- Nancy Spero (Contemporary Artists)By John Bird with Jo Anna Isaak and Alice Jardine / London; New York: Phaidon Press / 1996
- After the Revolution: Women Who Transformed Contemporary ArtOur PickBy Eleanor Heartney; Helaine Posner; Nancy Princenthal; Sue Scott / New York; London: Prestel Publishing / 2013
- Kill for peace: American artists against the Vietnam WarBy Matthew Israel (Matthew Winer) / Austin: University of Texas Press / 2013
- Nancy Spero: The workBy Christopher Lyon / New York; London: Prestel / 2010
Progression of Art
Homage to New York (I Do Not Challenge)
This painting is one of Nancy Spero's earliest works as a trained artist - produced just nine years after the completion of her BFA at the Art Institute of Chicago - and possibly her first attempt to incorporate text in the plane of the image. In a conversation with writer and curator Jo Anna Isaak published in 1996, Spero described what is depicted in the painting as follows: "[There is] a tombstone right in the middle, and then on each side are two heads with dunce caps and rabbit-like ears, and their tongues are sticking out. And on this phallic-like tombstone... are the initials of the artists who were prevalent then... On top I wrote, 'I do not challenge,' and then 'Homage to New York' below."
While apparently neutral, this description betrays the painting's ironic quality and tone. The statement "I do not challenge" is humorously reversed in the work by the act of symbolically burying a number of artists, all associated with Abstract Expressionism, and who were Spero's contemporaries and very much alive in 1958. Despite its title then, the work is not homemade in homage, it is a mockery, a slap in the face, and a call to action for the non-dominant artists around at the time. As art-historian Mignon Nixon suggests in her essay 'Spero's Curses' (2007), the very manner in which Spero painted this picture is revealing. "Produced, coincidentally, around the same time Marcel Duchamp cast a deadpan self-portrait inscribed With My Tongue in My Cheek (1959) - a work often interpreted as a cunning critique of Abstract Expressionism's heroic posturing - Spero's parody conversely is expressionistic in tone," Nixon observes, "mimicking in its liquid, gestural application of paint the self-conscious performance of alienated, dumb virility that had become a defining characteristic of late-modernist painting." Later on in the same text, the author argues that the tongues, sticking out of the mouths of the two twin figures, "dramatize the author's own exclusion from speech, underscoring the futility of the gesture that is being enacted." Indeed, Spero often spoke of a certain feeling of being silenced: "I felt like a non-artist, a non-person," she once stated, "I had no world, I could not function in the world I was in." Her decision to displace her signature in Homage to New York, from the bottom to the middle of the canvas, so that it's now positioned in a direct contrast with that "select class of artists so well known that their initials alone are adequate to represent them," can, too, be seen as a device which enhances the experience of exclusion communicated in the work. "Spero's 'I'," writes Nixon, "is that of the subject whose rebellion falls on deaf ears."
What is worth noting in connection to Homage to New York is that, while it is certainly the case that the work constitutes a "critique of the masculine politics of the New York School of the fifties", as Britany Salsbury has put it, some of the artists that Spero "buries" here are, in fact, female. The work might, then, be better understood as communicating a sense of an outside which is derived from Spero's experience of being a figurative artist in an age of abstraction, rather than simply or only that of being female. Reflecting upon her early years as an artist, Spero once said that "anger gave impetus to the work. That, and literally sticking out my tongue at all of this, at all of the heroes, the so called authorities." The very "idea of monument," she stated, "is mostly a phallus." She sticks her tongue out to the sway of conceptual and abstract intellectualism, and radically dares to follow bodily intuition.
Oil on Canvas - Galerie Lelong, New York
Nancy Spero's Lovers I belongs to a series of twenty-five works known as The Black Paintings, for the most part produced between 1961 and 1965, while the artist was living in Paris. Emerging against the dark backdrop of the canvas, the figures delineated here by Spero appear to be embracing, facing each other as they recline. The title guides us in understanding the relationship between the two silhouettes, which otherwise remain indeterminate - their gender, age, and identity are unknown to us - bestowing the work an enigmatic quality. In her own words, "these paintings are about timeless subjects which continually appear in our society. They dealt with lovers, great mothers, children and prostitutes..." The rough, intuitive manner in which Spero renders her figures as well as their background, making it difficult to know exactly where one ends and the other begins - the way, that is, in which her figures, while standing independent, often merge into one another - is central to the sort of experience that the work is intended to produce. As the TATE describes: "Spero ultimately came to see these paintings as being about the isolation we all experience in love - the necessity for distance and separation within the state of connection with another ... The tension between these two elements (figures separated and yet joined) expresses the poignancy of this eternal lovers' conundrum."
