Siegfried Stoitzner

Siegfried Stoitzner

Wood Gnome and Squirrel

circa early 1900s

     Are we looking through a lense? Our perspective is narrowed and focused on the central part of the scene where the bark of the branch is clearest, as are the warm tufts of orange squirrel hair and the scrawny fingers and ferocious white coif of the little man, giving us the sense that we are huge in comparison to these two creatures over whose squabble we loom. The details, however minimal, are well-drawn. They tell us that the artist was skilled in executing anatomy no matter how small the scale or how playful and comical (as this picture is) the subject. He and Arthur Rackham share the same foggy depiction of colour and the same motionless animation of fantasy-based figures, each bringing to life a world that undoubtedly catches the attention of both children and adults.

     The watercolour is odd, though: either it was never completed during the artist's lifetime or, as already noted, it is meant to appear slightly out of focus. Surely the dense green wall of foliage has faded nevertheless due to constant handling without protective gloves (as natural hand oil tends to eat away or dissolve less-durable media as watercolours), but this is probably not the sole reason for its fading: the picture's edges are too evenly paled all round. However, having once sold for nearly 1'000 Euros the fading clearly does not affect the picture's evident charm - nor does it seem to interrupt the creatures' 'whose-nut-is-whose?' argument.

the Wiener Werkstätte: Josef Hoffmann

Josef Hoffmann

Pin Cushion

circa 1908

     A silver bundle of leaves and a domed trellis: is this not a clever echo of nature? Adding and removing pins from the top gives the piece a touch of seasonal evolution, of growth - as in the more laden the cushion is, the more 'dense' the canopy of fruity or flowery trees is (whether the pins are coloured or not). This particular phase of the cushion [inset] implies winter; its espalier is bare, dormant, making the leaves below seem frozen without their usual crown of blossoms. Perhaps a few silver or grey-headed pins should speckle the cushion, but for the time being they would only emulate a light snow fall.

     Hoffmann's design is timeless. It does not stand out as something unusual or odd, nor does it fit into a niche of perfectly ordinary things. It does not beg for attention, nor does it remain unnoticed. It is just a wonderfully subtle and calm work of art imbued with a tinge of character (from what or whom, who can really say?) that tickles the eye when it comes in sight. As delicate as Peche's ivory bell (see post for 14 April 2013), it invites one to touch it, to memorise its weight and to feel its size - to discover where its little heart beats, whether it lies in the pin cushion's very centre or throughout the entirety of its chased skin.

Wojciech Weiss

Wojciech Weiss

Nude

circa early 1900s (?)

     Her skin is nearly blinding. Her torso is rather long, too long, and her neck is held stiffly. She is more like an overgrown marionette than an actual human, with features so surreally perfect but abnormal at the same time.

     A light source in itself, the white, ethereal pallor of her body radiates her indifference to or unawareness of the audience behind her. She is cool, untroubled - she is wrapped in lazy thoughts spurred by the embroidered blue-bell birds flitting across that heavy golden curtain. Echoing their elegant tail feathers, a satin toile holds up her hair on which a rich light, from either a lamp or the outdoors, casts feather-like rays that seem to sprout from a sort of communal stem, its 'roots' buried in her tight bun. Her elbow rests casually on the back of a chaise longue; her right arm shields the gentle curve of her breast; and with a long swoop her spine, articulated with a hint of shadow, arcs downwards to her bottom slightly rouged by the reflection of the striped fabric. The seduction of this woman lies in her act of not awknowledging or caring for us, her audience. We are curious, maybe even aroused, by her lack of a face and a name that, in truth, are as equally mysterious as the stunning allure of her skin, crystal-pure and untouchable. We will stare at her for ages to come, but never will she reveal even the slightest extra inch of her body to us, intent on keeping the beauty of the unknown at its peak.