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ISBN 0-8078-2945-5

Published: Spring 2005

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Copyright (c) 2005 by the University of North Carolina Press. All rights reserved.




Introduction

In 1962, Lloyd Goodrich, director of the Whitney Museum of American Art and chairman of the National Committee on Government and Art, reflected on the ominous times in which he lived. The Soviets were "making every effort to diminish our will to resist by a rain of threats of mass destruction." Russian leader Nikita Khrushchev declared that "he holds a 'sword of Damocles' over our heads." In response, the U.S. government was "considering the appropriation of substantial funds to help in the construction of fall-out shelters." In Goodrich's opinion, "The individual has a feeling of helplessness, with or without these shelters, to protect himself from destruction or to foresee the conditions under which he and his family will have to struggle to survive." In these chaotic and frightening times, he continued, "the arts provide fall-out shelters for the human spirit vastly more essential, more urgently needed and at infinitely less cost than those for the human body." As such, he called upon Congress and the American people to "consider government aid to the arts in an entirely new light, as an integral part of the defense of our civilization."[1]

During the post-World War II period, the American government—and American art world—followed Goodrich's prescription and considered the relationship between government and art in "an entirely new light." Recognizing both the power of art in terms of delivering political messages and the need to win the "hearts and minds" of the world's people, U.S. officials began to more carefully and thoroughly consider the idea of cultural diplomacy as part of the nation's Cold War arsenal. Starting from extraordinarily humble beginnings, the United States embarked on this new form of diplomacy by sending American art and culture around the globe. Jazz became a staple on the Voice of America radio broadcasts; later, rock and roll would also be featured. Jazz artists such as Dizzy Gillespie and Louis Armstrong were among the musicians highlighted in American propaganda, and the United States Information Agency (USIA) promoted and funded tours by them and other artists. Productions of American plays were also mounted overseas, such as the popular Porgy and Bess (which simultaneously served to showcase American culture and to counteract criticisms of America's treatment of its African American population). "High" culture was also well represented, as American symphonies and opera companies circled the globe. Naima Prevots, in her 1998 study, explains that American dance companies—both classical and modern—were also the recipients of government support so that they might tour overseas. Hollywood got in on the act as well, and American films were soon prominently shown in numerous foreign markets.[2]

Much less is known about the efforts to send American painting for display to foreign audiences. Aside from studies of the disastrous Department of State-sponsored Advancing American Art show in 1946, a collection that came in for harsh criticism from U.S. congressmen and others for its "un-American" and potentially "communistic" modern art, little has been written about this important and extremely controversial component of America's Cold War cultural diplomacy. This is surprising since during the two and a half decades following the end of World War II, the Department of State, the USIA, and even the Smithsonian Institution saw to it that hundreds of exhibitions of American paintings found their way to Europe, Latin America, Asia, and Africa, and eventually into the heart of the communist bloc. Requests for showings of American art, particularly modern art, flowed in from around the world. American paintings were on display at world's fairs and at the large and prestigious international art shows in São Paulo and Venice, as well as in small urban areas in Guatemala, Iran, Senegal, and Cambodia. By the late 1960s and early 1970s, however, the program was in disarray, floundering without direction or focus, functioning on an ever-shrinking budget. Even during its periods of greatest success, the art program was a constant lightning rod for controversy; U.S. government support waxed and waned in response to criticisms from art groups, congressmen, and, in the end, the very foreign audience to which the program was directed.

In a very direct fashion, Goodrich's metaphor serves as an explanation as to what went wrong with the U.S. government's attempt to construct a workable and effective international art program during the Cold War. His call for "fall-out shelters for the human spirit" illustrated the dilemma that both government officials and supporters of the program in the private sector faced. For many art lovers across America—artists, museum directors and curators, gallery owners, private collectors, organizations and agencies dedicated to the arts—it was the "human spirit" that mattered most. Art, for them, was not a means to an end, but an end in and of itself. It was an international language of peace, understanding, and spirituality in a world that seemed in short supply of all of these qualities. Works of art would speak across borders, across political ideologies, and across racial, ethnic, and national differences and serve as a bridge to further understanding between the earth's peoples. Officials in the Department of State and the USIA, however, generally focused on the need for "fallout shelters." For those interested in winning the propaganda war with the communists, art was an attractive tool. It could be used to reflect American diversity, dedication to culture, and artistic freedom. American art—particularly the more modern and abstract expressionist styles—would say to the world that in the United States the artist was free to paint what he or she wished, without censorship or fear of retaliation. Thus, it would stand in stark contrast to the strict "socialist realism" dictated by the government of the Soviet Union. And American attention to the arts would serve as an antidote to the criticisms—from friends and foes alike—that the nation and its people were uncultured, unsophisticated, materialistic, and militaristic.

