Rebels with a cause

The founding of the Munich Secession (Münchener Sezession) in 1892 anounced the arrival of modernist art as we know it. Unlike the Impressionists, the artists of the Secession (literally, those who seceded from the art establishment of the day) are united more by attitude than by shared style. Symbolism, Art Nouveau (in German, Jugendstyl), Impressionism, Expressionism all swirl around in a heady mix of artistic experimentation, anti-establishment nose-thumbing, and the sheer exhilaration of the shock of the new.

There’s currently a fascinating-sounding show at the Frye Museum, Seattle, The Munich Secession and America. As I can’t make it to that (and haven’t as yet got hold of the catalogue), I thought I’d mount my own little exhibition of prints by artists associated with the Munich Secession and the Berlin Secession that grew out of it in 1898.

I’ll start with one of the central figures of the movement, Franz von Stuck (1863-1928). I have two etchings by Franz Stuck (as he then was, the von came when he was ennobled in 1905). Both are after his own paintings, Fighting Fauns (1889) and Lucifer (1889/90). In date they just precede the founding of the Secession, but in spirit they are exactly the kind of art the word Secession evokes. Lucifer, especially, is a wonderfully powerful piece of work. Apparently when people first saw the painting, they crossed themselves to avert its baleful glare. Even in the etching the proud eyes of the fallen angel really shine from the paper, while his winged figure has a monumental weight and dignity. The rebel angel was, I suppose, a fitting icon for the artistic rebels of the Secession.


Franz von Stuck
Lucifer
Etching, c.1890

Franz von Stuck was born in Tettenweis in Bavaria, the son of a miller. He studied at the Kunstgewerbe Schule (School of Decorative Arts) from 1878-1881, and then at the Academy of Fine Art in Munich from 1882-1884. He was subsequently a professor at the Academy, numbering Wassily Kandinsky, Paul Klee, and Josef Albers among his pupils. In his day he was immensely influential and highly regarded; for instance Egon Schiele practically worshipped him. His essentially Symbolist art is powerfully infused with that heady fin-de-siècle mix of decadence, sin, eroticism, and existential conflict. His home, the Villa Stuck in Prinzregentstrasse, which in true Jugenstyl manner Stuck designed himself, from the architecture right down to the furniture, the interior decor, and the fixtures and fittings, is now a museum.


Franz von Stuck
Kämpfende Faune
Etching, 1889

Having been overlooked for decades, the art of Franz von Stuck - inspired in its mythological themes by that of Arnold Böcklin - was rediscovered at a retrospective exhibition at the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam, in 1995. A second important exhibition, Franz von Stuck: A modern Lucifer, was held at the Museo di arte moderna e contemporanea di Trento e Rovereto in 2006-7.

Alongside the Symbolist art of Franz von Stuck, the Frye Museum show is also concentrating on the work of Fritz von Uhde (1848-1911). Fritz Karl Herman von Uhde was born in Wolkenburg, and studied in Munich. Influenced by French artists such as Michel Cazin and Léon Lhermitte, his work straddles the gap between Realism and Impressionism.


Fritz von Uhde
La petite Emilie
Drypoint after von Uhde by Françoise-Marie Borrel, 1889

Quite a few of the major figures of the Munich Secession were developing a kind of German Impressionism. At the forefront were Max Liebermann (1847-1935) and Leopold von Kalckreuth (1858-1928). The son of a wealthy Jewish businessman from Berlin, Max Liebermann is credited with introducing Impressionism into Germany both as an artist and as a collector. Liebermann is regarded by many as the leading German Impressionist. After the Nazis came to power they seized and destroyed many of Max Liebermann's works from museums and private collections. He is perhaps best remembered today for his etchings, although a 2006 exhibition of his paintings, Max Liebermann: From Realism to Impressionism, at the Skirball Cultural Center, Los Angeles, and the Jewish Museum, New York, helped to bring this important aspect of his work to renewed prominence.


