Thomas Radford Medical Illustration Collection

Rylands Blog

We have recently completed a cataloguing project on our medical archives, generously funded by the Wellcome Trust under its Research Resources in Medical History programme. In her final blog post, archivist Ginny Dawe-Woodings writes:

Thomas Radford (1793-1881) trained as an apprentice to his uncle, a surgeon attached to the Manchester and Salford Lying-in Institution, a maternity hospital. This first-hand experience with obstetric patients inspired Radford to become one of the nineteenth century’s eminent obstetricians, and gives him a proud place in Manchester’s rich medical history.

Before the eighteenth century, the care and treatment of pregnant women in Europe was an almost exclusively female pursuit which rigorously excluded men. The presence of a male doctor at a birth was a rare event, and only occurred when the midwife had exhausted all normal means of managing a complicated delivery. Having men deliver women of their children was seen as offending female modesty…

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‘Here Beginneth Cytology’: John Peter Smith and the Development of the Cervical Smear Test

Rylands Blog

Ginny Dawe-Woodings, Wellcome Archivist, writes:

The recent acquisition of John Peter Smith’s papers on the foundation of the cervical cytology unit in Manchester has triggered interest into the origins of cervical smear testing in the UK.

Sir John Williams first identified the lesion that would eventually be known as carcinoma in situ of the cervix in 1886; however, cancer has been described since Egyptian times, and both Hippocrates and Galen recorded it in their patients, and Paul of Aegina (c. 600AD) diagnosed and treated the disease cancers of the uterus. However, it would not be until the development of microscopes and histology that diagnosing and effectively treating cancers could be achieved.

The pathologist Walter Schiller was the first to propose the term “pre-invasive carcinoma”, but it would be George N. Papanicolaou’s contributions which would have a profound impact on cervical cancer diagnosis. Papanicolaou discovered, courtesy of a willing (female) hospital…

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Biography: Ambrose King

Originally posted on STIs in East London in the 20th Century:
The Ambrose King Centre was established in 1929 by the London County Council (LCC), and came to be known as the Whitechapel Clinic. It is a department which specifically…

“Everything starts from a dot” – The Development of Art Movements in Late Imperial Russia and in Soviet Russia

Russia’s artistic legacy is of Imperial Tsarism, industrial Communism and of some of the finest and most unique art, theatre, literature and architecture in Europe. When the Revolution began in 1905, it marked not only a political change but also a change in Russian culture. It acted as a catalyst for reordering and modernising a country which had severely lagged behind the rest of Europe for most of its existence. The artistic movements which were already in existence in the Imperial era emphasised elitism and elegance. Following the revolution though these had adapted and modernised or perished. While the rest of Europe was experiencing a Fin de Siècle or Belle Époque, Russia too was undergoing a similar transformation referred to as their ‘Silver Age’ which embodied the history of art, philosophy, aesthetics, and literary criticism[1]. This era was at its height when revolutionary philosophies seeped into artistic movements, and when the Revolution transpired it became obvious that more than politics had changed. Indeed, there were few new artistic movements after 1918 that could not trace their roots back to Silver Age ideas.

The later Imperial years, from 1860 onwards, marked a dramatic change in artistic thought and expression. Russia was experiencing a steady stream of social development, an increased emphasis on education was seen, and whilst being run mostly by the church, witnessed literacy rates rise from 6% in the 1860s to an estimated 28% by 1913[2]. This was also an era where Russia produced eminent contributions in science and maths, such as Lobachevsky, Pavlov and Mendelev. Social sciences too became more prominent, History in particular became a well studied field as Russian academics explored their national historiography. Fine art during the first decade and a half of the 20^th Century was divided between artists seeking to continue celebrating traditional styles, and those seeking to express the progressive bold new styles. John Bowlt suggests that artists became desperately aware of the “fundamental displacement of social, ethical and cultural values”, exacerbated by the 1905 uprisings, and they fled from a “mundane reality” into an etherial and unorthodox world[3]. Bowlt goes on to suggest that another reason for returning to traditional natural art was the fear and intrigue caused by Russia’s rapid industrialisation. However the decadence of the Imperial era was drawing to a close and for a brief final period Russian art lacked a purpose or reason[4].

Symbolism was a short lived movement, but developed highly emotional and spiritual pieces of work expressed mostly through poetry. Early symbolists, such as Vladimir Solovev expressed close connections to nature, and his successors, such as Aleksandr Blok would build on the principles of nature and country to write poems about Russia and nationalism. Blok would span pre-Soviet and post-Soviet genres, and the maturing from futility to utilitarianism in art movements. Peter France highlights how Blok’s works conclude with a sense of hope, unexpected joy and resurrection[5], not only being inspired by his country but also being influenced by the revolutionary ideology. Symbolism though reached its climax around 1905 and spawned a progeny in the form of the Acmeists. Whilst the Symbolists had sought to imply and infer through metaphors and allegories, the Acmeists favoured unambiguous imagery and emotions in their writing. Poets such as Anna Akhmatova and Osip Mandelstam flourished in the movement, and Blok too adapted to the new style. Bernice Glatzer Rosenthal argues that the downfall of symbolism was its cryptic nature, and highlights that whilst they were trying to influence the Russian people, even artists had difficulty understanding one another’s work[6]. Symbolism emphasised the elitist nature of a lot of art from the start of the 20^th Century, with a lack of accessibility for the proletariat, with many of the poems written seemingly accepting a revolution as the next symbol.

Another of these ‘decadent’ movements appeared in architecture in the form of ‘style moderne’, a cousin of Art Nouveau. The principles of Art Nouveau are organic, natural and creative design and applied mostly to architecture and graphic design. William Brumfield’s article on anti-modernism points out that the movement came about following a shift to urbanisation, but was primarily intended for Russia’s bourgeoise[7]. As an artistic movement it was criticised as being ‘aristocratic aestheticism’ but also because critics, in particular the Mir Iskusstva, saw it as a threat to Russia’s traditional buildings and design. This led to the counter movement of neo-classicism which favoured classic designs and icons over the modernity of style moderne. Paradoxically the Neoclassical movement was responsible for more urban development than style moderne ever did, and was responsible for buildings such as the Moscow State Pedagogical University (built 1910-1914) and many large apartment buildings in the capital.

The Realism and Classicism that had been the trademark movements of the 19^th Century were at worst in their death throws and new movements like the Mir Iskusstva (The World of Art Movement) actually rejected realism. They acted as a prominent force for artistic change in the pre-Revolutionary era, through a collection of revisionist artists and a magazine which publicised their philosophy. A. Benois initiated the movement as a means to counter the modern and pro-Positivist themes in art which they saw as lower artistic standards, their philosophy being ‘Art for Art’s Sake’[8]. Despite a large following the magazine became unpopular for its approach to art criticism, with articles attacking specific artists and accusations of foreign influences damaging Russian styles[9]. The movement saw art as a force for educating the masses, with morally or socially uplifting subjects, and supported by national identities. They welcomed traditional subjects, in traditional media: illustration, painting and writing. It particularly promoted folk art and handicrafts, hoping that the Russian population would value them over the ‘mass-produced commercialised’ art[10].

