writings: the diaries of otto dix |
Back in Berlin. Billiards with Beuys. I need my billiards fix. I havent played in two weeks. He asks about Paris. Paris was great. But I could never live there. I have thought about this. I am not the expatriate type. I am too German. Beuys is the same. He loves Spain. But he is too German. My game is improving. Now he only spots me 25 balls. My goal is to one day beat him even up. We plays for 3 hours and go for coffee. He fills me in. There was a book burning. A book burning? True story. When was the last time a country burned books? There is some sort of Nazi student group that calls itself____________that organized this function. But it is clearly Goebbels who is behind this. It occurred in front of the University--always a good place to burn books. The books were by various Jewish or Marxist or other marginal types they have a beef with real or imagined. With some of these people they are wasting their time. The books are unreadable to begin with. I wonder what the Nazis would make of Henry Miller. I said to Beuys: next it will be paintings. We will have to start spraying the canvas with asbestos. Beuys says: first you burn books--then people. This is true. Now I am laughing. I am thinking of Beuys with those fat sculptures! He says: whats so funny? I was thinking of your fat sculptures! What a fire those babies would make! I am laughing like a hyena. Yesterday the Olympics began. This is exciting. I have been looking forward to this event. And the feeling is contagious. Everyone has Olympic fever. There is a lively buzz to the city. The mood is festive. Its a little like Christmas. Everyone is on their good behaviour. They are a little more conscious of the need to demonstrate some decent manners. In two weeks it will all be over and they will revert to their naturally repulsive ways. But for now at least we can enjoy the vibes. Mother Ey is here for the games. She has an idea for a show with an Olympic theme. I like this idea. Sports has always been a popular theme in the arts. I have always said that a great athlete is an artist. And the reason is this: he does it for the pleasure of the doing. Also: it gives pleasure to others. In New York We saw a great fight painting by George Bellows--a masterpiece. This year they have added a new event the triple jump. Who dreams up these ideas? This is a dumb event. You run for 20 meters, then hop on one leg for 20 meters--like an ostrich--and the climax is to launch yourself into space like a kangaroo. The athletes look like Charlie Chaplin performing this event. There is no element of grace here. They could have intstalled my idea: the giant stair climb. This is the event that has everything. Its a test of speed, endurance, psychology. There is strategy, There is danger. There is a strong visual element. It functions as a piece of sculpture. It would make a brilliant symbol for the games. Its a basic "A" shape structure 300 feet high maybe 400 ft. You go up one side and down the other. There are 800 or 900 steps. There would be variations here in the height of riser and depth of tread. This would alter the rhythms of the climb and add another dimension to the event. You could easily lose your concentration and sense of balance and take a tumble. Its a narrow apparatus and there there are no handrails. One mis step and over you go on the side and take this horrible plunge to your death. I love this idea. I should work up a proposal. The Nazis are always impressed by scale. We have a house guest for the games Vera. She has cousins participating in the games. Members of the Italian team. One swims, the other is an equestrian. She looks good. She always looks good. Billy Wilder is in town. He is here to scout the games. He is toying with the idea of doing a film. Two people meet while throwing the javelin, etc. Mostly he goes to parties. The top Nazi brass are dueling with each other to see who can throw the most conspicuous party. The major hosts are Goring, Goebbels and Ribbontrop. These are intimate affairs of 1500 people. 2000 showed up at the Goebbels party. This occurred at his country estate--the island in the Wannsee district. The island was festooned with lanterns and guest were ferried over on gondolas. There were three orchestras. Most of the guests were film people. There was pussy, pussy, pussy. Billy was there. He says: you have to give these socialists credit. They know how to live. By the way who is paying for all this? The same person who always pays: the German working stiff. The German working stiff will be glad to know that everyone is having a good time. Billy had a brief chat with Goebbels. This is a conversation I would have enjoyed hearing. With some of the Nazis the anti-Semitism is largely a front. Its there for the benefit of Hitler. This isnt the case with Goebbels. He is rabid on this subject. His latest scheme is to round them all up and ship them off to Madagascar an island off the east African coast. But the Nazis are on their good behavior for two weeks. There is an intense public relations campaign due to all the foreign press on hand. All signs of anti/semitism have disappeared. Several Jews have even been installed on the German team. Gorings affair was on a smaller scale only 1500. Billy was at this one as well. Goring was in form. Goring is always in form. The only time he isnt in form is when he is getting his ass shredded by Hitler. Goring is like Henry Miller: he enjoys life. He is his own best friend. Billy attended this function also. He is intrigued by Goring. He wants to do a film. For the same reason I want to paint him. There is no need to dramatize or exaggerate. Everything is already there. Goring and Goebbels are like night and day. They share one thing in common: a taste for fancy living. We decided to give a party of our own. We dont have a mark but you can always throw a party. There was Felix, Billy, Beuys, Mother Ey, Hans and Eva, Vera, Al Speer and Marguerite, my parents, and assorted friends and family relations. Billy Wilder brought a woman named Leni