How Broad Need a Synthesis Be?
Generally, when I hear the term synthesis, I think of a broad essay or book, one that covers a wide territory—the French Revolution, the Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, Modernism in the Arts or indeed the Modern Era (links here, here, or here).
Of course, there are evident exceptions: in this series, I’ve written about poems, plays, movies, essays that—despite their brevity—cover a lot of ground and arrange ideas and items in an effective way (links here, here, or here). A recent attempt at a different kind of synthesis caught my attention and has stimulated these reflections.
The title of the aspiring synthesis: New York 1962-1964
The setting for the synthesis: The Jewish Museum in Manhattan (exhibition running from July 2022- January 2023)
The stimulus for the synthesis: The role played by the Jewish Museum in catalyzing pivotal changes in the art world—in New York City and (subsequently) elsewhere.
When I learned about the exhibition, I had an “a-ha”. Why? Because in the summer of 1962, I lived in New York City! Accordingly, I was immediately curious about what the museum had chosen to feature. I made a point to visit the exhibition in September, 2022 and eagerly acquired the impressive catalogue of the exhibition (conceived, curated, and edited by Germano Celant). Of course, I wondered about whether my memory coincided with the foci and sweep of the exhibition—and I’ll return to that question later.
The stimulus of the exhibition was not unexpected (it’s a museum!) but it came as a surprise to me. Turns out that the director of the museum at the time (Alan Solomon), though his directorial stint was short (1962-1964), played a significant role in catalyzing major artistic shifts in the early 1960s. These trends included the rise of pop art (Jasper Johns, Claes Oldenburg, Robert Rauschenberg, Andy Warhol), site-specific installations (Christo) the emergence of post-modern dance and performance art (Merce Cunningham, Simone Forti, Yvonne Rainer), minimalist music (John Cage), a more personal poetry (Allen Ginsburg, Frank O’Hara), architecture of the era (Lincoln Center, TWA terminal, the 1964 World’s Fair in Flushing), the hegemony of television (often emanating from mid-town Manhattan) and so on.
Beyond a single synthesis
New York was the site of major changes across the art world—the exhibition could have been about what this featured and how it unfolded. However, this exhibition is far more ambitious—New York was sufficiently central, sufficiently important, at this time that one can justifiably link it to a wide range of persons and events of the time. It chronicles important political events: the completion of the Berlin Wall, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Civil Rights March in Washington (Martin Luther King)—all reported from New York city studios and sometimes accompanied by protests on the streets, the assassination of John Kennedy, the Harlem riot of summer 1964, the enactment of civil rights legislation, and rising concerns about possible warfare in Vietnam. There are also more specific events (such as the suicide of Marilyn Monroe).
And perhaps intentionally, perhaps unintentionally, the displays also reveal the widespread prejudices of the era—weekly magazines like Time and Newsweek simply assume that the readership is overwhelming white, middle class. Accordingly, the pages chronicle the conditions of Negroes (as they were then called) as if they were a population apart from the “we” readers of white America. (Viewers of older movies will recognize this embarrassing “we” vs “they” stance.) And as illustrated by the names listed above, they featured largely male luminaries.
City as synthesis of an era?
But I am left to ask: Despite the specific focus—New York over a three-year spread—can an exhibit, a book, a drama—actually synthesize an era? And if so, would any focus in any city afford an equally promising opportunity for a synthesis?
My answer: In gifted hands, one could probably post an evocative synthesis on Boston in 1949-1951, or Edinburgh in 2000-2002. Cities don’t live in a vacuum; and there is always a lot going on in the world that will—without undue distortion—be reflected at a specific geographical site.
That conceded, it’s quite evident that certain places and certain times provide a readier, a richer, a more promising site for synthesis: Berlin or Munich 1932-1934 and the rise of the Nazis; London at the height of the Bloomsbury era or at the time of the Blitz; Beijing (Peking) and the takeover of the Chinese Communists 1948-1950. The forces of history are not randomly distributed—they converge at specific times and in specific regions and these provide a greater potential for meaningful syntheses.
