine√ective message, their eagerness to support the initiative quickly faded. The two and a half decades after World War II witnessed a frustrating, often angry, sometimes ine√ectual, and—to be perfectly honest—often touching attempt to come to some sort of ‘‘gentleman’s agreement’’ concerning the international art program. That both sides failed to do so in the pressure cooker of domestic and international politics superheated by the Cold War is certainly regrettable, but also understandable. Just as the Cold War shaped the direction and focus of so many of the debates in the United States concerning politics, economics, and defense, it should come as no surprise that it also exerted pressure on the debates involving art and culture. In the end, the international art 238

CONCLUSION

program provided neither an ideological ‘‘fallout shelter’’ for American propagandists, nor an avenue for speaking to the ‘‘human spirit’’ so desired by American art lovers. ART IS MEANT TO DISTURB

And yet. . . . It seems somehow sad and wrong to end a book on something so naturally uplifting, so meaningful, and so human as American art on a note of despair and surrender. If nothing else, the work of the international art program certainly fulfilled the dictum of the artist Georges Braque: ‘‘Art is meant to disturb.’’ For twenty-five years, the art displayed by the international art program certainly disturbed. It infuriated congressmen and conservative art groups that condemned the modern and abstract art and charged that the artists were subversives or even communists. State Department and usia o≈cials were disturbed by these criticisms, but also by the demands for more ‘‘professional’’ control of the program from individuals such as Lloyd Goodrich and organizations such as the afa. Goodrich, Spaeth, the afa, and other representatives from the American art world were disturbed by e√orts to censor the art or artists and the reluctance of the government to more fully support the international art program. Many Europeans were disturbed by the ‘‘upstart’’ Americans and their claims that New York had now replaced Paris as the art capital of the world. Some foreign audiences were disturbed (or, more correctly, confused) by much of the modern art sent overseas by the United States. And the Soviets were perhaps more disturbed than anyone. The modern art of America, which eventually found its way to Moscow in 1959, was ‘‘bourgeois’’ and seemed to be symptomatic of a deep and threatening mental psychosis. Certainly Braque would agree that disturbance is not the only purpose of art. Allow me to conclude this study with two examples that showed, in their own small ways, what art could also do, even when battered and bruised by the Cold War. In early 1964, Margaret Cogswell embarked on an adventure of a lifetime. She had worked with the afa’s international art program since the 1950s, and in this capacity had occasionally been asked to travel overseas to coordinate or organize exhibitions. Now, in 1964, she found herself involved in a new project, Communication Through Art. The program was a joint e√ort, with the private Benjamin and Abby Grey Foundation of St. Paul and Minneapolis, Minnesota providing the funding, organization provided by the afa, all operating under the auspices of CONCLUSION

239

usia. The basic idea was an interesting one. Three noted American art experts were responsible for organizing three separate exhibits of American art: one for Pakistan (graphics), one for Turkey (works on paper), and one for Iran (works by American women). However, Communication Through Art would be more than simply another exhibition of American art in a foreign country. usis posts were also encouraged to secure exhibits of local artists, to arrange talks between the Americans traveling with the exhibits and local art students, critics, museum directors, and government o≈cials responsible for cultural a√airs, and organize discussion panels during which the Americans and the locals could ‘‘communicate through art.’’ Cogswell accompanied the program as it made its way through the three nations. It was sometimes a trying experience. In Istanbul, the works were hung ‘‘in a large, freezing, central hall.’’ Photographs of the artists which were intended to accompany the works of art were missing. Various art books which were supposed to be used to spark additional interest were instead displayed in locked cases. When the show traveled to Ankara, matters improved somewhat, but the tight time schedule prevented Cogswell from making the contacts she wished. It was then on to Istanbul, where the American art again found itself in a ‘‘long, narrow, freezing gallery.’’ The catalog was printed with the introduction intended to accompany the show in Pakistan. It was in Pakistan, according to Cogswell, that the ‘‘possibilities of the project seemed to be most closely realized.’’ The American works of art were shown in conjunction with an exhibit of works by thirteen Pakistani artists. The books were ‘‘spread out freely on a table.’’ A large but friendly opening ceremony was held to inaugurate the exhibition. For Cogswell, however, the most exciting parts of the trip were two panel discussions, one on ‘‘contemporary American art’’ and one on ‘‘contemporary Pakistani art.’’ She reported, ‘‘there was an extraordinary exchange of views and outpouring of thoughts.’’ There was also a lecture on abstract expressionism. Cogswell remarked that it was ‘‘curious to see how remote the excitement of this painting seemed at first (to us as well as to the Pakistanis); and yet, as we talked about it, and about ourselves to each other, it became more vivid and tangible. . . . a long dialogue had resulted in understanding on both our sides.’’ The rest of the visit was taken up with trips to local Pakistani art schools and universities and a special party hosted by usis for Pakistani artists. Cogswell reflected on the meaning of Communication Through Art after her arrival back in America. As she drove into New York from the airport, watching the numerous signs telling her where to turn and what 240

CONCLUSION

The Communication Through Art exhibit in Lahore, Pakistan, February 1964. In addition to Pakistani o≈cials, the group includes Margaret Cogswell of the American Federation of Arts (second from right) and Carl Gebuhr of the Public A√airs O≈ce of usis, Lahore (far right). (Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 321, Box 108, folder ‘‘Communication Through Art’’ [2004-50608])

speed to travel and warning her of possible dangers, she mused on a memorable ‘‘midnight ride by moonlight from Agra and the Taj Mahal to New Delhi at relatively breakneck speed along a road that had no signs, but was encumbered with bullock carts, peacocks and speeding trucks. It was up to the driver to avoid them—he did.’’ She wondered whether on occasion ‘‘our cultural representatives seemed to confuse events with experiences, and applied cool reason and abstract planning when warm feelings would have been more appropriate.’’ The ‘‘bureaucratic structure of government’’ often seemed to intrude into the more important business of Communication Through Art : ‘‘its planning and evaluation techniques based on facts and figures leads to planning occasions specifically created to produce facts and figures, regardless of content.’’ She realized that a ‘‘specific program must be mapped out,’’ but she accentuated the role of the individual instead of the bureaucracy, the importance of feeling rather than fact. The exhibit ‘‘has shown that communication can occur, through art, between countries.’’ As she concluded, ‘‘In a tumultuous CONCLUSION

241

One of the seminars scheduled as part of the Communication Through Art exhibit in Lahore, Pakistan, February 1964. A note on the back of the photograph states that the seminar ‘‘created lively audience participation. Many members sitting on the edges of their seats, challenged the panels, and pronounced their own opinions about contemporary art.’’ Those seated on the stage include John Ferren, the American art expert for the show on graphics, Fulbright professor Dr. Ilona Elinger, and Margaret Cogswell of the American Federation of Arts. (Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 321, Box 105, folder ‘‘Communication Through Art’’ [2004-50607])

world, art is one of the lifelines which we throw out to each other— lifelines of shared experience and understanding. To try and do this—and to discover ways of doing it better—is what Communication Through Art was for.’’≤ A few years before Cogswell’s journey, and just three weeks after the 1959 American National Exhibition in Moscow closed down, two Russian engineers who were visiting the United States stopped by the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. Eleanor Mitchell, who worked at the People to People program o≈ce then located in the gallery, o√ered to show them around the collections. For the next hour, they looked at and discussed works by Rembrandt, Degas, Gainsborough, Renoir, Monet, Pissarro, and other masters. The Russians then indicated that they wished to see some ‘‘contemporary American paintings.’’ They liked the ‘‘earlier 242

CONCLUSION

20th century landscapes’’ but ‘‘shrugged their shoulders’’ in ‘‘amusement’’ at the abstract art. At the end of the tour, the two visitors noted that they wished to return the next day and leave a gift for their hostess. She ‘‘wished them a happy journey,’’ and they left.≥ And that was all there was to it. For an hour, these three people from very di√erent nations and cultures ceased to be communist sympathizers, or symbols of democracy and freedom, or agents of imperialism. They were simply three individuals, looking at the pictures and suggesting that if art is meant to disturb, it is also meant to reach out and touch the common humanity of all people.

CONCLUSION

243

This page intentionally left blank

NOTES

abbreviations In addition to the abbreviations used in the text, the following abbreviations are used in the notes. AAA Archives of American Art, Washington, D.C. ACLS American Council of Learned Societies AFA American Federation of Arts ASS/PA Assistant Secretary of State for Public A√airs CFA Commission on Fine Arts CGA Committee on Government and Art DDEL Dwight D. Eisenhower Library, Abilene, Kans. DF Decimal File GA/NGA Gallery Archives, Archives of the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. ICA Institute of Contemporary Art IEP Division of Exchange of Persons IFI/E International Information Administration, European Field Programs LBJL Lyndon Baines Johnson Presidential Library, Austin, Tex. LC Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. NA National Archives, College Park, Md. NGA National Gallery of Art OF O≈cial File RBL Ralph Bunche Library, Department of State, Washington, D.C. RCEFC Records Concerning Exhibits in Foreign Countries RG Record Group RU Record Unit SIA Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, D.C. USIA HC United States Information Agency Historical Collection, Washington, D.C. WHCF White House Central Files

introduction 1 2

‘‘Foreword,’’ c. 1962, Papers of Lloyd Goodrich, box 2, National Committee on Government and Art file, AAA. Hixson, Parting the Curtain, is the best single volume on the variety and scope of

3

4

5

6

America’s cultural diplomacy undertakings after World War II; also see, Poiger, Jazz, Rock, and Rebels; Prevots, Dance for Export. A great contribution to this literature will be Penny M. Von Eschen, Satchmo Blows Up the World: Jazz Ambassadors Play the Cold War, forthcoming from Harvard University Press. The most recent study is Dijkstra, American Expressionism, but other important works include Stich, Made in U.S.A; Wood, Frascina, Harris, and Harrison, Modernism in Dispute; Craven, Abstract Expressionism as Cultural Critique. Scott-Smith, The Politics of Apolitical Culture. Also see Lucas, Freedom’s War ; Wilford and Caute, The CIA, the British Left ; and Gienow-Hecht, Transmission Impossible. For studies that touch most directly on the overseas art program, Hobbs, End of the American Avant Garde, Ch. 6, discusses the ‘‘appropriation’’ of modern and abstract art by the U.S. government and the use of many artists as ‘‘weapons in the Cold War of ideas’’ (pp. 121–22). Guilbaut, How New York Stole; Cockroft, ‘‘Abstract Expressionism’’; and Mathews, ‘‘Art and Politics,’’ have also examined the ways in which modern art became ensnared in America’s Cold War politics during the late 1940s and 1950s. Saunders, Who Paid the Piper, has been the most controversial, but in many ways least convincing, of these recent studies. As this study will indicate, some of the most popular and important American overseas art shows featured a great deal of pre-1945 paintings. And, while Europe was certainly an important target for American art exhibits, they traveled literally around the world—to Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and Latin America. Saunders overlooks one very important element in the sending of American modern art overseas: foreign audiences consistently requested such works. Although there were certainly some negative reviews of America’s modern art from foreign critics and viewers, the fact remained that American modern and abstract art was what the overseas audience demanded again and again. For the best overview of MOMA’s International Council, which was responsible for organizing its overseas art shows, see Jachec, Politics of Abstract Expressionism, Ch. 4. She finds no evidence of CIA support or sponsorship of the council’s activities. Eloise Spaeth, ‘‘What America Now Does and Might Do to Meet Cultural Responsibilities Abroad,’’ 1 June 1951, RU 316, box 16, AFA file, SIA.

chapter 1 1 2 3

4 5 246

Finley, A Standard of Excellence, 3; Roosevelt’s address is reprinted in ‘‘Art and the People,’’ Recreation 35 (Apr. 1941): 35–36. William Macneile Dixon, ‘‘Civilization and the Arts,’’ Fortune, Apr. 1943, 113–14, 120, 123–24, 126, 128, 130, 132, 134. Duncan Phillips, ‘‘The Place of the Arts in the World Today,’’ Bulletin of the Phillips Memorial Gallery, Jan. 1941, n.p., Archives and Library, Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C. ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Arts Digest, 15 Dec. 1941, 3; Alfred M. Frankfurter, ‘‘Vernissage,’’ Art News, 15–28 Feb. 1943, 7. Aldous Huxley, ‘‘Art and Letters: War and Peace,’’ Art News, 15–30 Nov. 1943, 9, 24; NOTES TO PAGES 4 – 12

6

7

8

9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

18

Alfred G. Pelikan, ‘‘Art, A Factor for International Peace,’’ Education 66 (Feb. 1946): 354; E. M. Benson, ‘‘Viewpoints: The Role of Art in a Democracy,’’ Magazine of Art, Feb. 1945, 54. James T. Soby, ‘‘The Collection of the Museum of Modern Art: Four Basic Principles,’’ Art in America, 1944, 230; ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Art Digest, 15 Dec. 1945, 3; Deshmukh, ‘‘Cultural Migration,’’ 266, 281–83. For more on the European migration to America and the rise of New York as the center of the art world, see Pells, Not Like Us; Crane, The Transformation of the Avant-Garde; Duignan and Gann, The Rebirth of the West ; Naifeh, Culture Making; Guilbaut, How New York Stole; Wood, Frascina, Harris, and Harrison, Modernism in Dispute. ‘‘The Great Flight of Culture,’’ Fortune, Dec. 1941, 102–15 (the article was followed by reproductions of works by twelve of the immigrant artists, including Mondrian, Chagall, and Masson); Archibald MacLeish, ‘‘America’s Duty to French Culture,’’ Saturday Review of Literature, 14 Nov. 1942, 5–6, 18; ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Art Digest, 15 Dec. 1941, 3. Stuart Davis, ‘‘What About Modern Art and Democracy?,’’ Harper’s Magazine, Dec. 1943, 16; ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Art Digest, 15 Dec. 1945, 3; Frederic Taubes, ‘‘Do We Have a National Art?,’’ American Artist, Oct. 1947, 30. Sandler, The Triumph of American Painting, 79, 218; Baigell, Concise History of American Painting, 302. Leith, The Idea of Art as Propaganda, 3, 157–60; Porterfield, The Allure of Empire, 4–5; Adamthwaite, Grandeur and Misery, 173–75. Borzello, Civilising Caliban, 4. Miller and Yúdice, Cultural Policy, 39; Barghoorn, The Soviet Cultural O√ensive, 4. Barghoorn, The Soviet Cultural O√ensive, Chs. 1, 2; Miller and Yúdice, Cultural Policy, 108–12; Clark, Art and Propaganda, Ch. 3. Fryd, Art and Empire, 62–89. For studies of the Federal Art Project see McKinzie, The New Deal for Artists; O’Connor, Federal Support for the Visual Arts; and Park and Markowitz, New Deal for Art. For an interesting analysis comparing the U.S., British, and German propaganda e√orts during World Wars I and II, see Clark, Art and Propaganda, 102–15. Finley, A Standard of Excellence, 148. For the best introduction to the early e√orts of the Department of State in the field of cultural diplomacy, see Ninkovich, ‘‘The Currents of Cultural Diplomacy,’’ and The Diplomacy of Ideas. Also see ‘‘The Division of Cultural Relations of the Department of State,’’ n.d., RU 311, box 17, State, U.S. Dept. of, 1907, 1921–25, 1929, 1939–41, 1943–44, 1946–47 folder, SIA; Eleanor Powell, ‘‘Background on Department’s Former Art Program and its Consequences,’’ Nov. 1952, RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1952–70 [2 of 2] folder, SIA; Sandra C. Sha√er, ‘‘American Art Abroad, 1946–1966,’’ June–July 1967, RU 321, box 8, Background Materials and Research on Organizing and Sending Exhibitions Abroad folder, SIA; ‘‘Report of the Inter-American O≈ce, National Gallery of Art, January 1944–May 1946,’’ 1 May 1946, RG 59, Records of the IEP, General Records, 1941–44, box 3, NGA file, NA. ‘‘Report of the Inter-American O≈ce, National Gallery of Art, January 1944–May

NOTES TO PAGES 12 – 18

247

19

20

21 22

23

24

25

248

1946,’’ 1 May 1946, RG 59, Records of the IEP, General Records, 1941–44, box 3, NGA file, NA; MacLeish to General Holmes, 26 May 1945, RG 59, Records of the Assistant Secretary of State for Public A√airs and Cultural Relations (Archibald MacLeish), 1945, box 2, Apr.–May 1945 folder, NA. Advisory Committee on Art, Division of Cultural Cooperation, Department of State, ‘‘Minutes of Meeting of February 2 and 3, 1945,’’ Feb. 1945, RG 59, 114.46-Art/2-345, NA; ‘‘Remarks of Thomas Munro at Art Advisory Committee Meeting, Department of State, February 3, 1945,’’ Records of ACLS, box B92, Fine Arts Committee folder, LC. Daniel Catton Rich, ‘‘American Representation in Art at International Exhibitions Since 1900,’’ May 1945, Records of ACLS, box B92, Fine Art Committee folder, LC; Davidson to Heindel and Morris, 29 Mar. 1946, RG 59, Records of the IEP, General Records, 1941–44, box 3, NGA file, NA. ‘‘Vernissage,’’ Art News, 1–14 Mar. 1944, 7; ‘‘Vernissage,’’ Art News, 15–31 Mar. 1944, 7. Walker to Arnason, 11 June 1946, Papers of David Finley, box 21, subject file: NGA: Correspondence, Jan.–June 1946 and July–Dec. 1946 files, LC; Walker to Finley, 14 June 1946, ibid.; Finley to Walker, 3 July 1946, ibid. Advisory Committee on Art, ‘‘Minutes of Meeting of February 2 and 3, 1945,’’ Feb. 1945, RG 59, 114.46-Art/2-345, NA; Rich, ‘‘American Representation in Art at International Exhibitions Since 1900,’’ May 1945, Papers of ACLS, box B92, Fine Arts Committee folder, LC; Carl Sauer to Margaret Garrett, 24 Oct. 1945, RG 59, 810.42711(A)/ 10-2445, NA; William Barss to J. LeRoy Davidson, 16 May 1946, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art-Material Originally Sent to Busbey folder, NA. The USIS had been established during World War II as the overseas operation of the O≈ce of War Information (OWI). When OWI was closed down in late 1945, many USIS posts abroad were closed down; those remaining were transferred to the control of the Department of State. Following the establishment of the United States Information Agency in 1953, USIS operations were placed under the new agency’s direction. For a list of the selection committee for the exhibition, see the catalog for the show, American Painting from the Eighteenth Century to the Present, in Finley Papers, box 21, subject file: NGA: Correspondence, Jan.–June 1946 folder, LC; Esman to Johnson, 5 Aug. 1946, RG 59, Records of the IEP, General Records, 1941–44, box 3, Tate Show folder, NA; Edward Alden Jewell, ‘‘Americans at the Tate,’’ New York Times, 25 Aug. 1946, sec. 2, p. 8; John Anthony Thwaites, ‘‘London Letter: The Tate Show: Misrepresenting American Art,’’ Magazine of Art, Dec. 1946, 382; ‘‘Americans Abroad,’’ Art Digest, 1 July 1946, 17. ‘‘Londoners to See U.S. Art After War,’’ New York Times, 11 Mar. 1945, 37; ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Art Digest, 15 May 1946, 3; Charles Page to Charles Child, 12 Dec. 1945, RG 59, 811.403/12–1245, NA; Ralph M. Pearson, ‘‘A Modern Viewpoint,’’ Art Digest, 15 Sept. 1946, 25; John Anthony Thwaites, ‘‘London Letter: The Tate Show: Misrepresenting American Art,’’ Magazine of Art, Dec. 1946, 382; ‘‘Sample Extracts from Letters and Various Art Specialists,’’ n.d. (late 1946), RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA.

NOTES TO PAGES 20 – 25

26 27

28

29

30 31

32

33

34

Walker to Finley, 14 June 1946, Finley Papers, box 21, subject file: NGA: Correspondence, Jan.–June 1946 folder, LC. For the two most complete studies of the Advancing American Art exhibit, see Ausfeld and Mecklenburg, Advancing American Art ; and Littleton and Sykes, Advancing American Art. Also see Ninkovich’s important article, ‘‘The Currents of Cultural Diplomacy.’’ Although Advancing American Art was certainly the largest and most famous of these early exhibits, by early 1947 a number of original print, watercolor, and painting exhibitions were being assembled or sponsored by the Department of State. For example, Sixty Americans Since 1800, a collection of sixty paintings owned by IBM, was sent to Cairo in January 1947. (See ‘‘Condensed List of Exhibitions Currently in the Art Program of the Department of State,’’ 21 Jan. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA. ‘‘Statement on Advancing American Art,’’ 21 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; ‘‘Memorandum Prepared by OIC in Answer to Questions contained in Letter of Representative Fred E. Busbey, Dated March 28 to Mr. Benton,’’ ibid.; information on and list of the watercolors are found in ‘‘Statement on Advancing American Art,’’ 21 Feb. 1947, ibid. Ausfeld and Mecklenburg, Advancing American Art, 13–14; ‘‘Statement on Advancing American Art,’’ 21 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; a brief biography of Davidson can be found at [http://sunsite.berkeley. edu2020/dynaweb/teiproj/uchist/inmemoriam/inmemoriam1980/@Generic—Book TextView/1128;HF=0xpt=1128]. (12 Feb. 2004). Assistant Secretary William Benton to Representative Fred E. Busbey, 2 Apr. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, ASNE folder, NA. ‘‘Memorandum on Art Program of the O≈ce of International Information and Cultural A√airs,’’ 18 Feb. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC; Benton to Busbey, 2 Apr. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, ASNE folder, NA; Kenneth Holland to William T. Stone and William Benton, 10 Mar. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. William Benton to Howland S. Sargeant, 20 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, ASNE file, NA; Holland to Stone and Benton, 10 Mar. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC; ‘‘Statement on Advancing American Art,’’ 21 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA. ‘‘Questions concerning the Department’s Art Program asked by Edward Alden Jewell in The New York Times, June 15, 1947, with answers,’’ July 1947, attached to Lawrence Morris to G. Stewart Brown, 15 July 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm), AAA. For more on socialist realist art, see James, Soviet Socialist Realism; Bown, Art Under Stalin; Bown, Socialist Realist Painting; Baudin, ‘‘ ‘Why is Soviet Painting Hidden.’ ’’ Also see Baigell and Baigell, Soviet Dissident Artists, which is a fascinating collection of interviews with Russian artists, many of whom comment at length about the strictures imposed by socialist realism.