At least initially, U.S. officials and interested members of the American art community felt that they might work together in the effort to bring the nation's art to a world audience. In fact, it was so obviously necessary that they cooperate that the idea seemed a natural. The government could provide the funds for what was a relatively costly operation, and its overseas personnel would facilitate local arrangements. The American art world would provide much-needed expertise in the area of aesthetics, and their contacts with peers in foreign nations could prove valuable. Almost from the beginning, however, the conflict between these two groups became apparent. For, in truth, they saw the international program in very different ways. Both sides believed that American art had an important role to play in the Cold War world. The one side sought to use art as a salve for a scarred and uncertain world; the other saw in art a valuable weapon in the ongoing propaganda battle with the Soviet Union. Thus, when government officials tried to provide "policy guidelines" or requested that this or that piece of art or artist be excluded from a particular exhibition, members of the art community cried censorship. Similarly, when the nation's art lovers demanded complete freedom of artistic expression, the Department of State and USIA calmly observed that if the government was footing the bill, it naturally expected results—in this case, propaganda victories. Unfortunately for both sides, they were never able to discover a happy medium between art as art and art as propaganda.

A number of interesting studies have appeared in recent years regarding American art and politics in the wake of World War II. To a large extent, however, these works have either focused on the internal dynamics of the struggle (debates between the more conservative and "representational" artists and the more "radical" abstract expressionists), or have tried to understand that debate as largely a reflection of Cold War frictions within the American art world and society at large.[3] Other scholars, more interested in the political/diplomatic context, have turned their attention to the "covert" side of America's cultural diplomacy. A number of important recent studies examine the links between "state" and "private" institutions and individuals in creating networks for carrying out the business of promoting American culture (and politics) overseas. As Giles Scott-Smith has demonstrated in his examination of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)-funded Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF), which numbered many prominent American intellectuals and artists among its members, the agency was certainly well aware of the potential power of culture and ideas in the war against communism and did not hesitate to put resources into initiatives such as the CCF. Turning their attention particularly to America's overseas art program during the Cold War, some writers, such as Frances Stonor Saunders, have suggested that the relationship between an influential handful of individuals in the American art world and the U.S. government was primarily an underground effort, funded and supported by the CIA. Arguing that the Advancing American Art fiasco left the Department of State gun-shy about supporting an overseas art program, these historians suggest that the CIA, working mostly through the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA), arranged for "private" showings of the controversial modern and abstract American art abroad (mostly in Western Europe). Few of these studies of American art overseas extend beyond the 1950s or early 1960s.[4]

While these earlier works have raised some interesting and controversial questions concerning America's Cold War cultural diplomacy, the focus on the "covert" side of this effort—particularly when applied to the overseas art program—is problematic. A much more dramatic illustration of the complex interrelationship between art and government during the Cold War was the "overt" international art programs run through the State Department, the USIA, and the Smithsonian Institution, which have been to a large extent ignored. The American Federation of Arts (AFA) actually played a larger, and more important, role in the international art program than MOMA, and its efforts were openly funded and supported by the Department of State and, later, USIA. By 1951, before MOMA even got seriously involved in overseas exhibits, the AFA and the State Department were already working together to organize a show that included modern and abstract art for exhibit in Berlin. By 1953, an AFA show—supported now by the USIA—went to India; and a 1954 exhibit of modern watercolors was sent to France. Dozens of other exhibitions soon followed.[5]

What is perhaps most overlooked in analyses that suggest a covert working relationship between the American art world and agencies such as the CIA is that what held true for the American government did not necessarily hold true for the art community. As Eloise Spaeth, a noted collector and vice president of the board of trustees for the AFA, explained to an audience (which included USIA officials) in 1951, "You and I have different reasons for wanting our visual arts known abroad. We are not primarily interested in using art as an instrument of propaganda. We love this particular art form (or we wouldn't be gathered here today). Loving, we want to share it."[6] Understanding these differing viewpoints, and how they came together to first create and then eventually derail the international art program, is a key element of this study. My research suggests a complex picture, one in which the American art world was not merely a willing (or unwilling) dupe in a CIA plot; nor was the U.S. government, with Machiavellian ruthlessness, simply "calling the tune" to which the art world danced. Both sides had their goals; both sides saw the need for compromise; and both sides, operating within the confines of the Cold War, were unable to bridge the gap between their differing aims.

The central purpose of this book is to explain how and why the program to send American art abroad, a program vigorously supported by so many members of the American art world and a handful of officials in the U.S. government, had virtually collapsed by the early 1970s. Why, even when the U.S. art world and government agreed on the importance of sending the nation's art overseas, when American art was finally reaching a maturity that established it as a leading force in world culture, when official reports and the responses from foreign audiences suggested that the art was making a dramatic impact, wasn't the program able to sustain itself at the same level after the 1960s? In short, despite their shared interest in exhibiting America's art to foreign audiences, why were the U.S. government and art world unable to maintain an apparently successful effort in cultural diplomacy?

