Neue Sachlichkeit and Avant-Garde - Ralf Gruttemeier

AvantGarde
Critical Studies
NEUE S A C H L I C H K E I T
A N T- G A R D E
A N D AV
Edited by
RALF GRÜTTEMEIER, KLAUS BEEKMAN, BEN REBEL
NEUE SACHLICHKEIT AND AVANT-GARDE
AVANT-GARDE
CRITICAL STUDIES
29
Editor
Klaus Beekman
Associate Editors
Sophie Berrebi, Ben Rebel,
Jan de Vries, Willem G. Weststeijn
International Advisory Board

Henri Béhar, Hubert van den Berg,
Peter Bürger, Ralf Grüttemeier,
Hilde Heynen, Leigh Landy
Founding Editor
Fernand Drijkoningen†
NEUE SACHLICHKEIT AND AVANT-GARDE
Edited by
Ralf Grüttemeier, Klaus Beekman and Ben Rebel
Amsterdam - New York, NY 2013

Cover design: Aart Jan Bergshoeff
Photographer: Felicitas von Baczko, ‘Treppe im Atlantishaus’ (before 1932)

(Landesmuseum Oldenburg)
All titles in the Avant-Garde Critical Studies series (from 1999 onwards)
are available to download from the Ingenta website http://www.ingenta.com
The paper on which this book is printed meets the requirements of “ISO
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Requirements for permanence”.
ISBN: 978-90-420-3640-6
E-Book ISBN: 978-94-012-0909-0
Editions Rodopi B.V., Amsterdam - New York, NY 2013
Printed in The Netherlands
Table of Contents

Neue Sachlichkeit and Avant-Garde. An Introduction 7
I. Neue Sachlichkeit and the Discourse on Modernity
Gillis J. Dorleijn
Challenging the Autonomous Realm of Literature: Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid and Poetry in the Dutch Literary Field 21
Kees van Wijk

“Yesterday Art Today Reality”. The Discourse on Neue
Sachlichkeit in i 10 51
Marieke Kuipers
Rietveld and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in Architecture 81
Mathijs Sanders
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as Positioning Strategy: The Case of
Albert Helman 113
II. The International and Intermedial Dimension of Neue

Sachlichkeit
Ben Rebel
The Appearance and Disappearance of the Term Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid in Dutch Modern Architecture 135
Klaus Beekman
The Terms Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, Neue Sachlichkeit and
Nieuw Realisme in Art Criticism of the Dutch paper De
Groene Amsterdammer 171
Nils Grosch
Neue Sachlichkeit, Mass Media and Matters of Musical Style
in the 1920s 185
Hans Anten
“A book such as ‘Automobile’ is only written once in a
lifetime”. Ilja Ehrenburg’s The life of the automobile as
benchmark in the discussion of New Objectivity in Dutch
literature 203
Ralf Grüttemeier
The Function of Ilja Ehrenburg Concerning the Dutch prose of
the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid 229
Steve Plumb
Continuity Through ‘Inner Emigration’: Neue Sachlichkeit,
National Socialism, and Aspects of the Work of Otto Dix
1933-1935 255
III. Neue Sachlichkeit and Avant-Garde
Sabine Kyora
Concepts of the Subject in the Avant-Garde Movements of the
1910s and Neue Sachlichkeit 277
Jaap Goedegebuure
The Reception of Neue Sachlichkeit among Dutch Authors and
Critics 297
Lut Missinne
Objectivity and Emotion, the Challenge of the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid: Albert Kuyle As a Test Case 313
Rainer Grübel
New Objectivity in the Work of the Russian-German Artist
Nikolai Zagrekov / Nikolaus Sagrekow 341
Willem G. Weststeijn
Aleksei Gan’s Constructivism and its aftermath 373
Neue Sachlichkeit and Avant-Garde.
An Introduction
Neue Sachlichkeit keeps attracting the attention of the public, as most

recently overview exhibitions as Neue Sachlichkeit in Dresden
(Dalbajewa 2011) or Der zweite Aufbruch in die Moderne.
Expressionismus – Bauhaus – Neue Sachlichkeit (Stamm 2011) have
shown. The same goes for exhibitions devoted to individual artists
from the context of Neue Sachlichkeit, as those on Christian Schad
(Tempel 2009) or on Paul Citroen (Keuning 2008) Scholarship, too,
has kept on dealing with this phenomenon from the late Sixties
onwards. The dissertation by Helmut Lethen (1970) and the anthology
by Henri R. Paucker (1974) were the first peaks of that line of
research. An increasing interest of academics is recognizable from the
90s onwards, with among others books by Jaap Goedegebuure (1992)
and Ralf Grüttemeier (1995) on Dutch literature, Helmut Lethen
(1994) on the intellectual and anthropological dispositions of Neue
Sachlichkeit, Sabina Becker (2000) on German literature and
Blotkamp and Koopmans on painting (1999), not to forget more
recent publications as Die (k)alte Sachlichkeit, edited by Moritz
Baßler and Ewout van der Knaap (2004) on the occasion of the 65th
birthday of Helmut Lethen, or Steve Plumb (2006) who puts his main
focus on painting.
When overlooking this academic reception of Neue
Sachlichkeit, one could say that there seems to be a turning point
around 1990. From the Sixties onwards, the picture drawn of Neue
Sachlichkeit was dominated by the views of its opponents in the
artistic and ideological debates of the Twenties and Thirties. Those
critics condemned the Neue Sachlichkeit for a lack of artistic
transformation of reality by sticking too close to reality (a lack of
8 Grüttemeier Beekman Rebel
Gestaltung in terms of Lukács), for a lack of politically desirable

views and position takings (for Ernst Bloch Neue Sachlichkeit was the
doctor at the hospital-bed in which capitalism lay), or for both (cf.
Grüttemeier 1995: 7-52). Until the early Nineties, these normative
views were basically reproduced by literary historians as adequate
descriptions. In other words: Neue Sachlichkeit was criticised by
scholars basing their judgment on opposing poetics and political views
taken from contemporary opponents of the Neue Sachlichkeit. There is
nothing wrong with an opposing poetics, of course – but a
differentiated description and analysis of Neue Sachlichkeit remains
out of reach when scholars basically do what is the job of artists,
critics, publishers etc.: step into the trenches of the poetic battlefields
(cf. Grüttemeier 1995: 52; Becker 2000: 26f.).
From the mid-Nineties onwards, research tends to pay greater
attention to the Neue Sachlichkeit-proponents themselves by
reconstructing their poetics, views and artworks as one side of the
debates of the Twenties and Thirties to be brought into light. This
research can be divided into two branches. The first one, started off
again by Helmut Lethen (1994), tried to reconstruct the intellectual
dispositions and instructions (‘Verhaltenslehren’) of the period in
between the wars as circling around the “cold persona”, constructed
by Helmuth Plessner, Carl Schmitt and Ernst Jünger. The above
mentioned volume Die (k)alte Sachlichkeit already in its title-pun
refers to Verhaltenslehren der Kälte and Neue Sachlichkeit, though
astonishingly enough relevant contributions to Lethen’s scholarly
milestone are generally lacking from the book (cf. Oster 2005). The
second branch focuses on the poetic and critical texts circling around
Neue Sachlichkeit and on the artistic production itself (cf. Grüttemeier
1995, Becker 2000), by trying to direct new, not opponent-biased
searchlights on neu-sachliche texts, paintings, buildings, photographs,
music etc. in order to see what relevance they might have in nowadays
critical debates and scholarship on Neue Sachlichkeit. It is this second
branch of research that the present volume wants to contribute to.
The picture that can be derived from the contributions in this book
confirm, to start with, what publications as those by Hans Anten
(1982) or Wolfgang Fähnders (2010) have already shown: Neue
Sachlichkeit has basically been a German and Dutch enterprise. The
fact that in both countries the same notions are used – Neue
Sachlichkeit and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (directly translated from the
Introduction 9
German) – is a point in case. However, there are indications that the
same phenomenon can be traced elsewhere, and that notions as ‘New
Realism’, ‘New Objectivity’, ‘Nouvelle Objectivité’, ‘New Sobriety’
or ‘Functionalism’ do point to something that is at least related.
Furthermore, Neue Sachlichkeit does not only imply literature and
painting (the domain in which the notion was coined in 1923/1925),
but also a certain kind of architecture, a field in which similar terms
are used: ‘Neues Bauen’, ‘Nieuwe Bouwen’, ‘International Style’ and
‘Architettura Funzionale’ (Rebel 1983). More or less the same can be
said about typography, design, theatre, film, photography and music.
One of the aims of the present volume therefore is to shed more light
on the notion Neue Sachlichkeit in its appearance in a variety of fields
of research, in order to get a clearer idea of its scope. The basic
problem of efforts like this has been phrased by Wolfgang Fähnders
(cf. 2010: 244) in a nutshell regarding literature: if one takes Neue
Sachlichkeit as a style, the relation to the different ideological
positions under the same label is hard to cope with; and if one defines
Neue Sachlichkeit politically, then not all of the antagonistic writers
following this flag can be dealt with.
Against the background of this dilemma, another approach is
at the basis of the present volume: to analyse Neue Sachlichkeit /
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid “as positioning strategy” (cf. Sanders, infra).
From this point of view, the heterogeneity in the use of the term is
analysed concerning its function in the fight for recognition in the art-
fields around 1930. The dilemma that Fähnders and others see is not
solved this way, but it is not urgent any more. Such a way of looking
finds its point of departure in the insight of Walter Müller Seidel -
shared by Sabina Becker - that Neue Sachlichkeit was the only
genuinely new and relevant stylistic notion (if it was one!) of the
Republic of Weimar (cf. Becker 2000: 51). If one adds to this that
literary fields sensu Bourdieu are established around 1900 in France
(Bourdieu 2008), Germany (Magerski 2004) and the Netherlands
(Dorleijn & Van Rees 2006), then it seems worthwhile to analyse
what function this notion fulfilled in the positionings in the arts and in
criticism of its time. Only in order to prepare the reader for the riches
of the argument in the contributions to follow, three dimensions of
Neue Sachlichkeit as positioning strategy will be highlighted in our
introduction.
First of all, the rise of the phenomenon Neue Sachlichkeit in
the Twenties and Thirties was accompanied by the central
connotation of ‘modern’ – for example with regard to the paintings of

Christian Schad in 1929 in the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam. So,
referring to Neue Sachlichkeit or to related terms and concepts turns
out to be a signal of participating in a broad discourse on modernity,
as especially the contributions by Gillis Dorleijn, Cees van Wijk and
Marieke Kuipers in this volume show. The specificity of this making
use of the terminological Neue Sachlichkeit-“complex”, as Dorleijn
calls it, is a claim to be modern in the sense of accepting modern
developments in technological, sociological and political sense as a
reality that is out there, whether one likes it or not. From Frank
Matzke’s Jugend bekennt: So sind wir (1930) to pedagogic books as
that of J. Riemens-Reurslag (1932) the base-line was to accept that we
live in modern times, and that we have no choice about this. By this,
Neue Sachlichkeit found itself in opposition to two relevant attitudes
of the time. It opposed on the one hand a widespread critique of
modernity in which the intellectual and the artist were responsible for
reminding us of the negative sides of mass-modernity, without on the
other hand trying to convert those who did not believe in
technological progress. A typical view is that of the Dutch catholic
intellectual and writer Jan Engelman, reviewing the first Architecture,
Painting and Sculpture (ASB) exhibition at the Stedelijk Museum
Amsterdam in February 1928, who calls it useless to be pro or contra
constructivism or Neue Sachlichkeit. He who resists both movements
“resists against the time in which we live: against the grain silo, the
factory, the automobile – he does not make undone that the architect
receives, at the moment, a lot of commissions which have but very
little to do with the ‘mental attitude’ of the architect” (cf. Kuipers,
infra). On the level of the artist, an affinity with modernity and its
ever-changing varieties may in turn lead to a great variety of labels to
characterise his positionings. An illustration for this point is Rainer
Grübel’s case study of the Russian-German artist Nikolai Zagrekov.
Zagrekov used “the benefits of radical modern painting” in such a way
that he can be connected to “almost all the styles of painting of his
time” (cf. Grübel, infra).
A second important stake in the positionings with regard to
Neue Sachlichkeit is the international dimension. While launching the
term was basically a German enterprise beginning in 1925, the Neue
Sachlichkeit complex bestowed in no time an international dimension
onto its discourse on modernity. Ilja Ehrenburg as a Russian based for
many years in Paris and with translations into many languages, among
Introduction 11
which German and Dutch, is an illustration for that. As Hans Anten
shows in his contribution (infra) though, the interest for Ehrenburg
must be seen as part of a wider interest in revolutionary Russia all
over intellectual Europe. In a similar way, the interest for the USA
was part of that broad discourse on modernity to which the neu-
sachliche positionings belonged (cf. Dorleijn, infra). Even stronger
than from the artists themselves, it is expected from the art critics in
the Twenties and Thirties to keep up with international developments.
Literary expertise of leading critics must be international expertise at
the end of the 1920s in the literary field of Netherlands (cf.
Grüttemeier, infra). Another point in case is the fact that Gerrit
Rietveld in 1932 gave the term “international architecture” as a
synonym for Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in Dutch architecture, a phrase that
was also used in the USA (“International Style”) around the exhibition
‘Modern Architecture: International Exhibition’ at the MOMA in New
York in the same year (cf. Kuipers, infra).
Finally, the specific forms of using Neue Sachlichkeit as a
positioning strategy in many cases have a third dimension in common:
intermediality. It is striking to see how easy this tool of positioning
makes the leap from a specific discipline – painting – to “almost all
disciplines, namely literature, art, film, theatre, music, and so forth”,
as Klaus Beekman (infra) shows in his case study on the Dutch
weekly De Groene Amsterdammer. In this use, it is not only the term
that is given a different content in each discipline: for example in
music, Neue Sachlichkeit is not about objectivity, but about the
integration of “a mass culture shaped by the technical mass media
around 1927” into the production and reception of music: radio,
gramophone, mechanical instruments etc. (cf. Grosch, infra). Even
more typical for the neu-sachliche positionings are cross-references to
other media: for Matzke and others, architecture “takes the top
position in the hierarchy of the arts because it supplies ‘articles of
everyday use in the real world’” (cit. Dorleijn, infra). A claim that was
explicitly confirmed in the positionings of literary authors of the
Dutch Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as W.A. Wagener who claims the
intellectual context of his prose was largely determined by
architecture: “first by the school of Oud, after that by the architects of
the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid ” (cit. Grüttemeier, infra). For other writers
like M. Revis the cinema can take a similar intermedial role of
inspiration, especially regarding short scenes, forceful action and
montage (cf. Anten, infra). Again, trying to freeze this explosion of
intermedial cross-references in a tree-structure of specific influences

and hierarchies between different disciplines seems a hopeless effort
due to the heterogeneity and ad-hoc-character of many of these
claims. But that is no reason for scholarly despair, when these
intermedial cross-references are analysed as expressions of a growing
pressure on artists to position themselves in relatively autonomous
fields in an original way. That is what intermediality in the discourse
on Neue Sachlichkeit seems to be used for: in the period between the
World Wars in Germany, the Netherlands and elsewhere the pressure
for originality in positioning and classification was stronger than the
urge for descriptive adequateness of classification (cf. Beekman,
infra).
Against this background, it comes as no surprise that Neue
Sachlichkeit not only spread very fast across the borders of art-
disciplines and countries, but that this spreading was at the same time
watched with a widely shared sceptical and critical attitude, not only
in the domain of architecture as Ben Rebel shows in his contribution
to the present volume. Only three years after the launch of the concept
in Germany Béla Balász saw in the Neue Sachlichkeit already the
aesthetics of the assembly belt (“Ästhetik des laufenden Bandes”, cit.
Lethen 1970: 4). Also in the Netherlands, where the notion seems to
have spread from 1928 onwards – a systematic research on the terms’
history is still a desideratum -, the designer Paul Bromberg three years
after the start of the debate came to a similar diagnosis, calling Neue
Sachlichkeit a “phrase” (cit. Kuipers, infra), while the art critic Albert
Plasschaert patronizingly called it in the same year “a German export
product” (cit. Beekman, infra). It is telling that this criticism brings
Neue Sachlichkeit close to economics and mass-production – from
architecture (cf. Rebel, infra) via literature (cf. Grüttemeier, infra) to
music (cf. Grosch, infra) artists that put themselves or were put by
others in some relation to Neue Sachlichkeit had to defend themselves
often against the criticism of commercialism. Obviously, Neue
Sachlichkeit was seen as a threat to the more or less recently
established relative institutional autonomy of the art-fields – Gillis
Dorleijn (infra) makes this point with regard to Dutch poetry around
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. One of those threats was turned against the
position of the individual creator – what Bourdieu would call the
charismatic ideology -, for example when Franz Matzke states that
“the literary work gives us more than its creator, because we loathe
authors’ vanity in every field” (cit. Dorleijn, infra). In architecture,
Introduction 13
too, there is a clear tendency of turning away from the needs and the
creation of the individual towards the “fulfilment of human needs, not
the obstinacies of individuals but the important needs of the general
public”, as Siegfried Giedion claimed in a lecture about ‘Die
Internationalen Kongresse für Neues Bauen’ (cit. Rebel, infra). The
same tendency was signalled in a recently published inspiring article
by Pepper Stetler on neu-sachliche photography, a tendency that lead
to confusion about who was the proper ‘author’ of typical neu-
sachliche photos (cf. Stetler 2011: 290). For Stetler, this is the result
of an authorial attitude that tries “speaking in images through
selection and arrangement” (cf. Stetler 2011: 286). This technique
leads to a different presence of the author in his works – and offers
room for a criticism of artistic mass-production from the assembly
belt, we might add. Still, Stetler leaves no doubt that the photography
of the Neue Sachlichkeit uses its “new approach to the object” via its
“dramatic close-ups and uncommon viewing angles” basically for one
goal: “searching for underlying traits that unite a period or culture”
(cf. Stetler 2011: 283) – a traditional aim for art that has quite some
overlap with idealistic transformation aesthetics from Hegel to
Lukács.
What does this mean for the relation between Neue Sachlichkeit and
avant-garde? Taking the observations and the thought presented above
together, it seems that participation in the discourse on Neue
Sachlichkeit meant presenting oneself in an at least partly ‘original’
way as an artist or critic who claimed affinity with the modernity he
lived in, positioning oneself in a decidedly international and
intermedial perspective. Seen from the historical avant-garde as point
of reference, the overlap with the last two aspects is evident. Yet, the
relation between Neue Sachlichkeit and avant-garde regarding the
aspect of affinity with modernity – with Neue Sachlichkeit avoiding a
radical opposition towards modernity as well as uncritical adoration –
is complex. What is more, avant-garde art by futurism or Dadaism
from the Tens and Twenties was deemed to be ‘modern’. To make
things even more complicated, artists and essayists of the Neue
Sachlichkeit have used the historical avant-garde as background
against which they presented themselves as different. On the other
hand, there are many lines of continuity in the work and biographies
of German writers who positioned themselves first as close to avant-
gardist movements as Dada or expressionism, only to step over to
Neue Sachlichkeit some years later, as Sabine Kyora (infra) shows in

her contribution regarding Kasimir Edschmid, Richard Huelsenbeck,
Walter Serner, and Walter Hasenclever. A clear cut opposition or
borderline between avant-garde and Neue Sachlichkeit can hardly be
defended, given her analysis of the concept of subjectivity on both
sides of the fence – a fence that turns out to be no real obstacle for
transgressions.
In painting, the careers of Christian Schad (cf. Ratzka 2009:
14) and Paul Citroen – born in Berlin from Dutch parents – are other
examples for quite some continuity between avant-garde and Neue
Sachlichkeit. The same goes for Otto Dix. He was one of those whom
Ype Koopmans had in mind when he wrote: “Many protagonists of
Neue Sachlichkeit had started themselves as cubist, expressionist or
cubo-expressionist, before they returned to figurative art” (Koopmans
2010: 20). Dix had joined Dada-activities in Dresden and was part of
the “First-Dada-Fair” in Berlin in 1920. According to Koopmans, his
works based on collages presented there took an ironic and critical
stand towards society (2010: 49). Some years later, in 1925, the same
Otto Dix was to be on show in Gustav Hartlaub’s exposition Die Neue
Sachlichkeit in Mannheim, but now with realistic work. Later on Dix
even claimed: “Neue Sachlichkeit was invented by me” (cit.
Koopmans 2010: 33). In other words: taking Dix as an example, a
simple opposition between neu-sachliche ‘objectivity’ and avant-
garde ‘engagement’ does not hold, as Steve Plumb (infra) shows in his
contribution to the present volume. Though the techniques and the
style differ, adherents to Neue Sachlichkeit could criticise societal
developments notwithstanding their basic affinity with the modern
reality they lived in – a situation that puts these painters under
pressure in times of National Socialism from several sides and that
makes the analytic and descriptive task of the scholar in retrosprective
very delicate, as the case-studies in this volume by Rainer Grübel and
Steve Plumb underline.
Summarizing, the present volume wants to be read as a plea
for a differentiated description of the many shared aspects and some
differences between the avant-garde and Neue Sachlichkeit. Also in
Neue Sachlichkeit, forms of engagement can be found (cf. Anten,
Missinne, Rebel, Sanders, all infra) and expressionism and Neue
Sachlichkeit are far from being antagonistic, as the contributions by
Jaap Goedegebuure, Sabine Kyora and Kees van Wijk show.
Furthermore, representatives of Neue Sachlichkeit seem to have
Introduction 15
oriented themselves towards constructivism (in the Western and in the
Russian version; cf. Grübel, Weststijn, Kuipers; all infra). When
looking at this complex constellation from the perspective of
positioning strategies, one has to keep in mind that Neue Sachlichkeit
in Germany came into play in the Twenties in different disciplines
only after the avant-garde had been present for quite some time. The
need for defending one’s position (avant-garde) as for conquering one
(Neue Sachlichkeit) made it necessary to claim differences and
originality, especially in establishing and growing art-fields. These
difference- and originality-claims however should not be taken at face
value and they should not be overestimated, for in many respects the
continuities between avant-garde and Neue Sachlichkeit seem to be
dominant.
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I. Neue Sachlichkeit and the Discourse on
Modernity
Challenging the Autonomous Realm of Literature:
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and Poetry in the Dutch
Literary Field
Gillis J. Dorleijn
Abstract: The term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid has mainly been used to indicate prose not
poetry during the 1930s in Dutch literary criticism and academic criticism; literary
historiography followed this practice. This contribution shows that Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid and poetry are nevertheless closely intertwined in Dutch discourse of the
interwar period. The generation of poets that announced themselves in the early 1930s
were deeply affected by it and the critics pointing out to their poetic products
classified them as nieuw-zakelijk accordingly. The use of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid takes
place in an international context of an upcoming generation advocating a new way of
life, burying the past, cleaning the slate with an urgent aspiration to build a new
existence on a radically different basis. Poetry of that time and its reception should be
understood in the context of this new mentality. This wide-ranging process of
generational change becomes visible in the critics’ classification behavior and the
self-fashioning activities of the poets in the Netherlands. A final point of attention is
related to the relative autonomy of the Dutch literary field of that time. In the
viewpoint of those participating in the literary field, literature has acquired an
autonomous position, but nieuw-zakelijke poetry and the discourse of the new modern
mentality appeared to challenge this particular status. This contribution gives an
outline of the problem poets and critics were confronted with and the way they tried to
find a way out and preserve the autonomous realm of poetry.
“Poëzie en nieuwe Zakelijkheid” (Poetry and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid /

New Objectivity) is the title of a brief essay published in 1932 (Van
Heugten 1932/1933). Although the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was
mainly used to indicate prose during the 1930s in Dutch literary
criticism – a practice followed by academic criticism and literary
historiography (Goedegebuure 1992; Grüttemeier 1994) – the
designation apparently can emerge in the context of Dutch poetry as
well. Central question of this contribution is how the term and related
designations were called forth as a classification tool for poetry in the
22 Gillis J. Dorleijn
Netherlands of the 1930s. Which names (of poets) were associated

with it? Which mentions, like predecessors or foreign models, play a
role in this context? With which characteristics and subject matters are
the designations connected? What is the critics’ attitude towards this
modern poetry and which interests are hidden behind their
classifications? And with regard to the poets identified as nieuw-
zakelijk by the critics, the question occurs to what extent and in what
manner the poets in question present themselves as nieuw-zakelijke
authors, as poets with a nieuw-zakelijk profile.
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid goes beyond the limits of literature, let
alone poetry. The use of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and related designations
takes place in a context of an upcoming generation advocating a new
way of life, burying the past, cleaning the slate with an urgent
aspiration to build a new existence on a radically different basis.
Poetry of that time and its reception should be understood in the
context of this new mentality. Not only the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
was of German origin (Fähnders 2009), but also the more
encompassing generation and modernity discourse (Lethen 1994). The
question suggests itself to what extent this wide-ranging process of
generational change becomes visible in the critics’ classification
behavior and the self-fashioning activities of the poets in the
Netherlands.1
A final point of attention is related to a central assumption of
this article, the so-called autonomy thesis, running as follows: from
1900 onwards, the Netherlands saw the continuing emergence of a
literary field that became gradually autonomous institutionally and in
which to an increasing extent autonomistic conceptions of literature
were articulated (Van Rees and Dorleijn 2006: 15-37; Dorleijn,
Grüttemeier and Korthals Altes 2007; Dorleijn 2010). In the viewpoint
of those participating in the literary field literature has acquired an
autonomous position, but nieuw-zakelijke poetry and the discourse of
the new modern mentality appeared to challenge this particular status.
This contribution gives an outline of the problem poets and critics
were confronted with and the way they tried to find a way out and
preserve the autonomous realm of poetry.
The data are taken from a database containing a large
collection of reviews and essays on (Dutch) poetry from the main
literary and general periodicals (monthlies) published in the
Netherlands during the 1930s.2 In order to avoid a profusion of
quotations in Dutch and their translations, elements extracted from the
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and Poetry in the Dutch Literary Field 23
textual sources are paraphrased without literally quoting and
translating them but it has been tried to do them some justice by
staying close to the original’s choice of words and by reporting the
references meticulously.
1. Classifications
1.1. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as a semantic complex

Like other labels indicating currents, period codes, or movements, the
term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid functions as a point of reference for talking
about culture, a convenient short hand combining some associations.
Obviously, labels of this kind are constructions created by agents
reaching a sort of agreement on a term meant to point to a cultural
complex without waste of words. Their content or empirical import is
seldom well-defined, but as a rule remains rather vague, diffuse, and
variable depending on context of use. However, there is a difference
between Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and a label like e.g. Modernism.
Although both are constructions pointing to phenomena in reality,
Modernism is constructed in hindsight, after ‘Modernism’ took place,
whereas the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid concerns a label created
contemporarily with nieuw-zakelijke phenomena, be it that cultural
history studies have undertaken the necessary systematizing efforts
afterwards (see Fähnders 2009 for a succinct sketch) to make it
manageable for cultural-historical descriptions. Nevertheless, such a
cultural label developed contemporarily with what it indicates will be
informed by all kind of strategic interests of those that introduced it or
have reproduced it in the context of poetical self-fashionings, critical
labelling and other position-taking maneuvers. This is very much the
case with Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in Dutch literature of the 1930s when it
functions as a normative concept. Moreover, the term has been used in
a rather unreflected manner by literary scholars as well, who did not
account for its normative aspects. Yet, some scholarly publications
endeavour to eliminate the concept’s normative nature reshaping it
into a more descriptive tool (Grüttemeier 1994).
In this article, Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is being conceived of as a
semantic complex, which can be found in literary criticism during the
period studied, the interwar years, in particular the 1930s. A semantic
complex refers to a network of closely related associations,
indications, semantic notions that occur together, be it in varying

constellations. One of those indications would be the term Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid itself, but also elements like ‘zakelijk’ (a word hard to
translate; it combines notions like businesslike, thinglike, objective,
impersonal, pragmatic and down-to-earth), ‘objectief’ (objective),
‘koel’ (cool), ‘distantie’ (distance, aloofness, detachment, reserve),
‘neutraal’ (neutral, disinterested), ‘nuchter’ (matter-of-fact), ‘cynisch’
(cynical), ‘ding’ (thing, object, matter) and all kind of further
associations like ‘new generation’, ‘youth’, ‘collectivity’,
‘technology’, ‘machinery’, ‘modern industry’, ‘modern architecture’,
‘traffic’, ‘new media’, ‘cinema’, ‘radio’, ‘gramophone / record-
player’, ‘jazz’ and in addition the continent that was the icon of
modern technological and societal developments: The United States of
America.
At stake are notions that refer to salient ‘modern’ aspects of
culture. The semantic network is a phenomenon on the object level
(the reality studied) and functions as an instrument critics and other
agents employ to designate phenomena in the reality they have to cope
with. Arguably, the inventory of nieuw-zakelijke elements above is not
exhaustive, the exact wording can vary (synonyms, hyperonyms,
hyponyms) and more often than not only a selection out of them occur
in a particular situation. Subsequently, the elements can be identified
as being part of the ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid complex’ by the observing
researcher on the meta-level. Henceforth when in this contribution
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is used as a descriptive term on the meta-level, it
stands for the ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid complex’. When the exact term
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid itself is referred to it will be stated expressly.
1.2. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid before Nieuwe Zakelijkheid

Before the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid itself had general currency – in
particular to indicate a specific kind of narrative prose –, traces of the
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid complex can be found already. Notions like
‘pure’, ‘objective’, ‘matter-of-fact’ and ‘conscious-intellectual’ occur
in an essay from 1923 devoted to avant-garde movements in Germany
and France. The critic lumps them together under the heading Cubism,
which she looks upon as a harmful school of art (“geen kunst” / “no
art”) opposing it to Expressionism. However, the new school is
considered as an expression of contemporary actuality, this soulless
time, as she states, that makes us feel that the world, yes life itself
hovers like a strange constellation disconnected from us in the
universe (Révész-Alexander 1923). In 1925 the term zakelijkheid
appears – long before the label Nieuwe Zakelijkheid would get into
circulation –, again to describe a phenomenon linked to the historical
avant-garde, to wit the modern Dutch poet Herman van den Bergh,
who introduced, according to a critic, the element of matter-of-
factness, of zakelijkheid, without a smack of romanticism (Binnendijk
1925: 184). In 1922, the poet and critic, H. Marsman, who played a
crucial role in the debate on the modern, had referred to the ‘modern’
Van den Bergh likewise: He knows the charm of zakelijkheid
(Marsman 1922: 153); and two years after that, Marsman had evoked
a type of poethood that avails itself of nigh on unapproachably cool
symbols calmly and tersely in order to control itself in search of a taut
zakelijkheid (Marsman 1924: 444).
In 1926, the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid complex manifests itself all
but entirely in an essay by P.H. Ritter Jr., a critic of an older
generation. It is a harangue about all modern symptoms of the age:
modern people don’t read anymore, the book becomes outdated
because life isn’t contemplative any longer, but active and practical.
Our age is the age of efficiency, Ritter grumbles, of practical and
technically perfect arrangement of life, while at the same time the Jazz
band, the cinema, the dance craze, the traffic rage seem to point to a
general superficiality, and technology appears to corrode the last
remains of romantic beauty; the result is that modern man turns
towards the detective novel bringing oblivion without philosophy,
betakes himself to the movie house where even the patience the
detective story still requires is superfluous and ends up in the dancing
club and on the motorbike (Ritter Jr. 1926: 675). In art in general,
continues Ritter, the story disappears, and the detailed ornament as
well, whereas only relations of line and plane, and relations of plane
and colour remain (Ritter Jr. 1926: 677). Chilly, business-like
buildings dominate the public space in which modern man moves on
with his spats and his Ford (Ritter Jr. 1926: 682); private life is
controlled by zakelijkheid equally: Like public life, our personal life
has been organized along the rules of efficiency, efficacy and
retrenchment. An outstanding example is modern housing: The
apartment building combining and simplifying a comprehensive
system of domestic functions, requiring a minimum of furniture, the
communal kitchen, the clothing subscription – these are the hallmark

of our days (Ritter Jr. 1926: 683).
This criticism of modernity was uttered by a spokesperson of
an older generation (Ritter was born in 1882), but a representative of a
younger age group, the influential critic Menno ter Braak (born in
1902), also appears to stand aloof from all kind of manifestations of
modernity of which he makes ‘America’ the symbol. He paints a
picture of the future in which all people of the Netherlands dance the
Charleston poisoned by the superficiality of Americanism (Ter Braak
1927: 233). In his analysis of ‘America’, the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
complex crops up unmistakably: America, Ter Braak states, makes us
zakelijk and introduces us to the extremely visible jagged crystals of
its skyscraper cities, to the monotonous but very audible noise of its
saxophones, to its concrete and tangible way of doing business. Every
new day, America creates new Americans, new transatlantic aviators,
new technical engineers and new behaviourists. America bombs us
with a hailstorm of hard forms of life and forms of thinking (Ter
Braak 1927: 231-232).
About the same time, the socialist L.J. Jordaan reacted against
the American influence, albeit without rejecting modernity per se
(which Ter Braak didn’t either actually). After World War I, the
western world faced a period of crisis (Jordaan 1927/1928: 72) and
then modern life got started (Jordaan 1927/1928: 73), characterized by
a behaviour that became fast and zakelijk (Jordaan 1927/1928: 71) due
to speed and universality through which only the surface of things can
be affected (Jordaan 1927/1928: 73). The opponents attack these
development using the battle cry ‘Superficiality’, but mistakenly so,
for – and here Jordaan underlines his words – at stake is the modern
life we all have to live, whether we like it or not (Jordaan 1927/1928:
73). Modernity is inevitable and it has a great advantage (again he
underlines his words): Culture has met Technology (Jordaan
1927/1928: 71) and the hurried pace of modern life can be kept up
very adequately by an outstanding modern cultural means of
expression – and here Jordaan becomes enthusiastic – : the art of film
(Jordaan 1927/1928: 72). His enthusiasm has to do with his being a
great stimulator of film in the Netherlands; together with among
others Menno ter Braak, he founded the Filmliga, a film society. But
like Ter Braak he took a stand against ‘Americanism’ in film that
transplanted the silly, naïve mentality of a young, dime-store-new
culture to Europe indiscriminately (Jordaan 1927/1928: 73).
1.3. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as a term to indicate prose and

poetry
At the end of the 1920s, the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid itself enters
Dutch criticism – coming from Germany, not America, and as regards
literature with prose as the most important genre (Grüttemeier 1994:
15, 33), but carrying all features we have met during the earlier 1920s
in the discourse of modernity. In 1929 the leading critic and editor of
an influential journal, Dirk Coster, gives a survey of the past year
commenting upon the peculiar complex of atmosphere called
modernity that disfigures the youngsters and results in Fascism,
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, and moral schyzothymia (Coster 1929: 202-
203). A few years later, the critic C. Rijnsdorp discusses the social-
cultural crisis that dominated the agenda since WO I and brought
technology closer to the artists, something the historical avant-garde,
Expressionism in particular, was not able to succeed, because it never
got beyond a childish attempt to illustrate things about their soul or
their sweetheart by using skyrockets, locomotive engines and
airplanes. In order to make good contemporary art, the marvels of
technology should become more commonplace and technology itself
should blossom into a worldwide cultural issue. Now this stage
appears to have been reached: modern technology is in the process of
being accepted radically and consequentially in the prose of “de
nieuwe zakelijkheid” (Rijnsdorp 1932/1933: 371) (Cf. Grüttemeier,
1994: 171).
The term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is not confined to characterize
prose; it can serve as a tool to classify poetry as well. In 1933, the
critic, poet and novelist, S. Vestdijk observes that ‘our poetry’ seems
to move towards a kind of ‘nieuwe zakelijkheid’ (’s-Gravesande 1933:
65). As a result of a review in a weekly magazine of a poem by A.J.D.
van Oosten labelled nieuw-zakelijk, a critic jeers at the fact that
everyone in ‘our journals’ talks about ‘the modern zakelijkheid’ in and
out of season. For what does this Nieuwe Zakelijkheid really signifies,
the critic asks, and he answers: Abroad, Nieuwe Zakelijkheid implies
that the author utters his perceptions frankly and communicates them
plainly and takes care for not lying (Anonymous 1931: 8). Obviously,
‘abroad’ means Germany and in the Netherlands, authors lie
unmistakably, as the contested nieuw-zakelijk poem appears to contain
factual errors according to the anonymous critic. For all that, critics
are aware of the fact that the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is of German
provenance and that Nieuwe Zakelijkheid designates the real modern
thing, which entails the connection with Americanism, modern life
style and the like and which activates other elements of the semantic
complex of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid.
In 1929, the critic Anton van Duinkerken points out a new
movement that dominates ‘poetical consciousness’ and relates to the
changing times. This movement has a name: “nieuwe zakelijkheid”,
and carries with it a certain form of mental adjustment to a tempo
showing its acceleration in business activities most clearly (Van
Duinkerken 1929: 413). The peculiar thing is that this mentality is felt
by a whole range of twenty-year-olds simultaneously (Duinkerken
1929: 415). At stake is a generational phenomenon. Ten years later,
the Flemish critic Jan Vercammen notes the zakelijkheid that has
conquered the poetry of the Netherlands to such a large extent
(Vercammen 1938: 83). In Dutch poetry of the 1930s, Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid is not merely an incident. During this decade, the term is
used frequently in order to classify contemporary poetry that aspires to
be up to date. The influential critic Anthonie Donker for instance
characterizes a volume of poetry as an example of icy cool-
headedness and an outstanding specimen of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
(Donker 1934b: 867). Another critic, Gerrit Kamphuis, takes the same
line when he states that a collection of poetry belongs stylistically to
the contemporary cultural phenomena that one summarizes under the
name Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (Kamphuis 1938/1939: 99). Even in the
case when the label does not fit a super-modern poet, it is observed:
when many poets – a critic states – think they should seek safety in the
so-called zakelijkheid, the poet Achterberg puzzles them, for where in
his work one can find beauty or zakelijkheid? (Van der Leek
1939/1940: 130). Although the labelling Nieuwe Zakelijkheid seldom
is positive and critics appreciate a young poet’s taking another
direction, it is taken for granted that modern poetry is nieuw-zakelijke
poetry.
The German roots become apparent when authors from the
German-speaking areas are mentioned as icons of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid. Bertolt Brecht, Erich Kästner and Kurt Tucholksy
frequently pop up as mentions and they are brought together under the
common denominator Gebrauchslyrik. In 1939, the poet and critic Ed.
Hoornik characterizes the poetry of a new poet – of whom he states
that his feelings are verzakelijkt – as “‘Gebrauchslyrik’ à la Kästner”
(Hoornik 1939c: 523). In the same year, another critic, Anthonie
Donker, associates Hoornik’s poetry itself with what the Germans
have called ‘Gebrauchslyrik’ and of which Kästner is an example,
albeit on the verge of poetry sometimes; not because of its objectified
feeling but on account of their torch song and cabaret tune quality
(Donker 1939b: 602). In 1933, Donker had devoted an essay on
Kästner in which he remarked that this German poet has depicted a
poignant and sincere self-portrait that is at the same time a portrait of
his generation; in his poems he acts as the crown witness against his
era on behalf of his generation (Donker 1933: 417).
1.4. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid: poets and characteristics

Critics use Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as a label to identify new trends in
contemporary poetry and characterize a new group of poets, a new
generation. All too often, these young poets are thought to be affected
by a disease that is epidemic in poetry of the 1930s. For the national
nidus of infection, the periodical Forum was held responsible. This
influential journal, founded by the already mentioned Ter Braak and
his brother in arms E. du Perron, took a stand against idealistic-
aesthetic conceptions of literature advocating an a-poetical position.
Looking back on Forum in 1941, Ed. Hoornik refers to the journal’s a-
poetical nature due to its ‘plastic realism’, its ‘sense of reality’, its
‘rational basis’ and its ‘bareness’ (Hoornik 1941: 4-5). The poetry of
both Jan Greshoff – actually a poet of an older generation – and Du
Perron were viewed upon as having a huge influence on the new
generation in particular (Hoornik 1941: 5). Earlier, Hoornik had called
the younger poets ironic, rebellious and cynical (Hoornik 1939a: 296)
and had observed that they attended Du Perron’s and Greshoff’s
courses for their ‘anecdotal, new-realistic’ poetry fruitfully (Hoornik
1939d: 614-615). Likewise, S. Vestdijk, who was member of the
Forum group and was taken to be a symptom of the climate of cynical
intellectualism and verzakelijking himself (e.g. Kamphuis 1938;
Eekhout 1936/1937), argues that a flourishing ‘Forum poetry outside
of Forum’ occurs in poets digesting Du Perron’s influence and
following Greshoff; he notices that the changing Zeitgeist expresses
itself even in the anti-aesthetic verzakelijking of the older poets’ recent
output (Vestdijk 1937: 33).
In short, during the 1930s, a specific cognitive scheme became

operative in perceiving and identifying contemporary poetry that has
the following outlines: a verzakelijkte, modern poetry occurs being the
product of a new generation as distinct from the expressive
aesthetically oriented poetry of preceding generations (this old poetry
can be either romantic – following the tradition of the 1880s
movement – or expressionist, in the style of post-war avant-garde,
which has become out-of-date). The new generation took Forum as its
source of inspiration with Greshoff and Du Perron as major poetical
models, but in the long run, the journal itself was not part of the new
direction anymore. Labels that were used frequently – some have been
passed in review already – are among others: anecdotal, matter-of-
fact, sincere, cerebral/intellectual, hard, tough, cynical, disillusioned,
defeatist, resigned, rebellious, socially committed, engagé, protesting,
and the poetical language was the so-called poésie parlante or
parlando.
Essential is the label ‘cynical’ with all sorts of synonyms and
related notions (Donker 1934b: 865; Donker 1939c: 874). The new
poetry can be characterized as being full of sardonic wisdom (Du
Perron 1933: 68) and sneering embitterment (Anonymous 1932/1933:
389), producing hard, cruel and grim verses (Donker 1934b: 865),
rock-hard verses (Donker 1932b: 1136) of an icy cool-headedness
being outstanding specimen of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (Donker 1934b:
867). This poetry generates poems that wittily and without making
bones and without any blind pretext mercilessly speak out experiences
of grim love of life or of disillusionment, or that merely flies at life’s
order aggressively and cynically; it is the poetry of ironic and cynical
degradation, of ironic humilation and distressing contrasts (Donker
1932a: 793, 797). The critics agreed: Who says Nieuwe Zakelijkheid at
present says: cynicism (Eekhout 1936/1937: 343).
Modern cynicism had various connotations. On the one hand
it could have to do with candidly, straight-forwardly telling the truth.
That could be embarrassing, but it also might denounce social abuses
– not by means of pathetic indictments but through a more painful
commitment, out of utter dismay, cynicism and bafflement about the
signs of the times and the inner distress of individual and society
(Engelman 1940: 116). The severe, outwardly unyielding form could
produce a vigorously talking plasticity and irony that would not be
disconnected with social compassion and social criticism (Kamphuis
1938/1939: 100). These poets rose up against the crazy contrasts of
life through social poetry, took revenge through cynicisms and
ironised the established bourgeois-satisfait (Hoornik 1941: 1-6).
On the other hand cynicism could be related to a defeatist
mentality (Engelman 1940: 118) of being disillusioned, resigned, dull,
not willing to try one’s luck with any spiritual current, not willing to
give one’s best (Engelman 1940: 121), ending in the stance of taking
up no stance at all (Engelman 1940: 115) and in mental passivity
(Donker 1939d: 1096) – the reverse of social commitment. In these
cases, shiftlessness was at stake (Panhuysen 1940/1941: 223), or
humoristic disdain (Paap 1939/1940: 182), cheap and tasteless quasi-
cynicism and cheap kitsch (Eggink 1939: 11) or bragging cynicism
(Donker 1932b: 1136). Often, cynical commitment might end in
defeatism. The poet of the new generation is a contemporary ‘kleiner
Mann was nun’ who sooner or later would fail and expire in confusion
(Donker 1939b: 595).
In the context of this discourse, the same names of poets
occur, albeit in various combinations. The poets mentioned most
frequently are, in alphabetical order: Gerard den Brabander, Jac. van
Hattum, Han G. Hoekstra, Ed. Hoornik and M. Mok, joined by H.
Gomperts and Hanno van Wagenvoorde at the end of the 1930s.
However, in connection with the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid complex, two
poets turn up most often during the whole period: A.J.D. van Oosten
and Eric van der Steen. A critic even thinks that Van Oosten is an
alias of Van der Steen due to the similarity of their work (Beversluis
1939: 277).3 The critics consider these two as the outstanding modern
nieuw-zakelijke poets. Although this contribution cannot address the
topic to what extent their poems really show the features and subject
matter of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid that the critics have indicated, it can be
safely stated that these poets position themselves within the modern
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid context unmistakably, show that they have the
ambition to represent a new poetry and are ready to write poetry that
fits in with the age of crisis and modern technology. A line of poetry
by Van Oosten runs as follows: “wij hedendaagschen hebben ver-
schijnlampen en radio” / “we, contemporary people have spotlights
and radio” (Van Oosten 1932: 33). Through this he expresses an
emotion that is central to this poetry: we are a new, modern,
contemporary generation and our cynical poetry articulates this
accordingly. In the blurb of Eric van der Steen’s second volume, the
poet is presented as ‘an extraordinarily remarkable figure in our
contemporary literature’ and as a recommendation it is stated that his
work gives “something indefinable” to “modern people” that

constitutes “the tragedy and at the same time the charm of this era”
(Van der Steen 1932b). Other publisher announcements on the dust-
jacket of the same volume concern new, modern prose (among which
distinguished examples of Dutch Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, M. Revis’
8.100.000 m3 zand, Albert Kuyle’s De bries and F. Bordewijk’s
Blokken). You better read what the younger generation created, what
people of your era wrote in your era and for your era, the
announcement runs. His publisher expressly positions Van der Steen’s
poetry as a manifestation of a new era by a new generation, as the poet
himself does equally.
2. The poetry of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as a generation

problem
2.1. The generation problem

In line with the literary field’s cognitive scheme concerning Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid, the article “Poëzie en nieuwe Zakelijkheid” referred to at
the beginning of this contribution clearly deals with the new poetry as
a generation matter. At stake are contemporary poets posing as
“gevoelsharde zonderlinge” / “stone-hearted eccentrics”: First and
foremost, they want to appear as hard as steel and as cold as steel
(Van Heugten 1932/1933: 195). A new attitude of life comes up
beguiling by its zakelijkheid and cool distancing, its distaste to
melodrama and sentimentality, and its sportsmanlike materialism (Van
Heugten 1932/1933: 197). The article’s author relates this
phenomenon to a bestseller published in 1930 in Germany: Jugend
bekennt: so sind wir! by Frank Matzke, translated into Dutch in 1932
(Matzke 1930 and 1932). This is the book about Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
par excellence that depicts the younger generation’s attitude of life
aptly, freshly, sportively and intelligently (Van Heugten 1932/1933:
195). Matzke points out the return to the things themselves to the
neglect of the emotional state of mind. What only matters is the world
of things, not the human being or human aspects, unless they are part
of the plain things (Van Heugten 1932/1933: 195). This ratio of
zakelijkheid settles everything. Nothing has a deeper meaning: culture,
God, marriage, nature, art – everything is ‘verzakelijkt’. Often this
generation lives and acts ‘as if’: they behave ‘as if’ values still exist,
which they don’t acknowledge in actual fact (Van Heugten
1932/1933: 196).
The essays by Van Duinkerken, Donker, Engelman, Hoornik
and Eggink, quoted above, present the new poetry as a manifestation
of a new generation rendering account of a new era as well.4 The
author of ”Poëzie en nieuwe Zakelijkheid” does hardly take an
exceptional position. Their viewpoints echo the so-called
“generational self-identifications” proliferating in the Western world
and in the Weimar Republic in particular, Matzke being one of them
(Hung 2011). In his study Verhaltenslehren der Kälte. Lebensversuche
zwischen den Kriegen, Helmuth Lethen has given an exact and
nuanced account of the patterns of this generational discourse –
incidentally without paying attention to Matzke, but focusing on the
writings by Helmuth Plessner, Carl Schmitt and Ernst Jünger (Lethen
1994). Plessner’s “Verhaltenslehre” takes a central position in the new
“‘Sachlichkeit’ der jungen Generation” / “‘Sachlichkeit’ of the young
Generation” (Lethen 1994: 83). Part of the neusachliche
commonplaces is the “Technikkult” / “technology cult” (Lethen 1994:
90) – electricity (Lethen 1994: 209-210), radio, photography (Lethen
1994: 193), modern traffic – in which the subject moves behind a
mask. Expression isn’t a goal anymore (Lethen 1994: 102, 108, 118),
now distance is paramount (240-241): the modern young one carries a
“kalte persona” / “cold persona” (Lethen 1994: 137), lives an “Als-ob-
Existenz” / “’as-if’ existence” (Lethen 1994: 164), expresses himself
in various social roles only (Lethen 1994: 194) and restricts himself to
plain functional behaviour (Lethen 1994: 164), moves on in the clear,
transparant, cool, functional buildings of the “Neuen Bauens” in
which the “Hygiene der Seele” / “soul hygiene” is principal, observes
accurately and uncompromisingly (“Habitus der
Wahrnehmungsschärfe” / “habitus of sharpness of observation”)
(Lethen 1994: 187) and in cultural respect carves his way in the
“trivialere Genres […]: Kabarett, Kriminalromane, Magazin-
Geschichten und Revuen” / “more trivial genres: cabaret, crime novel,
magazine stories and revues” accompanied by light music (jazz), mass
media and “Sexualität als Konsumgut” / “sexuality as a consumer
commodity”. Tucholsky and Kästner are the outstanding ironic
spokesmen of this attitude (Lethen 1994: 241-242). Various elements
of it are widespread in the poetry of young Dutch poets.
Matzke’s manifesto beats the same track. His book was meant
to preach the “Daseinsform meiner Generation” / “Form of existence
of my generation” and to demonstrate “daß wir neu und anders sind” /
“that we are new and different” (Matzke 1930: 17). The hallmark of
‘our’ generation is “Sachlichkeit” (Matzke 1930: 41), meaning that we
see things as they are (Matzke 1930: 42). Sport is essential, because it
causes the body to break away from the suspicious “Seelischen” /
“things of the soul” (Matzke 1930: 144). Technology is important, not
as a miracle of demon though, but as a “Selbstverständlichkeit” /
“Something obvious” (Matzke 1930: 150): “Rundfunk”/ “radio” and
“Film” for instance are ordinary appliances (Matzke 1930: 161).
Culture is fine, but no big deal whatsoever and the divide between
high and low culture is denied. Architecture takes the top position in
the hierarchy of the arts because it supplies “Gebrauchsgeräte in der
wirklichen Welt” / “articles of everyday use in the real world”
(Matzke 1930: 215). Literature is not prohibited, but authors should
stop to conduct themselves like lofty spiritual agents: the thing itself is
paramount, for “[s]achlich sind wir daher, weil das Werk uns mehr
gibt als sein Schöpfer, weil wir Autoreneitelkeit auf jedem Gebiet
verachten”/ “we are thing like because the literary work gives us more
than its creator, because we loathe authors’ vanity in every field”
(Matzke 1930: 42). Matzke tells the young poet to take care of himself
for not starving; writing poems is a private matter – no one asked for
his poems; maybe we will read a mere dozen of them gratefully after
some decades. But for the rest, don’t bother us and pattern yourself on
“dem Techniker” / “the technical engineer” who works on his
invention secretly during half his life and does not demand that we
admire him when he comes with a first draft (Matzke 1930: 210).
Lyrical poetry does not match our generation; we are “klarer und
nüchterner” / “clearer and more matter-of-fact” and also “kühler” /
“cooler” than the older generation (Matzke 1930: 246). Things
themselves are central, not emotions, hence we talk of an
“Entlyrisierung der Lyrik” / “‘de-lyricizing’ of lyrical poetry” (Matzke
1930: 247): emotion is enclosed in the thing (Matzke 1930: 251). At
its best, art is a game, “ein seliges Schweben über den Dingen dieser
Welt” / “a heavenly floating above the things of this world” (Matzke
1930: 212). Technology and sports are OK, but one should take care
not to glamorize them in art (Matzke 1930: 261) (like Futurism did,
one might add): there are statues – in Neue Sachlichkeit in particular –
that look like crushed concrete in Bengal lightning. On this topic,
Matzke speaks plainly: “Man nennt das auch ‘magischen Realismus’.
Früher war man offener und sagte Kitsch”. / “Some call this ‘Magic
Realism’. In bygone days, one was more sincere and called it kitsch”
(Matzke 1930: 262).
This casual attitude towards art might be found with the Dutch
nieuw-zakelijke poets as well. Eric van der Steen is a case in point.
The colophon of his volume of poems Gemengde berichten (“various
news items”) ironically dwells on its production. The poems are typed
by the author himself and five copies are typed again subsequently,
the colophon states, after which comes a solemn oath: for the next
seven years, Van der Steen won’t write nor type poetry anymore. The
volume itself contains some fill-ups that treat the poetical activity with
some nonchalance, as does this distich:
One writes May again. The moon is white and well risen.
I Mayditate: Eric, will One really read this next century?
>Men schrijft weer Mei. De maan is blank en goed gerezen.

Ik Meimer: Eric, zal Men na een eeuw dit lézen? (Van der Steen 1932:
17)@
The generation question addressed by Matzke and others was not only
a literary or artistic issue but referred to a broader societal concern.
Anthonie Donker publishes a comprehensive non-literary essay
reacting on a book by Günther Gründel: Sendung der jungen
Generation from 1932 (Donker 1934a). Donker calls Gründel and
Matzke constructive theoreticians of the new youth (Donker 1934a:
160): The image of this era investigated by Gründel thoroughly leads
him to the belief that at this very moment one makes a start with a
new epoch, that youth stands at the entrance of a new era and bears
responsibility for its construction (Donker 1934a: 162). Although the
Dutch younger generation cannot be compared to its German
counterpart entirely – because of the fact that WW I passed by the
Netherlands –, yet striking parallels occur: here and there an initially
growing hedonism, a dislike of problems, an exclusive interest in
concrete things, sports and technology, an enthusiasm (ill-disposed to
tradition) about film, jazz, radio, trans-oceanic flights and dancing
records, the levelling of the youth movement towards a kind of
democratic or anarchist camping industry that has nothing to do with
the aristocratic principals of the good-old idealistic youth movement
with its strong love for nature, and furthermore in many individuals,
e.g. the youngest lyrical poets, a quasi-cynical mock-pessimism that

shows a studied and dashing toughness (Donker 1934a: 170). Donker
sympathizes with Gründel’s positive call for construction, but keeps
his distance to what he looks upon as excrescences of the younger
generation – in the Netherlands and in the circles of Dutch poets as
well. These excrescences is a thorn in the flesh of critic P.H. Ritter jr.
as well, who writes a voluminous book on the new generation
concentrating on the sexual problem (Ritter Jr. [1933]). He starts
tackling the modern youth’s credo recorded by Frank Matzke (Ritter
Jr. [1933]: 8): the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, the downfall of ideology
(Ritter Jr. [1933]: 209), describes the elements of the new generation
in line with the well-known pattern (zakelijkheid, loss of values,
entertainment culture: jazz, film, radio, technology) and focuses on
sexual derailment: the withering of the lyricism of eroticism caused by
the fact that modern humankind does not crave for eternity anymore;
instead there is a pursuit for zakelijkheid as people like Matzke show
(Ritter Jr. [1933]: 53).
Evidently, Ritter discards the new attitude of life. The
educationalist J. Riemens-Reurslag however takes a more positive
stance. In 1932, she published a book Nieuwe zakelijkheid in
opvoeding / Nieuwe zakelijkheid and upbringing, with a beautiful
nieuw-zakelijke typography and illustrations. The 20th century, she
writes, has been declared the ‘the century of the child’ or ‘the century
of technology’, but she proposes to rename it “the century of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid” (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 2, 11-12, 46). From the outset,
she places her ideas in the context of modern architecture: Dudok, Le
Corbusier, and Wouda are sources of inspiration and she looks upon
her own work as austere and straight of construction like a modern
building (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 5). Architects are the first
proclaimers of this new direction (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 51).
However, Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is not merely an architectural style; it
is an attitude to life (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 50): architecture, style
of living and upbringing always are one (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 51).
She wants to draw up new guidelines for these hard times addressing
upbringing, the family, education, adolescence and marriage in ‘the
century of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 6, 2) and
serving “le liberté individuelle” by means of “le discipline collective”
(her she quotes Le Corbusier) (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 7).
Young people grow up between heavy cogwheels and the din
of machines in a new world of skyscrapers and zakelijkheid (Riemens-
Reurslag 1932: 10). A gap arose between the spiritual leaders – the
thinkers and poets, the refined spirits – and the worshippers of
technology. Youth votes for the second group (Riemens-Reurslag
1932: 14). Therefore it is important to bridge the gap, to let
technology be assimilated into thinking, to accept that technology is a
means of expression of human soul like music or poetry (Riemens-
Reurslag 1932: 15), and to value the functionally organized modern
factory as a thing of beauty (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 18). Pedagogics
is in the process of being reformed with as a guideline: to bring up a
human being to efficiently using his time and to get him familiarized
with the modern technological inventions and furthermore to teach
him to be a human being completely (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 45-46).
To become a complete human being is paramount.
Riemens-Reurslag admits that modern man spends his leisure
time at visiting cinema with its inane films, has a passion for radio and
throws himself away at photography (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 90):
Again a task for the school to integrate these forms of expression in
school practice in order to teach the children media literacy. But first
and foremost school should teach some beautiful poems for this can
give one pleasure for years (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 93). Although
Riemens-Reurslag is less radical than Matzke in cultural respect, yet
her ideas have a utopian ring and are oriented towards renewal: New
norms, new laws, new ethics, a new attitude to life; in the end, the
individualism of our time will serve collectivism – the century of
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is imminent (Riemens-Reurslag 1932: 123).
Books like those by Matzke and Riemens-Reurslag were
widely received and frequently referred to, albeit often rather
disapprovingly (e.g. De Wit 1932). The copies of Matzke and
Riemens-Reurslag I used originate from the possession of Wilhemina
Bladergroen (1908-1985), lecturer child psychology and later on full
professor pedagogy at the University of Groningen. In 1932, she
studied psychology and at that time, she has annotated both
publications very heavily and has added exclamation and question
marks and a range of comments. This gives support to the finding that
the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid complex was given much attention to and
was looked upon as an urgent generation issue that extended beyond
literature. For this reason, literary critics, commenting on the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid complex in poetry, addressed the generation question
time and again.5 At stake was not merely a poetic phenomenon but
also a generation problem, and that problem became visible in poetry.
At the same time the nieuw-zakelijke mentality implied a threat to the

status of poetry itself.
2.2. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and the problem of poetry

Poetry, or rather poets and critics involved in the central believes of
the literary field concerning poetry, were faced with a problem that
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid put on the agenda. Nieuw-zakelijke spokesmen,
like Matzke, tampered with the autonomous position of poetry when
they conceived of the activity of writing poems as an ordinary,
everyday activity, for instance by comparing it to the work done by
other workmen, like craftsmen and engineers. Critics observed that
such a ‘poet in industrial clothes’ with respect to his means of
expression did not search for the rapture of poetic diction but confined
himself to zakelijkheid, to colloquial speech, half-cynical, half-
conversational (Donker 1932a: 795; Donker 1939b: 601), producing
poetry that deals with common things by means of common words, in
short: “poésie parlante” (Donker 1939b: 602 and 595; Donker 1937:
949). Poets writing this plain poetry run the risk that their poetry
would result in nothing more than common words and things and
would not be ‘poetry’ at all: “‘Poésie parlante’ is als poëzie incognito”
/ “‘Poésie parlante’ is like poetry incognito” (Donker 1939b: 595);
then poetry would be on the verge of not being recognized as poetry.
Critics were in doubt whether this nieuw-zakelijke poetry of everyday
use was nothing more than “kleine kunst” / “small art” (Donker
1932a: 795) or rather “kleinkunst” / “cabaret”, the tune of the singer
of popular songs, the sentimental song, the torch song, the chanson
(Bloem 1933: 48) lapsing into the key of rhymed recipes and pouting
rhymed anecdotes (Donker 1939b: 601-602), products by poets
committing a third-rate tacky lyrical poetry (Marja 1941: 429), a kind
of cocktail table poetry (Donker 1932a: 793), the so-called gin and
bitters poetry that flooded Holland since the moment A.J.D. van
Oosten has equalled Greshoff in sardonic wisdom and Eric van der
Steen matches up with A.J.D. van Oosten in making entertainment
trash (Du Perron 1933: 68).
Poets like Van der Steen who do not stand up for the value of
their own poetry, presenting their poems as a variety of cabaret, affect
the faith in the higher significance of poetry – a faith deeply ingrained
in the shared conceptions of literature of that time. Hence, various
defence mechanisms occur against this heterodox nieuw-zakelijke
poetry. Critics speak of this poetry seldom unreservedly appreciatively
or at least are utterly ambivalent. This ambivalence is connected with
on the one hand the critic’s task to identify new currents and value
them adequately – he who fails to notice what is new disqualifies
himself as a critic – and on the other hand his or her duty to defend the
fundamental values of literature.
Donker for instance time and again pays attention to this
poetry because he cannot allow himself to disregard it without
neglecting his mission as a critic. So he pays attention to it, but time
and again points to the risks this new direction bears because it
hazards the essence of poetry itself: This new genre – Donker states –
deserves attention, albeit in a negative sense. There should be a place
for it, just like in France and Germany. Nevertheless, it includes a
danger, especially when it threatens to become a school supported by
a journal (Forum). The fact of it being reproduced and overrated
implies a decline of our poetry (Donker 1932a: 794). The danger
would be that only a small art of distrust, irony and raillery will be left
and this will sterilize poetry and will stab it in the heart: it will kill the
enthusiasm – which is after all the origin of art – and the rapture
without which poetry and life cannot exist (Donker 1932a: 795). This
lack of responsibility for poetry represents a lack of poetic culture and
in essence a lack of culture in general (Donker 1939d: 1095) and is a
symptom of a universal cultural decline. The publications by Hoornik,
Mok, Van der Steen, Den Brabander and Van Hattum as well, and
then again others, not to forget Van Oosten, are a sign of the
beginning of decay (Donker 1939d: 1096).
Likewise, the poet and critic Jan Engelman airs his worries:
the poetry of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid puts poetry itself in jeopardy. Those
poets are anti-poetic who lose themselves in small laments, who do
not keep their outlook free for heaven and horizon and who cannot
summon any cosmic feelings (Engelman 1940: 123). At stake is an
elementary misunderstanding about the task of poetry. The principal
attitude-less attitude – Engelman continues – cannot be the foundation
on which an important poetry can be built (Engelman 1940: 122), for
this implies rich imaginative powers with great dreams and great
symbols, you may even call it great fictions: that is the firm ground of
poetry. Neglecting these magic foundations entails a poetry floating
loosely in the air that is replaceable by prose – as some ‘illuminated’
critics are anxious to suggest (Engelman 1940: 116, 123). Another
critic, Jan Eekhout, strikes the same chord: the poetry of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid is the death of poetry itself: The poem of the cynical
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is poetry at its minimum. It timidly or
deliberately suppresses every mystic element without which real
poetry can hardly be thought of. It is poetry void of mystery, void of
space. It does not want to rise up beyond reality. Is does not venture to
do anything. It perilously comes close to plain prose sometimes. It is
poetry that is poesiefeindlich (Eekhout 1936/1937: 343).
Which stance is adopted by the nieuw-zakelijke poets
themselves? The critic Clara Eggink blames them for not writing true
poetry, for not being real poets like their predecessors, for their not
wanting to be poets at all. The only reason they write poetry is
because they are cursed with a poetic talent; not being able to do
anything else, these poets produce verses in between that they do not
take as serious poetry – affected as they are by an era that does not ask
for poetry anymore (Eggink 1939: 10). To this reproach, Eric van der
Steen replies by working the urge to write poetry into a corny image
of poetry: There is only one simile – Van der Steen says – that is
adequate: Poetry is like defecation. Do I want to write poetry or do I
have to? Do I choose to go to the door with the cut out heart or do I
have a need to go? Do I do it out of pleasure or for the result? I do it
because I need to and because I need to I want to. I can’t help it, it’s
an outlet to me and while I do it purposely – apparently, I go and sit
down for it –, the need to do it sometimes comes at an inconvenient
moment (Van der Steen 1941: 940). Yet, these mocking lines are not
completely without elements of poetry’s deeper value: the poet writes
verses out of an inner urge, because there is something stronger than
him. Even the laid-back Van der Steen shows some traces of an
underlying believe in the ‘metaphysical’ quality of poetry.
2.3. The return to the mystery of poetry