NOTES TO PAGES 26 – 29

249

35 36 37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

250

Peggy F. Crawford, ‘‘Washington Newsletter,’’ Art Digest, 1 June 1946, 20, 30; ‘‘Art News of Washington,’’ Art News, July 1946, 52. Alfred M. Frankfurter, ‘‘American Art Abroad: The State Department Collection,’’ Art News, Oct. 1946, 21–31, 78. ‘‘State Department Sends New Type U.S. Art Show Abroad,’’ Washington Post, 27 Oct. 1946, 5S; Ralph Pearson, ‘‘A Modern Viewpoint,’’ Art Digest, 15 Oct. 1946, 29; Edward Alden Jewell, ‘‘Eyes To The Left,’’ New York Times, 6 Oct. 1946, sec. 2, p. 8; Clement Greenberg, ‘‘Art,’’ Nation, 23 Nov. 1946, 593–94; ‘‘Americans Abroad,’’ Magazine of Art, Jan. 1947, 21. ‘‘Memorandum on Art Program of the O≈ce of International Information and Cultural A√airs,’’ 18 Feb. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC; ‘‘Statement on Advancing American Art,’’ 21 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; ‘‘Sample Extracts from Letters from Various Art Specialists,’’ c. Oct. 1946, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; J. L. Davidson to William Benton, 4 Oct. 1946, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. ‘‘Memorandum on Art Program of the O≈ce of International Information and Cultural A√airs,’’ 18 Feb. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. ‘‘Memorandum on Art Program of the O≈ce of International Information and Cultural A√airs,’’ 18 Feb. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC; ‘‘Statement on Advancing American Art,’’ 21 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; ‘‘Samples of Reports from Paris,’’ c. late 1946/early 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–1950, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA. ‘‘Statement on Advancing American Art,’’ 21 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; ‘‘Questions concerning the Department’s Art Program asked by Edward Alden Jewell in The New York Times, June 15, 1947, with answers,’’ July 1947, attached to Lawrence Morris to G. Stewart Brown, 16 July 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA. ‘‘Questions concerning the Department’s Art Program asked by Edward Alden Jewell in The New York Times, June 15, 1947, with answers,’’ July 1947, attached to Lawrence Morris to G. Stewart Brown, 16 July 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA; Laurence Steinhardt to Secretary of State, 6 May 1947, RG 59, DF, 811.42700(A)/5–647, NA; Littleton and Sykes, Advancing American Art, 33; Ausfeld and Mecklenburg, Advancing American Art, 17. Steinhardt to Secretary of State, 19 Apr. 1947, RG 59, DF, 811.42700(A)/4–1847, NA; ‘‘Questions concerning the Department’s Art Program asked by Edward Alden Jewell in The New York Times, June 15, 1947, with answers,’’ July 1947, attached to Lawrence Morris to G. Stewart Brown, 16 July 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm edition), AAA. Richard Heindel to William Benton, 6 Oct. 1946, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA. NOTES TO PAGES 30 – 35

45 46

47 48 49

50 51

52

53 54

55

56

57

Emily Genauer, ‘‘Art,’’ Ladies’ Home Journal, Nov. 1946, 103. ‘‘League Protests to the Department of State,’’ Art Digest, 15 Dec. 1946, 32; ‘‘Your Money Bought These Paintings,’’ Look, 18 Feb. 1947, 80–81; J. LeRoy Davidson to Susan Sivard, 12 Aug. 1977, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA; Ausfeld and Mecklenburg, Advancing American Art, 19–21. ‘‘Fulton Lewis, Jr., 2/5/47,’’ transcript of a radio broadcast, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. Oliver McKee to William Benton, 12 Feb. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. John Taber to George C. Marshall, 4 Feb. 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA; Fred Busbey to William Benton, 1 Mar. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; Benton to Busbey, 14 Mar. 1947, ibid.; Busbey to Benton, 28 Mar. 1947, ibid. The object of many of the criticisms, J. LeRoy Davidson, took on a forgiving tone when discussing the matter years later. Taber ‘‘was not really against it so much as he was overwhelmed by his constituents.’’ Busbey, he believed, was ‘‘honestly confused’’ and later apologized to Davidson about comments he made in a speech in Congress. Nevertheless, Busbey ‘‘truly believed that ‘it’s the women with green faces—it’s a communist plot to undermine faith in American womanhood.’ ’’ (See Davidson to Sivard, 12 Aug. 1977, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA.) For the art program budget, see Benton to Secretary Marshall, 10 Feb. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. Whitfield, Culture of the Cold War, is the best analysis of the impact of the Cold War on various aspects of American art and culture. For the HUAC hearings into the movie industry, see his Ch. 6. Also consult May, ‘‘Movie Star Politics.’’ Schrecker, Many Are the Crimes, also attempts to put the attacks on American culture and art into the broader context of the Red Scare. Davidson to Sivard, 12 Aug. 1977, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA; William Benton to Colonel McKee, 10 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; Benton to Marshall, 10 Feb. 1947, ibid. Benton statement attached to Brown to Sargeant, 12 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA. ‘‘Memorandum on Art Program of the O≈ce of International Information and Cultural A√airs,’’ 18 Feb. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC; Benton to Sargeant, 20 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, ASNE folder, NA. Benton to Marshall, 24 Feb. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, ASNE folder, NA; Benton to Hulten and Peurifoy, 24 Feb. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. Kenneth Holland, Carl A. Sauer, and Lawrence Morris to G. Stewart Brown, William T. Stone, and William Benton, 26 Feb. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. Holland to Stone and Benton, 10 Mar. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50,

NOTES TO PAGES 36 – 43

251

58 59

60

61

62

252

subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; Busbey to Benton, 1 Mar. 1947, ibid.; Benton to Busbey, 14 Mar. 1947, ibid.; Busbey to Benton, 28 Mar. 1947, ibid.; ‘‘Memorandum Prepared by ILI in Answer to Questions Contained in Letter of Representative Fred E. Busbey, Dated March 28, to Mr. Benton,’’ n.d, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1947–50, box 2, Congress-Background Information for Committees, 1947, NA; Benton to Busbey, 2 Apr. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. Davidson was informed on 1 April that his position was being eliminated and his resignation accepted, both e√ective 30 April: see Richard Heindel to Davidson, 1 Apr. 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA. Heindel to McKee, Holland, and Bourne, 1 Apr. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945– 50, subject file, box 7, ASNE folder, NA. Truman to Benton, 2 Apr. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. Truman’s ‘‘Hottentot’’ quote is found in Ausfeld and Mecklenburg, Advancing American Art, 20. Ausfeld and Mecklenburg, Advancing American Art, 23; ‘‘House Group Kills Program of U.S. Broadcasts Abroad,’’ New York Times, 24 Apr. 1947, 1; Heindel to Davidson, 1 Apr. 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA; Mathews, ‘‘Art and Politics,’’ 778; ‘‘Questions concerning the Department’s Art Program asked by Edward Alden Jewell in The New York Times, June 15, 1947, with answers,’’ July 1947, attached to Morris to Brown, 16 July 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA; Marshall to U.S. Embassy, Prague, 11 June 1947, RG 59, DF, 811.42700(A)/6–1147, NA. Davidson went on to a successful academic career as a professor of art. Heindel, who stood by Davidson during the entire episode, resigned in June, citing an ‘‘accumulation of frustrations’’ and the ‘‘taint’’ of the decision on Advancing American Art. (See Howe to Benton, 9 June 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA.) Although Mathews and Ausfeld and Mecklenburg contend that Marshall’s famous statement came out of his congressional testimony, it appears more likely that the source of the quote is a brief piece in Time, 14 Apr. 1947, 53, which noted that, ‘‘Secretary Marshall, who doesn’t know much about art but knows what he doesn’t like, made a hurried decision before he left for Moscow. His order: no more taxpayers’ money for modern art.’’ Holland to Stone and Benton, 3 June 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA; Benton to Holland, 15 July 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; Benton to Marshall, 30 Sept. 1947, Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC. Benton announced his retirement on 24 Sept. 1947 (see ‘‘Benton Quits Post as Marshall Aide,’’ New York Times, 25 Sept. 1947, 4). Ausfeld and Mecklenburg, Advancing American Art, 25; Carl Sauer to Bruce McDaniel, 8 Apr. 1948, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA; Morris to Holland, 28 Jan. 1948; ‘‘Catalog of 117 Oil and Water Color Originals by Leading American Artists o√ered for sale at sealed bid by War Assets Administration,’’ n.d., RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; American Federation of Arts, ‘‘Concerning WAA Sales—No. WAX-5025,’’ 25 June 1948, Papers of the AFA, box 5, Correspondence, June–Sept. 1948 folder, AAA; Sauer to Allen, 2 July 1948, NOTES TO PAGES 43 – 45

63 64

65 66

67

68

Exhibitions section, Advancing American Art file, USIA HC; Littleton and Sykes, Advancing American Art, 60–61. Ausfeld and Mecklenburg, Advancing American Art, 25–26; Mathews, ‘‘Art and Politics,’’ 778; Ninkovich, ‘‘The Currents of Cultural Diplomacy,’’ 236. ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Art Digest, 15 Apr. 1947, 7; Edward Alden Jewell, ‘‘A Crisis,’’ New York Times, 13 Apr. 1947, sec. 2, p. 10; Edward Alden Jewell, ‘‘The Art Crisis Grows,’’ ibid., 11 May 1947, sec. 2, p. 7; Jo Gibbs, ‘‘State Department Art Classed as War Surplus,’’ Art Digest, 1 June 1948, 9, 37. ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Art Digest, 15 Apr. 1947, 7; Ralph Pearson, ‘‘A Modern Viewpoint,’’ Art Digest, 15 Dec. 1946; and 9 Oct. 1947, 25, 29. Morley’s comments are found in ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Art Digest, 1 June 1947, 7; Sweeney’s comments are found in ‘‘Artists Protest Halting Art Tour,’’ New York Times, 6 May 1947, 24; and ‘‘Memorandum of Conversation with Mr. James Johnson Sweeney,’’ 14 Oct. 1947, attached to Kenneth Holland to Brown, Stone, and Sargeant, 29 Oct. 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; ‘‘We Regret,’’ Magazine of Art, May 1947, 3; ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Art Digest, 1 May 1947, 7; American Veterans Committee to General George C. Marshall, 22 May 1947, Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA. Alfred M. Frankfurter, ‘‘Vernissage,’’ Art News, May 1947, 13; Norman Barr to William Benton, 2 May 1947, RG 59, Records of ASS/PA, 1945–50, subject file, box 7, Art folder, NA; American Federation of Arts, ‘‘Copy of letter with attachment sent to over 400 art museums, galleries and associations, comprising the Institutional and Chapter Membership of The American Federation of Arts,’’ 11 Mar. 1947, Papers of AFA, box 5, General Correspondence, Jan.–June 1947, AAA; Childs’s comments are found in ‘‘Peyton Boswell Comments,’’ Art Digest, 1 May 1947, 7. Peppino Mangravite, ‘‘Freedom of Expression,’’ American Artist, Sept. 1947, 47.

chapter 2 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Eloise Spaeth, ‘‘What America Now Does and Might Do to Meet Cultural Responsibilities Abroad,’’ 1 June 1951, RU 316, box 16, AFA folder, SIA. Oral history, Dr. Grace Morley, 6 Feb. and 24 Mar. 1982, 25, AAA; Irwin Edman, ‘‘The Civilizing Influence of Art,’’ Art News, Apr. 1947, 17, 52. Archibald MacLeish, ‘‘Museums and World Peace,’’ Magazine of Art, Jan. 1947, 31–33 (italics in original). ‘‘Ben Shahn,’’ Magazine of Art, Nov. 1949, 266; ‘‘Lloyd Goodrich,’’ Magazine of Art, Mar. 1949, 90. Eloise Spaeth, untitled statement, c. 1952, Papers of Eloise Spaeth, box 1, AFA and Venice Biennale Correspondence file, AAA. Robert Goldwater, ‘‘Symposium: Government and Art,’’ Magazine of Art, Nov. 1950, 243; ‘‘James Thrall Soby,’’ ibid., 246. Lloyd Goodrich, ‘‘The Federal Government and Art,’’ Magazine of Art, Oct. 1948, 236; L. M. C. Smith, ‘‘Proposal for a Program for the International Exchange of Cultural

NOTES TO PAGES 45 – 55

253

8

9 10 11 12 13

14 15 16 17

18 19 20

21 22 23

254

Materials and Implementation Thereof,’’ 9 May 1951, Goodrich Papers, box 1, National Committee on the Arts and Government, Information Received, 1959–66 folder, AAA; Robert Goldwater, ‘‘Art And/Or Culture,’’ Magazine of Art, Jan. 1953, 2. Eloise Spaeth, ‘‘What America Now Does and Might Do to Meet Cultural Responsibilities Abroad,’’ 1 June 1951, RU 316, box 16, AFA folder, SIA; Otto Spaeth, ‘‘The Businessman and Art,’’ 18 Nov. 1953, Spaeth Papers, box 2, Eloise Spaeth-Reports and Speeches folder, AAA. Oskar Stonorov to Lawrence M. C. Smith, 20 Aug. 1951, Papers of John Walker, box 1, Committees: AFAI: Correspondence [1] folder, GA/NGA. ‘‘Is American Art Degraded?’’ name of journal not indicated, June 1948, 66, 81, found in Advancing American Art (microfilm collection), AAA. ‘‘A Statement on Modern Art,’’ Mar. 1950, Papers of James Plaut, box 2, Printed, 1948– 59 folder, AAA. Sidney Hook, ‘‘The Dangers in ‘Cultural Vigilantism,’ ’’ New York Times Magazine, 30 Sept. 1951, 9; ‘‘Just What Is Communistic Painting?’’ UN World, May 1948, 24. Alfred H. Barr Jr., ‘‘Is Modern Art Communistic?’’, New York Times Magazine, 14 Dec. 1952, 22; Barr to Cumming, 15 July 1953, Papers of the AFA, box 7, Trustees: Alfred H. Barr, Jr., 1952–1956 file, AAA. Robert Goldwater to Nancy Coldwell, 20 May 1952, Goodrich Papers, box 9, Magazine of Art, General Correspondence, 1949–52 file, AAA. James Thrall Soby, unnamed article as part of a ‘‘Symposium: Government and Art,’’ Magazine of Art, Nov. 1950, 247 (italics in original). Larson, The Reluctant Patron. ‘‘Resolution Submitted for Approval to the Participating Organizations,’’ c. 1950, attached to Goodrich to Finley, 21 Feb. 1950, Finley Papers, box 7, subject file, CFA: CGA, 1948–50 file, LC; ‘‘Minutes of the Meeting of the Committee on Government and Art, February 14, 1950,’’ ibid. In a short time, the o≈cial name of the organization became the National Committee on Government and Art. Goodrich, ‘‘To Members of the Committee on Government and Art,’’ 7 May 1951, Finley Papers, box 8, subject file: CFA: CGA, May 1951 file, LC. Finley to G. H. Edgell, 8 Mar. 1949, Finley Papers, box 7, subject file, CFA: CGA, 1948– 50, LC; draft of article contained in Finley to Dorothy Grafly, 14 Mar. 1950, ibid. Biddle to Finley, 17 Jan. 1951, Finley Papers, box 7, subject file, CFA: CGA, Jan.–Apr. 1951 file, LC; Letter to President Truman, 25 Jan. 1951, ibid.; Truman to Finley, 26 Jan. 1951, ibid. ‘‘Minutes of Meeting of the Commission of Fine Arts,’’ 20 Mar. 1951, Finley Papers, box 8, subject file, CFA: CGA, May 1951 file, LC. Goodrich, ‘‘The Committee on Government and Art,’’ n.d., Goodrich Papers, box 2, CGA: Facts and History file, AAA. The attendance figure of 10,000 can only be estimated. A report from U.S. o≈cials in Berlin indicated that over 5,000 people visited the exhibit during its first two weeks (the show lasted four weeks); a State Department report suggested that 500 people a

NOTES TO PAGES 55 – 64

24 25

26

27

28

29 30 31

32

33 34 35

36

day visited the show. For the best summary of the festival, see W. J. Egan to HICOG, Frankfurt, 4 Oct. 1951, RG 466, Berlin Element, Public A√airs Division, Classified Subject Files, 1949–53, C–E, box 2, Cultural Festival-1952 file, NA. For a complete list of the works shown at the exhibit, see ‘‘Berlin Festival: List of American Paintings and Prints,’’ n.d., Papers of AFA, box 66, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibitions: Berlin Festival, 1951 file, AAA. German press reaction to the show is found in Albert Hamilton to Burton Cummings, 25 Sept. 1951, ibid. W. J. Egan to HICOG, Frankfurt, 4 Oct. 1951, RG 466, Berlin Element, Public A√airs Division, Classified Subject Files, 1949–1953, C–E, box 2, Cultural Festival-1952, NA. ‘‘Preliminary Statement on the Art Program of the Department,’’ Feb. 1945, RG 59, Records of the IEP, General Records, 1941–44, box 2, Art-Department Policy folder, NA; MacLeish to Dickey, 7 July 1945, Papers of Archibald MacLeish, box 53, subject file, State, Department of, Correspondence folder, LC. For studies of the American cultural diplomacy e√ort in postwar Germany, see Poiger, Jazz, Rock, and Rebels; Berghahn, America and the Intellectual Cold Wars; and GienowHecht, Transmission Impossible. O≈ce of Public A√airs, Department of State, ‘‘Germany—Unfinished Business,’’ Feb. 1946, RBL; Haynes R. Mahoney, ‘‘Windows to the West,’’ in ‘‘Educational and Cultural Activities in Germany Today,’’ 1950, RBL. 6th Quarterly Report on Germany, 1 Jan.–31 Mar. 1951, and 8th Quarterly Report on Germany, 1 July–30 Sept. 1951, O≈ce of the U.S. High Commissioner for Germany, RBL. Poiger, Jazz, Rock, and Rebels, 37–38; Berghahn, America and the Intellectual Cold Wars, 77. ‘‘U.S. Army Sponsors Art Show in Germany,’’ Art Digest, 1 June 1946, 7, 30. O≈ce of the U.S. High Commissioner for Germany, ‘‘Current International Report: Berlin Cultural Festival 1951,’’ 1 Oct. 1951, RG 466, Berlin Element, Public A√airs Division, Classified Subject Files, 1949–53, C–E, box 2, Cultural Festival-1952 file, NA; William Keefe, ‘‘West Berlin Festival, 1951,’’ Department of State Bulletin, 20 Aug. 1951, 293. Memo to Chairman Chief of State from Allied Kommandatura Berlin, 27 June 1959, RG 466, Berlin Element, Public A√airs Division, Classified Subject Files, 1949–1953, C–E, box 2, Cultural Festival-1952 file, NA; R. W. Sterling to E. Page, 29 June 1950, ibid. For modern art under the Nazis, see Barron, Degenerate Art ; and Adam, Art of the Third Reich. Deshmukh, ‘‘Cultural Migration,’’ 266, 273, 281, 283; Pells, Not Like Us, 26. The surveys, conducted in January and June 1950, are found in Merritt and Merritt, Public Opinion in Semisovereign Germany, 60–61, 86–87; Wagnleitner, ‘‘Irony of American Culture Abroad,’’ 293. McCloy to Bartlett Hayes, 25 June 1951, Papers of AFA, box 67, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibits: Berlin Festival, 1951 folder, AAA; Statement, prepared by Bartlett Hayes, 31 Aug. 1951, ibid.

NOTES TO PAGES 64 – 68

255

37

38

39

40

41 42 43

44

45

46

256

Sargent Child to Lawrence M. C. Smith, 18 May 1951; Statement prepared by Bartlett Hayes, 31 Aug. 1951, Papers of AFA, box 67, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibits: Berlin Festival, 1951 folder, AAA; a complete list of the works selected can be found in ‘‘Berlin Festival: List of American Paintings and Prints,’’ n.d., ibid. Of the twenty-five artists selected to represent the ‘‘modern’’ side of American painting, thirteen had been represented in the Advancing American Art show. ‘‘The Exhibition of American Works of Art in Berlin,’’ Goodrich Papers, box 6, AFA, Correspondence, 1950–51 file, AAA; Arthur Vogel to Eloise Spaeth, 24 Aug. 1949, Papers of AFA, box 73, Exhibition Files, State Department Exhibitions, Correspondence, 1949–51 file, AAA; Eloise Spaeth to Francis Taylor, 29 June 1950, Spaeth Papers, box 1, Correspondence with Francis Taylor re AFA file, AAA; Thomas Parker to Eloise Spaeth, 30 June 1950, Papers of AFA, box 73, Exhibition Files, State Department Exhibitions, Correspondence, 1949–51 file, AAA. For more on the AFA, see its website: www.afaweb.org. Helmut Lehmann-Haupt, ‘‘Art in Germany Today,’’ Magazine of Art, Dec. 1948, 314– 15; Charlotte Weidler, ‘‘Art in Western Germany Today,’’ Magazine of Art, Apr. 1951, 132–37. Press release from the O≈ce of the U.S. High Commissioner for Germany, 9 Nov. 1950, Papers of AFA, box 73, Exhibition Files, No. 48, Contemporary Berlin Artists [1 of 4] file, AAA; ‘‘Statement by General Taylor,’’ n.d., ibid. ‘‘The Exhibition of American Works of Art in Berlin,’’ Goodrich Papers, box 6, AFA, Correspondence, 1950–51 file, AAA. Ibid. ‘‘Berlin Planning Festival of Arts to Point Up Culture in the West,’’ New York Times, 27 May 1951, 11; ‘‘Berlin to Be Site of Gala West Fete,’’ ibid., 26 Aug. 1951, sec. 11, p. 2; ‘‘Berlin is Spirited as Festival Opens,’’ ibid., 6 Sept. 1951, 39; ‘‘U.S. Art in Berlin,’’ ibid., 19 Sept. 1951, 33; William Keefe, ‘‘West Berlin Festival, 1951,’’ Department of State Bulletin, 20 Aug. 1951, 292–94. ‘‘American Art Abroad,’’ Magazine of Art, Jan. 1952, 2; AFA, Memorandum, 22 Oct. 1951, Papers of AFA, box 67, Exhibitions Files, Misc. Exhibits: Berlin Festival, 1951 folder, AAA. W. J. Egan to HICOG, Frankfurt, 4 Oct. 1951, RG 466, Berlin Element, Public A√airs Division, Classified Subject Files, 1949–53, C–E, box 2, Cultural Festival-1952 file, NA; ‘‘Highlights of the Berlin Cultural Festival,’’ n.d., RG 59, IFI/E, subject files, 1949–52, box 3, Berlin Cultural Festival file, NA; ‘‘The Exhibition of American Works of Art in Berlin,’’ n.d., Goodrich Papers, box 6, AFA, Correspondence, 1950–51 file, AAA; ‘‘President’s Fall Report to AFA Chapters, Members, and Subscribers to the Magazine of Art,’’ 5 Oct. 1951, Papers of AFA, box 2, President-L. M. C. Smith, 1950–51 Correspondence file, AAA. O≈ce of the U.S. High Commissioner for Germany, ‘‘Berlin Cultural Festival 1951,’’ 4 Oct. 1951, Papers of AFA, box 67, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibits: Berlin Festival, 1951 folder, AAA; n.a., ‘‘Highlights of the Berlin Cultural Festival,’’ n.d., RG 59, IFI/E, subject files, 1949–52, box 3, Berlin Cultural Festival file, NA. NOTES TO PAGES 69 – 74

chapter 3 1 2

3

4

5

6 7

8

‘‘ ‘Government’ Art Called Mediocre,’’ New York Times, 9 Mar. 1952, 81. Lawrence M. C. Smith to AFA Trustees, 26 Sept. 1951, Walker Papers, box 1, Committees: AFAI: Correspondence [1] folder, GA/NGA; Burton Cumming to Paul H. Bonner, 28 Nov. 1951, ibid.; Bonner to Smith, 1 Feb. 1952, ibid. Bonner’s interest waned by early 1953, however, when he came to believe that little government support would be forthcoming; he left his position with the AFA in March 1953 (see Bonner to Cumming, 11 Mar. 1953, ibid.). Robert Goldwater, ‘‘American Art Abroad,’’ Magazine of Art, Jan. 1952, 2; Smith to Neuberger, 25 Feb. 1952, Walker Papers, box 2, Committees: AFAI: Reports, Minutes [2] folder, GA/NGA; Neuberger to Smith, 10 Apr. 1952, ibid. HICOG Frankfurt to Department of State, 5 Nov. 1951, Papers of AFA, box 67, Exhibition Files: Misc. Exhibitions: Berlin Festival, 1951 folder, AAA; ‘‘American Federation of Arts to Circulate 19th Century American Paintings in West Germany,’’ n.d., Papers of AFA, box 67, Exhibition Files: Misc. Exhibitions: 19th Century American Paintings, Correspondence-foreign, State Department, Whitney, 1952; 1951–53; Extension, 1953– 54 folders, AAA; Cumming to AFA Trustees, n.d., ibid.; Goodrich to Cumming, 8 July 1952, ibid.; George Staempfli to Richard Brecker, 20 July 1953, ibid. Telegram from Rome to USIA, 29 Jan. 1954, RU 321, box 53, 19th Century American Paintings folder, SIA; Rome to Washington, 1 Apr. 1954, Papers of the AFA, box 68, Exhibition Files: Misc. Exhibitions: 19th Century American Paintings—Publicity, 1953–54 folder, AAA; Howard Devree, ‘‘Our Art Abroad,’’ New York Times, 25 Apr. 1954, sec. 2, p. 11 (emphasis added). Grace Morley to Burton Cumming, 27 Mar. 1952, Papers of the AFA, box 3, Administrative Files: Grace L. McCann Morley Correspondence, 1951–62 folder, AAA. The history of American participation in the Venice Biennale is decidedly sketchy. The best full-length study of the Biennale, Alloway, The Venice Biennale, 1895–1968, mentions the U.S. pavilion a roughly a dozen times, focusing mostly on the period after 1954. The brief history given here has been patched together from information contained in the following documents: MOMA, ‘‘Program of International Circulating Exhibitions,’’ May 1964, International Program Records, ser. I, box 1a, folder 7, MOMA Archives, New York, N.Y.; ‘‘Survey of International Art Biennales and Festivals,’’ 20 Sept. 1976 (updated Nov. 1978), Exhibitions Files, loose (no folder), USIA HC; Grace Mullins to Burton Cumming, 12 May 1942 (obviously meant to be 1952), Papers of the AFA, box 67, Exhibitions File: Misc. Exhibitions: Venice Biennale: Publicity, 1952 folder, AAA; ‘‘Brief History of U.S. Participation in the Venice Biennale,’’ c. 1968, RU 321, box 150, Venice Biennale XXXIV [42 of 73] folder, SIA. Mullins to Cumming, 12 May 1942 (1952), Papers of the AFA, box 67, Exhibition Files: Misc. Exhibitions: Venice Biennale: Publicity, 1952 folder, AAA; Finley to Smith, 25 Feb. 1952, Spaeth MSS, box 1, AFA and Venice Biennale Correspondence folder, AAA. In a letter to Spaeth on 1 March 1952, Daniel Catton Rich (of the Chicago Art Institute and a member of the selection committee) expressed his exasperation over the selec-

