In his article, Parmet maintains, additionally, that the monument’s artistic qualities would not suffer if it were to assume a more traditional form. Accordingly, he points to the Mannerheim statue, which he finds successful.
I on the contrary would point to the statues of Eino Leino, Ståhlberg, Svinhufvud, Larin Paraske, Juhani Aho (done by the same sculptor as the riding Mannerheim), Arvid Mörne, and Albert Edelfelt, which I do not find successful. I believe that neither Sibelius nor anyone else is well served by a monument modeled like those of the aforementioned cultural figures and statesmen. Other figurative statues in the city have perhaps a greater retail value because they have been in place longer and therefore have a certain position in residents’ consciousness. But I wonder who, standing at the base of the statue of Alexander II or Runeberg, could say how these people really appeared? Nevertheless, Alexander is quite formally dressed, and even Runeberg is attired in a costume that is more appropriate to sculptural representation than the jackets and sweeping trousers of Sibelius’s time and ours.
Almost without exception, a portrait in either stone or bronze is ridiculous—if not immediately after its unveiling, then at any rate after a certain amount of time.
Exceptions such as Mannerheim, Paavo Nurmi, and Aleksis Kivi (where opinions are also divided) do not help the issue. Paavo Nurmi runs naked—something we cannot allow Sibelius to do; he would hardly be particularly elegant that way—and Mannerheim has a fine horse on which to ride. Besides, the horse is the best part of the monument. Aleksis Kivi’s monument is controversial, as suggested above, but in any circumstance there is no artist currently among us capable of executing such a figurative creation as this gigantic work.
In any case, I struggle to see why the debate should be between the figurative and the non-figurative. I can well imagine how the monument could be figurative—to the extent that it could even directly represent the composer himself, as reconstructed on the basis of photographs and other documents during his active, creative period. But the presumption must be that it be good. A competition was arranged for precisely this purpose. A mass of proposals was received. Has Simon Parmet seen them? Did he find any among them that he could happily recommend for realization?
This is precisely what we are about: choosing the best proposal. One that satisfies not only the wider public but the experts as well—in other words, those who have some experience in artistic judgment. This is exactly what has happened. There has been a large jury, with experts and laymen, and no less than two competitions. No one can maintain that either the jury or anyone else from within the organizer’s circle has done anything whatsoever to impose a non-figurative solution for the monument. On the contrary, my understanding is that everything was done to comply with the wishes of the wider public—namely, that in principle the monument should be undertaken by a portrait sculptor.
That leaves Eila Hiltunen’s proposal, which received such a satisfactory write-up from the experts that there can be no doubt that it is both artistically satisfying and of a level worthy of its subject, Sibelius. That this has been contested reveals that expert opinion is not regarded especially highly. This is, in a sense, a sound principle: art is not just for the experts. On the other hand, one should be confident that, in spite of everything, the experts have the greatest chance of looking into the future, as difficult as that is. It appears to be a rule that art appreciated initially by only the minority with the chance to become closely acquainted with it will gradually gain a wider response before being generally accepted by the public. Trivial—but a fact nonetheless.
The question is not whether the “radical” artists in any sense monopolize or try to monopolize “the representation of the intellectual current of our time,” as Parmet writes. On the contrary, the conventional can just as easily attempt such monopolization, as when Parmet maintains that wider popular opinion, not artistic qualities, should be decisive when selecting the form of a monument.
This freedom from all attempts at monopolization is a characteristic trend in the modern understanding of art. While countless artistic movements, up to and including Cubism and perhaps one or two others afterward, talked about “the only salvation,” the wheel has now turned full circle, and modern aesthetics recognizes old art as well as new, figurativism as well as informalism. The question is ultimately one of a certain degree of authenticity of expression. If a sculptor can be found to produce a portrait sculpture that genuinely functions in the way this one is intended to function, he is welcome to realize whichever monument he likes. It is not unthinkable that one day such a creative artist may show up. But we must remember that our way of looking in a contemporary, strongly visualized environment is constantly shifting, and strongly. Our viewing customs are not the same today as they were thirty years ago. In erecting a monument, our intention is not merely that it satisfy the few who are there when it is unveiled. It should also interest and fascinate in the future. Only if it can do that does it function properly. Only then will it fulfill its task—to commemorate some person or event from a previous era. It does not necessarily have to have a symbolic character, since symbols can often be misinterpreted, and there are many things that cannot be represented symbolically, as Parmet very rightly points out.
