El Lissitzky Reading Lessons
El Lissitzky Reading Lessons
El Lissitzky Reading Lessons
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YVE-ALAIN BOIS
Then a voice which seemed to come from the sky rather than from t
cock's throat cried, "Student, be seated. Pluck a quill from the cock
tail and with it write the book of books, containing all the patres e
matres lectionis, the book that even the greatest genius must have
studied before the age of five. In one word, the most perfect book of all,
with the longest title: A bcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz (although we m
abbreviate: A bc...). Write this book, Fibel! Everyone will read it!"
With that, he awoke and sat up in bed-which is of course what
any unseasoned author would have done.
-Jean-Paul, The Life of Fibel
Until the advent of modernism, writers paid little attention to typography. Af
whimsical pictograms of medieval manuscripts and the mannered calligrams of
Hebrew, Gallic, and Arabic poetry, typography became the restricted province
specialists. Economics dictated "justification," the most efficient use of the pag
way, the book became a grisaille. Although typographers designed new faces, wri
interested only in the arrangement of type by the linear foot, punctuated by an
ornamental capital. Except for Rabelais and Laurence Sterne (and a few other e
cases), writers were either bored by typography or threatened by what they s
impediment to the presumed transparency of the signifier.
But then Lewis Carroll, Mallarme, Apollinaire, Marinetti, and finally the p
emerged to prove that "the past and the future of the letter (where it comes from
remains open to it) are independent of the phoneme." IA brief history thus begins
swarm of seminal names: Bayer, Berlewi, Bill, van Doesburg, Feininger, Ha
Heartfield, H6ch, Zdanevitch, Itten, Lager, Lewis, Moholy-Nagy, Peeters, M
Schwitters, Strzeminski, Werkman, Zwart, and especially El Lissitzky and Alex
Rodchenko, who exemplify the two tendencies of modern typography-the pure u
and photomontage.
In Russia, the
the lithographe
letter acknowle
out with a rule
are no longer le
written by a par
by another." 3
Words in Libert
was to write:
Prior to October our artists demonstrated little interest in typesetting. That task
was left to the printers. But after October a number of our best artists from
various fields, in their desire to express the new through the specifics of each
medium, set about producing the new book in terms of the material of the book
itself-that is, type. Their work took two directions: the first, which might be
called "the architecture of the book," proceeds from a plan of the whole and of
each page based on the proportion and relations of the parts, the relation of
composition to the page, the size and contrast of the letters, and above all the
exclusive use of standard typographic elements and the specific characteristics
of the typographic process, such as overprinting and the like.
The second direction, which might be called "figurative montage,"
arranges compositional materials in a mosaic for the design of covers, isolated
pages, and posters.
Both are directly linked to production.4
Lissitzky was the herald of the first "direction"-the total conception of the book, it
construction (on the title page of Dlia Golosa he referred to himself as konstructor knigi)
At the same time, he never completely subscribed to claims of specificity which, in a
restrictive formalist aesthetic, underpin the very idea of modernism. He seems instead t
have been committed to mixing genres in order to destroy any division of the arts on
essentialist grounds. He claimed that he created Dlia Golosa exclusively with standard
typographic elements.6 He used, however, not only letters (in the UNOVIS almanac he
wrote: "Gutenberg's Bible was printed with letters only; but the Bible of our time cannot
2. On these concepts, see the works of Jacques Derrida: Of Grammatology (Baltimore, John
Hopkins, 1976), Writing and Difference (Chicago, Univerisity of Chicago, 1978), La disseminatio
(Paris, Seuil, 1972), and Positions (Paris, Minuit, 1972).
3. Victor Khlebnikov and Alexei Kruchenikh, "La lettre en tant que telle," Manifestes futuriste
russes, ed. L. Robel, Paris, Editeurs Frangais Reunis, 1971, p. 23.
4. El Lissitzky, "The Artist in Production," Catalogue of the Graphic Arts Section, Polygraph
Exposition of the Union of Republics, Moscow, 1927.
5. Written by Mayakovsky and designed by Lissitzky, this book was published in Berlin in 1923. It
was recently reissued in a facsimile edition by Verlag Gebr. K6nig, Cologne/New York, 1973. The tit
may be translated as For the Voice.
6. Sophie Lissitzky-Kiippers, El Lissitzky, Life, Letters, Texts, trans. Helene Aldwinckle and Mary
Whittall, Greenwich, New York Graphic Society, 1968, caption to illustrations 95-108. All further
references to this volume will appear in the form of page numbers directly following the citations.
... is Achilles possible side by side with powder and lead? Or is the
Iliad at all compatible with the printing press and steam press? Does
not singing, and reciting, and the Muses necessarily go out of existence
with the appearance of the printer's bar, and do not, therefore, disap-
pear the prerequisites of epic poetry?'0
Not if the typographer is also the poet, Lissitzky seems to answer, not if a new
history serves as the pretext for the book. (And is October not the actual,
prodigious history which gives rise to a mythology-as Marx wrote, "there mus
be one mythology" which provides the material of the epic-a mythology which
is, in miniature, the subject of this book?)