It is perhaps worth noting here that despite their unfinished quality, the deeply evocative works that Spero presents us with in The Black Paintings series, often occupied the artist for months at a time. Examined against or within the larger context of Spero's artistic output, this series of paintings stand for an art of which the meaning is not so much political, as with many of her subsequent, more known works, but profoundly personal. This is all the more significant when one considers that Spero's decision to move from Chicago to Paris in 1959, was motivated by a need, shared by her life-long partner, Leon Golub, to "bypass New York" - at the time a much larger center for art than Paris - and the then-dominant movement of Abstract Expressionism, so as to find a place that would, as Spero put it, allow her "the freedom to create in an individual way." Despite, however, being 'personal' works, the dark, many layered canvases already reveal the far and wide searching language that Spero was to develop. The ground appears heavily layered and thus ancient, and the drawing is loose and free, pointing towards the elemental drive towards creation. When considered together, the ground and the marks upon it, the works recall early cave paintings. Even when simply depicting herself and her love, Spero suggests a harking back to the origins that we all share.
Oil paint on canvas - The Tate Collection
A cycle of the Universe is Finished - Artaud
A cycle of the Universe is Finished - Artaud forms part of a larger project that Spero undertook between 1969 and 1972, only four years after relocating to NYC from Paris, and throughout which she engaged in a complicated dialogue with the writings of French playwright and poet Antonin Artaud. Painted in capital, disorderly letters, Artaud's quote "A cycle of the universe is finished" is accompanied here by a red ascending arrow and an illustration of a sphere at the core of which appears to be a human figure. While the precise meaning of the work is not immediately clear, one could, without doubt, understand it as a response to the political and cultural unrest that defined the late 1960s, an era shadowed by the Vietnam war and marked by the emergence of the Civil Rights movement. Indeed, the figure at the centre of the universe depicted by Spero in this work appears, upon closer inspection, to be a black woman or man. The artist's deep, continuous interest in Artaud at the time points towards this dialogue as the most significant aspect of the work.
Active during the first part of the twentieth century, Artaud is a figure whose life was defined by a series of unfortunate events, and a long-standing battle with mental illness. Between 1943 and 1946, he received fifty-one electroshock treatments, intended to eliminate his symptoms, but which plunged the author into an even deeper confrontation with what he perceived to be his "demons." It was, it appears, not only the contemporary relevance of his writings, but this painful personal history that was the source of Spero's fascination with Artaud. Clayton Eshleman, an American poet and a friend of the artist, recalled that Spero was "bowled over by Artaud's seething consternation and seemed amazed that a man could suffer as Artaud claimed he did, as if such suffering usually belonged to women ... it was this identification in suffering that enabled her to relate to his anger and apocalyptic pronouncements." Indeed, in an interview with Jo Anna Isaak from 1965, Spero stated that she "chose to use Artaud's writings, because he screams and yells and rants and raves about his tongue being cut off, castrated. He has no voice, he's silenced in a bourgeois society." In the years to follow A cycle of the Universe is Finished - Artaud, and upon completing the remarkable Artaud Codex in 1972, Spero would choose to focus her practice on articulating the suffering and objectification of women throughout history, becoming one of the foremost political and feminist artists working in the U.S. until her death in 2009. "Although we will probably never know exactly what demons Nancy herself was exorcising in her two Artaud projects, Eshleman once said, "it seems clear to me that especially the latter work was a central rite of passage for her ..."
Judging A cycle of the Universe is Finished - Artaud from the perspective of Spero's own attitude towards life, inferred not only from her uninterrupted activist practice but from her very determination to continue to create - this despite a feeling of marginalization which, although Spero never spoke of directly, is largely understood to have been part of her experience as a female artist and a mother - one is inclined to say that the work should be understood positively: as an attempt at renewal, and the beginning of a new, upward movement or cycle in human as well as individual history.
