"Barely concealed beneath the surface of Expressionist [opera]… runs a feeling of horror that sometimes bursts out in an agonized cry."[i] Schoenberg’s Student: The Artistic Development of Alban Berg Alban Berg was an Austrian born student of the influential musician, Schoenberg. Born in 1885 to an affluent family, Berg had a tumultuous childhood when the family grew financially destitute following the death of his father. Berg struggled with school, having to repeat several grades and got into serious trouble when he had an affair with a kitchen maid at the age of seventeen that resulted in an illegitimate daughter.[ii] Despite the hardship of these early years, Berg learned how to play piano from his governess—igniting his passion for musical composition. By the time Berg was a teenager, he began composing and performing musical works for friends and family.[iii] Recognizing their brother’s love and talent for music, Berg’s brother and sister responded to a newspaper advertisement posted by a man named Arnold Schoenberg looking for musical pupils. Shortly thereafter, Berg began his formal musical training under Schoenberg in 1904.[iv] The two would develop a highly influential and extremely volatile student-teacher relationship over the next eleven years. Berg’s musical ability developed rapidly under Schoenberg’s tutelage. He was a constant presence during the creation of Schoenberg’s radically innovative atonal period. This ground-breaking musical style, which lacked a focal tone or key, helped shape the music of Berg’s future work. It was also during this time that Schoenberg created his gesamtkunstwerk, the Expressionist Opera: Die Glückliche Hand. Although the opera was not performed until 1924, it was conceived and written in 1908 when Berg was studying under the musical innovator. The influence of both Schoenberg’s atonal period and Die Glückliche Hand on Berg’s artistic development cannot be overlooked. In fact, early into their relationship Schoenberg openly criticized Berg’s initial lack of imagination. Regarding his student, Schoenberg stated that Berg’s “imagination could not work…he was absolutely incapable of writing an instrumental movement or inventing an instrumental theme.”[v] As a result, Berg was pushed creatively during this period by his mentor who was breaking every established rule found in Classical music. Within a few years, Berg wrote a musical composition that was later developed and used for his Expressionist opera, Wozzeck.[vi] Despite experiencing this artistic growth, Berg saw little work or success in his earlier career (1911-1915). Although he was no longer Schoenberg’s student he devoted much of his time towards the musical endeavors of his mentors rather than his own.[vii] He did earn notoriety, however, during a very controversial performance in March of 1913 when he composed a musical arrangement to the modernist poet Peter Altenberg’s scandalous poems. His mentor Schoenberg conducted the performance, but it resulted in a riot and fisticuffs that led to police action.[viii] From this point on, Berg’s desire to shock the bourgeoisie increased, as did his interest in new artistic styles. He fell in love with the avant-garde and befriended many of its leading artists including fellow Austrian composer Alexander von Zemlinsky (1871-1942) and painter Gustav Klimt (1862-1918). In 1914, Berg went to Vienna to see the first stage production of Georg Büchner’s (1813-1837) Woyzeck. Immediately upon seeing the play Berg exclaimed, “Someone must set this to music!”[ix] Later that year he began developing the opera that would become Wozzeck. While doing so, “Berg… [was] torn between awareness of his debt to Schoenberg and the need to assert his personal and artistic independence.”[x] He had yet to fully embark on an independent musical pursuit and Berg also knew that his volatile father-like relationship with his mentor was now inhibiting his creativity. By 1915, Berg decided to cease all communications with Schoenberg. His progress on Wozzeck the opera was still to be delayed when he was later called to serve in the Austrian Army the same year.[xi] Nonetheless, following the end of the Great War, Berg returned to his magnum opus, Wozzeck—the masterpiece that introduced Expressionism to the operatic stage. Wozzeck Wozzeck is an opera that personifies the Expressionist social conscious during the Interwar period. Based on Büchner's nineteenth-century play, the story describes the life and tragic fate of simple Wozzeck. Throughout the opera, he hovers on the brink of madness as he is subjected to both his lover’s infidelity and horrific experiments by the Doctor. Wozzeck is a soldier oppressed by poverty, brutally exploited by his superiors and humiliated by his unfaithful lover, Marie. Eventually, Wozzeck is driven insane, murders Marie and, ultimately, commits suicide. Berg's Wozzeck “embodies…the fullness of the torment of the soul that constituted Expressionism as a ‘worldview.’”[xii] The main character is isolated from society as he fails to make connections to those around him; Wozzeck waivers in and out of lucidity as hallucinations and reality become harder to separate. Berg created a “world without normality or humanity and peopled by grotesques, a haunted world of strange hallucinatory voices and visions of natural phenomena indifferent to the human tragedy being played out.”[xiii] German citizens identified with Wozzeck’s pain for they, too, felt the world was indifferent to their suffering—that the deaths of WWI had been rendered meaningless. Although Berg was inspired to write the play prior to the war, he did not finish composing the score or the libretto until 1921.[xiv] Thus, the bleak existence that constituted post-war society in Germany and Austria profoundly influenced the violent and tortured themes found throughout Wozzeck. As a result, it resonated powerfully with Berlin audiences when it premiered in December of 1925.