NOTES TO PAGES 75 – 80

257

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

258

tion process: ‘‘It is entirely hopeless, in my opinion, to have a selection committee.’’ It would, he believed, lead to confusion such as the ‘‘jerky, ill-assorted group of pictures’’ which was sent to the Tate Gallery in London in 1946. (Letter found in same folder as Finley to Smith letter.) Both untitled pieces by Eloise Spaeth, c. 1952, are found in Spaeth MSS, box 1, AFA and Venice Biennale Correspondence, AAA. Although Calder made a splash at Venice, U.S. critics were largely unimpressed with the American show. Stuart Preston of the New York Times remarked on the ‘‘cautiousness, not to say the conservatism, of the American section,’’ and concluded that the AFA was ‘‘playing safe this year.’’ There was, he stated, ‘‘No avant garde lawlessness here.’’ His comments are somewhat understandable, considering that at the 1950 Biennale the art of some of America’s foremost abstract expressionists—including Jackson Pollock—were prominently on display. (‘‘Vast Art Panorama’’ and ‘‘Art Survey By Nations,’’ New York Times, 13 and 20 July 1952, sec. 2, p. 2, and sec. 2, p. 2. Spaeth to Exhibition Committee Members, 5 Dec. 1952, Spaeth MSS, box 2, 20 Contemporary Americans folder, AAA; James Laughlin to Cumming, 26 Oct. 1952 and Ford Foundation, press release, 15 Feb. 1953, Papers of the AFA, box 68, Exhibition Files: Misc. Exhibitions: 20 Americans-India: Correspondence with Sponsor, 1952–54 and Background Information, 1952–53 folders, AAA; Spaeth to Loughlin [sic], 28 Jan. 1953, Spaeth MSS, box 1, AFA Correspondence folder, AAA. ‘‘Indications of Interest in American Watercolor Show for French Museums,’’ enclosed in Lawrence Smith to Cumming Catherwood, 17 Mar. 1954, Papers of the AFA, box 68, Exhibitions File: Misc. Exhibitions: Watercolors for France-USIS, 1953–55 folder, AAA; ‘‘Our Art Abroad,’’ New York Times, 25 Apr. 1954, sec. 2, p. 11; Eloise Spaeth to Lloyd Goodrich, 28 Apr. 1954, Goodrich MSS, box 11, AFA Watercolor Exhibition for Asia, 1954 folder, AAA; AFA, ‘‘Foreign Exhibitions,’’ July 1955, Papers of Helen Treadwell, box 4, AFA folder, AAA. Goodrich to Thomas Rudd, 22 Sept. 1954, Goodrich MSS, box 6, AFA Foreign Exhibitions Committee folder, AAA; ‘‘Agreement and Terms of Grant Between the United States of America and the American Federation of Arts,’’ e√ective 1 July 1955, RU 321, box 28, USIA Relations with AFA folder, SIA; Memorandum, Foreign Exhibition Committee Meeting, Nov. 1955, Spaeth MSS, box 2, Foreign Exhibition Committee folder, AAA. Walker to Finley, July 1952, Finley Papers, box 21, subject file, NGA, Correspondence, 1952 folder, LC; ‘‘Grant Will Spur Exchange of Art,’’ New York Times, 6 Apr. 1953, 21; ‘‘International Art Exchange,’’ Art Digest, 15 Apr. 1953, 11. ‘‘Art Exchange,’’ New York Times, 7 Apr. 1953, 28; Aline Louchheim, ‘‘Museum Reports on Tour Program,’’ New York Times, 16 Dec. 1953, 32; ‘‘Art for Export,’’ Art Digest, 1 Jan. 1954, 5. ‘‘International Art Exchange,’’ Art Digest, 15 Apr. 1953, 11; ‘‘Summary of French Press Reaction to the Exhibition ‘Twelve Modern American Painters and Sculptors’,’’ 1 Oct. 1956, International Council/International Program Exhibition Records, Twelve Modern American Painters and Sculptors (ICE-F-3-53): box 5.3., MOMA Archives, New NOTES TO PAGES 81 – 85

16

17

18

19 20 21 22

York, N.Y.; ‘‘Summary of Finnish Press Reaction to the Exhibition ‘Twelve Modern American Painters and Sculptors’,’’ 1 Oct. 1956, ibid. ‘‘Museum Here Gets Pavilion in Venice,’’ New York Times, 29 Mar. 1954, 21; ‘‘Under the Four Winds,’’ Time, 28 June 1954, 77–78; ‘‘Big Venice Show a Varied Feast,’’ New York Times, 27 June 1954, Sec. 2, p. 6; ‘‘U.S. Artists Win Prizes,’’ New York Times, 23 June 1954, 8. For an interesting account of the selection and promotion of Shahn’s art at the Biennale, see Pohl, Ben Shahn, 147–72. The precise dates for the establishment of the International Council are a bit confused. ‘‘Art Museum Unit Set’’ (New York Times, 1 Apr. 1954, 37) announced the ‘‘formation’’ of a council. Over two years later, another article in the Times, ‘‘Council Organized for Art Exchange’’ (16 Dec. 1956, 53), announced that the council was now being ‘‘organized.’’ And a document from MOMA, ‘‘Program of International Circulating Exhibitions,’’ (May 1964, International Council/International Program Exhibition Records: ser. I: box 1a.7, MOMA Archives, New York, N.Y.), states that the council was ‘‘founded’’ in 1953 and took full control of the program in 1957. For a review of the London showing of Modern Art in the United States, see ‘‘U.S. Art Display Opens in London,’’ New York Times, 6 Jan. 1956, 21. The exhibition included over 200 works of art by Pollock, John Marin, Max Weber, Alexander Calder, and others. Aline Saarinen, ‘‘For Shows Abroad,’’ New York Times, 4 Apr. 1954, sec. 2, p. 11; Stuart Preston, ‘‘To Help Our Art,’’ ibid., 30 Dec. 1956, sec. 2, p. 15; ‘‘Cultural Reinforcements,’’ ibid., 28 Dec. 1956, 20. E. A. Powell to J. C. Pelfrey and James Eike, 1 June 1951, Smithsonian—Exhibits for Germany folder, USIA HC; Thomas Beggs to Phillip G. Hodge, 25 Sept. 1951, ibid.; Mrs. John A. Pope to Richard Brecker, 30 Jan. 1953, ibid.; Memo of ‘‘Meeting at State Department,’’ 6 June 1952, RU 311, box 20, State Department, Contract Meeting at State Department, 23 Jan. 1952, Report to State Department, 17 Mar. 1952 folder, SIA. The AFA was none too happy with the competition from the Smithsonian—or with the fact that Annemarie Pope (Mrs. John A. Pope), who was in charge of AFA’s traveling exhibitions, resigned to take a similar position with the Smithsonian at this time. Lawrence Smith wrote to the secretary of the Smithsonian to register his annoyance: ‘‘I would be very unhappy if the action of Smithsonian Institute [sic] would tend to create a source of Governmental competition in a field in which we feel the emphasis should be laid on improving and supporting the services already existing.’’ He also strongly hinted that Pope had sneaked some of AFA’s exhibits to the Smithsonian. Pope was furious. The people at AFA, she declared, were ‘‘aggressive and ambitious people of no background, whose only belief is that money can buy anything and whose tactics are those of the bulldozer.’’ She advised little or no contact with her former employer. (Smith to Alexander Wetmore, 28 Sept. 1951, RU 316, box 16, American Federation of Arts folder, SIA; Pope to Beggs, 8 Oct. 1951, ibid. Barrett, Truth Is Our Weapon, 180–84. Ninkovich, U.S. Information Policy, 19–20. Hixson, Parting the Curtain, 21–27. ‘‘Moscow Winning ‘Peace’ Audience,’’ New York Times, 17 Jan. 1954, 1; ‘‘Summary

NOTES TO PAGES 86 – 89

259

23

24

25

26

27 28 29

30 31 32

33

260

Minutes of Meeting of the U.S. Advisory Commission on Information,’’ 8 Sept. 1954, RG 306, Records of the U.S. Advisory Commission on Information, box 1, Minutes folder, NA. ‘‘Summary Minutes of Meeting, U.S. Advisory Commission on Information, March 8, 1956,’’ 16 Apr. 1956, RG 306, Records of the U.S. Advisory Commission on Information, box 1, Minutes folder, NA; ‘‘Moscow to Aid Art Production,’’ New York Times, 7 Oct. 1956, 3. Thornton Wilder, ‘‘Report to the Department of State: The UNESCO International Conference of Artists, Venice, September 22–28, 1952,’’ 28 Nov. 1952, Papers of Dorothy Paris, box 2, Committee of the IIA—Reports folder, AAA. George F. Kennan, ‘‘International Exchange in the Arts,’’ 12 May 1955, RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1952–70 [2 of 2] folder, SIA; ‘‘U.S. Subsidizing of Arts is Urged,’’ New York Times, 29 May 1952, 24. Aline B. Louchheim, ‘‘Cultural Diplomacy: An Art We Neglect,’’ New York Times Magazine, 3 Jan. 1954, 18, 36; ‘‘Statement of personal views, without the o≈cial endorsement of any organization, by William Ainsworth Parker, Secretary for Fellowships of the American Council of Learned Societies, Washington D.C., Submitted on May 4, 1955 to Representative Thompson of New Jersey at the request of the Congressman,’’ 5 May 1955, Goodrich MSS, box 1, National Committee on the Arts and Government, Information Received, 1959–66 folder, AAA; ‘‘Hearings Before a Special Subcommittee of the Committee on Education and Labor, House of Representatives, on H.R. 9111, Tuesday, June 8, 1954, Statement of W. A. Parker, American Council of Learned Societies, in Support of H.R. 9111,’’ ibid.; ‘‘Statement of Willard Swire— Executive Director of the American National Theatre and Academy Before the Committee on Education and Labor—House of Representatives—July 6, 1955,’’ ibid. ‘‘E√ective Presentation of American Life Against False Russian Propaganda,’’ and ‘‘Foreign Policy Excerpts, Texts of Key AFL-CIO Resolutions,’’ 23 Dec. 1955, ibid. Staerck and Staerck, ‘‘Britain’s Global Defence Strategy,’’ 48; Lee, ‘‘British Cultural Diplomacy’’; Minihan, The Nationalization of Culture, 215, 230. ‘‘Summary of a Report on Federal Grants for Fine Arts Programs and Projects, by a Special Subcommittee to the House Committee on Education and Labor, by Wm. Ainsworth Parker,’’ c. Sept. 1954, RU 321, box 35, ACLS folder, SIA; ‘‘Government Gets Behind Art,’’ Washington Post and Times Herald, 6 Mar. 1955, E7; and ‘‘Legislation Favoring the Arts,’’ ibid., 28 Aug. 1955, E7. ‘‘Freedom Aid Asked of Intellectuals,’’ New York Times, 30 Mar. 1952, 47; and ‘‘New U.S. O≈ce Due to Operation ‘Voice,’ ’’ ibid., 13 Jan. 1952, 39. Paul Hyde Bonner, Memorandum of Conversation, 25 Mar. 1953, Walker Papers, box 1, Committees: AFAI: Correspondence [1] folder, GA/NGA. ‘‘The Arts as Our Ambassador,’’ address by Andrew Berding, 30 Oct. 1953, Goodrich MSS, box 1, National Committee on the Government and Art, Circulars, Drafts, Bills, 1949–56 folder, AAA. ‘‘Evaluating the E√ectiveness of Cultural Exhibits: A Proposed General Procedure,’’ prepared by Stanley K. Bigman of the Bureau of Social Science Research, American NOTES TO PAGES 89 – 95

34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

47

48 49

50

University, 21 Oct. 1953, RG 306, O≈ce of Research, Special Reports, 1953–63, box 2, S-22-53 folder, NA. ‘‘U.S. To Fight Reds on Cultural Line,’’ New York Times, 5 July 1954, 24; ‘‘Ike Likes the Arts, So—U.S. May Export Culture,’’ U.S. News & World Report, 28 Jan. 1955, 68, 70. ‘‘Art and Entertainment: Latest ‘Cold War’ Weapon for U.S.,’’ U.S. News & World Report, 1 July 1955, 57–59. Schrecker, Many Are the Crimes, 259, 399–400; Whitfield, Culture of the Cold War, 86, 117–23; Lipsitz, ‘‘Land of a Thousand Dances.’’ Meyer, ‘‘The NBC Symphony Orchestra,’’ Ch. 7. For a discussion of the Department of State and ANTA, see Prevots, Dance for Export, 37–52. For a good, albeit brief, introduction to conservative attacks on modernism in the arts, see Pells, Not Like Us, 76–81. For a brief but very good overview of the attacks by Dondero and others on modern art during the late 1940s and 1950s, see Hauptman, ‘‘The Suppression of Art,’’ 48–52. ‘‘Excerpts from Congressional Record,’’ Nov. 1958, Papers of George Dondero (microfilm), AAA. Ibid. List of names and organizations cited in his speeches, n.d., Dondero Papers, AAA. Hobson to McCarthy, 23 Jan. 1953, Papers of Kathryn Thayer Hobson, box 1, Letters, 1952–53 folder, AAA. Wheeler Williams, letter to the editor of the New York Herald Tribune, n.d., Dondero Papers, AAA. Aline B. Saarinen, ‘‘Art and the O≈cial Mind,’’ New York Times, 27 Mar. 1955, sec. 2, p. 13. See Mathews, ‘‘Art and Politics’’; Hauptman, ‘‘The Suppression of Art.’’ Also be sure to consult Refregier’s own account of the events in his oral interview with Joseph Trovato, 5 Nov. 1964, in the AAA. Mathews, ‘‘Art and Politics,’’ 764–68; Aline B. Saarinen, ‘‘Art and the O≈cial Mind,’’ New York Times, 27 Mar. 1955, sec. 2, p. 13; McDonough to David Finley, 27 June 1951, Finley Papers, box 7, subject file, CFA: Anton Refregier Murals folder, LC; Leighton to Hobson, 7 June 1953, Hobson Papers, box 1, Letters, 1952–53 folder, AAA. Scrutineer, ‘‘Secret Blacklist: Untold Story of the U.S.I.A.,’’ Nation, 30 Oct. 1954, 376– 78; George Biddle, letter to the editor, New York Times, 17 Nov. 1954, 30. Lincoln Rothschild, Executive Director, Artists Equity Association to David Finley, 25 Mar. 1952, Finley Papers, box 7, subject file, Commission of Fine Arts: Anton Refregier Murals folder, LC; Julian Huxley to Refregier, 8 Apr. 1953, Walker Papers, box 1, Committees: AFAI: Correspondence [1] folder, GA/NGA; Grace Morley to J. O. Zellerbach, n.d., Finley Papers, box 7, subject file, Commission of Fine Arts: Anton Refregier Murals folder, LC. Aline B. Saarinen, ‘‘Art and the O≈cial Mind,’’ New York Times, 27 Mar. 1955, sec. 2, p. 13; Ben Shahn, ‘‘The Artist and the Politicians,’’ Art News, Sept. 1953, 34–35, 67; ‘‘Statement on Artistic Freedom,’’ 22 Oct. 1954, RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1952–70 [2 of 2] folder, SIA.

NOTES TO PAGES 96 – 103

261

51 52

53 54

55

56

57

58

59

60

61

62

63

262

‘‘Kennan Upbraids Anti-Red Zealots,’’ New York Times, 16 May 1953, 8; ‘‘President Links Art and Freedom,’’ ibid., 20 Oct. 1954, 30. Spaeth to John Walker, 14 Nov. 1954, Spaeth Papers, box 1, AFA and Venice Biennale Correspondence folder; box 3, Longwell folder, AAA; Spaeth to Longwell, 16 Nov. 1954, ibid. Tom Messer to Goodrich, n.d., RU 321, box 28, USIA relations with AFA folder, SIA. ‘‘Sport in Art, Meeting Memorandum,’’ 5 May 1955, Records of AFA, box 24, Exhibition Files, 55–19 Financial, 1954–56 folder, AAA; Messer, draft letter to museum directors, n.d., Records of AFA, box 25, Exhibition Files: 55–19 Bookings, 1955–57 folder, AAA. ‘‘The Museum Fuss, and Some Facts,’’ Dallas Times Herald, 5 Feb. 1956, n.p., found in Records of AFA, box 24, Exhibition Files, 55–19, Reports to Lenders, 1955–57 folder, AAA. ‘‘Art and Artists: Who’s Who Among Suspect Artists,’’ Dallas News, 5 Feb. 1956, n.p., found in RU 321, box 28, USIA Relations with AFA, 1955–60 folder, SIA; ‘‘Art Storm Breaks on Dallas,’’ New York Times, 12 Feb. 1956, sec. 2, p. 15. ‘‘Art Storm Breaks on Dallas,’’ New York Times, 12 Feb. 1956, sec. 2, p. 15; ‘‘Art Show Viewed Despite Opposition,’’ Dallas Times Herald, 26 Mar. 1956, n.p.; ‘‘The Museum Fuss, and Some Facts,’’ Dallas Times Herald, 5 Feb. 1956, n.p., both found in Records of AFA, box 24, Exhibition Files, 55–19, Reports to Lenders, 1955–57 folder, AAA. ‘‘Dallas Trustees Take a Stand,’’ New York Times, 2 Feb. 1956, sec. 2, p. 8; ‘‘Dallas Art Dispute Goes On,’’ ibid., 4 Mar. 1956, sec. 2, p. 14; ‘‘Art Show Viewed Despite Opposition,’’ Dallas Times Herald, 26 Mar. 1956, n.p., found in Records of AFA, box 24, Exhibition Files, 55–19, Reports to Lenders, 1955–57, SIA. Franklin Burdette to Theodore Streibert, 27 Mar. 1956, RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1952–70 [2 of 2] folder, SIA; Joseph Walsh to Mr. DuVal, 30 Mar. 1956, RU 321, box 9, USIA Security; Personnel Checks, 1956–65 folder, SIA. ‘‘U.S. Bars Art Tour After ‘Red’ Charge,’’ New York Times, 26 May 1956, 1; Copy of Memo from Mr. Barr to Mr. Whitney, n.d., RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1952–1970 [1 of 2] folder, SIA; Streibert to Whitney, 23 May 1956, ibid. ‘‘Red Issue Blocks Europe Art Tour,’’ New York Times, 21 June 1956, 33. In 1954, Eloise Spaeth, in a conversation with Ted Streibert, mentioned Sloan as a possibility for inclusion in a USIA-supported exhibit. She ‘‘almost fell under the breakfast table’’ when he responded, ‘‘Oh, he wouldn’t be accepted at all.’’ (Spaeth to Longwell, 16 Nov. 1954, Spaeth Papers, box 3, Longwell folder, AAA) For the best biography of Sloan, see Loughery, John Sloan. Schramm to Hutchins, 11 June 1956, Papers of the AFA, box 3, Administrative Files, Fund for the Republic, 1956 folder, AAA; ‘‘Fact Sheet re: AFA-USIA Relations,’’ 20 June 1956, Papers of the AFA, box 69, Exhibition Files, American Painting, 1900–1950, Cancellation, 1956 folder, AAA.; Ann (likely Ann Drevet, Tom Messer’s secretary) to Peg Cogswell, n.d., ibid. ‘‘Exhibits Ban Work of Accused Artists,’’ New York Times, 28 June 1956, 21; Streibert to

NOTES TO PAGES 103 – 10

64

Messer, 3 July 1956, Papers of AFA, box 69, Exhibition Files, American Painting, 1900– 1950, Cancellation, 1956 folder, AAA; Messer to Dwight Kirsch, 12 July 1956, ibid. Margaret Cogswell, interview by author, 28 July 2000.