Gradually, the nieuw-zakelijke poets hark back on the indefinable
essences of poetry as comprised in the fundamental conceptions of
literature of the field, against the trend the matter-of-fact, rational,
casual modern vision on poetry they championed at the outset. The
most striking case in this respect is the poet and critic Ed. Hoornik’s
change in course. Initially, he had positioned himself as the leading
man of the new poetry and he was labelled as such by his fellow
critics. Surprisingly, he changed his tack at the end of the 1930s. Then
he remarks that the tradition of nieuw-zakelijke poetry launched by
Forum eventually got the anti-poetic character that became such a
thorn in the flesh of the pure lyrical poets (Hoornik 1941: 5), implying
that he takes sides with the ‘pure lyricists’. Moreover, in his new
position as central critic in the then important journal Groot
Nederland, he acts as the authoritative critic that identifies the newest
currents and as the spokesman of his generation – emphasizing his
effort by republishing a selection of those reviews in book form:
Tafelronde (Hoornik 1940). He introduces a reinterpretation of the
current image of the younger poets as hollow cynics: Muse fled from
the crisis and the din of arms, but the poetic heart still beats tenderly
under the cuirass of sarcasm and irony: “Achter den cynicus zat –
krampachtig – de lyricus verdoken” / “Behind the cynic, the lyricist –
forcedly – hid himself” (Hoornik 1939a: 296-297). And this hidden
‘true’ poetry crops out increasingly, for we see, Hoornik states, quite a
few poets slowly but surely insulating themselves from the crowd –
Han Hoeksta imagines yet again stars beyond stones; Jan H. de Groot
(in spite of his recent ‘hard’ realistic song ‘Zandvoort 1938’) found
his deeper self in his poem ‘Kelderdroom’; the socialist Jac. van
Hattum changed his address and in his new residence dream and
reality made rendezvous; in the young poet A. Marja’s inner self: the
‘anecdotist’ wrestles with the lyricist. It is as if the more the eternal
force of romantic yearning asserts itself, the more the ordinary shows
its cold light (Hoornik1939d: 297). These poets were pigeonholed as
exponents of the nieuw-zakelijke ‘a-poetic’ movement originally, but
Hoornik now presents them within the framework of a retour à
l’ordre de la poésie. Even the cynical diehard Eric van der Steen is
classed among this inclination towards a return to genuine poetry: the
lyricist and the cynic, Hoornik argues, change places in Van der
Steen’s work; in his most inspired poems the swans rest on their
mirror images (Hoornik 1940: 70). The sarcastic Van Hattum is held
to be poetic again: “Kästner becomes Rilke” (Hoornik 1940: 40).
Generally speaking, an evolution towards lyricism can be observed
(Hoornik 1940: 71).
The youngest poets are “Forum voorbij” / “Beyond Forum”,
as reads the title of the programmatic essay that opens Hoornik’s
collection of poetry reviews Tafelronde. Due to the rise of the Third
Reich, the strongest talents of the new generation are suspicious, and
rightly so, about what presents itself as mysticism, but yet, they are
poets to that extent that they do not throw out the baby – the mystery
of poetry – with the troubled bathwater; the tragic tension between
yearning and reality, between ‘earthly’ and ‘heavenly’ urge them to
write a kind of poetry out of which the angels are banished indeed, but
in which the nightingale resumes its song nevertheless, although it
sings above a shattered world (Hoornik 1939d: 615, 614; Hoornik
1940: 9-21).
The work of the poet Gerrit Achterberg serves as a crown
witness supporting the claim of the return to a type of poetry that
evades the disenchantment of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and searches for
the poetic magic again. Hoornik writes a very appreciatory
introduction to Achterberg’s poetry volume Eiland der ziel from 1938
and publishes it as a review in Groot Nederland (and in Tafelronde) as
well. Achterberg, whose fame became established at that time,
combines the good aspects of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid – ‘realism’, the
poetic use of elements taken from the ‘banal reality’ – with the magic
of poetry: reality has been made subservient to lyric introspection and
has been included in the flight of a personal imagination. Essential are
suggestions to things that lie behind reality, or are part of the
quintessence of reality (Hoornik 1939b).6 Achterberg keeps himself
prepared to be an instrument that is being played on, acting as the
spiritual intermediary that receives messages and passes them on
(Hoornik 1939c: 520); in this he is a model of genuine poethood.
Hoornik is not the only one turning his back on nieuw-zakelijk
‘anecdotism’ for its harming the essence of poetry in the end as had
become apparent from the rather ambivalent and rejective attitude of
other critics, like Anthonie Donker, discussed above. In Hoornik’s
case however, we have someone who takes leave of his own past as an
anecdotal poet and tries to assume a new image. There is another critic
who right from the start took a negative stance towards Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid and warned of the damage the nieuw-zakelijke craze
might do to true poetry. Remarkably, it concerns an author who was
part of the journal that made a stand against the metaphysical mist the
aesthetic poets veiled their poetry in, one that was looked upon as an
important precursor of the generation of cynical poets: E. du Perron.
Du Perron is rather condescending about the poetry of nieuw-zakelijke
leading lights Van Oosten and Van der Steen. In his view these poets
produce only gin and bitters poetry due to the fact that they fail to
appreciate the poetry’s quintessence: incantation. No matter how
much one fights over the different kinds of poetry, Du Perron argues,
everyone has to acknowledge that incantation constitutes the deepest
essence of poetry (Du Perron 1993: 68). Eventually, even Du Perron
endorsed the article of faith of genuine poetry.
2.4. Conclusive remarks: Nijhoff as a model

Hoornik’s move from 1939 onwards to check nieuw-zakelijke
tendencies and put genuine poetry back on the agenda was noticed by
other critics, for the most part assentingly. In the eyes of the critics,
the poetry of Greshoff and Du Perron was the model of Nieuw-
Zakelijke verse to copy, but in the course of the returning to the
essential poetic principals surpassing Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, they assign
an exemplary role to another poet: M. Nijhoff. In 1939, Donker
publishes an essay on the newest generation of that time and observes
that Nijhoff’s poetry clearly has a strong influence on the work of
Hoornik and other very young poets, because of the fact that Nijhoff’s
1934 poetry collection Nieuwe gedichten has begun to search the
concrete, the earth and has made ordinary language and ordinary
reality means to and object of imagination (Donker 1939b: 599).
Another critic, K. Heeroma, also writes a lengthy article on the
youngest generation; he remarks that Hoornik’s manoeuvres show that
the tradition of Forum did not comply with the need of the youngest
generation anymore and he subscribes to Donker’s viewpoint that
Nijhoff’s influence on the youngest generation exceeds Marsman’s
(Heeroma 1940/1941: 174). Nijhoff’s fingerprint is noticeable in
Hoorniks best poetic moments: according to Heeroma, Hoornik was
influenced by Nijhoff considerably (Heeroma 1940/1941: 180, 190-
191).
Hoornik himself follows the same line of thought when he
gives an appraisal of the literary situation of 1941 in the newly
founded journal Criterium (“Criterion”), which wanted to be a
platform for the youngest poets. Modern poetry in the Forum
tradition, Hoornik observes, gave an anti-poetic impulse eventually,
but poetry corrected itself almost automatically and here was Nijhoff
instrumental, for under his influence, realism regained its lyrical
accents while retaining its modern expressiveness; an urge to
concentration forced matter to expose itself into its most essential
qualities even as the object was understood spiritually, not zakelijk
(Hoornik 1941: 5). Reality and the ‘thing’ (object, matter) put on the
map by Nieuwe Zakelijkheid continued to be poetry’s base but were

raised to a higher plane, Hoornik states, quoting a German source that
proclaims that contemporary poetry “hinausgeht über die sinnliche
Erfahrung mit der Tendenz sich zu dem was hinter den Dingen liegt
zum Geistigen zu erheben” / “transcends the sensory perceptions by
its inclination for elevating itself towards what lies behind things: the
spiritual” (Hoornik 1941: 6).7
In an earlier essay, referred to previously, carrying the subtitle
‘De nieuwe generatie’ / ‘The new generation’, Hoornik had pointed to
Nijhoff’s impact on the new ‘post Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ current
already. The poets of the new generation still draw inspiration
(without which poetry cannot exist) from the ruined reality they
cannot escape from, but now their best work has become more
profound, and for this Hoornik holds Nijhoff responsible. The new
ideal has been poetically realized by Nijhoff and functions as a point
of reference for the younger poets (Hoornik 1939d: 611). Hoornik’s
point of view is in line with Donker’s who had ascribed the creative
combination of ‘realism’ and ‘object-orientedness’ on the one hand
and poetic magic and enchantment on the other to Nijhoff as well. It is
hardly surprising, Donker states, that Nijhoff’s enigmatic realism was
quite close to the younger generation, for how mysterious and even
fantastic it might be, it still was a kind of realism and allowed for all
things in the immediate neighbourhood this generation as yet could
not leave and did not want to leave. Nijhoff is the small magician who
put a spell on everyday reality and through whom even the teakettle in
the kitchen whistles Pied Piper’s song (Donker 1939b: 601).
Actually, Nijhoff appears to have solved the problem how to
combine Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and poetry already in 1934 when his
collection of poetry aptly titled Nieuwe gedichten (“New Poems”) saw
the light. His sonnet sequence ‘Voor dag en dauw’ from 1936, a
reaction in verses on the historian Johan Huizinga’s famous cultural-
critical bestseller In de schaduwen van morgen (“In the shadow of
tomorrow”), followed the same path of approaching elements from
modern reality poetically as did his long narrative poem from 1937
‘Het uur u’ (“H-hour”). As a renowned modernist poet and an
advocate of an autonomist conception of literature (Van den Akker
1985), Nijhoff felt compelled to reconsider his poetic position at the
end of the 1920s. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as a general societal
phenomenon became his point of reference. As Wiljan van den Akker
has demonstrated, Nijhoff did not oppose modern tendencies, but on
the contrary tried to legitimize poetry anew as an essential part of a
society marked by crisis and a nieuw-zakelijke mentality (Van den
Akker 1994).
Clarifying in this respect is a lecture Nijhoff delivered in
1935, in which he enters at length into the background of Nieuwe
gedichten and of the long narrative poem included in it, ‘Awater’.
Unmistakably, Nijhoff joins the wide-ranging discourse of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid of Matzke and others, but with the intention to provide
poetry with a new function that surpasses the sheer entertaining
Gebrauchslyrik and cabaret poems. The new order created by men,
Nijhoff teaches, gives an important new weight to the art of poetry
which in itself is quiet useless (Nijhoff 1994: 252, 253). The crisis and
the technological structure of trains, steamboats, aeroplanes, factories
and stern discipline determine the order of the world (Nijhoff 1994:
254, 255). Modern mankind is fully aware of being alone and knows it
must use nature the Creator has given him to cope with it (Nijhoff
1994: 256, 257). Poetry can help doing this. Poetry can enhance this
process of adjusting mankind to the new order by moulding men
teaching them to imagine the future as something already existing and
so it can offer mental schemes that facilitate the effort to shape
modern reality into a liveable world (Nijhoff 1994: 258, 259). Poetry
can do thus when it stops to romantically keep up appearances and
quits making art to comfort and deceive people who are not quite
awake yet (Nijhoff 1994: 262). Instead, the thing itself should be
central. A source of inspiration might be the art current Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid or Surrealism – Nijhoff treats both as similar currents,
because, he says, the one is the literary, the other the pictorial
designation of the same principle (Nijhoff 1994: 264).
Unquestionably, the modernist poet Nijhoff associates himself with
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, but he gives it a twist by stating that Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid and Surrealism are identical. Thereby he manages to
make “het ding” / “the thing” a central issue and with one fell swoop
he gives this zakelijk thing mysterious, intangible, ‘poetic’ qualities:
the things, he carries on lyrically, have their unemotional clarity, they
are clear objects that are as banal as they are mysterious (Nijhoff
1994: 264). A striking thing is that when Nijhoff tries to describe the
new function of poetry, he uses phrasings drawn from his long poem
‘Awater’, and right after his account of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and
Surrealism, he goes more deeply into this poem, which without any
doubt celebrates modern reality, technology and the ‘Dinglichkeit’,

and gives the ordinary objects a mysterious ‘surrealist’ radiance.8
In conclusion, it can be stated that Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and poetry are

closely intertwined in Dutch discourse of the interwar period, contrary
to current literary historiography leads one to suspect. The generation
of poets that announced themselves in the early 1930s were deeply
affected by it and the critics pointing out to their poetic products
classified them as nieuw-zakelijk. Yet, young poets and elder and
younger critics jointly reached a consensus that one should not throw
away the baby with the bathwater, but that poetry should keep its
singular status, and they continued to attribute unique qualities to it.
Acting in this manner they ultimately maintained the underlying belief
in the ineffable value of poetry that was part and parcel of the illusio
of the literary field. The work of the prestigious poet Nijhoff became
the model of this new synthesis and gave the newest poetry that went
through and beyond Nieuwe Zakelijkheid an extra legitimacy.
Notes
1
The focus will be on the Netherlands and not or only indirectly on Flanders, because
both areas are held to be relatively separate domains, notwithstanding Grüttemeier
(1998) (see also Dorleijn and De Geest 2008).
2
The database is part of several databases constructed for the research project ‘Poetry
in the Dutch literary field 1900-1942’, which is in the process of being carried out by
my colleague Wiljan van den Akker (University of Utrecht) and myself. This project
concerns an institutional approach of Dutch literature of that period, focusing on the
debates on poetry, the strategic position-takings of participants (authors, critics,
publishers, editors of periodicals etcetera), and the symbolic production (reputation
making, mechanisms of orchestration, conceptions of literature as instruments to
legitimize positions).
3
Cf. Dorleijn 2009.
4
Van Duinkerken 1929; Hoornik 1941; Donker 1939a; 1939y; Engelman 1940;
Eggink 1939. See also Knuvelder 1931/1932 and Heeroma 1940/1941.
5
See Grüttemeier 1994: 174-180 for a further contextualizing of the Nieuw-Zakelijke
debate, especially with regard to architecture.
6
Cf. Van Faassen 2009: 206.
7
Actually, Hoornik directly or indirectly quotes A. Schering from an essay (1919) on
Expressionism in music (von Troschke 1996: 145).
8
On ‘Awater’ see: Van den Akker 1994.
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“Yesterday Art Today Reality”.
The Discourse on Neue Sachlichkeit in i 10
Kees van Wijk
Abstract: From January 1927 until July 1929 the international review magazine i 10
functioned as a pluriform platform for the European avant-garde. Using three themes
related to fine arts, photography, design and architecture, it is possible to identify the
framing of ‘objectivity’ as a manifestation of a wider modernity discourse. The three
themes are: the introduction of the aesthetic term Neue Sachlichkeit (New
Objectivity), the role of the new medium of photography, and the functional approach
of Dutch design and architecture. The widely supported subscriptions to the
constructivist and functional approaches lead to other questions than had been hitherto
circulating within the historical avant-garde. The conclusion is that at the end of the
1920s this breadth of thinking within i 10 over “new objectivity” represented a change
in the modernity discourse of the European avant-garde.
1. From expressionist example to constructivist

platform
The original model of the international Review i 10 was the German
periodical Die Aktion. Chief editor Müller-Lehning (1899-2000)
admired in his student years the radical approach of expressionist art
and socialist politics of this German magazine. In the two years he
spent in Berlin (1922-1924) he established a number of contacts with
German and Russian anarchists and socialists, who published in
periodicals like Die Aktion. These contacts eventually turned into
significant contributions to his international magazine i 10. For Die
Aktion he translated the text Anarchismus und Revolution of his
political mentor De Ligt. His first German publication Die
Sozialdemokratie und der Krieg was positively received in Die Aktion
because of his antimilitarist criticism of the German social-democrats,
52 Kees van Wijk
who ideologically and practically supported the German government

in the First World War (Müller-Lehning 1924).
In Paris in 1925 Müller-Lehning became acquainted with the abstract

painter Mondrian and his appreciation of neo-plasticism and
constructivism grew. When he returned in 1926 to the Netherlands, he
asked another Stijl-friend, the painter Domela, to design his apartment
in Amsterdam in a neo-plastic way. With Mondrian Müller-Lehning
discussed the plan to publish a periodical devoted to art, literature and
politics. Mondrian gave him an introduction to the architect Oud. The
anarchist Müller-Lehning assured Oud, that he as the editor for
architecture and plastic arts could operate autonomously without
getting mixed up with left political views, which he did not share.
When Oud, Mondrian and Domela agreed to collaborate, all the other
Dutch members of De Stijl followed them with the exception of Van
Doesburg who refused to cooperate. Oud and Mondrian supported
Müller-Lehning to get acquainted with the international networks of
functionalist architects and constructivist artists.
Müller-Lehning won the support of several Bauhaus masters
like Moholy-Nagy, who accepted the editorship for the new media
film and photography. The special attention to the new
communication field of film and photo was a sign that the new
international review was way ahead of the expressionist example.
Also the third editor, the Dutch composer Pijper, had built a reputation
as a severe critic of German expressionist and romantic music. The
character of i 10 became quite different, owing to the contributions of
the representatives of De Stijl and the Bauhaus and especially to the
dominant role of abstract art and functionalist architecture. The
original concept for the cover was made in Dessau by Moholy-Nagy.
For this special occasion he integrated the neo-plasticist and
constructivist approaches. In the Netherlands Domela finished the
concept of Moholy-Nagy and delivered it to the Dutch printer.
In its introduction to the first number of January 1927 Müller-
Lehning presented the new international review i 10 as “an organ of
the modern mind, a documentation of the new streams in art, science,
philosophy and sociology”. There was no mention of the names of
these “new streams”, but given the contributors and the design of the
new international magazine, the strategy was based on a combination
of constructivism, abstract art, functionalism and left wing politics.
“Yesterday Art Today Reality” 53
The chief editor of the monthly periodical asserted “no dogmatic
tendencies” and no representation of “any party” or “any group”:
It will give an opportunity to express the renewal of one domain with

that of another and it arms as large a connection as possible between
these different domains. Its idea is to give a general view of the
renewal which is now accomplishing itself in culture and it is open,
international for all wherein it is expressed (i 10, I, 1, 1927: 1).
From the beginning in January 1927 till the end in June 1929, the
international review i 10 was an international platform of several
avant-garde movements, and not the magazine of one specific
movement like De Stijl, L’Esprit Nouveau or La Révolution
Surréaliste. In his concept of the cover of i 10 Moholy-Nagy blended
a Constructivist approach with Neo-Plastic design. Thanks to the
integration of different abstract principles the typography for the i 10 -
cover of Moholy-Nagy and Domela has been recognized as a “classic”
of the effective use of harmonious space, straight lines and unadorned
type to achieve immediate and clear communication of information
(Owen 1991: 26). In visual and social terms the cover of i 10 was
really a statement: the open attitude of this international platform was
symbolized by the fruitful cooperation of De Stijl and the Bauhaus.
The search for a functional and constructive platform characterized
not only the visual format of the international review, but also the
majority of the artistic contributions. The aim of the international
platform i 10 was to document the most modern manifestations in art,
science and politics. The New Objectivity, or Neue Sachlichkeit as it
was called by the German contributors, was one of the observed new
formations in art, photography, design and architecture. As
representatives of these avant-garde formations the i 10-authors used
different claims to modernity, which in one way or another were
connected to the New Objectivity in painting and music, photography,
design and architecture.
2. The introduction of the aesthetic term Neue

Sachlichkeit
In his Richtlijn (‘Guideline’) the architectural editor Oud proposed to
look for the coherence between the different manifestations of the
54 Kees van Wijk
progressive movements in art and architecture. The Dutch architect

considered the abstract art movement as a great source of inspiration:
the abstract artists showed enormous universal-human perspectives.
Ouds plea to look for the artistic unity was in line with Kandinsky’s
programmatic essay Und, Einiges über Synthetische Kunst (‘And,
Some remarks on Synthetic Art’). The Russian Bauhaus master wrote
this article especially for i 10 to support the innovative policy of the
editors Moholy-Nagy and Oud. With these two editors Kandinsky
shared the vision of an ideal union of the arts and espoused the
Bauhaus goal of unifying arts, handicrafts and industry (Poling 1986:
15-44). Having stated in i 10 that the German Bauhaus and the
Russian Vkhutemas had given technology pre-eminence, he declared,
that the Bauhaus was progressing toward equalizing the two factors,
art and technology. Not only the unity of all the fine and applied arts
but also the unity of culture and society was an important educational
goal: “The student should, apart from his specialist studies, receive as
broad a synthetic education as possible. Ideally he should be endowed
not only as a specialist but as a new person” (i 10, I, 1, 1927: 9-10).
Within the field of painting it was useless to emphasize the differences
between the various movements. Especially Kandinsky was referring
to the relationship between abstract painting and the realistic
movement which was called Neue Sachlichkeit at the end of the
twenties in the Weimar culture. In the synthetic art world of
Kandinsky no artistic movement should be excluded: “Painting
fertilizing other arts, joining art with science and technics. Art and
life. The preparing of the beginning of synthetical art” (i 10, I, 1,
1927: 5). According to this pioneer of abstract art it was “not done” to
exclude the Neue Sachlichkeit as a valuable concept in painting.
Kandinsky mocked the despairing German art critics, who tried to
choose a winner in the competition between the abstract artists and the
painters of the Neue Sachlichkeit:
A good example is the confrontation between the abstract art and the
“Neue Sachlichkeit”. The despairing art critic has to be converted to
one of the two movements and to stand behind his choice. It is no
surprise, that he sometimes exclaims in the greatest despair - which of
course he tries to hide: “Heaven only knows, who eventually the
winner will be. This state of affairs will only be changed, if the
question of form is seen to be an element of content” (i 10, I, 1, 1927,
p. 10).
>Ein einfaches Beispiel ist das Gegenüberstellen der abstrakten Kunst
und der “Neuen Sachlichkeit”. Der verzweifelte Kunsttheoretiker
muss sich zu einer von beiden bekehren und sie in Schutz nehmen. Es
ist kein Wunder, dass er manchmal in höchster Verzweiflung, die er
natürlich verbergen will, ausruft: “Weiß der Himmel, wer schließlich
der Sieger bleibt!” Dieser Zustand wird sich erst dann ändern, wenn
die Formfrage als eine der Inhaltsfrage untergeordnete angesehen
wird.@
Kandinsky placed the German term Neue Sachlichkeit in quotation

marks, to show that the movement had not really been accepted. His
synthetic plea for unity and synthetic art was characteristic for the
open, unprejudiced and experimental attitude at the Bauhaus in the
first Dessau years, but Kandinsky’s claims also had their restrictions.
In the Bauhaus Zeitschrift Kandinsky had refused to take the political
intentions of the Neue Sachlichkeit seriously. The abstract artist had
no affinity with the critical representations of daily realities in the
verist paintings (Kandinsky 1926/1973: 90). At least in his i 10-essay
Und Kandinsky seemed to show less prejudice, when he ridiculed the
stupidity of the competition between the adherents of abstract art and
their opponents, the followers of the trend of Neue Sachlichkeit.
Arthur Segal was the second painter who explicitly discussed
the phenomenon of the Neue Sachlichkeit. In his lecture ‘Mein Weg
der Malerei’ (My Way in Painting) Segal compared the artistic values
of the abstract movement and the Neue Sachlichkeit. Segal placed the
term Neue Sachlichkeit between quotation marks too, just like
Kandinsky had done before him. The Romanian painter discussed the
strengths and weaknesses of the abstract and realistic movements. On
the one hand, the concrete object could not be erased as the
Constructivists tried to do. Seagal used the term Constructivism as a
generic term to indicate the different movements in abstract art, which
since the International Constructivist Conference (Weimar 1922) had
made their way in Western Europe (Hoffmann 2008). On the other
hand, the painters of the Neue Sachlichkeit pushed matters to extremes
in their response to abstract art. According to Segal those painters had
forgotten the pictorial laws and had completely lost sight of the
principles of visual grammar:
The “Neue Sachlichkeit” carries the objectivity not only too far and
accentuates the most extreme opposite, but also has no consciousness
of the achieved pictorial laws of the artistic composition, the “Neue
Sachlichkeit” is so to speak indifferent about fundamental principles.
56 Kees van Wijk
It had to come so far because the concrete object cannot be
permanently eradicated. And an art that only looks to abstract or non-
figurative objects, an art that denies that the concrete object still has
something to do with the work of art, loses the relationship with the
concrete objects and the concrete objects for their part negate such a
form of art.
>Nicht nur dass die „Neue Sachlichkeit“ die Gegenständlichkeit auf

die Spitze treibt, also das Extremste Gegenteil betont, sie will auch
nichts mehr von den errungenen Gesetzen der Bildgestaltung wissen,
sie pfeift sozusagen auf Grundrisse. Aber dazu musste es kommen,
denn der konkrete Gegenstand ist nun einmal nicht aus der Welt zu
schaffen. Und eine Kunst, die nur abstrakte Gegenstände oder
Ungegenstände berücksichtigt, eine Kunst, die leugnet dass der
konkrete Gegenstand mit ihr etwas zu tun hat, verliert die Beziehung
zu den konkreten Dingen und die konkrete Dinge verneinen ihrerseits
eine solche Kunst (i 10, I, 4, 1927: 136).@
Segal emphasized the relation with the concrete reality and distanced
himself from the position of Kandinsky and other non-objective
artists. According to Segal the criticism of the abstract art could be no
longer condemned as regressive and conservative. He described his
own artistic evolution as objective as possible from naturalism via
expressionism and cubism to a new synthesis of figurative and non-
objective art. His reproduced paintings Aus Helgoland, Leuchtturm en
Dorfstrasse demonstrated an eclectic mixture of abstracted realism
and cubist frames as visual evidence of his synthetic work. Segal
believed, that his own artistic work showed the best method to
integrate both directions: “My painting is the synthesis between
Constructivism and ‘New Objectivity’ ” (i 10, I, 4, 1927: 136).
In issue 8 the composer Krenek referred in the title of his
contribution to the phenomenon of the Neue Sachlichkeit. Krenek
devoted his article ‘Neue Sachlichkeit in der Musik’ (New Objectivity
in Music) to a discussion of the possible translation of the visual
innovations to the professional field of music. Art critics had
popularized the slogan Neue Sachlichkeit and declared the label
applicable to every new work of art. Krenek criticised the painters,
who first having worked in a naturalistic style had followed the
expressionist trend and then had been converted to the Neue
Sachlichkeit, without essentially changing their work. The popular
labeling was brought about by a characteristic reaction: followers of
the Neue Sachlichkeit mainly used the visual means of the past. The
same reaction had appeared in the field of music in Central Europe.
The French and Italian composers had never left the conventional
tonalities and had maintained good business relations with their
public. Under the influence of Schönberg the German composers had
consistently developed a romantic individualism, which had separated
the world of music from the outside world. In Central Europe the
creative artist had been estranged from the public. The consequence of
this development was a growing isolation of the German artists in the
field of music. It became an important issue once more to contact the
public groups and to compose and perform musical works in a clear,
effective and understandable way. Krenek limited the range of the
Neue Sachlichkeit to the Central European lands, where musicians
needed to reflect on their relations with their public. A more realistic
and objective approach was necessary: “Suchen wir den verlorenen
Kontakt mit der Aussenwelt, so müssen wir Gegenstände darstellen,
die Gemeingut der Aussenwelt sind, und müssen sie mit Mitteln
darstellen, die die Aussenwelt versteht” (i 10, I, 6, 1927: 218). In this
changed attitude to the outside world Krenek found the justification
for a new comprehensive and close relation with the musical public.
He wondered, if the term New Objectivity covered this new
relationship in a proper way. The slogan Neue Sachlichkeit seemed to
be rather unrealistic (“Ob der Ausdruck ‘Neue Sachlichkeit’ ein sehr
geeignetes Schlagwort ist, halte ich für sehr fraglich, da er mehr zu
bedeuten scheint als in Wirklichkeit vorliegt” i 10, I, 6, 1927: 218).
The use of American dance motifs and jazz rhythms was not the main
characteristic of Neue Sachlichkeit: these themes belonged to the
requisites of modern music just like ghosts and fairies belonged to
Romantic music. Implicitly Krenek distanced himself from the
popular success of his jazz opera Jonny spielt auf (1926) and
especially from the identification of his composership with the Neue
Sachlichkeit. The new approach could only realize another relation
with the outside world, if the composer could concentrate on the most
intensive and vital treatment of the artistic themes and means. Krenek
was ambivalent towards the popular use of the slogan Neue
Sachlichkeit, but welcomed the professional opportunities to close the
gap with the public.
Kandinsky had proposed in his ambitious synthetic concept to
deal with the integration of art and life. Segal’s idiosyncratic
“synthesis” of Constructivism and New Objectivity was confined to
the world of painting and was not aimed at the cooperation of the fine
and applied arts. Krenek criticised the social isolation of composers
58 Kees van Wijk
and musicians, but offered few practical alternatives in the field of

music. Krenek went further than Segal in accentuating another attitude
toward the public. The different points of view on Neue Sachlichkeit
were clearly stated in i 10 as far as it concerned the world of painting
and music. A more extended discourse would be reserved for the
discussions of the innovations in other domains: photography, design
and architecture.
3. Between New Vision and New Objectivity:

photography as new medium
In his Bauhaus book Malerei, Fotografie, Film (Painting,
Photography, Film) Moholy-Nagy sought to demonstrate that the
visual issues raised by abstract painting could be explored just as
effectively through photography. He wanted to establish film and
photography as relevant artistic media and proposed a dual role for
these two new media: the objective documentation of reality and the
creation of new visual relationships. The i 10-editor of film and
photography was captivated by the great potential of technological
innovations and mechanical processes for artistic expression. The
invention of photography demanded that the functions of various
media be redefined and clarified. The creative use of light raised
camera photography into the realm of art. Moholy-Nagy demonstrated
in Painting, Photography, Film how light could determine formal and
spatial relationships. He had discovered, that the light-sensitive
emulsion of photographic paper was the ideal means of realizing his
“light compositions”. With his photograms he created spatial effects
using nothing but light and visualizing the idea of an immeasurable,
boundless space. By adding the element of motion, film seemed to
provide Moholy-Nagy with a way to deal with problems he had been
encountering in photography. Because of his greater involvement with
photography his discussions on the film medium concentrated mainly
on photographic techniques (Hight 1985:26-34; Molderings 2009: 39-
43). Futurists and Constructivists paved the way for a series of
innovative visual concepts.
According to Moholy-Nagy, even the figurative painting of the Neue

Sachlichkeit could contribute to the explorations of new fields of
creativity, although he had some reservations:
We can also regard – with caution – some of the painters working

today with representational, objective means (neo-Classicists and
painters of the ‘Neue Sachlichkeit’ movement) as the pioneers of a
new form of representational optical composition which will soon
employ only mechanical and technical means – if we disregard the
fact that these very works contain tradition-bound, often plainly
reactionary elements (Moholy-Nagy 1967: 28).
In his i 10-articles Moholy-Nagy continued his exploration of the new

possibilities, which science and technology offered to the new media
film and photography. His claims to modernity were characterized by
a synthetic urge to use the photographic camera as the most reliable
aid to a beginning of objective vision. In his first contribution
‘Geradlinigkeit des Geistes, Umwege der Technik’ (Directness of the
Mind; Detours of Technology) Moholy-Nagy introduced the concept
of “new vision”. The human mind knew how to take the shortest path
towards every goal: “As in fever, mind and eye conquer the new
dimensions of vision which today already are indicated by photo and
film. Details can wait for tomorrow. Today the mind exercises a new
vision” (i 10, I,1,1927: 37; Kostelanetz 1974: 188-189). What
Moholy-Nagy called the “new vision” (“das Neue Sehen”), was part
of the avant-garde project to break with the pictorial customs of the
past and to bring about a transformation of the perceptual habits of
men and women. In ‘Die beispiellose Fotografie’ (Unprecendented
Photography) the i 10-editor presented photography as the most
important visual medium.
For Moholy-Nagy the photographic innovation represented a historic

mutation in the visual arts:
The photographical process has no precedent among the previously

known visual media. And when photography relies on its own
possibilities, its results, too, are without precedent. Just one of its
features – the range of infinitely subtle gradations of light and dark
that capture the phenomenon of light in what seems to be an almost
immaterial radiance – would suffice to establish a new kind of seeing,
a new kind of visual power ( i 10, I, 3, 115; Phillips 1989: 83-84).
60 Kees van Wijk
Fig. 1. Moholy-Nagy – Fotogramm 1922

(i 10, I, 4, 1927: 154).
It was necessary to investigate all new visual experiences: conscious

use of light-dark relationships and contrasts, use of the specific visual
characteristics of a material’s surface (facture) and unknown forms of
representation. Moholy-Nagy summed up the areas in the
photographic practice, that had to be examined: unfamiliar views by
positioning the camera obliquely, experiments with lens systems, new
kinds of camera construction, adapting experiences with X-ray and
photograms: photographs made without a camera by casting light on
the sensitive surface. He proved his statements visually by inserting
four different examples of mechanical phantasies (Bruguière: Fig. 2,
Rudolph, Munkacsy and Keijston).
Fig. 2. Foto F. Bruguière, New York: Mechanische Fantasie,

‘Mechanical Phantasy’ (i 10, I, 3, 1927: 114).
Just as Moholy-Nagy had written in his Bauhaus book, he stated in i

10, that photography culminated in film. The synthetic research of the
new dimensions in optical experience had to be done in “a reciprocal
laboratory: photography as an investigatory field for film, and film as
a stimulus for photography” (i 10, I, 3, 1927: 117; Phillips 1989: 85).
Moholy-Nagy stated, that photography had no need for dependence on
traditional forms of representation. “Reproduction” signified imitative
or representational art; his own real interest lay in “production”, the
creation of new visual forms and mental habits suited to the
unprecedented demands of an increasingly urban and technological
age. This claim to objectivity was not unquestioned in the circles of
the Bauhaus and other progressive circles in the Weimar Culture. By
the end of the twenties an opposition arose to experimental
photography and was associated in Germany with the Neue
Sachlichkeit in painting (Phillips 1989: xii, 79). It was an important
issue to figure out the similarities and possible differences between the
New Vision and the New Objectivity (Kühn 2005: 9-36). To clarify this
issue and to propagate his own position, Moholy-Nagy started an
international debate on the relationship between painting and
photography. In the fourth number of i 10 the Hungarian art critic
Kallai opened the debate with an extensive article ‘Malerei und
62 Kees van Wijk
Fotografie’ (Painting and Photography). His article was a full stated

criticism of the concepts of Moholy-Nagy, as he had proposed them in
his book and also in his i 10-articles. Kallai attempted to define the
different expressive possibilities open to the two mediums. The
development of figurative painting of the Neue Sachlichkeit was
Kallai’s starting-point. The return of painting to objective
representation was frequently criticised as an imitation of nature, that
could more easily and more completely be achieved by photography.
Kallai cited the “convinced theoretician of the new objectivity”, Franz
Roh, who had warned post-expressionism against falling into the
external imitation of objects, because all of painting could be overrun
by mechanized art media as photography and film. Kallai found it
impossible to consider imitation and creation as irreconcilable
opposites. This statement was an explicit attack on the position of
Moholy-Nagy, who had linked imitation to reproduction. According to
Kallai it was not a question of limiting imitation exclusively to the
field of photography while assigning creation to painting. Kallai
mentioned the photograms of such artists as Moholy-Nagy and
Spaemann-Straub, which became free of restriction to the subject
matter to the point of complete non-objectivity and appeared as
emanations of light. The reader of i 10 could judge this statement
immediately by looking at the illustrations: the photograms 1922 and
1926 of Moholy-Nagy (Fig. 1) and Spaemann-Straub. According to
Kallai the difference between painting and photography had nothing
to do with the false alternative of “imitation or creation”. He looked to
a more medium specific explanation. To do so he employed a critical
term that had been frequently used in discussions of constructivist art:
“facture” or the visual texture of a material surface. Kallai thought,
that the use of facture in all the effects produced by painting had
fundamental consequences for the particular nature of the creation of
images: “The finest compositional techniques are absolutely
demanded by the tactile values of its facture – by the material,
quantity, plastic structure and surface of its physical covering” (i 10, I,
4, 1927: 151; Bauhaus Photography 1986: 132; Phillips 1989: 96).
The variable physical qualities of paint pigment, he argued,
encouraged the viewer to respond to the complex relation between a
painting’s material reality and its aesthetic, nonmaterial aspiration.
The surface of the glossy photographic print offered no such aesthetic
play, only an “optical neutrality”, that Kallai found numbing. There
was indeed a decisive opposition between painting and photography:
Painting is able to join the coarsest materiality of means with the most
delicate spirituality of vision; photography can display the ultimate
material refinements of the means of creation and can nevertheless
provoke representations of the coarsest realism (i 10, I, 4, 1927: 151;
Bauhaus Photography 1986: 132; Phillips 1989: 97).
For Kallai, painting was inevitably a more aesthetically satisfying

medium than photography (Forgács 1992, 1994). Therefore the Neue
Sachlichkeit in painting could not be put on the same level as the Neue
Sachlichkeit in photography. And what about photomontages? The
dadaïsts Heartfield, Grosz, Hausmann & Höch and the constructivist
Moholy-Nagy made these photographic compositions by pasting
together various cutouts. Kallai called photomontages the hybrids
between painting and photography. But the greatest challenge came
from the new medium of film. The experiments of the Constructivists
with non-objective light emanations already acquired a vibrant set of
movement and arrived at the moving photograph, that is, film:
These possibilities contain the seeds of photography’s greatest threat

to painting. Painting or film? – that is the fateful question of visual
creation in our time. This alternative is an expression of the historical
turning point in our mental existence. We stand at the frontier between
a static culture that has become socially ineffectual and a
new, kinetic reformulation of our world picture that is already
penetrating the sensibility of a mass audience to an unheard-of degree
(i 10, I, 4, 1927: 157; Bauhaus Photography 1986: 134; Phillips 1989:
99).
Moholy-Nagy had invited several artists and art critics to respond. All
the artists were adherents to the non-objective or abstract approach:
Baumeister, Burchartz, Kandinsky, Kassak, Mondrian and Muche.
Baumeister identified a difference between the painters of the
synthetic or abstract tendency and the painters of the Neue
Sachlichkeit as regards the imitation of nature. The abstract painters
attained the truth of creation in itself, that is, of means and material.
The painters of the Neue Sachlichkeit did not achieve this. As a
creative means photography succeeded in maintaining a balance
between a large quantity of naturalism and a small but intense quantity
of abstraction: “The so-called ‘Sachlichkeit’ does not display these
propitious relationships. The results of ‘Sachlichkeit’ remain vague
creations. Their literary, sociopolitical value, on the other hand, is
recognized” (i 10, I, 6, 1927: 227; Bauhaus Photography 1986: 134;
64 Kees van Wijk
Phillips 1989: 100). Kassak explicitly condemned the Neue

Sachlichkeit in painting: the “principal mistake” of the German
painters of the Neue Sachlichkeit was the imitation of reality. So he
called into question, whether objectivity was a fundamental principle
of the Neue Sachlichkeit in painting. Objectivity was a fundamental
characteristic of the new vision: “Even in comparison with the
absolute painting, the light-and-dark-compositions of the experimental
photography showed the exact purity and aesthetic majesty of the
productive creation” (i 10, I, 6, 1927: 232). The art critic Behne
criticised the thesis of Kallai, that painting and photography were
fundamentally different because of the presence of facture in the one
case and its absence in the other. According to Behne, this was a false
dichotomy: Kallai’s one-sided comparison could not yield useful
results. In reality there was, on the one hand, the facture of the brush
(craftsmanly facture plus order), and, on the other hand, that of light
(mechanical facture plus order): “The characteristic thrust of Kallai’s
work is its enthusiasm for the individual, craftsmanly work of the
brush. An enthusiasm that leads him to turn facture into an
independent entity unto itself” (i 10, I, 6, 1927: 227-28; Bauhaus
Photography 1986: 135; Phillips 1989: 100-101). Moholy-Nagy called
it a mistake to call facture only that which appeared as a tactical value
of a palpable surface. For the editor of i 10 Kallai’s formulation of the
problem was a veiled attempt to rescue craftsmanly, representational
painting. Moholy-Nagy did not object to the social importance of
visual representation. He predicted, that photography would become a
fundamental subject like reading and arithmetic in the coming age.
But photography was more than merely a reproductive technique and
had accomplished significant results in the productive realm:
The ‘fateful question’, in my opinion, is not ‘painting or film’, but

rather the advance of optical creation into all the places where it may
legitimately go. Today that means photography and film, as well as
abstract painting and play with coloured lights (i 10, I, 6, 1927: 234;
Bauhaus Photography 1986: 137; Phillips 1989: 102).
In his ‘Antwort’ (Response) Kallai attempted again to trace the source

of the manifest and essential difference between painting and
photography. Kallai confessed that all photographic pictures possessed
a facture of light. Thus he accepted the criticism of Behne and
reformulated his thesis. What really mattered, was the difference
between painterly and photographic facture. The tactile values of
painterly facture endowed the painting with the capacity of exerting a
material, expressive power of its own. These tactile values were still
for Kallai the unifying physical factor, that maximized its surface
tension. Kallai attacked the “doctrinaire technomania” of Moholy-
Nagy cum suis, that rejected hand craftmanship. Kallai again denied,
that photography could replace the specific creative possibilities of the
manual craft of painting. In Kallai’s opinion photography was well
suited to become the medium, that would give formal expression to
new emotional experiences of the world, especially in the form of
motion pictures. He spoke of the far-reaching difference in effect
between painting and film: painting’s lack of social influence versus
the enormous popularity of film (i 10, I, 6, 1927: 239-240).
The Diskussion Kallai was a typically Central European
affair: five Germans, three Hungarians, one Russian and one
Dutchman were involved. The positioning of the different contributors
was typical for the Weimar Culture at the end of the twenties as were
the illustrations of the various photographic experiments. Just about
every innovation of the new photography of the twenties was
represented in i 10: the extreme close-up, the bird’s-eye view, the
negative print, the asymmetrical composition and last but not least the
photogram (Fig. 1). Abstract work and mechanical fantasies featured
next to realistic work such as the photo Krötenpaar of Renger-Patzsch
(Fig. 3), the champion of the Neue Sachlichkeit in Germany. The
‘Diskussion Kallai’ showed a focus on the material effects of artistic
media and this contrasted with the undisputed trust in the authorial
intention of the writers, whose literature was the subject of the book
reviews in i 10 (Grüttemeier 2007: 275-282).
The debate implicated more than a professional explanation of
the formal relationship between painting and photography: the main
issue was the future of the visual arts in the modern technological
world, as was illustrated by the discussion on the possible merits of
the Neue Sachlichkeit and the “Neue Sehen”. Set up against the
synthetic, experimental attitude of Moholy-Nagy – as representative
for the “new vision” was Kallai’s defence of the painter as specialised
craftsman, which was more linked to the aesthetic concept of the Neue
Sachlichkeit.
However, the followers of both directions agreed on the
reorientation of art photography on the innovative results of scientific
photography (Molderings 2009: 36-39). The Diskussion Kallai
demonstrated “a process of demarcation from technological
66 Kees van Wijk
reproduction and its eventual integration into the practice and the
concept of art” (Scheunemann 2000B: 42). In this respect the i 10-
debate on painting and photography was a good example of the
various avant-garde responses to the technological advances.
Fig. 3. Foto Renger-Patzsch: Krötenpaar, ‘a pair of toads’

(i 10, I, 6, 1927: 230).
4. The Dutch functionalism: from De Stijl to Nieuwe

Zakelijkheid
Immediately following Kandinsky’s essay Und, the other pioneer of
abstract art, Mondrian, published his vision on the integration of art
and life. In the article ‘Neo-plasticisme: De Woning – De Straat – De
Stad’ (Neo-plasticism: Home – Street – City) he developed his idea on
the translation of abstract painting to the built environment. Mondrian
expounded his conception of an urban and industrial society, which
would be open and unified everywhere. His personal contact with
chief editor Müller-Lehning had led him towards this social theme.
For the truly evolved human being it was necessary to build healthy
and beautiful cities. Mondrian reaffirmed the principles of Neo-
Plasticism: there were “six Neo-Plastic laws” with regard to “the pure
relation of pure line and colour”. Instead of the application of these
principles to the world of art, he focused on the visual relationship
between the internal and external environment. From there Mondrian
discussed the implications with regard to the total image of the city.
The home was a part of the whole, a structural element of the urban
environment. The language of his discourse was still that of the
aesthetic argumentation of an abstract painter but the object had taken
on new dimensions:
Whereas, especially in the metropolis, the character of the street has

been transformed by the myriad artificial advertising lights, by well
composed window displays, by utilitarian building – the home, on the
other hand, requires a special and conscious effort. To defeat the still
so powerful influence of the past, we must concentrate on the plastic
expression of the home, on the dwelling and its rooms, and we must
leave the technical problems of construction to the engineers (i 10, I,
1, 1927: 14; Holtzman & James 1993: 209).
Painters, engineers and architects had different roles, but it was always
possible to find structural solutions that satisfied both the utilitarian
goal and the aesthetic aspect. Mondrian’s utopian goal was to realize
harmony. The application of Neo-Plastic principles was the path to
progress in architecture: “what is today most advanced in technics and
construction is precisely what comes closest to Neo-Plasticism”. The
painter concluded, that the home and the street could no longer be
sealed, closed or separated and that the idea of ‘Home, Sweet Home’
must be destroyed:
Physical and spiritual happiness – prerequisite for health – will be

furthered by equilibrated oppositions of relationships of proportion
and color, matter and space. The creation of a sort of Eden is not
impossible if there is the will. To be sure, this cannot be done in a day,
but by giving all our effort, we can not only achieve it in time, but we
can begin to enjoy its benefits tomorrow (i 10, I, 1, 1927: 18;
Holtzman & James 1993: 211).
Mondrian left it to the designers and architects in i 10 to create a

healthy urban environment, in which pure color, free of all figurative
associations, was merged with modern design and architecture to form
an encompassing, total work of art (Troy 1983: 3). Mondrian’s
treatment of the visual functions of the modern urban environment had
for years influenced the work of Huszar, Oud and Rietveld, but in i 10
the real application of constructivist principles was the most relevant.
It was a significant sign that there was no editor for the visual
arts: the architect Oud was responsible for policy with regard to
68 Kees van Wijk
architecture and fine arts. For Oud the movement of abstract art was a
source of inspiration, but as an editor he was mainly focused on
promoting Dutch functional architecture. Oud had declared in his
Richtlijn (‘Guideline’), that many German architects had been inspired
by Dutch examples, especially by the architectural work of De Stijl.
The German critic Behne had praised the successful combination of
constructive objectivity and aesthetical beauty of the Neo-Plastic
architecture (Behne 1921: 55-58). While the Bauhaus in Weimar was
still searching for an “absolute Sachlichkeit” to realize the slogan “Art
and Technology: a new unity”, the Dutch architect Oud was far ahead
of his colleagues in Germany (Behne 1923: 290, 292). Again in
Behne’s overview Der moderne Zweckbau (The Modern Functional
Building, 1926) Oud’s buildings were mentioned as guiding principles
for the innovation of architecture. Behne used the term “Sachlichkeit”
in two senses: functionalism and rationalism, depending on the
attitude towards the role of technology and economy. Both directions
of functional architecture were fruitfully integrated by the architects of
De Stijl (Behne 1964: 40-51, 68-69). In his Bauhaus book
Holländische Architektur (Dutch Architecture, 1926), Oud had
formulated a related concept of objectivity: neither a dry rationalism,
nor a vulgar utilitarism, only a “Sachlichkeit”, where the spiritual
level could be experienced as an almost universal way to create a clear
building form and a pure relationship (Oud 1976: 75):
In striving to eliminate all not-organic means and to obtain only

organic means, so in this shift from triviality to objectivity, the
practical and aesthetic, the material and spiritual trends of our time are
to be found.
>In diesem Streben nach Beseitigung aller unorganischen und zur

Erzielung nur-organischer Mittel, in diesem Triebe also von der
Nebensächlichkeit zur Sachlichkeit, finden sich die praktischen und
ästhetischen, die materiellen und geistigen Tendenzen der Zeit (Oud
1976: 39).@
As i 10-editor Oud presented various examples of Dutch

functionalism: not only comments and observations on the modern
architecture in the Netherlands, but also concepts, drawings, ground-
plans and pictures of realized buildings. Thanks to Oud i 10 displayed
the highlights of Dutch functional architecture as his own Hoek van
Holland dwellings and the Van Nelle coffee, tea and tobacco factory
in Rotterdam of Brinkman and Van der Vlugt. In 1927 Oud was
invited with Stam to contribute plans to the Weissenhof-Siedlung
housing project in Stuttgart (Engelberg-Doþkal 2006: 34-36, 185-
186). He wrote extensively about this international project of the
German Werkbund in i 10 and called it – in Internationale
Architektuur – a unique exhibition and a striking manifestation of
unified mentality of the European architects involved. The terms he
chose to frame this manifestation were – already in the title of his
article – “international architecture”, anonymous architecture, new
building (“nieuwe bouwkunst”) and new architecture. The main
characteristic of this new phase in the history of architecture was the
realisation of the demands for usefulness: “To experiment with
economical and constructive innovations is allowed, architectural
freedom is in every sense guaranteed, but most important is the
compelling demand for usefulness” (i 10, I, 6, 1927: 204). In the
Toelichting tot een woning-type van de Werkbundausstellung “Die
Wohnung” (‘Comment on a type-dwelling of the Werkbund exhibition
“Die Wohnung’) Oud showed, how he followed in the ground plan of
his own dwellings the program of the Exposition and produced good
quality and cheap workmen’s houses (i 10, I, 11, 1927: 381-384). This
practical attitude was highly appreciated by Kurt Schwitters in his
article Stuttgart, Die Wohnung on the Werkbund exhibition:
One can tell from Oud’s houses that they were built by an experienced
architect who is working on the basis of his experience with complete
self-assurance. One could call this general functional architecture. His
aim is to build with the possibilities of architecture simple and useful
buildings.
>Den Häusern von Oud merkt man es an, dass sie von einem
erfahrenen Architekten gebaut sind, der vollkommen sicher arbeitet
aus seiner Erfahrung heraus. Hier könnte man von allgemein
funktioneller Architektur sprechen. Sein Ziel ist, mit den Mitteln der
Architektur möglichst einfache und brauchbare Wohnungen zu
schaffen (i 10, I, 10, 1927: 347).@
Oud’s interest was to demonstrate the real benefits of ‘objective’

architecture in building practice. He was less interested in theoretical
discussions on architecture, art and standardization. Oud propagated
an aesthetic kind of ‘objective’ and ‘functional’ architecture as an
alternative view on modernity. Implicitly he made a distinction
between his own position as poetic or spiritual functionalist and the
position of more materialist adherents of the Neue Sachlichkeit. In his
70 Kees van Wijk
review of Vischer and Hilbersheimer’s book Beton als Gestalter he

called a one-sided focus on technical materials like concrete a sign of
emptiness. Oud labeled this focus negatively as “zakelijke
zakelijkheid” (objective objectivity), which vision he contrasted with
the spiritual refreshment of the dwellings of Le Corbusier at the
Werkbund-exhibition in Stuttgart (i 10, II, 19, 1929: 136). As the
editor of i 10 Oud supported other architects and designers – like
Rietveld – to discuss these themes and their attempts to elaborate their
own points of view. One of the materialist adherents of New
Objectivity was the architect Stam, who distanced himself from ”the
old aesthetic-representative way” and applauded a strictly functional
focus on the “utmost utility” in the building processes, without using
the term Neue Sachlichkeit (i 10, I, 2, 1927: 42). The only architect,
who tried to give a theoretical explanation of the “objective” vision,
was Oud’s friend Rietveld.
In “Nut, Constructie, Schoonheid, Kunst” (Utility,
Construction, Beauty, Art) Rietveld set out to determine the
relationship between art and construction. To him it seemed not
justified and equally invalid to accept or to reject constructional forms
for aesthetic reasons and vice versa. In their overt correctness,
carefully calculated constructions showed a kind of unified efficiency,
which excluded contradiction. According to Rietveld, the object could
only appear true if its form expressed unity: “constructions which are
meant to be objective, often appear in a pure form. Because art
expresses the essence of things, it will often be found surprisingly to
provide for unrecognised needs” (i 10, I, 3, 1927: 89-92; Benton &
Sharp 1975: 163). Rietveld used the Dutch terms “zakelijkheid” and
“zakelijk”. In his view “zakelijkheid” (objectivity) was a term not
linked to painting, but to building and design. Therefore he did not
need to discuss the relationship between realistic painting and non-
objective art. In the field of architecture and design objectivity was
linked to a discourse on construction, unity and purity. As Mondrian
had done, Rietveld put on the same level purity, reality and
functionality and he was sufficiently aware to presuppose that people
may have unrecognised, and therefore unfulfilled, needs. In his second
contribution ‘Inzicht’ (Insight) Rietveld again used the phrase
“zakelijk” (objective) to formulate his synthetic point of view:
Our consciousness is the unity of experience, and it results principally
through the growth of our nature. The process of becoming conscious
of reality determines our nature as well as that of our environment.
Sensory activity is very limited and varies from person to person. For
an objective understanding we determine and measure reality by
means of instruments, thus exploiting properties and associated
phenomena (i 10, II, 17-18, 1928: 89; Brown 1958: 160).
Rietveld explicitly stated, that there was no need to achieve a

transcendental goal. The conscious experience of immediate reality
was more important: “The immediate life, the ordinary, simple, direct
experience of reality, for which we need only to open our eyes and to
extend our hands, is very rare” (i 10, II, 17-18, 1928: 89; Brown 1958:
160). This reality could only exist through immediate experience and
each time, so Rietveld thought, it was renewing, creating, continuing
and expanding the human being. Functional Architecture (“zakelijke
architectuur”) must go straight to the goal to get rid of the superfluities
of life:
Functional architecture must not slavishly satisfy existing needs; it

must also reveal living conditions. It must not simply establish space;
it must intensively experience space. The reality which architecture
can create is space. And it is to this end that we can apply the new
construction possibilities and the new materials. They make sense for
us only if we apply them to clearly define and limit the designated
spaces (i 10, II, 17-18, 1928: 89; Brown 1958: 160).
Rietveld’s aesthetic thought was a hybrid mixture of neoplasticism

and New Objectivity. Without explicitly referring to the German Neue
Sachlichkeit he was – with Oud and Van Eesteren – one of the few
architects, who tried to integrate the abstract principles of De Stijl with
a more functional approach of daily reality. Within this aesthetic
frame he labelled the “objective” understanding of the environment in
a very constructive and practical way: an “objective” insight made it
possible to become more conscious of the daily reality of the designed
environment. This was a preliminary step to looking at the ‘uses and
gratifications’ of the consumers, who would commission modern
building or buy modern design. Rietveld wanted to integrate a “new
artistic vision” with an objective concept to change the perceptual
habits of the public. Therefore he suggested to Oud to publish in i 10 a
questionnaire to make an inventory of the domestic wishes of all kinds
of people. In his article ‘Huisvrouwen en architecten’ (Housewives
and architects) Oud wrote about his recommendations to the
housewives of Stuttgart for drawing up a programme of requirements
for the home on the occasion of the exhibition. Rietveld’s
72 Kees van Wijk
questionnaire was never published, but it was conceived as an

extension of the practical proposals of the German housewives, which
Oud inserted in the second issue (i 10, I, 2, 1927: 44-48; Van Zijl
2010: 79).
Mondrian’s plea for a radical renewal of the urban
environment was based on the claim, that his aesthetic concept was
the most advanced vision of the integration of art and life. This
synthetic claim was not accepted by every i 10-contributor. In ‘Kunst
en samenleving’ (Art and Society) his communist friend Alma critized
Mondrian’s statement, that earthly paradise was soon coming. He
called the utopian claims of Mondrian into question and accused the
abstract artists of social estrangement. Alma applauded the effect of
abstract art on modern architecture, but did not accept the basic
principles of Neo-Plasticism:
Art nowadays has no connection with society. The impressionist

retires in “nature”, which means “solitude”.
The “Abstracts” coming forth from the impressionism, are also
“solitaires”. They come to pure aesthetics. Their significance in
cultural development must be admitted, but not overrated. Only by
medium of a general vision of life on social foundation, the tie
between art and society can be renewed (i 10, I, 7, 1927: 241).
Mondrian and Alma did not use the term Neue Sachlichkeit but their
discussion was only understandable as a thorough difference of
opinion between an abstract artist and a follower of realistic art. In the
design field there also was an echo of the discussion between these
two directions. In his review ‘Letters – het materiaal van de drukker’
(Letter types – the material of the printer) Schuitema commented on
Tschichold’s book Die Neue Typografie (The New Typography, 1928).
He applauded the introduction of the basis characteristics of new
typography: clarity, simplicity, a-symmetry and visual contrasts.
Tschichold showed the importance of the pioneers of abstract art,
praised the experimental photography and criticised the Neue
Sachlichkeit:
A new kind of art has appeared recently called “verismus”, claiming

to be the art of our times. It combines objective representation with
the attempt to make a tectonic construction. The phrase “Neue
Sachlichkeit” by which it is generally described is unfortunately a
rather unhappy choice. Clearly “Reality” has been confused with
“Objectivity” or “ Realism”; “Sachlichkeit” in painting is the pure
creation of colour and form in “ absolute” painting, not merely the
painting of “Sachen” (real objects). Moreover the paintings of the
“New Reality” are often so petty and insignificant that we can hardly
recognize them as the expression of modern man (Tschichold 1998:
49-50).
This is an important argument of Tschichold, because he called into

question the dominant framing of reality by the adherents of Neue
Sachlichkeit: Reality did not equal realism. Abstract art and modern
design entailed their own reality. Reality was more than a depiction or
representation of real objects. This positioning demonstrated again,
that a functional and objective approach to art and design did not have
to be confused with a predilection for the painterly style of the Neue
Sachlichkeit.
November 1928 Schuitema published his visual manifest
‘Reclame’ (Advertising). In four European languages he stated, that
the basic contradiction of modernity was between the ‘objective’
world of the present (“vandaag - aujourd’hui – today – heute:
werkelijkheid”) and the aesthetic world of the past (“gisteren – hier –
yesterday – gestern: kunst”). Schuitema had stopped questioning the
integration of art and reality: art definitely belonged to the past. The
only thing that mattered was the presentation of reality. In eleven
binary oppositions Schuitema demonstrated this fundamental
contradiction:
yesterday: art today: reality

artistic real
decorative direct
symbolic photographic
fantastic objective
anti-social competitive
lyrical argumentative
passive active
romantic actual
aesthetic appropriate
theoretical practical
craftsmanship-like technical
(i 10: II, 16, 1928, 76-77)
In Schuitema’s manifest (Fig. 4) the keyword was “objective”

(“zakelijk”). The Dutch adverb “zakelijk” is usually translated as
“objective” – just as Neue Sachlichkeit or Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
74 Kees van Wijk
became “New Objectivity” in English. This translation of the phrase

was given in i 10, when Krenek’s German article ‘Neue Sachlichkeit
in der Musik’ was summarized in Dutch, English and French. The
modern world was the world of reality and objectivity. Therefore the
semantic labelling of “today: reality”: the “objective” approach was
active, practical, real and technical. The most effective medium to
communicate cultural or commercial messages was no longer
painting, but photography.
Fig. 4. P. Schuitema – Reclame (advertising)

(i 10, II, 16, 1928: 76).
Schuitema practised a variant of objective constructivism that
involved asymmetric typography, primary colours and photomontage.
His variant was based on the assimilation of rationalist approaches, as
were arguments that emphasized the creation of new standards of
modern beauty as an alternative to outdated forms. The designer
Schuitema and the architectural groups De 8 and Opbouw advocated a
functional and objective approach, and no longer felt the need to
frame their approach in the aesthetic language of abstract art. In the
discourse on ‘objectivity” this meant an important change of vision
and attitude. These adherents of functionalism called themselves
visual organizers, creative engineers or even managers of design and
building processes. Their attitude was a combination of an alternative
and specialised positioning. In this respect they differentiated
themselves from Oud, Huszar, Rietveld and Van Eesteren, who tried
to reconcile the tradition of De Stijl with New Objectivity. The visual
and conceptual contrasts between the projects for the Rokin district of
Amsterdam of Stam and Van Eesteren illustrated this difference of
opinion (Casciato 1994: 109). In the introduction to the second
volume, Bij het dertiende nummer, Müller-Lehning referred to these
vigorous adherents of the New Objectivity, using the Dutch phrase
“Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” for the second and last time in his international
review (i 10, II, 13, 1928: 1). The chief editor called himself a “less
determined follower” of this Dutch New Objectivity, although he
translated the “objective” novel Krieg of the German writer Renn and
asked Schuitema to design the “objective” cover of his book Politiek
en Cultuur (‘Politics and Culture’), which consisted of the collection
of his i 10-articles (Renn 1929; Müller-Lehning 1930).
5. Neue Sachlichkeit as turning-point in the discourse on

modernity?
The so called “end” of the historical avant-garde is still clouded in
mystery. Was it really an end and was this due to the failed attempt of
the avant-garde to integrate art and life, as Bürger suggested in his
classic work Theorie der Avantgarde? Or is it necessary to raise – as
Scheunemann suggested (Scheunemann 2000A: 10) – other questions
with regard to the advance of new technical media of reproduction and
the interaction between traditional art forms and the new technological
possibilities to understand the new situation at the end of the twenties?
76 Kees van Wijk
In which respects is it justified to identify a turning-point in the

discourse on modernity around 1930 and what can be learned from
this case study on the discourse on objectivity to answer these
questions?
As regards the discourse on modernity in specific cultural
fields it is possible more precisely to classify the claims of various
avant-garde formations. Every public manifestation of the discourse
on modernity contains a set of claims and statements to promote a
particular standpoint. Following Williams’ categorization of the
external relations of cultural formations, we can distinguish three
types of avant-garde claims to modernity: a specializing, alternative
and oppositional type. A specializing claim sustains or promotes
professional work in a particular medium or a particular style. An
alternative claim can be defined as the provision of alternative
facilities for the production, exhibition or publication of certain kinds
of work, where it is believed that existing institutions tend to exclude
these. An oppositional claim is a manifestation of a more active
opposition to the established institutions or to the conditions within
which these exist (Williams 1981: 70). With respect to De Stijl, the
Bauhaus and Russian Constructivism we have to add a fourth type:
the synthetic claim. A synthetic claim consists of a creative
interdisciplinary act of combining innovative ideas, beliefs and
practices to integrate art and life. By using these four different claims
to modernity, it may be possible to give a revised and more detailed
picture of the avant-garde discourse.
The different frames of the discourse on Neue Sachlichkeit in i
10 showed a multifaceted, complex and sometimes contradictory
nature of various avant-garde innovations. The discussions on
different concepts of New Objectivity concern a variety of questions
on the production, reception and communication of avant-garde
visions and practices. The contributions of Kandinsky, Mondrian and
Moholy-Nagy can be framed as synthetic statements. Oppositional
claims can be detected in the anarchist, marxist and anti-militarist
articles, but also in the manifest of De 8. An alternative positioning
was shared by the majority of the i 10-contributors, as regards the
fields of graphic design, advertising, architecture and urban planning.
Within a small minority specializing claims and statements prevailed.
Instead of a common and unified intention of reintegrating art into life
the contributions to the international review i 10 showed a more
circumspect contextualisation of the development of the historical
avant-garde. The magazine formula of i 10 offered ample space for
new constructive and objective approaches to architecture, design,
music and visual arts and literature (Van Wijk 1980, 1992, 1994). As
an open platform of Dutch and Central European avant-garde
formations i 10 represented a wide diversity of opinion (Van Wijk
2011: 110-123). Scheunemann was justified stipulating a more
diversified and pluriform picture of the historical avant-garde
(Scheunemann 2000A en 2000B).
And what about the turning-point in the discourse on
modernity at the end of the twenties? The specific discourse on Neue
Sachlichkeit is one aspect – but a crucial one – of the more general
discourse on modernity in the avant-garde magazines around 1930.
The comparative study of the discourse on modernity in the avant-
garde magazines at the end of the twenties is still in its infancy. For
example: what were the differences and connections between avant-
garde magazines as i 10, RED, Das Neue Frankfurt, Bauhaus
Zeitschrift, Vouloir, Manomètre and La Révolution Surréaliste? In
which respects was there a turning-point in the discourse on modernity
in these magazines?
By restricting this analysis to the discourse on Neue
Sachlichkeit in i 10, the following conclusions have been drawn.
Firstly, there was no question of a failed integration of art and life in
the sense of Bürger’s theory. The case study demonstrated a lessened
role for the fine arts and a growing relevance of functional
architecture and applied arts such as graphic design and photography.
Secondly, another important outcome was, that the synthetic points of
view were heavily debated and that the influence of alternative and
specializing professional attitudes was developing. In the field of
architecture and design the professionals concentrated on the
usefulness and public acceptance of their new ideas, plans and
products. In the ‘Diskussion Kallai’ the paradigm of Moholy-Nagy’s
experimental approach was not accepted by all contributors. The
transition from an experimental phase to a more professional phase
was typical of the contemporary debate on photography at the end of
the twenties, where alternative and specializing claims would
dominate. To paraphrase the turning-point in the i 10-discourse on
objectivity succinctly: from synthetic and oppositional claims to
alternative and specialised claims, from experimental and pluralist
attitudes to specialising and professional competences, from fine arts
to applied arts, and last but not least from De Stijl to Neue
78 Kees van Wijk
Sachlichkeit. At the end of the 1920s this breadth of thinking within i

10 over New Objectivity represented a crucial change in the
modernity discourse of the historical avant-garde in the Netherlands
and Weimar Germany.
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Rietveld and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
in Architecture
Marieke Kuipers
Abstract: Gerrit Rietveld (1888-1964), who trained as a furniture maker and started to
practice very early in his life in his father’s furniture workshop at Utrecht, is not
particularly known as an architectural theorist. Yet he was awarded with a honorary
doctorate at the Technical College of Delft (1964) for his creative powers and original
architectural ideas. International historiography bases Rietveld’s reputation mainly on
his red-blue chair (1919) and the Schröder house (1924), as icons of De Stijl, but that
– mostly post-war – perception is too narrow. Especially after the Great War, during
which the Netherlands chose to remain neutral and escape the conflict, there was an
intensive exchange between Dutch and international artists and architects of the
avant-garde. Rietveld was more involved in these exchanges than has until recently
been acknowledged. He also produced many texts, albeit mainly in the post-war
decades. Just one quintessential statement is frequently quoted: “The reality that
architecture can create is space”. This belonged to his ‘Insight’ (in the international
review i 10, 1928), in the context of what he understood by sober [zakelijke]
architecture. He would elaborate this theme further in his 1932 essay on ‘New
Objectivity’ [Nieuwe Zakelijkheid] in Dutch architecture and elsewhere. This chapter
investigates Rietveld’s position in the evolution from zakelijke to Nieuw-Zakelijke
architecture in Dutch and international context and in relation to the other arts.
Not only in Holland, but also in Austria and France (possibly soon
also in Japan and Russia, currently submitted to a very strong
German influence), one knows very well that the programme of the
German neue Sachlichkeit is much too narrow, too much binding
and too less fluent (G.Th. Rietveld, 1932a: 14) .1
Ciam was for me always a „milieu”, nationally and internationally

and specially the milieu of the „New Building”, „Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid” or „functionalism”, or however one would like to
call this architectural current (W. van Tijen, 1960: 41).
82 Marieke Kuipers
It was possibly just after Gerrit Rietveld had seen his row of four flat-
roofed show houses almost completed before the opening of the
Wiener Werkbundsiedlung at Vienna, in 1932, that he began to write
his long essay on ‘New Objectivity in Dutch Architecture’ for the
independent monthly De Vrije Bladen [the Free Papers]. (Rietveld
1932a) Although it is a wild guess to interpret a hand-written draft
with an almost similar title on a letter paper of the Carlton Hotel at
Vienna as Rietveld’s first attempt to formulate his ideas for this essay,
such a supposition is not without any foundation.2 Being a pragmatic
craftsman, originally a furniture maker, he often used all sorts of
available materials for his writings, drawings or models. Moreover, he
made use of another sheet of the Carlton Hotel stationery to write a
letter to Truus Schröder-Schräder, who had been his muse and
companion for architectural renewal at Utrecht since her first
commission, with fresh comments on the Viennese settlement, to
which he had contributed as the sole Dutch architect (Rodijk 1991:
34-39, 46-48; Rietveld 1932b). (ill. 1)
The houses are, in one word, splendid, in between Oog in Al and