[xv] Berg's introduction of Schoenberg's atonal and twelve-note system in Wozzeck allows the social commentary found within the opera to come to its full fruition. Berg fully conveys his Expressionistic worldview through the score’s jarring atonal sounds and ritualistic twelve-note progressions. The atonal language of Wozzeck, “constantly hovering on the edge of tonal confirmation, becomes a perfect metaphor for the emotional state of the opera’s chief protagonist” and post-war German society.[xvi] Citizens were still searching for meaning after the war, and many were left in broken emotional states that resembled Wozzeck or Kirchner in his Self-Portrait as an Invalid. The musical dissonance, created by the atonal score’s lack of an over-arching key or tone, symbolized the German people’s existential struggles at this time just as much as it represented Wozzeck’s emotional turmoil. Berg continued his social commentary on German Society in Wozzeck through another innovative musical device: the twelve-tone technique. As all notes are treated equally in the twelve-tone progression, it creates a sense of repetition, a feeling that the music will continue, but never evolve or reach resolution. The ritualistic nature of this musical style plays into the sense of fatalism that was so prevalent within Expressionism. Berg paints the tale of a society so consumed with moral decay, that the “disease is too far gone to remedy.”[xvii] Wozzeck is a good man, but the corrupt people within his life drive him into sharing their loathsome existence; the depravity is inescapable. Just like the musical notes being continuously repeated, so too will their actions. Society keeps marching on, but never changes, never evolves. During this time, many Germans felt that the new Weimar Republic was no different than the previous Wilhelmine Monarchy. Only a radical change could restore Germany to its former glory, but as Berg highlighted in Wozzeck, perhaps the opportunity for change was too late. All this had happened before, and it was probably going to happen again. “On We Go!”[xviii] Wozzeck declares ominously. Like the Expressionists before him, Berg proved to be eerily prophetic as Germany would continue in the footsteps of the past and march on towards another World War. Watch a later 20th-century rendition of Bergs masterpiece below Endnotes: [i] Padmore, “Expressionist Opera,” 47. [ii] “Alban Berg,” New Grove Dictionary of Music,” 312 [iii] Ibid. [iv] Ibid. [v] Ibid., 313. [vi] Ibid. [vii] Ibid., 314 [viii] Ibid., 315. [ix] Ibid., 316. [x] Ibid., 314. [xi] Ibid., 314-16. [xii] Biel, Total Expressionism, 40. [xiii] Douglas, “Alban Berg,” New Grove Dictionary, 317. [xiv] Biel, Total Expressionism, 40. [xv] Douglas, “Alban Berg.” New Grove Dictionary, 318. [xvi] Ibid., 317. [xvii] Padmore, “Expressionist Opera,” 44. [xviii] Ibid.
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British colonial powers played a very specific role within India, directly affecting Indian identity and the country's deep religious traditions. National resistance to these outside Western forces on Indian Culture has taken many shapes and forms throughout the years, most notably through art and cultural production. Here we will focus on the paintings by Abanindranath Tagore and the Bengal School of Art. The Bengal School of Art was a nationalist artistic movement that fought against Western conventions and depictions of the Orient. Artists like Tagore renounced all aesthetics that had been used to denigrate or romanticize India and strove to create a new identity that could further their cause for independence. Of primary concern for the school, was how to define a cohesive national identity that would help unify the peoples of India and empower them to fight for independence from the British Empire. Tagore and the Bengal School achieved this through various means, whether it was in aligning their aesthetics with indigenous Asian traditions or focusing the subject of their paintings on the important concerns of early twentieth-century Indians such as religion, history, family, and nationalism. The School depicted how Indians see themselves and most importantly, how they wanted to be seen. Their presented identity was constructed for themselves and a renunciation against the Western perspective forced upon them through the imperialistic lens of Orientalism. Studying art is a tangible way to examine the issues India and its peoples were grappling with during British rule. Unfortunately, non-Western art and its creators have historically been discussed through the orientalist eyes of Westerners rather than the natives themselves. Therefore, as a white, Western Christian, every attempt has been made to write analysis strictly based upon the presented information from the artists themselves or discussions raised in Indian exhibition catalogues and/or reviews, newspapers, and articles. This is not an examination of an "other," for it is not about the West. It is about India and how they strove to reclaim their identity through art in the midst of their struggle for independence.
