The Rudolf Steiner Archive

45. Matinee Lecture: On the Exhibition Von Bildern by Maria Strakosch-Giesler

My dear Theosophical friends!

[ 1 ] Then I would like to say just a few more words to you today! These conversations, which are outside the actual lecture series—such as the one this morning—give us, especially in lecture series like the present one, an opportunity, so to speak, for me personally to speak to you in a slightly different way than I do in the series itself. In the course of our theosophical work, we have gradually come to realize that, so to speak, more intimate and higher realms of Spiritual Science must be addressed in our lecture series, and when dealing with such topics as the present one on “Wonders of the Worlds, Trials of the Soul, and Spiritual Revelations,” it is necessary that, so to speak, every word spoken be examined in the most meticulous manner to ensure that it can be justified in light of the sources of our Spiritual Science—those sources we refer to as the Masters of Wisdom and the Harmony of Feelings. For only under such conditions can what is to be said gradually shed its personal, more individual character. Such a matinee may provide an opportunity to also say and discuss something of this individual aspect—which should likewise flow into our theosophical life—specifically the more human aspect, since the lectures address the more general topics. And here, my dear Theosophical friends, I would first like to direct your attention to the paintings by our dear member, Mrs. Strakosch, which you will find in one of our lecture rooms here. I would like to direct your attention to these pictures for the very reason that, over time, it must certainly be our intention to allow the artistic—and, in other words, all the other elements of life—to permeate Spiritual Science more and more. In all this endeavor —as I was already able to say in the first lecture—we must be well aware that we are, of course, still in the early stages of all such undertakings today, and that the certainty and correctness of our will is what matters, not, as one might say with the words commonly used in the phrase when someone says that someone has done something they did not intend to do: “I intended the best.”—That is not what I mean by “intent,” but rather that this intent must truly encompass within itself the certainty that can sow the seeds for something much broader that may come to pass in the future. I say this, of course, because I am well aware that from various points of view, all sorts of objections can be raised against the kind of artistic endeavors to which I would now like to direct your attention. However, through theosophy we must accustom ourselves to the fact that, at the dawn of an epoch’s spiritual life, we must see precisely what carries within it the seeds of future development; for it is indeed as stated in one passage of The Trial of the Soul—and in a certain sense this holds true in all ages—that the corresponding elements in the world develop and die out, and even as they die out, they will already begin to embody the new. It is then up to human beings to understand this emerging newness.

[ 2 ] When we consider the artistic development of humanity, it may be appropriate to recall here and now a magnificent quote by Schiller that was frequently cited in Germany throughout the nineteenth century. Now, however, this quote has become much less common, because faith in and memory of the idealism toward which Schiller and Goethe strove have been waning more or less for decades. This statement succinctly expresses something immensely significant for the development of art, namely: In the triumph of form over matter lies the true artistic secret of the master. - And one can see today, out in the world, how all the conditions for understanding such a statement are actually lacking. When we speak today here and there about this or that work of pictorial art, how easily the question arises: Is what is depicted there truly well and faithfully rendered? - In the spirit of Schiller’s words, this would mean: Has the subject matter—which is to be embodied in the work of art—been honored as fully as possible? Has the subject matter overwhelmed the artist as completely as possible? - Schiller, however, says: “In the triumph of form over subject matter lies the true artistic secret of the master.”