However, no amount of historical nationalism and retrospective art could prevent revolutionary philosophy from infiltrating movements following the 1905 uprisings in Russia. Whilst the political revolution had failed the educational revolution was underway, with the years following the uprisings being the years that Russian modernism would flourish. The national art history that Benois had craved was slowly developing, in contradiction to his ideals of outright traditionalism. Modernism and futurism were the new favoured styles, as they too had changed to address more social themes.

Neo-primitivism was an evolving style. It bridged the divide between the Mir Iskusstva school of thought and the futurist style, embracing traditional folklore subjects and expressing them through modern painting. Natalya Goncharova’s (1914) image of a woman in peasant costume expressed no attributes of Realism and lacked in finesse, similarly Malivech’s 1912 painting ‘Morning in the Village after a Snowstorm’ demonstrated a highly stylised cubist interpretation of a traditional scene.

‘Morning in the Village after a Snowstorm’ – Kasimir Malevich (1912),

In comparison the ultramodern Futurist movement whilst defined as ‘Russian Futurism’ was ultimately a facsimile of the Italian Futurism outlined by Filippo Marinetti’s ‘Futurist Manifesto’ from 1909. The principles were outlined as: “anarchical vitalism, defiant rebellion against ‘passiesmé’ in the arts as well as in society, and confidence in the achievements of technological civilisation”[11]. Marinetti’s vision manifested itself primarily in Russian literature and poetry. Writers such as Velimir Khlebnikov and Vladimir Mayakovsky embodied the spirit of futurism in the writings. Marinetti’s concept embraced technology, and the Russian writers developed their own ‘transrational language’ or ‘zaum’ which used onomatopoeic words to convey sounds and mechanisation[12]. Khlebnikov’s poem ‘The Grasshopper’ uses “zingzinger” and “ping” to express noises. In comparison to the romanticism of Pushkin and the realism of Dostoevsky, the futurist poets showed a progression and modernity, and a want for change.

‘Red Rayonism’ – Mikhail Larionov (1913)

Rayonnism was a visual development of futurist ideas by Mikhail Larionov in 1911. Whilst abstract paintings are the ideas and reactions to a subject Rayonnist artists used bold colours and brush strokes to evoke not the object but the “rays emanating from the object”[13]. Similar in style and subject to Italian Futurist paintings artists depicted modernity, speed and technology. Larionov saw Rayonnism as more than an artistic style or a fashion, but “literal renderings of physical and philosophical fact”[14]. In comparison to Realist style or ‘style moderne’ which promoted literalism and inanimateness, Larionov’s movement embodied modern themes of the era: speed, light and space. Suprematism was a similar movement started 1915-1916, and pioneered by Kasimir Malevich which built on Larionov’s principles of linear simple compositions, but reduced this subject and focused on basic shapes and forms[15]. ‘Yellow Quadrilateral on White’ (Malevich, 1916-1917) and ‘Black Square’ (Malevich, 1913) are key examples of the simple style of painting and even the titles of the paintings imply a minimalist and functional approach to the art form. Charlotte Douglas argues that Suprematism directly turned its back on the Symbolist philosophy of reason and purpose[16], instead its simplicity actually represented nothing and was the creation of a new reality, and in many ways represented Russia: as a new and fresh system. Suprematist paintings were the direct opposite, both aesthetically and philosophically to the detailed and literal works of Realist artists such as Repin.

Bowlt hypothesises that the Silver Age was an incredibly confused era in art history, which he argues derived partly from the fact that the Russian Silver Age was an extremely varied, contradictory and elaborate phenomenon”[17]. The era demonstrated a transition in Russian art. From the classical Realist paintings of Repin; to the traditionalist revival of the neo-primitivists; to the antagonistic Futurists. The years between 1905 and 1908 marked a turning point for the art movements of Russia as the implications of the 1905 uprisings began to sink into artistic philosophy. As the Bolsheviks seized power in 1917, there was drastic political and social upheaval. This was not just a move for the future though, as new traditions were quickly established, religious holidays were replaced with new holidays[18] and Russia’s history began to seem archaic and bourgeois. And the revolution did not stop in October 1917, as the Civil War continued from October until 1923. However, the revolution was not necessarily a catalyst for change within the art movements. Many of the seeds of revolution and modernity had been sewn a decade earlier. Early Soviet artists had already decidedly rejected the old styles, and were then seeking to use the new space to further their new movements.

The revolution had political and social ramifications, the proletariat worker became highly valued. Their significance was shown in the Proletkult movement which encouraged art ‘about the people, by the people, for the people’. The Proletkult was funded and controlled by the Bolshevik régime, with the intention of creating artless classless art which was universally accessible[19]. Initially, there was a Pluralist society which welcomed creative development. A problem which arose out of this was anti-intellectualism and anti-elitism. Whilst before the revolution art had been mostly free of political influence, now it was critical to developing art. In many ways Anti-intellectualism became an artistic style in itself, by promoting its own philosophy of anti-authority and anti-heirarchy in art. One poet wrote: “Destroy the churches, those nests of gentry lies; Destroy the university, that nest of bourgeois lies; Drive away the priests, drive away the scientists! Destroy the false gentry and bourgeois heavens”[20]. This led to a heightened sense of class consciousness, and an aggressive anti-elitist crackdown as Soviet era progressed artists came under pressure to conform to new – arguably more Soviet – styles. Peter France examples Anna Akhmatova and explains that she continued to write about the same insecurities as in her earlier work, however the Central Committee of the Communist Party found her work ‘anachronistic’ and had her work censored[21]. Formalism too was a style which came under attack in the Soviet era. It was a movement which grew out of the principles of Futurism, embracing the modernist subjects and styles but demanded a more coherent and erudite format. To those who valued class equality, Formalism was a style which embodied an outdated technique and demanded an educated audience.

Agitprop was one of the few new movements in the post-revolutionary era. It used pamphlets, plays, cinema, and the fine arts to simply and ideologically address the working proletariat. This was partially as a result of being influenced by the Futurists, but also because literacy was still incredibly low. The Bolsheviks still needed to maintain influence over their population and the best way to express this influence was at a basic graphic level.

Vladimir Mayakovsky Agitprop poster, “Want it? Join” (Date unknown)

Another emerging style was Constructivism which took its basis from earlier Futurism. It was a movement which used the same geometric shapes, lines and bold colours as the Futurists but their philosophy conformed more to the Soviet demand for a utilitarian approach to everything, this included art. However this created divisions between artists, particularly in the Constructivists who debated utilitarian purpose in their work and whether it was an ‘organising principle’ or an ‘aesthetic function’[22] and combining and balancing them to create a composition. Constructivism started and developed the first true Russian ‘machine age art’, rejected easel paining, but most significantly embraced functionalism and utility and so quickly expanded into more utilitarian purposes. Contemporary critics had seen the art produced by the movement as literal design prototypes and the main proponents soon found themselves designing fabrics, clothing, furnishings in the tone of Russian industrialism[23]. It was a highly influential style which penetrated all aspects of Soviet society in a way that previous movements had been purely aesthetic and artistic, as Bowlt highlights there was no “Cubist architecture, no Symbolist chairs, and no Realist dresses”[24].

