Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement (Internationale Forschungen zur Allgemeinen und Vergleichenden Literaturwissenschaft 104)

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33

104

Internationale Forschungen zur Allgemeinen und Vergleichenden Literaturwissenschaft

In Verbindung mit Norbert Bachleitner (Universität Wien), Dietrich Briesemeister (Friedrich Schiller-Universität Jena), Francis Claudon (Université Paris XII), Joachim Knape (Universität Tübingen), Klaus Ley (Johannes Gutenberg-Universität Mainz), John A. McCarthy (Vanderbilt University), Alfred Noe (Universität Wien), Manfred Pfister (Freie Universität Berlin), Sven H. Rossel (Universität Wien)

herausgegeben von

Alberto Martino (Universität Wien)

Redaktion: Ernst Grabovszki Anschrift der Redaktion: Institut für Vergleichende Literaturwissenschaft, Berggasse 11/5, A-1090 Wien

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33 Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

Steve Plumb

Amsterdam - New York, NY 2006

Cover design: Pier Post Le papier sur lequel le présent ouvrage est imprimé remplit les prescriptions de “ISO 9706:1994, Information et documentation - Papier pour documents - Prescriptions pour la permanence”. The paper on which this book is printed meets the requirements of “ ISO 9706:1994, Information and documentation - Paper for documents - Requirements for permanence”. Die Reihe „Internationale Forschungen zur Allgemeinen und Vergleichenden Literaturwissenschaft“ wird ab dem Jahr 2005 gemeinsam von Editions Rodopi, Amsterdam – New York und dem Weidler Buchverlag, Berlin herausgegeben. Die Veröffentlichungen in deutscher Sprache erscheinen im Weidler Buchverlag, alle anderen bei Editions Rodopi. From 2005 onward, the series „Internationale Forschungen zur Allgemeinen und Vergleichenden Literaturwissenschaft“ will appear as a joint publication by Editions Rodopi, Amsterdam – New York and Weidler Buchverlag, Berlin. The German editions will be published by Weidler Buchverlag, all other publications by Editions Rodopi. ISBN-10: 90-420-2019-9 ISBN-13: 978-90-420-2019-1 ©Editions Rodopi B.V., Amsterdam - New York, NY 2006 Printed in The Netherlands

Also kurz und gut: ich wollte die Dinge zeigen, wie sie wirklich sind. - Otto Dix

Contents

Illustrations

8

Abbreviations

9

Acknowledgements

10

1. Introduction

11

2. Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

15

3. Neue Sachlichkeit Defined?

36

4. A Theoretical Approach

56

5. A Thematic Approach

78

6. The New Photography

115

7. Neue Sachlichkeit Literature

127

8. Neue Sachlichkeit, Modern Art, and National Socialism

140

9. Conclusion

151

Bibliography

156

Index

163

Illustrations

Karl Hubbuch Herr Stresemann und ein Stück Schwarzbrot (1923)

25

Christian Schad Selbstbildnis mit Modell (1927)

70

Otto Dix Großstadt (Triptych) (1927/28)

87

Max Beckmann Fastnacht (1920)

100

George Grosz Porträt des Schriftstellers Max Herrmann-Neisse (1925)

102

Otto Dix Bildnis der Tänzerin Anita Berber (1925)

103

George Grosz Stehender Akt (1924)

110

August Sander Gymnasiast (1926)

116

Abbreviations

AEK – Ausstellung Entartete Kunst AIZ – Arbeiter-Illustrierte-Zeitung BEF – British Expeditionary Force BVP – Bayerische Volkspartei DDP – Deutsche Demokratische Partei DVP – Deutsche Volkspartei GDK – Große Deutsche Kunstausstellung KPD – Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands NSDAP – Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei RkbdK – Reichskammer der bildenden Künste RKK – Reichskulturkammer RM – Rentenmark SA – Sturmabteilung SPD – Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands USPD – Unabhängige Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands USSR – Union of Socialist Soviet Republics

Acknowledgements The text of this book is an amended version of my Ph.D. thesis, which was accepted by the University of Sunderland in 2002. My greatest debt of gratitude is therefore to my Director of Studies, Dr. Fritz Wefelmeyer, whose help, support and encouragement have been limitless. For valuable criticism and well-timed kind words, I am also extremely grateful to my supervisors, Dr. Colin Trodd and Professor Stuart Parkes. Without the assistance of the library of the University of Sunderland, this work would not have been possible. The libraries of the Universities of Newcastle upon Tyne and Durham, the library at Tate Britain, the Institute of Germanic Studies in London, and the Side Gallery, Newcastle upon Tyne, have also kindly allowed me to use their resources. The staff of the Neue Nationalgalerie, Berlin, the Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus, Munich, the Gemäldegalerie Neue Meister, Dresden, and the Staatsgalerie, Stuttgart have been extremely helpful in answering questions relating to specific paintings in their collections. I am particularly grateful to Dr. Jochen Kronjäger of the Städtische Kunsthalle, Mannheim, for making it possible for me to work from the original Neue Sachlichkeit exhibition catalogue. Thanks are also due to Gabriele Conrath-Scholl and Rajka Knipper at the Photographische Sammlung/SK Stiftung Kultur, Cologne, for respectively providing helpful comments regarding the section on August Sander and for easing the procurement of one of his images. In this respect I would also like to thank Laura Whitton at the Tate Picture Library, and Ralph Jentsch, for his assistance on behalf of the George Grosz Estate. Finally, I would like to thank my wife, Pam, for her patience, support and good humour, and for allowing me the time and space needed to work on the text. It is to her that I dedicate this book.

1. Introduction Neue Sachlichkeit, or New Objectivity, was a predominantly German phase in literature, music and visual culture during the turbulent Weimar years 1918-33. In the visual arts it was at its most prevalent between the mid-1920s and early 1930s, although elements of Neue Sachlichkeit can be seen in works that date from the time of the First World War and shortly after. The mid-1920s was the period of most stability during the years of the Weimar Republic, in a political and economic sense, and a mood of Sachlichkeit was encouraged, in order that the status quo was not disturbed. This mood did not exist only in the realm of politics, but also of culture. A neue Sachlichkeit was expressed by people ‘as a means of distancing themselves from the excesses of Expressionism and the years of inflation’.1 In common with other areas of culture of the Weimar period, Neue Sachlichkeit did not continue the trend of abstraction practiced by the Expressionists before the war. It is difficult to define Neue Sachlichkeit as a movement, as it was not characterised by any particular set of stylistic rules. Bullock et al. describe its main characteristics as ‘hardness of outline, smoothness of finish, a bald but often distorted or caricatured literalism, and a choice of subjects that concentrated on modern technical apparatus and the less cheerful aspects of the big cities and their inhabitants’.2 This definition suggests a bleak outlook regarding subject matter, which is certainly true of a number of the works of Neue Sachlichkeit. Chilvers et al. suggest that ‘the major trend was towards the use of meticulous detail to portray the face of evil for the purposes of violent social satire’.3 This definition also applies to a great number of Neue Sachlichkeit works, but neither definition can be said to apply to anything like the full range of work accepted as Neue Sachlichkeit. The problem here is that from the very outset, Neue Sachlichkeit was divided into two groups, and an overall definition that applies to works from both categories proves very difficult to achieve. Neue Sachlichkeit as a term came into being following a survey conducted by the journal Das Kunstblatt in 1922. The survey, entitled “Ein neuer Naturalismus??” [sic] (“A New Naturalism??”), invited leading art personalities to give their opinions on the latest artistic trends. In his reply, Gustav Friedrich Hartlaub, the new director of the Städtische Kunsthalle in Mannheim, described the most recent visual art as having ‘left’ and ‘right’ wings.4 He first employed the term Neue Sachlichkeit in May 1923, when he used it as the title for an exhibition of contemporary painting he planned to stage that year. The exhibition, Neue Sachlichkeit. Deutsche Malerei seit dem Expressionismus (Neue Sachlichkeit. German Painting Since Expressionism), was actually postponed until June 1925, due to the unstable political and economic situation. However, when it did take place it was a 1 2 3 4

Sergiusz Michalski, New Objectivity (Cologne: Benedikt Taschen, 1994), p.8. The Fontana Dictionary of Modern Thought, ed. by Alan Bullock and others, 2nd edn (London: Fontana Press, 1988), p.574. The Oxford Dictionary of Art, ed. by Ian Chilvers and others (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p.354. For Hartlaub’s actual reply, see Chapter Three, p.48/49.

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

great success. In his introduction to the exhibition programme, Hartlaub expanded on his thoughts from the original survey in Das Kunstblatt. Die eine – fast möchte man von einem linken “Flügel” sprechen – das Gegenständliche aus der Welt aktueller Tatsachen reiβend und das Erlebnis in seinem Tempo, seinem Hitzegrad herausschleudernd. Die andere mehr den zeitlos–gültigen Gegenstand suchend, um daran im Bereiche der Kunst ewige Daseinsgesetze zu verwirklichen. “Veristen” hat man die einen genannt, Klassizisten könnte man fast die anderen nennen [...]. The first – one almost wants to speak of a “left-wing” – tears the objective from the world of contemporary facts and projects current experience in its tempo and fevered temperature. The other searches more for the object of timeless validity to embody the eternal laws of existence in the artistic sphere. The former have been 5 called verists; classicists one could almost call the latter.

The term Neue Sachlichkeit is used by Hartlaub to cover the entire range in the exhibition of 124 works, from the Neoclassicists on the right, to the Verists on the left. However, Neue Sachlichkeit is often used as just a synonym for the Neoclassical tendency. It should also be stated that the majority of works in the exhibition were of the supposed right-wing. Regarding the use of the term Neue Sachlichkeit, Michalski points out one of the main issues at which this book is targeted when he writes that the ‘decisive problem underlying Hartlaub’s analytical and terminological construction thus lies in the ambivalence between the use of Neue Sachlichkeit as a generic term and its simultaneous description of the right wing subsumed under it’.6 If Neue Sachlichkeit is to be fully understood as a movement in art, then such divisions need to be examined and evaluated. It is important at this stage to point out that the diversity of Neue Sachlichkeit goes much further than a simple split into left and right wings. Schmied, for instance, writes of a ‘multiplicity of realistic tendencies’7 in the context of Neue Sachlichkeit. Jost Hermand notes the ‘extremely disparate political presuppositions of the individual artists and their work’, as well as a: ‘complex of competing artistic tendencies’.8 Buderer and Fath write, ‘daß sich innerhalb dieser neuen realistischen Tendenzen eine Vielfalt von sehr unterschiedlichen und gegensätzlichen Ausdrucksformen entwickelte’ (‘that within these new realistic tendencies developed a variety of very different and contradictory forms of expression.’)9 Martin Lindner asserts that Neue Sachlichkeit had nothing ‘mit einem eindeutigen und geschlossenen Weltbild zu tun’ (‘to do 5

6 7 8

9

12

G.F. Hartlaub, Ausstellung “Neue Sachlichkeit”. Deutsche Malerei seit dem Expressionismus (Mannheim: Städtische Kunsthalle, 1925), exhibition catalogue, no page numbers. English from Anton Kaes, and others, eds, The Weimar Republic Sourcebook (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1994), 491493 (p.492). Michalski, p.19 Wieland Schmied, Neue Sachlichkeit and German Realism of the Twenties (London: Arts Council of Great Britain, 1978), exhibition catalogue, p.11. Jost Hermand, ‘Unity within diversity? The history of the concept “Neue Sachlichkeit”’, in Culture and Society in the Weimar Republic, ed. by Keith Bullivant (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1977), pp.166-182 (p.172). Hans-Jürgen Buderer and Manfred Fath, Neue Sachlichkeit. Bilder auf der Suche nach der Wirklichkeit (Munich: Prestel, 1996), p.8/9.

Introduction

with a definite and unified image of the world.’)10 David Midgley has written that ‘“Neue Sachlichkeit” became a short-hand term for the variety of ways in which a rising generation of artists foreswore the confident personal visions and gestures of Expressionism and turned instead to constructing discrete images of a post-war reality they had experienced as profoundly fragmented’.11 To complicate matters further, Fritz Schmalenbach sees the diversity of Neue Sachlichkeit as transitional. ‘The contents of the formula Neue Sachlichkeit have not remained constant since it was first devised. The sphere of its application and its significance have been expanded in conjunction with one another’.12 While it is clearly a widely held view that Neue Sachlichkeit is extremely diverse, the real nature or relevance of this diversity has never really been studied in depth, and it is such a study that this book aims to achieve. To this end, two issues in particular will be explored; first, the diversity of the movement, such as differences and contradictions in aims, influences, and the use of devices such as allegory and the uncanny, but just as importantly, acknowledging coherence. Second, the historical context in which the works were executed must always be considered, namely the influence of the Great War and the Weimar Republic to the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit. In considering these points, the aim will be to answer the following questions: were these artists bound together by something, and if so, what was it? How fragmented was Neue Sachlichkeit in terms of different influences and the way in which it treated its subject matter? Did this fragmentation rule out any kind of unity? Finally, while these artists were undoubtedly an important part of Weimar cultural history, do they together form an artistic entity with an equally high status, and in light of this question, can Neue Sachlichkeit be called a movement at all? An important decision, for the purpose of this book, is the timescale in which to set the movement. The artists involved were working as early as the turn of the century and many continued to work until the 1960s and 70s. So where do the limits lie? It is generally accepted that the trend really flourished at the beginning of the period of stability 1924/5, and began its decline at the end of this period, around 1929. However, these limits may be regarded as too narrow, as the artists’ motives may relate to life experiences which date much further back, certainly as far back as the war. Therefore the year 1918 will be taken as a starting point for the actual beginnings of Neue Sachlichkeit, as elements of it are clearly present in works as early as this, and also the impact of the war may be assessed as a contributory factor in many works. 1933 will be taken as the end of Neue Sachlichkeit, as the rise of National Socialism, while not bringing it to an abrupt halt, certainly changed Neue Sachlichkeit in terms of content, before overseeing its demise. The penultimate chapter of this book considers, therefore, the relationship between Neue Sachlichkeit and the art of National Socialism. Note: Where possible, already published sources are used for English translations, in order that the reader may find works relating to this subject that are published in English. These 10

Martin Lindner, Leben in der Krise (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1994), p.156. David Midgley, Writing Weimar. Critical Realism in German Literature 1918-33 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), p.26. 12 Fritz Schmalenbach, ‘The Term “Neue Sachlichkeit”’, Art Bulletin, 22 (1940), 161-165 (p.161). 11

13

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

sources are cited with each translation. Where no such source exists, then translations are my own, and although I would like to thank Dr. Fritz Wefelmeyer for his considerable help with the preparation of a number of these, the responsibility for any inaccuracies is mine alone.

14

2. Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic The art of Neue Sachlichkeit responded to and reflected in many ways the social and political events, trends and forces of its time. There are, for example, a number of themes from the Great War and the Weimar Republic which can be found in the work of Neue Sachlichkeit artists. The fact that so many of these artists were involved in, or directly affected by, the events of the period, is an indication that a certain kind of unity may exist as a result of these shared experiences, which was later reflected in the works of art. To this end, the experiences of three representative artists are included: Otto Dix, George Grosz, and Max Beckmann. A brief look at the war is useful in as far as it provides the background to what several of the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit must have gone through during the early years of their adult lives, and as such may be seen as influential. Most of the artists who feature in this book were in their late teens or early twenties when they found themselves involved in what is widely acknowledged to be one of the most destructive conflicts of all time. The numbers of casualties from individual battles highlight well enough the terrible conditions these young men were forced to endure; approximately one million men were killed or wounded in the Battle of Verdun, while 600,000 Allied troops lost their lives at the Somme, and almost half a million in total were killed or wounded at Passchendaele. As if living with death and wounding on this scale were not harsh enough, the troops had to adjust to the appalling living and fighting conditions of trench warfare. Walter Limmer, a law student from Leipzig, wrote of the Battle of the Marne in 1914: ‘Immer noch wütet diese fürchterliche Schlacht, nun schon den vierten Tag! Bis jetzt bestand sie, wie fast jedes Gefecht in diesem Krieg, beinahe nur in [sic] furchtbaren Artilleriekämpfen. – Diesen Brief schreibe ich in einem grabartigen, etwa 40 cm tiefen, selbstgeschaufelten Lager der Schützenlinie.’ (‘This ghastly battle is still raging – for the fourth day! Up till now, like most battles in this war, it has consisted almost entirely of an appalling artillery duel. I am writing this letter in a sort of grave-like hole which I dug for myself in the firing line.)1 Otto Dix’s painting, Flandern (Flanders) (1934-36) presents a visual example of such conditions, which he knew from personal experience. He had enlisted voluntarily when the war broke out, and trained as a machine-gunner before seeing action at Champagne in 1915 and 1916, then at the Somme and at the Russian Front. He was awarded the 2nd Class Iron Cross, and was once wounded in the neck. He was training to be an airman when the war came to an end. He had entered the war with a spirit of wanting to be a part of everything. ‘Der Krieg war eine scheußliche Sache, aber trotzdem etwas Gewaltiges. Das durfte ich auf keinen Fall versäumen. Man muß den Menschen in diesem entfesselten Zustand gesehen haben, um etwas über den Menschen zu wissen.’ (‘The war was horrible, but nevertheless gigantic. I couldn’t afford to miss that. You have to see the human being in this

1

Kriegsbriefe gefallener Studenten, ed. by Philip Witkop (Munich: Georg Müller, 1928), p.8. Translated in Winter and Baggett, 1914-18, (see note 6), p.80.

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

uncontrolled state in order to know something about humankind.’)2 He did not, however, enter the war in a merely fatalistic frame of mind, but also with an expressionistic sense of wanting the total experience. ‘Ich mußte auch erleben, wie neben mir einer plötlich umfällt und weg ist … Das mußte ich alles ganz genau erleben. Das wollte ich.’ (‘I also had to see how someone next to me suddenly fell and was gone […]. I had to experience all of that very precisely.’)3 The overall impression of the painting, as is noted by Eva Karcher4, is one of weariness and resignation, an impression which was very likely the dominant one in Dix’s life at the time this work was created, as he had been outlawed by the National Socialist authorities, and lost his teaching post at the Dresden Academy. This air of resignation lends the painting a less dynamic quality than his earlier depictions of the war. To those of us who consider the Great War today, Flandern represents the typical modern understanding of the experience of trench warfare on the Western Front. The central figure, a soldier, shelters behind a tree stump, trying to snatch some sleep before once more going into battle. The landscape is completely obliterated, leaving only destroyed buildings and trees, and water-filled shell craters. All around are dead, wounded or exhausted men, who lie or sit in a morass of mud while the sky appears to bear down on them, dark but for the restricted orange glow of the sun. Ernst Toller, another veteran of the war, provides a written description of these conditions: Krieg wird zum Alltag, Frontdienst zum Tagwerk, Helden werden Opfer, Freiwillige Gekettete, das Leben ist eine Hölle, der Tod eine Bagatelle, wir alle sind Schrauben einer Maschine, die vorwärts sich wältz, keener weiß, wohin, die zurück sich waltz, keener weiß, warum, wir werden gelockert, gefeilt, angezogen, ausgewechselt, verworfen – der Sinn ist abhanden gekommen, was brannte, ist verschlackt, der Schmerz ausgelaugt, der Boden, aus dem Tat und Einsatz wuchsen, eine öde Wüste. The war had become an everyday affair; life in the line a matter of routine; instead of heroes there were only victims; conscripts instead of volunteers; life had become hell, death a bagatelle; we were all of us cogs in a great machine which sometimes rolled forward, nobody knew where, sometimes backwards, nobody knew why. We had lost our enthusiasm, our courage, the very sense of our identity; there was no rhyme or reason in 5 all this slaughtering and devastation; pain itself had lost its meaning; the earth was a barren waste.

According to Toller, life in the trenches was largely one of monotony and unquestioning acceptance of the situation. The soldiers were almost no longer in control of their own minds, in the same way that they were certainly no longer in control of their own destiny. Even in death, soldiers could not expect any kind of dignity. The fact that the battlefields of the Great War were filled with so many casualties, combined with the largely static nature of trench warfare, meant that it was impossible to bury all those who had died. As a result 2

3 4 5

16

Andrea Hollmann and Ralph Keuning, ‘Berühmt und berüchtigt. Otto Dix 1891-1969’, in Otto Dix. Zum 100. Geburtstag (Stuttgart: Galerie der Stadt / Berlin: Staatliche Museen, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, 1991), exhibition catalogue, pp.11-28 (p.14). Translated in Karcher (see note 4), p.34. Ibid. Also translated in Karcher , Otto Dix, (see note 4), p.30. Eva Karcher, Otto Dix 1891-1969 (Cologne: Benedikt Taschen, 1992), p.50. Ernst Toller, Gesammelte Werke in 5 Bänden (Munich: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1978), 4: Eine Jugend in Deutschland, p.72/73. Translated in The Penguin Book of First World War Prose, ed. by Jon Glover and Jon Silkin (London: Penguin, 1989), p.272/273.

Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

of this, the men at the front had to learn to co-exist with death. ‘Trench warfare meant living with the dead. So many bodies were dismembered or unreachable that No Man’s Land became a vast necropolis. Even in “quiet” times, men saw things in the trenches that people shouldn’t see: bodies stacked and rigid like firewood, others no more than bits of human beings, scattered in the most incongruous places.’6 Again, Otto Dix provides a visual account of such conditions, in the print Abends in der Wijtschaete-Ebene (Nov 1917) (Evening in the Wijtschaete plain [Nov 1917]), published as part of the cycle of etchings entitled Der Krieg (War) (1924). The stark scene he presents is of a virtually flat, dark landscape, where almost every inch of ground is covered with dead men. There is absolutely no sign of any living thing. Also from this cycle, Gastote (Templeux-La-Fosse, August 1916) (Men killed by gas [Templeux-La-Fosse, August 1916]) depicts a row of men killed by gas, with swollen, blackened faces, and with other visible wounds of war. Two medical officers stand beside the dead, with expressions which are almost indifferent. This is not an uncommon experience for them. The Krieg etchings were published in the mid-1920s, and therefore are based on a considered and structured recollection of the war. However, during his time as a soldier, Dix sent forty-six field postcards to his girlfriend in Dresden, Helene Jakob, which contain sketches that are far more immediate and rapid, influenced as they are by the Expressionists and the Italian Futurists. A number of these, too, depict the everyday encounters with death, although not as graphically as the later etchings. Ein schönes Grab in einem Granatloch (A nice grave in a shell crater) (1916), for instance, depicts a large crater, at the foot of which may be seen a small cross and helmet, marking a grave. The surrounding landscape is desolate and devoid of any living presence. While these works may be seen as a kind of catharsis for Dix, not everybody who took part in the war found a means of effectively purging the effects of their experiences. Max Beckmann, for instance, volunteered for the army medical corps in 1914, but he did not realise at this point what he was walking into. In a letter of 14th October 1914, his Kriegsbegeisterung (enthusiasm for war) is very much apparent. Outside the wonderfully grand sound of battle. I went out past hordes of wounded soldiers that came from the battlefield and listened to this unique, horridly grand music. It’s as if the gates to eternity are being ripped open when one of these great salvos echoes toward you. Everything suggests space, distance, infinity to you. I 7 wish I could paint this sound.

He was not so naïve, however, to underestimate the suffering the war could bring, as his print Weinende Frau (Weeping Woman) (1914) demonstrates. It depicts a woman in mourning, wearing a veil and holding a handkerchief to her face. ‘Das Blatt sollte das Schicksal einer ganzen Generation von Müttern zeigen.’ (‘The print would show the fate of a whole generation of mothers.’)8 It was not long before Beckmann himself began to feel 6 7 8

Jay Winter and Blaine Baggett, 1914-18 (London: BBC Books, 1996), p.101. Robert Storr, ‘The Beckmann Effect’, in Max Beckmann, ed. by Sean Rainbird (London: Tate Publishing, 2003), exhibition catalogue, pp.11-43 (p.25). Stephan Reimertz, Max Beckmann (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1995), p.47.

17

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

the effects of the war. He wrote in April 1915, ‘I want to process all of this internally, so that later I can freely make things that are almost timeless: those black features peering out of the grave and the silent dead who approach me are dark greetings from eternity, and as such I want to paint them later.’9 In the same month, Beckmann wrote of a German attack, describing it as ‘some sort of retribution, because the enemy captured something from us, a hill. But actually it’s meant to draw the final line under the lives of a few hundred men which are short enough as it is.’10 In the summer of that year, Beckmann suffered a complete breakdown and was discharged from the army. He settled in Frankfurt with the family of his friend from Weimar, Ugi Battenberg. However, the move to Frankfurt was by no means the start of a new life for Beckmann, as he continued to be tormented by his experiences for many years. As Dube has written, ‘it was a long time before he was able to exorcise his horror and fear in drawing and painting, to make himself safe against death and danger. The Self-Portrait with a Red Scarf of 1917 shows Beckmann as a man tormented and pursued, a figure apparently unable to stand upright, supporting himself with difficulty by leaning against the edge of the picture.’11 This idea that Beckmann felt tormented by life is reiterated by Peter Selz when he writes of the same painting, entitled in German Selbstbildnis mit rotem Schal (1917): ‘His shirt is torn and a red scarf is tied carelessly around his neck. His mouth is half-open; his left eye, larger than the right, stares out in defiance. This is the romantically conceived portrait of a rebel accusing society and reproaching God.’12 The suggestion that Beckmann reproaches God in this portrait seems a little extreme, but it is certainly likely that he felt a long way from Him. The means by which Beckmann sought to cope with this distance was his ‘adoption of the Gnostic concept that the world was created by an evil demiurge as a prison for souls which must struggle to return to their original state in the realm of Good or Light beyond material creation.’13 In adopting Gnosticism, Beckmann would have accepted that while on earth, souls are imprisoned within the human body, where ‘the soul is benumbed and unconscious of itself, intoxicated by the poison of the world.’14 It was the individual soul, imprisoned within the individual human body, which Beckmann saw as the only source of good in the world, and this acceptance that good still existed gave him hope. Beckmann’s experience of and reaction to the war was not uncommon. The men fighting in the trenches were dehumanised to the point that they were seen as little more than tools. ‘Nearly every weapon developed since 1870 aided defenders sheltered in trenches. Generals on both sides realized this fact, yet they stubbornly held to the view that 9 10 11 12 13

14

18

Max Beckmann Prints, ed. by J.L. Fisher (Fort Worth: Fort Worth Art Association / New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1992), p.25. Matthias Eberle, World War 1 and the Weimar Artists. Dix, Grosz, Beckmann, Schlemmer (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1985), p.84. Wolf-Dieter Dube, The Expressionists (London: Thames & Hudson, 1987), p.164. Peter Selz, Max Beckmann (New York: Abbeville Press, 1996), p.23. Sarah O’Brien Twohig, ‘Max Beckmann’, in German Art in the Twentieth Century. Painting and Sculpture 1905-1985, ed. by C.M. Joachimedes and others (London: Royal Academy of Arts/ Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1985), exhibition catalogue, pp.440-444 (p.440). Sarah O’Brien Twohig, Beckmann. Carnival (London: Tate Gallery, 1984), p.25.

Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

staggering casualties were an “acceptable” price if the outcome would lead to breakthrough and eventual victory.’15 As well as suffering at the hands of military strategists and officers in the field, many men had to run the gauntlet of the army medical board. Erich Maria Remarque writes in Im Westen nichts neues (All Quiet on the Western Front) (1929): ‘Kat erzählt eine der Geschichten, die die ganze Front von den Vogesen bis Flandern entlanglaufen, – von dem Stabsarzt, der Namen vorliest auf der Musterung und, wenn der Mann vortritt, ohne aufzusehen, sagt: “K.v. Wir brauchen Soldaten draußen.” Ein Mann mit Holzbein tritt vor, der Stabsarzt sagt wieder: k.v.’ (Kat tells a story that has done the rounds all along the front, from Flanders to the Vosges, about the staff doctor who reads out the names of the men who come up for medical inspection, and, when the man appears, doesn’t even look up, but says, “Passed fit for service, we need soldiers at the front.” A man with a wooden leg comes up before him, the doctor passes him fit for service again.’)16 Dr. B. Hallauer, a German staff surgeon, wrote a report on the effects of an explosion within the Fort Douaumont catacombs near Verdun in 1916 upon the soldiers caught in the blast. Nervous disorders could be observed in great quantity. Shock, confusion, loss of speech, hysteria, cramps, delirium, and other various psychoses, among which I especially noted amentia [imbecility]. The horrible scenes of mass carnage in the dark passageways of the fort (filled with powder and sulphur fumes), the picture of horribly decimated corpses combined with the moaning of the wounded, the death-rattling sounds of the dying, the screaming and ranting of the mad – all this heightened the horrors after the catastrophe to the edge 17 of human resistance.

Hallauer later reported that most of the dead from this incident were buried simply by blocking up the catacombs. Worse still, for the survivors of this trauma, if they could still walk, they were returned to the front line.18 A drawing by George Grosz graphically illustrates his distrust of medical officers, and by extension, the officer class in general. Die Gesundbeter (usually known in English as Fit for active service) (1918) depicts a gathering of medical officers who are assessing troops’ fitness for service. The officers are classic Grosz ‘types’: overweight, with moustaches, pince-nez, bull-necks and duelling scars. The man they are in the process of assessing would appear to be too ill for duty, as he is a mere skeleton, with a few lumps of decomposing flesh attached to his bones. Nevertheless, the staff doctor who examines him declares him ‘K.v.’, or Kriegsverwendungsfähig: fit for active service. Unlike many Berlin intellectuals, Grosz had little enthusiasm for the outbreak of war, and was pessimistic from the outset. ‘Krieg war für mich Grauen, Verstümmelung und Vernichtung’ (‘war to me was never anything but horror, mutilation and senseless

15

Winter & Baggett, p.93. Erich Maria Remarque, Im Westen nichts neues (Cologne: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1993), p.251. Translated in Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front (London: Jonathan Cape, 1994), p.198. 17 Holger H. Herwig, The First World War: Germany and Austria-Hungary 1914-1918 (London: Arnold, 1997), p.298. 18 Ibid., p.299. 16

19

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

destruction’).19 He enlisted voluntarily but only because he was convinced he would be conscripted anyway. Of the excitement felt by others of his generation he wrote: ‘Die Blumen am Helm und im Gewehrlauf verwelkten schnell. Krieg, das war dann alles andere als die anfängliche Begeisterung; es wurde Dreck und Läuse, Stumpfsinn, Krankheit und Verkrüppelung.’ (‘The flowers stuck in our rifles and helmets soon faded; the promise of great adventure had made way for filth, lice, monotony, disease and deformity.’)20 Grosz was discharged in 1916 following sinus problems which he suffered while on his way to the front. He returned to Berlin, where he produced the drawings which featured in the portfolios Erste George Grosz Mappe (First George Grosz Portfolio) and Kleine Grosz Mappe (Small Grosz Portfolio) of 1917. In 1917 Grosz was conscripted once more, to teach recruits and guard prisoners, but was soon declared insane. He wrote: ‘eines Nachts fand man mich, halb bewußtlos, kopfüber in der Latrine…’ (‘one night, they found me semi-conscious, head-first in the latrine…’)21 His experience of the army, without even having seen action, elicited in Grosz a hatred of military authority which almost certainly contributed to his breakdown. His overall hatred of authority figures who allowed and prolonged the war is demonstrated in his painting Widmung an Oskar Panizza (Dedicated to Oskar Panizza) (1917/18), which shows what would become stock figures in his later works, and indeed those of other painters such as Georg Scholz; that is, nationalists, militarists, clerics, and representatives of indulgent bourgeois social pleasure, amid a scene of chaos and fire. Although some were more involved than others, a large number of those artists associated with Neue Sachlichkeit served during the war. These included not only the painters Otto Dix, Max Beckmann and George Grosz, but also Ernst Thoms, Gert Wollheim, Georg Scholz, Ernst Fritsch, Otto Griebel, Carl Grossberg, Karl Hubbuch, Alexander Kanoldt and Franz Radziwill, among many others. The experience of warfare left an indelible impression on the minds of these artists, and attitudes carried through into peacetime. The war would influence art for many years to come. Also, while these artists had experience of warfare in common, the German population in general, both at home and serving abroad, shared a feeling of disillusionment that stemmed from around the end of 1916. This was the beginning of the so-called ‘Turnip Winter’, when everyday shortages and the loss of loved ones abroad really began to take their toll. This may be seen as a unifying factor. The artists who did not go to war were still dissatisfied with its conduct, in spite of their non-involvement, and remained dissatisfied well into the Weimar Republic. The Weimar Republic itself was characterised by widespread dissatisfaction, particularly during the years 1918 to 1923, which may best be described as the years of crisis. These were the years of revolution, of the Spartakusaufstand (Spartacist Uprising) and the Kapp Putsch, of the murders of Liebknecht and Luxemburg, and of the abortive Nazi Putsch. They were also the years of the drafting of the new constitution, which 19

George Grosz, Ein kleines Ja und ein großes Nein (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1995), p.101. Translated in George Grosz, A Small Yes and a Big No (London / New York: Allison & Busby, 1982), p.79. 20 Ibid. In English in A Small Yes and a Big No, p.79. 21 Ibid., p.110. In English in A Small Yes and a Big No, p.86.

20

Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

brought about a system of state welfare, but also granted emergency powers to the President, powers which would eventually allow Adolf Hitler to assume complete control. The hated Treaty of Versailles, the crippling hyperinflation, and the Ruhr crisis also belonged to this period. The revolution of 1918-19 began with the Wilhelmshaven sailors’ mutiny in October 1918. The fleet refused to set sail, and the war was effectively brought to an end. The general dissatisfaction, however, was not quelled. The mutiny spread to Kiel, which by 4 November was completely controlled by mutinying sailors and soldiers, and then across Germany. As the rebellion overtook a new town or city, Arbeiterräte, or workers’ councils, were set up to administer that area. The revolution reached Berlin on 9 November. The Chancellor, Prince Max of Baden, believing that it was the only way the monarchy could survive, announced the abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm II, without even obtaining the consent of Wilhelm himself. Prince Max also gave up his own office in favour of Friedrich Ebert of the Social Democrats (SPD), who claimed to have the ‘full confidence of the people.’22 Ebert had initially planned to form a coalition, pending the convening of a National Assembly, in order to quell the revolution, with a view to perhaps restoring the monarchy. His plans had to change, however, when Ebert’s party colleague Philipp Scheidemann proclaimed the Republic from the balcony of the Reichstag building. Ebert was thus compelled to accept conditions from the Independent Social Democrats (USPD) to form a two-party coalition, the Rat der Volksbeauftragten, or Council of People’s Representatives, and thereby satisfy the demands of the Berlin Arbeitsrat. While the political situation was being settled in Berlin, a delegation headed by Matthias Erzberger of the Centre Party had gone to the Allies to negotiate the armistice. The conditions laid down were extremely harsh, involving the confiscation of goods and territory. However, knowing that the country would not accept a return to war, the German delegates signed the document. Ebert’s next priority was to convene a National Assembly, and so on 29 November the Rat der Volksbeauftragten passed a law to enable elections to take place. The first Reichskongreß der Arbeiter- und Soldatenräte (National Congress of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils), which took place from 16 to 20 December, set the date of the election for 19 January 1919. However, the run-up to the elections did not go smoothly. On 28 December the USPD withdrew from the Rat der Volksbeauftragten, citing the use of troops to put down disturbances at Christmas time as the reason. There were also, however, disagreements between the two parties over basic policies. The SPD members Gustav Noske and Rudolf Wissell acceded to the Rat der Volksbeauftragten, which was now controlled entirely by the SPD. Meanwhile, the extreme left-wing of the USPD formed the Spartakusbund (Spartacist League), whose aim was to continue the revolution. On 5 January 1919, some 700,000 people are said to have gathered in the centre of Berlin to protest about the dismissal of the chief of police Emil Eichhorn, who had left-wing sympathies, by the all-SPD Prussian government. The protest escalated into the Spartakusaufstand, and led to the armed 22

Eberhard Kolb, The Weimar Republic (London: Routledge, 1988), p.8.

21

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

occupation of newspaper offices, the setting up of a revolutionary committee, and the proclamation of the deposition of the Ebert government.23 The diplomat Harry Graf Kessler wrote a diary of the events of the time. Berlin 6. Januar 1919. Montag […] Plötzlich um halb sechs geht eine gewaltige Schießerei los, Maschinengewehre, Artillerie oder Minenwerfer, Handgranaten: Es ist eine Höllenspektakel, ein Schlachtgetöse. Dann Pause, dann um fünf Uhr vierzig dasselbe. Ich gehe hinunter. Auf den Treppen sind jetzt Soldaten. Man erwartet, daß das Hotel von Spartakus angegriffen, vielleicht gestürmt werde. Berlin 6 January 1919. Monday […] Suddenly at half past five there begins a huge gun battle; machine guns, artillery or mortars, hand grenades: It is an infernal spectacle, a great roar of battle. Then a pause, then at twenty to six the same. I go downstairs. There are now soldiers on the steps. One expects that the hotel will be attacked, perhaps stormed, 24 by the Spartacists.

The uprising was, however, badly managed, and was eventually bloodily put down by government troops and the right-wing Freikorps (Free Corps), under the command of Noske, who was by now the Reichswehrminister (Defence Minister). ‘The Freikorps contained genuine patriots, but also many soldiers of fortune, uprooted by the war and unable to find their way back into a civilian world which since the revolution had become alien and repugnant.’25 This may explain the zeal with which the Freikorps took on the task of quelling the revolution. George Grosz was a supporter of the uprising, and his feelings towards the government involvement in its suppression are made clear in his drawing Prost Noske! Das Proletariat ist entwaffnet (Cheers Noske! The proletariat has been disarmed) (1919). Amid an urban landscape of dead dead bodies a Reichswehr officer toasts the defence minister, with a drink in one hand, and a baby impaled on his sword in the other. The putting down of the Spartakusaufstand culminated in the murder of the left-wing leaders Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg. Grosz’s drawing Vergeßt es nicht! (Do not forget!) (1931), featuring a grim reaper figure standing over the coffins of the two leaders, is a poignant reminder of these murders, but the date the picture was published, in the portfolio Interregnum, suggests that it was also to serve as a warning about the rise of political extremism at the beginning of the 1930s. The elections to the National Assembly went ahead on 19 January as planned. The SPD achieved around 38% of the vote, which combined with the other bourgeois parties meant a majority for parliamentary democracy. The National Assembly convened at Weimar on 6 February 1919. Weimar was chosen because it was out of the way of the revolutionary fervour of the other big cities. A provisional constitution was passed on 10 February by the National Assembly. The following day, Ebert was elected as the first Reich President, and 23

Ibid., p.16. Harry Graf Kessler, Tagebücher 1918 bis 1937, ed. by Wolfgang Pfeiffer-Belli (Frankfurt am Main: Insel, 1996), p.95. 25 A.J. Ryder, The German Revolution of 1918 (London: Cambridge University Press, 1967), p.203. 24

22

Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

two days later he appointed the first Reich cabinet. The constitution proper was adopted by the National Assembly on 31 July, and signed by the President on 11 August. The constitution included the adoption of proportional representation, which did indeed reflect the voting preferences of the people, but also brought about the election of a number of smaller parties. This led to coalition governments of up to five parties, such as the SPDCentre-BVP-DDP-DVP coalition of 1928. The constitution also included the introduction of female suffrage and the lowering of the voting age; education and religion now came under the jurisdiction of the Reich, and the Reichstag and Reich President were to be elected by direct popular vote.26 The most controversial feature of the new constitution was Article 48, which in effect allowed the President to withdraw all basic civil liberties if it was deemed necessary for the protection of the Republic. This was to have disastrous consequences at the beginning of the 1930s, as it would allow Adolf Hitler to assume complete control. A particular issue which incensed the general population of Germany, but especially the right-wing, was the Treaty of Versailles. The provisions of the treaty were first discussed by the Allies at the Paris Peace Conference, opened by French President Poincaré, on 18 January 1919. No German delegates were invited to attend. The main points were to be: the loss of territory to Poland, Czechoslovakia, Lithuania, Denmark and Belgium; the return of Alsace-Lorraine to France; the German army would be limited to 100,000 men, the navy to 15,000 men, and no air force; the controversial Article 231, the ‘war-guilt’ clause, which would form a legal basis for the reparations claim; and the Reparations Commission was set up to determine the sum and means of payment of reparations.27 Germany opposed a number of these terms but, with the Allies threatening to renew military action, was forced to accept the provisions of the treaty. It was signed by the Foreign Minister Herrmann Müller (SPD) and the Minister for Justice Johannes Bell (Centre Party) on 28 June 1919 in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.28 News of the treaty was greeted with absolute horror in Germany, in particular from the right-wing, whose opposition to the republic became more extreme. An example of this opposition is the Kapp-Putsch of 1920. The aim was to overthrow the Republic, and was led by Generallandschaftsdirektor Wolfgang Kapp, and the so-called ‘Father of the Freikorps’, General von Lüttwitz. On 13 March 1920, Lüttwitz led the Erhardt Brigade in the occupation of the government district of Berlin. The Reichswehr would not defend the leaders of the Republic. As General von Seeckt, the head of the Truppenamt (Army Command) put it, ‘when Reichswehr fires on Reichswehr all comradeship within the officer corps has vanished.’29 Ebert and his colleagues therefore fled to Dresden, while Kapp was proclaimed as the new Chancellor. The putsch was only ended by a general strike, which paralysed the whole of Berlin.

26

Detlev J.K. Peukert, The Weimar Republic (London: Penguin, 1991), p.38. Kolb, pp.27-30. 28 William Carr, A History of Germany 1815-1985 (London: Arnold, 1987), p.260. 29 Ibid., p.264. 27

23

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

The crisis continued the following year, when in April 1921 the Reparations Commission fixed total reparations at 132000 million gold marks, payable in annual instalments of 2000 million gold marks plus 26% of the value of exports. ‘The vast size of these sums not only defied the imagination but, not surprisingly, aroused the indignation of the Germans, who felt that a generation yet unborn would be forced to grow up in “debt slavery”.’30 The German government, however, accepted the provisions in full, and adopted a policy of fulfilment, in order that the Allies would see that the conditions were impossible to achieve, and thus force a revision of the terms. It did not take long for Germany to have to ask for a suspension of payments until 1925; to be freed from the conditions of the Versailles Treaty for three to four years; and for an international bank credit of 500 million gold marks. All the measures were aimed at the stabilisation of the German currency. However, the French opposed this ‘non-fulfilment’ of the terms of the Versailles Treaty and, when Germany defaulted on deliveries of timber and coal, French and Belgian forces occupied the Ruhr on 9 January 1923. French officials took on the collection of what was due to France. The German reaction was a strong one. All reparations payments to France and Belgium were suspended, and the people of the Ruhr began a campaign of passive resistance. All officials were forbidden to take orders from the occupying forces. The campaign of resistance meant, however, that the German workers were not getting paid, and therefore had to be subsidised by the German government. Coal supplies had also been suspended, and therefore all foreign currency had to be spent on importing coal from abroad. These new burdens led to an enormous strain on the German economy. The mark had fallen from 8000 to the dollar in December 1922 to 4 billion to the dollar by November 1923. The Reichsbank printed more currency to make up the shortfall, and prices soared ahead of wages, particularly in the Ruhr, where people were finding it increasingly difficult to make ends meet. A number of industrialists, however, made a good deal of money from the inflation, enjoying cheap credit from the Reichsbank, and turning their profits into assets by expanding their operations. On the other hand, the middle classes who lived on fixed incomes or inherited wealth were impoverished. Their means of income had become worthless. This devaluation of income and assets of course coincided with a dramatic rise in the cost of living due to the hyperinflation. In June 1923 in Berlin, a litre of milk cost 1440 marks, and a pound of beef up to 12,000 marks.31 The Ruhr crisis led to the fall of the rightwing Cuno cabinet, which was replaced by a ‘Grand Coalition’ of the SPD, DDP, Centre, and DVP, with Gustav Stresemann as Chancellor. Stresemann’s right-wing background caused a general feeling of mistrust by the working classes at the start of his time as Chancellor. This is summed up in Karl Hubbuch’s drawing Herr Stresemann und ein Stück Schwarzbrot (Herr Stresemann and a Piece of Black Bread) (1923), which shows Ebert speaking from a balcony, pronouncing the nationalist mantra of Deutschland über alles, while Stresemann is shown forming his coalition. The depiction of him in a huddle with his cronies implies corruption, while the question mark to the right of the larger image of him 30 31

24

Peukert, p.53. Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, Informationen zur politischen Bildung, (109/110) ‘Die Weimarer Republik’ (Bonn, 1988), p.17.

Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

asks who could be further to the right of Stresemann? The action of the donkeys, presumably representative of the lack of gumption of the other coalition parties, suggests that all will not be well for those outside Stresemann’s circle. What Hubbuch apparently sees as the real state of affairs is shown at the sides of the picture. On the right, a working class man points an admonitory finger, and on the left an imprisoned Communist holds his ration of black bread in his right hand and its ludicrous monetary value in his left. Hubbuch clearly feels that Stresemann is not the man who will relieve Germany of its horrific problems.

Karl Hubbuch Herr Stresemann und ein Stück Schwarzbrot (1923) Photo: © Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich While Hubbuch’s drawing is obviously a comment on the state of the early Weimar Republic, a movement developed which reacted far more aggressively to these years, and featured a number of artists who would later be linked to Neue Sachlichkeit. That movement was Dada, which actually began in Zurich in 1916, but was brought to Berlin in 1917 by Richard Huelsenbeck, who had been acquainted with Dada’s original founders. Huelsenbeck was interested in the potential of Dada to rally against the ruling classes and bourgeoisie who had brought Germany to a state of war, and who he despised. He got together with the founders of the periodical Freie Straße, Franz Jung and Max HerrmannNeisse, and one of their contributors, Raoul Hausmann. He also formed a friendship with the owners of the soon-to-be Malik Verlag, the brothers Wieland and Johannes Herzfelde (John Heartfield), and their friend George Grosz. Heartfield and Grosz would of course 25

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

become central figures in Neue Sachlichkeit photography and painting respectively. It was their monthly magazine Neue Jugend which would become the vehicle for what was to become Berlin Dada. From early 1917, Grosz’s drawings became a regular feature, and when the magazine was published fortnightly it became much more explicitly critical. The censor ensured the short life of this venture. Early in 1918, the Club Dada was formed, which held its first meeting in April of that year. It was at this meeting that Huelsenbeck presented the Berlin Dada Manifesto, which was signed by himself, Franz Jung, the artists Tristan Tzara, Marcel Jancu, George Grosz and Raoul Hausmann, and the composer Gerhard Preiss. What many people may have found surprising in the manifesto was its animosity towards Expressionism. Die besten und unerhörtesten Künstler werden diejenigen sein, die stündlich die Fetzen ihres Leibes aus dem Wirrsal der Lebenskatarakte zusammenreißen, verbissen in den Intellekt der Zeit, blutend an Händen und Herzen. Hat der Expressionismus unsere Erwartungen auf eine solche Kunst erfüllt, die eine Ballotage unserer vitalsten Angelegenheiten ist? Nein! Nein! Nein! Haben die Expressionisten unsere Erwartungen auf eine Kunst erfüllt, die uns die Essenz des Lebens ins Fleisch brennt? Nein! Nein! Nein!

The best and most extraordinary artists will be those who every hour snatch the tatters of their bodies out of the frenzied cataract of life, who, with bleeding hands and hearts, hold fast to the intelligence of their time. Has expressionism [sic] fulfilled our expectations of such an art, which should be an expression of our most vital concerns? No! No! No! Have the expressionists fulfilled our expectations of an art that burns the essence of life into our flesh? 32 No! No! No!

Dada saw the Expressionists as bourgeois, who sought, according to the manifesto, fame among those of the middle class art market, interested in nothing more than aesthetic niceties. Expressionism had actually emerged as a result of the largely stagnant, nonprogressive art world in Germany at the turn of the century. It advocated the ‘new world’ and the right of the individual to self-expression and fulfilment. ‘Expressionist art is a series of emphatic attempts to break through the world of forms to a radical expressiveness of a creative Self conceived in isolation from and in opposition to any existing society.’33 Expressionism was largely non-representational and dynamic. Instead of depicting what they saw, the Expressionists sought to depict what they felt. It is for this reason that Expressionist works are so abstract – there is far more to the painting than what is on the canvas. One of the best known Expressionist artists is Wassily Kandinsky, who in his book Über das Geistige in der Kunst (Concerning the Spiritual in Art) (1911) went to great 32

Hans Richter, Dada. Art and Anti-Art (London: Thames & Hudson, 1964), p.105. The English translation is also provided here, p.104. 33 J.P. Stern, ‘Expressionism’, in Expression and Engagement, catalogue of exhibition held at the Tate Gallery, Liverpool, (London: Tate Gallery, 1990), pp.7-12 (p.8).