Erasmuslaan [in Utrecht, just completed, MCK] but much more
beautiful than these two […]
I find Lurçat very miserable – all cages and then laid out so
monumentally.
[…] Furthermore, the house of dr. Neutra seems to me the most

beautiful, then Frank and prof. Hoffman. [sic, MCK]
Those little houses of the Russians are also very good but very
miserably furnished; that is a pity.
Then is here Adolf Loos, that is also beautiful. Er macht immer ein
Raumwitz [he makes always a spatial joke].3
Illustr. 1: Overview of the Wiener Werkbundsiedlung; centre: Neutra’s

house; left: Lurçat’s houses; far right: Rietveld’s block
(De 8 en Opbouw 3 (1932) 15: 151).
Whether the above supposition is true or not, the text that appeared in
print deviated, despite some identical phrases, substantially from the
‘Viennese’ draft and perhaps equally from what was initially asked. In
his preliminary introduction Rietveld admitted plainly that his
assignment had been different, after his opening sentence: “New
Objectivity in Dutch architecture is not different from that in other
countries, while one also speaks of international architecture, with
which, then, the same is meant” (Rietveld 1932a: 1). With this
statement he wanted to emphasize the international character of the
‘New Building’ [neues Bauen, Nieuwe Bouwen] that came along with
the CIAM (international congresses of modern architecture, of which
he had been a member since the foundation in 1928), as well as to
tone down contemporary debates about the best direction of modern
architecture.
His illustrated essay was published in Cahier 7 (July 1932) of
De Vrije Bladen (DVB), which series was primarily devoted to
literature and visual arts and rarely to architecture. In that respect,
Rietveld’s contribution was an exception but not for its focus on
modern trends. The topic was no coincidence; rather, it resulted from
an invitation by the novelist Constant van Wessem, who knew
Rietveld (superficially) from their common activities for the Dutch
Filmliga (an organization for the promotion of international avant-
garde films, 1927-1933).4 Van Wessem was not only one of the main
84 Marieke Kuipers
editors of DVB at the time but also the critic who gave, it is presumed,
the first public definition of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in his 1929 DVB
essay on modern prose:
We have managed to ‘distance’ ourselves from our feelings. Herein

our time manifests itself with its sense of reality, its consciousness of
modern life, its down-to-earthness for factualities, its symptom that is
called ‘new objectivity’ [‘nieuwe zakelijkheid’] in arts. It is a form of
being able to put oneself objective again towards the object (cit.
Goedegebuure 1992: 327-328).
By then, the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, or the German version Neue

Sachlichkeit, had already been used before in relation to literature and
painting as well as to architecture, for instance by the Utrecht based
author and critic Jan Engelman in his review of the first ASB
(Architecture, Painting and Sculpture) exhibition in the Stedelijk
Museum at Amsterdam, February 1928:
It is useless, at this moment, to be pro or contra constructivism. He

who resists against constructivism, resists against the time in which
we live: against the grain silo, the factory, the automobile – he does
not make undone that the architect receives, at the moment, a lot of
commissions for which he is not or hardly allowed to vary on the
engineers’ style, commissions which have but very little to do with the
„mental attitude” of the architect [...] Therefore, I believe that neither
those are right who resist rectiligne everywhere, nor those who want
to have all what is being built be defined by compasses or a ruler line.
A church is something different from an automobile garage and I
would be hostile until the last to him who would contest this. I do not
require that my automobile garage looks like a cathedral: I base
myself on reality if I require that a church (or even a living room)
does not look like an automobile garage. And anyone who wants to
level these things down is guilty of an entirely intolerable emaciating
of life – just like he who resists the „Nieuwe Zakelijkheid”, where this
is acceptable without any damage for the spirit, fights with the
romantic sword (Engelman 1928).
The review was initially published in the Roman Catholic weekly De

Nieuwe Eeuw [The New Age], but it reached a larger public by a long
quote in the liberal daily newspaper Algemeen Handelsblad. In
Engelman’s view, ‘constructivism’ and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid were two
interchangeable labels for the same modern direction in architecture
and was not exclusively associated with the works of Russian
Constructivism (exhibited in 1923 in Amsterdam), but more in general
with a new “rectilinear” and sober trend in the architectural design of
typically modern building types of the Machine Age. As a convinced
Catholic, however, Engelman still preferred to see spirituality and
tradition be reflected in the architectural design of contemporary
churches. His critical references to the living room and the automobile
garage alluded, probably, also to the two houses that Rietveld had just
built in their mutual hometown and of which photographs were
displayed at the ASB exhibition. Engelman was not against modern
design as such, for he had invited Rietveld twice to design a cover for
the progressive Catholic monthly De Gemeenschap [The
Community], in 1925 and 1927, but he was doubtful about the
immaterial qualities that were expressed by the new “constructivism”
for society (Timmer-van Eunen 2007: 82; Koot 2010: 59-60).
ASB exhibitions and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
The multidisciplinary exhibition was initiated by Charley Toorop, the

daughter of Art Nouveau artist Jan Toorop and an active painter
herself, unconventional and socially engaged (Bosma 2008). With the
ASB she wanted to establish a new association as a “meeting place of
the best young artists” to organize “better exhibitions and to interest a
larger public”, but also for selling art (Koopmans 2004: 10-11).
Rietveld played a considerable role and not only because he gave the
opening speech, in which he posited that there were both “artists
working in direct contact with life and those of abstractioning”.5 He
had designed, in co-authorship with Sybold van Ravesteyn, another
architect from Utrecht and also a Filmliga board member and editor of
De Gemeenschap, the furnishings for the exhibition in a “fresh style”
with white walls. They situated an oval information desk in the centre,
where other ‘modern manifestations” were also on display for study,
such as a “German book about cinema, which contained many very
beautiful divas besides bolshevist literature”.6 The indirect presence of
art from revolutionary Russia was undoubtedly intentional, for many
ASB members had sympathy with or interest in the artistic and social
experiments that were taking place in the new Soviet Republic
(though not all of them were Communists) and Rietveld had just
exhibited work in Moscow in 1927 (Koopmans 2004: 38-39;
Nevzgodin 2010).
86 Marieke Kuipers
According to the catalogue, Rietveld presented three

architectural models under his own name. Two were related to the
garage with upstairs apartment at Utrecht, then under construction
with prefabricated concrete slabs in a steel frame. (ill. 2)
Illustr. 2: Utrecht, Rietveld’s experimental prefabricated house within-built

automobile garage; the chauffeur-occupant poses besides the medical doctor’s car,
circa 1928 (Coll. Utrecht, Centraal Museum).
This house, his third, was commissioned for the chauffeur of a nearby
residing medical doctor. Despite a mixed reception, it was a major
achievement for Rietveld as a prototype for future industrialisation of
housing. For that reason he would exhibit it frequently afterwards, no
matter the critical remarks by Engelman or the client (Kuipers 1983a;
Zijl 2001: 09). In addition, he had submitted, together with Truus
Schröder-Schräder, some photographs of their first house that, thanks
to its colourful appearance and flexible interior, had made Rietveld
famous as an architect from 1924 on, and more (Friedman & Casciato
1998; Zijl & Mulder 2009).
Charley Toorop was represented at the exhibition with a
portrait of Truus’ sister, An Harrestein-Schräder (for whom Rietveld
had refurbished her living room in Amsterdam in 1926) and several
other paintings. These showed Charley’s then recent shift from a
passionate expressionism towards a more “objectivating” style. In
contrast, Piet Mondrian as well as Bart van der Leck exhibited entirely
abstract Compositions as well as earlier figurative paintings, as did
Peter Alma. Aside from Rietveld, Truus Schröder and Van Ravesteyn,
four other architects participated: Jacobus Johannes Pieter Oud, Jan
Duiker, Jos Klijnen and Frits Staal. The versatile artist Theo van
Doesburg, the founder of the avant-garde magazine De Stijl (The
Style, 1917-1931), was absent on purpose, most likely because of the
many controversies that he had created about the proper artistic
direction and the right collective. Mondrian, Oud, Van der Leck and
Rietveld had all been members of De Stijl, as was at the time recently
recalled in the 1927 special to commemorate its 10th anniversary
(Overy 1991; Janssen & White 2011). After the initial years, however,
they sought other platforms for publication or exhibition, such as the
new international review i 10 (initiated in the same year by Charley
Toorop’s new partner Arthur Müller Lehning) and ASB (Wijk 1978;
Bosma 2008).
With such experiences in mind, Rietveld had underlined in his
opening speech that the ASB was not a “closed group”. Precisely its
heterogeneous character would cause serious problems for the second
ASB exhibition, held in November 1929 with mainly the same, and
partly new, participants. During the opening festivity, Rietveld posed,
typically dressed as a craftsman without a tie, amidst the “Big Seven”
group for an – unidentified – newspaper picture, with Van der Leck’s
socially engaged figurative painting Fabrieksuitgang [Leaving the
Factory] at the background. (ill. 3)
Illustr. 3: The “Big Seven” of the ASB group in the Stedelijk

Museum; Rietveld indicated by number 5; despite the hand-written
date, it is not clear if the photograph was taken during the first (1928)
or second (1929) opening festivity.
(Coll. Netherlands Architecture Institute, Rotterdam)
88 Marieke Kuipers
The opening speech of the second exhibition was spoken by Van

Ravesteyn, who had already lectured about the “neue Sachlichkeit”
during the first exhibition and now declared that the new architecture
strove for “more joy of life and health by building well lit, ventilated
and well equipped dwellings” (Ravesteyn 1928; Koopmans 2004: 45).
The related poster (designed by Van Ravesteyn) announced clearly in
its typography that the contemporary works of art were accompanied
by architectural works of the Neues Bauen. These belonged partly to
the touring exhibition that the German Werkbund had composed and
inaugurated in 1927 as a complement to the Weissenhofsiedlung at
Stuttgart (Kirsch 2002). Consequently, the second ASB exhibition
was dominated by photographs and drawings of international modern
architecture – possibly too many, as some critics complained – and
modern furniture, such as the revolutionary chromed steel-tube chairs
(Blotkamp & Jong 1977: 59).
Rietveld was again among the Dutch exhibitors of
architecture and furniture as was the collective of the Amsterdam
group de 8, headed by Ben Merkelbach and Charles Karsten. These
architects, who had joined forces for a radical renewal in architecture,
wished to present themselves distinctively as a collective after they
had published the foundation manifesto of ‘de 8’ in i 10 in 1927 (p.
126) with an unmistakably militant message in favour of a merely
functional architecture: a-aesthetical, a-dramatic, a-romantic and a-
cubistic. With statements such as these the members of ‘de 8’, took
position against the expressionism of the Amsterdam School and the
cubist brick architecture of Willem Dudok and Frits Staal. This was
unlike the original intentions of the ASB to act as an open group. With
hindsight, ‘de 8’ also anticipated its collective membership of CIAM
(which became a reality in 1929 by its involvement in the Conference
on the Minimum Dwelling at Frankfurt) (Rebel 1983a, b; Somer
2007).
Despite its diversity, the first ASB exhibition was
comparatively well received, if only for reasons of curiosity.
Nonetheless, the “internationals” were disparaged by architect-
professor Ad van der Steur, because they denied – or rather tried to
negate – materiality: “be it expressed painterly in abstractions of line
and colour of a Mondrian, in the metal furniture of a Rietveld or a Van
Ravesteyn, in the almost wall-less buildings by Duiker, it is all one
and the same tendency that speaks out of it”. Van der Steur disliked
the “unstable composition” of Rietveld’s tables and chairs and in the
airy construction of an exhibition canopy he noted a “desire for
experiment close to dilettantism” that “contrasted strongly with the
sound sturdiness of the corner-of-Staal”. Finally, he foresaw that the
“plasticity would get the short end of the stick in the superseding of
materiality” (Steur 1929: 55). Exactly such superseding was what
Rietveld aimed at: almost immaterial architecture.
Responses to the second ASB decried, in general, a “lack of
unity”. Engelman rightly noticed that “architecture undergoes an
entirely unique and independent development”, but he was not happy
with the reduction of arts to applied arts; which to him proved “our
restlessness, for, after all, there has not been, thus far, any culture, in
which the good creation of space [ruimteschepping] and the good
liberal conception [vrije voorstelling] have not tolerated each other”.
(Koopmans 2004: 45-48) No wonder, then, that the ASB collaboration
with architects came to an end after the second exhibition. In the same
year i 10 ceased publication, due to financial (and relational) problems
(Wijk 1978; Bosma 2008).
More fundamental was the harsh review in the Algemeen
Handelsblad by architect Henry Timo Zwiers, at the time also a
teacher with the Academy of Arts at The Hague. Not only did he
lament the “chaotic” character of the ASB exhibition as a whole, but
he was first and foremost critical of the exhibited international
architecture and the steel-tube furniture. He sharply criticised the
“inadequate and often insane application of reinforced concrete” and
other new materials as “technical dilettantism” or “phantastery”,
partly in a wordplay with the term Neue Sachlichkeit:
He who dares to experiment in concrete, glass, iron and numerous

„new” materials, has to be a properly capable and responsible
craftsman. It appears to me that a great deal of the exhibited work is
not competent. […] The „Neue” proves to possess a greater
attractiveness for many than the „Sachlichkeit”. And the longing for
the new has pushed away the objective practical [zakelijke] choice of
materials with many, which in a great number of cases could happen
to lead to the insight that old and tested materials be preferable to
numerous of those new materials, merely by business-like [zakelijke]
considerations! Has brick suddenly lost all good properties because
we know concrete? And are there no greater disadvantages linked
with glass, concrete and iron for many practical [zakelijke] goals than
wood, brick or natural stone? (Zwiers 1929)
Apart from uncovering internal differences – stretching between

“purity” and “humbug” or “arrogance” –, Zwiers touched in particular
90 Marieke Kuipers
upon technical and economical shortcomings of the ‘new’ materials

and the responsibility of the architect for good work and good
workmanship. (Zwiers 1929) He had a point, since several modernist
housing experiments had to contend with more moisture and draught
problems than average when compared to traditionally constructed
housing estates, be it due to lack of knowledge, lack of money or lack
of accuracy. Such a cold fact was not warmly received by the
advocates of the ‘New Building’, who indeed passionately tried to
establish a strong link between modern architectural ideals and
modern materials – especially reinforced concrete – by means of a
great variety of activities, such as lectures, publications, exhibitions,
photographs and films – and were pushy and polemical in their
propaganda, often by contrasting ‘good’ and ‘bad’ examples (Giedion
1929; Janser & Rüegg 2001). It is not known what exactly made
Zwiers speak of arrogance, but it could well have been a publication
like Walter Curt Behrendt’s The Victory of the New Building Style,
which combined a triumphant title with a heroic image of the newly
opened Weissenhofsiedlung and proclaimed that the “form of our
time” had been born (Behrendt 1927/2000: 1). In any case, Zwiers had
seen, and disapproved of, the related exhibition Neues Bauen
International which had finally arrived in Amsterdam in adapted
form, thanks to Rietveld’s efforts (Koopmans 2004: 47-48).
Meanwhile, the permanent exhibition of furnished show houses (63
units) designed by modern architects like Walter Gropius, Hans
Scharoun, Le Corbusier, Josef Frank, Oud and Mart Stam under the
supervision of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe at Stuttgart (in 1927), had
gained international fame and had, seemingly, given an image of an
internationally unified style characterised by white-washed
rectangular volumes with flat roofs, horizontal strip windows and
“austere” interiors (Kirsch 1990, 2002). If Rietveld had liked, he could
have been actively involved but he had not accepted Oud’s request to
design furniture for the model houses, thereby giving priority to his
own further development as an architect instead of a furniture maker
(Zijl 2010: 124).
As his experimental chauffeur’s dwelling had already shown,
Rietveld was, more than Mies, intensely fascinated by the challenges
of ‘rationalisation” and “standardisation” to advance industrialisation
and efficiency in social housing as well as variation in type, plan and
use. Together with Truus Schröder he had published, in i 10, designs
for “normalised” and “small dwellings” to be constructed with
prefabricated elements. (Rietveld 1927, 1928) He developed also the
concept for a “houseCORE [woningKERN] in which all assembly
elements were united in a transportable factory-made entity around
which then the living space required measurements (be it a flat or one
family house) would be built on site”; Rietveld presented this “newly
born idea” at the Utrecht variant of the neues Bauen exhibition in
1929 and in CIAM but, to his regret, no manufacturer was interested
to invest in this system (Kuipers 1983b, 2010). He discovered that his
innovative ideas on compact housing and the daily reality of building
regulations, conservative or absent clients made the practice of a (self-
made) architect much more difficult than he had experienced in his
furniture workshop.
The future perspectives for architects such as Rietveld had
become worse since the economic crisis had broken out after the
American Krach. The opening of the Frankfurt CIAM conference,
attended by Rietveld and Stam as the Dutch delegates with about 130
other architects, unhappily coincided with ‘Black Thursday’ on the
24th of October 1929, when the New York stock market crashed a few
hours later (Mumford 2002: 34). Nonetheless, the modern architects
still believed in international collaboration. Hence, the following
invitation for Rietveld to design a row of show houses for the Austrian
Werkbund in Vienna was a more than welcome chance to deal
actively with the typological and architectural issues of a modern
compact dwelling.7
The Wiener Werkbundsiedlung
Despite various economic, planological and political difficulties, the

Viennese settlement was opened as an exhibition in the summer of
1932. The 70 show houses (designed by 32 different architects)
received more than 100.000 visitors before they were occupied for
permanent living (Kapfinger & Krischanitz 1986). Josef Frank’s
general concept of a seemingly “naturally grown” settlement with a
great variety of types, colours and spatial arrangements as well as
private gardens or roof terraces, reacted both against the severity of
the Weissenhofsiedlung and the monumentality of the local apartment
blocks. Like Zwiers, and also Hermann Muthesius (co-founder of the
German Werkbund), Frank was not convinced beforehand that the use
of modern materials, like reinforced concrete and steel, would
92 Marieke Kuipers
automatically improve the housing quality or lower the building costs,

nor would a “mechanomorphic architecture” always appeal to the
needs of the future occupants. Constructional experiments could cause
a serious risk for a long term living, which was, essentially the goal of
good housing. Therefore, it could be questioned if the selection of
foreign architects, including Hugo Häring, André Lurçat, Gabriel
Guevrekian and Rietveld, was “an international cast of second-
stringers” and the final result “a mundane and unproblematic
Siedlung” (Pommer & Otto 1991: 150).
The Dutch architect Frans Hausbrand wrote a moderate
review in the Bouwkundig Weekblad [architectural weekly] and he
considered the “little bourgeois houses” finished well (Hausbrand
1932). More critical was Nicolaas Frederik Wijmer, at the time an
assistant of Frits Staal:
By all these imperfections, which one does not come across in

descriptions nor in photographs, the propaganda for the nieuwe
zakelijkheid is harmed, unfortunately. If buildings or houses are an
expression of nieuwe zakelijkheid, it may be certainly presumed that
these structures are better in all respects than usual. […] Architect
Lurçat has applied external horizontal sliding windows
[buitenschuiframen] in his entire housing block, at which it is clearly
to see that these windows can only appear good on a drawing but
never are in reality (Wijmer 1932: 320).
Rietveld himself exactly typified the unproblematic modernity of

Frank’s house: just “simple, good and beautiful” in its form and
materials and “nothing superfluous” inside (Rietveld 1932b) and he
added a selection of local press responses to the “city without roofs”
in the new journal of the Dutch modernist architects de 8 en Opbouw:
All houses are dominated by a flat roof, which appears at first sight a
bit odd in this environment. If one is standing on top of such a roof
and overlooking the entire block, the charm of this idea reaches our
consciousness, that provides, instead of a garden, a recreation space
on the roof top, which is, given the high lot prices in the vicinity of the
major city, certainly of a great economic significance. […]
One is frequently astonished how sneakily living rooms, spaces for
sleeping, kitchen and other rooms run into one another, while yet a
small corridor remains, via which an elegant staircase leads from the
storeys to the rooftop terraces (Neuer Wiener Journal quoted in de 8
en Opbouw 3 (1932) 15 : 154).
Just as in the Weissenhofsiedlung or other show houses, the concept of
a total architectural unity of interior and exterior was not fully adopted
and additional designers were engaged to offer a greater diversity to
the public. The sometimes mixed results proved how radical the
modernist approach was and how difficult it was to reconcile it with
other tastes or traditions. Specially the stress on the ‘internationality’
of the Modern Movement and the disregard of regional conditions, in
conjunction with the polemical attitude of the ‘hardliners’ (in CIAM
and other groups) as well as the changing circumstances in politics
and economy after 1929, made the debates on the norms and forms of
the New Building a controversial affair.
Illustr. 4: Page from The International Style with Hitchcock and

Johnson’s caption on Oud’s new housing estate ‘Kiefhoek’ for labour
families at Rotterdam (now rebuilt).
International Style or international standards?
Whereas the Europeans heavily disputed the relation of function, form

and the cause of modern architecture, an adventurous trio from New
York was foremost impressed by the aesthetical qualities of the
94 Marieke Kuipers
‘International Style’ (Pommer & Otto 158-166). The three eager

young men, Alfred Barr jr. (museum director), Henry Russell
Hitchcock (architectural historian) and Philip Johnson (architect),
observed common features in the new works of more than fifty
architects in Europe, USSR, Japan and the USA, although these
architects did not always know each other or their buildings. They
were though virtually brought together in the very influential Modern
Architecture: International Exhibition held in the Museum of Modern
Art in New York in the beginning of 1932 and the following book The
International Style; this praised, for instance, the regularity of Oud’s
housing projects (Hitchcock & Johnson 1932/1995: 13-15). (ill. 4)
Rietveld, who had not completed many buildings nor
published substantially when the trio’s 1930 and 1931 preparatory
trips were made, was not included in the exhibition. In his foreword to
the 1966 edition of the book, Hitchcock regretted that omission,
though he had included Rietveld in the History chapter as one who,
next to “the four leaders of modern architecture, Le Corbusier, Oud,
Gropius and Mies van der Rohe, […] took steps of nearly equal
importance in the years just after the War” (Hitchcock & Johnson
1932/1995: 22-23, 48-49). In his later preface, Philip Johnson, already
“anti-father”, “Anti-Mies” and “Anti-Modern”, recalled: “One of the
points that the book made was a key one – that the Modern movement
was a “style” similar to Gothic or Baroque, and it was that point
which caused the objections from practicing architects” and he
wondered “did we then and do we even now practice a “style” of
architecture?” He simply concluded that historians define styles and
that architects practice; the international ‘style’ of the
Weissenhofsiedlung had resulted from the restrictions that Mies had
imposed, such as “all white stucco, all flat roofs, large, horizontal
windows” (Hitchcock & Johnson 1932/1995: 15, 16). The question of
‘style’ and the importance of ‘function’ and ‘aesthetics’ gave reason
for fierce debates; these would be analysed in detail in recent studies
(Forty 2000; Mordaunt Crook 1989; Tournikiotis 1999). The authors
of The International Style did not agree with the anti-aesthetic
doctrine of the “functionalists” and their “new conception, that
building is science, and not art” (Hitchcock & Johnson 1932/1995: 50-
54, 252).
Rietveld had a similar view. His major interest was not style,
but architecturally good and economic housing. During the 1929
CIAM congress in Frankfurt he had seen the results of the
comparative studies on the ‘Minimum Dwelling’ with uniformly
drawn unit plans with positions of furniture (Mumford 2002: 40). Two
of these were from Utrecht and it seems likely that Rietveld had
submitted the basic materials. One was a mirrored version of the 1928
“small dwellings” published in i 10 (Rietveld 1928; CIAM 1930: 8).
The other one surprises both by its great number of wall-beds, sliding
walls and the relative luxury of a separate private shower and, for
common use, an elevator in the main hall of the multiple-family block.
(ill. 5)
Illustr. 5: Plan for a unit in a multiple family block at Utrecht

(CIAM 1930: 139).
Within the Dutch context, where the Nirwana tower block with
service apartments at The Hague by Jan Duiker and Jan Gerko
Wiebenga had just been completed, the Amsterdam “Skyscraper” by
Frits Staal was still under construction and the first slab-shaped high
rise block for low-income groups – the Bergpolder flat at Rotterdam,
by Willem van Tijen, Brinkman and Van der Vlugt – had not yet been
designed by 1929, the proposition of an elevator in a block of
“minimum dwellings” was audacious. It was too much for Utrecht,
96 Marieke Kuipers
where the local building code in general allowed maximally three

levels (Grinberg 1982). In comparison with European and American
metropolises, ‘high rise’ was not unique but it made density and
height were key themes of the next CIAM conference on ‘rational lot
development’ in Brussels, 1930 (Somer 2007: 25-68).
Rietveld’s essay on Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
The introductory sentence on the meaning of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid to

his DVB essay made immediately clear that Rietveld did not care very
much about the difference between this term and the term ‘New
Building’. Generally speaking he did not seem to be concerned about
which was the most appropriate label for what was far more important
to him: the creation of truly new architecture, free of redundancies
[overtolligheden] and full of lightness by an emphasis on spatiality.
After a rough historical overview of renewal in architecture, Rietveld
remarked that “thousands of German architects had been in Holland”
after the Great War to see the Dutch experiments in social housing –
especially by Oud – and that the “sober [zakelijke] character” of the
new architecture made it very suitable for the reconstruction of
Germany. A typical example was “the extension of Frankfurt on
Main, that had become known throughout the whole world as an
urbanistic work”, though he was critical about “the programme of the
German neue Sachlichkeit”, which was, to him, “much too narrow,
too much binding and too less fluent. The major part is already felt as
technical fanaticism; another part as a fashion whim and the rest as a
truly better alleviation of the housing shortage”. He associated this
with the minimum dwelling [Kleinstwohnung], central kitchens, city
heating, central laundry and, therefore, also partly “’Befreites
Wohnen” [liberated living]. However, “precisely this best part is for
us too much bound to many things to allow us freedom” and so he
broadly defined, as the programme of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid:
To determine scientifically the appropriate living requirements, to

know the correct means for insulation, absorption, reflection, to unify
this all with the construction, if possible in one grasp, and
transmission, and, finally, to industrialise the – up till now – primitive
activities on the construction site (Rietveld 1932a: 13-14).
No forms, no materials, no quantities defined the programme, but the
great challenge was to base architectural designs on an integral
method focused on constructioning, the making of architecture and the
shaping of space. He full-heartedly adopted Sigfried Giedion’s slogan
‘befreites wohnen’ as his personal design credo for the dual
“liberation from redundant work” and from “redundant visibilities”; to
him, “the expression ‘functional architecture’ joined in very well with
this slogan” (Rietveld 1932a: 19; Giedion 1929). (ill. 6)
Illustr. 6: Book cover of Giedion’s Illustr. 7: The ‘inspection bridge’ between

Befreites Wohnen, 1929, Van Nelle’s office and tobacco factory
published for CIAM 2, Frankfurt. Rotterdam, circa 1930. (Bakema 1968)
Rietveld was explicitly positive about machine-based production or

prefabrication because these modern means could lighten the
industrious labour of craftsmen, as he knew very well from his own
experience. Accordingly, he sought to leave out as many superfluous
decorations, furniture and even walls as possible to make life easier
and to come to a “spatial hygiene” (Rietveld 1932a: 21). Implicitly, he
wanted also a liberation from the strictness of building codes and the
conservative preferences of so-called ‘Committees for Beauty’,
consisting of local architects and other members elected to judge the
aesthetical qualities of new buildings, with which he had experienced
various difficulties (for instance, the flat roofed art gallery/studio
house for Kees van Urk at Blaricum, 1929-30) (Küper & Zijl 1988:
71-93). Just as he had made a distinction between the “outer form” of
a sculpture and the “spatiality” of architecture (recently “liberated”
from its “plasticity”), he differentiated art and beauty.
98 Marieke Kuipers
Therefore, he found the Van Nelle factory in Rotterdam,

designed by Johannes Andreas Brinkman and Leendert Cornelis van
der Vlugt “the best example of the Dutch nieuw zakelijke
architecture”: it was merely conceived as a shelter; it had no
monumental walls but good proportioned glass facades and it allowed
a fluent perception of inside and outside (Rietveld 1932a: 19-20 ). (ill.
7)
“Art is certainly not the making of beauty”, he wrote widely,
“it is a deed”; it appealed to the senses. After all, he considered
architecture as an art, as it “contributes to the development of the
sense of space, that is a very limited (specified) contribution to
consciousness, which can be, however, very influential because we
have to be so much in architecture” (Rietveld 1932a: 23, 24). The
preoccupation with the “condition of the internal” and the senses –
specially the sight, which can be subdivided into the sense of colour,
the sense of space and the sense of form – is typical of Rietveld’s
thoughts about the relation between man and space. These ideas were
also manifest in the ‘Viennese’ draft and the rare previous texts, such
as his brief article ‘Insight’ in i 10, with his cursivated statement “the
reality that architecture can create is space”, after his remarks that “the
zakelijke architecture must not slavishly meet the existing needs, it
must also reveal the conditions of life. It must not be an observation
[constateering] but an intensive experience of space” (Rietveld 1928:
90). Another example is the summary of his 1930 lecture on ‘Interior’
for the international course on New Architecture, following CIAM 3,
for Delft students, where he spoke after Adolf Behne (New Building)
and Walter Gropius (flat, middle or high-rise building) and before
Willem van Tijen (dwelling and neighbourhood):
[By] the purification of the self-being exterior […] the architecture

becomes more functional and more human. The dwelling is no longer
a dead insulation; it is actively tuned to the human being; and the
human being has to be also active towards it to experience the
capacities [hoedanigheden]. In the end these could lead to a further
perfectioning of man, while it tunes up man to develop his
comprehension. […] Schopenhauer mentions […] „die Farbe ist eine
Teilung der Tätigkeit der Retina” [the colour is a division of the
activity of the retina] The impression of colour will thus reinforce
itself by developing the activity of our retina (Rietveld 1930).
Some phrases are literally the same as in his ‘Insight’ piece, such as
the “right measures and capacities of the living interior”. In Rietveld’s
opinion, “the biblical verse in Ecclesiastes ‘there is nothing better than
to be joyful and to do good in this life’ was similar to the nieuw
zakelijke architectuur” and he continued that “limitation out of
necessity can and must develop into a joyful liberation from the
superfluous”. By stressing the ‘need’ in the Dutch word
noodzakelijkheid [necessity, which partially overlaps with
zakelijkheid], he related the new to the necessity, in particular the
practicality of small yet liveable dwellings (Rietveld 1932a: 26). He
pleaded for a revaluation of the void, in particular “the measure and
the characteristic of the void between the materials, around and
thereon” [de maat en de hoedanigheid van de leegte tusschen de
materialen, e r o m en e r o p] (Rietveld 1932a: 16). This and other
statements were quoted as late as 1934 by Hausbrand, who had
already published about Rietveld’s works in the architectural weekly
(Hausbrand 1934, 1933, 1932). In general, however, the DVB essay
did not seem to draw much attention by contemporary architects
outside the narrow circle of modernists.
(Nieuwe) Zakelijkheid in Dutch architecture
Rietveld was certainly neither the first nor the last to write about
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in Dutch architecture. In fact, it is striking that
the vehement polemics about the notion’s interpretation and its
architectural ideals and realizations in the Netherlands took off as late
about 1930, whereas the political and cultural climate had changed
drastically in the neighbouring country Germany under the rising
nazist regime. There the original term (Neue Sachlichkeit) had been
coined for a ‘post-expressionist’ direction in the visual arts in 1925 or
earlier (Campbell 1978: 172-179). Paul Bromberg, like Rietveld a
furniture maker and interior designer (both for Metz & Co.), but also
an active publicist with a wide international orientation, noted already
in 1931 in his Holland interiors that the term Neue Sachlichkeit had
turned into a “phrase” in Germany (Bromberg 1931: 11). As for his
modernist compatriots, Bromberg stated in a preceding section that
the work of the “internationals” had “as a common desire, to make the
living spaces as restrained as possible” after he had introduced
Rietveld, Willem Hendrik Gispen, Brinkman and Van der Vlugt as
those Dutchmen who “faithfully contributed to this international style,
as the ultramodern current was called” and which was symbolized by
100 Marieke Kuipers
“glass and metal interiors” (Bromberg 1931: 10). Nevertheless,

various architects and critics started to apply the term Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid more and more as a reference to ‘new architecture’ with
modern materials and in a sharp contrast with the past or the built
environment after Bromberg had made his remark. This begins with
Rietveld, albeit with a certain reservation, and more intentionally by
the members of de 8 (Amsterdam) and Opbouw (Rotterdam), who
preferred to speak of Nieuwe Bouwen to avoid the negative by-ass.
The term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is often used by their opponents in
contrast with other architectural ideas or expressions or technical
qualities, in particular in the architectural weekly and the Roman-
Catholic building journal (Rebel 1983a, 1983b). Apart from social or
political differences, the controversies regarded, in Vitruvian terms,
the position of Utilitas versus Venustas and Firmitas respectively.
These professional priorities are often overlooked in posterior
historiography, which mainly stresses the good intentions of the ‘New
Builders’ and their quest for better social housing.
The relatively late adoption of the denomination ‘New
Objectivity’ to identify a predominantly functionalist architectural
orientation, does not imply that there was no modernity or essential
renewal in Dutch architecture earlier in the 20th century. On the
contrary, it was just that these renewals were associated with other
vocabularies and, partly, other groups of architects and artists. Unlike
English or French, the term Sachlichkeit can easily be translated as
Zakelijkheid in Dutch. In comparison with the German language, that
allows only one interpretation, related to ‘Sache’ or ‘thing’ or ‘object’
(thus literally ‘thingness’ for ‘Sachlichkeit’), the Dutch ‘zaak’ and
‘zakelijkheid’ can refer to even more meanings, for instance also to
‘shop’, ‘firm’ or ‘issue’ and to ‘matter-of-factness’ or ‘business-like
character’.
Already in 1907, the influential Dutch architect Hendrik
Petrus Berlage, who was graduated from the Federal Institute of
Technology (ETH) at Zurich, had extensively addressed the issues of
Sachlichkeit in relation to architecture in four lectures at the
Kunstgewerbemuseum of his study town. He introduced the term
sachlich as a better expression for a “so-called constructional manner
of building based on the use of materials”. The word had not to be
confused with ‘commercial’ and he continued that there was “not only
an economic but also an artistic Sachlichkeit”, which he associated
with true simplicity by omitting “everything superfluous […],
unrelated to the building’s constructional necessity” (Berlage 1908:
234). Berlage owed much to Muthesius’ ideas on Sachlichkeit and he
had a similar idealism, politically and professionally. He was co-
founder of the interior-furniture shop ‘t Binnenhuis at Amsterdam
with Jac. van den Bosch and promoter of Nieuwe Kunst [New Art] in
applied arts (Singelenberg 1972; Brentjens 2011). For its original
function, the General Diamond Workers Union (ANDB) building
expressed his socialist idealism more consistently than the ‘capitalist’
Stock Exchange at Amsterdam. Yet, the freestanding Beurs was
Berlage’s most conspicuous manifestation of ‘zakelijke’ architecture,
being entirely “based on a mathematical system, with no form derived
from pure arbitrariness” (Berlage 1908: 218-221).
So, due to Berlage’s and others’ efforts, the aspects ‘new’ and
‘zakelijkheid’ were already present in the architectural discourse
during the first decade of the 20th century, in conjunction with the
quest for a “modern spiritual ideal” and a “constructional manner of
building” which would do away the forms of earlier styles. Even the
notion of an idealistic Modern Movement was already formulated, but
the combination of the two key elements in one coherent concept and
its embodiment in a new architectural style – if one agrees that the
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was a style – would take almost two decades.
The successive steps in this evolution were, as Rietveld summarized:
Jugendstil, Berlage and a “constructional style”, Frank Lloyd Wright,
the Amsterdam School with Michel de Klerk, Dada, the De Stijl
movement, Oud, Le Corbusier and CIAM (Rietveld 1932a: 5-13).
If not directly, Rietveld had become familiar with Berlage’s
ideas by the courses that he took from the Utrecht based architect and
furniture maker Pieter Jan Christoffel Klaarhamer (Bless 1982: 12-
14). Klaarhamer’s ‘sachlich’ furniture had taught a rational approach
of design and construction that totally differed from what Rietveld had
learned in his father’s workshop. It was based on a modular system,
without historical stilistic ornaments, and almost apt for mechanical
production (Kuipers 2010: 99; Kuper 2011).
De Stijl, Dada and Constructivism
In addition to the new professional methods, Klaarhamer introduced

Rietveld into both a new world of ideas and a new network of
progressive artists, notably the painter Bart van der Leck and the
102 Marieke Kuipers
architect Rob van ‘t Hoff. These, in their turn, introduced Rietveld

into the international avant-garde movement around De Stijl, in 1919,
two years after the multidisciplinary magazine had been launched at
Leiden by Theo van Doesburg (Küper 1982). Van Doesburg strove,
like Mondrian, by all means for a New Plasticity [Nieuwe Beelding], a
total abstraction in art and architecture (Doesburg 1983; Troy 1983).
He wrote and lectured about his ideas in many places (e.g. Bauhaus,
Weimar, 1922), incidentally accompanied by exhibitions (e.g. in
L’Effort Moderne, Paris, 1923) and tried also to realize a new “space-
time” experience by imposing his colour schemes on buildings by
others (e.g. ‘de Vonk’, Noordwijkerhout, 1918/19 by Oud; Aubette,
Strasbourg, 1927, with Hans Arp and Sophie Taueber-Arp) (Doesburg
1990; Hoek 2000).
At Van Doesburg’s request, Rietveld made wooden models of
the Maison Particulière and Maison d’Artiste (with Cor van Eesteren)
for the Stijl exhibition in Paris, but he did not make a common design
because he wanted to remain the master of the totality of his own
architectural creations, colours included (Kuper 2010: 207). Although
Rietveld would hardly publish any text in De Stijl, his name and fame
have become strongly associated with this magazine, more than can be
justified by facts and his personal perception. Indeed, the images of
his works in De Stijl and the recommendations by Van Doesburg and
Oud also made him known abroad, from the Czech periodical Stavba
to the avant-gardist magazine Merz, various Russian journals and the
Bauhaus, but ‘Rietveld’s universe’ had been wider and less strict
(Dettingmeijer 2010). During the tumultuous ‘Dada tour’ in Holland
in January 1923 for instance, Van Doesburg had also brought Kurt
Schwitters for a public ‘soirée’ to Utrecht. (Schippers 2000) This was
followed by a private party in Truus Schröder’s ‘grey room’ at the
Biltstraat, where she with her sister, Rietveld, Van Ravesteyn and
other friends had experienced Schwitters’ “scream performance”
(without Van Doesburg) as “liberating” (Nagtegaal 1987: 30; Zijl
2010: 41).
In view of all what would happen to Rietveld later that year
and afterwards (already described extensively), it is understandable
why he preferred the ‘dadaists’ and their contribution to make “the
new life free and easy” to the “painters, sculptors and architects who
had conceived their task very abstractly” in his DVB essay; the
dadaists were, to him, “lively humorous people with a clear
understanding of the natural, logical and honest”, even if “they had no
eye for the difficulties in the practice of building” (Rietveld 1932a:
12), whereas
The architects had made spaces, totally sterile, not thinking of what
must be done there. The word „pure” did express the highest. One
strove for a nearly impossible purity; one used exclusively primary
forms and colours, because one could not master perfectly the other
(Rietveld 1932a: 10).
These critical observations reflect Rietveld’s undogmatic attitude

towards architecture and it seems ironic to read his reservations on the
exclusive use of primary colours and the imperfect mastering of other,
because he had applied these himself exclusively – then as a novelty –
in his first house, built for and with Truus Schröder. As already stated
it was precisely these primary colours would make him famous as the
“De Stijl architect”, later on (Dettingmeyer 2010; Zijl 2010), though
just a few pictures and captions of the house were actually published
in that magazine and a contemporary periodical described the house as
“an example of constructivist architecture” because of “the
extraordinary colour application: a black ceiling and ‘primary
colours’” in an article on modern architecture in Utrecht. The author
was the Delft professor-engineer-critic Jannes Gerhardus Wattjes,
who further noted that the building had a “romantic charm” if
regarded as a “spatial object”, which “appears […] to some degree in
conflict with the intentions of the constructivist writings”, but “did not
harm its attractiveness” (Wattjes 1925: 330; Loggers 2005). Wattjes
was the main editor of the monthly Het Bouwbedrijf (1924-1959),
which was basically oriented towards building but had a wide and
international scope, supported by Van Doesburg’s essays on European
architecture (Doesburg 1990).
Wattjes’ association of the Schröder house with
“constructivism” – affirmed by Engelman – made more sense than the
post-war secondary literature and its ever repeated link with De Stijl
suggests. According to a more or less contemporary letter, Rietveld
himself found the term suitable for this work because it pointed at the
interrelated positioning of constructive elements and the plasticity
allowed by the constructive possibilities and vice versa instead of
putting form first.8 He was, like Johnson, not interested in any ‘style’
label, but he was certainly familiar with Russian Constructivism, for
he and Truus Schröder had hosted El Lissitsky during his second tour
in Holland (1926), who was introduced there by Van Doesburg.
104 Marieke Kuipers
Lissitsky saw immediately, like Wattjes, the great spatial and ‘all
sides’ qualities of Rietveld’s work, which were directly connected
with his model-making design method:
Rietveld is the best representant of the Wohnungsgestalter [designers

of housing]. He is not trained as an architect, he is a furniture maker.
He is not capable to draw projects in a routine-like manner, he makes
everything in models and therefore, for instance, a square that he
makes is not abstract. Consequently, we cannot judge his work from a
photograph, because we can only observe the outer appearance and
not the life of the form. His objects are no Funktionalismus but they
serve the determined functions and the space that shapes the living
changes according to the functions that it has to perform (Lissitsky
1926/1977: 59-60).
If Lissitsky recognized the ‘Constructivist’ in Rietveld, Van

Doesburg’s strong propaganda effectively claimed him for De Stijl.
“Supple functionalism”
Writing about the Schröder house, Wattjes noticed also a “very strong
resemblance in form with the works of Le Corbusier and Jeanneret”,
which he did not label as constructivist (Wattjes 1925: 331). By then,
the opposite row houses along the Erasmuslaan did not yet exist. The
two series were built in the 1930s thanks to Truus Schröder’s great
support and they were immediately and internationally applauded as
prototypes of nieuw-zakelijke architecture. The furnished show room
by Metz & Co. with some of his steel-tubed chairs, table and beds also
helped to convince future occupants to settle in the “Corbusian” and
“ultra-modern” livings and to start a new way of “liberated living” in
fresh air and sun (Timmer 1995; Zijl 2010: 84-93). Rietveld’s ideals
were carefully visualised by the then Utrecht based photographer
Willem van Malsen, who had just made a commercial film for the
building contractor Bredero (BBB) and had been a co-founder of the
co-operative textile factory ‘De Ploeg’ at Bergeijk (in 1921).9 Rietveld
selected the ‘open air’ image of the balconies and their unrestricted
views over the meadows as the only illustration of his work in his
DVB essay (Rietveld 1932b: 13). (ill. 8)
Illustr. 8 Rietveld’s realisation of “liberated living” at Utrecht in

1931 (Rietveld 1932b: 13).
Johannes Bernardus van Loghem, foreman of de 8 and Opbouw, made

use of the same image to illustrate his provocative book on the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid with a documentation of the highlights of modern
architecture (Loghem 1932: 119). Although Rietveld was never an
official member of the Dutch CIAM affiliation, represented by the two
groups ‘de 8’ and ‘Opbouw’, he was frequently in touch with them,
hosted prepatory meetings at his office and published from time to
time in the common magazine. (Somer 2007) does not name Rietveld
a “prominent” member of CIAM and if publications are the reference
to make such a distinction, the author is right. According to
contemporary comments, however, Rietveld has played an important
role in architectural debates and collaborative works. Let us not forget
that he had only enjoyed a very short education period, which had the
advantage that he could develop his original ideas without the
academic lumber of a Technical College or a Beaux Arts tradition.
Rietveld, who had already distanced himself from his serious
Dutch Reformed upbringing at home, was not an orthodox person in
whatever sense. So, he did not apply always the “rectilinear”
principles of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, if these did not suit the local
conditions. Rather, he practiced a “supple functionalism” as he named
his works from about 1935 when he composed the first retrospective
exhibition on his oeuvre in 1958 (celebrating his 70th anniversary).
106 Marieke Kuipers
The curved lines and the partly natural building materials of

the Verrijn Stuart summerhouse amidst the lakes near Breukelen
illustrate his unorthodox approach to create surprising architecture
with simple and economic means. (ill. 9) It was built in 1941 (just
before a full construction stop was imposed by the nazist regime in the
Netherlands) and its “free form” was well received in de 8 and
Opbouw (1941, nr. 7: 134; nr. 8: 103-107).
Illustr. 9 Rietveld’s sketch of the Verrijn Stuart summerhouse, built in

1940-41 (Coll. Utrecht, Centraal Museum).
The new wartime reality forced the Dutch architects to a period of

reflection instead of active building, if they did not want to become
‘collaborators’ with the enemy. This exceptional situation led to the
remarkable meetings of the ‘Doorn courses’, where some dozens of
modernist and traditionalist architects debated – in a less polemical
atmosphere than previously in the journals – about their views on the
future direction of Dutch architecture.
Rietveld was one of the initiators and he held a very general
lecture about “the four causes: purpose, material, method and form of
architecture”, partly repeating his DVB essay (Rietveld 1942). An
anonymous collage in (de 8 en Opbouw 12 (1942), nr. 9) placed him
in the centre with a reference to his statement to “never agree” but “to
keep talking with each other and work together for the ‘community’”.
(ill. 10) Another lecturer was Van Tijen, who was actively involved in
CIAM and nevertheless searched to bridge the divide between the
hardliners and the more “supple functionalists”. In retrospect, after
CIAM was dissolved in Otterlo in 1959, he described, like Rietveld,
the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as just one label for modern architecture.
Meanwhile, he positioned Rietveld, very personally though also
rightly, as “a bit different from others […] but a friend to all of us”
(Tijen 1960: 41, 42). Such a statement is frequently ignored in the
posterior historiography because of its limited focus on De Stijl as
(Dettingmeijer 2010) explaines. More close-reading of contemporary
sources could reveal that Rietveld has been much more than just the
“De Stijl architect”: he had a special position within CIAM and the
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and its related arts.
Illustr. 10 Satiric photo collage “the nightmare of one of the

participants” as a memoir of the ‘Doorn debates’.
(de 8 en Opbouw 12 (1942) nr. 9)
Notes
1
Gerrit Rietveld had a peculiar style of writing; in order to come as close as possible
to the original Dutch texts, I deviate here partly from translations in the Complete
Works (Küper & Zijl 1992b).
108 Marieke Kuipers
2
The sheet is obviously dated ‘1932’ afterwards, probably by Truus Schröder, GR
188, RSA (Rietveld Schröder Archive, Central Museum, Utrecht).
3
Undated letter by Rietveld to Truus Schröder [1932], RSA 134.
4
Undated postcard by Van Wessem to Rietveld [1932], RSA 132.
5
An., ‘Kunst. Stedelijk Museum. Tentoonstelling A.S.B.’ in Algemeen Handelsblad
(5 February 1928, Morning ed.); Bosma 2008: 93-101.
6
An., ‘Brieven over Bouwkunst’ in Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant (13 February
1928).
7
Letter d.d. November, 30, 1929 from the Austrian Werkbund to Rietveld, RSA 60.
8
Undated [Spring 1926] letter to Mr. van Meurs, editor of Bouwen, RSA 42.
9
www.nederlandsfotomuseum.nl/component/option,com_nfm_creator/su,detail/Item
id,161/detail,73/lang,nl/ (consulted March 9, 2012).
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and Kees Broos (eds). Kunst en kunstbedrijf in Nederland 1914-1940,
Netherlands Yearbook for History of Art 1977 volume 28. Haarlem: Fibula-van
Dishoeck: 1-54.
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Bouwkundig Weekblad 36(53): 318-322.
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Algemeen Handelsblad (17 November 1929, Morning ed.).
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Zijl, Ida van. 2010. Gerrit Rietveld. London: Phaidon.
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as Positioning Strategy:
The Case of Albert Helman
Mathijs Sanders
Abstract: From the late 1920’s onwards, Dutch critics came to characterise the short
stories of Albert Helman (1903-1996) as ‘modern’ and ‘sober’. In this contribution I
will investigate what dimensions of Helman’s early essays, novels and stories can be
laid bare when those works are read against the background of contemporary views on
modern prose and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (New Objectivity). I will focus successively
on Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as a poetical and historiographical concept, the way critics
linked Helman to tendencies towards a renewal of prose and the way the author
positioned himself in the literary field, particularly with regard to the avant-garde
movements. Helman’s critical and creative prose appears to be a crossroads of several
poetical discourses. His conception of literature and his vision on Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
stemmed from his religiously and socially inspired view on the relationship between
the individual and society and his opposition against hegemonic ideologies such as
religious orthodoxy and colonialism.
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid: two approaches
Around 1930, Dutch critics used the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (New
Objectivity) to characterise the prose of young writers who wanted to
break away from the narrative and stylistic conventions of nineteenth-
century literature. Constant van Wessem’s often-quoted remark from
his series of essays entitled ‘Modern prose’ (1929) indicates that the
meaning and scope of the term were not fixed:
We have succeeded in ‘distancing’ ourselves from our feelings. In
this, our time manifests itself, with its sense of reality, its awareness
of modern life, its sobriety in dealing with facts, its symptomatic
features that in art have been called ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ (Van
Wessem 1929: 327).
114 Mathijs Sanders
The combination of the personal pronoun we and the impersonal turn

of the phrase has become known is significant. Van Wessem denoted a
collective modern awareness of the times by using a term that had
clearly gained a foothold “in art”, but the exact meaning of which was
undefined. Van Wessem and his contemporaries repeatedly pointed
out the vagueness of the term, which rapidly gained popularity, as
Hans Anten has shown in the first comprehensive study of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid in Dutch literature (Anten 1982: 107-121). Although a
terminological-historical study on how the term was used as a poetical
concept in Dutch literature has yet to be written, a perusal of the
statements collected by Anten and a search of Dutch newspapers and
magazines, many of which have been digitised by now, show that the
term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid began to play a central role in the literary
discourse around 1930 and was far from clearly defined.1 Critics
developed a semantic register of more or less clearly defined concepts
such as objectivity, sobriety, pragmatism, matter-of-factness,
hardness, impassiveness and concentration around the term Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid, which enabled them to define and evaluate what they
regarded as typically modern aspects of prose. Of course those words
did not mean the same to every critic. That is one reason why it is not
easy for subsequent researchers to reconstruct the contemporary
connotations of those terms.
From the nineteen eighties on, literary historiographers have
repeatedly attempted to reach a clear terminology by turning ‘Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid’ from an ambiguous poetical concept (a normative term
related to various contemporary views on literature) into a
historiographical concept (a descriptive term denoting a literary-
historical movement). This turn had a disambiguating effect. Anten
proposed, presumably for didactic reasons, reserving the term
exclusively for works by authors who “out of a sense of social
commitment write in a style of ‘armoured concrete’ documentary-like
prose on industry and profession; prose in which the psychological
depiction of the individual has only a marginal position” (Anten 1982:
128-129).2 Twelve years later, Grüttemeier put the social tendency
Anten indicated into perspective by pointing out the polyphony and
ambiguity of the novels studied by both researchers. So although there
is some discussion about the nature of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid novels,
there is a more than global consensus on the question of which authors
and works should be regarded as the core of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid.
Those are the ‘report novels’ of M. Revis (8.100.000 m3 zand, Gelakte
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as Positioning Strategy 115
hersens, Ford’s leven - Ford’s auto’s), B. Stroman (Stad), W.A.
Wagener (Sjanghai) and J. Last (Partij remise, Zuiderzee), published
in the early thirties, which may or may not have been inspired by Ilja
Ehrenburg’s Das Leben der Autos (1930) (Anten 1982, Goedegebuure
1992, Grüttemeier 1994; Grüttemeier intra).
Thanks to a clear definition and demarcation of the corpus,
‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ can function as a term of classification, as a
semantically more or less fixed historiographical concept that enables
us to group texts together and set them apart from other groups of
texts. However, defining the movement based on definitions and
distinctive features, even if they are found inductively, does have its
obvious drawbacks. Definitions that seek to classify texts often have
an undesired (and usually unintended) reductionist effect. The
discussion would then, for instance, focus on the question if F.
Bordewijk’s early novels should or should not be classed as belonging
to the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. A question that, according to Grüttemeier,
is impossible to solve scientifically (Grüttemeier 1999: 339-340).
Moreover, there is the risk of research getting bogged down in circular
reasoning: novel x belongs to the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, based on
features derived from novel x.
In this contribution I would like to make a case for an
alternative approach. My aim is not to determine whether, based on
definitions and features, Albert Helman’s early prose was related to
what literary-historical textbooks refer to as the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. I
think it would be much more interesting to examine how the poetical
concept of ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ functioned in contemporary texts by
and about this author. It is remarkable that Helman, as opposed to the
above-mentioned authors such as Revis, made his own opinions more
explicit using the concept of ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’. So far, research
on Helman has not focused on this aspect of the way he presented
himself as an author. In this contribution, I would like to find out what
dimensions of his work become apparent when it is studied in relation
to the way he positioned himself with regard to what he himself called
‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’. Perhaps the existing image of Helman as one
of the spokesmen of the Catholic avant-garde around 1930, and his
views on literature can consequently be specified. I will focus
successively on critics who, around 1930, linked Helman to
innovative literary tendencies (§2) and the way he positioned himself
in the literary field through his reflective prose (§3 and §4) and
literary texts (§5), respectively.
116 Mathijs Sanders
Helman and the ‘new prose’
Albert Helman was born in Paramaribo, the capital of the Dutch

colony Suriname, on 7 November, 1903 as Lodewijk (Lou) Alphonsus
Maria Lichtveld. Both his grandmothers were of Indian descent. He
was raised a Catholic. In 1921 he settled in the Netherlands as a
teacher, organist and music critic. Four years later he joined the
editorial staff of the Catholic cultural magazine De Gemeenschap,
which was established in 1925. Shortly after, he began to manifest
himself as a poet and a writer of short stories and novels (Van
Kempen 1998). His early work encompasses various genres: musical
compositions (Les vacances du Patin and Triptiek, 1925), memories
of his youth spent in Suriname (Zuid-Zuid-West, 1926), impressions
from travels (Van pij en burnous, 1927), short novels (Mijn aap
schreit, 1928 and Serenitas, 1930) drama (Voorjaarsmode, 1928),
stories (Hart zonder land, 1929) and essays (Wij en de litteratuur,
1931). Up until 1932, almost all of Helman’s books were published by
the publishing company De Gemeenschap, which was owned by the
magazine of the same name, of which he was an editor between
November 1925 and the end of 1931.
Both the magazine and the publishing company De
Gemeenschap were essential to Helman’s entrance into Dutch
literature. He was admitted into a stimulating environment of
progress-minded people his own age, who shared his religious beliefs
and artistic convictions. Moreover, he could count on his work being
published. Furthermore, the magazine and publishing company both
had a major influence on his public image as a modern author.
Following the example of the French Catholic philosopher Jacques
Maritain, De Gemeenschap combined a modern aesthetics based on
scholastic principles with an outspoken social commitment, which
was mainly expressed as a protest against what the founders of the
magazine considered to be the excrescences of capitalism.3 De
Gemeenschap was the Dutch manifestation of the Catholic avant-
garde movement, which in France self-consciously presented itself as
an ultramodern Renouveau Catholique (Schloesser 2005, Sanders
2010). The editors and senior staff members of the magazine were
interested in the international avant-garde. They followed the
manifestations of Dadaists and expressionists and showed their
knowledge of these movements, especially when disputing
conservative voices from the Catholic community (Dorleijn 2002:
142-145). Young Catholics shared their protest against the social and
political establishment with these avant-gardes. At the same time they
kept their distance from radical movements such as Dadaism and
surrealism. The young Catholics did not want to create a tabula rasa,
but turned to modern art to find constructive principles and artistic
manifestations of religious awareness and social commitment. What
this Catholic avant-garde did have in common with radical
movements such as surrealism and expressionism, was a desire to
reshape the modern world by creating a new collective consciousness
through art. It distinguished itself from the revolutionary avant-gardes
in two respects. Firstly, the Catholic movement declared itself
indebted to tradition, especially to Thomas of Aquinas’ scholasticism.
Furthermore, its main spokesmen emphasised that art could only reach
its higher goal if it could be understood by the common reader, viewer
and listener. Familiar literary forms guaranteed the desired
accessibility.
It is against this background that the lively interest of one of
the main figures within the magazine and the publishing company,
Albert Kuyle (a pseudonym for Louis Kuitenbrouwer), for
Ehrenburg’s Das Leben der Autos must be viewed. He saw the novel
as an accusation against materialism and the social indifference of
industrial magnates: “They never see the coolie with his whip-
weakened back hiding in the bushes. They never see the x-ray of a
pair of Citroën lungs, they never see people suffering from nervous
tremors, and the insane leaving the Ford, Philips and Citroën factories
year after year, to be locked away in a white box used for storing
neurotics” (Kuyle 1931: 143). The fact that Kuyle published M.
Revis’ ‘industry novels’ 8.100.000 m3 zand en Gelakte hersens is in
line with his interest in critiques of modernity combined with modern
book design. In this institutional environment, Helman published his
first short stories and novels.
It was not just the fact that Helman concentrated his
publications in the two magazines that were seen as the most
important mouthpieces of young authors between 1925 and 1930 – in
addition to De Gemeenschap there was the monthly magazine De
Vrije Bladen, founded in 1924 – it was also the nature of his literary
texts that undeniably contributed to his recognisability as a
representative of the ‘new prose’. The stylistic succinctness and the
scenic presentation in the short stories Helman put together in the
118 Mathijs Sanders
collection Hart zonder land, caused Constant van Wessem to call him
a promise for the future of prose in his above-mentioned essay in De
Vrije Bladen in 1929. The older critic Frans Coenen characterised
Helman’s stories using the words sober, reasoned, pure and
uncomplicated. Helman knew how to get “to the heart of things”
through his meticulous observations (Coenen 1930). These were the
same stories that Marsman pointed to in 1930 as the first successful
proofs of truly new prose; “speed, sharpness and imagination” made
these stories interesting and lively (Marsman 1930). A year earlier,
Marsman had indicated where he thought the chances of a prose that
would break with “lyrical emotiveness” and “explanatory psychology”
lay. He saw “vital symptoms of recovery” in the short stories of his
contemporaries Albert Kuyle and Albert Helman: “The new prose will
once again be narrative and factual, and it will derive its modernity
unintentionally from its authors, who are moved by the hardness and
imaginativeness of the times” (Marsman 1929: 79-81). Sober, factual,
fast and hard: these qualifications were often mentioned in
combination with the term ‘(new) objectivity’ at the time.
Conceptions of literature: Wij en de litteratuur