Fashion was one of these branches, and the Constructivists found their style created clothing which was “simple, cheap, hygienic, easy to wear, and industrial”[25]. Liubov Popova was one of the key designer of the era. Her lack of institutionalised artistic training was quintessential of the era, being made by the proletariat and free of any ‘elitist’ influence. Povova’s designs shared the Suprematist’s use of simple geometric shapes, however her canvas was the body and relied on the compositions ability to hang off the body. Whilst previous artistic movements had been either in the 3D form of sculpture, or 2D form of painting, the Soviet interest in fashion applied the 2D principles to a 3D surface.

Architecture was another of the 3D developments which saw aesthetic changes by Constructivism. As with the rest of their work functionality became paramount, with the aim being to unite living, working, and recreational spaces[26]. The beacon, quite literally of the Constructivist architectural movement was the Shukhov Radio Mast in Moscow. The essence of Constructivism was modernity, and their ability to apply their philosophy to all every day media meant that the Constructivism artists effectively designed the revolution.

The Shukhov Radio Mast in Moscow

At the same time the fine arts had in no way been forgotten or replaced. The descendants of Futurism, in the same way as the Constructivists, had utilised the new open space for artistic development and media. However the Constructivists’s utilitarianism was a minor part of the new Futurist movement. Suprematism continued into the early Soviet years continuing to create 2D artwork of a wholly aesthetic nature. Other branches of Futurism spread into literature and music expressing the industrial and mechanical themes which had previously only been expressed in paint. Arseny Avraamov’s ‘Symphony of Factory Sirens’ used ship sirens, vehicle horns, fog horns, factory sirens and artillery to create a cacophony of industrial tones. There was also the development of ‘conductorless’ orchestras, created partially due to a lack of skilled conductors in post-revolutionary Russia but also the belief that conductors “prevented good musicians from expressing their artistic individuality”[27].

Futurism was not just about the artistic style but also about the new media. Cinema became a new form of artistic expression. Though as new media was developed their was an realisation by the régime that the media should be utilised to promote their Bolshevik ideals. Sergei Eisenstein’s films ‘October’ and ‘Battleship Potemkin’ acted as propaganda for the state, as highly idealised interpretations of history.

Another pre-revolution movement that saw a comeback was Realism. Now a movement that had been highly influenced by the Proletkult and modernist styles, Socialist Realism was a state promoted artistic style. In place of the elitist archaic style was now a modernised propaganda tool, aimed at “realistically” portraying proletariat life. The Worker Correspondence movement combined journalism with creative writing established a ‘proletarian literature’[28]. In the visual arts too, the proletariat was central. Painters depicted three things: portraits of political or military leaders; historical paintings; and ‘genre’ paintings depicting production lines, collective farming, and domesticity[29]. The post-revolutionary years were political designed to create a new Russia, and whilst the artistic movements were nothing revolutionary, they helped shape the new era both philosophically and aesthetically.

When comparing the movements of both pre and post revolutionary Russia there is a clear progression from Classicism to Modernism, but only at the polar ends of each era. Late Imperial art enjoyed traditional subjects and styles, portraying decadence and archaism. As revolutionary philosophies seeped into the Russian consciousness, there was both an advancement in art but also several movements established to protect the themes of Imperial art. The Mir Iskusstva movement backlashed against the modernism of art, whilst the Neo-primitivists attempted to combine the traditional and the Positivist in their art. However, the Futurist movement best represented their contemporary Russia. The Silver Age then witnessed he most significant change in artistic styles and when the revolution of 1917 came around, much of the revolutionising had already happened.

The art of the early Soviets differed greatly from the art before 1905. The biggest change in society was the militant Collectivism, exhibited by the Proletkult. Great emphasis was placed on industrialism and the proletariat. There was a disappearance of the individual from art in favour of the masses. There was also the development of agitation in artwork, as movements were encouraged to evoke revolution and change. However as Soviet Russia grew, there was a greater stress to conform, and the radical art of 1917 to the late 1930s was lost to Stalin’s cultural control.

Ginny Dawe-Woodings BA MA

1. Nicholas V. Riasanosky, Mark D. Steinberg, A History of Russia Since 1855 Volume 2 (2011), p. 444
2. Ibid, p. 442
3. John E. Bowlt, ‘Neo-Primitivism and Russian Painting’ in The Burlington Magazine (1975), Vol. 116, No. 853, p. 134
4. Ibid, p. 94
5. Peter France, Poets of Modern Russia (1982), p. 54
6. Bernice Glatzer Rosenthal, ‘Nietzsche in Russia: The Case of Merezhkovsky’ in Slavic Review (1974), Vol. 33, No. 3, p. 437
7. William C. Brumfield, ‘Anti-Modernism and the Neoclassical Revival in Russian Architecture’ in Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians (1989), Vol. 48, No. 4, p. 371
8. Tamara Talbot Rice, A Concise History of Russian Art (1963), p. 248
9. Stuart R. Grover, ‘The World of Art Movement in Russia’ in Russian Review (1973), Vol. 32, No. 1, p. 33
10. Ibid, p. 36-37
11. Anna Lawton, ‘Russian and Italian Futurist Manifestoes’ in The Slavic and East European Journal (1976), Vol. 20, No. 4, p. 407
12. Ibid, p. 409
13. Tamara Talbot Rice, A Concise History of Russian Art (1963), p. 262
14. Charlotte Douglas, ‘The New Russian Art and Italian Futurism’ in Art Journal (1975), Vol. 34, No. 3, p. 233
15. Tamara Talbot Rice, A Concise History of Russian Art (1963), p. 262
16. Charlotte Douglas, ‘Suprematism: The Sensible Dimension’ in Russian Review (1975), Vol. 34, No. 3, p. 280
17. John E. Bowlt, ‘Through the Glass Darkly: Images of Decadence in Early Twentieth Century Russian Art’ in Journal of Contemporary History (1982), Vol. 17, No. 1, p. 94
18. František Deák, ‘ The AgitProp and Circus Plays of Vladimir Mayakovsky’ in The Drama Review: TDR (1973), Vol. 17, No. 1, p. 47
19. Leo Pasvolsky, ‘Proletkult: It’s Pretensions and Fallacies’ in The North American Review (1921), Vol. 213, No. 785, p. 539
20. Abbott Gleason, Peter Kenez, Richard Stites, Bolshevik Culture (1985), p. 15
21. Peter France, Poets of Modern Russia (1982), p. 63
22. Briony Fer, ‘Metaphor and Modernity: Russian Constructivism’ in Oxford Art Journal (1989), Vol. 12, No. 1, p. 19
23. Catriona Kelly, David Shepherd, Russian Culture (1998), p. 143
24. Abbott Gleason, Peter Kenez, Richard Stites, Bolshevik Culture (1985), p. 205
25. Ibid, p. 203
26. Catriona Kelly, David Shepherd, Russian Culture (1998), p. 144
27. Leonid Sabaneev, ‘A Conductorless Orchestra’ in The Musical Times (1928), Vol. 69, No. 1022, p. 308
28. Jeremy Hicks, ‘Worker Correspondents: Between Journalism and Literature’ in The Russia Review (2007), Vol. 66, No. 4, p. 585
29. Catriona Kelly, David Shepherd, Russian Culture (1998), p. 146

“I Know My Place” – How ‘History from Below’ has Contributed To Our Understanding of the Past and the Study of History

‘History from below’ or ‘people’s history’ is a social history of the ‘common’ people. However it is a portion of history that is frequently overlooked and understudied when it comes to understanding the identity and lifestyle of this section of society. Howard Zinn identifies this history as telling the story of the relationship “between conquerors and conquered, masters and slaves, capitalists and workers, dominators and dominated in race and sex”[1].

