Tuesday, February 25, 1997
"Exiles and Emigres" looks at the artists who fled Hitler’s
reign of terror and the chaotic world that surrounded them.By
Kristin Fiore
Daily Bruin Senior Staff
"Exiles and Emigres: The Flight of European Artists from Hitler"
is not just an art exhibit or a history lesson. It is an exposition
on human nature, which is at once its most fascinating and
horrifying aspect.
Though World War II ended more than 50 years ago, the Nazi
invasions are forever a reminder of the power of racism, fear and
mass hysteria under the governing hand of a charismatic monster.
The massive exhibit, which runs at the Los Angeles County Museum of
Art through May 11, brings to light the struggles, distress,
dislocation and shards of remaining hope that plagued the victims
of Hitler’s tirade.
The artwork, of course, focuses on the artists and their
reaction to the violence and upheaval of the 1930s and ’40s. But
many other elements of the exhibit  films, immigration
papers, telegrams and government letters, political magazines and
texts  clearly convey that the artists’ frustrations and
stories are similar to those in almost every area and occupation.
Consequently, this exhibit reaches far beyond modern art and modern
art lovers. Its historical framework is not only a lesson the world
must never forget, but also a guide to often misunderstood and
baffling artists like Max Ernst, Wassily Kandinsky and their
contemporaries.
Despite the magnitude and gravity of portraying the world of and
around Nazi Germany, "Exiles" thoroughly explores the subject from
many angles, and it never attempts to exploit its violence. Though
there are many dramatic, even shocking, pictures of emaciated
prisoners and Nazi parades, none are gruesome beyond the inherent
atrocity they imply. The objectivity of many photos and documents
actually increases their impact, illustrating the callousness of
many social or political leaders and the reality of the events.
Nonetheless, they, and the exhibit in general, point a stern finger
at the U.S. and Western Europe for their inaction, in addition to
Germany.
The prevailing mood is one of disillusionment, isolation and
cynicism, though feelings of hope and defiance occasionally
interject. One of the most blatant and powerful examples of this
confidence appears in the first room. The Statue of Liberty, her
right arm raising the torch high overhead, is flanked on her right
by a Nazi soldier, whose extended arm in the "heil Hitler" pose
eerily replicates hers. This is a disturbing image, but the slogan
underneath, "Germany Yesterday, Germany Tomorrow," reveals the
message: the Nazis will soon be trampled by liberty. Unfortunately,
this 1939 brochure cover was a bit optimistic.
The art, essays, photographs and other media displayed are often
more personal than political. Emotional pleas in all languages
requesting the rescue of artists and other refugees lie in glass
cases next to rote government letters denying them. Despite the
fact that many of these documents decided the fate of a life, they
read like college rejection letters. The paintings, photomontages
and sculptures range from the geometric and inscrutable to the
frenzied and overtly political, reflecting the diverse experiences
and personalities of the artists. They are paired with informative
essays and historical remnants (photos, newspapers, etc.) that give
the viewer a well-rounded sense of the artists’ surroundings.
Despite its unusually large display of historical items, the
exhibit really is a "who’s who" of early twentieth century artists.
Aside from Ernst and Kandinsky, the exhibit features many works by
Marc Chagall, Max Beckmann, Salvador Dali, Fernand Leger and Yves
Tanguy, among others.
Two artists that take common but opposing routes are Tanguy and
John Heartfield. Tanguy’s surreal landscapes of the early ’40s (he
emigrated to New York in ’39) are even more desolate and unfamiliar
than Dali’s, with little or no human-related forms whatsoever. His
creatures (or constructions) sit motionless on endless desert
planes that hint at an emotional wasteland or apocalypse.
Rather than deal with the chaos around him, Tanguy retreated
into the inner world so many surrealists (and victims) sought for
comfort. His creations seem disjointed and confused, like Tanguy
and many artists felt after leaving their homeland. Many
ex-Parisians like Tanguy tried to rekindle their culture in New
York, but found little success. Most returned home after the war
ended with few ties to the United States.
