When in early 1937 Pablo was asked to produce a painting for the Spanish Pavilion, he told the Republic’s delegates that he was not sure he could do the kind of picture they wanted. The world of his art had been till then essentially
When in early 1937 Pablo was asked to produce a painting for the Spanish Pavilion, he told the Republic’s delegates that he was not sure he could do the kind of picture they wanted. The world of his art had been till then essentially intimate and personal, bound by the walls and windows of a room; he had almost never spoken to the public realm, still less to political events; since 1925 his art had often steered close, claustrophobically, to nightmare or monstrosity. Yet the painting he eventually did for the Republic spoke grandly to the new realities of war. And the scene of suffering and disorientation he showed us has lived on, as an emblem of the modern condition, for eight decades. Guernica has become our culture’s tragic scene.
Are there continuities between Guernica and the strange, often agonized vision of humanity that Picasso had set forth over the preceding decade? How did Picasso’s distinctive set