26

Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

lengths to explain the effects and associations which certain forms and colours would arouse in the observer. Kandinsky’s works are full of non-objective forms and various colours, but they still remain balanced and do not clash. Or where they do clash, it is because the artist wishes to arouse a particular emotional state. The key thing is that the aim is to affect the spirit, and not the brain. Berlin Dada stood in contrast to this. ‘Der Dadaismus steht zum erstenmal dem Leben nicht mehr ästhetisch gegenüber, indem er alle Schlagworte von Ethik, Kultur und Innerlichkeit, die nur Mäntel für schwache Muskeln sind, in seine Bestandteile zerfetzt.’ (‘Dadaism for the first time has ceased to take an aesthetic attitude toward life, and this it accomplishes by tearing all the slogans of ethics, culture and inwardness, which are merely cloaks for weak muscles, into their components.’)34 This anti-Establishment stance was to become Dada’s trademark, and became more openly political at the time of the revolution of 1918/19. ‘Herzfelde, Heartfield and Grosz […] had come to view the bourgeoisie no longer primarily by aesthetic standards, as contemptible philistines, but in political terms, as the killers of Liebknecht and Luxemburg.’35 Grosz’s drawings, too, became much sharper, and the depiction of actual events became a part of his artistic repertoire. In spite of a highly leftwing stance, however, Berlin Dada was not welcomed by the Communist Party (KPD), which found the bursts of emotion and attacks on human cultural activity to be far removed from the real issues. This did not prevent Berlin Dada from using its art as a means of attacking authority. ‘In a city where the machine gun ruled the streets, art had proved to be the anachronism the Dadaists always said it was. It was only of any use if it too could be used as a weapon.’36 Nowhere was this more evident than at the Erste Internationale DadaMesse (First International Dada Fair). This fair took place in July and August 1920 at the gallery of Dr. Otto Burchard in Berlin. As well as exhibiting works by members of Berlin Dada, other Dadaists from across Germany were also invited, including Rudolf Schlichter and Otto Dix. The most striking exhibit was Schlichter’s dummy, suspended from the ceiling, wearing full army officer’s uniform, but with the head of a pig. Also shown were two paintings which summed up all that was wrong and ridiculous in post-war Germany. Dix’s Die Kriegskrüppel (War Cripples) (1920) features a parade of cripples, grouped together as ‘outsiders’, displaying the awards for bravery they had once won. Their comical demeanour therefore leaves a feeling of pathos rather than humour. The head, boot and arm in the background represent what they once had, but now have lost. The second picture was Grosz’s Deutschland, ein Wintermärchen (Germany. A Winter’s Tale) (1917-19), named after the satirical poem by Heinrich Heine. Certain character ‘types’ are depicted, particularly the central character, the Bürger who sits at a table laden with what can be seen as symbols of the middle class; a plateful of food, a cigar, a newspaper, and a beer with the Iron Cross depicted on the bottle. Beneath this man are three people who Grosz would portray time and again as enemies of society; the priest, the 34

Richter, p.105. Translated p.106. John Willett, The New Sobriety. Art and Politics in the Weimar Period 1917-1933 (London: Thames & Hudson, 1978), p.50. 36 Robert Brown, ‘Theatre of the Absurd’, Antique Collector, 64 (1993), 102-107 (p.107). 35

27

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

militarist and the traditionalist, in this case a teacher. The republican ribbon attached to the teacher’s sword shows his allegiance. All around them city life is depicted as a chaos caused by these people. Grosz portrays himself in silhouette at the bottom left, enraged. Frank Whitford remarks that this painting ‘marked Grosz’s emergence as a full-blooded political satirist.’37 Kurt Tucholsky wrote of Grosz’s skill in this area: ‘Haben sich die Herrschaften verletzt gefühlt? Der Spiegel Kann nichts dafür, wenn er die Jungfrau anzeigt, daß sie schwanger ist.’ (‘Do the authorities feel hurt? The mirror can’t do anything about it, when it shows the maiden that she is pregnant.’)38 This exhibition was to be the one and only gathering of German Dada, and marked the beginning of its slow decline. What caused this decline was, to a degree, the fact that Dada ran out of energy. Its strength was its immediacy, which made such a short yet profound impact upon the artistic world of Germany of its day. But one must also consider that Dada was so rife with contradictions that it could not possibly hope to stay together for any period of time. The most obvious of these contradictions is that in spite of its antiExpressionist rhetoric, Dada had found a good deal of influence in Expressionism. ‘With its distrust of reason, hostility to bourgeois industrial society […] and rejection of representational art, Expressionism prefigured Dada in many respects.’39 Several of the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit came either through Dada or Expressionism, or indeed both.40 An indication of the influence of these movements is the translation of Dada’s immediacy into the absolute time-specificity of Neue Sachlichkeit. Perhaps more profoundly, however, particularly in regard to Expressionism, is the sense that the paintings reveal more than what is on the canvas. The origins of the two-levelled nature of Neue Sachlichkeit may be seen in the works of the Expressionists. Grosz’s political commitment extended beyond Dada, as is demonstrated by the Kunstlump-Debatte (Art Scab Debate). During a gun battle between protestors and the army in Dresden shortly after the Kapp-Putsch, a stray bullet hit Rubens’ painting Bathsheba at the Well inside the Dresden Academy. Oskar Kokoschka, the Expressionist painter and professor at the Academy, wrote an open letter to the population of Dresden. It began: Ich richte an alle, die hier in Zukunft vorhaben, ihre politischen Theorien, gleichviel ob links-, rechts- oder mittelradikale, mit dem Schießprügel zu argumentieren, die flehentlichste Bitte, solche geplanten kriegerischen Übungen nicht mehr vor der Gemäldegalerie des Zwingers, sondern etwa auf den Schießplätzen der Heide abhalten zu wollen, wo menschliche Kultur nicht in Gefahr kommt.

37

Frank Whitford, ‘The Many Faces of George Grosz’, in The Berlin of George Grosz (London: Royal Academy of Arts, 1997), exhibition catalogue, pp.1-20 (p.7). 38 Kurt Tucholsky, Gesammelte Werke in 10 Bänden, ed. by Mary Gerold-Tucholsky and Fritz J. Raddatz (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1995), 2, p.432. 39 Robert Short, Dada and Surrealism (London: Laurence King, 1994), p.32. 40 Like Neue Sachlichkeit, Expressionism was not a movement with a specific membership. Therefore a number of artists who exhibited at the Erste Internationale Dada-Messe in 1920 have also been cited as Expressionists. Otto Dix, for example, exhibited at the Dada fair, and is also said to have had Expressionist beginnings. See, for instance, Dube, The Expressionists.

28

Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic I urgently request all those who intend to use firearms in order to promote their political theories, whether of the radical left, the radical right or the radical centre, to be kind enough henceforth to hold their combat exercises away from the Gemäldegalerie of the Zwinger – on the shooting ranges of the heath, for example, 41 where works of human culture will not be in danger.

Grosz’s response to this letter was an essay, co-written with John Heartfield in 1920, entitled ‘Der Kunstlump’, or art scab, in which art is put in its place in relation to the class struggle, as seen by the two men. ‘Heute, wo es von größerer Bedeutung ist, daß ein roter Soldat sein Gewehr putzt, als das ganze metaphysische Werk sämtlicher Maler. Der Begriff Kunst und Künstler ist eine Erfindung des Bürgers und ihre Stellung im Staat kann nur auf Seiten der Herrschenden, d.h. der bürgerlichen Kaste sein.’ (‘Today the cleaning of a gun by a Red soldier is of greater significance than the entire metaphysical output of all the painters. The concepts of art and artist are an invention of the bourgeoisie and their position in the state can only be on the side of those who rule, i.e. the bourgeois caste.’)42 Grosz was at this point a member of the KPD. His politicisation was brought about by the post-war situation and the gulf which existed between the impoverished working class and the bourgeoisie. This politicisation is evident in a number of his paintings from the early 1920s, known as the ‘robot’ pictures. ‘The ideological background to the new pictures by Grosz […] was that of the “new man”. No longer was the individual significant, but the collectivity, the working masses.’43 One such automaton painting is Diabolo-Spieler (Diabolo Player) (1920), which features a ‘robot’ playing diablo in a nearly empty room. The geometric construction reflects the new technological age, which Grosz embraced for its possibilities in producing art. However, he also used this style to attack, as in Republikanische Automaten (Republican Automatons) (1920), a depiction of two flag-waving, nationalistic ‘robots’, which will be explored more fully later. Of this depiction of society, Frank Whitford writes that the ‘utopia they describe is chilling: regimented, standardized, normed and shaped by soulless machines. There is no room for individuality or dissent. The new man survives only as a precisely programmed robot.’44 Besides their socially critical element, these paintings demonstrate a flatter, more sober style in Grosz’s work, which developed further into his Neue Sachlichkeit works from the mid-1920s. Otto Dix was also active during the early years of the Weimar Republic. He had been living in Dresden when he contributed to the Dada fair in 1920. However, his next step was to move to Düsseldorf in 1922, under the patronage of Johanna Ey, or ‘Mutter Ey’, where he would establish a number of themes which characterised his later work. The reason for Dix’s move to Düsseldorf was undoubtedly related to the economic circumstances of the time. ‘Gegen Ende der Inflation war die Stadt Düsseldorf reicher als Dresden. In Köln und Düsseldorf gab es wohlhabende Geschäftsleute, durch die etliche Galerien angelockt 41

Uwe M. Schneede, Künstlerschriften der 20er Jahre (Cologne: DuMont, 1979), p.55. Translation from Kaes, and others, p.484. 42 Ibid., p.56. Translation from Kaes, and others, p.485. 43 Ralph Jentsch, George Grosz. The Berlin Years (Milan: Electa, 1997), exhibition catalogue, p.104. 44 Whitford, ‘The Many Faces of George Grosz’, p.11.

29

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

wurden, und diese wiederum zogen die jungen Künstler an.’(‘Around the end of the period of inflation the city of Düsseldorf was more prosperous than Dresden. In Cologne and Düsseldorf there were well-off business people, to whom a number of galleries were attracted, and the young artists in turn approached them.’)45 And so it was for Dix, who, via an introduction from the artist Conrad Felixmüller, travelled to Düsseldorf to stay with Johanna Ey, the ‘mother figure’ of the Junge Rheinland (Young Rhineland) group of artists. It was she who in the beginning bought Dix’s paintings and put a roof over his head until he established himself. It was while in Düsseldorf that he completed the Krieg etchings, as well as some of his most controversial works. Max Beckmann, meanwhile, was still coming to terms with his war experiences and seeking to understand the world around him. One of his most enlightening works from this period is Die Nacht (The Night) (1918/19). The painting depicts a murder in a dimly lit attic room. A man is being hanged from the rafters of the room while his female companion is bound by the wrists. Next to her is the only source of light within the scene, ‘a single candle, a symbol of hope […]. This lone standing candle – another one has fallen over – somehow sheds enough light on the scene so that each person and object is clearly defined with the “objectivity of the inner vision”.’46 The idea of the candle as a symbol of hope supports Twohig’s assertion that the painting was ‘conceived as a Christian martyrdom’.47 And while Twohig states that this testified to Beckmann’s ‘pessimism about the human condition’48, the murdered man can now at least be at peace and nearer to God. He has, ironically, met his saviour in his murderer. As the 1920s progressed, crisis developed into stability. In spite of his right-wing ideals, Stresemann was all too aware of Germany’s international situation and lack of negotiating power. On 26 September 1923, he called off the campaign of passive resistance in the Ruhr, and resumed reparations payments. In November the Rentenmark was launched as an attempt to stabilise the currency once again. The failed putsch by the NSDAP occurred in the same month. The collapse of this putsch and subsequent proscription of the NSDAP, KPD, and extreme right-wing associations marked the beginning of a calmer phase in the history of the Weimar Republic. After the issue of the Rentenmark, the government cut down on expenditure, cut salaries, reduced the number of government employees and increased taxation. Reparations payments were, at this time, suspended pending a review, and this in combination with these other measures brought the inflation under control. August 1924 saw the acceptance of the Dawes Plan, the new reparations plan. There was no change to the total liability, but the instalments were geared more towards Germany’s ability to pay. The acceptance of these terms led to a stronger economy, which led, in general, to more prosperity, particularly amongst those who had suffered badly during the inflation. There was also much more confidence among foreign investors. ‘With the German currency stabilized and reparations payments brought under control, American 45

Dietrich Schubert, Otto Dix mit Selbstzeugnissen und Bilddokumenten (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1991), p.60. Selz, p.28. 47 Twohig, ‘Max Beckmann’, p.441. 48 Ibid. 46

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Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

capital, as predicted, poured into the country.’49 Stresemann used Germany’s greater economic power between 1924 and 1929 to build up its international position, including the commencement of secret rearmament, as he believed that the foreign powers would only take Germany seriously if it had a strong army. Germany did not, however, act foolishly towards its Allied neighbours, and all sides began to show more respect for one another. The good relationship continued throughout the following years, and in 1929 the Young Plan was drawn up, to bring about the final settlement of Germany’s reparations obligations. In all, RM 37,000 million would be payable. The Young Plan also brought to an end the foreign control of reparations and the mortgages on the German railways and industry. The biggest gain for Germany was that if the terms were accepted, which after a failed referendum they were, then Belgium and France would completely evacuate the Ruhr, thus bringing to a close that particular crisis. These years were also more stable for the Neue Sachlichkeit artists. For Otto Dix, the Krieg etchings went a long way to establishing his reputation. He was voted into the Berliner Sezession (Berlin Secession) in December 1924, and this may have helped prompt his decision to move to Berlin in the autumn of 1925. Whilst in Düsseldorf, Dix had married Martha, the ex-wife of one of his patrons, Dr. Hans Koch. They had had a daughter, Nelly, and so Dix would have welcomed the extra money on offer from his patron Karl Nierendorf. Nierendorf had already moved to Berlin, and offered to act on behalf of Dix, provided he was given first refusal on all Dix’s work. After their move to Berlin, Dix and his family soon became known. ‘In this cosmopolitan city of the Roaring Twenties, in the Berlin of the post-war phase of stabilization, Dix and his wife were soon insiders on the cultural scene.’50 It was by becoming such a part of the bohemian social scene that Dix was able to paint his most famous portraits, including Sylvia von Harden (1926) and Anita Berber (1925). ‘Dix ist etabliert. Er wird von den Künstlern, Literaten und Galeristen anerkannt und gilt als der große Bürgerschreck. Sich von Dix malen zu lassen, ist mit einem Hauch Sensation verbunden.’ (‘Dix is established. He is recognised by artists, literati and gallery owners and is accepted as the scourge of the middle classes. To be painted by Dix is linked to an aura of sensation.’)51 His reputation was further enhanced by his participation in a number of exhibitions, including of course the Neue Sachlichkeit exhibition in Mannheim in 1925, and his first solo exhibitions at the Galerie Neumann und Nierendorf in Berlin, and the Galerie Thannhäuser in Munich in 1926. It was also in 1926 that Dix was offered a chair at the Staatliche Akademie der Künste, Dresden, which took effect from 1 October. He accepted the position, and following the birth of his son, Ursus, he began to teach from the summer semester, 1927. George Grosz concentrated on his drawing until 1925, when he produced his first painting for four years, Porträt Max Herrmann-Neisse (Portrait of Max Herrmann-Neisse), which was exhibited at the Neue Sachlichkeit exhibition, and was the first of a number of 49

Peukert, p.196. Karcher, p.94. 51 Schubert, p.87. 50

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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

portraits from the mid-1920s. It was also at this time that he took up a paintbrush to express the criticism he had always conveyed in his drawings. The paintings Stützen der Gesellschaft (Pillars of Society) (1926) and Sonnenfinsternis (Eclipse of the Sun) (1926) both date from this period. Max Beckmann was beginning to find his feet, and in 1924 he was the subject of a major monograph. The following year he was appointed professor at the Frankfurt Städelsches Kunstinstitut. In 1925 he was also an important contributor to the Neue Sachlichkeit exhibition, as well as having an exhibition at Cassirer’s in Berlin. It was at this time that he obtained a divorce from his first wife, Minna, and married Mathilde Q. von Kaulbach, or Quappi, the daughter of the painter Friedrich von Kaulbach. The following year his first solo show in New York took place at I.B. Neumann’s New Art Circle. This was followed in 1927 and 1928 by shows in Mannheim and in Paris. By the end of the 1920s, Dix, Grosz and Beckmann had all achieved status and recognition as painters. The collapse of the Weimar Republic, however, would force them to change their lives immeasurably. October 1929 saw the Wall Street Crash. So much American money had entered Germany during the previous decade that it also suffered tremendously, and the wheels of collapse were set in motion. The world economic crisis […] hastened the final crisis of the Republic on two levels of society simultaneously. The masses whose hopes for the future had been blighted by the crisis became radicalised; the old elites and the politicians of the right, for their part, believed that the moment had come when they could 52 dismantle once and for all, the structures established in 1918.

Numerous elections and cabinet changes failed to bring about an improvement in Germany’s economic hardship. Election results, however, show that the electorate favoured parties which were opposed to the Republic. The elections of 14 September 1930, for instance, brought massive gains for the National Socialists, who became the second largest party in the Reichstag. The Communists also did well, attracting 13% of the vote, the third highest result. Aware of the popularity of Adolf Hitler, and conscious of the failure of successive Chancellors to provide stability, President Paul von Hindenburg was persuaded to swear Hitler in as Chancellor on 30 January 1933, following the resignation from the post of General von Schleicher. Hitler insisted on fresh elections as a condition of his appointment, but shortly before they took place the notorious Reichstag fire occurred. It is now widely accepted that the fire was the protest of a lone individual,53 but the National Socialists passed it off at the time as a signal for a Communist uprising. Communist leaders and intellectuals were apprehended and imprisoned, and Hindenburg was persuaded to act by issuing a decree ‘for the Protection of the People and the State’, suspending many civil liberties – a measure which would last until the end of the Third Reich.

52 53

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Peukert, p.255. Ian Kershaw, Hitler 1889-1936: Hubris (London: Allen Lane, 1998), p.458.

Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

The elections took place on 6 March. The National Socialists won 288 seats, and by forming a coalition with the German Nationalists made sure of a majority. On 23 March, Hitler presented his Enabling Bill to the Reichstag, which removed much responsibility for legislation from Parliament, and handed it instead to the cabinet. The bill also stated that certain laws drafted by the Chancellor ‘might deviate from the constitution.’54 The motion was passed 441 to 88, and the Weimar Republic was officially at an end. By July, all other parties were dissolved, and the NSDAP declared the only legal party in Germany. Hitler’s dictatorship became complete with the death of Hindenburg on 2 August 1934. The offices of Chancellor and President were merged into the position of Führer. The National Socialists wasted no time in dismantling the Weimar Republic, and that included its artistic representatives. In 1933, Otto Dix was dismissed from his post at the Dresden Academy. The first that he knew of his dismissal was following a telephone conversation between Richard Müller, the principal at the Academy, and Reichskommissar von Killinger. Von Killinger ordered Müller ‘Prof. Otto Dix sofort von seinen Diensten zu entfernen, ihm das weitere Betreten der Akademie zu verbieten und ihm seine Entlassung aus dem Staatsdienste ohne Pension mitzuteilen.’ (‘to remove Prof. Otto Dix from his duties immediately, to forbid him from entering the Academy again and to communicate to him his dismissal from public service, without a pension.’)55 In September of the same year, an exhibition took place in Dresden Town Hall entitled Spiegelbilder des Verfalls (Reflections of Decay), which featured work by Dix, and acted as a forerunner to the ‘degenerate’ art exhibition in Munich in 1937, Ausstellung Entartete Kunst. Following his dismissal, Dix and his family moved to the Bodensee, firstly to Schloß Randegg, then following the receipt of Martha’s inheritance, to Hemmenhofen. It was while at the Bodensee, in 1934, that Dix was refused permission to exhibit, and he therefore subjected himself to ‘innere Emigration’ (inner emigration). As Hollmann and Keuning put it: ‘Die Landschaftsmalerei ist es, in die Dix “emigrierte”. Bis Mitte der vierziger Jahre entstehen, abgesehen von wenigen Auftragsporträts, fast ausschließlich Landschaften.’ (‘It was into landscape painting that Dix “emigrated”. Until the middle of the forties he produced, apart from a few commissioned portraits, almost exclusively landscapes.’)56 This was obviously not ideal for Dix. ‘[Die Landschaftsmalerei] interessiert mich eigentlich auch gar nicht sehr…’ (‘[Landscape painting] actually doesn’t really interest me at all…’)57 However, circumstances made this choice of subject matter necessary, as landscape painting does not easily betray a political bias. On 19 July 1937 the Ausstellung Entartete Kunst opened in Munich, and Dix featured strongly, along with several of the most respected artists of his generation. Following the exhibition, a number of his works disappeared or were destroyed. George Grosz too was outlawed by the National Socialists, in spite of the fact that his work had steadily become less extreme and he had found commercial success. In his 54

William L. Shirer, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (London: BCA, 1969), p.248. Hollmann & Keuning, p.22/23. 56 Ibid., p.24. 57 Maria Wetzel, ‘Professor Otto Dix. Ein harter Mann, dieser Maler’, Diplomatischer Kurier, 18 (1965), 731745 (p.745). 55

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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

autobiography, he writes of a premonitory dream he had, regarding life under the Nazis. The next morning he received an invitation from the Art Students’ League in New York, to teach at their summer school. ‘Heute weiß ich, daß eine bestimmte Kraft mich aufsparen wollte. Wozu, weiß ich nicht zu sagen. Vielleicht als Zeugen? Jedenfalls kam ich so nach Amerika.’ (‘Today I know that a certain power wanted to spare me. For what reason, I can’t say. Perhaps as a witness? Anyway, this is how I ended up in America.’)58 Grosz’s emigration to America probably saved his life. At the Ausstellung Entartete Kunst he had five paintings, two watercolours and thirteen drawings shown. Of his works, 285 were confiscated, and a number of these were destroyed. Almost immediately following the Nazi seizure of power, Max Beckmann was also declared a ‘degenerate’ artist. He moved from Frankfurt to Berlin, where he hoped to be able to keep a lower profile. He had been dismissed from his teaching post anyway. He took with him to Berlin the half-finished panels to the triptych Departure (1932/33), which he had started work on in May 1932. He completed it at the end of 1933, and in spite of his later assertion in his lecture ‘Über meine Malerei’ (‘On my Painting’) of 1938, ‘möchte ich als Erstes betonen, niemals in irgend einer Form mich politisch betätigt zu haben’ (‘I would like to emphasise that I have never been politically active in any way’)59, there is a definite link in the painting to Beckmann’s concerns regarding the political situation. The painting depicts scenes of torture on each of the outer panels. The centre shows a king and queen carrying a child in a boat. ‘ The Queen carries the greatest treasure – Freedom – as her child in her lap. Freedom is the one thing that matters – it is the departure, the new start.’60 This symbolic, spiritual aspect to the painting demonstrates what separated Beckmann from artists like Dix and Grosz. He left something in his paintings which only he could really interpret. ‘Beckmann always wished his paintings to remain private and personal, to communicate a feeling but not necessarily to be understood in the literal sense,’61 When the Ausstellung Entartete Kunst opened, Beckmann found that ten of his paintings had been included in the exhibition. He moved to Amsterdam with Quappi the next day, where she had a sister, and then eventually moved to America. He never returned to Germany. That the three artists featured in this chapter never again achieved the kind of commercial or critical success that they had during the Weimar Republic demonstrates the importance of that period to their lives as artists. Their war experiences left them with a disregard for authority and a pessimism regarding humankind which would be compounded by the events of the Weimar Republic. Distrust of military authority became distrust of political authority, and this manifested itself as highly critical artistic output. The stable period of the Republic may well have meant an end to the years of crisis, but was not 58

Grosz, p.218. Max Beckmann, Die Realität der Träume in den Bildern. Schriften und Gespräche 1911 bis 1950 (Munich: Piper Verlag, 1990), p.48. Translated in Sean Rainbird, ‘A Gathering Storm: Beckmann and Cultural Politics 1925-38’, in Max Beckmann, ed. by Sean Rainbird (London: Tate Publishing, 2003), exhibition catalogue, pp.157-179 (p.157). 60 Selz, p.52. 61 Ibid., p.53. 59

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Art of its Time. The Great War and the Weimar Republic

without its problems. Increased investment was coupled with rationalisation of the workforce in a bid to improve profitability. An atmosphere of competition developed between individuals, who became ever more distanced from one another. However, the more relaxed general atmosphere allowed artists to reflect on issues such as this, as well as looking back on the events of the early years. It was at this time that Neue Sachlichkeit was at its height.

35

3. Neue Sachlichkeit Defined? This section of the thesis will consider the history of the reception of Neue Sachlichkeit painting, and will aim to draw together similar theories, as well as highlight those which are problematic in forming a notion of what Neue Sachlichkeit actually is. The starting point in the development of Neue Sachlichkeit as a recognised entity is the questionnaire published in Das Kunstblatt in 1922 entitled ‘Ein neuer Naturalismus??’ (‘A New Naturalism??’) [sic]. The questionnaire recognised that art was taking a more naturalistic turn, following Expressionism, but invited responses to the following: ‘Von der einen Seite wird dieser neue Naturalismus entschieden propagiert, die andere erblickt eine Gefahr darin, Schaffensziele, die auf schöpferische Formgestaltung gerichtet sind, preiszugeben.’ (‘On the one side this new naturalism is determindly propagated; on the other an inherent danger is perceived of giving up creative goals that are aimed at inspirational structural form.’)1 A number of responses were received, including some from artists who would be identified with Neue Sachlichkeit. Karl Hofer wrote that one should be wary of the influence of mechanisation. To most contemporary European artists: ‘Das große anonyme Werk aus dem Bedürfnis der Massen heraus schafft die Technik. Alles andere bleibt Getue und großes Geschwätz.’ (‘Technology creates great anonymous works out of the needs of the masses. Everything else remains fuss and tittle-tattle.’)2 To Hofer, the new direction was, as much as anything else, a human action. So auch die Frage, ob Naturalismus, Verismus, die als natürliche Reaktion erklärlich sind, denn ein Werk ist groß nicht wegen, sondern trotz der Richtung, der es angehört. Der Rest, der in der Richtung nicht aufgeht, entscheidet, das Inkommensurable, von dem Goethe spricht, das da anfängt, wo das Wort aufhört, und aufhört, wo das Wort anfängt: Das Menschliche. And also the matter of naturalism, verism, which is explicable as a natural reaction, for a work is great not because of, but in spite of the direction to which it belongs. The remainder, the incommensurable, decides that which is not realised in that direction, of which Goethe speaks: that begins where the word ends, and ends 3 where the word begins: the human

This idea of the importance of human intervention is clearly related to Expressionism. In his reply to the questionnaire however, G.F. Hartlaub questions the relevance of Expressionism in post-war society. Insofern war der “Expressionismus” das höchst denkwürdige Zeichen für das Wiederaufleben eines metaphysischen, im weiteren Sinne des Wortes religiösen Erneuerungswillens innerhalb ganzer Generationen gewesen. Sobald dieser gemeinschaftliche Wille nachließ, mußte der abenteuerliche Vorstoß inmitten unserer materialistischen Gesellschaftsordnung und Weltanschauung fast wahnwitzig erscheinen und darum zersplittern oder ganz zurückgenommen werden.

1 2 3

Schneede, Künstlerschriften der 20er Jahre, p.143. Ibid., p.152. Ibid.

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined? In this respect “Expressionism” had been the most notable sign of a revival of a metaphysical, or in the broader sense of the word, a religious will for renewal, within whole generations. As soon as this common will diminished, the adventurous drive within our materialistic social order and world view had to appear 4 almost crazy, and therefore had to fragment or withdraw altogether.

In Hartlaub’s view, young artists had rejected Expressionism after years of war and upheaval. To this generation, life was now much too sobre for ecstatic experimentation on canvas, and so artistic opportunities made possible by the experiments of Expressionism would be missed. ‘Sie hat sich zum Teil darauf beschränkt, die neuen formalen Möglichkeiten zu schematisieren, sie, mehr oder weniger billig, dekorativ auszunützen. Zum anderen Teil hat sie die Abstraktion in allerlei bewußt angeordneten Experimenten der künstlerischen Sinnlichkeit verzettelt, die vorläufig nur einen kleinen Kreis angehen.’ (‘It has in part limited itself to schematising the new formal possibilities, to use them, more or less cheaply, for decorative purposes. On the other hand it has, in every known ordered experiment in artistic sensuousness, dissipated abstraction, which for the time being concerns only a small circle.’)5 It is difficult to pinpoint Hartlaub’s stance regarding Expressionism and the early post-war realism. In his article of 1924, ‘Der Zynismus als Kunstrichtung’ (‘Cynicism as a Direction in Art’), he writes, ‘was schlimmer ist als die Amoralität, der tiefungläubige Relativismus und die Hoffnungslosigkeit mancher Künstler von heute, was ihnen auch den letzten und dabei entscheidenden Abstand zu nehmen droht: sie glauben auch nicht mehr mit voller Glaubenskraft an die Kunst!’ (‘what is worse than the amorality, the deeply unbelieving relativism and the hopelessness of many of today’s artists, what is also the last and thereby most decisive thing that they may refrain from: they no longer fully believe in art!’)6 However, he adds to this by stressing the importance of some of the abstract and spiritual arts of the more recent past, that is, Expressionism, when he writes: ‘Bald wird man wissen, daß die neue Kunst schon in der älteren keimhaft enthalten war und daß von der visionären Phantastik der älteren selbst im “Verismus” von heute viel bewahrt geblieben ist.’ (‘It will soon become apparent that the germ of the new art was already present in the old and that much of the visionary fantasy of the old is preserved even in the verism of today.’)7 In his introduction to the original Neue Sachlichkeit exhibition catalogue, Hartlaub again stresses the position of Expressionism in relation to Neue Sachlichkeit. ‘Indem hier von künstlerischen Strebungen Zeugnis abgelegt wird, die nach dem Expressionismus erkennbar geworden sind und die – in gewisser Hinsicht – einen Rückschlag gegen diesen darzustellen scheinen, wird nicht etwa Stellung genommen gegen den Expressionismus und die zu ihm gehörige Künstlergeneration.’ (‘Simply because evidence is displayed here of artistic endeavours that became recognisable after expressionism, and which, in a certain sense, appear to represent a reaction against the latter, does not mean that a position is being taken against

4 5 6 7

Ibid., p.148. Ibid., p.149. G.F. Hartlaub, ‘Der Zynismus als Kunstrichtung’, Frankfurter Zeitung, 13.9.1924, no page number. Hartlaub, Ausstellung “Neue Sachlichkeit”. Translated in Kaes, and others, p.492.

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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

expressionism and the generation of artists adhering to it.’)8 Martin Lindner subscribes to this view, writing that a relationship between Expressionism and its successor need not be one of opposites. ‘Auch in den 20er Jahren ist das Verhältnis von “Sachlichkeit” und expressiver Emotionalität keineswegs nur antithetisch zu verstehen. Vielmehr geht es darum, “unechte” Sentimentalität zu unterdrücken, um die wahrhaft “elementaren” Gefühle um so “reiner” wirken zu lassen.’ (‘Also in the twenties, the relationship between “Sachlichkeit” and expressive emotionality is in no way to be only understood antithetically. The point is much more to suppress “false” sentimentality in order to allow the true “elementary” feelings to have a “pure” effect.’)9 Joseph Roth wrote in 1930 that without some kind of inner depth, although he does not actually mention Expressionism as such, Neue Sachlichkeit could not get to the heart of what it tried to portray. ‘Der lebendige Mensch nun ist von der Wirklichkeit nicht zu lösen, nicht von Tatsachen, nicht von Zahlen und Ziffern, nicht von Größen und Maßstäben, nicht von “Details”.’ (‘The living human is simply not to be understood by reality, not by facts, not by numbers and figures, not by size and scale, not by “details”.’)10 By implying that there was this depth to it, John Willett suggests an actual route via Expressionism to Neue Sachlichkeit. ‘The commonest reaction for anyone who, like Dix and Felixmüller, had been through an Expressionist phase was a down-to-earth socially critical Verism, often using a harder-edged version of the old angular expressive distortions.’11 Hartlaub continues, however, by pointing out, with more insight than he had in 1924, that circumstances had rendered the excesses of Expressionism inappropriate. ‘Daß die Künstler – enttäuscht, ernüchtert, oft bis zum Zynismus resignierend, fast sich selber aufgebend nach einem Augenblick grenzenloser, beinahe apokalyptischer Hoffnungen – sich mitten in der Katastrophe auf das besinnen, was das Nächste, das Gewisseste und Haltbarste ist: die Wahrheit und das Handwerk.’ (‘That artists – disillusioned, sobered, often resigned to the point of cynicism having nearly given up on themselves after a moment of unbounded, nearly apocalyptic hope – that artists in the midst of the catastrophe have begun to ponder what is most immediate, certain, and durable: truth and craft.’)12 Buderer and Fath agree with Hartlaub’s outlook in this respect. In writing of the original exhibition they state: Es galt, bildnerische Ausdrucksformen des Gegenständlichen zu zeigen, eine neue Bildsprache, die aufs Figürliche zielte und die für überwunden gehaltenen Vorstellungen des Expressionismus außer Kraft setzte. Das war so deutlich intendiert, daß Hartlaub sich in seinem Vorwort genötigt fühlte, darauf hinzuweisen, er beabsichtige keine Revision des Expressionismus. It was necessary to show visual forms of expression of the concrete; a new pictorial language, that pointed towards the figurative and that annulled the ideas of Expressionism that were considered outdated. That was 8

Ibid. Translated in Kaes, and others, p.491/492 Lindner, p.159. 10 Joseph Roth, ‘Schluß mit der “Neuen Sachlichkeit”!’, in: Werke (Cologne: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1989-91), 3, pp.153-164 (p.157). 11 John Willett, The Weimar Years. A Culture Cut Short (London: Thames & Hudson, 1984), p.13. 12 Hartlaub, Ausstellung “Neue Sachlichkeit”. Translated in Kaes, and others, p.493. 9

38

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined? so clearly intended that Hartlaub felt it necessary in his forword to point out that he intended no revision of 13 Expressionism.

The critic Franz Roh wrote in 1925 of a definite move away from Expressionism. Wir konstatieren zunächst nur, daß neben einer Reihe bestehender Arten von Malerei in allen Ländern Europas eine neue Art getreten sei. Im Grunde meinen wir aber, daß eine entscheidende Umstellung vorliege, die sich aus Entfernung einst als genau so grundsätzlich erweisen wird, wie diejenige zwischen Im- und Expressionismus. Insofern setzen wir um 1920 ebenso eine Wende an wie um 1890, wo wir den Beginn des Expressionismus (Gogh und Gauguin) datieren müssen. We just make the point only that besides a number of existing types of painting in all countries of Europe a new type has come along. Basically, we mean, though, that a decisive change is acknowledged, which from a distance will at one time be proven as fundamentally as that between Impressionism and Expressionism. In this respect we are fixing a change around 1920 as in around 1890, where we should date the beginning of 14 Expressionism (Gogh and Gauguin).

To consider the break with the past around 1920 to be as significant as the change from Impressionism to Expressionism, Roh clearly feels that the new art, in turn, is radically different to Expressionism, as is demonstrated by his table of opposing characteristics, reproduced in section three of this chapter. Peter Gay notes the roots of this Wende when he argues that Expressionism was becoming unpopular at an earlier stage than Germany’s wartime defeat. He cites Hajo Holborn’s criticism of the Expressionists as a minority, whose mood was shared by few others. He also notes the views of opponents to Neue Sachlichkeit, such as Carl Sternheim’s opinion that it promoted sexual licence, or Kracauer’s criticism of its political passivity. However, he seems to concur with Hartlaub, ‘who greeted the disillusionment inherent in the Neue Sachlichkeit as a long overdue corrective to the intoxication of Expressionism; he chose to call it “healthy”.’15 Hartlaub’s view in this respect, as well as his appreciation of the skill and craft that is seen in works of Neue Sachlichkeit, compares interestingly with the Arts and Crafts movement in England, which saw application to craft and achieving quality as a morally correct thing to do. In the sense of Neue Sachlichkeit, this artistic ‘health’ indeed involved producing highly skilled, high quality works, but were a result of disillusionment, and so were not produced because of any real desire for moral worth.

13

Buderer & Fath, p.11. Franz Roh, Nach-Expressionismus. Magischer Realismus. Probleme der neuesten europäischen Malerei (Leipzig: Klinkhardt & Biermann, 1925), p.3. 15 Peter Gay, Weimar Culture. The Outsider as Insider (London: Penguin,1969), pp.126-128. 14

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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

The Meaning of the Term Historically, the idea of Neue Sachlichkeit had often meant different things to different people, and this perhaps has much to do with the fact that the term Neue Sachlichkeit has had so many different interpretations. Fritz Schmalenbach sees the modern origins of the term beginning in the 1910s, and cites Heinrich Wölfflin’s Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe of 1915, in which Wölfflin ‘characterizes the ‘external’ mental basis of the new ‘linear’ vision about 1800 in the sentence, “Die neue Linie kommt im Dienst einer neuen Sachlichkeit.”16’ (‘The new line comes to serve a new objectivity.’)17 August Grisebach wrote in his Baukunst im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert (Architecture in the 19th and 20th Centuries), also from 1915, of a new factory building by Behrens, that was ‘by no means simply a matter of a new Sachlichkeit.’18 This is an example of how the term would come to be used in other spheres of culture than just painting. Once Hartlaub had organised the original exhibition, Neue Sachlichkeit became generally accepted as the term that described the kind of art selected by Hartlaub for the exhibition. It also helped, according to Schmalenbach, that the exhibition travelled across Germany when the Mannheim show ended, ‘further diffusing and prolonging the sensation it created.’19 Jost Hermand asserts in his essay on Neue Sachlichkeit that it was not a movement in the sense of Dada, for instance. ‘It remained an incomplete concept.’20 What Hermand means is that at the time of its existence, Neue Sachlichkeit was never a coherent group, with, for instance, a manifesto to follow. It also lacked the dynamism of a movement spurred on by war and revolution, coming as it did during the middle, stable period of the Weimar Republic. However, it was during this period that art first picked up on elements of mass popular cultural phenomena such as jazz and the idea of technological innovation in the cultural sphere, for example photography and film. Also, talk of a ‘neue Sachlichkeit’ was a popular notion in entertainment culture of the time, as is demonstrated in a Berlin cabaret song of the 1920s, entitled Da ist Sachlichkeit in der Luft (There is Objectivity in the Air). The last verse was worded, Weg mit Schnörkel, Stuck und Schaden! Glatt baut man die Hausfassaden! Morgen baut man Häuser, bloβ, ganz und gar fassadenlos. Krempel sind wir überdrüssig. Viel zu viel ist überflüssig. Fort, die Möbel aus der Wohnung. Fort mit was nicht hingehört. Wir behaupten ohne Schonung, jeder Mensch der da ist, stört. Away with your flourishes, your stucco and your loss! The facades of houses are being built flat. Tomorrow they will build houses bare, wholly and utterly without facades.

16 17 18 19 20

40

Heinrich Wölfflin, Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe. Das Problem der Stilentwicklung in der neueren Kunst (Munich: Hugo Bruckmann, 1920). Schmalenbach, p.161, where the translation may also be found. Ibid. Ibid., p.162. Hermand, ‘Unity within diversity?’, p.167.

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined? We are sick of trifling rubbish. Far too much is superfluous. Get rid of the furniture in the flat. Get rid of anything that does not belong there. 21 We declare without mercy, every person who happens to be there is in the way.

These words tie in with the best-known characteristics of Neue Sachlichkeit works of art, except that the words of the last line do not strictly apply, certainly in terms of painting. They do, however, express a rejection of decoration and ornamentation. Indeed, ‘“Sachlichkeit” is the order of the day – that is to say, sobriety, realism and good living, and with all the coldness of that stark status quo mentality which forever lies at the heart of this sort of compromise with grim reality.’22 Hermand also suggests that Neue Sachlichkeit was attractive, in part, to the right-wing bourgeoisie, who saw it as a kind of return to the realist ideals of the nineteenth century, and who after the Wall Street Crash ‘endeavoured to cling desperately to the concept of “Neue Sachlichkeit” merely in order to keep out any new “revolutionism”.’23 It would also have been, of course, the bourgeoisie predominantly who enjoyed the mass culture depicted by Neue Sachlichkeit. Max Horkheimer, writing as Heinrich Regius, claims that the: ‘neuartige als Sachlichkeit drapierte Abstraktheit der Wissenschaft, die sich gegen den alten Formalismus so hochmütig als “Konkretheit” aufführt, zeigt große Ähnlichkeit mit dem Verhalten, das in der guten Gesellschaft von jedem “anständigen” Menschen gefordert wird.’ (‘new type of abstraction of knowledge as objectivity, that passes so arrogantly as “concreteness” in opposition to the old formalism, shows a great similarity to the behaviour expected of every “decent” person in polite society.’)24 Harald Olbrich, writing from the GDR in 1980, also sees a ‘kleinbürgerliche Perspektive’ (‘petty bourgeois perspective’)25. Whether or not the artists involved would agree that their target audience was the bourgeoisie is a point of interest. It seems unlikely, however, given that many had been involved with left-wing organisations or movements in the past, and thus this particular view is not accepted here. Further acceptance of the term was shown in a lecture in Hamburg by the painter Friedrich Ahlers-Hestermann in October 1925. ‘So far as Germany is concerned, we are, as usual, already organizing, and this very year in Mannheim an exhibition took place under the title: “Die neue Sachlichkeit.” It looks as though the registered trademark, so to speak, has been hit upon there. Not at all bad, simple and easily remembered.’26 One of Schmalenbach’s main points, however, is that the term preceded the exhibition as a Programm, which is clear from Hartlaub’s first circular to artists and dealers, dated 18 May 1923.

21

22 23 24 25 26

Matthias Eberle, ‘Otto Dix and “Neue Sachlichkeit”’, in German Art in the Twentieth Century. Painting and Sculpture 1905-1985, ed. by C.M. Joachimedes and others (London: Royal Academy of Arts / Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1985), exhibition catalogue, pp.452-454 (p.452). The English translation may also be found here. Hermand, ‘Unity within diversity?’, p.168. Ibid., p.169. Heinrich Regius, Dämmerung. Notizen in Deutschland (Zurich: Oprecht & Helbling, 1972), p.217. Harald Olbrich, ‘Die “Neue Sachlichkeit” im Widerstreit der Ideologien und Theorien zur Kunstgeschichte des 20. Jahrhunderts’, Weimarer Beiträge, 12 (1980), 65-76 (p.72). Schmalenbach, p.162.

41

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement Ich möchte im Herbst eine mittelgrosse Ausstellung von Gemälden und Graphik veranstalten, der man etwa der Titel geben könnte ‘Die neue Sachlichkeit’. Es liegt mir daran, repräsentative Werke derjenigen Künstler zu vereinigen, die in den letzten 10 Jahren weder impressionistisch aufgelöst noch expressionistisch abstract, weder rein sinnenhaft äuβerlich, noch rein konstruktiv innerlich gewesen sind. Diejenigen Künstler möchte ich zeigen, die der positiven greifbaren Wirklichkeit mit einem bekennerischen Zuge treu geblieben oder wieder treu geworden sind. Sie verstehen schon, wie ich es meine. In Betracht kommen sowohl der ‘rechte’ Flügel (Neu-Klassizisten, wenn man so sagen will), wie etwa gewisse Sachen von Picasso, Kay H. Nebel etc., als auch der linke ‘veristische’ Flügel, dem ein Beckmann, Grosz, Dix, Drexel, Scholz, etc. zugezählt werden können. I wish in the autumn to arrange a medium-sized exhibition of paintings and prints, which could be given the designation “Die neue Sachlichkeit.” I am interested in bringing together representative works of those artists who in the last ten years have been neither impressionistically relaxed nor expressionistically abstract, who have devoted themselves exclusively neither to external sense impressions, nor to pure inner construction. I wish to exhibit those artists who have remained unswervingly faithful to positive palpable reality, or who have become faithful to it once more. You will understand readily enough what I mean. Both the “right wing” (the Neo-Classicists, if one cares so to describe them), as exemplified by certain things of Picasso, Kay H. Nebel, etc., and the “veristic” left wing, to which Beckmann, Grosz, Dix, Drexel, Scholz, etc., can be assigned, fall 27 within the scope of my intentions.

Schmalenbach writes that it is open to question whether or not this Programm was realised in the exhibition. The conclusion has thus been reached that it was expressly intended to express the new (or ‘renewed’ or ‘novel’) objectivity of the pictures exhibited, this new objectivity forming indeed the common distinguishing feature that unites them all (‘objectivity’ everywhere in this article in the sense of the German Gegenständlichkeit, which means pictorial reproduction of concrete palpable objects). Although the circulars, in particular the second, [addressed directly to the artists mentioned in the first circular] might lend support to 28 this view, it is correct only with considerable limitations.

What Schmalenbach means is that to describe the art as Neue Sachlichkeit suggests that the word Sachlichkeit is given an alien meaning, ‘based evidently on an erroneous and semiconscious identification of “object” (that is, a tangible object to be represented) with Sache (in the sense of Sachlichkeit as “task” or “theme”).’29 His point is that the term is based on a misunderstanding. He points out that the art sought to represent the universal ‘something’ underlying the objectivity. ‘Hartlaub, however, evidently really believed that his formula gave direct expression in a subordinate sense as well to the new objectivity of painting (this is disclosed in particular by the circumstance that he attributed to neu also the supplementary meaning of “novel”). The misconception above referred to therefore shared in the devising of the title.’30 This further emphasises the point that the term Neue Sachlichkeit is not enough to describe the underlying message or theme of the art. Hartlaub felt that Expressionism would not just end, but would intensify, and so a simple return to realism would not be enough. He saw ‘a less utopian, and so to speak more sachlich 27

Ibid., p.161. The English translation is also included here. Ibid., p.162. 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid., p.163. 28

42

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined?

expressionism, an expressionism become more objective in its artistic production’31 as the way forward. And certainly, ‘objective’ involved a return to the object itself, and an examination of its relationship to other objects. As Otto Dix wrote in ‘Das Objekt ist das Primäre’ (‘The Object is Primary’) (1927): ‘Für mich bleibt jedenfalls das Objekt das Primäre, und die Form wird erst durch das Objekt gestaltet.’ (‘For me anyway the object remains primary, and form is fashioned only according to the object.’)32 Finally, as Schmalenbach contends, to describe this as Neue Sachlichkeit, one needs to know, which kind of old Sachlichkeit did it apparently contrast. He tells us that the contrast was intended to be the ‘“inartistic”, bourgeois, and banal nineteenth century realism,’33 and that what remained as a possibility of interpretation, ‘was the extremely plausible, but erroneous identification of Sachlichkeit with “objectivity” (Gegenständlichkeit).’34 In Schmalenbach’s view, however, this was not what Hartlaub had in mind when he originally devised the term, as certain artists who came under the Neue Sachlichkeit umbrella, particularly the right wing, did not convey this sense in their work. In explaining what he meant by his use of the term, Hartlaub wrote in a letter to Alfred H. Barr, Jnr., on 8 July 1929, The expression ought really to apply as a label to the new realism bearing a socialistic flavour. It was related to the general contemporary feeling in Germany of resignation and cynicism after a period of exuberant hopes (which had found an outlet in Expressionism). Cynicism and resignation are the negative side of the Neue Sachlichkeit, the positive side expresses itself in the enthusiasm for the immediate reality as a result of the desire to take things entirely objectively on a material basis without immediately investing them with ideal 35 implications.

Whether Hartlaub had actually intended for Neue Sachlichkeit to express socialist sentiments is not clear. However, although the artists he refers to as Verists generally came to Neue Sachlichkeit via Dada or other groups that supported Communism, there is no actual depiction of a socialist ideal in the works of Neue Sachlichkeit. The artists, at least in their work, generally remained non-committal in terms of politics, while still expressing social criticism. What Hartlaub’s letter does highlight is the retreat from engagement that came about with Neue Sachlichkeit, and in a wider European context with the ‘call to order’, following the extremely confrontational period of the likes of Dada and Futurism. While some may see this aspect of Neue Sachlichkeit as one of its major defining characteristics, others looked at it more in terms of style.

31

Ibid. Schneede, Künstlerschriften der 20er Jahre, p.166. 33 Schmalenbach, p.163. 34 Ibid., p.164. 35 Ibid., note 22. 32

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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

Style There are two critics in particular who have attempted to ascribe particular stylistic characteristics to Neue Sachlichkeit. The first was Franz Roh, who, in his book of 1925, Nach-Expressionismus. Magischer Realismus. Probleme der neuesten europäischen Malerei, described a style that directly opposed that of Expressionism.

SCHEMA Expressionismus

Nachexpressionismus

Ekstatische Gegenstände Viel religiöse Vorwürfe Objekt unterdrückend Rhythmisierend Erregend Ausschweifend Dynamisch Laut Summarisch Vordergründig (Nahbild) Nach vorn treibend Großformig Monumental Warm Dicke Farbsubstanz Aufrauhend Wie unbehauenes Gestein Arbeitsprozeß (Faktur) spüren lassend Expressive Deformierung der Objekte Diagonalreich (in Schrägen), oft spitzwinklig Gegen die Bildränder arbeitend Urtümlich

Nüchterne Gegenstände Sehr wenig religiöse Vorwürfe Objekt verdeutlichend Darstellend Vertiefend Eher streng, puristisch Statisch Still Durchführend Vorder- und Hintergründig (Nahbild + Fernbild) Auch zurückfliehend Großformig + vielspältig Miniaturartig Kühl, bis kalt Dünne Farbschicht Glättend, vertrieben Wie blank gemachtes Metall Arbeitsprozeß austilgend (reine Objektivation) Harmonische Reinigung der Gegenstände Eher rechtwinklig, dem Rahmen parallel In ihnen festsitzend Kultiviert

SCHEMA Expressionism Ecstatic objects Many religious themes The stifled object Rhythmic Arousing Excessive Dynamic Loud

44

Post-Expressionism Plain objects Few religious themes The explanatory object Representative Engrossing Rather strict, purist Static Quiet

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined? Summary Obvious (close-range image) Forward moving Large size Monumental Warm Thick colouration Roughened Like uncut stone Work process preserved (leaving traces) Expressive deformation of objects Rich in diagonals Often acute-angled Working against edges of image Primitive

Sustained Obvious and enigmatic (close- and long-range image) Also flowing backward Large size and many-columned Miniature Cool to cold Thin layer of colour Smoothed, dislodged Like polished metal Work process effaced (pure objectification) Harmonic cleansing of objects Rectangular to the frame Parallel Fixed within edges of image 36 Civilised

It should be made clear at this point that Roh’s Nachexpressionismus refers to a wider range of artists than appeared at the Neue Sachlichkeit exhibition, such as artists from, as the title of his book suggests, other European countries, including Rousseau, Derain and the pittura metafisica. However, these artists were considered in Roh’s book more as influences upon Nachexpressionismus in Germany, and his main consideration was Neue Sachlichkeit. Hence this list is pertinent. The second critic to attempt to catalogue a definite Neue Sachlichkeit style was Wieland Schmied. In the exhibition catalogue to Neue Sachlichkeit and German Realism of the Twenties, held at the Hayward Gallery in London in 1978/79, he lists these stylistic characteristics thus: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

7. 8.

a new and intentional fidelity to the outlines of objects, which contrasts in particular with the mobile, expansive, generalizing manner of the Expressionists; visual sobriety and acuity, an unsentimental, largely emotionless way of seeing; concentration on everyday things, on banal, insignificant and unpretentious subjects, betraying no aversion from what is ‘ugly’; isolation of the object from any contextual relationship, thus calling its identity into question; static pictorial structure, often suggesting a positively airless, glossy space, and a general preference for the static over the dynamic; manifest construction of a picture out of heterogeneous details which form no organic whole (the collagelike assemblage of ‘particles of experience’ suggests no experiential connection, is confirmed by no unified perspective, and is illuminated by no single light source); eradication of the traces of the process of painting, and elimination of all gestural elements which might betray the hand of the individual painter; finally, a new mental relationship with the world of objects.37

Because Neue Sachlichkeit was not a distinct movement of artists who came together to produce work according to a certain scheme or programme, for example, it is very difficult 36

Roh, Nach-Expressionismus. Magischer Realismus, p.119/120. Translation adapted from that in Kaes, and others, p.493. 37 Schmied, p.13.

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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

to produce an accurate list of its characteristics, such as the two above. This is particularly true of Roh, who has attempted to analyse the elements of Neue Sachlichkeit in such detail, that it is as easy to counter his argument as it is to prove it, simply by looking at a handful of paintings. For example, much of Max Beckmann’s work has deeply religious motives, and Dix’s portrait of Anita Berber, for instance, is far from still. In spite of this, his list does provide a general impression of what one could expect when confronted by a Neue Sachlichkeit painting. Schmied’s list is a little more successful, given the benefit of time to assess all the output of Neue Sachlichkeit, which Roh, in 1925, clearly did not have. Schmied’s list seems to be more concerned with what Hartlaub called the right-wing of Neue Sachlichkeit, and if it is viewed in this way it is a fair representation of what one could expect. However, there appears to be little room for the socially critical paintings, particularly in terms of the contextual relationships of different elements within the paintings. However, what Schmied’s list does put across very well is the idea of an attempt to make the spectator understand the artist’s experience of seeing things with a sense of alienation, and this is where the uncanny comes in. Briefly mentioned in the introduction of this book, the uncanny plays a leading role in many of the depictions by Neue Sachlichkeit artists. The importance of the artist attempting to project his or her experience lies in the fact that ‘uncanniness’ may be seen as a combination of experience and of certain objects in the world. The uncanny will be discussed later in this chapter, and in depth in Chapter Four. It is also worth pointing out that one way in which the lists show unity across Neue Sachlichkeit is that they emphasise its realist nature. Although influences are derived from the abstract arts of the recent past, such as the idea of a deeper level than that depicted, and the interest in the city environment, it would have been difficult to convey the mood of resignation or scepticism that is known of Neue Sachlichkeit if a more abstract approach was attempted. This relates in particular to the way in which the object was depicted, for it was often the position of the object, either in isolation or in relation to other objects within a painting, that conveyed the artist’s message.

