(Credits: Far Out / The Estate of Gustav Metzger and The Gustav Metzger Foundation / Hauser &…
The words “auto-destructive” and “art” aren’t words you’d usually see or even expect in the same sentence. Indeed, the human brain has been wired to understand that art is usually about making. In fact, we say “make art” and never “destroy art”.
Especially in Western tradition, art-making is characterised by materials being added together to create a final piece, whether this be a painting, embroidery, collage, or performance. These all boil down to a literal—and sometimes metaphorical—blank canvas, onto which we add different components to make an artwork complete.
However, not everyone sees it this way, especially not Gustav Metzger, the artist and leader behind Auto-Destructive Art. This movement, which was born in the 1960s, turned all the traditional concepts of art-making on their heads. Metzger wanted to subvert all the conventional customs and processes of art-making by art-destroying.
But can we really call it destruction if the act of destroying was itself an integral part of the final product? Metzger was revolutionary in proving that you can reach a final product by removing or destroying it and not by adding to it, transforming the way we see art-making. This style recalls the action painters like the great Jackson Pollock, who emphasised process over product, where what was left behind at the end, whether it be a splattered canvas or corroded nylon scraps, was more of a by-product of the art itself.
But back to Metzger, Auto-Destructive art was intricately woven into the European and socio-political landscape of the time. In the ’60s, people were still feeling the weight and trauma of the Second World War, entering a new modern era of warfare with the Cold War and nuclear power taking centre-stage.
Metzger was a member of the Committee of 100, a group of activists who believed in the campaign for nuclear disarmament, so his pieces, which predominantly foresaw the destruction of large sheets of nylon with highly corrosive acid being sprayed onto them, reflect these political turmoils at the time. The acid, as a harsh chemical often used to harm people during warfare, was used to show how it could destroy anything and everything in its way, in this case, nylon. Additionally, Metzger often used the colours white, black, and red, which are associated with anarchy, tying back to his highly political artworks.
Metzger’s highlight as an artist came in 1961, when he made a public performance of acid painting in the middle of the South Bank in London. By performing the destruction in a public setting in front of a captivated audience, he placed the process of art-making on a pedestal. The performance would only end when the sheet was corroded completely, which required a great deal of patience and contemplation by the audience.
Through this dragged-out process, Metzger wanted to address society’s dark and twisted fascination with destruction and violence. We’ve seen this since the beginning of our existence, with man being obsessed with battle and warfare. Our museum walls are draped with war art of all kinds from centuries ago. Transposing these notions to Metzger’s piece, it would have had a cathartic and perhaps epiphany-inducing effect on the audience, as they would have been allowed a thinking space to explore these themes of destruction in their everyday lives.
According to the Tate, Metzger’s art is “both auto-creative and auto-destructive” because the artist’s aim was explored through subtraction of materials and not addition; this is where his talent lies and where new things are discovered.
Metzger himself perfectly coined this in an interview with journalist Stuart Jeffries for The Guardian, declaring, “The important thing about burning a hole in that sheet was that it opened up a new view across the Thames of St Paul’s Cathedral. Auto-destructive art was never merely destructive. Destroy a canvas and you create shapes.”
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