The Four Freedoms

If, and I know this is hard to believe possible, I have ever given you cause to smirk and snigger condescendingly, well, now is your moment.  I have long been an admirer of the late Norman Rockwell whom I first came across in sundry barbers' shops in the '50s which frequently, and inexplicably, always had old copies of the American magazine, Saturday Evening Post, for which Rockwell provided the cover illustration.  In those youthful days, of course, I had little in the way of a developed aesthetic taste, but I just liked the pictures.  Not least, I suppose, because they often told, or at least, implied, a story.  Twenty years ago I made my one and only visit to my favourite 'other country' and spent a delightful fortnight in New England and whilst criss-crossing the territory I came across the township in which Rockwell spent much of his working life.  There was small museum there dedicated to his work and what added a special touch was that the elderly couple who were on duty that day had, decades before, been used by Rockwell as models for some of the children who feature so often in his work. 

Like any artist, particularly artists with a huge output, his work is uneven, but has tremendous allure even for those with the most cynical and jaundiced outlook.  For a start, and a very good start for any artist, Rockwell had humour, so many of his paintings and illustrations immediately raise a smile of recognition of different types of people and all-too familiar situations.  However, in my opinion, his best work raises him to the highest level of artistry.  Below are four paintings produced as a result of the eloquence of President Roosevelt, who in a speech a few months before Pearl Harbour, spoke of 'the four freedoms', freedom from fear, from want, and freedom for worship and for free speech.

In no particular order, this is Freedom from Fear.  It seems very far from fear being so cuddley and cosey as the parents tuck their children into bed, but the headline on the paper reports on the terrors and atrocities of war.  The rag doll on the floor speaks for itself!  From a compositional point of view, I like the glimpse of the warm light downstairs and the bannister rails leading our eyes and imaginations down to another space.  The warmth of that light contrasts with the very dark background which frames the man in his white shirt, and the faces of the two parents. 

  

This next one, Freedom from Want, is less successful, I think.  The attitudes of the diners are too strained and un-natural, and for no discernible reason.  The white window and the white tablecloth together are too dominant.

Again, the next, Freedom of Worship, does not quite come off, in my view.  It has a mysterious, ethereal quality to it but what I do think is outstanding is the depiction of the old lady in the foreground, particularly her hands.  Rembrandt was a master of painting old men, particularly himself, and I find that 'portrait' of an old lady equally moving.  It is helped, of course, by the contrast with the fine, chiselled features of the younger woman next to her.

But now we come to a masterpiece, Freedom of Speech.  As Bruce Cole in a review in the WSJ points out:

Rockwell found a subject that is active and public, a subject he could grasp and shape into his greatest painting forging traditional American illustration into a powerful and enduring work of art.

For inspiration, he thought of the New England town-hall meetings he knew so well, with their long tradition of democratic public debate—a tradition, as we have seen this summer, still very much alive. [My emphasis]

I make no apology for quoting Mr. Cole at length:

Using a classic pyramidal composition, Rockwell focuses attention on the standing speaker whose age, worn and stained jacket, rough hands with dirty fingernails, and plaid shirt set him apart from the neat coats, ties and white shirts of the older men in the audience. Although he is a working man, this figure, his face reminiscent of Lincoln's, is unafraid to voice his opinion—which we suspect is contrary to that of the others in the room. Standing tall, his mouth open, his shining eyes transfixed, he speaks his mind, untrammeled and unafraid. In Rockwell's vision he has become not only an active public participant in democracy, but a defender of it. He is the very embodiment of free speech, a living manifestation of that abstract right—an image that transforms principle, paint and, yes, creed, into an indelible image and a brilliant and beloved American icon still capable of inspiring millions world-wide.

What I like enormously in this picture is the man in the bottom right corner with his head turned upwards and over his shoulder.  It is the sort of pose you will see in countless Rennaissance paintings, usually Roman soldiers or disciples gazing up to the crucified Jesus, and somehow you always get the feeling of the painter straining for a posed effect so that he can show off his skill at depicting the musculature under the skin, but here, in Rockwell's homely Town Hall meeting it looks perfectly natural but gives the composition a tension.  The main figure is simply heroic, in the classical sense, because he is so simple!

Go on, treat yourself to a Rockwell print, there are plenty here, for example, and I promise you that you will enjoy looking at them for a very long time without tiring of them.

Comments

[dearieme]

Here's a nice bit of American popular art.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8lJfN7q5uM&NR=1&feature=fvwp

[Dom]

I spent many years looking down on Rockwell, and I always repeated what I was told to repeat: "First, he is an illustrator, not an artist, and second, he is too sentimental." My mother had a huge book of Rockwell's paintings that she kept on the coffee-table, to my embarrasment.

I'd say I have a fairly developed sense of art; I can hold my own in any conversation about the great artists. The funny thing, after all is said and done, I just plain like Rockwell. So what if he is an illustrator who belongs on magazine covers -- he's a good one. A lot of American art takes a strictly popular form. Fred Astair is a hoofer, Sinatra is a crooner, all of jazz up to Ellington is toe-tapping music. The secret is that they invested a great deal of talent in their work, and it rose to a higher level -- just like Rockwell.

[David Duff]

Not that I don't appreciate your shred comments, 'DM', but the real reason I made such efforts to get you back to D&N is for your marvelously obscure Jazz 'YouTubes' - well done, keep up the good work!

"I just plain like Rockwell" - couldn't put it better myself, Dom. For what it's worth, we are joined by at least one genuine, copper-bottomed intellectual with a huge knowledge of art - Paul Johnson, he thinks Rockwell is one of the greatest artists of the 20th century.

[dearieme]

You may be interested in a post on Rockwell at
http://www.2blowhards.com/

You won't have to scroll down far.

[David Duff]

Interesting, but actually artists used cameras long before the French Impressionists, if you count the camera obscura.