“I look up to him because he is upper class, but I look down on him because he is lower class”…”I know my place”. A sketch from ‘The Frost Report’ featuring John Cleese, Ronnie Barker and Ronnie Corbett.

 

 

The majority of social history focuses around ‘WEIRD’ (Western, Educated, Industrialied, Rich, and Democratic) history. A good example of this is the copious amounts of history written about the monarchy, but the much less written about the societies over which they ruled. Mostly this stems from what the term ‘WEIRD’ entails; that the people being written about and who were doing the writing were from the same group, were educated and, most importantly, rich. The upper classes only occupied a small portion of society and so were not the norm, they were the exception. So the most significantly beneficial contribution of ‘people’s history’ is that it offers an alternative perspective, often in direct opposition to this theory of ‘WEIRD’ history. One of the biggest sections of history to benefit from ‘history from below’ is the understanding of groups who have suffered oppression; the poor and the lower classes, ethnic and religious minorities, women, the disenfranchised and other overlooked fringes of society. History has benefitted from the expanded understanding of of these groups that ‘history from below’ has brought.

Women’s history is one of the groups which has contributed to our understanding of the gender divide and gender stereotypes. Throughout history, contemporaneous sources have virtually overlooked women, in the sense that the importance of their everyday work and their political influence has been disregarded. Social mobility has generally been discussed in terms of men alone[2]. Burke raises many questions concerning the role of women, especially concerning their status, their role in the world place and in society in general. What kinds of work were performed by women in particular places and times and has the status of women changed? However as he highlights, the difficulty in finding evidence or documentation concerning women stems from the fact that little of it was actually recorded by the male dominated society[3]. “Generally, however, the further back historians seeking to reconstruct the experience of the lower orders go, the more restricted the range of sources at their disposal becomes”[4]. As with most social history it is only recently that historians have taken an interest in the plight of women, mostly driven by the Feminist movement which sought greater acknowledgment of women and their past.

Religious and ethnic minorities have also suffered in the reporting of their respective histories. One suggested reason for this is embarrassment. Zinn highlights this by using the example of the Holocaust, stating that the “Holocaust play[s] a more prominent role in [America now] than it did in the first decades after the Second World War”[5] and what he means by this is that whilst immediate post-World War Two society and scholars recognised the atrocities as horrific and unique, there was a level of embarrassment felt about the fact that something like the Holocaust was able to have occurred so recently and so they seemingly ‘skirted around’ the issue. Historians nowadays no longer have to come to terms with this embarrassment and have a level of detachment, possibly because of the passage of time, allowing them to write with more detail and less shame about the history surrounding the Holocaust and other cases of religious intolerance. This argument can also be applied to racial history, the key example in this case being the transatlantic slave trade, and the embarrassment about what had been regarded as ‘normal’ in the recent past.

The defining feature of these examples is the social standing or class of the protagonists; their label of ‘poor’ or ‘lower class’. This umbrella group ‘poor’ historically had little to no impact on society. Their lives, rather than forming the subjects of formal historical analysis, were recorded mainly through the documentation of the controlling classes, through judicial records and the media.

As highlighted by Zinn, one of the most unequivocal social dichotomies comes in the form of the ‘conquerors and the conquered’. This may best be summed up by the phrase “history is written by the victors”, popularly attributed to Winston Churchill. “[We] found a most numerous population, and a great number of houses”[6] is how Christopher Colombus described his first encounters with South American natives, a discovery which would open the door to an entirely new civilisation. The study of these tribes challenged the stereotypical perceptions of the ‘savage’ native Americans as a mass of evidence uncovered their societies, the way their tribes were structured, their gender roles and sexuality, and even their psychology. It was discovered that these tribes actually lived an egalitarian and in some areas, advanced, way of life, including “nonstate politics, nonmarket economies, and noninstitutionalized religions”[7]. Their society was shown to be an equal community, where women and men had different roles but were respected equally within their civilisation, as Lahontan describes it, “their Daughters have the command of their own Bodies and may dispose of their Persons as they think fit; they being at their liberty to do what they please”[8]. However, as with history from this age, the contemporaneous history was written by the conquerors, written to justify why they were there and what they were doing. It was only after that phase that historians turned to and contradicted the often biased views of these primary sources and developed a much better understanding of the lives of these tribes. A short lived history as Columbus simultaneously discovered and wiped out an entire civilisation, with the tribal population being reduced by up to 90% in some areas following smallpox and tuberculosis epidemics[9].

Columbus brought us knowledge of previously unknown and unstudied socieites, however all too late. What historians learnt about the tribes of South American history was important on several levels. When the colonists arrived, they were faced with something starkly different too their own European society in which there was a distinct dichotomy between male and female roles. That these ‘savage’ tribes were able to maintain a nondiscriminatory civilisation was in contradiction of the colonists belief. This not only showed social differences based around class or gender, but geographic and innate social differences.

Slavery, as Zinn points out, offers a similar contrast between traditional history and ‘people’s history’. Slave society is now considered in depth, that is in relations and behavior[10]. Studying slavery is a new field within in history and as Hobsbawm highlights there is already a wealth of information being discovered about their troubled past. But the benefits to historians studying slavery is that “slaveowners cannot be understood without slaves, and without the nonslave sectors of society’[11]. The study of the slave trade is also important because of its impact on later history such as civil rights movements and African-American emancipation.

One of Zinn’s other suggested comparisons is that of the ‘capitalist and the worker’. Money has often created a divide between those who have it and those who do not and this in turn creates a social divide. This is a section of ‘people’s history’ which has become more relevant during the 20^th Century following massive industrial upheaval in Britain, the Russian Revolution and an emerging politicised working class. Through the stories of working people historians develop a better understanding of the reasons and psychology behind the workers movement. Brian Simmons, a teacher from Hackney gave his account of working class life which illuminates the fact that there are not just differences in social ranking, but also in political and religious ideology. Simmons states that “[he] never mixed with the well-off jewish people. You were Labour, they were Tories”[12] and that he believed social differences are something to overcome, “if I’ve learnt anything it’s that we have to fight”[13]. The contribution of worker’s history is particularly relevant in the 20^th and 21^st Century history, as these centuries saw an aware and increasingly politicised working class and so they became responsible for much more societal change as a group.

