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Posts Tagged ‘Holocaust’

Gerhard Richter and the Holocaust

In Art on December 21, 2014 at 8:42 pm

As you walk into the Richter exhibition at the Marion Goodman Gallery, you are immediately confronted by a glass sculpture. Seven huge panes of transparent, shiny glass stand at funny angles, leaning on each other, awkward and awesome. You notice odd reflections; if you stand in the right place you can see yourself, distorted. But the transparency means that it is easier to see the person you followed in, standing on the other side looking back at you. From behind this huge structure you feel free to observe that person, to spend a whole second – maybe more – looking at them. The sculpture is like a majestic peeping Tom’s window, distorted but not distorting, at least not ostensibly.

In the adjacent rooms are his ‘Flow’ paintings, swirls of bright coloured enamel paint behind glass, each one spanning more than one plate. The paint is seemingly arrested in chaotic movement. Your eyes follow the lines of this movement across from one plate to the next, and as they do you notice what had initially evaded your attention. Discontinuity. The lines don’t connect. Not quite. The impressions of fluidity of movement are replaced by discontinuity and disjunction. As you contemplate this, you realise you can see your own reflection again, your face caught up in discontinuous whirlpools. You turn away.

But in the next room, you find mirrors, darkened and smoky in parts. These are the grey paintings, grey paint behind glass. As there is no other colour to them, to survey the work you are forced to look at your own reflection, but through a smoky barrier. The detail of the painting seems somehow secondary. What matters remains cloudy and mysterious. There is an uncomfortable feeling of wanting to get in behind the painting in order to better see that image or representation. The painting conceals something, it hides you from yourself. And the more concealed you are, the more you want to look. When less concealed, when directly and undistortedly reflected, you feel a need to turn away.

To the ‘Strip’ paintings, inkjet printed colour charts, again on shiny, reflective plates. He calls these pieces “pictures”, as if he is depicting something. Robert Storr says they are his most “retinal” works. Looking at them certainly strains the eye. You can’t look for more than a few seconds. And, unlike the other paintings, the lines of colour are so intense that you cannot see your reflection. Following the mirrors and swirling colours, you wonder what discontinuities are present here? What is being concealed? Is abstraction itself a form of concealment?

It is. This is demonstrated by some of Richter’s most famous paintings, which do exactly this, conceal by abstracting, or at least obscure by abstracting. I am referring to the blurred paintings of photos. The subjects of the photos are often described as banal or random. The one painted here is far from being either. Four youths sit in a convertible Cadillac, joyfully cruising down an American highway. This is the apotheosis of mainstream American youth culture, as marketed in the 1950s. The same America that defeated Richter’s country of birth in war when he was 13. The same consumerist, ‘free’ culture that must have seemed so seductive to so many in the East Germany in which he grew up until he got out in 1961, just before the wall went up.

So with this historical perspective, you go upstairs and find a series of small photos that really are banal. Actual photos, not paintings of photos. Oddly composed landscapes that could’ve been taken in the English countryside. Houses. People, perhaps people on holiday. Some are ensconced in action without explanation. But they all have thick splodges of paint strewn across them, lending an air of absurdity to them. So not painted photos, but paint on photos, the paint not adding anything to them but just concealing whatever is behind the paint, sometimes in a maddening way. What is this photo actually of? What is going on here? Evocation is suggested but consciously frustrated.

So what is all this concealment about? Why the will to hide? (I use the word ‘hide’ aware of its transitive and intransitive potential.)

In my last post I mentioned that Adorno had once said it was barbaric to write poetry after the Holocaust. And I wondered about how you could really do anything after the contemplation of the Final Solution. This is what I was thinking about as I considered Richter’s work, what he was trying to conceal and why. Afterwards, I read this article by Peter Wollen in the LRB which focuses on Richter’s grey paintings of the Red Army Faction and their belongings. He quotes Richter as saying that grey is “suitable for illustrating ‘nothing’”, it is “the epitome of non-statement”. I think there is a link here between this idea of a statement that is effortfully made as a non-statement and hiding. In fact, I think they are basically the same thing. In order for a person to be confident of making a non-statement, he or she must know what a statement is, and do the obverse. (Of course, the existence of the non-statement as conscious non-statement makes it a statement as well.) Similarly, in order to conceal reality, one has to represent reality (e.g. in a conventional manner like a photo) and then obscure it (e.g. by blurring). The real becomes mysterious. Peter Wollen puts it like this:

He became attracted, even committed, to grey because it was ‘suitable for illustrating “nothing”’; because it was ‘the welcome and only possible equivalent for indifference’; because grey, ‘just like shapelessness etc, can only notionally be real’; because each picture ‘is then a mixture of grey as fiction and grey as a visible, proportioned colour surface’. In other words, grey is simultaneously both real and unreal, committed and uncommitted. In the grey photo-based work the real is given a ‘transcendental side’, each object has its own particular mysteriousness, becoming a metaphor as it melts away into an ‘incomprehensible reality’.