Although Bharat Mata in the painting bears four arms and a halo as marks of divinity, this is a deity that is deeply humanistic. Dressed in a traditional sari and featuring the skin tone of an Indian woman, not the trademark blue of a deity, she is a true reflection of her people. In each of her outstretched arms are the necessities for a happy and healthy life in her land. One hand contains the food of the land; another is a strand of religious beads, vastra. She is also holding a piece of clothing to cover her people and a manuscript containing the Vedas, the foundation for India's native religions. Bharat Mata is a true mother to India as she provides for the spiritual and physical needs of all her people. A key message that Tagore is trying to convey within the painting is how closely Indian nationalism is tied to the religion of the land. National independence is both patriotic and religious duty for Indians. In addition, Tagore is not just depicting a goddess or a symbolic image of India. Rather, through this image, he is making a profound political statement that Bharat Mata, the mother goddess of India, not imperial Britain, will provide for her people. In the third century BCE, the emperor Asoka of the powerful Mauryan Dynasty unified India. In Asoka, Tagore conveys his nationalist ideals by reminding Indians of their historic past. India was once unified from within and was a great power because of its own ability and resources, not due to British (or Western) influences. India can once again reach a golden age, but attaining independence must come from national and religious unity among India's citizens. Yet again, religion is at the forefront of the nationalist message. Asoka is known historically for his conversion to Buddhism and spreading its ideals throughout the land with his pillars. The painting's most important religious message, however, stems from the distant temple in the background. Depicted as the Kashmir landscape, the temple is the Shankaracharya Temple sacred to both Hindus and Buddhists and repaired and restored by Sikhs. The temple is symbolic of religious unity between three of India's indigenous faiths. In the painting Asoka, Tagore highlights two imperative factors necessary for India to attain future independence: political and religious unity. The Bengal School of art and its forefather, Abanindranath Tagore, did not just focus on the pictorial message to convey their nationalist message; they also utilized the more subtle means of aesthetics. Little to no indigenous painting exists within India prior to the Mughal Dynasty and even then, the medium and style were imported from the Persian courts. Indian miniatures find their origins in Persia, not the motherland. Therefore, the Bengal School looked to their Far Eastern neighbors for influence. Having no style to truly call their own, Tagore and other artists of the Bengal School created a Pan-Asian aesthetic. Seeking to remove itself from the opulent materialism of Western Painting, the Bengal School wanted to reflect the spiritual nature so essential to the lives of native Indians. They felt it was best exemplified in the style of early Chinese paintings. Asoka is reminiscent of the paintings of China's Southern Song Dynasty, a period known for depicting spiritual and mystical pictorial landscapes that reflected the country's Neo-Confuscist ideologies. Tagore depicts such an image as Asoka sits atop a high peak gazing upon the land he unified. Asoka is like the wise old men of the Song paintings seeking out knowledge within a mystical landscape. Here Tagore creates a painting that is deeply spiritual and lacks a Western materialist perspective. Despite its exoticism, any trace of Western Orientalism is absent in Asoka's depiction. Although its style may not be indigenous, Asoka is painted in a style that is decisively not Western. It unifies Asia artistically through aesthetics while highlighting the importance of religion and spirituality. Tagore and The Bengal School of Art were keenly aware of the underlying political motives behind seemingly benevolent forces like artistic mediums and styles; thus, they successfully utilized their adroit ability to render a new Pan-Asian style in such a fashion that would only further their nationalistic ideals. Religion is inseparable from Indian Culture and the lived experience. In Ganesh-Janani, Tagore depicts a loving Parvati playing with her son Ganesh within the Indian landscape. The deep-rooted connection between indigenous faith and the land of India itself is apparent. These deities dwell within the motherland; India is their home. This a point further emphasized with Mount Kailasa in the distance. This painting does not just depict two deities living within India, but rather expresses that the native religions of India are engrained in the land. India is infused with religious and spiritual meaning that must be harnessed and recognized for the sake of its future independence. Furthermore, Tagore once again does not depict a goddess, Parvati, in the traditional manner of a blue-skinned deity. Rather, she is simply a loving mother playing with her child. Continuing to break away from Western artistic ideals, Parvati may be idealized, but Tagore ensures that she is not exoticized. Parvati, in fact, could be any Indian woman. India: its gods, land, and people are all being depicted through the eyes of Tagore, an Indian, not the Orientalist eyes of a Westerner. The Bengal School of Art renounced the mediums used within Western forms of art and chose a more indigenous form of painting. Therefore, the artists within the school no longer used oils. Tagore looked to India's oldest surviving paintings, the caves of Ajanta for inspiration. The ancient artists of the caves used a medium called gouache, also a popular medium for Persian miniatures. However, the medium was embraced not out of familiarity, but for its roots to the artists of ancient India. Nearly all of Tagore's paintings, including Ganesh-Janani, are painted in gouache. Just as the artists of The Bengal School of Art returned to its roots for inspiration, so too must Indians return to the historic origins of their homeland to find a path to national independence. Twilight was far less politically motivated for Tagore than other paintings created within The Bengal School of Art. The painting subtly hints at the fading British Empire, that their time will indeed end. Yet, this is not the focus of Twilight. It is an illustration conveying the deep instilled Indian values of family. Here Tagore paints himself in discussion with his aging artistic uncle, Rabindranath Tagore, atop their family home in Calcutta. The two share a bond of mutual respect and