As so many other writers of his generation, Helman felt the need to
express his views on the nature and function of literature outside his
literary works. The fact he was familiar with the term Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid early on is shown by a note on the Spanish writer Miguel
de Unamuno, which he published in De Gemeenschap in 1928
(Helman 1928). According to Helman, Unamuno “in only a few pages
determines the substrate of what others have unravelled from high
stacks of fat books.” Unamumo’s “new psychology of the novel”, he
continues, lays in the absence of explicit comments by the narrator
and in the showing of series of facts, which suggest a higher truth. Not
representation but suggestion determined the strength of his novels.
“His objectivity consists of ignoring all metaphors, disowning all
syntactic form factors, focusing on only one thing: the nature and
sequence of facts, represented as plainly as possible” (Idem: 37). This
stylistic sobriety and the focus on facts were coupled with a love of
mankind, originating from a divine source, according to Helman. In
his closing paragraph, Helman gave his own definition of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid:
This Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, it is not a grammatical innovation of

literature, it has almost nothing to do with problems of form as such; it
is just a newer, deeper perception, a new, illuminating understanding.
An objectivity: to let go of sensitive reveries, give up useless analyses;
an innovation: to believe in the sole salvation of the deed that is
performed out of love (Idem: 39).
Three years later, Helman specified his ideas further in a booklet

containing four lectures on literature, presented by the author as a
series of “sober observations”, entitled Wij en de litteratuur (Us and
Literature), which was published by De Gemeenschap in March 1931
(Helman 1931: 18). In the first of the four essays Helman argues for
the functionality of the literary form: an “unusual literary form” is
necessary “when it is necessary for the particular nature of the
message”, but in modern prose, colloquial language, everyday speech,
should replace word-painting and old fashioned écriture artiste
(Helman 1931: 28-29). Not only the tone and tenor but also the
graphic and typographic design of the book (the sans-serif letter, the
generous spacing) were distinctly modern. Printer, designer and
typographer A.M. Oosterbaan adhered to the norms of simplicity and
functionality that prevailed in the so-called New Typography when he
designed this book (Van de Haterd 2004: 257-267).
According to Helman, the requisite innovation of modern
Dutch literature should not be expected of poetry but of prose, which
addresses a wide audience of readers with everyday language and is
therefore perfectly suited to literature that “is aimed at the collective,
draws on the collective, and is more and more, in the highest, non-
proletarian sense of the word, community art” (Helman 1931: 76). The
personal pronoun in the title Wij en de litteratuur can be understood as
an extension of the ‘I’ who narrated the essays and in that capacity as
a reference to a collective, such as the group around De Gemeenschap.
But ‘we’ mostly referred to the views on literature and the philosophy
of life Helman called attention to in his speeches. ‘We’ referred to the
connection between author and reader and to the topical issue of the
relationship between the individual and society.
In Wij en de litteratuur Helman expressed his views by
reacting against two poetical traditions. He distanced himself from the
expressive poetics, which was still dominant around 1931, in which
the literary work was seen as the spontaneous expression of the
emotions of the individual writer. Thus he allied himself with
prominent critics like Ter Braak, Marsman en Nijhoff. Regrettably,
120 Mathijs Sanders
“literary navel-gazing and me-obsession is for many the highest

achievable and the very best of art” (Idem: 23). According to Helman,
the literary work should not concern itself with the subject of the
author, but with the object: the world evoked by that author. He also
rejected the mimetic conception of literature, which states that the
literary work should mainly reflect reality. Realism led all too easily
to “cheap little descriptions of the author’s own bourgeois
environment, the quasi-artistic counterfeits of everyday life, without
idealism, without critique” (idem: 58).
The core of Helman’s views, as he presented them in Wij en
de litteratuur, could be found in his image of the author as a ‘filter’.
The writer’s personality is like a filter through which all of reality’s
matter passes and in which different materials form new substances,
which can then exist independent of the author (Helman 1931: 22).
Only by dissolving like that can the author give a synthesis of his own
time and penetrate to the essence of life (Idem: 62). Not
documentation but transformation is the main task of the modern
author. Therein lies his commitment. The highest aim of literature is
not the author’s self-expression - essentially a form of egotism,
according to Helman – but “creating a sense of we. The realisation
that when a message gets across, there is never one speaker but always
two: the author, and the reader, who repeats the thoughts of the author
in perfect consonant” (Idem: 27). That “sense of we” is founded on
three elements, according to Helman: a religious element (the
relationship between me and God) a social element (the relationship
between me and other people) and an ethical element (the relationship
between me and my conscience). The literary work of art is therefore
in essence anti-solipsistic and rooted in the social and the
metaphysical, and in current events. After all: “’We’ means today, the
direct, the present-day; that which cannot be put off for even a
minute” (Idem: 42).
This emphasis on the direct and present-day did not mean that
Helman embraced all of the avant-garde’s manifestations. He
reproached movements like Dadaism and cubism for their
unintelligibility, which resulted in neglect of art’s social task. In prose,
specifically, “the every-day message” should be the guideline, so artist
and audience would find each other: “A communism in the spirit of:
one for all; the artist not just for his own sake, but for his own sake
and that of others” (Idem: 51, 55). The modern artist should express
the modern life experience of many. Unamuno’s ‘Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid’ was an example well worth following.
One of the fascinating things about Wij en de litteratuur is that
it forms a crossroads of several views on literature that prevailed
around 1930, yet it can not be classed with one particular movement.
With his plea for the everyday word and his aversion to word-
painting, Helman allied himself with the critics who wished to
innovate literature through stylistic objectivity. His plea for the “sense
of we” also ties in with a larger poetical discourse. Especially in the
1930’s, progressive authors and critics took a stand against
individualism in and beyond literature. Anthony Donker, for instance,
pleaded in his collection of essays Ter Zake (1932) for novels “about
situations, collective functions, cohesions and influences”, about “the
driving forces of society”, written by authors who were concerned
with “the fate of the masses”, after all: “we are sick of the literature of
particulars” (Donker 1932: 152, 33, 149). A leading critic like Victor
van Vriesland also reproached “our younger literati” for their lack of
“social orientation” and their “dated individualism, averse to any
notion of society” (Van Vriesland 1958: 75). Of the truly modern
“sober” writer he expected a “feeling of kinship with modern
society”, inspired by his inner convictions (Idem: 433).4
Helman’s conception of literature, his rejection of both
mimetic and expressive poetics, fitted in with the idealistic aesthetics
that was prevalent during the interwar period, and according to which
the work of art was the result of the creative transformation of
everyday reality.5 Thus Helman’s comparison of the author to a filter
brings to mind the famous image created by T.S. Eliot, who compared
“the mind of the poet” with “a shred of platinum” in his essay
‘Tradition and the Individual Talent’ (1919), one of the key texts of
literary modernism: the poet functions as a catalyst, speeding up a
chemical reaction that creates poetry, but is no longer present in that
poetry (Eliot 1999: 18). Poetry’s power of expression lay in the
expression of the universal, not of the particular. In the Netherlands
this view could be found in M. Nijhoff’s criticism (Van den Akker
1985) and in the writings of the above-mentioned Marsman, who
believed that modern life could not be incorporated into literature
unprocessed, but that the “grain of life” should be distilled into “the
gin of poetry” (Marsman 1925: 2).
Like Marsman, Helman believed that the mere recording of
social reality did not result in art. Journalism was not literature, nor
122 Mathijs Sanders
was the reporter an artist. (Marsman 1932) The author who is

generally regarded as the most typical representative of the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid in Dutch prose, M. Revis, held the same opinion.
According to Revis, a successful novel was not an unprocessed
recording of facts or a faithful account of social reality, but it was
created out of the author’s ability to penetrate into deeper layers of
that reality by using his imagination (Grüttemeier 1994: 49-55).
Revis’ emphasised the importance of commitment in literature but
rejected a univocal political or social trend. Marsman and Revis’
views are related to what Helman said about the modern writer in Wij
en de litteratuur. The writer tries to “give a synthesis of his own time,
to penetrate deeper into the surface of the things” (Helman 1931: 62).
Unanimism
Wij en de litteratuur and the essay on Unamuno show that Helman
unfolded his own interpretation of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. This Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid was not so much expressed in innovative stylistic
processes as in an inspired view on reality, “a newer, deeper
perception, a new, illuminating understanding” (Helman, 1928: 39).
Helman’s views on literature stemmed from an essentially religious-
humanistic perception of mankind, which aspired to a synthesis of the
particular, the universal and the metaphysical. Helman wanted to
convince his readers of the importance of a social and metaphysical
“sense of we”. These views bring Helman close to Unanimism, the
idea, introduced by the French writer Jules Romains around 1910, of
the communal soul (una anima) of individuals united in a group, a
belief in “the absorption of the individual by a greater collectivity and
the absorption of the collective in the consciousness of the individual”
(Wyatt 1974: 9). The unanimistic view on the relationship between the
individual and society can be linked to a wider poetical discourse of
writers and critics who turned against individualism and supported the
belief in the vital strength of the communal.6 The main Dutch
supporter of Romains’ work, essayist Johannes Tielrooy, saw in
Unanimism an opportunity to escape from individualism and to re-
animate literature with affirmative communal ideals (Tielrooy 1925).
“Unanimism contradicts and opposes individualism. It offers a new
solution to the problem: individual or society. It encourages friendship
between people and friendship between countries. Unanimistic art
calls, unintentionally but irresistibly, to live a morale, a politics,
partly even a philosophy”.7
The title and the programmatic statement of principles of the
magazine Albert Helman worked for in those years, De Gemeenschap,
are also suffused with these ideals. The first editors of this Monthly
Magazine for Catholic Reconstruction (its subtitle during its first year
of publication) linked the above-mentioned interest in the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid to unanimistic ideas, which were interpreted in an
emphatically Catholic fashion. The first editorial “Account” (January
1925) states:
Because every part of any organism is, in the deep sense of the word,
controlled by the leading rudiments of life, the idea of a harmonic
society can also serve he who does not wish to eradicate the
Beginning of all life from people’s lives, who wants his deeds to serve
the divine command, marked by the use of reason, accepted by grace
(Editors: 1).
And:
The main moments, the great cultural periods of human civilisation,
appear there where the people are inspired by a communal spiritually-
oriented ideal (Idem: 2).
This unanimistic interpretation of Catholicism (or Catholic

interpretation of Unanimism) must have appealed to Helman. In Wij
en de litteratuur he stated: “Our reverence is no longer aimed at the
specimen, but at the species. This is a form of idealistic communism”
(Helman 1931: 55). A similar message is conveyed in his note on
Unamuno, in which he put his ideal of an objectivity inspired by the
Catholic faith into words. In the works of the Spanish writer, the
“Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” manifested itself in the shape of a socio-
religiously inspired view on “the world’s suffering”. According to
Helman, that is exactly what made Unamuno a truly Catholic writer
(Helman 1928: 39).
124 Mathijs Sanders
Zuid-Zuid-West
The fact that Helman was regarded as an important promising author
around 1930 was, aside from his institutional environment and
poetical self-presentation, largely due to his short stories and novellas.
During the years when, according to Marsman, the concept of New
Objectivity took the world by storm, the publishing company that
largely determined the face of the Dutch Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
published several of Helman’s books, which drew a lot of attention in
a short time. This is not the right place for an extensive analysis of the
early works. What I would like to show is how Helman’s views,
described in the last paragraph, and the ideas that were linked to
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in contemporary criticism took shape in his work.
Helman’s religious-social commitment and his interpretation
of the concept of “Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” became evident in the book
that, witness the fact that it was reprinted six times, belongs to the
most successful titles De Gemeenschap ever published: Zuid-Zuid-
West (South-South-West). Critics discussed this work using terms that
were associated with “Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” at the time. The
judgement could then be either favourable or negative. D.A.M.
Binnendijk, for instance, praised the objectivity of Helman’s prose in
his review of Zuid-Zuid-West: “there is not a trace of sentimental
degeneration in this exceptionally pure work, which nevertheless
chose such a dangerous matter as its topic”. Binnendijk’s judgment
was not completely favourable, however. Several chapters “seem to us
to be overly sober documentation from remote countries”: interesting
due to the facts, but lacking as imaginative art (Binnendijk 1927). On
the other hand, Jo de Wit wrote in her review of the book that Zuid-
Zuid-West would have been more convincing as an accusation against
colonial wrongs if Helman had researched the subject better and had
confronted the reader with “facts and figures” (J.d.W. 1928: 140).
Zuid-Zuid-West, which crosses autobiography and fiction, can
be understood as the epic dramatisation of the “sense of we” that
Helman was to underpin poetically in Wij en de litteratuur.8 In 42
numbered scenes, a kaleidoscopic image of the earlier life of a young
West-Indian, who has by then emigrated to Europe, is evoked. This
narrator focuses on the concrete reality. That reality is shown in
objectifying descriptions of space, characters and especially
population groups, strangers to the reader, who is addressed (‘thou’).
Facts and events are evoked in such a way that the reader knows
he is involved in topical issues, specifically the relationship between
‘the West’ (Suriname) and Europe and the related opposition between
nature and culture. The narrator shows his political-social engagement
in short maxims: “Communism with a clear conscience is also: Christ
in the heart of the people” (Helman 1926: 48).
The narrator mentions the colonial wrongs in Suriname
explicitly: the exploitation of the native population by Dutchmen who
behave more like bankers than stewards, and the desperation of “the
old country, the poor black country” (Idem: 50). The Dutchman
knows but one fear: “the national fear of inflation; there is only one
word they don’t like the sound of: bankruptcy” (Idem: 105)! If there is
still hope, it should be directed at “the new man”, a familiar
allegorical figure in Christian and socialist as well as avant-garde
imagery, the utopian new man, who will not know borders between
countries and people and who shall grow like John the Baptist in a
modern desert. Suriname’s nature is then metaphorically placed
opposite that modern desert: “Europe, desert of steel... Concrete
desert” (Idem: 111).
Important to the intent of Helman’s book is the motif of
loneliness, which is introduced on the first page. The narrator praises
loneliness, but expresses his desire for a sense of community more
strongly as the novel progresses. That ‘unanimic’ desire is depicted in
the book in the description of groups in chapters like ‘The City’, ‘The
Family’ and ‘The Interior’ (with special attention being paid to native
communities) and in the increasingly explicit critique of civilisation,
which turns against individualism, rationalism and industrial
capitalism. The narrator places the all-devouring “Concrete desert”
opposite the zesty liveliness of Suriname’s nature and its many
communities. In ‘The City’ the narrator expresses that vision in
reflections on the living together of “all peoples of the world”(17), “all
the little children of this land”(19) and “all races of the world”, who
meet each other in this land and who “live lonely next to each other”
(23). The desire for a sense of community is frustrated by European
modernity, the all-devouring metropolises (24).
The critique of modernity, which creeps through the book in
maxims and metaphors, culminates in the now famous ‘Epilogue’, in
which the narrator does away with fiction and addresses the reader
directly with a passionate accusation against the smug Dutchman and
the excrescences of capitalism and colonialism.9 The hegemonic
126 Mathijs Sanders
discourse of ‘the Dutchman’ is rigorously knocked down. “And now,

gentlemen, listen till the end! I have shown you the dearest I had as if
it were a cinema. That gives me the right to demand your attention till
the end of the tale. Listen!”
Indeed, you are a respectable people, with many fine slogans.
And the truth?
A country far away that I saw shrivel to a barren desert. And I dare tell
you, Sunday-abiding merchants: this is YOUR fault. Because if you
took possession of this land - I do not want to speak of right or wrong,
only God knows about that - why does it not have your love anymore,
now you can no longer speak of the Dividend (Idem: 117)?
Showing a reality in which humanity is defeated by financial gain

resulted in an explicit accusation against social injustice. By naming
facts as well as using the then familiar metaphorical image of the
modern world as a desert, Helman mobilised the attention of his
readers. A mere documentary representation of reality was not
sufficient, no more than an aesthetically modified truth would have
been. Literature had to be an integral part of modern life. The art of
the new age was not l’art pour l’art but l’art pour tous (Helman 1931:
55-56).
Conclusion
In his essay on Unamuno, Helman gave his own interpretation of
‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’. Studying his poetical interpretation of terms
that were prevalent around 1930 and linking them to both his
programmatic essay Wij en de litteratuur and his book Zuid-Zuid-West
made it possible to throw light on Helman’s conceptions of literature
and his self-image as a modern Catholic writer and representative of a
tradition-conscious avant-garde. His thoughts on literature formed a
crossroads of contemporary opinions. His plea for “l’art pour tous”
and a “sense of we”, in which aestheticism and individualism would
be conquered fitted in with a trend towards more sense of reality and
social engagement in Dutch literature and criticism during the 1930’s.
For Helman, literature was essentially a form of communication aimed
at making readers realise that they were part of a larger social and
metaphysical whole (“we”). His opposition against realism (including
its journalistic strain), his abhorrence of individualism and his high-
minded views on art’s social and religious task brought Helman close
to the avant-garde movements. The fact that he distanced himself
from those movements at the same time followed naturally from his
view that art in general and literary prose in particular had to be
intelligible in order to have the desired effect. A drastic distortion of
reality would result in inaccessible art.
Helman’s views on the relationship between modern
literature, communal spirit and social commitment were not isolated
opinions. Around 1930, similar anti-individualistic views could be
found among critics of liberal, socialist, Protestant-Christian and
Catholic persuasions (Sanders & Sintobin 2011). In Helman’s opinion,
the “sense of we” did not mean that the writer should join a movement
or group. Intellectual independence remained the first and last
condition for authorship. When the Dutch episcopate refused to lift
precautionary censorship of De Gemeenschap in 1931, Helman left
the editorial staff of the magazine that had played a crucial role in the
formation of his image as a modern author.
In order to answer the underlying question of the function of
‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ in literature and literary criticism, a wider
terminological-historical study should be carried out. However, based
on the limited material I have presented above one can conclude that
‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ functioned as a signal word, a semantic marker
that was part of a series of related terms and word combinations critics
used to describe and evaluate new literature and mark their own
position and poetics. Whether or not Helman’s work can be said to
belong partly to the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is a pointless question. What
is important is that Helman used the term ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ in
relation to a foreign writer (Unamuno) to mark his own opinions and
thereby his own position in the Dutch literary field. By interpreting the
term in his own way, he showed himself to be a modern author who,
through observation of concrete reality, wanted to penetrate into the
deeper layers of social and religious life. With this view on literature,
compounded from different sources, Helman could charter a course
between the Scylla of individualism and the Charybdis of Catholic
orthodoxy. The reader had to be drawn into a “sense of we” and it was
the task of the author to show a social and religious dimension, an
inspired reality, which was substantially wider than that which the
church and politics prescribed.
* Many thanks to Arno Kuipers and Tom Sintobin for their critical reading of an
earlier version of this text.
128 Mathijs Sanders
Notes
1
An important German terminological- and discourse-historical study of Neue
Sachlichkeit (New Objectivity) is Becker 2000.
2
It is apparent from the preface of the series in which Antens’ book was published,
that the editors wanted to “offer assistance to readers in general and scholars in
particular” and aspired to give “a comprehensible representation of the most
significant views and discussions that determined the literary character of a particular
period” (Anten 1982: 7-8).
3
For more on magazine and publishing company De Gemeenschap, see Van de
Haterd 2004. On the reception of Maritain in the Netherlands, see Sanders 2010.
4
For more on Van Vriesland and the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, see Beekman &
Grüttemeier 2009.
5
For more on this idealistic aesthetics in relation to Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, also see
Grüttemeier 1994.
6
Also see Sanders &Sintobin 2001 on this poetical discourse in novels and criticism
of novels during the thirties.
7
Paraphrase of Tielrooy’s view on Unanimism in newspaper Het Vaderland, 21
November 1925.
8
For more on the complex relationships between the views authors expressed during
the 1930’s in their novels and criticism, respectively, see Sanders & Sintobin 2011.
9
This epilogue has often been associated with the end of Multatuli’s novel Max
Havelaar, in which ‘I, Multatuli’ picks up the pen and fulminates against the
institutions he held responsible for the wrongs in Dutch Indonesia. Van Kempen
(1998: 7) calls Helman’s epilogue a “West-Indian variation on the closing passage of
Max Havelaar”.
Bibliography
Akker, W.J. van den. 1985. Een dichter schreit niet. Aspecten van M. Nijhoffs
versexterne poetica. Utrecht: Veen.
Anten, Hans. 1982. Van realisme naar zakelijkheid. Proza-opvattingen tussen 1916 en
1932. Utrecht: Reflex.
Becker, Sabina. 2000. Neue Sachlichkeit. Band 1: Die Ästhetik der neusachlichen
Literatur (1920-1933). Band 2: Quellen und Dokumente.
Köln/Weimar/Wien: Böhlau Verlag.
Beekman, Klaus & Ralf Grüttemeier, ‘Zaakkundige zakelijkheid en organische

verbanden. Victor van Vriesland als cultuurhistorisch criticus’ in Gillis J.
Dorleijn, Dirk de Geest, Koen Rymenants en Pieter Verstaeten (eds.),
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jaren dertig. Nijmegen: Vantilt: 61-83.
Binnendijk, D.A.M. 1927. ‘Boekbespreking. Albert Helman: Zuid-Zuid-West’ in De
Vrije Bladen 4, 2: 63-64.
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Donker, A. 1933. ‘Short-stories’ in Critisch Bulletin 4: 203-204.
Dorleijn, Gillis J. 2002. ‘Weerstand tegen de avantgarde in Nederland’ in Hunert F.
van den Berg & Gillis J. Dorleijn (eds), Avantgarde! Voorhoede?
Vernieuwingsbewegingen in Noord en Zuid opnieuw beschouwd. Nijmegen:
Vantilt: 137-155.
Editors [Redactie]. 1925. ‘Verantwoording’ in: De Gemeenschap 1, 1: 1-6.
Eliot, T.S. 1999. Selected Essays.London: Faber & Faber.
Goedegebuure, Jaap. 1992. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Utrecht: HES Uitgevers.
niederländischen Literatur. Amsterdam: Dissertatie Universiteit van
Amsterdam.
––– 1999. ‘Bordewijk en de Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ in Tijdschrift voor Nederlandse
Taal- en Letterkunde 115: 334-355.
Haterd, Lex van de. 2004. Om hart en vurigheid. Over schrijvers en kunstenaars van
tijdschrift en uitgeverij De Gemeenschap 1925-1941. Haarlem: In de
knipscheer.
Helman, Albert. 1926. Zuid-Zuid-West. Utrecht: De Gemeenschap.
––– 1928. ‘Miguel de Unamuno’ in De Gemeenschap 4: 36-40.
––– 1931. Wij en de litteratuur. Utrecht: De Gemeenschap.
Kempen, Michiel van. 1988. ‘Albert Helman’ in Kritisch lexicon van de moderne
Nederlandstalige literatuur 78e aanvulling, november 1998.
Kuyle, Albert. 1931. ‘Tien paardekracht’ in De Gemeenschap 7: 139-143.
Marsman, H. 1925. ‘De positie van den jongen Hollandschen schrijver’ in De Vrije
Bladen 2: 1-3.
––– 1929. ‘De kansen van ons proza’ in De Vrije Bladen 6: 79-81.
––– 1930. ‘Serum tegen kanker’ in De Vrije Bladen 7: 129-132.
––– 1932. ‘De aesthetiek der reporters’ in Forum 1: 141-150.
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Walcheren and the Cult of Youth’ in R. Heynickx& J. De Maeyer (eds) The
Maritain Factor.Taking Religion into Interwar Modernism. Leuven: Leuven
University Press.
Sanders, Mathijs & Tom Sintobin. 2011. ‘Van intellectualistisch trommelvuur tot
maniakale offer-tendentie. Debatten in romans en romankritiek tijdens de
jaren dertig’ in: Lars Bernaerts, Carl de Strycker, Bart Vervaeck (eds),
Breuken en bruggen. Moderne Nederlandse literatuur, hedendaagse
perspectieven. Gent: Academia Press (SEL-reeks 2): 111-130.
Schloesser, Stephen. 2005. Jazz Age Catholicism. Mystic Modernism in Postwar
Paris, 1919-1933. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
Tielrooy, J. 1925. ‘Jules Romains’ in: De Stem 5, II: 748-761, 795-808.
130 Mathijs Sanders
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essayistisch proza. Deel 1. Amsterdam: N.V. Em. Querido’s
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Elsevier’s Geïllustreerd Weekblad 38, 1: 140-142.
Wyatt, K.D. 1974. Unanimistic Imagery in Twentieth Century French Literature.
Mississippi University.
II. The International and Intermedial Dimension
of Neue Sachlichkeit
The Appearance and Disappearance of the
Term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
in Dutch Modern Architecture
Ben Rebel
Abstract: Although modern architecture was indicated with different terms such as
Modern Architecture, Rationalism, Functionalism, Modern Movement, Neue
Sachlichkeit and Neues Bauen, the Dutch modern architects had a strong preference
for the translations of the last two: Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and Nieuwe Bouwen. The first
one originated in German painting around 1925. It was introduced in Dutch modern
architecture somewhere between the first CIAM congress in 1928 and 1930. The
architect J.B. van Loghem1 (1932) used it in the subtitle of his book about modern
Dutch architecture together with the German subtitle Neues Bauen, a term related to
the CIAM congresses. From around 1929 de Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was already under
attack from critics in newspapers and from traditionalist architects writing in the
Roomsch Katholiek Bouwblad. They attacked the attitude of this movement for being
materialistic. The focus in this article is on the year 1932 because in that year, only a
few years after its appearance, the use of the phrase Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was rejected
by the majority of Dutch modern architects. This occurred despite the publication that
year of Van Loghem’s book on Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and despite the publication by
the Amsterdam School architect J. Gratama of an eye-catching but critical article
about the subject in the first volume of a series of twenty books about modern (in fact
contemporary) Dutch architecture. Essential, however, was the attack of the ‘father of
modern architecture in the Netherlands’ H.P. Berlage who reproached Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid for being materialistic and capitalistic. According to him all emotion was
absent in The Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Berlage’s point of view was immediately
published in the new founded Avant-garde journal de 8 en OPBOUW and fiercely
disputed by two important representatives of de Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, J. Duiker and
J.J.P. Oud. They reproached Berlage for ignoring that the zakelijke (‘matter-of-fact’)
attitude was only meant to produce better living conditions (CIAM) and higher values
(Oud) such as the cosmic laws of economy (Duiker). Thereafter the term Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid was seldom used again within the circles of modern architecture. The
traditionalist architects in the Roomsch Katholiek Bouwblad continued their attacks on
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid but in the meantime the modern architects themselves gave
preference to the expression Nieuwe Bouwen and some of the young architects of the
Groep 32 even abandoned the CIAM related term Nieuwe Bouwen and propagated the
high-flown phrase ARCHITECTUUR.
136 Ben Rebel
Introduction
Although the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, a translation of the German

term Neue Sachlichkeit, is a much used phrase, certainly within the
context of the history of art and architecture, its specific significance
within the domain of architecture remains unclear up till now. One of
the reasons for this is the well-known fact that the term Neue
Sachlichkeit was first launched in on May 18, 1923 in a circular by
G.F. Hartlaub, the director of the Mannheim Art Gallery. So in the
beginning it had nothing to do with architecture at all because it was
meant to be the title of an exhibition of paintings and prints that took
place two years later in the Art Gallery in 1925.2 F. Schmalenbach
(1940: 161-165) quoted the original circular by Hartlaub in German
and English explaining the character of this exhibition:
I wish in the autumn to arrange a medium-sized exhibition of painting

and prints, which could be given the designation ‘Die neue
Sachlichkeit’. I am interested in bringing together representative
works of those artists who in the last ten years have been neither
impressionistically relaxed nor expressionistically abstract, who have
devoted themselves exclusively neither to external sense impressions,
nor to pure inner constructions. I wish to exhibit those artists who
have remained unswervingly faithful to positive palpable reality, or
who have become faithful to it once more. You will understand
readily enough what I mean.
>Ich möchte im Herbst eine mittelgrosse Ausstellung von Gemälden

und Graphik veranstalten, der man etwa den Titel geben könnte ‘Die
neue Sachlichkeit’. Es liegt mir daran, repräsentative Werke derjenige
Künstler zu vereinigen, die in den letzten 10 Jahren weder
impressionistisch aufgelöst noch expressionistisch abstrakt, weder rein
sinnenhaft äusserlich noch rein konstruktiv innerlich gewesen sind.
Diejenige Künstler möchte ich zeigen, die der positiven greifbaren
Wirklichkeit mit einem bekennerischen Zuge treu geblieben oder
wieder treu geworden sind. Sie verstehen schon, wie ich es meine.@
Evidently he was not sure that the readers of his circular (German
museum directors, art dealers and writers on art) understood what he
meant because he continued:
Both the ‘right wing’ (the Neo-Classicists, if one cares to describe

them), as exemplified by certain things of Picasso, Kay H. Nebel, etc.
The Appearance and Disappearance of the Term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid 137
and the ‘veristic left wing, to which Beckmann, Grosz, Dix, Drexel,
Scholz, et., can be assigned, fall within the scope of my intentions.
>In Betracht kommen sowohl der ‘rechte’ Flügel (Neu-Klassizisten),

wenn man so sagen will, wie etwa gewisse Sachen von Picasso, Kay
H. Nebel, etc., als auch der linke ‘veristische’ Flügel, dem ein
Beckmann, Grosz, Dix, Drexel, Scholz, etc. zugezählt werden
können.@
Only after 1925, the year that the exhibition in Mannheim really did
take place, the term became more widespread and eventually even a
real slogan within a broader cultural context. That surely did not mean
that the different artists, groups and disciplines (painting, architecture,
literature, theater, film et cetera) that were brought together by this
slogan were a coherent whole. Schmalenbach analyzed Hartlaub’s
original intention in 1923 to group a number of at first sight very
diverse painters under the slogan Neue Sachlichkeit because of their
positive attitude towards the ‘positive palpable reality’. And he
explained that it was evident that, although the slogan became a
success, there was in fact no question of a coherent group
characterised by that name. The differences in style and program were
striking.
In 1929, in a letter to A. H. Barr, Hartlaub made clear once
again what he meant by the slogan. Barr, a specialist in modern art,
was the first director of the Museum of Modern Art in New York that
had opened its doors that same year. It is important to notice that
Hartlaub connected the term Neue Sachlichkeit now for the first time
with architecture. Hartlaub wrote to Barr (Schmalenbach 1940: 164):
The expression Neue Sachlichkeit ought really to apply as a label to

the new realism bearing a socialistic flavor. It was related to the
general contemporary feeling in Germany of resignation and cynicism
after a period of exuberant hopes (which had found an outlet in
expressionism). Cynicism and resignation are the negative side of
Neue Sachlichkeit; the positive side expresses itself in the enthusiasm
for the immediate reality as a result of the desire to take things entirely
objectively on a material basis without immediately investing them
with ideal implications. This healthy disillusionment finds its clearest
expression in Germany in architecture. In the last analysis this battle
cry is today much misused and it is high time to withdraw it from
currency.
138 Ben Rebel
Although it remains unclear what Hartlaub meant by the misuse of the

slogan Neue Sachlichkeit, Schmalenbach (1940: 164) stated that it was
clear that in Hartlaub’s opinion the meaning had faded already by
1929. But only then, probably between the foundation of the CIAM
(‘Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture Moderne’) in 1928 and 1930,
the Dutch term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid entered the battlefield of
architecture in the Netherlands. It is difficult to fix the exact moment
but in 1930 the Rotterdam architect W. van Tijen wrote a letter to the
Nederlandsch Instituut voor Volkshuisvesting en Stedebouw3: “The
Congres [He referred to the Dutch department of the CIAM] considers
itself as one of the representatives in the Netherlands of the modern
movement of ideas, mostly known as Nieuwe Zakelijkheid”.4 The
German term Neue Sachlichkeit in connection with architecture had
already appeared in 1929 in discussions about modern architecture
like the then almost completed Van Nelle factory (1925-31) in Dutch
architectural magazines like the Bouwkundig Weekblad and in the
Roomsch Katholiek Bouwblad. This last one introduced the Dutch
term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid that same year in a negative way,
characteristic for this traditional magazine. But it is almost certain that
it was not used in connection with architecture before 1928 because in
the first draft articles of association of the Amsterdam architectural
association de 8 one spoke of “rationeele architectuur” (rational
architecture). Neither the phrase Nieuwe Zakelijkheid nor the phrase
Nieuwe Bouwen was used then.5
Y. Koopmans (2004: 5-53) described an interesting
association of Dutch architects and artists, more or less associated
with the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. The ASB (Architectuur
Schilderkunst Beeldhouwkunst) (‘Architecture Painting Sculpture’)
was founded at the end of 1926. On February 4, 1928 it organized an
exhibition in the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam. Among the
participants were Neusachliche artists like P. Alma, Ch. Toorop, H.
Rädecker, C. Willink and B. van der Leck, a member of DE STIJL.
Participating architects were J.F. Staal, G. Rietveld and S. van
Ravesteyn. Although the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was used in
connection with Willink, references to architecture contained only
terms like zakelijk or zakelijke architectuur. In 1929 the same museum
hosted the last official exhibition of the Neue Sachlichkeit. It was
organized by the association of artists De Onafhankelijken (The
Independents) and the participants were 22 German painters. The
same year but somewhat later ASB organized its second exhibition in
cooperation with the Deutsche Werkbund that presented its
architectural travelling exhibition entitled Neues Bauen. In the Dutch
architectural section important modern architects were represented
like the members of de 8, operating as a unit under the leadership of
their first chairman B. Merkelbach, and further Oud, Rietveld, Duiker,
M. Stam, C. van Eesteren, Van Loghem, Van Ravesteyn and L.C. van
der Vlugt. Most of them were members of the CIAM (Rebel 1983: 64-
68). At that time it became clear, as far as it had not been clear yet,
that modern art and architecture had different aims and therefore
developed in totally different ways.
In 1930, the year that Van Tijen used the term Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid for the first time in connection with the CIAM, the
secretary of that organization, S. Giedion, visited the Netherlands and
gave a lecture in Delft about “Die Internationalen Kongresse für
Neues Bauen”.6 Among his audience were the Dutch members of the
CIAM, in general the members of the Rotterdam association Opbouw
and the Amsterdam association de 8.7 Giedion’s gave an exposé about
the setting of objectives of the CIAM. His main concern was the
problem that in his opinion architecture stayed behind in the ongoing
development from a production by hand to a modern, industrial
production. Although he admitted that there was no place for
individualistic, handicraft-like details within the industrial production,
he considered this backwardness as the result of a romantic attitude
aiming at the fulfillment of individual interests instead of general
ones. According to Giedion it was not the task of modern architects to
get rid of the individual as such but to industrialize the building- and
design process in order to fulfill the general interests of society as a
whole:
Today we are concerned with the fulfillment of human needs, not the
obstinacies of individuals but the important needs of the general
public …. [The target of the congresses B.R.]… is the fulfillment of
human needs.
>Heute bemühen wir uns den organischen Bedürfnissen des Menschen

gerecht zu werden, nicht den Kapriten [Kaprizen] des einzelnen,
sondern den grossen Notwendigkeiten der Allgemeinheit… [The
target of the congresses B.R.] … ist die Befriedigung menschlicher
Bedürfnisse.@
140 Ben Rebel
At first sight Giedion’s opinion was very similar to that of Oud (1917:
10) who already in 1917 in the first number of DE STIJL stated that
the image of the city, because of practical and idealistic reasons, no
longer would be based on the impression of individual buildings but
on big ensembles.8 But because of the political implications of the
founding manifest of the CIAM, such as the connection of architecture
with general social questions, the Dutch architect Oud refused to take
part in the CIAM. So when Giedion asked him to become, together
with Stam, a Dutch delegate of the congresses (Rebel 1983: 65), he
answered: “Habe ich Moser richtig verstanden, so ist schon die
officielle [sic] Erklärung ein diplomatisches Kunststück (…) doch
Politik in der Kunst überlasse ich gerne der Reaktion” (If I did
understood Moser well, than the very official declaration is a
diplomatic masterpiece (…) but I gladly leave politics in art to the
reaction).9 Oud’s conclusion about the CIAM was: “Arbeiten, nicht
Schwätzen” (Go to work, don’t blether).10
In 1930, when Van Tijen used the phrase Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
in connection with the CIAM, the Dutch modern architects did not yet
have a real architectural magazine of their own to disperse such ideas.
Without much success they tried to invade the important traditional
architectural magazines such as the Bouwkundig Weekblad and the
Tijdschrift voor Volkshuisvesting en Stedebouw.11 Eventually, in 1932
the Rotterdam association Opbouw (1920) and the Amsterdam
association de 8 (1927) together succeeded in founding their own
Avant-Garde magazine de 8 en OPBOUW.12 But immediately a
discussion started in the new magazine about the slogan Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid. In that same year a new catchphrase became popular in
the Netherlands: Het Nieuwe Bouwen. Also this term came from
Germany where it was known as Neues Bauen. Already in 1920, also
three years before Hartlaub’s introduction of the term Neue
Sachlichkeit, it was used by the German Arbeitsrat für Kunst for an
exhibition in Berlin. In the catalogue of the big exhibition Tendenzen
der Zwanziger Jahre of 1977 in Berlin, M. Bock (1977: 1/26)
preferred this term Neues Bauen to characterise modern architecture.
The ‘Neue Bauen’ of the twenties (Functionalism, ‘Neue

Sachlichkeit’, International Architecture – slogans, which explicit
frame different expects of modern, functional architecture) is the
resultant of a for many decades ongoing process of economical, social,
technical/constructive and aesthetical processes aiming at
functionalizing architecture […] The ‘Neues Bauen’ however is not
only the outcome of the new social demands for suitability in
architecture, but at the same time the answer to the transformed
changed position of architects.
>Das Neue Bauen der 20er Jahre (Funktionalismus, Neue Sachlichkeit,

Internationale Architektur – Schlagwörter, die verschiedene Aspekte
oder strukturelle Eigenschaften des ‘moderne Zweckbaus’ plakativ
festhalten) ist das Ergebnis eines Jahrzehnte dauernden
ökonomischen, sozialen, technisch-konstruktiven und ästhetischen
Funktionalisierungsprozesses der Architektur. […] Das Neue Bauen
ist jedoch nicht nur eine Folge der neuen gesellschaftlichen
Zweckbestimmung der Architektur, sondern zugleich auch entstanden
als Antwort auf die Veränderung der gesellschaftlichen Stellung des
Architekten.@
Bock did so because the CIAM used the slogan Neues Bauen from the
start. The first page of the founding manifest presented at the first
congress in 1928 in the castle of La Sarraz in Switzerland opened with
the words: “VORBEREITENDER INTERNATIONALER
KONGRESS FUER NEUES BAUEN im Château de la Sarraz, 25/29.
Juni 1928 OFFIZIELLE ERKLÄRUNG” (Preparatory international
congress for ‘Neues Bauen’ in the castle of La Sarraz 25/29 June,
1928 Official Declaration). But Bock also used the term Neues Bauen
because he wanted to avoid a short-sighted analysis of modern
architecture as a discipline only guided by pure functional arguments.
He spoke deliberately (see above) about an economic, social,
technological/constructional and aesthetical [!!!] process of
functionalism. And this attitude was also dominating the founding
manifest of the CIAM in La Sarraz itself: “[…] sondern fordern eine
jeweils neue Erfassung einer Bauaufgabe und eine schöpferische
Erfüllung aller sachlichen und geistigen Ansprüche an sie” (but
promote a repeatedly new understanding of a building problem and a
creative response to the fulfillment of all practical and spiritual
demands).13 That was not the spirit of efficiency for efficiency’s sake
or ‘form follows function’. In fact it was the sound spirit of De
Architectura Libri Decem (‘Ten Books on Architecture’) by the
Roman architect/theoretician Vitruvius in the first century BC, a
publication that considered functional, constructional and aesthetical
demands as equal. And this was, until now, a leading principle in the
education of architects and in the building practice. That was for
instance the case with a number of modern architects in the
142 Ben Rebel
Netherlands (the founders of de 8) and despite provocative manifests

they also designed that way. That was exactly the reason why I also
preferred the slogan Nieuwe Bouwen in my dissertation on
functionalist Dutch architecture (Rebel 1983: 1 and 356). Eight years
before, in 1975) the German architectural historian N. Huse (1975: 9-
14), writing about modern architecture in Germany, used the same
slogan in the title of his book Neues Bauen, 1918 bis 1933, Moderne
Architektur in der Weimarer Republik : “Thema dieses Buches sind
diejenigen Bestrebungen, die sich selbst als das ‘Neue Bauen’
verstanden” (The theme of this book are those striving movements
considering themselves as Neues Bauen).14 Huse deliberately did not
use the slogan Neue Sachlichkeit because he considered the term
Neues Bauen as the most useful one in his confrontation of modern
architects with traditional or conservative architects.
It is my intention to analyze the problematic relationship
between the two Dutch equivalents of the German slogans: Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid and Nieuwe Bouwen and to clarify the content, the use
and the usefulness of both in relation to Dutch avant-garde
architecture.15 The focus will be on the year 1932, when two important
Dutch publications about the phenomenon Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in
architecture came out and a polemic discussion about this subject
started in the architectural Avant-garde magazine de 8 en OPBOUW.
Han van Loghem about Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
In 1932 the publishing house Kosmos in Amsterdam presented an eye-

catching book about modern Dutch architecture, written by the
architect Van Loghem (fig. 1). He started his career in Haarlem
mainly building traditional country houses with sometimes evident
influences by Berlage, the Amsterdam School and F.L.Wright (De
Wagt 1995). He became a convinced socialist after the Russian
Revolution in 1917 and in his opinion good architecture was only
possible under socialist conditions. In 1919 he became a member of
the Confederation of Revolutionary-Socialist Intellectuals and in 1921
he collectivised his bureau (Van de Beek and Smienk 1971: 31-33 and
Rebel 1983: 17-18). In the early twenties he took part in an important
and complex experiment in Amsterdam that was meant to modernize
the traditional building process through the use of concrete and by
normalisation, prefabrication and standardisation. In this experiment a
The Appearance and Disappearance of the Term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid143
number of concrete building systems by different companies and
architects were tested in the housing district Betondorp (‘Concrete
Village’). In 1922-24 Van Loghem realized there 120 striking modern
working-class row houses in a combination of prefab and pouring
concrete (Kuipers 1987: 34-46, Boersma 1987 and De Wagt 1995:
Fig. 1. Book jacket Van Loghem, bouwen bauen bâtir building, 1932.
199-209). In 1926-27 he worked as an architect in the Soviet-Union in

Kemerovo, a mining town in Siberia. In 1927 in a letter from Siberia
to the Bouwkundig Weekblad he remarked about his job (De Wagt
1995: 285-298 and Van de Beek and Smienk 1971: 33-37):
In this grand country human beings are kept by the overwhelming

power of nature from manifestations of human weakness, resulting in
funny or individualistic architecture. The most important law for
architects in this country is to accept all formulated demands in a
matter-of-fact way. Otherwise his work is doomed to become a
caricature.
144 Ben Rebel
>In dit weidsche land wordt de mensch door de ongelooflijke macht

van de natuur behoed voor de uitingen van menschelijke zwakte die
tot grappige of individualistische architectuur leiden. Het zakelijk
aanvaarden zonder meer van de gestelde eischen is eerste wet voor
den architect in dit land, daar anders zijn werk gedoemd is tot
karikatuur te worden.@
After his return to the Netherlands in 1927 he established his bureau in

Rotterdam and became a member - and around 1930 chairman - of the
Rotterdam architectural association Opbouw. In 1932 he tried to
radicalize this group in political sense during a general meeting. The
result was that Oud resigned and left Opbouw because he refused to
mix up politics with architecture. Besides that, his political view was
more conservative than Van Loghem’s socialist view (Rebel 1983: 10-
12). In 1932 Van Loghem became one of the editors of de 8 en
OPBOUW.16 His co-editors were Duiker, Van Eesteren and
Merkelbach, all members of de 8. Obviously Van Loghem aimed with
his book at an international readership because the title was in Dutch,
German, French and English: bouwen bauen bâtir building holland
nieuwe zakelijkheid neues bauen vers une architecture réelle built to
live in.17 Moreover, the book included captions and summaries in
German, French and English. The text had no capitals, perhaps,
because of his being a socialist and an admirer of the Soviet-Union, he
repudiated social inequality18. The characters of the text were sanserif,
because serifs were considered as useless and therefore improper
ornaments. W. de Wagt (1995: 305) described the typography that was
realized by Van Loghem’s friend, the graphic and industrial designer
P. Schuitema, as “equalizing Bauhaus Typography”.
Van Loghem opened his book with a photomontage in which
we recognize three recent Rotterdam projects (fig. 2). Clockwise we
see: His own not executed study design for the housing district
Blijdorp (1932), the housing estate Kiefhoek in Rotterdam by Oud
(1925-29) and the interior staircase in the villa of the general director
of the Van Nelle factory, K. van der Leeuw, by J.A. Brinkman and
Van der Vlugt (1928-29). Of course this collage did not give any clue
about functional or structural principles, but it does give a good
impression of the wished image of modernity. Striking characteristics
are the geometrical forms, the lack of traditional ornaments, the
balance between vertical and horizontal elements (Van Loghem), the
flat roofs, the ribbon-shaped windows (Oud), the white plastered walls
and the elegant shaped, steel stair (Brinkman and Van der Vlugt). This
Fig. 2. Photomontage Van Loghem, bouwen bauen bâtir building, 1932.
does not mean that Van Loghem considered every building with such
characteristics as automatically belonging to the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid.
Just like the members of de 8 he rejected buildings that just looked
modern without being it in regard to what about the total design
process. According to Van Loghem they were only modern in a
fashionable way without belonging to the real Nieuwe Zakelijkheid.
The character of the caption underneath a photograph of the
cooperation building in The Hague by J. Buijs (1927-28) on page 66
was, despite the obviously modern and constructivist character,
negative: “good example of a building at night. The architecture still
146 Ben Rebel
being decorative does not enter into the scope of this book”. This
attitude was comparable to one of the propositions of de 8 in their
founding manifest of 1927: “DE 8 IS A-KUBISTISCH”.19 With that
proposition the architects of de 8, just like their Rotterdam colleague
of Opbouw Stam - together with the Swiss architect H. Schmidt - did
in the Swiss Avant-garde magazine ABC, rejected the architectural
designs by DE STIJL because they were mainly decorative. They
crossed out a cubist composition of a house by Th. van Doesburg and
Van Eesteren, at that time still a member of De STIJL: “Komposition,
Komposition von Kuben, von Farben, von Materialien bleibt ein
Hülfsmittel [sic] und eine Schwäche. Wichtig sind Funktionen, und
diese werden die Form bestimmen” (Composition, composition of
cubes, of colours, of materials remains only a remedy and a an
admission of weakness. Important are functions and the will determine
the form).20
Returning to Van Loghem’s book, also page 7 is remarkable.
Here he quoted three other members of Opbouw (M.J. Granpré
Molière, a traditionalistic architect, Oud en Stam). The most
remarkable one was by Stam. It is a fragment from his famous M-
KUNST published in 1927 in the second issue of the Internationale
Revue i 10:21
The machine nut is angular, not round – we know why

The bathtub is smooth – we know why
The door is 2 meters high – we know why22
De moer is hoekig, niet rond – we weten waarom

De badkuip is glad – we weten waarom
De deur is 2 Meter hoog – we weten waarom
This seems at first sight to be in a nutshell the essence of

Functionalism in the sense of “Form follows Function”, L. Sullivan’s
slogan from his publication The Tall Office Building artistically
considered (1896). In fact, the correct quotation should be: “… that
form ever follows function”. Sullivan was inspired by the American
sculpture H. Greenough and many architects and critics in Europe
misunderstood it because of a too restricted interpretation of the word
function (De Blécourt 2011). Although Stam’s slogans were slightly
one-dimensional, this did not mean that he was so in his architectural
practice. That Mart Stam was not that short-sighted shows at the end
of his pamphlet M-Kunst where he stated: “The building must be
serviceable in the widest sense of the word”. The question remains:
What was Van Loghem’s own opinion in this connection? The answer
can perhaps be found in Van Loghem’s last quotation from the writer
and journalist E.E Kisch: “nichts ist phantasievoller als die
sachlichkeit” (Nothing is more imaginative than matter-of-factness).
But Van Loghem’s quotation was a little bit out of context. It was
taken from the preface of Kisch’s book Der Rasende Reporter, a
collection of reports, edited in Berlin in 1925. In his reports Kisch
tried to avoid subjective involvement by means of an attitude of
extreme objectivity (‘Sachlichkeit’). In a world that was reigned by
lies the reporter had to be extremely objective and had only to look at
facts in order to discover the truth. But there was a reward: “Nichts ist
verblüffender als die einfache Wahrheit, nichts exotischer als unsere
Umwelt, nichts ist phantasievoller als die Sachlichkeit” (Nothing is
more amazing than the simple truth, nothing is more exotic than our
surroundings, Nothing is more imaginative than matter-of-factness).
Kisch’s attitude was in some respects related to that of German artists
of the Neue Sachlichkeit like G. Grosz and O. Dix, but it also recalled
Oud’s famous lecture Over de toekomstige bouwkunst en hare
architectonische mogelijkheden (‘About the architecture in the future
and its architectural possibilities’). Oud gave this lecture in 1921 in
Rotterdam for the members of Opbouw.23 In 1926 it was published in
German in the tenth Bauhausbuch by Oud entitled Holländische
Architektur.24 Oud concluded his lecture as follows:
Resuming one can conclude, that architecture that in a rational way is

based upon modern living conditions, in every aspect will be the
antithesis compared to contemporary architecture. Without falling into
dull rationalism it will, before everything, be objective [‘zakelijk’],
but in this objectivism [‘zakelijkheid’] it will immediately achieve
higher things.
Although Van Loghem was obviously less poetic than Oud he was
just like Oud by no means a short-sighted functionalist. In his book he
evidently propagated the idealistic views of the CIAM (Van Loghem
1932: 7):
the struggle for the new architecture has led in the whole world to the
unity of those architects [CIAM], who by reason of their manner of
living, have been taught to look upon the art of building as a problem
which can only be solved, when this building problem is viewed in all
148 Ben Rebel
countries as an absolute integral part of the social and economic
wheelwork of the world organization.
>de strijd om de nieuwe architectuur heft in de geheele wereld geleid

tot aaneensluiting van die architecten, die door hun levenshouding de
kunst van het bouwen hebben leeren zien als een probleem, dat slechts
tot oplossing kan gebracht worden, wanneer in alle landen dit
bouwprobleem als een volkomen integreerend deel wordt gezien van
het sociaal economisch raderwerk van de wereldorganistie.@ 25
Van Loghem, being a socialist, pointed in relation to the new world

organization at the Soviet-Union and that did not, as said before,
match with Oud’s more conservative Weltanschauung. Oud, as we
will see, was in the first place an artistic idealist. Although he pleaded
from 1921 on for a zakelijke (‘matter-of-fact’) attitude (Wiekart 1962:
30), he rejected the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid from 1932 on because it
seemed to be too restrictive in regard to artistic freedom and probably
also because he associated it with the communist ideals and the
building methods that Van Loghem experienced during his stay in
Siberia.
In the title of his book Van Loghem used the German term
neues bauen that was directly related to the founding manifest of the
CIAM. But he also used the Dutch term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and not
Nieuwe Bouwen, although this last term did, as said before, appear
within the Dutch discussions about modern architecture in the same
year as the publication of his book, 1932. Perhaps Van Loghem used it
as a provocative, proud name. On the other hand the English slogan
built to live in (why not Functionalism?) and the French one vers une
architecture réelle (except for the word réelle, a clear reference to Le
Corbusier’s famous book Vers une Architecture from 1923) did not
have such an outspoken provocative character. And apart from that he
seemed to equate both terms when he set them against the term
Modern Art (Van Loghem 1932: 9):
the expressions ‘nieuwe zakelijkheid’ and ‘nieuw bouwen’ [He still

didn’t use the term ‘Nieuwe Bouwen’, B.R.] are better indications for
the creations of today than for instance modern art. ‘nieuwe
zakelijkheid’ and ‘nieuw bouwen’ can both include everlasting values,
while modern art is used worldwide as a label for cunning and
tasteless whims of fashion. the nieuwe zakelijkheid [Here he left out
the term ‘nieuw bouwen’. B.R.] rejects any art that has not emanated
from sound human relationship, which carries within it the nucleus for
the future.
Eventually, Van Loghem would, as we will see, keep to his favorite

slogan Nieuwe Zakelijkheid within the context of the debate on
modern architecture, especially in the magazine de 8 en OPBOUW.
Although he was a member of the Rotterdam association Opbouw, he
was well acquainted with the points of view of the Amsterdam
association de 8. In their provocative founding manifest from 1927,26
with slogans like “DE 8 IS A-AESTHETISCH [a-aesthetical]”, the
concluding slogan was: “DE 8 IS RESULTANTE [the resultant]”.
This last slogan was borrowed from dynamics and meant that in the
design process all relevant problems (technical, functional, aesthetical
et cetera) should come together like vectors in the resultant (the
design) (Rebel 1983: 58). This was strongly related to Van Loghem’s
own statement (1932: 35) in his book:
It turns out that the primarily task of the architect does not begin with
the building process, but that he has to learn that he first has to focus
on the social-economic whole, he has to incorporate the concepts of
traffic, housing, sunlight, natural beauty in his technical development,
he has to come about a synthesis between apparent separated values,
before eventually starting with building.
Jan Gratama about Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
The same year (1932) that Van Loghem’s book about Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid appeared, the publishing house W.L. & J. Brusse started
the publication of a series of twenty small monographs on modern
Dutch architecture (1900-1930) (fig. 3). The title was MODERNE
BOUWKUNST IN NEDERLAND (‘Modern Architecture in the
Netherlands’) and all members of the editorial staff were architects:
Berlage, W.M. Dudok, Gratama, A.R. Hulshof, H. van der Kloot
Meijburg, Staal en J. Luthmann. Except for the first volume entitled
INLEIDING (‘introduction’), all nineteen other volumes have a
specific thematic content like housing, shops, offices, bridges,
schools, government buildings, technical buildings, churches et cetera.
They all appeared between 1932 and 1935 and except for volume 1
they lack text but instead of that they contain a trease of photographs
and ground plans with captions in French, German and English. It is
remarkable that the selection did not give any evidence of an
150 Ben Rebel
outspoken preference for traditionalism, expressionism or Nieuwe

Zakelijkheid. This meant that the phrase modern stood for
contemporary. In the editorial account in volume 1 a straightforward
objective attitude towards the different architectural movements was
emphasized (Berlage and others (eds.) 1932: 5):
The ambition was to present a selection as objective as possible of

depicted buildings. The editorial staff did sincerely try to disregard
personal opinions about architectural ideas or architects […]. Only
one criterion was dictated: That those buildings that were admitted in
this publication should be qualitative good and thus characteristic
examples of their genre; and therefore works of art [….].
Fig. 3. Cover volume 1 Moderne Bouwkunst in Nederland, 1932.
Within the context of this article especially the first volume is of

interest because, apart from a general outline of the development of
Dutch architecture in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, it
contains a second and even still more sizeable chapter by the
Amsterdam School architect Gratama entitled Beschouwing over de
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (‘Thoughts on The Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’). No
other architectural movement did get such a special treatment in this
volume. The question therefore is how his article relates to the
intended objectivity in the editorial account.
In contrast with Van Loghem who connected The Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid directly with the objectives of the CIAM and who was
convinced that the problems of the art of modern building could only
be solved if these problems should be considered as an integral part of
the social-economic structure, Gratama considered The Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid in the first place as an attitude to life and he characterised
it as a style reflecting that life. In Gratama’s opinion mankind was
governed by two essential components of life (‘levenselementen’): A
natural being and an intellectual being. The first one was connected
with God and therefore perfect and eternal while the second one was
not perfect and subject to change and transformation. And he
continued:
Therefore every science becomes obsolete. Brainpower aiming at

result is human; being part of Nature is divine, eternal, constant and
perfect. Intellect cannot survey nature; it can only take a view of some
aspects of it, and even that view is not perfect. Art does not originate
from thinking but from nature. […] The emotional, natural element is
the eternal aspect of art, the spiritual or intellectual and willing
element of art is temporal and transitory. […] The divine or eternal
part is characteristic for all great art (Gratama 1932: 39).
And then, despite the intentions to be objective, Gratama turned out to

be a critic of The Nieuwe Zakelijkheid writing from a romantic point
of view:
This short introduction is meant to make clear that modern art, and
certainly the nieuwe zakelijkheid, is more thinking and willing than
being part of Nature. This also accounts for the common felt un-
natural character of this art. It is too much the product of the will and
too little the result of being natural. The nieuwe zakelijkheid is the
strong, heroic attempt to let sprout their lifestyle not from Nature and
emotional life, but exclusively from thinking and abstract
intellectualism. This results in the businesslike and insensitive
character of that art. The nieuwe zakelijkheid is the consequence of
our times. The nieuwe zakelijkheid is the reaction to the past and in a
certain sense a continuation of it. The meaning of the nieuwe
zakelijkheid becomes clearer, when we consider the preceding
movements […]: realism, expressionism, futurism, cubism and nieuwe
zakelijkheid (Gratama 1932: 39-40).
152 Ben Rebel
Before discussing Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, Gratama (1932: 43-68)

characterised the nineteenth century as a positivist period striving for
progress at the cost of emotional, mystic and religious feelings. In his
opinion Romanticism was a sentimental, inadequate reaction to
positivist science. Realism was totally different. In his La Terre Emile
Zola provided an objective description of the life of French farmers,
but that was not enough to produce a real work of art. Zola’s book
only reached the status of art by a characteristic choice of individuals
and events and by a continuous but unconscious contact with the
eternal and mythical forces of Nature. And then Gratama made a
remarkable switch, by naming Berlage a realist just like Zola.
Although in his opinion Berlage was a rationalist, the importance of
his famous Amsterdam Stock Exchange (1898-1903) was not
exclusively based upon useful ground plans and practical
constructions, but far more on the sense of the mystic content of these
constructions. Being elements of tension, they were the direct
expressions of God or Nature. That’s the reason why Gratama,
referring to Oswald Spengler’s Untergang des Abendlandes (1918-
23), described Realism as perhaps the last important style in the
history of art. The following movements arising in the period around
the First World War (Expressionism, Futurism, and Cubism) were in
his opinion too wild, too individual and too limited to produce a
profound Art. Gratama described Expressionism as a movement
stressing the importance of the ego of the artist instead of suitability
and he refers to the Amsterdam School architect M. de Klerk as an
example. Futurist artists did not glorify the ego of artists but were
fascinated by forces of nature like movement, activity and dynamics.
In their works and manifests, however, they did not aim at unity with
nature. On the contrary, they were fascinated by the idea of being
overwhelmed by the forces of nature. Cubism abandoned all
individualism and romantic passion. In architecture this resulted in the
abandonment of ornaments and in the production of simple, abstract
forms without any symbolic content. Sometimes this attitude produced
a fake Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in the form of an aesthetical game with
cubistic forms as, according to Gratama, was the case with Dudok,
whose Hilversum Town Hall (1923-30) he described as romantic
cubism.
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (Gratama 1932: 68-93) rejected
expressionism and was the continuation of Cubism27, but far more
related to the practice of daily life. The architects of this movement
wanted to use the forces of nature as tools in order to produce a better
quality of daily life. Although this was a positive aspect of this
movement, Gratama criticized it, referring to B. Christiansen’s book
Das Gesicht unserer Zeit (1929), for its concentration on rationality:
Technique, money and machines. In fact, Gratama referred to the
Dutch translation Het aspect van onze tijd (‘the aspect of our age’)
from 1930. In this translation J. van Kasteel added some photographs
of modern architecture (such as the Van Nelle factory in Rotterdam by
Brinkman & Van der Vlugt, the open air school in Amsterdam by
Duiker and the villa Allegonda in Katwijk aan Zee by Oud) and also a
number of texts about modern art and architecture in the
Netherlands.28 Christansen divided the contemporary era in four
important styles: The days before yesterday (impressionism),
yesterday (expressionism), today (Nieuwe Zakelijkheid) and tomorrow
(New Dynamics). According to him the Bauhaus was the most
convincing expression of the new, modern style. Only that what was
tangible and measurable was important. Technique was popular
because technique showed ability and a comparative spirit became an
aim in itself as modern sports proved. Only results were of importance
and instead of the chaos of expressionism, The Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
aimed at regulation and total control. It was not the ‘Übermensch’ but
the man in the crowd (‘Masse Mensch’) who mattered. Christiansen
mentioned a number of negative characteristics of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid such as: overestimation of the importance of technique
and ratio, the focus on sober reality instead of on ideals, simplicity,
regulation, impersonality and capitalism and emphasizing order
instead of dynamics (the style of to-morrow).29
Gratama (1932: 75) did put Christiansen’s remarks about
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in perspective by referring to Oud’s lecture of
1921 (see above) and to the Van Nelle factory where banal
zakelijkheid was raised to a higher level of zakelijkheid. And he
continued, that it was generally acknowledged that it was the purpose
of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid to produce economic and practical zakelijkheid
by means of industrialisation and normalisation. The transparency and
thinness of their buildings could therefore be considered as the
consequence of practical and economic considerations (Gratama 1932:
79). But according to Gratama the design process was more complex
than that: “It is the deepest wish of the nieuwe zakelijkheid to be not
the reasonable zakelijkheid but the thinness, the immateriality, the
154 Ben Rebel
detachment from God and Nature”. The architectonic consequences of

this attitude were details like: flat roofs, light constructions,
smoothness, white walls, glass, steel, concrete, depersonalized forms
and no ornaments. According to Gratama this choice was not
reasonable because the most logic construction in the Netherlands
should be a concrete skeleton with brick filling. And the real purpose
of this was to make invisible the functions of nature and the human
feelings. By aiming at thinness and immateriality in buildings like the
Van Nelle factory by Brinkman & Van der Vlugt and the tuberculosis
sanatorium Zonnestraal in Hilversum and the open air school in
Amsterdam by Duiker, the architects aimed at bringing life to a higher
level, but in fact this was based on the illusion of inhuman perfectness.
The real workers in the Van Nelle factory were totally out of place in
such perfect abstract spaces (Gratama 1932: 85). At the end of his
article Gratama (1932: 90-91) gave Nieuwe Zakelijkheid the ‘coup de
grâce’ by concluding that in his opinion the real solution to the
problem of modern architecture was the then current revival of
traditionalism as in the buildings by A.J. Kropholler.30
A debate on Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in 1932 in de 8 en

OPBOUW
The debate started when Hendrik Petrus Berlage, who generally was
considered to be the father of Dutch modern architecture, was
interviewed on the subject Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (Rebel 1987: 47-48).
The interview was published in Vooruit, the The Hague edition of Het
Volk (13-2-1932) and Duiker (1932: 43-44) included it in his reaction
to Berlage, who accused Nieuwe Zakelijkheid to be capitalistic and to
ignore all sentiment because its main purpose was to build as quickly
and cheaply as possible. And he continued: “The labor movement
cannot consider to use a style that lacks feelings as its own style. […]
I know that this opinion conflicts with orthodox Marxism, but in my
view Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and dogmatic Marxism have points in
common”.
According to Berlage architecture needed emotion, something
that was absent in Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. He rejected the German
slogan “Die Architektur fängt erst an, wo das Ornament aufhört”
(Architecture only begins where ornaments end). And, confronted this
with his own slogan: “Die Kunst fängt erst an, wo die Technik
aufhört” (Art only begins where technique ends). According to
Berlage capitalism was the cause of the loss of a universal conception
of life like the Middle Ages and the Renaissance had. Berlage
advocated the strife for a culture based on religious sentiment. He did
not mean an ecclesiastical dogma “but the universal philosophy of life
of mankind standing in the Cosmos and convinced that a higher
concept is uniting all human beings”.
A few weeks before this interview (23-1-1932) a remarkable
column by Henri Polak about modern architecture was published in
the evening edition of the same newspaper Vooruit (‘Forwards’). Oud
(1932: 223-224) included it, together with Berlage’s interview, in his
reaction to both in de 8 en OPBOUW. Polak was an important
socialist. He was cofounder of the SDAP (‘Social Democratic Workers
Union’) and founder and chairman of the Algemeene Nederlandsche
Diamantbewerkersbond (‘General Dutch Diamond Workers Union’).
Berlage was the architect of the union building of the Diamond
workers: The Burcht (‘Stronghold’) in Amsterdam (1898-1900). It
was loaded with symbolic socialist meanings. When the board of this
union decided in 1919 to realize a tuberculosis sanatorium for their
workers in Hilversum they asked as a matter of course Berlage for the
design. But because Berlage was too busy with other commissions he
advised the board to ask the young architects B. Bijvoet and Duiker to
do this job. In 1918 they had won the prestigious competition for the
State Academy of Arts with a monumental, symmetrical design with
some influences by Wright. It was never realized. They started
immediately with investigations but the sanatorium was not finished
until 1928. Zonnestraal became without any doubt one of the
highlights of the Dutch Nieuwe Bouwen. But because of its ultra
modern appearance with no ornaments at all, a reinforced concrete
skeleton, flat roofs, steel window frames and abundant glass it caused
a shock within the union, because they expected a building like the
Burcht by Berlage, that was considered as a symbol of the creative
power of the working class and of the civilizing power of socialism
(Idsinga 1986: 59 and 77-81). Zonnestraal was, just like the Van Nelle
factory in Rotterdam by Brinkman & Van der Vlugt, the realization of
the ultimate dream of modern architecture. The column by Henri
Polak reflected the criticism against this kind of architecture: “…
Then, a socialist is supposed nowadays only to admire buildings of
concrete, steel and glass…”. Polak was silent about Zonnestraal but he
156 Ben Rebel
did mention the Van Nelle Factory and he described a church in

Rotterdam by Oud as a “pillbox without a roof” and a “failed bulb
barn”.
Fig. 4. Cover de 8 en OPBOUW nr. 5, 1932, with H.P. Berlage.
This asked for a reaction in the new magazine de 8 en OPBOUW that

started just before on 7 January 1932 (fig 4). The first one was by Jan
Duiker ( 1932: 43-51), the chairman of de 8 at that time. The title of
his article was Dr Berlage en de Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Except for the
title and for references to Berlage’s interview Duiker avoided the use
of this term deliberately. Besides discussing the interview with
Berlage, the purpose of his article was to eliminate some
misunderstandings in the press considering Nieuwe Zakelijkheid:
The press today makes play with zakelijkheid and that’s not all,
because even when somewhere in Amsterdam trees are cut down
without any reason, the zakelijkheid is without any doubt to blame. By
means of its growing interest the press contributes to the already
existing confusion of ideas about zakelijkheid, moreover she is the
greedy interpreter of the typical pathological phenomenon: the anti
zakelijkheid-mania.
About Berlage’s interview, that was reproduced preceding his own
leading article, he declared that he was afraid that the press would
misuse Berlage’s philosophical considerations in order to kill the
zakelijkheid without trial. And then he discussed the interview in
which Berlage accused Nieuwe Zakelijkheid of being obsessed by the
idea of a production as fast and cheap as possible:
[…] it is peculiar to observe that Berlage’s oeuvre was highly

creditable for propagating deliberately the idea of zakelijkheid in times
of ultimate and unrestrained romanticism and that he expressed this
orally and in words. His line of thought was absolutely not: “as fast
and cheap as possible”. Although, as far as I now, there does not yet
exist a philosophy of zakelijkheid, one can without any doubt
subscribe to Dr. Berlage’s statement that the idea of “as fast and cheap
as possible” does not comprehend any cultural value. And if the
zakelijkheid contains cultural value after all, that is because it’s not a
matter of financial economy but of spiritual economy >geestelijke
economie@.
According to Duiker the cosmos was controlled by the leading

principle of economy and this principle was also the foundation of
industrial organization. The Taylor system31 was the expression of this
cosmic principle at the level of industrial production. Duiker was
convinced of the oneness of art and science. Although he did not yet
mention the slogan spiritual economy, the introduction to his
publication about Hoogbouw (‘High-rise building’) (1930: 7-12)
served as a prelude to it:
In the meantime it is not without significance to notice that at the

same time a social life is advancing at great speed both in terms of
production capacity and its techniques towards a large-scale
organisation, the fantasy and the acumen of the great modern
physicists brought together the hitherto seemingly independent
developing sciences: mathematics, mechanics, physics, chemistry and
astronomy in one conception of the world according to the
fundamental laws of organisation and economy. […] the mathematical
formulas lead us to the conclusion, that all matter moves under the
influence of the fields of gravity in the most economical way along the
shortest possible path …
In his response to Berlage Duiker elaborated this idea, stressed the

cultural value of science and denied the absence of feeling and
cultural value in modern architecture:
158 Ben Rebel
It is a great injustice to deny the presence of intuition, feeling,

inspiration, fantasy, artistry etc. of numerous scholars, chemists,
engineers and others, although the spiritual development here has a
more collective character than is the case with architects, composers
and other artists. Why this signboard “Art” in the sense of the
meaning of superior state of mind. Is not the sublime effect of the
medieval cathedral a pure economic phenomenon of which every part
from pillars and vaults to flying buttresses and pinnacles fulfils
constructional functions? And isn’t Einstein after all an artist by the
grace of God? (…) And does art or sentiment only start with
ornaments?
Fig. 5. Open-Air School, Duiker 1932.
Referring to Le Corbusier, Duiker pleaded once again for a zakelijke

attitude in order to realize the dematerialization of architecture with
the help of high-tech, modern materials like steel, glass and concrete
and this according to the cosmic law of economy. The purpose of this
was – and this was a typical Avant-garde point of view - to provide in
future surroundings of mankind with sufficient sunlight and with the
pleasures of nature. According to Duiker Berlage was deceived by a
wrong, cheap idea of quasi zakelijkheid that prevented him from
estimating the value of the spiritual economy. Just in that same year
(1932) Duiker finished the last phase (the entrance building) of his
most important project: The Open Air School in Amsterdam (fig. 5).
This school was in many aspects a clear example of what Duiker
meant by spiritual economy. The skeleton of reinforced concrete, for
instance, has pillars with diminishing diameters on each floor
upwards, while the slender beams become only thicker there where
they rest on the columns, where they have the biggest bending stress.
Although Duiker saved material that way, it was not a question of
financial economy because the necessarily more complex framing was
very expensive. Duiker wanted to make the school lighter, not only for
health reasons (sunlight) but also to demonstrate the cosmic law of
economy, that was for instance visible in the skeletons of animals with
bones that were only thicker at points with great bending stress (Rebel
1990-91: 109-112 and Rebel 2005: 43-44).
Almost eleven months later a second reaction, this time by