What is important to note is that the reality that is incomprehensible is not the one ‘out there’ in the world. It is the one created in the work. Whether this means that Richter truly thinks the reality ‘out there’ is incomprehensible, I am not sure. I think it is more likely that he thinks it is unacceptable. I am reminded of Levi’s friend in the Lager who has carved at the bottom of his bowl, “Ne pas chercher a comprendre”. Don’t try to understand.

Until 2008 (or was it 9/11?) the hegemonic way of assessing utopian ideologies was to associate them with catastrophic consequences. Nazism led to the Holocaust. Communism led to the Great Purge, the Cultural Revolution and the Killing Fields. Even the French Revolution was condemned. It led to the White Terror. Ideology breeds zealotry. Ideas have “a terrifying power” and it is this that he actively seeks to turn away from. Speaking of the Red Army Faction paintings, Richter said, “the pictures are also a leave-taking in several respects. Factually: these specific persons are dead; as a general statement, death is leave-taking. And then ideologically: a leave-taking from a specific doctrine of salvation and, beyond that, from the illusion that unacceptable circumstances of life can be changed by this conventional expedient of violent struggle.” The nihilism is palpable, but it does not seem philosophical. One takes leave from the things one finds difficult, not the things one uses logic to argue against. Philosophical nihilism turns away from things because they do not matter or even do not exist. Richter’s nihilism takes leave of things because they are unacceptable. He faces up by facing away. But as already mentioned, facing away or hiding from requires recognition that the thing you hide from exists in the first place. And that it matters. It may not be a mature response to difficulty, but it is something to work with.

I am not attempting to say that Richter’s work consciously tackles the Holocaust, its implications or consequences. But as a postwar artist who was born in Nazi Germany and has continued to live in Germany for most of his life, I do think that much of his work will have been informed by the same concerns as the rest of the country. How to face the horrors of what has happened here. How to get on with normal life, how to buy bread and milk after the gas chambers. (Nor am I saying that these are specifically German concerns. These are human concerns. But they will have been felt particularly acutely in postwar Germany.)

The aim of his work appears not to be to represent, to explore, to dig further into, to investigate. He wants to deliberately obscure. To take leave. To face up squarely is simply too much. Is this the only way to face the Holocaust? Must one hide from it? Must one remain consciously unconscious? On the way out, you return to the glass sculpture. It’s transparence is a shock of levity. The panes refract light, creating new ways of seeing. But at the same time, they are completely transparent. It is quite possible to see clearly through them. On the other side, you see a human looking back at you. In another direction, two grey mirrors. Again you can see your reflection, this time clearly.



The Drowned and the Saved

In Books, Politics, Theory on December 15, 2014 at 9:53 pm

From Primo Levi’s If This is a Man, an account of his time in Auschwitz. This is an excerpt from Chapter 9: The Drowned and the Saved.


What we have so far said and will say concerns the ambiguous life of the Lager. In our days many men have lived in this cruel manner, crushed against the bottom, but each for a relatively short period; so that we can perhaps ask ourselves if it is necessary or good to retain any memory of this exceptional human state.

To this question we feel that we have to reply in the affirmative. We are in fact convinced that no human experience is without meaning or unworthy of analysis, and that fundamental values, even if they are not positive, can be deduced from this particular world which we are describing. We would also like to consider that the Lager was pre-eminently a gigantic biological and social experiment.

Thousands of individuals, differing in age, condition, origin, language, culture and customs are enclosed within barbed wire: there they live a regular, controlled life which is identical for all and inadequate to all needs, and which is much more rigorous than any experimenter could have set up to establish what is essential and what adventitious to the conduct of the human animal in the struggle for life.

We do not believe in the most obvious and facile deduction: that man is fundamentally brutal, egoistic and stupid in his conduct once every civilized institution is taken away, and that the Haftling is consequently nothing but a man without inhibitions. We believe, rather, that the only conclusion to be drawn is that in the face of driving necessity and physical disabilities many social habits and instincts are reduced to silence.

But another fact seems to us worthy of attention: there comes to light the existence of two particularly well differentiated categories among men – the saved and the drowned. Other pairs of opposites (the good and the bad, the wise and the foolish, the cowards and the courageous, the unlucky and the fortunate) are considerably less distinct, they seem less essential, and above all they allow for more numerous and complex intermediary gradations.

