Guernica: The World’s Most Iconic Image of War
Picasso's masterpiece was created in 1937—but it took decades, including a stop in a German-Jewish refugee gallery, for the painting to make its way home.
Without contest, Picasso’s seven-meter-long mural Guernica is the image that defines World War II—and maybe all wars.
Even people not particularly familiar with art history may recognize its symbols: the open jaw of the baying horse, the bull or minotaur seemingly too stunned even to display his own raw power, the screaming woman with her useless arms stretched towards heaven, the trampled-on baby, the detached leg with its well-defined foot, the candle, the eye, and much more…all jumbled together in a hopeless heap. There is no color. The image is black and white as if it were a photograph.
In January 1937, the government of the Spanish Republic asked Pablo Picasso to create a mural for its pavilion at the Paris World’s Fair. He was idle and uninspired until April 26th, when the German Luftwaffe fire-bombed the peaceful Basque town of Guernica on its market day. Germany was not directly involved in the Spanish Civil War, but Hitler was lending support to dictator Francisco Franco.
The world was stunned, and Picasso was ignited. I believe that, during its creation, great art may bypass the consciousness of its maker as ink passes from pen to paper, oil paint to canvas, and the force of a chisel to marble. During the 36 days following the Luftwaffe bombing, Picasso created Guernica. According to art historians the painting owes much to Dora Maar, a Surrealist painter and photographer who was one of Picasso’s muses and lovers.
Today, Guernica is perhaps Picasso’s most famous work. It turned out in many ways to be an accurate vision of our world’s future. Unlike most of the artworks discussed in this newsletter, Guernica was never plundered or rescued. It nevertheless deserves a place of honor in any conversation about art’s role in resisting the horrors of war.
Though the artistic reception for Guernica was mixed, it was a key exhibit in the Paris World’s Fair. Then it toured Europe, raising money for Spain’s Republican cause. In May 1939, at Picasso’s request, it arrived in the United States. The painting’s first stop was German-Jewish refugee Curt Valentin’s gallery in New York City—a business that played a crucial role in the rescue of art uprooted by the Nazis. In 1952 Guernica moved to MoMA. It would stay there until, as per Picasso’s instructions, Spain again had a democratic government. By 1981, Franco had died and Guernica went home. It is now at the Museo Nacional de la Reina Sofía in Madrid.
I have seen this painting. It isn’t just one black and one white, but shades of black and shades of white, as you say. Chaotic and horrible and beautiful, all at the same time. I’ve never before or since seen a painting that made me feel so powerfully and so desperately conflicted. But of course, that is the point. Well done, Picasso - and well done, you, for having brought it to our attention again today. Thank you for the reminder of what war really does.
I've visited Gernika/Guernica a few times when doing my Basque tours. There's a small-scale copy of Picasso's work there. It's always a moving experience to walk through the town and see the photographs of the damage from that horrific event.