The Codex Artaud series that followed these individual works on paper was typically presented on scrolls. Images often featured serpents with their tongues sticking out and lactating Romulus/Remus wolves feeding their screaming youths. There are references to be made with the Creation Story, and also to Spero's own experience at the time feeding three hungry boys. It was as though the artist shared the same experience as Artaud of being extremely physically tested, while yet still insisting on having a voice, on speaking, on existing. Artaud, an equally brilliant artist as well as poet, made self-portraits of himself with holes piercing his skin, as though only through a process of self-mutilation could he experience a sense of relief from the heaviness within. It was perhaps through the aggressive gesture of cutting for collage that Spero felt a similar release, and such was a process necessary for the deepest of self-exploration.
Gouache, ink, and handprinted collage on paper - Galerie Lelong, New York
They Will Torture You, My Friend
Made in 1971, They Will Torture You, My Friend is the result of a collaboration between Nancy Spero and her long-life partner and figurative painter Leon Golub. Widely recognized as an exemplary instance of 1970s protest art, the work was Spero and Golub's contribution towards the influential Conspiracy: The Artist as Witness portfolio, the purpose of which was to raise funds for the legal defense of a group of anti-Vietnam war activists, charged - in what is known as the 1969 Chicago Conspiracy Trial - with conspiracy to cross state lines with intent to incite a riot. That Spero and Golub would want to take part in the effort to overturn the conviction of the 'Chicago Eight' comes as no surprise, as the two artists not only shared a special connection to the city of Chicago, but were, at the time, already engaged in deeply political projects and practices. Spero's exploration of the situation of the artist, exemplified by Antonin Artaud, informs her part of the collaboration, wherein a human figure, encircled by a trail of blood-red ink, appears to be falling or to have fallen. This is a simple, but effective representation of war, and furthermore, of violence administered upon the innocent individual. "When we came back from Paris," Spero said in an interview, "I really reacted to the Vietnam War and to the media coverage of it. I wanted to do something immediately, I was so enraged. Coming back from Europe, I was shocked that our country - which had this wonderful idea of democracy - was doing this terrible thing in Vietnam. I wanted to make images to express the obscenity of war."
A very different artist from Spero in many ways - "How different her delicate figures are against my brutes!" he once observed - Golub nonetheless shared her passion for a confrontational art. In 'Leon Golub and Nancy Spero talk about art and political commitment', he commented on They Will Torture You, My Friend as well their respective, solo practices: "We have wanted to record what occurs," he said, "preserving a sense of the intrinsic dignity of those who are being victimized, their quality as individuals, even though we're not picturing them as particular people. Although Nancy uses the print process to repeat a particular form, she has a remarkable capacity for giving a unique figure a range of representations."
Married in 1951, the couple remained together, working side by side in their shared studio, until Golub's death in 2004 at the age of 82.
Color lithograph - The Lawrence and Regina Dubin Family Collection
From 1976 onwards, the story of women became Nancy Spero's main preoccupation as an artist. Once again using the scroll format, in 1979 she worked continuously on Notes in Time on Women. This series uses images of forgotten, unseen, and invented women, all working together in collective memory for the vision of a more peaceful and supportive future for all persons. For theorist, Julia Kristeva, Notes in Time on Women illustrates the repetition and eternity of life.
South Africa from 1981 is one of many works to come out of such a practice of Spero's interest in the ancient feminine. Drawing from a vast archive of images of female figures that the artist compiled throughout the years, and juxtaposing a selection of them with cut-out sections of text sourced from Amnesty International reports documenting the country's victimization of women, Spero calls our attention to a particular chapter from the history of the subjugation of women - a gesture repeated in Argentina from the same year.
The artist's choice to include here not one but multiple figures, their positioning and, finally, their differentiation in movement suggests that the work is not to be seen as a static image, but interpreted, rather, as the unfolding of a narrative. The crawling figure, based on an image of a woman irradiated in Hiroshima and placed directly onto or against the text as it is, represents, in most efficient a manner, the woman suffering; while the female heads overprinted right at the top of the text, as one image repeated three times, can be interpreted as pointing to the fact that the woman suffering is, in fact, not one but many - to the reality, that is, that the text below them refers not to a single incident, but to a collective history instead. The material condition of the text itself is telling, suggests New York based artist and writer Thomas Micchelli, who says, "What remains of their content is more memento than mission, the names stamped on their surfaces functioning as loci on a map of universal suffering rather than datelines for dispatches from the hottest hotspots in Hell." But what about the figure floating on the lower left part of the work? It is this figure that makes Spero's South Africa most interesting and inspiring a work, for, if we allow ourselves to read it as representing the final stage in the story being told here by the artist, she is the woman who, having crawled completely out and away from the text, has managed to break free of that history of suffering the text refers to; to liberate herself. Her image, borrowing the stance of that of a "classical athlete represented mid-motion, suggests," writes art writer for the journal Art in America David Markus, that "she is rising from the ashes."