chapter 4 1 2 3 4 5

6

7 8

9

10

11

12 13

Dondero to Charles E. Plant, 29 June 1956, Papers of George Dondero (microfilm), AAA; ‘‘Modern Art,’’ 14 Feb. 1957, ibid.; ‘‘Communism and Art,’’ 30 Mar. 1957, ibid. Hermon More to E. P. Richardson, 17 May 1957, Goodrich Papers, box 7, Association of Art Museum Directors folder, AAA. Harold Weston to Lois Bingham, USIA, 18 May 1956, RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1951–70 [2 of 2] folder, SIA. Messer to James Schramm, 27 June 1956, Papers of the AFA, box 69, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibitions, American Painting, 1900–1950—Cancellation, 1956 folder, AAA. Kroll to Trustees of the Dallas Museum of Art, 1 Mar. 1956, Papers of Helen Treadwell, box 1, International Association of Plastic Arts folder, AAA; Kroll to Eisenhower, 29 May 1956, ibid. Emily Genauer, ‘‘Art Ban for Patriotism or Gain?,’’ New York Herald Tribune, 3 June 1956, n.p., found in RU 321, box 28, USIA Relations with AFA, 1955–60 folder, SIA; ‘‘U.S. Unit Assailed on Art Tour Ban,’’ New York Times, 3 Sept. 1956, 14; ‘‘Banning Modern Art,’’ ibid., 11 Sept. 1956, 34; ‘‘An Open Letter to the President of the United States, The Honorable Dwight D. Eisenhower,’’ Sept. 1956, located in Records of AFA, box 12, Publicity: Clippings, 1954–57 folder, SIA; Marshall to Streibert, 21 June 1956, RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1952–70 [1 of 2] folder, SIA. Goodrich to the Editor, 2 Oct. 1956, Goodrich Papers, box 3, Letter to Arts, November 1956 folder, AAA. ‘‘Art Show Ban Decried,’’ New York Times, 27 May 1956, 65; ‘‘U.S. Bar to Art Tour Scored as ‘Muddled,’ ’’ ibid., 22 June 1956, 3; ‘‘Canceling of Exhibit Protested,’’ ibid., 9 June 1956, 16. ‘‘Senator Attacks Information Unit,’’ ibid., 26 June 1956, 15; ‘‘Fulbright Says Art Ban Contradicts Ike’s Policy,’’ New York Post, 28 June 1956, n.p., found in RU 321, box 28, USIA Relations with AFA, 1955–60 folder, SIA. ‘‘Art in the Heart of Texas,’’ New York Times, 27 May 1956, sec. 4, p. 10; ‘‘Art and Politics,’’ ibid., 22 June 1956, 22; ‘‘A Political Standard for Art?,’’ Des Moines Register, 23 June 1956, n.p., found in RU 321, box 28, USIA Relations with AFA, 1955–60 folder, SIA. ‘‘Remarks by Dwight D. Eisenhower, the President of the United States at the White House Conference on a Program for People-to-People Partnership,’’ 11 Sept. 1956, Records of ICA, box 22, Fine Arts Committee folder, AAA. Donald J. Shank, ‘‘Indestructible Riches,’’ New Bulletin, Dec. 1957, 3–5. ‘‘Field Interest in Exhibits Program: Excerpts from Reports,’’ 14 June 1954, Exhibits file, USIA HC; ‘‘Mexican and Brazilian Attitudes Toward the United States as a Neighbor—

NOTES TO PAGES 110 – 19

263

14

15

16

17 18

19

20 21

22

23

264

III. U.S. Culture,’’ 20 June 1956, RG 306, O≈ce of Research, Public Opinion Barometer Reports, 1955–62, box 2, LA-7 folder, NA. David Finley, ‘‘Annual Report to Members of the Fine Arts Committee, The Peopleto-People Program,’’ 28 Feb. 1958, Records of ICA, box 18, Assorted Information on FAC Activities folder, AAA; ‘‘Excerpts from Request for Exhibit of Contemporary American Art Made to American Embassy (and USIS) in Caracas by the Museum of Fine Arts in Caracas, Venezuela,’’ contained in Charles Harner to USIA, 13 Nov. 1958, RG 306, RCEFC, 1955–67, box 35, Venezuela folder, NA; Eleanor Mitchell to George Frain, 4 Mar. 1958, Records of ICA, box 18, Assorted Information on FAC Activities folder, AAA. Thomas Messer to Lenders, 15 Jan. 1955, Papers of AFA, box 69, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibitions, Watercolors for Asia, Final Report to Lenders, 1955 folder, AAA; ‘‘Summary Minutes, Ninth Meeting of the Advisory Committee on Cultural Information, April 25, 1958,’’ 13 May 1958, RU 321, box 2, Congressional and White House Correspondence, 1952–70 [1 of 3] folder, SIA. USIS Kuala Lumpur to USIA, 13 Sept. 1956, RG 306, RCEFC, 1955–67, box 23, Malaysia folder, NA; ‘‘Artist-Envoy Says Painting Can Sell U.S.,’’ Washington Post and Times, n.d., Dong Kingman Exhibit folder, USIA HC; USIS Kuala Lumpur to USIA, 31 Oct. 1958, RG 306, RCEFC, 1955–67, box 23, Malaysia folder, NA. USIS Djakarta to USIA, 13 Dec. 1956, RG 306, RCEFC, 1955–67, box 15, Indonesia, NA. USIS Lima to USIA, 28 May 1957, RG 306, RCEFC, 1955–67, box 26, Peru folder, NA; ‘‘From Presente, Lima, Peru, May 11, 1957, ART Page (EXCERPTS),’’ Exhibits Section, Lawrence A. Fleischman folder, USIA HC; USIS Santiago to USIA, 8 May 1958, RG 306, RCEFC, 1955–67, box 5, Chile folder, NA. Burton Cumming to Thomas Brown Rudd, 30 Apr. 1953, Records of AFA, box 7, Correspondence: Thomas Brown Rudd, Jan.–Apr. 1953 folder, AAA; Rudd to Cumming, 5 May 1953, ibid; ‘‘Highlights of American Painting,’’ n.d., Arts (Highlights of American Painting) folder, USIA HC. USIS Quito to USIA, 28 Jan. 1955, RG 306, RCEFC, 1955–67, box 7, Ecuador folder, NA; USIS Guayaquil to USIA, 7 Mar. and 31 May 1955, ibid. USIS Rome to USIA, 10 Nov. 1955, Arts (Highlights of American Painting) folder, USIA HC; USIS Brussels to USIA, 12 Apr. 1955, ibid.; USIS Belgrade to USIA, 5 July 1955, ibid. ‘‘O≈cial Minutes, Second Meeting of the Advisory Committee on Cultural Information, January 18, 1957—Washington, D.C.,’’ 28 Feb. 1957, RG 306, Records of U.S. Advisory Commission on Information (ACI), box 1, Cultural Information Advisory Committee folder, NA; ‘‘O≈cial Minutes, Third Meeting of the Advisory Committee on Cultural Information, March 28, 1957—Washington, D.C.,’’ 24 Apr. 1957, ibid.; ‘‘U.S. Recognition of Achievements of Selected Foreign Countries,’’ 24 Apr. 1958, RG 59, Records Relating to State Department Participation in OCB and NSC, 1947–63, box 36, Cultural A√airs-I folder, NA. ‘‘U.S. Recognition of Achievements of Selected Foreign Countries,’’ 24 Apr. 1958, RG 59, Records Relating to State Department Participation in OCB and NSC, 1947–63, NOTES TO PAGES 119 – 25

24

25 26

27

28

29

30 31

box 36, Cultural A√airs-I folder, NA; ‘‘Stenographic Transcript: U.S. Information Agency, Advisory Committee on Cultural Information, Third Meeting, March 28, 1957, Walker Johnson Building, Washington, D.C.,’’ n.d., RG 306, Records of ACI, box 1, Cultural Information Advisory Committee folder, NA; ‘‘O≈cial Minutes, Third Meeting of the Advisory Committee on Cultural Information, March 28, 1957— Washington, D.C.,’’ 24 Apr. 1957, ibid.; ‘‘Summary Minutes, Ninth Meeting of the Advisory Committee on Cultural Information, April 25, 1958—Washington, D.C.,’’ 13 May 1958, RU 321, box 2, Congressional and White House Correspondence, 1952–70 [1 of 3] folder, SIA; Paul Child to Ralph Block, 26 July 1957, RG 306, RCEFC, 1955–67, box 37, White House and Congress—Correspondence folder, NA. ‘‘U.S.S.R. vs. Abstract,’’ New York Times, 22 Aug. 1954, sec. 2, p. 8; ‘‘Soviet Attacks on U.S. Culture,’’ 1958, RG 306, O≈ce of Research, Special Reports, 1953–63, box 15, S-31-58 folder, NA. ‘‘Muscovites Hail French Art Show,’’ New York Times, 27 May 1956, 7; Baigell and Baigell, Soviet Dissident Artists, 1–2, 187–88. ‘‘Report on Artists’ Conference Sponsored by the United States Committee of the International Association of Plastic Arts, at the Institute of International Education, 1 East 67th Street, New York, N.Y., March 12, 1958,’’ Papers of Dorothy Paris, box 2, Reports folder, AAA. For more on the U.S. participation in the 1958 World’s Fair see, Rydell, World of Fairs, Ch. 7; Haddow, Pavilions of Plenty, Chs. 3–7; Hixson, Parting the Curtain, Ch. 5; Krenn, ‘‘ ‘Unfinished Business.’ ’’ ‘‘Statement of Deputy Under Secretary of State on the President’s Special International Program Before the Senate Appropriations Committee, Fiscal Year 1957,’’ n.d., RG 43, General Records Relating to United States Participation in the Brussels Universal and International Exhibition of 1958 (hereafter RG 43, Brussels), box 7, BRU-30 Aim of U.S. Participation folder, NA; William Tyler to Charles Elbrick, 3 Oct. 1956, RG 59, D.F., 855.191-BR/10-356, NA; ‘‘United States Participation in the Brussels Universal and International Exhibition, 1958,’’ 15 July 1957, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Papers as President, WHCF, OF, 139-B-3, box 720, Brussels [2] folder, DDEL. ‘‘U.S. Participation in the Brussels Universal and International Exhibition, 1958,’’ 15 July 1957, WHCF, OF, 139-B-3, box 720, Brussels [2] folder, DDEL; ‘‘Meeting on Theme,’’ 15 Mar. 1957, RG 43, Records Relating to United States Participation in the Brussels Universal and International Exhibition of 1958, Subject Files of the Commissioner General’s O≈ce, Brussels Exhibition, 1958 (hereafter RG 43, Files of CG), box 1, ADM122c-Exhibits file, NA; ‘‘Theme Development: Sta√ Discussions, November 6, 1956,’’ RG 43, Brussels, box 8, BRU31 Theme of U.S. folder, NA; ‘‘Address by Honorable Howard S. Cullman,’’ 14 Jan. 1959, Papers of Katherine Howard, box 26, Correspondence 1959 file, DDEL. Cullman, ‘‘The United States at the Brussels Universal and International Exhibition, 1958,’’ 30 May 1959, WHCF, OF, 139-B-3, box 721, (9) file, DDEL. ‘‘The Theme of Brussels 1958: Balance Sheet for a More Human World,’’ 1958, WHCF, OF, 139-B-3, box 720, (4) folder, DDEL; George Staempfli to Thurston Davies, 7 May

NOTES TO PAGES 126 – 30

265

32

33 34

35

36

37

38

266

1957, RG 43, Files of CG, box 32, BEG-53-Fine Arts Meetings folder, NA; ‘‘Subcommittee Reports Presented at the Final Meeting of the Cambridge Study Group for the Brussels Universal and International Exhibition, 1958,’’ 28 Apr. 1957, Max Franklin Millikan Papers, box 4, folder 119, Institute Archives and Special Collections, MIT Libraries, MIT, Cambridge, Mass. ‘‘Soviet Attacks on U.S. Culture,’’ n.d., RG 306, O≈ce of Research, Special Reports, 1953–63, box 15, S-31-58, NA; USIS, Paris to USIA, Washington, 24 Jan. 1958, NA; ‘‘Communist Propaganda and the Brussels Fair,’’ 22 Jan. 1958, RG 43, Brussels, box 5, BEG-401, USSR Participation, NA. George Staempfli to Thurston Davies, 2 Apr. 1957, RG 43, Brussels, box 1, ADM-122b Fine Arts file, NA. Goodrich to George Staempfli, 10 Apr. 1957, Records of AFA, box 70, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibitions, 17 Contemporary American Painters-Brussels, 1957–60 folder, AAA; Staempfli to Goodrich, 26 Apr. 1957, Walker Papers, O≈ce Files, box 3, Committees: Brussels Exhibition II folder, GA/NGA; list of members of the Fine Arts Advisory Committee found in ‘‘United States Participation in the Brussels Universal and International Exhibition, 1958,’’ 15 July 1957, RG 43, Brussels, box 8, BRU-20 Advisory Committees folder, NA; Walker to James Plaut, 30 Apr. 1957, Walker Papers, O≈ce Files, box 3, Committees: Brussels Exhibition I folder, GA/NGA; Taylor to Walker, 3 May 1957, ibid.; Walker to Taylor, 6 May 1957, ibid. Summary of the 14 May 1957 Advisory Committee meeting is found in ‘‘Instructions to the Jury, Younger American Painters Exhibition, Brussels Worlds Fair,’’ c. June or July 1957, RG 43, Files of CG, box 34, FA/124-Contemporary U.S. Painting folder, NA. ‘‘Instructions to the Jury, Younger American Painters Exhibition, Brussels Worlds Fair,’’ Aug. 1957, Records of AFA, box 69, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibitions, 17 Contemporary American Painters, Brussels, 1957–60, AAA. Prior to Goodrich, 29 July 1957, Goodrich Papers, box 6, AFA International Art Exchange Program folder, AAA; Prior to Longwell, 18 Oct. 1957, AAA; Cogswell to Prior, 4 Aug. 1957, Records of AFA, box 69, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibitions, 17 Contemporary American Painters, Brussels, 1957–60 folder, AAA; Prior to Plaut, c. Aug. 1957, RG 43, Files of CG, box 34, FA/124-Contemporary U.S. Painting folder, NA. Goodrich, also an important figure in the AFA, was furious about the decision to cut the Whitney Museum out of the picture. In a letter to Grace Morley he fumed that ‘‘the whole a√air was about as flagrant a violation of professional ethics as I have every [sic] encountered.’’ Nevertheless, he concluded, ‘‘the whole project is so very worthwhile that we did not want to adopt a dog-in-the-manger attitude and stand in the way of the Federation carrying it out.’’ (Goodrich to Morley, 12 Sept. 1957, Records of the AFA, box 70, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibitions, 17 Contemporary American Painters, Brussels, 1957–70 folder, AAA.) Staempfli to Thurston Davies, 4 Oct. 1957, RG 43, Brussels, box 1, ADM-122b Fine Arts folder, NA; Prior to Staempfli, 3 Dec. 1957, RG 43, Files of CG, box 34, FA/124Contemporary U.S. Painting folder, NA. The final list contained four artists originally

NOTES TO PAGES 131 – 34

39

40 41

42

43

44

45

46

47 48 49 50

51

selected by the Whitney—Jimmy Ernst, Grace Hartigan, George Mueller, and Bernard Perlin. Philip Siekevitz, ‘‘The Decadent Pavilion,’’ Nation, 11 Oct. 1958, 211; unidentified to Styles Bridges, 11 June 1958, RG 43, Files of CG, box 16, BRU/00-Public CommentCriticism folder, NA. Krenn, ‘‘ ‘Unfinished Business’ ’’. Neal Montanus to Thurston Davies, 8 Nov. 1957, RG 43, Brussels, box 12, BRU-55aVisits of Congressmen; box 33, FA-OO-Comments and Criticisms, NA; Wint Smith to Howard Cullman, 25 Feb. 1958, ibid.; Albert Morano to Cullman, 25 Mar. 1958, ibid.; Flanders to Cullman, 26 Feb. 1958, ibid. Thomas B. Hess, ‘‘Innocents in Brussels,’’ Art News, Mar. 1958, 23; Emily Genauer, ‘‘U.S. Art Going to Brussels Called Scandal,’’ New York Herald Tribune, 17 Mar. 1958, 1, 13; Emily Genauer, ‘‘Our Brussels Art Show Absurd,’’ ibid., 23 Mar. 1958, n.p., Exhibitions/Fairs (Brussels) 1958 folder, USIA HC; Philip Siekevitz, ‘‘The Decadent Pavilion,’’ Nation, 11 Oct. 1958, 213. Leon Kroll to Howard Cullman, 21 Mar. 1959, RG 43, Files of CG, box 33, FA-00Comments and Criticisms; Brussels-General Records, box 13, FA-10-Exhibits, NA; Wheeler Williams to Dwight D. Eisenhower, 29 May 1958, ibid. ‘‘Memorandum of Conference with the President,’’ 24 June 1958, Papers of Dwight D. Eisenhower, Ann Whitman File, DDE Diary Series, box 33, June 1958-Sta√ Notes (2) file, DDEL; Eisenhower to Cullman, 26 June 1958, RG 43, Brussels, box 6, BRE-70, VIP Visits to the Fair—Allen folder, NA. Brenda Gilchrist to Staempfli, 26 Mar. 1958, RG 43, Files of CG, box 34, FA-20, Correspondence—NY/Brussels Memos folder, NA; Gilchrist to Mr. Settel, 30 Mar. 1958, RG 43, Files of CG, box 34, FA-127, Commissioner’s O≈ce-Whitney folder, NA; Stone to Staempfli, 27 Mar. 1958, ibid.; ‘‘U.S. Fine Arts Exhibits,’’ n.d., RG 43, Files of CG, box 42, PA/22, Press Conferences folder, NA; Emily Genauer, ‘‘U.S. Art for Brussels Added To After Furor,’’ New York Herald Tribune, n.d., found in Exhibitions/Fairs (Brussels) 1958 folder, USIA HC. Mrs. George Irving Finlay to J. Edgar Hoover, 17 Mar. 1958, RG 43, Files of CG, box 33, FA-00-Comments and Criticisms folder, NA; Hoover to E. Tomlin Bailey, 24 Mar. 1958, ibid.; Staempfli to Finlay, 2 May 1958, ibid. Cullman to Morano, 9 Apr. 1958, ibid.; Cullman to Flanders, 3 Mar. 1958, ibid.; Cullman to Smith, 28 Feb. 1958, ibid.; Staempfli to Bruce McGaw, 26 Mar. 1958, ibid. Gilchrist to Staempfli, 17 Mar. 1958, RG 43, Files of CG, box 34, FA-20-Correspondence-NY/Brussels Memos, NA. ‘‘American Art: Four Exhibitions,’’ 1958, RG 43, Brussels, box 16, loose publication, NA. For Sputnik’s impact, see Siddiqi, Sputnik and the Soviet Space Challenge; and Dickson, Sputnik. For the best analyses of the international ramifications of the Little Rock crisis, see Dudziak, ‘‘The Little Rock Crisis’’; and Fraser, ‘‘Crossing the Color Line.’’ Berding to Secretary of State, 26 June 1958, RG 43, Brussels, box 6, BEG-70, VIP Visits

NOTES TO PAGES 134 – 41

267

52

53 54

55

56

to the Fair-Allen folder, NA; Leo Cherne, ‘‘Memorandum on the U.S. Exhibit at the Brussels Exhibition,’’ n.d., RG 43, Files of CG, box 16, BRU/00-Public CommentComplimentary file, NA; ‘‘Those Paintings at the Fair,’’ Christian Science Monitor, 7 Oct. 1958, n.p., Exhibitions/Fairs (Brussels) 1958 folder, USIA HC. Berding to Secretary of State, 26 June 1958, RG 43, Brussels, box 6, BEG-70 VIP Visits to the Fair-Allen file, NA; Plaut to John Walker, 26 May 1958, RG 43, Files of CG, box 11, BRU/21-Fine Arts Advisory Committee, NA; Morley to Mrs. Everett E. Elliott, 25 July 1958, Records of AFA, box 70, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibits, 17 Contemporary American Painters-Brussels, 1957–60 file, AAA; Morley to Staempfli, 26 July 1958, ibid.; Staempfli to H. Harvard Arnason, 7 July 1958, Records of AFA, box 69, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibits, 17 Contemporary American Painters-Brussels, 1957–60 file, AAA. James S. Plaut, ‘‘The Arts and the People at Brussels,’’ Atlantic Monthly, July 1959, 65–68. ‘‘European Press Reaction—Comment on U.S. Pavilion and Others,’’ n.d., RG 43, Files of CG, box 16, BRU/00, Public Comment, Criticism folder, NA. As one of the British newspapers noted, the competition between the United States and the Soviet Union approached the surreal. When ‘‘the Russians decided to open 15 minutes early—and the crowds rushed to the Soviet Pavilion to get warm with vodka,’’ the U.S. pavilion ‘‘retaliated by putting on a fashion show four hours early.’’ ‘‘Survey of Visitors of the Brussels 1958 World’s Fair to know their opinions about the U.S. and U.S.S.R. Pavilions,’’ May 1958, RG 43, Files of CG, box 14, BRU/81, USIS folder, NA; ‘‘A Note on Reactions of Brussels Fair Visitors to Modern Art in the U.S. Pavilion,’’ Feb. 1959, Exhibitions and Fairs (Brussels-1958) folder, USIA HC. USIS, London, ‘‘Successful First Show at New U.S.I.S. Art Gallery in London: Critics Praise Vitality of American Works,’’ Art News Bulletin, n.d., Records of AFA, box 70, Exhibitions File, Misc. Exhibitions, 17 Contemporary American Painters-BrusselsPublicity folder, AAA; USIS London to USIA, 5 Jan. 1959, RU 321, box 20, Field Messages and Reports, 1947, 1966–69 [1 of 3] folder, SIA. The show did have one small hitch, however. Sonia Gechto√, one of the artists, wrote to Harris Prior after seeing a picture of the London show, explaining that she was ‘‘rather disturbed to find that both my paintings had been hung upside down.’’ (Gechto√ to Prior, 16 Mar. 1959, Records of AFA, box 70, Exhibition Files, Misc. Exhibitions, 17 Contemporary American Painters-Dispersal, 1958–59 folder, AAA).

chapter 5 1 2

3 268

Bingham to Mr. Ewing, 23 Aug. 1962, RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1952–70 [1 of 2] folder, SIA. ‘‘Highlights of American Painting,’’ n.d., Arts (Highlights of American Painting) file, USIA HC; ‘‘Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting,’’ c. 1957, Exhibits file (loose), USIA HC. ‘‘Crisis Averted,’’ New York Times, 20 Apr. 1958, sec. 2, p. 11. NOTES TO PAGES 142 – 49

4

5

6

7 8

9 10 11 12

13

14 15

16

USIS Managua to USIA, 28 May 1959, RG 306, RCEFC, box 25, Nicaragua folder, NA; USIS-Martinique, FWI to USIA, 21 Sept. 1960, RG 306, RCEFC, box 23, Martinique folder, NA. USIS Buenos Aires to USIA, 8 June 1959, RG 306, RCEFC, box 1, Argentina folder, NA; USIS Asuncion to USIA, 29 May 1959, box 26, Paraguay folder, NA; USIS Tegucigalpa to USIA, 18 Feb. 1959, ; box 11, Honduras folder, NA. USIS Taipei to USIA, 17 Aug. 1960, RG 306, RCEFC, box 31, Taiwan folder, NA; USIS Hong Kong to USIA, 15 Mar. 1960, RG 306, RCEFC, box 12, Hong Kong folder, NA; USIS Kuala Lumpur to USIA, 18 Sept. 1959, RG 306, RCEFC, box 23, Malaysia folder, NA; USIS Kuala Lumpur to USIA, 6 July 1961, ibid.; USIS Korea to USIA, 29 Oct. 1958, RG 306, RCEFC, box 31, box 20, Korea folder, NA. USIS Phnom Penh to USIA, 15 Sept. 1958, RG 306, RCEFC, box 4, Cambodia folder, NA. American Consul Luanda to Department of State, 20 Oct. 1959, RG 59, D.F., 811.411/ 10–2059, RCEFC, box 27, Rhodesia folder, NA; USIS Salisbury to USIA, 13 May 1959, RG 306, RCEFC, box 31, Syrian Arab Republic folder, NA; USIS Damascus to USIA, 13 May 1960, ibid.; USIS Canberra to USIA, 3 Sept. 1959, RG 306, RCEFC, box 2, Australia folder, NA. Allen to Cullman, 19 Jan. 1959, RG 43, Brussels, box 8, ADM/93-HS Cullman-VIP Correspondence folder, NA. Citation from the 1958 agreement taken from Hixson, Parting the Curtain, 153. For the best analysis of the 1958 cultural agreement and the establishment of the American National Exhibition in Moscow in 1959, see ibid., Chs. 6–7. ‘‘Facts About the American National Exhibition in Moscow, 1959,’’ O≈ce of the American National Exhibition in Moscow, Howard Papers, box 26, ‘‘The Fair Way to Make Friends’’ file, DDEL. Mark May to George Allen, 17 Feb. 1959, RU 321, box 2, Congressional and White House Correspondence, 1952–70 [1 of 3] folder, SIA. Art critic Aline Saarinen had been one of the first choices for the committee, but for reasons unclear in the o≈cial record she was replaced by the first alternate, Henry Hope. Bingham to Tom Roderick, 30 June 1959, RU 321, box 62, Moscow Show-Correspondence, G-1098 [8 of 12] folder, SIA. Lloyd Goodrich, ‘‘Paintings and Sculpture from the American National Exhibition in Moscow,’’ 1959, RU 321, box 62, Project G-1098 E&F Moscow Exhibition—USIA Press Releases [9 of 12] folder, SIA. For reasons that are not clear, the precisionist painter Charles Sheeler was the only artist to be represented by two works of art, making a total of forty-nine paintings in the show. Attached to Goodrich’s report is a ‘‘Catalogue of the Exhibition,’’ listing the artists and works of art on display in Moscow. At the insistence of the three original jury members, the sculptor Theodore Roszak was added to assist with the selection of sculptures for the show. ‘‘Two Curators Named for Art Exhibit at Moscow,’’ 18 June 1959, Exhibitions and Fairs (Moscow #2) folder, USIA HC; USIS, ‘‘Traditional and Modern Art Viewed by Three Million Russians at the U.S. National Exhibition in Moscow,’’ Art News Bulletin, n.d.,