[ 3 ] Well, one might say, art is actually in a good position, since its true secret can never be lost to the world. For in any art form, there can never be merely a slavish treatment of the material—our modern naturalism would certainly engage in such a slavish treatment of the material if it were possible in that particular art form; but it is not possible—that is music. And one might say: Thank God that people today do not sing the springs or hear their sounds in rhythms as people did in ancient times; for they would simply slavishly imitate what they perceive externally in terms of material content, just as they so readily do in other arts; they would not even strive to subdue the material through form. That which, my dear theosophical friends, is precisely impossible in the art of music is, in a certain sense, a fundamental element of all other art. The mission and task of art can never, in essence, consist in the imitation of what surrounds us externally and materially. That is why, in the Rosicrucian Mystery Play, the character in the prologue spoke the words that the most imperfect embodiment of what does not yet exist in nature is, in a certain sense, fundamentally superior to the most perfect reproduction of what has already been brought into the world for humanity through nature by divine-spiritual beings. For in art, when a person truly feels artistically, they have, so to speak, the impulse to return to an element that can be described only [in these words]: In art, the human being permeates themselves with the same creative, productive force with which the divine-spiritual beings were themselves permeated when they brought the workings of nature into our world. Turning one’s gaze, turning one’s senses toward what is there—what has come into being through the productivity of the divine-spiritual beings—cannot constitute true art in the true sense of the word. But when human beings are able to immerse themselves in the original productive power that was inherent in the gods when they brought forth what surrounds us in nature, then they find within themselves something similar to what the gods themselves experienced as the productive force within them.

[ 4 ] We find one example right away: When we look around the world today, we see the individual surfaces of objects, and their colors speak to us. Through Spiritual Science, we learn that matter, even at its most basic level, is a maya—an illusion—and that, in truth, matter as it extends out into space is condensed light. So we must assume that the gods, who were originally imbued with their productive power, condensed within themselves the elemental power of light that sparkles throughout the vastness of space. Even the densest substances out there are not what physicists and chemists speak of, but are condensed, self-consolidated light. And the ground upon which we tread—no matter how solid a substance it may be—is condensed from the elements of the world, solidified by the gods. In the German language, we have a good word whose phonetic resonance has, unfortunately, already been forgotten today due to a lack of artistic sensibility, and that is the obvious word “dichten” and “Dichtung.” And it is not for nothing that one says: Poetry is being created. When poetry is composed, when poetry is created, then what the gods formed out there in the world—by composing from light and solidifying material substances and the firm ground beneath our feet—actually takes place through the powers of our souls. And we must, in turn, bring such words back up from the treasure trove of language, words that are intimately related to those that exist among us. Through its great, mighty genius, language has led us to use the word “to compose,” because it truly means something for the soul, just as it does, for example, when the word “to compose” is used in the Second Rosicrucian Mystery, where it is said that the world spirits composed nature out there from light. We must feel something like this when the musical artist allows the world of sounds to reign within himself—that world of sounds in which he cannot directly imitate the external world, but where he must practice, fully immersed in the reigning divine element within his own soul, so that sound may blend with sound. Just as sounds work in this way within the musical artist, so too can colors work within the painter; and it is conceivable that there exists a form of painting that seeks, in the most fundamental elements, to recreate that creative activity which we can only imagine through a mental image of how the divine world crystallizes and solidifies our material world out of light. Read the words that Ahriman speaks in the Mystery Play; there, in expressions such as “in dense light” or “I harden solid ground,” you will find precisely the indications of how Ahriman, in his own way, is the helper of the higher spiritual powers. Precisely in such passages, where “dense light” or “the hardness of the ground” is mentioned, you should not form a mental image of a mere filler phrase being used; rather, it is stated that these words point to cosmic mysteries, and that one does not go too far in interpreting such words as literally as possible. One must seek out the resonances of sounds and [one must seek to bring back the almost lost affinities in our language, to let language become something other than what it often is today. But then a feeling must arise within us that even in the sounds of language there is something akin to the effects of color and tone, and that we must learn to handle language in a much freer way than in that slavish manner in which it usually leans on people’s realistic sensibilities today. That is why we are striving more and more in this direction—and must be glad to have found in Miss von Eckardtstein an understanding ally—so that our stage designs look the way they do, with our painters following us with complete understanding, so that the stage designs look the way they do without regard to the question: What suits this or that person? What suits this or that face? What does this or that person like? Rather, the entire stage design, in its colors and forms, should express something through which one can, as it were, see right through and, with peace of mind, enjoy something like Strader does when he sits before Capesius’s portrait, [and feels] that a true work of art stands before us only when all materiality is overcome. - The true secret of the master’s art lies in the triumph of form over matter! - Therefore, every work of art should evoke within us the feeling that: When I stand before this work of art and look at it, the material dissolves, becomes misty, dissolves, shatters, and in its place a magical spiritual effect takes hold. When the work of art dissolves before us in this way, it fulfills Schiller’s words: “In the triumph of form over matter lies the true secret of the master’s art.” - And “form” is a humble word for “spirit.” In the triumph of spirit over matter lies the true secret of the master’s art!

