Mark Reviews Movies: BEYOND THE VISIBLE: HILMA AF KLINT

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Review by Mark Dujsik | April 21, 2020

In Beyond the Visible: Hilma af Klint, director Halina Dyrschka puts forth a fairly revolutionary claim: Everything we have known about the history of modern art is a lie. This is a strong statement, for sure, but its impact is probably going to be dependent on the audience's investment in the subject. One of Dyrschka's major accomplishments with this documentary is that it puts the film's central accusation in context. By the end, we realize that this matter isn't just one for museum curators and art historians. It matters if you care about art to any degree, about centuries' worth of systemic injustice, or about the plain, old truth.

The central thesis is that, despite decades of research and assertions, the pioneer of abstract art has been incorrectly identified and wrongly championed. The real title belongs to someone else, whose work and name are not widely known—even within the relatively niche branch of those who care about the specifics and history of the form.

She was Hilma af Klint, a Swedish artist who came from an aristocratic family but set off on her own, unique path. A young artist with some talent, she attended the Royal Swedish Academy of Fine Arts, excelling in naturalistic representations (including of nude men, which is only noteworthy because male models at the school had their important parts covered for the perceived sensibilities of the women students—meaning her work would have been extracurricular). Despite the financial obligations of noble families for their unmarried daughters, Klint started her own career, earning income as an illustrator.

Here is where things become more complicated, and Dyrschka's film, which—from that basic description of her early career, at least—might seem like a straightforward biography of Klint's life, embraces the complexity of Klint as a person, as an artist, and as a mostly forgotten figure in history of modern art. On a fundamental level, the documentary proceeds forward like a mystery.

Since her death in 1944, there have many assumptions about Klint's life and work, ultimately leading to historians mostly ignoring her in the scheme of modern art. The key to the film's narrative is asking two questions: 1.) Were those assumptions correct, and 2.) even if they were, does it really matter when it comes to telling the full and accurate story of history?

The result is a probing and surprisingly contemplative film, mirroring Klint's own attitudes about life, the world, and what art's role is in examining those fundamental elements of the universe. The first voice we hear and first interview subject we see, after all, is not an artist, a historian, or even any archival footage of one of Klint's family members. The first interviewee is a scientist, who delves into the ways that humanity's understanding of the world, the universe, and the forces acting upon them have evolved with new knowledge and theories. Klint, he argues, was not only using her art to explore the scientific discoveries of her time (paintings of radio waves, X-rays, and other types of radiation—the invisible elements of the universe). She seemed to have tapped into knowledge that would come after her death.

The point, perhaps, isn't that Klint was in tune with forces beyond normal human comprehension. She may have been a mystic and a theosophist (a movement based on the belief that all religions come from singular source), and indeed, some here argue that Klint's personal beliefs about spiritualism were part of the reason that she has been excluded from the official record of art history.

Instead, that scientist's observations are more in line with the notion that, despite its abstract nature, Klint's art is so raw, so simple, and so universal that it might look like prophecy from a certain perspective. Dyrschka allows the art to speak for itself, with pieces lingering on screen for us to admire and upon which to meditate (The filmmaker's own artistry comes through, too, matching Klint's work with nature through transitions, montage, and a particularly mesmerizing final shot that transforms the natural world into something abstract).

Then again, Klint's writings do describe a gallery that perfectly describes the spiral of the Guggenheim Museum in New York City, so maybe she was in touch with something. Maybe Frank Lloyd Wright, who started designing the edifice around the time of Klint's death, received some supernatural or more tangible inspiration from the little-known artist. It wouldn't have been the first time that someone probably cribbed from Klint's work. There's evidence here that Wassily Kandinsky, the Russian artist who's the "official" pioneer of abstract art, would have had access to some of Klint's abstract works, painted years before the assumed forerunner of the movement started to create in that vein.

That point, whether or not it's true (which, based on the similarities between Kandinsky's work and Klint's, seems almost too logical to call anything other than that), is at the heart of Klint's story. She should have been recognized in her time and surely as a part of the history of modern art, but instead, a man received the title that clearly was due to her. History is written by the victors, and art history, it seems, is written by those who champion "genius" above all else—and apparently only see "genius" as a man's game. Women artists here discuss that inequity and how they're fighting against it, and Dyrschka follows some historical detective work that proves, despite the curators and historians' assertions, that Klint did have her work exhibited in her lifetime—part of the argument that she shouldn't be considered as a major, if not the major, figure of abstract art.

It seems strange to be discussing such matters—from the occult, to the nature of universe, to sexism—within the context of a documentary that focuses on an obscure artist whose oeuvre is missing large sections, whose biography has a few gaps in it, and whose place in the history of art went overlooked until only a few years ago (Fifty years ago, the Swedish museum of modern art declined a donation of her collection, so members of their current administration will probably be kicking themselves after this documentary has been released). Beyond the Visible: Hilma af Klint is all about context, though. The context of Klint's life, thinking, work, and influence is one that can and should shatter the entire world of art history.

Note: Beyond the Visible: Hilma af Klint is available from distributor Zeitgeist Films through Kino Lorber's virtual theatrical program Kino Marquee. You can rent the film for home viewing, with part of the cost going to your local independent theaters (e.g., the Gene Siskel Film Center in Chicago). For more information and to purchase access to the film, click here. Participating theaters are listed on the page.

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