Painterly Graphics of Estonia's Wiiralt

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Painterly Graphics of Estonia's Wiiralt

Estonian graphic artist and illustrator Eduard Wiiralt, was a meticulous and painterly engraver and etcher who, escaping Soviet oppression at home, found artistic freedom and his vision in Paris. There, his style and images developed both a clarity and a surreal overtone that at once became his trademark and niche.

   Wiiralt (1898-1954), born near St. Petersburg of Estonian parents, studied at the Tallinn College of Art and Design, the Pallas Art School in Tartu, and at the Akademie in Dresden. Initially he concentrated on sculpture and printmaking, with strong influence of German expressionism. His interests ranged from the dark, grotesque, and fantastic to the confidently erotic and vice-driven. He created many bold woodcut and linocut bookplates and well-received book illustrations. Ultimately, much of his early work was censured by the Soviet regime for embracing Estonian nationalism or condemned as obscene.

   By the late '20's, however, Wiiralt was wholly involved in his craft and expression, through graphic engraving and etchings, and living in Paris. He became fascinated with the growing Surrealist movement; his artistic vision became more focused; and created some of his more famous works of landscapes, nudes, and animals, however in a distinctive complex and dreamy subtext.

   In 1938, he returned to Estonia, turning to his homeland's cultural heritage for inspiration, although his themes were often veiled in both symbolism and oblique surrealism, to circumvent further artistic censure. Six years later, he was honored with a solo exhibition in Vienna. At age 48, however, he resumed his studio in Paris, though his work by then drifted toward themes of doom, isolation, and despair. His once firmly-contoured lines, painterly textures, and broad gradations all but disappeared.
   Although 20th century politics and social history certainly impacted Wiiralt's life choices, opportunities, and outlooks, it is only in the last two decades that his entire legacy can be studied, explored, and appreciated. Much of his work was confiscated in the period between the two World Wars and, thankfully, not destroyed. Further, his lack of certain international renown and his fervent insistence on privacy prevent us from readily understanding his "inner workings". But, as a wise critic once shared with me: often it is best to know little of the artist and let an image tell its own tale.
- 16 February 2011
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Mark Dylan Sieber's Space

The sandbox is always open, my friends, for those that want to share eclectic musings, surrealist images, and aural delights.
I detect the melody of the written word and can visualize the beat in the song. That's perhaps why I think in ringtones and post in sound-bites.
But, most of all, I celebrate the moments and the small splendors that enrich our soul.
The sandbox here at Marklewood is flanked in the corners by large bronze urns of yellow peonies & azure-blue lobelia. Behind it is a meandering creek lined with ancient willows.
And if we run scarce of provisions, there is always the bait shop down the dirt road.
My spirit navigates freely from that of Pied Piper to bookworm to Lord Fauntleroy to that of a Bohemian crusader. You best pour a healthy cup of coffee or glass of pinot noir.
I am a disengaged designer, scribe, and recidivist currently living in the hinterlands of Raleigh, North Carolina. I strive to be kind and I seek out those moments of hope that indeed refuel my soul. Often, the most potent of inspiration is found in random human connections, unexpected art finds, and the magic that cloaks our world.
And, yes, we have pets here at Marklewood: a dozen at most recent census. I refer to them fondly as the Twelve Noble & Apostolic Pusses, but they are much more than any label or moniker would suggest. All are indeed rescues or their progeny, with five having been elevated to "indoor" status. The other seven serve sentry here in the stillness of an ancient pine woods.
Alas, poor Tartuffe has been missing since May of '10. Legend has it that he has embarked on some grand theatrical adventure, perhaps in New York. But I like to think that his spirit hovers over head.
"I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.” -- Arthur Rimbaud

Painterly Graphics of Estonia's Wiiralt

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