In her monument proposal Eila Hiltunen has chosen to place the emphasis not on the plastic-figurative, but on purely architectonic means (the organ pipes are virtually the only thing that remains from the very first proposal; when the monument is realized no one in their wildest dreams will be able to find anything similar). This reveals without a doubt that she has realized that architecture is the only art form with whose help one can achieve the greatest effect upon the untrained observer. No other form of artistic experience is as powerful as that of experiencing an architectural space from inside. Whether this experience is associated with music, mathematics, or something else depends upon the observer. But if this immense experience can be associated with the celebrated person’s name, it has functioned as it should. It is then a proper monument.
It is not inconceivable that the artist who realizes the monument also reveals himself. This is often the case with a great monument. Where would Colleoni be today without Verrocchio? And dare one ask: Where would Moses be without Michelangelo?
Parmet-Kruskopf Exchange
Hufvudstadsbladet, 18 October 1962
Parmet: Since Erik Kruskopf has asked me a question directly, I would like to reply, as well as comment on the monument debate.
Yes, I saw the proposals that were shown during the official exhibition of prizewinning entries. And I fully agree that none of the proposals, neither the figurative nor the non-figurative, have the slightest qualification to serve as a Sibelius monument. Regarding Eila Hiltunen’s award-winning design, I recognize that, in spite of my essentially negative initial response, I found the proposal beautiful, though unsuitable for the purpose for which it is intended. Furthermore, I believe that it cannot justifiably deserve to be called art. Not everything that is beautiful can be art, even if all art must be beautiful.
I must also wholeheartedly share the opinion of the dubious artistic merit of the memorials that Kruskopf, as he so moderately expresses it, does “not find successful.” The fact that the memorials mentioned turned out so poorly was not, I believe, up for debate in the previous discussion. Nevertheless, we should not cast out the baby with the bathwater simply because some artists failed so grievously. We should not blame the very style that individual presentations lack. We can easily demonstrate that the style at issue here has produced outstanding sculptural memorials—especially in ancient Greece—and throughout the greater cultural nations, as is evident from the Balzac and Beethoven statues I reproduce in my article. The notion that these or other equivalent portrait statues should ever be ridiculous—“a portrait statue . . . is always almost without exception ridiculous,” says Kruskopf—is too grotesque to be taken seriously. That some statues exist that only provoke ridicule does not imply a s
imilar assessment of those that are sublime.
The belief that “the experts are, in spite of everything, those who stand the best chance of seeing into the future” is contradicted, at least in the case of music history—I cannot comment on the other arts in this respect—by the countless remarkable cases where experts, utterly dependent in their capacity to act as a Vox Dei, have carved their judgment in stone only to revise it on the grounds of the wider public’s reaction. Many of the masterworks we rank today among our culture’s priceless treasures were initially disapproved of by the experts, while the public hailed them immediately as the masterpieces they were and always will be.
To Kruskopf ’s little bon mot, “where would Moses be without Michelangelo?” I would just say that Moses was Moses for more than 2,500 years before Michelangelo appeared upon the stage, just as Sibelius will be Sibelius whether we erect a monument to his memory or not and independent of who does it—or does not. What Michelangelo did was fill a void in our knowledge of the mortal element of Moses’ character, thereby creating an aid for our remembrance. This is precisely where I perceive the deepest meaning in any memorial to a great man: to preserve the mortal aspect of those who have created the immortal.
Kruskopf Response: I would simply reiterate: I have nothing in principle against any artistic style. But we do not have a Rodin. Can Simon Parmet point to any conceivable alternative to Eila Hiltunen’s proposal? Rodin’s portraits are not ridiculous, merely those of his disciples.
So far as I can judge, Eila Hiltunen’s sculpture will become a very strong work if it is realized. And this is precisely how a monument should function, isn’t it?
Concerning Moses and Michelangelo, I referred, of course, to the former’s appearance. Michelangelo created a new impression of it, one that demanded a portrait statue. Sibelius’s appearance is well documented in photos and countless other portraits. He therefore does not need any portrait statue.
NOTES
1. The successive versions of Hiltunen’s design, and the story of the competition, are summarized in Tuula Karjalainen et al., Eila Hiltunen: Sibelius Monumentti, “Passio Musicae” (Helsinki: Helsingin kaupungin taidemuseo, 1998).
2. Simon Parmet, Sibelius symfonier: En studie i musikförståelse (Helsinki: Söderström, 1955); English version, The Symphonies of Sibelius: A Study in Musical Appreciation, trans. Kingsley A. Hart (London: Cassell, 1959).