When perceived in this way, South Africa functions as a link that connects Spero's previous imagery in works such as Torture of Women completed in 1976 and her more vibrant, humorous collages from the 1980s and 1990s which, celebrating women as "emblems of strength and self-sufficiency," offer, as Markus argues, "a counterview to the her-story of victimhood Spero strove tirelessly to bring to light throughout her career." In an interview from 1987, Spero stated: "I still investigate woman as victim because woman is still the victim par excellence, but now I stress women in charge of their lives."
Handprinting and typewriter collage on paper - Galerie Lelong, New York
Indeed, many installation works of the late 1980s and 1990s, really do emphasize the freedom that women have won through their trials and tribulations. In To Soar, installed on the ceiling of the Harold Washington R.B. Library in Chicago, Spero's collection of female characters literally take to the sky. The goddess Nut cartwheels whilst athletes run and others raise their arms in celebration. There is a vulture goddess flying away and the space becomes boundless, endless, more open-ended than even the scroll works exhibited previously.
The artist shows us that her interests lie on the peripheries. Spero completely breaks down the hierarchy of traditional art display and reveals to the viewer that there are many ways and angles from which to perceive and contemplate. Overall, the impact of To Soar is magical, it is enchanting, and raises our perception of life to a liminal space that exists somewhere between the ground and the heavens. The view of life that Spero proposes in this work is one more spiritual than most, presenting an everyday imbued with celestial lightness and infinite possibility.
Hand printing on ceiling - Harold Washington R.B. Library in Chicago
Maypole: Take No Prisoners II
Maypole: Take No Prisoners II (2008) is the last major work that Nancy Spero undertook, before her death in October 2009. Originally conceived for the 2007 Venice Biennale and intended to occupy the main entry hall of the Italian Pavilion in the Giardini, Maypole presents the viewer with a host of heads, decapitated and screaming. Hanging from silk ribbons and steel chains attached to a thirty-foot aluminum pole positioned at the centre of the piece, these human-scale faces - rendered in a mixture of frontal, profile and three-quarter views - hover above the viewer in a way which forces a physical encounter with them. As art historian Deborah Frizell points out, these are faces of death that we have seen before - a continuation of Spero's work on "victimage" and "cannibalised", as the artist herself put it, from her war paintings of the 1960s.
"Spero's terrifying heads," writes Frizell, "first appeared in her early dark oil paintings, Les Anges, Merde, Fuck You (1960) and Nightmare Figures II (1961). These heads were stormy demons, disembodied, taunting and cursing with hyperbolic fury. Like the painted metal cut-out heads dangling on the Venice Maypole, red tongues flicking, these nightmare-black angels spit and snarled, their streamlined "wings" flapping at their sides." The difference between Spero's early heads and those that confront us in Maypole is, as has already been pointed out, that the latter have broken free of the flat surface of the canvas or paper. They are double-sided, giving a three-dimensional form that cannot but enhance its reality. As Frizell writes, Maypole is "very much a public sculpture that requires the space of the polis, the space of appearance and dialogue, activated by the viewer/citizen. It is as public an object as the medieval executioner's stakes on which the severed heads of the condemned would fester and rot in rows on the civic square for all to witness."
That Spero intended for the work to have this immediately social, political dimension is undeniable. In a review of the Nancy Spero retrospective at the Serpentine Gallery and which took place after the artist's death in 2009, Eleanor Nairne wrote that "Spero hoped that the faces she had 'cannibalized' from her 1960s responses to the Vietnam War would resonate with the Anglo-American involvement in Iraq. Today, she argued, "the gently swaying severed heads (hung at head-height) take us to the recent revolutions in Egypt, Tunisia and Libya." Still angry, and ready to protest when necessary, although no longer confined to the page, these figures are now bound by chains. A far cry from To Soar, it seems that Spero oscillates throughout her life between feelings of great liberation and utter exploitation.
Steel, silk, wood, nylon monofilament, handprint on aluminium - Dimensions Variable. Anthony Reynolds Gallery