The Issue of Modernity The growth of modernism was central to the development of the arts in Weimar Germany, in that they were, in many cases, defined by many of its characteristics. ‘The peculiar momentum of cultural redefinition in Germany after 1918 was leading to an intellectual fusion of seemingly disparate elements: revitalization and rationalization, mass enthusiasm and technological potential, physicality and sober contemplation.’38 As Midgley appears to suggest, modernity was not always embraced wholeheartedly, and this sense often transcended the boundaries of artistic movements. For instance, considering Roh’s feeling that Neue Sachlichkeit, or at least his formulation of it, directly opposed Expressionism, it is 38

46

Midgley, p.23.

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined?

interesting that one theme in particular was the main preoccupation of both. Modernity and the development of mechanisation and new technology were areas that both Expressionism and Neue Sachlichkeit were generally very wary of. As is seen in his response to “Ein neuer Naturalismus??”, Karl Hofer followed the Expressionist line, writing that one should be wary of the influence of mechanisation. Many saw it as the means by which so much death and destruction occurred during the war, which in turn led to the sobriety of Neue Sachlichkeit. Eberle notes the part played by technology when he writes, ‘in war, the “irrefutable thing” had triumphed – the principle of technical precision, rational deployment of war matériel, not man in a state of nature or his “will to power”.’39 The implication of this for each person taking part, was that their participation was futile in the face of this technological and mechanical onslaught. Indeed, it ‘is not surprising that the New Objectivity was an art of lone individuals who seldom came together in groups and who, in studios scattered all over Germany, created images symbolic of their lack of orientation, detachment and helplessness in an alien world.’40 The individual person was coming to be seen as less important, because in ‘a world where objectivity and smooth running are advocated, the machine seems like a symbol of perfection and robots appear more reliable than human beings.’41 Therefore one artistic reaction to this was that many artists of Neue Sachlichkeit ‘polished their paintings until they indeed resembled industrial products. Yet while they derived precision and brilliance from machinery, they did so […] in order to defend individual skill and craft against the growing hegemony of technology.’42 An example of such an artist is Carl Grossberg, who not only used industrial subjects, but also erased any sign of his brushwork, thereby erasing any sign of human involvement in the creation of his paintings. There were however supporters of technology among the Neue Sachlichkeit artists. George Grosz, for instance, described in his reply to “Ein neuer Naturalismus??”, the relatively new medium of film as ‘die modernste Bildebene überhaupt, er hat jede dynamische, simultane und futuristische Möglichkeit’ (‘really the most modern level of image capture, it has every dynamic, simultaneous and futuristic possibility.’)43 This attitude is not surprising when Grosz’s Dada background is considered, with his eagerness to embrace new forms of visual expression, for example, photomontage. In opposition to Karl Hofer, Grosz views technology as something which can be used by humans towards the common good, and as a means by which humans may come together and enjoy culture. Eine andere Gegenständlichkeit scheint in der Journalistik zu liegen, und zwar im journalistischen Tageszeichner mit Anschluß an die Rotationspresse. Dieser Zeichnertyp wird noch leben, wenn der Staffeleibildmaler längst ausgestorben ist. […] Diese Linie der Entwicklung wird ihn zusammenstellen mit den technischen Künstlern und Malern der Industrie und Reklame – mit dem konstruktivistischen Zeichner und mit dem Erfinder und Ingenieur.

39

Eberle, World War 1 and the Weimar Artists, p.10. Ibid., p.15/16. 41 Eberle, ‘Otto Dix and “Neue Sachlichkeit”’, p.452. 42 Eberle, World War 1 and the Weimar Artists, p.13. 43 Schneede, Künstlerschriften der 20er Jahre, p.144. 40

47

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement Another objectivity appears to lie in journalism, and actually with editorial cartoonists who make use of rotary presses. This type of graphic artist will live on when the easel painter has long died out. […] This line of development will place him together with the technical artists of industry and advertising – with the 44 constructivist draftsman and with the inventor and engineer.

Grosz talks about creativity in terms of making use of technology, and thereby being able to produce mass culture, a development also welcomed by Walter Benjamin, whose ideas will be discussed in the next chapter. Grosz’s emphasis on journalism confirms the direction his work was taking at this time, with all its explicit social and political criticism. Sergiusz Michalski writes of a number of artists who were supporters of technology, although the extent to which this was true will be discussed in Chapter Five. Of Hans Baluschek he writes that his ‘extensive œvre embraces scenes of squalor and injustice, portraits of harmonious family life among the lower social strata, depictions of bustling city life, and – above all - industry. The son of a railway engineer, he was one of the first to discover the “positive beauty” of technology.’45 It is clear then, that different artists had different outlooks in regard to various themes and issues that Neue Sachlichkeit concerned itself with.

Characteristics of Division In his letter to Alfred H. Barr, Jnr. (See p.43), Hartlaub appears to minimise a spiritual essence, or even undercurrent within Neue Sachlichkeit, that appears to negate what is accepted of the so-called right-wing in particular. He had taken this stance in his reply to “Ein neuer Naturalismus??”, where he had first explained his theory of the two different strands of contemporary art. In it, he writes that the generation of artists involved with contemporary art had imposed constraints upon their own work, which led not to the representation of a higher form of organic life, but to a cynical form of Futurism, whereby the machine would exert more and more influence. This Futurist aspect allowed for ‘Gleichnisse unserer perversen Zeit’ (‘comparisons with our perverse times.’)46 Also, and far more interestingly, ‘mußte die Reaktion zwangsläufig eintreten, genau wie auf politischem Gebiet heute Reaktion herrscht und Resignation nach all den mächtigen Utopien von 1918’ (‘reaction must inevitably come in, exactly as in today’s political arena reaction rules, and resignation, after all the great utopias of 1918.’)47 He then goes on to describe the two strands as he sees them, both of which could be said to have this reactionary element. He describes the right wing as ‘konservativ bis zum Klassizismus, im Zeitlosen Wurzel fassend, will nach so viel Verstiegenheit und Chaos das Gesunde, Körperlich-Plastische in reiner Zeichnung nach der Natur, vielleicht noch mit Übertreibung 44

Ibid. Michalski, p.49. 46 Schneede, Künstlerschriften der 20er Jahre, p.149. 47 Ibid. 45

48

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined?

des Erdhaften, Rundgewachsenen wieder heiligen. Michelangelo, Ingres, Genelli, selbst die Nazarener sollen Kronzeugen sein’ (‘conservative as far as classicism, rooted in something timeless, which wants once again, after so much extravagance and chaos, to make sacred that which is healthy, physical and workable, drawn purely after nature, perhaps still with exaggeration of what is natural and living.’)48 This wing is easiest defined as the less critical side of the neuer Naturalismus, because it is strongly linked to a classical tradition, just as Hartlaub describes. It also caused far less controversy than the left wing, attempting as it did to portray subjects other than the social upheaval of the time. This is perhaps what makes this art the less critical of the two wings, for surely it is a purpose of art to represent the world as seen by the artist, whether abstract or realist, and not to seek to deny certain facets of the world. That is not to say that the left wing is not reactionary in any way. Hartlaub describes it thus: ‘Der andere linke Flügel, grell zeitgenössisch, weit weniger kunstgläubig, eher aus Verneinung der Kunst geboren, sucht mit primitiver Feststellungs-, nervöser Selbstentblößungssucht Aufdeckung des Chaos, wahres Gesicht unserer Zeit.’ (‘The other left wing, sharply contemporary, with far less belief in art, more likely born out of a denial of art, seeks, on a primitive quest for the establishment and self-exposing revelation of chaos, the true face of our time.’)49 The reactionary element of this left wing comes from the limitations in subject matter and standpoint that it imposed upon itself, and did not allow for change in the future. ‘In many ways, Neue Sachlichkeit aesthetics represented a retreat from the modern world, its machinery and the dispossession of the human that was associated with it.’50 Of course, Hartlaub could not know how Neue Sachlichkeit would develop, but was very astute to see this reactionary element at the outset. He did not, however, dismiss the art because of it, and he himself was responsible for the further development of Neue Sachlichkeit painting as a concept when he sent the first circular to artists and dealers in 1923 (see p.42). It is clear that by this stage Hartlaub had a very definite idea of what he wanted Neue Sachlichkeit to mean, and that he would oppose the continuation of the types of painting that preceded the war. In spite of what he wrote about Expressionism and reaction in relation to the new style, it would be a type of realism which related to the Germany of the 1920s that would give Neue Sachlichkeit its legitimacy. It is also here that Hartlaub first states what he would later reiterate in the exhibition catalogue; that he was not opposed to those artists who had painted as Expressionists, provided that a change of approach had since taken place. This would certainly apply to artists such as Dix, Beckmann, Kanoldt, and Schrimpf, who all painted in an abstract style before and during the war. The historian Misch Orend wrote in 1928, also regarding the influence of pre-war art, that ‘man muß schon weit zurück gehen, um eine ähnliche Kunst, eine ähnliche Sehweise und eine ähnliche Haltung den Dingen gegenüber wieder zu finden. Es ist der Nachklang nach der großen Erregung des Expressionismus, der den neuen Menschen und seine Kunst bestimmt.’ (‘One has to go back a long way to find a similar art, a similar way of seeing, 48

Ibid. Ibid. 50 James Malpas, Realism (London: Tate Gallery, 1997), p.38/40. 49

49

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

and a similar attitude toward things. It is the echo following upon the great commotion of expressionism that defines the new people and their art.’)51 So it is clear that some critics and those involved at the time were fully of the view that Expressionism did have an influence. One must therefore be careful not to pay too much heed to Dada rhetoric opposing Expressionism when one considers Neue Sachlichkeit, in spite of the involvement of artists linked to both movements, such as Schlichter, Grosz and Dix. Orend’s piece is entitled ‘Der magische Realismus’, a term first coined by Franz Roh, who believed that the term Neue Sachlichkeit did not appropriately distinguish the art from the realism of the past. Orend has clearly aligned himself with this line of thought, in believing that Magic Realism as a term, ‘etwas Wesentliches der neuen Kunst bezeichnet, das im ersten Namen nicht drinnen liegt. Der Dämon, der alle Blicke blind machte, tritt zurück, teilt sich den Dingen mit, umflutet sie, gibt ihnen die Kraft, die jedes Symbol hat, das für eine unfaßbare Wesenheit steht’ (‘indicates something essential in the new art, something that the first name fails to capture. The demon that blinds all eyes retreats a step, enters into communication with things, surrounds them in its sea, bestows on them the power borne by every symbol that stands for something incomprehensibly essential.’)52 It is therefore interesting that while Orend sees so much implied in this term, Roh wrote in the preamble to his book Nach-Expressionismus. Magischer Realismus, Auf den Titel “Magischer Realismus” legen wir keinen besonderen Wert. Da das Kind einen wirklichen Namen haben muβte und “Nachexpressionismus” nur Abstammung und zeitliche Beziehung ausdrückt, fügten wir, nachdem das Buch längst geschrieben war, jenen zweiten hinzu. Er erschien uns wenigstens treffender als “idealer Realismus” oder als “Verismus” und “Neuklassizismus”, welche je nur einen Teil der Bewegung darstellen. We place no particular value upon the title “Magic Realism”. As the child had to have a proper name, and “Postexpressionism” expressed only origin and contemporary relationships, we included this second name long after the book was written. It seems to us at least more appropriate than “ideal realism” or “verism” and 53 “neo-classicism”, which only represent a part of the movement.

So while Roh sees the term as covering more than Hartlaub’s two wings, he attaches little importance to the actual term ‘Magic Realism’ in terms of defining this new art. Orend, on the other hand, clearly feels that it implies something deeply spiritual in the art, which seems to connect more with Hartlaub’s right wing than with Verism. For while Verism takes the modern world as its subject matter, Orend suggests that Magic Realism takes the original, deeper, non-empirical essence of this world, without necessarily the intervention of human influence, and uses it to create something new and mysterious. ‘Diese neue Magie ist das erschaute Dasein der Dinge selbst wie sie, ohne auf den Menschen bezogen, sich selbst bewahren. Es ist ihre Einzigkeit und dadurch Unendlichkeit, mit der unheimlichen Ruhe, die sie umgibt.’ (‘This new magic is the visible existence of the things themselves as 51

Misch Orend, ‘Der magische Realismus’, Klingsor. Siebenbürgische Zeitschrift, (January 1928), 25-27 (p.25). Translated in Kaes, and others, pp.494/495 (p.494). 52 Ibid. Translation from Kaes, and others, p.494. 53 Roh, Nach-Expressionismus. Magischer Realismus, preamble.

50

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined?

they preserve it in themselves without reference to the human world. It is their uniqueness – and therefore infinity – with the uncanny calm that surrounds them.’)54 This suggests a world where things as well as people are in some way endowed with life, and this idea of unheimliche Ruhe, or uncanny calm, is a distinct feature of a number of Neue Sachlichkeit artists, most notably Franz Radziwill and Carl Grossberg. As Orend wrote, ‘alles Einzige und Einmalige lebt in einer ungeheueren Verlassenheit,’ (‘everything unique and singular lives within an enormous loneliness’),55 and it is this loneliness that distinguishes an area of Neue Sachlichkeit art from other areas. It should be noted, however, that this type of idea was not new. J.L. Koerner, for example, points out that a similar device was present in the work of Caspar David Friedrich, whose work leaves a sense of the unexpected beyond the realm of what is on the canvas. ‘What renders the symmetry of the fir grove uneasy, for example, is our dizzying sense that, were we able to glimpse beyond the edges of the picture, we would discover a forest of fir trees stretching endlessly and without order into space.’56 This sense is evident, for example, in Abtei im Eichwald (Abbey in the Oak Forest) (1809/10), a depiction of a ruined abbey surrounded by leafless trees in the halflight, as the viewer is not sure where the forest begins or ends, such is the darkness that veils the bare trees. This would not normally be a consideration, but the eeriness within the painting leads the spectator to ask how one got here, and how one gets out. As will be demonstrated in Chapters Four and Five, the idea of the uncanny goes much further than this in the painting of Neue Sachlichkeit, but it is worth bearing in mind that the idea had a precedent in German art more than a hundred years before. While accepting a spiritual influence, Franz Roh discounts that of Expressionism, instead seeing a renewed spirituality in the world of the object. ‘The charm of the object was rediscovered. In opposition to Expressionism, the autonomy of the object world around us was once more to be enjoyed; the wonder of matter that could crystallize into objects was to be seen anew.’57 However, he proceeds by describing how he sees Neue Sachlichkeit in a different light to Hartlaub. As a term it was, […] a formulation I had avoided – to imply that we were not dealing here with a repetition of the more neutral realism of Courbet or Leibl. This new objectivity was aimed in quite a different direction, seeking an approach to the autonomous sharpness of objects, as in the late Middle Ages, the quattrocento or to the revolutionary form-hardening classicism of David or Ingres. Moreover, the emphasis in relation to the objective world 58 implied abstraction, not empathy.

This suggests a less tangible form of art than Hartlaub was aiming for, and would seem to disown Verism altogether. This is further emphasised when he writes, This new direction, however, included too many restorative components; too many expressive structural styles which had been successful were now thrown overboard. To succeed, restorations must include, transformed 54

Orend, p.26. Translation in Kaes, and others, p.494. Ibid. Translation in Kaes, and others, p.494. 56 J.L. Koerner, Caspar David Friedrich and the Subject of Landscape (London: Reaktion Books, 1990), p.14. 57 Franz Roh, German Art in the Twentieth Century (London: Thames & Hudson, 1968), p.112. 58 Ibid., p.113. 55

51

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement within themselves, almost the total wealth of the period being broken up – and thus of the preceding 59 revolutions; otherwise, as soon happened in this case, they are swept away by the impact of new revolutions.

Because the Verists had no interest in restoring the components of the recent past, they denied themselves a future through their own narrow-mindedness. For example, ‘weisen die Dix und Groβ absolute Unzulänglichkeit des Lebens auf und betreiben, das gesamte Dasein als hassenswert, mindestens als ekelnde Enge gegenüber den Möglichkeiten der weiten, im Grunde noch immer unverteilten Welt anzusehen.’ (‘Dix and Grosz show the absolute inadequacy of life, and push forward the idea of existence as hateworthy, at least to be seen as a vile confinement when compared to the possibilities of a wide world which is basically still unfairly shared out.’)60 That is not to say, however, that one cannot be critical whilst retaining this spiritual element, for instance Heinrich Maria Davringhausen, ‘ist straff, schneidend und gefestigt im Kompositionellen, aber in der gekühlten, oft magisch schillernden Farbe noch nicht immer ohne einen Stich ins Giftige’ (‘is severe, cutting and established in composition, but in the cool, often magically shimmering colours is still not always without a prick of poison.’)61 Davringhausen came from Munich, where Roh saw the true seat of this new realism, not least because of its proximity to southern Europe and in particular the artists of the Italian pittura metafisica. ‘Südliche und nördliche Reaktionswellen schlugen dann aber zusammen: man trat in Austausch und 1923 schrieb [Carlo] Carrà ein Buch über [Georg] Schrimpf, Ausdruck gewisser innerer Verwandtschaft.’ (‘But southern and northern waves of reaction then came together: exchanges took place, and in 1923 [Carlo] Carrà wrote a book about [Georg] Schrimpf, the expression of a certain inner relatedness.’)62 To Roh, the importance of this Italian influence could not be underestimated, for without it the ‘banal realism that was to flourish in the Third Reich appeared.’63 A further interpretation of Magic Realism is attempted by Wieland Schmied, while retaining Hartlaub’s original division. In the right-wingers or Magic Realists it appears as an often desperate endeavour to patch together the fragments of a disintegrating fabric, and to recall the image of a whole, harmonious world; in the Veristic and committed painters it appears as the attempt to bring the dislocations and contradictions of our modern existence to the level of consciousness; to lay a finger on the wound. Both wings had one thing in common: 64 the realization that reality can no longer be depicted without being interpreted.

While appearing to give more legitimacy to the Verists than Roh had, Schmied still sees a fundamental difference in the right wing. What he has written above suggests that the Magic Realists, his notion of the right wing, were in fact aiming at recreating an ideal, something Hartlaub denied in his letter to Alfred H. Barr, Jnr. in 1929. A brief glimpse at many of these works also shows that those painters considered to be of the right wing are in 59 60 61 62 63 64

52

Ibid. Roh, Nach-Expressionismus. Magischer Realismus, p.86. Ibid., p.78. Ibid., p.113. Roh, German Art in the Twentieth Century, p.113. Schmied, p.15.

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined?

no way attempting to recreate an ideal, particularly when the notion of the uncanny comes into play, which is in no way interested in a ‘whole, harmonious world’. In support of his view, Schmied takes a quotation from one of the painters themselves: ‘“We have painted inwards from the outside”, said [Ernst] Thoms once, and these simple words constitute the best definition of the starting point and the goal of Neue Sachlichkeit. It begins with the banal everyday objects which surround us, but aims at a reinterpretation of the world.’65 While Thoms’ words sum up what is generally accepted about Neue Sachlichkeit, that is, an inner truth depicted within an outer objectivity, there is certainly no suggestion that an ideal is sought, nor that fragments of reality are patched together in order to recreate a whole. On the contrary, the evidence within the pictures points to an attempt to show the fragmentary nature of life at that time as clearly as possible, and this applied to both wings, as seen by Hartlaub. Schmied is not the only scholar who has had difficulty in pinning down a meaning or goal of Neue Sachlichkeit. Of the number of disparate tendencies within Neue Sachlichkeit, Jost Hermand has produced one of the fullest accounts. In 1978, Hermand wrote with Fritz Trommler, ‘es wurde daher beliebt, im Hinblick auf die Malerei der Neuen Sachlichkeit von einem neoklassischen, neobiedermeierlichen, neonazarenischen, ingristischen oder veristischen Flügel dieser Bewegung zu sprechen und die einzelnen Sparten einer säuberlichen Stilanalyse zu unterwerfen’ (‘from there it was popular to speak, in relation to the painting of Neue Sachlichkeit, of a neo-classical, neo-biedermeier, neo-nazarene, Ingristic, or veristic wing of the movement, and to subject the individual branches to a clinical analysis of style’),66 and that ‘die Verschiedenartigkeit dieser Einflüsse beweist, daβ die Neue Sachlichkeit keine wirkliche geschlossene Gruppe war’, (the diversity of these influences proves that Neue Sachlichkeit was not a real, unified group.’)67 However, as Hermand wrote previously, certain scholars ‘see in Neue Sachlichkeit a complex of competing artistic tendencies which do indeed differ greatly in their ideological execution but in style and inner bearing have ineradicable points in common, and thus must also be treated as a “common group”.’68 Hermand describes Franz Roh and Wieland Schmied as being amongst these scholars, who listed a number of criteria in an attempt to impose a degree of cohesion upon Neue Sachlichkeit. One has the feeling, looking at Schmied’s list that he has simply tried to mix Verism and Neoclassicism when he writes of Neue Sachlichkeit. What is achieved is an inaccurate kind of unity, as he makes no attempt to isolate the individual characteristics of each wing, nor does he consider the aims of the individual artists. As Buderer and Fath have written, the ‘Beschreibung der formalen Merkmale muβ grundsätzlich im Rückbezug zu den Inhalten und Aussageabsichten des Künstlers gesehen werden. So wird deutlich, daβ Formgebung und malerische Umsetzung der abzubildenden Gegenständlichkeit sich nicht an der Frage nach der visuellen Identität der Darstellung orientieren’ (‘description of the formal characteristics must fundamentally 65

Ibid. Jost Hermand and Frank Trommler, Die Kultur der Weimarer Republik (Munich: Nymphenburger Verlagshandlung, 1978), p.393. 67 Ibid. 68 Hermand, ‘Unity within diversity?’, p.172. 66

53

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

be seen in relation to the content and expressive intentions of the artists. So it becomes clear that design and the artistic transformation of the physical world to be rendered, do not orientate themselves to the question of the visual identity of the representation.’)69 In other words, these paintings cannot be properly appreciated without considering the outlook of the artists who executed them. Hence lists such as those compiled by Roh and Schmied only tell half the story. The problems of looking at Neue Sachlichkeit without taking this into account become clearer when Hermand tells us of the situation in the former GDR, where there was of course interest in the realism of Neue Sachlichkeit. According to Hermand, the art historian Wolfgang Hütt sees a clear difference between the left and right wings.70 The predictability of this view is pointed out by Hermand when he writes that one ‘need scarcely mention that only to Verism is attributed the ability to make social reality really “transparent”.’71 Hence these works were regarded as a show of commitment to the left, in spite of, for instance, Grosz’s disillusionment with the Communist Party at the time many of his works were executed, and Dix’s denial of any political involvement at all. However, the exhibition Realismus und Sachlichkeit, held in 1974 at the East Berlin National Gallery, came in Hermand’s view, ‘considerably closer to the actual group structures than all previous attempts at classification.’72 This exhibition was divided into five groups, one of which was entitled ‘Neue Sachlichkeit’, although all have been drawn under the same umbrella at some point. The groups were as follows: ‘Dadaism (Hausmann, Schwitters),Verism (Beckmann, Dix, Grosz, Scholz, Schlichter, Hubbuch, Schad), “Neue Sachlichkeit” (Grossberg, Räderscheidt, Lenk, Kanoldt, Schrimpf, Mense), proletarian revolutionary art (Griebel, Nagel, Grundig, Querner) and Political Constructivism (Hoerle, Seiwert, Nerlinger, Arntz).’73 While this is a more extensive attempt at classifying various elements of Neue Sachlichkeit, it still leaves questions such as how much of a realist artist was Raoul Hausmann, and can the likes of Beckmann and Schad be called Verists? A final means of attempting to divide Neue Sachlichkeit into cohesive groups, which has proved popular, is to do it topographically. According to Wieland Schmied, ‘a geographical approach works because the Neue Sachlichkeit artists did not move around very much (partly for financial reasons and because most of them worked within very strong regional traditions or schools.’74 Franz Roh describes the artists from the north and east of Germany as ‘aggressive and socially critical’.75 This was in contrast to the painters of the south, where ‘the artists were more melancholy and were associated with the Italian arte metafisica, which, like the work of Germany’s nineteenth century “Nazarenes”, sought a link with the Italian art of the early Renaissance.’76 Sergiusz Michalski arranges his book 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76

54

Buderer & Fath, p.74. Hermand, ‘Unity within diversity?’, p.175. Ibid. Ibid., p.176. Ibid. Schmied, p.16. Roh, German Art in the Twentieth Century, p.114. Ibid.

Neue Sachlichkeit Defined?

New Objectivity (1994) in terms of geographical position, looking in particular at the Neue Sachlichkeit ‘centres’ of Berlin, Dresden, Munich, Karlsruhe, Düsseldorf and Hanover. Attempts to explore the divisions of Neue Sachlichkeit in this way do indeed highlight some similarities in certain regions. For instance, the Hanover artists, a very close-knit group for a time, ‘seien […] hauptsächlich deshalb politische Menschen gewesen, weil sie einmal durch ihre Lebens- und Arbeitsumstände stärker auf gesellschaftspolitische Zusammenhänge aufmerksam gemacht wurden als andere Künstler und weil sie zum zweiten von Auβenstehenden schlicht als solche wahrgenommen wurden’ (‘would therefore have been mainly political people, because firstly they were made more strongly attentive of sociopolitical contexts, due to their living and working conditions, than other artists, and secondly because they were as such perceived to belong to the second stratum of outsiders.’)77 However, the number of regions that displayed very different outputs outweigh regional similarities. ‘Karlsruhe must be discussed as one of the main centres of Neue Sachlichkeit activity. Hubbuch, Scholz and Schnarrenberger taught at the academy there, but this does not mean that Hubbuch’s biting social criticism and Schnarrenberger’s generally optimistic view of the world have anything in common.’78 This necessary contradiction of his own argument is compounded when Schmied writes that a number of the leading artists, such as Dix, Schad and Davringhausen did not stay in one place,79 and so could not be stylistically linked to any one region. Finally, as is seen in Michalski, there is the problem with this approach of having to describe such outstanding Neue Sachlichkeit personalities as Max Beckmann and Franz Radziwill as ‘outsiders’, as they do not fit into any regional pigeonhole. This chapter has highlighted a number of points which merit further discussion. As the general consensus among critics is that Neue Sachlichkeit has an aspect that goes deeper than the objective reality portrayed, how much of this can be attributed to Expressionism, and does it only apply to particular artists? Is Neue Sachlichkeit adequate as an umbrella term, or can it really only be applied to a specific area of the movement? Indeed, in terms of definition, does it serve any useful purpose at all? If it was beset by divisions, can Neue Sachlichkeit be seen as unified in any way at all? By expanding some of the points noted in this chapter, and by looking at the paintings, answers may be found to these questions, and this will be carried out in the next two chapters.

77

I. Katenhusen, ‘“In summa so etwas wie das künstlerische Gesicht unserer Stadt”? Die Stadt, die Provinz und die Maler der Neuen Sachlichkeit in den zwanziger und dreißiger Jahren’, in “Der stärkste Ausdruck unserer Tage”. Neue Sachlichkeit in Hannover, (Hannover: Sprengel Museum / Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag, 2001), exhibition catalogue, pp.35-47 (p.46). 78 Schmied, p.21. 79 Ibid., pp.20-26.

55

4. A Theoretical Approach

In order to give a comprehensive interpretation of the paintings of Neue Sachlichkeit, it is necessary to consider a wide range of sources, which relate to ideas that concern the art directly, as well as to the times in which it was created. Bearing in mind Chapter Five, which will explore the paintings critically, this chapter will aim to establish pathways which will achieve this end. Firstly, the two-levelled approach, generally accepted as being characteristic of Neue Sachlichkeit, will be examined in terms of Walter Benjamin’s allegorical model, with the overall aim of providing a framework for the discussion of the idea that Neue Sachlichkeit has an analytical quality which uncovers a certain truth by depicting another, and whether or not this is a characteristic which features in the work of the majority of Neue Sachlichkeit artists. Considering the clear influence of the European avant-garde upon many Neue Sachlichkeit artists, the position of Neue Sachlichkeit in relation to modernism will be examined. The main aim of this line of enquiry is to establish if any artists were simply practising an updated naturalism as opposed to something genuinely neu. This will also relate to the penultimate chapter, on National Socialism. Finally, the main subject matter of Neue Sachlichkeit, that is, the many aspects of modernity found within the paintings, will be explored in order to lend a clearer understanding of the various treatments of certain themes. This section will largely deal with the growth in size and importance of the urban landscape, with all it entailed, and the position of the individual in the face of this.

Allegory and the Inner and Outer Levels of Neue Sachlichkeit A common conception of Neue Sachlichkeit is that it works on two levels, an outer, objective level, and an inner, subjective one. Critics in the past have touched upon this aspect, but rarely studied it in any depth. For example, Matthias Eberle writes, in relation to themes frequently tackled by the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit: Feelings act as a spanner in the works, they interfere. Love is limited to sex, in return for which one either owes or demands a favour. Loneliness is most agreeably alleviated by keeping oneself constantly amused. Now, if the artist sets about painting all of this objectively, soberly and without prejudice, then all the absurd, subjective and uncontrollable elements – which objectivity is attempting to drive out of the front – come in 1 again through the back door.

Franz Roh also notes a deeper level than the objective depiction, although he applies this only to his conception of Magic Realism, when he writes, ‘daß das Geheimnis nicht in die 1

Eberle, Otto Dix and “Neue Sachlichkeit”’, p.452.

A Theoretical Approach

dargestellte Welt eingeht, sondern sich hinter ihr zurückhält’, (‘that the secret does not enter the represented world, but hides itself behind it.’)2 Buderer and Fath write, however, that it is the way the artist depicts the world of objects, that, ‘bestimmt ihre Geheimnisse’, (‘determines its secrets.’)3 However, while it is acknowledged that these two levels are present, there is little insight beyond this. Eberle goes further than most when he points out that Neue Sachlichkeit exists as two states, a style, and a state of mind. ‘Briefly, the difference between the two senses lies in the fact that the style repeatedly reveals that which the state of mind denies. The objective outlook is peculiar to the businessman, the engineer, the surgeon. They can ill afford to make mistakes for, other consequences apart, these cost time and money.’4 The state of mind described here has been discussed already, and will be discussed further in the following chapter. However, it is worth looking at the style, and how the two-levelled approach actually works. The total output of Neue Sachlichkeit is too large to ascribe any single device to it, but a large proportion of it may be seen in terms of allegory. Other devices employed by the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit are explored later in this chapter. Religious allegory is found in Neue Sachlichkeit, but is distinct from the allegory discussed here, and is explored in the following chapter. A wider-reaching form of allegory that may be considered, in interpreting the paintings of Neue Sachlichkeit, is the model proposed by Peter Bürger in his book, Theorie der Avantgarde (Theory of the Avant-Garde) (1974). This model is based on the allegorical concept put forward by Walter Benjamin in Ursprung des deutschen Trauerspiels (The Origins of German Tragic Drama) (1928), and is appropriate to this book because Bürger transfers Benjamin’s allegorical model from literature to the visual arts of the twentieth century. In brief, Benjamin’s concept of allegory is that the allegorist takes one element from a given situation, and thus the ‘Bild im Feld der allegorischen Intuition ist Bruchstück, Rune. Seine symbolische Schönheit verflüchtigt sich, da das Licht der Gottesgelahrtheit drauf trifft. Der falsche Schein der Totalität geht aus’, (‘in the field of allegorical intuition the image is a fragment, a rune. Its beauty as a symbol evaporates when the light of divine learning falls upon it. The false appearance of totality is extinguished.’)5 The allegorist then joins such isolated fragments together, to create a posited meaning, although the meaning created may be intentional or accidental. Of baroque literature Benjamin writes, Denn jenen Dichtungen ist es gemein, ohne strenge Vorstellung eines Ziels Bruchstücke ganz unausgesetzt zu häufen und in der unablässigen Erwartung eines Wunders Stereotypien für Steigerung zu nehmen. […]. Und wenn es andererseits als das errechenbare Resultat der Häufung ihnen winkte, ist beides um nichts weniger vereinbar, als das ersehnte wunderbare “Werk” mit den subtilen theoretischen Rezepten in dem Bewuβtsein eines Alchimisten.

2 3 4 5

Roh, Nach-Expressionismus. Magischer Realismus, preamble. Buderer & Fath, p.69. Eberle, ‘Otto Dix and “Neue Sachlichkeit”’, p.452. Walter Benjamin, Gesammelte Schriften (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1974), I.1., p.352. In English: Walter Benjamin, The Origins of German Tragic Drama (London: Verso, 1985), p.176.

57

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement For it is common practice in the literature of the baroque to pile up fragments ceaselessly, without any strict idea of a goal, and, in the unremitting expectation of a miracle, to take the repetition of stereotypes for a process of intensification. […] And if, on the other hand, it seemed to be the calculable result of the process of accumulation, it is no more difficult to reconcile these two things than it was for the alchemist to reconcile the 6 longed-for miraculous “work” and the subtle theoretical recipes.

In terms of the visual arts, and particularly Neue Sachlichkeit, it seems more likely that the posited meaning was no accident. However, the fact that the themes still speak so strongly to the audience of the twenty-first century, could not have been predicted by the artists who painted them, and is far more of an accident. Benjamin’s final point in relation to his allegorical system is that allegory is the expression of melancholy, in that the images involved are no longer capable of producing any meaning or significance of their own. Meaning becomes entirely dependent upon the allegorist, and this may be related to Neue Sachlichkeit, in that the sum of the fragments used by the artist in a painting or montage relates to a process of social decline as seen by the artist. The original meaning of the individual objects, when viewed in their normal contexts, is often lost. In this way, the appropriateness of allegory becomes clear. Before relating Benjamin’s idea of allegory to Neue Sachlichkeit, it is worthwhile considering Peter Bürger’s application of these theories to the avant-garde, to demonstrate how a literary allegorical model may be applied to the visual arts. He begins by reminding the reader of the meaning of organic and non-organic forms of art, with organic referring more to a classical style, that is, a representation of a living organism. Non-organic, under which category the avant-garde falls, is seen as the treatment of nothing but materials, used in such a way as to produce visual art.7 It is possible to consider Neue Sachlichkeit as nonorganic because the subjects of some Neue Sachlichkeit art were treated entirely objectively, that is, as nothing more than materials, the means to an end. This applies particularly to still life and to paintings which are constructed like montages. Where it does not apply is to large areas of the portraiture of Neue Sachlichkeit, and to specific themes where a social comment is passed. In these cases, there is too much emotion involved for the artists to consider the subjects objectively. A good example here is Otto Dix’s Frau mit Kind (Woman with Child) (1921). This painting is looked at in depth in Chapter Five, but it is worth noting how the subjects in the painting are treated with respect and dignity, as human beings, and not simply as materials. As a non-organic art, Neue Sachlichkeit may be considered as fitting Bürger’s model, which holds that the first two elements of Benjamin’s concept relate strongly to montage, and may therefore be seen to relate to some Neue Sachlichkeit. ‘Der Avantgardist […] fügt Fragmente zusammen mit der Intention der Sinnsetzung (wobei der Sinn sehr wohl der Hinweis darauf sein kann, daß es keinen Sinn mehr gibt)’, (‘The avant-gardiste […] joins fragments with the intent of positing meaning [where the meaning may well be the message

6 7

58

Ibid., p.354. Translation from Benjamin, Tragic Drama, p.178. Peter Bürger, Theorie der Avantgarde (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1974), p.95.

A Theoretical Approach

that meaning has ceased to exist].’)’8 While the last part of this quotation may well refer to a movement such as Dada, for instance, it is interesting that Bürger writes of producing an intended meaning by juxtaposing certain fragments. As Chapter Six of this book demonstrates, this was exactly the method employed by the producers of photomontage, but in a more subtle way, also by painters. Bürger’s own example is the early ‘montage painting’ of the Cubists. Bei dem Versuch, die wirkungsästhetischen Intentionen zu bestimmen, die sich an den ersten MontageBildern ablesen lassen, muß man äußerst behutsam verfahren. Dem Einkleben von Zeitungspapier in Bilder eignet zweifellos ein provokatorisches Moment. Allerdings wird man diese auch nicht überschätzen dürfen; denn im ganzen bleiben die Realitätsfragmente weitgehend einer ästhetischen Bildkomposition unterworfen, die sich um Ausgewogenheit der Einzelelemente (Volumen, Farben etc.) bemüht. Die Intention ließe sich am ehesten als eine gebrochene bestimmen: Zwar geht es um die Zerstörung des organischen, auf die Abbildung von Realität festgelegten Werks, aber doch nicht wie in den historischen Avantgardebewegungen um eine Infragestellung von Kunst überhaupt; vielmehr ist durchaus die Herstellung eines ästhetischen Objekts beabsichtigt, das sich jedoch den traditionellen Regeln der Beurteilung entzieht. One must proceed with great care as one attempts to define the intended aesthetic effects that may be observed in the first montage canvases. There is unquestionably an element of provocation in sticking a piece of newspaper on a painting. But this must not be overestimated, for the reality fragments remain largely subordinate to the aesthetic composition, which seeks to create a balance of individual elements (volume, colours, etc). The intent can best be defined as tentative: although there is destruction of the organic work that portrays reality, art itself is not being called into question, as it is in the historic avant-garde movements. Instead, the intent to create an aesthetic object is clear, though that object eludes judgement by traditional 9 rules.

This is opposed to photomontages, in that they ‘sind nicht primär ästhetische Objekte, sondern Lesebilder’ (‘are not primarily aesthetic objects, but images for reading’.)10 Neue Sachlichkeit did retain an aesthetic purpose, in common with the Cubist montage canvases noted by Bürger, indeed more so, as very few Neue Sachlichkeit paintings had anything attached to the canvas that would not normally be present in a painting. In this way, the difference between Neue Sachlichkeit and other modernist movements may be seen, although it did have a great deal in common with the avant-garde, as will be discussed later in this chapter. Where Bürger is unquestionably correct is in stating that such art as the Cubist montages may not be judged by traditional means. In terms of Neue Sachlichkeit, the paintings need to be considered in a different light, for example in terms of the uncanny, the development of technology and urbanisation, and the growing sense of isolation and alienation as felt by the individual. One may see how the allegorical approach works when it is applied to specific Neue Sachlichkeit paintings. Georg Scholz’s Industriebauern (Industrialised Farmers) of 1920, a 8

Ibid. Translation from Peter Bürger, Theory of the Avant-Garde (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1984), p.70. 9 Ibid., p.99-101. Translation from Theory of the Avant-Garde, p.74. 10 Ibid., p.101.

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portrait of the most revolting family imaginable, contains several fragments that may be said to be removed from their usual contexts. These include a frog, a piglet, a printed headline on the boy’s head, banknotes inside the father’s head, and a bolt on the mother’s head. The fact that the three figures within the painting are not treated sympathetically points to the purpose of these unusual fragments. They are placed in the painting deliberately by the artist, in order that an intended meaning may be achieved. In this case, it is to emphasise the unpleasantness of this family, and each member of the family is juxtaposed with a specific item that points to their individual character. Therefore the deliberateness of posing the slimy boy with a frog, the fat, bull-necked mother with a pig, and the bolt-upright pater familias with banknotes and a Bible, becomes clear. Benjamin’s point regarding melancholy may also be demonstrated here, in that the meaning of the fragments, deprived of their normal contexts, is entirely in the hands of the allegorist, Georg Scholz. They have lost their original, individual meanings. Of course, there are not many paintings that demonstrate this allegorical model so clearly, but this does not mean that it may not be applied. Neue Sachlichkeit may be seen to work by depicting objects in isolation, that is, as fragments. If the constituent elements of paintings are seen in this way, deprived of context, and individually given meaning, then a great number of Neue Sachlichkeit paintings may be interpreted allegorically. Heinrich Maria Davringhausen’s Der Schieber (The Black-Marketeer) (1920/21) has numerous fragments which may be seen to have individual meanings, which come together to enable the painting to be interpreted. The man is well dressed, and obviously well-off. The wine and cigars suggest wealth and luxury, the dividers suggest calculation, the telephone suggests modernity and communication. If these elements are brought together, they point to a wealthy businessman or industrialist. However, Bürger’s point about the retention of an aesthetic purpose becomes important here, as the areas within the painting that do not contain fragments, or allegory, add to the interpretation. Its very emptiness, and the suggestion of isolation, brought about by the buildings in the style of the pittura metafisica, adds a sinister feel to the scene. This is all apparent from the picture itself, without knowing from the title that the man is a black-marketeer. In this way, as Bürger writes, these paintings do not lend themselves to interpretation by traditional means, but must be considered in relation to the problems and development of the modern world.

Neue Sachlichkeit in Relation to Modernism In his aesthetic theories, the philosopher G.W.F. Hegel describes the development of art in three stages: symbolic, classical, and romantic, before art effectively ‘ended’. Peter Bürger points out, however, that Hegel did allow for further development in art after the romantic stage, in that the dialectic of form and content, which had always been central to art, shifted in favour of form.11 This indicates a change, which would allow for the development of the 11

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Ibid., p.130.

A Theoretical Approach

aesthetic movement at the end of the nineteenth century. However, as demonstrated by Herbert Read in his essay ‘Surrealism and the Romantic Principle’ (1936), Hegel’s dialectic method can allow for continual progression in art. In short, human consciousness and world history have always developed by means of a series of contradictory elements emerging into something new. Das Einzige, um den wissenschaftlichen Fortgang zu gewinnen […], ist die Erkenntnis des logischen Satzes, daβ das Negative ebensosehr positiv ist oder daβ das sich Widersprechende sich nicht in Null, in das abstrakte Nichts auflöst, sondern wesentlich nur in die Negation seines besonderen Inhalts, oder daβ eine solche Negation nicht alle Negation, sondern die Negation der bestimmten Sache, die sich auflöst, somit bestimmte Negation ist; daβ also im Resultate wesentlich das enthalten ist, woraus es resultiert, - was eigentlich eine Tautologie ist, denn sonst wäre es ein Unmittelbares, nicht ein Resultat. Indem das Resultierende, die Negation, bestimmte Negation ist, hat sie einen Inhalt. All that is necessary to achieve scientific progress […] is the recognition of the logical principle that the negative is just as much positive, or that what is self-contradictory does not resolve itself into a nullity, into abstract nothingness, but essentially only into the negation of its particular content, in other words, that such a negation is not all and every negation but the negation of a specific subject matter which resolves itself, and consequently is a specific negation, and therefore the result essentially contains that from which it results; which strictly speaking is a tautology, for otherwise it would be an immediacy, not a result. Because the result, 12 the negation, is a specific negation it has a content.

These opposing elements are sometimes named the thesis and antithesis, while the resolution of the conflict is the synthesis.13 Put in simpler terms, when the positive and negative, or thesis and antithesis, come into conflict, they do not just cancel each other out and leave nothing. What is cancelled is the specific something within the positive and the negative that caused the conflict in the first place. What remains is the content of the synthesis. ‘Sie ist ein neuer Begriff, aber der höhere, reichere Begriff als der vorhergehende; denn sie ist um dessen Negation oder Entgegengesetztes reicher geworden, enthält ihn also, aber auch mehr als ihn, und ist die Einheit seiner und seines Entgegengesetzten.’ (‘It is a fresh Notion but higher and richer than its predecessor; for it is richer by the negation or opposite of the latter, therefore contains it, but also something more, and is the unity of itself and its opposite.’)14 The cycle begins once again when internal divisions occur within the synthesis. In terms of art, Read states that there is ‘a continual state of opposition and interaction between the world of objective fact – the sensational and social world of active and economic existence – and the world of subjective fantasy. This opposition creates a state of disquietude, a lack of spiritual equilibrium, which it is the business of the artist to resolve.’15 In achieving his or her synthesis, the artist combines 12

G.W.F. Hegel, Werke in zwanzig Bänden (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1970),5, p.49. In English in Hegel’s Science of Logic, trans. By A.V. Miller (London: George Allen and Unwin / New York: Humanities Press, 1969), p.54. 13 See Peter Singer, ‘Hegel’, in German Philosophers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997, pp.105-214 (p.197). 14 Hegel, Werke, 5, p.49. In Hegel’s Science of Logic, p.54. 15 Herbert Read, The Philosophy of Modern Art (London: Faber & Faber, 1990), p.116.

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elements from both the thesis and antithesis and produces something new. What he or she must avoid is producing simply an ordinary compromise. As Read writes, ‘a true synthesis is never a reversion; it is always a progression.’16 This model is applied to surrealism in Read’s text, but it is also a worthwhile way of looking at Neue Sachlichkeit depictions of the modern world, in order to defend it against charges of backwardness due to its essentially figurative nature. If Read’s concept of thesis and antithesis is considered, they are remarkably similar to the contradictions that led to Neue Sachlichkeit. The world of objective fact is clearly a major component of Neue Sachlichkeit, particularly if Read’s description of it as sensational is taken to mean tangible. Its opposite – subjective fantasy, fights against the objective world in order to convey a general truth (shared by the artist and his or her appreciative audience). The synthesis, in artistic terms, is Neue Sachlichkeit, which at once contains objective depictions of the world, as well as attempts by the artist to convey a certain message or truth. This in itself may be seen as a progression, in that it looks at the world in a new way. One of the means by which this is achieved has already been discussed, that is, allegory. We may now turn to Neue Sachlichkeit’s relationship with modern art and modernism, to show the degree to which Neue Sachlichkeit shared stylistic and motivational elements with the avant-garde, and thereby emphasising its progressive nature. Modernism is generally accepted to have begun at the end of the nineteenth century.17 It developed as a reaction to the stifling conditions in which culture existed, and due to the increasing pace in the development of modernisation. As T.J. Clark puts it, ‘“Modernity” means contingency. It points to a social order which has turned from the worship of ancestors and past authorities to the pursuit of a projected future – of goods, pleasures, freedoms, forms of control over nature, or infinities of information.’18 As has already been stated, Neue Sachlichkeit is not generally regarded as an avant-garde movement in its bestknown sense. There was no Neue Sachlichkeit group manifesto, no gushing statements of intent, no specific group or place in time to be opposed, and when the artists involved did come together, it was more to do with simple friendship than sharing artistic styles or schema. However, many of these artists were involved in, or at least influenced by, modernist movements at some point during their careers. Therefore one can expect that these influences would show in their Neue Sachlichkeit work. Furthermore, Neue Sachlichkeit does actually have much in common with the modernist movements, and can certainly be said to be neu. What will be demonstrated is whether or not it was all neu. Bürger writes of newness: Als ästhetische Kategorie hat [die Neuheit] längst vor der Moderne gegeben, und zwar auch als Programm. Der höfische Minnesänger tritt auf mit dem Anspruch, ein “neues Lied” zu singen; die Autoren der 16

Ibid. See Bullock and others, The Fontana Dictionary of Modern Thought, p.539, and Raymond Williams, ‘When was Modernism?’, in Art in Theory 1900-1990, ed. by Charles Harrison and Paul Wood (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), pp.1116-1119 (p.1116), among many others. 18 T.J. Clark, Farewell to an Idea. Episodes from a History of Modernism (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1999), p.7. 17

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A Theoretical Approach französischen Tragikomödie erklären, einem Bedürfnis des Publikums nach nouveauté nachzukommen. In beiden Fällen handelt es sich um etwas anderes als um den Neuheitsanspruch der modernen Kunst. Bei dem “neuen Lied” des höfischen Dichters ist nicht nur die Thematik (Minne), sondern auch eine Fülle von Einzelmotiven vorgegeben; Neuheit heiβt hier Variation innerhalb sehr enger, festgelegter Grenzen einer Gattung. In der französischen Tragikomödie ist zwar die Thematik nicht festgelegt, wohl aber ein Verlaufsschema, das den plötzlichen Umschwung der Handlung (Beispiel: der Totgeglaubte erweist sich als scheintot) zum Gattungsmerkmal macht. Newness as an aesthetic category existed long before Modernism, even as a program. The courtly minnesingers presented himself with the claim that he was singing a “new song;” the authors of the French tragicomedy state that they are meeting the public’s need for nouvveauté. Yet in both cases, we are dealing with something different from the claim to newness of modern art. In the case of the courtly poet and his “new song,” not only the theme (Minne) but also an abundance of individual motifs already exist. Newness here means variation within the very narrow, defined limits of a genre. In French tragicomedy, themes can be invented but a typical plot line exists, which makes the sudden turn of the action (example: a person diagnosed 19 as dead turns out to be still alive) the identifying characteristic of the genre.