love as Rabindranath passes along his knowledge and experience to Abanindranath. Family is a primary foundation to the lives of all Indians, but it must also remain of the utmost important as India navigates through the rough journey of independence. As knowledge continues to be shared from the wise elders to the active youths of India, then Twilight will end, and along with it, the reign of the British Empire. A new dawn for India will begin and the importance of family will continue to endure. The Lenten Season is officially upon us, embodied by a spirit of reflection and repentance leading to the Celebration of Easter on April 16th. As there is an undeniable influence of Christian theology on the history of art, every Sunday of Lent we will explore art with distinctly Christian themes in a methodology known as visual theology. Some posts will contain brief biographical, iconographic and/or formal analysis as well. The Gospel: written by man through divine inspiration as the living Word of God. For centuries, the Church has been focused on the divine origins of the holy Bible, even creating an entire artistic genre to represent the process. Most artistic representations of these inspirations were formulaic, until one artist provided a spark of life that shook the very foundations of the artistic tradition. Baroque painter, Caravaggio, challenged the centuries old formula of depicting the divine inspiration of the Gospels, while returning to the theological importance behind capturing the Word of God. His provocative interpretation, however, was met with harsh criticisms within the Church. Although adhering closely to traditional Biblical exegesis, Caravaggio's first Inspiration of Saint Matthew, Saint Matthew and the Angel, was rejected for failing to conjure an image that properly embodied the ideals of the Counter-Reformation. The Inspiration of Saint Matthew was painted for the Contarelli Chapel in the Roman church of San Luigi dei Francesi. Named after its patron, Cardinalate Matteo Contarelli, the chapel had a tumultuous history filled with a deceased patron, involvement of the papacy, lawsuits and several artists leaving incomplete works in the forty years prior to Caravaggio’s involvement. As a relative unknown artist who had yet to prove himself publicly, Caravaggio was approached by Virgilio Crescenzi, the heir of the deceased Cardinalate Contarelli, to paint two lateral narrative scenes on Saint Matthew for the chapel. A contract was signed on July 23, 1599 for a price of 400 scudi and Caravaggio promised to deliver two monumental paintings. Nearly a year later, Caravaggio finished the two paintings, The Calling of St. Matthew and The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew; his artistic genius became infamous. Caravaggio’s reputation was set and he developed into the most sought after artist in Rome. The Contarelli Chapel was the spark that ignited the light of Caravaggio’s career. His paintings were so well received that two years later, when Flemish artist Jacques Cobaert’s unfinished sculpture of St. Matthew for the chapel’s altar was finally installed and abruptly removed less than a month later, he was the first choice to create the new replacement. So on February 7, 1602, Caravaggio signed a contract for 150 scudi to paint an altarpiece of a seated Saint Matthew receiving divine inspiration from an angel. The painting was to be completed by May 23 of the same year, in time for Pentecost. Less than three months later Caravaggio produced his first Inspiration of Saint Matthew. Titled: Saint Matthew and the Angel, Caravaggio created a masterpiece of divine humanization that continues to be one of the most controversial paintings of his prolific career. Caravaggio’s Saint Matthew and the Angel embodies his mastery of creating tangible relationships with the divine. Matthew sits on the left cross-legged at a desk as an angel stands before him to the right guiding his hands as they write the Hebrew that appears upon the page. Eyebrows raised and forehead wrinkled, the Evangelist stares in amazement as the ancient text appears before him. When the painting was rejected it was immediately acquired by Marchese Giustiniani for his private collection. Sadly, it eventually ended up in Berlin and was destroyed during of the allied bombings of 1945. There are no commentaries that describe the colors of Caravaggio’s masterpiece. All that remain are black and white photographs and their color enhanced counterparts. Regardless, his characteristic exaggerated form of chiaroscuro, commonly referred to as tenebrism, creates striking contrasts of light and shadow cast upon Matthew and (slightly so) upon the angel. This intense handling of shading and lighting enhances the sculptural qualities of both figures, reinforcing their three-dimensional forms. One can almost grab Matthew’s foot as it appears to project forward from within the canvas towards the viewer. Figural appearance is essential to understanding Caravaggio’s provocative and unique artistic style, and never more so than within Saint Matthew and the Angel. While the androgynous angel is soft and ethereal as any heavenly being should be, Caravaggio’s depiction of Matthew is quite unconventional. The saint resembles a 17th century Italian peasant with his bare feet and gnarled beard. What is captured so beautifully within Saint Matthew is a key reason why the Church rejected the painting. Caravaggio created a saint that is both tangible and identifiable; he humanized the sacred. Although Caravaggio was criticized for such a blasphemous image of Saint Matthew, his depiction of the Evangelist adheres closely to biblical tradition. Biblical descriptions of the apostles portray men who lived on the fringes of society. After their calling and turn to discipleship, Christ urged them to give up all possessions and live off the generosity of others as they spread the Good