Through these examples ‘history from below’ becomes extremely relevant in terms of establishing an all inclusive overall view of society. However ‘history from below’ also has its drawbacks. Over-compensation for the lack of common social history is an initial problem. There is the suggestion that in compensating for the omissions of traditional history, such as between the elite and people and male and female, it could reverse the roles whereby there becomes a wealth of writings on female and common history. Burke suggests that it would be more useful to focus on the changing  of relationships[14]. Further, works devoted to ‘people’s history’ often fall into the same trap as traditional history by omitting the other sides of society. This is particularly highlighted by working class history. Hitchcock’s views is that “in the 1980s the social history of the poor, and of the political struggles of the working class, gradually evolved from what had been perhaps the most humane and internationally important facet of British history into an increasingly disregarded fragment of historical studies”[15] and highlights the fact that because of social change now, being a more liberal and united society, there is less importance placed on knowing the history of the working classes.

Patrick Joyce has argued that because of the changing nature of history, the need for social history will be eliminated. He argues that, in the past, history’s aim was to transform the object of its attention, be it women, classes, the oppressed. However there is now uncertainty as to what the historical aims are[16]. He poses the questions; what is the aim of social history now; is ‘history from below’ of relevance in the modern world; and will it be relevant in the future? Hobsbawm too argues that there is a move away from classical Rankean history which exposed the structure and changes in society, and more especially between the relationships between classes and social groups[17]. History is evidently a polarised subject, “History is the story of class conflict”[18] and it is only in more recent times when that polarisation between the classes has begun to decrease that historians take a greater interest in ‘history from below’.

In furthering the study of history ‘history from below’ is a useful source but not without it’s problems. In essence it attempts to do the same as ‘WEIRD’ or traditional history, by focusing around one section of society and omitting any of the alternatives, and so suffers an equivalent exclusivity. It is argued that while it still bears relevance when concerned with some eras of history, particularly in its relevance to earlier history, its place in studying modern or recent history is limited. ‘History from below’ is fundamentally beneficial because it provides the alternative to the standard ‘WEIRD’ history which is dominant throughout the subject. It has contributed massively to the history of non-conformist groups throughout history, women and workers being particularly significant examples. ‘History from below’ fills in what traditional patriarchal history excluded. Advocates of ‘history from below’ also highlight the benefits it has in filling in significant social gaps from the lower classes who have so frequently been overlooked in the past. The important question concerning ‘history from below’ is what contribution did it back to history that traditional history had not done before? This is where ‘people’s history’ is most relevant, by creating a broader view of social history and creating a better understanding of the people who drive social change from the view of the participants.

Ginny Dawe-Woodings BA MA

1. Howard Zinn, A People’s History of the United States from 1492 to the Present (1996), p. 10
2. Peter Burke, History and Social Theory (1992), p. 51
3. Ibid, p. 51
4. Ibid, p. 27
5. Howard Zinn, On History (2001), p.66
6. Thomas G. Paterson, Karen Ordahl Kupperman, Major Problems in American Colonial History (1999), p. 4
7. Salisbury. N, ‘The Indians’ Old World’ in Major Problems in American Indian History (1993), p. 30
8. ‘Baron Lahontan Describes Love and Marriage Among the Hurons’ (1703), in Major Problems in the History of American Sexuality (2001), p.30
9. John Elliott, Empires of the Atlantic World (2006), p. 65
10. Eric Hobsbawm, ‘From Social History to the History of Society’ in Historical Studies Today (1971), Vol. 100, No. 1, p. 35
11. Eric Hobsbawm, ‘From Social History to the History of Society’ in Historical Studies Today (1971), Vol. 100, No. 1, p. 37
12. ‘Brian Simons: Teacher’ in Working Lives: Volume 2: Hackney 1945 – 1947 (1977), p 169
13. Ibid, p 192
14. Peter Burke, History and Social Theory (1992), p. 52
15. Tim Hitchcock, ‘A New History from Below’ in History Workshop Journal (2001), Vol. 57, No. 1, p. 294
16. Patrick Joyce, ‘The End of Social History?’ in Social History (1995), Vol. 20, No. 1, p. 76
17. Eric Hobsbawm, ‘From Social History to the History of Society’ in Historical Studies Today (1971), Vol. 100, No. 1, p. 22
18. Peter Burke, History and Social Theory (1992), p. 59

Family History: My Great Grandmother, Honor Cattigan

I often think it is easier to explore the histories of others, and whilst I enjoy genealogy I have deliberately shied away from delving into my own family history. I briefly toyed with various websites and censuses but too often found myself searching out parts of the family puzzle and forcing them to fit instead of letting pieces slip gently into place. Consequently much of what I know has been passed down word-of-mouth to me from grandparents and distant cousins.

Of course everybody is proud of their family, and finds them uniquely interesting, and I won’t pretend that I don’t share any of this [self-centred ness]. That being said, I have always been proud to talk at great lengths about the members of my family and  I wanted to write a series of posts about them. As pointed out earlier, genealogy websites are not particularly my style, but I am the very lucky owner of my family’s archive. I have two large airtight plastic boxes crammed with photographs, letters, interviews, bibles, and all the other ephemera that families love to keep for future generations. I thought I would start with one of my favourite set of items – the postcard collection kept by my Great Grandmother Honor Cattigan.

Honor Cattigan (Russia, 1906)

This is Honor Cattigan, she is my great-grandmother on my maternal side. I know very little about my grandmothers early life. I don’t know when she was born other than that I assume it was in the late 1880s or early 1890s. I have assumed that she grew up in or around Glasow or Paisley area in Scotland, as most of my grandmother’s family did. Her early life is, as far as the family archive is concerned, was fairly unremarkable. As she reacher her late teens and early 20s her life become a lot more interesting, or at least I find it to be.

Honor worked as a cotton worker, manufacturing cotton spools in the UK. Eventually she was selected to travel abroad to teach other workers the same manufacturing procedure. First she was sent to Italy and then to Russia. Throughout her travels she kept postcards and photos of the places she visited and the friends she made. Honor kept postcards from Rome, Milan, Florence and Lucca.She ended up being based in Lucca. Honor was a devoutly Catholic woman and many of the postcards feature photos and illustrations of cathedrals, churches, monasteries, relics and ruins. They shine a beautiful light on her faith and adventurous spirit.

Here is a ticket from the communion she took at a mass in Lucca.

I have always assumed she met her future husband James McGough before her travels. I know they married in April 1914 and there is a postcard from James to Honor whilst he was living in Baltimore and she was based in Lucca in 1908.

After her time in Lucca she moved with the company to St. Petersburg, Russia, where she lived with the other female employees. Here is the receipt for her Russian passport from 1912.

They stayed at a house called Mackenzie Cottage, shown here in a postcard photo. It is also important to note that my grandmother had her hands on this material long before I did and took, clearly with great glee, to labelling various elements of the photographs with blue biro.

And below is Honor with her colleagues and friends in St. Petersburg.

Like her time in Italy, Honor kept a collection of postcards that leave a trail as to where she visited and what she saw during her time in Russia. One of my favourites is the photograph of her and two of her friends at the beach. My grandmother has labelled it as the shore of Finland, although I’m not sure how she was able to know that.