Therefore ‘newness’ can exist without it being a complete break from the past, as was often the (arguable) claim of modernism; Futurism, for instance, stands out as a particularly good example in this sense, with its claim of complete dissociation from Italy’s ‘glorious’ past. Bürger’s statement therefore allows Neue Sachlichkeit to display newness, and thereby be a progression from what had gone previously, without belonging to what is generally accepted as the avant-garde. Williams states the importance of the arts of the past to the arts of the present, in his text in terms of literature. ‘The earlier novelists, it is widely acknowledged, make the latter work possible; without Dickens, no Joyce.’20 Clark refines this point in his critique of modernism. ‘Without ancestor-worship, meaning is in short supply – “meaning” here meaning agreed-on and instituted forms of value and understanding, implicit orders, stories and images in which a culture crystallizes its sense of the struggle with the realm of necessity and the reality of pain and death.’21 This supports the assertion that, in terms of this book, Neue Sachlichkeit, in spite of influences which date back to the middle ages, and which will be elaborated upon in the next chapter, could still be relevant at the time in which it existed. As has already been stated, Neue Sachlichkeit does share certain elements with modernism. As Bürger points out: ‘Ein charakteristisches Merkmal der historischen Avantgardebewegungen besteht nun gerade darin, daβ sie keinen Stil entwickelt haben; es gibt keinen dadaistischen, keinen surrealistischen Stil. Diese Bewegungen haben vielmehr die Möglichkeit eines epochalen Stils liquidiert, indem sie die Verfügbarkeit über die Kunstmittel vergangener Epochen zum Prinzip erhoben haben.’ (‘It is […] a distinguishing feature of the historical avant-garde movements that they did not develop a style. There is no such thing as a dadaist or a surrealist style. What did happen is that these movements liquidated the possibility of a period style when they raised to a principle the availability of the artistic means of past periods. Not until there is universal availability does the category 19

Bürger, p.81/82. Translated in Theory of the Avant-Garde, p.60. Williams, ‘When was Modernism?’, p.1116. 21 Clark, Farewell to an Idea, p.7. 20

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of artistic means become a general one.’)22 However, while there was no single style, many elements were common to much of modernism, and Neue Sachlichkeit is included here. Some of these areas in common have already been noted as characteristics of Neue Sachlichkeit. Alienation, for example, was a major theme among nearly all the movements of the avant-garde. Edvard Munch’s The Scream (1895) is probably one of the best known examples, where the figure in the foreground is clearly alienated from his or her environment and the other figures in the painting. This sense of alienation comes about as a symptom of increasing urbanisation. In his famous description of how the painting came about, Munch notes the influence of urbanisation. ‘One evening I was walking along a path, the city was on one side and the fjord below. I felt tired and ill. I stopped and looked out over the fjord – the sun was setting, and the clouds turning bloodied. I sensed a scream passing through nature; it seemed to me that I heard the scream. I painted this picture, painted the clouds as actual blood.’23 Nature is steadily being encroached upon by the city, by the forces of industry and capital. The way this is depicted by Munch is far more emotional than anything by a Neue Sachlichkeit artist would be, but that is not to say that this theme was not a major one for Neue Sachlichkeit. Wilhelm Heise’s Verblühender Frühling (Selbstbildnis am Basteltisch) (Fading Spring (Self-Portrait at Work Table)) (c.1926), for instance, also portrays the taking over of nature by the modern world. The depiction by Heise of himself as a ham-fisted giant shows his alienation from the modern world, portrayed as a tiny mechanical army of nuts and spindles. The fact that the greenery on the table is wilting suggests that it is being taken over by the symbols of technology, and thereby the symbols of the modern world. The intricate detail, particularly of the plants, calls to mind Albrecht Dürer’s Das groβe Rasenstück (The Large Clump of Turf) (1503). Different species are discernable in this painting, such is the detail, but H.T. Musper points out that more important to Dürer was the fact that each element of detail was there, ‘only as a detail in relationship with other details’24, just as Neue Sachlichkeit deals often with objects in relationship with other objects. As is explained above, this is just as true of Heise’s painting, with the relationship between the plant life and the mechanical elements, but Heise’s interest is in the overpowering of nature by the development of the modern world, which was not such an issue for Dürer. Another major preoccupation of the avant-garde and of Neue Sachlichkeit was with the city, but often in a way where the trappings of normal urban life have been abandoned. One of the best examples of this from the avant-garde is the work of Giorgio de Chirico and the pittura metafisica. De Chirico’s painting Gare Montparnasse (The Melancholy of Departure) (1914) ought to be filled with people, located as it is in a district of Paris. Instead, however, there is virtually no human involvement. The only people in the scene are a couple in the distance, too small to be given any individual features, but with long shadows, emphasising the loneliness of this place. They are dwarfed by the station building, 22

Bürger, p.23/24. Translated in Theory of the Avant-Garde, p.18. Shearer West, Fin de Siècle. Art and Society in an Age of Uncertainty (London: Bloomsbury, 1993), p.64. 24 H.T. Musper, Albrecht Dürer (London: Thames & Hudson, 1966), p.90. 23

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presented geometrically and as absolutely silent. The only clue that this is a railway station is the steam train far in the background. It is this silence, and large, empty spaces that makes the painting notable, because these elements are as important to what the painting aims to convey as are the areas in the painting that depict subjects. The reason that de Chirico painted in this way was to convey his sense of threat as presented by the modern world. It was a world experiencing huge upheaval, and so the people living in it experienced that upheaval, and often experienced it as a feeling of uncertainty, as though the old norms could no longer be relied upon. De Chirico expressed this as a wariness brought about by the unknown, hence the feelings of silence, the lack of ornamentation, and the large empty spaces in his paintings. This influence is seen in paintings such as Davringhausen’s Der Schieber and Grosz’s Grauer Tag (Grey Day) (1921). This painting is explored in detail in Chapter Five, but it is worth noting here that the sense of isolation that the old soldier in the middle ground must feel is heightened by the featureless background to the scene, with its spartan office blocks, chimneys and polluted sky, and the sense of absolute silence. The faceless, shovel-bearing workman, to the left, suggests people’s alienation from one another. Another aspect of this appearance of consciousness as strange and uncanny, is the inclusion of an aesthetic of the ‘ugly’, or at least ‘misplaced’. The Elephant of Celebes (1921) by Max Ernst is essentially a painting that is anti-mechanical, but puts this message across by way of a monstrous, mechanical beast. The whole thing is armour plated, and actually resembles a kind of giant vacuum cleaner, although it is worth remembering that the tank had been invented only a few years earlier. However, this gigantic construction is also presented as a living being, obviously akin to an elephant, but with bizarre proportions. For example, it is impossible to tell which is the front and which is the back. The feelings that the observer is supposed to have towards this monstrosity are guided by the fact that in the centre of the painting is the beast’s anus. If the painting is hung at eye-level, then the observer will look right at it, which clearly will not endear this animal to its audience. This is also true of Otto Dix’s Die sieben Todsünden (The Seven Deadly Sins) (1933), where a number of the characters are depicted as beasts and monsters. It seems appropriate that a painting warning of the moral bankruptcy of National Socialism should use an aesthetic of the abhorrent to do so, and as Max Ernst has also demonstrated, it is an extremely effective device. As has been noted, Neue Sachlichkeit may be seen as having the property of isolating objects in space, in order that, whether in their normal contexts or otherwise, individual meanings may be attached to them. Again, this has been demonstrated already in relation to Davringhausen’s Der Schieber, but this property was not exclusive to Neue Sachlichkeit. Another painting by Giorgio de Chirico shows that it was present in other avant-garde works. Song of Love (1914) is at first sight a depiction of a collection of unrelated objects: a green ball, a red glove, and the classical reference, which is present in many works by de Chirico, a plaster head of Apollo. The only indication of human activity is the steam train in the background. The windows and arches are blacked out, and the ball sits upon a solid black surface. The eerie stillness and blacked out windows suggest the imagery of dreams, or nightmares, with the implication that this is no stranger than reality. The plaster head, 65

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

depicted as a copy of an original, serves only to increase the strangeness of the scene, instead of providing a source of artistic stability. While Der Schieber is an example of the isolation of objects in space, the link with de Chirico actually comes closer to the still life paintings, discussed in Chapter Five. In some cases, the objects are removed from their expected environments. In others, perspectives are distorted. Whichever device is used, the same effect is achieved as that in de Chirico’s painting, that is, the defamiliarisation of the objective world. It is as though the artist wants to guide the observer to another reality, the reality of the world as the artist sees it. Another device used as a means of shaking the observer’s sense of reality is to make the pictorial space hyper-clear. In this environment, the uncanny may be used to good effect. In Neue Sachlichkeit, an example of this is Grosz’s Republikanische Automaten (1920). It depicts two German patriots, able to live and celebrate their lives as they were before the war. The absence of certain limbs, and the presence of the Iron Cross show that these men are war veterans, but they are clearly not suffering. However, this is only due to the fact that they have allowed themselves to become part of the machinery that allows the republic to work, as is signified by the number on the head of the second man that replaces his face. The influence of de Chirico is also evident here, and the hyper-clarity adds a great deal to the sense of uncanny. Apart from the two automatons of the title, there is not a curve to be seen in this painting. This, combined with the artist’s attempt to hide all traces of brushwork, gives the painting its hyper-clarity. Devices such as these are also evident in the two de Chirico paintings discussed already. The perspective is also slightly distorted in the paintings by both artists, which also adds to the sense of the unreal. Finally in respect of the common elements between the avant-garde and Neue Sachlichkeit, is the way situations are recorded and classified by artists. What the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit and the avant-garde sought to do, was sum up a major event or situation in a ‘moment’. They wished to capture the essence of a situation with just a canvas and paint as their means of putting it across. Although this painting is discussed in the following chapter, it is important to note here how in its four panels, Der Krieg (War) (1929-32) by Otto Dix conveys death, pain, exhaustion, fear, indignity, and every other emotion that has been associated with the Great War. In this one painting, Dix summarises over four years of horror to startling effect. The same is true of Picasso’s Guernica (1937). It is clear at first sight that this is no realist depiction of the German bombing of 28 April 1937, and in this respect it differs from the work by Dix. But where it is similar is the aim to express the pain, fear and distress caused by the bombing of Guernica, featuring as it does a weeping woman with dead child, many figures with contorted bodies, and even the agonised appearance of a horse in the centre of the painting. The effect of this painting cannot be doubted, and because of this, it is world famous. It has been demonstrated then, that while Neue Sachlichkeit is not commonly regarded as being a part of the avant-garde, the two do have much in common. The difference, however, between modernist movements and Neue Sachlichkeit, was that the modernist movements shared aims or ideals, at least partially, and openly, which made them movements in the first place. One of these aims, which modernism is perhaps known for, while Neue Sachlichkeit is not, was its claim to exist ‘als Angriff auf den Status der Kunst 66

A Theoretical Approach

in der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft. Negiert wird nicht eine voraufgegangene Ausprägung der Kunst (ein Stil), sondern die Institution Kunst als eine von der Lebenspraxis der Menschen abgehobene’ (‘as an attack on the status of art in bourgeois society. What is negated is not an earlier form of art (a style) but art as an institution that is unassociated with the life praxis of men.’)25 This is opposed to Neue Sachlichkeit, which, when it attacked, directed itself at particular themes or events. It is perhaps for this reason that Neue Sachlichkeit did not appear to have the ‘bite’ which modernist movements did. The artists of Neue Sachlichkeit did largely accept the Institution Kunst, which Bürger describes thus: ‘Mit dem Begriff Institution Kunst sollen hier sowohl der kunstproduzierende und distribuierende Apparat als auch die zu einer gegebenen Epoche herrschenden Vorstellungen über Kunst bezeichnet werden, die die Rezeption von Werken wesentlich bestimmen’ (‘The concept “art as an institution” as used here refers to the productive and distributive apparatus and also to the ideas about art that prevail at a given time and that determine the reception of works.’)26 This therefore made them more attractive to bourgeois society. An illustration of this is George Grosz’s publishing of limited edition prints for the wealthy bourgeoisie, the very people who were attacked in those prints. It was the original format, the periodicals published by Malik, and distributed among the working class, which had earned Grosz his reputation. It was as if he was trying to earn his work its bourgeois status as ‘art’ retrospectively; to persuade the bourgeoisie that it had that ‘something’ that made it art, to give it something approaching what Walter Benjamin would call an aura. This idea of the aura is important because of the status and function that an art such as Neue Sachlichkeit is regarded as having in the period of modernism. Benjamin writes the following in defining the aura: ‘Noch bei der höchstvollendeten Reproduktion fällt eines aus: das Hier und Jetzt des Kunstwerks – sein einmaliges Dasein an dem Orte, an dem es sich befindet. An diesem einmaligen Dasein aber und an nichts sonst vollzog sich die Geschichte, der es im Laufe seines Bestehens unterworfen gewesen ist’ (‘Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be. This unique existence of the work of art determined the history to which it was subject throughout the time of its existence.’27 Modern methods of reproduction would, to Benjamin, have a profound effect upon the aura. ‘Man kann, was hier ausfällt, im Begriff der Aura zusammenfassen und sagen: was im Zeitalter der technischen Reproduzierbarkeit des Kunstwerks verkümmert, das ist seine Aura’ (‘One might subsume the eliminated element in the term “aura” and go on to say: that which withers in the age of mechanical reproduction is the aura of the work of art.’)28 While at first one might assume that this could only be bad news for art, Benjamin is of a different opinion, that is, ‘die technische Reproduzierbarkeit des Kunstwerks emanzipiert 25

Bürger, p.66. Translated in Theory of the Avant-Garde, p.49. Ibid., p.29. Translated in Theory of the Avant-Garde, p.22. 27 Walter Benjamin, Das Kunstwerk im Zeitalter seiner technischen Reproduzierbarkeit (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1977), p.11. Translated in Walter Benjamin, Illuminations (London: Pimlico, 1999), pp.211-244 (p.214). 28 Ibid., p.13. Translated in Illuminations, p.215. 26

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diese zum ersten Mal in der Weltgeschichte von seinem parasitären Dasein am Ritual. Das reproduzierte Kunstwerk wird in immer steigendem Maβe die Reproduktion eines auf Reproduzierbarkeit angelegten Kunstwerks’ (‘for the first time in world history, mechanical reproduction emancipates the work of art from its parasitical dependence on ritual. To an even greater degree the work of art reproduced becomes the work of art designed for reproducibility.’)29 This view is vindicated when one considers Otto Dix’s cycle of etchings Der Krieg (War) (1924).30 Five connoisseur editions were published at RM300 each, while sets of 24 reproductions were issued by the same printer at RM2,40 each. Only one of the expensive editions was sold, while sales of the cheaper reproductions ran into thousands.31 So to Benjamin, the future of art does not lie in painting, but in the arts created by the new technology, that is, photography and film. Of the images produced, Benjamin writes: Das [Bild] des Malers ist ein totales, das des Kameramanns ein vielfältig zerstückeltes, dessen Teile sich nach einem neuen Gesetze zusammen finden. So ist die filmische Darstellung der Realität für den heutigen Menschen darum die unvergleichlich bedeutungsvollere, weil sie den apparatfreien Aspekt der Wirklichkeit, den er vom Kunstwerk zu fordern berechtigt ist, gerade auf Grund ihrer intensivsten Durchdringung mit der Apparatur gewährt. That [picture] of the painter is a total one, that of the cameraman consists of multiple fragments which are assembled under a new law. Thus, for contemporary man the representation of reality by the film is incomparably more significant than that of the painter, since it offers, precisely because of the thoroughgoing permeation of reality with mechanical equipment, an aspect of reality which is free of all equipment. And that 32 is what one is entitled to ask from a work of art.

It would be easy to assume that Benjamin is presenting his own end of art theory in terms of painting, but this is not necessarily the case. While he asserts that painting is not a suitable medium to provide an experience for the masses, he does allow that, ‘so wenig aus diesem Umstand von Haus aus Schlüsse auf die gesellschaftliche Rolle der Malerei zu ziehen sind, so fällt er doch in dem Augenblick als eine schwere Beeinträchtigung ins Gewicht, wo die Malerei durch besondere Umstände und gewissermaßen wider ihre Natur mit den Massen unmittelbar konfrontiert wird’ (‘[a]lthough this circumstance in itself should not lead one to conclusions about the social role of painting, it does constitute a serious threat as soon as painting, under special conditions and, as it were, against its nature, is confronted directly by the masses.’)33 Although the masses are unable to understand it collectively, painting still has a social role. It is this social role that forms a

29

Ibid., p.17. Translated in Illuminations, p.218. Shulamith Behr, ‘Between low and high: the Expressionist print in the age of mechanical reproduction’. Paper presented at Expression and Modernity: Function and Meaning in German Expressionist Prints, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 22.1.2000. 31 John Willett, ‘Dix: War’, in Disasters of War. Callot, Goya, Dix (London: Arts Council of England / British Museum, 1998), exhibition catalogue, p.65. 32 Benjamin, Das Kunstwerk im Zeitalter seiner technischen Reproduzierbarkeit, p.32. Translated in Illuminations, p.227. 33 Ibid., p.33. Translated in Illuminations, p.228. 30

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part of Neue Sachlichkeit, which can differentiate some painters from others, particularly in its criticism of modern society. Perhaps the most negative of the modernist movements was Dada; ‘a nose-thumbing challenge to all convention. It is the purest embodiment of the destructive element that is an essential part (though only a part) of Modernism.’34 While many of the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit were in some way touched by Dada, the two were clearly very different entities. However, it can be said that the use of shock carried through to Neue Sachlichkeit from Dada, although not the kind of shock which Dada revelled in, that is, the shock which insults and outrages the person or people it is aimed at. According to Bürger, Weder erzeugt das avantgardistische Werk einen Gesamteindruck, der eine Sinndeutung erlaubt, noch läβt der möglicherweise sich einstellende Eindruck im Rückgang auf die Einzelteile sich klären, da diese nicht mehr einer Werkintention untergeordnet sind. Diese Versagung von Sinn erfährt der Rezipient als Schock. Ihn intendiert der avantgardistische Künstler, weil er daran die Hoffnung knüpft, der Rezipient werde durch diesen Entzug von Sinn auf die Fragwürdigkeit seiner eigenen Lebenspraxis und die Notwendigkeit, diese zu verändern, hingewiesen. Der Schock wird angestrebt als Stimulans einer Verhaltensänderung, er ist das Mittel, um die ästhetische Immanenz zu durchbrechen und eine Veränderung der Lebenspraxis des Rezipienten einzuleiten. The avant-gardiste work neither creates a total impression that would permit an interpretation of its meaning nor can whatever impression may be created be accounted for by recourse to the individual parts, for they are no longer subordinated to a pervasive intent. This refusal to provide meaning is experienced as shock by the recipient. And this is the intention of the avant-gardiste artist, who hopes that such withdrawal of meaning will direct the reader’s attention to the fact that the conduct of one’s life is questionable and that it is necessary to change it. Shock is aimed for as a stimulus to change one’s conduct of life; it is the means to break through 35 aesthetic immanence and to usher in (initiate) a change in the recipient’s life praxis.

So while Dada set out to affront, the shock associated with Neue Sachlichkeit was more concerned with the breaking of long-held taboos, which aimed, as Bürger asserts, at the changing of one’s conduct of life. In terms of modernism, this relates to what Rainey calls ‘an aesthetics of agony’, brought on by the ‘horrors of modernisation.’36 One way that T.J. Clark asserts, of opposing these horrors, as an alternative to presenting them in all their reality, is, as Rainey proposes, ‘the ephemeral collectivities of two that offer momentary refuge from the irresistible power of capital’s increasing penetration into the texture of human dealings.’37 Clark takes Pissarro’s La Conversation (Two Young Peasant Women) (1892) as an example of this, where the two subjects are not shown in their entirety. ‘Incompleteness has to do above all with a fiction of closeness, of conversation overheard. Closeness but not exactly intimacy. Overhearing but not overseeing. […] The two women are meant to be monumental, but not overbearing or portentous.’38 34 35 36 37 38

G. Macleod, ‘The visual arts’, in The Cambridge Companion to Modernism, ed. by M. Levenson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp.194-216 (p.209). Bürger, p.108. Translated in Theory of the Avant-Garde, p.80. Laurence Rainey, ‘In a Dark Mode’, London Review of Books, 22 (2) (January 2000), 14-16 (p.16). Ibid., p.15. Clark, Farewell to an Idea, p.87.

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Clark’s conception of the collectivity of two may be related to some Neue Sachlichkeit. Georg Schrimpf was a painter who liked to concentrate on the intimacies of human life, and his Schlafende Mädchen (Sleeping Girls) of 1926 is an example of this, where two girls are seen relaxing in a field on a warm day. The two girls in the painting have not allowed the outside world to enter into the moment they are sharing. The fact that they take up nearly all the picture space supports this, as there is very little room for anything else to encroach on their moment of peace. As has already been stated in Chapter Three, Franz Roh in particular saw an influence from the Nazarenes in the work of the southern German painters, and this is certainly true of Schrimpf’s work. His Schlafende Mädchen has much in common with Friedrich Overbeck’s Italia und Germania (1812-23). The colours are brighter than many of the Neue Sachlichkeit paintings seen so far, but they are still rather flat. Schrimpf’s figures also have a tanned complexion, another indication of southern European influence. Also, what Schrimpf’s and Overbeck’s paintings have in common is that they both convey the sense of the ‘collectivity of two’. The subjects in both paintings share a moment together without any outside influence.

Christian Schad Selbstbildnis mit Modell (1927) © Christian Schad Stiftung Aschaffenburg/VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn and DACS, London 2004 Photo: © Tate, London 2004

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However, a more frequent use of the collectivity of two in Neue Sachlichkeit is to portray its destruction by the modern world, as is seen in the number of double portraits produced. Christian Schad’s famous Selbstbildnis mit Modell (Self-Portrait with Model) (1927) could not be a clearer depiction of alienation between two people. The man’s seethrough shirt emphasises his vulnerability when faced with ‘woman’. The way that Schad deals with this vulnerability is to try to put the woman in her traditional position as a possession of man. The scar on the woman’s face highlights the attempt to assert the power of ‘man’, but the man’s uncertain gaze betrays him. The man no longer understands what his gender role should be, while the woman suffers at his hands purely because she is confident in her own role as a ‘New Woman’. While the increasing emancipation of women was clearly an important development, many men found it difficult to cope with,39 and thus found ‘collectivities of two’, at least with women, difficult to form. What has arisen from this section in particular is the often negative stance in relation to the modern world that preoccupied the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit. The final section of this chapter will examine in more depth, some of the aspects of the modern world that artists found so unpleasant, and which can therefore be seen as the motivation behind numerous paintings.

Neue Sachlichkeit and the Modern World The modern world was developing particularly quickly in the areas of urbanisation and industrialisation, two developments that led the individual to feel less and less significant. ‘Paris, Vienna, Berlin, London, New York took on a new silhouette as the eponymous City of Strangers.’40 It was in the city that those who supported and those who opposed the modern world were thrown together in a kind of melting pot. ‘The metropolis ultimately becomes a metaphor – a dynamic configuration of the conflicting hopes and fears of the twentieth century.’41 In this sense, the city ‘was the place where new social and economic and cultural relations, beyond both city and nation in their older senses, were beginning to be formed.’42 However, these relations were to be the cause of a great deal of conflict. Georg Simmel, writing in 1903, puts one of the main problems thus: Wo die Produkte des spezifisch modernen Lebens nach ihrer Innerlichkeit gefragt werden, sozusagen der Körper der Kultur nach seiner Seele – wie mir dies heut gegenüber unseren Groβstädten obliegt – wird die Antwort der Gleichung nachforschen müssen, die solche Gebilde zwischen den individuellen und den überindividuellen Inhalten des Lebens stiften, den Anpassungen der Persönlichkeit durch die sie sich mit den ihr äuβeren Mächten abfindet. 39

See Chapter Five, and in particular the discussion of this issue by Beth Irwin Lewis, Dorothy Rowe, and Marsha Meskimmon. 40 Williams, ‘When was Modernism?’, p.1118. 41 Edward Timms, ‘Introduction’, in Unreal City. Urban Experience in Modern European Literature and Art, ed. by Edward Timms and David Kelley (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985), pp.1-12 (p.4). 42 Raymond Williams, ‘The metropolis and the emergence of Modernism’, in Timms & Kelley, pp.13-24 (p.20).

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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement An inquiry into the inner meaning of specifically modern life and its products, into the soul of the cultural body, so to speak, must seek to solve the equation which structures like the metropolis set up between the individual and the superindividual contents of life. Such an inquiry must answer the question of how the 43 personality accommodates itself in the adjustments to external forces.

He proceeds to discuss a problem between the individual and external forces in terms of the anonymity between supplier and purchaser. ‘Dadurch bekommt das Interesse beider Parteien eine unbarmherzige Sachlichkeit, ihr verstandesmäβig rechnender wirtschaftlicher Egoismus hat keine Ablenkung durch die Imponderabilien persönlicher Beziehungen zu fürchten’ (‘Through this anonymity the interests of each party acquire an unmerciful matter-of-factness; and the intellectually calculating economic egoisms of both parties need not fear any deflection because of the imponderables of personal relationships.’)44 This lack of emphasis on interpersonal communication leads to alienation, a feature of Neue Sachlichkeit iconography, and this point is supported by Siegfried Kracauer, which he illustrates in ‘Analyse eines Stadtplans’ (‘Analysis of a City Map’) (1928) with the analogy of life in a city centre newspaper kiosk. Aus dem Trubel erheben sich die Zeitungskioske, winzige Tempel, in denen die Publikationen der Welt sich ein Rendezvous geben. Die sich im Leben als Gegner bekämpfen, liegen gedruckt beieinander, gröβer könnte die Eintracht nicht sein. Wo die jiddischen Organe auf der Grundlage arabischer Texte sich mit fetten Überschriften in Polnisch berühren, ist der Friede gesichert. Nur eben, die Zeitungen kennen sich nicht. Jedes Exemplar ist in sich zusammengefaltet und begnügt sich mit der Lektüre seiner eigenen Spalten. Der engen körperlichen Beziehung ungeachtet, die von den Papieren gepflegt wird, sind ihre Nachrichten so auβer jeder Verbindung, daβ sie ohne Nachricht über sich sind. In den Zwischenräumen waltet der Dämon der Geistesabwesenheit unbeschränkt. Out of the hubbub rise the newspaper kiosks, tiny temples in which the publications of the entire world get together for a rendezvous. Foes in real life, they lie here in printed form side by side; the harmony could not be greater. Wherever Yiddish papers supported by Arabic texts come into contact with large headlines in Polish, peace is assured. But, alas, these newspapers do not know one another. Each copy is folded in on itself and is content to read its own columns. Regardless of the close physical relations that the papers cultivate, their news is so completely lacking in any contact that they are uninformed about one another. In the 45 interstices the demon of absentmindedness reigns supreme.

Simmel puts this idea of introspection into more human terms, writing as he does that in order to survive in metropolitan society, the individual must behave in a negative way towards that society. Die geistige Haltung der Groβstädter zu einander wird man in formaler Hinsicht als Reserviertheit bezeichnen dürfen. […] Teils dieser psychologische Umstand, teils das Recht auf Miβtrauen, das wir gegenüber den in flüchtiger Berührung vorüberstreifenden Elementen des Groβstadtlebens haben, nötigt uns zu jener Reserve, 43

Georg Simmel, ‘Die Großstädte und das Geistesleben’, in Gesamtausgabe, (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1995), 7, pp.116-131 (p.116). Translated in Harrison and Wood, Art in Theory, pp.130-135 (p.130) 44 Ibid., p.118/119. Translated in Art in Theory, p.131. 45 Siegfried Kracauer, Das Ornament der Masse. Essays (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1963), p.16/17. Translated as The Mass Ornament. Weimar Essays (Cambridge, Mass. And London: Harvard University Press, 1995), p.43.

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A Theoretical Approach infolge deren wir jahrelange Hausnachbarn oft nicht einmal von Ansehen kennen und die uns dem Kleinstädter so oft als kalt und gemütlos erscheinen läβt. This mental attitude of metropolitans toward one another we may designate, from a formal point of view, as reserve. […] Partly this psychological fact, partly the right to distrust which men have in the face of the touchand-go elements of metropolitan life, necessitates our reserve. As a result of this reserve we frequently do not even know by sight those who have been our neighbours for years. And it is this reserve which in the eyes of 46 the small-town people makes us appear to be cold and heartless.

Alienation from one another was not the only problem confronting the individual. There was also the struggle to find a place in a world where, for the typical city-dweller, ‘die Pünktlichkeit, Berechenbarkeit, Exaktheit, die die Komplikationen und Ausgedehntheiten des groβstädtischen Lebens ihm aufzuzwingen, stehen nicht nur in engstem Zusammenhange mit ihrem geldwirtschaftlichen und ihrem intellektualistischen Charakter, sondern muβ auch die Inhalte des Lebens färben’ (‘[p]unctuality, calculability, exactness are forced upon life by the complexity and extension of metropolitan existence and are not only most intimately connected with its money economy and intellectualistic character. These traits must also colour the contents of life.’47 Simmel writes that these values are also being forced upon human life itself, at the expense of the abstract, idiosyncratic, human values of the individual. This has already been demonstrated in terms of Grosz’s Republikanische Automaten, where people come to be seen more as ‘things’, and so their contact with one another is in some way alien. This feeling of alienation from society itself is a symptom of what Max Weber formulated as Entzauberung der Welt (disenchantment of the world). He wrote in ‘Wissenschaft als Beruf’ (‘Science as a Vocation’) (1919): ‘Es ist das Schicksal unserer Zeit, mit der ihr eigenen Rationalisierung und Intellektualisierung, vor allem: Entzauberung der Welt, daβ gerade die letzten und sublimsten Werte zurückgetreten sind aus der Öffentlichkeit, entweder in das hinterweltliche Reich mystischen Lebens oder in die Brüderlichkeit unmittelbarer Beziehungen der Einzelnen zueinander’ (‘The fate of our times is chatacterised by rationalisation and intellectualisation and, above all, by the “disenchantment of the world.” Precisely the ultimate and most sublime values have retreated from public life either into the transcendental realm of mystic life or into the brotherliness of direct and personal human relations.’)48 So in this sense also, introspection seems to be the only way in which real human values may be preserved. To Weber, the persistence of this state of affairs could only conclude badly. ‘Je mehr der Intellektualismus den Glauben an die Magie zurückdrängt, und so die Vorgänge der Welt “entzaubert” werden, ihren magischen Sinngehalt verlieren, nur noch “sind” und “geschehen”, aber nichts mehr “bedeuten”, desto dringlicher erwächst die Forderung an die Welt und “Lebensführung” je als Ganzes, daβ sie bedeutungshaft und “sinnvoll” geordnet seien’ (‘As intellectualism suppresses belief in magic, the world’s processes become 46

Simmel, ‘Die Großstädte und das Geistesleben’, p.122/123. Translated in Art in Theory, p.132. Ibid., p.120. Translated in Art in Theory, p.131. 48 Max Weber, Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Wissenschaftslehre (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1973), p.612. Translated in From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, ed. by H.H. Gerth and C.W. Mills (London: Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1970), pp.129-156 (p.155). 47

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disenchanted, lose their magical significance, and henceforth simply “are” and “happen” but no longer signify anything. As a consequence, there is a growing demand that the world and the total pattern of life be subject to an order that is significant and meaningful.’)49 Without the reinstatement of the human values mentioned by Weber, human introspection would only increase, and interpersonal relationships would become less and less meaningful. Walter Benjamin illustrates this point. ‘From our fellow men we should accept no succour. Bus conductors, officials, workmen, salesmen – they all feel themselves to be the representatives of a refractory matter whose menace they take pains to demonstrate through their own surliness. And in the degeneration of things, with which, emulating human decay, they punish humanity, the country itself conspires.’50 Grosz’s painting Grauer Tag (1921) illustrates perfectly such a situation, where a war veteran is presumed to be suffering at the hands of the bureaucrat, or one of his kind. According to David Owen, Weber implies that ‘while the modern individual possesses the capacity for autonomy, the possibility of realising this capacity is being progressively undermined by a process whose telos is the reduction of the individual to a position of absolute powerlessness and, ultimately, to a “cheerful robot”.’51 Again, the Grosz painting, Republikanische Automaten (1920) demonstrates this inevitable conclusion if the process of Entzauberung is allowed to persist. In terms of understanding the individual process that reacts to this Entzauberung, Freud provides an explanation in his text, Das Unbehagen in der Kultur (Civilisation and its Discontents) (1930). Although the main thrust of the book is that we forfeits our own happiness by obeying our sense of guilt at striving for that happiness, Freud does describe a process in which man shuts the unpleasantness of the world out of his psyche. ‘Es entsteht die Tendenz, alles, was Quelle solcher Unlust werden kann, vom Ich abzusondern, es nach auβen zu werfen, ein reines Lust-Ich zu bilden, dem ein fremdes, drohendes Drauβen gegenübersteht’ (‘A tendency arises to separate from the ego everything that can become a source of such unpleasure, to throw it outside and to create a pure pleasure-ego which is confronted by a strange and threatening “outside”.)52 At this juncture, it is worth reconsidering Misch Orend’s notion of uncanny calm, and the notion of the uncanny itself, for as was mentioned in the previous chapter, it featured heavily in Neue Sachlichkeit painting. Freud defines the uncanny, in his essay “Das Unheimliche” (1919), as, ‘jene Art des Schreckhaften, welche auf das Altbekannte, Längstvertraute zurückgeht’ (‘that class of

49

Max Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriss der verstehenden Soziologie (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1972), p.308. In English as Economy and Society. An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, 3 vols (New York: Bedminster Press, 1968), II, p.506) 50 Walter Benjamin, One Way Street and Other Writings (London: Verso, 1970), p.58. 51 David Owen, Maturity and Modernity. Nietzsche, Weber, Foucault and the ambivalence of reason (London: Penguin, 1994), p.122. 52 Sigmund Freud, Das Unbehagen in der Kultur und andere kulturtheoretische Schriften (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 1994), p.34. Reproduced in English in The Penguin Freud Library, ed. by A. Richards and A. Dickson , 15 vols (London: Penguin, 1973- ), XII: Civilisation, Society and Religion (1985), pp.251-340 (p.254).

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the frightening which leads back to what is known of old and long familiar.’)53 What brought the uncanny to its position in modernism was the growth of the metropolis. Walter Benjamin writes: Valéry, der für den Symptomkomplex “Zivilisation” einen scharfen Blick hat, kennzeichnet einen der einschlägigen Tatbestände. “Der Bewohner der groβen städtischen Zentren”, schreibt er, “verfällt wieder in den Zustand der Wildheit, will sagen der Vereinzelung. Das Gefühl, auf die anderen angewiesen zu sein, vordem ständig durch das Bedürfnis wachgehalten, stumpft sich im reibungslosen Ablauf des sozialen Mechanismus allmählich ab. Jede Vervollkommnung dieses Mechanismus setzt gewisse Verhaltungsweisen, gewisse Gefühlsregungen… auβer Kraft.” Der Komfort isoliert. Er rückt, auf der anderen Seite, seine Nutznieβer dem Mechanismus näher. Valéry, who had a fine eye for the cluster of symptoms called “civilisation,” has characterised one of the pertinent facts. “The inhabitant of the great urban centres,” he writes, “reverts to a state of savagery – that is, of isolation. The feeling of being dependent on others, which used to be kept alive by need, is gradually blunted in the smooth functioning of the social mechanism. Any improvement of this mechanism eliminates certain modes of behaviour and emotions.” Comfort isolates; on the other hand, it brings those enjoying it 54 closer to mechanisation.

As the metropolis has developed, so has the increasing feeling of the uncanny, to the point that ‘in the metropolis stripped of its glamour, there is a permanent tension, a fear. Just as empty time is not filled with historical events but with the fortuitous, the coincidental, so empty space is filled with distraction.’55 This apparent paradox brings about what Timms refers to as, ‘an ‘unreal city’ located between the extremes of hope and dread, between distant Utopia and imminent Apocalypse.’56 An explanation of this paradox is given by Freud, involving the German word for uncanny, unheimlich. ‘Wir werden überhaupt daran gemahnt, daβ dies Wort heimlich nicht eindeutig ist, sondern zwei Vorstellungskreisen zugehört, die, ohne gegensätzlich zu sein, einander doch recht fremd sind, dem des Vertrauten, Behaglichen und dem des Versteckten, Verborgengehaltenen’ (‘In general we are reminded that the word “heimlich” is not unambiguous, but belongs to two sets of ideas, which, without being contradictory, are yet very different: on the one hand it means what is familiar and agreeable, and on the other, what is concealed and kept out of sight.’)57 Therefore the word heimlich, or homely, ‘ist ein Wort, das seiner Bedeutung nach einer Ambivalenz hin entwickelt, bis es endlich mit seinem Gegensatz unheimlich zusammenfällt. Unheimlich ist irgendwie eine Art von Heimlich’ (‘is a word the meaning of which develops in the direction of ambivalence, until it finally coincides with its opposite, unheimlich. Unheimlich is in some way or other a subspecies of heimlich.’)58 This 53

54 55 56 57 58

Sigmund Freud, ‘Das Unheimliche’, in Gesammelte Werke. Chronologisch geordnet (Frankfurt am Main, Fischer, 1986), 12, pp.229-268 (p.231). Translated in The Penguin Freud Library, XIV: Art and Literature (1985), pp.339-376 (p.340). Benjamin, Gesammelte Schriften, I.2., p.629/630. Translated in Illuminations, p.170. David Frisby, Fragments of Modernity (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1985), p.141. Timms, ‘Introduction’, p.7. Freud, Gesammelte Werke, 12, p.235. Translated in The Penguin Freud Library, XIV, p.345. Ibid., p.237. Translated in The Penguin Freud Library, XIV, p.347.

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ambivalence is made clearer when Freud relates ‘uncanny’ to a living person: ‘und zwar dann, wenn wir ihm böse Absichten zutrauen. Aber das reicht nicht hin, wir müssen noch hinzutun, daβ diese seine Absichten, uns zu schaden, sich mit Hilfe besonderer Kräfte verwirklichen werden’ (‘and we do so when we ascribe evil intentions to him. But that is not all; in addition to this we must feel that his intentions to harm us are going to be carried out with the help of special powers.’)59 Thus the uncanny requires an element, or the implication of an element, of the supernatural, if it is to be achieved. Or as Freud puts it, ‘wenn überwundene primitive Überzeugungen wieder bestätigt scheinen’ (‘when primitive beliefs which have been surmounted seem once more to be confirmed.’)60 In terms of art, Freud relates the uncanny to literature, where he asserts that while the writer may fill his setting with ghosts and ghouls, they are not uncanny if they remain in the context in which one might expect to find such spirits, which Freud terms poetic reality. Anders nun, wenn der Dichter sich dem Anscheine nach auf den Boden der gemeinen Realität gestellt hat. Dann übernimmt er auch alle Bedingungen, die im Erleben für die Entstehung des unheimlichen Gefühls gelten, und alles was im Leben unheimlich wirkt, wirkt auch so in der Dichtung. Aber in diesem Falle kann der Dichter auch das Unheimliche weit über das im Erleben mögliche Maβ hinaus steigern und vervielfältigen, indem er solche Ereignisse vorfallen läβt, die in der Wirklichkeit nicht oder nur sehr selten zur Erfahrung gekommen wären. Er verrät uns dann gewissermaβen an unseren für überwunden gehaltenen Aberglauben, er betrügt uns, indem er uns die gemeine Wirklichkeit verspricht und dann doch über diese hinausgeht. The situation is altered as soon as the writer pretends to move in the world of common reality. In this case he accepts as well all the conditions operating to produce uncanny feelings in real life; and everything that would have an uncanny effect in reality has it in his story. But in this case he can even increase his effect and multiply it far beyond what could happen in reality, by bringing about events which never or very rarely happen in fact. In doing this he is in a sense betraying us to the superstitiousness which we have ostensibly 61 surmounted; he deceives us by promising to give us the sober truth, and then after all overstepping it.

The final sentence relates very strongly to Neue Sachlichkeit, which undoubtedly conveys far more than just the sober truth, particularly in the depictions by artists such as Radziwill and Grossberg, and such works will be discussed in the following chapter. Freud, however, largely discounts the visual translation of the uncanny. ‘Von der Einsamkeit, Stille und Dunkelheit können wir nichts anderes sagen, als daβ dies wirklich die Momente sind, an welche die bei den meisten Menschen nie ganz erlöschende Kinderangst geknüpft ist’ (‘Concerning the factors of silence, solitude and darkness, we can only say that they are actually elements in the production of the infantile anxiety from which the majority of human beings have never become quite free.’)62 However, in terms of visual art, these devices are important to the artist, who has only a few tools with which he can achieve these factors. Particularly important here, as Vidler puts it, is how the uncanny ‘became identified with all the phobias associated with spatial fear, including “la peur des espaces” 59

Ibid., p.256. Translated in The Penguin Freud Library, XIV, p.365. Ibid., p.263. Translated in The Penguin Freud Library, XIV, p.372. 61 Ibid., p.265. Translated in The Penguin Freud Library, XIV, p.374. 62 Ibid., p.268. Translated in The Penguin Freud Library, XIV, p.376. 60

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or agoraphobia, soon to be coupled with its obverse, claustrophobia.’63 In this sense, silence, solitude and darkness assume a considerable significance. The idea of the uncanny is also encompassed in the idea of shock, ‘for the modernist avant-gardes, the uncanny readily offered itself as an instrument of “defamiliarization” or ostranenie; as if a world estranged and distanced from its own nature could only be recalled to itself by shock, by the effects of things deliberately “made strange”.’64 To Vidler, the metropolitan uncanny is most effective in architecture; ‘first in the house, haunted or not, that pretends to afford the utmost security while opening itself to the secret intrusion of terror, and then in the city, where what was once walled and intimate, the confirmation of community […] has been rendered strange by the spatial incursions of modernity.’65 One thinks of the pittura metafisica in this respect, but it is also visible in those paintings by Grosz around 1920, such as Grauer Tag (1921). Vidler’s feeling regarding art and the uncanny is that art is uncanny, ‘because it veils reality, and also because it tricks. But it does not trick because of what it is in itself; rather it possesses the power to deceive because of the projected desire of the observer.’66 This matches almost exactly what this thesis is trying to say about Neue Sachlichkeit and the nature of shock and the uncanny. The inner truth is veiled by the outer level, but one level is not alien to the other. Furthermore, any shock produced by Neue Sachlichkeit is done subtly, in order that we as observers are challenged to change the way we perceive what is in front of us. It will be useful to round off this chapter with a summary of the main points for consideration in interpreting the paintings in the next chapter. The following issues will be taken into account. Firstly, can the paintings be interpreted allegorically, or are they simply an objective depiction of a subject? Secondly, can these works be said to have progressed beyond the period that Hegel saw as the end of art? That is, do they have something new to offer in the way they consider the world? Bürger’s writing on ‘newness’, the way of applying the dialectic method to art, and the section on the common ground between Neue Sachlichkeit and modernism, are useful in this respect. Thirdly, in terms of the human relationship with the modern world, the paintings will be examined with a view to finding a link to the ‘collectivity of two’, or to the theories on alienation by Benjamin, Simmel, Weber, or Kracauer. Finally, the uncanny will be sought as a means of both interpreting these theories, and acting as a defining characteristic of a strand of Neue Sachlichkeit, where the artist’s view of the world is conveyed in a particular way. These points will lead the thesis to a conclusion regarding the divisions within Neue Sachlichkeit, and whether there are artists who should not have sheltered beneath this umbrella. Furthermore, it will be possible to differentiate those works which represent a neue Sachlichkeit from those which are purely political, purely realist, or purely modernist.

63

Anthony Vidler, The Architectural Uncanny (London / Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1994), p.6. Ibid., p.8. 65 Ibid., p.11. 66 Ibid., p.35. 64

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5. A Thematic Approach While the main aim of this chapter is to look for examples of the points noted in the previous chapter, other differences and similarities will also be sought, such as influences from other artists and movements, and attitudes towards various events and issues.

Social Issues A contributing factor in the downfall of the Weimar Republic was the continuing opposition to parliamentary democracy. This came in no small part from those who had been authority figures during the Wilhelmine period, or who at least harked back to the days of the monarchy. The attempt at gravitas during Ebert’s swearing in reflects a return to pre-war traditions, and is mocked by Kessler. Als Ebert den Eid leisten soll, fehlt das Manuskript. Es muβ gesucht werden. Peinliche Pause, da die Orgel aufgehört hat zu spielen. Fehrenbach wird nervös. Schlieβlich kommt jemand mit dem Blatt durch die Bratenröcke nach vorne gedrängt. Ebert spricht den Eid mit einer ganz sympathischen hellen Stimme. Fehrenbach begrüβt ihn. Ebert redet. Alles sehr anständig, aber schwunglos wie bei einer Konfirmation in einem gutbürgerlichen Hause. Die Republik sollte Zeremonien aus dem Weg gehen; diese Staatsform eignet sich nicht dazu. Es ist, wie wenn eine Gouvernante Ballett tanzt. When Ebert is supposed to take the oath, the manuscript goes missing. It must be found. Embarrassing silence, since the organ has stopped playing. Fehrenbach gets nervous. Finally somebody appears with the missing page, pushed forward through the frock coats. Ebert speaks the oath with a very nice, high-pitched voice. Fehrenbach greets him. Ebert speaks. Everything very respectable, but lifeless, like a confirmation in a good middle-class house. The republic should avoid ceremonies; it isn’t suited to them. It is like when a governess 1 dances ballet.

It can certainly be said that Friedrich Ebert had at least notions towards the pre-war status quo, a fact which can be supported by his decision to make the pact with General Groener, the army’s quarter-master-general. As was explained in Chapter Two, the Weimar Republic was based on a series of compromises with the old élites. These élites can be identified as those such as civil servants, the military, and elements of the pre-war bourgeoisie, including to a certain degree, politicians of the right. One of the most striking examples in Neue Sachlichkeit painting of this sense of a lack of change, and disappointment and cynicism because of it, is George Grosz’s Stützen der Gesellschaft (1926). The picture depicts what Grosz obviously sarcastically refers to as the pillars of society; a social democrat, a republican journalist, a priest, and a budding National Socialist. Remnants of the old empire under Wilhelm II abound, as Ziegler states, ‘[…] class privileges, stifling patriotism, control of parliament by German industry. Early on, too, [Grosz] saw Hitler coming, and 1

Kessler, Tagebücher, p.200.

A Thematic Approach

filled his drawings, writings and conversation with warnings.’2 These aspects of the Weimar Republic are all represented in the painting; the affluent, obviously well-fed cleric, the flag-waving parliamentarian with his assertion that, ‘Sozialismus ist Arbeit’ (Socialism is Work), and the monocled Bürger in the foreground, with his duelling scars and dreams of military glory. Grosz’s stance in relation to these people is clear. The upturned chamberpot on the head of the journalist, and the pile of steaming faeces in the head of the parliamentarian are difficult to misinterpret. The swastika tie pin of the man in the foreground serves as a warning against the horrors that were to come. The cleric’s apparent blessing of the violence all around him was a theme that Grosz returned to in his portfolio Hintergrund (Background) (1928). These four stand before a background of blood and violence, which also reflects Grosz’s growing disillusionment with the KPD, as the soldiers depicted are from both sides of the political divide. While this reflects the extreme nature of the two sides, it can also be said that Grosz felt the two sides were not prepared to face each other either, that the KPD in particular had ‘lost its teeth’, thus the soldiers of the left occupy less space in the painting than those of the right. However, in terms of the well being of the Weimar Republic, at least in the short term, the military was by and large the most important of the old elites, as the withdrawal of their support could have been, and during the Kapp-Putsch very nearly was, catastrophic. The end of the monarchy signalled the end of any certainty over the loyalty of the military. That the military had its own agenda, with aims often contrary to those of the republic as it stood, is demonstrated in Georg Scholz’s painting Kriegerverein (War Veterans’ Association) (1921). This is clearest in the depiction of the veteran in the middle of a group of three, wearing a Hakenkreuz (swastika) on his lapel. These three represent the reactionary middle classes, and are clearly proud of their veteran status, a point supported by the name of the pub in the background, Zum eisernen Hindenburg (To the Iron Hindenburg). This nationalist feeling extends into the surroundings. According to Buderer and Fath, the ‘Puppenhäuschen der dörflichen Idylle tragen die Zeichen national-patriotischer Gesinnung. Auf einer Hauswand ist die Forderung nach der Rettung Oberschlesiens zu lesen’ (‘Model houses of the village idyll carry the signs of nationalistic and patriotic convictions. On the wall of a house one can read the demand for the preservation of Upper Silesia.’)3 This refers to the referendum of 21 March 1921, a condition of the Versailles Treaty, whereby the whole of Upper Silesia would or would not, depending on the result of the plebiscite, be ceded to Poland. The loss of Upper Silesia would of course be unthinkable to most nationalists, particularly in light of what they felt they had suffered already under the terms of the Versailles Treaty. The memorial, in front of which the three are gathered, is to the dead of the Franco-Prussian War, indicating a harking back to Germany’s royalist glory days, as opposed to mourning the dead of the Great War. ‘Der beleibteste Herr gegenüber hält die schwarz-weiβ-rote Vereinsfahne mit preuβischem Adler und der Inschrift “Mit Gott Für Fürst Und (Vater)land” – unmiβverständlichen [sic] Zeichen reaktionärer Gesinnung, war doch die Staatsfahne seit 1919 schwarz-rot-gold.’ (‘The stoutest gentleman opposite 2 3

Ziegler, U.E., ‘Despised Pleasures’, Art in America, (January 1996), 78-83 (p.80). Buderer & Fath, Neue Sachlichkeit, p.118.

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holds the association’s black, white and red flag, featuring the Prussian eagle and the inscription “With God for Fürst and (Father)land” – unmistakeably the sign of a reactionary point of view; the country’s flag was since 1919 black, red and gold.’)4 That such rightwing groups as these were closely watched, and in some cases proscribed, did not bring about their end, or indeed the end of anti-republican feeling. The autonomy of the civil service should also have been seen as a cause for concern. For while civil servants were instrumental in the downfall of the Kapp-Putsch, in that they refused to recognise Kapp’s signature, they were a symbol of tradition, who need not fear dismissal from their jobs. In this sense, they were more or less able to handle matters of state with whichever bias they pleased. ‘Was haltet ihr von einer Verwaltung, bei der der Angestellte wichtiger ist als die Maβnahmen, und die Maβnahme wichtiger als die Sache?’ (‘What do you make of an administration in which the civil servant is more important than the measures he is responsible for, and the measure is more important than the thing itself?’)5 An example of a civil servant of this ilk is found in Grosz’s Grauer Tag (1921). He is obviously one of Grosz’s ‘types’; he sports the republican colours, has duelling scars, pince-nez and a waxed moustache, and a cross-eyed expression which suggests he is attempting to avoid looking at what is around him, a device used again by Grosz in Stützen der Gesellschaft, for the journalist wears the same expression as this bureaucrat. A wall separates this man from an injured war veteran, whose presence is explained by the original title of the painting. Grauer Tag was exhibited at the Mannheim exhibition, but under the title Magistratsbeamter für Kriegsbeschädigtenfürsorge (Municipal Officer for Wounded Veterans’ Welfare). The veteran is clearly one of the thousands of soldiers who did not belong to the privileged officer class, who returned home from the war, maybe crippled, with nothing to look forward to but a life of unemployment and poverty. And it is the job of the man in the foreground to ensure the well being of this veteran. However, this appears to be true in job-title only, a fact supported by the brick wall between the two men, which the bureaucrat is apparently involved in building, judging by the set square he holds under his arm. ‘Mit dem Hinweis darauf, daβ die beiden Figuren eigentlich ganz unmittelbar aufeinander bezogen sein sollten, wird die Unvereinbarkeit der beiden Welten in einer sarkastischen Weise gesteigert.’ (‘With the suggestion that both figures actually should be dependent upon each other, the incompatibility of both worlds is, sarcastically, increased.’)6 In this way, Grosz shows the autonomous nature of the civil service, where a man responsible for another person’s welfare is able to separate himself so completely from that person. The figure peeking around a corner in the background appears to be of the same class as the bureaucrat, or at least aspires to it, with his shifty appearance implying that he too is out to look only after himself. With the Bürgertum (middle class) for the most part yearning for the glory days of the past, this sense of uncertainty regarding the future was well founded. The bourgeoisie were keener to return to the comfortable, stable life they had enjoyed under the monarchy than to 4 5 6

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Holsten, S., Georg Scholz. Gemälde. Zeichnungen. Druckgraphik (Karlsruhe: Staatliche Kunsthalle, 1990), p.29. Tucholsky, Gesammelte Werke, 2, p.53. Buderer & Fath, Neue Sachlichkeit, p.115.

A Thematic Approach

accept the fledgling republic. This feeling was exacerbated after the period of hyperinflation, when inherited wealth was rendered worthless. Previously to this, the bourgeoisie felt that it was of some importance. This attitude is parodied in Adolf Uzarski’s painting, Deutsche Familie (German Family) (1932), which dates after both economic crises, at a time when the middle class was instrumental in the rise of National Socialism. The picture parodies a family portrait, featuring father, mother, son and daughter. The mother and father in particular are attempting to pose as respectable middle class citizens, but they are clearly uncomfortable in this role, as the patriarch’s suit is far too big for him, and the dainty handkerchief held by the far-from-dainty mother serves to ridicule the family group, which to the dignified parents is made complete by the attractive, coy daughter and militarily-oriented son. The paraphernalia around them; the quality furniture, gilt picture frame, and the many ornaments and houseplants, all act as illustrations of their supposed status as bürgerlich (middle-class), while at the same time adding to the painting’s message that they are in fact ludicrous. In its use of placing people in a situation in which they are clearly not at home, this painting can be compared to much of Henri Rousseau’s portraiture, an example being Une noce à la campagne (A Country Wedding) (1904/5), a family portrait at a wedding. In this painting, the family appear stiff, as though in a pose for a photograph that they are not used to having taken. However, where the two paintings differ in this respect is that a feeling of warmth is generated towards Rousseau’s subjects, which is not towards those of Uzarski, who are merely laughable in their desperation to fit what they conceive as the necessary standard to belong to the Bürgertum. A feature of German society, more so in the past than nowadays, is the Untertanenmentalität, or attitude of subservience. In terms of notions such as feudalism or the protestant work ethic, for example, it supposedly led, in its time, to a structured, efficient society. However, it was felt by some intellectuals of the left that the bourgeoisie could take this mentality to such an extreme that it became a perversion. One of the better known of these intellectuals is Heinrich Mann, who describes the life and career of one of these bourgeois in his novel Der Untertan (usually known in English as Man of Straw) (1918). All through the novel, the hero, Diederich Heβling, is seen as something of a bully to those of a lower social class than himself, but is utterly devoted to the Kaiser, and those who have a higher social standing than him. From the very outset he is described as something of a pathetic character. ‘Diederich Heβling war ein weiches Kind, das am liebsten träumte, sich vor allem fürchtete und viel an den Ohren litt.’ (‘Diederich Hessling was a dreamy, delicate child, frightened of everything, and troubled frequently by earache.’)7 Already, on the first page of the novel, after being beaten by his father, he says to his father’s workmen, ‘Ich habe Prügel bekommen, aber von meinem Papa. Ihr wäret froh, wenn ihr auch Prügel von ihm bekommen könntet. Aber dafür seid ihr viel zu wenig.’ (‘I have got a beating, but from my papa. You would be glad to be beaten by him, but you are not good enough for that.’)8 This idea of enjoying punishment and pain continues into Diederich’s school life. ‘Am 7 8

Mann, H., Der Untertan (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 1991), p.5. In English as Man of Straw (London: Penguin, 1984), p.5. Ibid. Translated in Man of Straw, p.5.

