Max Beckmann (Leipzig 1884 – 1950 New York) „STÜRMISCHE NORDSEE (WANGEROOGE)“. 1937 Öl auf Leinwand. 59 x 77 cm ( 23 ¼ x 30 ⅜ in.). Unten rechts signiert, bezeichnet und datiert: Beckmann B[erlin] 37. Göpel 466.– [3082] Provenienz: Ehemals Sammlung Stephan Lackner, Santa Barbara, Kalifornien (um 1938 erworben, seitdem in Familienbesitz) Ausstellung: Max Beckmann. An Exhibition. Oakland, The Mills College Art Gallery, 1950, Kat.-Nr. 8 („Beach with Piles“) / Max Beckmann. Santa Barbara, Museum of Art; San Francisco, Museum of Art, und Pasadena, Art Institute, 1955, Kat.-Nr. 24 („North Sea with Cabins“) / Max Beckmann. Santa Barbara, University Art Gallery, University of California, 1959, Kat.-Nr. 17 / Max Beckmann. Oils, Watercolors, Lithographs. Downey, The Downey Museum of Art, 1960, Kat.-Nr. 15 / Max Beckmann. Gemälde und Aquarelle der Sammlung Stephan Lackner, USA. Gemälde, Handzeichnungen und Druckgraphik aus dem Besitz der Kunsthalle Bremen. Bremen, Kunsthalle, [und in veränderter Zusammensetzung:] Berlin, Akademie der Künste; Karlsruhe, Badischer Kunstverein e.V.; Wien, Wiener Secession; Linz, Neue Galerie der Stadt Linz, Wolfgang-Gurlitt-Museum, und Luzern, Kunstmuseum, 1966/67, Kat.-Nr. 4, m. Abb. (diese irrtümlich bei Kat.-Nr. 21) Literatur und Abbildung: Charles S. Kessler: The Vision of Max Beckmann. In: Arts Yearbook, Jg. 4, 1961, S. 133-140, hier S. 137 / Lagerkatalog: Moderne Kunst. Campione bei Lugano, R. N. Ketterer, 1963, unpag., mit ganzs. Farbabb. (irrtümlich mit der Werkverzeichnisnummer 383 bei Reifenberg/Hausenstein 1949 identifiziert) / Max Beckmann, Retrospektive. München, Haus der Kunst; Berlin, Nationalgalerie; Saint Louis, Art Museum, und Los Angeles, County Museum of Art, 1984/85, S. 262 (erwähnt) / Susanne Rother: Beckmann als Landschaftsmaler. München, scaneg, 1990 (= Beiträge zur Kunstwissenschaft, Bd. 34), S. 86 / Klaus Gallwitz, Uwe M. Schneede und Stephan von Wiese (Hrsg.): Max Beckmann, Briefe. 3 Bde. München und Zürich, Piper, 1993–1996. Hier Bd. II (1994): 1925–1937, bearb. v. Stephan von Wiese, S. 458 (Anm. zu Br. 660) / Dietrich Schubert: Max Beckmanns Strand- und Meeres-Gemälde bis zur Emigration nach Amsterdam 1937. In: Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, Jg. 1997, H. 1, S. 90-114, hier S. 113, Anm. 53 / Ausst.-Kat.: Stephan Lackner, der Freund Max Beckmanns. München, Max Beckmann Archiv, in der Staatsgalerie moderner Kunst, 2000, S. 60, Abb. 33 (Foto d. Ausstellung in Santa Barbara 1955, 3. Gemälde von links), S. 111 / Ausstellungskatalog: Max Beckmann, Menschen am Meer. Hamburg, Bucerius Kunst Forum, 2003/04, S. 156 (erwähnt) / Max Beckmann. Exil in Amsterdam. Amsterdam, Van Gogh Museum, und München, Pinakothek der Moderne, 2007/08, S. 71 und S. 72, Farbabb. 30 (erwähnt) / Ausstellungskatalog: Max Beckmann. Die Landschaften. Basel, Kunstmuseum, 2011/12, S. 19, Farbabb. 2, S. 20 u. S. 39, Anm. 23 (erwähnt) / Moritz Rinke: Ein letzter Blick auf Deutschland. Im Sommer 1937 malt Max Beckmann sein letztes Bild vor der Emigration. In: Grisebach. Das Journal. Herbst 2014, S. 4-11, Farbabb. S. 8/9 Von seiner Frühzeit bis ins Spätwerk war der Maler Max Beckmann ein Seefahrer auf dem Ozean von Kunst und Leben. Rund einhundert Bilder vom Meer, seiner „alten Freundin“, belegen das, auch unsere Nordseelandschaft. Sie ist eines von drei Gemälden, die nach einem Aufenthalt des Künstlers auf der Insel Wangerooge im Juni 1937 entstanden, zwei davon im Berliner Atelier, eines später in Amsterdam. Dorthin war Max Beckmann nach Anhören von Hitlers Rede zur Eröffnung der Ausstellung „Entartete Kunst“ in München am 18. Juli 1937 ins Exil gegangen. Die Bilder werden in der Literatur häufig als Triptychon gesehen, das