In Love … With Myself

Online profiles are essentially shameless self-promotion – things you like, things you do, endless photos of yourself, etc. However, I find when my skinny friends post too many photos of themselves in swimsuits, or newly-engaged friends post endless photos of rings and partners, and my married friends post hundreds of photos of their new babies, I start to feel badly about myself. That’s not to say that I’m not doing cool things or that I want children (Any. Time. Soon.), but sites like Facebook have opened many doors to jealousy, self-loathing, and endless comparison of ourselves to others. Stop it!

 

Egon Schiele, Self-Portrait, 1910.
Gouache, watercolour, and black pencil, 44.3 x 30.6 cm.
Leopold Museum, Vienna.

 

You know who would have been shamelessly good at Facebooking and making his peers feel like underachieving sloths? Egon Schiele. He started drawing at a very young and tender age, and while progressing in style and skill throughout the years, he maintained his edgy, in-your-face view of society and the human body. Review the bold words. Anyone come to mind? Honey Boo Boo, right?! Based on the lives of so many other ‘child stars’ – who, mind you, were on written shows, not facing the nearly frightening, redneck reality of Macon, Georgia – how can we ever expect ‘normalcy’ for that poor girl?

 

Egon Schiele, Self-Portrait with Chinese Lantern Plant, 1912.
Oil and gouache on wood, 32.2 x 39.8 cm.
Leopold Museum, Vienna.

 

Fortunately, I suppose, depending on how you feel about overpopulation, the world is much better equipped to deal with plagues, flues, and cholera, and so we’re less likely to lose talented artists in their prime because of illness. I could argue that there are some “artists” that we could bear to mourn, but would likely do better to keep such opinions to myself. (I know you thought of someone!) We’ll just have to stick out this reality television and self-promotional social networking phenomenon until they blow over. Until then, read a book or go to a museum. Give Facebook a rest because, frankly, you’re annoying me.

 

Egon Schiele, Self-Portrait with Arms Pulled Back, 1915.
Charcoal and pastel, 44 x 32 cm.
E.W. Kornfeld Collection.

 

Schiele would have had an impossibly difficult time posting all of his crude and vulgar self-portraits on Facebook, and his friends would have been better off for it, despite their raw beauty and allure. See the way he transformed his work throughout his short life at The Metamorphoses of Egon Schiele, on permanent exhibition at the Leopold Museum, Vienna. Pick up this heart-wrenchingly illustrated book, Schiele by Jeanette Zwingenberger, for a closer look.

 

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Breaking up and making up

When I think of the relationship between Russia and Germany the first thing that comes to mind is Carrie and Mr Big or maybe Ross and Rachel for those of you that never dug into Sex and the City – in which case, shame on you. The on-again, off-again saga of their affairs is almost too much for the common person to handle.

They’re on – they’re politicking together and mutually militaristic; Russia is sharing her energy sources because of her dependence on Germany’s finances. If that’s not a relationship, I don’t know what is! And then Leo von Caprivi had to go and cut Russia out, ruining the three-way alliance with Austria. Certainly, they were on a break!

 


Albrect Dürer, Portrait of a Young Woman, 1505.
Oil on wood, 26 x 35 cm.
Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

 

They’re off – they’re warring against each other in WWI, ending with Germany helping to send in the dogs – rather Vladimir Lenin.

Shortly thereafter, they are back on due to social stigmatisation from the rest of the world, which is quickly ruined with Germany’s anti-Communist, anti-Slav rhetoric and Hitler’s invasion of the Eastern Front – leading to the bloodiest conflict in history. I think we can all agree Germany wasn’t the nicest kid on the block during this time.

 


Max Beckmann, Self-Portrait with a Scarf, 1917.
Oil on canvas, 80 x 60 cm.
Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, Stuttgart.

 

Slowly the two realised they had more in common than not after the fall of the Wall and Socialism. They’ve managed to remain amicable over the past 30 years – not discussing their differences, but revelling in their similarities.

It is in their similarities that we are able to see marks of Russia in Germany’s art, history, and culture, and vice-versa. Positive spurts and splashes of colour and light, sound and beauty, harmony between the two cultures. And isn’t that all the world needs right now? Harmony amongst the masses, a sharing of art and culture?

Go see Russians & Germans. 1000 Years of Art, History and Culture, on at the Neues Museum, now through 13 January 2012, for the nuances of the tumultuous millennium-long love affair between these two fascinating countries. Also, keep an eye out for German Painting by Franz Dülberg for even better insight into their artistic relations.

 

-Le Lorrain Andrews

 

 

Klimt, to love him, or leave him alone

Don’t get me wrong, Gustav Klimt was inherently remarkable at all of his accomplishments and I am fond of his work as well as those he influenced (even if they were on the brink of lunacy, Egon Schiele). However, to be quite honest, I’d never heard of him until approximately seventeen months ago – his impact on art history itself was miniscule in comparison with more notable greats. But suddenly he was all I read about and pieces of his art were unexpectedly in the strangest places. In celebration of his 150^th birthday (this past Saturday, to be exact), museums the world over are head-over-feet presenting his works to the public. Who is this man and why can’t I get away from him?

Not the first, and certainly not the last, truly erotic painter, I often find myself entranced by his pieces. The bright, glittery gold and patterns that would normally do in my neutral and solid coloured brain are unforgettable. Nevertheless, I find it difficult to separate the artist in the smock/robe/dress/thing from the philanderer (he had fourteen children, two also named Gustav, by different women!) who seems to have been in love with his muse. That he could be so lucky for her to love him back! Did she?


Gustav Klimt, The Kiss, 1907-1908.
Oil, silver, and gold on canvas, 180 x 180 cm.
Österreichische Galerie Belvedere, Vienna.


Gustav Klimt, Portrait of Emilie Flöge, 1902.
Oil on canvas, 181 x 84 cm.
Historisches Museum, Vienna.

What woman wouldn’t love a man that painted beautiful, timeless portraits of her? That referred to her as his treasure and life? The fact of the matter is that unless science finds some way to bring people back from the dead, not that I think Emilie Flöge and Gustav Klimt would be first on the list, her secret is dead and buried. I hope I have enough wherewithal to destroy all of my love letters before I die – it seems she’s certainly more interesting to talk about because of it, rather than women whose names I can’t pull from the recesses of my brain that wrote for pages and days of their undying love for their own philanderers. Thank you for being a role model for young women everywhere, Emilie; I hope you were happy.

If celebrating birthdays of long-dead people is something you’re in to, go to the Neue Galerie before 27 August to see Gustav Klimt: 150^th Anniversary, they are pulling out all of the stops – cakes AND cufflinks! But if you’re more like me and find celebrating the birth of a dead person morbid and disconcerting, enjoy his work in the privacy of your own home with these print and ebook collections: Klimt and Gustav Klimt. (I won’t judge you too harshly if you toast to him, I promise.)

-Le Lorrain Andrews