Trials, Tribulation and Triumph

Prologue and Everyone has a History Chapter 1

Prologue

Nazi's Modern Art Purge

On July 18, 1937, the Nazis put on what was to become an annual art show—the "Great German Art Exhibition," in Munich's Haus der Kunst. The images on display included classical and pastoral images, realistic portraits and still lifes, nudes, landscapes and images out of German mythology. The following day, a companion exhibition opened nearby. Called the "Degenerate art" exhibition, it was a collection of more than 650 paintings and artworks confiscated from German museums representing Impressionism, Dadaism, Cubism, Surrealism, Expressionism and all the "Modern" movements that defined 20th-century art; everything, essentially, that the Nazis deemed dangerous to the "Thousand-Year Reich" and the mental health of the German people.

The exhibit (in various iterations) traveled to a total of 13 German and Austrian cities between 1937 and 1941 before its paintings—masterpieces by Paul Klee, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Max Ernst and others—were destroyed or sold, along with more than 21,000 objects purged from state-owned museums.

Whereas it was forbidden to export "Degenerate art" to Germany, it was still possible to buy and sell artworks of "degenerate artists" in occupied France. The Nazis were not concerned about Frenchmen's mental health. As a consequence, many works made by these artists were sold at the main French auction house during the occupation. However, a large amount of "Degenerate art" by Picasso, Dalí, Ernst, Klee, Léger and Miró was destroyed in a bonfire on the night of July 27, 1942, in the gardens of the Galerie Nationale du Jeu de Paume in Paris.

While the destruction of "Degenerate art" had a massive impact to modernism, perhaps no other artist was as shattered as German expressionist Ernst Ludwig Kirchner. His carnal, vivid work where nudity and harsh lines were a defining theme drew the Nazi ire and around 600 pieces of his were destroyed. In 1938, Kirchner killed himself.

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July 27, 1942

Outside in the gardens of the Galerie Nationale du Jeu de Paume, Paris, a young man stood behind a tree across from a massive pile of 12 foot long crossed logs, five feet high that glowed with blue flames shooting skyward.  He watched as men hurled painting after painting into the crackling flames.   There were no speeches nor explanation for the destruction of the art like that of the great joyous ceremonies that included live music, singing, and incantations that took place in Berlin at the height of the burning of banned books.  The inconspicuous labor of these men looked as if they were doing was nothing more than burning trash. 

The young man watched with sadness in his eyes for over an hour. Although he was not a huge fan of art, he did understand what the destruction of it meant.  The last of the most recent pile of paintings was gone and the men headed back into the building to bring out more. A thought came to the young man that maybe he could save one of the paintings.  He looked around, seeing no one, he moved across the short distance, taking care to avoid notice, he approached the bon fire. He could feel the heat radiating from the flames that were being fueled by Picasso, Dali and who knows what other painters talent that had been stolen to make this beautiful but destructive inferno.  He noticed a frame that seemed to not have caught fire yet.  It was difficult to approach because of the heat, but he covered his mouth and nose with a cloth he had in his pocket and moved closer.  The painting had missed the fire and was sitting face down smoldering a bit but still intact.  He had to move fast, the men would be back any minute.  He pulled his pocket knife out and cut the painting out of the frame and rolled it up.  He tossed the frame into the fire and without delay he moved back behind the foliage and trees that had originally hid him just as the two men re-emerged pushing another pile of framed art on a dolly.  Holding the rolled up canvas next to his chest inside his shirt, the young man paused for a moment looking back.   He stared as the men resumed tossing discarded art work into the raging flames.  He then turned and ran the eight blocks to where he had left his bike.