By Chris Lane
By Jef With One F
By Chris Lane
By Olivia Flores Alvarez
By Angelica Leicht
By Jef Rouner
By Jef With One F
By Jef With One F
Schwitters used the term "merz" to encompass work ranging from his assemblages and collages of cast-off objects and paper, to wooden sculptures, to his room-size installations, to his writing. There is a lot of speculation about the term's origins. It's a nonsense word that Schwitters said he took from the end of the German word "kommerz" (commerce). He coined it in 1919, at the beginning of Germany's post-WWI Weimar Republic, on the eve of the hyperinflation that would lead to people buying loaves of bread with wheelbarrows full of marks and ultimately to the rise of National Socialism and Adolph Hitler. Some sources say the word was taken from a text fragment "Commerz Und Privatbank" in a collage. Some believe it is a Germanization of "merde," the French word for "shit." Others have commented on its similarity to "schmerz," the German word for pain. Any and all of these could be true and would certainly reflect the chaos and anguish of the period.
Schwitters began as a painter of the post-Impressionist variety but was gradually consumed with the things that surrounded him. Color would be a constant in his work, with paint making regular appearances. In early pieces like the 1919 Bild mit heller Mitte (Picture with Light Center), a cubist aesthetic permeates the picture, with angled planes of color. But the paint is secondary to the ephemera pasted in, postage stamps and scraps of newspaper with isolated numbers or words like "cigaretten" and "tabake."
"Kurt Schwitters: Color and Collage"
Through January 30.
In later works, red paper from chocolate packages and blue bus tickets add sparks of color to the yellowed acidic pulp of newspapers, receipts and ticket stubs. Schwitters's collages are gorgeous little gems. Formally seductive, their components evoke the dynamism and angst of early 20th-century German urbanity through the litter of daily life.
Schwitters is legendary for his Merzbau installation, all the more so because the original only survived in reproduction. It began with sculptural columns of assembled objects started in the early '20s; they eventually evolved into room-size installations that Schwitters continued to work on until he left Germany in 1937. These were created in the studio of his Hannover apartment, rather than taking over the living space he shared with his wife and son, as has sometimes been assumed.
From 1981 to 1983, the Swiss stage designer Peter Bessegger created a reconstruction of the first room of the Merzbau from period wide-angle photographs. It was done for the Sprengel Museum in Hanover, and this is the first time the Merzbau has been shown in the United States. This is a big deal for art geeks.
Walking in the room is like stepping into a cubist painting. The mainly white space is filled with angular shapes, planes and columns that protrude from the walls and extend down from the ceiling. A warm yet cathedral-like feeling fills the space. There is nothing industrial about the white plaster and wood construction. It reveals the hand of the maker, as I'm sure Schwitters's original did.
Niches are lit and sometimes glassed over. Color is used sparingly on the room's forms. There is no suffocating excess of objects, just carefully chosen and carefully placed things. A bright-red stopcock placed high in the room calls your eyes upward. The only figurative object I remember from the room is a tiny plaster head placed atop an irregular column in one niche, like a saint. In the original Merzbau, the object was a plaster cast, a death mask of Schwitters's first son Gerd, who died in 1916 eight days after he was born. Death masks had been used in the pre-photographic era to memorialize and record the dead. As morbid as it may seem to us today, the original cast was created nearly a century ago (by Schwitters himself?). In a photograph of a 1923/25 Merz column, the head sits atop it. Schwitters is not using this like some broken piece of bric-a-brac. It obviously has deep meaning to him, and it reads like an altar. Schwitters is described as being extremely close to his second son. Could one also read the Merzbau as a shrine for Schwitters's dead son?
The Merzbau was likely the first "installation," and sitting in the reproduction, you imagine how revolutionary it was. Schwitters didn't even have a way to describe it, simply calling it his studio. The Merzbau activates the entire space and encompasses the viewer. He was an inspiration for all the artists who followed who didn't want to only make paintings for walls or sculptures for pedestals, but to bring their art out into the space of the viewer.