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Jürgen Partenheimer Carola Giedion Welcker at Doldertal – A personal encounter between literature and art 9 June 2006 Source: Henry Moore Institute Online Papers and Proceedings www.henry-moore.org/hmi This article has been downloaded from the Henry Moore Institute’s collection of Online Papers and Proceedings, an online publishing facility bringing you the most recent developments in sculpture studies from both inside and outside the Institute. Here you'll find proceedings from many of the Institute's international conferences as well as the latest research from both up-and-coming and established scholars. Copyright remains with the author. Any reproduction must be authorised by the author. Contact: [email protected] The Henry Moore Institute is a world-recognised centre for the study of sculpture in the heart of Leeds. An award-winning exhibitions venue, research centre, library and sculpture archive, the Institute hosts a year-round programme of exhibitions, conferences and lectures, as well as developing research and publications, to expand the understanding and scholarship of historical and contemporary sculpture. The Institute is a part of The Henry Moore Foundation, which was set up by Moore in 1977 to encourage appreciation of the visual arts, especially sculpture. To subscribe our newsletter email: [email protected] www.twitter.com/HMILeeds 1 Jürgen Partenheimer Carola Giedion Welcker at Doldertal – A personal encounter between literature and art A glimpse rather than a profile. I Let me begin this short article with a quote from a letter, which Carola Giedion-Welcker wrote to me from Zurich on the 7th of October 1975: ‘Just now I have received Les Lauriers sont coupe’ by E. Dujardin from a local antiquarian. Quelle chance. These emotional outbreaks in their expression and formlessness were only able to flourish in this era of psychology. The nearness of Freud for Schnitzler´s ‘Lieutenant Gustel’(1901) and for Dujardin´s work the libertinism in the more independent language of the music of the symbolists – le vèrs libre – Mallarmé etc. have initiated and encouraged the process in poetry. Also the ‘automatisme’ of the surrealists did swing along at the edge… And as a present topic take Samuel Beckett’s anti-rational view of the world. A dark, contemplative clown of soul with steady ‘kicks’ against ratio – intellectuality and the external world in order to be able to brood in the microcosm of the psyche! How much more profound is all of that than the sociological over-interpretation and new- interpretation of art. Eh bien: finissons. Travaillez bien, cordial salutes C.W.’ This passage typically and unmistakably characterises Carola Giedion-Welcker for the élan vital, the esprit in this letter, portrays the spur of a moment. It reflects the beauty of momentary joy, an impression conveyed, and it remains written between the lines of this letter like an inner monologue and an exclamation at the same time. As an independent statement and a quick reading for the young man to whom this letter was addressed, these lines capture a mind of swift, instant reflection, sharp and passionate. At that time I was 28 and she was 82 – and if you believe in the symmetry of numbers, it was a perfect match. This article has been downloaded from the Henry Moore Institute’s collection of Online Papers and Proceedings at www.henry-moore.org/hmi. Copyright remains with the author. Any reproduction must be authorised by the author. Contact: [email protected] 2 II The kind invitation to take part in this conference on Carola Giedion-Welcker instantly stimulated my recollection of a time long passed yet vividly remembered. It is the inconspicuous vividness of involuntary recollection, which claims a particular susceptibility of the senses, a recollection Samuel Beckett so precisely described and demonstrated in his essay on Marcel Proust.1 It all comes to the fore. By chance I had come upon CW’s book on Constantin Brancusi where I had read the remarkable opening quote by James Joyce on Brancusi´s work when I was a student in Munich (in 1972). CW’s book had taken me by surprise and I re-discovered two great artists at the same time, the writer and the sculptor. I still cherish the book with all its fervently underlined passages of her text, filled with exclamation marks, interrogation marks, crosses and handwritten comments. I remember her splendid introduction on the confrontation and dialogue between Auguste Rodin and the young Brancusi, culminating in the dramatically proclaimed self-confidence of the young Romanian artist declining the master’s offer of an assistantship in the elder’s studio with the words: ‘Sous les grandes arbres rien ne peut pousser’ – ‘Nothing grows under big trees’. This sentence I had immediately underlined