But is Of Two Squares really a picture book?
Instead of investigating the fundamental question, which has been posed by
men such as Freud, Wittgenstein, and Eisenstein (Does visual thought exist? Is a
picture capable of stating a proposition? Can a preconceptual logic which existed
10. Karl Marx, Introduction to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy (1857 ed.),
trans. N. I. Stone, Chicago, Charles H. Kerr & Co., 1904, p. 311.
prior to artic
character in
World War I
"The plastic e
part to the i
This is obvio
carries little information. This "narrative" has no denouement; it concludes with
the phrase to be continued, so that it is up to the reader to complete the book, the
revolution. Despite appearances, this is not simply a pictorial translation of a
narfative. Still, the example from Mondrian demonstrates the timeliness of the
question (A narrative composed of abstract images?).
The book must function as a work; it must be effective. It must, by forcing
the reader to work, elicit another kind of reading, serve as a model for the
transformation not only of production but also of consumption, reactivate
reading. Taking a stand against those who "consider the difficult work of art as a
weekend pastime," 12 it must transform the reader.
Art as an "instrument of social change"'-such was the program, but without
any instrumentalist intention (the sad consequences of which are familiar from
the case of social realism). The book must change the reader in a completely
material way. By transforming itself formally, it also transforms the conditions of
its apprehension. (Especially since form is the preferred hiding place of ideology,
largely because in the West we have the bad habit of ignoring form. "Form is
always ideological," Eisenstein wrote in response to charges of "formalism"
leveled against him.'3 This is well known, but bears repeating.)
Does the political nature of this book not then lie in its attempt to transform
the power of the book over the reader's body (as opposed to what would later be
called the easy reading of the NEP), rather than in the fact that it offers children a
little mythology of October? Indeed, "by reading, our children are already
acquiring a new plastic language; they are growing up with a different relation-
ship to the world and to space, to shape and to colour; they will surely also create
another book." (p. 359)
All of this is undoubtedly political.
In 1927 Lissitzky complained: "Yes, in this present day and age we still have
no new shape for the book as a body; it continues to be a cover with a jacket, and a
spine, and pages 1, 2, 3.... We still have the same thing in the theatre also."
(p. 359)
11. Piet Mondrian, "Natural Reality and Abstract Reality," in Michel Seuphor, Piet Mondrian,
New York, Abrams, n.d., p. 321.
12. "Qui le Lef prend i la gorge," Manifestes futuristes russes, p. 73.
13. S. M. Eisenstein, "In the Interest of Form," Kino, November 12, 1932.
Of Two Squares is perhaps the last work which allows us to read from th
first word to the last without lifting our heads. (But what if, as Roland Bart
once suggested, it is only when one lifts one's head that one truly reads?) It th
reveals in its entirety (in several ways, on several levels) the contradiction betw
continuity and discontinuity which constitutes the book.
Although its format may pose some difficulties, the book invites us to thum
its pages-like the doodles sketched during a boring lecture in students' no
books, which, when rapidly leafed through, are transformed into an animate
cartoon. In this way the book is presented as a metaphor for the filmic ("the
continuous page-sequence-the bioscopic book"-p. 355). But it also denounc
the optical illusion of cinematic continuity. We know today, from "experiment
cinema, that a film is constituted of a number of small units placed end to e
pictograms and black intervals. In (commercial) cinematic narrative, however, t
illusion of presentness (in which each image appears to efface its predecessor a
is itself destined to be forgotten in turn, neutralized by the succeeding imag
conceals the real material discontinuity of film.
The fact that every "plate" in Lissitzky's book reacts (in the chemical sens
with every other one overdetermines the cinematic metaphor: the "montage
attractions." This book is thus the trace, the residue of an animated film from
which the best moments have been excerpted. As his friend Eggeling wrote,
"Lissitzky hoped to resolve the problem of the representation of movement in the
visual arts with the assistance of a camera. But Of Two Squares never became a
15. I will rehearse in this context neither the theory of the "filmic," which is based in the pictogram
nor the polemic which found Eisenstein and Malevich in opposed camps. Both, however, are releva
For the former, see Roland Barthes, "The Third Meaning," Image/Musicl Text, trans. Stephen Hea
New York, Hill and Wang, 1977, pp. 52-68. For the Eisenstein/Malevich polemic see Malevich, Ess
on Art, vol. I, pp. 226-38, and Eisenstein, Film Form, trans. and ed. Jay Leyda, New York, Harco
Brace Jovanovich, 1949, pp. 72-83. See also Annette Michelson, "Reading Eisenstein Reading Capit
Part 2," October, 3 (Spring 1977), 82-9.
