Conservatism Lurking in Modernity: Flemish Expressionism 

If I could give one piece of advice to fellow conservatives, it would be to take beauty seriously, and to delve into fine art and its history. Above all, to immerse yourself in the art history of your own nation, of the lived history you yourself are shaping today. 

As for me, I am fortunate. The history of my native land, both cultural and artistic, is long and profuse, spanning from van Eyck, Brueghel, and Rubens to Magritte, Delvaux, Ensor, and the Flemish expressionists. The latter are perhaps the least known to non-Flemish people, underexposed, and therefore internationally undervalued, yet breathtakingly interesting. Their art, though expressive, and therefore both challenging and innovative in their way of painting, was at the same time intertwined with tradition, Christianity, and conservatism. It was a magnificent symbiosis between pastoral life and modernity, two worlds that would soon collide. The Flemish expressionists used these two sources together as a springboard to craft paintings of bewitching simplicity and impressive depth. This depth holds hidden value for conservative admirers of their work.

A short introduction to Flemish Expressionism 

Flemish expressionism, also known as ‘The Latem School,’ emerged in the early 20th century in the small, picturesque village of Sint-Martens-Latem, today Belgium’s most expensive municipality. Its rise coincided with a period of social and political unrest in Flanders following World War I. Influenced by broader European art movements such as fauvism, cubism, and German expressionism, the Flemish art movement developed a typically European, expressionist style. 

Characterized by sturdy figures with large, powerful limbs, a striking play with perspectives and colours, and always put on canvas with bold and forceful brushstrokes, Flemish expressionism quickly grew into an art movement in its own right. Many works were humble depictions of rural life, scenes of farmers working the land, sowing the fields, or relaxing on them. Others were more experimental in their style, but retained classical subjects, such as Gustave Van de Woestyne’s depiction of the Last Supper.

Van de Woestyne’s Last Supper, like many other paintings, translated Flanders’ deeply Christian roots into an expressionist style. Those Christian roots provide an initial foothold for the exploration of intertwined conservatism in 20th century Belgian art. It was from the iconography and rich symbolism of Christianity that Flemish Expressionists drew inspiration. Biblical tales were depicted in a modern style, these artists shying away from the classical, more conventionally ‘sophisticated’ styles that normally depicted this subject matter.

The peasants and the poor often played the leading role, but in their ordinariness were surrounded by a deep, mysterious aura. Ordinary human beings were placed at the centre, implicitly abandoning the fashionable view that history—both that of the world and that of the nation—is the sum of the achievements of successive great men. In doing so, the common man recaptures his place not only from classical heroism and the great historiography that has come to dominate the arts, but also from romantic heroism, as we saw in the trends of the post-17th century era, clearly expressed in the works of figures like Constable, Turner, and Poussin. Flemish expressionists made the ordinary great. Flemish and Christian rituals and practices, including deeply spiritual ones, became more tangible and less abstract. In Flemish expressionism, man did not shrink before a distant, unreachable God or in the face of a vast, incomprehensible world, but rather the world and the Christian faith shrank to human size. In these works, the Church was drawn close to the incarnational realities of human life.

In crafting their greatest works, Flemish expressionism placed itself in the canon of Flemish arts, which had always been dominated by Catholicism. The sombre, earthy colours and the piercing faces so often seen in these works may be felt to have stripped the church of its glorious splendour, but they ultimately served the same God, simply catapulting His worship towards a lived faith. The experiences of faith and life encouraged by these works generally were not laced with pomp and circumstance, aiming instead for a rather modern sense of intimacy and humanity. They represented a cultural heritage, especially in Flanders, but were also a spiritual hold in times of war and poverty. Few have depicted these scenes as beautifully as Constant Permeke, the godfather of the expressionist art movement.

Born in Antwerp in 1886, Permeke is still known today for his powerful and evocative depictions of the human form and the rugged landscapes of Flanders. Deeply influenced by his experiences during World War I, when he spent several years in exile in England, his art exuded a sense of raw emotion and tempered artistry. More than any other contemporary, his art captured not only the essence of the Flemish nation, but also that of the human condition amid the tumult of the early 20th century.