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Geburtstag des Ordinarius bekränzte man Katheder und Tafel. Diederich umwand sogar den Rohrstock.’ (‘On the headmaster’s birthday flowers were placed on the desk and the blackboard. Diederich actually decorated the cane.’)9 This brief excursion into the life of Diederich Heβling helps to explain Der Untertan (The Underling) (1923) by Karl Hubbuch, which can be seen as the natural progression of the life of Heβling and those like him. The drawing depicts a smirking, semi-naked woman, bullying a grown man. However, this grown man is behaving like a child, cowering against the wall. His patent leather shoes, cufflinks and good clothes suggest he is bourgeois, but these clothes also add to his childlike appearance, particularly the trousers, which appear to be too short for him. He is also either bald or shaven-headed, giving him the appearance of a baby. He has a cane lying beside him, with which he could retaliate if he chose to, but he obviously does not. He is another example of the perversion suggested by Mann, a perversion which affected those who did not have to worry about where the next meal was coming from. These concerns were highest on the list of priorities for the working class, the representatives of which were also portrayed by the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit, such as Frau mit Kind (1921) by Otto Dix. The mother and child of the title obviously live in poverty, but the message of the painting is that they have not given up hope, in spite of all that they have been through, emphasised by the dark, muted colours in which they are portrayed, a reflection of the drabness of their lives. The hope is invested in the child, as the mother ‘eschews a feeling of resignation, holding the future in her hands; that is her child, who has a feeling of optimism in his or her expression.’10 However, to ensure her child’s future, there is a sense of self-sacrifice on the part of the mother, whose skeletal appearance is not reflected in her child. Andrew Graham-Dixon describes the painting as ‘an urban madonna and child’,11 again suggesting that there is a future here, but also ‘the fact that these people have made it this far. That constitutes their heroism, which is really the only kind of heroism in [Dix’s] art – a heroism of persistence, of survival against the odds.’12 While this sense of persistence is clear, Graham-Dixon romanticizes the lives of these people a little too much. They persist because they have to, and can more accurately be described as victims of the times. Less predictable sections of society also felt they were suffering at the hands of the republic. The right wing in Weimar Germany hankered for what they had seen as a pre-war goldene Zeitalter (golden age), and found the republic hard to accept in that so many aspects of life were controlled by outsiders. They no longer felt they were in charge of their own destinies, or had no faith in those who did, and saw a return to the pre-war state of affairs as the only way to return Germany to the position they believed it should hold. Representatives of those who would return Germany to its pre-war state are depicted in Grosz’s Sonnenfinsternis (Eclipse of the Sun) (1926). The title relates to a dollar sign, shining its light on the gathering around the table. President Hindenburg is at the head of 9

Ibid., p.8. Translated in Man of Straw, p.7. Bellany, J., ‘Picture Choice’, The Independent, 18.2.1992, p.15. 11 Graham-Dixon, A., ‘Art of Darkness’, The Independent, 17.3.1992, p.20. 12 Ibid. 10

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A Thematic Approach

the group, displaying the red cheeks, bull neck and gnashing teeth that marks him as one of Grosz’s ‘types’. A scheming capitalist is whispering into Hindenburg’s ear, colluding with him over profits gained from secret rearmament, as demonstrated by the arsenal he holds under his arm. The rest of the group are headless, automatically working towards the downfall of the republic, and unable to use their own minds to halt the inevitable collapse, that is supposing they want to. The violence on the horizon is emphasized by the bloodstained sword on the table, and the apocalyptic background, once again influenced by de Chirico. In this instance the threat is clear, and the consequences of opposing the will of this gathering and those like them are shown in the bottom right of the painting; an imprisoned boy, now with no future, and a skeleton. A republican-coloured crucifix shows the Church’s complicity in the decisions of these men. A blinkered ass represents the population at large, unaware of the horrors into which it will soon fall, or rather be pushed by the likes of Hindenburg and his greedy, violent circle. This Sonnenfinsternis also refers to the darkness about to descend on the republic if these men have their way. Thus paintings relating to social issues emphasise in particular the aspect of dehumanisation, both of the victims of the republic and of those who support it. The influence of de Chirico has particular relevance here, as it helps to convey the Weberian idea of Entzauberung, as discussed in Chapter Four, with its lack of individuality, and eerie silence, as demonstrated in particular in Grauer Tag, where the war veteran falls victim to the rationalization embodied in the bureaucrat who stands in front of him. A sense of the uncanny is present in this painting, but not due to any of the characters within it. However, this feeling does not extend to other paintings, such as Kriegerverein, where the threat is not so much perceived as more-or-less made clear. However, it is not treated as a threat, rather as an object of ridicule, as opposed to Stützen der Gesellschaft and Sonnenfinsternis, where the objects of the threat are made abundantly clear, and treated with utter contempt. These paintings are not difficult to interpret, provided one has a knowledge of the events of the time. However, they do demonstrate that Benjamin’s allegorical model, as discussed in Chapter Four, may be applied to paintings such as these, where objects are placed outside their original context, in order that a meaning may be applied to them. In Stützen der Gesellschaft, the characters are not given an obvious context, and the fact that they are all juxtaposed, combined with the title of the work, leads to a straightforward basic interpretation of the painting. As an example of allegory, Sonnenfinsternis is better still, with several fragments introduced to the scene that indicate the meaning of the depicted gathering. Deutsche Familie and Der Untertan stand as satire in a conventional sense, with the middle class being mocked for their foibles and idiosyncrasies, but not attacked for the threat they represent to society at large. The point made in Chapter Four, that some paintings cannot be interpreted using Benjamin’s concept of allegory, as they are not based on fragment, is also demonstrated here. In Frau mit Kind, neither of the characters can be said to be out of context, and these figures in themselves seem to convey a simple message of resilience and hope in spite of hardship. Andrew Graham-Dixon’s description of the portrait as an ‘urban Madonna and child’ shows an understanding of the painting as a depiction of a future in the hands of the child, who even appears to have a kind of aura around its head. In this way, the painting may be seen in terms of a more traditional 83

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

religious allegory, where the babe-in-arms (and those of its generation) would eventually deliver the world from the suffering it currently experienced.

Modernity and Interaction in the Urban Context This section will deal with the development of modernism within an expanding urban context, rather than the physical growth of towns and cities. While not covering every aspect of this type of modernity, Neue Sachlichkeit is known for its depictions of the new means of entertainment, influenced by America, and alongside it the change in traditional gender roles, including the advent of the neue Frau (new woman). This is opposed to the view of women as inferior to their male counterparts, and more particularly to Neue Sachlichkeit, as prostitutes and victims of sex crime. Many commentators point out that the influence of America played a large part in these social changes, and this influence will be seen in the paintings. Americanism was seen as eine Methode des Konkreten und der Energie und völlig eingestellt auf geistige und materielle Realität. Ihr entspricht auch das neue (amerikanisierte) Aussehen des Europäers; bartlos mit scharfem Profil, zielstrebigem Blick, schmalem stählernen Körper; und der neue Frauentypus (der sexologisch allein nur wenig erklärt ist): knabenhaft, linear, beherrscht von lebendiger Bewegung, vom Schreiten, vom Bein. A method of the concrete and of energy, and is completely attuned to spiritual and material reality. The European’s new (Americanised) appearance corresponds to it too: beardless with a sharp profile, a resolute look in the eyes, and a steely, thin body; and the new female type (explained only minimally by sexology 13 alone): boyish, linear, and ruled by lively movement, by her step, and by her leg.

One American import which featured frequently in depictions by Neue Sachlichkeit artists was jazz music, which in the 1920s was still relatively new to Europe. Eric Hobsbawm establishes the link between the sudden popularity of jazz in Europe and the growth of the urban landscape. ‘Discussion of jazz must begin, like all historical analyses of society under modern capitalism, with technology and business: in this instance the business of supplying the leisure and entertainment of the increasingly urban masses of the lower and middle classes.’14 Of course, if a business established itself by supplying this commodity, then there must have been consumers, and what features frequently in Neue Sachlichkeit portrayals of this new entertainment is an attack against hedonistic or uncontrolled consumerism of this kind. One such example is Otto Dix’s An die Schönheit (To Beauty) (1922). The painting shows Dix himself, standing in a room where people dance to the rhythm of a black drummer. All the characters are elegantly dressed. The Americanism in

13

Kayser, R., ‘Amerikanismus’, in Longerich, P., ed., Die erste Republik. Dokumente zur Geschichte des Weimarer Staates (Munich: Piper, 1992), pp.369-373 (p.370/371). Translated in Kaes, and others, pp.395-397 (p.395). 14 Hobsbawm, E., Uncommon People. Resistance, Rebellion and Jazz (London: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1998), p.265.

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A Thematic Approach

this painting is shown by the drawing of an American Indian chief on the bass drum, and the fact that black American music has found its way into European salon culture. American Negro music benefited from being American. It was received not merely as the exotic, the primitive, the non-bourgeois, but as the modern. Jazz bands came from the same country as Henry Ford. The intellectuals and artists who took up jazz immediately after the First World War on the European continent 15 almost invariably include modernity among its attractions.

The clearest symbol of modernity in An die Schönheit is the telephone receiver that Dix holds in his left hand, a symbol of the power of communications in the world of industry and commerce. This adds to the image of Dix as a thoroughly modern man, surrounded by people for whom, in this context at least, appearance is everything. Other paintings which are less critical, but show this culture nonetheless, are Gert Wollheim’s Abschied von Düsseldorf (Taking Leave of Düsseldorf) (1924), Adolf Uzarski’s Kabarett-Café (CabaretCafé) (1928) and Ernst Fritsch’s Jeunesse dorée (1926). Abschied von Düsseldorf shows Wollheim in the centre of the painting, wearing evening dress, surrounded by women who are clearly mourning his imminent departure. His dress stands in contrast to the less formal clothes worn by the women, as if to suggest that he is now somewhere beyond the hedonistic party scene, represented by the sexually aroused dog to the lower left of the picture. As Michalski writes, it is ‘Wollheim’s farewell to his “wild years”, for now he, too, like so many of his comrades-in-arms, was gradually becoming established.’16 But more than this, Wollheim’s dandyish appearance suggests a need to be seen as a modern manabout-town. Here too, appearance is of primary importance. Kabarett-Café shows the middle and upper classes enjoying themselves at the cabaret, with two female performers on stage, and an American-style jazz or swing band behind them. A criticism of the cult of appearance is apparent here, but not to the degree of An die Schönheit, and the painting has a more mocking tone, rather than explicitly critical, as if to suggest the ludicrousness of taking such time over one’s appearance in order to spend a night out with other people who have done exactly the same. The entertainment appears almost secondary. This is in contrast to the characters in Jeunesse dorée, who actually appear to be enjoying their night out. They do not wear the evening dress depicted in An die Schönheit or Kabarett-Café, the suggestion being that these figures belong to the working class or lower middle class, who in 1926, at the time of this painting, may well have had the disposable income to enjoy themselves in this way. The fact that the painting has a French title also suggests excitement and abandon. This painting therefore seems to be more of a celebration than a criticism, if only to demonstrate that it is not necessary to have a great deal of money and a band in order to enjoy oneself. What these paintings all have in common is that they show elements of a type of entertainment, which did not exist in Germany, at least to any extent, before the war, and there were those who harked back to those days. ‘Ausgeträumt ist der Walzertraum, vergangen die minutiös geregelte Munterkeit der Française; und das mit jenen tänzerischen 15 16

Ibid., p.266/267. Michalski, Neue Sachlichkeit, p.131.

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Umständlichkeiten Gemeinte: gefälliger Flirt, zierliche Begegnung im sinnlichen Medium – nur die ältere Generation allenfalls sucht es noch zu beschwören.’ (‘The waltz dream has come to an end, and the minutely regulated gaiety of the Française is a thing of the past. What used to be signified by such danced ceremoniousness – pleasant flirtation, a tender encounter in the realm of the sensuous – is evoked today (if at all) only by the older generation.’)17 Kracauer proceeds to equate modern music with the world of mechanized industry. ‘Der wirkliche Mensch, der nicht zur Figur des mechanisierten Betriebes abgedankt hat, widerstrebt der Auflösung in Raum und Zeit. Er steht gewiβ in dem Raume hier, doch er geht nicht in ihm auf und unter.’ (‘The real person, who has not capitulated to being a tool of mechanised industry, resists being dissolved into space and time. He certainly exists in this space here, yet is not utterly dispersed in it or overwhelmed by it.’)18 While Max Beckmann’s Tanz in Baden-Baden (Dance in Baden-Baden) (1923) seems to portray those who would sympathise with this viewpoint, the painting has a very different message. It shows those of the higher spheres of society engaged in more ‘civilised’ entertainment than those in the previous paintings, for they are waltzing. However, while they may regard themselves as more refined than the salon and dance hall-goers, they do not seem to share the closeness of the dancers to modern music, demonstrated by the fact that the dancers in Jeunesse dorée, for instance, actually hold hands, while Beckmann’s dancers only make a pretence of such closeness. This is also emphasised by the woman in red’s lack of interest in her partner. She seems to be more interested in the music she is dancing to, as though she has become entranced. What Beckmann is trying to convey is that sometimes humans can become too self-absorbed to allow themselves to become close to one another. Lack of contact between humans, sometimes to the point of ostracism, was a theme which was also taken up by Otto Dix. Roland März points out an experience which would help set Dix upon this path. ‘In einem Dresdner Kaffeehaus hat der Maler Dix etwas Ungeheuerliches, ja Unglaubliches gesehen: drei Krüppel spielen mit allen Körperteilen und Prosthesen Skat in einem Hinterzimmer.’ (‘In a Dresden coffee house the painter Dix saw something monstrous, indeed unbelievable: three cripples playing skat with every body part and prosthesis in a back room.’)19 From this experience, the painting Die Skatspieler (The Skat Players) (1920) was born. ‘Im Dix’schen Atelier entsteht sofort nach dieser Begegnung im Café die präzise Kompositionsvorzeichnung zum Bild.’ (‘In the Dix studio the precise compositional sketch for the painting arose out of this encounter in the café.’)20 The painting depicts three figures, as much artificial as human, playing cards in a darkened back room. If one did not realize that these men are war veterans, then the Iron Cross belonging to the figure on the right of the picture emphasizes the point. These one-time heroes are now left to a solitary life, preferably away from the eyes of ‘decent society’. As 17

Kracauer, Das Ornament der Masse, p.41. Translated in The Mass Ornament, p.66. Ibid., p.43. Translated in The Mass Ornament, p.68. 19 März, R., ‘Otto Dix. Die Skatspieler. Eine Neuerwerbung für die Nationalgalerie’, Jahrbuch Preußischer Kulturbesitz, 32 (1995), 351-391 (p.363). 20 Ibid. 18

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A Thematic Approach

März puts it, they appear to present ‘eine konspirative Versammlung von Außenseitern der Gesellschaft’ (‘a conspiratorial gathering of society’s outsiders.’)21 Another painting which also includes this theme as one of its many messages, is Dix’s Groβstadt (Big City) (1927/8). This triptych depicts the various sections of society which can be found around the big city at night, in this painting in the context of a classy dance hall cum brothel. The central panel shows a group of well-dressed people enjoying a night out. Again here, the primary intent is to create a suggestion of enjoyment based on affluence. The evidence for this is everywhere, as this is a scene of pure ostentation, with the latest fashions worn by the women, the amount of heavy, visible jewellery, the dinner jackets worn by the band, and the reddish-yellow light, which serves to emphasise the wealth on display. A comment is made here regarding the emancipation of women, who are not really emancipated, as they ‘display themselves as exquisite “inalienable goods”’,22 but as goods nonetheless.

Otto Dix Großstadt (1927/28) © DACS 2004 Photo: Kunstmuseum Stuttgart The right panel depicts a more obvious connection between woman and consumption, that is, prostitution. In this case it is high-class prostitution, unmistakably made clear by the second woman’s exposed breast, and the coat of the woman at the front of the line, clearly representative of pubic hair and vagina. The opulent architecture confirms that these women are not street-girls, a point emphasised by the fact that they do not acknowledge the

21 22

Ibid., p.364. Karcher, Otto Dix, p.129.

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existence of the crippled war veteran sitting at the foot of the stairwell. They will not sell themselves to just anybody. Prostitution is also the subject of the left panel, but in a far more brutal form. The women in this scene are literally no more than objects to the war veterans who lustfully stare at them, their animalistic urges emphasised by the dog at the foot of the panel. However, they will never have the opportunity to ‘buy’ these commodities, as the veterans inhabit a level of society where they struggle to find the basics of life, let alone finding money to pay prostitutes, in this case prostitutes who themselves are only managing to scratch a living. The lack of contact that is seen in Tanz in Baden-Baden is a reality of life for veterans such as these, who are forced to spend their lives in each other’s company because they are either not able or not invited to share anybody else’s. A further aspect to this painting, as stressed by Marsha Meskimmon, is the idea that women were something to be feared. ‘Ranging from images of battered poor women selling themselves for a pittance to fantastic visions of fetishised femininity presiding over the hellish decadence of the street, the work consistently occluded any sense of the situation of prostitutes as people in favour of the symbol of woman as frightening and desirable “other”.’23 Elements of this idea are present in Groβstadt, such as the figure in the central panel whose gender is unclear and who tries to project an image of being desirable yet unapproachable. The notion is clearer in terms of the war veterans, ‘shown weakened in every way by the aggressive sexuality of Weimar women. Both the economic and sexual bargaining power rests with the demonized whores of modernity.’24 To suggest that these women are the main factor in the weakness of the men ignores the fact that these men were left in this situation more by the war than anything else. However, it cannot be denied that the men are now impotent in the eyes of the prostitutes; hence the veteran in the left panel stares at the prostitute, ‘with a facial expression of craving and powerless hatred.’25 This feeling of threat had its clearest roots in the necessary change of traditional gender roles during the war, for while the men who returned generally took up much the same employment they had left behind, women still retained, to a degree, a greater amount of social and economic freedom than they had before the war, at least in the minds of the men who once again lived alongside them. From this change, and in reality it was not a huge change, arose ‘a direct sense of challenge to existing hierarchies of male cultural authority.’26 This argument is convincing when one considers much of the art of Neue Sachlichkeit, not least a painting such as Groβstadt. ‘The spread of the Neue Sachlichkeit as an aesthetic after the mid-1920s has here become associated with the de-eroticization of the female body in a discourse which objectified women both as sexually voracious and as

23

Meskimmon, M., We Weren’t Modern Enough. Women Artists and the Limits of German Modernism (London: I.B. Tauris, 1999), p.39. 24 Rowe, D., ‘Desiring Berlin: Gender and Modernity in Weimar Germany’, in Meskimmon, M. & West, S., eds, Visions of the Neue Frau. Women and the Visual Arts in Weimar Germany (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1995), pp.143-164 (p.162). 25 Karcher, Otto Dix, p.130. 26 Rowe, ‘Desiring Berlin’, p.152.

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A Thematic Approach

mechanically or androgynously dehumanized.’27 Both these types are represented in Groβstadt, and this argument calls into question, as both Rowe and Meskimmon have done, the common interpretation of Groβstadt as a criticism of Weimar society, without including this further dimension, or indeed ‘the history of grotesque misogyny that characterizes Dix’s work.’28 A further example of what may be seen as this misogyny is seen in Dix’s Der Salon I (1921). A popular interpretation of this painting is that it represents a portrayal of ‘the whole ghastly, dehumanising effect of prostitution’,29 but in the cold, sober fashion which is accepted of Neue Sachlichkeit. However, Twohig here paraphrases Dix, to assert that this depiction ‘is intended to be revolting: to arouse exactly the opposite feeling to lust.’30 Although this claim was made in Dix’s defence at a trial for indecency, it can also be said that Dix could be included among those who saw a threat from women, and particularly prostitutes. Beth Irwin Lewis clarifies this idea in particular relation to prostitution. ‘With the prostitutes also came venereal diseases that reached epidemic proportions in the early years of the century: according to one source, VD was second only to tuberculosis in the number of cases treated in hospitals. Women as prostitutes were perceived as carriers of sickness and death.’31 Hence the feeling that Dix is mocking, if not criticising, the characters in his painting; there is little feeling of an unbiased depiction of fact. The painting depicts four prostitutes seated around a table. All the figures are intended to look ridiculous, with gaudy make-up that is supposed to make them look youthful juxtaposed with their aging, flaccid bodies. The idea of sickness is particularly apparent in a figure on the right, who has the pale skin and emaciated features of one whose health is in decline. Lewis develops her argument to explain the many depictions of Lustmord, or sex murder, of this period. ‘The sentence of death against woman pronounced in these works was a reactionary response that had its roots deep in contemporary cultural and social misogyny.’32 Therefore Lewis’s argument meets that of Rowe and Meskimmon, that it is not enough to say that artists produce these depictions because that is the way things are. Rather, ‘these particular images force us to go beyond the celebration of the artist as a perceptive interpreter of the period to recognize the extent to which artists shared contemporary fears and anxieties.’33 Lewis quotes a passage that Dix wrote in one of his war diaries: ‘Eigentlich wird im letzten Grunde bloβ aller Krieg um und wegen der Vulva geführt.’ (‘Actually, in the final analysis all war is waged over and for the vulva.’)34 This apparent ill-feeling towards women appears to be reflected in his Szene II. Mord (Scene II, 27 28 29 30 31

32 33 34

Ibid., p.160. Ibid., p.162. Hartley, K. & Twohig, S.O., eds, Otto Dix 1891-1969 (London: Tate Gallery, 1992), Exhibition Catalogue, p.110. Ibid. Lewis, B.I., ‘Lustmord: Inside the Windows of the Metropolis’, in Haxthausen, C. & Suhr, H., eds, Berlin. Culture and Metropolis (Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press, 1990), pp.111-140 (p.140). The English translation is also provided here, p.129. Ibid., p.136. Ibid. Ibid., p.129.

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Murder) (1922), a hurried depiction of the aftermath of a sex murder, where the attack is neither um (over) nor wegen (for), but gegen die Vulva (against the vulva), for this is no sympathetic, straightforward depiction of a murder victim, but a portrayal of extreme violence, although the act of violence is now passed. If the argument of Lewis, Rowe, and Meskimmon is further developed, and that these artists were in fact that misogynistic, it is possible to see such paintings as a form of punishing the women depicted in them. The water smudges in the red of the blood serve to highlight this violence, as does the obvious speed of the execution. As if it were not horrific enough, the green tinge to the corpse suggests the beginning of decomposition. The lack of any other ciphers points to the fact that this painting was not a comment on society, but a depiction of pure brutality. That is not to say that Lustmord images did not contain social comment, as is evident in another painting by Dix, now lost, entitled Lustmord (1922), and in Lustmord (1924) by Rudolf Schlichter. The clearest difference between Schlichter’s portrayal and Szene II. Mord is the sense of calm and the fact that there is far less blood on display. This is also true of Dix’s Lustmord, but in this case the mutilation of the prostitute is graphically shown, and emphasised by the reflection of this mutilation in the mirror above the bed. Both this scene and Schlichter’s Lustmord carry a similar message, that once the veneer of bourgeois respectability is lifted, a grotesque world can be found beneath, where social status has no relevance to the animalistic drives which can lead a person to do this. The fine furniture and frills that are evident in both pictures emphasise the pretence of respectability on the part of these women, but the fact that the rooms are only sparsely furnished suggests that the women are unable to maintain such a lifestyle, as well as giving a sense of emptiness both in life and death. It is most likely that these rooms are hotel or brothel rooms. The main consideration of the gender issue has so far been from the point of view of the male artist, but in Sie repräsentiert (She represents) (c.1927) by a female artist, Jeanne Mammen, the change in gender roles is depicted from a woman’s standpoint. The scene is a lesbian club in Berlin, and shows two women playing with extreme versions of gender identities. The central figure wears men’s evening dress and assumes a semiconfrontational, confident stance, with a cigarette dangling from her mouth. ‘This figure literally poses; the body language is theatrical, demonstrative. She is playing the “Bubi”, acting a version of “masculinity” for the viewer. Another female figure behind her is dressed in highly “feminine” clothing (the “Dame”) dancing with her arm on the shoulder of the central figure.’35 It is as if these characters are throwing down a gauntlet to the men who would have them fulfill their traditional roles, asserting their desire to subvert commonly conceived gender roles. Even though this subversion was only acted out as a ‘role’, it still represented a step forward, a progression into the modern as it is known today. This painting stands apart from most of the others, in that it celebrates the possibilities of modernity, with little in the way of criticism. Jeunesse dorée is the only other painting with such an outlook. While the other paintings show various aspects of modernity, it is with a negative slant, from extremes such as murder, to problems of human interaction, 35

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Meskimmon, We Weren’t Modern Enough, p.216.

A Thematic Approach

such as that seen in Tanz in Baden-Baden. Some of the depictions shown in this section show how the process of Entzauberung affects people’s lives, from the bored prostitutes in Der Salon I, to the dead women in the Lustmord paintings, women who’s humdrum existence has come to a terrible conclusion. The situations noted in this section can be said to result largely from the rapid development of urbanization, where people found themselves living closer and closer to one another, but paradoxically becoming more and more estranged from one another. This estrangement, as Weber points out, goes hand in hand with the increased rationalisation and industrialisation of the workplace, and indeed life in general.

Industrialisation and Modernisation In general, Neue Sachlichkeit was not favourable towards this growth in industry that followed the war, but there were those who did see some possibilities inherent in it, although they were in the minority. Carl Grossberg’s Traumbild: Dampfkessel mit Fledermaus (Vision: Boiler with Bat) (1928) is at first sight ambiguous in its attitude, although the subject is obviously industrial. The main image in the painting is the huge boiler drum, which dwarfs the two bats that share the scene. The first impression given by the painting is the absolute silence it conveys. One would expect a noisy, busy background to a scene involving such an obvious, large piece of industrial apparatus, but this is not the case, and there is no human involvement at all. Even the landscape outside is completely empty. ‘Die Auβenwelt, die sich in einer langen “Fenster”-Front öffnet, bleibt durch die Wucht des Raumsoges vorerst unbeachtet. Aber auch später läβt sich an der flachen Öde weder Halt noch Heimat finden.’ (‘The outside world, that opens out through a long “window” front, remains due to the power of the internal space, for the moment unobserved. But also later there will be no rest or home to be found in the flat wasteland.’)36 Not that this matters, as there is nobody who would need to find a resting place. It is difficult to see how any of the elements of the painting relate to each other, particularly in terms of the bats, the only animate elements within the painting, and their incongruity in this environment. Indeed, considering they are living beings, they are strangely static. The eerie silence and bizarre juxtapositions within this painting really knock the viewer off his guard, and lend a definite sense of the uncanny. The fact that the boiler and the room in which it is housed are so smooth and clean adds to this effect, as one would expect an industrial scene to look industrial, that is, dirty and worn. While this depiction is undoubtedly realist, it shows a reality that is unknown to anybody, and as such it leaves the viewer uncomfortable. In achieving this effect, the painting leaves the impression that there is something to be wary of. As Grossberg wrote, the ‘progress 36

Vögele, C., ‘Kastenraum und Flucht, Panorama und Kulisse. Zur Raumpsychologie der Neuen Sachlichkeit’, in Hülsewig-Johnen, J., ed., Neue Sachlichkeit. Magischer Realismus (Bielefeld: Kunsthalle Bielefeld, 1990), Exhibition Catalogue, pp.25-43 (p.34).

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made by technology has always attracted my attention; however, I have been aware of how certain important things have slipped away from us because of this development.’37 This sense of loss is also evident in Franz Radziwill’s Die Inselbrücke in Wilhelmshaven (The Island Bridge at Wilhelmshaven) (1931), in this case the sense of the loss of human control over the progress of mechanisation, and as is clearly demonstrated in this painting, over the rearmament of Germany, the warship Deutschland signifying the impending descent into war. An isolated human figure on the quayside is dwarfed by all the images of technological progress that surround him; the ship immediately in front of him, the warship, the huge iron bridge, and the seaplane overhead. The leaden sky and churning sea clearly indicate the sense of foreboding that Radziwill conveys in this painting, but in spite of this power, both of nature and of technology, there remains an uncanny sense of solitude. This is also the case in one of Radziwill’s earlier paintings, from 1921, Hafen mit der Cap Populonia und gelbem Matrosen (Harbour with the “Cap Populonia” and a Sailor in Yellow), where a sailor remains in isolation in spite of a degree of human activity taking place around him. The scene is darker than the later painting, allowing an even greater feeling of powerlessness in the face of nature and of technological progress, shown by a huge cargo ship and a sky that is almost biblical in its fury. The figures are painted in very dark tones, particularly a group leaning against the wall on the left, and this separates them from the sailor in the centre, clothed in yellow waterproofs. ‘Vielleicht soll auch diese Figur […] den Menschen in seiner Isolation und Fragwürdigkeit darstellen.’ (‘Perhaps this figure should also represent man in his isolation and doubtfulness.’)38 The isolation of this figure is made even more explicit by the length of his shadow, which appears eerie against the other humans, who do not have shadows. They do, however, appear to be able to interact with one another, hence the cluster of men on the left. Two men also work together in a dinghy on the right, attempting to harness the power of the mighty icon of technology that is the ship. A different, yet popular image in terms of man and industry is one of man’s utter impotence in the face of the huge, modern, urban industrial environment. An example of such imagery is Oskar Nerlinger’s An die Arbeit (To Work) (1929), which depicts two vast factory chimneys belching black smoke into a sulphurous sky. A featureless office block dominates the bottom right of the picture, and across a bridge that leads to the complex march hundreds of people, on their way to work. They appear more like a column of ants than a workforce, with their complete lack of individuality. This is emphasised by the minimal difference in colour between the workforce and the bridge across which they walk, as if they have no more importance than the industry that they, as humans, ought to be in control of. The lop-sided construction of the painting, particularly the bridge, suggests that life is an uphill struggle. This is surely a symptom of Entzauberung der Welt; these people appear to exist only as a means of keeping the wheels of industry turning. Their lives have

37 38

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Michalski, New Objectivity, p.170. Schulze, R.W., ‘Wohin in dieser Welt? Zu historischen und zeitkritischen Elementen in der Malerei Franz Radziwills’, in Franz Radziwill (Berlin: Neue Gesellschaft für bildende Kunst, 1981), pp.87-102 (p.97).

A Thematic Approach

no other purpose, and it is difficult to imagine how they could accept that there was any sense of ‘magic’ or spirituality in their lives. Whether it was a direct influence or not, the picture contains much imagery from Fritz Lang’s film Metropolis (1926). The most obvious is the clearly popular expectation that the sky would become an area where people and cargo would be transported. This is shown in Nerlinger’s painting by the fuel for industry being moved along some kind of aerial runway, and in Lang’s film by the appearance of numerous aeroplanes, and the road and railway running high above the ground. While the film shows not an industrial, but an urban, American-style environment (above ground, anyway), which for many was a wonderful dream, it does not show the oppressed workforce below ground, and one suspects that Nerlinger may have derived some inspiration from this aspect of the film. What Nerlinger’s painting and Lang’s film both show is that while for a privileged few such modern developments lead to a kind of utopia, many more people suffer greatly in the construction of that utopia. In spite of such oppression, there were artists who portrayed human resolve in the face of the hegemony of industry. One such artist was Karl Hubbuch, who in Die Schwimmerin von Köln (The Cologne Swimmer) (1923) depicts a woman in a swimming costume standing in front of a huge iron bridge component, with Cologne Cathedral in the background. The vastness of the bridge expresses a sense of alienation from both the woman, who despite her determined look is powerless in relation to this construction, and from ideas of past traditions, with the dwarfing of the Cathedral in the distance. The bridge also separates the human from her past, in that the human was once able to defeat the barrier of water, by swimming, but has now been overtaken by the rapid construction of bridges, necessary to carry modern volumes of traffic. However, the woman, who looks incongruous in her costume, will not be deterred by the hugeness of her surroundings and her isolation from them. She will have her swim, a human activity, in spite of the fact that she will be out of place in this industrial setting. A painting that does not have such a negative view of industry is Die Internationale (The Internationale) by Otto Griebel (1928-30), where a group of workers is depicted, presumably singing the song of the title. It is easiest to see this picture as a work of socialist realism, with a united workforce sharing the same ideal, and knowing that they all have a part to play in making a success of their society. James Malpas writes that ‘the artist’s refusal to heroicise the figures […] makes them […] different from the Socialist Realism developing in the USSR at this time.’39 However, as a group, these workers are heroicised, about to commence a struggle of productivity, and united in this struggle. The fact that Griebel was a member of the KPD, and active within a number of left wing artists’ associations, supports the view that he was aiming to express a socialist ideal. Another painting with a more positive outlook is Der eiserne Steg (The Iron Footbridge) by Max Beckmann (1922), a depiction of the city of Frankfurt. The painting is dominated by the iron footbridge of the title. There is a feeling in the painting that the modern industrial, urban landscape can be threatening, as demonstrated by the chimney 39

Malpas, Realism, p.37.

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forcing polluting smoke into the air, the dirtiness of the Main River, and the degree of traffic on it. The distorted perspective adds to the feeling that something is not quite right in this cityscape, but while this was clearly an impression that Beckmann wanted to convey, the painting is not wholly threatening. The distorted perspective also lends a kind of charm, in the same way that a painting by Rousseau is charming, and who was an obvious influence in this painting. The human figures in particular are very reminiscent of Rousseau, and where they are not alone; they interact with one another, for example the two men at the bottom right, and a mother and child crossing the bridge. Rousseau’s selfportrait Moi-Même. Portrait-Paysage (Myself. Landscape Portrait) (1890) also shows a bridge dominating the background, with the newly built Eiffel Tower in the distance and a solitary couple on the riverbank. Rousseau’s size in relation to the rest of the painting would also suggest isolation, but no sense of criticism or threat is evident in this painting. ‘Rousseau was never, could never be a revolutionary. If he had been, his painting would have produced movements of fear or hatred: instead it only provoked smiles.’40 It is due to this influence that Beckmann’s painting does not convey a sense of impending doom, although the feeling of insecurity at the development of this environment is inescapable nonetheless. A painting that is outwardly more favourable to technology is Reinhold Nägele’s Bahnlinie (Railway Line) (1922), a depiction of a (then) modern railway line, without any sense of threat. What Nägele tries to bring to the picture is not a positive feeling regarding what technology can bring to mankind, but rather a sense that modernization can still be homely, comfortable, and safe, hence it features lighter tones than the other paintings in this section have used. Finally, this section will briefly turn to depictions of the smaller, everyday developments of modernity. A picture that shows such developments is Kurt Günther’s Radionist (Radio Listener) (1927). The radio listener of the title appears to be almost plugged in to the radio itself, with the headset almost a part of him, but with symbols of tradition all around him. Michalski quotes Egon Friedell from 1927: ‘[radio] is freeing us of the necessity of concentration, and we are now able to enjoy Mozart and sauerkraut, or the Sunday sermon and a game of cards, at one and the same time. The human voice has achieved omnipresence […] – but at the cost of the soul.’41 This sentiment is expressed in this painting, where the man listens to his radio, reads his opera guide, smokes a cigar, and drinks wine, all at the same time, thus showing how the effects of technology have invaded even the most basic aspects of life. In general, Neue Sachlichkeit saw technology as something to be wary of. These are the first paintings discussed that show a real feeling of the uncanny, particularly those by Grossberg and Radziwill. They may also be seen as allegorical depictions. Several apparently incongruous elements are placed together to reveal a new and unconnected meaning. This is particularly clear in Grossberg’s Traumbild: Dampfkessel mit Fledermaus, as the interpretation of the painting demonstrates. Those aspects of modern life discussed in 40 41

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Bouret, J., Henri Rousseau (London: Oldbourne Press, 1961), p.20. Michalski, New Objectivity, p.178.

A Thematic Approach

Chapter Four, particularly of Entzauberung der Welt, the individual versus industrialization, and the trend of people seeking refuge within themselves rather than among each other, are featured particularly frequently here. One need only consider An die Arbeit and Die Schwimmerin von Köln in this respect. The quotation by Eberle, cited at the beginning of Chapter Four, which describes the shutting-out of loneliness by way of constant distraction, is also demonstrated here in Radionist. The character of the title keeps himself so occupied in order that he does not have to confront the reality of life. The painting is therefore critical of this blinkered view of the world, a view opposed by Neue Sachlichkeit.

Religion In truth, Religion was not a well-used theme among the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit, but is worth mentioning for the impact achieved by the few religious depictions that there were. In general, where it did crop up, it was used to point out a completely different meaning to a religious one, such as the bible in Georg Scholz’s Industriebauern (1920), which acts as a tool to emphasise the ludicrousness of the family being portrayed. George Grosz also attacked Religion in his portfolio Hintergrund (1928), in particular in Seid Untertan der Obrigkeit (Be Servile to Authority), a depiction of two army officers holding hands in front of a deathly-looking priest, while another priest in the background attempts to balance a crucifix on his nose. Die Ausschüttung des heiligen Geistes (The Distribution of the Holy Spirit) features a priest in a pulpit with various pieces of ordanance coming out of his mouth instead of the words of a sermon, and finally Maul halten und weiter dienen (Shut up and carry on), which shows the crucifixion, but with Christ wearing army boots and a gasmask. What these drawings criticised in particular was the Church’s links with, and support of, the armed forces, and their publication led to Grosz being tried for blasphemy. This section, however, will not concentrate on such depictions, as Grosz was largely alone among the Neue Sachlichkeit artists in highlighting this issue. Rather, the section will deal with the use of religious iconography and traditions to convey the artist’s message. This device was used in particular by Otto Dix, and is most clearly seen in his paintings Lot und seine Töchter (Lot and his Daughters) (1939), Die sieben Todsünden (The Seven Deadly Sins) (1933), and Der Krieg (War) (1929-32). What these paintings have in common is that they appear to predict the disasters which were to follow shortly after, during the war, and nowhere is this more evident than in Lot und seine Töchter. In the foreground the well-known biblical story is represented, with one daughter plying her father with wine in order that he will sleep with his other daughter. In the background is the destruction of Gomorrah, but this Gomorrah is actually Dresden, as proved by the inclusion of certain landmarks in the background, such as the Frauenkirche and the Brühlsche Terrasse. That Dix should choose Dresden as the recipient of this horror was remarkably clairvoyant, as six years later the city was carpet-bombed by the Allied forces in the drive to end the war. Dix appears to have regarded the advent and growth of National Socialism with ill will from a fairly early stage. Although he always declared he was not political, Die 95

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sieben Todsünden very clearly is, when noted that it dates from the same year as the Machtergreifung (National Socialist seizure of power). The Seven Deadly Sins are personified in a monstrous line-up. A witch at the head of the line represents greed, while the dwarf on her back is the personification of envy. A figure of death represents sloth, or slackness of heart, and the woman behind him is clearly lust, as she has her breast exposed and her mouth is covered in syphilitic sores. To the left, a demon represents anger, the anusfaced character behind him is pride, and finally the character at the back of the line is gluttony. This work is clearly a warning of the fate about to befall Germany at this time, its ultimate conclusion summed up by the desert landscape in the background. Although the Hitler moustache was added after the war, the resemblance is still clear. The sense of fear for the future is completed by the quotation from Nietzsche’s Zarathustra on the wall behind the procession. ‘Die Wüste wächst: weh dem, der Wüsten birgt.’ (‘Deserts grow: woe to him who harbours deserts!’)42 The final painting to consider is Der Krieg (1929-32), which has nothing in it that relates to contemporary social or political events, but its subject matter, considered in relation to the chaos and extremism that characterised Germany at that time, surely serves as a warning. The function of the painting in this respect was made clear by Dix. In dieser Zeit übrigens propagierten viele Bücher ungehindert in der Weimarer Republik erneut ein Heldentum und einen Heldenbegriff, die in den Schützengräben des 1. Weltkrieges längst ad absurdum geführt worden waren. Die Menschen begannen schon zu vergessen, was für entsetzliches Leid der Krieg ihnen gebracht hatte. Aus dieser Situation heraus entstand das Triptychon.... Ich wollte also nicht Angst und Panik auslösen, sondern Wissen um die Furchtbarkeit eines Krieges vermitteln und damit die Kräfte der Abwehr wecken. At this time, incidentally, many books propagated once again unhindered in the Weimar Republic a heroism and an idea of heroism that had long since gone to the point of absurdity in the trenches of the First World War. People already began to forget what dreadful sorrow the war had brought them. The triptych arose out of this situation… I did not therefore want to trigger fear and panic, but to convey knowledge about the 43 fearfulness of a war, and thereby rouse the powers of defence.

The painting has the form of a triptych with predella. The centre panel features the aftermath of battle, with bullet-marked corpses strewn all around. The left panel depicts soldiers marching to battle, while the right shows Dix in the thick of it. The predella portrays the final sleep of those who have died. The form of the triptych with predella emphasises a Christian aspect to this particular painting. Scholz sees a possibility of considering the four panels in terms of Christ’s Passion. Wie Christus sein Kreuz trägt, so tragen die Soldaten des linken Flügels ihre Gewehre. Die dickleibigen Maschinengewehre erinnern in ihrer Form an Kreuzesbalken, bei den übrigen Gewehren ist das Material Holz das Vergleichsmoment. Das Mittelbild bringt eine Kreuzigungsszene, im rechten Flügel wird die Abnahme vom Kreuz gezeigt, unten in der Predella schlieβlich die Grablegung.

42

Löffler, F., Otto Dix. Leben und Werk (Dresden: VEB Verlag der Kunst, 1960), p.107. In English in Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (London: Penguin, 1969), p.315. 43 Schubert, Otto Dix, p.100.

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A Thematic Approach As Christ carries his cross, so the soldiers in the left panel carry their rifles. The massive machine guns are reminiscent in their form of the crossbeam of a crucifix, and in the wooden material of the remaining rifles a further comparison may be made. The middle panel brings a scene of crucifixion; the descent from the cross is 44 shown in the right panel; finally beneath, in the predella, the burial.

There is no reason to suggest that this interpretation over-emphasises the religious aspect of the work. In fact, this painting has frequently been compared to the Isenheim Altar (151015) by Matthias Grünewald, and much influence is apparent, particularly in the wounds visible on the body of Christ, comparable to the bullet wounds of the characters in Dix’s centre panel, and the staff carried by St. Anthony (left panel), which is reiterated in the rifles carried by Dix’s soldiers. Many other comparisons can be made, but what is more important is the main difference between the two. On the reverse of the inner panels, Grünewald depicts the resurrection, while no such optimism is apparent in Dix’s work. While Der Krieg acts as a horrifying account of the First World War, it must surely also be a prediction of what Dix saw for the future, and he used religious imagery to firstly emphasise the hopelessness of it, and secondly to lend weight to his prediction. Proposing a prediction of future events, as has been demonstrated, was a key feature in Dix’s religious allegorical works, but is far less common in works by other artists.

Portraiture Many different aspects of Weimar society are visible in the portraiture of this period, and in particular the feelings of uncertainty that people felt towards their environment and their fellow humans. Elements of social criticism are also apparent, as has been demonstrated in Chapter Four by H.M. Davringhausen’s Der Schieber (1920/21). A far less overtly critical painting is Grosz’s Ehepaar (Married Couple) of 1930, a double portrait of an elderly married couple, but it does feature the archetypal Grosz ‘type’ of the uncultured bourgeois philistine. The man has a bull-neck, and either duelling scars or the reddened cheeks of somebody who enjoys a drink. Grosz is also less than flattering in the treatment of the man’s wife, from her thin cracked lips, to her oedematous ankles. Considering the date of this watercolour, the couple depicted are obviously of the uppermiddle class, as they do not appear to be short of money, a point highlighted by the man’s cigar, a real luxury so soon after the crash of 1929. Grosz is not suggesting that these elderly people, at least individually, should be seen as a threat to the well-being of society, but rather that society should be aware that they still exist, with their belief that they and their like are still of importance. Grosz’s knowledge that the likes of these people still were capable of influencing the development of German society is clear in his painting Selbstporträt als Warner (Self44

Scholz, D., ‘Das Triptychon Der Krieg von Otto Dix’, in Otto Dix. Zum 100. Geburtstag 1891-1991, pp.261267 (p.261).

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Portrait as Admonisher) (1927). ‘Grosz appears as the moralist with raised, admonitory finger. It is as if he were beginning to lose his faith in the effectiveness of art in producing social change.’45 In support of this interpretation, Kranzfelder quotes Grosz. ‘I realised that people simply took no notice of my drawings. My warning had been spoken into the wind.’46 There is no doubt that Grosz reached a stage around this time where he ceased to attack as vehemently as he once had, but this painting can be seen as more than an indication of Grosz’s resignation. First of all, Grosz is holding his working smock with his right hand. It is as though he is emphasising his position as an artist, and therefore his warning is as an artist. He clearly was not losing faith in the ability of art to help produce a change, as Kranzfelder supposes. The quotation by Grosz that Kranzfelder uses to support his position is clearly taken from a time following the National Socialist seizure of power, but this painting dates from well before then, and this painting indicates that Grosz had by no means at this time lost faith in art. For Grosz to depict himself as a safeguard of the aspects of humanity that he held dear, suggests that he still feared the influence of the likes of those depicted in Ehepaar. But more than that, he was also aware of the growth in extremism of those other than the middle classes, and his warning is to those who Grosz felt were more in tune with his ideals; those of the left wing, who he hoped would one day be the future of Germany. He did not want to ‘lose’ them to the right wing. In this respect, there is more fight left in Grosz than Kranzfelder supposes, for the political initiative towards the end of the Weimar Republic, for a short while at least, could just as easily have gone left as right. A different aspect of Neue Sachlichkeit portraiture was that it demonstrated people’s isolation and estrangement from one another. This applied to people in general, but also between men and women. An example of this aspect of alienation is Anton Räderscheidt’s Selbstbildnis (Self-Portrait) of 1928. This painting depicts a man and a woman, but it is clear the relationship is in some way unusual. This is no romantic, sentimental depiction of a woman. Räderscheidt is shown standing in a studio, in front of a large picture of a female nude. The obvious message is one that has been discussed already in this chapter, that is, man’s distrust of woman, and in this case is summed up by Michalski. ‘Not until the woman is banished to a picture within the picture, not until her object-ification as a tailor’s dummy or compliant painter’s model, is the conflict resolved with an apotropaic gesture.’47 The fact that the female figure has the same facial features as Räderscheidt suggests, however, that the artist is questioning his own identity, and creating an alter-ego based on his perceptions of what male and female sexual identities should be, in an attempt to fit into the role of both. Christian Schad also uses the theme of sexual uncertainty in Graf St. Genois d’Anneaucourt (Count St. Genois d’Anneaucourt), also from 1927. In the center of the picture stands the title figure, again with an uncertain gaze, although in this case his uncertainty does not necessarily stem from feelings of wariness towards the opposite sex. The other two figures 45

Kranzfelder, I., George Grosz 1893-1959 (Cologne: Benedikt Taschen, 1994), p.70. Ibid., p.75. 47 Michalski, New Objectivity, p.120. 46

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in the painting are rivals for his affections, but the woman on the left is only partly visible, while a transvestite on the right features much more strongly, and gives his female rival a smug, knowing look. Thus the Count’s uncertainty is based more on his unconventional sexual preference, as it would have certainly been seen at that time, than an ambivalence and fear towards womankind. ‘Schad succeeds in this picture in compressing the erotic ambivalence of the situation, founded in the Count’s latent homosexuality, into a minidrama of frozen passions.’48 While Michalski is correct that passions are frozen here, it is too easy to suggest that transvestitism equates to homosexuality, and there is nothing in the painting that clarifies the Count’s sexual orientation, whatever it may be. He is clearly torn between the two, but that is all the observer knows for sure. Although sexual alienation was clearly a popular theme, it was not the only theme of human isolation handled by the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit. Max Beckmann, in particular, often used his art to express his own feelings regarding the human condition and man’s estrangement from others. This comes across particularly strongly in Familienbildnis (Family Picture) (1920), which features six people that Peter Selz describes as ‘disparate’,49 but who in fact are mostly members of the same family, that of Max Beckmann. Beckmann himself lies on the piano stool at the left of the picture, while his wife stands next to him, looking at a reflection of herself in a mirror. At the table sit Beckmann’s mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and a servant. Beckmann’s son, Peter, lies on the floor beneath the table. The room is very dark, lit only by three candles on the table. Selz claims that the largely hidden figure of the king, at top left, represents Beckmann himself,50 perhaps as an outsider, only partly privy to the goings-on among the family group. However, this is true of everyone else as well. ‘Minna Tube, Mittelpunkt der Familie, verbirgt ihr Gesicht vor dem fragenden Blick ihrer Tochter Anni. So werden in den individuellen Haltungen, vor allem aber durch die Struktur des Bildaufbaues einerseits interkommunikative Bezüge der Dargestellten angedeutet, andererseits ihre Vereinzelung und ihr Rückbezug auf sich selbst sichtbar.’ (‘Minna Tube, focal point of the family, hides her face from the questioning glance of her daughter Anni. So in the individual attitudes, but in particular through the picture’s structure, intercommunicative relationships between those portrayed are suggested on the one hand, while on the other their isolation and withdrawal into themselves is visible.’51 The difficulty in establishing the relationships between the characters is heightened by the distorted perspective, that lends a cramped feel to a scene where the characters are so far apart. It is worth noting that the pessimism of the painting may in part be due to the fact that although she is featured, Beckmann’s wife had since 1918 been pursuing her career as an opera singer in Austria, and had very little contact with Beckmann. Aspects of his personal life also play a large part in Beckmann’s Fastnacht (Carnival) (1920), which features Fridel Battenberg, and the dealer I.B. Neumann, two people of huge importance to Beckmann at this time. Richard Calvocoressi writes that this picture could be 48

Ibid., p.46. Selz, Max Beckmann, p.29. 50 Ibid. 51 Buderer & Fath, Neue Sachlichkeit, p.124. 49

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seen ‘as a celebration picture – a declaration of respect and affection for the two people who helped Beckmann through a difficult period in his personal and public life.’52 However, it is difficult to view the picture in this way, as it conveys an atmosphere of tension, and Twohig’s interpretation seems more appropriate. ‘Fridel’s pivotal position in the work possibly echoes her importance to Beckmann at the time. However, the aura of gentle inwardness she radiates seems somewhat incongruous in the context of a carnival party.’53 Beckmann himself appears at the foot of the painting, as a highly animated clown. Twohig suggests that the reason for this depiction of himself may be seen as ‘the anxious attention-seeking of the child who feels ignored or misunderstood by the world. In other words, it is a metaphor not only for the artist’s hopeless rage at the misery of the world, but also for his distressed anger at the general incomprehension of his penetrating depiction of it.’54 Thus while it is true that Beckmann is stressing the importance of these people in his life, he still feels detached from them. It is as though, in spite of their support of Beckmann, they still do not understand what he really has to say about the state of the world.