For the purpose of a powerful synthesis, it’s advantageous if a focus on a city over a three-year period has the following characteristics:
The city is especially notable for one feature: In the present case, becoming (arguably) the center in the world for modern art; (in the case of London in 1940, the last stand against the Nazi onslaught).
There are individuals and sites in a position to foreground this focus. In the present case, the director of the Museum in 1962-1964, the precise days covered by the exhibit; and the impresario of the exhibit, in the present case, Germano Celant, who conceived, curated, and edited the presentation. (Sadly, neither man lived to see the exhibition [Celant 1940-2020; Solomon 1920-1970]—and only a few of the individuals featured are still alive).
Much of what is happening elsewhere (e.g., Washington, Berlin, UC Berkeley) can be refracted through the focal city.
There is a venue (exhibition, book, catalogue, movie) whereby the synthesis can be examined, probed, critiqued.
Audience members who appreciate the effort at synthesis—on site, and on paper. I qualify as an appreciator on both counts!
I’ve come to think of possible syntheses in concentric circles.
A synthesis can be quite narrow—a major thoroughfare over the course of a year (e.g., Broadway, 1965).
It can be somewhat broader: a major city over the course of a year (e.g., Paris, 1968).
It can be quite broad: a nation at a crucial decade (e.g., Japan, 1935-1945).
It can seek to cover the waterfront (e.g., The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire).
We don’t judge the quality of a synthesis chiefly by its ambition—but rather by its aptness and its power. On these criteria, New York 1962-1964 gets high grades—particularly from this one-time summer resident.
A Sojourn in New York
But what of my own time in New York, the event that prompted my decision to visit the exhibition? Let me wax autobiographical. In the summer of 1962, I had completed my first year at Harvard College. My grandfather had just died. I decided to get a job in New York and to live with my grandmother in her apartment in Washington Heights. I got a menial job in mid-town Manhattan, packing books for a distributing center, walked around the city a lot, ate full steak dinners in Times Square for $1.19, took note of the plethora of pornographic movies and billboards, had a modest social life, went frequently to movies, and occasionally to museums or Broadway plays.
Two memories stand out:
At night, I went to concerts of classical music in Lewisohn Stadium on the CCNY Campus (W. 136-138th Street). One memorable evening I heard Igor Stravinsky conduct the warhorse The Firebird Suite, and Stravinsky’s longtime associate Robert Craft, conduct the more challenging The Rite of Spring. At the time I had no compunction walking through Manhattan at night. By 1964, the situation would have been less secure.
In the mornings, I used to walk in mid-town Manhattan, dressed in my work clothing. One day I noted an imposing building on W 44th Street. It was called The Harvard Club (I’d never heard of it.) So, as a Harvard student, I decided to venture in.
At the front door, I was stopped abruptly by a man in uniform. He asked me what my business was. I told him that I was a student at Harvard College. He responded quickly and sternly: “Sir, this club is only open to members” then added, “And you never venture into any club dressed like that.”
Decades later, when I was living part-time in New York, I joined the Harvard Club. By then, anyone could venture into the club, and no one was asked about their business. Because of COVID, I had not visited the Club from 2019 until September 2022. Now, before gaining entrance into the club, one has to demonstrate one’s membership.
Between the end of 2019 until the time of my recent visit, New York has changed in innumerable ways. I suspect that someday—if there is an apt curator and a promising setting—there can be an exhibition, New York, 2020-2022. And it has the promise of being a powerful synthesis. Perhaps one of my grandchildren who currently live in New York will be tempted to visit it. And even write about it.
For helpful comments on earlier drafts, I thank Shinri Furuzawa and Ellen Winner.
Reference
Sackeroff, S., Neubauer, L., (Eds.). Summer 2022. New York: 1962-1964. Skira. Jewish Museum.