3. Erik Kruskopf and Eila Hiltunen, Eila Hiltunen (Helsinki: Otava, 1976).
4. For a comparable example of self-monumentalization, see Mark Everist’s discussion of Rossini’s long creative silence and the French aesthetics of la belle morte, “‘Il n’y a qu’un Paris au monde, et j’y reviendrai planter mon drapeau!’: Rossini’s Second Grand Opéra,” Music & Letters 90/4 (November 2009): 636–72.
5. The Swedish title of this first Kruskopf article is “Ett bra monument—eller inget alls.”
6. The Swedish title of Parmet’s article is “Orgelpipor eller Bronsstod.”
7. Aimo Tukiainen’s equestrian statue of General Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim (1867–1951), a leading figure on the “White” side in the Finnish civil war and later commander of Finnish military during the Winter War (1939) and briefly the country’s president, stands opposite the Museum of Modern Art in Helsinki and was unveiled in 1960, seven years before Hiltunen’s statue of Sibelius. Tukiainen’s design is essentially realist, in sharp contrast to the more abstract quality of Hiltunen’s monument.
8. Kruskopf ’s second article carries this title in Swedish: “Endast det bästa duger.”
Index
Page numbers followed by n indicate notes; italicized page numbers indicate material in tables, figures, or musical examples.
Index to Sibelius’s Works
Andante Festivo, 247, 251, 259
“Au crépuscule,” JS47, 25
“Aus banger Brust,” op. 50, 72n11, 73n13
Belshazzar’s Feast, op. 51, 329
Canzonetta, op. 62, 28, 54n104
Cassazione, op. 6, 59, 64–68, 65, 66, 67, 72n11, 73nn14–16, 218
Cortège, JS54, 72n11
En Saga, op. 9, 27, 37, 40–42, 54n100, 68, 69, 71, 111, 115, 329
Ferryman’s Bride, The, op. 33, 20
Finlandia, op. 26, 5–7, 16–17, 72n2, 108, 113, 114, 127, 130, 149, 153n22, 157n97, 161, 166–68, 227, 231, 232, 234, 247, 282
Grevinnans konterfej (Countess’s Portrait), 88n36
“Hostkväll,” 161
In memoriam, op. 59, 65, 67, 72n11, 73n18
Jokamies (Jedermann or Everyman), op. 83, 75
Josephson Songs, op. 57, 90, 93
Karelia Suite, op. 11, 31
King Christian II Suite, op. 27, 127, 231
Kullervo, op. 7, 24, 32, 36, 39, 42, 45, 96, 107, 112, 232, 300n37, 316, 329, 330n1
Lemminkäinen Legends (Lemminkäinen Suite), op. 22, 32, 42, 46, 56n160, 68, 112, 165, 190, 231, 259, 232, 267, 282; see also under individual titles
“Lemminkäinen and the Maidens of the Island,” 28, 32, 56n160, 68; see also Lemminkäinen Legends
“Lemminkäinen’s Return,” 24, 25, 40, 56n160, 231, 259; see also Lemminkäinen Legends
“Lemminkäinen in Tuonela,” 56n160, 68; see also Lemminkäinen Legends
Luonnotar, op. 70, 45, 61, 93, 108–10, 110, 114, 270, 271, 273, 300n37
“Lonely Ski Trail, The,” op. 54, 259
Malinconia, op. 20, 169n3
Näcken (The Elf King), op. 57, 85
Nightride and Sunrise, op. 55, 25, 53n87, 73n18, 267
Oceanides, The (Aallottaret), op. 73, 111, 114, 133, 158, 162, 208, 245, 267, 333
Ödlan (The lizard), op. 8, 74–85, 77, 78, 85n2, 86n3, n9, 87n10
Pan and Echo, op. 53, 72n11
Pelléas et Mélisande, op. 46, 66
Pohjola’s Daughter, op. 49, 24, 25, 45, 56n153, 59, 62, 63, 65, 72n11, 73n18, 266–67
Piano Quintet in G-Minor, JS159, 159, 307
Quartet in B-flat Major, op. 4, 159
Romance for String Orchestra in C major, op. 42, 28
Scaramouche, op. 71, 53n67
Scènes historiques II, op. 66, 66, 67
“Die Jagd,” 72n10, n11