16. "There are other 'arts' which combine still (or at least drawing) and story, diegesis-namely th
photo-novel and the comic-strip. I am convinced that these 'arts', born in the lower depths of h
culture, possess theoretical qualifications and present a new signifier. ... There may thus be a futu
or a very ancient past-truth in these derisory, vulgar, foolish, dialogical forms of consume
subculture. And there is an autonomous 'art' (a 'text'), that of the pictogram ('anecdotaliz
images.. .); this art taking across historically and cuturally heteroclite productions: ethnograp
pictograms, stained glass windows, Carpaccio's Legend of Saint Ursula, images d'Epinal, phot
novels, comic-strips. The innovation represented by the still (in comparison with these othe
pictograms) would be that the filmic (which it constitutes) is doubled by another text, the film.
(Roland Barthes, "The Third Meaning," p. 66).
17. Martine Deborne, "D&crire," Ca, I, 1 (1973).
Theory
As early as 1919, Lissitzky wrote to Malevich:
I think it is necessary that we should pour the thoughts, which are to be
drunk from the book with the eyes, over everything which is perceived
by the eyes. The letters and the punctuation marks, which impose order
on the thoughts, must be included in our calculations; the way the lines
are set out can lead to particular concentrations of thought, they must
be concentrated for the benefit of the eye, too. (p. 380)
I:7Sij;j
t/
Inordertocommunicateyourthoughtsinwritingyouhaveonlytoform
certaincombinationsfromthesesymbolsandstringthem togetherinan
unbrokenchain.
but-NO.
YOU see here that the pattern of thought cannot be represe
mechanically by making combinations of the twenty-six letters o
alphabet. Language is more than just an acoustic wave motion, an
mere means of thought transference. In the same way typograp
more than just an optical wave motion for the same purpose. From
passive, non-articulated lettering pattern one goes over to the a
articulated pattern. (p. 355)
The Title
We are struck immediately by the naked violence of the "cover," the "first
page, which is actually a page like all the others. (But to comprehend fully its
effect, it is important to bear in mind the ornamental grisailles that were comm
then, or even the conventional paradigms of contemporary French publishing.
What accounts for the paper? Did economic reasons alone dictate the choic
of this unpleasant, grainy texture and sallow color? Or did convention play a rol
Did Lissitzky shrink from producing a deluxe edition? (He spoke enthusiastical
about the books of the painter-poets, which "were not numbered, de luxe copies
they were cheap, unbound, paperbacked books.. ."-p. 358. Nevertheless, at t
end of his book we are informed that fifty signed and numbered copies were
produced-a paradox?)
The paper is surprising: The white will never be white.
Practically nothing distinguishes this page from the others. It is
"articulated" -beyond the dedication, a second title page, and the "directions for
use"-to the "first" page of the story (7, if the cover is 1). All odd-numbered pages
are printed, except for 21 (opposite the colophon) and 23 (opposite an entirely
black page), which are "white." All the even pages are blank, except for 6
(which I call "directions for use"), 20 (the colophon), 22 (black), and 24 (the last
page, the back "cover" inscribed with two lines, one grey, the other black).
All of the pages devoted to the narrative (there are six: 7, 9, 11, 13, 15, 17,
although this choice is arbitrary-is the cover not also part of the story?) bear large
squares of identical size which frame the images; the "text" (which is also an
image) is always outside this frame. On the "cover," however, this framing square,
which delimits a field of pure vision, is distinctly larger than those which follow,
and it contains a text. This text is quite special; it is a rebus, although it may at
first not appear as such-a red square, an invocation of the father (Malevich, 1915).
This square is weighty.
It is printed with the same red ink that is used elsewhere in the book, but here
color is intensified because of size (as Matisse remarked, "The quantity of color
was its quality."925). Similarly, the square's frontality distinguishes it from all
subsequent red figures, which are oblique, and links it with the other elements of
the rebus. According to Lissitzky:
25. Henri Matisse, "Statements to T&riade," Matisse on Art, ed. Jack D. Flam, London, Phaidon,
1973, p. 59.
remains on th
not diminish
Yet the sign
inscription out
(which is not
and only wor
title and sign
tionally coded
the title, in b
although it m
name on a co
There is one final disruption of sense hidden in the rebus, one which
redoubles the ruse of the signature which takes the place of a caption without
fulfilling its function. Nowhere is it indicated that one of the two squares will not
be red (not even on the title page, page 5, where this rebus is exhaustively
decoded--although something is always lost in translation.)
The unprepared eye does not even perceive this elision: the ideological
overdetermination of red through a symbolism of color, which is neither psycho-
logical as in Kandinsky nor totally arbitrary, is accepted as "evidence," when it is
in fact a rape, a dishonest forcing, of meaning...