Reifenstahl. Leni R is a director. She is doing a film on the Olympics. She is tight with Hitler. There is a rumor that she was involved with Hitler at some point. Maybe we can finally nail down the one testicle story and the neice peeing on his face. The party was a success. There was music, food, dancing. Martha is a good hostess. Her secret is to make sure she enjoys herself. She is like Goring. She is her own best friend. She gets everyone organized and then they are on their own. I made an announcement: no politics. This is easier said than done. These are Germans. Its like asking a crab not to talk about pubic hair. But we managed to avoid violence. The one moment of vile behavior that occured was due to yours truly. I put a move on Vera. It was entirely due to alcohol. It happened in this way. The party was going full blast and I was dancing with Vera and I got a hard on. I cornered her in the hall outside my daughters bedroom and I had one arm around her waist and my dick was hard, hard, hard and I looked into this face and feeling of helplessness or hopelessness occurred and I tried a kiss which she neatly ducked and she said: no, Otto. She either said: no, Otto or Otto, no. The Olympics continue. I have been to several events. I like the strength events. I like watching big people perform amazing feats of strength the weightlifters, the shot put, the hammer throw, the tug of war. I also like the javelin toss and the discus and the fights. My mother liked the fights. This was a sensitive soul without a violent bone in her body. Yet there was something about a couple of goons thrashing each other to a bloody lump that served to transform this saintly woman into a howling animal. My favorite event is weightlifting especially the superheavies.I am fascinated by this sport. My theory is that it is 90% psychological. You can see it in their face. They stand there looking down at this barbell with two or three hundred kilos of iron in the form of these massive discs attatched to either end. An interior dialogue seems to be occurring that goes something like: I cant lift this motherfucker. There is no way! You can lift this motherfucker! I cant! You can! There was an article in the paper that described a typical meal for one of these men the Russian Vorchikov. He is the current worlds champ in the super heavy division. He weighs 205 kilos. 12,000 calories a day are required by this man to overcome malnutrition. This is his diet: Breakfast: 12 eggs, two chickens, 3 quarts of orange juice. Mid morning snack: spaghetti and meatballs. Lunch: fried ham, steak, vegetable stew. Mid afternoon snack: burritos, pies and ice cream. Dinner: Spare ribs, lobster, a rice and bean casserole Mid evening snack: 2 cakes Maybe I will do a painting of this man. I have a photograph of him setting the world record. Billy and I go for lunch. Billy looks good. He has made the jump to directing. His lovelife is the same. He got married and divorced. Now he has a housekeeper. He says this is the answer. Its paradise. He gets along so well with this woman. She is a latina from El Salvador. She mothers him. But she doesnt nag. This is the difference. There are no arguments. She knows what needs to be done and she does it. We have lunch and shoot some pool. I whip out my cue. He gives me a narrow look. He says: you have your own cue? Thats right. We play a few games. I kick his ass. Its a slaughter. I am merciless. An hour of this is enough. Billy is a poor loser. He is ready to blow an artery. He says: lets take a walk We walk. He says: this is what I miss. Walking. City life. People on the street going into and out of stores on foot. You cant do this in Los Angeles. All you do is drive. You live in your car. You drive, drive, drive. I remember. I asked if he missed Germany. I dont miss getting my ass kicked. And now I would be getting it kicked twice as hard--for a being a Jew and a writer. We are in the Friedrechstrasse district. I am curious about something the whore house of Frau Weber. We walk along the Friedrechstrasse. The house is still there. But Frau Weber and her girls are not. The building is a medical clinic. The Nazis have been cracking down on prostitution. Billy says: They are judicious in their choice of enemies: Jews, writers and whores. The games are over. I am sorry to see this. Everyone is sorry. It was an uplifting event. Hitler is a little glum. His master race theory took a few blows. The German team performed less heroically than predicted. They won 7 medals 4 gold. The hated Americans--esp the hated American schvarzes--did well. They won 14 medals 7 gold. Billy Wilder is gone. Vera has returned to Frankfurt. We had some laffs. Now its back to reality. Reality occurred in the form of the Entartete Kunst show installed by the Nazis in Munich in 1937. Entartete Kunst is typically translated into English as Degenerate Art. But this is not too exact. In German the word derives from biology. It applies to a plant or animal that has so altered or mutated from its genetic design that it establishes itself as a different species. There were two shows occurring in Munich at this time: the Entartete Kunst show and a more elaborate project "Art of the German People" organized to celebrate the inauguration of a new museum the House of German Art. This was a project inspired by Hitler himself. He had laid the cornerstone for the building. The architect was Paul Troost --a colleague of Tessenow who was Albert Speers professor. It was Goebbels idea to kick off both shows at the same time in the same city and on the same street the one building across from the other. The idea was to more conveniently hammer into the collective German skull a particular kind of art acceptable to the Regime and of another particular kind that was not so acceptable. it was not only less acceptable it could be viewed as treason. The works for both shows were selected by Adolph Zeilgler--Hitlers art stooge--recently installed in the post of chief of the Reich Chamber of Visual Arts. The Degenerate Art show was kicked off via a