NOTES TO PAGES 151 – 59

269

17

18

19

20

21 22

23 24 25

26

270

Goodrich Papers, box 9, Moscow Exhibition Controversy (hereafter GP, MEC) (General Information) folder, AAA; Form letter to contributors, RU 321, box 62, Moscow Show-Correspondence, G-1098 [8 of 12] folder, SIA. ‘‘Paintings and Sculpture from the American National Exhibition in Moscow,’’ 1959, RU 321, box 62, Project G-1098 E & F Moscow Exhibition-USIA Press Releases [9 of 12] folder, SIA. Francis E. Walter, ‘‘The Moscow Art Exhibit: Are Americans Selling Communism to the Russians?’’ Human Events, 24 June 1959, n.p.; ‘‘Radio Reports Inc.,’’ 16 July 1959, GP, MEC (General Information) folder, AAA. Charles Van Doren is probably best known to today’s generation as one of the main figures in the TV quiz show scandals of the 1950s. In fact, Van Doren was only months away in June 1959 from being called to testify before a Congressional committee about charges that the quiz shows were ‘‘fixed.’’ Fulton Lewis, ‘‘Communists Use Art As Weapon,’’ Knoxville Journal, 10 July 1959, n.p., RG 306, Records Relating to the American National Exhibition, Moscow, 1957–59 (hereafter Records of ANE), box 4, Moscow Exhibit: Art and Artists: Exhibits: Controversy, etc. folder, NA. Wheeler Williams, ‘‘U.S. Art for Moscow,’’ Brooklyn Tablet, 8 Aug. 1959, n.p., Records of AFA, box 12, Publicity: Clippings, 1958–59 file, AAA; Hobson to Lindsay, 29 July 1959, Papers of Kathryn Thayer Hobson, box 1, Letters, 1955–64 folder, AAA; Hobson to Hart, 20 June 1959, ibid. Albert Ely to President Eisenhower, 4 July 1959, RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1952–70 [1 of 2] folder, SIA; Kenwood Ross to Allen, 6 July 1959, ibid. ‘‘Committee for Moscow Art Exhibition Writes Open Letter to President Eisenhower,’’ 6 July 1959, Goodrich Papers, box 1, National Committee on the Arts and Government, Information Received, 1959–66 folder, AAA. Congressional Record, 4 June 1959, GP, MEC (Misc. Correspondence) folder, AAA; ‘‘Statement of Senator Javits Delivered on the Senate Floor,’’ 2 July 1959, ibid. These excerpts from newspaper reviews and editorials are found in Papers of Bryce Harlow, Pre-Accession, box 6, Moscow Exhibition folder, DDEL. ‘‘Excerpt from Leonard Bernstein’s speech at the National Press Club, Washington, D.C., October 13, 1959,’’ GP, MEC (USIA and Advisory Committee) folder, AAA; ‘‘Statement of Ben Shahn,’’ 1 July 1959, GP, MEC (General Information) folder, AAA; John Rood to the Editor of Time Magazine, 10 July 1959, Records of AFA, box 4, Administrative Files: Moscow Show: 1959 folder, AAA. Memorandum of Conference with the President, March 23, 1959—11:15 A.M., 23 Mar. 1959, Whitman Files, box 40, DDE Diary, Sta√ Notes, Mar. 15–31, 1959 folder, DDEL; Eisenhower to Francis Walter, 16 July 1959, cited in Hixson, Parting the Curtain, 173; ‘‘The Moscow Art Exhibit,’’ Bu√alo New York News, 11 July 1959, B3, found in RG 306, Records of ANE, box 4, Moscow Exhibition: Art and Artists: Exhibits: Controversy: etc. folder, NA. Edith Halpert replied to Eisenhower’s comments by observing, ‘‘Some people think the President’s paintings aren’t so good either.’’

NOTES TO PAGES 159 – 65

27 28

29 30

31

32 33

34

35

36 37 38

39

40

Washburn to Bryce Harlow, 25 June 1959, Harlow Papers, Pre-Accession, box 6, Moscow Exhibition folder, DDEL. Press release, ‘‘26 Older Paintings Chosen for Exhibition in Moscow,’’ 22 July 1959, RU 321, box 62, Project G-1098 E&F Moscow Exhibition-USIA Press Releases [9 of 12] folder, SIA. The Cope painting was the very same work that Eisenhower pointed out to Allen during their earlier discussion of the Moscow art. The press release listed the lender of the work of art as ‘‘anonymous.’’ ‘‘Following Remarks Made by Mr. Allen at the National Press Club on August 13, 1959,’’ GP, MEC (USIA and Advisory Committee) folder, AAA. Halpert to Donald Cook, 1 Nov. 1959; and the attached statement by Halpert, ‘‘Report Read the 26th of October, 1959, at the Meeting of the Advisory Committee on the Arts, Department of State, U.S.A.—at the Whitney Museum of American Art,’’ GP, MEC (USIA and Advisory Committee) folder, AAA. ‘‘The Art Exhibit at the American Exhibition in Moscow, 1959,’’ c. January 1960, prepared by Richard B. K. McLanathan, enclosed in Robert Sivard, Goodrich Papers, box 9, American National Exhibition in Moscow, 1959 folder, AAA. Also see McLanathan’s article, ‘‘American Art in Moscow,’’ Atlantic Monthly, May 1960, 73–78. ‘‘U.S. Contemporary Art on Exhibition in Sokolniki Park,’’ 11 Aug. 1959, RU 321, box 62, Project G-1098 E&F, Comments Books (Moscow Fair) [6 of 12] folder, SIA. ‘‘Reds Use Realistic Terms to Denounce Abstract Art,’’ Baltimore Sun, 19 July 1959, n.p., found in Records of AFA, box 12, Publicity: Clippings: Moscow Exhibition, 1959 folder, AAA. ‘‘Visitors’ Reaction to the American Exhibit in Moscow,’’ 28 Sept. 1959, Exhibitions and Fairs (Moscow) #2 file, USIA HC; ‘‘Comments About the American Art Exhibit in Moscow,’’ n.d., GP, MEC (USIA and Advisory Committee) file, AAA. ‘‘Visitors’ Reaction to the American Exhibition in Moscow,’’ 28 Sept. 1959, Exhibitions and Fairs (Moscow) #2 file, USIA HC; ‘‘Comments About the American Art Exhibit in Moscow,’’ n.d., GP, MEC (USIA and Advisory Committee) folder, AAA; ‘‘Russians at U.S. Fair Debate Abstract Art and Right to Like It,’’ Washington Evening Star, 3 Sept. 1959, n.p., Exhibitions and Fairs (Moscow) #1 file, USIA HC. Mitchell to Watkins, Finley, and Sivard, 27 Nov. 1959, GP, MEC (Misc. Correspondence) folder, AAA; Baigell and Baigell, Soviet Dissident Artists, 1–2. Frank Getlein, ‘‘Pictures at an Exhibition: Russian Reactions to American Art,’’ New Republic, 24 Aug. 1959, 12–15. ‘‘Report Read the 26th of October, 1959, at the Meeting of the Advisory Committee on the Arts, Department of State, U.S.A.—at the Whitney Museum of American Art,’’ attached to Halpert to Cook, 1 Nov. 1959, GP, MEC (USIA and Advisory Committee) folder, AAA. Goodrich to Neuberger, 26 Aug. 1959, RU 321, box 6, Policy and Procedures, 1952–70 [1 of 2] folder, SIA; Cook to Lamar Dodd, 4 Aug. 1959, GP, MEC (USIA and Advisory Committee) folder, AAA. Statement enclosed in Goodrich to Robert Thayer, 27 Oct. 1959, RU 321, box 2, Con-

NOTES TO PAGES 165 – 74

271

41

42

43

gressional and White House Correspondence, 1952–70 [1 of 3] folder, SIA. Goodrich also sent the statement to Mark May, chairman of the Advisory Committee on Cultural Information of the USIA. Form letter from Goodrich, 11 Nov. 1959, GP, MEC, (USIA and Advisory Committee) folder, AAA; Lloyd Goodrich Statement, Advisory Committee on Cultural Information, USIA folder, AAA. ‘‘A Statement on the Selection of American Art to be Sent Abroad Under the Government’s International Cultural Relations Programs,’’ attached to Donovan to Allen, et al., 18 July 1960, RU 321, box 8, Background Materials and Research on Organizing and Sending Exhibitions Abroad folder, SIA; ‘‘Letter from the Chairman, U.S. Advisory Commission on Educational Exchange, Department of State, Transmitting the 24th Semiannual Report for the Period January 1–June 30, 1960, Pursuant to Public Law 402, 80th Congress,’’ 15 Aug. 1960, RU 321, box 2, Congressional and White House Correspondence, 1952–70 [1 of 3] folder, SIA. Benton to Goodrich, 10 Nov. 1959, GP, MEC (Misc. Correspondence) folder, AAA.

chapter 6 1

2

3 4

5

6

7

8 272

James S. Plaut, ‘‘The White House and Our Culture,’’ 21 Jan. 1962, Plaut Papers, box 1, Writings: ‘‘The White House and Our Culture’’ (1962), For National Observer folder, AAA. NCAG, ‘‘Annual Report—1961,’’ n.d., Goodrich Papers, box 1, National Council on the Arts and Government, Information Received, 1959–66 folder, AAA; Roy Neuberger to President Kennedy, 27 Jan. 1961, box 6, AFA, Correspondence, 1955-folder, AAA. Cummings, ‘‘To Change a Nation’s Cultural Policy.’’ Arthur Schlesinger Jr., ‘‘Government and the Arts,’’ 12 Apr. 1962, Goodrich Papers, box 1, National Council of the Arts and Government, Information Received, 1959–66 folder, AAA; August Heckscher, ‘‘The Arts and the National Government,’’ 28 May 1963, RU 321, box 37, National Council of the Arts folder, SIA. Dr. A. B. Bonds Jr., ‘‘Art and the Crisis of Ethics,’’ Commencement Address delivered at The Cleveland Institute of Art, 31 May 1963, RU 313, box 13, Dr. Scott, 1965 folder, SIA; Stone to Arthur Minnich, 23 Mar. 1965, Paris Papers, box 1, Correspondence: 30 folder, AAA; ‘‘Panel on Culture and Intellectual Exchange, Remarks by Frank Stanton, President, Columbia Broadcasting System, Inc., Washington, D.C.,’’ 1 Dec. 1965, Rene d’Harnoncourt Papers, box 1, White House Conference on Int’l Cooperation, 1965 folder, MOMA Archives, New York, N.Y. ‘‘Statement of the American Federation of Arts for the Congressional Record in support of H.R. 9587,’’ 31 Mar. 1964, Goodrich Papers, box 5, AFA-Current folder, AAA. U.S. National Commission for UNESCO, Topic for Discussion at the Cultural Activities Meeting,’’ 29 Mar. 1965, Paris Papers, box 2, International Association of Plastic Arts—UNESCO folder, AAA. USIS Djakarta to USIA, 16 Nov. 1962, 17 Jan. 1963, and 9 Sept. 1963, RG 306, RCEFC, NOTES TO PAGES 174 – 84

9 10

11

12

13

14

15

16

box 15, Indonesia, NA; USIS Port of Spain to USIA, 1 Mar. 1961, RG 306, RCEFC, box 33, Trinidad, NA; USIS Canberra to USIA, 25 May 1964, RG 306, RCEFC, box 2, Australia, NA; USIS Fort-de-France to USIA, 10 Nov. 1964, RG 306, RCEFC, box 23, Martinique, NA. USIS Amman to USIA, 25 Mar. 1965, RG 306, RCEFC, box 19, Jordan, NA; USIS Cotonou to USIA, 1 Mar. 1963, RG 306, RCEFC, box 6, Dahomey, NA. USIS Buenos Aires to USIA, 17 Oct. 1961, RG 306, RCEFC, box 1, Argentina, NA; USIS Santiago to USIA, 24 Nov. 1961, RG 306, RCEFC, box 5, Chile, NA; Eleanor Powell to Lois Bingham, 16 Oct. 1963, RU 321, box 20, Field Messages and Reports, 1947–1956– 1969 [1 of 3] folder, SIA; Rafael Squirru to Robert Sivard, 24 Apr. 1964, RG 306, RCEFC, box 38, General Correspondence, Jan.–June 1964 folder, NA. USIS Tokyo to USIA, 6 June 1961, RG 306, RCEFC, box 18, Japan, 1954–64, NA; USIS Manila to USIA, 8 Apr. 1963, RU 321, box 27, Exhibits Proposed [1 of 3] folder, SIA; USIS Baghdad to USIA, 22 Aug. 1964, RG 306, RCEFC, box 16, Iraq, NA; USIS Cairo to USIA, 6 Apr. 1962, RU 321, box 22, Near East Area folder, SIA. USIS Bombay to USIA, 24 Mar. 1965, RG 306, RCEFC, box 13, India 1965, NA; USIS Tokyo to USIA, 14 Feb. 1964, RG 306, RCEFC, box 18, Japan, 1954–64, NA; USIS Taipei to USIA, 9 July 1962, box 31, Taiwan, NA; USIS Leopoldville to USIA, 31 Mar. 1965, RU 321, box 76, Recent Works by U.S. Printmakers [1 of 3] folder, SIA; USIS Damascus to USIA, 25 Oct. 1966, RU 321, box 13, USIA Evaluations, 1964–67 folder, SIA; ‘‘Excerpt from USIS Amman,’’ 3 Nov. 1966, RU 321, box 13, USIA Evaluations, 1964–67 folder, SIA; USIS Tunis to USIA, 25 Apr. 1961, RU 321, box 69, 8th Tunis International Art Exhibition folder, SIA. Rowan to Marvin Sadik, 4 June 1964, RG 306, Exhibits Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1959–1967, box 2, Mr. Sivard—Misc. Correspondence folder, NA; Robert Sivard to Sadik, 30 July 1964, ibid.; Sadik to Sivard, 14 Aug. 1964, ibid. USIS Dakar to USIA, 9 July 1964, RU 321, box 92, First World Festival of Negro Arts (10 Negro Artists from the United States) [11 of 20] folder, SIA; ‘‘New USIA Pamphlet Recounts Negro Role in American Arts,’’ n.d., Papers of Leonard Marks, box 28, Press Releases folder, LBJL; Leonard Marks to President Johnson, 19 Jan. 1966, Papers of Lyndon B. Johnson, WHCF, 1963–69, box 315, FG 296-USIS-1/4/66-3/24/66 folder, LBJL. USIS Buenos Aires to USIA, 29 July 1963, RG 306, RCEFC, box 1, Argentina, NA; USIS Santiago to USIA, 1 Oct. 1963, RG 306, RCEFC, box 5, Chile, NA; Lois Bingham to Mr. Peck, 21 Aug. 1964, RU 321, box 30, Josef Albers folder, SIA; USIS Lima to USIA, RU 321, box 30, Abstract Watercolors [2 of 4] folder, SIA; USIS Buenos Aires to USIA, 10 Nov. 1965, RU 321, box 20, Field Messages and Reports, 1947, 1966–69 [1 of 3] folder, SIA. USIS The Hague to USIA, 24 June 1964, RU 321, box 84, 30 Contemporary American Prints [1 of 7] folder, SIA; USIS Brussels to USIA, 22 July 1964, ibid.; ‘‘Vanguard American Painting,’’ 1962, RU 321, box 68, American Vanguard Painting [1 of 5] folder, SIA; USIS Bonn to USIA, 1 Aug. 1962, RG 306, RCEFC, box 8, Germany, NA; USIS Bonn to USIA, 16 July 1965, ibid.; Stanley Plesant to Mr. Osmers, 24 Apr. 1964, RG 306,

NOTES TO PAGES 185 – 89

273

17 18

19

20

21 22

23

24 25

274

Exhibits Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1964–65, box 1, IGC-Correspondence folder, NA. A. Romanov, ‘‘Mr. Barr’s ‘abstract souvenir,’ ’’ Art News, Jan. 1962, 30–32, 51, 57–58; Abraham Brumberg, ‘‘Tempest in a Gallery,’’ New Republic, 16 Feb. 1963. 17–20. ‘‘Material on Art, Literature Discussion,’’ c. early-1963, Richard C. McLanathan Papers, box 8, Brooklyn Museum USSR Trip folder, AAA; U.S. Embassy Moscow to Department of State, 8 Feb. 1966, Art file, USIA HC. Robert Sivard to Mr. Falkiewicz and Mr. Littell, 26 June 1961, RG 306, RCEFC, box 34, USSR, NA; ‘‘Graphic Arts—USA, Project 62–319, Introduction,’’ n.d., RU 321, box 73, Graphic Arts: USA (Czech) [1 of 4] folder, SIA; Carl Rowan, ‘‘USIA: Building Bridges of Peace in a Changing World,’’ Department of State Bulletin (Oct.–Dec. 1964): 910; Associated American Artists, ‘‘ ‘American Prints in Russia’ Exhibited at A.A.A.,’’ 28 Apr. 1964, RU 321, box 21, Correspondence and Memoranda with Department of State and USIA, 1964–70 folder, SIA; ‘‘Handicraft or Art?,’’ 27 Oct. 1963, Exhibits and Fairs #1 (1952–64) file, USIA HC; ‘‘Where Does the Tunnel Lead?,’’ 12 Oct. 1963, ibid.; ‘‘We Expected More,’’ 13 Oct. 1963, ibid.; ‘‘Selections from the Comment Book,’’ 1964, ibid. The selections from the Congressional Record are found in Exhibits and Fairs #1 (1952– 64) file, USIA HC; Rowan, ‘‘USIA,’’ 910, ibid.; ‘‘Selections from the Comment Book,’’ 1964, ibid. Edward R. Murrow, ‘‘A Heartening Trend in Art Patronage,’’ c. 1962, RU 321, box 74, Art USA Now [3 of 9] folder, SIA. Reed Harris to Murrow, 27 Feb. 1963, RU 321, box 74, Art USA Now [1 of 9] folder, SIA; USIS Brussels to USIA, 14 Apr. 1964, RU 321, box 20, Field Messages and Reports, 1947, 1956–69 [2 of 3] folder, SIA; USIS Bern to USIA, 11 Sept. 1954, RG 306, RCEFC, box 31, Switzerland, NA; USIS Vienna to USIA, 23 Dec. 1964, RG 306, RCEFC, box 2 Austria, NA. ‘‘Pop Goes Philip Morris,’’ n.d.; Nina Kaiden to Lois Bingham, 16 July 1965; and ‘‘11 Pop Artists: The New Image: General Publicity Guidelines,’’ n.d., all found in RU 321, box 97 and 98, 11 Pop Artists: The New Image (10 Pop Artists) [2 of 9] and [6 of 9] folders, SIA. As the folder title suggests, there was always a bit of confusion about exactly how many pop artists were included in the show. The letter from Kaiden calls the exhibit ‘‘10 Pop Artists’’ but then proceeds to list eleven artists. The press release gives the name as ‘‘11 Pop Artists’’ but lists twelve artists. USIS Guatemala to USIA, 7 Mar. 1966, RU 321, box 98, 11 Pop Artists: The New Image (10 Pop Artists) [3 of 9] folder, SIA; USIS Caracas to USIA, 22 Mar. 1966, ibid. Streibert to Dulles, 13 Nov. 1953, Finley Papers, box 29, subject file: NGA: Decoration of American Embassies, 1948–53 folder, LC; ‘‘A New Approach to International Relations in the Fine Arts,’’ 1957, Records of ICA, box 18, Approach to Foundations— Report folder, AAA; ‘‘Highlights of Fine Arts Committee Program, February, 1957— January, 1961,’’ Records of ICA, box 18, Assorted Information on FAC Activities folder, AAA; Leonard Carmichael to Leslie Cheek, 24 May 1962, Finley Papers, box 58, subject file: People to People Program, Correspondence, 1961–65 and undated folder, LC;

NOTES TO PAGES 190 – 95

26

27

28

29 30 31

32

33 34

Cheek to Members of the Former Fine Arts Committee of People-to-People, 7 June 1962, Walker Papers, box 15, O≈cial Files, Committees: People to People Program (FAC) (J. W. Personal) folder, GA/NGA. ‘‘The International Council of the Museum of Modern Art, No. 21,’’ Jan. 1963, RG 306, RCEFC, box 1, Europe-General folder, NA; Helen Franc, ‘‘To Reflect the True Image,’’ Overseas, Nov. 1962, 7–10; Memo, W. W. Warner, For the Files, 27 Apr. 1964, RU 145, Records of the Assistant Secretary for Public Service, ser. 1, box 4, Art for Embassies folder, SIA. Robert Sivard to Mr. Harkness, 23 June 1960, RU 321, box 31, Art in Embassies folder, SIA; Lois Bingham to Sivard, 23 June 1960, ibid.; Robert H. Thayer to Secretary of State, 10 Nov. 1961, RU 145, ser. 1, box 4, Art for Embassies folder, SIA. Nancy Kefauver, ‘‘The Art in The Embassies Program of the Department of State,’’ n.d., RU 313, box 13, David Scott, 1965–67 folder, SIA; ‘‘The Art in the Embassies Program, Executive Committee Meeting,’’ 30 Mar. 1966, RU 313, box 73, Arts in the Embassies, 1965–69 folder, SIA; Carol Harford to Idar Rimestad, 12 Dec. 1967, RU 313, box 73, Art in Embassies folder, SIA; ‘‘The Art in the Embassies Program Progress Supplement,’’ June 1968, RU 313, box 73, Arts and the Embassies, 1965–69 folder, SIA; ‘‘O≈cial Exposure of U.S. Art Abroad is Recent,’’ New York Times, 6 July 1965, 40; ‘‘Art of Living Americans Carries Cultural Diplomacy Around World,’’ Washington Post, 27 Feb. 1966, A4. Calvin Tomkins, ‘‘The Big Show in Venice,’’ Harper’s Magazine, Apr. 1965, 98–104. ‘‘Brief History of U.S. Participation in the Venice Biennale,’’ c. 1964, RU 321, box 150, Venice Biennale XXXIV [42 of 73] folder, SIA. Sivard to Mr. Murrow and Mr. Ewing, 10 July 1962, RU 321, box 39, Venice Biennale— General Invitations folder, SIA; ‘‘United States Information Agency: OCB Exhibits Committee Meeting, February 15, 1960,’’ RU 321, box 38, IAP Exhibits—Recurring International—General folder, SIA. Heckscher to Murrow, 10 May 1962, RU 321, box 85, XXXII Venice Biennale [12 of 21] folder, SIA; ‘‘Our Art Abroad,’’ New York Times, 4 May 1962, 32; ‘‘Art Pavilion Needs Uncle,’’ Washington Post, 1962, n.p., Exhibits and Fairs #1 (1952–64) file, USIA HC; Neuberger to Gordon Ewing, 29 May 1962, RU 321, box 86, XXXII Venice Biennale [15 of 21] folder, SIA; ‘‘Briefing Paper: Venice Biennale Art Exhibit,’’ attached to Sivard to Mr. Parson, 1 June 1964, RG 306, Exhibits Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1964– 65, box 1, IGC-Correspondence folder, NA; Sivard to Murrow and Ewing, 10 July 1962, RU 321, box 39, Venice Biennale—General Invitations folder, SIA. ‘‘Survey of International Art Biennales and Festivals,’’ 20 Sept. 1976, Exhibits, loose material, USIA HC. Ibid.; ‘‘Briefing Paper: Venice Biennale Art Exhibit,’’ attached to Sivard to Mr. Parson, 1 June 1964, RG 306, Exhibits Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1964–65, box 1, IGC—Correspondence folder, NA. Using the term ‘‘pop’’ to describe the U.S. art in Venice in 1968 is a matter of some disagreement. Rauschenberg, for example, described his art as ‘‘combination art.’’ Others preferred to be known simply as post-

