two different persons.” Hence they dedicated themselves solely to social
concerns. Yet convincing these normally suspicious groups to place both
their trust and limited funds with this fledgling studio was difficult.
Moreover, the Grapus style, a distinctive marriage of graffiti and collage
made into colorful abstractions, was spurned by the communists as not
being “strictly significant.” Rather than a tired socialist realism, Grapus was
interested in “making posters with strong metaphors to speak about human
beings with blood, muscle, and smile,” said Bernard. “We quoted Picasso,
Léger, and Eluard as examples to follow. And we were proud of [this] new
ideology.” Calligraphy was used because handwriting was a symbolic means
for the viewer to participate in the process. The reason for this was, as
Bernard explained, “to find the tone of truth—you cannot lie when you
write with your hand.” Although the party did not say no to Grapus’s
efforts, they certainly resisted.
Grapus decided to remain independent, not tied to any party or
group. Although they agreed with the goals of communist and labor
organizations, they also keenly understood the lessons of history regarding
ideology and the function of art. Without total independence it would be
impossible to argue their own goals of quality, emotion, and aesthetics.
Each time they proposed a design, they had to fight for this color or that
typographic choice. Grapus’s approach to polemical art was stern but not
pedantic, strong but refreshingly and surprisingly festive. Because of
Grapus’s nonconformity, “Sometimes they [the party] considered us as
terrorists,” said Bernard.
Grapus’s philosophy was based on an interpretation of Marxism
that was flexible enough to conform to changes in political climate, and
that often put them at odds with more doctrinaire groups. Ultimately, they
split with the communist trade union over methodology and tactics. “Today
each of us can say, ‘I have not changed,’” Bernard admitted, “but we cannot
say that together.”
tuis.
(Tuis.)
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