Tanguy’s artistic opposite is Heartfield, whose frank, almost
"pop" photomontages made humorous but scathing comments on Hitler
and the U.S.’s involvement in the war. "American Melting Pot"
(1946) takes on an issue that has always been at the forefront of
U.S. politics. A massive pot hung over the shoreline of New York
City pours a sea of thousands of faces and nationalities onto its
borders. In reality, many of them would be sent back home to hide,
find other refuge or die. Heartfield seems to attack these grim
circumstances, while Tanguy runs from them in search of solace.
Other artists combine Tanguy’s imagination, Kertesz’s
condemnation and their own dramatic twists to create uniquely
jarring and expressive works. George Grosz’s paintings monopolize
almost an entire wall and, together, seem to tell the story of the
Nazi invasion through its characters. "The Wanderer" trudges
through a murky trail of leaves and mud, staff in hand, his
tattered coat fluttering at his knees. Far behind him, the scorched
sky is filling with the smoke of the distant fires that destroy his
homeland. He may be the future protagonist of "Remembering," a more
poignant painting of a man who leans over a staff, his coat draped
around him. Though others are warmly lit behind him, maybe by an
unseen fire, he sits alone with a complex look of strength and
acquiescence, wistfulness and deep thought. One wonders what long
gone family members and villages run through his mind.
Grosz portrays his villains with much less tenderness. One of
his more disquieting works is "Cain or Hitler in Hell" (1945),
whose title alone is a potent comment. Here, a man sits on an
island of death, wiping sweat from his brow. Skeletons, each no
bigger than his hand, clamor at his feet and step over the bodies
of their fellow dead. Hitler (or Cain?) almost appears to have a
glimmer of regret in his eyes, as his victims or fellow condemned
killers surround him. It is an unusual subject, as most of the art
focuses on the plight and future (or lack thereof) of the
victims.
While Grosz paints hell and likens Hitler to a demon, many
artists like Jewish emigre Marc Chagall liken the holocaust victims
to Christ. In the three Chagall paintings with this subject, it is
sometimes Christ on the cross, sometimes the Jews themselves. It is
an interesting metaphor, since the Jewish faith does not recognize
Jesus as the son of God, but here Jesus is the symbol of all who
are martyred for their religious beliefs.
Max Ernst’s many works also provoke connections and challenge
beliefs, but they use different symbols  some naturalistic,
some surreal. His paintings are among the most diverse,
imaginative, beautiful and disturbing. "Painting for the Young
People" portrays the impending loss of innocence of Hitler’s
youngest victims. It is divided into six areas, like window panes.
A tiny yellow canary sits behind bars in the narrow, central
rectangle, surrounded on both sides by weeds, vicious reptilian
creatures and unidentifiable insects. Though momentarily safe in
its "box," the bird is either confined for life or destined for
harm, much like many of those who hid from the Nazis, fled or tried
to shield the awful truth from their children.
All of these artists choose their own styles, their own symbols
and their own ways of coping with being uprooted, harassed and
distraught. The exhibit’s additional collection of political,
literary and personal remnants gives them all a point of
convergence and a context in which to understand their work. A film
shown within the exhibit and many shown in conjunction with it
bring the struggles to life and underscore how little the U.S. and
Western Europe did to save the refugees.
Ultimately, "Exiles" raises questions. What lapse of sanity
caused such a massacre, and could it happen again? Where do our
loyalties and obligations lie  in protecting our own country
and its interests, or in protecting all those in need? The exhibit
reminds us that our security and progression do not lie in
answering these complex and irresolvable questions, but in
continually asking them.
ART: "Exiles and Emigres: The Flight of European Artists from
Hitler" runs through May 11 at the Los Angeles County Museum of
Art. Open Tues.- Thurs. 10 – 5, Fri. 10 – 9, Sat. and Sun. 10 – 6.
Closed Monday. Adults $6, seniors and students with ID $4. For more
info, call (213) 857-6000 or visit the website at
http://www.lacma.org/.
Photos by LACMA
(r.) John Heartfield’s "American Melting Pot" shows the oceans
of refugees who tried to find safety on U.S. shores. (above) Marc
Chagall’s "Yellow Cruxifiction" compares Christ’s martyrdom and the
murder of Jews.LACMA
George Grosz’s "Cain or Hitler in Hell, 1945," showing at
LACMA.