J.J.P. Oud, was published in the 23rd edition of de 8 en OPBOUW on
November 10, 1932. Originally it was Oud’s intention to make it
public in Vooruit as a direct answer to the column by Henri Polak (see
above) and to the interview with Berlage (Oud 1932: 223). But
according to Oud the editors refused it because they thought the text
was too difficult for workers. That’s why he published it eventually in
de 8 en OPBOUW. That Oud disagreed with Berlage about his
reproach that Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was a capitalist movement aiming
at building as quickly and cheaply as possible did not come as a
surprise because already in 1921 in a lecture for Opbouw he
emphasized that architecture, although it had to be objective, had
finally to achieve higher things (see above). So Oud started his article
with the words: “Just like the word cubism hardly gives a clue about
its real meaning in art, does the expression Nieuwe Zakelijkheid reflect
the real conception of this phenomenon”. For this reason he declared,
referring to his lecture in 1921, never to use this expression. “It’s an
ugly and absurd name. […] In principle I never use it, except for this
particular case because the subject is as such raised in the citations
above [Berlage in his interview in Vooruit]”. After having stated that
the architecture of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid peculiarly enough originated
in painting, he declared in a CIAM related Avant-garde way that it was
urgent to place architecture in the service of mankind in order to
produce healthy, practical and agreeable commodities instead of
giving priority to aesthetical considerations resulting in a gap between
architecture and society. According to Oud only an objective
(‘zakelijke’) attitude was able to bridge that gap. He mentioned the
160 Ben Rebel
sun orientated, open Zeilenbau (‘strokenbouw’) as an example. Oud

concluded:
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid departs from its basic assumption – one could

consider this as its confession of faith - that higher values come into
being as a matter of course when problems are formulated accurately,
and, as such and divided in components, are solved and dealt with
according to their nature. […] Nieuwe Zakelijkheid strives to bridge
this gap [between spiritual life and practical life, B.R.] that also is
manifest in architecture […] by consistently taking the position that
the art of building [‘bouwkunst’] is a form of art based on practical
value that has to satisfy common human desires. To realize this in an
aesthetical form is its ultimate objective. […] Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
wants to provide the people with: light, air, sun, colour, green, etc.; in
short happiness. It wants to create openness and space in our
neighbourhoods. […] Nieuwe Zakelijkheid has rediscovered in
architecture the human being and I can hardly assume that this goes
without any style of living.
>De ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ gaat er van uit – en men zou dit haar
geloofsbelijdenis kunnen noemen - , dat hoogere waarden als vanzelf
ontstaan als de problemen zuiver gesteld, en, op zichzelf en in hun
bestanddeelen, overeenkomstig den eigen aard opgelost en behandeld
worden […] De ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ tracht deze verwijdering
[between spiritual life and practical life B.R.], die zich ook op het
gebied van de architectuur openbaart, op te heffen […] door zich
consequent op het standpunt te stellen, dat bouwkunst is
‘gebruikskunst, die menschelijk normale verlangens te bevredigen
heeft. Dit te doen in esthetischen vorm is haar verst-strekkend doel.
[…] De ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ wil volkomen daadwerkelijk den
menschen brengen: licht, lucht, zon, kleur, groen, enz.; direct-weg:
blijheid. Zij wil openheid en ruimte scheppen in onze dagelijksche
omgeving. […] De ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ heeft in de bouwkunst den
mensch weer ontdekt en ik kan moeielijk aannemen, dat dit zonder
levensstijl zou zijn.@
Epilogue
In 1932 it became evident that, except for Van Loghem, the most
important modern architects in the Netherlands distanced themselves
from the slogan Nieuwe Zakelijkheid because it was associated with an
attitude of blunt matter-of-factness and a lack of sentiment and
spiritual values. In newspapers and in the traditionalist press this
caused sneering responses and cartoons. But only as soon as Berlage,
the supposed father of modern architecture, attacked Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid the architects of the just founded magazine de 8 en
OPBOUW not only dissociated themselves form Berlage’s point of
view32 but also from the slogan Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, because it was
according to them the immediate cause for the misunderstanding of
the true principles of modern architecture. Instead they preferred the
term Nieuwe Bouwen and Duiker (1932: 231-36) was one of the first
architects to express this clearly in a for that matter well-disposed
book review of Van Loghem’s book (1932), which was mentioned
before. Although Van Loghem consistently used the term Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid, Duiker spoke in his review just as consistently about Het
Nieuwe Bouwen, except for the moments when he explained that the
role of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was only an element in the
development of the higher aims of the Het Nieuwe Bouwen. In the
same issue Duiker (1932: 236-37) also reviewed the article
Beschouwing over De Nieuwe Zakelijkheid by Jan Gratama in the first
issue of the series MODERNE BOUWKUNST IN NEDERLAND
(1932), which was mentioned before too. Duiker was very negative
about the level of Gratama’s philosophical reflections on nature and
spirit. He disputed Gratama’s opinion that Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
neglected emotional life on behalf of abstract intellectualism, resulting
in a form of art that was characterised by matter-of-factness and
lifelessness. Duiker opposed this and said that it was exactly with the
help of this [so called B.R.] non-human matter-of-fact, sunny, airy,
light and hygienic spaces that tuberculosis could be suppressed. In
Gratama’s opinion nature, the basis of emotional feelings, was
permanent and did not evolve. According to Duiker, however, nature
did evolve very quickly and in accordance with the law of economy,
that was looked for by Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. And referring to Van
Loghem, who quoted Kisch (see above), Duiker postulated: “Nichts
ist phantasievoller als die Sachlichkeit”. This did not prevent Duiker
from avoiding the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid from that time on as
much as possible, except for occasions when he criticized
manifestations of the so called Nieuwe Zakelijkheid-snobbism such as
the Maison de Verre (1927-31) by P. Chareau and his former
companion Bijvoet in Paris with an abundant display of steel, chrome,
nickel and unpractical and expensive furniture (Duiker 1933: 155-64).
After that time the dominant slogan for modern architecture
within the context of de 8 en OPBOUW and the Dutch delegation of
the CIAM was Nieuwe Bouwen instead of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
162 Ben Rebel
because the connotations of the second one were too negative. During
the thirties and especially after 1933 the Roomsch Katholiek
Bouwblad, for instance, launched a number of fierce attacks on
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid accusing this movement of being capitalist as
well as communist, because both were materialistic (Moens 1934: 395
and Molenaar 1936: 280 and 291). The resemblance to Berlage’s point
of view in his interview is striking. Sometimes the attacks in the
Roomsch Katholiek Bouwblad had an outspoken nationalist or even a
fascist character (Tillema 1936: 20 and Molenaar 1934: 53).33
As said before, the preferred slogan after 1932 was Het
Nieuwe Bouwen, and this tendency became even stronger after a
fusion in 1934 of de 8 with the Groep 32, a group of young modern
architects who were all admirers of Le Corbusier. Under the
leadership of A. Staal34 and the somewhat older architects Albert
Boeken and Sybold van Ravesteyn they rejected the negative
implications of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and the old principles of de 8
in the founding manifest of 1927 such as “DE 8 IS A-
AESTHETISCH” (‘de 8 is a-aesthetical’). Instead of this they wanted
to reintroduce aesthetics, ornaments and monumentality in modern
architecture. It was, of course, a misunderstanding that the founders of
the 8 and of Opbouw were really a-aesthetical. Buildings like the Van
Nelle factory by Brinkman & Van der Vlugt, Zonnestraal by Duiker
and Bijvoet and the Open Air School by Duiker can proof that.
Despite this, a number of architects of the Groep 32 left de 8 in 1938
after long discussions about the role of aesthetics within the design
process. Mart Stam formulated it with force: “They have to leave”.
Eventually the architects of the Groep 32 had a strong preference for
the term Architectuur instead of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid or Nieuwe
Bouwen. Albert Boeken, for instance, wrote October 12, 1936 in his
architectonical diary 1930-193635:
Yesterday I visited three monuments in Hilversum […]. The town hall

[by Dudok, B.R.] that’s pathos, the AVRO [a broadcasting building by
Merkelbach, B.R.] that’s “Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” but Gooiland [a
Grand hotel restaurant theater by Duiker and Bijvoet, B.R.] that’s
Architecture.
Oud, who rejected the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in 1932 (see above),
did the same with the term Nieuwe Bouwen in 1934. In a letter to
Rietveld on March 11, 1934 he wrote about the term: “A spineless
word for Nieuwe Architectuur [‘New Architecture’] if I may say so”.36
The Appearance and Disappearance of the Term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
163
Nieuwe Bouwen reminded him to much of CIAM, Van Loghem and
socialism and Oud refused to mix up politics with architecture, a
reason why he left Opbouw in 1933 (Rebel 1983: 10-12) and why he
refused to participate in the CIAM in 1935.37
Fig. 6 .Cartoon in the Roomsch Katholiek Bouwblad, 1929. Guide to astonished

tourists in 1979: ….and this here is the famous old ‘neue’ Sachlichkeit…!
However, most of the old members of de 8 and Opbouw preferred and

continued the use of the CIAM related slogan Nieuwe Bouwen,
because this term, in contrast with Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, did not
suggest an attitude of building as quickly and cheaply as possible. But
also within the context of Het Nieuwe Bouwen the zakelijke attitude in
the design process was nevertheless maintained because the architects
were convinced that this was the only way to realize architecture of
high quality, not only qua Form but in every aspect. Although modern
architecture should be the expression of modern life and culture,
above all – and this was a typical Avant-Garde point of view – it
should be the remedy against bad and unhealthy living conditions. It
was the honest conviction of the architects of Het Nieuwe Bouwen that
164 Ben Rebel
modern architecture could improve the quality of life, which looking

back is a rather naive idea, but an idea which anyway produced, apart
from a number of striking failures concerning postwar mass housing, a
great number of splendid results all over the world. They are
registered in the DOCOMOMO Registers of the international Modern
Movement (Sharp 2000). The use of the phrase Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
had a very short life and was only used by the Dutch modern
architects to indicate pseudo zakelijke buildings. Further they left it to
the enemies of their movement such as the critics of the Roomsch
Katholiek Bouwblad (fig. 6) and to some newspapers.38
Notes
*Citations in Dutch are translated into English. In some cases, such as book titles,
names of magazines and short statements in manifest, the Dutch texts are
accompanied by translations in English.
1
In the bibliography and when names are mentioned for the first time it is with initials
(J.J.P. Oud), thereafter it is without initials (Oud). Only in headers and in special cases
the first and second names are used (Bob Oud).
2
In his article Schmalenbach referred, apart from this, to earlier applications of the
term. Heinrich Wölfflin considered it in his Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe
(Handbuch der Kunstwissenschaft) from 1915 as a guiding mental principle in the
period after 1800. And in the same year August Grisebach wrote in his Baukunst im
19. und 20. Jahrhundert (Handbuch der Kunstwissenschaft), discussing a factory
building by Peter Behrens, that it was: “[…] by no means simply a matter of a new
Sachlichkeit”. Evidently he did not consider ‘Sachlichkeit’ as the panacea for bad
design.
3
’Dutch Institute for Housing and Urban Development’.
4
NAi Rotterdam, letter in the archive of Ben Merkelbach. In 1928 the First CIAM
congress took place in La Sarraz in Switzerland and the second one in 1929 (Theme:
‘Die Wohnung für das Existenz Minimum’) in Frankfurt am Main in Germany. In
1930 the third congress took place in Brussels in Belgium where the theme was
‘Rationelle Bebauungsweisen’. In 1928 the Dutch representatives were Berlage,
Rietveld and Stam. In 1929 the Dutch members were Van Loghem, Van der Vlugt,
Van Eesteren, Merkelbach, Duiker, Boeken, Rietveld and Van Ravesteyn.
5
Archive Ben Merkelbach. NAi Rotterdam. This statute of 1928 was never decided
on. Only in 9-9-1935 ‘de 8’ accepted, after long discussions, a new set of articles of
association with as target: The promotion of rational and functional architecture and
town planning with the physical and psychological needs of mankind as a starting
point [Rebel 1983: 126-128]. Although the members of de 8 considered themselves as
members of Het Nieuwe Bouwen (CIAM), they still didn’t use the phrases Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid and Nieuwe Bouwen within this context.
6
Typescript in the archive Ben Merkelbach. NAi Rotterdam.
7
This was not official until 4-1-1936 [Rebel 1983: 122].
8
See also: Oud (1918: 25).
Oud’s conviction that big building blocks should determine the image of the modern
city and not individual buildings was related to Berlage’s vision on urban
development that he developed for Amsterdam from 1900 on and that eventually
became reality in his second extension plan for the south of Amsterdam (1917).
9
Letter from Oud to Giedion, 8-18-1928. Archive Oud, NAi Rotterdam.
10
Undated letter from Oud to Giedion. Archive Oud, NAi Rotterdam.
11
‘Architectural Weekly’ and ‘Magazine for Housing and Urban Development’.
12
Of course there was the magazine De Stijl (1917-32) in which, apart from painting,
attention was also paid to the work of modern Dutch architects like Oud, Rietveld, R.
van‘t Hoff en J. Wils, who were all members of De Stijl. And there was the
Internationale revue I 10 (1927-29), founded by its chief editor A. Müller Lehning. i
10 was an outspoken multidisciplinary magazine: “The international review i 10 will
be an organ of the modern mind, a documentation of the new streams in art, science,
philosophy and sociology” (Müller Lehning: 1927: 19-20). J.J.P. Oud was editor for
architecture. Apart from him, two other important modern Dutch architects, Stam and
Van Eesteren, published a number of articles on architecture in this magazine. In 1927
the Dutch architectural associations de 8 (1927: 126) and Opbouw (1927: 81)
published each a manifest in I 10.
13
Published in the Internationale revue i 10, 1928-29: 30-31. In the archive of Ben
Merkelbach (NAi Rotterdam) an offprint is located in the German and Dutch
language. Neither the term Nieuwe Bouwen nor the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
appeared in the Dutch translation. Only in the German title of this manifest the
German term Neues Bauen is used. This title is also used for the Dutch translation.
14
Huse (1975: 10).
15
Worldwide several other terms were used to indicate Modern Architecture such as
The Modern Movement, a term launched by Nikolaus Pevsner in 1936. One of the
most important ones was The International Style introduced by H.R. Hitchcock and
Ph. Johnson in 1932. Further there were important slogans like Functionalism and
Rationalism and, not specific for architecture, Avant-garde. Dutch architects preferred
Het Nieuwe Bouwen.
16
In the beginning the real name was: 14-DAAGSCH TIJDSCHRIFT VAN DE VER.
ARCHITECTENKERN “DE 8”AMSTERDAM EN “OPBOUW”ROTTERDAM,
OPGENOMEN IN “BOUW EN TECHNIEK” (Rebel 1983: 132-138).
17
The cover differs slightly from the title page.
18
There is no evidence for this suggestion.
19
See note 12.
20
Schmidt and Stam (1926: 1).
21
About M-Kunst Stam writes: ‘M-Art is deeply rooted. All our buildings are
monuments and we all turn the simplest projects into something monumental. […]
The problem of modern architecture is not one of form…’ This English translation of
166 Ben Rebel
the text in I 10 is quoted form the RIBA publication about Stam, edited by C. van
Amerongen et.al. (1970).
22
The reprint of Van Loghem’s book with an introduction by U. Barbieri (SUN
Nijmegen, 1980) does not quote Stam correctly. Instead of the word moer (‘machine
nut’) the word muur (‘wall’) is used and the words niet rond (‘not round’) are left out.
That’s the same with the English, German and French translations.
23
It was published in the Bouwkundig Weekblad, 1921 nr. 24: 196-99. In 1926 it was
translated into German and published as Über die zukünftige Baukunst und ihre
architektonischen Möglichkeiten in: J.J.P. Oud, Holländische Architektur,
Bauhausbuch nr. 10, München 1926.
24
I translate here from a Dutch publication of texts by Oud (Wiekart 1962: 30).
25
The immediate cause for the foundation of the CIAM by a number of international
modern architects was the competition for the headquarters of the League of Nations
in Geneva. Instead of the modern design by Le Corbusier the Jury preferred a
traditional Classicist design. The League of Nations was founded in order to prevent
in the future disasters like the First World-War.
26
Published in the Internationale revue I 10, 1927, p. 126.
27
Gratama ignored the fact that de 8 in their founding manifest from 1927 both
rejected expressionism (‘DE 8 IS A-AESTHETIC’ and ‘THE 8 IS A-DRAMATIC)
and cubism (‘DE 8 IS A-CUBISTIC’). See note 12.
28
I am referring here to the Dutch translation.
29
Christansen did not provide an impression of the art and architecture of to-morrow,
but in the Dutch translation by Van Kasteel (1931: fig. 15) the last photograph,
indicated by an M (‘to-morrow), shows F. Högers Chilehaus in Hamburg (1924). It
has indeed some outspoken dynamic characteristics but in fact it belongs to
Expressionism, the style of yesterday.
30
This is strange because only one year before Gratama and J.F. Staal, who were both
members of the planning authority (‘Schoonheidscommissie’) of Amsterdam,
advocated the admission of the architecture of The Nieuwe Zakelijkheid within the
context of the southern extension plan by Berlage (1917). Until the arrival of Duiker’s
Open Air School in 1929-30 (entrance building in 1932) this residential area was
dominated by the expressionistic Amsterdam School (Rebel 2005: 36-37).
31
F. L. Taylor (1856-1915) laid the foundations of scientific management around
1880 by analyzing the work process through time studies. In 1899 he started
reorganizing factories. By 1900 his method was fully developed (Giedion 1948: 96
ff.).
32
When Berlage died in 1934 some of the reactions in de 8 en Opbouw were
explicitly negative. Duiker (1934: 152-53): “Berlage is for us young modern
architects of today an empty notion”. H. Nuyten (1934: 153): “For us he was already
history”. Rietveld (1932: 156): “It remained monumental”. Merkelbach (1934: 157-
158): “That a man like Berlage was available for realizing schortjesarchitectuur
[‘window dressing architecture’] [..] was a disillusionment…” Van Ravesteyn (1934:
157): “He was far removed from the youngest architecture […]”. Oud and Van
Loghem expressed themselves in a more polite and positive way.
33
Rebel (1983: 286-89).
34
Arthur Staal was the son of Frits Staal.
35
NAi Rotterdam Archive A. Boeken.
36
Cited in: Taverne, E, Wagenaar, C and Vletter, M. de (eds.) 2001: 41.
37
Letter from Oud to Merkelbach (1-11-1935). Archive Oud (letters) NAi Rotterdam.
38
About the fusion of the Groep 32 with de 8 and the splitting up see: Bock et al.:
1983 and Rebel: 1983: 122-130 and 147-162.
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The Terms Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, Neue Sachlichkeit
and Nieuw Realisme
in Art Criticism of the Dutch paper
De Groene Amsterdammer
Klaus Beekman
Abstract: Much international research into interpretation and development of the

terms Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and Neue Sachlichkeit has been done. The results of this
research are well-known: the term is of German origin, it can be found especially at
the end of the twenties and in the thirties of the 20th century and the term has been
used within various disciplines, such as art- and literary criticism. Besides, all kinds of
other terms, like ‘New Realism’, ‘Nouvelle Objectivité’, ‘New Sobriety’ and
‘Functionalism’, turn out to have been used as synonyms. Sometimes the variety of
terms differs per discipline. Concepts like ‘Neues Bauen’, ‘International Style’ and
‘Architettura Funzionale’, for example, refer to the same kind of architecture, which is
described as Neue Sachlichkeit (Lethen 1970: 8f; Anten 1982: 107f; Rebel 1983;
Koopmans 1992: 16f; Toorn 1992; Beekman/Grüttemeier 2009; Fähnders 2009).
In this article I will focus on how critics, working in the field of visual arts,
dealt with the term and the concept of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid [New Objectivity] in the
Dutch newspaper De Groene Amsterdammer, shortly indicated as De Groene, and
how they thought of New Objectivity as an artistic phenomenon1. After showing the
results of the research in how often expressions like Nieuwe Zakelijkheid are used, the
views of Albert Plasschaert, a leading art critic, and Paul Bromberg, an expert in the
field of applied art, industrial art and interior design, on New Objectivity will be
presented. I will show that they both dealt with the term and / or the artistic
phenomenon carefully. In Dutch art critic reviewers wondered what the advantage of
borrowing a term from Germany could be. With regard to applied art, which was
wanted to be considered as a form of New Objectivity, soon the question arose
whether the producers were not too tight in their conception of New Objectivity and
whether they were not too much fixed on style. Besides, one wondered whether the
producers of this type of art were capable of realising their intentions. My analysis
will show that reviewers who criticised New Objectivity especially attached great
significance to the extent to which a work of art shows the artist's personality as well
as to the question whether or not a work of art is original. If there was something to be
afraid of, it was the idea that what is called New Objectivity in fact only was
something new on the surface. I will state that in this respect the reviewers of applied
art took the same position as some critics of literature in the same period which was
considered to be a form of New Objectivity.
172 Klaus Beekman
Quantitative Research into the Term Nieuwe

Zakelijkheid
If you want to investigate art criticism in De Groene Amsterdammer,
of course you can go to the archive to study the papers. But this
newspaper can also be examined online:
http://zyarchive.groene.nl/dga. For several reasons, this is of great
advantage for historical research because, among other things, it is
possible to put in a word, like Zakelijkheid, and receive all kind of
information about this term connected with art. However, you should
be careful: the newspaper has been scanned. That means that letters
and other signs have not always been recognized correctly. But there
is still another problem. As we are only interested in a combination of
the words Nieuwe [New] and Zakelijkheid [Objectivity], as an
identifying mark within a specific context, interpretation of the found
combination of words is inevitable. This, of course, has consequences
for the quantitative analysis. However, a number of results were
hardly affected by the interpretation of the words. These results will be
presented here.
My investigation gives a clear answer to the question when
the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was used most frequently. In De Groene
Amsterdammer it was especially used between 1930 and 1933. Before
and after these years the label was also used, but not that often. Beside
it the terms Nieuw Realisme and the German label Neue Sachlichkeit
were used. The music critic Willem Pijper, for example, wrote in 1927
that the Neue Sachlichkeit could be rated among the “post-war
mistakes” (Pijper 1927). And in 1935 terms like Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
and Nieuw Realisme turned out to be used also by reviewers of
literature for young people, for example by J. Riemens-Reurslag, who
then wrote a review of Histoire de Babar, a picture book about a little
elephant written by Jean de Brunhoff. She was wildly enthusiastic
about the book and in her review she points out that the third part, ‘Le
roi Babar’, plays in Célesteville, a town which has been built
according to the rules of Le Corbusier” and which is full of “modern
architecture”: “Now, over this realm of nieuw realisme Babar is
ruling” (Riemens-Reurslag, 9-3-1935). Still, in the same year she used
the term for children’s books which, according to her, are a faithful
copy of reality and take place in a technological field. She divides
children’s books into several categories like, among other things, “the
The Terms Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, Neue Sachlichkeit and Nieuw Realisme 173
realistic book”. Examples are De treinreis van Rob en Marian by A.M.
Ritsema, which contains photos of stations and trains, and Wat vliegt
daar? by E. Smits, which is about technique, especially of aeroplanes.
Riemens-Reurslag links the creation of this type of realistic books to
the new realistic period: “During the span of Realism and Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid many books for children to teenagers were close to
fiction, in other words, they were extremely realistic. This genre still
influences literature today” (Riemens-Reurslag, 16-11-1935).
Both examples also show that the term cannot be described as
unambiguous. What Pijper exactly means by Neue Sachlichkeit
remains unclear. For Riemens-Reurslag the concept Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid has something to do with the description of the relation
between a work of art and reality, or a certain period. But it is not clear
what the description exactly points at.
For a long time it seemed to be a custom in different
disciplines to use the German term Neue Sachlichkeit in reviews in De
Groene Amsterdammer. I already quoted the music reviewer Willem
Pijper, who was irritated by “Neo-Classicim, Satie-cult, Jazz and Neue
Sachlichkeit” (Pijper 1927). In 1929, the German expression was still
fashionable in the Netherlands. Witness an article about the enormous
demolition of buildings in Rotterdam: “The Rotterdam inhabitants
have been mistakenly labelled as ‘sentimental’. But this is not the
case. They were simply incorporating what Germans call nowadays as
the Neue Sachlichkeit style” (Erasmiaan, 3-8-1929). Concerning
literature the German expression obviously still seemed to be suitable
in 1930. This can be seen in a review of Ina Boudier’s Dutch novel De
klop op de deur. In this review, Albert Helman uses Neue Sachlichkeit
as a guiding principle and considers it a stylistic device: “The Dutch
demonstrated their non-conformist way of writing novels by not
adhering to the popular condensed style and Neue Sachlichkeit.
Instead they tended to write novels of more than a thousand pages”
(Helman, 1-11-1930).
I found out that the Dutch term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and the
German label Neue Sachlichkeit were used by reviewers from almost
all disciplines, namely literature, art, film, theatre, music, and so forth.
However, the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in De Groene mainly was
used by art critics. With respect to painting, especially by Albert
Plasschaert and A.E. van den Tol, with regard to the applied art,
particularly by Otto van Tussenbroek and Paul Bromberg.
174 Klaus Beekman
The Terms Neue Sachlichkeit and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid

in Art Critics
It may well be that the German term Neue Sachlichkeit was used in
the Netherlands on a large scale, however, art critics were not very
pleased with it, at least not everyone. Van den Toorn (1987) pointed
out to this fact in his study about the architecture of that period. He
found out that in the Netherlands people refrained from using the term
imported from Germany. It is true that the architect J.J.P. Oud, for
example, used the term in 1932, but that he thought of it as “an ugly
and senseless designation” (cit. Van den Toorn 1987: 43). As the term
was unclear architects hardly used it; it was almost of no use to
architects (Van den Toorn 1987: 44 ff.). The uncertainty concerning
the term Neue Sachlichkeit is also shown by its style and spelling:
“German or Dutch, with or without capitals, with or without quotation
marks” (Van den Toorn 1987: 46). In architecture other names, such as
“Functionalism” and “New Building” were preferred (Van den Toorn
1987: 46), while literary critics tended to use the term
“Functionalism” instead of “Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” (Anten 1982: 112).
My research into the use of the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in
De Groene Amsterdammer supports the results of Van den Toorn’s
investigation. The violent way in which Albert Plasschaert (1874-
1941) reacted to the term borrowed from Germany can be called
remarkable. Plasschaert, who wrote articles about painting for several
newspapers and magazines, like De Kroniek en Het Vaderland, was a
leading critic of art. He was also the main critic of art in De Groene
Amsterdammer, certainly in a quantitative respect: most of the reviews
were written by him. In his reviews he repeatedly declares not to be
taken in by an expression like Neue Sachlichkeit or the Dutch
translation of it. He patronizingly refers to the term as “a German
export product” (Plasschaert, 10-1-1931).
At an exhibition of ‘De Onafhankelijken’ [Independents],
which took place in the Amsterdam Stedelijk Museum in 1929, he
wondered why their work all too German had to be called
“zakelijkheid” and not “nieuw realisme”. “Has there been any sort of
innovation during this time that has not already been familiar to us?”
His answer is: “None” (Plasschaert 1-6-1929). Plasschaert wished to
hold on to the label Nieuw Realisme, which in his opinion was clear
enough. According to him, the fact that paintings by Fernhout or
Charley Toorop are qualified as Nieuw Zakelijk is senseless. He writes
about Toorop’s painting ‘Twee Vrouwennaakten’ (1931) [Two Nude
Women] that the heads have been painted in the style of “the so-called
nieuwe zakelijkheid” to which he adds in a grumpy way: “which thus
is typical-current realism” (Plasschaert, 4-7-1931). Moreover, he
writes about Edgar Fernhout: “The art from Fernhout is one of the
many works that belong to the nieuwe zakelijkheid genre. However,
due to the confusion with the terminus, many people use the standard
expression ‘nieuw realisme’ instead (…)” (Plasschaert, 29-2-1936).
Why introduce a new term when you are able to describe an artistic
phenomenon with a standard expression? According to Plasschaert it
is certain that the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is not much more than
decoration. Therefore, he remarks on drawings of the young German
H. Heidensberger, exposed at Van Lier in Amsterdam, that they were
made “in a period, in which a certain form of realism was named
‘nieuwe-zakelijkheid’, a term which seems to be a kind of magic word
for laymen” (Plasschaert, 25-2-1933).
That Plasschaert did not like the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
does not mean that he rejected the artistic phenomenon in itself.
Whether a work of art could be classified as Nieuw Zakelijk or not did
not automatically mean that it was good or bad. He calls Nieuw
Zakelijke painters extremely skilful at creating a certain reality, but
what he misses too often – and this is a keyword in his reviews – , is a
personality that is hidden behind a work of art. He found such a
personality in the works of Raoul Hynckes. Plasschaert once described
the development of his paintings in one sentence: “Up until 1925 his
works were impressionistic but gradually evolved into cubism and
then later into realism” (Plasschaert 1-2-1936). Plasschaert argues that
he appreciates Hynckes’ work, which he describes with the words
“‘realistic’ still life”, because it shows “a personality”. According to
Plasschaert Hynckes’ “realism” was caused by desperate pessimism.
His strength did not only lie in his technical skills, but also lay in the
expression of a personality in his works. He was even more skilful
than a painter like Carel Willink (Plasschaert, 21-9-1935). Plasschaert
uses the same argument to put his appreciation for Fernhout into
words. According to him, Fernhout differs from other new realist
painters “because his works were ‘more poetic’”. He admits to
appreciate that, “as in the Nieuw Realisme of others one can
distinguish a personality less clear than here”.
As an art critic Plasschaert was not alone in his opinion that in
176 Klaus Beekman
a work of art, regardless of its classification, it is all about the

personality of the artist. Cornelis Veth, also an art critic from De
Groene Amsterdammer, was of the same opinion. Veth took the
position that “zakelijkheid” does not go well with art. What art needs
is “atmosphere”. But fortunately Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was not a
success in the Netherlands, according to Veth, who argues that for art
atmosphere is essential and that it can only be created by a
“personality” via perceptions and thoughts that go “above the real,
which is the material”. In his opinion the atmosphere is subjective and
more important than “the perfection of the painting” (Veth, 7-9-1940).
The conception of art on the basis of what Plasschaert, and as
we saw also Veth, thought of Nieuw Realistische painting, i.e. the
extent to which a personality is expressed in a work of art, resembles
the literary theories of leading Dutch critics of literature of the same
period, namely Menno ter Braak and E. du Perron. They also thought
that it was not the form of a literary work of art that was decisive, but
that it was the “man”, the personality being expressed in it that was
important. According to the Dutch critics, accepting form as a
criterion for judgement would open the door for blind imitation
(Oversteegen 1969). Ralf Grüttemeier (1998) proved in a convincing
way that in the Netherlands as well as in Flanders ideas about Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid were based on the same aesthetic norms, namely
“originality”, which can be converted into the so-called “idealistic
aesthetics” (Grüttemeier 1998: 48). With regard to this idealistic
aesthetics reviewers, like Ter Braak, criticized the supposed imitation
by Dutch Nieuw Zakelijke authors, for example M. Revis and B.
Stroman, who would have imitated Ilja Ehrenburg’s Das Leben der
Auto’s (1930) once in a while (Anten 1982: 88v; Grüttemeier 1998:
146v).
Nieuw Realistische Applied Art

The major part of reviews on applied art with a Nieuw Realistisch
character in De Groene was written by Paul Bromberg (1893-1949),
interior designer, decorator and painter, and Otto van Tussenbroek
(1882-1957), graphic designer, photographer and painter. They both
wrote a column with the title ‘Applied art’ [Toegepaste kunst] in
which they reviewed everything that was connected to the interior:
whether it was a house, a boat or an aeroplane, they focused, among
other things, on furniture and utensils as well as photos and posters. In
doing so, they did not restrict themselves to the Netherlands, but also
focused on the phenomenon Nieuw Realistische applied art in
countries like Germany, France, Sweden and Poland.
In their reviews they both repeatedly discuss the basic
assumptions and the appearance of Nieuw Realisme with respect to
applied art. After World War I people had enough of everything that
was “decorative”. They aimed for “simplification” of the complete
design of a house, Bromberg writes in a review of the ‘Salon des
Artistes Décorateurs’, which had been organized in Paris (Bromberg,
22-6-1929). Van Tussenbroek had a more specific explanation for the
strong craving for “simplification” in the twenties and the interest in
applied art, especially in utensils which were low in price and had
been produced mechanically, a phenomenon that could particularly be
observed in impoverished post-war Germany. His explanation had a
social-economic character: “After all, the enforced cutback in
expenditure is supported by the striving for sobering down in applied
art, like this has been under discussion everywhere nowadays under
the influence of the rationalism of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, which,
wrongly, has been criticised as new soberness by many”
(Tussenbroek, 16-4-1932).
Van Tussenbroek and Bromberg both connect the observation
that people regard simplification and purposefulness as a starting-
point in their choice of applied art with the question to what extent
Nieuw Realistische designers succeeded in being “simple” and
“functional”. Especially Bromberg regularly questions designers of
furniture whether or not they were aware of their intentions2. During a
visit at an exposition of show houses in Munich, for example, he
commented unfavourably on “the whim of some architects for steel
furniture”. According to him, that whim most likely came from the
idea that Nieuw Realisme demands steel and that what has been made
from metal is “modern”. Bromberg argues that he is not against Nieuw
Realistische furniture, as long as it shows character: “The furniture
also is simple and realistic, but nevertheless with inspiration of form”
(Bromberg 23-6-1928).
When he visited the ‘Salon des Artistes Décorateurs’ in Paris
he finds “all kind of confusing adhesive stuff of a not comprehended
new form-moral” in it. Especially German Nieuwe Zakelijkheid has to
pay for it, because by using metal “it threatens to chill by creepy
soberness” the design of a house. Once again he explains why Nieuw
178 Klaus Beekman
Zakelijke furniture makers began to use metal: “Metal was

characteristic of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid because of the high demand of
materials and because of its flexibility when compared to wood”. At
the Salon the argument to use metal for functional reasons turned out
to have nearly disappeared: “Metal is used at the Salon because it
produces more light and shine, but occasionally because it also is
practical” (Bromberg, 22-6-1929).
Bromberg criticises the demand of Nieuw Zakelijke furniture
makers that furniture should be made of metal:
They used metal to design furniture for the masses. It is cheap,
functional, comprehensible, available etc., etc., etc. to everyone.
However, they also used metal because everybody else was using
wood to create furniture. Metal, in general, is not a bad material for
creating furniture; it is one of the many possibilities to create
furniture. But as material for the mass-production of furniture it is
wrong.
[Zij ontwerpen het meubel voor de massa, het goedkoope

doelmatige voor ieder verstaanbare enz. enz. enz., meubel; omdat
echter iedereen houten meubels heeft gemaakt, zullen zij in metaal
creëeren. Tegen het metaal als materiaal voor meubels in sommige
gevallen, is niets in te brengen; het is één van de vele
mogelijkheden, maar als materiaal voor het massameubel deugt het
niet (Bromberg 11-1-1930). ]
Besides, due to the fact that Nieuw Zakelijke furniture makers are
rather rigid concerning their principles of material and form, the
phenomenon also lends itself to imitation, according to Bromberg. In
his review of the yearbook Decorative Art 1932 he calls to mind that
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid made its entry to the Netherlands about ten years
ago:
The first characteristic signs of a movement, which nowadays has
become ‘dernier cri’ as ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’, appeared less than
ten years ago. Rietveld figured out a way for the Dutch working
class as an answer to the decorative magic tricks of the followers of
De Klerk, because he experienced personally the need of not-well-
to-do, who also desired their part of pleasure of living. He
discovered an innovative way to make the living standards of the
working class more decorative by allowing more light to come into
the homes and stripping the furniture of heavy material (plush and
wood).
[Amper tien jaren geleden waren de eerste teekenen te zien van de

beweging die thans als “nieuwe zakelijkheid” dernier cri is
geworden. In ons land zocht Rietveld een uitweg om te ontkomen
aan de fantastische decoratieve goocheltoeren der de Klerk-elingen,
omdat hij aan den lijve de nood voelde van de niet-welgestelden, die
toch hun portie woon-blijheid begeerden. Voor hen brak hij het
interieur open en liet zon en licht toestroomen, ontdeed de meubels
van driedubbele houten pluchelagen, waardoor ze hun buikje
verloren en beter pasten in de omgeving van minder vette materie.]
According to Bromberg this aim has hardly been realized. The

yearbook shows that during the last ten years Nieuw Zakelijke interior
designs were actually created, though particularly for people who
were well-to-do: “the more simple the interior became, the more
expensive the realization”. That means that one of the most important
intentions of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid, the striving for simplicity, for
the common people who were less well-to-do in fact only lead to
forms of imitation:
Modernization in style? Purification of taste? Ridiculous! But next
season for the working classes we will offer imitations of the chic
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Ebony becomes black pine, ivory becomes
bone, silk becomes artificial silk and silver becomes silver paper.
But in fact nothing has changed: “one” is still far from sincere
simplicity.
[Stijlvernieuwing? Loutering van de volkssmaak? Belachelijke

voorstelling! Maar over een seizoen krijgen we voor het vulgus de
imitatie van de chique nieuwe zakelijkheid. Ebben wordt zwart
vuren, ivoor been, zijde kunstzij en zilver zilverpapier. Maar in
wezen is niets veranderd: “men” staat nog even ver af van oprechte
eenvoud (Bromberg, 14-5-1932). ]
Not only of “simplicity”, as one of the Nieuw Zakelijke art principles,

remained little, also the esteemed “functionalism” was jeopardized,
according to Bromberg. In 1933, a year before there was a heated
debate on imitation in Dutch Nieuw Zakelijke literature (Beekman /
Grüttemeier 2009: 68v; Beekman 2010: 231v), he warned of the
danger that Nieuwe Zakelijkheid had almost become a fashionable
phenomenon, which was imitated blindly. He pleaded for better, more
liveable old-fashioned houses, but he was against a Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid which had only been used just for appearance: “Alas,
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid sometimes sooner brings the utterly symbol than
the real blessings of better living”. In other words, Nieuw Zakelijke
elements have to connect with the whole in an organic way. For
renovation functionalism and aesthetics ought to be the starting-point.
180 Klaus Beekman
Nieuw Zakelijke elements should not be used only because of the

effect: “We are, however, against over-exaggeration. In other words,
we are against those who aim to display the effects of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid and, in turn, exaggerate the outcome” (Bromberg, 11-3-
1933). If Nieuw Zakelijke elements are not functional then Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid is purely ornamental and this is exactly what Nieuw
Zakelijke applied art once has reacted against:
The Zakelijkheid has been a reaction against useless forms of
decoration. In the past, one was searching for functional elements
but instead founded Functionalism, which was mere décor.
[De zakelijkheid was een reactie geweest op zinlooze decoratie-

vormen. Men zocht toen de functioneele elementen, maar vond
veelal niets anders dan een schijn-doelmatigheid, die niets meer
betekende dan decor.]
Bromberg is convinced that only great personalities, like the architect

and designer Sybold van Ravesteyn (1889-1983)3, who was an advisor
with regard to the design of the princely yacht ‘Piet Hein’, are able to
unite “functionalism” and “ornamentation” in a natural way
(Bromberg 18-9-1937).
Conclusion
My quantitative analysis shows that the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was
used in the Dutch paper De Groene Amsterdammer – especially
between 1930 and 1933 – for describing the relation between a work
of art and a certain period, but also that it was everything except
unambiguous. Especially Albert Plasschaert and A.E. van den Tol did
use the term for a specific way of painting. For a long time it also was
a custom to use the German term Neue Sachlichkeit. My research
showed that not every reviewer was happy with these terms.
According to Albert Plasschaert they were useless because the
phenomenon could be very well described with the existing
expression Nieuw Realisme. That did not mean that he disapproved of
Nieuw Realistische or Nieuw Zakelijke art in principle. But to him –
and to other reviewers in De Groene Amsterdammer – the question
whether or not a personality manifested itself in a Nieuw Zakelijk
work of art was more important than the classification. In reviews of
applied art critics also dealt with the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
carefully, especially Paul Bromberg. At an early stage he already
argued that the Nieuw Zakelijke principles had been used in a too rigid
way, for example in the demand of metal for furniture. According to
him the basic assumptions of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid soon became
formal principles, with the result that “simplicity” and “functionalism”
became decorative, fashionable phenomena, which could easily be
imitated. A work of art, however, should not be an act of imitation, but
show a personality, the critics argued. In this respect the reviewers of
(applied) art took the same position as their colleagues who had
criticised Nieuw Zakelijke literature in the Netherlands in the same
period.
Notes
1
In this article ‘New Objectivity’ is used as an overall term for ‘Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid’, ‘Neue Sachlichkeit’ and ‘Nieuw Realisme’, labels Dutch
art critics used in De Groene Amsterdammer to describe the same
phenomenon; for De Groene Amsterdammer see: Hartmans 2002.
2
For Bromberg see Teunissen 1987.
3
For Sybold van Ravesteyn see Van de Haterd 2004 and 2008.
Bibliography
Beekman, Klaus. 2010. ‘Historische avant-garde en modernisme’ in: Van romantiek
tot postmodernisme. Opvattingen over Nederlandse literatuur. Red. G.J. van
Bork & N. Laan. Bussum: Coutinho: 203-239.
––– & Ralf Grüttemeier. 2009. ‘Zaakkundige zakelijkheid en organische verbanden.
Victor van Vriesland als cultuurhistorisch criticus’ in: Kritiek in crisistijd.
Literaire kritiek in Nederland en Vlaanderen tijdens de jaren dertig. Onder
redactie van Gillis J. Dorleijn, Dirk de Geest, Koen Rymenants, Pieter
Verstraeten. Nijmegen: Vantilt: 61-83.
Fähnders, Walter. 2009. ‘Neue Sachlichkeit’ in: Metzler Lexikon Avantgarde. Hrsg.
Von Hubert van den Berg und Walter Fähnders. Stuttgart etc., Metzler: 226-
228.
Goedegebuure, J. 1992. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Utrecht.
Grüttemeier, Ralf. 1998. ‘Vlaamse zakelijkheid? Over de nieuwe zakelijkheid als
182 Klaus Beekman
poëticaal concept in Vlaanderen’ in: Tijdschrift voor Nederlandse Taal en

Letterkunde 114, afl. 2: 138-155.
Hartmans, Rob. 2002. De Groene van 1877. Geschiedenis van een dwars weekblad.
Amsterdam, Mets & Schilt.
Haterd, Lex van de. 2004. Om hart en vurigheid. Over schrijvers \ kunstenaar van
tijdschrift \ uitgeverij De Gemeenschap 1925-1941. Amsterdam: In de
Knipscheer.
––– 2008. Over de beeldvorming rondom tijdschrift en uitgeverij De Gemeenschap
1925-1941. Amsterdam: In de Knipscheer.
Hermand, J. 1978. ‘Einheit in der Vielheit? Zur Geschichte des Begriffs Neue
Sachlichkeit’ in: Das literarische Leben in der Weimarer Republik. Hg. K.
bullivant. Königstein/Ts.: 71-88.
Koopmans, Ype. 1992. ‘Realisme in Nederland. Werkelijkheid en onwerkelijkheid’ in:
Carel Blotkamp, Ype Koopmans (Red.), Magie en zakelijkheid. Realistische
schilderkunst in Nederland 1925-1945. Zwolle/Arnhem, Waanders/Museum
voor Moderne Kunst Arnhem: 11-33.
Lethen, Helmut. 1970. Neue Sachlichkeit 1924-1932. Studien zur Literatur des
“Weissen Sozialismus”. Stuttgart, Metzler.
Oversteegen, Jacob Jan. 1969. Vorm of Vent. Opvattingen over de aard van het
literaire werk in de Nederlandse kritiek tussen de twee wereldoorlogen.
Amsterdam: Athenaeum – Polak & Van Gennep.
Rebel, B., 1983. Het Nieuwe Bouwen. Het functionalisme in Nederland 1918-1945.
Teunissen, Monique. 1987. Paul Bromberg. Binnenhuisarchitect en publicist. Edited
by Marjan Boot, Tuci de Loon-Alons, Albert Veldhuizen. Rotterdam:
Uitgeverij 010.
Toorn, M.C. van den. 1987. ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Oorsprong en ontwikkeling van
een term’ in: De nieuwe taalgids 80, 1987: 40-84.
––– 1992.‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Vroeger en nu’ in: Tijdschrift voor Nederlandse Taal
– en Letterkunde, jrg. 108: 276-283. (www.dbnl.org).
Reviews
Bromberg, Paul. ‘Heim und Technik’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 23-6-1928.
––– ‘De inrichting van ons huis’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 22-6-1929.
––– ‘Onze Meubelen en de Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 11-1-
1930.
––– ‘Toegepaste kunst’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 14-5-1932.
––– ‘Bewoonbaarheid’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 11-3-1933.
––– ‘Interieurkunst aan boord van de Piet Hein’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 18-9-
1937.
Erasmiaan, ‘Uit Rotte’s stad’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 3-8-1929.
Helman, Albert. ‘De Hollandsche Familiekroniek’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 1-
11-1930.
Pijper, Willem. ‘Het muziekfeest der I.S.C.M.’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 9-7-
1927.
Plasschaert , Albert / Otto van Tussenbroek. ‘Schilderkunst-kroniek. Werk van
Hollandsche en Duitsche Schilders’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 1-6-
1929.
––– ‘Schilders en Teekenaars’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 10-1-1931.
Plasschaert, Albert. ‘Schilderkunst’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 4-7-1931.
––– ‘Bij Van Lier te Amsterdam’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 25-2-1933.
––– ‘Raoul Hynckes. Kunstzaal Van Lier’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 21-9-1935.
––– ‘Over Hynckes’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 1-2-1936.
––– ‘Schilderkunst’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 29-2-1936.
Riemens-Reurslag, J. ‘Barbar verovert de wereld’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 9-3-
1935.
––– ‘Kinderboeken’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 16-11-1935.
Tussenbroek, Otto van. ‘Het moderne binnenhuis’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 7-9-
1929.
––– ‘Goede gebruiksartikelen’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 16-4-1932.
Veth, Cornelis. ‘De sfeer van het kunstwerk’ in: De Groene Amsterdammer, 7-9-
1940.
Neue Sachlichkeit, Mass Media and
Matters of Musical Style in the 1920s
Nils Grosch
Abstract: With regard to literature and art the term Neue Sachlichkeit has been
associated especially with ‘objectivity’. This does not go for music. In Weimar
Republic music, the label “Neue Sachlichkeit” was used to indicate social and medial
shifts in the culture of musical production and performance, as can be shown by the
essays of Ernst Krenek, Kurt Weill, Hans Heinz Stuckenschmidt, and others. In the
early 1920s, the young avant-garde aimed at harmonizing the aesthetic premises of
expressionism with the egalitarian premises of post-revolutionary culture policies. On
the one hand, the experiences, made in the failure of this attempted synthesis,
forwarded re-orientations towards the possibilities of new, perceivably modern media
and mass-communicative art. On the other hand, the integration of popular music
forms and mechanic equipment into neusachliche operas for instance, as well as the
reference to “mechanische Musik” (music in mechanic media) should not be
misunderstood as elements of a style of musical Neue Sachlichkeit. All these elements
were mere consequences of the communicative and medial conditions, posed in the
middle of interest about the upcoming neusachliche aesthetics.
In an essay entitled “Neue Sachlichkeit in der Musik” the Austrian

composer Ernst Krenek, born in 1900, defined the new modern
movement in music by the composers’ changed attitude towards the
outer world (“Außenwelt”). “The musician longs for the basis of a
broader effectiveness”, he claims, and this is (in his point of view) the
“crucial transformation”, presupposing a new defining term of an
epoch of art.1 In Kreneks’ terms, the “outer world” is a synthetically
imagined form of a public, moulded by the structures of modern
society which simultaneously regulates an artworks’ contemporariness
and controls its communicative capacities.
The insertion of the communicative mechanisms of the public
sphere into the aesthetic cosmos may be seen as the most significant
criteria to distinguish Neue Sachlichkeit from expressionism. The
186 Nils Grosch
latter’s quixotic attitude was generally facilitated, as Krenek put it, by

the German mentality:
The roman artist has got that basis from the outset. His outer success
will depend on the power and the originality of his talent but he will
never write anything abstruse, weird or unpopular. Yet matters are
different in German culture.
>Der romanische Künstler hat diese Basis von vorneherein. Sein

äußerer Erfolg wird von der Stärke und Originalität seiner Begabung
abhängen, aber er wird nie etwas Abstruses, Sonderbares und
Unpopuläres schreiben. Im Bereich des deutschen Geistes liegen die
Dinge anders (Krenek 1927: 216-18).@
In the same year German composer Kurt Weill, also born in 1900,
similarly observed “a departure from the individualistic principle of
art”, which is basically the same process portrayed by Krenek. This
process may be observed everywhere, but does not occur anywhere as
eruptive as in Germany: “Whereas here in Germany this prospect of
the community must not be taken for a compromise with the
audience’s taste, the majority of musicians in Romanic countries
already exhibits a positive attitude towards a quite cultivated
‘Gebrauchsmusik’”.2 Both Weill’s and Krenek’s report manifest a
cultural rupture in the individualistic music aesthetics that were rooted
in the German romantic movement, and intensified with
Expressionism, as they were confronted with a mass culture shaped by
the technical mass media around 1927.
Hence, media and means of musical communication gained
major attention in the aesthetical discourse on composing. “In order to
regain the lost contact to the common people, we have to stage objects
which are the commonalty’s property”, Krenek claimed, “and we have
to stage them by media that allow for being understood by the
commonalty”.3 Weill felt encouraged to address his work to those
“branches of modern musical practice” which the “mass audience is
interested in on its own accord”, “mechanical music” and film music –
a task that “not at all implies levelling in any way”, as Weill ([1927a]
2000: 61-64) added. In the terms of Neue Sachlichkeit, the broad
audience became the correlate of modern society; and in order to
replace former elitist aesthetics by egalitarian approaches, composers
re-sorted the ranking of criteria. Communicative and medial skills of
art achieved a more important degree on the scale of aesthetic values
than complexity, originality, or craftsmanship. “The primary question
Neue Sachlichkeit, Mass Media and Matters of Musical Style in the 1920s
187
is for us: Are the things we do useful for the commonalty? It is merely
a secondary task that what we produce is ‘art’”.4 Thus, aspects of
reception, communication, and even the suitability of art for processes
of mass communication, explicitly entered the realm of musical
aesthetics. “In our music we want to give a voice to the people of our
time; and they should be heard by many”.5 In a Benjaminian
approach, seven years before the publication of Walter Benjamin’s
famous “reproducibility”-essay, Weill imagines the “man of our time”
as an active, paradigmatic representative of contemporary modern
society, that is to say the urban masses.
In Benjamin’s terms, the masses are “a matrix from which all
customary behaviour towards works of art today emerge anew.
Quantity has been transformed into quality: The greatly increased
mass of participants has produced a different kind of participation”
(Benjamin 2008: 39). In opposition to a binary production-reception
model of the communication of art, Benjamin, focusing on the
communication of mechanically reproduced art, replaces the role of
passive recipient with one of an agent who participates actively in the
process of “diversion”, which is, in Benjamin’s theory, a characteristic
trait of mass communication: “A person who concentrates before a
work of art is absorbed by it; he enters into the work […]. By contrast,
the distracted masses absorb the work of art into themselves”
(Benjamin 2008: 40). 6 Influenced by practices of modern media use,
Weill, anticipating thoughts like Benjamin’s, figures the speaker of his
art not identical to the artist, but – at least very similar – to the
audience. This implies a communication model that departs from
sender-receiver relationships and strives for circular communication,
as developed in recent times to analyse procedures of mass
communication, in which author (composer), audience (market), and
media and are equal actors in developing cultural practices.
It is for these reasons that the protagonists of musical Neue
Sachlichkeit were becoming more and more suspicious of “art” and
“aesthetics” themselves. In a letter to his publisher, Universal Edition
in Vienna, Weill, defending himself against the accusation of
commercialism, stated that he had been working “consistently and
uncompromisingly in the face of opposition from snobs and aesthetes
to create the fundamental forms of a new, simple, truly popular
musical theatre”.7 “Aesthetics” is here linked closely to “snobism” of
those musicians, who, “fraught with disdain to the audience, still
work, while excluding the public in solving aesthetic problems”.8
188 Nils Grosch
Whatever the case; when parameters like aesthetics or style are

required to describe and analyse Neue Sachlichkeit, they have to be
broadened towards aspects of mass communication as a significant
point of consideration.
“Strictly speaking, there is no ‘objective music’ [‘sachliche
Musik’] at all”, the conservative music critic Ernst Schliepe began his
polemic against “Neue Sachlichkeit in der Musik” in 1929. He
dispraised the label’s “omnipresent use, as if it were really existent
and even represented the style of our period.“ Music that contained
“whatever kind of emotion” could never be objective, „as emotions
cannot be expressed objectively, only subjectively, corresponding to
the individuality of its creator” (Schliepe 1929: 1206-10). In
Schliepe’s essay, encompassing four pages, the composed term Neue
Sachlichkeit appears nowhere in the text but just once in the headline.
Thus, it referred exclusively to the adjective sachlich (‘objective’),
which Schliepe applied only associatively to music.
This example is symptomatic for music critics’ application of
the term Neue Sachlichkeit. Similar to other critics, as Ludwig Misch
(1927: 613) or Alfred Heuß, Schliepe reduces the discourse to the
arbitrary question: “What should be understood by ‚Sachlichkeit’ in
music” (Heuß: “Was unter ‘Sachlichkeit’ in der Tonkunst zu
verstehen wäre!”). Yet , they missed the fact that, by transforming the
adjective to a fix compound, the term had turned into a catchword
including another, more important adjective neu (‘new’). Thus,
Schliepe refrains from asking “what might be the style of our time“
and from further investigating the musical realities of his presence.
Instead he only comments on the meaning of the term sachlich. This is
the main difference between his line of argumentation and the
definition Krenek provided in 1927, using the term to indicate a
certain phenomenon in music and, departing from that point,
ascertaining the legitimacy “to look for a comprehensive term for
those tendencies” (Krenek 1927: 216-18).
It is well known that the term Neue Sachlichkeit was
introduced by the curator Gustav F. Hartlaub in order to label an
exhibition in the early 1920s, collecting paintings that offered a
“lateral cut through the quests of art of post-expressionist painters”9.
However, already the introduction reveals the uncertainty about what
was that thing following expressionism and adding something new to
art. With choosing the adjective ‘sachlich’ he hoped to have found a
feature that could provide a good description of these new trends. The
189
uncertainty seems comprehensible when considering what Hartlaub
tried to embrace with the new term (ibid.). In the process of fixing an
item that had originally been the title of an exhibition as a defining
term of an epoch and style, the success of that exhibition and the
consequent popularity of the modern art turned out to be most
important agents. This experience had not been granted to
expressionist painting (Schmalenbach 1973: 17-18).
In music, as we have seen, modern forms of mass medial
proliferation and popular reception proved, on the one hand, to be of
primary importance for what Neue Sachlichkeit was. The policies of
traditional art, respectively music criticism, on the other hand,
oriented on matters of style, form, and craftsmanship, were not used to
focusing on these kinds of criteria. In their search for stylistic qualities
loosely linked to what might be imagined as sachlich, the terminology
of Neue Sachlickeit only diffusely established defining characteristics.
Concepts of Sachlichkeit, including a musical language disengaged
from expression, emotion, and ornament, distinguished by a sober
tone, and functional objectivity. Descriptions like those ignore the
term’s foundation in modern society, new forms of communication,
and economical structures of the post World War I culture. However,
in other cultures, these trends seem to have been established
considerably earlier, mainly in French neoclassic trends, as they may
be detected in the compositions of Igor Stravinsky. But even in
Germany, comparable tendencies had been applied in avant-garde
circles, immediately after World War I, as is suggested most visibly
through some of the works that world premiered in the programs of
the Donaueschingen Kammermusiktage since 1919. Works by Paul
Hindemith (Kammermusik Nr. 1, 1921), Weill (Frauentanz op. 10,
1923) and most notably Krenek, who, as Heinz Tiessen relates, “was
received as the most radical, provocative”, and “ruthless cacophonist”,
whose first string quartet, an “atonal-heterophonic piece” was
composed with a “lighthearted linear energy of an imitating and
fuguating style” (Tiessen 1928: 62). ‘Objectivity’ of musical style,
obviously preceded, both in temporal and artistic sense, the aesthetic
one, provided by Neue Sachlichkeit, whose adjective neu was often
ignored. In Germany, it was an integral stylistic component of post-
World War I expressionism, which had prepared the fundamental turn
from elitist avant-garde to egalitarian Neue Sachlichkeit aesthetics.
An outstanding example for this kind of re-orientation in
avant-garde music circles is the inter-art Novembergruppe (see
190 Nils Grosch
Grosch 2001: 220). The group was founded by architects and painters
in Berlin in late 1918, referring in its name to the democratic
November revolution. A musical subgroup was active between 1923-
1927 and included composers Heinz Tiessen, Max Butting, Philipp
Jarnach, Kurt Weill, Wladimir Vogel, Hans Heinz Stuckenschmidt,
Stefan Wolpe, Felix Petyrek, and Hanns Eisler. Of course, there had
been little opportunity for young avant-garde composers to have their
work peformed, and the institutional framework of a group of modern
artists located them inside the focus of an active circle, that allowed
for concerts and networking into culture politics. The fundamental
problem of the group was, as Armin Schulz has put it, that they
assumed “a causal relationship between their artistic revolution and
the political reorganisation in such a way that the political revolution
would eventually surpass their intellectual one” – a premise that
turned out to be a “fundamental misapprehension” (Schulz 1993: 9-
21). In fact, the concerts were ignored by the larger public that the
group had conceived of becoming their target audience and thus had
little impact. The contradiction between claim and reality, or, in
Christopher Hailey’s words, between “self referential abstraction” and
“intensification of musical affect”10, enforced a re-orientation from
understandings of art focused upon autonomy and intensified musical
tension to an aesthetics that had to handle mass reception. The avant-
garde concert came under fire, despite the fact that it had been the
most important medium for presentation of the Novembergruppe’s
music.
Felix Joachimson, who was a close friend of Weill’s in the
middle 1920s and collaborator in an opera project Happy End, later
wrote in his still unpublished biography of Weill:
The German expressionism of the twenties was non-academic and

experimental and was rejected by the majority of people who were
used to looking at representative art. It was one of the chief aims of
the November Group to popularize the modern concept of art and
bring it to the masses. It was a highly idealistic movement which cut
through political alignments and parties, confident that the 1918
German revolution would bring about social change and the final
realization of the old goal of the French Revolution: liberty, equality
and fraternity. The organization was short-lived and doomed to
inefficacy but in its emphasis on artistic independence and integrity, it
made a lasting impression on the young Kurt Weill (Jackson s.d. [ca.
1975]: 10).
191
In August 1925, Weill criticised the “indefensible situation of our
music establishment”, that “hitherto had been timorously kept secret
by the involved, and were apathetically accepted by the masses”
(Weill [1925] 2000: 35-39). Weill’s polemic was here primarily
directed to mediocre music interpretation in Berlin concert culture.
Yet under consideration of Weill’s own work and the situation of
contemporary avant-garde concerts, it shed a new light on his own
view regarding their colleagues’ activity. “Our urban concert life,
owing its existence to the bygone epoch of bourgeois prosperity, today
is futile, useless, and antediluvian” (Weill [1925] 2000: 35-39). This
decline was caused, as Weill diagnosed it, on the one hand “by the
pauperisation of the circles interested in musical life”, and, on the
other hand, “by the surplus supply in artistic presentations and the
activity of broadcast, attracting the masses with comfort and the
appeal of the new” (Weill [1925] 2000: 35-39). Weill’s scepticism,
however, diminished during the following years. In an essay from
1927, he challenged the actual musical production to find new
“legitimations of existence”, as the socials shifts had entailed a
complete “shift in musical life” (Weill [1927a] 2000: 61-64). The
same gestures we find in the essays and reviews of Max Butting, who
headed the music section of the Novemberguppe between 1923–1925.
He complained about “the simple fact that the majority is completely
uninterested in [concert] music” (Butting 1927: 58-63).11 Butting
diagnosed a growing distance between “music and man”, and he
challenged modern composers to “no more write exclusively for the
concert”, “delimit the technical complexity of their works to an extent,
that the music dilettanto was able to occupy himself with it”.
Furthermore, modern composers should admit themselves to
“applied” music genres as music for the movies, and mechanic
music”. These were “phenomena of the present time”, modern
composers, instead of ignoring them, “should be glad having the
opportunity to break new grounds instead of just continuing with
musical heritage”.12 In fact, all of the composers who had participated
in the Novembergruppe, changed their focus from concert music to
new, functional genres like music for radio and film, mechanic music,
music for the theatre, and the (different wings of the) labour
movement. As an outstanding genre of a new, mass communicative
aesthetics, the ‘song’ – Weill used the English term in German –
became one of the favourite genres for Weill, Eisler, Wolpe, et al.,
affording a new Songstil with an own handling of popular music
192 Nils Grosch
elements. Krenek, in search for new stylistic grounds in order to

explore “media, that allow to be understood by the commonalty”13,
arrived at a musical conclusion that to a certain extent departed from
his early radical sachlich composition technique. Instead he decided to
establish a pastiche composition technique for his new works for the
musical theatre, above all the operas Jonny spielt auf (1927) and
Leben des Orest (1930). In these works, he developed a system of
intertextual references to historical, theatrical, and – most important –
contemporary popular music styles – which, by techniques of
alienation, de- and re-contextualization, are transformed into a
specific medial opera dramaturgy that can be seen as one of the
principle techniques of Zeitoper (a genre term established during the
1920s describing the modern, topical operas by Krenek, Weill,
Hindemith, Toch et al.).14 This kind of “conventionalization of the
means” of art came naturally to Krenek: The composer, by choosing
the means, “systematically uses something familiar in order to mould
something new”, because “any art, that strives for resonance and
intends to get into rapport with the outer world, has to elect objects
and means which offer the respectively most striking starting point”.15
This implied – and not just for Krenek – an understanding of musical
‘style’ that departs from a primarily profoundly personal style. This
style is marked by the distinct reference to a creator’s individuality
and an approach to ‘style’ as a communicative medium, which is
being turned into a medium of musical language, including all its
generally understandable meanings and semiotic levels. The purpose,
obviously, is what Krenek called the “rapport to the outer world”
(“Rapport zur Außenwelt”), the option of mass communication, and,
essential in Krenek’s view, the representation of non-artistic reality.
The resulting concreteness and object-relatedness, of course,
opens up a new meaning of Sachlichkeit in music, that has nothing in
common anymore with the idea of a ‘sober’ or anti-emotional musical
style. The demand to define Neue Sachlichkeit by terms of style turns
out to be obsolete, as the stylistic devices coming from outside the
work itself become the works outstanding stylistic trademark.
Accordingly, the relevance of style as a distinctive category is reduced
to its “Zuhandenheit” (i.e. availability or “handiness”, as defined by
musicologist Heinrich Besseler16), in order to allow music to enter a
communicative, public space.
Thus, if it seems possible at all to name stylistic criteria of
Neue Sachlichkeit, this would have to exceed the framework of
Neue Sachlichkeit, Mass Media and Matters of Musical Style in the 1920s193
traditional terms of style and include procedures of an artful handling
of signals, quotes, themes, sounds, which no longer stand for the work
itself, but for a public cultural discourse. In this sense, Kim H.
Kowalke (1995: 27-69), referencing Kurt Weill, coined the phrase
“Öffentlichkeit als Stil” which inverts Theodor W. Adornos’
„Einsamkeit als Stil“. But even here, the problems of the ‘style’
category are obvious, as it seems difficult to separate style from the
self-contained language of a work of art, as it was rejected by Neue
Sachlichkeit.
*
This seemingly paradoxical situation made it difficult for
contemporary critics as well as for modern scholars, to register the
fact that the musico-poetological discourse began to embrace formerly
non-poetic subjects. In other words, aesthetics for the production of
art referred primarily to aspects of reception, communication, and the
mediatisation of music. In so far, decisions regarding form, style,
means of expression, and genre were merely resulting from
communication- and reception-oriented considerations.
Thus, new media attracted the interest of modern musicians.
In the mid 1920s, music essayist, critic, composer, and later
musicologist Hans Heinz Stuckenschmidt (1901–1988) was an
influential proponent of Neue Sachlichkeit – a label that he frequently
and prominently used in articles published as well in art magazines as
in the daily press. Like Weill, Stuckenschmidt conceived of the new
development as a result of the post-war social shifts, which had
“relegated the anachronistic artistic ideologies to their deathbed”.17
Around 1925, his main interest was on mechanische Musik
(mechanic music): A term used for music in the new electrical media,
mainly radio, gramophone, and records, and in the different forms of
mechanical music instruments like player pianos, mechanical organs,
etc. Hence, if we see it from a 21st century perspective, a mass medial
convergence of the discussion of the mechanische Musik might seem
self-evident. Nevertheless, in aesthetical discourse of the mid1920s,
proponents of Neue Sachlichkeit saw it as their job to legitimize this
shift. “The future belongs to the mechanical music”, Stuckenschmidt
predicted in an article published in 1925 in the most important journal
for conductors Pult und Taktstock:
In a couple of years, the big symphony orchestra as an institution will

cease to exist. >…@ The composers’ intuition probably will begin to
194 Nils Grosch
transgress the boundaries of human technical capabilities. >…@ The
role of the musical interpreter will be a remnant of the past.
>In wenigen Jahren wird das große Sinfonieorchester als allgemeine

Einrichtung zu bestehen aufgehört haben. […] Die Intuition der
Komponisten dürfte beginnen, über die Grenze der vom Menschen
ausführbaren Techniken hinauszuführen. […] Die Rolle des
Interpreten gehört der Vergangenheit an (Stuckenschmidt (1925): 1-
8).@
The radicalism and provoking gesture of his predications might partly

tend to overcast their fatidic far-sightedness, which becomes more
obvious when we look at today’s popular music, which Peter Wicke
convincingly interpreted as industrial product (Wicke 2009: 9-15).
Stuckenschmidt put his emphasis on mass-media, which in his opinion
is much more than merely a channel for information, but a
communicative system of production and reproduction – embracing
the technical apparatus as well as the audience as actors of aesthetic
and stylistic regulation. “We still stand at the extreme beginnings of
an epoch”, he declared, but this epoch, nevertheless, “would later be
regarded as the most important in musical history”.18
Moreover, as Stuckenschmidt includes the process of
production and the conception and design of the work itself into the
technical procedures, he anticipates one of the most striking notions
from Benjamin’s artwork-essay: “To an ever-increasing degree, the
work reproduced becomes the reproduction of a work designed for
reproducibility” (Benjamin 2008: 24).19
Stuckenschmidt proclaimed that in the future, composers
would not only compose original pieces for mechanical music
instruments like pianolas or gramophones, but also, assisted by
appropriate equipment, write music directly into the instruments. This
thesis – evident to us facing the technical production of dance or
modern (electronic) music – was widely opposed by his
contemporaries. Composer and conductor Erwin Stein, editor of Pult
und Taktstock where Stuckenschmidt’s essay had been published,
countered Stuckenschmidt’s arguments by moving the whole debate
away from sociological and economic arguments to the ambit of
musical interpretation. “If the composer, as opines Stuckenschmidt,
would inscribe his musical will immediately into an instrument (for
instance into the disc of an ideal gramophone), the artwork, indeed
would become something as ultimate as a work of plastic arts.” 20 For
Stein, the functionality of mechanical music involved a linear process
195
that begins with the creative will of the composer and culminates with
the ultimate conclusion of the artwork – not beyond. Reproduction,
proliferation, and reception were excluded from the factors controlling
musical processes.
After all Stuckenschmidt had his own view on the economic
crises the orchestras found themselves in, leading either to close-
downs or to a “parasite existence”. He predicted a replacement of the
large symphony orchestras by mechanical orchestras, whose
achievement in musical interpretation would be more perfect and
whose costs would allow cost-saving performances because no
payment for musicians would be needed.21 „The increasing demand of
our time for precision and clarity, more and more illuminates the
original incapability of human beings to serve as interpreters of works
of art.“22 In a talk accompanying a concert with mechanical music,
Stuckenschmidt promoted his ideas, as the attendant critic Schliepe
reports: “If Mister Stuckenschmidt is correct, in the foreseeable future
there will only be mechanical music performed, and the individual
personality of the artist will be as outdated as an old grandma with a
spinning wheel.”23
Stein, on the other hand, just cut off the economic and mass
receptive aspects of Stuckenschmidt’s arguments and banned them
from the discourse on mechanical music. Switching the discussion to
the terrain of musical interpretation, he succeeded in igniting a debate
that intensely reflected the relationship between composer intention,
interpretation, artwork, and its autonomy24, boldly speculating about
the future prospects of technical reproducibility. Thus, the discourse
advanced backwards towards the field delimited by conventional ideas
about style, interpretation, and artwork – ideas Stuckenschmidt had
already overcome by focusing on the social, economic and aesthetical
potential of mechanical music.
*
In 2000, Sabina Becker rejected, in her study on the aesthetics of Neue
Sachlichkeit literature, those scholarly approaches that referred to just
objects and motives. Her criticism was that they “frequently provide a
starting point for reducing Neue Sachlichkeit to a movement that had
solely praised the processes of mechanization and rationalization
uncritically, a movement that boiled down to straight cult of
technology”.25 Already in the 1920s, musicians had to grapple with
this kind of reductive perspectives – occasionally defending their own
work against the suspicion of being neusachlich. Weill, for example,
196 Nils Grosch
rejected approaches in modern opera (Zeitoper – as the opera of the