News. Matthew and the other apostles were not men of means, or classical scholars as centuries old tradition has chosen to depict them. Rather, they were humble first century Jews seeking the treasures of God’s Kingdom, not the Earth’s. As a result, Matthew is an early Christian whose life transcends space and time allowing him to relate to Caravaggio’s 17th century audience as much as first Century Jews and Gentiles. Therefore, in his first depiction of the Evangelist in Saint Matthew and the Angel, Caravaggio creates a saint that “emphasizes the historical roots of the church, its universality and its tradition.” Matthew’s relatability and humility is further emphasized in his childlike wonder at the divine inspiration that surrounds him. Caravaggio clearly depicts Matthew in a state of awe and wonder as “divine revelation ends his earthly ignorance.” His form emerges from the shadows into the light as he too, emerges from the shadows of ignorance. Humility and divine inspiration go hand in hand as Matthew expresses a childlike earnestness to receive God’s Word. He becomes the living embodiment of Christ’s words: “Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” Caravaggio reveals that the greatness of Matthew lies not in his wealth, rank or scholarly pursuits, but rather in his willingness to humble himself before God and achieve divine wisdom through his acceptance of earthly ignorance. Therefore, the angel is not an indication of Matthew’s illiteracy, but his readiness to be a vessel for God. In addition, this stresses the divine origin of the Hebrew text and Matthew’s gospel. Saint Matthew and the Angel is more than just a painting depicting the inspiration of Matthew’s Gospel; it is an allegory for a relationship with the divine, with God. Caravaggio “makes the supernatural actual and establishes a direct rapport between the scene and the spectator to identify with the mystery being portrayed.” Yet, the Catholic Church did not view Caravaggio’s revolutionary depiction in such esteemed light. They criticized his painting, as have many throughout the centuries for not only going against decorum, but for being inherently blasphemous. The first Inspiration of Saint Matthew met immediate criticism. Matthew’s “gross and vulgar appearance [was] matched only by his illiteracy.” The dawn of the 17th century was the height of the Counter-reformation for the Catholic Church. If they were going to be chastised by Protestants for their religious imagery, especially of the saints, then all religious paintings were required give to the proper reverence and glory necessary to justify representations of the divine. Saint Matthew and the Angel did not meet those requirements. While Caravaggio emphasized the humble means of the Evangelist, an interpretation consistent with the Bible, Matthew was traditionally treated as a scholarly man of letters. Therefore, his apparent illiteracy read like an insult as Matthew appeared to “struggle with the ‘difficult’ task of writing.” In addition, Caravaggio’s humanist depiction of the saint was not viewed as touching or even relatable, but terribly ‘uncouth.’ Most off-putting of all was not Matthew’s bulbous head, or rough exterior, but his bare feet. That Caravaggio “brought a peasant’s soiled foot into the vicinity of the priest’s hands as he elevated the Host during mass” was revolting. Several critics believe, however, that Caravaggio was not depicting a dirty bare-foot ‘country bumpkin,’ but Socrates as he had been portrayed within Raphael’s School of Athens. The philosopher was known for walking barefoot and claiming the acknowledgment of ignorance as the source of his wisdom. Nonetheless, whatever Caravaggio’s inspiration, it was unacceptable to grace the altar of the Contarelli Chapel. Moreover, the disheveled appearance of Matthew made the physical contact between the divine being and the Evangelist vulgar. An angel would never have made such contact with this individual. Despite the disparaging differences in theological perspectives that lead to the ultimate rejection of Caravaggio’s painting, one complaint was purely aesthetic. Caravaggio’s Calling of St. Matthew and Martyrdom of Saint Matthew were completed two years prior to the first Inspiration. Therefore, the Church intended for their Matthews to be consistent in their physical depictions. While Matthew’s face is consistent between the two lateral paintings, the Matthew of the Inspiration appeared to be an entirely different individual. Caravaggio’s patrons sought consistency. While the Church failed to see the biblically inspired humility of Caravaggio’s Saint Matthew and the Angel, there was a key theological component that ensured the painting’s refusal. The original commission called for divine inspiration. Although the Bible is the living word of God, it was ultimately written by man. Caravaggio’s first Inspiration appears to removes all autonomy from Matthew as the angel is directly controlling the written word. This can be interpreted allegorically as the divine pouring into and working through Matthew, but contemporary beliefs were that the angel was dictating Matthew's writings. Therefore, in an effort to emphasize St. Matthew’s humility and relationship with God, Caravaggio made the heavenly relationship too tangible. Thus, focusing on the painting’s aesthetic shortcomings in light of the current challenges the Catholic Church was facing during the Counter-Reformation, Caravaggio’s Saint Matthew and the Angel could not hang in the altar of the Contarelli Chapel. Since Caravaggio’s first Inspiration of Saint Matthew “pleased no one,” he was forced to make a decision. There was a special clause to the contract he signed stating, “If for any reason the Church’s abbott rejected the painting, the artist agreed to pay for a replacement.” Rather than pay for another artist to have their work hang inside Contarelli’s altar beside his artwork, Caravaggio