in drei Phasen ein Unwetter auf See schildert. Man kann die Werke aber auch unabhängig von einer ‚Folge‘ verstehen. Dann fällt auf, daß der Künstler sehr unterschiedlich mit den Stimmungen am Strand verfahren ist. Von einem höher gelegenen Standort aus, vielleicht in den Dünen, betrachtet der Künstler die auflaufenden Wogen. Einmal in fast nüchterner Betrachtung von Wolken, Wind und Wasser, dann fast lieblich mit zartblauem Himmel und beruhigter Atmosphäre oder, wie in unserem Bild, dunkel bedrohlich und dramatisch gesteigert. Die See ist hier an den Horizont zurückgedrängt und noch heftig vom Sturm bewegt, wie die weißen Schaumkronen zeigen. Eine finstere Wolke bedeckt den Himmel, menschenleer der Strandweg links, der zu den Umkleidekabinen führt, menschenleer auch der Strand, von Buhnen durchzogen. Ein halbhoher Wachposten steht verlassen im von der letzten Flut zurückgebliebenen Wasser, der Strandwächter ist längst nach Hause gegangen. Max Beckmann schätzte die Dynamik in der Natur und war selten ein Schönwettermaler, selbst sommerliche Ansichten aus Italien oder Südfrankreich bergen immer ein Stückchen der gewaltigen Kräfte, die Wind und Meer entfalten können. Auch Beckmanns letztes vollendetes Triptychon handelt von Seefahrern, den Argonauten (Göpel 832, Washington, National Gallery of Art). Er reflektiert darin sein berühmtes Frühwerk „Junge Männer am Meer“ (Göpel 18, Weimar, Kunstsammlungen). (EO) Max Beckmann (Leipzig 1884 – 1950 New York) „STÜRMISCHE NORDSEE (WANGEROOGE)“. 1937 Oil on canvas. 59 x 77 cm ( 23 ¼ x 30 ⅜ in.). Signed, inscribed and dated lower right: Beckmann B[erlin] 37. Göpel 466.– [3082] Provenienz: Formerly collection Stephan Lackner, Santa Barbara, California (acquired in circa 1938, thence by descent to the present owner) Ausstellung: Max Beckmann. An Exhibition. Oakland, The Mills College Art Gallery, 1950, cat. no. 8 („Beach with Piles“) / Max Beckmann. Santa Barbara, Museum of Art; San Francisco, Museum of Art, and Pasadena, Art Institute, 1955, cat. no. 24 („North Sea with Cabins“) / Max Beckmann. Santa Barbara, University Art Gallery, University of California, 1959, cat. no. 17 / Max Beckmann. Oils, Watercolors, Lithographs. Downey, The Downey Museum of Art, 1960, cat. no. 15 / Max Beckmann. Gemälde und Aquarelle der Sammlung Stephan Lackner, USA. Gemälde, Handzeichnungen und Druckgraphik aus dem Besitz der Kunsthalle Bremen. Bremen, Kunsthalle, [and in modified selection:] Berlin, Akademie der Künste; Karlsruhe, Badischer Kunstverein e.V.; Vienna, Wiener Secession; Linz, Neue Galerie der Stadt Linz, Wolfgang-Gurlitt-Museum, and Luzern, Kunstmuseum, 1966/67, cat. no. 4, ill. (erroneously under cat. no. 21) Literatur und Abbildung: Charles S. Kessler: The Vision of Max Beckmann. Arts Yearbook, vol. 4, 1961, pp. 133-140, here p. 137 / Lagerkatalog: Moderne Kunst. Campione near Lugano, R. N. Ketterer, 1963, unpag., fill-page colour ill. (erroneously identified by the Reifenberg/Hausenstein 1949 catalogue raisonné no. 383) / Max Beckmann, Retrospektive. Munich, Haus der Kunst; Berlin, Nationalgalerie; Saint Louis, Art Museum, and Los Angeles, County Museum of Art, 1984/85, p. 262 (mentioned) / Susanne Rother: Beckmann als Landschaftsmaler. Munich, scaneg, 1990 (= Beiträge zur Kunstwissenschaft, vol. 34), p. 86 / Klaus Gallwitz, Uwe M. Schneede and Stephan von Wiese (eds.): Max Beckmann, Briefe. 3 vols. Munich and Zurich, Piper, 1993–1996.here vol. II (1994): 1925–1937, ed. by Stephan von Wiese, p. 458 (note to letter 660) / Dietrich Schubert: Max Beckmanns Strand- und Meeres-Gemälde bis zur Emigration nach Amsterdam 1937. Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, vol. 1997, issue 1, pp. 90-114, here p. 113, note 53 / exh. cat.: Stephan Lackner, der Freund Max Beckmanns. Munich, Max Beckmann Archiv, Staatsgalerie moderner Kunst, 2000, p. 60, ill. 33 (photo of the 1955 exhibitionin Santa Barbara, third painting from the left), p. 111 / exh. cat.: Max Beckmann, Menschen am Meer. Hamburg, Bucerius Kunst Forum, 2003/04, p. 156 (mentioned) / Max Beckmann. Exil in Amsterdam. Amsterdam, Van Gogh Museum, and Munich, Pinakothek der Moderne, 2007/08, p. 71 and p. 72, colour ill. 30 (mentioned) / exh. cat.: Max Beckmann. Die Landschaften. Basel, Kunstmuseum, 2011/12, p. 19, colour ill. 2, p. 20 and p. 39, note 23 (mentioned) / Moritz Rinke: Ein letzter Blick auf Deutschland. Im Sommer 1937 malt Max Beckmann sein letztes Bild vor der Emigration. Grisebach. Das Journal. fall 2014, pp. 4-11, colour ill. p. 8/9 ONE LAST LOOK AT GERMANY In the summer of 1937, Max Beckmann painted his final work before he emigrated: an image of the stormy North Sea. Shortly thereafter, the exhibit “Degenerate Art” opened in Munich. Beckmann packed up his painting and left for Amsterdam. Now, this central work in Beckmann’s biography will be offered at auction for the first time. I know a thing or two about skies. Especially stormy skies. And if those stormy skies happen to be located above Northern Germany, then I would go so far as to call myself an expert. And what is more: I will have to bid on a Beckmann painting with a stormy sky when it goes up for auction, at least within my limited means as a writer! I grew up in Worpswede, which says it all. I was sent to an art class to paint skies like that when I was three years old. The first skies were rendered with India ink and Stockmar beeswax crayons; skies in oil, like Max Beckmann’s, came later. In the art classes, I also learned why the famous sky above Worpswede was so stormy. Because of the North Sea! Supposedly, the clouds rolled in over the island of Wangerooge and across the flat land toward Worpswede. At the time, I had never heard of Beckmann. I only knew Otto Modersohn and the Others, who all painted the sky, and since that stint in art school had made me rather be a writer after all, I liked Rilke the best; he had also lived in Worpswede and written about how the Others had painted the sky. As a child, I often stood before the great works of the old Worpswede masters. I always had the feeling the clouds were moving, speeding off across the land like an invincible force, and I always felt so small. Those sweeping armies of clouds, mountains of clouds! When I knew that I would have to deal with Beckmann’s skies, I traveled to Worpswede and once again stood before the skies of the Worpswede masters; I had made a photocopy of Beckmann’s painting and held it next to them. I compared Modersohn’s “Sturm im Moor” (Storm in the Moors) with Beckmann’s “Stürmische Nordsee” (Stormy North Sea). Modersohn’s gigantic cloud is white, large—very large—presumably made of warmer layers of air; you would have to think of a thunderhead, also known as the cumulonimbus, but this one actually looks more like a cumulus, the cloud populating calmer skies (as a Worpswede native, one gets to know a thing or two about clouds as well!). Worpswede painters loved cumulus clouds. They typically placed the horizon very low in the frame in order to give as much room as possible to the sky and its cumulus clouds. As a child, this low-lying horizon made me feel I was facing an overwhelming power, that power of the sky. And Beckmann? He placed the horizon higher than a Worpswede sky-painter ever would have done. Nevertheless, suddenly, something strange occurred. There I stood with that ridiculous photocopy in my hand among all the Worpswede painters and suddenly