Max Beckmann Fastnacht (1920) © DACS 2004 Photo: © Tate, London 2004

52

Calvocoressi, R., ‘Beckmann’s “Carnival”: a new acquisition for the Tate’, Burlington Magazine, 124 (September 1982), p.557. 53 Twohig, Beckmann. Carnival, p.12. 54 Ibid., p.14.

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This feeling that Beckmann had towards the two figures may have stemmed from the fact that they did not share his general despair at the state of the world and of existence, nor his Gnostic beliefs, which feature strongly in this painting. ‘The monkey-masked clown on the floor symbolizes not only man’s seduction by the senses, but also the Gnostic image of the soul slumbering in matter, benumbed by the evil of the world. The bottles of wine and box of Havana cigars also symbolize the dangerous lure of worldly pleasures.’55 Twohig continues by explaining the roles of Neumann (Harlequin) and Fridel (Columbine) as succeeding stages in the path back towards their original, divine state (this was the aim of the Gnostics); Harlequin as the man who has become aware of his fallen state and divine origin, and Columbine as the representation of the stage beyond this, ‘namely grateful acceptance of the promise of salvation.’56 The use of imagery from the commedia dell’arte provides an effective means of showing up the isolation of the three figures who are taking part in what is traditionally a comic event. The tension created by the use of this imagery goes a long way to making the picture comprehensible without prior knowledge of Beckmann’s Gnostic beliefs, for instance. While it relates to Beckmann’s reactions to the world as it was then, the picture depicts nothing that points directly to contemporary events, but conveys the artist’s feelings of alienation and powerlessness nonetheless. The final aspect of portraiture that this section will address is the treatment of a single individual in space. Schlichter’s Bildnis Egon Erwin Kisch (Portrait of Egon Erwin Kisch) (1928) shows the reporter standing in front of the Romanisches Café in Berlin, well known to the artists and writers of the period. The advertising column behind Kisch displays many references to his life and work. ‘Alles in diesem Bildnis ist ganz persönlich und ganz individuell bezogen auf Kischs Person. Die Geste der Konzentration kennzeichnet den Schriftsteller, die Zigarette, die ihm lässig im Mundwinkel hängt, den Kettenraucher.’ (‘Everything in this portrait is very personally and very individually related to Kisch’s person. The look of concentration indicates the writer, the cigarette that hangs casually from the corner of his mouth, the chainsmoker.’)57 While the inclusion of so much detail is ‘disappointing’ to Michalski,58 it is important from a Neue Sachlichkeit point of view, as a great deal about Kisch is learnt from his portrait, and as such a kind of universality is achieved, that is, one needs very little prior knowledge of Kisch to be able to gain insight from this portrait. What it does rule out, however, is any notion of a deeper message, which a device such as allegory or the uncanny might convey. This is rendered unnecessary by Schlichter’s use of the space around Kisch. He himself is treated as an object in space, while the background provides the observer with a kind of biography.

55

Ibid., p.26. Ibid. 57 Buderer & Fath, Neue Sachlichkeit, p.154. 58 Michalski, New Objectivity, p.41. 56

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George Grosz Porträt des Schriftstellers Max Herrmann-Neisse (1925) © DACS 2004 Photo: Städtische Kunsthalle Mannheim

Grosz’s Porträt des Schriftstellers Max Herrmann-Neisse (Portrait of the Writer Max Herrmann-Neisse) (1925) is different to this, as there is no documentary evidence in the painting regarding the sitter. Thus this painting is a good example of Neue Sachlichkeit depicting things as they really are. Herrmann-Neisse is shown as vulnerable, short and bald, and clinging onto the chair which acts as a kind of shield for him, he is sunken so far into it. There is nothing else in the painting to distract the viewer’s attention from the sitter. Even the chair in which he sits is in considerable contrast to him, and thereby attention is focused on him. ‘His introspective gaze contrasts with the man-about-town air of his three-piece suit and gaiters, which in turn only serve to stress his stunted physique.’59 Thus this painting can be seen as an attempt to get at the truth in terms of the sitter. This idea is carried further in Dix’s paintings Bildnis der Tänzerin Anita Berber (Portrait of the Dancer Anita Berber) (1925) and Bildnis der Journalistin Sylvia von Harden (Portrait of the Journalist Sylvia von Harden) (1926). The two-levelled idea of the man-eating vamp against the life-destroying nature of her lifestyle is easy to discern in the portrait of Anita Berber. ‘Generally speaking, the ambivalence of hiding oneself and exposing oneself at one and the same time are innate in the star as a type, and Dix recognized this as a salient feature of Anita Berber’s individuality.’60 What makes the painting so successful is the fact that Dix needed no props in order to make the two sides of Berber’s nature visible. The sinuous curves of her body in the painting emphasise her desirability, and she certainly was desired among the bohemian 59 60

Kranzfelder, George Grosz, p.69. Karcher, Otto Dix, p.104.

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men of the Berlin underworld. However, other devices were used to express what might be regarded as the reality of her life. Dix’s expertise in using colour adds weight to both aspects of her life that he portrays, with the red emphasising both her ‘sinful’ character and her gradual decay, and the paleness of her face suggesting illness. However, what these aspects lead to ultimately is the impression that this woman was distinctly modern, with her life, and indeed her early death, in her own hands.

Otto Dix Bildnis der Tänzerin Anita Berber (1925) © DACS 2004 Photo: Kunstmuseum Stuttgart Modernity was also the subject of Dix’s portrait of Sylvia von Harden, who, like Berber, appears to be painted as an individual within a ‘type’. Anita Berber’s personality is expressed in her portrait, but she is still a vamp. In the portrait of Sylvia von Harden, the colours, although very similar to those of Anita Berber, do not have anything like the same depth of meaning. Dix depicts Harden as a modern intellectual, with short hair, monocle, cocktail and cigarettes. The predominant use of red highlights modern, bohemian Berlin more than Harden’s individual characteristics. More than that of Anita Berber, this portrait 103

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is a celebration of certain aspects of modernity; in this case the emancipated woman (as ‘type’) and the flourishing Berlin intellectual and literary scene. Portraiture allowed the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit to depict many of the issues, which affected their lives and the development of Germany at the time. But more than anything, it highlighted social change and the shift in the conduct of personal relations that occurred after the war and into the Weimar Republic. What is notable is that neither allegory, nor the uncanny, is featured here at all. The sample discussed here is admittedly limited, but in general it can be said that where a specific individual is depicted, the artist attempts to capture the essence of that person. Other concerns are secondary, unless the artist depicts him or herself as a means of conveying a personal view of events, and then any ambiguity is generally lost, as in Räderscheidt’s Selbstbildnis. Where a sense of the mysterious or uncanny exists more than anywhere is in the depiction of still life and landscape.

Still Life and Landscape It is in still life and landscape in particular that the formulations of a Neue Sachlichkeit style, such as those attempted by Roh and Schmied, are most accurate, particularly in regard to the idea of isolating particular subjects or objects, and thereby giving them a kind of unnatural quality. An overdefined presentation of frozen life, concentrated upon the objects, emerges from the Neue Sachlichkeit still-lifes. The sense of harmony is achieved through a levelling assimilation within an often undefined vacuum. Nonetheless, the artificial and forced nature of the whole cannot be overlooked, nor can the inorganic dissonance in the nature and effect of some of the plants. Hence the predilection for rubber plants and cacti, 61 which now stage a triumphal entry into the world of art.

Also, as Buderer and Fath suggest,62 cacti and rubber plants were frequently used as the subjects for still life because they rarely display bright colours, that is, flowers, and therefore the painting is rendered flatter and more simple, without the distraction of countless blooms. Where flowers were painted, they were generally the flowers of the cactus, and made up the predominant area of colour within the painting. Franz Lenk’s Blühender Kaktus (Flowering Cactus) (1931) features only the subject named in the title, a single flowering cactus. The large white bloom in the top left of the painting is proportionally balanced against the rest of the plant in the bottom right. The plainness of the pot in which the cactus is growing emphasises the detail in the plant itself, and there is nothing in the background to take the observer’s attention away from the subject. Michalski feels that the dark background implies something threatening,63 but it is more likely that it serves as a means of emphasising the subject and the unnatural reality in which it is placed. 61

Michalski, New Objectivity, p.162. Buderer & Fath, Neue Sachlichkeit, p.199. 63 Michalski, New Objectivity, p.51. 62

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It is from this distorted reality that a sense of the uncanny arises, but not in terms of threat, as may be found in a work by Radziwill, for example, but more as a feeling of being unhomely, or unheimlich. This is just as true of Alexander Kanoldt’s Stilleben vor blauem Hintergrund (Still Life in Front of a Blue Background) (1926). Although there are more elements within the painting, in that it features more objects, it still shares many of the attributes of Lenk’s picture, particularly the unhomely feel. What adds to the feeling of uncanny in Kanoldt’s painting is that the perspective, particularly of the table, is very slightly distorted. And where, as in Lenk’s picture, there is a dark background, and the foliage of the plant is dark, there is no flower to add colour. This task of providing colour is performed by the red tin, which along with the black container in front of it, give a feeling of almost hyper-reality in the perfection of their finish, and thereby adds to a feeling of the uncanny. Another painting by Kanoldt, Stilleben mit Krügen und roter Teedose (Still Life with Jugs and Red Tea-Caddy) (1922) achieves the same effect. Once again there is the dark background, and the colours are muted, although more varied than in the paintings already seen. Despite the fact that it is a reasonably large collection of objects that is being depicted, there is a lack of any kind of decoration or ornamentation, no maker’s mark on the blue box or the tea caddy, for instance. The spines on the cactus in the foreground to the right are largely hidden by a heavy shadow, and there is no decoration on the teacup. This painting exemplifies the soberness that is so often said to be an integral part of Neue Sachlichkeit. More than that, however, is the feeling that something is not quite right. Beyond the isolation of these objects from an obvious context, for example a kitchen, and indeed their isolation from each other, for each object is treated within the composition as a single object in space, the distortion in perspective, in this case the feeling that each object is leaning out toward the viewer, leaves a hint of a lack of concrete reality that one can feel comfortable with. While there is nothing in the painting to give obvious cause for this feeling, the sense that it is not so much static as eerily silent is brilliantly conveyed, and it is eeriness which makes humans feel uncomfortable. In spite of the number of still life depictions that convey this feeling of tension, there were artists who concerned themselves more with finding harmony rather than isolation. As has already been remarked, Georg Schrimpf’s painting Schlafende Mädchen deals with the peace that the two girls find in each other’s company, rather than any threat posed to them by the modern world or other external force. His earlier painting, Stilleben mit Katze (Still Life with Cat) (1923) also has this peaceful feel to it, while still featuring many elements from the paintings by Kanoldt and Lenk. Although there is no particularly dark background, the colours are muted, and the objects within the painting are not decorated in any way. However, the suggestion here appears to be that the picture is a segment of a more peaceful, perhaps rustic life. A tea-towel draped over the edge of a table lends a homely feel to the painting, and more importantly, in the context of what has been pointed out thus far, there is no distortion in perspective. That is not to say that there is not any kind of otherworldliness here, and the cat is the key element in this respect, for while Schrimpf has painted the static objects with a clear, hard outline, this is not true of the cat, which seems to have a kind of glow about it, and is therefore given an almost spiritual presence, but one that the observer feels safe and comfortable with. 105

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Such differences in outlook between different artists are also discernable in the landscape painting of Neue Sachlichkeit, although the messages conveyed by the paintings are generally made much clearer than in still life depictions. A typical theme is that of the modern, urban, technological world encroaching on the world of the rural environment, as has already been noted, for instance, in Heise’s Verblühender Frühling. An example of this theme here is Georg Scholz’s Kakteen und Semaphore (Cacti and Semaphore) (1923), which is really a still life with landscape in the background, a fact that adds to the suggestion of tension brought about by the objects within the painting. The room in which the cacti sit is very dark, although the objects in the room are lit by the evening sky through the window in the wall. Hyper-reality is the first impression one gains from this painting, both from the cacti that are painted in extremely intricate detail, and also from two light bulbs that share the table with the cacti, which like Kanoldt’s tins are finished to a smooth perfection. This suggestion of a more homely use of technology is not carried on into the landscape, where a more brutal manifestation of the modern world is demonstrated by the railway signal masts, a sign of the increasing growth of the modern transport network. There is more to this painting, however, than just nature versus technology. A feeling of tension is brought about by the static, highly detailed cacti against the unconfined and disordered nature, that is to say, the trees and bushes, which separate the railway from the house in which the cacti sit. The overall feeling is one of isolation on many levels, from the cacti, distanced from any contextual relationship to each other or the environment in which they exist, to the coming of the modern world, which, it is suggested, does not fully reveal itself until it is too late to stop its progress. This is not the message, however, in Ernst Thoms’ Eisenbahn (Train) (1926), which does not convey any sense of obvious threat at all. What the painting shows is almost a rural idyll, with a man in the foreground walking behind his horses and cart, and two more figures making their way along the edge of a field. The colours are bright, and the picture is painted in a naïve style, which reminds one of Henri Rousseau. Through the centre of the painting runs a train, but the difference here with other paintings that deal with mechanization, is that it does not take over the landscape, or intersect specific areas of the painting. The picture as a whole has a certain charm, where the distorted perspective does not suggest any feeling of uncanny or discomfort. The painting is composed of a series of diagonals, for the most part as the edges of fields, but there is no real symmetry. In spite of this, it does not jarr. It is as if the artist has seen the potential of the coming of the railways, and not just the potential damage they could do. That is not to claim that Thoms was unaware of the problems of technology, but he recognized that at this stage at least, there were those for whom life could go on relatively unaffected by the pace of mechanization. This perhaps explains why he chose a rural setting rather than an urban one. Alexander Kanoldt was very different in his treatment of landscapes, of which there were many. Olevano II (1925) is representative of his output during the 1920s, in particular because it shows the Cubist influence so often used by him, as well as the unusual perspective that is a feature of his landscapes. It is a depiction of an Italian town, in muted colours, but with a perspective that appears to shift as one looks at the painting. ‘Kanoldt joined the front view with the view from above in a polyperspective manner, shifting and 106

A Thematic Approach

overlapping zones and levels within the picture.’64 This did not lead to any change, however, in the image of reality that Kanoldt was trying to put across. Essentially, he achieves the same result as he does in his still life paintings, that of isolating his subject and emphasizing its very essence, without decoration or frills. While there is little sense of uncanny, there is still a fairytale-like feel to the paintings, which puts the observer off his guard. It is not the threatening, leaden sky in the distance that achieves this result, but the subject’s (in this case a town) lack of relationship to its environment. That is not to say that such effects do not have an impact, as is demonstrated by Franz Radziwill’s Landschaft mit dem Haus des Künstlers (Landscape with the House of the Artist) (1930), which in common with numerous paintings by Radziwill has a highly dramatic sky, producing in the observer an overwhelming feeling of tension. The sense of impotence in the face of the environment is heightened by the female figure in the centre of the painting. However, one senses that this is more than a picture of a storm. The homely feel of the timber houses, with smoke coming from a chimney, contrasts with the obvious loneliness of the only human figure in the scene. The hugely dramatic sky serves to emphasise the feelings of fear and tension surrounding her. This painting expresses a great deal of anxiety, but the cause of this anxiety is not made clear. What it and most of the paintings in this section do have in common is that they convey an idea of a reality in which humans cannot feel at home. The sense of silence and eeriness is particularly strong in the still life and landscape paintings that deal specifically with nature, as though nature is undergoing a change of some kind, a change signified by the distorted perspectives employed by the artists. The suggestion is that this feeling is brought about by anxieties surrounding the development of the modern world, a world that is taking over the natural world, and the role of the human within that modern world. If technology had caused so much destruction during wartime, it was feasible that it could be just as destructive, and detrimental to everyday human existence, during peacetime.

The Acceptance of the Ugliness of Reality This section does not actually deal with the treatment of a particular theme, but more with Neue Sachlichkeit depictions of ugliness, and issues of what one might describe as sensationalism. What is at issue, therefore, is the motive behind such depictions, and whether they do actually portray a kind of beauty, although not what is conventionally regarded as beautiful or aesthetically pleasing. Do these depictions aim at conveying a kind of beauty in truth, do they aim to break taboos, or are they in fact little more than attempts to titillate and shock? If Hegel’s view of the development of the arts is considered, the purpose of art was to depict that which was of most importance to a given civilisation, be it ancient Egypt, ancient Greece, the Middle Ages, or later. As far as Hegel was concerned, what was most 64

Ibid., p.85.

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important was God and the Absolute. However, as history has moved on, the emphasis has changed, and as Pacteau asserts, particularly from the nineteenth century onwards, the ‘subject matter of art shifted from the Ideal [sic] to the existential: the representation of human passions in Romanticism; the translation into paint of the perceptual experience of the environment in Impressionism; the picturing of a world viewed through the prism of emotions in Expressionism.’65 In other words, art began to concern itself more with actual human existence than with spiritual idealism. The responses of art to the business of human existence varied, from the invention of new forms, as in abstract painting, to the deliberate depiction of what was not pleasant, indeed ugly, in direct contrast to aestheticism, as in Dada and Neue Sachlichkeit. When it is considered that Neue Sachlichkeit did generally have a sombre, often dark outlook as a result of the war and the upheaval of the Weimar Republic, it is understandable that deliberate depictions of ugliness featured among portrayals of the concrete realities of life. Eva Karcher describes Otto Dix’s Drei Weiber (Three Women) (1926) as a ‘homage to ugliness’,66 and there can indeed be little argument that this is true. It is a depiction of three prostitutes, undressed, and displaying all the signs of having known the profession for a long period of time. Even the classiness of the three women’s surroundings cannot detract from this impression. ‘There is a kind of incremental nausea provoked by draperies, carpets, velvet, veils, marble balustrade, carpentry, jewellery, ribbons, hair, flesh in the Three Women of 1926. It is as though Dix had found a way of depicting ars longa, vita brevis in a tiny, annihilating glimpse.’67 The question, however, is what motivated Dix to depict these women in such an unflattering manner? When Beth Irwin Lewis’ argument regarding depictions of Lustmord is again considered, particularly as it relates so well to Der Salon I (1921), similar attitudes towards prostitution, the profession in which the Drei Weiber are engaged, are evident. Although they may not look ill, the three women certainly look as though the demands of their profession have taken their toll. Lewis, as has already been pointed out, also notes Dix’s apparent dislike of prostitutes from his war experiences, but this dislike is not so obvious in this painting. ‘In den kranken und darum häβlichen Frauenkörpen werden die verheerenden Auswirkungen des Protitutionsgewerbes für Leib und Seele sichtbar; die Prostituierte als abgenutzte menschliche Ware, die sich groteskerweise noch im diesem Zustand weiter verkaufen muβ.’ (‘In the sick and thereby ugly womens’ bodies, the ghastly effects of the profession of prostitution for body and soul are visible; the prostitute as a worn out human commodity, who must grotesquely, even in this state, continue to sell herself.’)68 The emphasis is more on mockery than misogyny, and the reference to Cranach’s Venus (1532) adds to this mocking tone, as if any of these women could compare to the girl depicted in Cranach’s painting. Many critics stress the importance of such depictions nonetheless, writing that there is nothing actually wrong in the fact that such ‘ugliness’ is depicted by 65

Pacteau, F., The Symptom of Beauty (London: Reaktion Books, 1994), p.84. Karcher, Otto Dix, p.110. 67 Hofmann, M., ‘Otto Dix. Painter of Ugliness’, Modern Painters, (Spring 1992), 12-17 (p.17). 68 Täuber, R., ‘Drei Weiber – Vom Götterhimmel in die Gosse’, in Otto Dix. Zum 100. Geburtstag 1891-1991, pp.209-216 (p.214). 66

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artists. As Etcoff writes, ‘reverence for beauty is just an escape from reality.’69 Norman Rosenthal writes, albeit in relation to the London Sensation exhibition of 1997, that it is ‘natural and easy to fall in love with what is preconceived to be right and proper, good or beautiful. We now all love the Impressionists because we have come to know and thus feel comfortable with them. But the chief task of new art is to disturb that sense of comfort.’70 This was surely just as true of Neue Sachlichkeit in the 1920s as it is of Young British Art today, and means, in other words, that artists should not shy away from subjects that deal with taboos and the uglier side of life. This is demonstrated, though not as explicitly as Dix’s painting, in Georg Scholz’s Weiblicher Akt mit Gipskopf (Female Nude with Plaster Bust) (1927), a portrayal of a naked woman sitting on a table alongside a plaster bust. The woman’s Bubikopf hairstyle, very modern at the time, links her more to the everyday people of the times, as opposed to an ideal that few could relate to. So while this woman is by no means ugly, she is not presented in a way that a conventional nude would be. The importance of the second obvious subject in the painting should now be explained. The plaster bust, as Holsten explains, is the so-called Brunnsche Kopf, after a work by the Greek sculptor Praxiteles from the fourth century BC, that, ‘mit gesenktem, blindem Blick und ebenfalls sorgsam frisiertem Haar und geschlossenen Lippen wie zu einem stummen Zwiegespräch mit der Lebenden arrangiert erscheint. [...] Das Abguβrelikt entrückter Zeiten des Altertums und der lebendige Körper aus Fleisch und Blut stehen einander wie Ideal und Wirklichkeit gegenüber’ (‘appears to be, with a sunken, blind look, as well as carefully styled hair and closed lips, prepared for a silent internal dialogue with the living. [...] The cast relic of enraptured antiquity and the living body of flesh and blood oppose each other like ideal and reality.’)71 In a subtle way, Scholz has separated the classical from the modern, firstly in the sense that it is the modern that is depicted as being alive, and secondly by demonstrating the falseness of the classical by depicting it as a plaster bust, not marble, just as de Chirico had more than a decade earlier, but apparently with more disdain, more in line with the Futurist rejection of Italy’s classical past in favour of the modern. Far more explicit is Dix’s Älteres Liebespaar (Elderly Lovers) of 1923, which serves as a perfect example of Rosenthal’s statement that new art should not be comfortable. The painting graphically illustrates two elderly lovers, and in doing so, writes Hartley, ‘Dix was wilfully breaking a strong taboo. Old people were not supposed to be sexual beings, or at least not represented as such.’72 The obvious signs of age of these lovers only add to the sense of discomfort that the picture brings about, and the mockery of Drei Weiber, for instance, is also visible here. The man, for example, is portrayed as a ‘dirty old man’, with a lecherous appearance and groping hands. This attempt to break taboos, also described by Bürger, as discussed in Chapter Five of this thesis, was however different in many respects to straightforward depictions of the realities of everyday life and everyday people. Brecht wrote in ‘Häβlichkeit in realistischer 69

Etcoff, N., Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty (New York: Doubleday, 1999), p.3. Rosenthal, N., ‘The Blood Must Continue to Flow’, in Sensation: Young British Artists from the Saatchi Collection (London: Thames & Hudson, 1997), Exhibition Catalogue, pp.8-11 (p.10). 71 Holsten, Georg Scholz, p.55. 72 Hartley & Twohig, Otto Dix, p.150. 70

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Kunst’ (‘Ugliness in Realist Art’) that the realist artist should not avoid ugliness, but nor should he or she make too much of it. ‘Aber er beläβt es auch nicht bei der Häβlichkeit, und zwar überwindet er sie in zweifacher Hinsicht. Erstens durch die Schönheit seiner Gestaltung (die nichts mit Schönfärberei oder Beschönigung zu tun hat). Zweitens dadurch, daβ er Häβlichkeit als gesellschaftliches Phänomen darstellt.’ (‘But he does not just leave it at ugliness, and in fact he overcomes it in two respects. Firstly through the beauty of his form (which has nothing to do with colouring or glossing over). Secondly, thereby, that he represents ugliness as a social phenomenon.’)73 So to Brecht, the importance of the existence of ugliness in society is a priority, provided it does not become the prime expression of the work that is representing it.

George Grosz Stehender Akt (1924) © DACS 2004 Photo: George Grosz Estate, Courtesy Ralph Jentsch, Rome

73

Brecht, B., Gesammelte Werke (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1967), 19, p.538.

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Brecht’s argument seems to concur with a drawing such as Grosz’s Stehender Akt (Standing Nude) (1924), which is clearly no representation of a woman in the first flush of youth, but at the same time, not much is made of this fact. The aspects of the model’s age are not emphasised or caricatured, as is the case in the Dix paintings. This is far less concerned with the breaking of taboos, and so the impact does not need to be as strong. For this very reason, this picture is easier to accept as a representation of life as it is. Furthermore, in relation to what Brecht wrote about not making too much of ugliness, Nancy Etcoff forwards the argument that too much ugliness can be just as false as the ideal of beauty. There is no reason to think that these images are any more “real” than more flattering images. They are cast in the cold light of a surgeon’s operating theater, seen through the eyes of the voyeur or your worst enemy. When we look at people we love, or even like, do we ever see them exactly like this? It is just art imposing a 74 different artifice, pretending that we ever view others as just piles of mortal flesh.

When Dix’s taboo-breaking paintings are considered in light of this argument, it is reasonable to say that artifice may be allowed here, as the pictures are more to do with impact than an actual representation of reality. However, Stehender Akt is a far more subtle work, and cannot be accused of the artifice that Etcoff describes, for one is certainly not given the impression that Grosz simply set out to draw an ugly person. It is true that the model is not young, and has all the signs of middle age, but above all she is seen as a person that the observer can relate to, a person that one might see walking down the street, but clothed, rather than a vehicle that conveys an artist’s message, or a means of titillation. To depict images such as those already discussed in order to shock, break taboos, or tell some kind of truth about life should be seen as commendable, not least because it generally demonstrates something new in art. But what has not yet been discussed is the idea of images being used for sensation or titillation. It is of course a matter for the observer to decide if he or she feels an image has nothing more to offer than sensation, without any other purpose. Christian Schad’s Zwei Freundinnen (Two Girlfriends) (1928) will be considered in this respect, as some commentators do feel that there is something about this painting that is designed to titillate. What it shows, essentially, is two women masturbating, but without any interaction at all. ‘Each of the two masturbating women is totally preoccupied with herself, denying the observer, too, any illusion of involvement.’75 What is the purpose, then, of showing the women so graphically? Marsha Meskimmon has written that the figures within the painting do not engage with each other and are presented in the way they are purely for the delectation of the male observer.76 It is unfortunate that the painting should be seen in this way, particularly in light of Schad’s other work, which is a major part of Neue Sachlichkeit painting. There is no question that this is a shocking painting, and Meskimmon is correct that the two women do not engage with one another, but this is surely a demonstration of the alienation present in many Neue Sachlichkeit works, where 74

Etcoff, Survival of the Prettiest, p.13/14. Michalski, New Objectivity, p.46. 76 Meskimmon, We Weren’t Modern Enough, p.203. 75

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two people cannot even feel comfortable with each other during intimate moments such as these. The sense conveyed here is more to do with melancholy than titillation, but shock, as a device, is still valid: Goya made art out of the ghastly horror of war; his etchings have not quite lost their ability to shock. And Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights has retained its power to make us conscious of our own fantasies and suppressed desires. But in time even such powerful images as these become assimilated, their 77 impact diluted. Artists must continue the conquest of new territory and new taboos.

Goya and Bosch broke taboos in aiming to convey the realities of war, and of human sexuality and lust respectively. Artists, in spite of opposition, should seek to continue this tradition, and seek to address the realities of their times. What this section has shown is that Neue Sachlichkeit sought new territory in the way that Bosch and Goya did, using shocking images to convey a message, instead of pandering to the tastes of the bourgeois art market. In this way also, Neue Sachlichkeit may be seen as a progressive movement. Even the paintings by Dix that mock the ‘ugliness’ of his subjects are still examples of the depiction of something considered unacceptable at the time. While sensation for the sake of sensation, which Meskimmon claims of Schad’s Zwei Freundinnen, may bring short-term notoriety, it is no basis for the kind of success enjoyed by the artists represented here, who had distinguished careers because they sought to express a truth or honesty as they saw it.

Findings What this chapter has demonstrated is the real diversity of treatments of certain subjects by different artists, and there is much to be brought together at this stage. Most of the paintings are time specific, although not necessarily in the sense that they portray an image from that particular time, but sometimes just from a new way of doing things, such as the large number of still life paintings that contain cacti. The introduction to this book points out that a number of critics have written that Neue Sachlichkeit portrayed things exactly as they were in the cold light of day, but there are actually very few such paintings among the selection used in this thesis. Stehender Akt and Kabarett-Café are two examples of this, but most of the paintings do have less obvious messages to convey than these works. An exception, which has already been pointed out, is the section relating to beauty, where the fact that ‘that is the way things are’ is the deeper message. The second level of meaning, also explained earlier in the thesis, relates mostly to the problems of the modern world, as seen by the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit. This appears to take one of two forms, either a direct pointer to a particular issue, or an indirect sense of something that is not made clear. The former is represented by paintings such as Grauer Tag and Der Schieber, with the latter having Traumbild: Dampfkessel mit Fledermaus, 77

Rosenthal, ‘The Blood Must Continue to Flow’, p.11.

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Fastnacht, and the majority of the still life and landscape paintings as examples. Dix’s Frau mit Kind acts as an example of the expression of Christian iconography in the context of the post-war period in Germany, with the pair being presented as a modern day Madonna and Child. In this sense, all the paintings can be seen to fit in with the end of art theories discussed already, particularly in terms of a change of emphasis. Dix’s Madonna and Child bear no resemblance to those produced during the Renaissance, but then times had changed by the 1920s, and it was this woman’s resilience that was seen as more worthy of representation than her connection to God. In this respect, all the paintings may be seen as representing a higher cause (at least to the artists involved) than Christian iconography or a religion that many must have felt had failed them. Thus artists concerned themselves more with problems of the modern age, and how people had lost their ability to communicate with one another. In many respects, simple decency between humans, which has always, after all, been part of the Christian ethos, had been lost, and was therefore no longer something worth trying to put on canvas, other than the expression of a desire to regain it. The connection to the past is therefore not lost altogether, and as Bürger, Williams, and Clark assert in terms of art, the art of the present is often based on the art of the past. This is seen in paintings such as Verblühender Frühling and Blühender Kaktus, where Dürer’s influence is clear. Schlafende Mädchen shows a definite influence from the Nazarenes. However, the influence of the pittura metafisica and of artists such as Rousseau and Picasso demonstrates a more modern influence as well, and gives Neue Sachlichkeit a modern look to complement its outlook. This modern outlook can be seen in many ways, and often in relation to the theories discussed in Chapter Five. Allegory is seen in Stützen der Gesellschaft and Sonnenfinsternis. In terms of a social role, as put forward by Benjamin, Grauer Tag has already been mentioned, and another example is, again, Stützen der Gesellschaft. T.J. Clark’s idea of the ‘collectivity of two’ is most obvious in Schlafende Mädchen, but the idea that this togetherness is blighted by modern-day concerns is expressed, for example, in Räderscheidt’s Selbstbildnis and Schad’s Selbstbildnis mit Modell. These difficulties in interacting with one another, and representing a clear identity, in this thesis demonstrated by the theories of Simmel and Weber, for example, are evident in Tanz in Baden-Baden. Weber’s notion of the Entzauberung der Welt is expressed very strongly in An die Arbeit. Modern-day attitudes are more the concern of the section dealing with beauty and sensation, where the artist urges the observer to accept the realities of the human body. This is extended, for example, in Älteres Liebespaar, which attempts to break the taboo of representing the elderly as sexual beings, and although the artist is less than complimentary, he still asks the observer to accept realities of human behaviour, which he or she may find distasteful. What appears to be the most widespread of themes, but without necessarily suggesting a theme at all, is that of the uncanny. Many of the paintings discussed have elements that could be said to add to a feeling of the uncanny, such as silence, stasis, or coldness, but the most successful in this respect, that really convey a sense of threat, are those that suggest the influence of the supernatural, or something beyond human control or understanding. The modern world is implicated, but the observer cannot know which aspects of the modern 113

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world are at work. The best examples in this thesis are Traumbild: Dampfkessel mit Fledermaus, Die Inselbrücke in Wilhelmshaven, Hafen mit der Cap Populonia und gelbem Matrosen, An die Arbeit, Die sieben Todsünden, Der Krieg, Familienbildnis, Fastnacht, and Landschaft mit dem Haus des Künstlers. The fact that this idea of the uncanny runs through several of the themes discussed, suggests that it is a strand within Neue Sachlichkeit that deserves more attention than it has been given in the past, and it will again be discussed in the full conclusion of this thesis. It is also worth noting that in many of the examples given, the uncanny and the allegorical model used in this thesis work very well together. This is not difficult to explain, as in many cases, the posited fragments are still commonly known to the observer. What makes them uncanny is the strangeness of the context into which they are deposited. Where the uncanny stands alone, that is, without the aid of this allegorical device, is where the artist has included less easily explicable elements, such as Radziwill’s Hafen mit der Cap Populonia und gelbem Matrosen, where the potential power of nature seems to give the scene its uncanny feel. What stands out in terms of diversity within Neue Sachlichkeit, is the fact that many artists who have been labelled as left wing, or right wing, or southern, or northern, for example, actually shared the same concerns regarding the modern world, although maybe with individual emphasis on certain issues they felt more strongly about. In this way, they show diversity in the way they treat those concerns.

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6. The New Photography

The aim of this, and the succeeding chapter, is to demonstrate the widespread nature of Neue Sachlichkeit across various cultural media, and, more pertinent to this thesis, to find links in other media to Neue Sachlichkeit painting. This is particularly useful in that it shows how the issues affecting the outlook of the painters were equally important, or indeed unimportant, to producers of other art forms, and emphasises again coherence and division within Neue Sachlichkeit as a whole. Photography is an art form that has often been linked to Neue Sachlichkeit,1 because at the same time that the painters were approaching different forms of visual expression, the photographers were too. The photographers that will be discussed in this chapter were by no means the only innovators at this time, but they were certainly among the best known, and their work may be seen as representative of the output that can be compared to Neue Sachlichkeit painting.

August Sander August Sander was born in 1876. His photographic career really began in the 1890s, when he first worked as an amateur and then served his apprenticeship as a commercial photographer. Before the First World War he was a frequent medal winner in photographic exhibitions and ran a studio in Linz in Austria. It was after the Great War, however, that he began work on Menschen des 20. Jahrhunderts (People of the 20th Century), although he had begun to conceive the project around 1910 when he returned to Germany, to Cologne. Antlitz der Zeit (Face of the Times) was published in 1929, a collection of sixty portraits, which was intended as a kind of introduction to Menschen des 20. Jahrhunderts. The project as a whole was intended to be a work of 500-600 photographs, in about forty-five portfolios. The work was to consist entirely of portraits, documenting the society of Germany as Sander saw it. Unfortunately, the project, planned as a work in progress, was never completed. Moreover, in 1936, the National Socialists destroyed the printing blocks for Antlitz der Zeit, and all available copies were seized, and in 1946, some 25-30,000 negatives were destroyed in a fire at Sander’s studio. Sander’s portraits were supposed to be viewed as comparisons, and thereby an understanding of the existing social order could be achieved. For this to be successful, a carefully thought out format was necessary. Some of the principal features of his method are: 1. the subject deliberately confronted with the camera and therefore given an opportunity to adopt a pose; 2. the subject always shown in the environment of his work, or life situation; 3. the subject generally shown full-length, usually in a serious mood. Sander’s photographs

1

See Michalski, New Objectivity, and Schmied, Neue Sachlichkeit and German Realism of the Twenties.

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement show us people in various environments which for the most part relate to their particular social group. 2 Nevertheless, their roles become fully recognisable only through their relationship to all the other portraits.

It was for this reason that, where possible, Sander’s subjects were shown wearing workclothes, or were at least placed in a work setting, in order to aid classification into certain social groups. For example Konditor (Pastry Chef) (c.1928) and Der Arzt. Professor Dr. Schl., Berlin (The Doctor, Professor Dr. Schl., Berlin) (c.1928), are easily placed into their respective social classes by the way they are posed. In his introduction to Antlitz der Zeit, Alfred Döblin wrote that one ‘hat vor sich eine Art Kulturgeschichte, besser Soziologie, der letzten dreiβig Jahre. Wie man Soziologie schreibt, ohne zu schreiben, sondern indem man Bilder gibt, Bilder von Gesichtern und nicht etwa Trachten, das schafft der Blick dieses Photographen, sein Geist, seine Beobachtung, sein Wissen und nicht zuletzt sein enormes photographisches Können’ (‘has in front of one a type of cultural history, or better, sociology, of the last thirty years. Like one writes sociology, but without writing, instead using images, images of faces and not something uniform; that creates the outlook of this photographer, his spirit, his observation, his knowledge, and not least his enormous photographic ability.’)3

August Sander Gymnasiast (1926) © Die Photographische Sammlung/SK Stiftung Kultur – August Sander Archiv, Cologne/VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn and DACS, London 2004 2 3

Eskildsen, U., ‘Photography and the Neue Sachlichkeit Movement’, in Schmied, Neue Sachlichkeit and German Realism of the Twenties, pp.85-97 (p.89/90). Sander, A., Antlitz der Zeit. Sechzig Aufnahmen deutscher Menschen des 20. Jahrhunderts (Munich: Schirmer / Mosel, 1990), p.13. There are two worthwhile editions of Sander’s photographs which would in part have comprised Menschen des 20. Jahrhunderts: See August Sander: Menschen des 20. Jahrhunderts: Ein Kulturwerk in Lichtbilden eingeteilt in sieben Gruppen, ed. by Susanne Lange, Gabriele Conrath-Scholl and Gerd Sander, for Die Photographische Sammlung/SK Stiftung Kultur, Cologne, 7 vols (Munich: Schirmer/Mosel, 2002). Also August Sander: Menschen des 20. Jahrhunderts. Studienband, ed. by Susanne Lange and Gabriele Conrath-Scholl for Die Photographische Sammlung/SK Stiftung Kultur, Cologne (Munich: Schirmer/Mosel, 2001).

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However, Sander’s work was more than a work of sociology or cultural history, as Döblin continues: ‘Die Gesellschaft ist in der Umwälzung, die Groβstädte sind riesig angewachsen, einzelne Originale sind noch vorhanden, aber schon bereiten sich neue Typen vor.’ (‘Society is in a state of change, cities have grown huge, odd originals still exist, but new types are already preparing themselves.’)4 This idea is evident from the number of students and young revolutionaries that Sander photographed, for example, juxtaposed with the portraits of middle-aged and elderly workers from all social classes. Furthermore, there is a sense among the younger sitters that they are aware of the transition of society that is taking place, and their position within that transition. This is true, for example, of the Gymnasiast (Grammar School Student) (1926), whose self-assured air suggests that he is confident about his future. Tucholsky’s assertion that ‘Sander hat keine Menschen sondern Typen photographiert’ (‘Sander photographed not people but types’),5 is correct, in that his portraits connect the sitter with the role they play in society. They are representatives of their profession or social class, and it was Sander’s aim to portray them as such. He had little interest in producing aesthetically pleasing portraits that flattered the sitters. Indeed, some of the portraits do appear to put across those who represent the worst aspects of given professions. William Feaver writes that ‘photographs of the typical come close to caricature. We somehow know, without needing a Grosz to emphasise the fact, that The Entrepreneur was born fat-necked and that The Industrialist, 1929, has to be a right bastard […] Though some of the portfolios separate good from possible evil, the photographs themselves are neutral. Judgements are retrospective. At the time, there’s no indication whether someone will turn out to be Adenauer or Eichmann.’6 Sander could not have known that, ironically, it was actually very possible for one of his sitters to turn out to be Eichmann, and he could not have known in 1910, when he conceived his project, that the society he photographed would end in Nazism, a transition indeed.

Albert Renger-Patzsch Albert Renger-Patzsch was born in Würzburg in 1897. He trained as a chemist, but had always had an interest in amateur photography, and decided after his training that he would rather be a professional photographer. His first job was to produce photographs for Ernst Führmann, the owner of the publishers Folkwang und Auriga, for books of plant photos. However, he left the firm in 1925, and set up on his own in Bad Harzburg. His book, Die Welt ist schön (The World is Beautiful), was published in 1928, and demonstrated his strong views about the nature of photography. ‘“Die Welt ist schön”, bereits 1928 erschienen, war eine Kampfansage gegen die malerischen Tendenzen in der Fotographie. Für Renger-Patzsch muβte die Fotographie ihren eigenen Gesetzen folgen und 4 5 6

Ibid., p.15. Tucholsky, Gesammelte Werke, 8, p.83. Feaver, W., ‘Portrait of the hod-carrier as a young Nazi?’, The Observer, Review supplement, 9.3.1997, p.12.

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die ihr zur Verfügung stehenden Mittel nutzen. “Malerei kann ihr kein Vorbild sein”.’ (‘“Die Welt ist schön”, brought out in 1928, was a declaration of war against painterly tendencies in photography. For Renger-Patzsch, photography had to follow its own rules and use the materials that were available to it.’)7 To consider photography in this light brings about the question, as Renger-Patzsch himself concedes, as to whether or not photography can be seen as an art form, in the same way as more traditional art forms. Aber die Photographie existiert und das seit nahezu hundert Jahren, sie hat für den modernen Menschen eine ungeheure Bedeutung gewonnen, viele Tausende leben von ihr und durch sie, sie übt einen ungeheuren Einfluβ aus auf weite Volksschichten durch den Film, sie schafft die illustrierten Zeitungen, sie sorgt für naturgetreues Abbildungsmaterial in den meisten Werken wissenschaftlichen Inhalts, kurz, das moderne Leben ist ohne Photographie nicht mehr denkbar. But photography exists and has for almost a hundred years; it has won an immense significance for modern man; many thousands live from and through it; it exerts an enormous influence across wide levels of society through film; it creates the illustrated newspapers; it takes care of the true-to-life illustrative material in most 8 works of scientific content. In short, modern life is no longer thinkable without photography.

Furthermore, he sees the worth of photography precisely for its photographic qualities, not for so-called artistic ones. ‘Überlassen wir daher die Kunst den Künstlern und versuchen wir mit den Mitteln der Fotografie Fotografien zu schaffen, die durch ihre fotografischen Qualitäten bestehen können, - ohne daβ wir von der Kunst borgen.’ (‘So let’s leave art to the artists, and try to create photography with photographic means, which can be said to exist due to photographic qualities, without borrowing from art.’)9 And so with the publication of Die Welt ist schön, Renger-Patzsch’s opinions were realized visually, with subjects being pictured exactly as the camera saw them, devoid of any external elements that risked detracting from the ‘being’ of the object photographed. Ritzel und Zahnräder (Pinions and Cogs) (1928) is a good example of this aesthetic, where objects, in this case cogs and pinions, are isolated in order to show their true nature, without the interruption of contextual implications. There is also a suggestion of frozen time, but not frozen indefinitely. ‘Action is not recorded, but it is everywhere implicit: […] His works […] are empty rather than abandoned; in a crisp light they stand ready for use. His is a world in the morning, before the wheels start to turn.’10 One such example of this frozen time, although in a less industrial context, is Schaffende Hände (Creative Hands) (1925), a photograph of a potter’s hands working at his wheel, that so impressed Kurt Tucholsky that he wrote, ‘man kann den Ton fast abheben, so reliefartig ist er getroffen. Diese reine Augenfreude am konkreten Ding, am Material’ (‘one can almost pick the clay up, the 7

Oehmigen, K., ‘Ein Verfechter von Licht und Form. Die Wiederentdeckung von Albert Renger-Patzsch’, Sonntagszeitung (online), 16.11.1997. URL (consulted 20.9.2000): www.sonntagszeitung.ch/1997/sz46/80112.htm 8 Renger-Patzsch, A., ‘Photographie und Kunst’, in Honnef, K., ed., Industrielandschaft. Industriearchitektur. Industrieprodukt. Fotografien 1925-1960 von Albert Renger-Patzsch (Bonn: Rheinisches Landesmuseum, 1977), p.125/126 (p.125). 9 Renger-Patzsch, A., ‘Ziele’, in: Schneede, Künstlerschriften der 20er Jahre, p.286. 10 Jeffrey, I., Photography. A Concise History (London: Thames & Hudson, 1981), p.124.

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picture is taken in such relief. This pure visual joy at the concrete thing, at materials.’)11 There is always the sense that the potter’s wheel should be turning, but while it is still, the observer is struck by the tremendous detail in the photograph, where no outside influence is allowed to interfere with the subject. It is as if Renger-Patzsch is giving us, the viewers, time out to really see things as they are. While Renger-Patzsch’s photography was indeed seen by many to represent an exciting new aesthetic, it also had its critics, most notably Walter Benjamin. He wrote in ‘Der Autor als Produzent’ (‘The Author as Producer’) (1934) that Renger-Patzsch’s work did not pay enough attention to the socio-political potential of photography. Of Die Welt ist schön he wrote: ‘Es ist ihr nämlich gelungen, auch noch das Elend, indem sie es auf modischperfektionierte Weise auffaβte, zum Gegenstand des Genusses zu machen.’ (‘It has succeeded in turning abject poverty itself, by handling it in a modish, technically perfect way, into an object of enjoyment.’)12 Donald Kuspit’s own view is that Benjamin was unable to ‘contextualize Renger-Patzsch’s photographs in a way that would do them justice. […] Renger-Patzsch was obsessed with things as such; Benjamin was obsessed with revolution. It is as though Benjamin forgot that photography had something to do with perception.’13 There is some truth to both sides of the argument. Benjamin wrote of Sander’s work in “Kleine Geschichte der Photographie” (1931): Über Nacht könnte Werken wie dem von Sander eine unvermutete Aktualität zuwachsen. Machtverschiebungen, wie sie bei uns fällig geworden sind, pflegen die Ausbildung, Schärfung der physiognomischen Auffassung zur vitalen Notwendigkeit werden zu lassen. Man mag von rechts kommen oder von links – man wird sich daran gewöhnen müssen, darauf angesehen zu werden, woher man kommt. Man wird es, seinerseits, den andern anzusehen haben. Sanders Werk ist mehr als ein Bildbuch: ein Übungsatlas. Work like Sander’s could overnight assume unlooked-for topicality. Sudden shifts of power such as are now overdue in our society can make the ability to read facial types a matter of vital importance. Whether one is of the left or right, one will have to get used to being looked at in terms of one’s provenance. And one will have 14 to look at others the same way. Sander’s work is more than a picture book. It is a training manual.

It is as though Benjamin fully expected work such as Sander’s to be used solely as a tool, whilst barely considering its other qualities, and that this should be the main purpose of photography. In contrast to Benjamin’s argument, Kuspit’s assertion that there is a perceptive nature to Renger-Patzsch’s photographs certainly holds water. This is particularly true of the industrial photographs, which are more than simply depictions of objects.

11

Tucholsky, Gesammelte Werke, 5, p.345. Benjamin, Gesammelte Schriften, II.2., p.693. Translated in Art in Theory, p.486. 13 Kuspit, D., Albert Renger-Patzsch. Joy Before the Object (New York: Aperture Foundation / Malibu: J. Paul Getty Museum, 1993), p.66. 14 Benjamin, W., ‘Kleine Geschichte der Photographie’, in Benjamin, Das Kunstwerk im Zeitalter seiner technischen Reproduzierbarkeit, pp.45-64 (p.60). Translated in One Way Street and Other Writings, pp.240-257 (p.252). 12

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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement Künstler ist er durch seine Art, dem Reiz der Erdendinge nachzustellen, durch ein Vermögen, selbst das Zufälligste und Flüchtigste zu Bildern umzuzwingen – zu Bildern von höchster Ordnung und Wohlerwogenheit des Ausschnitts, des Aufbaus. [...] Diese Art Einfangung und Formung geheimsten Lebens mit sucherischer Gesinnung und hochentwickeltem Geschmack – das ist durchaus künstlerische Art des Gestaltens. He is an artist because of his way of following the lure of earthly things, through a capacity of forcing the most accidental and most fleeting into pictures – into pictures of the highest order and quality of detail and construction. [...] This type of capture and formation of the most secret in life, with a searching frame of mind 15 and a highly developed taste – that is an artistic type of form throughout.

There is not a sense of the uncanny, as has been discussed in relation to painting, for the supernatural is not implicated, nor is there a sense of threat. However, there is a feeling of anima, which cannot be explained away. It is useful to compare one such photograph with a Neue Sachlichkeit painting, to show that the same kind of sense can be conveyed. Carl Grossberg’s Weisser Rauch (White Smoke) (1933) has this feeling of emptiness without threat, as does Renger-Patzsch’s Zeche Nordstern, Gelsenkirchen (Nordstern Mine, Gelsenkirchen) (1927). One would expect both factory scenes to be filled with human activity, for in spite of the increased rationalisation of the time, factories rarely ran without a sizeable workforce. However, there is not a single person in either scene. There is a strange sense of silence, but in this instance of calm, not of fear. ‘The image should not appear to be a detail; rather through it a new image is created that appears to be entirely free from anything accidental.’16 This was, as Sieker asserts, in spite of accident, for it is not possible to pose machinery. One can only attempt, as a photographer, to fleetingly halt its motion while recording it, and thereby risk the taking of an image that has an element of accident included. Also, to capture an image by freezing time is unnatural for machinery, which wishes only run when it is switched on, and in this way the photographs are given their mysterious qualities.

