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Ravaged: Art and Culture in Times of Conflict
The year 2014 marks the one hundredth anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, and the beginning of the conflict that would become known as World War I. In addition to the devastating loss of human life, the Great War was also responsible for the destruction of historic buildings and monuments, the theft of precious artworks, and the burning of untold numbers of books. Ravaged uses this anniversary as a poignant gateway to a greater discussion of the effect of war on artistic heritage. Beginning with the Trojan War and weaving a compelling cross-cultural narrative that ends in the 21st-century Middle East, this affecting publication explores how cultural treasures often became silent victims of armed conflict. Illustrations highlight over two hundred artworks and relics, which are often featured alongside complementary written reflections from contemporary artists. This thoughtful book is a graceful homage to centuries of lost artistic treasures.
Distributed for Mercatorfonds
Exhibition M-Museum , Leuven
(03/19/14–09/01/14)
Distributed for Mercatorfonds
Exhibition M-Museum , Leuven
(03/19/14–09/01/14)
- GenresHistory
306 pages, Hardcover
First published June 28, 2014
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September 7, 2021
The destruction of cultural heritage in civil and other wars is not reserved for only Europe. This book tells the story of the destruction of art and culture in times of conflict, and of artists' visual representation of that destruction, chiefly as this has occurred since the 16th century. The aim is to show how stones and souls have been broken in the past, and how iconoclasm has multiplied. The book attempts to show that this destruction has inflicted wounds, but that it has also inspired art, the intention of which has frequently transcended the documentation of a specific catastrophe.
Ruins and ravages of war are constants in history, but in the 19th and 20th centuries their depiction took on specific associations. For in artistic terms the interest in ruins is inherently linked to modernity. The ruin only acquires a cultural meaning once we have become aware of the discontinuity of history. Only a culture obsessed with innovation, progress and clearance cherishes ruins ruins as relics of a past that can be accessed solely by way of shreds and fragments. From this point of view it is no coincidence that art's fascination with ruins reached its peak at the end of the 18th century, at the start of an industrial capitalism that went hand in hand with unprecedented urbanization.
Ruins also make us aware of the devastating forces of nature and remind us of the human urge to destroy that has marked world history. And they allude to impermanence, transience, the elusive dimension of time, and thus also to a terrifying human insignificance.
The haunting nature of images of a war-torn metropolis is often intensified by a gaping void. Images of ruined cities often show deserted squares devoid of street life, sprawling heaps of rubble, crumbling blocks of buildings and fragmented facades in which the traces of everyday life have been burned away. The image of an empty city also startles and intrigues us because it is a reversal of the usual iconography, which is invariably linked with teeming crowds, furious activity, color, cacophony, congestion and hyper-stimulation.
Wars have been the greatest enemies of books and libraries. Huge numbers of texts have been lost because of them. In many cases, they were 'collateral damage': libraries went up in flames during bombardments, and books were among the many possessions lost.
Books have also been destroyed deliberately. They are not, after all, merely objects like any other, but the most important physical carriers of ideas, making them both a perfect and an easy target. Books are a community's memory and the bearers of its identity. Their systematic destruction creates amnesia and helps bring a community under control. The desire to weaken and manipulate opponents implies an assault on their identity. The target is not the book as such, but what it contains and what it stands for. Book-burning is part of a bigger project: the destruction of a community, a culture, a people. The destruction of books is therefore a means of eliminating ideas or, at any rate, of hindering their dissemination and influence. It is symbolic, too, a way of expressing one's rejection and condemnation of a culture.
1) Jacoba Lampsin's salon in Utrecht
Ruins and ravages of war are constants in history, but in the 19th and 20th centuries their depiction took on specific associations. For in artistic terms the interest in ruins is inherently linked to modernity. The ruin only acquires a cultural meaning once we have become aware of the discontinuity of history. Only a culture obsessed with innovation, progress and clearance cherishes ruins ruins as relics of a past that can be accessed solely by way of shreds and fragments. From this point of view it is no coincidence that art's fascination with ruins reached its peak at the end of the 18th century, at the start of an industrial capitalism that went hand in hand with unprecedented urbanization.
Ruins also make us aware of the devastating forces of nature and remind us of the human urge to destroy that has marked world history. And they allude to impermanence, transience, the elusive dimension of time, and thus also to a terrifying human insignificance.
The haunting nature of images of a war-torn metropolis is often intensified by a gaping void. Images of ruined cities often show deserted squares devoid of street life, sprawling heaps of rubble, crumbling blocks of buildings and fragmented facades in which the traces of everyday life have been burned away. The image of an empty city also startles and intrigues us because it is a reversal of the usual iconography, which is invariably linked with teeming crowds, furious activity, color, cacophony, congestion and hyper-stimulation.
Wars have been the greatest enemies of books and libraries. Huge numbers of texts have been lost because of them. In many cases, they were 'collateral damage': libraries went up in flames during bombardments, and books were among the many possessions lost.
Books have also been destroyed deliberately. They are not, after all, merely objects like any other, but the most important physical carriers of ideas, making them both a perfect and an easy target. Books are a community's memory and the bearers of its identity. Their systematic destruction creates amnesia and helps bring a community under control. The desire to weaken and manipulate opponents implies an assault on their identity. The target is not the book as such, but what it contains and what it stands for. Book-burning is part of a bigger project: the destruction of a community, a culture, a people. The destruction of books is therefore a means of eliminating ideas or, at any rate, of hindering their dissemination and influence. It is symbolic, too, a way of expressing one's rejection and condemnation of a culture.
1) Jacoba Lampsin's salon in Utrecht
Displaying 1 of 1 review