opted to paint a replacement. After changing his painting to meet the desires of the Church and reflect a greater adherence to traditional renderings of the subject, Caravaggio’s second version of the Inspiration of Saint Matthew was accepted by the Church and subsequently hung in the altar. It was finished prior to the May 23rd deadline and still hangs in the Contarelli Chapel today. Upon completing his second Inspiration of Saint Matthew, Caravaggio became the most sought after painter in Italy. His lifestyle caught up with him several years later when he was involved in a duel outside of Rome in 1606 that resulted in the death of another man. He was condemned as a murderer and a bando capitale was decreed. A bounty was placed upon his head and anyone within the Papal States had the right to kill him. Only his head was needed to claim the bounty. Caravaggio roamed from Malta, Sicily and Naples for the next four years, eventually dying in the small town of Porto Ercole while racing to track down a boat that held three of his paintings. According to the terms set by Scipione Borghese, the paintings were to serve as the price of his bounty and allow for his return to Rome. Despite living a brief life plagued by controversy and consumed with the profane, Caravaggio was an artistic genius responsible for painting some of the Western world’s most theologically profound works of art. Although what the Church wanted for the Contarelli Chapel varied greatly from what Caravaggio depicted, his first Inspiration, Saint Matthew and the Angel, portrayed a saint that is the Christian ideal of humility and a symbol of divine grace. Just as Christ was rejected for not embodying the image of a Jewish king, Caravaggio’s Saint Matthew and the Angel was rejected for failing to portray Matthew as the ideal of sainthood. Yet, Caravaggio understood what the Church did not. “And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Caravaggio’s first Matthew is not a king, a noble or a scholar; he is a simple man who has received divine inspiration for he has chosen to humbly walk beside his God. Chorpenning, Joseph F. "Another Look at Caravaggio and Religion." Artibus et Historiae 8, no.
16 (1987): 149-158. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1483305. Graham-Dixon,Andrew. Caravaggio: A Life Sacred and Profane. New York: Penguin, 2010. Hess, Jacob. "The Chronology of the Contarelli Chapel." The Burlington Magazine 93, no. 579 (1951): 186-201. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/870607. Lavin, Irving. "Divine Inspiration in Caravaggio's Two St. Matthews." The Art Bulletin 56 (1974): 59-81. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3049196. Lavin, Irving. "A Further Note on the Ancestry of Caravaggio's First Saint Matthew." The Art Bulletin 62 (1980): 118-119. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3049964. Spike, John T. Caravaggio. New York: Abbeville Press, 2001. Thomas, Troy. "Expressive Aspects of Caravaggio's First Inspiration of Saint Matthew." The Art Bulletin 67, no. 4 (1985): 636-652. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3050848. Vodret, Rossella. Caravaggio: The Complete Works. Milan: Silvana Editoriale Spa, 2010. "If this film…can help to point out, like a hand upraised to warn and to exhort, the unknown danger that stalks us, the chronic danger—the constant presence among us of men with unhealthy or criminal tendencies—then it will have accomplished its primary function…." -Fritz Lang on the purpose of creating M At the dawn of a new decade, the Weimar Republic was in ruin, and the National Socialists Party “declared itself best suited to renew Germany.”[i] Originally named the German Worker’s Party, the group identified its “worker” as the heroic frontline soldier giving his life and honor to his country. Shortly after the group was formed in 1919, a decorated WWI soldier by the name of Adolf Hitler (1889-1945) joined the party. By 1921, he became the face of its ideologies and ultimately its leader.[ii] It took many years for Hitler and the National Socialists to rise to power within Germany. Yet, despite several failed elections they still held a hypnotic grip on thousands of German citizens. They waited until the precise moment when all was not well in the Weimar Republic. Through strategic use of propaganda and playing upon the pervading psychological fears of the German people, Hitler and the National Socialists Party eventually gained the power they sought. Hitler stoked the flames of the “stabbed-in-the-back” myth and spoke of seeking revenge on the traitors who did so: the Jews and Bolsheviks. In addition, the National Socialists’ largest demographic was the working-middle class, the very people who were destroyed by the extreme inflation instated years earlier by Weimar leadership.[iii] This became an increasingly volatile period as fears were exploited and paranoia increased through frenzied Socialist rhetoric that promised a regenerated Germany. Many felt Hitler would indeed restore their country to her glory years, while others feared him and the party’s seemingly ruthless tactics for supreme power. Prior to Hitler and the Nazi’s seizing total control over Germany and its cultural production, an Austrian filmmaker by the name of Fritz Lang (1890-1976) created an Expressionistic warning to the dangers that lie ahead in the 1931 film, M. As earlier films, like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, commented on the depraved state of Germany after the First World War, films such as Fritz Lang's M depicted how Interwar society would lead to the next. By 1931, Hitler was swiftly rising to full power—a mere two years before being named Germany's Fürher. He thrived during the Interwar period by fostering an atmosphere of suspicion and terror. Many citizens turned on each other based on a mere implication or innocent action. Lang beautifully captures this heightened sense of danger and paranoia in 1930s Germany. Although M is not as stylized as Caligari, it still creates an atmospheric labyrinth filled with threats hidden within the shadows of every razor-sharp angle [Figure 1]. Highly representative of future life under Hitler and the increasing disintegration of the German people, M pointed towards the future with a prophetic power.