This division is much less evident in ordinary life; for there it rarely happens that a man loses himself. A man is normally not alone, and in his rise or fall is tied to the destinies of his neighbours; so that it is exceptional for anyone to acquire unlimited power, or to fall by a succession of defeats into utter ruin. Moreover, everyone is normally in possession of such spiritual, physical and even financial resources that the probabilities of a shipwreck, of total inadequacy in the face of life, are relatively small. And one must take into account a definite cushioning effect exercised both by the law, and by the moral sense which constitutes a self-imposed law; for a country is considered the more civilized the more the wisdom and efficiency of its laws hinder a weak man from becoming too weak or a powerful one too powerful.

But in the Lager things are different: here the struggle to survive is without respite, because everyone is desperately and ferociously alone. If some Null Achtzehn vacillates, he will find no one to extend a helping hand; on the contrary, someone will knock him aside, because it is in no one’s interest that there be one more “mussulman” * dragging himself to work every day; and if someone, by a miracle of savage patience and cunning, finds a new method of avoiding the hardest work, a new art which yields him an ounce of bread, he will try to keep his method secret, and he will be esteemed and respected for this, and will derive from it an exclusive, personal benefit; he will become stronger and so will be feared, and who is feared is, ipso facto, a candidate for survival. [Levi’s footnote explains: ‘This word “Muselmann” I do not know why, was used by the old ones of the camp to describe the weak, the inept, those doomed to selection.’ By selection, he means transfer from the concentration camp to a death camp, i.e. extermination.]

In history and in life one sometimes seems to glimpse a ferocious law which states: “to he that has, will be given; to he that has not, will be taken away.” In the Lager, where man is alone and where the struggle for life is reduced to its primordial mechanism, this unjust law is openly in force, is recognized by all. With the adaptable, the strong and astute individuals, even the leaders willingly keep contact, sometimes even friendly contact, because they hope later to perhaps derive some benefit. But with the mussulmans, the men in decay, it is not even worth speaking, because one knows already that they will complain and will speak about what they used to eat at home. Even less worthwhile is it to make friends with them, because they have no distinguished acquaintances in camp, they do not gain any extra rations, they do not work in profitable Kommandos and they know no secret method of organizing. And in any case, one knows that they are only here on a visit, that in a few weeks nothing will remain of them but a handful of ashes in some near-by field and a crossed-out number on a register. Although engulfed and swept along without rest by the innumerable crowd of those similar to them, they suffer and drag themselves along in an opaque intimate solitude, and in solitude they die or disappear, without leaving a trace in anyone’s memory.

The result of this pitiless process of natural selection could be read in the statistics of Lager population movements. At Auschwitz, in 1944, of the old Jewish prisoners (we will not speak of the others here, as their condition was different), “kleine Nummer” low numbers less than 150,000, only a few hundred had survived; not one was an ordinary Haftling, vegetating in the ordinary Kommandos, and subsisting on the normal ration. There remained only the doctors, tailors, shoemakers, musicians, cooks, young attractive homosexuals, friends or compatriots of some authority in the camp; or they were particularly pitiless, vigorous and inhuman individuals, installed (following an investiture by the SS command, which showed itself in such choices to possess satanic knowledge of human beings) in the posts of Kapos, Blockaltester, etc.; or finally, those who, without fulfilling particular functions, had always succeeded through their astuteness and energy in successfully organizing, gaining in this way, besides material advantages and reputation, the indulgence and esteem of the powerful people in the camp. Whosoever does not know how to become an “Organisator,” “Kombinator,” “Prominent” (the savage eloquence of these words!) soon becomes a “musselman.” In life, a third way exists, and is in fact the rule; it does not exist in the concentration camp.

To sink is the easiest of matters; it is enough to carry out all the orders one receives, to eat only the ration, to observe the discipline of the work and the camp. Experience showed that only exceptionally could one survive more than three months in this way. All the mussulmans who finished in the gas chambers have the same story, or more exactly, have no story; they followed the slope down to the bottom, like streams that run down to the sea. On their entry into the camp, through basic incapacity, or by misfortune, or through some banal incident, they are overcome before they can adapt themselves; they are beaten by time, they do not begin to learn German, to disentangle the infernal knot of laws and prohibitions until their body is already in decay, and nothing can save them from selections or from death by exhaustion. Their life is short, but their number is endless; they, the Muselmanner, the drowned, form the backbone of the camp, an anonymous mass, continually renewed and always identical, of non-men who march and labour in silence, the divine spark dead within them, already too empty to really suffer. One hesitates to call them living: one hesitates to call their death death, in the face of which they have no fear, as they are too tired to understand.