NOTES TO PAGES 195 – 200

275

35

36

37

38 39 40

41

42

43

abstractionists. The media and critics in 1968, however, applied the ‘‘pop’’ label, and so, to avoid confusion, that is the way the art shall be described in the following discussion. ‘‘Art Notes: Dropping a Hot Potato in Washington,’’ New York Times, 14 Feb. 1965, sec. 2, p. 19; Tomkins, ‘‘The Big Show in Venice,’’ Harper’s Magazine, Apr. 1965, 104; ‘‘An Angel for the Biennale,’’ New York Times, 17 Oct. 1965, sec. 2, p. 35. Sivard to Albert Harkness, 17 Sept. 1959, RU 321, box 7, USIA ICS/ED/FA Procedures for assembling and circulating art exhibitions, 1957–60 folder, SIA; ‘‘List of Currently Circulating Exhibits Containing Works of Ben Shahn, Other ‘S’ Artists, and Unchecked Artists,’’ 27 Jan. 1959, RU 321, box 9, USIA Security: Personnel Checks, 1956– 65 folder, SIA; Byrnes to McNichol, 18 Apr. 1961, ibid.; Parker May to McNichol, 5 June 1962, ibid.; Robert Beers to Murrow, 23 Aug. 1961, ibid. Murrow to Johnson, 3 May 1962, RU 321, box 74, Art USA Now [1 of 9] folder, SIA; Nordness to Sivard, 8 June 1962, ibid.; Murrow to Walter, 13 Aug. 1962, ibid.; ‘‘Problems in Encouragement of Artistic Creativity and in the Dissemination of Art,’’ 29 Mar. 1965, Paris Papers, box 2, International Association of Plastic Arts—UNESCO, AAA. For studies of USIA struggles to obtain congressional support and appropriations, see Ninkovich, U.S. Information Policy; and Bogart, Premises for Propaganda. Weston to Rowan, 11 Apr. 1964, RU 321, box 86, XXXII Venice Biennale [15 of 21] folder, SIA; Reed Harris to Rowan, 29 Apr. 1964, ibid. Emily Genauer, ‘‘The Merchandise of Venice,’’ New York Herald Tribune, 12 July 1964, 21; ‘‘Carnival in Venice,’’ Newsweek, 6 July 1964, 74–75; Milton Gendel, ‘‘Huggermugger in the giardini,’’ Art News, Sept. 1964, 32–35, 53; Tomkins, ‘‘The Big Show in Venice’’ Harper’s Magazine, Apr. 1965, 98–104; Grace Glueck, ‘‘Love Culture, Will Travel,’’ New York Times, 12 July 1964, sec. 2, p. 18. ‘‘Carnival in Venice,’’ Newsweek, 6 July 1964, 74–75; ‘‘Vatican Newspaper Criticizes ‘Pop Art,’ ’’ New York Times, 25 July 1964, 30; ‘‘Venice Prize Goes to Rauschenberg,’’ ibid., 20 June 1964, 23; ‘‘Art Pops In,’’ Life, 10 July 1964, 65; USIS Rome to USIA, 6 July 1964, RU 321, box 86, XXXII Venice Biennale [15 of 21] folder, SIA; USIS Rome to USIA, 3 Aug. 1964, RU 321, box 86, XXXII Venice Biennale [16 of 21] folder, SIA. Bingham, memorandum for the record, 7 Apr. 1964, RU 321, box 85, XXXII Venice Biennale [12 of 21] folder, SIA; Sivard to Reed Harris, 14 Aug. 1964, RU 321, box 86, XXXII Venice Biennale [15 of 21] folder, SIA. David Scott to T. W. Taylor, 12 Nov. 1964, RU 313, box 106, USIA, 1965 folder, SIA; W. W. Warner to Mr. Ripley, 23 Nov. 1964, ibid.; Bingham to Mr. Wilson, 5 Jan. 1965, RU 313, box 106, USIA Fine Arts 1965 folder, SIA.

chapter 7 1

276

‘‘Dr. David W. Scott’s report on art exhibit of Arts Festival, at request of Mr. Eric Goldman,’’ 13 June 1965, RU 313, box 115, White House Arts Festival, 1965–66 folder, SIA; ‘‘Remarks by the Honorable George F. Kennan, White House Festival of the Arts NOTES TO PAGES 201 – 8

2 3 4 5

6

7

8

9

10 11

12 13

Luncheon—National Gallery of Art,’’ 14 June 1965, d’Harnoncourt Papers, box 1, The White Festival of the Arts 6-14-65 folder, MOMA Archives, New York, N.Y. Taylor, ‘‘The Arts in America.’’ Scott to Taylor, 12 Nov. 1964, RU 313, box 106, USIA Fine Arts 1965 folder, SIA. Warner to Ripley, 23 Nov. 1964, RU 313, box 106, USIA, 1965 folder, SIA; Bingham to Wilson, 5 Jan. 1965, USIA Fine Arts 1965 folder, SIA. Reed Harris to Ripley, 5 Feb. 1965, RG 306, Exhibitions Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1959–67, box 2, Frankel—International Education (Smithsonian) State Department folder, NA; Rowan to Ripley, n.d., RU 313, box 106, USIA, 1965 folder, SIA. This is a draft of Rowan’s letter to Ripley. The final letter was not sent to Ripley until August 1965. ‘‘Narrative Justification for Division of International Exhibits, O≈ce of International Activities,’’ c. July 1965, RU 313, box 106, USIA, 1965 folder, SIA; ‘‘Meeting of Representatives of USIA, Exhibits Division, and Smithsonian Institution, National Collection of Fine Arts,’’ 23 Sept. 1965, ibid. William Warner to Peter Powers, 14 June 1965, RU 313, box 106, USIA, 1965 folder, SIA; Sivard to Wilson, 5 Jan. 1965, RU 321, box 7, Transfer Proposal and Agreements, 1965– 76 [2 of 2] folder, SIA; Sivard to Reed Harris, 19 May 1965, RG 306, Exhibitions Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1959–67, box 2, Frankel—International Education (Smithsonian) State Department folder, NA; Warner to Ripley, 19 Aug. 1965, Warner to Ripley, 19 Aug. 1965, RU 313, box 106, USIA, 1965 folder, SIA; Sivard to Bingham, 20 July 1965, RG 306, Exhibitions Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1959–67, box 2, Frankel—International Education (Smithsonian) State Department folder, NA. Warner to Ripley, 19 Aug. 1965, RU 313, box 106, USIA, 1965 folder, SIA; ‘‘Memorandum of Understanding Between The United States Information Agency and the Smithsonian Institution Relative to the International Exchange of Fine Arts Exhibits,’’ Nov. 1965, RU 321, box 3, Art Advisory Committee (State Department) folder, SIA; USIA Circular, ‘‘Assignment of Responsibility to the Smithsonian Institution for the Conduct of International Exchange of Fine Arts Exhibits,’’ 10 Jan. 1966, ibid. Stephen Weil to Carl Rowan, 16 Mar. 1965, RG 306, Exhibits Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1964–65, box 1, ICS/Director’s O≈ce, Mr. Harris—Correspondence folder, NA; Grace Glueck, ‘‘An Angel for the Biennale,’’ New York Times, 17 Oct. 1965, sec. 2, p. 35. ‘‘Basic Aims, Scope and Obligations,’’ 7 Aug. 1969, RU 321, box 14, IAP Program Planning, 1966–72 folder, SIA. Bingham to Mrs. C. J. Bangert, 3 Feb. 1966, RU 321, box 1, General Domestic Correspondence, 1964–67 [1 of 2] folder, SIA; Bingham to Phillips, 1 Sept. 1967, RU 321, box 13, Television: National Educational TV (NET), 1967–70 folder, SIA. ‘‘The National Collection of Fine Arts,’’ c. 1966, RU 313, box 13, Summary folder, SIA; ‘‘International Art Program,’’ 4 Oct. 1966, David Scott, 1963–66 folder, SIA. ‘‘Guggenheim Loses U.S. Biennale Role,’’ New York Times, 22 Feb. 1966, 26; ‘‘Curator is Asked to Pick Venice Art,’’ ibid., 27 Feb. 1966, 11; Katharine Kuh, ‘‘Enter Government,

NOTES TO PAGES 208 – 16

277

14

15

16 17

18 19 20

21

22 23 24

278

Exit Art,’’ Saturday Review, 2 Apr. 1966, 28–29; ‘‘Curator Resigns From Guggenheim,’’ New York Times, 15 June 1966, 49. Grace Glueck, ‘‘Art Notes: Biennale, Bye Bye?’’ New York Times, 27 Feb. 1966, sec. 2, p. 22; Katharine Kuh, ‘‘Enter Government, Exit Art,’’ Saturday Review, 2 Apr. 1966, 28– 29; John Canaday, ‘‘Funny Business on the Road to Venice,’’ New York Times, 6 Mar. 1966, sec. 2, p. 17. In his study of the Venice Biennales, Alloway only briefly mentioned the incident, but his anger was still evident. He blamed the NCFA for using the excuses of ‘‘lateness’’ and cost to drop a show that it simply did not like. The cost issue was ‘‘doubtful.’’ Alloway, The Venice Biennale, 19. John Canaday, ‘‘Funny Business on the Road to Venice,’’ New York Times, 6 Mar. 1966; Charlotte Willard, ‘‘Biennale Blues,’’ New York Post, 13 Mar. 1966, 48; Hilton Kramer, ‘‘Art: No Sun in Venice,’’ New York Times, 18 June 1966, 27. Scott to Ripley, 26 June 1967, RU 321, box 91, VIII São Paulo Bienal [23 of 24] folder, SIA. David Scott to David Rockefeller, 25 Apr. 1966, RU 313, box 13, Dr. Scott, 1963–66 folder, SIA; ‘‘Background Notes—International Art Program,’’ c. 1968, RU 145, ser. 2, box 11, International Art Program folder, SIA. ‘‘Basic Aims, Scope, and Obligations,’’ 7 Aug. 1969, RU 321, box 14, IAP Program Planning, 1966–72 folder, SIA. W. E. Weld to William Dunn, 12 Oct. 1967, RU 321, box 28, Exhibits Requested— Europe folder, SIA. Bingham to Taylor, Blitzer, Brooke, and Ripley, Apr. 1975, RU 321, box 6, Administrative Memoranda, 1969–80 [1 of 2] folder, SIA; John Canaday, ‘‘Funny Business on the Road to Venice’’ New York Times, 6 Mar. 1966; Charlotte Willard, ‘‘Biennale Blues’’ New York Post, 13 Mar. 1966; ‘‘International Art Program,’’ Oct. 1966, RU 313, box 13, David Scott, 1963–66 folder, SIA; Scott to Ripley, Taylor, and Berg, 10 Mar. 1966, RU 321, box 96, XXXIII Venice Biennale (1966) [14 of 27] folder, SIA; Bingham to Philip Leider, 29 Nov. 1966, RU 321, box 3, State Department Art Advisory Committee, 1958– 66 folder, SIA. ‘‘IAP Report, 1966–1969,’’ 7 Aug. 1969, RU 321, box 14, IAP Program Planning, 1966–72 folder, SIA; Bingham to Taylor, Blitzer, Brooke, and Ripley, Apr. 1975, RU 321, box 6, Administrative Memoranda, 1969–80 [1 of 2] folder, SIA. Lois Bingham, cover letter, 5 June 1970, RU 313, box 107, 35th Venice Biennale, 1970 folder, SIA; ‘‘Call for an Emergency Cultural Government,’’ 8 June 1970, ibid. Bingham to Ripley, 9 Nov. 1967, RU 321, box 148, 34th Venice Biennale [12 of 73] folder, SIA. Hilton Kramer, ‘‘Art: Dickinson and Nakian Picked for Venice Show,’’ New York Times, 8 Dec. 1967, 57; Grace Glueck, ‘‘A Weakened Biennale Ready to Open,’’ ibid., 22 June 1968, 29; Grace Glueck, ‘‘Art Notes: Biennale, Bah,’’ ibid., 11 Feb. 1968, sec. 2, pp. 25–26; ‘‘The American Contribution to the Biennale,’’ Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 2 Feb. 1968, translation attached to USIS Bonn to USIA, 9 Feb. 1968, RU 321, box 150, 34th Venice Biennale [41 of 73] folder, SIA.

NOTES TO PAGES 216 – 23

25

26 27

28 29

30 31

32

33 34

35 36

‘‘Biennale Will Be Held Despite Protest Threat,’’ New York Times, 13 June 1968, 18; ‘‘Awards Jurors at Biennale Quit,’’ ibid., 19 June 1968, 96; ‘‘Students in Venice Again Protest Fete,’’ ibid., 20 June 1968, 46; ‘‘Art Biennale Opens Then Shuts Because O≈cials Fear Violence,’’ ibid., 23 June 1968, 74; Grace Glueck, ‘‘A Weakened Biennale Ready to Open,’’ ibid., 22 June 1968, 29; Alloway, The Venice Biennale, 24–28; ‘‘A Report on the American Participation in the 34th Venice Biennale,’’ enclosed in Norman Geske to David Scott, 12 Feb. 1969, RU 321, box 148, 34th Venice Biennale [13 of 73] folder, SIA; Margaret Cogswell, interview by author, 28 July 2000. Bingham to Geske, 10 Feb. 1969, RU 321, box 148, 34th Venice Biennale [13 of 73] folder, SIA; William Dunn, memorandum for the record, 4 Apr. 1969, ibid. John Goodyear to Kepes, 4 July 1969, RU 321, box 160, X São Paulo Bienal [64 of 104] folder, SIA; Grace Glueck, ‘‘No Rush for Reservations,’’ New York Times, 6 July 1969, sec. 2, p. 21; Kepes, statement, 18 July 1969, RU 321, box 160, X São Paulo Bienal [64 of 104] folder, SIA; USIS/State Circular, 29 Aug. 1969, ibid. Margaret Cogswell, interview by author, 28 July 2000. Lois Bingham, ‘‘An Experiment Proposed for the XXXV Venice International Biennial of Art,’’ 26 Aug. 1969, RU 321, box 175, 35th Venice Biennale [51 of 138] folder, SIA; ‘‘Statement about the Venice Biennial Plan for 1970,’’ 8 May 1970, ibid. ‘‘Director’s Statement,’’ c. June 1970, ibid. ‘‘Excerpts from a letter received from the Emergency Cultural Government, dated May 30, 1970, New York, New York,’’ RU 321, box 172, 35th Venice Biennale [14 of 138] file, SIA; ‘‘Call for an Emergency Cultural Government,’’ 8 June 1970, RU 313, box 107, 35th Venice Biennial, 1970 file, SIA; ‘‘Survey of International Art Biennales and Festivals,’’ Art file, USIA HC; Grace Glueck, ‘‘Artists to Withdraw Work at Biennale,’’ New York Times, 6 June 1970, 27; and ‘‘Names of Artists in Biennale Released,’’ ibid., 9 June 1970, 37. Lois Bingham, draft letter, 5 June 1970, RU 321, box 172, 35th Venice Biennale [14 of 138] file, SIA; S. Dillon Ripley to John Richardson Jr., 18 June 1970, RU 313, box 108, 35th Venice Biennial, Correspondence, 1970 file, SIA. Bingham to Fred Irving, 7 May 1970, RU 321, box 173, 35th Venice Biennale [18 of 138] file, SIA. Jodie Lewinsohn to Lois Bingham, 30 July 1970, RU 321, box 179, 35th Venice Biennale [100 of 138] file, SIA; Lewinsohn to Bingham, 6 Oct. 1970, ibid.; Hopkins to Bingham, 22 Dec. 1970, ibid. Bingham to Josh Taylor, 24 July 1970, RU 321, box 177, 35th Venice Biennale [71 of 138] file, SIA; Bingham to Weege, 18 Aug. 1970, ibid. Gregory Battcock, ‘‘Death in Venice,’’ Art and Artist, June 1970, 54; Wallace Littell to Bingham, 23 Oct. 1970, RU 321, box 175, 35th Venice Biennale [51, 87 of 138] files; USIS Stockholm to USIA Washington, 5 Sept. 1973, RU 321, box 185, 35th Venice Biennale: Smithsonian Workshop Prints [10 of 27] file, SIA; USIS Helsinki to USIA Washington, 29 June 1973, ibid.; Grace Glueck, ‘‘Venice—O√ With the Show,’’ New York Times, 4 Oct. 1970, sec. 2, p. 24.

NOTES TO PAGES 224 – 32

279

conclusion 1

2 3

280

Department of State, ‘‘Cultural Programs at the Department of State, 1930s to the Present,’’ 24 Nov. 2000, http://www.state.gov/r/whconf/001124—bkgd—eca.html (26 May 2003). For a very good summary of American cultural diplomacy during the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, see Sablosky, ‘‘Reinvention, Reorganization, Retreat.’’ Margaret Cogswell, ‘‘Communication Through Art,’’ 2 May 1964, RU 321, box 109, Communication Through Art [36 of 36] folder, SIA. Eleanor Mitchell to David Finley and Hermann W. Williams, 19 October 1959, Walker Papers, O≈ce Files, box 15, Committees: People to People Program (FAC), JW Personal folder, GA/NGA.

NOTES TO PAGES 237 – 43

BIBLIOGRAPHY

primary sources Archives Archives and Library, Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C. Papers of Duncan Phillips Archives of American Art, Washington, D.C. Advancing American Art (microfilm) Oral History of Dr. Grace Morley Papers of the American Federation of Arts Papers of George Dondero (microfilm) Papers of Lloyd Goodrich Papers of Kathryn Thayer Hobson Papers of Richard McLanathan Papers of Dorothy Paris Papers of James Plaut Papers of Eloise Spaeth Papers of Helen Treadwell Records of the Institute of Contemporary Art Archives of the National Gallery of Art, Gallery Archives, Washington, D.C. Papers of John Walker Dwight D. Eisenhower Presidential Library, Abilene, Kans. Dwight D. Eisenhower, Papers as President (Ann Whitman File) Dwight D. Eisenhower, Papers as President, White House Central Files, 1953–61 Papers of Bryce Harlow, Pre-Accession Papers of Katherine Howard Lyndon Baines Johnson Presidential Library, Austin, Tex. Lyndon Baines Johnson, Papers as President, White House Central Files, 1963–69 Papers of Leonard Marks Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. Papers of David Finley

Papers of Archibald MacLeish Records of the American Council of Learned Societies MIT Libraries, Institute Archives and Special Collections, MIT, Cambridge, Mass. Max Franklin Millikan Papers Museum of Modern Art Archives, New York, N.Y. Papers of Rene d’Harnoncourt National Archives, College Park, Md. Record Group 43: General Records Relating to United States Participation in the Brussels Universal and International Exhibition of 1958 Record Group 43: Subject Files of the U.S. Commissioner General’s O≈ce, Brussels Exhibition, 1958 Record Group 59: General Records of the Department of State, Decimal File Record Group 59: Records of the Division of Exchange of Persons (IEP), General Records, 1941–44 Record Group 59: Records of the Assistant Secretary of State for Public A√airs and Cultural Relations (Archibald MacLeish), 1945 Record Group 59: Records of the Assistant Secretary of State for Public A√airs, 1945–50 Record Group 59: Records of the International Information Administration, European Field Programs, Subject Files, 1949–52 Record Group 59: Records Relating to State Department Participation in OCB and NSC, 1947–63 Record Group 306: Records of the Exhibits Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1959–67 Record Group 306: Records of the Exhibits Division, Subject Files of the Director, 1964–65 Record Group 306: Records of U.S. Advisory Committee on Information Record Group 306: Records of the United States Information Agency, Records Concerning Exhibitions to Foreign Countries, 1955–67 Record Group 306: Records of the United States Information Agency, Records Relating to the American National Exhibition, Moscow, 1957–59 Record Group 466: Records of the High Commissioner for Germany Ralph Bunche Library, Department of State, Washington, D.C. O≈ce of Public A√airs, Department of State, ‘‘Germany—Unfinished Business,’’ Feb. 1946. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, D.C. Record Unit 145: Assistant Secretary of Public Service, 1961–74 Record Unit 311: National Collection of Fine Arts, O≈ce of the Director, Records, 1892–1960, and undated Record Unit 313: National Collection of Fine Arts, Central Administrative Files, Records, 1908–74 282

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Record Unit 316: Records of the Smithsonian Traveling Exhibition Service, 1950–62 Record Unit 321: O≈ce of Program Support, National Museum of American Art, 1956–81, with related records from 1947 USIA Historical Collection, Washington, D.C. Arts (Highlights of American Painting) Exhibitions Exhibitions/Fairs (Brussels–1958) Exhibitions/Fairs (Moscow) Smithsonian—Exhibits for Germany Lawrence A. Fleischman

Interview Margaret Cogswell. Interview by author. Washington, D.C., 28 July 2000.