[iv] M begins with the shadow of a man greeting a young girl in the city of Berlin. Through a poignant montage highlighting the girl's absence from her home, the viewer learns that the child has been murdered. She is but one of many children to have been mysteriously killed over the past few months. As the deaths increase, so does the tension within the city. Everyone suspects their neighbor, believing each and every man or woman to be the concealed predator that is preying upon their children. Police unsuccessfully search Berlin by raiding the seedy underbelly of the city, believing it to be the hidden whereabouts of the murderer. Soon the city's underground crime lords, led by a man named Schränker, take up the campaign of searching for the murderer, worried that the continuous raids will be bad for business. Meanwhile, the killer is revealed to the viewer—a simple man named Hans Beckert [Figure 2], who makes grotesque faces in mirrors to try and reveal the monster he knows himself to be. Eventually, Beckert is identified as the killer by his trademark whistle and a chase ensues. It is a race between the Law and Berlin's criminal underground as they both pursue the frightened Beckert through the angular nighttime shadows of Berlin. Ultimately, he is captured by the criminals and tried in an underground "court of law." Beckert's angst-ridden monologue to the people of the "courts" is full of turmoil, as he claims that he has "no control over this, this evil thing inside me."[v] Just as the jury of his peers begins to riot and take the law into their own hands, Berlin's police officers step in and take Beckert to the true court of Law. As the film concludes, it becomes apparent that what initially appears to be a statement about mental health and the judicial system is actually an incisive critique of Hitler and the imminent collapse of the Weimar Republic. True to Expressionism, M is a film of shadows. In the film's opening scene, the viewer's first glimpse of Beckert is his silhouette cast upon a wanted poster [Figure 3]. Shadows are a recurring motif throughout M. Every character seems to either inhabit or emerge from the shadows—living within the darkness that has consumed them. Therefore, it is quite intentional that the men who form the criminal underground--as well as Beckert--are the characters most frequently shot as "men seen in shadows."[vi] In addition, this form of shadow play heightens the sense of an imminent threat lurking within the darkness. Paranoia only increased after the war and with the rise of Hitler. There was always a fear of a concealed enemy, like Beckert, waiting to attack a fellow German citizen. A group of men discussing the murderer in M eloquently capture this pervasive mindset when one states, "the danger is often hidden… [the] danger which always threatens."[vii] Furthermore, the chase scene showcases Berlin as a city of angles filled by an all-encompassing blackness, a dark maze that consumes Beckert, the criminals, police officers as well as the viewer. Indeed, the entire set is encumbered by long shadows that cast themselves upon the foreground, slowly encroaching on the space of the viewer. Berlin was the seat of Hitler, it was a city filled with deceit and political corruption during the 1930s. Lang accurately captures the ominous spirit of the city through his Expressionistic use of shadow. Heavily influenced by The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Lang elaborates on the earlier film's profound stylistic influence to further comment on Berlin and Germany's foreboding pre-war atmosphere. The atmospheric depiction of Berlin in Lang’s M is the “portrait of a diseased society;”[viii] It is a city filled with menacing shadows, stark lighting and labyrinthine streets; Berlin is claustrophobic and its people are filled with moral decay. Bright whites are juxtaposed against deep blacks and buildings become mazes that devour all who enter. Camera angles crop rooms and the individuals within them, forcing the viewer to become part of the film’s anonymous crowd. Scenes are shot either in extreme close-ups, creating a feeling of intense claustrophobia, or from a voyeuristic perspective, as though “sinister surveillance”[ix] was being conducted by a hidden predator. Both camera shots serve to heighten the anxiety felt by the viewer as the film progresses, for this is the state in which Germans were living during the final years of the Interwar period. The pervasive sense of unease and distrust stems from the fact that the Weimar Republic was collapsing from within. Beckert as the murderer symbolizes the pathological infestation overtaking individuals and how it was bringing German society “to the point of disintegration.”[x] Lang comments on the impending collapse as a result of this moral depravity when an innocent old man is falsely accused of being the suspected murderer by his fellow German citizens. He is horribly beaten as the scene captures the frenzied mob-mentality that is bred from heightened mistrust. In Pre-World War II Berlin, everyone suspected their neighbor of being Jewish, a Bolshevik or some other form of dangerous revolutionary. M is an Expressionistic “reflection on the gathering storm that was to sweep away Germany’s first democracy.”