Neue Sachlichkeit was called) that “used the ‘tempo of the 20th
century’, added the much vaunted ‘rhythm of our time’, and, apart
from that, were stuck with staging emotions of previous
generations.”26 Topicality, in Weill’s words, was neither to be
achieved by „renaissance trends“ nor by superficial up-to-date-ness
(Weill [1927b] 2000: 60). As a central category, he rather stated, that
opera had to „address the ambits of interest of a broader audience“ in
order to support its right to exist (Weill [1927b] 2000: 60). All
concrete changes, be they in the domain of (musical or dramatic)
style, as the „frequent use of American dance motives and jazz
rhythms“ (Krenek 1927: 216-18), or be they in „inner and outer
uncomplicatedness (of subject matter or media of expression), as it
corresponds to the more naïve attitude of the new listener” (Weill
[1927b] 2000: 60), kept deducible to these communicative and
reception-aesthetical premises.
Thus, the inclusion of styles of popular music is not a method
of style in itself, because it belonged, as Krenek stated, to the
“contemporary stage props as the ghosts and fairies where requisites
of romanticism” (Krenek 1927: 216-18). “Needless to say, any art
form, that strives for resonance, will aspire to the respectively most
intensively effective toehold”, Krenek added, and this toehold “in our
times can be found prevalently in the domain of vitality. Therefore, an
art aspiring to amplify tends towards this domain.” Still, Krenek
counted concreteness and conventionalisation of media to the central
criteria of Neue Sachlichkeit. Nevertheless, after having been
criticized and, as he thought, misunderstood for this conventional use
of modern, urban life stage props as, for example, a telephone, train
station and a hotel jazz band, in his opera Jonny spielt auf, Krenek
used the Neue Sachlichkeit term more carefully:
My Jonny is one of the unluckiest examples for an at least halfway

reasonable examination of Neue Sachlichkeit. In it indeed new things
[neue Sachen] do appear but merely as things that surround modern
human beings, without proclaiming a positive ideology. Nowhere [in
Jonny spielt auf] is a locomotive praised or a telephone sung about.
All these things play a secondary, purely medial role as
dramaturgically functioning requisites, from which a modern piece of
art does not have to abstain, as a drama playing in the past does not
need to abstain from the objects of its time.
Neue Sachlichkeit, Mass Media and Matters of Musical Style in the 1920s 197
>Mein Jonny ist für eine halbwegs vernünftige Anschauungsweise
eines der unglücklichsten Beispiele für ‚neue Sachlichkeit’, indem
zwar neue Sachen darin vorkommen, aber eben nur als Sachen, die
den heutigen Menschen umgeben, ohne eine auf sie bezüglich positive
Gesinnung zu proklamieren. Nirgends wird die Lokomotive angebetet
oder das Telephon besungen, all diese Dinge spielen eine
untergeordnete, rein mediale Rolle als handlungsfördernde Requisiten,
auf die ein in der Gegenwart spielendes Stück ebensowenig verzichten
braucht, wie ein in der Vergangenheit sich begebendes Drama auf die
Gegenstände seiner Zeit verzichtet“ (Krenek 1931: 254-55).@
Thus, the medial qualities of music may be the crucial point in

defining, analysing and re-evaluating musical Neue Sachlichkeit. The
main problem seems to be the challenge to assess criteria like
communicative, medial, and dramaturgical qualities in the
musicological and music-aesthetic discourse rather than traditional
ones as style and form.
Notes
1
„Der Musiker sucht nach der Basis einer breiteren Wirksamkeit.“ (Krenek 1927:
216-18).
2
„Während bei uns dieses Aufsuchen einer Gemeinschaft in keiner Weise mit einem
Nachgeben gegenüber irgendeinem Publikumsgeschmack zu verwechseln ist, ist eine
große Anzahl von Musikern romanischer Länder durchaus auf eine sehr kultivierte
Art von Gebrauchsmusik eingestellt“ (Weill [1927a] 2000: 61-64).
3
„Suchen wir den verlorenen Kontakt mit der Außenwelt, so müssen wir
Gegenstände darstellen, die Gemeingut der Außenwelt sind, und müssen sie mit
Mitteln darstellen, die die Außenwelt versteht“ (Krenek 1927: 216-18).
4
„Wir wollen in unserer Musik den Menschen unserer Zeit sprechen lassen, und er
soll zu vielen sprechen. Die erste Frage für uns lautet: ist das, was wir machen, für
eine Allgemeinheit nützlich? Eine zweite Frage erst ist es, ob das, was wir machen,
Kunst ist; denn das entscheidet nur die Qualität unserer Arbeit“ (Weill [1929] 2000:
92-96).
5
„Wir wollen in unserer Musik den Menschen unserer Zeit sprechen lassen, und er
soll zu vielen sprechen. Die erste Frage für uns lautet: ist das, was wir machen, für
eine Allgemeinheit nützlich? Eine zweite Frage erst ist es, ob das, was wir machen,
Kunst ist; denn das entscheidet nur die Qualität unserer Arbeit“ (Weill [1929] 2000:
92-96).
198 Nils Grosch
6
The original German reads: „Die Masse ist eine Matrix aus der gegenwärtig alles
gewohnte Verhalten Kunstwerken gegenüber neugeboren hervorgeht. Die Quantität
ist in Qualität umgeschlagen. Die sehr viel größeren Massen der Anteilnehmenden
haben eine veränderte Art des Anteils hervorgebracht. […] Der vor dem Kunstwerk
sich Sammelnde versenkt sich darein […]. Dagegen versenkt die zerstreute Masse
ihrerseits das Kunstwerk in sich” (Benjamin 1967: 39-40).
7
„Ich arbeite seit Jahren als einziger schaffender Musiker konsequent und
konzessionslos gegen den Widerstand der Snobs und der Ästheten, an der Schaffung
von Urformen eines neuen, einfachen, volkstümlichen musikalischen Theaters“ (Weill
2002: 195-96).
8
„jenen Musikern, die weiter, von Verachtung gegen das Publikum erfüllt, gleichsam
unter Ausschluss der Öffentlichkeit an der Lösung ästhetischer Probleme arbeiten“
(Weill 2002: 195-96).
9
For the etymology of the term see Stephen Hinton (1991).
10
Following Christopher Haileys accurate grounding of the definition of
expressionism in his article Musical Expressionism: The Search for Autonomy (1993:
8).
11
If not noted otherwise, the following quotations from Butting derive from this
article.
12
See my book Die Musik der Neuen Sachlichkeit for Weills, Buttings, Vogels and
Eislers works for broadcasting.
13
„Suchen wir den verlorenen Kontakt mit der Außenwelt, so müssen wir
Gegenstände darstellen, die Gemeingut der Außenwelt sind, und müssen sie mit
Mitteln darstellen, die die Außenwelt versteht“ (Krenek 1927: 216-18).
14
For a more detailed survey see my analysis of Jonny spielt auf in Die Musik der
Neuen Sachlichkeit (Grosch 1999: 116-25); and Matthias Schmidts article ‘Ernst
Krenek, Paul Bekker und die ‚gesellschaftsbildende Machte der Oper’’ (2001: 59-72).
15
“Die Konvention der Mittel ist sehr viel stärker vorhanden, und wir werden bei
ihrer Auswahl auf eine planmäßige Verwendung des Bekannten unter
Berücksichtigung der neuen zu formenden Gegenstände greifen. […] weil natürlich
jede Kunst, die nach Resonanz trachtet und in einen Rapport zur Außenwelt treten
will, in Gegenstand und Mittel nach dem jeweils am intensivsten wirksamen
Ansatzpunkt streben wird“ (Krenek 1927: 216-18).
16
According to Stephen Hinton, the adaptation of the Heideggerian term
Zuhandenheit into the context of Neue Sachlichkeit and Gebrauchsmusik was a
„creative misunderstanding“ (Hinton 1989: 6-23).
17
„Dass wir am Anfang einer neuen musikalichen Kultur stehen, die sich aus
soziologischen Umschichtungen ergab, dass die überlebte künstlerische Ideologie im
Sterben liegt, wird das Publikum mit Schrecken erst dann wahrnehmen, wenn es zu
spät ist” (Stuckenschmidt [1927]1976: 36-41).
18
„daß wir noch am Anfang, am äußersten Beginn einer Epoche, die man später
einmal als die wichtigste in der neueren Musikgeschichte betrachten wird“
(Stuckenschmidt [1925] 1976: 9-15).
19
The original German reads: “Das reproduzierte Kunstwerk wird in steigendem
Maße die Reproduktion eines auf Reproduzierbarkeit angelegten Kunstwerks”
(Benjamin 1967: 17).
20
„Würde der Komponist aber, wie Stuckenschmidt meint, seinen musikalischen
Willen unmittelbar in einen Spielapparat (z.B. in die Platte eines idealen
Grammophons) eintragen, der seine Intention bis in die feinsten Nuancierungen des
Vortrages wiedergibt, so würde allerdings das musikalische Kunstwerk etwas so
endgültiges sein, wie ein Werk der bildenden Kunst“ (Stein 1925: 28-32).
21
Looking from today’s point of view, this declaration had been quite realistic, taking
into account how media industry started to overtake musical production and
performance.
22
„Das zunehmende Bedürfnis unserer Zeit nach Präzision und Klarheit erhellt immer
mehr die eigentliche Unfähigkeit des Menschen, als Interpret von Kunstwerken zu
gelten“ (Stuckenschmidt [1925] 1976: 9-15).
23
„Sollte Herr Stuckenschmidt Recht behalten, wird in absehbarer Zeit nur noch
mechanische Musik gemacht werden, und die Einzelpersönlichkeit des Künstlers wird
so altmodisch sein, wie heute ein altes Mütterchen am Spinnrad“ (Schliepe s.d.).
24
This shows mainly in the article of Theodor W. Adorno in Pult und Taktstock 2
(1925), which was likewise a reaction on Stuckenschmidt`s text.
25
„zumal aus ihm nicht selten die einseitige Beschreibung der Neuen Sachlichkeit als
eine Technisierungs- und Rationalisierungsprozessen gegenüber unkritische
Bewegung sowie als distanzloser Technikkult abgeleitet wurde“ (Becker 2000: 15).
26
„Man nahm das `Tempo des 20. Jahrhunderts´, fügte den vielgerühmten `Rhythmus
unserer Zeit´ hinzu und hielt sich im übrigen an die Darstellung von Gefühlen
vergangener Generationen” (Weill [1928] 2000: 64-67).
200 Nils Grosch
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89-04.
“A book such as ‘Automobile’ is only written once
in a lifetime”. Ilja Ehrenburg’s The life of the
automobile as benchmark in the discussion of New
Objectivity in Dutch literature
Hans Anten
Abstract: During the first half of the 1930s various novels appeared in Dutch
literature representing the movement called Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (New Objectivity).
In their discussions of this movement one publication above all is used by critics of all
persuasions to orientate themselves: The life of the automobile by the Russian author
Ilja Ehrenburg. It is this “industrial novel” which had become the benchmark in any
appraisal of New Objectivity. This contribution will not only explore the way
Ehrenburg’s Automobile functioned as a standard in the reception of New Objectivity
novels; in order to be able to understand why this novel could take on this role,
attention will be paid to the generally very positive reviews accorded him because of
Automobile, as well as the sudden critical reversal when he began to publish novels
that copied the format of Automobile. Various factors have contributed to the great
enthusiasm with which Automobile was received. Chief among these are that for years
already there had been calls for the renewal of prose, that there had been pleadings to
recognise journalism as a valid literary genre, that the new medium of artistic cinema
provoked fascination, that there was social debate about the relation of technology to
society, and last but not least, the fact that Ehrenburg was Russian and therefore
represented new Revolutionary Russia for which interest was also at a peak. At the
beginning of this contribution each of these factors will be examined. The chapter will
be rounded off with a short account of Ehrenburg’s afterlife in Dutch periodicals
when Automobile and New Objectivity had already disappeared from the literary
repertoire.
Introduction
Only one work devoted to Ilja Ehrenburg (1891-1967) has been

published in Dutch. It appeared in 2007, forty years after the death of
this Russian author. In Ilja G. Ehrenburg. Een leven tussen Picasso en
204 Hans Anten
Stalin the journalist Hans Knap has sketched the extraordinary life of
a man who was capable as Soviet author of being a prominent
representative abroad of the artistic avant-garde, demonstrating a
chameleon’s talent for adaptation (Knap 2007). Out of the more than a
hundred books written by Ehrenburg only one played a prominent role
in Dutch Literature: The life of the automobile. There were many
critics from various streams who mobilised this novel in the intense
discussion about the renewal of prose in general and about New
Objectivity in particular at the beginning of the 1930s, starting with
the German translation Das Leben der Autos (1930), and followed by
the Dutch translation from the Russian. However, the performance of
Automobile in the Dutch literary polysystem was as short-lived as it
was stellar, just like the New Objectivity itself. In the meantime
Ehrenburg has found his place in chapters of more recent literary
histories of the inter-war years (Anbeek 1999: 160; Van Bork en Laan
2010: 231). Excepting these, however, his role in Dutch literary
history has already been forgotten. At least, Knap is silent on the
matter and in the postface by Tom Eekman in the work co-edited with
Charles Timmer in 1988, Ik ben nooit onverschillig geweest, a
selection of memoirs Ehrenburg wrote between 1961 and 1966 chosen
for the famous series Privé-domein, nothing is said about his role as
catalyst in the intense discussion around New Objectivity (Ehrenburg
1998: 351-358). The fact that such a key moment in the relation
between Dutch literature and Ehrenburg - who was also in the
Netherlands “without a doubt the most translated Soviet writer”
(Weststeijn 1984) - , is not mentioned in publications like these shows
that he has become largely unknown to a broader public today. This
was no doubt also true at the beginning of his fame in the 1920s, but
he was certainly not unknown in 1931 when the first reviews of
Automobile appeared and this noteworthy novel and its author’s name
began to function as a point of reference in articles and discussions.
Automobile was the book that introduced Dutch literature to
the documentary novel. Ehrenburg emphasises in his preface to the
German edition that the world depicted in it is actual and the
characters, institutions and locations are real rather than invented:
“Dieses Buch ist eine Chronik unsrer Zeit. Die darin vorkommenden
Helden wie auch die Fabel sind nicht erfunden” (Ehrenburg 1930).
The dynamic and modern world of trade and industry is given form in
a variety of scenes whose unifying principle is contrast and
simultaneity. For example, while in one scene the industrialist
Ilja Ehrenburg’s The life of the automobile 205
Michelin is rationalising the production process of his French plant to
the utmost, in the next scene, coolies on a rubber plantation in Indo
China are dying of exhaustion, mistreatment or poisoning by means of
the alcohol or opium whose solace they sought. The fragmented
structure of the novel can be related to the technique of cinematic
montage in the work of the Russian avant-garde filmmakers he
admired so much, like Eisenstein and Poedovkin.1 The documentary
aspect of his work, the use of endless ‘facts’ and numbers, the present
continuous tense and the short sentences with identical simple syntax
were all borrowed from the newspaper and its reporting style, to the
point that Ehrenburg has been called a “brilliant journalist rather than
novelist” (Weststeijn 1984).
Automobile is also a social novel. It is the writer’s duty,
Ehrenburg thought, to expose social wounds (Ehrenburg 1998: 281).
The ideological stance steering the novel both implicitly and explicitly
is fundamental social criticism. This criticism is directed at the real
motivation behind the facade of idealism and love of humanity of
people like Henry Ford, André Citroën and the Dutchman Henri
Deterding (of Royal-Dutch and Shell), namely a monomaniacal cult of
utility and the reduction of all value to money. The dehumanisation
resulting from it is fateful for both industrialist and worker, in the
capitalist West as much as in communist Russia, albeit that the need
of the bosses manifests itself as a moral rather than a material one.
The car is presented as idol of a new materialistic religion, as the
symbol of a modern technology that is associated with the accidents of
haste, speed and death rather than the chance of utility and a better
life.
Before examining the salient moments in the reception of Ehrenburg’s

Automobile I will indicate the factors that have contributed to making
this very text the benchmark in the discussions around New
Objectivity in Dutch literature at the beginning of the 1930s. The
years of revolt against the popular prose of a watered down naturalism
and psychological realism - thick novels in which individual destinies
were strung out in a homely setting - manifested themselves in a
widely carried demand for a new prose in which “the movement of
time” courses, as the critic Anthonie Donker expressed it (Donker
1932: 152). In 1930 he wrote in the discussion forum Critisch bulletin
of the monthly De Stem, anticipating the well-known list of subjects
from his work Ter zake (1932: 153-155):
206 Hans Anten
There is a need for novels that deal directly with the workings, the
outer functioning and inner value, of our government, judiciary, press,
politics, stock exchange, ports, grain trade, theatre world and student
life. It is from this angle, separately or together that human life and
our time should be approached in literary novels, if we want to enlarge
the scope and significance of our novels.
[Er is behoefte aan romans, die zich rechtstreeks inlaten met de

werkingen, de uiterlijke functioneering en innerlijke waarde van onze
regeering, rechtspraak, pers, politiek, beurs, havenwerken,
graanhandel, theaterwereld, studentenmilieus. Van deze zijden,
afzonderlijk of in samenhang moeten het menselijk leven en onze tijd
in de romanlitteratuur benaderd worden, wanneer zich de beteekenis
en horizon van onze romans eindelijk verruimen wil (Donker 1930a:
377).]
However, this enlargement has not yet taken place and it is the reason
why foreign novels are brought forward as examples for Dutch
authors, something that is not unusual according to Donker: “Our
literature just happens to be, and always has been, far behind the most
important novels from abroad” (Donker 1930b). It is in this context
that Dutch and German translations of Automobile are invoked,
alongside works such as Manhattan Transfer (1925) by John Dos
Passos, Berlin Alexanderplatz (1929) of Alfred Döblin and Feldwege
nach Chicago (1931) by Heinrich Hauser. “When thoroughly Dutch
writers start writing in modern prose or in a new style, it is not
difficult to point to a foreign exemplar” opined the poet and critic
Martinus Nijhoff in De Gids (Nijhoff 1932: 282).
To this call for renewal of the novel was joined the wish to
see reporting elevated to the status of literary genre and the
application of cinematic techniques to prose. Automobile was exactly
the novel whose stylistic signature was determined by journalistic and
cinematic principles. It was the communist journalist Nico Rost who
pointed out to Dutch readers in his articles and discussions the artistic
form of reporting. Dutch literature, according to Rost, could do with
the renewal wrought by the sober, factual reporting of events from
actual social reality. The collected articles about social wrongs by the
likes of Heinrich Hauser and the ‘raging reporter’ Egon Erwin Kisch
should be a model for Dutch writers. In 1930 Rost wrote in the
Critisch bulletin:
In my opinion it would constitute a milestone in the development of

our modern Dutch literature if one of our younger authors could
produce such a work about Twente, Eindhoven, the coalmines of
Limburg or the Zuiderzee-works. Are we only capable of
experiencing this in film? Are not most of the works of our new
generation just escapes from social realities? Are we no longer
capable of looking this reality in the eye?
[Het zou mijns inziens een mijlpaal in de ontwikkeling onzer moderne

Hollandsche literatuur kunnen zijn, als plotseling een der jongeren een
dergelijk werk over Twente, Eindhoven, de Limburgsche kolenmijnen
of de Zuiderzee-werken liet verschijnen. Zijn wij enkel nog maar in
staat dit in film te beleven? Zijn de meeste werken der jongeren niet
een vlucht uit de sociale werkelijkheid? Vermogen wij deze
werkelijkheid niet meer in het gelaat te zien (Rost 1930a: 1299; cf.
Rost 1930b)?]
Many young Dutch writers shared Ehrenburg’s fascination with

artistic film, which had come into its own in the 1920s as an
autonomous artistic genre. It is not suprising that in their quest for
possibilities of renewing prose they should point to techniques
borrowed from avant-garde cinema. Both in reflections on poetics,
and later in the practise of stories and novels, cinematic influences can
be pointed out (cf. Anten 1993). “Write your novels using film” Jules
Sonnenfeldt exhorted in 1926 in De vrije bladen. “Compose short
scenes. Ensure forceful action that speaks to one directly. Brief and to
the point. Without page-filling excess” (Sonnenfeldt 1926: 48). In the
same volume of this important literary journal of the younger
generation the editor Constant van Wessem expounded in his article
‘The influence of cinema on modern literature’ on the lessons of film.
He said: “to call up the drama by means of short factual notations
laden with suggestion without additional commentary or stylistic
ornament, ‘sans fil’, in a rhythm predicated on the tension, the
emotional highlight, suddenly, completed, overwhelming” (Van
Wessem 1926: 247). Although he is unlikely to have read this
exhortation, Ehrenburg wrote with Automobile a novel which in its
two translations was so completely taken up into Dutch literary
discourse that according to many critics it provided the template for
cinematic techniques such as montage in the novels of New
Objectivity.
Automobile could fulfil this role, however, also because of its
content: the social commitment that focused on the underside of
technology and industrialisation. Its tone ensured that it was involved
in the broad discussion on mechanisation in modern society. We shall
see that Automobile would be praised, and interpreted, as a reactionary
208 Hans Anten
pleading for a pre-industrial society because of this message, or rather,

because of the form Ehrenburg gave to this message.
Lastly, we need to stress again that Ehrenburg was a Russian
writer, even if he lived chiefly in Paris and Berlin in the 1920s. The
interest abroad for the new Russia after the Revolution of 1917 was
enormous. The Revolution was “an event which because of its
magnitude and consequences occupies a unique place in human
history” said the Belgian writer and socialist parliamentarian August
Vermeylen, who travelled to the Soviet Union in 1931 and published
his impressions in Indrukken van Rusland (Waegemans 1989: 120).
Numerous articles and essays about Russia appeared in newspapers
and magazines, including outside of left-leaning periodicals such as
De socialistische gids and Links richten. Hundreds of pamphlets,
brochures and books about the Russian experiment by Dutch and
foreign authors (in Dutch or mainly German translations) were
announced and discussed in many periodicals. Russian art and culture
also received royal attention at the same time, especially cinema and
literature. It was therefore in the context of explaining the latest
Russian literature that Ehrenburg was presented to the Dutch reader.
Ehrenburg before Automobile
In the critical journal Den Gulden Winckel, in which both high

modernism and middlebrow literature were discussed, Nico Rost
reported in 1924 on ‘New Russian authors’, as he called his
contribution. In the first part of his article he summarised a large
number of names of young authors writing after the revolution. The
second part, however, was dedicated to one author, Ilja Ehrenburg and
included a photo of the writer. He particularly homed in on the
German translation of his debut novel, a satirical adventure story,
Julio Jurenito, published in 1922. Whoever wants to understand
Russian life today needs to read this book, said Rost (Rost 1924: 107).
Two years later it was again Rost in the left liberal paper De Groene
Amsterdammer who presented Ehrenburg in the same vein. As in
1924, he mentions meeting Ehrenburg in Berlin and Moscow. That his
reputation has soared since then is made clear by the differences; in
1926, with more and more translations into English, French and
German appearing, Ehrenburg takes pride of place among authors of
the new generation. He is “one of the most serious characters of these
turbulent times”, a “reporter” of our time “with his mechanism and
technique and industriousness” (Rost 1926). We can already see here
the typecasting of Ehrenburg as chronicler of industrial activity.
Only two years later Ehrenburg’s name would no longer be
unknown even beyond the literary scene. In 1928 The Netherlands
saw the premiere of a film realised by Georg Pabst for the famous Ufa
film company based on Ehrenburg’s novel Die Liebe der Jeanne Ney
(1926) 2 and given the title ‘Lage driften’ (‘Base Impulses’).
Ehrenburg was particularly unhappy at the outcome of this realisation
in which the novel’s tragic end was converted to a happy ending as a
concession to public taste. His protests were to no avail (cf. Ehrenburg
1998: 296-302). The person who probably wrote most on Ehrenburg
during the inter-war years and arguably influenced the later negative
perception most strongly, the critic and essayist Menno Ter Braak,
discussed the affair in Filmliga, the organ of the ‘Nederlandsche
Filmliga’ (Dutch Film Union) which championed artistic film against
the “Schund” (trash) of Hollywood amusement. Editor Ter Braak still
defended this “sensitive Russian writer” in 1928, whom he was
quoting approvingly from the Frankfurter Zeitung. In it Ehrenburg
indicated how his novel had been mangled, how, in the words of Ter
Braak, “the cowardly taste of a public afraid of great thought has
brought film companies […] to sacrifice original feeling to tasteless
sentimentality” (Ter Braak 1927-1928: 13).
That Ehrenburg was regarded as an authority on the modern
art film in these years is also clear from the ‘Manifest Filmliga
Rotterdam’, which was taken up in the first issue of Filmliga (August
1927). It contains a short quote of his on the autonomy of film as
artistic discipline: “Film is not the loudspeaker of the stage of today.
Film is not a photo-serial of today. ‘Film is its own business’ (Ilja
Ehrenburg)”, only to add: “We are still a long way from such an
autonomy” (Oud 1927-1928).
A select group of readers had already been able to acquaint
themselves with Ehrenburg’s view of modern film, and especially the
relation between film and other arts, in 1927, through the avant-garde
magazine i 10. His remarks on the relation between film and literature
are interesting. What he notes approvingly, - “in a novel even a naked
intrigue is full of ponderousness which is alien to our time”, - will for
Ter Braak be an annoying reality when he comes to sketch the profile
of the readers of New Objectivity novels. They constitute the “big city
public, which clamours for film rather than difficult thought
210 Hans Anten
processes, montage instead of psychology” (Ter Braak 1949a: dl 5,

141). Ter Braak’s disdain is not shared by Ehrenburg: “people today
prefer to see moving stories on the screen rather than read them; one
receives stronger impressions and saves time”. It was going to be held
against Ehrenburg, often in discussions of Automobile: the paucity or
lack of psychology. In this light it is remarkable that in 1927 he
precisely called the novel the domain of psychology: “Literature
preserves the invisible world, meaning the psychological world”. Yet
the power of cinema according to him is that one scene in a film
replaces a paragraph of psychology in a novel and that lifeless objects
can complement the ensemble of actors (Ehrenburg 1927: 121). It was
these cinematic qualities that Ehrenburg was going to exploit for a
journalistic novel like Automobile.
In 1930 Ehrenburg made a visit to the Netherlands.3 On 3
January he gave a lecture on modern Russian literature to members of
the ‘Netherlands-New-Russia’ society at the Amsterdam club De
Kring. The newspaper reports on this well-attended gathering did not
mention the title Automobile. There was as yet no German translation.
Nevertheless, certain statements were recorded that seem to announce
this novel as it were, like the conviction that “modern literature is
unthinkable without newspapers”. In other words, literature serves to
render reality and present the truth. When Ehrenburg pointed to the
preponderant role of the machine in the life and literature of Russia he
illustrated this by saying that the car was much more interesting than,
say, the life history of British politician Disraëli.4 Yet one would look
in vain in Automobile for the image of sovereign man who wields
technology to realise a better society as Henry Ford, amongst others,
presented it in his books (cf. Ford 1922; Ford 1926). One would be
surrendering to a sad illusion, he told his Amsterdam audience, if one
were to believe that the machine rules. “The machine was neither
blessing nor catastrophe”, said the journalist who summarised
Ehrenburg’s position (Anonymous 1930).
Automobile: a triumphant reception
In 1930 Das Leben der Autos appeared. The translation was published
by Malik Verlag in Berlin, a firm set up by Wieland Herzfelde, a
German communist poet with whom Ehrenburg was good friends. A
year later W. de Haan from Utrecht published the Dutch translation.
The fact that the German edition of this novel, like his subsequent
novels (Die heiligsten Güter and Die Traumfabrik, both from 1931,
also with Malik Verlag) were discussed in Dutch literary criticism is
an indication of the renown already accrued by the writer. It is a
reputation evidenced by the calendar for the year 1931 published by
De Baanbreker. In order to bring people “the spiritual and social
trends of the times” this weekly calendar contained illustrations of,
amongst others, the neusachliche painters (George Grosz and Otto
Dix) and architects (of J.J.P. Oud and Gerrit Rietveld) as well as texts
by left-leaning publicists such as Rosa Luxemburg, Henriëtte Roland
Holst, Jef Last, Koos Vorrink and Ilja Ehrenburg. In Den Gulden
Winckel J.F. Otten commended the calendar enthusiastically. To give
an impression of it he quotes a long passage from Das Leben der
Autos, precisely the famous part from chapter two in which the 25.000
workers of the Citroën factories are portrayed as silent and thoughtless
automatons on a conveyor belt. Therewith Otten will have been one of
the first to focus attention on Automobile in a Dutch journal.
Another would also have had this honour had his suggestion
been received quickly and decisively but that was not to be. His name
may surprise for he was to become Ehrenburg’s greatest critic as a
writer of novels such as Automobile: Menno ter Braak. He of all
people sought contact with him who as critic would become his polar
opposite in order to say something about an author who would come
to embody in all respects a genre to be rejected. On 27 July 1930 Ter
Braak wrote a note of almost subservient politeness to P.H. Ritter jr.,
chief book reviewer for AVRO-radio:
Herewith I take the liberty of communicating to you how much I
would value a slot on your program, the Avro literary half-hour, for
which I was told to turn to you. If you were able and willing to grant
my request I would propose to you ‘Das Leben der Autos’ by Ilja
Ehrenburg. In the hope that that you not see my request as
presumptuous and in expectation of your reply, I remain, yours
respectfully, Menno ter Braak.
[Door dezen neem ik de vrijheid, U mede te deelen, dat ik het op prijs

zou stellen eens een spreekbeurt te vervullen voor het AVRO-
Boekenhalfuurtje. Men zeide mij, dat ik mij hiervoor tot U had te
wenden. Mocht U aan mijn verzoek willen en kunnen voldoen, dan
zou ik U als voorkeur-onderwerp voorslaan ‘Das Leben der Autos’
van Ilja Ehrenburg. In den hoop, dat mijn schrijven U niet als een
onbescheidenheid zal voorkomen, en in afwachting van Uw antwoord,
met de meeste hoogachting Menno ter Braak.]
212 Hans Anten
After reminding Ritter a second time of this letter, he finally received

an answer on 12 October: he is allowed a slot on the program but not
with the proposed novel. Without motivation Ritter writes that he has
dropped Ehrenburg’s novel from the list. 5
Ter Braak had chosen Ehrenburg’s novel for his radio debut.
One can presuppose that this radio presentation would have been on a
positive note since the discussion of Das Leben der Autos he
published in January 1931 in the Critisch bulletin was written in
superlatives. He called Automobile a “pamphlet of genius”, note, not a
‘novel’ of genius, with a “beautifully sustained ‘relevant’ style”. In it
he read above all the tragedy of a modern fate: “the personalities
hidden behind the great names [Citroën, Ford, Deterding] are for
Ehrenburg but the marionettes with which this fateful destiny of
Rubber and Oil conjures up a quasi-individual action. It operates
behind their autonomous shadow play, indifferent to the strong,
indifferent to the weak.” The “captivating scheme” of this given suits
Ehrenburg “brilliantly”. According to Ter Braak he knows how to
distill from the many reports the one accent that betrays this fate, and
this is what distinguishes him from the journalist. The book “is an
oasis of cold clarity in the desert of pompous, not to say, tendentious,
writings about ‘our time’” (Ter Braak 1931a: 21-22).
Anthonie Donker, also discussing the German translation,
came to the same conclusion as Ter Braak. The book is not so much a
novel as a vision “constructed from facts”, written in the style of “a
stock-market notation”, a construction of data, numbers and statistics.
Oil, rubber and steel constitute the forces which neither industrialists
nor workers can escape. The material is arranged with great mastery:
“Indisputably pressing and oppressive is his grouping of the facts,
inescapable is his fateful vision of murderous haste and strangling
mechanisation” (Donker 1932: 169-170).
Journals of a Roman Catholic bent were also positive in their
reception. Albert Kuyle must have seen in Automobile the perfect
translation of his own social commitment and empathy as he had
demonstrated it in De gemeenschap in articles about Philips and Ford.
They contained a fierce condemnation of industrial capitalism, a
system that to him made the ‘ordinary’ worker the victim of the
unscrupulous self-interest and greed of the employer (cf. Kuyle 1925;
Kuyle 1926). It was to be expected that editor Kuyle discussed
Automobile in his literary magazine De gemeenschap as a recruit and
hardly paid attention to its formal aspects. This book, he assured his
readers, “will claim you, you and the strongest feelings of revulsion
and contempt and hate that you are capable of producing. Your hate
for the injustice that calls itself great and fine, your love for the herd
crushed each day anew by this chariot of Juggernaut”. The fact that
Kuyle could compare Automobile with the summing up of a court
case (with devastating proof of guilt) can be related to a form of
objectivity that he recognised in this novel and which is often seen as
a characteristic trait of New Objectivity (cf. Anten 1982;
Goedegebuure 1992). The verdict issues from the data and the way it
is arranged rather than from the narrator’s commentary. In Kuyle’s
words: “Ehrenburg always stays out of it and his personality does not
enter into it in the slightest”. Kuyle ends his review with an appeal
which once again demonstrates the extent to which the tenor of
Automobile appealed to his social commitment: “I hope that the
publishers will sell thousands of copies of this book and that each
reader will be touched by the sacred fire that glows in these pages. So
that we can be a step closer to the great revolution the world is
awaiting” (Kuyle 1931: 139-143)!
In the predominantly right-wing Catholic journal Roeping
editor-in-chief Gerard Knuvelder discussed Automobile. The social
programme of this journal was in agreement with the commitment of
Kuyle as regards the critique of capitalism and industrialised society.
Kuvelder’s reaction also shows an enthusiastic admiration for the
message of Ehrenburg’s novel and the way it is given shape. The
discussion is completely devoted to this tendency. Automobile is “one
fierce and harrowing indictment of big business, enslaving all of
humanity in chains [...]. It is a book of unusual and great power, a
large-scale attack on the process of human enslavement. A chronicle
of the decline of humanity, gathered in a few pages of raging prose”.
In this “ostensibly business-like, sober, documented indictment”
Ehrenburg gave an “incredibly clear view through to the deepest
motives of some of the modern tyrants of our humanity”. This book is
“a heartfelt cry for justice, - a heartfelt indictment of the betrayers of
civilisation”. Knuvelder ends by emphasising that the Russian writer
was in solidarity with the Catholics; he stands “alongside us Catholics,
against the idols of the twentieth century, against the Molochs of our
time, the Fords, the Deterdings” (Knuvelder 1930-1931: 489-498).
Not the least reason the book reviewing journal
Boekenschouw discussed literature was to warn them against anything
that was not in agreement with Catholic principles. It is a motivation
214 Hans Anten
also at play in its review of Automobile. Like Kuyle and Knuvelder

the now forgotten P. v.d. Valk aligned his vision with the socially
critical dimension of the novel: “In a grandiose manner we are shown
in this piece of literature what has become of man in the famed
twentieth century since Trust formation and its concomitant
rationalisation and mechanisation”. The book, which is not a novel but
“a social journal that passes our review in heavily loaded prose”,
derived its great value for this reviewer from the sympathy and
outrage with which Ehrenburg reveals what fate awaits humanity
when material concerns call the shots. One would have expected a
positive conclusion to follow this agreement but the reviewer here
sticks to the view that gained some notoriety through the book of the
Protestant literary scholar C. Tazelaar. In Het proza der nieuwe-
zakelijkheid (1935) each chapter ends with the comment that the
books reviewed “for our circle” are completely undesirable because
they lack a Christian perspective (Tazelaar 1935). In a similar way the
final evaluation given in Boekenschouw reads: though the social
problems are raised “in an excellent literary form” a great absence
weighs more heavily, this being the lack of a Christian point of view
(V.d. Valk 1930-1931: 421-424).
It is not my intention to present as many documents as possible about

the initial reception of Automobile. Instead I have chosen a few
illustrative and representative examples and I add a few more which
taken together show clearly how broadly it was received and how
exceptionally positive the reviews were, generally speaking. “This is
without doubt one of the most important books of our time”, Wouter
Smits opined in the apolitical review journal Den Gulden Winckel. “It
is an anti-capitalist flyer of brilliant vision and extraordinarily
impressive composition.” With respect to this composition Smits
points to the arrangement of the data and the cinematic speed with
which it is presented. The vision is tied to the idea of destiny, the
power of the material which makes of everyone a victim (Smits 1931:
45-46).
Grüttemeier has pointed out that Ehrenburg also functioned as
a benchmark for evaluating New Objectivity in Flemish literature (cf.
Grüttemeier 1998). It is in this context that I want to call attention to
an early Flemish reflection on Automobile. Marnix Gijsen reviewed
Das Leben der Autos for the literary and cultural monthly Dietsche
Warande en Belfort. Once again it is striking how glowing the
terminology with which admiration for the novel is expressed. Gijsen
is not sparing of superlatives in his short review: “One can rank
Ehrenburg among the greatest living writers without the slightest
presumption”. The novel is “a superior book” and “an unparalleled
tour de force”. It is “one of the most brilliant pamphlets in world
literature”. The stylistic qualities are “exceptionally important”. The
novel “was written with unbeatable gallows humour, with great
psychological insight and a restrained anger which becomes moving
in places”. Gijsen points to the fact that its documentary value never
stands in the way of its artistic merit. He does, however, distance
himself from a presumed ideology he thinks to detect in Ehrenburg.
Yet the writer “has succeeded in not making crude soviet propaganda
out of his book” (Gijsen 1930: 968-969).
Beyond literary circles too Ehrenburg’s novel was rapidly
mobilised after its German edition, to lend weight to polemics around
the mechanisation of modern industry for example. Thus J.
Goudriaan, lecturer in business economics at the Nederlandse
Handelshogeschool in Rotterdam, refers to Das Leben der Autos in his
article of thirty pages on Henriëtte Roland Holst’s play Kinderen van
dezen tijd (1931). In the Socialistische gids, ‘maandschrift der sociaal-
democratische arbeiderspartij’ (monthly journal of the social-
democratic party), he attacks the mendacious and caricatural picture of
business life that Roland Holst has sketched. In it the end of profit is
supposed to legitimise the means of mechanisation that cripples a
million workers physically and mentally. Using facts and figures and
impermeable to a stylistic figure such as hyperbole Goudriaan
circumstantially proves that the poetess gives false information:
“millions of victims of labour? Do you know the figures Madam? The
number of fatal accidents in factories and places of work in the
Netherlands stood at 88 in 1912, 93 in 1920 and in 1929 and 1930,
128 and 138.” The monotony of the conveyor belt, was according to
research invoked by Goudriaan, not a curse but a blessing because
workers could free their thoughts during the process. The economist
concluded:
Kinderen van dezen Tijd is, in its representation of reality, nothing

more than a hallucination, the nightmare of a feverish patient, who
tries to transfer her own confusion onto the listener or viewer. It
belongs to the same sort of literature as Metropolis by Thea von
Harbau or Das Leben der Autos by Ehrenburg; written by amateurs
with a poor and one-sided imagination it tries to impose one particular
216 Hans Anten
caricature as the typical image of reality. Business, with all its
shortcomings, is too good to be reduced to bad ‘literature’.6
[Kinderen van dezen Tijd is in zijn voorstelling van de realiteit niets

anders dan een hallucinatie, de nachtmerrie van een koortsenden
patient, die zijn eigen verbijstering op die van lezers of toeschouwers
tracht over te dragen. Het behoort tot dezelfde soort literatuur als
Metropolis van Thea von Harbau of Das Leben der Autos van
Ehrenburg; geschreven door ondeskundigen met povere en eenzijdige
fantasie tracht het één bepaalde caricatuur op te dringen als het
typische beeld der werkelijkheid. Het bedrijfsleven – met al zijn
gebreken – is te goed om verwerkt te worden tot slechte ‘literatuur’
(Goudriaan 1931: 878)].
Goudriaan does point in a footnote to the fact that Ehrenburg’s book

has been universally praised but that only proves to him that it fulfills
a need of the present day rather than that it contains truth and beauty.
“Read pages 31 and 32 of the Dutch translation and bemoan, not the
‘prisoners of the belt’, but those hypnotised by this sort of literature,
who mistake the palpable untruths of this picture for the truth”
(Goudriaan 1931: 878).
Where to Goudriaan Ehrenburg distorts reality with
Automobile, for Annie Salomons it gives us a largely believable
picture of existing reality. In the monthly journal ‘for girls and young
women’ Leven en Werken, she published an article in two parts of
which one half consisted of quotes from Automobile. The longest
quote comes from the chapter ‘What is the belt without end?’ in which
is described what Ford’s conviction, that “machines should be made
by machines”, actually means in practice for the workers. For
Salomons this dehumanisation is typical of a materialistic Zeitgeist
which has banished spiritual values and in which technology and the
search for profits rule the day. Because she saw Automobile chiefly as
a remedy against modern times, she placed Ehrenburg’s novel in the
context of the reactionary intellectual heritage of the Dutch cultural
philosopher Louis Hoyack, with whom Henriëtte Roland Holst also
had some affinity.7 As many references show, his book Zeitgeist from
1931 was at the basis of Salomons’ longing for a pre-industrial
society, for “the simple, uncomplicated life, free from the bitter
contradiction of capitalist and pauper”. In the second part of her article
Salomons, who lived for some time in the Dutch East Indies, pointed
out some inaccuracies in the world of Automobile. Ehrenburg was
wrong, for example, if he let “Islanders of seven already work in the
gardens, or if he attributed to a European a ‘domestic servant girl’ of
twelve”. In conclusion Salomons put the “modern writing manner” of
Ehrenburg in its usual literary-historical context with psychological
realism as objection: “in this new art neither living room nor family
nor even the individual find a place. People have become types, ghosts
that pass” (Salomons 1933 149-158, 196-203).8
Automobile and the New Objectivity
The foregoing will have made it clear that Automobile and Ehrenburg
had a rapid and triumphant reception in the Dutch literary polysystem.
Yet this status of unconventional literary phenomenon which showed
in a convincing manner what the renewal of prose that people had
theorised about for years in The Netherlands could be in practice, was
one which Ehrenburg lost just as quickly, at least in the eyes of those
who were its most important critics. Those for whom originality is a
key criterion in the evaluation of literature will have little regard for
the duplication of notable formal techniques in subsequent novels.
And that is what Ehrenburg did according to Ter Braak, Du Perron
and many others. The conveyor belt, in Automobile the very image of
mechanisation, had become the metaphor for the hasty manufacture of
identical novels.
At roughly the same moment the paradoxical situation arose
that the creative reception of Ehrenburg’s work could be deemed
successful enough for a certain number of novels to appear which
were clearly modeled formally and technically on Automobile, or
more accurately, were so according to leading critics. Ehrenburg had
founded a school. But this success of influence and succession was
derived from a writer who repeated himself. The result was therefore
the imitation of a procedure: imitation squared. To this was added the
fact that these novels came to represent a current which critics,
lamenting a lack of originality, found a further reason to react against:
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (New Objectivity). Condemnation of New
Objectivity implied a rejection of the Ehrenburg of journalistic or
industrial novels, also in those critics and essays in which his name
was not mentioned.
This reversal in the appreciation of Ehrenburg came for Ter
Braak pretty quickly after his first, and praiseworthy, discussion of
Automobile. On 31 January 1931, the month in which the discussion
218 Hans Anten
appeared in Critisch bulletin, he wrote to Du Perron that he found

Ehrenburg’s story collection 13 Pfeifen “a useful rag” (Ter Braak-Du
Perron 1965: dl 3, 43). Two months later he discussed this collection
as a “banal distraction” in Critisch bulletin and it appears that he
related Ehrenburg’s facility to the “trick” of the Automobile-formula
which he detected in many stories (Ter Braak 1931b). What that trick
actually consists of would be clarified by Ter Braak in numerous
discussions of New Objectivity.
Ehrenburg’s discomfiture would get its definitive stamp in
Critisch bulletin when the now forgotten Oscar van Hoeve came to
discuss Die heiligsten Güter and Die Traumfabrik in a review entitled
‘Ehrenburg on a conveyor belt’. Ehrenburg produces novels the way
Ford does cars and Bata shoes: fast, uniform and without soul. His
products disappoint because they are in all respects repetitions of the
excellent Automobile with which he impressed and surprised,
according to the reviewer. “A book such as Automobile you only write
once in a lifetime”, he said. “In this taut and gleaming book, modern
in form and soul, he gave everything he then had to give, everything
he was able to give. What followed was of necessity a weak
repetition. Ehrenburg should provisionally have stayed silent and
waited. He did neither the one nor the other.” It is worthy of note that
van Hoeve also thought the book about the film industry a failure
because Ehrenburg was not capable of recreating his documentation in
such a way that a novel could arise from it. In the appraisal of the
New Objective writing distinctions between journalism and novels
and the purity of the fictional genre were going to be essential criteria.
According to that latest norm Die Traumfabrik failed because it
smelled too much of newspaper. In other words, we are dealing with a
hybrid which has a lot in common with other hybrids according to van
Hoeve in that it becomes the opposite of what the experiment
intended: “the strong characteristics of the crossed genres were
weakened and the weakest strengthened; there is loss of character”. In
short Die Traumfabrik is a bastard “brought into being by the
unwanted coupling of novel and journalism” (Van Hoeve 1932: 471-
475). The role played by journalism in this valuation was going to be
supplemented by that of film in reflections on New Objectivity novels.
The critics who powerfully influenced the later perception of this
current were as a rule hostile to a symbiosis which undermined
traditional coherence and assailed the purity of the novelistic genre.
The contrast, finally, between the two discussions of
Ehrenburg led by Donker one after the other in Ter zake could not be
greater. As positively as he judged Das Leben der Autos to be, just as
negative was his view of Die Traumfabrik, because Ehrenburg’s
authorship had degenerated into “a (commercially very successful)
pamphlet industry” of craftily composed texts whose purport and
method were well-known. Moreover, its result was hard to typify with
one genre: it was neither novel nor journalism. With Die Traumfabrik,
Donker decided, even Ehrenburg became one of the numberless
falling stars of Hollywood (Donker 1932: 164-175).
Just to be clear: it is not difficult to find exceptions to the

developments in the reception of Ehrenburg sketched above. Thus R.
Events in his culturally pessimistic account ‘De naderende
catastrophe’ (The approaching catastrophe), held that Die heiligsten
Güter was even more gripping than “the already excellent” Das Leben
der Autos (Events 1931). The negative perception, however, received
an additional push because the Ehrenburg of the ‘industrial novels’
was put forward along a broad front as reference point in the
repertoire of critics in their appraisal of New Objectivity novels,
appraisals which mostly entailed a rejection. The fact that this new
prose was seldom well-received even in critical reviews and essays
which did not mention his name, only strengthened this perception.
Also for this part of the reception history, which in the meantime has
become the best-known, I will isolate a few representative moments.
Marsman’s essay ‘De aesthetiek der reporters’ of 1932 counts
as one of the most well-known documents in the history of New
Objectivity’s reception. Published in the leading journal Forum his
essay rejects the poetic principles forming the basis of novels like
those of Ehrenburg, whose name, incidentally, is not mentioned, when
elevated to a standard for literature. The program of Neue Sachlichkeit
is a model for the depiction of the journalist, not the imagination of
the artist (Marsman 1932). Less well-known is the fact that Marsman
had already clearly formulated the essence of the programmatic ‘De
aesthetiek der reporters’ four months earlier, in 1931, in a general
cultural journal De Gids. Hidden in a book review under the rubric
‘German Literature’ Marsman flagged up a tendency in modern novel
writing to which he attached great danger. This was the longing to
represent “overwhelming facts”. “Alongside the art of film and
journalism, and under their influence, modern novels (especially
220 Hans Anten
Russian, American and German ones) satisfy this longing; for the sake
of variety there is doubtless a good argument for it.” It is not,
however, an improvement for the novel when this tendency becomes
the norm. The novel would then degenerate under the influence of
journalism and cinema to a “piling up of facts without imagination”.
This kind of Neue Sachlichkeit, the businesslike rendering of detail,
of facts from visible reality, is to him nothing more than a new kind of
naturalism. “I personally do not weaken in my resolve to maintain the
distinction between presenting and representing, between journalism
and art” (Marsman 1931: 422). 9 It was this binary opposition that
formed, together with the difference between original and copy
invoked mostly by Ter Braak, the basis of the poetics with which New
Objective prose was evaluated by precisely those critics who, then as
after, played a preponderant role in its perception. As said before, the
now devalued status of Ehrenburg became a reference point in these
reflections.
Among the best-known novels typified in contemporary
essays and reviews as ‘New Objective’ are 8.100.000 m3 zand (1932)
and Gelakte hersens (1934) by M. Revis, Harten en brood (1933) by
Albert Kuyle, Stad (1932) by Ben Stroman, Sjanghai (1933) by W.A.
Wagener, Partij remise (1933) and Zuiderzee (1934) by Jef Last. In
the majority of reviews of these novels Ehrenburg features
prominently. The reviews which were most influential in shaping its
perception were those of Ter Braak in the liberal daily Het Vaderland,
and which were taken up in his Verzameld werk (1949-1951),
republished in 1980. Fashion, cliché, process, formula, method,
recipe, trick: these are the key words with which highbrow critic Ter
Braak dismissed the novels of New Objectivity as fashionable, made-
to-order pieces for the wider public, as second-rate work imitating an
existing model.
One exemplary instance of Ter Braak’s reviews discusses
Harten en brood and Partij remise under the meaningful heading
‘Ehrenburg founds a school’. The subtitle, left out of the Collected
Works, is: “Film, journalism, literature: social novels by a Catholic
and a Marxist”. In the opening paragraph Ter Braak points with ironic
hyperbole to the non-negligible role played by Ehrenburg in Dutch
literature in 1934:
To the literary historians of the year 2000 – and earlier ones in truth –
who will apply themselves to finding out which figures dominated
Dutch literature in 1933, one name will leap out with the boldness of
an advertisement: Ehrenburg. If those historians also have a keen nose
they will be able to distinguish two periods in it: the period before and
the period after Het leven der Auto’s, the book with which Ehrenburg
really started making a name in our regions.
[Voor de litteratuur-historici van het jaar 2000 – en trouwens reeds

daarvoor – die er zich toe gaan zetten om uit te maken, welke figuren
de Nederlandse letterkunde van 1933 en omgeving hebben beheerst,
zal één naam met reclameachtige duidelijkheid aanstonds naar voren
springen: Ehrenburg. Als deze litteratuurhistorici een scherpe neus
hebben, zullen zij in die letterkunde twee tijdvakken kunnen
onderscheiden: het tijdvak vóór en het tijdvak ná het verschijnen van
Het leven der Auto’s, het boek, waarmee Ehrenburg bij ons eigenlijk
pas goed carrière heeft gemaakt.]
Ter Braak then looks back to his extremely positive review of

Automobile of January 1931. He could not then have suspected that
the smell of petrol would also rise from his book about the world of
film – De droomfabriek. The stylistic formula, however, combined
with a dose of social indignation, had taken root in The Netherlands
according to Ter Braak. The reasoning probably went as follows:
If Ehrenburg can write as quickly about cars as films, why should we

not write about sand, grit, polders, Shanghai, rubber, cigars, nappy
basket factories, Zuiderzee works, etc? The patent of the sausage
machine has been issued; the number of subjects is limitless.
[Waarom kunnen wij, als Ehrenburg even snel over auto’s als over
films kan schrijven, ook niet schrijven over zand, grind, polders,
Shanghai, rubber, sigaren, luiermandfabrieken, Zuiderzeewerken enz.
enz.? Het patent van de worstmachine is gegeven; het aantal
onderwerpen is onbegrensd.]
The metaphor of the machine in this witty account speaks volumes. It

brings out Ter Braak’s view of the novels of Ehrenburg and the Dutch
authors of New Objectivity - in short ‘Ehrenburg & Co’- as products
of a machine-produced uniformity. The stylistic processes borrowed
from film, such as the use of the present tense and the montage of
contradictions in juxtaposed or mixed-up scenes, meant for Ter Braak
that literature was being sacrificed to film. The result is a “caricature
of a synthesis”. Ter Braak realised that he was far removed from what
readers wanted with such a point of view. Those readers constitute the
already-mentioned “big city audience, which clamours for film rather
than difficult thought processes, for montage instead of psychology”.
222 Hans Anten
In applying the Ehrenburg formula Kuyle and Last could fulfill the
expectations of their readers. Looking at Harten en brood Ter Braak
thought the purity of the genre and the coherence of literature were
spoiled by cinematic tricks, whereas Partij remise was let down by the
calibre of the documentation. Here too, then, according to Ter Braak,
a failed symbiosis: second-rate as novel, as reportage spoiled by the
fictional element. Kuyle and Last are “fiction-journalists, who have
missed the film” (Ter Braak 1949a: dl 5, 138-144).
It was particularly the circle around the leading journal Forum
which deployed Ehrenburg to lend weight to their condemnation of
New Objectivity. It is remarkable that a different voice was also heard
from this quarter, that of Victor van Vriesland, an editor of Forum and
literary editor of the liberal daily Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant. The
well-known opening of his review of Tazelaar’s book Het proza der
nieuwe-zakelijkheid in 1935 is certainly not meant to be taken
ironically: “New Objectivity is such an important phenomenon in
modern literature that one cannot hope to gain an insight into it
without examining it thoroughly” (Van Vriesland 1958a: dl 2, 111). It
is not excluded that the certainty with which this proposition is
advanced was dictated by strategic-literary concerns in order to
accentuate the difference between himself and Ter Braak (Beekman
en Grüttemeier 2009). In any case Van Vriesland’s reviews show him
to be a staunch defender of New Objectivity because the
“indispensable contact between literature and society” receives its
form in precisely that current (Van Vriesland 1958b: dl 1, 425). An
interest in society and affinity with contemporary reality were
essential criteria in Van Vriesland’s discussions of the prose of his
day. A second esssential factor in his ideas about prose was the
conviction that the novelist, as opposed to the journalist, has the “duty
of ‘fiction’, of composing, reworking and poeticising his facts”, a duty
which guarantees the unity that a literary work of art was to him (Van
Vriesland 1958c: dl 1, 446).
In 1934, six days after the above-mentioned review of Ter
Braak, Van Vriesland reviewed Gelakte hersens. Ford’s leven.
Ford’s auto’s by M. Revis, the only writer to stay true to the
principles of New Objectivity in his novels (cf. Anten 1990a, 1990b).
“Our little Ehrenburg”, was Du Perron’s characterisation of him (Du
Perron 1958: 654). Van Vriesland too invoked Ehrenburg in his
appraisal of Gelakte hersens, but only in order to tip the balance in
favour of Revis. With respect to Revis’ debut, 8.100.000 m3 zand, Van
Vriesland had to admit that Ehrenburg’s influence was too visibly
present. This observation did not, however, lead to a condemnation of
imitation; instead he summarised the Dutch qualities of the novel: the
history of a Dutch sand exploitation company was treated by Revis
“with all those qualities that best typify Dutch character: sobriety,
matter-of-factness, simplicity, perceptiveness, sense of reality. In the
style of our time.” In that style Revis has wrought in Gelakte hersens
“from disparate, flashy fragments a remarkable and comprehensive
whole”. The comparison with Automobile imposes itself but the all-
too explicit tendency of the ‘industrial novel’ is absent in Gelakte
hersens: “Revis, without drawing any conclusions and solely by
means of the gathering of his material as guided by reality, stands in
this book as far from Ehrenburg as a work of art from a treatise”. Van
Vriesland was not without serious reservations in all his reviews and
in this respect he shared the communis opinio on the literary aspects of
New Objectivity: the procedures of cinema “are in many areas
adopted in such a wholesale and unthinking manner that we are left
with, literally, just a scenario” (Van Vriesland 1958d: dl 1, 430-435).10
Conclusion
New Objectivity made a relatively brief appearance in Dutch

literature. Many critics saw these New Objectivity novels as fashion
fads, yet the concomitant favour with a large public never
materialised. These novels were no bestsellers. Among the titles
mentioned in this contribution only the novel Zuiderzee got some
reprints. Various reasons have been adduced to explain the
marginalisation, indeed, disappearance of this current (cf. Anten
1982: 122-129; Van den Toorn 1987: 40-54; Goedegebuure 1992:
102-105). The hostility of critics whose voice was just at that time, the
first half of the 1930s, becoming authoritative (Ter Braak, Du Perron,
Marsman, Nijhoff, Vestdijk) will certainly have contributed to this.
With it, Ehrenburg’s role with Automobile as catalyst in a national
literary discussion was at an end. The debate was finished. The case
was settled. This line drawn under New Objectivity did not mean,
however, that Ehrenburg’s name no longer appeared in print during
the inter-war years. Of the many books he still published some were
reviewed in Dutch periodicals, such as Spanien Heute (1932), his
journalistic accounts of Spain which were not translated into Dutch
224 Hans Anten
(Helman 1932) and Vu par un écrivain d’U.R.S.S. (1934), a

monograph on contemporary French literature, which likewise
remained untranslated (Ter Braak 1949b: dl 5, 241-247).11
That in the meantime Ehrenburg’s international reputation had
become considerable, can be gleaned from documents such as
advertisements and publicity statements. Thus, publishers Meulenhoff
could praise in an advert of November 1930 the novel De liefde van
Jeanne Ney translated from the Russian by means of a quote from the
New York Herald in which it was named “best book of the year” (De
Groene Amsterdammer 29-11-1930). In 1933 the same newspaper
carried publicity for a show in bookshop ‘Bibliophile’ in Amsterdam
where one could see original correspondence of authors such as G. B.
Shaw, Albert Einstein, Heinrich Mann and Ilja Ehrenburg (21-10-
1933). The last two names also appeared in an advertisement of 1934
for a weekly for exiles published in Paris, Das neue Tage-Buch,
alongside fellow writers such as André Maurois, Emil Ludwig,
Bertrand Russell and Arnold Zweig (De Groene Amsterdammer 7-4-
1934).
After the Second World War, Ehrenburg’s name pops up now
and again in dailies or weeklies as a prominent representative of the
Soviet Union at anti-fascist rallies and so-called peace conferences.
There is one periodical, however, which was to follow the writer up to
his death in 1967, namely the communist daily De Waarheid (The
Truth). This also contains one of the few post-war references to
Automobile, a book which was well-nigh forgotten twenty-five years
after its stellar appearance in Dutch literature. In 1955 a large portion
of the chapter ‘What is the belt without end?’ is quoted in a wry
commentary of a festive event: car number 10,000 leaves the
Amsterdam Ford Factory. The writer notes that nothing much has
changed in Ford factories since Ehrenburg’s novel. “At most the speed
of the conveyor belt has increased somewhat” (Anonymous 1955).
Notes
1
In 1927, Arthur Lehning’s i 10, a multi-lingual Dutch avant-garde journal
published a translation from the Russian of Ehrenburgs essay ‘Opmerkingen over de
cinema’ (‘Remarks on the cinema’) (Ehrenburg 1927).
2
The Dutch translation, De liefde van Jeanne Ney, (The Love of Jeanne Ney) was
published in 1930 by Meulenhoff.
3
Already in 1914 an as yet unknown Ehrenburg had visited the Netherlands (See
Knap 2007: 44-49).
4
In 1929, a film had come out about the British politician and author Benjamin
Disraëli (1804-1881).
5
The correspondence between Ter Braak and Ritter was consulted via the website
www.mennoterbraak.nl. Ter Braaks article ‘De objectieve kritiek’ of 1934 deals with
Ritter’s critical attitude. In: Verzameld werk, deel 4. Amsterdam 1951, p. 294-303. In
the place of Das Leben der Autos Ter Braak’s radio slot discussed, and demolished,
the novel De domineesvrouw van Blankenheim by Alie van Wijhe-Smeding.
6
Fritz Lang’s famous film Metropolis (1927) is based on the eponymous novel of
1925 by his wife Thea von Harbau.
7
Henriëtte Roland Holst wrote a commendatory preface for Hoyacks book: De
toekomst der machine (Deventer 1932).
8
Interest in Ehrenburg was also evident beyond journals. On 11 January 1933 the
Hague newspaper Het Vaderland announced that Mrs A. van Wageningen-Salomons
was starting a cycle of five lecture evenings in the building of the Volksuniversiteit.
The series was opened with a discussion of Automobile. On the third night Future by
the French writer Georges Duhamel was on the programme. Duhamel was one of the
most well-known and fiercest opponents of modern mechanisation.
9
In 1936 Marsman did mention Ehrenburg’s name when discussing Vrouwenspiegel,
the thesis of Annie Romein-Verschoor, in De Groene Amsterdammer. The opinion
she aired there, that the ‘social novels’ of Dos Passos and Ehrenburg are first class
literature because they give voice to current social problems, was heckled by
Marsman. Even when its gaze is averted from social events, great literature can come
into being he thought. Marsman takes as examples the novels of Larbaud, Fournier,
Kafka and Emily Brontë: “they surpass all that has been written by Dos Passos,
Sjolochow, Ehrenburg and Döblin” (Marsman 1936).
10
The review of Gelakte Hersens was published in the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche
Courant (31 March 1934). For Onderzoek en vertoog (1958), from which we quote
here, Van Vriesland made certain changes which acccentuate his opposition to Ter
Braak.
11
Duhamel, Gide, Malraux, Mauriac, Morand, Romains, Unamuno vu par un
écrivain d’U.S.S.R. was reviewed by Ter Braak on 15 July 1934 in Het Vaderland.
226 Hans Anten
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The Function of Ilja Ehrenburg Concerning the
Dutch Prose of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
Ralf Grüttemeier
Abstract: In Dutch literary historiography on the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid - the Dutch

version of Neue Sachlichkeit – a very influential role is ascribed to Ilja Ehrenburg and
the German translation of his 1929 novel Das Leben der Autos (1930), translated into
Dutch in 1931. A closer look reveals that what seems to be a literary fact is identical
with the judgment of a contemporary critic of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid: Menno ter
Braak (cf. Grüttemeier 1995), an outspoken opponent of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid.
This raises the following question: do Dutch literary histories present as fact what is
the view of one side on the battleground of poetics, or does this image (of Dutch
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid following Ehrenburg) have enough substantial descriptive and
analytical value to deserve a place in the Dutch literary historiography of the inter-
bellum period? I will try to answer these questions with the methodological
assumption that a poetics can be analyzed more adequately when its strategic role
within the institutional context is taken into account (cf. Van Rees/Dorleijn 1993; Van
Rees 1994). My analysis will be structured as follows: after having reconstructed the
dominant image in Dutch literary historiography on Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (1.), I will
compare this image with the self-presentation of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid-authors
regarding Ehrenburg (2.) and the role of Ehrenburg in German and Russian literary
histories regarding Neue Sachlichkeit (3.). In a final step, I will take a closer look at
the functions that the Ehrenburg-mention had for Ter Braak and other critics (4.).
1. Ehrenburg and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in Dutch literary

historiography
After several decennia in which literary historiography in the
Netherlands had not been written in handbooks, in 1990 Ton Anbeek
published a widely recognized history of Dutch literature 1885-1985.
The image of the prose of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was presented on
less than one page. In several regards Anbeek was very outspoken:
230 Ralf Grüttemeier
The idol was Ehrenburgs The life of the automobile (1929); in the
Netherlands Stroman (Stad), Wagener (Sjanghai), Revis (Gelakte
hersens) and Jef Last (Zuiderzee) were his followers. >…@ Ter Braak
disliked this trendy modern way strongly: “For the literary historians
of the year 2000 – and actually also for earlier ones – who will try to
determine which authors dominated Dutch literature around 1933,
one name will pop up with the visibility of a billboard: Ilja
Ehrenburg”.
>Hét grote voorbeeld was Ehrenburgs 10 PK: het leven der auto’s
(1929); in Nederland volgden Stroman (Stad), Wagener (Sjanghai),
Revis (Gelakte hersens) en Jef Last (Zuiderzee) hem na. >…@ Van
dit moderne maniertje nu moest Ter Braak niets hebben: “Voor de
litteratuur-historici van het jaar 2000 – en trouwens reeds daarvoor –
die er zich toe gaan zetten om uit te maken, welke figuren de
Nederlandse letterkunde van 1933 en omgeving hebben beheerst, zal
één naam met reclameachtige duidelijkheid naar voren springen: Ilja
Ehrenburg” (Anbeek 1990: 160).@
Anbeek’s view can be regarded as typical for recent Dutch literary

historiography concerning the portrait of the authors Stroman,
Wagener, Revis and Last as epigones of Ehrenburg. Furthermore it is
typical for much research on Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in legitimizing its
view with a quote of Ter Braak. (cf. Beekman 2004: 43v.) In both
aspects Anbeek clearly relied on the first study after the war that had
paid substantial attention to Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in Dutch literature,
Hans Antens Van realisme naar zakelijkheid from 1982. Anten (1982:
90) called Ehrenburg’s Das Leben der Autos “the book that probably
has been the most influential for the birth and the development of the
Dutch prose of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid”, and immediately quotes Ter
Braak:
The beginning of Ter Braaks essay ”Ehrenburg kicks off a trend”