Magazines and Newspapers American Artist Art Digest Art in America Art News Atlantic Monthly Department of State Bulletin Education Fortune Harper’s Magazine Ladies’ Home Journal Look Magazine of Art Nation New Republic New York Herald Tribune New York Times New York Times Magazine Recreation Saturday Review of Literature Time UN World U.S. News & World Report Washington Post

BIBLIOGRAPHY

283

secondary sources Adam, Peter. Art of the Third Reich. New York: H. N. Abrams, 1992. Adamthwaite, Anthony. Grandeur and Misery: France’s Bid for Power in Europe, 1914– 1940. London: Arnold, 1995. Alloway, Lawrence. The Venice Biennale, 1895–1968: From Salon to Goldfish Bowl. Greenwich, Conn.: New York Graphic Society, 1968. Ausfeld, Margaret Lynne, and Virginia M. Mecklenburg. Advancing American Art: Politics and Aesthetics in the State Department Exhibition, 1946–1948. Montgomery, Ala.: Montgomery Museum of Fine Arts, 1984. Baigell, Matthew. A Concise History of American Painting and Sculpture. Rev. ed. New York: Harper & Row, 1996. Baigell, Renee, and Matthew Baigell, eds. Soviet Dissident Artists: Interviews after Perestroika. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1995. Barghoorn, Frederick C. The Soviet Cultural O√ensive: The Role of Cultural Diplomacy in Soviet Foreign Policy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1960. Barrett, Edward W. Truth Is Our Weapon. New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1953. Barron, Stephanie, ed. Degenerate Art: The Fate of the Avant-Garde in Nazi Germany. New York: H. N. Abrams, 1991. Baudin, Antoine. ‘‘ ‘Why Is Soviet Painting Hidden from Us?’: Zhdanov Art and Its International Relations and Fallout, 1947–1953.’’ In Socialist Realism Without Shores, edited by Thomas Lahusen and Evgeny Dobrenko, 227–56. Durham: Duke University Press, 1997. Berghahn, Volker R. America and the Intellectual Cold Wars in Europe: Shepard Stone between Philanthropy, Academy, and Diplomacy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001. Bogart, Leo. Premises for Propaganda: The United States Information Agency’s Operating Assumptions in the Cold War. New York: Free Press, 1976. Borzello, Francis. Civilising Caliban: The Misuse of Art, 1875–1980. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987. Bown, Matthew Cullerne. Art Under Stalin. New York: Holmes & Meier, 1991. . Socialist Realist Painting. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998. Clark, Toby. Art and Propaganda in the Twentieth Century: The Political Image in the Age of Mass Culture. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1997. Cockroft, Eva. ‘‘Abstract Expressionism: Weapon of the Cold War.’’ Artforum 12, no. 10 (June 1974): 39–41. Crane, Diane. The Transformation of the Avant-Garde: The New York Art World, 1940– 1985. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987. Craven, David. Abstract Expressionism as Cultural Critique: Dissent during the McCarthy Period. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Cummings, Milton C., Jr. ‘‘To Change a Nation’s Cultural Policy: The Kennedy Administration and the Arts in the United States, 1961–1963.’’ In America’s Commitment to Culture: Government and the Arts, edited by Kevin V. Mulcahy and Margaret Jane Wyszomirski, 95–120. Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1995. 284

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Deshmukh, Marion F. ‘‘Cultural Migration: Artists and Visual Representation between Americans and Germans during the 1930s and 1940s.’’ In Transatlantic Images and Perceptions: Germany and America since 1776, edited by David E. Barclay and Elisabeth Glaser-Schmidt, 265–84. Washington, D.C.: German Historical Institute, 1997. Dickson, Paul. Sputnik: The Shock of the Century. New York: Walker & Company, 2001. Dijkstra, Bram. American Expressionism: Art and Social Change, 1920–1950. New York: Harry Abrams, 2003. Dudziak, Mary L. ‘‘The Little Rock Crisis and Foreign A√airs: Race, Resistance, and the Image of American Democracy.’’ Southern California Law Review 70 (Sept. 1997): 1641–716. Duignan, Peter, and L. H. Gann. The Rebirth of the West: The Americanization of the Democratic World, 1945–1958. Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1992. Finley, David. A Standard of Excellence: Andrew W. Mellon Founds the National Gallery of Art at Washington. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1973. Fraser, Cary. ‘‘Crossing the Color Line in Little Rock: The Eisenhower Administration and the Dilemma of Race for U.S. Foreign Policy.’’ Diplomatic History 24, no. 2 (Spring 2000): 233–64. Fryd, Vivien Green. Art and Empire: The Politics of Ethnicity in the United States Capitol, 1815–1860. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992. Gienow-Hecht, Jessica C. E. Transmission Impossible: American Journalism as Cultural Diplomacy in Postwar Germany, 1945–1955. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1999. Guilbaut, Serge. How New York Stole the Idea of Modern Art: Abstract Expressionism, Freedom, and the Cold War. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1983. Haddow, Robert H. Pavilions of Plenty: Exhibiting American Culture Abroad in the 1950s. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1997. Hauptman, William. ‘‘The Suppression of Art in the McCarthy Decade.’’ Artforum 12 (Oct. 1973): 48–52. Hixson, Walter L. Parting the Curtain: Propaganda, Culture, and the Cold War, 1945– 1961. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997. Hobbs, Stuart D. The End of the American Avant Garde. New York: New York University Press, 1997. Jachec, Nancy. The Philosophy and Politics of Abstract Expressionism, 1940–1960. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. James, C. V. Soviet Socialist Realism: Origins and Theory. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1973. Krenn, Michael L. ‘‘ ‘Unfinished Business’: Segregation and U.S. Diplomacy at the 1958 World’s Fair.’’ Diplomatic History 20, no. 4 (Fall 1996): 591–612. Larson, Gary O. The Reluctant Patron: The United States Government and the Arts, 1943–1965. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983. Lee, J. M. ‘‘British Cultural Diplomacy and the Cold War, 1946–1961.’’ Diplomacy and Statecraft 9, no. 1 (Mar. 1998): 112–134. BIBLIOGRAPHY

285

Leith, James A. The Idea of Art as Propaganda in France, 1750–1799: A Study in the History of Ideas. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1965 Lipsitz, George. ‘‘Land of a Thousand Dances: Youth, Minorities, and the Rise of Rock and Roll.’’ In Recasting America: Culture and Politics in the Age of Cold War, edited by Lary May, 267–84. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989. Littleton, Taylor D., and Maltby Sykes. Advancing American Art: Painting, Politics and Cultural Confrontation at Mid-Century. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1989. Loughery, John. John Sloan: Painter and Rebel. New York: Henry Holt, 1995. Lucas, Scott. Freedom’s War: The American Crusade Against the Soviet Union. New York: New York University Press, 1999. Mathews, Jane De Hart. ‘‘Art and Politics in Cold War America.’’ American Historical Review 81, no. 4 (Oct. 1976): 762–87. May, Lary. ‘‘Movie Star Politics: The Screen Actors’ Guild, Cultural Conversion, and the Hollywood Red Scare.’’ In Recasting America: Culture and Politics in the Age of Cold War, ed. Lary May, 125–53. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989. McKinzie, Richard. The New Deal for Artists. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973. Merritt, Anna J., and Richard L. Merritt, eds. Public Opinion in Semisovereign Germany: The HICOG Surveys, 1949–1955. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1980. Meyer, Donald C. ‘‘The NBC Symphony Orchestra.’’ Ph.D. diss., University of California, Davis, 1994. Miller, Toby, and George Yúdice. Cultural Policy. London: Sage Publications, 2002. Minihan, Janet. The Nationalization of Culture: The Development of State Subsidies to the Arts in Great Britain. New York: New York University Press, 1977. Naifeh, Steven W. Culture Making: Money, Success, and the New York Art World. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976. Ninkovich, Frank. ‘‘The Currents of Cultural Diplomacy: Art and the State Department, 1938–1947.’’ Diplomatic History 1 (July 1977): 215–37. . The Diplomacy of Ideas: U.S. Foreign Policy and Cultural Relations, 1938– 1950. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1981. . U.S. Information Policy and Cultural Diplomacy. New York: Foreign Policy Association, 1996. O’Connor, Francis V. Federal Support for the Visual Arts: The New Deal and Now. Greenwich, Conn.: New York Graphic Society, 1971. Park, Marlene, and Gerald Markowitz. New Deal for Art: The Government Art Projects of the 1930s with Examples from New York City and State. Hamilton, N.Y.: Gallery Association of New York State, 1977. Pells, Richard. Not Like Us: How Europeans Have Loved, Hated, and Transformed American Culture since World War II. New York: Basic Books, 1997. Pohl, Frances K. Ben Shahn: New Deal Artist in a Cold War Climate, 1947–1954. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1989.

286

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Poiger, Uta G. Jazz, Rock, and Rebels: Cold War Politics and American Culture in a Divided Germany. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Porterfield, Todd. The Allure of Empire: Art in the Service of French Imperialism, 1798– 1836. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998. Prevots, Naima. Dance for Export: Cultural Diplomacy and the Cold War. Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1998. Rydell, Robert W. World of Fairs: The Century-of-Progress Expositions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993. Sablosky, Juliet Antunes. ‘‘Reinvention, Reorganization, Retreat: American Cultural Diplomacy at Century’s End, 1978–1998.’’ Journal of Arts Management, Law and Society 29, no. 1 (Spring 1999): 30–46. Sandler, Irving. The Triumph of American Painting: A History of Abstract Expressionism. New York: Harper & Row, 1970. Saunders, Frances Stonor. Who Paid the Piper: The CIA and the Cultural Cold War. London: Granta Books, 1999. Schrecker, Ellen. Many Are the Crimes: McCarthyism in America. Boston: Little, Brown, 1998, Scott-Smith, Giles. The Politics of Apolitical Culture: The Congress for Cultural Freedom, the CIA and Post-War American Hegemony. London: Routledge, 2002. Siddiqi, Asif A. Sputnik and the Soviet Space Challenge. Tallahassee, Fla: University Press of Florida, 2003. Staerck, Christopher, and Gillian Staerck. ‘‘The Realities Behind Britain’s Global Defence Strategy.’’ In British Foreign Policy, 1955–1964: Contracting Options, edited by Wolfram Kaiser and Gillian Staerck, 33–60. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000. Stich, Sidra. Made in U.S.A.: An Americanization in Modern Art, the ’50s and ’60s. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987. Taylor, Harold. ‘‘The Arts in America.’’ Colorado Quarterly 14, no. 2 (Autumn 1965): 101–16. Wagnleitner, Reinhold. ‘‘The Irony of American Culture Abroad: Austria and the Cold War.’’ Recasting America: Culture and Politics in the Age of Cold War, edited by Lary May, 285–302. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989. Whitfield, Stephen J. The Culture of the Cold War. 2nd ed. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996. Wilford, Hugh, and David Caute. The CIA, the British Left and the Cold War: Calling the Tune? London: Frank Cass, 2003. Wood, Paul, Francis Frascina, Jonathan Harris, and Charles Harrison. Modernism in Dispute: Art since the Forties. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

287

This page intentionally left blank

INDEX

Acheson, Dean, 60 Addison Gallery of American Art, 69 Adlow, Dorothy, 149 Advancing American Art exhibit, 2, 4, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 58, 59, 62, 64, 66, 68, 70, 72, 73, 75, 76, 89, 96, 98, 100, 104, 105, 110, 111, 114, 115, 118, 145, 160, 161, 176, 194, 235, 237; establishment of collection, 26–27; reasons for establishment, 27–29; at Metropolitan Museum of Art, 30–33; in Paris, 33–34; in Cuba, 34; in Czechoslovakia, 34–35; attacks against, 36–43; cancellation of, 43–47; sold at auction, 44–45 Advisory Commission on Educational Exchange, 175 Advisory Committee on Art: February 1945 meeting and report, 19–21, 23; and e√orts to establish guidelines for international art exhibits, 173–75 Advisory Committee on Cultural Information, 124, 157; and e√orts to establish guidelines for international art exhibits, 174–75 Advisory Council on the Arts, 181 AFL-CIO, 91 Agronsky, Martin, 160 Albers, Josef, 68, 188, 191 Allen, George, 136, 155, 162, 164–66 Allied High Commissioners, 67 Alloway, Lawrence, 215, 216, 278 (n. 14) All-Union Society for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries, 15 Amadeus String Quartet, 64

American Artists Professional League, 36, 100, 111–12, 136, 161 American Association of Museums, 29, 173 American Civil Liberties Union, 115 American Council of Learned Societies, 19, 90 American Federation of Arts (AFA), 5, 23, 26, 29, 50, 54, 58, 59, 62, 87, 99, 101, 148, 181, 182, 183, 197, 199, 239; and Berlin Cultural Festival, 69–71, 72–74, 76; early e√orts at international program, 77–79; and 1952 Venice Biennale, 79–81; and 1953 exhibit in India, 81–82; and 1954 exhibit in France, 82; and 1954 exhibit in India, 82, 120; 1955 agreement with USIA for art exhibitions, 82–83; ‘‘Statement on Artistic Freedom,’’ 102–3; di≈culties with Department of State, 103–4; di≈culties with USIA, 104–5; Sport in Art, 105–7; reaction to cancellation of Sport in Art, 108–10, 113; and Universities Collect, 108–9; and American Painting, 1900– 1950, 108–10; and Highlights of American Painting, 122; and 1958 World’s Fair, 132– 45; and e√orts to establish guidelines for international art shows, 173, 176–77; and Communication Through Art, 239–40; competition with Smithsonian Institution, 259 (n. 18) American National Exhibition in Moscow, 242; origins of, 155–56; planning for exhibition, 156–57; selection of American art for exhibit at, 156–59; criticisms of

American art at, 159–62; defense of American art at, 162; supplement to art exhibition, 165–66; Russian response to art exhibit, 168–72 American National Theatre and Academy, 91, 97 American Painting, 1900–1950 exhibit, 128, 133, 147; USIA cancellation of, 108–10, 112, 116, 119, 127 American Vanguard exhibit, 186, 188–89 Anderson, Judith, 64, 96 Angola: American art exhibits in, 153–54 Argentina: USIS post requests for American art exhibits, 119, 185; American art exhibits in, 151–52, 188 Armstrong, Louis, 2 Arnason, H. Harvard, 132 Art in Embassies Program, 192; early e√orts to establish, 194–95; MOMA takes over, 195–96; State Department establishes, 196–97 Art Institute of Chicago, 132, 197 Artists Equity Association, 60, 101, 164 Artists League of America, 23, 47 Art of This Century Gallery, 13 Art: USA: Now exhibit: established, 192; reception in foreign countries, 192–93 Association of Art Museum Directors, 59, 173 Auburn University, 45 Ausfeld, Margaret, 36, 45 Australia: American art exhibits in, 154, 184 Austria: American art exhibits in, 193 Avery, Milton, 26, 99, 188 Baigell, Matthew, 13, 127, 170 Baigell, Renee, 127, 170 Baldwin-Wallace College, 182 Baltimore Museum of Art, 197, 198 Barr, Alfred H., 24, 56, 98, 99, 108; defense of modern art, 57–58, 99, 189–90, 237; and American National Exhibition in Moscow, 159 290

Barrett, Edward, 87–88 Baskin, Leonard, 189, 191 Battcock, Gregory, 231 Battle, Lucius, 199 Baziotes, William, 13, 26, 68, 99, 119, 133, 134, 158 Belgium: American art exhibits in, 123, 188, 193 Bellows, George, ix–x, 165 Beneˇs, Edvard, 34 Benjamin and Abby Grey Foundation, 239 Benson, E. M., 12 Benton, Thomas Hart, 25, 158 Benton, William, 176; and Advancing American Art exhibit, 27–28, 29, 35, 38, 39–44, 45, 47 Berding, Andrew, 94–95, 104, 140–41 Berghahn, Volker, 66 Berlin Cultural Festival, 76, 77, 78, 95; exhibit of American modern art, 63–64, 68–74; participating nations, 64; rationale for festival, 64–67 Bernstein, Leonard, 163–64 Biddle, George, 60, 61–62, 101 Bierstadt, Albert, 78 Bingham, George Caleb, 78, 165 Bingham, Lois, 122, 147, 193, 217, 235; and Highlights of American Painting exhibit, 148–49; and 1964 Venice Biennale, 205– 6; concludes that art program should leave USIA, 206, 209, 212; transfers to Smithsonian Institution to head international art program, 211, 214; and di≈culties of working with USIA, 219–20; and protests against 1970 Venice Biennale, 221–22, 229–30; and 1968 Venice Biennale, 222–23, 224–25; planning for 1970 Venice Biennale, 227–28; and incident with William Weege at 1970 Biennale, 230–31 Bliss, Robert Woods, 20 Bolshoi Ballet, 143 Bonds, A. B., Jr., 182 INDEX

Bonner, Paul Hyde, 77 Borzello, Frances, 15 Boston Museum of Fine Arts, 105 Boswell, Peyton, 11, 12, 13, 19, 25; and Advancing American Art exhibit, 45–47 Bothwell, Don, 152 Bowdoin College Museum of Art, 186–87 Bowen, Elizabeth, 51 Bowles, Chester, 81 Braque, Georges, 70, 98, 99, 239 Brazil: requests for American art exhibits, 185 Brecker, Richard, 82 Breeskin, Adelyn, 198–99 Bridges, Styles, 134 British Council, 15, 91–92, 119 British Guiana: American art exhibits in, 184 Brooks, Van Wyck, 99 Brumberg, Abraham, 190 Burchfield, Charles, 186 Bureau of the Budget, 211 Busbey, Fred, 38, 42–43 Byrnes, James, 36 Cadmus, Paul, 202 Cahill, Holger, 56 Calder, Alexander, 80–81, 104, 197 California Labor School, 201 Cambodia: American art exhibits in, 153 Cambridge Study Group, 130 Canaday, John, 216–17, 220 Casals, Pablo, 179 Cassatt, Mary, 189 Cassou, Jean, 33 Catlin, George, 87, 94, 165, 189 Center for Advanced Visual Studies, 225 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 4, 5, 93 Ceylon: American art exhibits in, 120 Chagall, Marc, 12, 99 Chaplin, Charlie, 135 Cherne, Leo, 141 Child, Charles, 30 INDEX

Childs, Marquis, 47 Chile: American art exhibits in, 121; requests for American art exhibits, 185 Chilean Association of Painters and Sculptors, 185 Cleveland Museum of Art, 80 Cogswell, Margaret, 109, 110, 133, 226–27; and 1968 Venice Biennale, 224; and Communication Through Art exhibit, 239–42 Cohn, Roy, 97 Cole, Thomas, ix, 38, 78 College Art Association, 60, 173 Comédie Française, 64 Commission of Fine Arts, 61–62, 63, 93, 101 Committee for Cultural Freedom, 93, 115 Committee on Government and Art, 59– 60, 62, 63, 69, 115 Commune of Venice, 197 Communication Through Art exhibit: established, 239–40 Congo: American art exhibits in, 186 Congress for Cultural Freedom, 4 Connolly, Cyril, 24 Cook, Donald, 173 Coombs, Philip, 180 Cope, George W., 165, 271 (n. 28) Copeland, Aaron, 90, 101 Corcoran Gallery, 105, 242–43 Cornell, Joseph, 215 Craven, Thomas, 56 Crawford, Peggy, 29–30 Cullman, Howard: and 1958 World’s Fair, 128, 129–30, 136, 137, 138–39, 155 Cumming, Burton, 58, 78 Curry, John Stuart, 25 Dahomey, 187; American art exhibits in, 184–85 Dali, Salvador, 12, 99 Dallas County Patriotic Council, 106, 113, 116 291

Dallas Museum of Fine Arts, 106, 113 Dallas Park Board, 107 Davidson, J. LeRoy, 21–22; and Advancing American Art exhibit, 27, 30, 31–32, 36, 38, 39, 46; resignation, 41–43 Davis, Stuart, 13, 25, 26, 80, 99, 104, 189 Degas, Edgar, 242 de Kooning, Willem, 85, 119, 135, 158, 185, 189 Deshmukh, Marion, 12, 68 Des Moines Art Center, 110 Detroit Institute of Arts, 112 d’Harnoncourt, René, 30, 83, 99 Dickinson, Edwin, 222 Dine, Jim, 193, 199, 203 Division of Cultural Relations, 17–18 Dixon, William Macneile, 10 Dr. Zhivago, 160 Dondero, George A., 101, 102, 103, 110, 116, 117, 159, 234, 238; attacks on modern art, 98–99, 111–12 Dove, Arthur, 25, 26 Duchamp, Marcel, 12, 98, 99 Dulles, John Foster, 164, 194 Dürer, Albrecht, 66 Eakins, Thomas, ix, 78, 149 Ecuador: American art exhibits in, 122 Edman, Irwin, 51–52 Egypt: USIS post requests for American art exhibits, 186 Eisenhower, Dwight D., 88, 92, 113–14, 116, 147, 161, 162; and cultural diplomacy, 93– 94, 95–96, 117, 194; defends artistic freedom, 103, 117; and 1958 World’s Fair, 136; and American National Exhibition in Moscow, 162, 164–66, 172 Emergency Cultural Government, 221, 228– 29, 230, 235 Ernst, Jimmy, 267 (n. 38) Ernst, Max, 68 Evergood, Philip, 26, 162 Eyck, Jan van, 66 292

Federal Arts Project, 17 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 102, 137 Feininger, Lyonel, 26, 108, 148, 149 Festival of the Arts, 207–8 Fine Arts Advisory Committee (1958 World’s Fair), 131–32, 138, 139 Fine Arts Committee (People to People), 119, 170, 195 Finland: American art exhibits in, 85, 232 Finley, David, 9, 18, 19, 30, 83, 101, 119, 194; and government and art, 22–23, 60–62; and Berlin Cultural Festival, 69; as U.S. Commissioner for 1952 Venice Biennale, 80, 104 Flanders, Ralph, 135, 138 Fleischman, Lawrence, 121, 125 Fleischman Collection, 121, 125 Fleischmann, Julius, 194 Force, Juliana, 44 Ford, Mrs. Henry, II, 194 Ford Foundation, 81–82, 99 Fort Worth Art Center, 227 France: cultural propaganda, 14–15; American art exhibits in, 82, 84–85, 189 Frankenthaler, Helen, 215 Frankfurther, Alfred M., 11, 19, 30–31, 47 French West Indies: American art exhibits in, 151, 184 Frost, Robert, 179 Fryd, Vivien Green, 16 Fulbright, William, 116 Fund for the Republic, 109, 110 Gainsborough, Thomas, 242 Garrett, Margaret, 19 Gauguin, Paul, 127 Gechto√, Sonia, 268 (n. 56) Geldzahler, Henry, 215–16, 223 Genauer, Emily, 36, 114, 135–36, 137, 138, 163, 203 Gendel, Milton, 203–4 Geske, Norman, 222–23, 224 INDEX

Getlein, Frank, 170–71 Gibbs, Jo, 46 Gilchrist, Brenda, 139 Gillespie, Dizzy, 2 Glackens, William, 158 Glueck, Grace, 200–201, 213, 216, 223, 224, 226, 231–32 Goldwater, Robert, 53, 54–55, 58, 63 Gone with the Wind, 67 Goodrich, Lloyd, 1, 52–53, 54, 61, 69, 76, 78, 98, 99, 104, 133, 149, 238, 239; and Committee on Government and Art, 59–60, 63; criticizes USIA ‘‘censorship,’’ 115, 127– 28; and 1958 World’s Fair, 131–32, 137, 266 (n. 37); and American National Exhibition in Moscow, 157–58, 159, 164, 169; and e√orts to establish guidelines for international art shows, 173–76, 177 Goodyear, John, 225–26 Gorky, Arshile, 82, 84, 119, 137, 148, 155, 158, 189, 193, 238 Gottlieb, Adolph, 199 Grand Central Art Galleries of New York, 79–80, 85, 198 Grandma Moses, 135, 142, 154 Graphic Arts: USA exhibit, 190–92 Graves, Morris, 13, 137 Great Britain: cultural propaganda, 15, 91– 92; American art exhibits in, 24–26, 144– 45, 189, 193 Greenberg, Clement, 14, 31–32, 115 Greenough, Horatio, 16 Gropius, Walter, 67 Grosz, George, 67–68 Guatemala: American art exhibits in, 194 Guggenheim, Peggy, 13, 99, 204, 216 Guggenheim Museum, 215 Gwathmey, Robert, 26 Hale, Robert, 80, 132 Hall Johnson Choir, 64 Halpert, Edith, 177; and American art at American National Exhibition in MosINDEX

cow, 158–59, 166–67, 168, 170, 172–73, 270 (n. 26) Hamburg State Opera, 64 Hammett, Dashiell, 97 Hart, Philip, 161, 162–63 Hartigan, Grace, 134, 267 (n. 38) Hartley, Marsden, 25, 26 Hassam, Childe, 165 Hayes, Bartlett, 69 Heckscher, August, 181, 182, 195, 199 Heindel, Richard, 27, 35, 43 Henie, Sonja, 88 Hersey, John, 208, 209 Herter, Christian, 164–65 Hess, Thomas, 114, 116, 135 Highlights of American Painting exhibit: establishment of, 122; in Latin America, 122; in Europe, 123 Hippocrates, x Hixson, Walter, 88, 156 Hobson, Katherine Thayer, 99–100, 103, 110, 161, 162 Hofmann, Hans, 12, 68, 186, 189 Holland, Kenneth, 28, 30 Homer, Winslow, ix, 78, 82, 195 Honduran School of Fine Arts, 152 Honduras: American art exhibits in, 152 Hong Kong: American art exhibits in, 152 Hook, Sidney, 57 Hoover, J. Edgar, 137 Hope, Henry R., 157 Hopkins, Henry: and 1970 Venice Biennale, 227–30, 235 Hopper, Edward, ix–x, 80, 82, 84, 104, 158, 185, 186 House Un-American Activities Committee, 39, 42, 97, 100, 106, 159, 163, 164, 181 Hovde, Bryn J., 19 Howell, Charles, 92 Hulten, Charles, 39, 41–42 Humphrey, Hubert H., 115–16, 117 Hussein, Ibrahim, 230 Hutchins, Robert, 109 293