[xi] Yet, the ambience of M is less Expressionistic than The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari because the focus of the film is on the people. Berlin is a real, three-dimensional city, not as flat or angular as Caligari’s town of Holstenwall. Thus, Lang saves his Expressionistic distortions for his characters as Beckert and the crime boss Schränker come to symbolize all that is wrong with 1930s German society. Beckert as a film character embodies the “imprisoned spirit… [and] panic stricken souls,”[xii] that defined Interwar German Expressionism. His face is presented in a series of exaggerations that reveal his troubled soul. Indeed, even the actor chosen to play Beckert, Peter Lorre (1904-1964), was known for his distinctive voice and large, unusual eyes. The final scenes of M include Lorre’s tormented confession as Beckert But I… I can’t help myself! I have no control over this, this evil thing inside of me, the fire, the voices, the torment! … It’s there all the time, driving me out to wander the streets, following me, silently, but I can feel it there. It’s me, pursuing myself! I want to escape, to escape from myself! But it’s impossible. I can’t escape, I have to obey it. I have to run, run… endless streets. I want to escape, to get away! And I’m pursued by ghosts. …Don’t want to, but must! And then a voice screams! I can’t bear to hear it! I can’t go on! I can’t… I can’t… [xiii] Lorre delivers the lines through “exaggerated vocal inflections”[xiv] and distorted features. He claws at his face, unable to escape the infection within him. Beckert’s cries of pain, confusion and mercy as he holds his face arouses the same “interior psychic event”[xv] as Edvard Munch’s The Scream (Figures 4 & 5). Ultimately, Beckert is representative of every German, suffering from the societal corruption that has taken over the country. It is inevitable, it is too late—they can no longer escape Yet, Beckert is also symbolic of the disease as well as the crisis that is overtaking German society. Who will catch Beckert poses a crucial question: Who can save Germany: the leaders of Weimar Republic or Hitler and his Nazis?[xvi] M is not a police procedural about capturing a child murderer, but rather social commentary on the current state of Germany in the 1930s. It is the battle between the current leaders of the Weimar Republic and the rising National Socialists Party, as both seek to find the means to restore stability back to Germany. M’s police officers operate within the law and the realm of rationality, like the leaders of the Weimar Republic; this is sharply contrasted by the criminals who reflect the Nazis in their ruthless tactics. They operate outside of the law and see results based on their exploitation of fears and paranoia. Crime lord Schränker’s frenzied speech and rhetoric refers directly to Hitler’s signature style as he calls for the eradication of the problem troubling Berlin. “This monster has no right to live. He must disappear. He must be eliminated without pity, without scruples!”[xvii] Throughout the film Beckert is repeatedly referred to as a brute, beast or animal. He is described as subhuman, just like the Jews of pre-war Germany.[xviii] For Schränker, the problem is Beckert, for Hitler the problem was the Jews and Bolsheviks. M depicts Schränker as Hitler and the criminal underground as the Nazi Party. They ruthlessly pursue what they feel is the source of Germany’s disintegration and persuasively convince others to follow their plan of action. Initially, even the viewer is seduced by Schränker’s words and methods. Beckert is a child murderer after all. Every German citizen just wanted what was best for their country, wanted to restore it back to its proud pre-war prominence. Therefore, eradicating the source of the problem appears only necessary. Yet, the film asks, at what cost should this path be pursued? Released a little more than a year before Hitler assumed full control over Germany, M is a film that tries to warn against the dangers of life under Nazi rule. The viewer senses how much “Lang hated the people around him, hated Nazism, and hated Germany for permitting it.”[xix] Originally, M was to be entitled Murderers Among Us, but Lang faced pressure from the Nazi’s to change the film title. Minister of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels (1897-1945), believed the title to be a direct reference to the Nazi Party, and rightly so.[xx] Indeed, it is quite shocking that Hitler and the Minister of Propaganda even allowed such a film to be produced if they felt the name itself was threatening to their political image. Nonetheless, it was the last film directed by Lang to be shown in Germany and one of the last forms of Expressionism ever allowed within Interwar society.[xxi] Two years after M’s release, Hitler became Fürher and assumed full control over Germany’s art and cultural production. Lang claimed to have fled Germany in the night after Goebbels simultaneously informed him his film, The Testament of Dr Mabuse, was being banned and that the National Socialists intended for him to become the head of the country’s film studio. The Third Reich eventually denounced Expressionism as a form of “degenerate” art, touting it as the artistic production of the psychologically abnormal. Hitler ensured Expressionism’s eventual death by placing its artists at the forefront of his Degenerate Art Exhibition in 1937. The Exhibition included over 600 modernist works and was the counter point to the First Annual Exhibition of Great German Art. Despite the claims made by Hitler and his art exhibition, it is possible that he did not disapprove of Expressionism’s “degenerate” distortions; rather as a master of propaganda himself, Hitler fully understood the power wielded by Expressionist artists such as Lang. Expressionism had to be eliminated because these men were the prophets of Interwar Germany, boldly warning against the dangers of depraved men like Hitler and the “apocalyptic purge” they would bring in the form of the next world war. Figure 1 Figure 2 Figure 3 Figure 4 Figure 5 [i] Schivelbusch, Culture of Defeat, 239
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