felt that the Beckmann in my hand was more ominous than all the other Worpswede skies put together. Indeed, compared to Beckmann’s sky, the famous Worpswede skies seemed like anecdotes. Beckmann’s clouds are thick stratus clouds, bad-weather clouds, but actually, they defy categorization; they are clouds of the soul, rather, dark clouds of foreboding. The year is 1937. Beckmann’s works are being confiscated from German museums: 28 paintings along with 560 watercolors, prints, and drawings. After being dismissed from his teaching position at the Städelschule in Frankfurt, Beckmann is living back in Berlin. The Beckmann hall set up in the National Gallery in the Kronprinzenpalais has already been closed. His last small exhibition was a year ago at the Gurlitt gallery in Hamburg. Many of his collectors and buyers have already left the country. In Munich, the Nazis are readying their major propaganda exhibition, “Degenerate Art,” in which Beckmann will be represented by 12 works. In June, a month before the exhibition opening, Beckmann travels to the East Frisian island of Wangerooge in the North Sea. He has been there before in 1909 at the age of 25, when it was still part of the Grand Duchy of Oldenburg governed by Friedrich August II. From Strandhotel Gerken on Wangerooge, Beckmann writes to his second wife, Mathilde, “Such is life, my dear, one flees from the heat and arrives in the cold and the rain. Would have liked to stay here two days longer, but it is even more unbearable here in bad weather than in Holland during the September storms.” So, we know that Beckmann had bad weather and stormy days in June 1937 on Wangerooge. But was the weather really as bad, and the storm really as stormy, as depicted in Beckmann’s “Stürmische Nordsee”? In any case, it was never that stormy in Beckmann’s earlier maritime paintings, those from before 1933, and the clouds were never so dark. In 1928, Beckmann stayed on the Beach at Scheveningen (he was definitely addicted to the sea!) and he painted cheerful scenes of bathers and hotel life. Obviously, the cloudy skies in the images of the beach resort Scheveningen are painted with the same boldness and free manner that was unique to Beckmann, but the paintings still usually included bathers who are not depicted in the act of bathing, but walking along the beach or sheltering in cars or beach huts to observe nature. So, yes, it is storming, but the storm has not driven all the people out of the frame. The paintings from Beckmann’s Wangerooge stay in 1937 are a stark change. There is no more beach life to be seen, no bathers watching spellbound from their cars or huts or hotels as nature’s drama unfolds, no: there are no scenes of civilization or narrative episodes, there is only this: a deserted landscape. And black cloud banks that make even a cloud expert from Worpswede anxious. Inspired by his stay in Wangerooge, Beckmann painted three more pictures of the sea in the same format: “Nordseelandschaft I and II” and “Stürmische Nordsee,” none of which were painted there, however: the two former in Beckmann’s Berlin apartment next to the Tiergarten park while the latter was painted after his emigration, in Amsterdam. (It may be that Beckmann started his “Stürmische Nordsee” in Berlin before his emigration and then finished the painting in Amsterdam. I cannot say precisely, since sources differ on this point.) In any case, the painting “Stürmische Nordsee” did not originate in the typical Worpswede mode of production, in which the painter stood at an easel beneath the stormy sky and captured nature’s cosmic drama on the canvas; rather, Beckmann painted from memory and used postcards as well, but above all, we may presume