>Ehrenburg maakt school@ indicates what significance is attributed to
this book: “For the literary historians of the year 2000 – and actually
also for earlier ones – who will try to determine which authors
dominated Dutch literature around 1933, one name will pop up with
the visibility of a billboard: Ilja Ehrenburg. If those literary
historians will have a good nose, they will distinguish in this
literature two periods: the period before and the period after the
publication of Het leven der auto’s, the book with which Ehrenburg
actually started his career in our literature”.
>De inzet van Ter Braaks opstel Ehrenburg maakt school geeft aan
welke waarde aan dit boek wordt toegekend: “Voor de literatuur-
The Function of Ilja Ehrenburg 231
historici van het jaar 2000 – en trouwens reeds daarvoor – die er
zich toe gaan zetten om uit te maken, welke figuren de Nederlandse
letterkunde van 1933 en omgeving hebben beheerst, zal één naam
met reclameachtige duidelijkheid naar voren springen: Ilja
Ehrenburg. Als deze litteratuur-historici een scherpe neus hebben,
zullen zij in die letterkunde twee tijdvakken kunnen onderscheiden:
het tijdvak vóór en het tijdvak ná het verschijnen van Het leven der
auto’s, het boek waarmee Ehrenburg bij ons eigenlijk pas goed
carrière heeft gemaakt.” (Anten 1982: 90)@
This is obviously the blueprint of the image that has made its way into
the handbooks of literary history, starting with Anbeek’s. An extra
stimulus for that career may have been not only Ter Braak’s explicit
prediction addressing future literary historians, but also Anten’s
presentation of Ter Braak’s quote as a contemporary description of a
literary fact (“probably has been the most influential”, “indicates what
significance is attributed”). Similar views can be discovered in
Goedegebuures (1992: 26, 103, 104) monograph of the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid and of course in Anten’s contribution to the Dutch
version of Hollier’s A new history of French literature which
appeared in 1993 under the title Nederlandse literatuur, een
geschiedenis, and in which Anten wrote the contribution that touched
upon Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (cf. Anten 1993: 670), as well as in Anten
contribution elsewhere in this volume. The picture seems to be rather
homogeneous. But how reliable is it?
2. The self-presentation of Stroman, Wagener, Revis

and Last
For a start, I will take a closer look at the representatives of the
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid mentioned above by Anbeek – i.e. Ben Stroman,
W.A. Wagener, M. Revis and Jef Last – and at what they said about
their ‘idols’ when writing their books under discussion. My point of
departure is not that they should be regarded as judges on whether
Ehrenburg did play an eminent role or not, but only as a possible
source for increasing or reducing the plausibility of the argument,
either way.
As far as Stroman is concerned, his earliest statement on his
own novel Stad (1932) dates from November 1937. At least, if one
does not count the motto Stroman gave to his novel: “This is not a
marriage-story. Joseph Conrad” - not a name that is usually found at

the front of prose renewal in the 1930s. In 1937 then, Stroman is more
explicit with regards to his novel in a newspaper report covering an
evening in the municipal library of Rotterdam. On that evening
Stroman read from his novel Stad and introduced it by saying that
after the first reviews in 1932, he got the impression he had made a
movie and not a book: “Now that the temporal distance allows me to
criticize my own work, I partly can agree with that criticism.
Nevertheless, the book is much less a movie than has been written. I
look at it as an album of photos, a literary photo-montage”
(Anonymus 1937). The name of Ehrenburg is not mentioned, nor that
of any other literary author, neither in this passage nor somewhere
else in the report. If we can believe his friend J. Herman Besselaar (cf.
1986: 201) in his in memoriam on Stroman, it was Franz Kafka whom
Stroman adored during this period (whereas Besselaar himself favored
John Dos Passos). What Stroman himself however does stress in 1937
is the visual dimension of the novel – and that dimension also got
most attention in his memoirs from 1981. Stroman highlights that he
had experimented with typography in his novel, working together with
the renowned designer Paul Schuitema in order to create a unity of
form and content, of typography and text. Both had a clear point of
inspiration they tried to overcome: “Paul van Ostaijens Bezette Stad
was our startingpoint” (Stroman 1981: 129) – a 1921 volume of
Flemish expressionist poetry, experimenting with typography too.
After having described his collaboration with Schuitema for about a
whole page, Stroman concludes:
Our book has not succeeded where Van Ostaijens Bezette Stad
already failed. However, it has become a unity in so far as it is
incomplete when Paul’s photo-montage that serves as cover is
lacking. It is an object, a totality. For me, it is more than fifty years
later not much more than an album with yellowish postcards, with
pictures of a city that are sometimes surprising. Very vaguely I
recognize influences by John Dos Passos, Alfred Döblin, and here
and there a zip of Ehrenburg and Egon Erwin Kisch.
>Ons boek is net zo min gelukt als Van Ostaijens Bezette Stad. Wel
is het in zoverre een eenheid geworden, dat het incomplete is
wanneer Pauls fotomontage, die als omslag dient, ontbreekt. Het is
een object, een totaliteit. Voor mij is het na meer dan vijftig jaar
weinig meer dan een album met vergeelde prentbriefkaarten, soms
verrassende stadsgezichten. Heel bleekjes herken ik invloeden van
John Dos Passos, Alfred Döblin en hier en daar een scheutje
Ehrenburg en Egon Erwin Kisch (Stroman 1981: 129f.).@
Ehrenburg is mentioned here, but only in passing. Döblin and Dos

Passos are in greater focus, and all of them are of minor importance
compared with the role that is ascribed to the Flemish poet Van
Ostaijen, and Schuitema, placed in the front row.
Against the background of the image given in Dutch literary
historiography, W.A. Wagener offers a similar surprise in a speech on
August 26, 1948. On the occasion of the opening of an exhibition in
the Boymans Museum on 50 years of Rotterdam arts, Wagener
described the intellectual context in which his own novel Sjanghai
was published as largely determined by architects: “first by the school
of Oud, after that by the architects of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid”. In that
very architectural context and ‘armed with the present tense’, the
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid-novel of his city-fellow Ben Stroman was written
- something completely new for the Netherlands, according to
Wagner. The name of Ehrenburg is nowhere to be found. Concerning
his own novel Sjanghai he writes:
The next Rotterdam literary adventure was simultaneism that also

infected some Dutch novelists. The adventure started with the novel
Sjanghai >…@. Simultaneism has something in common with
counterpoint in music; when I am referring to Bach in that context,
then I’m not exaggerating in so far as the author of Sjanghai has
written his novel while listening again and again to the 2nd Suite in
B by Bach on the gramophone.
>Het volgende Rotterdamse litteraire avontuur was het

simultaneïsme, dat ook infecterend heeft gewerkt op een deel van de
Nederlandse romanciers. Het avontuur begon met de roman
“Sjanghai” >…@. Het simultaneïsme heeft iets gemeen met de
contrapuntiek in de toonkunst; als ik zeg met Bach, overdrijf ik in
zover niet, dat de auteur van “Sjanghai” onder herhaald aanhoren
van de 2de Suite in B van Bach op gramofoonplaten de roman heeft
geschreven (Wagner 1949: 155v.).@
Nearly the same reference to counterpoint and Bach can be found in

an article “Filmjournaal en literatuur” >Newsreel and literature@ (cf.
Wagener 1948: 167). Concerning film, the tendency of this article
resembles what we saw in Stroman’s comments: also Wagener plays
down the influence of the movies on his work. Again, Ehrenburg is
absent from the article. Among the writers that are mentioned, are
Döblin and Dos Passos: Wagener states that they did not use ‘the
present tense’ in their writing, like Wagener himself, Jef Last and for
example Emil Ludwig did (cf. Wagener 1948:168). But these
references are meant only as parallels. Regarding literary inspiration,
Wagener refers to the 18th century (like he did in music before): “The
vivid character of Sjanghai actually was not only the result of the
dynamics of the decennium between 1930 and 1940, but also of the
interest in the technique used by Laurence Sterne (Tristram Shandy –
1759/1762), more than of watching newsreels >…@” (Wagener 1948:
166f.).
While Wagener and Stroman are pointing in completely
different directions concerning influence, one of the things they do
share is that they are not referring to Ehrenburg. This also goes for
Last, though there is little evidence concerning his sources of
inspiration. However, what Last wrote in 1933 is a portrait of the
recent literature of the USSR, with references to the “brilliant narrator
Alexej Tolstoj” or Shologow’s “masterpiece The silent Don”, or to
“one of Russia’s best and deepest writers Boris Pasternak”. Ehrenburg
is not part of this portrait. Ehrenburg does play a role in the
introduction of this article though, where Last attacks the lack of
profound knowledge in the literary life of the Netherlands about
Russia and the world. This lack of expertise leads to looking at
literature only in terms of fashion. Comparable to “young Amsterdam
ladies” who “wear Russian boots and Russian shirts” are “young
Dutch authors and movie-makers” who “try to mask our provincial
lives in the carnival dresses of revolutionary dynamics”. For the then-
communist Last, this is nothing but intellectual escapism “into the
negativism of Ehrenburg, the sentimentality of Barbusse, the archaism
of Duhamel or the mystical acrobatics of Cocteau” (cf. Last 1933: 40).
It is not possible to reconstruct Last’s view on Ehrenburg from his
account in detail. But what seems to be clear is that this view is far
from positive, concerning Ehrenburg’s worldview (as Last sees it) as
well as concerning the imitation of formal fancy aspects, as in the case
of Ehrenburg’s work.
At first sight, the Revis-case seems to be different. A 1959
review of Spoorzoekers is introduced with biographical notes so
detailed that they at least partly should be traced back to Revis
himself. Concerning the formative years around Revis’ novel
8.100.000 m3 zand (1932) we read that his literary taste was formed
“by the great Russian writers, by Albert Helman (Zuid-Zuid-West),
Alfred Döblin (Berlin Alexanderplatz), Ilja Ehrenburg (10 p.k. Het
leven der auto’s) and by the movies that the ‘old’ Filmliga presentend
around 1932” (Anonymus 1959). So Ehrenburg is mentioned as
influential, but it is hard to tell how far this goes. When we add an
interview from 1966 – actually the only interview with Revis that I
know of -, Ehrenburg is absent from a set of mentions that for the rest
shows quite some overlap with the 1959 information:
At its time, Nieuwe Zakelijkheid was a reaction to all romanticism,

to everything that was vague. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid showed itself in
all branches of the arts: in architecture, in music, and also in film.
My first work has actually been influenced by the movies a lot.
Some parts of my first book called 8.100.000 m3 zand are nearly a
script. >…@ I find it hard to leave behind the preferences I have
developed now for already 40 years. Part of these preferences are
writers as Tolstoy, de Balzac and Joseph Conrad. And also someone
like Jules Romains. I saw the great epic novelists always as my
guides.
>Indertijd was nieuwe zakelijkheid een reactie op alle romantiek, op

alles wat zweefde. De nieuwe zakelijkheid demonstreerde zich op
alle gebieden van kunst: in het bouwen, in de muziek en ook in de
film. Mijn eerste werk is trouwens sterk door de film beïnvloed
geweest. Sommige stukken in mijn eerste boek dat 8.100.000 m3
zand heette, zijn bijna een filmmanuscript. >…@ Ik kan moeilijk van
mijn voorkeuren afstappen die ik al veertig jaar heb. Daar horen
schrijvers als Tolstoi, de Balzac en Joseph Conrad bij. En ook
iemand als Jules Romains. Ik heb de grote epische vertellers altijd
als voorbeeld gezien (Revis 1966).@
A confirmation of the role of Ehrenburg as an idol of Revis cannot be

detracted from these memories – but of course such statements more
than 30 years after the publication of Revis’s first novel are also no
proof that Ehrenburg was of minor importance for the writing of Revis
in 1932. A more plausible answer might be given when we take a look
at the reviews that Revis wrote himself in the 30s himself. His first
one ever to be published in a literary journal (De Stem) dates from
1933 and is credited to Ilja Ehrenburg’s Ons dagelijksch brood >Our
daily bread@. In that review Revis proves to be very familiar with the
work of Ehrenburg. But he also is very critical:
The deterioration that >Ehrenburg@ has been showing for two years
still is getting worse. I doubt whether this is due to the form of the
prose, the style. It is lack of imagination, darkening of visual
capacity, and growing mental mediocrity. In Ons Dagelijksch Brood
the production of grain is treated according to the method of 10 P.K.
(now nearly a routine). >…@ It is an addition of superficial
journalistic pieces from the different grain-production areas of the
world, with some would-be ironic remarks now and then.
>De inzinking, die zich sedert twee jaar openbaarde, wordt nog
steeds dieper. Of dat met den vorm van het proza, de schrijfwijze in
verband staat, mag met reden betwijfeld worden. Het is gebrek aan
verbeeldingskracht, verduistering van visueel vermogen, een
geestelijke vervlakking. In Ons Dagelijksch Brood wordt de
productie van graan behandeld volgens de (thans welhaast
beproefde) methode van 10 P.K. >…@. Het is een aaneenschakeling
van oppervlakkige, journalistieke schetsen uit verschillende
landbouwstreken der wereld, gelardeerd met would-be ironische
opmerkingen (Revis 1933: 932).@
Two years later – in a 1935 review on De Tweede Scheppingsdag

>The Second Day of Creation@ by Ehrenburg – Revis is somewhat
more positive. For example, Revis refers to the “technically excellent
but in its content hollow Das Leben der Autos” (1935: 832). No doubt,
Revis took good note of everything that Ehrenburg wrote in the first
half of the 1930s, but he is very outspoken in his profound criticism,
too. To say the least: considering his reviews there is no argument to
be found that around 1932 he saw Ehrenburg’s books as the blueprint
to follow in his own work.
Overlooking the evidence presented here, it goes without
saying that Ehrenburg was part of the literary world in which Last,
Revis, Stroman and Wagener wrote their books. However, none of
these authors presents Ehrenburg as an idol or a blueprint for their
own work – and this seems not due to the fact that the corpus of
external explicit poetics that these authors left is small and the
evidence with regards to the writings of Ehrenburg is fragmentary.
What is presented as most influential beacons is rather heterogeneous,
reaching from Bach via Laurence Sterne and Paul van Ostaijen to
movies. Still, three generalizations can possibly be detracted from the
self-presentations above: first, the dynamics of different contemporary
forms of art (architecture, movies, modern typography, modern novels
as for example Berlin Alexanderplatz); second, great epic writers
(Tolstoy, Conrad, Pasternak and others); and third, nearly all of the
mentions are international. Of course the self-presentation of authors
must be taken with a grain of salt: authors can lie about their own
work, they can tell only part of the truth, or they may know less than a
professional reader (cf. Grüttemeier 2011: 96-100 et passim).
Nevertheless, that all four of the authors under discussion here –
authors who never formed a group with joined strategies – share in
their self-presentations a perception that Ehrenburg plays no or only a
minor role in their self-presentation, raises doubts concerning the
descriptive value of the picture given in Dutch literary histories.
“Followers” of Ehrenburg would probably have sounded different,
and it is unlikely that “the most influential >book@ for the birth and the
development of the Dutch prose of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” will not
be mentioned by the relevant authors, whether deliberately or
unintentionally.
3. Ehrenburg and Neue Sachlichkeit in German and

Russian literary histories
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is a literal translation from the German Neue
Sachlichkeit, a term that was coined by the museum director G.F.
Hartlaub in 1923 and used in public in 1925 for an exhibition of
paintings in Mannheim under that very name. In the Netherlands,
parts of that exhibition were shown in 1929 in Amsterdam under the
same title, and it is only from 1929 onwards that Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
is used in literary debates in the Netherlands (cf. Anten 1982: 63), and
with a delay of another two years also in Flanders (Grüttemeier 1998:
40f.). So if Nieuwe Zakelijkheid clearly is an import from Germany,
how does Ehrenburg relate to this? What role is given to Ehrenburg in
the context of the Neue Sachlichkeit, and how is Ehrenburg himself
contextualized in literary histories? Is Das Leben der Autos also seen
as a milestone for Neue Sachlichkeit-prose outside the Netherlands
and Flanders? Again: when Ehrenburg is seen as a key-figure for
Neue Sachlichkeit-prose in German and Russian literary histories, this
might increase the plausibility the Ehrenburg-mention by Ter Braak –
and negative evidence might reduce it. A tentative look at some
literary histories concerning Russian and German literature might give
an indication for our argument – no exhaustive analysis of the
Ehrenburg-research is intended here.
Starting with literary histories on German literature of the 20th
century, it turns out that the name of Ilja Ehrenburg is almost
completely absent, in one-volume-presentations as Wolfgang Beutin’s
(2008) Deutsche Literaturgeschichte as well as in the relevant parts of
series, as for example in volume 15 (Neue Sachlichkeit, Literatur im

Dritten Reich und im Exil) and 16 (Gegenwart) of Die deutsche
Literatur, edited by Otto Best and Hans-Jürgen Schmitt (1974ff.). The
exceptions that do mention Ehrenburg, only do so in passing, for
example as part of an enumeration of authors that were burnt by the
Nazis in 1933 (cf. Kaufmann 1973: 411); regarding Wilfrid Bade’s
Das Auto erobert die Welt (1938) as a Nazi-novel against Ehrenburg’s
Das Leben der Autos (cf. Schütz / Vogt 1977: 255) or, by the same
authors, Ehrenburg as one topic among many in the GDR-journal
Aufbau (cf. Schütz / Vogt 1980: 17). After 1945, Ehrenburg is
referenced several times with the title of his novel Tauwetter (1954-
56, German 1957) which is often used as a metaphor for the period of
de-stalinization in Eastern Europe (cf. Weber 1979: 218; Balzer /
Mertens 1990: 467; Barner 2006: 280). More recent monographs on
Neue Sachlichkeit do not change this picture, either. Neither in
Helmut Lethen’s (2000) dissertation Neue Sachlichkeit 1924-1932
from 1975, nor in Martin Lindner’s (1994) Leben in der Krise.
Zeitromane der neuen Sachlichkeit, or in Ulrike Becker’s (2000)
habilitation Neue Sachlichkeit. Die Ästhetik der neusachlichen
Literatur Ehrenburg is mentioned.
There is only one exception with the Kleine Geschichte der
deutschen Literatur (431 pages) which describes the “time of the Neue
Sachlichkeit” as follows:
In order to reach documentary authenticity, writers abandoned the

principle of fiction from time to time and turned to reportage and
travel-reports. Inspiration was offered by (much translated) Soviet
and American literature, in first instance by authors such as Ilja
Ehrenburg and Upton Sinclair. In the style of this prose is
incorporated a type of sentence that offers compact information
>…@.
>Um der dokumentarischen Authentizität willen ließen Schriftsteller

von Zeit zu Zeit das Prinzip der Fiktionalität fallen und nahmen sich
der Reportage und der Reisebeschreibung an. Anstöße dazu gaben
die (reichlich übersetzte) sowjetische und amerikanische Literatur,
in erster Linie Autoren wie Ilja Ehrenburg und Upton Sinclair. In
den Stil dieser Prosa eingebaut ist ein Satztyp nach dem Muster der
gedrängten Information >…@ (Zmegac / Zdenko / Sekulic 1993:
281).@
It is hard to decide whether the South-East-European point of view

(the book was translated from the Croatian) is an explanation for the
explicit role the book gives to Ehrenburg. The most likely explanation
for this exceptional view can probably be found in Georg Lukács’
general critique on the documentary prose of the Neue Sachlichkeit
that he launched in a review on Ernst Ottwalts Denn sie wissen was
sie tun. Ein deutscher Justizroman in Die Linkskurve (Lukács 1932).
For Lukács, Ottwalt is typical for the documentary novel
(“Reportageroman”): “This kind of literature is nowadays
internationally widespread: from Upton Sinclair and Tretjakow to Ilja
Ehrenburg the most different writers work with this method” (Lukács
1932: 23). According to Lukács, what is lacking in the documentary
novel is what he calls the “Gestaltung des Gesamtprozesses” >artistic
transformation of the reality@, the conditio sine qua non of the novel
(cf. Lukács 1932:29f.). It is probably this view that is at the bottom of
the quote from the Croatian literary history – without taking over
Lukács’ value judgment, by the way. Be that as it may, one can
conclude that in German literary history on Neue Sachlichkeit
Ehrenburg plays nearly no role at all – and most definitely not the
central one that is given to him in Dutch literary history regarding
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Even in the only Ehrenburg-mention regarding
Neue Sachlichkeit, he is only one among many – and when the
probable source for this connection (Lukàcs) is taken into account,
Ehrenburg’s role gets even more peripheral. How does this relate to
the image of Ehrenburg in Russian literary history?
The first thing that strikes the reader is the heterogeneity of
labels that is connected to Ehrenburg. In the early 20s he, together
with El Lissitzky, co-edited the journal Veshch – Gegenstand – Objet
(1923) and is therefore presented as part of the constructivist avant-
garde (cf. Kasper 1993: 294f.; Lauer 2000: 533f.). However, around
the same time his picaresque novel Julio Jurenito (1922) is classified
with the term “fabularity” and seen as the starting point for a
development towards “traditional narrative devices” in the next years
(cf. Lauer 2000: 540), resulting in his “production-novel” Der zweite
Tag (1932/33), itself part of socialist realism when it shows the
enthusiasm of the masses implementing the 5-year-plan (cf. Städtke
2002: 318). This heterogeneity within 10 years is seen by some as
“experimenting in a short time span with the most different novelist
styles” (cf. Mirskij 1964:477), but mostly this versatility is presented
with a negative tone. Emmanuel Waegemans (1998: 304) writes:
“>…@ Ehrenburg >…@ adapted to the needs and the fashion of the
moment.” And according to Gerhard Lauer (2000: 540) “Ehrenburg
adapted himself rapidly, as we will see later on again and again, to

semi-official trends”. In spite of this versatility, no reference to Neue
Sachlichkeit can be found in Russian literary histories, at least not in
those written in German.
Furthermore, Das Leben der Autos does not play a significant
role in these literary historical portraits: the most recent histories by
Lauer (2000) and Städtke (2002) do not mention the novel. When the
novel is referred to, it is presented as “criticism on the situation in the
West” (Waegemans 1998: 310). Similarly, an orthodox GDR-history
states that a number of Ehrenburg’s novels between 1922 and 1931,
including Das Leben der Autos, criticize in a “narratologically
fascinating way the aberrations, the hypocrisy, the profit-orientation,
the moral decay of Western-European capitalism” (Jünger 1970: 58).
So, Das Leben der Autos can be seen as part of what the Ehrenburg-
research presents as his “‘conversion’ from the critical, skeptical, even
nihilistic outlook of the 1920’s to the orthodox, ideologically
committed position of an écrivain engagé” (Laychuk 1991: 141) – a
“conversion” that is reconstructed in detail by Holger Siegel (1979).
In that view, Das Leben der Autos does not get a prominent place,
neither concerning its form nor its content – if it does get a place at
all. With this literary historical reconstruction, recent Ehrenburg-
criticism is in tune with the verdict that Georg Lukács gave in 1930
concerning Das Leben der Autos. For him, the novel was still stuck in
the isolation of the artistic intellectual: Das Leben der Autos “draws
an image of rationalized capitalism, as Julio Jurenito drew one of the
pre-war- and war-capitalism, and Michael Lykow one of the NEP-
period” (Lukács 1930).
The discrepancy between the lighthouse-function that Dutch
literary history gives to Das Leben der Autos and the marginal role
that the novel seems to play in German and Russian literary history, is
striking. Outside the Netherlands, the novel is never seen as
exceptional or as a benchmark, neither in its formal aspects nor in its
message. Ehrenburg is presented as somebody who is quick in picking
up trends, but not as the one to initiate them – and definitely not as
playing any role worth mentioning concerning the novels of the Neue
Sachlichkeit. Again, such a contrast does not proof Dutch literary
history to be wrong – but if Ehrenburg is regarded elsewhere as only
one of very many, and Das Leben der Autos as more-of-the-same
within Ehrenburg’s work, it is unlikely – especially after having taken
the self-presentation of Last, Revis, Stroman and Wagener into
account – that the Dutch authors should have been followers of
Ehrenburg and his novel Das Leben der Autos. The descriptive value
of that view with regards to literary history turns out to be
problematic. If we assume for a second that the hypothesis of Last,
Revis, Stroman and Wagener NOT following Ehrenburg is right, it
would leave us with the question: why did Ter Braak present it the
other way round? Or, differently put: what was the function of his
Ehrenburg-mention regarding the prose of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid?
4. The functions of the Ehrenburg-mention for Ter

Braak
If we look back at the quote by Ter Braak given in the introduction, its
presentation by Anbeek and Anten suggests a historiographic
intention on the side of Ter Braak himself: “The beginning of Ter
Braaks essay ‘Ehrenburg kicks off a trend’ >Ehrenburg maakt school@
indicates what significance is attributed to this book” (Anten
1982: 90). This impression could also rely on Ter Braak mentioning
himself the fictional literary historian from the year 2000 coming to
the same result as Ter Braak. However, the rest of Ter Braak’s article
leaves no doubt that his Ehrenburg-mention is not so much about
diagnosing an attribution of significance but about polemics.
Polemics
The first target was Ilja Ehrenburg: Ter Braak admits in the
introduction of his much quoted review that he has been charmed by
Das Leben der Autos – which can be confirmed by the fact that he had
(unsuccessfully) tried to use the book in the summer of 1930 for his
first review on the AVRO-radio (cf. Van Herpen 1999). In his review
for Critisch Bulletin from January 1931 Ter Braak had called the book
“the pamphlet of a genius”. But after Ter Braak had read Ehrenburg’s
Traumfabrik (1931), he found the novel on the Hollywood film-
industry resemble Das Leben der Autos so much “that one had to
conclude: this is a patent-machine that grinds Citroën and Paramount
with the same ease into literature” (cf. Ter Braak 1949: 139). For Ter
Braak, Ehrenburg had found a stylistic formula (“stijlformule”) that
he kept on reusing. This not only discredited Ehrenburg as a serious
writer in the eyes of Ter Braak, but also cooled down in retrospect Ter
Braak’s enthousiasm for Das Leben der Autos (cf. 1949: 138).
However, Ter Braak’s polemics were mainly directed against

the Dutch writers that were accused of simply jumping on the
Ehrenburg-train. For Ter Braak, following Ehrenburg as a model
meant to simply use the “patent of the sausage-machine” >patent van
de worstmachine@ (Ter Braak 1949: 139): one can put any modern
subject into that machine, as we heard already with regard to
Ehrenburg himself, and out comes always the same kind of text. For
Ter Braak, these books were nothing but commercial mass-production
that he disqualified with phrases such as the “stylistic model of
Ehrenburg & Co.” (ibid.). Ter Braak kept on using variations of this
polemic slogan over the next years, for instance when he referred to
the “Ehrenburg-method” (1949: 264), “the Dutch branch of the
company Ehrenburg & Co” (1949: 417), “Ehrenburg plc” >Ehrenburg
N.V.@ (1949:447) or still in August 1936 when he spoke of the
“stylistic model of the company Ilja Ehrenburg” >stijlprocédé fa. Ilja
Ehrenburg@ (1950: 180). His polemics had many Dutch targets.
In his first article exploiting the mechanistic-economical
rhetoric with regards to Ehrenburg, Ter Braak reviewed Albert
Kuyle’s Harten en Brood and Jef Last’s Partij Remise. He also
mentions the name of W.A. Wagener (who had been called an
“epigone” of Ehrenburg by Ter Braak (1949: 82) before) and
implicitly M. Revis, by talking about ‘sand’ as one of the topics to
insert into the Ehrenburg-sausage machine (a clear allusion to Revis’s
first novel with the title 8.100.000 m3 zand >8.100.000 m3 sand@; cf.
Ter Braak 1949: 139). Only 6 weeks later Revis is explicitly and
ironically welcomed as “another branch of the family Ehrenburg” with
his novel Gelakte hersens >Varnished brains@ (cf. Ter Braak 1949:
181ff.). Also Maurits Dekker is made part of the company: in a review
from August 5, 1934 on De Menschen meenen het goed met de
Menschen Ter Braak (1949: 264) sees clear evidence of “the
Ehrenburg-method”. Even two years later, in April 1936, Ter Braak
(1950: 124) discusses H.M. van Randwijk’s Burgers in Nood as an
“annoying fragmented composition that more or less seems inherited
from the simultaneous novels à la Ehrenburg”. For Ter Braak, all
these Dutch authors are nothing but “numerous and over-faithful
epigones” (Ter Braak 1949: 242) – by the way: Ben Stroman is never
mentioned by him in connection with Ehrenburg, as far as I know.
Taking both aspects of Ter Braak’s polemics together, one could even
speak of the Dutch authors as epigones of a self-epigone, as shadows
of a shadow. Given the persistence with which Ter Braak used his
Ehrenburg-mention for more than two years (1934-1936), and given
the presence of Ter Braak’s phrases in recent literary histories (see the
introduction above), one must admit that Ter Braak has launched a
well-phrased, well-arranged and for quite some decennia successful
polemical attack against the group of authors generally regarded as
belonging to Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Its success may generally be seen
as an indication that the reproach of epigonism was a strong argument
in the 30s in the Netherlands and later on. It seems that in a recently
established literary field those polemics are powerful that play out the
artistic and/or ethical autonomy of an individual literary author against
the heterogeneity of market pressure (commerce, fashion, imitation)
(cf. Dorleijn / Grüttemeier / Korthals Altes 2007: XVff.). Apart from
that, the obvious polemic function of the Ehrenburg-mention further
increases the doubts about the descriptive value of Ter Braak’s
verdict.
International connoisseurship
A look at the context shows that the imitation-reproach is used by Ter
Braak not only regarding Ehrenburg, but quite often also in other
constellations. Ter Braak discovers for example in Anthonie Donker’s
Schaduw der Bergen Lion Feuchtwanger: “the influence of this
German is not to be overlooked” (Ter Braak 1949: 506); and
Feuchtwanger himself as well as Jakob Wassermann in turn are
regarded as “followers” of Dostoyevsky. Because they did not really
understand their idol, their work “inevitably had to result in an
imitation of his >i.e. Dostoyevsky’s, R.G.@ formal aspects” (Ter Braak
1949: 235). One could add several other examples (cf. Den Boef
1991: 14ff.), but the tendency is always the same: epigonism is used
as a strong argument against literature that cannot find the
appreciation of Ter Braak. No doubt, this argument can be seen in
tune with what is generally regarded at the core of Ter Braak’s
poetics: his personalism, demanding that literature will give us the
individual voice of the independent and individual mind of the author,
of a ‘guy’ >“vent”@ (cf. Oversteegen 1978: 411ff.; Schmitz 1979:
75ff.). Furthermore Ter Braak’s argument shows a structure in which
the followers are mostly Dutch, and the imitated writer is always non-
Dutch. This structure places the critic into a position in which his
expertise allows him to judge Dutch literary phenomena and to
simultaneously demonstrate that he possesses knowledge about
international literature. This special knowledge allows the critic to see
patterns where others, less experienced and erudite, only see singular
novels. In other words: the argument of unraveling a national epigone
following international examples also seems to be a strategy that is
aiming at increasing the status of the critic Ter Braak who sets himself
apart from other critics.
The institutional context of literary criticism in dailies of the
1920s and 30s has indeed been described by Nel van Dijk as one in
which an enormous increase in the number of newspapers sold,
together with an increase in art-criticism, led to a professionalization
of criticism. The fact that the signature under a review became a
standard is symbolic for the growing importance of the person of the
reviewer, whose aim was to improve his reputation (and that of his
paper) with his reviews (cf. van Dijk 2006: 135 et passim). Together
with J.W.F. Werumeus Buning from De Telegraaf and Victor E. van
Vriesland from Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, Ter Braak belonged
to the three best-paid literary newspaper journalists since he started in
this function at Het Vaderland in November 1933 (cf. van Dijk 2006:
137). Within this institutional context it would seem plausible for top-
critics to show their professional expertise by demonstrating
international literary knowledge. Actually, we have already seen the
same attitude in Jef Last’s article on Russian literature mentioned
above (cf. Last 1933:40), and remarks from the letters between Ter
Braak and Du Perron can be used to increase the plausibility of this
view.
The first statement to this effect can be taken from Du
Perron’s answer to Ter Braak’s question of why Du Perron is positive
concerning the critical capacities of Van Vriesland – capacities that
Ter Braak seriously doubted at that moment. Du Perron answers on 3
February 1931 that for stylistic reasons Van Vriesland does not belong
to “us”, but Du Perron’s appreciation is nevertheless great at that
moment. The main reason is van Vriesland being a “sophisticated
cosmopolitan” who is “what actually cannot be said about anyone of
us – really excellently oriented in the whole European literature” (Ter
Braak / Du Perron 1952: 46). There are some indications that Van
Vriesland did indeed accumulate substantial knowledge about
European literature – he expected literary criticism to be European
cultural analysis in a nutshell. It is telling in this regard that about one
third of the reviews he gathered in Onderzoek en vertoog – on the
basis of what he had written in his newspaper - is about authors
writing in foreign languages (cf. Beekman / Grüttemeier 2008: 14).
But this is not the main point: what the Du Perron-quote shows is the
value that is attributed to international orientation – and the context
makes clear that Du Perron expects Ter Braak to share that value.
Against this background, the interpretation of the Ehrenburg-mention
as Ter Braak trying to compete with other critics by demonstrating his
international expertise seems plausible.
Another letter of Du Perron from his Paris home to Ter Braak
throws yet another light on the matter. After having read a recent issue
of the journal Forum with a fragment of Simon Vestdijk’s novel
Meneer Vissers hellevaart, Du Perron read “du Joyce pur” in Vestdijk.
He suggests that Ter Braak should ask Vestdijk how he can dare to
publish “such absolute pastiches under his own name”:
We have no right to blame Revis who is just copying Ehrenburg,

when our Vestdijk makes the same use of Joyce. Suddenly I think
again: ‘Holland’. In France or England somebody with the talent of
Vestdijk would instinctively have felt the duty to ‘make something
else of it’. Whereas in Holland an unconsciously shared attitude
seems to be: ‘Well, nobody has read Joyce anyway.’
>Wij hebben geen enkel recht om op Revis af te geven die stomweg

Ehrenburg nakalkt, als onze Vestdijk zich op deze manier van Joyce
bedient. Ik denk opens weer: ‘Holland’. In Frankrijk of Engeland
zou iemand van het talent van Vestdijk instinctief verplicht zijn
geweest er ‘iets anders van te maken’. Terwijl daar in het
onderbewustzijn toch zooiets steekt van: ‘Nou ja, niemand heeft
Joyce toch gelezen’ (Ter Braak / Du Perron 1964: 431).@
Again, these lines indicate an international critical ambition. This

international dimension is multilayered: firstly, a critic needs to be
informed on what is happening in European literature in order to make
comparisons and give an adequate judgment on texts (i.e. Revis-
Ehrenburg; Vestdijk-Joyce). The number of readers that are able to do
so is small in the eyes of Du Perron: “Well, nobody has read Joyce
anyway.” So the task of the critic is not only to show international
competence, but also to educate the Dutch public, and Dutch authors
(as Vestdijk). Implicitly, the ambition is also to help Dutch literature
rise to the level of European literature. The self-image of Du Perron –
and Ter Braak, we may add – seems to be that professional critics
must distinguish themselves with knowledge about international
literary matters, and that they must use this knowledge to fight Dutch
self-satisfied provincialism. So, demonstrating ones own international
connoisseurship as part of the professional behavior of a literary critic
seems indeed an important strategic dimension of Ter Braak’s

Ehrenburg-mention with regards to the authors of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
in the 1930s. And a more general precondition for this strategy seems
to be that a recently established literary field awards international
connoisseurship as an important stake in the literary field.
Fighting competitors
As has been mentioned in the introduction, the image that recent
Dutch literary histories present of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in general
and of the Ehrenburg-epigonism in particular is explicitly based on
Ter Braak’s view – and it is legitimized by direct quotes from his
work. However, to conclude from this influence that Ter Braak was
the first to stipulate epigonism in the work of Ehrenburg himself, or
with regard to Dutch authors imitating Ehrenburg, would be wrong. In
both regards, many similar verdicts by other critics can be found
earlier on, among others by Oscar van Hoeve (1932), Anthonie
Donker (1932) or Gerard Walschap (1933) – for a more detailed
account see the contribution of Hans Anten elsewhere in this volume.
It seems that at the moment – March 1934 – when Ter Braak launched
his “patent-machine”-attack against Ehrenburg, the picture of
Ehrenburg’s work had already been connected several times with
machine-like commercial mass-production. Actually, one of the
earliest references to “Ehrenburg-industries” was made in the
newspaper Ter Braak would work for from November 1933 onwards,
Het Vaderland. In a long anonymous article – probably by Henri
Borel, who was connected to Het Vaderland since 1916 – the reviewer
criticized Die heiligsten Güter as “an excellent piece from the
propaganda-factory but without artistic value” (Anonymus 1931).
This topic remained connected to Ehrenburg in Het Vaderland over
the next years, as with regard to Moskou gelooft niet in tranen July 17,
1933: “Ehrenburg is a very capable producer of sentimental
advertising-texts of the Bolshevist propaganda” (Anonymus 1933).
Half a year after Ter Braak had got the job at Het Vaderland, he
picked up this widespread view, even including the disqualification of
“sentimentalism” with regard to Ehrenburg (cf. Ter Braak 1949: 82).
Something similar can be said about the connection of Dutch
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid with Ehrenburg, though this seems to be
restricted mostly to M. Revis: right from his debut, the connection
with Ehrenburg is made. However, some of the first reviews on
8.100.000 m3 zand use Ehrenburg to stress the original dimension of
Revis’s novel. In the April-issue of the journal De Gemeenschap –
edited by the same publisher as Revis’s novel –, A.J. Sassen sees in
8.100.000 m3 zand “the gentle rocking, changing and swaying of
Ehrenburg’s 10 P.K.”. He continues:
This does not mean at all that the work of Revis is epigonism: his book is
a work of its own with a national focus - I even find completely new
aspects in it. The visionary lyrical interruptions do have on the decisive
moment another character than those of Ehrenburg. >…@ Revis’s
conclusion is more metaphysical than that of Ehrenburg.
>Dit beteekent geenszins dat Revis’ werk epigonisme zou zijn: zijn boek
is zelfstandig en nationaal beperkt, zelfs vind ik er totaal nieuwe
elementen in. Het zijn de visioenaire lyrische onderbrekingen, die op het
beslissend moment een ander karakter hebben dan die van Ehrenburg. >
...@ bij Revis is de conclusie metafysischer dan bij Ehrenburg (Sassen
1932: 245).@
A similar tendency can be found one month later in Den Gulden

Winckel. W. Smits starts his review with the sentence “Here the
influence of Ehrenburg can be found”. But for him that influence in
writing literature in a form of “super-reportage” is only part of an
expectation that many Dutch critics will oppose this novel. Smits on
the contrary praises that Revis is “the first one to introduce social
economy into Dutch literature” with in parts “personal rhythm”, for
the experiment of which he deserves attention (cf. Smits 1932: 99).
Around the same time however, the connection with
Ehrenburg is also made in a more polemic way. In his review of
Revis’s book, Anthonie Donker questions the modernity of Revis:
“Das Leben der Autos; Cement; we don’t want to stay behind: Sand.
>…@ But for a social novel it is too meager, for new prose too cliché,
and the ironic tone irritatingly resembles that of Ehrenburg and is
often as banal” (Donker 1932: 587). As we saw above, Donker sees
Ehrenburg’s work as a kind of mass-production, so the banality he
attributes to his style comes as no surprise. The modern topics
themselves, however, are not the problem: they are waiting for “Revis
or Jef Last or whoever. But literature cannot be corrupted by extra-dry
sobriety >kurkdroge zakelijkheid@; literature demands, always, the
suggestion of the image” (Donker 1932: 588).
The most explicit foreshadowing of Ter Braak’s view on Revis

comes from Flanders, where Gerard Walschap writes in June 1932
that Revis is “the Dutch Ehrenburg”, but with the difference “that
Revis copies Ehrenburg” (Walschap 1932: 1030). After a long quote
from the start of 8.100.000 m3 zand Walschap concludes: “If that is
not purely and completely an imitation of Ehrenburg, then I have
never read anything by Ehrenburg. The whole book is like this. >…@
Ten years after the revelation of Ehrenburg the Netherlands already
copy him” (ibid.). And what Walschap states with regard to Revis,
Ernest van der Hallen states with regard to Neue Sachlichkeit-author
Erich Kästner: “Fabian is a novel following the recipe of the later
books of Ilja Ehrenburg, only more daring in sexual matters”. Later
on, Van der Hallen also uses the term of the “formula” of Ehrenburg’s
novels (cf. van der Hallen 1933: 622).
Several tendencies may be discerned in the voices quoted above.
To start with, they seem to confirm that in the 1930s in the
Netherlands (and Flanders), knowledge of international literature is
regarded as being a part of what is seen as professionalism on the part
of literary critics. Furthermore, the connections that are made seem, to
a great extent, determined by orchestration (Van Rees 1987) and
temporal aspects. As a preferred international point of reference
services one book that got much attention around 1930/1931 in Dutch
national literature, just before the very time that ‘new national prose’
was about the be published from 1932 onwards. The connection is
made with Ehrenburg, and not (or to a far lesser extend) with, let’s
say: Vicky Baum, Heinrich Hauser, Irmgard Keun, Egon Erwin Kisch,
Emil Ludwig, Ernst Ottwalt or Erik Reger,– to name a few writers
who are the core of what is, prior to 1932, elsewhere discussed under
the label of Neue Sachlichkeit (cf. Lethen 2000; Becker 2000). In that
sense, the image of international literature outside its national origin
seems rather arbitrary.
Against this background, the question is why Ter Braak rigorously
jumped on this train as late as March 1934 and extended the reach of
Ehrenburg-epigone-criticism to the authors of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
in general. This question might be answered by taking a closer look at
the institutional context of Ter Braak’s launch of his “Ehrenburg kicks
off a trend”-review on March 25, 1934. Given that this context has
been analyzed in more detail elsewhere (Beekman / Grüttemeier 2009:
68-71; 77-82), I will be brief here. Basically, Ter Braak’s review from
March has been an implicit attack on Victor van Vriesland – his
prominent colleague from the journal Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant
and at that time co-editor of Forum together with Ter Braak (and
Vestdijk). In a letter from March 19, 1934 to Du Perron, he calls Van
Vriesland as a co-editor “a failure”, “an idiot with the masque of an
artist” and suggests it difficult to predict when Van Vriesland “will
have lost all his intelligence” (cf. Ter Braak / Du Perron 1954: 364).
About a week later he launches his principled attack on Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid – implicitly including Revis – with Ehrenburg as his
main-weapon, knowing that during the last two years Van Vriesland
had been generally positive about the writers of the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid, and that Ehrenburg had not played any role of
importance in the criticism of Van Vriesland (cf. Ter Braak 1949:138-
144). So, the argument that the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid-authors are just
Ehrenburg-epigones is a perfect tool for Ter Braak’s polemics against
Van Vriesland’s general appreciation of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid exactly
because it can rely on the “Ehrenburg-industries”-topos. Van
Vriesland’s answer to this implicit attack on his position as a critic
shows that he was aware of the main points of difference.
Only a week later, on March 31, 1934, Van Vriesland reviews
Revis’s Gelakte hersens and picks up the provocation by Ter Braak by
declaring that the prose of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is “the best prose
of this time”, and that Revis is one of its best representatives. At the
end of his long review Van Vriesland admits in two sentences that one
is tempted to think of Ehrenburg’s Das Leben der Autos when reading
Gelakte hersens – but only due to an overlap in the subject: cars.
However, this is only a minor detail: “Revis is as far away from
Ehrenburg >…@ as a work of art from a moral tract”. To avoid
misunderstandings: with Revis on the side of art (cf. Van Vriesland
1934).
Ter Braak further contributes to this polarization when on May
13, 1934 he publishes his polemical review of Gelakte hersens,
explicitly attacking “another branch of the family Ehrenburg”:
“Hurrah for Revis! Hurrah for the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid! Hurrah for
any newborn in the family!” (cf. Ter Braak 1949: 181f.) Within two-
months-time, two of the key figures of Dutch literary criticism
become diametrically opposed around the prose of the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid – and Ter Braak has used Ehrenburg as an important tool
in this operation. That, in the end, Ter Braak is more successful than
Van Vriesland in transporting his account of Revis, Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid and Ehrenburg into Dutch literary history does not mean
that his account is of greater descriptive and analytic value.

Concerning the role of Ehrenburg, in the light of the above, the
reverse is arguably the case. The explanation for Ter Braak’s long-
term-success can be found in his function within the post-war Dutch
literary field where the knowledge and use of Ter Braak’s work and
value judgments was regarded as a proof of a critic’s expertise (cf.
Van Dijk 1993: 115-130, here: 122). Obviously, not only the work of
academic colleagues determines the account given in literary histories,
but also the work of a literary critic such as Ter Braak.
Conclusion
Menno ter Braak’s claim that the authors generally perceived as
writers of Dutch prose of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid are mechanic
imitations of the prose of Ilja Ehrenburg from Das Leben der Autos
onwards, has made its way into most recent Dutch literary histories
and shaped the image of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. However, the self-
presentation of these authors, together with the image of Ehrenburg
and Neue Sachlichkeit in German and Russian literary histories, raises
serious doubts about a sufficient degree of adequateness of Ter
Braak’s statements in connection with Nieuwe Zakelijkheid –
Ehrenburg. A closer look at the institutional context confirms these
doubts by to simultaneously show the polemical dimensions of Ter
Braak’s Ehrenburg-mention, its function to prove international
expertise, and its implicit attack on his contemporary rival critic Van
Vriesland. So, Ter Braak’s Ehrenburg-polemics turns out to be more
about distinguishing himself with regards to other critics and about
legitimizing his position as a critic by way of demonstration of
professional knowledge, than about making descriptive claims that are
supposed to be tested in terms of their plausibility. Therefore,
statements on the importance of Ehrenburg for the prose of the
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid should be deleted from Dutch literary histories to
come and be replaced by a closer look at the texts themselves.
From the perspective of the Dutch literary field, the 1930s
appear to be a period during which the artistic autonomy, whether
oriented towards ethical views or not, turns out to be a central value in
the debates on literature, as opposed to commercial orientation
towards fashion, the reproach of mass production and producing for
the masses. To an important degree the reputation of critics seems to
be based on their expertise on international literary matters. However,
this expertise is clearly homemade in the sense that it is based on what
international literature reached the Dutch literary field at a specific
moment. It is to a far lesser extent the reconstruction of international
phenomena with regard to their countries and/or languages of origin.
The unique combination of Ehrenburg and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid/Neue
Sachlichkeit in Dutch literary history is a point in case for this
hypothesis.
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Continuity Through ‘Inner Emigration’:

Neue Sachlichkeit, National Socialism, and Aspects
of the Work of Otto Dix 1933-1935
Steve Plumb
Abstract: The notion of ‘inner emigration’ has been the subject of sometimes heated
debate since the end of the Second World War. This essay considers the degree to
which the artists of Neue Sachlichkeit who remained in Germany during the Third
Reich, continued to work in a style appropriate to that movement. To this end, the
nature of Neue Sachlichkeit is briefly addressed in the context of the National
Socialist art that was to follow it. ‘Inner emigration’ is also discussed, before turning
to the work of Otto Dix. Three of his paintings are explored, in order to establish the
extent to which, first, Neue Sachlichkeit continued in his work into the Nazi period,
and secondly, the degree to which he expressed his opposition to the National
Socialist regime during his personal ‘inner emigration’.
1. Introduction
With the advent of National Socialism, a number of artists found
themselves at odds with the new cultural policy. Many fled to other
countries, where they continued to work and exhibit, but those left
behind faced the stark choice of either accommodation with the new
regime or resistance to it. Either way, it marked the end of freedom of
expression for the avant-garde in Germany. The artists of Neue
Sachlichkeit were of course included within this avant-garde, and
while many notable artists who had been linked to the movement,
including George Grosz and Max Beckmann, emigrated to other
countries to escape persecution, many more remained in Germany.
The aim within this essay is to establish the degree to which Neue
Sachlichkeit was able to continue, albeit in a more coded language,
during the ‘inner emigration’ of the artists who practised it. While
256Steve Plumb
reference will be made to various Neue Sachlichkeit figures, the focus
will be on Otto Dix, not least because he somehow remained prolific
during the National Socialist period. However, he also maintained that
he had undertaken a form of emigration. He therefore stands as an
appropriate representative of the movement.
2. Neue Sachlichkeit in Contrast to the Art of National

Socialism
In order to establish the extent to which Neue Sachlichkeit was able to
exist into the Third Reich, it is necessary first of all to determine the
predominant features that identify it as Neue Sachlichkeit. Virtually
every survey and critical study of the movement features the
comparison made by Franz Roh in 1925 of Neue Sachlichkeit with
Expressionism, in his book Nach-Expressionismus. Magischer
Realismus. Probleme der neuesten europäischen Malerei. This is
certainly a useful starting point, as it ascribes a style that differentiates
it from the numerous modernist movements which had preceded it.
There is a risk with this approach, however, of regarding Neue
Sachlichkeit in some respects as a retrograde step in the development
of modern art. Many avant-garde movements sought to explore
abstract means of expression, and so the figurative art of Neue
Sachlichkeit could at first glance be seen to be lacking the progressive
qualities of Cubism or Expressionism, for instance.
From the outset, however, the movement was deemed to have
a more intellectual basis than Roh’s list of characteristics would
suggest. In a letter to Alfred H. Barr, Jnr. on 8 July 1929, Gustav
Hartlaub wrote of Neue Sachlichkeit:
The expression ought really to apply as a label to the new realism

bearing a socialistic flavor. It was related to the general contemporary
feeling in Germany of resignation and cynicism after a period of
exuberant hopes (which had found an outlet in Expressionism).
Cynicism and resignation are the negative side of the Neue
Sachlichkeit, the positive side expresses itself in the enthusiasm for
the immediate reality as a result of the desire to take things entirely
objectively on a material basis without immediately investing them
with ideal implications (Quoted in Schmalenbach 1940: 164).
Continuity Through ‘Inner Emigration’ 257
As the man responsible for the first Neue Sachlichkeit exhibition, in
Mannheim in 1925, Hartlaub had seen in this art, from a very early
stage, a ‘left’ and ‘right’ wing (Schmied 1978: 9/10), the
characteristics of which broadly fit the above description if ‘left’ is
seen as negative and ‘right’ positive. What linked both wings,
however, was an interest in the object. Otto Dix wrote in 1927:
As I see it, at any rate, the new element in painting lies in the
extension of its subject area, an enhancement of those forms of
expression already present in essence in the Old Masters. For me, the
object is primary and determines the form (Quoted in Harrison and
Wood 1992: 390).
Jedenfalls liegt für mich das Neue in der Malerei in der Verbreiterung
des Stoffgebietes, in einer Steigerung der eben bei den alten Meistern
bereits im Kern vorhandenen Ausdrucksformen. Für mich bleibt
jedenfalls das Objekt das Primäre, und die Form wird erst durch das
Objekt gestaltet (Quoted in Schubert 1991a: 94).
This reflected a move away from the inward-looking Expressionism,

and towards a more clinical observation of the material world. This is
not to say, though, that Neue Sachlichkeit did not contain an analytical
quality. The focus was not on the object alone, but rather on the object
in relation to other objects, or in its relationship to its environment. In
concentrating on the object in this way, Neue Sachlichkeit was able to
tell the viewer something about reality that would not have been
manifest in a study of the object in isolation. As Rainer Metzger puts
it: “This was modern realism – in a word, modernist” (2007: 182). It is
understandable, however, that the comparison has been made with the
art of National Socialism, which we shall turn to in due course.
To examine in more depth the means by which the focus on
the object actually works, it is worth briefly taking into consideration
a model of allegory first proposed by Walter Benjamin. In Ursprung
des deutschen Trauerspiels (1928), Benjamin asserts that allegory is
composed of isolated fragments (we could say ‘objects’), which when
joined together create a meaning. This meaning could be either
intentional or accidental, but is altered from the meaning of the
fragments in isolation (Benjamin 1974: 352). Indeed, due to the loss
of meaning from each individual fragment, an expression of
melancholy is produced, even when a new meaning is revealed, as a
direct consequence of the decay of the original meaning. In its
application to the visual arts, this concept is more easily applied to
258Steve Plumb
some movements than others. Photomontage and much of the work of
Dada, many artists from which became linked to Neue Sachlichkeit,
can be seen to work in this way, with the juxtaposition of apparently
random or incongruous objects producing sometimes startling new
meanings. This of course is a far more drastic means of joining
fragments than is seen in Neue Sachlichkeit, where the process can
often be seen to exist in a more subtle form. If an object is considered
to be out of place in some way, if it is in an environment where it
would not normally be seen, or its scale does not correspond to its
surroundings, then it must represent more than a figurative depiction
of a ‘thing’. If Neue Sachlichkeit, as “modern realism”, was to survive
into the Third Reich, it had to have a means of being recognisable as
Neue Sachlichkeit, which would separate it from what National
Socialist cultural policy determined would be acceptable.
This cultural policy came into being very early, with the
establishment of the Reich Chamber of Culture (Reichskulturkammer),
under the auspices of Goebbels’ propaganda ministry, in September
1933. Divided into seven sub-sections, artists were expected to
become members of the chamber for the visual arts (Reichskammer
der bildenden Künste). Membership was compulsory if an artist
wanted to exhibit, but the membership process was very detailed, with
applicants expected to declare their past political involvement and
allegiances, and their personal background.
The aim of cultural policy at this time was to ensure that the
general public was touched by propaganda wherever possible, and
with membership of the Chamber of Culture came the assumption that
artists understood and accepted this. If artists did not adhere to this
policy they could be forbidden to teach, exhibit, or even to paint.
However, the precise direction that this art should take was the subject
of some debate at first, with the conservatives seeing the way forward
as a move away from the urban depictions so favoured by the
modernists, to be replaced by a return to ‘nature’ and to the values of
the past. Modern art was not without its admirers among the Nazi
elite, however, and even Goebbels envisioned a place for some
modern artistic styles within the new cultural policy. The debate was
essentially, and finally, brought to a close by Hitler himself, who said
during his speech at the opening of the first ‘Great German Art
Exhibition’ (Große Deutsche Kunstausstellung) in Munich in 1937:
I have observed among the pictures submitted here, quite a few
paintings which make one actually come to the conclusion that the eye
shows things differently to certain human beings than the way they
really are, that is, that there really are men who see the present
population of our nation only as rotten cretins; who, on principle, see
meadows blue, skies green, clouds sulphur yellow, and so on, or, as
they say, experience them as such. I do not want to enter into an
argument here about the question of whether the persons concerned
really do or do not see or feel in such a way; but, in the name of the
German people, I want to forbid these pitiful misfortunates who quite
obviously suffer from an eye disease, or try vehemently to foist these
products of their misinterpretation upon the age we live in, or even
wish to present them as ‘Art’ (Quoted in Harrison and Wood 1992:
425).
Ich habe hier unter den eingeschickten Bildern manche Arbeiten

beobachtet, bei denen tatsächlich angenommen werden muß, daß
gewissen Menschen das Auge die Dinge anders zeigt als sie sind, d h
[sic] daß es wirklich Männer gibt, die die heutigen Gestalten unseres
Volkes nur als verkommene Kretins sehen, die grundsätzlich Wiesen
blau, Himmel grün, Wolken schwefelgelb usw.empfinden oder, wie sie
vielleicht sagen, erleben. Ich will mich nicht in einen Streit darüber
einlassen, ob diese Betreffenden das nun wirklich so sehen und
empfinden oder nicht, sondern ich möchte im Namen des deutschen
Volkes es nur verbieten, daß so bedauerliche Unglückliche, die
ersichtlich an Sehvermögen (!) leiden, die Ergebnisse ihrer
Fehlbetrachtungen der Mitwelt mit Gewalt als Wirklichkeit
aufzuschwatzen versuchen oder ihr gar als Kunst vorsetzen wollen
(Quoted in Die Zeit, 1962: online).
There could be no doubt, then, that modernist art was unacceptable in

the Nazi state. Modernist and other undesirable works were
confiscated from German museums, including 260 by Otto Dix who,
among many other leading lights of the German avant-garde, featured
prominently in the exhibition of ‘degenerate’ art (Ausstellung
Entartete Kunst) which ran concurrently with the ‘Great German Art
Exhibition’.
So what was to take the place of modern art under Hitler’s
dictatorship? In essence, the new art was to express the ideals of
National Socialism; the Volk and its symbiotic relationship with
German land, that is, ‘Blood and Soil’ (Blut und Boden), and the
central importance of the idea of struggle (Kampf). However, to
achieve the required mass appeal, this art had to be approachable, and
thus artists produced uncomplicated, idealized, smooth depictions of
Germans at home in the countryside, or else engaged in monumental
260Steve Plumb
battles with the natural or working environment, or, later, actually at
war. The new art was to show the German as pure and strong, and in
this sense, eternal. A further aspect of this art, as noted by Berthold
Hinz, is that the large, dull and flat nature of these paintings made
them perfect for reproduction (Hinz 1995: 332). It is also the artistic
quality of these works that has brought about the comparison with
Neue Sachlichkeit.
Here there is certainly a link with the painting of Neue Sachlichkeit,

which Hitler expressly denounced, but which found its way into the
art shows of the Nazi State on a broad front, shielded from criticism
by neatness of technique and unexceptionable subject matter. In the
process, both figures and objects lost the authentically ‘sober’
(sachlich) introversion of Neue Sachlichkeit and turned into exemplary
embodiments, models of prototypes (Hinz 1995: 332).
It is true that some notable National Socialist artists, such as Adolf

Ziegler and Adolf Wissel, came to officially approved art via Neue
Sachlichkeit, and that the style they brought was compatible with
cultural policy, but the fact remains that in the art of National
Socialism the footprint of the artist, so to speak, was missing. The art
was there purely to serve a purpose, to express an ideal which did not
emanate from the artist, but from the State. As Christian Fuhrmeister
asserts, these pictures expressed a hoped-for future, but with social
and racial dimensions. They also sought to propagate and consolidate
a politics of exclusion and extermination (2010: 94). This is clearly
where the comparison with Neue Sachlichkeit ends, and those artists
who could not subscribe to these ideas were left with the choice to
either emigrate to other countries, or else to remain in Germany, in
exile within their own country, to undertake ‘inner emigration’.
3. Inner Emigration
The concept of ‘inner emigration’ is one that has been shrouded in
controversy since the end of the Second World War. Those who
emigrated to other countries during the National Socialist period could
at least argue that since they were not even in Germany at this time,
they could not be accused of complicity in what occurred under Hitler.
For the ‘inner emigrants’, there was a feeling, whether real or
imagined, that they were expected to shoulder their share of the
responsibility for what happened in Germany and beyond in the name
of National Socialism. It would be easy to assume that the majority of
German modernist artists fled the Hitler regime and made their homes
in other countries. Certainly George Grosz went to the USA, Max
Beckmann to the Netherlands, and Heinrich Maria Davringhausen to
France. However, in reality approximately twenty percent of those
artists forbidden to paint or exhibit actually left Germany. The
remainder stayed behind and worked as best as they were able
(Deshmukh 2008: 586).
The question of what these remaining artists, as well as
musicians and writers, in fact did during the Nazi period became the
subject of intense scrutiny following the war. It began with an essay
written in 1945 by Thomas Mann, who had spent the Nazi period in
exile in the USA. In it, he wrote of the period under Hitler as “‘our’
disgrace” [‘unsere’ Schmach], and that all Germans, regardless of
whether they were in Germany at the time, were involved (Quoted in
Grosser 1963:14). Mann therefore presents what equates to a move
towards the notion of collective guilt for the Nazi atrocities. He seems
to acknowledge that whether or not they had lived in Germany during
the National Socialist period, the German people must all bear some
responsibility for allowing Hitler to come to power, and then not
working to prevent the worst excesses of his regime. Beyond this,
though, Mann makes a pointed criticism of those living in Germany at
the time who he claimed pretended not to know what was happening,
or did not want to know what was happening, “even though the distant
wind blew the stench of burnt human flesh up his nose” [“obgleich der
Wind ihm den Gestank verbrannten Menschenfleisches von dorther in
die Nase blies”] (Quoted in Grosser 1963: 14; my translation). This
harsh criticism provoked a number of responses, firstly from the
former president of the German Dichterakademie, Walter von Molo,
who wrote an open letter to Mann, which was published on 4 August
1945 in the Hessische Post. In the letter, von Molo appeals to Mann to
return to Germany to assist in the healing process and to understand
the suffering that the German people had gone through (Grosser 1963:
18-21). A less measured response came from the writer Frank Thieß.
Published in the Münchner Zeitung on 18 August 1945 under the title
‘Die innere Emigration’, the article carries the assertion that a division
existed between the fellow-travellers (Mitläufer) and ‘inner emigrants’
(Thieß uses the term Verdächtigen, or suspects) (Grosser 1963: 23).
Thieß writes that for his own part, he remained in Germany because
262Steve Plumb
living through this period afforded him a great deal for his spiritual
and human development [geistige und menschliche Entwicklung], and
that as a result he was far richer in knowledge and experience [Wissen
und Erleben] (Grosser 1963: 24).
In a barbed criticism of Thomas Mann, Thieß writes that this
was far more so than if he, “watched the German tragedy from the
boxes and stall seats of foreign countries” [“aus den Logen und
Parterreplätzen des Auslands der deutschen Tragödie zuschaute”]
(Grosser 1963: 24; my translation). This exchange of views is only a
fragment of the debate which surrounded ‘inner emigration’, but the
cycle of accusation and defence can be seen to have commenced here.
While Thieß makes some valid points, not least that those who
remained practised a quiet opposition to the regime, he is also
considered to be part of the reason why a considered debate was not
possible at the time. He has been described as self-righteous (Philipp
1994: 11), which, coupled with his strong rejection of the notion of
collective responsibility, and his attack on those who emigrated
abroad, fanned the flames of the heated exchanges that were to
characterise the discussion.
Part of the problem is that it is not possible to quantify the
degree to which one could be said to have co-operated or resisted.
While it is easy to make moral judgments regarding complicity with
the regime, one must take into account the fact that where opposition
did occur, it was very likely hidden, due to the dire consequences that
would be faced if it were to be uncovered. Marion Deshmukh writes:
Just as there were “gray zones” of complicity among many

professional groups, so, too, artists were not immune from the
seductions of opportunity in the Third Reich, in which careers hinged
on overt or tacit accommodation” (2008: 584).
It is a fact, as we shall see, that Neue Sachlichkeit artists worked in the

service of National Socialist cultural policy, but it is also true that
many did not. In terms of the study of ‘inner Emigration’, it is worth
taking a more considered approach, and to take each case in isolation.
As Michael Philipp writes, ‘inner emigration’ had fluid boundaries
which moved between opposition and co-operation (1994: 27), and
there are indeed examples within Neue Sachlichkeit of both co-
operation and resistance.
Christine Fischer-Defoy describes the experiences of Georg
Schrimpf, Alexander Kanoldt and Karl Rössing, all of whom had
featured in Hartlaub’s original Neue Sachlichkeit exhibition.
Following the dismissal of several teachers by the Nazis from the
National College of Art (Staatliche Kunstschule) in Berlin in 1933,
Kanoldt, who was a member of the NSDAP, was appointed to the
position of its director. He in turn recruited Schrimpf and Rössing as
professors, and all were prominent in the German art scene. In 1937,
however, following a promotion for Kanoldt, Schrimpf was
denounced as a former Communist. Furthermore, some of his pictures,
as well as, ironically, some by Kanoldt, were labeled ‘degenerate’.
Schrimpf was dismissed from the college in 1937, and in 1938 his
application for membership of the Reich Chamber of Culture was
rejected. Nevertheless, both he and Rössing accepted commissions
from Rudolf Hess prior to 1938 (Fischer-Defoy 1990: 97-100;
Michalski 1994: 213). So although, for Schrimpf at least, events
eventually conspired against him, he still benefited from the dismissal
of teachers from the National College of Art. He died shortly after his
rejection from the Chamber of Culture, so Neue Sachlichkeit could not
have persisted through him, and the same is true of Kanoldt, who died
in 1939. What these events illustrate, though, is that these artists, who
would have heard Hitler’s rhetoric, were prepared to seize the
opportunity presented to them, whether or not they were wholehearted
supporters of National Socialism. In doing so, they indicated their
readiness to work with and for a State which made no secret of its
approval of violence and exclusion.
For those who were not prepared to work with the State, the
alternative was to retreat into a very private life. Peter Watson
describes a dacha culture in the former German Democratic Republic,
which paralleled ‘inner emigration’ during the Third Reich, and
which, “meant conformity in public and defiance in the private
sphere” (2010: 781). This was by no means an easy option. Certainly
in terms of the painters, if their art was banned then obtaining
materials with which to paint was challenge enough (Schuster 1985:
460). Coupled with this, “it was an immensely wearisome struggle,
during the course of the Third Reich, to preserve one’s own artistic
integrity as far as possible” (Gabler 2001: 49). This must have been
tremendously difficult for a Neue Sachlichkeit artist, but at least these
painters used a figurative style, which could more easily mask
opposition than the style of, for instance, an Expressionist or Cubist
painter. Indeed,
264Steve Plumb
No-one in Germany would have dared to create abstract art or even
exhibit it. Within the bounds of the opportunities provided by the
structure of the regime, numerous artists nevertheless tried to pursue
their art in a responsible manner (Gabler 2001: 54/5).
One abstract artist who famously undertook ‘inner emigration’ was

the Expressionist Ernst Barlach. He describes just how difficult it was
to lead this life:
A pimp or murderer has it much better; he enjoys the benefit of an

orderly trial and even has a chance to clear himself. We were simply
repudiated and if possible destroyed. In this respect, my condition is
more disastrous than that of an actual exile (Quoted in Goggin 1991:
89).
Evident here are strong echoes of the argument made by Frank Thieß,
but there is no suggestion in this passage of defending the choice he
has made. On the contrary, he conveys a feeling of bitterness and of
isolation, which ties in with Peter-Klaus Schuster’s assessment that
those undertaking ‘inner emigration’ were surrounded by an “aura of
melancholy isolation” (1985: 460). This is certainly true of Barlach’s
description of his circumstances, but also relates back to the notion of
allegory creating melancholy. If the artist creates allegory as a means
of telling a truth, in this case an expression of resistance, for example,
then the air of melancholy can also be seen as a reflection of the
artist’s own existence, bereft of the meaning that it once had. This in
turn, it can be argued, gives integrity to the art that is produced, and in
relation to Neue Sachlichkeit, provides a conduit for the continuity of
at least some elements. To establish the extent to which this may be
true, we now turn to the experiences and a sample of the works of
Otto Dix.
4. Otto Dix, Neue Sachlichkeit and National Socialism