Max Liebermann
La soupe
Etching, 1901


Max Liebermann
Amsterdamme Judengasse
Etching, 1908


Max Liebermann
Eislauf
Etching, 1923

Leopold Karl Walter, Graf von Kalckreuth, was a painter and printmaker strongly influenced by the Impressionists. Kalckreuth was one of the founders of the Secession. Leopold von Kalckreuth was the son of the landscape artist Stanislas de Kalckreuth. He studied at the Munich Akademie, and subsequently taught at the academies of Weimar, Karlsruhe, and Stuttgart. Kalckreuth was influenced by the art of Millet. He was a close associate of Max Liebermann in the introduction of Impressionist ideas and the Impressionist aesthetic into German art.


Leopold von Kalckreuth
Wagen auf der Dorfstrasse
Etching, 1921

I don’t know if Peter von Halm (1858-1923) exhibited with the Secession. As professor of etching at the Munich Academy of Fine Art, he was a colleague of von Struck, and the landscape etchings I possess certainly show the influence of Liebermann. I also have a wonderful etched portrait of von Halm by his close friend Karl Stauffer-Bern (1857-1891).


Peter von Halm
Motiv vom Bodensee
Etching, c.1892


Peter von Halm
Motiv aus Nussdorf am Bodensee
Etching, c.1892


Karl Stauffer-Bern
Peter Halm
Etching,1887

The Berlin Secession, of which Max Liebermann was the first President, was organized on a rather more business-like footing than the Munich Secession, as it had the art dealer and publisher Paul Cassirer as its business manager. While there is still a strong element of Impressionism in the work of an artists such as Paul Baum (1859-1932), it is in the Berlin Secession that Expressionism really emerges as the new German aesthetic, under the guidance of Cassirer, in the work of artists such as Ernst Barlach (1870-1938).

Paul Baum was born at Meissen. He studied at the Academy in Dresden, then in the atelier of the landscape painter Friedrich Peller, and then under Theodor Hagen in the Weimer School of Art. Baum exhibited from 1880. The art of Paul Baum shows the influence of post-Impressionism, especially Pointillism, in its technique and approach.


Paul Baum
Aus Sluis
Etching, 1908

Ernst Barlach was born in Wedel in Holstein. He studied at the School of Arts and Crafts in Hamburg, and then entered the Dresden Academy, where he studied under Robert Dietz. Ernst Barlach then spent a year in Paris at the Académie Julian, discovering the art of Millet, Meunier, and Vincent van Gogh. In 1936, after the Nazis condemned his work as degenerate, the Vienna Secession appointed Ernst Barlach an honorary member. Many of Ernst Barlach's sculptures were destroyed by the Nazis. I’ve posted my Barlach woodcut before, in my post on Degenerate Art, but it seems worth including again here.


Ernst Barlach
Aus de Walpurgisnacht
Woodcut, 1923

Hermann Struck (1876-1944) is a key figure in the Berlin Secession, especially in terms of etching, as he taught many other artists, including Max Liebermann and Marc Chagall, how to etch. His book on the art of etching went through several editions, each illustrated with original prints. Hermann Struck was born in Berlin. His birth name was Chaim Aaron ben David, and his Jewish heritage is central to his work. An early Zionist, Hermann Struck settled in what is now Haifa in 1923.


Hermann Struck
Portrait of Marc Chagall
Etching, 1923


Hermann Struck
Alte Jude aus Jaffa
Etching, 1908

Quite a few like-minded artists from other countries were invited to join the various Secessions. One such member of the Berlin Secession was the leading Norwegian Expressionist, Edvard Munch (1863-1944). His "The Scream" is one of the most famous paintings in the world; it expresses the sense of anxiety and instability that tormented him. Edvard Munch said, "Sickness, insanity and death were the angels that surrounded my cradle, and they have followed me throughout my life." My landscape etching dates from 1908; shortly after creating it, Edvard Munch suffered a devastating mental collapse, and its spare, haunted quality and sense of existential despair is reminiscent of the last works of van Gogh.


Edvard Munch
Landschaft
Etching, 1908

Just to round off this post, here’s another image I’ve posted before, by an artist closely associated with both the Vienna and Berlin Secessions, Oskar Kokoschka.