I love their dresses and Honor’s brolly. Honor also kept more touristy items, like her collection of postcards featuring Russian occupations and their traditional dress. She has pictures of postmen, newspaper sellers, military people, Cossacks, and the ‘people’ and policemen show below.

Her collection also brings to life pre-revolution Russia. Judging by her letters I believe she returned to Scotland before April 1914, as that was the month she was wed. This may have been a coincidental action, to return to her family and soon-to-be husband, although political and military issues that were bubbling up around the Balkans and the Russian empire may have also driven her out of Eastern Europe. As a consequence of being there pre-war and pre-revolution she has several postcards that feature the Russian royal family and their palaces. The postcards also contain pre-revolution language which features additional and different characters.

Another of my favourite postcard photos features a well-dressed couple in a photography studio, my grandmother has penned the name ‘Mr and Mrs Neary’ on the reverse. The photo is fairly inconsequential but the story behind the people in it has always enchanted me. I suppose every family has stories, more likely myths, associated with certain members of their family. One of my family’s is that we are descended from the Irish pirate queen Grace O’Malley based on the fact that the surname O’Malley can be traced so far back; although I conclude this to be tenuous genealogy at its best, the story is always pulled out at family gatherings or to anybody who might listen!

The story associated with this photograph is to do with the woman seated. The story goes, as my grandma would tell, is that the seated woman was one of Honor’s closest friends and Honor introduced them to one another, they fell in love, and were married in the French Chapel in St. Petersburg. This woman was one of the governesses to the Romanov family children. Whether it is true or not it has always captivated me.

The final artefact that I would like to include in this post is by far my favourite. It is a handwritten knitting pattern (that I am yet to try) written on ‘St. Petersburg Express Line, S.S. Imperator Nikolai II’ stationery. It tells me so much about her. It shows me her beautiful handwriting. It tells me how she travelled: The St. Petersburg Express Line was a a passenger and cargo service which ran (at the time my great grandmother was travelling) between London and St. Petersburg; and I would assume that she would have travelled via this service to probably return home. It tells me she enjoyed knitting, something I am yet to master, but am more keen than ever to recreate this pattern.

Going through my great grandmother Honor’s documents made me feel connected to her. Despite never knowing her in person I know what she looked like, some of the family stories she would no doubt have spread (regardless of their authenticity), and I know some of her hobbies and that she had friends that spanned countries. Mostly though, I know that the experience she passed on to my grandmother who then passed on to my mother who then passed on to me has been ingrained in the female family psyche of adventure and fascination, and probably hoarding looking at the sheer quantity of material in the family archive.

Ginny Dawe-Woodings

Feminism and women’s history resources

Brunel Special Collections

A post by Ginny Dawe-Woodings, Special Collections placement student.

Brunel University recently celebrated a week dedicated to Feminism, set up by the university’s Feminist Society to encourage debate and understanding of the ideology.

An advert from the Ladies Home Journal

In Special Collections I took some time to explore our own collections and create an exhibition of pieces that illustrate women’s history. Special Collections houses a set of The Ladies Home Journal, an American magazine published from the 1880s to the present day. It was the Cosmopolitan of the day and offers a very visual insight into women’s history. We have issues dating from 1939 to 1961. A regular feature in the magazine was an article entitled ‘Can This Marriage Be Saved?” which advised women on how to fix their marriages.

These extracts are taken from issues from the 1950s, they place the responsibility of a good marriage entirely with women:

“The…

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‘The Up and Down Lines’ – a Railway Mission Pastoral Poster

Brunel Special Collections

A post by Ginny Dawe-Woodings, Special Collections placement student.

My job as placement student in Special Collections at Brunel University has focused around a map listing project. Most of the maps are railway maps, part of the Transport History Collection, many in black and white, and there have been many photocopies and multiple editions. So when I came across a brightly coloured, cartoon style map I was delighted and a little surprised. In amongst a selection of original maps of tramlines and railways in Wales I found a map entitled ‘The Up and Down Lines’ which depicts railway and pastoral scenes, with references to passages of the Bible. The poster is a brightly coloured pastoral setting, featuring scenes of farming, horse racing, railways, and industrial buildings. Each scene is accompanied by a map reference, for example there is a boxing match scene (by the horse racing) which is labelled…

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The Political Picture – How the Nazis Created a Distinctly Fascist Art

It is not easy to define what it takes to make a ‘distinctly fascist’ artistic style when it is difficult enough to identify what makes fascism itself ‘distinctly fascist’. Stanley G Payne defines fascism as embodying certain, not exclusive, typographical descriptions: anti-liberalism; anti-communism; the creation of a new nationalist authoritarian state; goals of empire or of revolution; the creation of an idealist, voluntarist creed, normally involving the realisation of a new form of modern, self-determined secular culture; emphasis on a romantic and/or mystical aesthetic; extreme stress on masculinity and patriarchy; and national unity.[1]

George L. Mosse argues for fascism as a ‘civil religion’, a non-traditional faith which uses liturgy and symbols to make its belief come alive,[2] and that fascist aesthetics need to be put into this framework. Ulrich Schmid’s explanation is that fascism can be understood as a total work of art where each element fits stylistically and so not only the artistic aesthetic but also styles of behaviour, clothing and even speech are basic manifestations of the fascist reality.[3]

Each pre-Second World War fascist regime sought to create its own particular over-arching aesthetic, incorporating many of the above characteristics, to help shape public attitudes. The Nazi version was all-encompassing: militaristic symbolism and dress; architectural style and embellishment; and all aspects of art: theatre, film, sculpture and painting.

Schmid argues that there is a widespread cliché identifying fascist aesthetics with monumental neo-classicism,[4] and Nazi Germany did largely come to fit this stereotype. However, as demonstrated in Italian and Spanish fascist aesthetic movements, fascism could also experiment with Modernist ideas such as futurism and cubism that had become anathematised in Germany.  The early 20th century had seen Modern art flourish in the USA and Europe, including Germany. However following Germany’s defeat in the First World War and the shame and humiliation associated with its surrender, many Germans, and not only those who supported the NSDAP, turned against anything seen as liberal or foreign.[5] The German population began to look inwards, favouring art that celebrated parochial and provincial life: a new aspiration but ultimately a return to their roots.

Even in the conservative artistic climate of the time, very early Nazi art briefly brushed with elements of modernism: Willy Engelhardt’s 1933 election poster (Figure 1) used a Bauhaus-style building to create a visual metaphor for Hitler’s ‘modern position,[6] while in the same year Goebbels unsuccessfully attempted to integrate what he called ‘Nordic Expressionism’ into the official Nazi art movement. He failed because he was unable to overcome Hitler’s own preference for monumental classicism,[7] the style that would ultimately define Nazi art.