[ 5 ] Drawing on the very nature of color itself, our friend, Ms. Strakosch, now seeks to create something that, of course, cannot be found here and there in the physical world, so that we must say: We are to be guided by these images—which we may now find in one way or another—toward the possibilities of the art of painting, [toward] the colors, which indeed carry a longing to be received by the human soul and to become conscious within it, allowing the colors to take creative form within us in such a way that one or the other presents itself as harmony or disharmony; the creative glows of color that also permeate human beings even on the [astral plane] in Devachan, where they still manifest as the creative forces of the beings—these should penetrate the soul and resonate together like the tones of music. Then they present something pictorial before us that we cannot find in the external world.

[ 6 ] Such a desire indeed faces the greatest obstacle today, and it is almost impossible at present to create anything meaningful in such a way that one can even begin to form a mental image of what is actually meant to come about along this path. However, we can gain an understanding—on theosophical ground—of what is meant to come about, as I say. Here, however, a point must be addressed that I have already touched upon several times in connection with other matters. In this area, too, we see that the current toward spirituality—which has just been described—is most stubbornly opposed by what is called “practical life” and which, in reality, is the most impractical thing of all. The “practitioners” go around talking about “practical living,” claiming that they are the true practitioners, while viewing others as dreamers, as impractical people who are incapable of accomplishing anything in life. By what means, then, can “practical living” still be considered practical today? Through thoughtlessness—the failure to reflect on how things ought to be! Just consider how impractical every hat, every skirt, every table is that is imposed on us by brutal practicality! And simply because we accept the most impractical, most nonsensical stuff—to which we adapt our habits of life—because we thoughtlessly submit to the “practical way of life” that has become the most impractical thing imaginable, the most dreamlike—simply because we face it thoughtlessly—this can still hold sway today, even among those who are already better able to see what impractical people come up with. And anyone would be better at making a table than today’s so-called “practical person,” who is truly impractical. But we face this world; we need its things. And how we must use them becomes strikingly clear to us when we see the subtlety of art—that which must be willed on the foundation of spiritual life—directly intersecting with what practice provides us. And that is why it is difficult, and why such obstacles arise for those who seek what I have hinted at, for example, in painting. We are presented with colors that are completely useless. The painter must have them manufactured by the manufacturers. But these colors are of no use at all; when we look closely at them, when we have a sense of higher worlds, they appear, in contrast to the real world of colors, as embodied brutality. And if we try to place side by side the colors—let’s say—of human skin and those of the painted human body, then the execution, due to the external painting technique alone, is almost a mockery of what one might hope to achieve.

[ 7 ] Therefore, for an art such as the one whose general direction has now been outlined to you, it will be necessary above all else that an emancipation take place—the emancipation of art from the mass production of paints. The painter must make his own paints. The art of painting must begin with the painter being able to make his own colors, so that he does not feel dependent even on the most basic elements offered to him by the materialistic outside world. You know that this ideal is fulfilled by the old masters. Thus, what has been suggested to you as an initial aspiration will come to fruition when painters—and indeed, other artists as well—learn to emancipate themselves from the materialistic world. Today, one feels the deepest sorrow regarding what could be achieved through the preparation of colors when one must witness that even those who wish to create works of art such as those we see hanging in the foyer must go to some paint store and buy their colors there. With such paints—which highlight not an understanding of the facts, not true practice, but rather a fanciful lack of practice—one cannot achieve anything at all in true art of light and color. So you see, my dear Theosophical friends, that when we turn our gaze to what first presents itself to us and what seeks to be born from the Theosophical spirit—which is the true practice of life in the future—we can indeed learn a great deal about our time; yet we can only learn this much if we truly incorporate this Theosophy into our lives. It might perhaps be more convenient to simply have craftsmen make everything we need for our stage sets; but that would turn out to be as impractical as possible. Only through theosophists can it come to pass that, little by little, one can gain a mental image of what the will, inflamed by theosophy, actually is in the artistic realm.