Huxley, Aldous, 11 Huxley, Julian, 101 India: American art exhibits in, 81–82, 120, 186; Soviet art exhibits in, 124–25 Indonesia: American art exhibits in, 121, 184 Information and Educational Exchange Act, 62 Inness, George, 50 Institute of Contemporary Art, 57, 179 Institute of International Education, 117 International Educational Exchange Service, 93 Iran: and Communication Through Art exhibit, 240 Iraq: USIS post requests for American art exhibits, 186 Israel, 184; USIS post requests for American art exhibits, 119 Italy, 55; American art exhibits in, 79, 123. See also Venice Biennale James, Henry, x Japan: USIS post requests for American art exhibits, 185–86; American art exhibits in, 186 Javits, Jacob, 163 Jewell, Edward Alden, 30, 45 Jewish Museum of New York City, 199 John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, 181 Johns, Jasper, 199, 203 Johnson, Lyndon Baines, 130, 183–84, 187, 207, 208, 211, 224 Johnstone, William, 60, 62–63 Jordan: American art exhibits in, 184, 186 Julliard Quartet, 64 Kandinsky, Wassily, 12, 99, 127 Kefauver, Estes, 196 Kefauver, Nancy, 196–97 Kelly, Ellsworth, 216 294

Kemenov, Victor, 168–69 Kennan, George F., 207–8; support for cultural diplomacy, 89–90; defends artistic freedom, 103 Kennedy, Jacqueline, 179 Kennedy, John F., 130, 179; and administration’s support for the arts, 180–83; names Advisor on Fine Arts, 196 Kepes, Gyorgy, 225–26 Khrushchev, Nikita, 1, 127, 160, 170; attacks modern art, 190 Kienholz, Edward, 223 Kingman, Dong, 120–21 Kline, Franz, 135, 181, 185, 189, 197 Korea: American art exhibits in, 153 Kramer, Hilton, 217, 222–23 Kroll, Leon, 106, 108, 113–14, 133 Kuh, Katherine, 216 Kuniyoshi, Yasuo, 24, 25, 26, 43, 109, 133, 238; work selected for 1952 Venice Biennale, 80, 103–4; accused of leftist leanings, 99; and Sport in Art exhibit, 106, 108; and American National Exhibition in Moscow, 158 Larson, Gary, 59 Lawrence, Jacob, 26, 202 Lee, J. M., 91 Léger, Fernand, 12, 98, 99 Lehmann-Haupt, Helmut, 70 Leith, James, 14 Leland, Waldo G., 19 Levine, Jack, 26, 82; and American National Exhibition in Moscow, 158, 163–64, 165, 166 Lewis, Fulton, Jr., 36, 39, 161 Lichtenstein, Roy, 193, 194, 215, 216, 229 Lindsay, John, 161 Longwell, Daniel, 104, 133 Los Angeles County Museum of Art, 222–23 Louchheim, Aline, 84, 90 Lowell, Robert, 208, 209 Lynes, Russell, 75 INDEX

MacIver, Loren, 189 MacLeish, Archibald, 13, 18, 19, 52, 65 Malaya: American art exhibits in, 120–21, 152–53 Mangravite, Peppino, 47 Marin, John, 24, 45 Marsh, Reginald, 99 Marshall, George C.: and Advancing American Art exhibit, 38, 39, 40, 41, 43–44, 45, 47, 252 (n. 60) Marshall, Jonathan, 114–15 Martha Graham dance troupe, 93, 96 Mathews, Jane de Hart, 45 Mathewson, Lemuel, 71 Matisse, Henri, 196 McCarthy, Joseph, 97, 99, 112, 116, 159, 161, 163, 165, 234 McCloy, John J., 68 McCray, Porter, 83 McDonough, Gordon, 100 McLanathan, Richard: and American art at American National Exhibition in Moscow, 159, 167–68, 172 Mecklenburg, Virginia, 36 Medea, 64, 96 Messer, Thomas, 104, 105, 113, 215, 216; and American Paintings, 1900–1950 episode, 109–10 Metropolitan Museum of Art, 30–33, 72, 80, 132, 215 Meyer, Donald, 97–98 Mies van der Rohe, Ludwig, 67 Miller, Arthur, 97, 181 Miller, Toby, 15 Minihan, Janet, 92 Míro, Joan, 70, 99 Mitchell, Eleanor, 170, 242–43 Mollett, Guy, 127 Mondrian, Piet, 12 Monet, Claude, ix, 242 Moore, Henry, 64 Moran, Thomas, ix Morano, Albert, 135, 138 INDEX

More, Hermon, 27, 80, 112–13 Morley, Grace McCann, 19, 44, 46, 51, 78, 99, 101; and 1958 World’s Fair, 132, 140, 142, 262 (n. 37) Morocco: USIS post requests for American art exhibits, 118 Motherwell, Robert, x, 13, 68, 74, 115, 133, 134, 158, 185, 229 Mueller, George, 267 (n. 38) Munro, Thomas, 20, 23 Murrow, Edward R., 180, 192, 198, 199, 202 Museé National d’Art Moderne, 84 Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, 185 Museu de Arte Moderna (São Paulo), 197 Museum of Fine Arts (Caracas), 119 Museum of Modern Art (MOMA), 4, 54, 56, 57, 76, 80, 83, 87, 90, 99, 103, 108, 117, 136, 137, 186, 188, 189, 201; establishes international art program, 83–84; Twelve Modern American Painters and Sculptors exhibit, 84–85; purchases American pavilion at Venice Biennale, 85; sponsorship of American shows at Venice Biennale, 85–86, 197; establishes International Art Council, 86; establishes Art in Embassies program, 195–96, 197; announces end of sponsorship of American shows at Venice Biennale and São Paulo Bienal, 198–99 Museum of Modern Art (Moscow), 127 Nakian, Reuben, 222 National Academy of Design, 59–60, 136 National Collection of Fine Arts, 206, 207; and International Art Program, 214–15, 216–17, 220 National Committee on Government and Art, 1 National Council on Arts, 217 National Council on Freedom from Censorship, 115 National Council on the Arts and Government, 180 295

National Gallery of Art, ix–x, 60, 61, 62, 80, 131, 138, 238; opening of, 9; and InterAmerican O≈ce, 18–19, 21–22, 23–26, 61 National Institute of Arts and Letters, 60 National Museum of Fine Arts (Paraguay), 152 National Press Club, 166 National Security Council, 125 National University of the South, 151–52 NBC Orchestra, 93, 97, 199 Nehru, Jawaharlal, 120 Netherlands: American art exhibits in, 125, 188 Neuberger, Roy, 78, 173 New York Ballet Theatre, 93 New York City Ballet, 96 New York Philharmonic, 93 New York University, 182 New Zealand: USIS post requests for American art exhibits, 119 Nicaragua: American art exhibits in, 151 Ninkovich, Frank, 17, 45, 88 Nixon, Richard, 165 NWDR Symphony Orchestra, 64 Oberlaender, Gustav, 71 Oberlaender Trust, 71, 72, 76 O≈ce of International Information and Cultural A√airs, 27, 43 O≈ce of the Coordinator of InterAmerican A√airs, 18, 22, 26, 40 O≈ce of the High Commissioner for Germany, 65 O≈ce of the United States Commissioner General (1958 World’s Fair), 128 O≈ce of War Information, 26, 40, 248 (n. 23) O’Kee√e, Georgia, 24, 25, 26, 45, 63, 148–49, 155 Oklahoma!, 64, 96 Oldenburg, Claes, 199, 203, 229 Old Vic Theatre Company, 64 Olitski, Jules, 216 Operations Coordinating Board, 124 Orchestre National of Paris, 64 296

Pakistan: American art exhibits in, 120; and Communication Through Art exhibit, 240–41 Pan American Union, 185 Paraguay: American art exhibits in, 152 Parker, Dorothy, 101 Parker, William Ainsworth, 90–91 Parrish, Maxfield, 50 Pasternak, Boris, 163, 165 Pearson, Ralph, 25, 31, 46 Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, 157 People to People program, 117, 170, 242; and Art in Embassies program, 194–95 Perlin, Bernard, 267 (n. 38) Peru: American art exhibits in, 121, 188 Philadelphia Orchestra, 93 Philip Morris: sponsors pop art exhibit, 193–94 Philippines: American art exhibits in, 120; USIS post requests for American art exhibits, 186 Phillips, Duncan, 11, 24, 26, 44 Phillips Memorial Gallery, 11 Picasso, Pablo, 56, 70, 98, 99, 196; and Universities Collect exhibit, 108–9 Pissarro, Camille, 242 Plaut, James, 139, 141, 142, 179–80 Poiger, Uta, 66 Pollock, Jackson, x, 13, 63, 68, 74, 82, 84, 99, 119, 127, 134, 135, 185, 189, 193, 215, 236, 238; one-man show in London, 145; featured in Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting exhibit, 148, 149, 152, 155; featured in the American National Exhibition in Moscow, 158, 163, 169; featured in American Vanguard exhibit, 189 Poor, Henry Varnum, III, 19 Pope, Annemarie, 259 (n. 18) Porgy and Bess, 93, 96 Porterfield, Todd, 14 The Portrayal of the Negro in American Painting, 1710–1963 exhibit, 186–87 Preston, Stuart, 85, 86, 258 (n. 9) INDEX

Prevots, Naima, 2 Prior, Harris, 132, 133, 134, 140, 268 (n. 56) Rauschenberg, Robert, 199–200, 203, 204, 205, 229, 275 (n. 34) Refregier, Anton: controversy over murals in San Francisco, 100–102, 111, 201 Reinhardt, Ad, 134 Reinhardt, Siegfried, 202 Rembrandt van Rijn, 242 Remington, Frederic, 135, 165 Renoir, Pierre-Auguste, 127, 242 Research Institute of America, 141 Ribico√, Abraham, 180 Rich, Daniel Catton, 19, 21, 23, 24, 30, 99, 132, 257–58 (n. 8) Ripley, S. Dillon, 210, 213, 217, 225 Ritchie, Andrew, 80 Rivers, Larry, 202 Rockefeller, David, 217 Rockefeller, Mrs. John D., III, 86 Rockefeller, Nelson, 18 Rockefeller Brothers Fund, 83, 90 Rockwell, Norman, 38, 134, 142, 162 Romania, 186 Romero Brest, Jorge, 185 Rood, John, 164 Rooney, John, 97–98 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 9, 16 Ross, Kenwood, 162 Rostow, W. W., 130 Roszak, Theodore, 269 (n. 15) Rothko, Mark, x, 13, 63, 68, 74, 119, 134, 158, 169, 181, 185, 186, 193, 236, 238; featured in American Vanguard exhibit, 189 Rowan, Carl, 187, 191, 202–3, 210–11, 213 Ryder, Albert, 78 S. C. Johnson & Son, Inc.: sends Art: USA: Now exhibit overseas, 192–93; and charges against artists in exhibit, 202 Saarinen, Aline, 86, 100, 101, 125–26 Saltonstall, Leverett, 135 INDEX

San Francisco Museum of Art, 132 São Paulo Bienal, 83, 90, 126, 180; MOMA announces end of support for American shows at Bienal, 198–99; USIA takes on responsibility for American shows, 198– 200; 1969 Bienal and American artists’ boycott, 225–26 Sara Roby Foundation Collection, 188 Sargeant, H. Howland, 40, 93 Sargent, John Singer, 78, 135, 165, 189 Saunders, Frances Stonor, 4 Schine, David, 97 Schlesinger, Arthur, Jr., 182 Schramm, James, 109 Scott, David W., 206, 207, 211, 215, 220; and 1966 Venice Biennale, 217–18 Scott-Smith, Giles, 4 Scudder, Hubert B., 101 Senegal, 187 Shahn, Ben, 26, 52, 82, 84, 102, 109, 133, 238; exhibited at 1954 Venice Biennale, 85–86, 197; and Sport in Art exhibit, 106, 108; included in Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting exhibit, 148, 152, 155; included in American National Exhibition in Moscow, 158, 164; and USIA security checks, 201–2 Shank, Donald, 117–18 Sheeler, Charles, 137, 149, 269 (n. 15) Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery: and 1968 Venice Biennale, 218, 222–23 Sivard, Robert, 209; and USIA policies on art exhibits, 201; and 1964 Venice Biennale, 205; and fight to keep international art program in USIA, 212 Sixty Americans Since 1800 exhibit, 249 (n. 27) Sloan, John, ix–x, 158; accused of leftist leanings, 99, 106, 109, 262 (n. 61) Smith, David, 215 Smith, Lawrence M. C., 54, 74, 76, 77, 80, 259 (n. 18) Smith, Wint, 135, 138 297

Smithsonian Institution, 76, 83; contract with State Department for international art shows, 86–87; interest in taking over international art program, 206; contracts with USIA to take charge of international art program, 209–13; establishes International Art Program o≈ce, 214; and 1966 Venice Biennale, 215–18; and 1968 Venice Biennale, 218, 222–23; and tensions with USIA, 218–21; and protests against 1970 Venice Biennale, 221–22; and 1969 São Paulo Bienal, 225–26; and planning for 1970 Venice Biennale, 227–28 Soby, James Thrall, 12, 54, 99; calls for government support of the arts, 58–59 Socialist realism, 15–16 Society of Western Artists, 100–101 Solomon, Alan, 199 Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, 188 Southern Rhodesia: American art exhibits in, 154 Soviet Union: cultural propaganda, 15–16, 62–63, 87–89, 124–25, 186, 187; criticisms of modern art, 125–27, 190–92; at 1958 World’s Fair, 130–31; American art exhibits in, 159–72, 189–92 Spaeth, Eloise, 5, 238, 239, 262 (n. 61); calls for government support of the arts, 51– 52, 53, 55; and Berlin Cultural Festival, 69–70; and selection of art for 1952 Venice Biennale, 80–81, 103–4 Spaeth, Otto, 55 Speicher, Eugene, 158 Sport in Art exhibit, 110, 112, 119, 124, 125, 128, 132, 133, 137, 138, 145, 147, 158, 164, 235; origins of, 105–6; protests against in Dallas, 105–7; cancellation of, 107–8; criticisms of USIA for cancellation of, 113–18 Sports Illustrated, 105, 106 Sputnik, 118, 140 Staempfli, George, 131, 134, 137, 138–39, 142 Stalin, Joseph, 15, 141, 170 298

Stanton, Frank, 183 Steinbeck, John, 97, 181 Stieglitz, Alfred, 27 Stone, Edward, 137 Stone, George Winchester, Jr., 182–83 Stonorov, Oskar, 55 Streibert, Ted, 104–5, 108–9, 114, 115, 116, 147, 194, 262 (n. 61) Stuart, Gilbert, 195 Sweden: American art exhibits in, 232 Sweeney, James Johnson, 46 Swire, Willard, 91 Switzerland: American art exhibits in, 193 Symphony of the Air orchestra, 96; tour of Asia, 97; cancellation of Middle East tour, 97–98, 107 Syria: American art exhibits in, 154, 186 Taber, John, 38, 40 Taiwan: American art exhibits in, 152, 186 Tate Gallery, 15, 214; 1946 exhibit of American art, 24–26, 144, 145 Taubes, Frederic, 13 Taylor, Francis Henry, 24, 32–33, 131–32 Taylor, Harold, 208, 209 Taylor, Joshua, 231–32 Thayer, Robert H., 195–96 Thompson, Frank, 92–93 Thwaites, John Anthony, 25 Time, 106 Tobey, Mark, 119, 148, 152, 158, 185, 197 Tomkins, Calvin, 197, 200–201, 204 Toscanini, Arturo, 97 Trova, Ernest, 215, 223 Truman, Harry S., 43, 60, 61–62, 63, 69, 93, 104 Trumbell, John, 135 Tunis International Art Exposition, 186 Turkey: and Communication Through Art exhibit, 240 Turner, J. M. W., ix Twain, Mark, 86 Twentieth Century Highlights of American INDEX

Painting exhibit: establishment of, 148– 49; at Whitney Museum, 149; in Latin America, 151–52; in Asia, 152–53; in Africa, 153–54; in Australia, 154; in Middle East, 154; in 1960s, 184–85 Unfinished Business exhibit, 134–35, 155 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), 22– 23, 51,54, 77, 101, 202; International Conference of Artists, 89 United States: early e√orts at cultural diplomacy, 17–26 United States Advisory Commission on Information, 88–89 United States Committee of the International Association of Art, 183 United States Committee of the International Association of Plastic Arts, 113, 127, 136, 202 United States Department of State: early e√orts at cultural diplomacy, 17–26; establishes Division of Cultural Relations, 17; establishes Inter-American O≈ce, 18; and discussions about overseas art program, 19–26; establishes Advancing American Art collection, 26–29; sends Advancing American Art exhibits abroad, 33–35; and attacks on Advancing American Art, 36–43; dissolution of Advancing American Art collection, 43–45; cultural diplomacy e√orts in West Germany, 63–66; and Berlin Cultural Festival, 67–69; art exhibit at Berlin Cultural Festival, 69–74; renewed interest in cultural diplomacy, 93; concerns about ‘‘subversive’’ artists, 103–4; contracts for Highlights of American Painting exhibit, 122; and 1958 World’s Fair, 128–30; concerns over MOMA’s Art in Embassies program, 195–96; establishes its own Art in Embassies program, 196–97; art program in 2000, 237 United States Information Agency (USIA), INDEX

2; contract with AFA for art exhibitions, 82–83; renewed interest in international art program, 94–96; ‘‘blacklist’’ of artists, 101; concerns about ‘‘subversive’’ artists, 104–5; and Sport in Art exhibit, 105–6; decision to cancel Sport in Art, 107–8; policy on ‘‘subversive’’ art, 107, 108–9, 201–2; demands that artists be removed from Universities Collect exhibit, 108–9; cancels American Painting, 1900–1950 exhibit, 109–10; criticisms of, 114–18; art exhibits in mid-1950s, 120–21; and Highlights of American Painting exhibit, 122– 23; and 1958 World’s Fair, 131–44; and Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting exhibit, 148–55, 184–85; and American National Exhibition in Moscow, 157–73; and overseas art exhibits in early 1960s, 185–92; and America’s race problem and overseas art exhibits, 186– 87; annoyance with MOMA art exhibits, 188; and American Vanguard exhibit, 188–89; and Graphic Arts: USA exhibit, 190–92; cooperation with big U.S. businesses to exhibit art, 192–94; takes on responsibility for American shows at Venice Biennale and São Paulo Bienal, 198– 200; decision to drop sponsorship for American shows at Venice Biennale and São Paulo Bienal, 200–206; hands international art program to Smithsonian Institution, 209–13; tensions with Smithsonian Institution, 218–21; dissolution of art program, 237; absorbed by Department of State, 237; and Communication Through Art exhibit, 239–42 United States Information Service (USIS), 23; requests from posts for American art exhibits, 118–19; reports on American art exhibits in mid-1950s, 120–23; reports on Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting exhibit, 151–54; origins of, 248 (n. 23) 299

Universities Collect exhibit: USIA demands to have artists removed from, 108, 110 University of Oklahoma, 45 Vaillant, George C., 19 Van Doren, Charles, 160, 270 (n. 18) Varney, Astrid, 64 Vatican: criticism of art at 1964 Venice Biennale, 204 Velasco, José María, 18 Venezuela: USIS post requests for American art exhibits, 119; American art exhibits in, 194 Venice Biennale, 180; lack of U.S. support for, 53, 55, 79–80; 1952 Biennale, 80–81, 95, 103–4; 1954 Biennale, 85–86; and MOMA sponsorship of American shows, 197; and USIA sponsorship of American shows, 198–200; 1964 Biennale, 199–200; domestic and European criticisms of 1964 American show, 202–6; 1966 Biennale, 215–18; 1968 Biennale, 218, 222–24; 1970 Biennale, 221–22, 226, 227–32; student protests at 1968 Biennale, 223–24 Voice of America, 1, 55, 167 Wagnleitner, Reinhold, 68 Walker, Hudson, 27, 30, 31 Walker, John, 30, 80, 83, 103, 194; and government and art, 22–23; and 1946 Tate Gallery exhibit, 24–26; and 1958 World’s Fair art exhibit, 131–32, 138, 139 Walker Art Center, 132, 199 Walter, Francis, 161, 202, 234, 238; attacks on art at American National Exhibition in Moscow, 159–60, 162, 163, 164, 165 War Assets Administration, 44 Warhol, Andy, 188, 193, 229, 237 Warner, William, 206, 209–10, 211, 212–13 Washburn, Abbott, 165 Watkins, Franklin, 157–58, 163, 164, 170, 177 Weber, Max, 153

300

Weege, William, 230–31 Weidler, Charlotte, 70–71 Weil, Stephen, 213 West Germany: U.S. postwar propaganda in, 65–67; American art exhibits in, 66, 67–68, 78–79, 189 Weston, Harold, 113, 202–3 Whistler, James McNeill, 153 Whitney, John Hay, 83–84, 108 Whitney Museum of American Art, 1, 53, 57, 78, 80, 112, 131, 137, 138, 157, 173–74, 238; exhibit of Twentieth Century Highlights of American Painting, 149 Wilder, Thornton, 89 Willard, Charlotte, 217, 220 Williams, Wheeler, 100, 161 Wilson, Donald, 210 Wood, Grant, 158 Worcester Art Museum, 131, 132 World Festival of Negro Arts, 187 World Peace Conference, 109 World’s Fair (1958): U.S. planning for, 128– 30; and planning of American art exhibit, 130–34; U.S. competition with Soviets at, 130–31, 140–41, 142–43, 268 (n. 54); and criticisms of American pavilion, 134–35; and criticisms of American art exhibit, 135–38; and supplemental American art exhibit, 137; and response to criticisms of American art exhibit, 138–42; and European reaction to American art exhibit, 141–45 World Youth Festival, 66, 67 Wyeth, Andrew, 82 Wyomissing Foundation, 78 Young Democratic Clubs of America, 91 Yúdice, George, 15 Yugoslavia, 186; American art exhibits in, 123, 232 Zorach, William, 106, 108, 133, 158

INDEX