You Want It Darker, 2024 – Daniel Gianfranceschi

Daniel Gianfranceschi untersucht in seinem Text You Want it Darker die Bedeutung der Verwendung von schwarzer Farbe in künstlerischen Werken und bei Designobjekten. Entgegen der weitverbreiteten Annahme, dass dunkle Farbtöne allein symbolisch für Gefühle des Düsteren stehen, plädiert er dafür, diese ebenfalls als Ausdruck von Eleganz, Klarheit und Ruhe zu betrachten. Seine feinfühlige Werkbetrachtung einzelner Arbeiten führt die Bedeutungsvielfalt einer dunklen Farbpalette vor Augen und zeigt, welche Schaffenskraft aus ihr erwachsen kann. 

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In a recent conversation with fashion designer Boris Bidjan Saberi, he briefly mentioned the societal dichotomy between the color black as something dark and tenebrous and the fact that, for him and many alike (one needs only to think of fashion designers such as Rick Owens or Ann Demeulemeester), a darker color palette can mean elegance, clarity, and tranquility. In western society especially, black is often equated to the counterpart to all other colors, standing alone, like a monolithic presence. In turn, one cannot help but to view the color black (and with it, a darker color palette) as the negation of all other shades and tones. Instead, one should perhaps be more akin to recognize black and the darker pigments as integral to the whole. 

Even more so, one should refrain from attributing a peculiar sense of dread, sadness or, colloquially speaking, darkness to the darker pigments, for more often than not they are less of a representation of a personal state of being and more an aesthetic/ philosophical choice, in favor against many others. As you can see, in terms of clothing, a darker palette in one’s wardrobe might be, first and for most, the result of one of either two things: a particular kind of boredom, nurtured through many years of senseless consumption against the backdrop of multicolored clothing articles that do not match each other or, going hand in hand with boredom, a laziness that is not to be misunderstood as negative. Relying on multiple shades of black will always be a saver option than, for the sake of argument, on differing shades of green. By choosing to forego color and embrace something that absorbs light rather than reflecting it, one is actively trying to get out of the way, spiritually, and focus on the day to day, just as a carpenter might rely on functional clothing.¹ Of course, as sociologist Georg Simmel would say, everything that was once a trend will be one again, even things and objects that indirectly go against the very act of being trendy.² In recent years, we have seen an upstream of monochrome colorists, spectacularly ruining the color black by making its very inception a pseudo-intellectual act of rebellion, against whom or what is yet to be seen. Wearing black is not an economical choice anymore, it has become an aesthetic. 

That being said, there are times where the darkness of the black pigment – whether it be charcoal, sumi-ink made out of sooth or oil painting – is actually required for a specific artistic purpose. One would be very quick to think of Kasimir Malevich, requesting that nothing might be more important than the essence of color itself.³ Beyond this, one could mention Richard Serra’s paper-based oeuvre, clearly defined by a special kind of oil stick (made exclusively for him) which is then applied to paper in, often, geometrical patterns coincidentally resembling the artists monumental sculptures. In Serra’s case, the darkness of the pigment is reinforced by the molecular and sculptural quality of the oil stick, acting as something between painting and sculpture, creating densely layered landscapes of color. Here, the work is as much about what it is actually made of as it is about what is being depicted on the paper. Color eventually becomes material and mass simultaneously.⁴ Even Pierre Soulages, someone who gave his life to the color black, did not do so for a spiritual reasoning, relating black pigment to darkness of the mind but rather because the interplay between light and shadows, edges and curves, matt and gloss that he was working on could truly only be achieved with a pigment as dark as black.⁵ For a more contemporary approach, one could look at the way Helmut Lang employs black as a homogenizing entity within each sculptural work, highlighting not only each material singularly but also the result of the combination of multiple discordant parts, ultimately making up the whole.⁶ We thus slowly begin to see that, contrary to societal depiction, an increasingly darker color palette, often inevitably leading to the monochrome, does not necessarily recall an upsetting, gloomy state of being but that darkness of color-pigments is, very often, a formal decision, drawing on questions of space, line, composition and the possible finality of abstract painting. To better demonstrate this phenomenon, we shall look at the ever so popular Yves Klein blue-pigment, a pigment popularized so well by the artist, it received its own designated name.⁷ One could argue that Klein’s blue monochromes are, in fact, so effective and popular precisely because of the chosen color, lending specificity to the work. If we apply this logic to the many artists that have worked with a, by chance or choice, darker color palette, we will soon come to find that most black monochrome works that have stood the test of time and have been deemed, critically, important ask questions of a visual and formal nature, which in turn must be executed in precisely this way in order to work. Ellsworth Kelly’s many monochrome warped canvases, often including the color black in their compositions, work exactly because of what they are: abstract depictions of a particular moment in time, irreplicable by anything else that is not what it ends up being.⁸