They crowd my memory with their faceless presences, and if I could enclose all the evil of our time in one image, I would choose this image which is familiar to me : an emaciated man, with head dropped and shoulders curved, on whose face and in whose eyes not a trace of a thought is to be seen.

If the drowned have no story, and single and broad is the path to perdition, the paths to salvation are many, difficult and improbable.

The most travelled road, as we have stated, is the “Prominenz.” “Prominenten” is the name for the camp officials, from the Haftling-director (Lageraltester) to the Kapos, the cooks, the nurses, the night-guards, even to the hut-sweepers and to the Scheissminister and Bademeister (superintendents of the latrines and showers). We are more particularly interested in the Jewish prominents, because while the others are automatically invested with offices as they enter the camp in virtue of their natural supremacy, the Jews have to plot and struggle hard to gain them.

The Jewish prominents form a sad and notable human phenomenon. In them converge present, past and atavistic sufferings, and the tradition of hostility towards the stranger makes of them monsters of asociality and insensitivity.

They are the typical product of the structure of the German Lager: if one offers a position of privilege to a few individuals in a state of slavery, exacting in exchange the betrayal of a natural solidarity with their comrades, there will certainly be someone who will accept. He will be withdrawn from the common law and will become untouchable; the more power that he is given, the more he will be consequently hateful and hated. When he is given the command of a group of unfortunates, with the right of life or death over them, he will be cruel and tyrannical, because he will understand that if he is not sufficiently so, someone else, judged more suitable, will take over his post. Moreover, his capacity for hatred, unfulfilled in the direction of the oppressors, will double back, beyond all reason, on the oppressed; and he will only be satisfied when he has unloaded onto his underlings the injury received from above.

We are aware that this is very distant from the picture that is usually given of the oppressed who unite, if not in resistance, at least in suffering. We do not deny that this may be possible when oppression does not pass a certain limit, or perhaps when the oppressor, through inexperience or magnanimity, tolerates or favours it. But we state that in our days, in all countries in which a foreign people have set foot as invaders, an analogous position of rivalry and hatred among the subjected has been brought about; and this, like many other human characteristics, could be experienced in the Lager in the light of particularly cruel evidence.

About the non-Jewish prominents there is less to say, although they were far and away the most numerous (no “Aryan” Haftling was without a post, however modest). That they were stolid and bestial is natural when one thinks that the majority were ordinary criminals, chosen from the German prisons for the very purpose of their employment as superintendents of the camps for Jews; and we maintain that it was a very apt choice, because we refuse to believe that the squalid human specimens whom we saw at work were an average example, not of Germans in general, but even of German prisoners in particular. It is difficult to explain how in Auschwitz the political German, Polish and Russian prominents rivalled the ordinary convicts in brutality. But it is known that in Germany the qualification of political crime also applied to such acts as clandestine trade, illicit relations with Jewish women, theft from Party officials. The “real” politicals lived and died in other camps, with names now sadly famous, in notoriously hard conditions, which, however, in many aspects differed from those described here.

But besides the officials in the strict sense of the word, there is a vast category of prisoners, not initially favoured by fate, who fight merely with their own strength to survive. One has to fight against the current; to battle every day and every hour against exhaustion, hunger, cold and the resulting inertia; to resist enemies and have no pity for rivals; to sharpen one’s wits, build up one’s patience, strengthen one’s will-power. Or else, to throttle all dignity and kill all conscience, to climb down into the arena as a beast against other beasts, to let oneself be guided by those unsuspected subterranean forces which sustain families and individuals in cruel times. Many were the ways devised and put into effect by us in order not to die: as many as there are different human characters. All implied a weakening struggle of one against all, and a by no means small sum of aberrations and compromises. Survival without renunciation of any part of one’s own moral world apart from powerful and direct interventions by fortune was conceded only to very few superior individuals, made of the stuff of martyrs and saints.

We will try to show in how many ways it was possible to reach salvation with the stories of Schepschel, Alfred L., Elias and Henri…

Levi P. If This Is A Man. New York: The Orion Press; 1959, p.99-106

I have stopped there, but everyone would benefit from reading the whole book. In fact, I should be more forceful than that. Everyone should read this book. I think Adorno said something about writing poetry after the Holocaust being “barbaric”. Doing anything after reading about Levi’s experiences is certainly difficult. How does one think, how does one moralise, how does one act after the fact of the Holocaust? We are challenged to try to make sense of this. We must never forget that this happened.