This is the third volume to appear about the life and art of a sculptor whose career significantly changed the direction of public art and memorials in the nation’s capital. Frederick Hart died in 1999, at the age of 56, with many projects and commissions waiting on the drawing board in his studio at Hume, Virginia, including his maquette proposal for the World War II Memorial. He has become part of a yet-to-be-written history that is still unfolding, not only in the arts but in the cultural fabric. The earlier publications Frederick Hart: Sculptor (1994) and Frederick Hart: Changing Tides (2005) were lavishly illustrated and included fine essays by Tom Wolfe, Michael Novak, J. Carter Brown and others. Frederick Hart: The Complete Works presents the most insightful analysis of the sculptor’s oeuvre to date. This comprehensive, chronological overview features several hundred photographs of his work, personal and professional life, some never published before. But it is the inspired essays by Donald Kuspit and Frederick Turner which stand out. They should be primary resources for those who want to understand the deeper issues involved in the current cultural shift and the vital role Frederick Hart played in this evolution.

Frederick Hart, Daughters of Odessa, 1999

It was clear from the start of his career that Hart’s objective was to change how we view art. The frontispiece of Frederick Hart: The Complete Works contains this quote by the artist: “If Art is to flourish in the twenty-first century, it must renew its moral authority by rededicating itself to life. It must be an enriching, ennobling, and vital partner in the public pursuit of civilization.” Hart’s great achievement was to create inspirational works for public consumption, fusing a new, contemporary iconography with formal classical beauty, what Nietzsche called An-Sich-Für-Sich, or the total unity of subject and object. The challenge facing this untutored young artist during the fractious years of the 1960s was formidable. With no kindred spirits to instruct him, since traditional academies had virtually disappeared, Hart had to teach himself how to sculpt a classical human figure. While apprenticing as a stonecutter with the craftsmen working on Washington National Cathedral, he struggled to invent a new iconography, one that could be visually understood by his contemporaries. Hart had to overcome what Kuspit aptly describes as the “self-destructiveness…anti-social, ugly…rebellious, barbaric feelings informed by alienation and anomie, dominant psychological forces in modernity.”

There is a specter haunting higher arts education today, and its name is rationalism. There are goblins, too: theory-driven art, lack of clarity in terminology and intention, hidden agendas in critiques, “de-skilling,” the manufacturing of young art stars, among others. James Elkins certainly has plenty of company¹ in which to raise doubts about the teaching of visual art. Allies include art historians and artists of stature, many of whom also teach. Dave Hickey, not a visual artist, but a professor of English literature, art criticism and theory,writes: “In the present moment, artists are better off training themselves at home and acquiring the benefits of a good liberal arts or art historical education.” But Judith Russi Kirshner observes: “Creativity flourishes when there is a critical mass of diverse individuals working side by side, often in an urban setting.” Could this apply, perhaps, either inside or outside an art school environment? “In art school, a student is likely to become a better artist sooner,” said Jack Tworkov, teaching in the 1950s at Yale. ² “Ultimately, the artist must transcend his teacher,” was the advice of Isamu Noguchi.³