Karl Blossfeldt Karl Blossfeldt was born in 1865 in the Harz Mountains, in central Germany. He began an apprenticeship in art modeling at the Mägdesprung ironworks in 1881. He then began a drawing course in 1884 at the college of the Kunstgewerbemuseum in Berlin, where he won a scholarship in 1890 to model and collect botanical samples from all around southern Europe, in order that a scheme for the study of drawing from nature could be established. In 1899, Blossfeldt was made a lecturer at the Kunstgewerbeschule in Berlin, and taught modeling from nature until he retired in 1930. ‘Blossfeldt’s task in his beginners’ classes 15

Sieker, H., ‘Absolute Realistik. Zu Photographien von Albert Renger-Patzsch’, in Honnef, Industrielandschaft, pp.121-124 (p.122). 16 Renger-Patzsch, A., ‘A Lecture That Was Never Given’, Masters of Photography (online), 1999. URL (consulted 30.12.1999): www.masters-of-photography.com/R/renger-patzsch/renger-patzsch_articles3.html

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was essentially that of demonstrating that the best solutions for industrial design had already been anticipated in nature.’17 In this respect, Blossfeldt is often linked, due to the look of his photographs, to Art Nouveau or Jugendstil. The look of Art Nouveau, the tendrils and curls, which formed the basis of Art Nouveau design, is demonstrated in Adiantum pedatum. Haarfarn. Junge gerollte Wedel in 8facher Vergröβerung (Adiantum pedatum. Maiden-hair fern. Young curled fronds magnified 8 times) (1928). The detail in photographs such as these has prompted critics such as Gert Mattenklott to say, ‘Blossfeldt war kein Enthusiast der Kamera. Wie hätte er sonst diese Einförmigkeit über sich bringen können? Er war Liebhaber von Pflanzen.’ (‘Blossfeldt was no camera enthusiast. How could he otherwise have put up with this monotony? He was a plant-lover.’)18 This view is shared by Hans Christian Adam, who points out Blossfeldt’s importance in terms of both botany and photography. ‘Blossfeldt’s great lifelong interest was not in photography, but in plants. He studied them carefully, discovering hitherto unnoticed graphic details, whose symmetries he brilliantly revealed to the eye by means of the camera.’19 There is, however, more than a suggestion of ‘too much love’ on the part of Blossfeldt for his subjects, as Adam notes. ‘They do not smell, they have no colours, and they give no hint of their tactile qualities. They are reduced to geometrical forms, structures and grey tones, in other words to standardized types.’20 Indeed, Adam claims that Blossfeldt was hindered as a photographer because of his fixation with the formal properties he insisted on investing in his plant subjects.21 It is important to remember, however, that Blossfeldt’s output, at least until he retired, was first and foremost intended as a teaching resource, and not an artistic or commercial venture. His wish was not to become a famous photographer; indeed none of his work was exhibited until 1926, and it was not until 1928, two years before he retired, that his first book, Urformen der Kunst (Art Forms in Nature), was published, featuring many of the plant studies used in his teaching. His second book, Wundergarten der Natur (Nature’s Wondergarden), was published in 1932, the year of his death. As a means of comparison with man-made structures, Blossfeldt’s plant photographs became more and more popular at the time of Neue Sachlichkeit. His celebrity as a photographer came about because his dedication to the formal aspect of his work turned out to be perfectly in keeping with the aesthetic of the time; hard, sober, emotionless. This, is also true of Sander and Renger-Patzsch, but is not true of the work of our final photographer, John Heartfield.

17

Sachsse, R., Karl Blossfeldt. Photographs 1865-1932 (Cologne: Benedikt Taschen, 1996), p.10. Ibid., p.86. The English translation is also found here. 19 Adam, H.C., Karl Blossfeldt 1865-1932 (Cologne: Benedikt Taschen, 1999), p.17. 20 Ibid., p.18. 21 Ibid., p.31. 18

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John Heartfield and Photomontage The invention of photomontage by the Berlin Dadaists has always been the subject of some debate, as two sets of people have claimed the distinction: George Grosz and John Heartfield on the one hand, and Raoul Hausmann and Hannah Höch on the other. Grosz’s recollection is as follows. ‘In 1916, when Johnny Heartfield and I invented photomontage in my studio at the south end of town at five o’clock one May morning, we had no idea of the immense possibilities, or of the thorny but successful career, that awaited the new invention.’22 However, Hausmann claimed that he and Höch got the idea on holiday on the Baltic coast in 1918. Virtually every house had a framed lithograph of a soldier standing in front of his barracks. ‘To make this military memento more personal, a photographic portrait had been stuck on in place of the head.’23 Höch’s memory is actually very different. She remembers a house that had an oleograph of Kaiser Wilhelm II surrounded by ancestors, descendants, German oaks, medals and so on. Slightly higher up, but still in the middle, stood a young grenadier under whose helmet the face of their landlord, Herr Felten, was pasted in. There in the midst of his superiors, stood the young soldier, erect and proud amid the pomp and splendour of this world. This paradoxical situation aroused Hausmann’s perennial 24 aggressive streak…

As Ades points out, however, there is no dispute that Grosz and Heartfield first used photographs in collages in 1919, and that the first dated photomontage was Heartfield’s cover for Jedermann sein eigner Fuβball (Each is his own football) (1919). The picture of Heartfield as a football was the first time that two photographs had been put together to bring about a new meaning.25 The actual term photomontage also comes from Grosz and Heartfield, who stamped mont., an abbreviation of montiert (assembled), on works with their names, instead of signatures. An example of this is Dada-merika (1919), which is stamped ‘grosz-heartfield mont.’ Berlin Dada, as has already been noted, was no supporter of the Weimar Republic, and many of the Dadaists had been involved with the Spartakusbund. Hans Hess wrote that the politically conscious artists soon discovered that society was not absurd, not even the crimes committed before their eyes. […] The bourgeois notion of absurdity gave way to the Marxist notion of dialectics, and in that clear light both action and reaction became comprehensible. In fact, the idea of absurdity was itself part of the bourgeois fog which was clouding the minds of the poets. It was an ideological excuse for inaction on the basis of the incomprehensibility of the world. Once the world was seen to be comprehensible the fog 26 dispersed, and John Heartfield was able to fulfil the great task of art – to make the invisible visible.

22

Ades, D., Photomontage (London: Thames & Hudson, 1986), p.19. Ibid. 24 Ibid., p.20. 25 Ibid., p.21. 26 Deutsche Akademie der Künste, John Heartfield. Photomontages (London: Arts Council of Great Britain, 1969), p.11. 23

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Dada acknowledged the absurdity of the world, and appropriate visual expression was given to it. To this end, as Ades points out, the Dadaists produced a large amount of material where ‘conventional layout seemed inappropriate, and typographical anarchy began.’27 Ades then takes the Dada Manifesto, already quoted in this book,28 as an example of this anarchy, and rightly states that photomontage achieves the further visual representation of it. ‘The visibly shattered surface of Dada-merika, or Heartfield’s Universal City, is a truer image of a violent and chaotic society than, for example, The Funeral of the Anarchist Galli, a painting by the Futurist Carrà. And in using the very stuff of today’s and yesterday’s news, Dada was beginning to subvert the voice of society itself.’29 For Heartfield, however, the emphasis was now more upon attacking capitalism and militarism, and he would use photomontage to do this. Heartfield used a construction, which had to a degree already been used by Grosz in his drawings, that Schneede calls Grosz’s dialektische Bilder (dialectical pictures).30 The drawing Früh um 5 Uhr! (Five in the Morning!) (1921) is an example of this, where two opposing realities are juxtaposed, in order to make a new reality. The picture shows the upper classes at play: enjoying a drink, cavorting with women, and in the case of one man, vomiting the excess of food and wine he has ingested. At the top of the picture, separated by a distinct line, the working classes make their way to work. ‘What is important in this configuration of the city is the emphasis on the temporal aspect that points out the coincidence of distinct “occupations” for each social class at a certain time of day.’31 Dawn Ades cites Grosz’s drawing Die Kommunisten fallen – und die Devisen steigen (most commonly translated as Blood is the Best Sauce) (1920), where ‘the caption reveals the direct relationship between the two apparently disparate scenes; this was a principle of construction Heartfield was sometimes to use in his later photomontages.’32 In the foreground of the picture, an army officer and a businessman enjoy a good meal, while in the background, soldiers set about killing protestors. The way in which these works are constructed also calls to mind the discussion on allegory in Chapter Four. Here, two or more realities are juxtaposed by the artist to form an absolutely intentional meaning. Photomontage, as Bürger describes, is the visual expression of the full development of his allegorical model; that is, these images are pictures for reading.33 Any aesthetic value assumes very little significance, and in this way the work differs from the work of the majority of the painters, who aimed for aesthetic value in their output.

27 28 29 30 31

32 33

Ades, Photomontage, p.26. See p.23. Ades, Photomontage, p.26. Schneede, U.M., George Grosz. Der Künstler in seiner Gesellschaft (Cologne: DuMont, 1989), p.121. Czaplicka, J., ‘Pictures of a City at Work, Berlin, circa 1890-1930: Visual Reflections on Social Structures and Technology in the Modern Urban Construct’, in Haxthausen & Suhr, Berlin. Culture and Metropolis, pp.3-33 (p.25). Ades, Photomontage, p.27. Bürger, Theorie der Avantgarde, p.101.

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The following passage from the essay Die Kunst ist in Gefahr (Art is in Danger) (1925) by Grosz and Wieland Herzfelde explains the motivation behind the work of Dada, and also Heartfield's development of political photomontage. Heute weiβ ich und mit mir alle anderen Begründer des deutschen Dadaismus, daβ unser einziger Fehler war, uns mit der sogenannten Kunst überhaupt ernsthaft beschäftigt zu haben. [...] Wir sahen damals die irrsinnigen Endprodukte der herrschenden Gesellschaftsordnung und brachen in Gelächter aus. Noch nicht sahen wir, daβ diesem Irrsinn ein System zugrundelag. Today I know, together with all the other founders of Dada, that our only mistake was to have been seriously engaged at all with so-called art. [...] We saw then the insane end products of the ruling order of society and 34 burst into laughter. We had not yet seen the system behind this insanity.

A good example of Heartfield rendering this system visible is his collaboration with Kurt Tucholsky on the book Deutschland, Deutschland über alles (1929). The text was written by Tucholsky, and included several photomontages by Heartfield, emphasising Tucholsky’s thrust; that the Weimar Republic was a home to injustice, class division and reverence for the outdated and in many cases outrageous traditions of the pre-war monarchy. The way the montage works is explained by Wieland Herzfelde: ‘The text to political montages can take four different forms: inscription, headline, caption, commentary. Often the picture and the text together convey a message which neither the picture alone nor the text alone could convey; something else is produced, as music and words produce a song.’35 The effect with the caption is immediate, but in Deutschland, Deutschland über alles, there is also a great deal of commentary. This has a less immediate impact than a caption, for instance, and generally has a title that does not give a great deal away, such as Köpfe (Heads) (1929). However, when combined with Heartfield’s photomontage, the effect is profound. Köpfe tells of three generations in Germany, and speaks of their achievements, with the latest being the least likeable, an apparent ‘Arsch mit Ohren’ (‘arse with ears’), as we are presented with a photograph of his bottom, with an ear on the outside of each thigh. The men of these three generations are photographed, with the man of the modern generation being pictured below the powerful last line. ‘Gesichter, die in die Hose gehören. Aber wir zeigen sie der Welt– mit einem herausfordernden Ausruf aus dem Götz, und wundern uns, daβ alle, alle dagegen sind.’ (‘Faces that belong in trousers. But we are showing them to the world – with a challenging four-letter cry, and are surprised that all, all are against it.’)36 After Deutschland, Deutschland über alles, the collaboration went no further. Heartfield concentrated more on producing photomontages for publications such as Der Knüppel, the satirical weekly magazine of the KPD, Die Rote Fahne, and the Arbeiter-IllustrierteZeitung (AIZ), which had to be edited from Prague after 1933. Heartfield’s opposition to the new regime after 1933 was furious, hence the need for those publications that used his work to be based in countries outside Germany. In Deutsche 34

Schneede, Künstlerschriften der 20er Jahre, p.162. Translated in Art in Theory, pp.450-454 (p.451). Deutsche Akademie der Künste, John Heartfield, p.8. 36 Tucholsky, K., Deutschland, Deutschland über alles (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1996), p.176. 35

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Naturgeschichte: Metamorphose (German Natural History: Metamorphoses) (1934), Heartfield suggests that Ebert and Hindenburg, as representatives of the Weimar Republic, were the caterpillars that the Death’s Head moth of National Socialism and Hitler developed from. The Nazis themselves, as Ades points out, supplied Heartfield with endless slogans and captions; for example, the caption for Durch Licht zur Nacht (Through Light to Night) (1933) reads: ‘Also sprach Dr. Goebbels: Laβt uns aufs neue Brände entfachen, auf daβ die Verblendeten nicht erwachen!’ (‘Thus spake Dr. Goebbels: “Let us start new fires so that those who are blinded shall not wake up”.’)37 The montage shows a book-burning, including titles by the likes of Kästner, Mann, and Freud, but the fire becomes a part of the Reichstag fire. In Hurrah, die Butter ist alle! (Hurrah, the Butter is Finished!) (1935) a family is shown eating iron, following Goering’s claim that ‘Erz hat stets ein Reich stark gemacht, Butter und Schmalz haben höchstens ein Volk fett gemacht.’ (‘Iron always makes a country strong, butter and lard only make people fat.’)38 In the background, pictures of Hitler and the swastika are used as decorations for wallpaper. What this brief introduction to the New Photography has shown is that all the photographers share some elements with the painting of Neue Sachlichkeit. It is worth bearing in mind, however, the individual histories of these photographers. Sander’s style, for instance, was developed from what he had learned as a photographer in the nineteenth century. He was extremely well acquainted with the Cologne Progressive artists, and knew artists such as Otto Dix, and there are indications that he was influenced by them. In fact, as Jeffrey points out, the reverse is probably true, that Neue Sachlichkeit portraiture was influenced by photographic portraits from around 1910.39 There is a connection with Neue Sachlichkeit in the work of Renger-Patzsch, certainly in terms of the idea of something spiritual or mystical. Kuspit writes for instance, that ‘the best of these works are not matter-of-fact descriptions or naïve mimetic representations of things, but rather involve an unconscious perceptual identification with them.’40 This, however, was not the case with the work of Blossfeldt, where precision was the key. Sachsse explains how his slides were traced over by his students once they were projected onto their drawing boards. ‘For such a projection to serve the mechanical copying of formal properties, the slides had to fill one precondition: they had to show the object clearly and without extraneous details. This was exactly the quality of Blossfeldt’s work, and in particular the quality of his collection of plant photographs.’41 Of these three photographers, except for the elements in the work of Renger-Patzsch already noted, what is most noticeable is a desire for absolute realism and precision. There was not necessarily an underlying point to be made by these photographs. In this respect, they differed from much Neue Sachlichkeit. In the photographs, the main emphasis was 37

Ades, Photomontage, p.47. The English translation is also found here. Ibid., p.56. The English translation is also found here. 39 Jeffrey, Photography, p.136. See also Zeitgenossen. August Sander und die Kunstszene der 20er Jahre im Rheinland, ed. by Die Photographische Sammlung/SK Stiftung Kultur, Cologne (Göttingen: Steidl, 2000). 40 Kuspit, Albert Renger-Patzsch, p.68. 41 Sachsse, Karl Blossfeldt, p.12. 38

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upon photographic qualities. In the paintings, the achievement of accepted aesthetic values was rarely the prime motivation. John Heartfield, however, differed from the other three photographers, in that his agenda was to convey a socio-political message. A brief look at a classic Neue Sachlichkeit painting, Georg Scholz’s Industriebauern (1920) shows how the principles of photomontage also existed in painting, with both developing at much the same period in time. The true nature of the family featured in Scholz’s painting is revealed by the juxtapositions of elements such as the Bible, a bust of the Kaiser, the contents of the snottynosed boy’s open head, and the semi-artificially constructed father, for instance. The difference between such paintings and photomontage is simply the media used. The painter uses paint, and sometimes collage; the photomonteur uses fragments of photographs and cuttings. Both produce a similar end result: a neue Sachlichkeit is brought about, in that two or more realities are isolated from their normal contexts, forced together, and a new reality is brought into being. This device has been discussed in Chapter Four already, in relation to painting, and may therefore be regarded as a characteristic shared with photography.

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7. Neue Sachlichkeit Literature

Neue Sachlichkeit is acknowledged as having had a considerable influence on the literature of the late 1920s and early 1930s in Germany, but is Neue Sachlichkeit in literature comparable to that in painting? Does it deal with the same themes and issues? This chapter will consider three novels of the period, in order to seek issues and thematic similarities, which also occupied the minds of the Neue Sachlichkeit painters. The novels chosen are Erich Kästner’s Fabian. Die Geschichte eines Moralisten (Fabian. The Story of a Moralist) (1931), Irmgard Keun’s Das kunstseidene Mädchen (The Artificial Silk Girl) (1932), and Hans Fallada’s Kleiner Mann – was nun? (Little Man – what now?) (1932). All three novels are, to differing degrees, Angestelltenromane, that is, depictions of the lives of white-collar workers at this particular period in time, although this applies to Doris in Keun’s text only very briefly, at the start of the novel. The white-collar worker can arguably be seen as fairly representative of everyday Weimar society. This is evident in both the literature and painting of Neue Sachlichkeit, where the Angestellte (white-collar worker) is often depicted as a representative of a social class, for example in Fritsch’s Jeunesse dorée. While not belonging to the working class, or at least not considering themselves as belonging to the working class, the white-collar workers were still required to earn a living in order to survive, and in many ways were as much victims of rationalisation and the growth of industry as the manual workers. The suffering of the central characters in the novels is summarised by the following commentaries. Der Fabian ist wahrscheinlich keiner der besten, dafür aber unbestreitbar einer der ehrlichsten deutschen Romane. Daβ in diesem Buch die sexuellen, wirtschaftlichen und politischen Zustände der späten, sozusagen in den letzten Zügen liegenden Weimarer Republik mit ungeschminkter Schonungslosigkeit dargestellt werden, ist allein schon ein seltener Vorzug. [...] Seine wahrhaft epochale Bedeutung liegt jedoch darin, daβ die kleinen individuellen Schicksale der in die Handlung verwickelten Menschen nicht separat als unabhängige Ereignisse vor der Depraviertheit des zeitgenössischen Hintergrunds abgespult, sondern daβ sie als unvermeidliche Auswüchse makabrer sozialer Mächte dargestellt werden. Fabian is probably not one of the best, but because of that, is unquestionably one of the most honest German novels. That the sexual, economic and political circumstances of the late Weimar Republic, which was on its last legs, are represented in this book with unvarnished ruthlessness, is in itself already of rare merit. Its truthful epochal meaning lies, however, in the fact that the small individual fates of those entangled in the action turn out not to be seperate independent events against the depravity of the contemporary background, 1 but are rather represented as unavoidable deformities of macabre social powers. Hans Fallada’s Kleiner Mann – was nun? [...] is the tale of the young salesman, Pinneberg, and his wife, Lämmchen. After a spontaneous decision to marry upon learning of Lämmchen’s pregnancy, Pinneberg takes Lämmchen to the small town of Ducherow in which he works. When he loses his job, the couple decide to go to Berlin where Pinneberg works as a salesman in a department store. The store is undergoing rationalization, and the managers introduce a quota system whereby the employees have to sell twenty times their monthly 1

Schwarz, E., ‘Erich Kästner. Fabians Schneckengang im Kreise’, in Wagener, H., ed., Zeitkritische Romane des 20. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1975), pp.124-145 (p.127).

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement income in order to guarantee further employment. In the meantime, the ‘Murkel’, the Pinnebergs’ child, is born and Lämmchen and Pinneberg struggle with the problems of family life. Pinneberg eventually loses his 2 job and the novel ends with the Pinnebergs living in a ‘Laubenkolonie’ to the east of the city. Die Autorin hat in [Das kunstseidene Mädchen] einen im Kontext der 20er Jahre “entstandenen”, sowohl im “Leben” wie in der “Literatur” als “neu” aufgefaβten weiblichen Typus zur literarischen Heldin gemacht und dabei zugleich zeittypische Phänomene und Probleme fokussiert. [...] Der Roman bietet eine Gegenversion zu den Verheiβungen der “goldenen 20er Jahre” und enthält einen Schluβ, der wie ein Reflex auf die gesellschaftliche Befindlichkeit am Ende der Weimarer Jahre anmutet, in denen die Fortschrittsillusionen durch Ratlosigkeit und Resignation abgelöst wurden. The authoress has, in [Das kunstseidene Mädchen], produced a literary heroine, arisen out of the context of the 1920s, and as much in “life” as “literature” understood as a “new” female type, and in doing so at the same time she focuses phenomena and problems typical of the time. [...] The novel offers a contrary version of the promises of the “golden twenties” and contains a conclusion that appears like a reflection of the social situation at the end of the Weimar years, in which the illusions of progress were replaced by helplessness and 3 resignation.

These three passages were written as introductions or résumés of the texts, yet they all include an expression of the influence of modernity upon the development of the respective stories, and in particular the problems associated with modern industrial society. For instance, the novels demonstrate the detrimental effect of rationalisation, materialism, commerce and the growth of consumer culture upon the people whose lives were influenced by these developments. In this respect, a link to Neue Sachlichkeit is clear, and in particular the connotations that the term came to have at the end of the twenties, after the time of the Golden Twenties and after the time of the economic crisis of 1929. Neue Sachlichkeit came to signify once again a critical frame of mind following the relative stability of the mid1920s. This frame of mind reflected, according to Martin Lindner, a ‘“heroischrealistisches” Pathos der “Existenz”’ (‘“heroic-realistic” pathos of “existence”’)and a: ‘Pathos des Überlebens.’ (‘pathos of survival’)4 Lindner proceeds to point out certain characteristics which are displayed by the neusachliche generation, such as ‘Wortkargheit’ (‘sparseness of words’), ‘skeptische Distanz’ (‘sceptical distance’), ‘die Bereitschaft, die Eigengesetzlichkeit der Objektwelt zu respektieren.’ (‘readiness to respect the autonomy of the world of objects.’)5 These characteristics are seen in the main figures of the novels studied here, as will become apparent throughout the chapter. Lindner asserts that these characteristics are born of the experiences that the young generation had undergone. ƒ Sie erlebte den Zusammenbruch der moralischen wie gesellschaftlichen Vorkriegsordnung im Krieg und in den Nachkriegsjahren. 2 3

4 5

Smail, D., White-collar Workers, Mass Culture and Neue Sachlichkeit in Weimar Berlin (Bern: Peter Lang, 1999), p.11. Rosenstein, D., ‘“Mit der Wirklichkeit auf du und du?” Zu Irmgard Keuns Romanen “Gilgi, eine von uns” und “Das Kunstseidene Mädchen”’, in Becker, S. & Weiss, C., eds, Neue Sachlichkeit im Roman. Neue Interpretationen zum Roman der Weimarer Republik (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1995), pp.273-290 (pp.276-81). Lindner, Leben in der Krise, p.162. Ibid., p.170.

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Neue Sachlichkeit Literature ƒ Sie erlebte den Verlust der Autoritäten auf dem Übergang zum Erwachsenenalter. Die Väter blieben im Krieg oder waren den neuen Verhältnissen nicht mehr gewachsen, die ‘gemeinschaftlichen’ Sozialstrukturen waren in der Groβstadtzivilisation zerstört. Die Jugendlichen waren im Krieg und im “Dickicht der Groβstadt” vorzeitig auf sich selbst gestellt. ƒ Sie erlebte den Ausbruch “elementarer” Triebe, die die Oberfläche des zivilisierten Bewuβtseins durchbrachen: die Kampfeslust und Todesangst im Krieg, den Hunger und die sexuellen Exzesse der Kriegs- und Nachkriegszeit, den Überlebenskampf und die Sittenlosigkeit Berlins. ƒ Sie erlebte die Übermacht der Maschinen – im Weltkrieg in Gestalt von Trommelfeuer, Panzern, Flugzeugen und Maschinengewehren, danach in Gestalt des industriellen Taylorismus. ƒ They experienced the collapse of the moral as much as the social pre-war order in the war and in the post-war years. ƒ They experienced the loss of authority figures as they reached their adult years. Fathers remained at war, or were not up to the new attitudes; the “communal” social structures were destroyed in the big city civilisation. From an early stage the young people had to fend for themselves in the war and in the “urban jungle”. ƒ They experienced the explosion of “elemental” drives that broke througfh the surface of civilised consciousness: the lust for battle and fear of death in the war, the hunger and the sexual excesses of the war and post-war period, the battle for survival and the immorality of Berlin. ƒ They experienced the might of the machine – during the world war in the form of heavy barrages, 6 tanks, aeroplanes and machine guns, then afterwards in the form of industrialised Taylorism.

The results of these experiences are visible in both the literature and painting of Neue Sachlichkeit, which clearly shows the violence and fragmentation of post-war society, with its emphasis on isolation, alienation, commercialism, exploitation, and the gradual taking over of society by technology, hand in hand with industrial rationalisation. It has already been demonstrated in Chapter Five that this was depicted in painting, and examples will now demonstrate how it may be found in the literature. The city as a hostile environment is a theme that runs strongly through all three novels. Smail writes that ‘the city is a place in which the characters, for good and for ill, live, move and have their being. But, particularly in times of crisis, the city can become a hostile place, home more to powerful and destructive social forces than to the characters.’7 This calls to mind the thoughts of Simmel, Benjamin and Kracauer, and examples from the texts bear this out. ‘Es gibt auch Omnibusse – sehr hoch – wie Aussichtstürme, die rennen. [...] Zu Hause waren auch viele Straβen, aber die waren wie verwandt zusammen. Hier sind noch viel mehr Straβen und so viele, daβ sie sich gegenseitig nicht kennen. Es ist eine fabelhafte Stadt.’ (‘There are buses too, very high ones like observation towers that are moving. [...] At home, we had lots of streets too, but they were familiar with each other. Here, there are so many more streets that they can’t possibly all know each other. It’s a fabulous city.’)8 This suggestion that the streets do not know each other is particularly reminiscent of the newspaper kiosk described by Kracauer, where things exist in such close proximity to one another, but do not know each other at all. The way Doris, the main figure in Das 6 7 8

Ibid. Smail, White-collar Workers, p.113. Keun, I., Das kunstseidene Mädchen (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 1999), p.50. Translated into English in Keun, I., The Artificial Silk Girl (New York: Other Press, 2002), p.56/57.

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kunstseidene Mädchen, likens the buses to watchtowers is also a threatening image, as if these travelling watchtowers are ensuring that the streets do not find the opportunity to become acquainted with one another. The hostility of the city is also demonstrated in Fabian. When Fabian loses his job at the advertising agency, he pauses a while before entering the street from his former place of work. Lastautos ratterten vorbei. Ein Depeschenbote sprang vom Rad und eilte ins gegenüberliegende Gebäude. Das Nebenhaus war von einem Gerüst vergittert. Maurer standen auf den Laufbrettern und verputzten den grauen, bröckligen Bewurf. Eine Reihe bunter Möbelwagen bog schwerfällig in die Seitenstraβe. Der Depeschenbote kam zurück, stieg hastig auf sein Rad und fuhr weiter. Fabian stand im Torbogen, griff in die Tasche, ob das Geld noch darin sei, und dachte: ‘Was wird mit mir?’ Dann ging er, da er nicht arbeiten durfte, spazieren. Lorries were clattering past. A messenger-boy jumped from his bicycle and hurried into the building opposite. The house next door was latticed with scaffolding. Bricklayers were standing on planks, cleaning the grey, crumbling plaster. A file of bright-coloured furniture vans turned ponderously into a side-street. The messenger-boy came out, hastily mounted his bicycle and rode away. Fabian stood in the doorway, thrust his hand into his pocket to make sure the money was there, and thought: what will become of me? Then, since he 9 was not permitted to work, he went for a stroll.

As Smail points out, the busy atmosphere of the city street is no longer ‘a place to accommodate him in his new situation.’,10 and this sense of isolation is compounded after Cornelia, his girlfriend, becomes the lover of Makart, the film producer, in order to secure a role in a film. On top of this misfortune, the city becomes even more unaccommodating. Als er aus dem Bahnhof trat und wieder diese Straβenfluchten und Häuserblöcke vor sich sah, dieses hoffnungslose, unbarmherzige Labyrinth, wurde ihm schwindlig. Er lehnte sich neben ein paar Gepäckträgern an die Wand und schloβ die Augen. Doch nun quälte ihn der Lärm. Ihm war, als führen die Straβenbahnen und Autobusse mitten durch seinen Magen. Er kehrte wieder um, stieg die Treppe zum Wartesaal hinauf und legte dort den Kopf auf eine harte Bank. When he came out of the station, he found himself confronted once more by those lines of streets, those masses of brickwork, all that hopeless, pitiless labyrinth, and he turned giddy. He leaned against the wall, not far from a group of porters, and closed his eyes. But now the noise tormented him. It was as though the trams and omnibuses were driving right through his body. He turned back, ascended the steps to the waiting room, 11 and laid his head on a bare wooden bench.

Smail’s description of this passage as the city launching a physical attack on Fabian12 is very accurate, and also shows that writing can transport a person to places where painting sometimes can not, just as Freud pointed out with regard to the uncanny, this passage evokes images that an artist would not be able easily to convey. For instance, it is easier to convey in print, hopelessness, mercilessness, dizziness; and pain caused by noise, than it is 9

Kästner, E., Gesammelte Schriften (Zurich: Atrium Verlag / Berlin: Cecilie Dressler Verlag / Cologne: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1959), 2, pp.9-188 (p.87/88). Translated into English in Kästner, E., Fabian. The Story of a Moralist (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1990), p.79/80. 10 Smail, White-collar Workers, p.136. 11 Kästner, Gesammelte Schriften, 2, p.128. In English in Fabian. The Story of a Moralist, p.118. 12 Smail, White-collar Workers, p.136.

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in paint. That is not to say that it has not been attempted. The earlier work of Grosz, for instance, sometimes depicts the city as a place where chaos rules, and one could feel as though one was under attack. Widmung an Oskar Panizza (1917/18) demonstrates this point, where buildings appear to be hemming people in, forcing them to go where they do not necessarily wish to go. The Italian Futurist influence is important here, for this painting shares the sense of dynamism and violence that was frequently found in their work. This aspect of Futurism acts as an homage to the power of the industrialised world, in deliberate contrast to the arts of Italy’s classical past, of which Italians were supposed to be so proud. At the start of the novels, all three protagonists feel at home in the city when they have work or are relatively new to this environment. This is particularly true of Pinneberg, who fears nothing in the city while he has a function within it, that is, a job. But when he is made redundant, the city turns on him. Eine Stimme sagt halblaut neben ihm: “Gehen Sie weiter!” Pinneberg fährt zusammen, er hat richtig einen Schreck bekommen, er sieht sich um. Ein Schupo steht neben ihm. Hat er ihn gemeint? “Sie sollen weitergehen, Sie, hören Sie!” sagt der Schupo laut. Es stehen noch mehr Leute am Schaufenster, gutgekleidete Herrschaften, aber denen gilt die Anrede des Polizisten nicht, es ist kein Zweifel, er meint allein von allen Pinneberg. [...] “Machen Sie jetzt?” fragt der Schupo. “Oder soll ich – ” Über dem Handgelenk hat er den Halteriemen vom Gummiknüppel, er hebt den Knüppel ein wenig an. [...] Und plötzlich begreift Pinneberg alles, angesichts dieses Schupo, dieser ordentlichen Leute, dieser blanken Scheibe begreift er, daβ er drauβen ist, daβ er hier nicht mehr hergehört, daβ man ihn zu Recht wegjagt: ausgerutscht, versunken, erledigt. [...] Armut ist nicht nur Elend, Armut ist auch strafwürdig. A voice behind him said in a low tone: “Move on please!” Pinneberg started – he was really quite frightened. A policeman stood beside him. Was the man speaking to him? “Move on there, do you hear?” said the policeman, loudly now. There were other people standing at the shop window, well-dressed people, but to them the policeman had undoubtedly not addressed himself. He meant Pinneberg. […] “Are you going?” asked the policeman. “Or shall I - ?” The loop of his rubber club was slipped around his wrist, and he raised the weapon slightly. […] Suddenly Pinneberg understood everything; in the presence of this policeman, these respectable persons, this gleaming window, he understood that he was outside it all, that he no longer belonged here and that he was rightly chased away; he had slipped into the abyss, and was engulfed. […] Poverty was not merely misery, 13 poverty was an offence.

The image of the burly policeman and the idea that poverty was often seen as punishable brings to mind both the passage by Benjamin in Chapter Four, regarding the surly bus conductor, and in particular the work of the socially critical painters, above all the work of Grosz, for whom the repressed poor and the brutal authority figures were stock characters. However, as with the paintings, the literature of Neue Sachlichkeit goes beyond social criticism, and considers also the problems of forming relationships in the modern world. In 13

Fallada, H., Kleiner Mann – was nun? (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1998), p.300/301. Translated in English as Little Man – what now? (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1933), p.383-386.

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Fabian, though, this is as much down to personal choice as to any pressure from society, as is demonstrated when Fabian and his friend Labude visit a bar. Sie liebten dieses Lokal, weil sie nicht hierher gehörten. Das Nummernschild ihres Tischtelefons glühte ohne Unterbrechung. Der Apparat surrte. Man wollte sie sprechen. Labude hob den Hörer aus der Gabel und legte ihn unter den Tisch. Sie hatten wieder Ruhe. Denn der Lärm, der übrigblieb, die Musik, das Gelächter und der Gesang waren nicht persönlich gemeint und konnten ihnen nichts anhaben. They were fond of the place because they did not belong there. The number-plate of their table-telephone glowed uninterruptedly. The buzzer buzzed. People wanted to speak to them. Labude took the receiver from its holder and put it under the table. Now they were at peace again. For the noise that remained, the music, the 14 singing and the laughter, were not meant personally and therefore could not disturb.

This idea of not wanting to take part in society, so to speak, brings to mind Simmel’s writing on reserve. Where he describes neighbours not communicating after years of living beside one another, the situation described above may be seen as the initial step towards this voluntary isolation. Long-lasting relationships of any kind cannot become possible if people are not even willing to engage in an initial conversation. Although in this instance women were ringing their telephone in the hope of arranging nothing more than some kind of sexual encounter, the point made is supported by the fact that Fabian and Labude liked this bar ‘weil sie nicht hierher gehörten’ (‘because they did not belong there’), as well as the fact that in this particular type of bar they could, by taking the phone off the hook, very openly demonstrate their unwillingness to participate. Female sexual aggressiveness is a theme used frequently in Fabian. ‘Modernität und Sachlichkeit sind in dieser “Geschichte eines Moralisten” gekoppelt mit weiblicher Unmoral, Sexbessenheit und Aggressivität.’ (‘Modernity and objectivity are coupled in this “Story of a Moralist” with female immorality, sexual obsession and aggression.’)15 Examples here are the woman who bites Fabian’s lower lip,16 and a blonde woman in a bar. ‘[Sie] nahm Fabians Hand und fuhr sich mit dieser so lange über die Brüste, bis die Brustwarzen groβ und fest wurden.’ (‘She took Fabian’s hand and moved it to and fro across her breasts until the nipples stood out large and hard.’)17 Examples such as these, where men are confronted by sexually aggressive women, do not compare directly to depictions of such women by the Neue Sachlichkeit artists, who, as has been explored in Chapter Five, were less sympathetic than these writers. However, where both are similar is in the expression of the feeling by men that the female role has changed. Men realised that women had become more concerned with achieving their own aims, rather than simply supporting the men in their lives. Many men found this difficult to cope with, such as the man in Schad’s Selbstbildnis mit Modell, and indeed Fabian. Some men though, saw exploitative potential in these women and nowhere is this idea clearer than in the case of 14

Kästner, Gesammelte Schriften, 2, p.42. In English in Fabian. The story of a Moralist, p.36. Jürgs, B., ‘Neusachliche Zeitungsmacher, Frauen und alte Sentimentalitäten. Erich Kästners Roman “Fabian. Die Geschichte eines Moralisten”’, in Becker & Weiss, Neue Sachlichkeit im Roman, pp.195-211 (p.204). 16 Kästner, Gesammelte Schriften, 2, p.15. 17 Ibid., p.45. English in Fabian. The Story of a Moralist, p.39. 15

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Doris in Das kunstseidene Mädchen. As Smail suggests, ‘Doris […] uses her sexuality as a method with which to secure her material existence but she […] thereby relinquishes the possibility of establishing any relationship with a man which is not based on exploitation.’18 Doris, at least to a degree, accepts that her relationships with men have a materialistic, exploitative basis, but she sees no way round it, and does not seem to accept her own part in her predicament. ‘Betrunken sein, mit Männern schlafen, viel Geld haben – das muβ man wollen, und nichts anderes denken, wie hält man es sonst denn aus – was ist denn wohl nur kaputt auf der Welt?’ (‘You have to be drunk to sleep with men, to have a lot of money – that’s what you have to want and never think of anything else. How else are you going to stand it – What’s wrong with this world?’)19 Doris’s overriding ambition to become a Glanz forces her to put herself through these experiences. Her conception of this is as follows: Ich will so ein Glanz werden, der oben ist. Mit weißem Auto und Badewasser, das nach Parfüm riecht, und alles wie Paris. Und die Leute achten mich hoch, weil ich ein Glanz bin, und werden es dann wunderbar finden, wenn ich nicht weiß, was eine Kapazität ist, und nicht runter lachen auf mich wie heute – ob das Trapper noch auf dem Klosett sitzt? Wenn ich sie übermorgen noch nicht sehe, schließe ich sie auf, denn ich will sie nicht ausgesprochen verhungern lassen. Ich werde ein Glanz, und was ich dann mache, ist richtig – nie mehr brauch ich mich in acht nehmen und nicht mehr meine Worte ausrechnen und meine Vorhabungen ausrechnen – einfach betrunken sein – nichts kann mir mehr passieren an Verlust und Verachtung, denn ich bin ein Glanz. I want to become a star. I want to be at the top. With a white car and bubble bath that smells from perfume, and everything just like in Paris. And people have a great deal of respect for me because I’m glamorous, and they’ll find it so cute when I don’t know what “capacity” means and won’t laugh at me like they do now – just wondering if the Trapper is still locked in the bathroom. If I haven’t seen her by tomorrow, I’ll go upstairs and unlock the door, because I don’t really want her to starve to death. I’m going to be a star, and then everything I do will be right – I’ll never have to be careful about what I do or say. I don’t have to calculate my words or my actions – I can just be drunk – nothing can happen to me 20 anymore, no loss, no disdain, because I’m a star.

Exploitation exists on both sides; the men will only give Doris what she wants if she sleeps with them, and Doris, by sleeping with the right men, feels she is getting a step closer to achieving her dream. Much the same situation exists with Cornelia in Fabian, who exploits, and is exploited, in order to secure a part in a film. Die Entlassung Fabians erstickt jede noch so geheime Hoffnung auf Permanenz im Keime. Angesichts dieser Unmöglichkeit läβt Cornelia ihren moralischen Halt fahren und ergibt sich einem jener fetten, alternden, zigarrerauchenden, limousinefahrenden Machthaber dieser Welt, einem Filmmagnaten, der ihr den Weg zum Erfolg ebnet. Der dafür zu entrichtende Preis ist der Ruin der Seele. Fabian’s dismissal nips every remaining secret hope for permanence in the bud. In the face of this impossibility, Cornelia relinquishes her moral security and surrenders herself to one of this world’s fat, aging,

18

Smail, White-collar Workers, p.75. Keun, Das kunstseidene Mädchen, p.89. In English in The Artificial Silk Girl, p.104. 20 Ibid., p.34. In English in The Artificial Silk Girl, p.36/37. ‘Glanz’ is translated here as ‘star’, but an alternative could be ‘It-girl’. 19

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Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement cigar-smoking, limousine-driving powers-that-be, a film magnate, who smooths her way to success. The price 21 paid for this is the ruin of her soul.

Society certainly allowed room for this kind of behaviour to be perpetuated, but as Schwarz suggests here, it is an individual decision that leads to the individual ‘Ruin der Seele’. The implication throughout the novel is that Fabian would not allow himself to become involved in such exploitative relationships, and hence it is the Geschichte eines Moralisten (Story of a Moralist). In terms of sexual exploitation, Lämmchen differs greatly from Doris and Cornelia. As opposed to Pinneberg’s own mother, ‘Lämmchen […] ist für Pinneberg die reine Mutter, dabei aber keineswegs ein Girl-Typ (öfters wird im Roman ihr kräftiger Busen betont).’ (‘Lämmchen [...] is for Pinneberg a pure mother, but along with that in no way a girl-type (her large bust is often emphasised in the novel).’)22 In this respect, Schütz quotes the text in assessing Lämmchen’s sexuality. ‘Bei Lämmchen war es eigentlich nur eine Fortsetzung ihres Gutenachtkusses, ein Anschmiegebedürfnis, ein Zärtlichkeitsverlangen. Lämmchen wollte ihren Jungen nur ein Weilchen im Arm halten.’ (‘With Bunny it was really only a continuation of her good-night kiss, a need for caresses, a longing for affection. [Lämmchen just wanted to hold her boy in her arms for a little while.]’)23 The relationship between Pinneberg and Lämmchen is strong, and not beset by the difficulties that Doris, Fabian and Cornelia face. This strength derives partly from the fact that the couple constantly reaffirm their commitment to one another, particularly in the way that Pinneberg seeks assurances from Lämmchen that she still loves and wants him. The description of Pinneberg as ‘ihren Jungen’ (‘her boy’) in the above quotation shows the roles that Lämmchen and Pinneberg play in the relationship, and while Lämmchen comes across as the more stable partner, the relationship remains strong as a result. As a ‘collectivity of two’, the Pinnebergs feel that as long as they are together, the difficulties presented by the outside world cannot hurt them, although Pinneberg’s working life is always a prominent talking point within their relationship. “Das ist”, sagt Pinneberg, “weil wir gar nichts sind. Wir sitzen allein. Und die anderen, die genau so sind wie wir, die sitzen auch allein. Jeder dünkt sich was. Wenn wir wenigstens Arbeiter wären! Die sagen Genosse zueinander und helfen einander…” “Na, na”, sagt Lämmchen. “Wenn ich an das denke, was Vater manchmal erzählt hat und was Vater erlebt hat…” “Ja, natürlich”, sagt Pinneberg. “Das weiß ich doch, gut sind die auch nicht. Aber die dürfen es sich wenigstens dreckig gehen lassen. Unsereiner, Angestellter, wir stellen doch was vor, wir sind doch was Besseres…” Und der Murkel weint – und sie sehen durch die Scheiben und die Sonne geht auf und es wird ganz hell und eines sieht das andere und sie sehen beide fahl und blaß und müde aus. “Du!” sagt Lämmchen. 21

Schwarz, ‘Erich Kästner’, p.132. Schütz, E., Romane der Weimarer Republik (Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag, 1986), p.175. 23 Fallada, Kleiner Mann – was nun?, p.140. English in Little Man – what now?, p.172. The final line of this passage is not included in the 1933 translation, and so that translation is my own. NB. ‘Lämmchen’ is translated as ‘Bunny’ in this edition. 22

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Neue Sachlichkeit Literature “Du!” sagt er, und sie geben sich die Hand. “Ja, ganz schlimm ist alles nicht”, sagt Lämmchen. “Nein, solange wir uns haben”, bestätigt er. Und dann gehen sie wieder auf und ab. “It’s because,” said Pinneberg, “we’re people who don’t count. We’re quite alone. And the others are just exactly like us, they’re alone too. We think ourselves a cut above the workers: I only wish we were working people. They call each other “comrade,” and they really are comrades.” “I’m not so sure about that,” said Bunny. “When I think of what father often told us and what he had to go through.” “Yes, of course,” said Pinneberg. “I know they aren’t very nice people. But at any rate they can say what they think.” The baby cried, they looked out of the window, the sun rose, it grew quite light, and they looked at each other; they were drawn and pale and tired. They clasped each other’s hands. They began to walk up and 24 down again.

In this respect, the Pinnebergs can always rely on each other to give support. The strength of their relationship shields them from the unpleasantness of the world beyond their front door. The Pinnebergs’ ‘collectivity of two’ is their defence against the modern world. The opposite is true of Fabian and of Doris. Doris colludes with the forces of the modern world, in order that she may exploit her relationships. [E]r bot mir eine Wohnung und Geld – mir kam die Gelegenheit zu einem Glanz, und es ist leicht mit Alten, wenn man jung ist – sie tun, als könnte man was dafür, und als hätte man es geleistet. Und ich wollte, ich wollte. Er hatte eine Kegelkugelstimme, die mich kalt macht, aber ich wollte – er hatte so verschleimtes Gelüge in den Augen, aber ich wollte – ich dachte, die Zähne zusammenbeißen und an machtvolle Hermeline denken, dann geht es. Und sagte: ja. [H]e offered me an apartment and money – this was my opportunity to achieve glamour. It’s easy with old men, when you’re young – they pretend it’s your fault as if you were the one who started it. And I wanted to, I really wanted to. He had the voice of a bowling ball that made my blood run cold, but I wanted to – he had this slimy look in his eyes, but I wanted to – I was thinking, I’ll grit my teeth and think of fabulous ermine, 25 and I’ll be okay. And I said yes.

Cornelia also sees her relationship with the film producer, Makart, in this light, as a means of advancing her career. Fabian feels he cannot object too strongly, as he is unemployed. ‘Wenn er es getan und wenn er, aus dem Fenster gebeugt, gesagt hätte: “Komm wieder herauf, ich will nicht, daß du arbeitest, ich will nicht, daß du zu Makart gehst!”, hätte sie geantwortet: “Was fällt dir ein? Gib mir Geld oder halte mich nicht auf”.’ (‘If he did so, if he leaned out of the window and called: Come back! I don’t want you to work, I don’t want you to go to Makart. What then? She would answer: What do you mean? Either give me money or stop hindering me.’)26 For him, the demands of the modern world have destroyed their ‘collectivity of two’. 24

Ibid., p.259. Translated in Little Man – what now?, p.322/323. Keun, Das kunstseidene Mädchen, p.63/64. In English in The Artificial Silk Girl, p.73/74. 26 Kästner, Gesammelte Schriften, 2, p.124. In English in Fabian. The Story of a Moralist, p.114. 25

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The world of work plays an important part in the narratives of all three novels, but in particular in Kleiner Mann –was nun? As the drive for economic rationalization intensified in the 1920s, the “Angestellte” attracted attention from serious economic analysts, not least because their image of themselves as superior in status to the working class was being challenged by the brutal reality that their conditions of employment were essentially no 27 different from those of any shop-floor worker.

As an ‘Angestellter’ working for the baker, Kleinholz, Pinneberg feels he is a man of some status, as is shown when he takes Lämmchen to see the doctor as a private patient.28 However, when Pinneberg loses his job with Kleinholz, moves to Berlin and works as a salesman in a department store, he begins to feel the full force of the Entzauberung der Welt through the rationalisation being undertaken, and the pressure he feels at work begins to eat further and further into his private life. “Morgen muβ ich für dreihundert Mark verkaufen”, das ist Pinnebergs letzter Gedanke, wenn er Lämmchen den Gutenachtkuβ gegeben hat und im Dunkel liegt. Es läβt sich schlecht einschlafen mit solch einem Gedanken, es bleibt doch nicht der letzte Gedanke. “Heute muβ ich für dreihundert Mark verkaufen”, - beim Erwachen, beim Kaffeetrinken, auf dem Weg, beim Eintritt in die Abteilung, immerzu: “Dreihundert Mark”. “Tomorrow I’ll have to sell three hundred marks,” was Pinneberg’s last thought, when he had given Bunny her good-night kiss and lay in the darkness. It was hard to go to sleep with such a thought in his mind, and it was by no means the last waking thought. “I’ll have to sell three hundred marks today,” was in his mind as he awoke, drank his coffee, walked to his 29 work, entered the department. All day long: “Three hundred marks.”

These thoughts would clearly also be going through the minds of the other salesmen, and a competition begins, based solely on personal interest, and solidarity amongst colleagues ceases to exist. ‘Es ähnelte stark einem Bordellgäβchen, und jeder Verkäufer frohlockte, wenn er dem Kollegen einen Kunden weggeschnappt hatte.’ (‘It was oddly like a street of brothels, and every salesman was delighted when he could snap up one of his colleagues’ customers.’)30 Pinneberg does not particularly want to act in the same manner, but feels that he has to if he wants to keep his job. In spite of his commitment to this job, Pinneberg eventually finds himself unemployed, and his life begins to follow a downward spiral until he finds himself on the very margins of society, in the Laubenkolonie (allotment colony). In this way the uncanny is seen to be at work in all the novels. ‘All the protagonists identify something which is disturbing but which they cannot quite articulate, a sense of flux, of not knowing what is coming next.’31 In the case of Pinneberg and Fabian, life seems to turn against them, in spite of them being conscientious at work and generally decent to those around them. In the case of Doris, her life falls apart due to her own behaviour, but 27

Midgley, Writing Weimar, p.210. Fallada, Kleiner Mann – was nun?, p.6. 29 Ibid., p.228. In English in Little Man – what now?, p.281/282. 30 Ibid., p.174. In English in Little Man – what now?, p.212. 31 Smail, White-collar Workers, p.67. 28

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she simply does not see it. In all cases, the protagonists are aware of the way their lives are going, but they do not understand why. But whatever the reasons, all three end up marginalized, and this is made perfectly clear in the novels, as they change from confident people in control of their own destinies to people shunned by society. Doris feels that she has nowhere to go for comfort anymore; that she has ‘keine Meinesgleichen, ich gehöre überhaupt nirgends hin.’ (‘[no people] of my own kind. I don’t belong anywhere.’)32 For Fabian, life seems to throw one punch after another, and he is transformed from a confident young man who feels he has a role within society, to somebody who feels he must withdraw from that society, due to its unscrupulous moral code, forever bound up with commerce. The biggest change occurs to Pinneberg, when towards the end of the novel Lämmchen finds him hiding outside. ‘Da steht ihr Mann, ihr lieber junger Mann, im Dunkeln, wie ein verwundetes Tier, und traut sich nicht ans Licht. Jetzt haben sie ihn unten.’ (‘There stood her husband, the boy whom she so loved, in the darkness, like a wounded beast not daring to come into the light. They had got him down at last.’)33 A brief return to Benjamin’s concept of allegory is worthwhile in this exploration of the literature of Neue Sachlichkeit. The relationship between this concept and the visual arts, as applied by Peter Bürger, has already been considered in Chapter Four. However, Bürger’s source was Benjamin’s Ursprung des deutschen Trauerspiels (1928), which dealt solely with literary analysis. In this text, as has already been pointed out in Chapter Four, Benjamin asserts that a strongly related aspect to allegory was melancholy and ruin. Allegory may thereby be seen as an indication of time passing as a process of ruin and decay. Also, as Theresa Kelley points out: ‘it is either a hidden, redemptive agent in the onslaught of material and figural decay that is modern culture or the desiccated sign of this decay.’34 To support her argument, Kelley cites an example from Benjamin’s ‘Über den Begriff der Geschichte’ (‘Theses on the Philosophy of History’) (1940), where the figure of the angel in Paul Klee’s painting Angelus Novus (1920) is described thus: Der Engel der Geschichte muβ so aussehen. Er hat das Antlitz der Vergangenheit zugewendet. Wo eine Kette von Begebenheiten vor uns erscheint, da sieht er eine einzige Katastrophe, die unablässig Trümmer auf Trümmer häuft und sie ihm vor die Füβe schleudert. Er möchte wohl verweilen, die Toten wecken und das Zerschlagene zusammenfügen. Aber ein Sturm weht vom Paradiese her, der sich in seinen Flügeln verfangen hat und so stark ist, daβ der Engel sie nicht mehr schlieβen kann. Dieser Sturm treibt ihn unaufhaltsam in die Zukunft, der er den Rücken kehrt, während der Trümmerhaufen vor ihm zum Himmel wächst. Das, was wir den Fortschritt nennen, ist dieser Sturm. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. This storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris 35 before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress. 32

Keun, Das kunstseidene Mädchen, p.160. In English in The Artificial Silk Girl, p.188. Fallada, Kleiner Mann – was nun?, p.309. In English in Little Man – what now?, p.397. 34 Kelley, T., Reinventing Allegory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p.251. 35 Benjamin, Gesammelte Schriften, I.2., p.697/698. Translated in Illuminations, pp.245-255 (p.249). 33

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The point made here is that the angel, who would like to play a part in redeeming the world, is powerless to do so. He would like to be the redemptive agent that Kelley describes, but he is powerless to prevent the destructive progress of time. In many ways, the suggestion that the passing of time is also a history of decay may be related to the central characters in the Neue Sachlichkeit novels explored here. Fabian, in particular, can be seen as somebody who is just carried along by the progress of history. Smail writes that ‘he is shown to live on the fringe of the society which surrounds him, not shaping it but just moving through it.’36 This is demonstrated by quotations from the beginning and end of the novel. ‘[Er] legte eine Mark auf den Tisch und ging. Er hatte keine Ahnung, wo er sich befand.’ (‘[He] placed a mark on the table and left the café. He had no notion where he was.’)37 It is clear here that Fabian is easily carried along by the world. An example of his powerlessness in the face of events is found in the actual manner of his demise. Ein Paar Passanten, die den Schrei gehört hatten, drehten sich um. Fabian beugte sich über das breite Geländer. Er sah den Kopf des Kindes und die Hände, die das Wasser schlugen. Da zog er die Jacke aus und sprang, das Kind zu retten, hinterher. Zwei Straβenbahnen blieben stehen. Die Fahrgäste kletterten aus den Wagen und beobachteten, was geschah. Am Ufer rannten aufgeregte Leute hin und wieder. Der kleine Junge schwamm heulend ans Ufer. Fabian ertrank. Er konnte leider nicht schwimmen. A few pedestrians who had heard the cry turned round. Fabian leaned over the wide stone balustrade. He saw the child’s head, and his hands beating the water. He threw off his coat and jumped in to rescue him. Two tramcars stopped. The passengers swarmed out, and watched to see what would happen. Agitated figures ran up and down the bank. The little boy swum ashore, howling. 38 Fabian sank. Unfortunately he could not swim.