Answering those questions leads to a broader understanding of the cultural dimensions of the Cold War. The controversies that the international art program engendered in the United States involved much more than simply matters of "taste" (though, to be sure, this rather vague term was always used). Art, and the artists who produced the works, found themselves enmeshed in sometimes confusing, sometimes ugly, sometimes contradictory political and ideological battles. The Cold War mind-set in the United States certainly created a distinct "us versus them" mentality; it also helped, at times, to create a climate of fear and anxiety. Why would art find itself pulled into these matters? For most of the artists, their work was primarily an expression of self or deep emotions; an exploration of the new and the unknown. For many viewers, however, the art spoke directly to what it meant to be "American." For these individuals and groups, there was a distinctly American art, expressive of what were defined as innate American values. Modern art, and abstract expressionism in particular, challenged that perspective by moving away from works that were representational or that contained easily understood and recognizable forms and shapes. This, detractors declared, was positively not American art—if it was art at all. Had the argument stopped there, it would have remained of little interest to most Americans, for whom debates about the aesthetics of painting were of scant concern. Wrapped up in the suspicions and animosities created by the Cold War, however, the attackers soon moved on to label modern art and artists as positively subversive and quite possibly procommunist. And thus was created one of the rich ironies of the international art program. The very reason why so much modern and abstract art was sent overseas was because it was believed that it provided a potent weapon in the propaganda war with the communists. In this light, the art was actually the most American art, symbolizing democracy, freedom of expression, and creativity. The Soviets, for their part, agreed, and quickly denounced American modern art as the decadent, perverse, and subversive manifestation of bourgeois capitalism. It was a rather remarkable feat: Cold War politics somehow defined modern art as both the insidious representation of communist infiltration and a tribute to the democratic spirit. Remarkable, but also interesting in terms of how the Cold War led to a discussion and redefinition of what was—and was not—American.

Following the trajectory of the international art program also allows us to understand more fully the means and goals of America's cultural diplomacy during the Cold War. The program was designed to say something about America to what the nation's professional propagandists defined as "target audiences." The controversies associated with the program illustrate how difficult it was for U.S. officials to project the "proper" image of America overseas. After all, one of the main goals of sending American art to foreign nations was to demonstrate the diversity of the nation's culture and artistic freedom. Diversity and freedom, particularly when associated with art, were difficult concepts to "channel" precisely into the desired message. That difficulty reflects one of the inherent dilemmas related to America's cultural diplomacy in the post-World War II period. American officials sought to portray "America" to others without, it often seemed, completely agreeing on what the term meant. And meaning was important, especially when those officials sought to define the proper audience for American art and to measure its impact. When historians have discussed the "battle for hearts and minds" that took place during the Cold War, it is often assumed that the battle was for a single and well-defined "heart" or some sort of universal "mind." As the history of the international art program demonstrates, U.S. officials carefully monitored their propaganda program. Art deemed as essential and meaningful for a Western European audience would be classified as inappropriate or useless for an Asian or African audience. They classified target audiences in terms of geographic location, age, socioeconomic status, perceived degree of friendliness toward America, and even, on occasion, artistic tastes. And they always made clear their goals for the art. It might be to deliver a simple message about America's dedication to cultural affairs. For Eastern Europe, the exhibitions might be designed to send a more powerful message about personal and political freedom. An exhibit in Africa, on the other hand, might be set up to stress issues of racial equality and civil rights for the African American population.

Yet, to focus entirely on the government's goals, the government's intentions, and the government's involvement in the international program is to ignore the fact that for many private individuals and organizations in the United States art was viewed as the best and brightest hope for bringing understanding to a world in chaos, peace to a world on the verge of war, and a sense of kinship to peoples divided by walls and political ideologies. They viewed their mission of sending U.S. art abroad, to a large degree, as above the political and military jousting between East and West. Their battle was a larger one and, to them at least, much more crucial. Leaders, ideologies, even nations might rise and fall, come and go, but the human spirit must endure and progress. Their pleas likely strike the scholar of Cold War diplomacy, whether realist or revisionist, as hopelessly naìve, as impossibly idealistic. However, they represent a strain of thinking during the Cold War that is often ignored in the race to find the ways in which that conflict shaped, or mangled, or destroyed aspects of American culture. The Cold War was indeed a powerful force, but it was not omnipotent—there were survivors, people and ideas who tried to find (and occasionally found) shelter from the political and ideological storms. Today, in a world where chaos has actually evolved into a theory, in which a "new war" has been declared, and where new walls seem to be daily replacing those torn down over a decade ago, the need for those fallout shelters for the human spirit seems more pressing than ever.