rousing speech by Adolph Zeigler in which the following remarks were delivered: "It is not the mission of art to wallow in filth for filths sake, to paint the human being only in a state of putrefaction, to draw cretins as symbols of motherhood or to represent deformed idiots as representatives of manly strength." For some of the artists under attack here this signaled the end--a final insult to drive the last nail in the coffin of German Expressionist art. Beckmann fled to Holland and never returned to Germany. Meidner went to Holland and then England. Kokoshka went to Prague. Kirchner, a tortured soul with a precarious grip on reality even when his paintings were selling, waited two years and committed suicide. Of those that remained a few were singled out by the Nazis for punitive measures. Nolde and Dix found themselves both included here. Nolde was forbidden to paint. Dix was told he could paint but landscapes only. No portraits. He said at this time: the painting of landscapes is already a form of exile. I am in Munich. I want to see this Degenerate Art Show in which I play a featured role. Martha is in Berlin. She failed to see the point of this trip. It can only serve to enrage me further. Maybe she is right. She is definitely right. But here I am. This show is attracting a lot of attention much more than the Art of the German People exhibit across the street curated by Hitler. What a piece of garbage this show is. If Hitler ever tires of political life there is a career waiting for him as a writer of romance novels. His taste in art reveals him as the peasant he is. Everything must be heroic, grand, masterful, fantastic. But this Degenerate Art show is getting a lot of ink. Its either the notoriety or maybe people just find the work more interesting. The venue for this show is an old cosmetics factory. This is a fine space. Its big, open, flooded with light. The light is gorgeous. A huge banner has been draped across the front to signify the exhibit. Its similar in design to the posters that have been slapped up all over the city to advertise the show. It features the same drawing of this cretinous head with the flat modeling and primitive features of a mask. Its all nose and lips. The nose is a zucchini, the lips are like meat. Actually its not a bad drawing. It has energy. Its either a Jew or Negro or combination of both. The point being made is crude. Its crude, dull, obvious. But this is the Nazi style--the style of the gutter. The appeal is always to the mob. They say there is no such thing as bad publicity. But this could be an exception. I fail to see a way of capitalizing on this event. I cannot get a teaching job and now there is a rumor we may even be forbidden paint. I enter. The exhibit begins with a piece of sculpture--a crucifixion. If you are a sculptor you have to do a crucifixion. The sculptor is Barlach. I have heard of this man but I have never seen this piece. The material is wood. The greatest crucifixion is the Grunevald painting in the Ristoven in Amsterdam. But this Barlach isnt bad. Its powerful work. There is suffering here. He has drawn the legs up in a particular way that produces an intense dynamic. The figure seems to be ready to pounce on the viewer or jump away from. He has hacked the ribs out in a brutal way that suggest heavy ropes wound up about the trunk of the figure. There is a crushing effect. Also the fingers spread in a broken, tortured way to intensify the agony. Its a brilliant work. My question is this: what is the beef here? Hitler has been having some well publicized problems with the church that he has made serious efforts to straighten out. Yet here he chooses to humiliate and vilify a man of strong religious convictions. Here is more sculpture. A large female nude of Lembruch. Ive seen this piece. Its a beautiful piece. The woman is kneeling I have the same question which is: what is the problem here? I fail to see anything but a beautiful woman in a beautiful pose sculpted in a beautiful way. There is also this: Lembruck is dead. He died in 1922--15years ago. But this doesnt exempt him. They hound even the dead. On to the paintings. The paintings have been hung in a particular way in the most insulting way possible. They are too high or too low. They are badly lit. They are crowded together or crooked this and that way. Scrawled upon the walls in a crude way graffiti style are a collection of cracks and vicious remarks intended to vilify and debase the work in case anyone fails to get the point. In this way Corinth is labeled an art dwarf, Meidner is an artistic mutant and yours truly is a cultural mongoloid. Kirchener is a pimp. Poor K. I met him once. He had just been released from the sanitarium. He had a nervous breakdown. He is the nervous breakdown type. He showed me a drawing done under the influence of Morphine. It was 4000 lines going in different directions. He said: what do you think I said: its 4000 lines going in different directions Here is a woodcut by Felixmuller of a child taking its first steps being guided by the mother. I remember this piece. The only word for it is charming. It is charming, it is sweet, it is beautiful. Its as subversive as a flower. Here is an Otto Dix. Here is another. There are six Dix. This man has problems. I agree. He is a twisted human being. But they are only paintings. Plus I paint what I see. If a I see a man who looks like a frog--in Herr Kranskes case, for example the venetian blind distribution King then this is what I paint a frog. Herr Krankse didnt object. He liked the painting (the wife hated the painting). No. The point is this: this is my work. Its what I do. You take away the work and there is nothing. Its a form of murder. Also I fought in the war. I spent 4 years living in a hole in the ground dodging mortars and suffering a chronic case of the shits--no toilet paper. Now they are telling me that via my work I have in some way betrayed my country. Beuys said it the other day: now we are all Jews. |
*installment 15: the olympics and the degenerate art show |
next month: war |