that his material was: HIMSELF. I never saw the Worpswede sky-painters use such thick brushstrokes or paint such sinister clouds, and most notably, not a single one of my Worpswede masters ever painted from such a perspective. Where is Beckmann standing, anyway, the painter of this scene? Is he floating three meters above the ground? How can the land be viewed this way from a human perspective? Beckmann’s “Diaries 1940-1950” include the following entry from September 8, 1940: “Again, everything I have created and everything I have done is nothing but skins sloughed off from my self.” Psychological realism? Magic realism? An image of the sea as an image of the soul? Individualization of the subject? A seascape as an image of the soul or the metaphysical exaggeration of a dream scene, which nevertheless manages to be an expression of its time? On July 17, before the opening of the “Degenerate Art” exhibition, Beckmannn and his wife departed from Berlin-Tiergarten for Amsterdam, having packed lightly. “Émigré,” Beckmann would later note directly beneath the entry for “Stürmische Nordsee” in a list of his own works. The Worpswede painters all remained there except for Heinrich Vogeler. The clouds and skies of Otto Modersohn or Fritz Mackensen may have been stormy, but I searched their work in vain for skins “sloughed off from the artists’ selves” like Beckmann’s. Perhaps the Worpswede images represent the cloudy skies of repression, while Beckmann’s skies above Wangerooge became images of dark foreboding that anticipated the climes of National Socialism. The Worpswede painters repressed where Beckmann brought matters to the fore. In July 2014, I traveled from Worpswede to the island of Wangerooge, where I had not been since my childhood. Gerkens Strandhotel was there in Beckmann’s time as it was in my childhood, but today it is a 4.5 star hotel with a wellness program called “Balance & Spa,” which probably wouldn’t have helped Beckmann slough off any more of his own skins at the time. So there I was on Wangerooge exactly 77 years after Beckmann had been. I walked along the beach with my photocopy of Beckmann’s “Stürmische Nordsee” and his diaries. And just then I thought, yes, there is this Beckmann painting in which a vacationer has laid aside his beach reading, a book by Jean Paul, to look at the surf. If only Beckmann could see me now with the photocopy and his diaries! He would paint me immediately, and in one stroke—of this I was quite certain—I would become immortal. Me, in oil, on a large canvas, a famous beach scene with Beckmann’s diaries under my arm: Max and Moritz, the roiling sea, the sky... Instead, a dog stormed (yes, stormed!) at me, bit me on the calf and ran away to its owners, who hadn’t seemed to take any notice of this outrageous scene. Was I only imagining the bite? Bitten by a dog, bitten in the soul? No, no! Those were really tooth marks in my calf. The dog had clearly bitten me. I walked back to the beach terrace at Gerkens and stared at the marks. I had never been bitten by a dog before! Why now all of the sudden? On the beach on Wangerooge, carrying a painting by Beckmann?! In the train on the way back, I found an editorial note in the diaries and a Beckmann quote from a speech in 1947 to his painting class at Washington University. “Please always remember this. When you want to depict an object, two elements are required. First, the identification with the object must be complete, and second, something completely different would have to come into play. This second element is difficult to explain. Almost as difficult as finding one’s own self.” Moritz Rinke Originally published in: Grisebach. The Journal. Fall 2014, p. 36-38.