Cultural identity, tradition, and regionalism

Flemish Expressionism emerged later than its European counterparts in Germany, France, and Italy, yet it made a striking impact with its more figurative and narrative approach. While undoubtedly influenced by the bold brushwork and distorted human figures of the German style expressionism of Die Brücke and the colourful French fauvism movement, Flemish Expressionism found a particularly strong resonance with the early works of Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890). 

Van Gogh, now famous for his colourful portraits, landscapes, and still lifes, started out with a more sober palette. He often depicted the same themes as the Flemish expressionists in a similar, but less expressionistic style, of which The Sower and The Potato Eaters are two beautiful examples. Van Gogh also lived in Belgium for a short period, but after a few months, completely disillusioned, he deregistered from the Antwerp Academy of Fine Arts. His influences on the Latem School, however, can be clearly traced.

Flemish Expressionism differed from its European contemporaries not only in colour-use and style, but also in theme. The Flemish artists focused much more on ‘conservative’ themes, such as tradition, regionalism, family, community, and cultural identity. Cultural identity became an important issue after the war. The struggle to discern a Flemish national identity was difficult and complex, and many Flemings sought recognition for linguistic and cultural rights in Belgium. That Flemish identity emerged on the horizon of Flemish expressionism, though often without becoming explicit. Flemish cultural identity was threatened not only by the French-speakers, who were dominant in Belgium at the time, but also by the emerging modernity and its disruptive excesses. Many of the artworks of the Latem school were partly a deposition against, or reaction to, the perceived dehumanising effects of modernity, urbanisation, and industrialization.

This rejection of modernity lurks in the nostalgic and intimate way figures are depicted. They are authentic and simple, even ‘earthy.’ Nothing suggests that a whole new world is unfolding outside the Flemish fields, a world that will soon engulf and wipe out all that is depicted. Social identity, language, and culture will be swept away, and the Christian roots too will be pulled out in the raging storm of modernity. Flemish Expressionism offered a nostalgic, national, and nature-based escapade from this coming storm.

In their attempt to evoke a desire for a simpler, more authentic way of life, the Flemish Expressionists articulated a deeply conservative sentiment. Emphasis was placed on regionalism, on the conservative values of preserving traditions and local communities—to the things that unite more than they divide. The importance of social cohesion, of cultural and spiritual harmony, shines through in these works. They are presented without pretension and exaggerated symbolism, but in ways that make the works easily understood. They are made for ‘the people.’

Conservatism lurking in modernity

Many of today’s conservatives see expressionist art as one of the excesses of modernity. They contrast it with the works of, for instance, Michelangelo, Gentileschi, and David, claiming that it is an example of how modernity has stripped art of its beauty. They see in the expressionists an enemy of conservatism, an art style that is no longer aimed at achieving beauty and refinement. However, this is a clear example of the fog causing us to mistake the enemy, since the Latem school was often an ally of conservatism. It embraced experimentation in visual art but used modern styles to criticise modernity while doing so. It was a collection of nation-building stories and images of what it meant to be Flemish in the early 20th century, of what it meant to be religious when atheism was just around the corner, of what it meant to be poor as accelerated capitalism overran the forests and fields, luring young people to the cities and battlefields.

Above all, Flemish Expressionism showed what it meant to be an artist at a time when art history was gradually reaching its end, when artists like Marcel Duchamp and Andy Warhol would appear a few decades later. The Flemish expressionists provide an example of reconciling tradition and experiment. In that reconciliation they achieved a symbiosis of two colliding, radically different time periods. Although rarely recognized as such, the Latem school was a conservative tour de force. 

If you’re wondering what my expertise in this area is to draw such a radical conclusion, it’s simply that I lived the art, grew up with it, rooted in the place that imbued it with life. Plenty of analyses are made by art historians—some better than others—but art is always best understood by those who experience it as a part of life. And nothing beats living an art movement that reconciles common people with their higher goals, no matter how brutal and miserable life here on earth might be. 

My modest advice therefore coincides with a passage from Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke: 

Find patience enough in yourself to endure, and simplicity enough to believe … and for the rest, let life happen to you. Believe me: life is right, in any case.

The same goes for art. Find the patience and faith to live the aesthetic experience and to advance your own judgements. Because if you allow yourself this luxury, you can always discern the beautiful traces of conservatism lurking in modernity—of an eternal, ineradicable tradition that shows itself on the horizon of an ever-changing world.