(Figure 1) Willy Engelhardt – Poster for German Elections, ‘Hitler Builds Up’ (1933)

After coming to power in early 1933, the Nazis used the threat of Modernism to ignite the debate over the National Socialist kulturpolitik and how to manage cultural policy.[8] Kurt Karl Eberlein commented: “This [modern] art is still ‘culture’, hence uncomfortable, alien to the people. The fault lies neither with the state nor with the individual, but with that art which is cut off from blood and soil”.[9]  Modern art became associated with chaos and foreign liberalism; a style to be despised; and was labelled with some of Nazism’s favourite pejorative adjectives: ‘degenerate’, ‘Bolshevik’ and ‘Jewish’.[10]

Within the favoured style of classicism, Nazi art emphasised several key themes and subjects which broadly accorded with Payne’s typography. The idea of ‘Blut und Boden’ (Blood and Soil), first propounded by 19^th Century agrarian romanticists, and given greater impetus after the First World War by the likes of Shultz-Naumburg and Darré,[11] was a romantic idea both of an idealised re-adoption of rural values and, perhaps more importantly, of a mystical link between the German people and their homeland: of national unity. The romanticism was often emphasised by the use of mythological imagery, almost exclusively Greek and Nordic. The non-mythologised human form was also explored, not only the literal physiology but also as a metaphorical embodiment of health and strength. Militarism and male dominance were prominent themes, as was family life, often depicting strictly defined gender roles.

(Figure 2) Adolf Wissel – ‘Farm Family from Kahlenberg’, (1939)

This division of gender roles is exemplified in Adolf Wissel’s ‘Farm Family from Kahlenberg’ (1939) (Figure 2), a portrait of a seemingly idyllic Aryan family. The father appears behind the rest of the family casting a somewhat detached but domineering eye over his brood, a grandmother knits, children play and, at the centre, the mother comforts the youngest child.  A clear vision of a patriarchy with women subordinated by the prevalent ‘kinder, küche, kirche’ ideology. Adam explains that “If man was shown as the dominator of nature, woman was represented as nature itself”.[12]

Payne identifies romanticism and mythology/mysticism as elements that help develop an idealised creed or culture. Karl Alexander Flügel’s ‘Harvest’ (1938) (Figure 3) depicts the idyllic life of country folk working in a perfect landscape and evokes not only a bountiful land but a hardworking population; echoing the ‘blood and soil’ agrarian ideal. It reflects the same allegorical arcadia seen in Caspar David Friedrich’s works from a century earlier and is representative of a return, in both content and style, to the original neo-classicist landscape painters. Werner Peiner’s ‘German Soil’ (1938) (Figure 4) and Julius Paul Junghanns’ ‘Hard Work’ (1939) (Figure 5) also have a similar romantic focus on the German countryside and the people living there.  Even the titles of the pieces hammer home the Nazi ethos.

(Figure 3) Karl Alexander Flugel – ‘Harvest’, (1938)

(Figure 4) Werner Peiner – ‘German Soil’, (1938)

(Figure 5) Julius Paul Junghanns – ‘Hard Work’, (1939)

In ‘Rewards of Work’ by Gisbert Palmié (1933) (Figure 6) the idealised real world of ‘Harvest’ is extended to introduce elements from mythology. The central Aryan female character bears a superficial similarity to Botticelli’s Venus but she is now surrounded by an idealised agrarian idyll. While echoing classical style, the emphasis has moved from the celebration of a mythological or entitled elite to celebrating rural and pastoral artisans.

(Figure 6) Gisbert Palmié – ‘Rewards of Work’, (1933)

Alfred Rosenberg himself highlighted the importance of Greek mythology to the Nazi aesthetic, saying that “The Nordic artist was always inspired by an ideal of beauty. This is nowhere more evident than in Hellas’s powerful, natural ideal of beauty”.[13] Adolf Ziegler’s works the ‘The Four Elements’ (1937) (Figure 7) and ‘Judgement of Paris’ (1939) (Figure 8) extend the use of mythology still further, being full depictions of ancient Greek myths in a romantic classical style.

(Figure 7) Adolf Ziegler – ‘The Four Elements’, (1937)

(Figure 8) Adolf Ziegler – ‘Judgement of Paris’, (1939)

The communication of values and messages by allegory and metaphor was important but high value was also placed on representations of fitness and wellbeing, as characterising racial purity and superiority, the Aryan ideal. The identification of the naked man with the ideal of classical beauty and heroism was a ubiquitous sentiment in National Socialist art and popular culture. Hubert Wilm stated: “Representation of the perfect beauty of a race steeled in battle and sport, inspired not by antiquity or classicism but by the pulsing life of our present-day events”.[14]

Artists were encouraged by the Reich Chamber for the Visual Arts to attend courses in gymnasiums and sport complexes to improve their life drawing. This helped develop a specific style of drawing, far removed from drawings of ‘real life’, which concentrated on nude studies of virile and sturdy models in strong or sporting poses: every element of the human form needed to impart strength, discipline and force.[15] ‘Sports of the Hellenics’ and ‘Olympia and the German Spirit’ were popular exhibitions aimed at promoting the bond between athleticism and art.  The 1936 Berlin Olympics was an opportunity not only to showcase Germany’s sporting prowess and superiority but also to create art. Leni Riefenstahl’s film ‘Olympia – Feast of Nations’ (1938) fades between shots of ancient sculptures and sports men and women, binding contemporary life with classic forms and traditions.

Amongst the best examples of the human form in Nazi arts were the sculptures of Arno Breker whose works echoed the works of classical Greece and Rome. Paintings such as Ivo Saliger’s ‘Diana’s Rest’ (1940) (Figure 9) depict the human form as athletic and wholesome. Many paintings are romanticised in their visualisations of humanity: Leopold Schmutzler’s ‘Farm Girls Returning from the Fields’ (1937) (Figure 10) and Oskar Martin-Amorbach’s ‘The Sower’ (1937) (Figure 11) show hard-working, healthy and active characters embracing their everyday tasks.

(Figure 9) Ivo Saliger – ‘Dianas Rest’, (1940)

(Figure 10) Leopold Schmutzler – ‘Farm Girls Returning From the Fields’, (1937)

(Figure 11) Oskar Martin-Amorbach – ‘The Sower’, (1937)

The German population became idolised in statuary and on canvas. As with much fascist art the images did not necessarily represent reality but an idealised, even exaggerated version of it. All authoritarian regimes wish to inspire and reinforce feelings in their populations: in this case the message was that, under the NSDAP, the German people were healthy and strong: past, present and future. The naked human form held no fear for the Nazis, provided it was attractive, healthy, and Aryan.

This concept of a fit, healthy people sat well with the idea of eugenics promoted by the Nazis. Ziegler’s ‘Judgement of Paris’ (1939) (Figure 8), while a representation of an episode from Greek mythology, can also be interpreted as a narrative for this eugenics sentiment. The mythical tale of Paris picking the most beautiful from three goddesses: Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite, reflects the high value placed on Aryanism and human aesthetics in real life as well as in art. Judgement of the goddesses based on their beauty is a visualisation of the selection of partners in Germany. Again, art is being used to subtly influence German culture and thinking.

Health and strength, along with masculinity and patriarchy, were also glorified through militarism in art.  Women were subordinate; men in comparison were expected to support and defend their country. The ‘warrior’ became a key figure, embodying persistence, victory and a fierce jingoism. Militarism also gave a visual representation of the Nazi philosophy that there existed a perpetual ‘struggle’ between races which could only be solved by armed conflict: the superior race being the victor.