This quotation demonstrates Fabian’s inability to change the course of events, with the irony here that he dies while trying to save a boy who can save himself anyway. This position is not peculiar to Fabian, as the passengers from the two trams can only stand and watch, confirming their position as mere observers of the process of time. With reference to Benjamin’s quotation regarding Angelus Novus, Fabian’s life throughout the novel may also be equated with ‘wreckage upon wreckage’; first he loses his job, then his relationship with Cornelia comes to an end, then his friend Labude commits suicide, and finally Fabian dies an almost absurd death. His progress through the novel can only be described as one ruin after another. Similar sets of circumstances befall Doris and Pinneberg. Doris is largely responsible for her own demise, more than having been a victim of cruel circumstance brought on by the modern world. Her gradual fall is brought about by her collusion with this world. To compare the respective cases of Fabian and Doris leads to the conclusion, that to either fully embrace this world, or to try to live life on its fringes, ultimately leads to the same outcome: 36

Smail, White-collar Workers, p.59. Kästner, Gesammelte Schriften, 2, p.12. In English in Fabian. The Story of a Moralist, p.6. 38 Ibid., p.188. In English in Fabian. The Story of a Moralist, p.175. 37

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destruction. When Doris reaches her lowest point, towards the end of the novel, as has already been cited, she sums up her current situation in terms of her lack of ‘Meinesgleichen’, and feels that she does not belong anywhere. She is left with the sense that she no longer connects with the world on any level. This is just as true of Pinneberg, who is seen at his lowest in the Laubenkolonie. The speed of the process of rationalisation of the workplace has influenced Pinneberg’s life directly and severely. By the end of the novel, he is unemployed, living in what amounts to little more than a hut, and hiding in the shadows. As opposed to Doris, Pinneberg, like Fabian, has been a victim of circumstance, in that in his working life he could not achieve the levels of success that the commercial world required of him. Commercialism and rationalisation have overtaken him, and the Pinnebergs have no choice but to accept it, as Lämmchen says to Pinneberg: ‘Und daβ immerzu etwas passieren kann, gegen das man ganz wehrlos ist, und daβ man immerzu staunen muβ, daβ es nicht jeden Tag passiert.’ (‘And that something can always happen, against which we are completely powerless. We should be amazed that it doesn’t happen every day.’)39 So, if the novels are viewed in terms of Benjamin’s concept, they may easily be seen as allegorical interpretations of the progress of modern society, and its eventual descent into ruin. This relates in particular to the necessary inclusion, in Benjamin’s allegorical system, of melancholy, where something decays or is lost. This sense is conveyed far better in print than in paint, as a book can gradually allow the story to unfold, while the message in a painting is more or less immediate. One misfortune after another seems to befall the heroes of the novels, until the ‘wreckage upon wreckage’ brings them to their lowest points, and in the case of Fabian, to his death. In terms of a connection with painting, the main figures in each novel finish up in a situation far removed from that which they, or the reader, expect. They are brought down by forces, such as commercialism, materialism, and rationalisation, that are dealt with in depth by the painters of Neue Sachlichkeit, and in this way an affinity between painting and literature is clear. There are other themes and influences within the literature of Neue Sachlichkeit, but an obvious link is there, in many ways more obvious than that with photography, and therefore Neue Sachlichkeit can be seen as a trend that crossed cultural media.

39

Fallada, Kleiner Mann – was nun?, p.251. This passage is omitted from the 1933 English edition, and so the translation is my own.

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8. Neue Sachlichkeit, Modern Art, and National Socialism

The Foundation and Implementation of National Socialist Kulturpolitik For Hitler to be able to successfully achieve his goals, both in foreign and domestic matters, he had to win mass popular support. Cultural policy had a considerable role to play in this respect. It was the arts that would be given the task of showing the German Volk (people) what they should aspire to, and of depicting the type of society they would live in if these aspirations were achieved. The implementation of cultural policy proper began in earnest on 22 September 1933, with the decision that a Reichskulturkammer (Reich Chamber of Culture) (RKK) should be set up as part of the Gleichschaltung, or co-ordination, of German cultural life. Under the direction of the Reichsministerium für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda (Reich Ministry for People’s Enlightenment and Propaganda), the RKK was opened on 15 November of the same year. It was divided into seven sub-chambers, each responsible for a specific area of the arts; music, film, theatre, literature, the press, radio, and the visual arts. The chamber for the visual arts, or Reichskammer der bildenden Künste (RkdbK), controlled all artistic activity, as artists had to belong to the RkbdK in order to exhibit, and therefore effectively earn a living. Membership was subject to strict guidelines, and prospective members were required to fill out a detailed application form, which dealt with their political stance, involvement in political organisations, and personal background. Art, even at this early stage, was expected to broadly follow NSDAP party lines, in order that the masses be subjected to propaganda on a daily basis. The consequences for artists who veered away from this policy could be severe. ‘There were three levels of action which could be taken against an artist whose work was not felt to be in the correct spirit. The first was the withholding of the licence to teach; the second was the withholding of permission to exhibit; and third, perhaps Goebbels’s most imaginative invention, was the Malverbot – the withholding of permission to paint.’1 But while these punishments could, and were, applied to those who did not follow a style acceptable to the party, in the early years of National Socialist rule there was some debate over what should be acceptable to the party. Two factions formed; one around propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels, the other around the leading Nazi ideologist Alfred Rosenberg. In his book Mythus des 20. Jahrhunderts (Myth of the 20th Century) (1930), Rosenberg put forward his ideal of a German culture and society based on a nordisches racial model. It was, he wrote, racial mixture with lesser cultures that had brought down this nordisch culture. Merker summarises these theories thus: ƒ Der “nordische” Mensch bilde seit jeher und für alle Zeiten die höchste Form des homo sapiens; er allein sei zu wissenschaftlich-künstlerischer Produktivität und überlegener Staatslenkung befähigt, aber 1

Elliott, D., ‘A Life-and-Death Struggle. Painting and Sculpture’, in Art and Power. Europe under the Dictators 1930-45 (London: South Bank Centre, 1995), Exhibition Catalogue, pp.270-276 (p.271).

Neue Sachlichkeit, Modern Art, and National Socialism

ƒ ƒ ƒ

ƒ

ƒ

bei Strafe des eigenen Untergangs auf patriarchalisch-aristokratische Herrschaftsformen angewiesen. […] So wie alle bisherigen Hochkulturen durch “nordisches Blut” geschaffen worden seien, so sei auf der Vermischung dieses Bluts mit dem inferiorer Rassen stets ihr Verfall gefolgt. […] Das großstädtische “Asphalt”-Leben begünstige die semitsche Infiltration und die Bastardisierung “nordischen” Erbguts. Nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg habe die politisch-kulturelle “Zersetzung” auch auf das nunmehr abwehrschwache Deutschland übergegriffen, parallel zum Triumph des Weltjudentums mit seinen beiden Kolonnen, dem Bolschewismus und der internationalen Hochfinanz. Militanter Antisemitismus, Antikommunismus, Antisozialismus, Antiklerikaliusmus und Antimonopolismus auf ideologischem, Eugenik auf gesellschaftspolitischem Gebiet seien die angemessenen Mittel, das Judentum zu schlagen und eine neue “nordische” Hochkultur einzuleiten. Die kulturelle “Entartung” müsse als Folge schädlicher Rassenmischung begriffen und züchterisch überwunden werden.

ƒ The “nordic” man forms always and for all time the highest form of homo sapiens; he alone is qualified for scientific-artistic productivity and thoughtful direction of the state, but is reliant upon patriarchalaristcratic forms of rule, on pain of his own decline. […] ƒ Just as all forms of high culture up to now have been created by “nordic blood,” the blending of this blood with that of inferior races has always led to the decline of this culture. […] ƒ The urban “asphalt” life encourages semitic infiltration and the bastardisation of “nordic” heritage. ƒ After the First World War, political-cultural “decay” spread into a now almost defenceless Germany, in parallel with the triumph of world Judaism with its two strands: bolshevism and international high finance. ƒ Militant anti-Semitism, anti-communism, anti-socialism, anti-clericalism and anti-monopolism in the ideological arena, and eugenics in the socio-political arena are the appropriate means of beating Judaism and introducing a new “nordic” high culture. ƒ Cultural “degeneration” must be understood as the result of the harmful blending of races, and must be 2 weeded out.

From this summary it is clear that Rosenberg’s view of society was based on racial purity, apparently brought about by the use of eugenics, and a rejection of Judaism, the clergy, Communism, and the culture of the post-war period. His influential friend, the architect Paul Schultze-Naumburg, also shared these opinions. His thoughts were aired in his book Kunst und Rasse (Art and Race) (1928), in which he compared deformed and diseased people with modern painting and sculpture, in order to illustrate the sick nature of modern art and artists.3 In 1929, he was put in charge of the Weimar Vereinigte Kunstlehranstalten (United Art Schools). The old Bauhaus building still stood in Weimar at this time, with the school itself having already moved to Dessau. One of Schultze-Naumburg’s acts as head of the region in this respect was to have the mural on the stairway, created by Oskar Schlemmer, painted over, as well as ordering the dismissal of all remaining members of the faculty, thereby clearly demonstrating his antipathy to modern art.4 In 1932 he published Kampf um die Kunst (Battle for Art), in which he pushed for völkisch art. Thematically and 2 3 4

Merker, R., Die bildenden Künste im Nationalsozialismus. Kulturideologie, Kulturpolitik, Kulturproduktion (Cologne: DuMont, 1983), p.67/68. Elliott, ‘A Life-and-Death Struggle’, p.270. Ibid.

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ideologically, this was one of the main thrusts of National Socialist approved art. Merker writes that this idea, ‘die realen inneren Widersprüche der industriellen Produktion als unlösbare Widersprüche zwischen Mensch und Maschine, ja zwischen Mensch und gesellschaftlicher Organisation überhaupt deutete und damit einen Antagonismus von “Natur” und “Kultur” aufbaute.’ (‘interpreted above all the real inner contradictions of industrial production as insoluble contradictions between man and machine, indeed between man and social organisation, and thereby an antagonism between “nature” and “culture” built up.’)5 Völkisch is characterised by the, ‘Charakter einer kosmischen Elementargewalt, die sich um so eher Bahn brechen werde, je entschiedener man den Rapport mit der “Natur” suche und die “Uneigentlichkeit” der maschinenbeherrschten Städte hinter sich lasse’ (‘character of a cosmic elemental force that will all the more blaze a trail, the more decisively one seeks a rapport with “nature” and leaves behind him the “pointlessness” of cities that are ruled by machines.’)6 This ideology was firmly accepted by the more conservative of the Nazis, who saw it as a return to the concrete values of the past, with which they felt safe, as opposed to the values of modernism and the avant-garde. That is not to say that modern art did not have its supporters among the Nazis, and it was these less extreme National Socialists, including Goebbels, who sought to include some modern art within official Kulturpolitik (cultural policy). The debate between the two sides began in earnest in June 1933. Contrary to the opinions of those such as Rosenberg and Schultze-Naumburg, some National Socialists saw a possibility of including certain Expressionist art in official cultural policy, particularly the work of artists such as Emil Nolde and Ernst Barlach. Otto Andreas Schreiber, the head of the NS Student Union announced at a student meeting in 1933 that an exhibition of Expressionism would be held as a call for artistic freedom, a notion opposed by Rosenberg’s group, the Kampfbund für deutsche Kultur (Fighting League for German Culture). The exhibition was opened on 22 July 1933, but was closed two days later by interior minister Wilhelm Frick, following the decision to withdraw concessions made during the ‘period of struggle’ to attract youth support.7 At the NSDAP party congress, in the autumn of 1934, Hitler attempted to clarify the position. [H]e emphasized that all manifestations of modern art would be removed, but stressed that this did not mean that an old-fashioned German art, buried in völkisch Romantic fantasy, should be put in its place. The Rosenberg and Schultze-Naumburg predilection for ancient Nordic myth and folk culture was as much of a minority taste as the work of the Expressionists and Cubists. What had proved to be popular was the popular 8 dislike of modern art, and this was to become the main feature of Nazi cultural policy.

The Nazis would therefore appeal to the tastes of the masses, a strategy that had gone a long way to bringing them to power in the place. In terms of artistic taste, the National Socialists 5 6 7 8

Merker, Die bildenden Künste im Nationalsozialismus, p.23. Ibid. Fischer-Defoy, C., ‘Artists and Art Institutions in Germany 1933-1945’, in Taylor, B. & van der Will, W., eds, The Nazification of Art (Winchester: Winchester Press, 1990), pp.89-109 (p.101). Elliott, ‘A Life-and-Death Struggle’, p.271.

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would favour monumental art, such as the huge sculptures by Arno Breker and Josef Thorak, as well as art that represented Nazi ideologies. This art was showcased once a year at the Große Deutsche Kunstausstellung (Great German Art Exhibition) (GDK), held at the newly built Haus der Kunst (House of Art) in Munich.

Approved Art and the Große Deutsche Kunstausstellung The first GDK was opened by Hitler on 18 July 1937, and was staged once a year until 1944. ‘The exhibition was to be a mirror of the world, a confirmation that painting had regenerated once the degenerate ingredients had been removed.’9 Adolf Ziegler, the president of the RkdbK and his jury were given the task of selecting the works that would be exhibited, but their decisions did not always meet with Hitler’s approval, as he stepped in and rejected eighty of the selected works as ‘unfinished’.10 The Nazi critic Hans Kiener wrote that the aim of the artist should be ‘to leave his solitude and to speak to the people. This must start with the choice of the subject. It has to be heroic in line with the ideals of National Socialism. It has to declare its faith in the ideal of beauty of the Nordic and racially pure human being.’11 The works displayed at the exhibition largely followed this line. The art shown, and indeed much National Socialist art in general, can be grouped into a number of themes. These themes depicted homage to the family, a return to nature, the glorification of the healthy body, heroism, and the cult of the heroic death. The depiction of nature was by far the most frequently represented theme in the art of National Socialism. Landscape painting, for instance, was the best vehicle for conveying völkisch ideologies such as Blut und Boden (Blood and Soil). Nature also stood as an arena where the strong dominated the weak. In this sense, traditionally strong and fierce animals such as lions, bulls, horses, and particularly eagles were portrayed in a heroic, victorious fashion. However, in spite of the continuous battles for supremacy, the countryside was also seen as a kind of spiritual home where the German soul could find its rightful place. Although some of the Nazi landscape paintings are similar in content to nineteenth century Romantic paintings, the Romantics depicted nature as an idealised dream. To the German artists of the Third Reich, the countryside was always German countryside, it was Lebensraum (living space).12 Hand in hand with depictions of the countryside was the portrayal of the German peasant. The peasant represented a simple, ideologically desirable life. He was the incarnation of Blut und Boden. He had lived and died on the land where new generations of true Germans had been born. The uncomplicated peasant life also conveyed a sense of the

9

Adam, P., The Arts of the Third Reich, (London: Thames & Hudson, 1992), p.97. Ibid., p.95. 11 Ibid. 12 Ibid., p.130. 10

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eternal, timeless, and strong. The peasant farmer was nearly always depicted sowing, ploughing or driving cattle, that is, engaged in his daily work. The German man working for the Fatherland is a distinct theme in NS art, and not only in terms of völkisch themes, but more directly, for instance, as a soldier, serving the state for the good of the population at large. His main task would be to both defend and extend the Reich. He would personify the heroic, war-like past that the regime celebrated, and the idea of heroic sacrifice was often stressed, with wounded men carrying on despite their pain, for instance. The true nature and horror of war was never shown. The soldiers who were not hiding pain from wounds were portrayed as healthy, ‘manly’, and filled with anticipation and excitement at the prospect of battle, as in Elk Eber’s Meldegänger (Dispatch Runner) (1938/39), a depiction of a despatch runner climbing out of a trench, with a look of steely determination on his face. Such works were extremely popular with the public, and were permanently exhibited and reproduced in vast numbers, in order that morale among the civilian population could be kept high, particularly after war losses started to become readily apparent. The aim of art such as this was to convince the German people that war was what they wanted, and that in spite of the disaster of 1914-18, it could still be something chivalrous and honourable. If men were not depicted as farmers or soldiers, then they found a role in other areas of work, but whatever field of work it may have been, the man was generally seen in heroic conflict with his environment. Arthur Kampf’s Im Walzwerk (In the Rolling Mill) (1939) demonstrates this point, where the workers, stripped to their waists, are apparently engaged in battle to achieve their day’s production. While women were sometimes depicted at work, usually as farm girls or busy with handicrafts, they were more often portrayed as fulfilling what the state saw as their great task, motherhood. Of this ideal woman, Rudolf Hess said: ‘She is a woman who, above all, is able to be a mother. […] She becomes a mother not merely because the state wants it, or because her husband wants it, but because she is proud to bring healthy children into the world, and to bring them up for the nation. In this way she too plays her part in the preservation of the life of her Volk.’13 Hers was perhaps the most important service that was to be performed for the state, to produce new servants. Depictions of women that did not deal with motherhood were often concerned with the cult of the healthy body as a representation of Nordic racial purity. To this end, many depictions of women were nudes, to allow the healthy body to be displayed and to demonstrate its connection with naturalness and vitality. However, it is difficult to view these nudes as potential bearers of children, and it is here, from a NS ideological point of view, that they are not as successful as they could be. They are not seen as warm, gentle, or approachable enough to be credible as loving mothers. While they might not represent something that is absolutely impossible to strive for, they can still be regarded as the visual expression of an ideal, in the same way that Kolbe’s sculpture Menschenpaar (Couple) (1942) also shows the equivalent ideal in the male. Both male and female in this sculpture gaze ahead proudly, displaying their healthy bodies, but actually interacting with one 13

Ibid., p.149.

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another very little. It is as though their ‘task’ is more important than the relationship they have with one another. The discrepancy between the cult of the healthy body, and the role expected of that body, particularly for women, causes a degree of tension in the visual arts that depict this theme. It is worth noting here the contrast in which this idea of the healthy female body stood to Neue Sachlichkeit depictions of women, and particularly nudes. While both may be said to be realist, the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit generally depicted women as they would very likely appear, be it aged or overweight, as well as young or slim, or a combination of these characteristics. This is in opposition to depictions by National Socialist artists, who portrayed women as either fulfilling a role, i.e. motherhood, or as nudes who in all probability looked like very few German women, but as an ideal that these German women should strive for, in order that the fit, strong German worker or warrior could have a fit, strong partner beside him. The most obvious ideologically approved art was that which represented leading figures of the NSDAP, or policy, directly. Such examples include Franz Weiss’s Die Sieben Todsünden (The Seven Deadly Sins) (date unknown), which clearly depicts Neville Chamberlain and Winston Churchill as representations of gluttony. This compares with Dix’s painting of the same title, which portrays Hitler as envy. There were also countless portraits of Hitler, who was usually depicted as monumental in stature, as in Fritz Erler’s Bildnis des Führers (Portrait of the Führer) (1939), where he is presented as being nearly as tall as a Denkmal (memorial) behind him. Hitler was very rarely seen in group portraits, and where he was, he still stood out. The title of Hermann O. Hoyer’s painting, Am Anfang war das Wort (In the beginning was the word) (1937) implies a near-deification of Hitler. He was nearly always portrayed as a figure who could not be approached.14 As the personification of his state, he could not be depicted as a mere human, and was therefore placed on a pedestal by those who painted him. The title of Hoyer’s painting clearly compares Hitler to God, and in the painting he may be seen to be preaching. Visually, then, he assumes the role of an apostle, or Christ himself. In this way, he is regarded as superior to mere mortals.

Avant-garde Complicity with the Regime As has already been noted, some National Socialists were not entirely opposed to some aspects of modernism. As well as the Expressionism of artists such as Nolde and Barlach, Frank Whitford points out other modernist influences on the official Nazi culture. ‘During the Third Reich industrial design developed the Bauhaus tradition of form directed by function. The typography and imagery of Nazi posters drew heavily on precisely that

14

Ibid., p.172.

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modernism otherwise banned.’15 This was, however, a two-way process. As well as the National Socialists embracing certain areas of modernism, some modernists, at least at first, embraced National Socialism. Nolde is a well-known example of an artist of the avantgarde who joined the NSDAP at an early stage. Whitford also writes of an open letter to the Völkischer Beobachter in 1933, promoting the cause for Hitler being given absolute power, which was signed, among others, by Mies van der Rohe, the director of the Bauhaus when it was closed down, Emil Nolde, Erich Heckel, and Ernst Barlach. Mies van der Rohe also went on to work with Albert Speer on the German pavilion at the Paris Universal Exhibition in 1937.16 With the dismissal of so many artists from teaching positions in 1933, including Beckmann and Dix, other artists were needed to fill the vacant positions. Among those chosen to teach at art institutions following the initial purges were the Neue Sachlichkeit artists Georg Schrimpf and Alexander Kanoldt. Both were appointed to the Staatliche Kunstschule (State Art School) in Berlin, Schrimpf as a professor, Kanoldt as director. In 1937, when Kanoldt was promoted, Schrimpf was denounced by his successor as a former member of the KPD, but was allowed to continue to teach, as he had embraced the party line. It was when some of his work was shown at the Ausstellung Entartete Kunst (Degenerate Art Exhibition) (AEK), the Schandausstellung (shame exhibition) of modern art purged from German galleries and museums, in 1937 that his links to the Nazis were severed. On 23 September 1937, he was given notice under the Civil Service Employment Law, and was denied membership of the RKK in February 1938. In spite of his apparent rejection by the regime, he was still allowed to use his studio at the Berlin Academy, and received a commission at the beginning of 1938.17 While Fischer-Defoy rightly states that Schrimpf’s problems were due to his political past, it is not true, as she claims, that his conformity was to no avail.18 At least Schrimpf was able to earn a living through his painting, which was not the case for many of his contemporaries. In this respect, Schrimpf’s case is not as rare as was once assumed. ‘Indeed, the notion of artists resisting the Nazis has been exaggerated and is now part of the myth of the avant-garde. The reality was that most painters and sculptors who remained in the country found accommodation with the regime, and this extended to many who had, and retained, positions at the acme of their profession.’19 This was certainly true of Schrimpf, at least for a while, and these circumstances were similar to those of Franz Radziwill. Radziwill had been a member of the left-wing Novembergruppe (November Group), but by 1933 had changed his stance and became a member of the NSDAP. He was given a teaching post at the Academy in Düsseldorf, but was dismissed in 1935 after some of his work was declared degenerate. He lost his party membership in 1938 and was forbidden to exhibit. However, a work from 1933, Dämonen (Demons) shows his allegiance at that time, 15 16 17 18 19

Whitford, F., ‘The Reich and wrong of 20th – century art’, The Sunday Times, Culture supplement, 8.10.1995, 8/9 (p.9). Ibid. Fischer-Defoy, C., ‘Artists and Art Institutions in Germany 1933-1945’, pp.97-100. Ibid., p.100. Petropoulos, J., The Faustian Bargain. The Art World in Nazi Germany (London: Penguin, 2000), p.254.

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and the way it has been misinterpreted since. A conventional appraisal is one such as Michalski’s. We see the front door and window of a small, neat, brick house, in which a laundry may be found. The little house has obviously seen happy days – a sign above the door wishes blessings upon a bridal couple, and a flower blooms in the window. Yet these are only the remnants of the idyll: the house has meanwhile been overtaken by catastrophe. A mysterious maxim on the wall of the house makes this clear: “In the light of the state’s ideas, or, each will kill the other.” This picture clearly expresses the philosophy that Radziwill carried 20 around with him. Here – in the year 1933 – it is obviously referring to political circumstances.

Michalski’s reading of the painting obviously refers to the tragedy of the coming to power of the National Socialists, and this is a reasonable enough interpretation, using the contents of the painting as a guide. However, with photographic evidence, Olaf Peters completely transforms interpretation of this painting into ‘ein Märtyrer-Bild von einem “Opfer der Bewegung”.’ (‘a martyrdom-image of a “sacrifice for the movement”.’)21 He goes into more detail than Michalski in interpreting the painting, pointing out the hanged corpse on the right, representing democracy, and the red flag of the Communists at bottom left. Finally, there is the dead SA man on the right, identifiable by his brown shirt and red party armband. Peters’ evidence for seeing this as a pro-Nazi painting is a photograph from that time, showing Radziwill in front of the painting. In this photograph, certain elements, such as the text on the wall, the corpse on the right-hand side, and the ghosts, are missing. This sheds a different light on the painting, and suggests, ‘daß die Dämonen von Radziwill selbst nach dem Ende der nationalsozialistischen Herrschaft in apologetischer Absicht überarbeitet wurden’ (‘that Demons was apologetically reworked by Radziwill himself following the end of National Socialist rule.’)22 The fact that the personification of democracy and the text on the wall are missing, combined with the juxtaposition of the Communist flag and dead Nazi representative, adds a great deal of weight to this theory. It is not the aim, within this book, to discuss the rights and wrongs of such actions, but to show how artists could accommodate themselves to the regime if they felt their livelihoods were threatened, and often, as in the case of Emil Nolde, because they agreed wholeheartedly with Nazi racial policies. What is also clear, is that to a certain extent, Neue Sachlichkeit can be linked to National Socialism, at least in terms of an artistic style, as realism was the favoured style of the authorities.

20

Michalski, New Objectivity, p.155/156. Peters, O., Neue Sachlichkeit und Nationalsozialismus: Affirmation und Kritik 1931-1947 (Berlin: Reimer, 1998), p.147. 22 Ibid., p.146. 21

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The Arts of National Socialism and Neue Sachlichkeit: A Comparison This chapter has demonstrated the tight control exercised by the Nazi regime over cultural production, and has cited examples of how artists fared under this regime. The cases of Schrimpf and Radziwill show that some artists found themselves able to work with their new masters, but to what degree did Neue Sachlichkeit continue into the Nazi period? Olaf Peters claims that official NS art was influenced by Neue Sachlichkeit on three levels. Erstens muβ man feststellen, daβ einige zentrale Maler des Nationalsozialismus aus der Neuen Sachlichkeit stammen. Die Fälle Werner Peiner, Adolf Ziegler und Adolf Wissel sind gerade keine peripheren Erscheinungen, sondern stehen im Zentrum der offiziellen NS-Kunst. Zweitens darf man nicht den Blick davor verschlieβen, daβ Protagonisten der Neuen Sachlichkeit nach 1933 durchaus wichtige Lehrstühle und kunstpolitische Ämter innehatten, wie Alexander Kanoldt, Franz Lenk, Georg Schrimpf, Franz Radziwill und Bernhard Dörries. Und drittens muβ erwähnt werden, daβ bis weit in den Zweiten Weltkrieg hinein die Rezeption wichtiger Vertreter der Neuen Sachlichkeit ungebrochen war, d.h. daβ sie auch mit den Werken der Weimarer Zeit ausgestellt oder in breitem Rahmen publiziert wurden. It must first be established that some significant National Socialist painters came from Neue Sachlichkeit. The instances of Werner Peiner, Adolf Ziegler and Adolf Wissel are by no means peripheral figures, but have central positions in National Socialist art. Secondly, one must not close one’s eyes to the fact that protagonists of Neue Sachlichkeit such as Alexander Kanoldt, Franz Lenk, Georg Schrimpf, Franz Radziwill and Bernhard Dörries certainly held important teaching posts and cultural political positions after 1933. And thirdly, it must be noted that well into the Second World War the reception of important exponents of Neue Sachlichkeit was 23 maintained, i.e. their works from the Weimar period were still exhibited or widely publicised.

Peters’ last two points have been discussed already in the previous section, but an example of his first point is Adolf Wissel’s Kalenberger Bauernfamilie (Kalenberg Farming Family) (1939). Wissel was by no means a leading Neue Sachlichkeit artist, but found fame under the Nazis with depictions of rural life such as this. There are unmistakable elements of Neue Sachlichkeit in this painting. Attention is paid to the minutest detail, such as the threads being used by the elderly figure on the right, as well as her spectacles on the table, and the intricate blue pattern on her teacup. The colours are muted, as they are in many Neue Sachlichkeit depictions, particularly still lives and landscapes. Finally, there is the feeling that the family is isolated as a unit, hence the sparse background content. There also appears to be a slight element of the cynical view of the world that regularly featured in Neue Sachlichkeit paintings. While the family are situated in a rural idyll, and as a result of this have rosy cheeks and glowing complexions, not one of them appears to be particularly happy about living in the countryside. They seem tired and weary, as though the idyll is not always what the NSDAP party hierarchy claim it is. However, it is not worth making too much of this. The painting still depicts the family according to National Socialist ideals, where several generations make a living from the soil together. In this way, the rural life becomes part of the German heritage, where land is passed from one generation to the next. The fact that stylistic elements of Neue Sachlichkeit are found in the art of National Socialism is not to say, however, that Neue Sachlichkeit was potentially fascist. As Mario 23

Ibid., p.45.

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Andreas von Lüttichau writes: ‘Allein die thematische Trivialität, aber auch die ungenügenden künstlerischen Qualitäten der “neuen” deutschen Kunst erweisen die begrenzte Gültigkeit solcher Überlegungen.’ (‘The thematic triviality alone, but also the unsatisfactory artistic qualities of the new German art, prove the limited validity of such considerations.’)24 It is as though artists are less and less able to make their paintings speak to the audience, the more constrained their choice of theme and content becomes. Constraints such as those posed on the artists of National Socialism also prevent experiment and progression. As a result, as Adam writes, the Nazis ‘borrowed freely from all possible sources. Very little was produced as a result of personal discovery.’25 Neue Sachlichkeit was only one source, and a fairly insignificant one when compared with German Romanticism, which must have been the single most popular source of inspiration for Nazi artists. However, while these artists were inspired by the art of the Romantics, they did not share the ideals that the Romantics invested in their art. Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer (Wanderer Above a Sea of Clouds) (c.1818), for instance, shows a figure standing at the summit of a hill, above the clouds, taking in the beauty of the scale and potential power of nature for its own sake. The fact that this figure has his back turned to the spectator, suggests that the spectator, too, should be considering the scene in the same way as the hill-climber. A different interpretation of this painting, that still demonstrates the Romantic ideal, is that the man represents somebody who is recently deceased. The fact that he has reached the summit of the mountain, and climbed above the clouds, suggests that he has achieved the ultimate goal in his life.26 While the Nazi artists frequently used scenery such as this in their landscapes, it was not in order to express the ideals of the artists they were so influenced by. Instead, it was used as a device to convey the National Socialist Weltanschauung (world view), that life consists of a series of struggles, and the strongest will come through victorious. Heinrich Berann’s Bergheuer (Haymaker) (1941) clearly shows the power of nature, with a rocky, mountainous setting and fierce weather. However, the single figure within the painting does not acknowledge the beauty of this landscape, for he is engaged in a heroic struggle with the environment to carry out his day’s work. In this way, Nazi ideals were conveyed via influences from previous and highly respected artistic trends and movements. While it has been demonstrated in this chapter that some National Socialist artists came via Neue Sachlichkeit, and that some stylistic elements may be seen in some National Socialist approved art, it is necessary that these factors are kept in proportion. The artists who were wholeheartedly accepted by the Nazis, such as Adolf Wissel, were largely unpolitical in their work, and so, in need of big names to link to their movement, the Nazis would not have baulked at the prospect of exhibiting the Weimar work of artists such as Kanoldt or Schrimpf, who were not known for expressing social or political beliefs in their work, in spite of their links to Neue Sachlichkeit. In the final analysis, even those artists 24

Lüttichau, M.A. von, ‘“Deutsche Kunst” und “Entartete Kunst”: Die Münchner Ausstellung 1937’, in Schuster, P-K., ed., Die “Kunststadt” München 1937. Nationalsozialismus und “Entartete Kunst” (Munich: Prestel, 1987), pp.83-118 (p.90). 25 Adam, The Arts of the Third Reich, p.303. 26 Börsch-Supan, H., Caspar David Friedrich (Munich: Prestel, 1990), p.116.

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who were initially accepted by the new rulers, such as Schrimpf and Radziwill, found themselves completely out of favour around the time of the Entartete Kunst exhibition, so if they did work under the auspices of National Socialism, it was only for a short time, and they should be remembered not for the work of this period, but for the important work they produced during the Weimar Republic.

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9. Conclusion In the course of this exploration, much has been demonstrated that shows diversity within Neue Sachlichkeit. For instance, some artists were concerned with social criticism above all else, while others concentrated on still life and landscape. Numerous devices have been noted, such as allegory, the uncanny, and the collectivity of two, which can be said to have been used by some artists, but not by others. Stylistically, too, there is a huge difference in the works of various artists, whose influences stem from movements as diverse as Expressionism and Dada. While a definition of Neue Sachlichkeit in terms of style, such as those discussed in Chapter Three by Roh and Schmied, can work in a very general sense, it cannot really explain what binds Neue Sachlichkeit together. It has no manifesto, no artistic community as such, and only really exists as a term because G.F. Hartlaub decided to give the name to his exhibition in 1925. Somehow, however, the name has stuck, and a number of exhibitions, monographs, and critical assessments of Neue Sachlichkeit have appeared since. As has been discussed in Chapter Three, Hartlaub conceived Neue Sachlichkeit as a kind of ‘Program’, but he did not direct this at any particular artists, and no artist has claimed to be aligned to it. But for the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit to have been grouped as they have for so many years, there must be something that they all shared, and which they can individually be known for. It seems that the one thing they all expressed, that they all have in common, is linked to the perception of Neue Sachlichkeit as being sceptical, sometimes to the point of cynicism and pessimism. The one thing that the artists share is a worldview, a conviction that society was not working as it should, and that the odds were stacked against the individual in the face of modernisation, mechanisation, and rationalisation. This sense is particularly apparent in the works where the uncanny is used to its best effect. Paintings such as Radziwill’s Die Inselbrücke in Wilhelmshaven or Landschaft mit dem Haus des Künstlers, depict isolation, alienation, and above all, impotence. The human characters are tiny in relation to their surroundings, and therefore the threat implicit in the paintings, whether the source is clear or not, is far greater than can be prevented by human intervention. Of course, artists did not necessarily set out to provide suggestions for the improvement of society. George Grosz, for instance, concentrated on pointing out what society’s ills were, and who was responsible. It would then be left for society at large to take action against those people, by way of revolution. In this way, Grosz claimed that his art was a weapon, a means of clarifying the class struggle. The only device necessary in this respect was a realistic rendering of a carefully chosen subject. If this were successful, then the message would be clear. However, to make the message clearer still, allegory could be used, such as in Davringhausen’s Der Schieber or Scholz’s Industriebauern. These characters are not treated sympathetically, but the addition of fragments, isolated from their usual contexts, leads to a better understanding of the message. Allegory is used a great deal in the works of Neue Sachlichkeit, not only in adding to a message, but in conveying the actual message itself. An example of where this is

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

particularly true is Carl Grossberg’s Traumbild: Dampfkessel mit Fledermaus, which consists of a number of allegorical fragments, with no obvious indication that any of these fragments carries the central message. The majority of people who would see this painting know the main elements; the bat and the boiler drum are perfectly normal, everyday objects when placed in their normal contexts. However, it is reasonable to say that nothing in this painting can really be said to be in its normal context. The painting simply expresses the idea that the world is a strange place, so much so that the elements juxtaposed within the picture are not out of place. The strangeness of this collection of images is intended to reflect the strangeness of the world in which the painting was created, and which may have been seen as inexplicable as the contents of the picture. The importance of the uncanny comes into play here also. The fragments within the painting, that is, bats and a boiler drum, are not something new to the observer, but their juxtaposition, combined with the absolute stasis of the environment, suggests the involvement of the supernatural. This is not something the observer would see in everyday life. The eeriness of this scene makes the viewer feel uncomfortable, and a threat is therefore perceived, although its source is unknown. The uncanny works in just the same way in still life and landscape depictions. The objects being portrayed are isolated from any context, usually with a dark background, to further eliminate any sense of a contextual environment. This in itself produces a sense of discomfort in the viewer, which is exacerbated by the slight distortions in perspective that have been seen in paintings such as Kanoldt’s Stilleben vor blauem Hintergrund or Stilleben mit Krügen und roter Teedose. So what the uncanny produces, whether it is combined with allegory or not, is a feeling that the world is in a state of change, but without knowing what this change is, or where it is coming from. The feeling of unease brought about by these paintings, however, suggests that this change is not for the better, and constitutes a threat to human existence. As devices within the work of Neue Sachlichkeit, allegory and the uncanny are well used, and constitute divisions within the movement themselves. These are not conventional divisions, however, as they are not specific to particular artists or regions. Some devices, however, are more prevalent when linked to certain themes. Allegory, for instance, is used frequently in the treatment of social themes, such as in Sonnenfinsternis (1926), or Grauer Tag (1921). Issues surrounding the ‘collectivity of two’ are dealt with, clearly, in the treatment of circumstances where people interact with one another. This device is therefore found in portraiture or depictions of the human problems of modernisation. Schrimpf’s Schlafende Mädchen (1926), and the story of Pinneberg and Lämmchen in Fallada’s Kleiner Mann – was nun? demonstrate this point. This device is a more direct expression of a reaction to the modern world, whether it is used as a means of escape, or as a demonstration of the destructiveness of modern society. However, its main theme is that of change, particularly in terms of gender roles, as is seen in Christian Schad’s Selbstbildnis mit Modell. By far the widest used device is the uncanny, as it is found in paintings that depict industrialisation, urbanisation, still life, landscape, and in portraiture. It would be true, however, to say that the uncanny is not used extensively in the treatment of social issues, where a more direct approach is favoured, which is usually allegorical, as in Stützen 152

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der Gesellschaft (1926), Grauer Tag (1921), Frau mit Kind (1921), and Sonnenfinsternis (1926). The allegorical device used in these instances is generally very straightforward, and the fragments used in the paintings have very obvious connotations, such as the dollar sign in Sonnenfinsternis, the set square in Grauer Tag, and the very clear reference to the Madonna and Child in Frau mit Kind. Neue Sachlichkeit’s preoccupation with the modern world is not based purely upon a critical outlook. In some cases, aspects of modern society are celebrated, as in Jeunesse dorée, in other cases, they are simply analysed. However, in the case of the latter, objects, or people, are isolated, as they are with still life paintings, and in this way a certain unity is revealed. The interpretations in Chapter Five, for example, of Porträt des Schriftstellers Max Herrmann-Neisse, Bildnis der Tänzerin Anita Berber, and Bildnis der Journalistin Sylvia von Harden, demonstrate how this works, with the means of depiction revealing something of the soul or personality of the sitter. This analytical quality is the visual means of expressing the worldview mentioned above. While this worldview gives unity in the sense of commonly held ideas, the visual representation of these ideas is based in all cases on the object. This point has been noted throughout, but is particularly pertinent to the attempts by Franz Roh and Wieland Schmied to list the characteristics of Neue Sachlichkeit. It was stated in Chapter Three that to create a comprehensive list of that type is extremely difficult, because so much Neue Sachlichkeit falls outside of the characteristics it lists. However, where both lists agree is the importance of the artist’s, and eventually the observer’s, perception of the object. To reiterate, Roh includes in his guidelines, ‘Objekt verdeutlichend’ and ‘reine Objektivation’,1 while Schmied writes of the ‘isolation of the object from any contextual relationship’, and a ‘new mental relationship with the world of objects’.2 The importance of the object is clear in every single depiction that has been considered within this book. The uncanny works because objects are placed in a context, or a perspective, in which they would not normally be found. The object as fragment is the means by which allegorical interpretations may be achieved. Again, it is the removal of objects from their usual contexts, and the juxtaposition of those objects with others, that allows the Neue Sachlichkeit allegorist to create his or her picture. The ‘collectivity of two’ works in the same way, if it is to be seen as a comment on the problems of communication in the modern world, for this acts as a form of allegory also. Schad’s Selbstbildnis mit Modell (1927) depicts two people, who themselves may be regarded as objects. Their relationship towards one another is what conveys the message, although other objects, such as the narcissus, ensure that message is clarified. Where the ‘collectivity of two’ is less obviously allegorical, as in T.J. Clark’s notion of it, the object still plays an important role. The two within the painting, such as in Schrimpf’s Schlafende Mädchen (1926), are still treated as objects, but in this sense as objects in their own right, in isolation from other contexts. They have therefore escaped from these other contexts, such as the modern world, and are at peace as a result of it.

1 2

Roh, Nach-Expressionismus. Magischer Realismus, p.119/120. Schmied, Neue Sachlichkeit and German Realism of the Twenties, p.13.

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In the same section of Chapter Three, immediately below Schmied’s list of characteristics, the paintings Fastnacht (1920) and Bildnis der Tänzerin Anita Berber (1925) are described as not fitting either list in full. Fastnacht, as has been explained in Chapter Five, is a very religiously allegorical painting, and so may now be understood in light of the discussions of allegory above and in Chapter Four. The portrait of Anita Berber, however, along with many portraits, is best understood in the same way as Schrimpf’s Schlafende Mädchen, described above. Because there is only a portrait of Anita Berber in this painting, with no other images to denote context, then the portrait may be treated as an object in isolation, and analysed in isolation, without interference from external sources. In this way, both the artist and the observer feel they can understand something of the essence of the subject of the portrait. Of course, the artist still gives a clue regarding the nature of Anita Berber, with the predominant use of red in her clothing and the background suggesting a decadent existence. This treatment of an object in isolation is also the means by which the still life paintings discussed earlier produce a feeling of the uncanny. It is therefore the object which is the predominant unifying factor in the visual art of Neue Sachlichkeit. It is the object which features most frequently as a factor in the stylistic guidelines of Franz Roh and Wieland Schmied, and the object has been demonstrated to be the central factor in depictions that feature allegory, the uncanny, the ‘collectivity of two’, and of course, the isolation of the object. The worldview that is shared by the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit, is expressed visually by making use of the object in one of the ways described above. It would not be possible to convey this worldview in any other way at this time in history, as the uncertainty felt by the artists discussed here was coupled with a sense that it was the things of the everyday that were in a state of flux. Those things that people felt safest with were the things that were undergoing the greatest amount of change, and that is why the object came to be seen as so important to Neue Sachlichkeit in particular. It represented something solid and certain, in a way that the abstract nature of Expressionism could never convey. However, with the addition of a device such as allegory or the uncanny, the object could be treated in a way that rendered it far less certain, and a feeling of tension could be created, as if, in the instance of a still life painting, it was a normal still life, but there was something not quite right about it. The object, however, still retained its central position. This relates to Freud’s writing on the uncanny in particular, where the sense of unease or threat should always be based upon something that is known or familiar. All aspects of the reactions to the modern world that have been described in terms of Neue Sachlichkeit painting, are also found in either the literature or photography of the period. Allegory, the uncanny, the collectivity of two, and the treatment of objects in isolation, may be found in both these media. The outlook of the Neue Sachlichkeit painters was thus shared by producers of other cultural forms, and was therefore a prevailing attitude shared by a Neue Sachlichkeit movement. This outlook is what holds the Neue Sachlichkeit movement together, in spite of various differences in theme, style, or regional background. It is also this outlook that gives Neue Sachlichkeit its status as a progression in the history of art, for it is time specific, and does not shy away from themes regarded as taboo. Its world view is born of the time of war and chaos in which its exponents lived, and the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit sought honestly to 154

Conclusion

express their feelings about this time in history. The art of National Socialism could not claim to have this independence, and it is in this respect that it differs from the art of Neue Sachlichkeit. It is true that certain stylistic elements carried through to the Nazi period, and some Neue Sachlichkeit artists fared well under National Socialism, but to all intents and purposes, Neue Sachlichkeit was brought to an end after 1933. The unity that the common world view gave Neue Sachlichkeit was not the same as the unity of Nazi art. This was an imposed unity, but it prevailed nonetheless. Neue Sachlichkeit, like other art movements, was brought to an end by National Socialism; it did not collapse due to its internal divisions, which gave it the means to fully express its commonly held outlook.

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Dix, Martha, 31, 33 Dix, Nelly, 31 Dix, Otto, 15-17, 20, 27, 29-34, 43, 46, 49, 50, 52, 54, 55, 58, 65, 66, 68, 82, 85-87, 89, 90, 95-97, 102, 103, 108, 109, 111-113, 125, 145, 146 Dix, Ursus, 31 Döblin, Alfred, 116, 117 Dürer, Albrecht, 64, 113 Eber, Elk, 144 Ebert, Friedrich, 21-23, 78, 125 Eichhorn, Emil, 21 Eichmann, Adolf, 117 Erler, Fritz, 145 Ernst, Max, 65 Erzberger, Matthias, 21 Ey, Johanna, 29 Fallada, Hans, 127, 152 Felixmüller, Conrad, 30 Freud, Sigmund, 74-76, 125, 131, 154 Frick, Wilhelm, 142 Friedrich, Caspar David, 51, 149 Fritsch, Ernst, 20, 85, 127 Führmann, Ernst, 117 Goebbels, Joseph, 125, 140, 142 Goering, Hermann, 125 Goya, Francisco de, 112 Griebel, Otto, 20, 54, 93 Grisebach, August, 40 Groener, Wilhelm, 78 Grossberg, Carl, 20, 47, 51, 54, 76, 91, 92, 94, 120, 151 Grosz, George, 15, 19, 20, 22, 25-29, 3134, 47, 48, 50, 52, 54, 65-67, 74, 7780, 83, 95, 97, 98, 110, 111, 117, 122-124, 131, 132, 151

Neue Sachlichkeit 1918-33: Unity and Diversity of an Art Movement

Grundig, Hans, 54 Grünewald, Matthias, 97 Günther, Kurt, 94 Hallauer, B., 19 Harden, Sylvia von, 31, 102, 103, 153 Hartlaub, Gustav Friedrich, 11, 12, 3643, 46, 48-52, 151 Hausmann, Raoul, 25, 26, 54, 122 Heartfield, John, 25, 27, 29, 121-126 Heckel, Erich, 146 Hegel, G.W.F., 60, 61, 77, 107 Heine, Heinrich, 27 Heise, Wilhelm, 64, 106 Herrmann-Neisse, Max, 25, 31, 102, 153 Herzfelde, Wieland, 25, 27, 124 Hess, Rudolf, 144 Hindenburg, Paul von, 32, 33, 83, 125 Hitler, Adolf, 21, 23, 32, 33, 78, 125, 140, 142, 143, 145, 146 Höch, Hannah, 122 Hoerle, Heinrich, 54 Hofer, Karl, 36, 47 Holborn, Hajo, 39 Horkheimer, Max, 41 Hoyer, Hermann O., 145 Hubbuch, Karl, 20, 24, 25, 54, 55, 82, 93 Huelsenbeck, Richard, 25, 26 Jakob, Helene, 17 Jancu, Marcel, 26 Joyce, James, 63 Jung, Franz, 25, 26 Kampf, Arthur, 144 Kandinsky, Wassily, 26, 27 Kanoldt, Alexander, 20, 49, 54, 105-107, 146, 149, 152 Kapp, Wolfgang, 23, 80 Kästner, Erich, 125, 127 Kaulbach, Friedrch von, 32 Kessler, Harry Graf, 22, 78 Keun, Irmgard, 127 164

Kiener, Hans, 143 Killinger, M. von, 33 Kisch, Egon Erwin, 101 Klee, Paul, 137 Koch, Hans, 31 Kokoschka, Oskar, 28 Kolbe, Georg, 144 Kracauer, Siegfried, 39, 72, 77, 86, 129, 130 Lang, Fritz, 93 Lenk, Franz, 54, 104, 105 Liebknecht, Karl, 20, 22, 27 Limmer, Walter, 15 Lüttwitz, General von, 23 Luxemburg, Rosa, 20, 22, 27 Mammen, Jeanne, 90 Mann, Heinrich, 81, 82 Mann, Thomas, 125 Mense, Carlo, 54 Müller, Herrmann, 23 Müller, Richard, 33 Munch, Edvard, 64 Nagel, Otto, 54 Nägele, Reinhold, 94 Nerlinger, Oskar, 54, 92, 93 Neumann, I.B., 32, 99, 101 Nierendorf, Karl, 31 Nolde, Emil, 142, 145-147 Noske, Gustav, 21, 22 Orend, Misch, 49-51, 74 Overbeck, Friedrich, 70 Panizza, Oskar, 20 Picasso, Pablo, 66, 113 Pissarro, Camille, 69 Poincaré, Raymond, 23 Querner, Kurt, 54

Index

Räderscheidt, Anton, 54, 98, 104, 113 Radziwill, Franz, 20, 51, 55, 76, 92, 94, 104, 107, 114, 146-148, 150, 151 Remarque, Erich Maria, 19 Renger-Patzsch, Albert, 117-121, 125 Roh, Franz, 39, 44-46, 50-54, 56, 70, 151, 153, 154 Rohe, Mies van der, 146 Rosenberg, Alfred, 140-142 Roth, Joseph, 38 Rousseau, Henri, 45, 81, 94, 106, 113

Weiss, Franz, 145 Wilhelm II, Kaiser, 21, 78 Wissel, Adolf, 148 Wissell, Rudolf, 21 Wölfflin, Heinrich, 40 Wollheim, Gert, 20, 85 Ziegler, Adolf, 143

Sander, August, 115-117, 119, 121, 125 Schad, Christian, 54, 55, 70, 71, 98, 99, 111-113, 133, 152, 153 Scheidemann, Philipp, 21 Schlemmer, Oskar, 141 Schlichter, Rudolf, 27, 50, 54, 90, 101 Schnarrenberger, Wilhelm, 55 Scholz, Georg, 20, 54, 55, 59, 79, 95, 96, 106, 109, 126, 151 Schreiber, Otto Andreas, 142 Schrimpf, Georg, 49, 52, 54, 70, 105, 146, 148-150, 152, 153 Schultze-Naumburg, Paul, 141, 142 Schwitters, Kurt, 54 Seeckt, Hans von, 23 Seiwert, Franz Wilhelm, 54 Simmel, Georg, 71-73, 77, 113, 129, 132 Speer, Albert, 146 Sternheim, Carl, 39 Stresemann, Gustav, 24, 25, 30, 31 Thoms, Ernst, 20, 53, 106 Thorak, Josef, 143 Toller, Ernst, 16 Tube, Minna, 32, 99 Tucholsky, Kurt, 28, 117, 118, 124 Tzara, Tristan, 26 Uzarski, Adolf, 81, 85 Weber, Max, 73, 74, 77, 83, 113 165