The assumption that a darker color palette equals a withering state of mind is, perhaps, to give benefit to doubt, sometimes partially true, yet the final result is not mutually exclusive. Mark Rothko choose to pursue a drastically darker kind of color-field painting, consisting primarily of blacks, whites and grays towards the untimely end of his life.⁹ Francisco de Goya and his rather infamous black paintings, originally drawn directly onto the walls of his then abode, are the clear result of a man losing his sense of sanity. What is remarkable is that, while deaf as can be and, presumably suffering greatly, the painterly quality of the works remains immaculate.¹⁰ In Rothko’s case, we ought to remember that the artist, while sticking to trying to portray the whole universe in his blacks and grays, also endeavored into acrylic drawings which, in contrast, featured bright yellows, light-blues and pastel pinks.¹¹ The correlation between color and state of mind might be as evident as one being the reflection of the other but we cannot rely on this rule, as we see highlighted by the many examples, indefinitely. The clearest example that underlines this might be that of the grand-Dutch, Van Gogh himself.¹² Plagued by what we now could (and should) consider a severe case of a poor mental health, Van Gogh was notorious for always finding joy and resistance against the ills that indulge the mind in the vast landscapes of nature, flowers, and greenery. Naturally, Van Gogh, consuming great quantities of absinth regularly, did not combat his suffering in the slightest, nor was he equipped to do so, and we shall refrain from any judgement or false diagnosis. What is interesting is that nobody would suspect that somebody harboring great discomfort would be drawn to paint the same sunflowers in a multitude of variations, just to name one example of the radiosity of Van Gogh’s process. Instead of bright field of blossoming flowers and night skies of infinite splendor, one would, knowing of Van Gogh’s various conditions, imply a more subdued, gloomy, and perhaps somber undertone to his oeuvre. ¹³

Of course, there are times where the darkness of the pigment is inherently a cultural and historical phenomenon. If we think of Asian calligraphy art, dating back to the Shang dynasty (circa 1600 – 1100 B.C.), we are quick to find that the overarching color is black sumi ink. In this case, form follows function: the ink needs to be black to assure the highest possible contrast between ink and paper, making for a more readable final result.¹⁴ It also needs to be acknowledged that artists like Soulages, Kline, Ücker, Fontana and many others where deeply aware of Asian traditions and all had a deep fondness for Asian calligraphy.¹⁵ In hindsight, it is abundantly clear of how Asian traditions partially lead to modernism and the rise of the monochrome. Yet the incongruence between a western way of viewing the dark(ness) and an eastern does not end there. In western housing and street planning, the common tendency is to neglect shadows or darker, perhaps worse lit parts of any building. This is done by adding lighting systems, cutting down precious nature such as foliage and trees, preferring the sunrise/ sunset view over the worse lit one, and so on. In eastern philosophy, the shadow is not something to neglect but a part of the whole, something to integrate and with which one can cause an interplay between light and darkness, sunshine, and shadows.¹⁶

We must not fear the darkness but embrace it. In this case, one needs to assume that there are indeed times wherein the artist has suffered and gone through dark times for their art, yet the two are not mutually exclusive to one another. One could think of figures such as Käthe Kollwitz, Alberto Burri or Zoran Music – people that endured horribly dark times filled with tremendous atrocities like war, concentration camps and deep poverty – and directly connect their life experiences to what they chose to explore in their art. Kollwitz gave a voice to the voiceless by immortalizing them on paper, for us to never forget.¹⁷ Music would process his time in the hellscape of German concentration camps by painting the horror he witnessed firsthand and would eventually find some kind of solace (if one can call it that) in this relentless act of self-documentation of a life stolen and then, partially, regained.¹⁸ Burri, employed in the second World War, serving as a medic and being captured by third parties, would go on to a reshaped notion of painting in the twentieth century with the use of his signature materials such as burlap, metal, wood, plastic, and using combustion as a literal painting tool. One could argue that Burri’s experiences in the war and the indelible scars those horrid memories must have left in his psyche would go to inform his painting and perhaps even be the incipit of it. The artist, in his lifetime, always denied this but the connection is evident as day.¹⁹ Logically, painting will reflect, in its composition and color-choices, the spiritual state of the maker, just like the densely dark color palette of some of the last works by Francisco de Goya are, in fact, indicative of a decline in mental and physical health.²⁰ The proclivity to want to see parts of oneself in the work one is doing is in all of us, yet we must try to understand darkness as a part of the deal without dwelling on it. This, of course, is easier said than done if one happens to be afflicted by any kind of mental or physical illness, yet it is imperative that one tries to understand that worthwhile art does not foresee suffering as a requirement for its existence. In fact, in periods where darkness would be quick to swallows us whole, creation is never at the forefront and if it is its results are sub-par to say the least. Instead, centering oneself to a journey of betterment should be taken seriously. To create is a joy, one that surely can be led on by troublesome times, yet the creative act itself is a blossoming flower, rejoicing in the fact that there is a common ground to be had. To quote the late Leonard Cohen, whose final album marked the impetus for this discourse about darkness: “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in”.²¹