[ 8 ] That is why I ask you to look at the paintings outside through the eyes of a theosophist—to view them in such a way that, while the colors one buys were indeed still necessary for their creation, what is so beautifully intended within them is the beginning of an artistic endeavor that will have to start forming colors from the primordial elements of nature themselves. Painting must begin with the mixing of colors; it must sense how one color flows into another, how the pigmentary quality can replicate the transparency of real color. This is possible only if one makes the colors oneself. Then one will see how few colors are needed to evoke every possible nuance. There is something barbaric about working today with a vast array of colors on the palette. If a painter were to begin his art by mixing his own colors, he would be able to bring about the interplay of colors in a different way from the few basic colors he needs; only then, however, will it be possible to conjure before our eyes something that echoes what the gods create in nature. That is why matter can only be overcome by form when such principles are applied even to the art of portraiture. Painters do not have it as easy as other artists. Other artists employ the means that are, in a certain sense, available in the external world, but therein lies the temptation to imitate these external means, whereas for the true artist they are nothing more than a means of freeing himself from the imitation of nature. Then, when one learns to truly recognize the nature of transparency in color within the nature of the pigment, one will discover something of profound importance that delves into the secrets of art.

[ 9 ] There is a shade of color in nature, among the wonders of nature, which, in a mysterious and enigmatic way, has absorbed within itself all the other shades of color from that one spiritual pole of color. And this color is the color of the human body. The secret of this shade of color will only be rediscovered when an ideal such as the one mentioned today can be fulfilled. For anyone who has a sense of these things—not intellectually, but through artistic sensibility—will find today in the vast majority of portraits—to put it politely—that people do not look at all like human beings in a color that the human body actually possesses, but rather as if a wooden figure had been painted. Beneath these flesh tones of the skin lies not human flesh, [but] wood or some other substance, of which an inappropriate representation is what ultimately seeks to present itself as the true color of the human being. If one wishes to understand such a thing, one must delve into the mystery of the effect of color—that mystery which requires one first to learn to recognize within oneself the color that is held purely transparently in the higher worlds; then to fathom the mystery of how Ahriman works in dense light, in order to truly discover, in the [pigment color], that which is set before us externally.

[ 10 ] To become practical, it is necessary above all to emancipate oneself from what is today called “practice”—to realize that all of this is the very opposite of any real practice and can only exist as practice because it cannot be sold to the public on the basis of its goodness and usefulness, but rather because there is simply nothing else, and it is defined as “practical” and talked into people, whereas the person who can perceive this reality has great difficulty even getting past or sitting at a table as it is presented to us today. We must simply endure this with resignation.

[ 11 ] In the sense I have described to you today—you know, I am merely describing—consider the images that have been displayed before you this time as a starting point for our ongoing efforts to show how theosophy can become an integral part of all real life. If theosophy is to take root in all of real life, it must, of course, bring to light once again the primordial mysteries of human evolution that have been lost. This will entail some inconvenience—it won’t be easy to prepare the paints yourself—but only when one comes to understand this and extends it to many other things will one see how, in a practical sense, theosophy must permeate our lives.

[ 12 ] Look at what is currently being attempted in this present time—in a direction that lies within our Spiritual Science—through such eyes, and, from this perspective, immerse yourselves in the images we have laid out before your eyes today to hint at our great goals in this regard as well.