twice. The text of the book was illustrated with astonishing photographs of Brancusi´s sculpture, different from anything I had previously seen and which to my great surprise turned out to be the artist’s own photographs of his work, hitherto completely unnoticed.2 It went without saying that I had to meet the person who had written this book and so I addressed a letter to the famous Doldertal residence in Zurich. In 1974 I stood in front of the house for the first time and when the door opened a tall woman with short, full, white undulating hair and a penetrating gaze in a firm, striking, almost masculine face, strict and dominating, greeted me with an unexpectedly calm yet clear voice and with a mildly reserved friendliness. I recall, without sentimentality, that my first impression was that of a grandchild meeting his grandmother and at first sight we made friends without saying anything while she led me into the living room. This article has been downloaded from the Henry Moore Institute’s collection of Online Papers and Proceedings at www.henry-moore.org/hmi. Copyright remains with the author. Any reproduction must be authorised by the author. Contact: [email protected] 3 III In his text ‘the poetics of space’ Gaston Bachelard refers to the notion of intimate immensity, which he sees as ‘a philosophical category of daydream’ between memory and imagination where the object of attention seems ‘far off, elsewhere, in the space of elsewhere. When this elsewhere is in natural surroundings, that is, when it is not lodged in the house of the past, it is immense.’ 3 This very immensity reigns in my visual memory of the house at Doldertal, a memory, which I still carry within me like the impression of a blissful experience. The ‘intimate immensity’ and its lasting impression was mainly ascribable to the atmosphere of extraordinarily ‘good company’ CW used to refer to when speaking about the artists whose works she and her husband had collected and which had created spaces of unfamiliar yet limpid quality in their home. The works and the artists who had become her friends were to be a constant part of her life and an everlasting inspiration to her work. The collection was stupendous, unsurpassed in the way it had come into existence and even more amazing in the way it was displayed or should I say not displayed at all: for it was lived with in the most casual way imaginable, yet with full awareness of its presence. When one entered the house, the corridor divided the entrance to the living room and the dining room on the left side while the staircase on the right lead up to the second floor. In this corridor, immediately adjacent to the entrance to the living room hung a small inconspicuous painting, oil on copper, tightly framed by a thin wooden moulding: Robert Delaunay’s iridescent Saint-Séverein from 1909 depicting the Gothic vaulting of the church as if seen through a camera obscura, the architecture shaped in a slightly cubistic oval. 4 Dancing on the wall that supported the staircase to the right, irregularly hung, were a wooden relief and a rope-relief by Hans Arp: ‘Nach dem Gesetz des Zufalls geordnet’ (‘arranged by the law of chance’) from 1929 and ‘Komposition mit Kreisen’ (‘composition with circles’) from 1928. Hanging right above Arp's dominating sculptural imagery were two paintings by Mondrian, among them ‘Komposition Nr.11’(1930), in stepped arrangement on the wall, leading up the stairs one after the other! This remarkable overture, mind you, took place in the least privileged of all spaces, a narrow hallway in semi darkness. This article has been downloaded from the Henry Moore Institute’s collection of Online Papers and Proceedings at www.henry-moore.org/hmi. Copyright remains with the author. Any reproduction must be authorised by the author. Contact: [email protected] 4 The living room was flanked by bookshelves partly covered with drawings and gouaches, which hung on nails casually hammered into the shelf-boards. Here a large watercolour by Le Corbusier, ‘Ozon’ (1940) dedicated by the artist/architect to his friend Siegfried Giedion hung next to a stark and colourful gouache by Fernand Legér. On the opposite wall a small painting on cardboard by Max Ernst stood on the shelf, a surreal frottaged fern-like forest and majestically hovering between the shelf and the high ceiling was one of Max Ernst´s masterpieces from 1939, ‘Europe après la pluie’ – ‘Europe after the rain’. This peculiar map of Europe contrasted with the central wall of the living room where an impressive canvas of one of Kandinsky’s major ‘improvisations’ took control of the room in an indirect rapport with a large painting by Juan Gris, which continued the dialogue with its meditative green cubist composition on the corresponding wall of Carola Giedion-Welcker´s bedroom on the first floor.