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Biografie

DANIEL GIANFRANCESCHI ist multidisziplinärer Künstler, Autor und Interviewer. Im Anschluss an sein Studium des Mode-Managements studiert er aktuell an der AdbK in München bei Prof. Florian Pumhösl und Prof. Florian Hecker. In seiner künstlerischen Praxis konzentriert sich Gianfranceschi auf Begriffe der Malerei und des Klangs und versucht zu erfassen, was Stille und Nichts bedeuten können. Seine intuitive Herangehensweise spürt dabei der Unwiederholbarkeit von Momenten nach und durch die Minimierung der visuellen Sprache geht er symbiotische Beziehung mit den Kräften außerhalb seiner selbst ein. In seiner schriftbasierten Praxis versucht Gianfranceschi, Themen wie Kunstkritik, Kunstgeschichte und popkulturelle Phänomene auf essayistische Weise zu behandeln. Das Schreiben dient ihm dabei als düsterer und direkter Ausdruck seines Gesamtwerks und setzt sich kritisch mit der conditio humana auseinander. Gianfranceschi ist außerdem Gründer des Online-Blogs „Subject Change“, auf dem sich seine eigenen Texte aber auch immer wieder Interviews mit bekannten und aufstrebenden Stimmen aus der Kreativszene, wie Modedesigner Boris Bidjan Saberi, Keith Boadwee, Kristof Hahn (Swans), Stephanie Stein, Meo Fusciuni u.v.m, finden.

1. Vgl. Cordula Rau: Why Do Architects Wear Black, Basel 2017.
2. Vgl. Georg Simmel: Philosophie der Mode, Berlin 1995.
3. Vgl. Gilles Néret: Malevich, Köln 2017.
4. Vgl. Eckhard Schneider, James Lawrence, Richard Serra: Richard Serra. Drawings – Work Comes Out Of Work, Bregenz 2008.
5. Vgl. Pierre Encreve, Alfred Pacquemen: Pierre Soulages, München, 2010.
6. Vgl. Helmut Lang, Neville Wakefield, Frank-Thorsten Moll, Ulf Poschardt: Helmut Lang. Alles Gleich Schwer, Köln 2009.
7. Vgl. Fausto Gilberti: Yves Klein Painted Everything Blue and Wasn’t Sorry, London 2019.
8. Vgl. Ulrich Wilmes, Ellsworth Kelly: Ellsworth Kelly. Black & White, Berlin 2012.
9. Vgl. Sabine Haag, Jasper Sharp, Christopher Rothko, Thomas E. Crow, Anja Heitzer: Mark Rothko. Towards Clarity, Wien 2019.
10. Vgl. Francisco Goya, Stephanie Stepanek, Fredrick Ilchman, Janis Tomlinson, Clifford Ackley, Jane Braun: Goya. Order & Disorder, Boston 2014.
11. Vgl. Haag 2019.
12. Vgl. Ingo F. Walther, Rainer Metzger: Van Gogh: Complete Works, Köln 2012.
13. Vgl. ebd.
14. Vgl. Yee Chiang: Chinese Calligraphy. An Introduction to Its Aesthetic and Technique, Cambridge 1973.
15. Vgl. Ming Tiampo: Gutai. Decentering Modernism, Chicago 2011.
16. Vgl. Junichiro Tanizaki: In Praise Of Shadows, Maine 1977.
17. Vgl. Hannelore Fischer: Käthe Kollwitz. 1867 – 1945. Ein Werküberblick, München 2022.
18. Vgl. Gaia Regazzoni Jäggli: Zoran Music. The Braglia Collection, München 2017.
19. Vgl. Cesari Brandi: Alberto Burri, Torino 2015.
20. Vgl. Goya 2014.
21. Leonard Cohen: “Anthem”, 1992.