Oskar Kokoschka
Mädchenbildnis
Lithograph, 1920

Autograph hunting

One of the first things anyone said to me when I started buying prints is that, “Unsigned prints are worthless.” Now it is true that a print hand-signed by the artist is going to be worth more than an unsigned print, but there are many other elements that define the worth of a print beside a mere signature. Aesthetic value, subject, rarity, and above all authenticity, play their part. By authenticity, I mean this: if a print is supposed to be signed, it should be signed; if it is not supposed to be signed, it should, in general, not be signed.

I have, for instance, a set of Picasso linocuts issued as Picasso Linogravures in 1962. These are magnificent things, but they are immaculate facsimiles, authorised and approved by Picasso, not original Picassos. The linocuts were first issued in signed editions of 50 by Galerie Louise Leiris, printed by Arnéra. Because of the reduction method invented and used by Picasso, which uses just one plate of linoleum instead of a separate one for each colour, it would have been impossible to make any more prints from the original plates. Instead, new linoleum plates were made at 42% of the original size, and it is from these that my linocuts were made.


Pablo Picasso, Bacchanale au taureau, 1959 - unsigned facsimile linocut

Because they are so beautiful, and so obviously genuine relief prints rather than reproductions, they are frequently offered for sale without any of the above information being pointed out, and, mysteriously, with the signature of Pablo Picasso in pencil in the bottom right. Now if anyone seriously believes that Picasso sat down and religiously signed each plate in Picasso Linogravures they are welcome to do so, but I prefer my copies unsigned, as they were issued.


Oskar Kokoschka, Mädchenbildnis, 1920 - signed original lithograph

Of course there are exceptions to this rule. An obvious one is my Oskar Kokoschka lithograph, Mädchenbildnis (Portrait of a girl). This was one of the original prints included in the 1923 edition of Die kunst des radierens (The Art of Printmaking) by Hermann Struck. This book was published by Paul Cassirer, who was also Oskar Kokoschka’s dealer. The lithograph is initialled OK “in the stone”, and that is how it was issued. But I was surprised and delighted to discover that my copy had also been hand-signed in pencil by Kokoschka, with his distinctive zigzagged signature, and the inscription, “Orig. lithographie Oskar Kokoschka 1920”. I have no doubts as to the authenticity of this signature, or the date, which sets this work back three years into the heart of Kokoschka’s most creative and vital phase. Kokoschka may have signed some copies in Cassirer’s office; or perhaps he signed this for a friend; whichever way, I am glad he did.


Henry Detouche, Le Toucher, 1904 - original etching with aquatint, signed in the plate

The convention of having the artist hand-sign and justify each copy of a print only evolved in the early twentieth century, anyway. Before that, a signed print would probably be a “bon à tirer” proof, signed as a guide to the printer as to how each subsequent proof should look, or possibly an individual gift from the artist to a friend, usually with an inscription. Nineteenth century prints may be signed or initialled within the plate, or credited in type below the image; they are not generally hand-signed. I have, for instance, a copy of an exceptionally scarce portfolio of Art Nouveau etchings with aquatint, Les Cinq Sens by Henry Detouche, published in 1904 in 60 numbered copies. Mine is one of a small number of additional artist’s copies, marked Exemplaire de Présent. It is very warmly inscribed on the title page and signed by Henry Detouche, but even though there are only five etchings, I don’t believe it occurred to him to hand-sign the individual prints. They are signed H. Detouche in the plate; to add a hand signature would have been superfluous.

Because many of my print acquisitions have been sets of prints rather than individual images, I have many examples where the individual prints are signed in the plate or completely unsigned, but the justification page that states the limitation of the edition, and specifies the printer, the paper, and the publisher, is hand-signed by the artist. In my view, a copy of this provided with the print supplies much of what a collector really wants, which is a cast-iron guarantee of the rarity, quality, and authenticity of the print.

Otherwise, print collecting becomes just a branch of autograph hunting.