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Henri Matisse. Woman with a Hat. Public domain. |
The century kicked off with Fauvism around 1904, when Henri Matisse unleashed bold, screaming colors and fierce brushstrokes. Forget realism—these “wild beasts” (fauves) shocked Paris salons, paving the way for Expressionism’s emotional roar. Growing up in JerseyI had the privilege of having access to so much art it was mind-blowing. On one occasion saw a Matisse retrospective beginning with his very first painting all the way through to the end of his life.
Then came Cubism in 1907, where Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque. Picasso's Les Demoiselles d'Avignon is regarded by many to be the birth of modern art. It wasn’t just painting; it rewrote how we see space—sculpture, even architecture, felt the ripple. It was a break from tradition that incorporated primitism and scandal, though provocative subject matter wasn't really all that new in the art world. Nevertheless, the piece made an impact n art hisory.
By 1909, Italy’s Futurism roared in, led by Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, author of The Futurist Manifesto. The movement was obsessed with speed, machines, and modernity. I recently watched Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times and it's easy to see the energetic dynamism of a world in motion. Loud and aggressive, the movement briefly flirted with fascism before fading.
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"Fountain" by Marcel Duchamp Photo by Alfred Stieglitz Public domain |
Out of the chaos of dada came Surrealism, André Breton’s lovechild with Freud’s psychoanalysis. Salvador Dalí’s melting clocks and Max Ernst’s eerie landscapes, unearthing images from the unconscious and captured in paint.
Post-WWII, New York stole the spotlight with Abstract Expressionism in the 1940s. (For context, keep in mind the German occupation of Paris, which drove droves of artists, writers and thinkers to America and elsewhere.) Jackson Pollock became a sensation by dripping his soul onto canvas; Mark Rothko’s vast color fields swallowed viewers whole. America was now the art world’s heavyweight.
The 1950s brought Pop Art, where Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein raided comic books and ads. Campbell’s Soup Cans became icons—high art meets low culture--and the line blurred. (I myself never "got" Lichtenstein. It seemed boring to me.)
Then Minimalism stripped it all back in the ‘60s—Donald Judd and Agnes Martin went for clean lines, simple forms, industrial cool. No emotional mess, just detachment.
It was during this same period that I myself was in the fine arts program at Ohio U. Happenings, Foreign Film Festivals and all manner of experimentation was taking place. Op Art tricked eyes with Bridget Riley’s dizzying patterns and Victor Vasarely’s pulsing grids, a scientific twist on perception. Through I never aspired to do Vasarely-like work, it did impress me.
The turning point here was Conceptual Art that flipped the script. Sol LeWitt and Joseph Kosuth said the idea outranked the object—art could be instructions or a dictionary definition. Art became a mind game. It wasn’t about beauty; it was about thought. Tom Wolfe's The Painted Word was a scathiing dissection of this game.
As one who loved the act of laying paint on a surface, of creating visual imagery in whatever medium, Conceptual Art was a throwback to where I'd started my college studies: in philosophy. (You can read my take on this in my story Terrorists Preying.)
These movements weren’t just styles—they were the 20th century’s pulse, reacting to its madness. Take Dada, for instance. As a young art student, I fell hard for Salvador Dalí’s incredible precision (whose gift matched the classical mastery of Vermeer). His surreal clocks led me to De Chirico’s empty plazas, Ernst’s haunting woods and strange birds, Yves Tanguy’s alien blobs, and Magritte’s sly riddles. Somewhere along the way, I learned Surrealism drank deep from Dada’s well.
At the time, my mind latched onto this story of Dada's roots: European artists in 1916 Zurich, sick of war, picked “Dada” randomly from a dictionary—eyes closed, finger pointed. Anti-art, I thought. While digging deeper this week, I found that tale to be a little murkier. Some say a knife stabbed the page for drama; others tie it to Romanian artists Tristan Tzara and Marcel Janco muttering “da, da”—a sarcastic “yeah, yeah” in English, “yes, yes” in Romanian. And Dada wasn’t anti-art—it was anti-war, born in WWI’s heart. Their work mirrored the senselessness of a world gone mad, and artists held up the mirror.
So what’s art reflecting now? War’s echoes, AI’s hum, NFTs, the dehumanizing effect of technology? Cultural fragmentation? These 10 movements of the last century show that artists don’t just follow; they provoke, question, redefine. Who are the most influential artists today? Where is the center of the art world today? Is influence the measure of great art, though? Perhaps the truly great work is being done by people who are beyond the need for recognition, fame or fortune. Or who will not achieve the recognition they deserve until another lifetime comes along.
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