Conrad Hommel’s ‘The Leader and Commander in Chief of the Army’ (1940) (Figure 12) highlights this respect for the ‘warrior’. The full length portrait of a uniformed Hitler standing in a powerful pose does not endear the subject to a viewer, it is intended to emphasise strength and develop emotions of respect, admiration and gratefulness: this is a leader fighting for Germany and her ideals in difficult times.  Emil Scheibe’s painting ‘Hitler at the Front’ (1942) (Figure 13) similarly shows Hitler as a military leader; supporting his soldiers; willing them to victory.

(Figure 12) Conrad Hommel – ‘The Leader and Commander In Chief Of The Army’, (1940)

(Figure 13) Emil Scheibe – ‘Hitler at the Front’, (1943)

Mosse’s ‘civic religion’ concept also informs Nazi aesthetics and artwork. Whilst paintings tended to be devoid of overt references to traditional religions (other than anti-Semitic messages), they often used similar styles and methods to historical religious artworks. Symbolism and iconography were popular, as well as the use of triptychs and friezes. The repeated use of the hakenkreuz, eagle and totenkopf in paintings, as well as throughout wider society, echoed the cross or the nimbus of traditional religious symbolism. All of this helped create a quasi-religious aesthetic.

Arthur Kampf’s ‘Der 30 Januar 1933’ (1939) (Figure 14), commemorating the Nazi seizure of power, emphasises Swastika emblazoned flags and the Nazi salute alongside the triumphant scenes of marching SA Brownshirts beneath the Brandenburg Gate. This conveys and reinforces so many fascist messages.

(Figure 14) Arthur Kampf – ‘Nazi Seizure of Power’, (1938)

(Figure 15) Hans Schmitz-Wiedenbruck – ‘Workers, Soldiers, Farmer’, (1940)

Hans Schmitz-Wieden’s triptych ‘Workers, Soldiers, Farmer’ (1940) (Figure 15) also brings together several of the key artistic motifs and messages of the Third Reich. The larger centre panel shows representatives of the three branches of the military whilst, either side, are miners and a farmer at work. The triptych format echoes religious works, as does the iconography of the Swastika, but the clear message is that, while all activities are important, they are there to support the most important: those fighting for the Reich.

The creation and veneration of martyrs to the cause also existed in the Nazi ‘religion’: the ultimate example being Horst Wessel, an SA Sturmführer killed in 1930. Most famously commemorated by the “Horst Wessel-Lied” which became the NSDAP anthem, effectively Germany’s joint national anthem, his image became ubiquitous in photographs, posters and more physical memorials.

Developing a fascist aesthetic to support a political philosophy demands that it is widely disseminated. The Nazis created museums and galleries; various art magazines such as ‘Die Kunst im Deutschen Reich’ were published; miniaturisations of famous paintings appeared on stamps, cigarette cards and postcards; films such as Riefenstahl’s were praised internationally; statues placed in parks and town squares; the swastika was everywhere. 1937 saw the first ‘Great German Art Exhibition’, where works by painters and sculptors such as Wissel and Breker were displayed alongside those of original neo-classical painters like Casper David Friedrich, defining a continuum of what was distinctly ‘German art’. These exhibitions drew vast crowds which would praise the art not just stylistically but also for its content.

Having created the means of disseminating their favoured aesthetic, the Nazi regime accentuated that aesthetic by denigrating and banning that which did not fit: artworks they called ‘Entartete Kunst’ (degenerate art) which included work by communists, Jews, foreign artists and other undesirables. Otto Dix, Marc Chagall and Max Ernst were all excluded: even Max Liebermann, the president of the Prussian Academy of Arts, was denounced by the far right in the 1930s. This was not entirely down to the content of his art, which focused mainly on the peasantry and the working class, but because of his “indebtedness to foreign models, his internationalism, [and] his rejection of ideology in art”.[16]  The ‘Degenerate Art Exhibition’ was mounted in 1937 to contrast with and identify a clear divide between the acceptable fascist, German art of the ‘Great German Art Exhibition’ and unacceptable ‘degenerate’ art.

Compared to the fascist art of Italy and the Socialist art of Stalinist Russia, Nazi Germany’s art demonstrated its own rather conservative, traditionalist individuality. Italian fascist art embraced elements of modernism such as futurism and took a progressive approach. Soviet art also toyed with Modern styles such as cubism and impressionism and, while it favoured Socialist and Heroic realism as generic styles, it was less restrictive and critical of other artistic movements. Nazi art on the other hand had regressed to a neo-classical style popular a century earlier whilst at the same time excluding, even banning, other artistic styles. Katya Mandoki argues that the art of the NSDAP was unique because of six substitutions: “the substitution of religion by the instrumentalisation of art; the substitution of art by propaganda; the substitution of propaganda by indoctrination; the substitution of culture by monumentalism; the substitution of politics by aesthetics; and the substitution of the aesthetic by terror”.[17]

Within its unique conservative style Nazi art was purposeful, with content chosen less for aesthetic appeal and more for usefulness in the ‘bigger political picture’.  It achieved much in terms of embodying and communicating the wider fascist ethos of the NSDAP: reinforcing its back-story of a pure race and a country with both a mystical past and a great future, a ‘thousand-year Reich’, that would be delivered if the people believed in the ‘quasi-religious’ values of Nazism – military and moral strength together with an intolerance of weakness, liberal values and, above all, the evils and degeneracy of communism and Judaism. It is interesting that the art created was so distinct and clear in its message, such a quintessential fascist aesthetic, that almost seventy years later the material is still something of a taboo with many authors putting disclaimers in their work when discussing Nazi art, seeking to avoid condoning the content.

1. Stanley G. Payne, ‘Fascism as a ‘Generic’ Concept’ in Aristotle A. Kallis, The Fascism Reader (2003), p. 84-85
2. George L. Mosse, ‘Fascist Aesthetics and Society: Some Considerations’ in Journal of Contemporary History (1996), Vol. 31, No. 2, p. 245-246
3. Ulrich Schmid, ‘Style versus Ideology: Towards a Conceptualisation of Fascist Aesthetics’ in Totalitarian Movements and Political Religions (June, 2005), Vol. 6, No. 1, p. 128
4. Ibid, p. 129
5. Ibid
6. Ibid
7. Jonathan Petropoulos, Art as Politics in the Third Reich (1996), p. 19
8. Kurt Karl Eberlein, Was ist deutsch in der deutschen Kunst? (Verlag E. A. Seemann,1933) referenced in George L. Mosse, Nazi Culture (1966), p. 165
9. Peter Adam, The Art of the Third Reich (1992), p. 35
10. Ibid, p. 29
11. Ibid, p. 150
12. Ibid, p. 24
13. Ibid, p. 64
14. Ibid, p. 179
15. Peter Paret, German Encounters With Modernism 1840-1945 (2001), p. 200
16. Katya Mandoki, ‘Terror and Aesthetics: Nazi strategies for mass organisation’ in Renaissance and Modern Studies (1999), Vol. 42, No. 1, p. 65