Seven Songs, op. 17, “Fågellek,” 159–60
Skogsrået (The Wood Nymph), op. 15, 27, 84, 85, 114, 309
Sonatinas for Piano, op. 67, 93
Songs, op. 13:
“Drömmen,” 159, 316
“Hjärtats morgon,” 159
“Till Frigga,” 160
“Under strandens granar,” 160
String Quartet in D Minor, Voces intimae, op. 56, 62, 63, 74, 93, 104–8, 105, 106, 114
Suite for Violin and Piano, JS187, 25
Suomi, see Finlandia
Svartsjukans Nätter (Nights of Jealousy), JS125, 85, 309
“Swan of Tuonela, The” 56n160, 190, 231, 259, 333; see also Lemminkäinen Legends
Symphony no. 1 in E Minor, op. 39, 26, 26–28, 42, 53n70, 56n144, 59, 64–68, 72n11, n12, 108, 165, 231, 233
Symphony no. 2 in D Major, op. 43, 17, 30, 40, 43, 46, 57n181, 73n18, 84, 90, 148, 156n73, 165, 208, 233, 271, 284
Symphony no. 3 in C Major, op. 52, 25, 37, 38–41, 55n126, 56n144, 59, 61, 62, 62, 63, 64, 64, 65, 67, 68, 71, 72n11, 126, 140, 141, 151, 266–68, 300n34
Symphony no. 4 in A Minor, op. 63, 40, 44–46, 49, 61, 63, 64, 70, 72n11, 73n15, 74, 93, 94, 96–105, 101, 109, 118, 126–30, 132, 134, 140, 142, 145, 150–52, 153n22, 161, 165, 188, 191, 209, 234, 235, 256, 266, 269, 271, 297n2, 300n34, 302n71, 333, 338
Symphony no. 5 in E-flat Major, op. 82, 40, 46, 59, 64, 67, 68, 71, 79, 97, 103, 109, 114, 132–33, 141, 151, 162, 168, 241, 266, 271–72, 326, 333; “Swan Hymn,” 143, 156n80, 207, 208
Symphony no. 6 in D Minor, op. 104, 46, 64, 97, 141, 162, 187, 189, 213–16, 219–20, 255n87, 266, 272–73, 317, 327
Symphony no. 7 in C Major, op. 105, 59, 64, 74, 103, 130, 150–52, 153n22, 162, 187, 189, 213–16, 219–21, 248–49, 249, 272–74, 288, 303n104
Symphony no. 8, 58, 186, 334
Tapiola, op. 112, 32, 39, 41, 45, 46, 67, 74, 93, 94, 96, 97, 100, 108, 109, 111–19, 123n70, 130, 133, 150, 152, 153n22, 158, 162, 174, 186, 208, 213, 219–21, 227, 240, 245, 247, 248, 250, 251, 255n87, 272–74, 287, 293
Ten Piano Pieces, op. 58:
“Air varié,” 65, 67, 72n11
“Ständchen,” 72n11, 73n13
Tempest, The, op. 109, 73n16, 74, 75, 111, 187–221, 198, 200–207, 210, 213, 217 Three Lyric Pieces for Piano, op. 41, 72n10
Three Songs for American Schools, JS199, 162
Twelfth Night, op. 60, 188
“Kom nu hit, död,” (Come away, death!) 170n15
Valse triste, op. 44a, 72, 75, 126, 143, 166, 190, 333
Vårsang (Spring Song), op. 16, 20, 329
Violin Concerto, op. 47, 24, 37, 40, 49, 59, 68, 71, 72n11, 114, 160, 161, 259
Name and Subject Index
Aalto, Aino, 243
Aalto, Alvar, 227, 234–48, 250, 253n35, 254n51, n70, 255n79, n91, 258, 302n82, 331; Finnish Pavilion, New York World’s Fair, 242–46, 242, 244, 250–51, 254n70; Viipuri Library, 235, 236, 236, 248
Åbo/Turku Academy, 9
Abraham, Gerald, 26–28, 184n13, 274
Ackté, Aino, 47, 109
Adams, John, 95, 168–69; Harmonielehre, 168
Adorno, Theodor W., 94, 125–26, 129, 152, 152n3, 175–83, 187, 218, 220, 240, 331–37; “Fußnote zu Sibelius und Hamsun,” 179, 336–37; “Glosse über Sibelius,” 175–77, 218–19, 331–36; Philosophy of Modern Music, 92, 176, 182
Aho, Juhani, 349
Alapuro, Risto, 15
Albert, Eugen d’, 108
Aleksandrova, Vera, 32
Alexander I, Tsar of Russia, 7–10, 13, 16
Alexander II, Tsar of Russia, 7, 10–11, 13, 16–17, 349
Alexander III, Tsar of Russia, 14
Amar Quartet, 107
American Civil War, 138
American Galton Society, 155n53
Anderson, Marian, 161, 170n15
Andersson, Otto, 158, 326
Jean Sibelius and His World Page 49