From the outset, Dix was a target of the National Socialists. In April
1933, the Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service
[Gesetz zur Wiederherstellung des Berufsbeamtentums] came into
being, which led to the dismissal of people who were considered
undesirable from professional positions. This meant for Dix that he
lost his professorship at the Dresden Academy, and was forced out of
the Prussian Academy of Arts. The main architect of Dix’s dismissal
from the Dresden Academy was Richard Müller, who had long been a
professor there, and had actually taught Dix. In an article for the
Dresdner Anzeiger, published in 1933, Müller wrote:
What severe guilt have some people brought upon themselves by

appointing, of all people, this man to teach at the Art Academy and
thus expose the youth for years and years to his poisonous influence;
in spring of this year, his activities have rightfully been put to an end
by his dismissal (Quoted in Gutbrod 2010: 76).
Welch schwere Schuld haben manche Leute auf sich geladen, als sie
ausgerechnet diesen Mann als Lehrer an die Kunstakademie beriefen
und so die Jugend jahrelang seinem vergiftenden Einfluß aussetzten,
einer Tätigkeit, der durch seine Entlassung im Frühjahr dieses Jahres
ein wohlverdientes Ende bereitet worden ist (Quoted in Ehrke-
Rotermund 1994: 138).
Dix and his family moved away from Dresden in the same year, to
Schloß Randegg, close to Lake Constance, and then again in 1936 to
Hemmenhofen, also on Lake Constance. He didn’t consider seriously
leaving Germany, even to the USA, the culture of which he had
admired for years.
To America? There I already saw the ghost of the Daughters of

Revolution commanding how art should be made. That was the
downfall of Grosz. I succeeded in slipping by anonymously. I painted
landscapes – that was emigration. By the way, how could one
emigrate if one had a barn full of paintings here? The Nazis would
have come and seized everything. That would have been impossible!
(Quoted in Gutbrod 2010: 77).
The reference to the Daughters of Revolution relates to a protest

against German assistance in the making of a stained glass window by
Grant Wood for the Veterans Memorial Building in Cedar Rapids
(Gutbrod 2010: 78). The obvious fear was that Dix would be as
unwelcome to American citizens as he was in his homeland, combined
with an anticipated loss of quality in his work – hence the reference to
Grosz. The suggestion that he also wanted to remain in order to
protect his finished paintings is something that he reiterated in an
interview in 1965. Talking to Maria Wetzel, he describes how a
number of his earlier works were hidden on his behalf by an
acquaintance in Dresden, while other works were kept in his studio,
266Steve Plumb
also in Dresden, and miraculously survived the Dresden bombing
raids (Wetzel 1965: 742).
As somebody who was well known to the authorities, it must
have been very difficult to know who to trust. Two of Dix’s
contemporaries, Otto Griebel and Hans Grundig, give two different
sides to the same story, for instance, when describing Dix’s
relationship to the painter Willy Kriegel. Grundig relates that Kriegel
protected Dix, who was in danger of being sent to a concentration
camp on account of his anti-war paintings (Grundig 1962: 192). In
contrast, Griebel describes Kriegel as somebody who was outwardly
supportive of Dix, but who stabbed him in the back in private,
amongst his friends (Griebel 1986: 346). It was not only a matter of
keeping one’s opinions and ideas well hidden within one’s art that Dix
had to concern himself with, but also the need to choose one’s friends
carefully. In this respect, as well as his move away from the city, Dix
lived up to the lifestyle of the typical inner exile, as described by
Schuster: “They turned inward, withdrawing typically into a small
circle of friends, or retreating from the town to the country (1985:
460). It is known that Dix kept up his long standing friendship with
the painter Franz Lenk, and they painted landscapes together.
This is not to say, however, that Dix’s work lost its ability to
convey depth of meaning. Even his landscapes can be said to say
something about his situation, not least the fact that they are far
removed from the idealised and sanitised version of nature so beloved
by the Nazis. “The Nature he depicts does not look harmlessly idyllic
and “clean” at all, but instead – quite on the contrary –
unapproachable and uninhabitable” (Karcher 1992: 180). In his
landscapes at least, this was a device that expressed his opposition,
that rejected the National Socialist version of reality, and helped to
ensure that his work retained some integrity. The most striking of his
works from this period, however, are the paintings which cover
Christian and allegorical themes.
One such example is The Seven Deadly Sins (Die sieben
Todsünden) from 1933, in which each of the Sins is personified in a
grotesque parade. Greed is depicted as an old crone who stoops as she
walks. Envy sits on her back, wearing a mask which is popularly
supposed to represent Hitler, but which Heidrun Ehrke-Rotermund
convincingly asserts may also be Richard Müller, who had written so
vehemently about Dix at the time of his dismissal from the Dresden
Academy (1994: 138). In any event, it is well known that the Hitler-
moustache was not added until after the war. The portrayal of Sloth, a
monster in a skeleton costume, its head bandaged and a gaping hole
where its heart once was, forms the shape of a swastika by holding a
scythe aloft. To the right of Sloth is Lust, holding her bare breast, with
sores around her mouth representative of disease. To the left stands
Wrath, in the form of a monstrous horned animal or demon
reminiscent of the work of Bosch and Breughel. Pride is pictured
towards the rear of the group, with an anus for a mouth which is
surrounded by pock-marks and sores, again indicative of disease.
Gluttony stands to the very rear, wearing a pot on its head and holding
its arm in the air, in a gesture which brings to mind the Hitler salute.
Otto Dix (1933) The Seven Deadly Sins

Staatliche Kunsthalle, Karlsruhe / Alinari / The Bridgeman Art Library
©DACS 2012
268Steve Plumb
There is little that is subtle about the allegory in this painting. It is a
clear attack on the new National Socialist State, and the allusions to
Nazism are clear. On the wall behind the group is written a quotation
from Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra: “Deserts grow: woe to him
who harbours deserts!” (Nietzsche 1969: 315) [Die Wüste wächst:
weh dem, der Wüsten birgt]. The desert wasteland in the background
reinforces the point that this is what the world will look like with
Hitler in power. A genuine feeling of melancholy exists within the
painting, due in part to the fact that this group appears to stand in
isolation. There is no suggestion that any kind of humanity is present;
indeed, humanity has been forced out by this procession, leaving only
an empty desert. Meaning has been lost from the world, to be replaced
by death, violence and destruction. The brown tones throughout the
painting, which call to mind one of the colours associated with
National Socialism, add to this sense of foreboding (Ehrke-Rotermund
1994: 137). To Dietrich Schubert this work is far more than a critical
analysis, and far more than the Verism for which Dix is known. It is a
warning in allegorical form (1991b: 275). A further dimension, also
noted by Schubert, is that the painting is executed in the style of the
old masters (1991a: 109), a technique that Dix had used frequently in
the past, and which he would continue to use as a means to express his
own identity as an artist.
The Triumph of Death (Triumph des Todes) of 1934 is known
for its references to the old masters. Set in what might be described as
the typical German Romantic landscape of snow-capped mountains,
largely leafless trees and a ruined building, a group of wholly
incongruous characters are gathered together. A toddler is seen
crawling through a bed of wild flowers at the foot of the painting, and
to the right stands a young couple, the girl naked, embracing one
another. To the side of the couple sits a blind beggar, with both legs
missing, and a small dog in front of him. Opposite, an old woman
appears to be bending towards the toddler, although she does not seem
to notice him. Behind the old woman stands a soldier, a disguised self-
portrait. Although these characters would not normally belong
together in the same painting, they all have something obvious in
common; they all face the threat of the enormous and monstrous
figure of Death, who dominates the scene. A huge skeleton, with
rotting flesh hanging from his bones, an ornate crown on his head, and
wearing a red cape, he stands ready to swing his scythe and dispatch
every character in the scene. Particularly striking is the fact that the
blind beggar is the only person in the group who is looking at the
monster, presumably alerted to its presence by his barking dog, but
unable to see the true nature of what is causing the alarm. The other
members of the gathering are totally oblivious to Death’s presence.
The message of the picture is again clear; that every character is in
danger. However, the warning differs slightly from that in The Seven
Deadly Sins, in that Dix implies here that Death, representative of
Nazism, has come without anybody noticing. By the time they realise
what is happening, it will be too late. The allegory is seen to work
here as it does in The Seven Deadly Sins, with the disparate elements
contributing to a melancholic tone to the painting. It is also, though,
an expression of Dix the artist’s defiance. The Romantic setting has
already been noted, but there are references here to Runge, Baldung
Grien, Breughel, Altdorfer and Cranach. As Christoph Bauer asserts,
it was a means by which Dix could fight his own ill-treatment at the
hands of the Nazis, to surpass the approved artistic styles by
celebrating the heritage of the German old masters (2003: 12). By
making reference to this legacy, Dix separated himself from the artists
who co-operated with the regime and produced art to serve the State.
While the message within his landscapes is not so obvious as
these examples, they are in many cases still full of meaning. Jewish
Cemetery in Randegg in Winter (Judenfriedhof in Randegg im Schnee)
(1935), for example, depicts as the title suggests a Jewish cemetery on
a hillside which is covered in snow. There are again a number of bare
trees, but they are more appropriate to the scene than in The Triumph
of Death, given the winter setting. It is known that Dix had a number
of Jewish acquaintances, and so on one level, the painting can be seen
as a coded protest against the persecution of the Jews (Gutbrod 2010:
79). On another level, however, the sense of quiet hostility of the
landscape, already noted by Eva Karcher, conveys a meaning that
seems more personal to the artist. While the snowy setting appears
untouched and perfect, the dark sky heralds a storm, which can be
seen to symbolise the oppression of art and artists at this time (Bauer
2003: 14). Since the real crackdown on ‘degenerate’ art was to begin
shortly after this painting was conceived, the mood within the painting
gives voice to Dix’s vision of the coming terror in a guarded form.
When considered as a whole, Dix’s output after 1933 has
many of the same qualities as his best Neue Sachlichkeit works.
Clearly he had to be careful that the level of obvious social criticism
was diminished, but the paintings still have a meaning which is, in
270Steve Plumb
some cases at least, reasonably decipherable. Further, the pictures can
be said to work on two levels, as is true with most Neue Sachlichkeit
art. Given that he was subject to a prohibition to exhibit his work
(Ausstellungsverbot), Dix did not need to be overly concerned that the
higher ranking officials in the National Socialist cultural establishment
would regularly see his work. However, throughout the period of the
Third Reich he was treated with suspicion, and so still had to be
careful enough that his work would not get him into trouble. Through
the perfection of his technique he was able to achieve this, particularly
in his landscapes. The oft-cited comparability of Neue Sachlichkeit
with Nazi art may well have worked in Dix’s favour, in as far as he
would have been able to justify his work as being in the style of what
was approved.
In reality, his work from this period represents a very personal
‘inner emigration’, a means by which he could express his resistance
but could to some extent remain safe. Bearing in mind that he rejected
a move to the USA, a ‘free’ country, on the grounds that he believed
his art would be constrained, he has left us with a body of work which
was created under a dictatorship, and which serves as an expression of
opposition and resistance that is as powerful as his finest work from
the Weimar period.
Bibliography
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Otto Dix’ in Bauer, Christoph (ed.) Otto Dix. Werke von 1933 bis 1969.
Exhibition Catalogue. Singen: Städtisches Kunstmuseum: 7-35.
Benjamin, Walter. 1974. Gesammelte Schriften. Band I.1. Frankfurt am Main:
Suhrkamp.
Deshmukh, Marion F. 2008. ‘The Visual Arts and Cultural Migration in the 1930s and
1940s: A Literature Review’ in Central European History 41(4): 569-604.
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proklamationen-und-definitionen.pdf (consulted 16.09.2011).
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––– . 1991b. ‘‘Ich habe Landschaften gemalt – das war doch Emigration’.Zur Lage
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272Steve Plumb
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III. Neue Sachlichkeit and Avant-Garde
Concepts of the Subject
in the Avant-Garde Movements of the
1910s and Neue Sachlichkeit
Sabine Kyora
Abstract: The following essay analyses the continuities and differences between the
historic avant-garde and Neue Sachlichkeit in German Literature regarding the
concept of the subject as point of comparison. It turns out that authors as Kasimir
Edschmid, Walter Hasenclever, Richard Huelsenbeck, Irmgard Keun, Walter Serner
and Gabriele Tergit phrase their concepts of the subject in ways that make the relation
between Neue Sachlichkeit, Expressionism, and Dadaism even more complex.
“Naturellement: there is no consciousness of the self” is a diagnosis in

Walter Serner’s Dada Manifesto Letzte Lockerung. It shows an
extreme position in the debate on the importance of subjectivity in the
avant-garde movements of the 1910s while, at the same time, it can
also be understood with respect to Serner’s work of the 20s which is
associated with Neue Sachlichkeit. Already at this point one might
wonder how during the 1910s concepts of the subject were
communicated through neusachliche approaches. When analyzing
continuities and differences between the historic avant-garde and Neue
Sachlichkeit in German Literature altogether then, first of all, the
polemics of Neue Sachlichkeit against Expressionism appear striking.
Even though the poetic program of Neue Sachlichkeit can only
drudgingly be reconstructed, it nevertheless seems to be clear
concerning this anti-Expressionism (Becker 2000a: 97-108). With
respect to Dadaism, however, an opposition with regard to Neue
Sachlichkeit has never been formulated so clearly.
The position against Expressionism by authors of Neue
Sachlichkeit is especially marked by polemics against an
‘Internalisation’ of Expressionism which suggests differences in the
278 Sabine Kyora
concept of the subject. Antipsychologismus and Entindividualisierung

are thus understood as features of Neue Sachlichkeit which distinguish
it from preceding avant-garde movements (ibd.: 180-186; 250-256). In
scholarly texts, a specific neusachliche habitus is discussed, although
it is not exactly clear whether this refers to the authors or the text
elements (Lethen 1995: 371-445). These differences will be
considered in the course of this article. It seems essential to investigate
the poetic program of the 1910s as well as that of the Neue
Sachlichkeit regarding their concepts of the subject. I will do so by
looking at authors who may be counted among those of the avant-
garde movements of the 1910s as well as among those of Neue
Sachlichkeit. This way one might get a better understanding of the
concepts of the subject in Neue Sachlichkeit.
The keywords Antipsychologismus and Entindividualisierung
can be applied to three levels: they can be exemplified by means of
concepts of authorship or of narrative points-of-view, but they can
also be relevant for the representation of characters. Concerning the
concepts of authorship and the perceptibility of the narrator, criteria
for description might be the visibility and invisibility of author and
narrator as well as possible claims of a uniqueness of perspective onto
the narrated world (or its negation). The neusachliche mode of
narration replaces psychologically motivated explanations for the
behaviour of characters and the description of their subjective
emotional states, as is the diagnosis so far, with standardised types
that are aligned with social classification. Moreover, characters are
now being described from an external viewpoint focusing on
behaviour and dialogues because their inner life is not amenable to
observation. While psychologising diction in Expressionism offers,
above all, valuable clues to the characters’ inner processes, the diction
of Neue Sachlichkeit is marked by an ‘objective’ report (Becker
2000a: 220-229).
In what follows I will analyse this polarisation in more detail
and correlate the orchestrations of subjectivity in the avant-garde of
the 1910s with texts that belong to Neue Sachlichkeit. Thereby, I can
also draw attention to continuities and discontinuities between these
two movements.
Concepts of the Subject 279
1. The Programmatic of the Manifestos: Against the

Bourgeois Subject
When examining the concepts of subjectivity in Manifestos of the

avant-garde movements and the programmatic statements of authors
who are associated with Neue Sachlichkeit then one trend connecting
them all becomes particularly clear: the rejection of what is
understood as the bourgeois subject. Already in Kurt Hiller’s
Manifesto ‘Jüngst-Berliner’ from 1911 the “shaping of experiences of
the intellectual urban dweller” comes up, when Hiller addresses the
program of Expressionism, while ‘Jüngst-Berliner’ opponents belong
to the ‘Kommerzienratsgegend’ (Hiller qtd. by Anz/Stark 1982: 35).
The concept of subjectivity then, in this case, refers to the
representation of one’s own authorship as a substitution for the (non-
bourgeois) intellectual urban-dweller. Also, Kasimir Edschmid claims
that Expressionists are no longer subjected to “ideas, hardships, and
personal tragedies of bourgeois and capitalistic thinking”. Edschmid
applies ideas of the non-bourgeois subject to topics of Expressionistic
poetry, when he states:
Here, the bourgeois idea of the world finally stops being pursued. […]
No tales of matrimony, no tragedies, which result from a clash of
conventions and the need for freedom, no Milieustücke, no harsh
bosses, no blithe officers, no dolls playing with, laughing about and
suffering from the laws, viewpoints, errors, and vices being attached
to ropes of psychological worldviews of this made and constructed
social existence.
>Hier wird der bürgerliche Weltgedanke endlich nicht mehr gedacht.

[…] Keine Ehegeschichten, keine Tragödien, die aus Zusammenprall
von Konventionen und Freiheitsbedürfnis entstehen, keine
Milieustücke, keine gestrengen Chefs, lebens-lustigen Offiziere, keine
Puppen, die an den Drähten psychologischer Weltanschauungen
hängend mit Gesetzen, Standpunkten, Irrungen und Lastern dieses von
den Menschen gemachten und konstruierten Gesellschaftsdaseins
spielen, lachen und leiden (Edschmid 1982: 47).@
Edschmid’s survey of Expressionism echoes a refusal of literary forms

of psychologisation which can be viewed as programmatic foundation
of Neue Sachlichkeit (Becker 2000a: 181ff.). On the one hand,
Edschmid’s argument turns against clichéd conflicts that are being
280 Sabine Kyora
demonstrated in literature time and again while, on the other hand, it

opposes the psychological motivation behind these conflicts that
subordinates the characters to psychology’s logic. Psychology,
however, does not refer to scientifically, even empirically, verifiable
statements concerning people’s behaviour, but to literary conventions
which show characters as dominated by certain emotions. The
corresponding diction motivates the plot through a psychological base
coat of a character. According to Edschmid, the bourgeois subject –
“dure bosses” or “blithe officers” – is neither meant to remain at the
centre of a given text, nor is psychologically informed diction
(presumably the one of bürgerliche Realismus) meant to dominate the
structures of drama and novels. Concerning Hiller and Edschmid,
dissociation from bourgeois subjectivity can thus be observed on three
levels: as a concept that the author presents of him- or herself, as a
concept of characters, and as a part of diction.
Juxtaposed to these Expressionistic concepts (of authorship, of
the psychology of characters, and of diction) are Dadaist concepts of
subjectivity. Unlike the works of Expressionism, Berlin Dadaism, as,
for instance, exemplified by Becker’s work, appears to be one of the
preconditions of Neue Sachlichkeit, when, like Richard Huelsenbeck’s
Dadaistic Manifesto, it advocates a turning away from abstraction and
turning to reality. Nevertheless, it remains quite clear that, despite
rejections of the bourgeois subject and what is perceived as bourgeois
psychology, there are parallels between Expressionism and Dadaism,
even though Berlin Dadaism, in particular, regarded Expressionism as
being part of bourgeois ‘Internalisation’. Richard Huelsenbeck
polemises in this context that “the Germanic peoples used the
academic term of intuition for Expressionism and as an advertising
sign for their artistic barbershop.” “”[V]ia their expression,” he
continues, “[they] appealed to the uncontrollable internalisation of the
singular subject” (Huelsenbeck 1984: 22). Huelsenbeck’s strike at
internalisation aims at both the Expressionist artist in lieu of intuition
and the Expressionist method. His Dadaist representation of
authorship just tries to evade both the bourgeois subject and the
presumed internalisation of Expressionism.
Everyone can be a Dadaist. Dada is not limited to any particular art.

Dadaist is the mixer at a Manhattan Bar who serves Curaçao with one
hand and picks up gonorrhoea with the other. […] Dadaist is the man
who rents a floor in Bristol Hotel without knowing with what money
to tip the maid. Dadaist is the man of chance with good eyes and coup
de père François. He lets loose of his individualism like he lets go of a
lasso […].
>Dadaist sein kann jeder. Dada ist nicht auf irgendeine Kunst
beschränkt. Dadaist ist der Mixer in der Manhattan Bar, der mit der
einen Hand Curaçao schenkt und der anderen seine Gonorrhoe
auffängt. […] Dadaist ist der Mann der sich im Bristol-Hotel eine
Etage mietet, ohne zu wissen, von welchem Geld er dem
Zimmermädchen das Trinkgeld bezahlen soll. Dadaist ist der Mann
des Zufalls mit den guten Augen und coup du père François. Er kann
seine Individualität loslassen wie ein Lasso […] (ibd.: 16).@
The Dadaist’s concept of the subject is thus clearly anti-bourgeois and

thereby displays parallels to Expressionism; the metropolis
background becomes evident as well. Unlike in Expressionism, the
Dadaist indeed may be an author, but not necessarily. What is more,
the Dadaist is not defined by his or her individualism, but exposes
him- or herself to coincidence. The concept of ‘Dadaist’ subjectivity is
not supposed to be psychologically or sociologically comprehensible;
it evolves from the interplay between a specific situation and the
subject. In doing so, the Dadaist disengages from his or her
individuality and exceeds boundaries of his or her identity.
In the rejection of a psychological diction Huelsenbeck is as
clear as Edschmid: “Naturalism was a psychological response to
motives of the citizen in which we saw our mortal enemy and
psychological response lead to identification with those diverse
bourgeois morals, even if one was reluctant to admit it” (ibd.: 11). By
identifying with those psychologically shaped characters the
bourgeois subject is preserved – both in and outside art. In order to
avoid such diction, Huelsenbeck presents the Dadaists’ method. He
interprets their collages as an approximation of reality through the
material which is taken from reality and has been integrated into the
artwork and thus remains visible as something implemented (ibd.:
27f.). This agenda of artistic methods clearly distinguishes Dada from
Expressionism, while there are definite parallels in their respective
positionings against the bourgeois order of subjects. Both movements
also position themselves in opposition to a particular form of
psychologisation, as Huelsenbeck asserts, even if Expressionists
meant to establish ‘Internalisation’ as a new form of bourgeois
psychologisation. When comparing Neue Sachlichkeit to both,
Expressionism and Dadaism, it is striking that no programmatic
statements by single authors representative of Neue Sachlichkeit can
282 Sabine Kyora
be found. The group 1925, which is connected with some of the

authors who belonged to Neue Sachlichkeit in the 1920s, did not write
Manifestos or comments on poetics (Petersen 1981: 102f.).
Furthermore, they neither had at their disposal central journals nor
fixed establishments, like the clubs that their Expressionist and
Dadaist counterparts were famous for – a marker of difference that is
symptomatic for Neue Sachlichkeit as a whole. Considering
programmatic statements of authors who are counted among Neue
Sachlichkeit it becomes clear that Sachlichkeit, here, is understood as
diction (not as a subject matter). Thus, Lion Feuchtwanger writes that
“in this infamous Neue Sachlichkeit [he] does not see the purpose of
today’s prose epic, but merely a means of representation”
(Feuchtwanger 2000: 147). Sachlichkeit as diction indeed replaces the
psychological novel with the aim, as Feuchtwanger points out, to
“convey the author’s attitude towards life” (ibd.: 148) to the reader. In
this regard, the concept of the subject in the terms of the author
resembles the Expressionists’, but contrasts sharply with the concept
of the Dadaist Lebenskünstler.
Subjective elements are retraced in Neue Sachlichkeit. This
tendency is also detectable in Joseph Roth’s preface to “Die Flucht
ohne Ende” (1927):
In what follows, I will tell the story of my friend, companion, and

like-minded fellow Franz Tunda. To some extent, I follow his records
and to some extent his stories. I did not make anything up, I did not
compose. It is no longer a matter of “composing”. The most important
is what is observed.
>Im folgenden erzähle ich die Geschichte meines Freundes,

Kameraden und Gesinnungsgenossen Franz Tunda. Ich folge zum Teil
seinen Aufzeichnungen, zum Teil seinen Erzählungen. Ich habe nichts
erfunden, nicht komponiert. Es handelt sich nicht mehr darum zu
‚dichten’. Das wichtigste ist das Beobachtete (Roth 1994: 7).@
Here, Roth combines Sachlichkeit as a diction with turning away from

a privileged authorial position: the author retreats behind the
observed; he does not “compose”. Similar to the Dadaistic concept
this positioning can be understood as rejection of concepts of
authorship that are considered to be bourgeois. In more radical terms,
the positioning can even be understood as a rejection of art in general.
Yet it is not a turning away from the subject whose story remains in
the centre of the text.
What the diction of Neue Sachlichkeit accentuates is
Entpsychologisierung but not Entindividualisierung. Yet, the former
can also be found in Dadaism and programmatic statements forwarded
by some Expressionists. If the author or main protagonist dominates
the text structurally, the individual indeed remains at its centre. This
rather contradictory diagnosis shall be traced by way of looking at two
authors who position themselves within the avant-garde movements of
the 1910s, but were also close to Neue Sachlichkeit in the 1920s. With
regards to concepts of the subject, the aim is to detect continuities and
differences between the works of the 1910s and those of the 1920s.
2. Dadaists, Expressionists, and Neue Sachlichkeit

Rascals: Walter Serner and Walter Hasenclever
How close relations between historic avant-gardes and Neue

Sachlichkeit are can most accurately be described by way of single
authors. Walter Serner and Walter Hasenclever shall be focused on as
prime examples. In the 1910s, both belonged to the avant-garde
movements: Hasenclever counted among the Expressionists and
Serner among the Dadaists before both opened themselves up to Neue
Sachlichkeit tendencies in the 1920s. With this biographical
connection between the avant-garde of the 1910s and the Neue
Sachlichkeit, however, they are no exceptions: a similar affinity
between Expressionism and Neue Sachlichkeit is also true for Ernst
Blass and Alfred Wolfenstein. As for the Dadaists, one could think of
visual artists George Grosz and John Heartfield whose respective
works are marked by Neue Sachlichkeit in the 1920s. Likewise Alfred
Döblin cultivates his Döblinism by integrating elements of Futurism
and Expressionism in the 1910s (Edschmid even counts him among
Expressionists), while in the 1920s he also incorporates neusachliche
elements in Berlin Alexanderplatz.
Walter Serner’s Dada Manifesto Letzte Lockerung from 1918
shows definite parallels to Expressionist positions and Huelsenbeck’s
argumentation in its polemic against (bourgeois) art and the
(bourgeois) subject, even if the subject is more radically
problematised by Huelsenbeck. In Letzte Lockerung the notion of the
subject itself is called into question; it essentially consists of deceits
that the individual invents in order to prevent getting infested with
“ruthless boredom”. Again, the attack is directed at bourgeois
284 Sabine Kyora
concepts of the subject: “What is typical for the bourgeois mob is to

take the edge off the danger that is posed by others who threaten his
self-confidence through suspicion. […] Naturellement: there is no
consciousness of the self. The real deal: not to have it” (Serner
1982:17).
Like in Hiller’s Manifesto, the narrator in Serner’s text not
only shows anti-bourgeois sentiments, but he also is characteristic for
the “intellectual urban dweller” who claims that “the most picturesque
landscape that I know […] is Café Baratte, next to Les Halles” (ibd.:
6).
With this view on the subject it is no surprise that Serner also
thinks of psychology as deception: “Psychology is a handicap. […]
Psychiatrists and investigating magistrates are au fond would-be
gatemen (travelling circus) since each (o la la!) – psychological
opinion is a task appointed by the appraisee which only seldom
pleases because the assignment had been imprecise due to the
appraisee’s lack of knowledge of himself” (ibd.: 21). Psychology is
thus not to be rejected because it does not provide insights, but
because it is a commissioned assignment that follows economic rules
and is supposed to deliver to the client an affirming image for his
money. Furthermore, it even fails as commissioned assignment
because an accordance with one’s self-image does not come about due
to the lack of self-knowledge. These reasons for a rejection of
psychology are different from those formulated in Neue Sachlichkeit,
even when the concept of reducing insight or an emotion to economic
principles appears there as well – displayed, for instance, in the
connection of love and sexuality with money. The question of a
subject’s general possibility of gaining insight, however, is not
discussed in Neue Sachlichkeit texts.
According to Serner, the negation of a consciousness of the
self and self-knowledge applies equally to artistic as well as to literary
representations of the subject, even if art falls generally victim to the
verdict of the Dadaists, where “Drama, Tragedy, Comedy: the
dilemma culminates, skewers itself, and attracts the assumption in the
audience that the cinéma may very well be the best second dessert (for
the lack of affairs). In summa, my little ones: art was an infant
malady” (ibd.: 8). Designating cinema as the “best second dessert”
supposedly means that the audience indeed wants entertainment and
enjoyment, but does not find it in (bourgeois) art in theatre. These
“affairs” would then be the most tangible possibility for pleasure,
cinema its substitute, theatre not even that. The functionless nature of
art is, here, equally turned against itself and its representation of
subjectivity and reality which is understood as oversimplification
(“the dilemma culminates”). Precisely Serner’s polemic against
Expressionism and its journals Sturm and Die Aktion contains
elements which can just as well be perceived as Neue Sachlichkeit:
“All art journals (Sturm-Gebimmel, Aktions-Gefuchtel, Fackel-
Gefackel) are merely separate supplements to correspondent daily
newspapers (external feuilleton). The Neue Wiener Journal, the B.Z.
am Mittag and the Matin are in all respects far more real and thus
highly recommendable…” (ibd.: 37; emphasis in original). The claim
that daily newspapers are “more real” than Sturm Gebimmel is, on the
one hand, attributable to the fact that they are concerned with reality
and that, in contrast to art and its propaganda organs, they disclose
their commodity character. Moreover, daily newspapers are functional
writings for the (urban) masses. Serner’s rejection of an “image filled”
Gesäusel (ibd.: 5) fits also into the rejection of literature which is
generally understood as an alteration of reality.
In opposition to reality obscuring literature is Serner’s “Verismus” of
the 1920s, which is supposed to represent “the candid condition of
humans” (Serner 1984: 145). If one shifts from Serner’s Manifesto to
his texts of Neue Sachlichkeit from the 1920s, that is to say his crime
stories and the “strange love story” “Die Tigerin”, one can diagnose
that almost all programmatic statements are implemented in literary
texts – but precisely as literature even though in his statements
concerning his stories Serner explains that he still thinks of art as
deception (ibd.: 144). All of the characters in Serner’s texts are non-
bourgeois urban dwellers, petty criminals, who preferably con
bourgeois characters. Their psychological condition is of little interest
to the narrator. It is foremost about the tricks that lead to the fulfilment
of a goal precisely because the counterpart’s self-knowledge leaves
much to be desired. The hope for economic benefits is omnipresent;
and it is the impetus for actions taken by the characters. The only
other character motivation rests on sexual desires, which, however,
frequently involve economic factors. These elements, which can be
traced back to the Dada Manifesto, can also be attributed to Neue
Sachlichkeit. Given that non-bourgeois urban dwellers are also in the
center of Neue Sachlichkeit, the non-psychologizing storytelling is
accentuated time and again. Even the inseparable link between the
individual and the economy can be found in texts that are associated
286 Sabine Kyora
with Neue Sachlichkeit, such as Das kunstseidene Mädchen by

Irmgard Keun or Erich Kästner’s Fabian.
What strikes as greatest difference between Serner’s
Manifesto and his texts from the 1920s is the continuous, outside of
events, heterodiegetic, mostly omnipresent narrator. In the detective
story “Der Abreiser” Serner, for instance, writes: “Because
Faschkonner, already deeply infused with the conviction that all skirts
were treacherous liars in times when others wrote moon poetry about
minors, had a firm principle: he would only start a relationship if he
knew for sure how to get rid of the recently to be conquered woman”
(Serner 1977: 55). The narrator distances himself from his characters
through irony, but is not always reliable: at times, he only
fragmentarily describes the events in order to keep a knave’s
chicanery in the dark. If one applies statements from the Manifesto
concerning art to the narrator’s attitude, then one can read his attitude
as a reaction to the lack of complexity in art: If plays can be reduced
to the statement “the dilemma culminates” and are thus boring, then it
is way more entertaining to watch someone handcraft a “dilemma”
which is not at once fully understood. There are obvious parallels
between Serner’s vanguard position in the 1910s and his texts of Neue
Sachlichkeit of the 1920s. While on the one hand one can read Neue
Sachlichkeit texts as realization of Dadaist positions with other
narrative means – in the sense of creating continuity – they, on the
other hand, show new stylistic features, when the narration is
syntactically conventional, distant, and unreliable.
While Serner’s work shows certain continuities,
Hasenclever’s opus seems to be an example for clear discontinuity
between avant-garde positions in the 1910s and Neue Sachlichkeit
texts. His drama “Der Sohn” is considered to be a prime example of
Expressionist dramatic art, as Hasenclever moves in proximity of the
group 1925 and works with Kurt Tucholsky. In contemporaneous
critiques, his comedies from the 1920s are frequently considered a
waste of the right vanguard doctrine (Brauer 1990: 294). The
reception of Hasenclever’s plays illustrates an obviously already
perceived and promoted polarity between Expressionism and Neue
Sachlichkeit by contemporaries. But then again, the question arises
whether the representation of subjectivity in the 1910s and 1920s, is
likewise described through polar opposites.
Hasenclever’s comments on art and the role of the author do
not show the radicality of a negation as can be found in Serner.
Although in his essays from the 1910s it does become clear that he
rejects all art forms that are perceived as bourgeois and adopts avant-
garde positions, he does not deny that art has its function: “I ask you
please do not stamp a poem, a painting, a tone with the bourgeoisie of
your joys and pains! Consider that the world in its nature […] can be
dreadful – boring and be happy that there are people who complicate
it” (Hasenclever 1997: 175). Surely, Serner would consent to a
rejection of bourgeois “joys” and the dullness of the world. The
concept that art complicates the world, however, is at issue for Serner.
Moreover, according to Hasenclever art is created through ‘will’. The
poet’s mind creates something that always introduces a second level
which is beyond the artwork’s materiality – this concept is most
noticeable in Hasenclever’s ideas of theatre, where on stage it is the
essential and the intellectual that is supposed to be referred to (ibd.:
260-271).
In Hasenclever’s 1914 original drama “Der Sohn”, which first

premiered in 1916, an economically successful father and his son who
just failed his baccalaureate are facing each other. While the father
represents the bourgeois subject – rational, defining himself through
work, disciplined, and disciplining his son accordingly – the son
represents the younger generation that rebels against the bourgeois
concept of subjectivity. In the play psychology is employed in the
service of dominance, when the father, a successful doctor, calls his
son insane because he (the son) questions the father’s dominance and
no longer acknowledges his authority. The son, for his part, conveys
his inwardness in a way that his father cannot understand by way of
psychological terminology. “In the biggest, in the most elevated flash
of lightning I will look beyond constraints because only when I have
fully exhausted reality I will encounter all wonders of the mind. […] I
will not perish through any half measure” (Hasenclever 1992: 263).
The transgression of boundaries seems to be the essential driving force
of this Expressionist form of subjectivity. In contrast to Serner’s Dada
Manifesto, the imagery is striking: it accompanies the end of the
bourgeois order of subjects and illustrates Serner’s verdict against
Expressionism. However, what Expressionists and Dadaists share is
the idea of transgression of boundaries as the departure from the
bourgeois order of subjects. At least in Hasenclever in the 1910s, there
is a concept of the artistic subject that is still dominated by
intellectuality; this intellectuality also justifies the metaphors that can
288 Sabine Kyora
be read as an indication for what is actually meant but is not

materially representable.
In the 1920s, Hasenclever positions himself through his
programmatic statements in the spirit of Neue Sachlichkeit. In a
conversation with Rudolf Leonhard he thus presents his texts as an
example of the contemporary, factual mode of perception:
Today, reality has become more important than the ideal. People have
learned to watch and observe; what they experience they want to
recover through their poets; they want […] Sachlichkeit, which they
have come to subscribe to and in which they find as much heroics as
did, for instance, earlier times in the classical world of forms.
>Heute ist die Wirklichkeit wichtiger als das Ideal geworden. Die
Menschen haben sehen und beobachten gelernt; sie wollen das, was
sie erleben, bei ihren Dichtern wiederfinden; sie wollen […] die
Sachlichkeit, zu der sie sich selber durchgerungen haben und in der sie
genau so viel Heroisches erblicken wie beispielsweise die frühere
Zeiten in der klassischen Formenwelt (Hasenclever 1997: 319).@
Leonhard, however, represents an idea of literature which is

associated with Hasenclever’s concepts from the 1910s, but which
Hasenclever at this point in time rejects in the name of Sachlichkeit.
An observed and objectively described reality supersedes
intellectuality in the sense of an ‘ideal’. Hasenclever entirely rejects
lyricism which can arguably be understood in the way that the
imagery that he used in his drama “Sohn”, now also is not justified
anymore.
Hasenclever’s comedies from the 1920s represent subjectivity
like Serner: the characters are subjected to an economy that, as in “Ein
besserer Herr”, is frequently connected with eroticism. As a marriage
swindler by profession the besserer Herr also fits excellently into
Serner’s ranks of crooks. In Hasenclever, psychological insights are
also used by the characters in order to gain economic advantage.
Möbius, the marriage swindler, explains:
I act with feelings. […] I have organized a new business. I have put
the need for love in a technical formula. […] Even love needs
commodities. Men can help themselves. But women? What a love-
letter means to them!
>Ich handle mit Gefühlen. […] Ich habe einen neuen Betrieb
organisiert. Ich habe das Liebesbedürfnis auf eine technische Formel
gebracht. […] Auch die Liebe braucht Massenartikel. Männer können
sich selber helfen. Aber Frauen? Was bedeutet ein Liebesbrief für sie!
(Hasenclever 1997: 127f.)@
Other than in Serner’s texts, the conman in Hasenclever’s comedy is,

as a businessman, in the end integrated into his company and society.
He ultimately marries the daughter of the house for love. On the one
hand, this kind of happy ending certainly takes the edge off the
marriage swindler’s anti-bourgeois attitude. On the other hand, the
economy and the objective decision triumphs with the entrepreneur’s
perspective who views his son-in-law only as a business partner.
It is the artist in his position as objective observer and
characters that are subjected to economic forces that take the place of
the intellectual creator and the concept of a subjective transgression of
boundaries in the text. Thus in Hasenclever’s work the change from
Expressionism to Neue Sachlichkeit is almost paradigmatic to the idea
in literary history of the succession of different literary movements.
Simultaneously, a transgression of boundaries also takes place in “Ein
besserer Herr”: the marriage swindler violates rules of bourgeois
society, but is, nevertheless, able to enter this society in the name of
Sachlichkeit. Where the protagonist of the ‘son’ (in “Sohn”)
transgresses the boundary from the inside out, the marriage swindler
moves from the outside in. This dynamic of the subject can be
understood as connecting elements between Hasenclever’s
Expressionist and Neue Sachlichkeit plays. Simultaneously, the
stylistic differences are so striking that discontinuity seems dominant
to continuity. Although contemporaries have read this discontinuity as
a shift away from the avant-garde, Hasenclever attempted to frame it
as progress where he certainly had a vanguard function in mind.
3. Expressive Employees and Dadaistic Cynics
Contrary to polarisation tendencies in literary history as well as

programmatic statements of individual authors, the article has shown
so far that quite some parallels between Dadaist tendencies and those
of Neue Sachlichkeit can be found. Less apparent were the continuities
between Expressionism and Neue Sachlichkeit – at least concerning
Hasenclever. The foundation for the considerations above have been
authors who could be connected to both circles. However, among
Neue Sachlichkeit are counted also a number of authors like Hans
290 Sabine Kyora
Fallada, Irmgard Keun, Edlef Köppen or Gabriele Tergit who did not
begin writing until the 1920s and early 30s. The question now arising
is whether their texts also follow up avant-garde tendencies from the
1910s or whether a discontinuity, possibly even through programmatic
dissociation, can be found. In Irmgard Keuns novel Das kunstseidene
Mädchen the main character Doris informs the reader of her wishes
and experience in a kind of diary. Doris wants to ‘write like film’ and
become a ‘glance’, that is to say a star. Secondary literature has time
and again classified the novel’s scenery, main characters, and themes
as neusachlich: Berlin as location, the employee with characteristics
of the 1920s ‘new woman’ and ‘girl’, hopes for promotion and her
erotic experience are among those characteristics deemed typical of
Neue Sachlichkeit novels (Brandt 2003: 167-208; Deupmann 2009:
15-25). To what extend Sabina Becker’s indications of
Entpsycholgisierung and Entindividualisierung (as an attribute of the
poetics of Neue Sachlichkeit) can also be discovered in Keun’s novel?
The representation of subjectivity within the novel can be
found on two levels. On the one hand, psychological assumptions are
part of Doris’ means of manipulation: to distract from her not being
able to write with proper punctuation marks, she gives her employer
‘sensuous’ looks (Keun 1989: 6). She knows exactly that her strategy
will work up to a point where he will claim fulfilment for the erotic
promise. She also knows that, should she be reluctant to give in, he
will fire her. On the other hand, however, the novel’s first-person
perspective and its specific diction creates an image of an individual
with a specific psychology – and not only a sociological type. An
insight into the protagonist’s feelings is also mediated through
imagery:
I walked with the fair one. Tall he was and slender. And a dark face
like a strong fairy tale. Dreams kissed me into confusion. A room was
cold and dark and the fair one was gleaming. I kissed him gratefully
because I did not have to be ashamed to see him naked.
>Ich ging mit dem Schönen. Groß war er und schlank. Und ein dunkles
Gesicht wie ein starkes Märchen. Träume küssten mich
durcheinander. Ein Zimmer war kalt und dunkel, und der Schöne
leuchtete. Ich habe ihn dankbar geküsst, weil ich mich nicht schämen
brauchte, ihn nackt zu sehen (ibd.: 56).@
The personification of these dreams and the comparison of the face

with a fairy tale take up elements of the visual imagery of
Expressionism and use these just as in Hasenclever for presenting an
individual feeling. Disregarding a slight awkwardness which remains
perceptible through the ‘confusing’ kissing, the stylistic difference is,
at this point, hardly recognizable. At the same time, this
Expressionistic inflection is only one among several in the novel.
Additionally, there are quotes from Schlager music and advertisement,
sociolects, and colloquial language. This implemented language can
certainly be considered as close to vanguard concepts because it
engenders a form of montage for depiction of contemporary reality
and its perception that was developed in Dadaism and propagated in
Huelsenbeck’s Manifesto (Lickhardt 2009:45).1 While Keun’s
representation of characters is antipsychologisch in the sense that it
exhibits the artificiality of language through montage, the book’s
diction can also be understood as one that materializes precisely
through the subject’s individual act of speaking. Doris can indeed be
socially classified and fits the stock character of a little employee and,
in parts, the ‘new woman’ of the Weimar Republic. Her way of
articulation, however, by far exceeds the ‘report’ of Neue Sachlichkeit.
Keun did not comment on her idea of authorship in the 1920s
and 30s. The diction of Das kunstseidene Mädchen however gave rise
to a debate in contemporaneous feuilleton-articles that accused Keun
of plagiarism. Tucholsky, whom Keun had asked for assistance, was
sure that she subconsciously adopted the ‘tone’ of Robert Neumann’s
novel Karriere. Perhaps, this debate shows that Keun’s quotes had
been considered a weakening of the idea of authorship that, in turn,
made plagiarism appear more plausible.
Also Gabriele Tergit’s novel Käsebier erobert den
Kurfürstendamm from 1931 shows, like Keun’s text, characteristics
that can be attributed to Neue Sachlichkeit. It demonstrates typical
Berlin inhabitants – the journalist, the socialite, the academic, folk
singers – and characterises these primarily through dialogue. Contrary
to the perspective forwarded in Keun, the perspective here is that of a
heterodiegetic narrator who possesses overview of the story and who
presents the events in the way of a report. Gabriele Tergit was, at that
point, an established Berlin journalist who, amongst other things,
wrote judicial reports and was thus not only well acquainted with the
milieu of Berlin journalists, but also stylistically familiar with their
reports. Thus, there is definite consistency between her articles
published in the Berliner Tageblatt of the 1920s and scenes from the
novel.2 What is remarkable is that in these feuilleton articles a clear
292 Sabine Kyora
Generationsbewusstsein surfaces: Tergit, born in 1894, views the

Weimar generation of women as clearly different from the previous
generation which still had to push for certain rights for women.3 This
clear demarcation between the Empire’s society and that of the
Weimar Republic makes, above all, Expressionism appear to be a
literary mode of the Empire and thereby explains the break from
avant-garde positions from the 1910s.
In the emergence of the folk singer Käsebier the connection of
media, economy, and culture becomes very clear. It was just because
the media – including newspapers, radio, and film – would suddenly
promote Käsebier that he became popular. By virtue of his growing
popularity he was marketed to a larger audience.. The second the
market was saturated, he became less important and disappeared
among the masses of mediocre artists. The ‘value’ of cultural
commodities – Käsebier is merely a particularly striking example – is
the same for the writers presented in the novel. Their value – is
calculated on the basis of the market. The Dadaist disenchantment of
art and artists also can be found in Tergit. Serner’s asserted ‘realness’
of newspapers becomes apparent, as well. They and their makers are
aware of their commodity character. Accordingly, one of the
journalists formulates his perspective on newspapers as follows:
By the way, the audience is oblivious to it all. If it was not for the
critics, nobody would know what a good and what a bad picture, film
or book is. Newspapers are being criticised as little as silk stockings.
The day after tomorrow, everybody will rather be reading Mr.
Trappen’s or Käte Herzfelde’s pillow talk than reviews on French
politics. Nobody will admit to it. But the core of the modern
businessman is to awake slumbering needs.
>Im Übrigen ist dem Publikum alles egal. Wenn nicht die Kritiker
wären, wüsste kein Mensch, was gute, was schlechte Bilder, Filme
oder Bücher sind. Zeitungen werden so wenig kritisiert wie seidene
Strümpfe. Übermorgen liest jeder die Bettgeheimnisse des Herrn von
Trappen oder der Käte Herzfelde lieber als Abhandlungen über die
französische Politik. Keiner will sich das eingestehen. Aber das
Wesen des modernen Betriebsfachmanns ist es, schlummernde
Bedürfnisse zu wecken (Tergit 1997: 145).@
These “mediacynics” (Sloterdijk 1984:841)4 conform to the

marketable, not to content. Tergit describes them as the emerging
type. In that sense her novels correspond to the tendency of
Entindividualisierung of characters as described by Becker, achieved
in the first place through direct speech that, ultimately, reveals the
sociological type. In extension to the Dadaist perspective onto art,
there is continuity in Tergit’s novel. In her depiction of characters and
her diction, on the contrary, distinct Neue Sachlichkeit elements can
be found. These are, however, also explicable through Tergit’s
specific female perspective which positions the Weimar women’s
generation against the women’s movement of the Empire and could
thus also motivate a break with the avant-garde of the 1910s.
4. Neue Sachlichkeit as avant-garde literature
The Antipsychologismus in Neue Sachlichkeit proves to be an element

that connects it most clearly with Expressionism and Dadaism. All
three movements have in common that they reject the bourgeois order
of subjects and equate psychologising narration patterns with
bourgeois literature that they counter with their own concepts of the
subject. In the space of these concepts of the subject, there are diverse
parallels: thus, transgression of boundaries is both a characteristic of
Dadaist Huelsenbeck as well as the Expressionist character of the son
in Hasenclever. Put into social context, this transgression still plays a
role in Hasenclever’s Neue Sachlichkeit texts. The metaphoric
depiction of subjective perception, then again, connects Hasenclever
and Keun while Tergit und Serner create characters to whom not only
nothing seems sacred anymore, but everything seems marketable – in
Serner this is already a characteristic of his Dadaist concept of the
subject. The question of continuity and discontinuity between
Expressionism and Dadaism, on the one hand, Neue Sachlichkeit, on
the other, appears to be, with these diagnoses, more complex than
could be expected at first: not only do single characteristics spread
across several authors and movements, there is also an author like
Serner who implements his Dada-poetics in texts that are considered
as Neue Sachlichkeit. For the time being, one can possibly say that
despite all comparison of neusachliche functional literature, on the
one hand, and avant-garde literature, on the other, it could be useful to
consider Neue Sachlichkeit as yet another stream of avant-garde that
shares its polemic against the bourgeois order of subjects just as it
shares its polemic against what is perceived as bourgeois art. In any
case, – the examples have presumably shown it – against its own
294 Sabine Kyora
rhetoric Neue Sachlichkeit uses concepts of the subject and dictions

that Dadaistic and Expressionistic authors apply as well.
Notes
1
Maren Lickhardt argues in this way in relation to „Gilgi“, though.
2
See e.g. ‚Die Einspännerin‘ in Berliner Tagesblatt (8 November 1927)
(reprinted: Tergit, Gabriele. s.d. Frauen und andere Ereignisse. Publizistik
und Erzählungen von 1915 und 1970. Berlin: Das neue Berlin: 106-109) and
Targit, Gabriele. 1997. Käsebier erobert den Kurfürstendamm. Berlin: arani:
75.78.
3
e.g. Tergit, Gabriele. ‚Kleine Diskussion‘ in Berliner Tagesblatt (17
August1928) (reprinted: Tergit, Gabriele. s.d. Frauen und andere Ereignisse.
Publizistik und Erzählungen von 1915 und 1970. Berlin: Das neue Berlin:
112-115).
4
Sloterdijk uses a scene from Kästner’s Fabian for his analysis which is set
in a newspaper editorial office.
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The Reception of Neue Sachlichkeit among Dutch
Authors and Critics
Jaap Goedegebuure
Abstract: This essay deals with the reception of Neue Sachlichkeit among Dutch
authors and critics between 1925 and 1940. I will argue that
a) in Dutch literature the poetics and stylistic devices of Neue Sachlichkeit are
combined with expressionist poetics and stylistic devices;
b) due to the dominant traditionalist poetics and a deep scepticism towards the
avant-garde, Neue Sachlichkeit in the Netherlands usually was seen as a quickly
transient fashion. Authors who put narrative and stylistic devices of the Neue
Sachlichkeit into practice were ridiculed and marginalized.
Before going into the literary situation in the Netherlands during the period 1925-
1940 I will sketch the main features of German Neue Sachlichkeit in so far as they
are relevant for Dutch literature.
Neue Sachlichkeit in Germany

The decade between 1910 and 1920 was the hey-day of German and
Austrian expressionism. The artists and writers who formed the so
called activist wing of this movement strongly believed in a better and
more humane society; the paintings and poems they produced still
show their political concern. Many expressionists saw the Great War
of 1914-1918 as an apocalyptic event, a ‘Menschheitsdämmerung’ as
Kurt Pinthus, the editor of a famous anthology of poems, put it. It was
only on the ruins of the old and corrupt world that a new one could be
built. Out of the ashes of the bourgeois society a new man would have
to rise.
Within a few years after the war had ended, expressionism
crumbled down. It seemed as if the fire could only last as long as there
was something to be extinguished. Not that the war put an end to all
the social evils that had come with the era of modernity. Here and
298 Jaap Goedegebuure
there some changes could be seen, especially in Russia where the

regime of the Czar was replaced by the dictatorship of the proletariat.
The revolutionary tide also touched Germany, but after a few weeks
of euphoria, the people’s republics in Berlin and Munich were swept
away. As revolution and activist expressionism were next of kin, the
failure of revolution also meant the end of expressionism as a socially
committed movement within the artistic field. The changes in social
and political conditions stimulated a new mentality, which soon
became known as the Neue Sachlichkeit.
From the very beginning, the Neue Sachlichkeit was perceived
as a reaction to expressionism, which dominated the scene between
1905 and 1918. It was Georg Friedrich Hartlaub, director of the
Städtische Kunsthalle in Mannheim, who coined the term. In 1925 he
organized an exhibition of post-expressionist painting under this
heading. In his call for contributions Hartlaub appealed to artists “who
remained faithful or became faithful to concrete reality” (Schmied
1969: 7). In this plea for a more mimetic mode of representation,
abstraction was explicitly rejected. In a similar sense the
expressionism of Kandinsky, Franz Marc, Paul Klee and other
members of the Blaue Reiter group was considered outdated, as was
the art of the other well known expressionist group Die Brücke. The
spiritual element in art, as advocated by Worringer, Kandinsky,
Mondrian and others was relegated to the background, in favour of a
certain objectivity, as it seems, and a certain matter-of-factness too.
The two connotations of the word Sachlichkeit have parallels
in the English equivalents: ‘Objectivity’ and, as John Willet (1978)
translated it, ‘Sobriety’. Both terms suggest an anti-metaphysical and
anti-romanticist mentality. Hence Neue Sachlichkeit can be seen to
contrast sharply with expressionism, for the latter could be described
as one of the manifestations of the broad romantic current that
dominated European literature during the nineteenth century.
The connotation ‘sobriety’, implicit in the German word
Sachlichkeit, also points to the reaction against the revolution of 1918.
Many artists turned their backs on the idealism fostered by activist
expressionism, and oriented themselves to the matter-of-factness that
characterized the decade of economic and social recovery (or even
restoration) which began after the financial crisis of 1923. That year
marks the starting point of a rapid dissemination of a new mentality
and new ideas, associated with the rise of new political powers.
Because of its supposed declining vitality Europe no longer counted
The Reception of Neue Sachlichkeit 299
as the centre of the world. The Great War was seen as the bankruptcy
of traditional humanist culture. The rise of socialism in Russia and
America’s successful military intervention in 1917 marked a new era.
Soon the Old World opened its gates for the American way of
life. The so-called Dawes-plan, which settled the German war debts
and regenerated German industry, was followed by jazz, film and
Henry Ford’s autobiography. This book, published in 1923, became a
bestseller in Europe, and played a stimulating role in the tendency
towards an utilitarian and pragmatic ideology which was known as
‘white socialism’ (Lethen 1970). Needless to say, the attitude towards
America was based on dreams and images rather than on observed
reality. This became clear in novels and stories situated in an
American context but written by European authors who for the greater
part never set foot in the USA.
Not only the fascination for America is embedded in the
context of the Neue Sachlichkeit, but also the vivid interest in the
young Soviet Union. It is surprising to notice that so many young
artists and writers regarded the USA and the Soviet Union as the
harbingers of a future culture. The Soviet cinema represented by
Eisenstein and Pudovkin, the epic work of Gladkov and the art of the
Russian constructivist painters and architects all had a stimulating
effect on writers and artists in Western Europe. The montage-
technique used by those novelists who represent the Neue Sachlichkeit
is a direct consequence of the penchant for Soviet art and Soviet life.
When we take stock of the artistic changes, we may conclude
that the German Neue Sachlichkeit initiates new ways in the technique
of prose-writing (such as montage, stream of consciousness, adoption
of journalistic styles), maintaining a strict mimetic point of view
which suggests a complete objectivity towards reality. In marked
contrast with expressionism, Neue Sachlichkeit rejects Platonist
idealism. Although its adherents distinguish the notion Geist, they see
it as inseparable from reality. In an article under the programmatic
title ‘Der Geist im Wirklichen’ the German critic and advocate of
Neue Sachlichkeit Fritz Landsberger (1928) speaks about the new
curiosity towards contemporary life, and points to the world of
business and economics, newspapers and film. The thematic aspect of
the new art is emphasized: subject matter has to be extracted from
visual data. This reminds us of the naturalist preference for ‘hard’
facts and the need for documents. Some followers of the Neue
Sachlichkeit, for instance Alfred Döblin, the author of ‘Bekenntnis
zum Naturalismus’ (1920), sympathize with the nineteenth-century

realists and naturalists, but there are a few crossroads at which they
part company. The methods and style of Balzac, Flaubert, Zola and
other realists would be inspired by the natural sciences or aims, at
least, to impartiality. Accordingly, their narrative is broad and
detailed. Furthermore, they are convinced of social and historical
determination.
Proponents and adherents of Neue Sachlichkeit share a strong
dislike of depicting the whole social scenery. Usually they focus on
one or two representative details, just as journalists and modern
cineasts do. Fritz Landsberger, for example, rejects all concentration
on details which inevitably results in the notorious couleur locale and
in the endless descriptions of nineteenth-century realism. He also
rejects the psychological motivations of the plot. Important is “the
whole and the object itself” [“das Ganze und der Gegenstand selbst”],
as Landsberger (1928: 340) puts it.
It is important to stress the ideological ambivalence of Neue
Sachlichkeit, that is to say, mimetic poetics on the one hand and a
metaphysical concern (appearing in the keyword Geist) on the other.
As we shall see later on, this ambivalence is responsible for a social
and political commitment in its own right. Literary historians who
exclusively focus on the connotations ‘sobriety’ and ‘objectivity’
however, are inclined to underestimate or even deny the factor of
social commitment. They consider Neue Sachlichkeit as a
characteristic of the mentality that dominated the Weimar Republic.
Jost Hermand (1978), for instance, points to the mimetic mode of
representation as a means to preserve the social and political status
quo. At a time when the majority of the German people resigned itself
to the new republic, writers succeeded in transforming sports,
technique, jazz and other modern phenomena into fashionable items
for high culture. By achieving this they blurred the distinctions
between art on the one hand and mass-culture and amusement-
industry on the other. Hermand goes even further by suggesting that
after the eclipse of expressionism the far less political aware Neue
Sachlichkeit became a shelter for artists from all kinds of political and
ideological denominations. Not only left-wing artists such as Bertolt
Brecht and Egon Erwin Kisch associated themselves with the Neue
Sachlichkeit, but also radical conservatives such as Ernst Jünger and
Arnolt Bronnen. Because of this chameleonic, nondescript character
Neue Sachlichkeit often functions as a steppingstone in a historical
explanation of Hitlers take-over in 1933. This stand is most explicitly
taken by Helmut Lethen (1970), but also defended by Peter Sloterdijk
in Kritik der zynischen Vernunft (1983). Sloterdijk qualifies Neue
Sachlichkeit as a form of realism which is sheer affirmation.
The criticism formulated by Hermand, Lethen and Sloterdijk
shows views current among members of the Frankfurter Schule,
especially when they link Neue Sachlichkeit to mass-culture. Adorno’s
life-long struggle for a culture that he saw threatened by the culture
industry, must have been very influential. Another advocate of de
Kritische Theorie, Walter Benjamin, already took a stand against the
Neue Sachlichkeit during the twenties and thirties. He blamed the
movement for transforming the “revolutionary reflexes” into sheer
amusement (Benjamin 1966: 459). Lukács, to mention a third critic,
rejected the way in which the novel had been turned into journalistic
report, and argued that the overall view of the creative narrator is
much more useful than the reporter’s frog-eye perspective (Lukács
1932: 7-8).
It is an interesting and also ironic fact that the Dutch poet and
critic Marsman, politically Lukács’s antagonist, shared this opinion
about the relation between literature and journalism. Marsman thought
that the author needed imagination to reveal the truth. But the way he
reached this conclusion is totally different from Lukács’s
argumentation. While Lukács used nineteenth-century realism as a
criterion, Marsman idealized the romantic imagination. What both
critics shared is their dislike of the mixing up of literature and
journalism, which nowadays is considered to be typical of modern
narrative prose. Of course Lukács rejection of Neue Sachlichkeit
differs from Adorno’s criticism. The latter considered Neue
Sachlichkeit, because of its mimetic way of representation, as a false
avant-garde. Lukács, from his orthodox Marxist point of view,
rejected all avant-garde literature as a product of a so called false
consciousness. Nineteenth-century realism was the absolute norm for
him, as it was incompatible with Adorno’s modernist views.
Having reached this point of the discussion we could raise some

questions. Is it really true that creative imagination and social
commitment are incompatible with the journalistic approach which
was put into practice by authors of narrative prose during the twenties
and thirties? And was the Neue Sachlichkeit really the cynical
mentality that accepted mass culture, technology and other modern

phenomena without any criticism?
In their evaluation of Neue Sachlichkeit literary historians
such as Hermand, Lethen and Sloterdijk seem to take it for granted
that the avant-garde movements of the early twentieth century are
socially and politically involved. This involvement even turns out to
be used as a distinctive feature of the avant-garde tout court and
counts as a standard measure applied to several artistic phenomena.
Aside from the relevance of this criterion I would like to question the
lack of social and political concern ascribed to the adherents of the
Neue Sachlichkeit. In formal respects (style, narrative techniques and
so on) authors such as Döblin, Kisch, Fallada and Ehrenburg
participate in the development of modernist devices. Thematically,
they explore new areas of experience and perception.
Here we can quote Peter Bürger’s well known and influential
study Theory of the Avant-Garde (1984). Bürger argues that artistic
movements such as Expressionism, Dadaism and Surrealism aimed at
breaking down the walls between art and life that had been built by
nineteenth-century aestheticism. Bridging the gap between two
spheres which were considered to be absolute separate or even
opposite, the avant-garde found new ways of expression which were
an adequate vehicle to show or verbalize new experiences.
In Bürger’s view the avant-garde criticism on nineteenth-
century ivory-tower art has at least one more important implication.
He writes:
The European avant-garde movements can be defined as an attack on
the status of art in bourgeois society. What is negated is not an earlier
form of art (a style) but art as an institution that is unassociated with
the life praxis of men. When the avant-gardists demand that art
become practical once again, they do not mean that the contents of
works of art should be socially significant. The demand is not raised at
the level of the contents of individual works. Rather, it directs itself to
the way art functions in society, a process that does as much to
determine the effect that works have as does the particular content
(Bürger 1984: 49).
The criticism on the official, academic and institutionalized art is

made explicit in those works of the Neue Sachlichkeit in which non-
official and alternative ways of discourse (journalism, advertisements,
popular songs and so on) are integrated.
Bürger’s theory can easily be applied to the Neue
Sachlichkeit. In adapting techniques which were developed in fields
close to everyday reality such as documentary films or journalistic
reports, the barriers between art and society were broken down. At the
same time authors were provoking artistic and social conventions
related to cognition and experience by using expressions and stylistic
techniques in a rather unexpected way. A comparison could be made
between the collages of Picasso and Braque during their cubist period
and the montage-techniques used by Döblin, Ehrenburg, Dos Passos
and others. As Bürger puts it, the fragmentation caused by collage and
montage deliberately destroys the concept of the organic work of art
and the poetics of coherence that dominated both nineteenth-century
literature and twentieth-century modernism. (Bürger 1984: 78-82)
This kind of fragmentation also can be seen in Döblin’s novel Berlin
Alexanderplatz, Ehrenburg’s 10 L.S. Chronika nasego wremeni (10
H.P. The Life of the Automobile) and Dos Passos’s Manhattan
Transfer.
These fading borderlines between ‘artistic’ and ‘non-artistic’-
ways of expression, and – on the institutional level – between
academic art and modern mass media, are not goals in themselves, or
another l’art pour l’art, as crtics of of Neue Sachlichkeit have
suggested (Lethen 1970; Sloterdijk 1983). They are outspoken
strategies dominated by the aspiration for an objective truth. The
factor of social involvement comes in where the results of the
description and analysis force the author to take a stand. The slogan
‘art as truth’ is slowly changing into ‘art as a weapon’. In this respect
there are similarities and differences between nineteenth-century
realism and Neue Sachlichkeit to be observed. Although Döblin and
others refer to Zola and his school as predecessors, they are much
more involved with their subject than the realists and naturalists ever
were, even if some of these novelists of the past could not hide their
compassion with the working class whose fate they described so
accurately.
Another important difference between prose fiction of the late
nineteenth century and the Neue Sachlichkeit is that the latter
assimilates thematic and stylistic elements derived from expressionist
poetics. This may seem strange, as the expressionist Weltanschauung
shows an overt social commitment which does not harmonize with
explicitly claimed objectivity. Still, there is hardly a single novel to be
found in the context of Neue Sachlichkeit without this social concern.
Dutch Nieuwe Zakelijkheid

After this brief overview of some important features of the poetics of
the Neue Sachlichkeit I will turn to the Dutch reception and
assimilation in narrative prose. In this section of my essay I will claim
that the quite different poetics of German expressionism and Neue
Sachlichkeit jointly undergird Dutch modernism as it sought to reject
the conventions of nineteenth-century realism. As I shall argue, the
works of authors like F. Bordewijk and Ben Stroman embody shared
aspects of expressionism and Neue Sachlichkeit. Critics like H.
Marsman and Constant van Wessem largely ignored the manifest
distinctions between these two movements. This blending was
partially caused by the fact that they were received in the Netherlands
almost simultaneously.
Marsman was not only active as a literary critic, but counted
as an innovative poet in the first place. He was and still is seen as the
main figure of Dutch expressionism. Not only Marsman, but also his
fellow-editor Roel Houwink was strongly influenced by the German
expressionists, especially by Kasimir Edschmid. As Houwink himself
confessed (1961: 9), his experimental Novellen (Stories, 1924) were
modeled after Edschmid’s novel Die achatnen Kugeln (1920). The
stylistic devices Houwink developed in his narrative prose (short
sentences, anthropomorphisms, verbs used as nouns, deletion of the
grammatical subject, deletion of articles, and so on) reappear in the
works of Dutch authors who orient themselves to Neue Sachlichkeit.
Although expressionism was an important trend in Dutch
literature after the end of the Great War, it would be erroneous to
assert that it was a dominant current. Expressionism was one of the
many trends that reached the Netherlands after 1918. Before that time
only very few Dutch writers and artists were familiar with what was
going on in the artistic centres of Western Europe: Paris, Berlin,
Munich and Milan. The great exception was Theo van Doesburg,
founder and chief editor of the avant-garde periodical De Stijl. It is
well known by now that Van Doesburg and his fellow painter Piet
Mondrian developed innovative ideas about constructivism (or neo-
plasticism as they called it) in art and crafts. But Van Doesburg also
operated as a sort of salesman of the avant-garde. He introduced new
trends as futurism and Dadaism to the Dutch public, and excelled in
experimental poetry and prose (written under the name I.K. Bonset),
developing a style which disrupted all syntactic and semantic bounds.
Most of his fellow artists couldn’t keep up with his tempo and
interests. They remained faithful to late nineteenth-century
symbolism, even when they tried to reconcile their need for more
reality and topicality with the claim, already formulated by the
symbolists, that art and literature were autonomous in respect to
everyday life. The poet M. Nijhoff is a characteristic representative of
this ‘non-spectacular modernism’ (Sötemann 1976), that is to say, a
sort of modernism which combines topical themes, new images and
everyday speech with traditional prosody.
Marsman’s poetry is characterized by a similar half-
heartedness. The work he produced at the beginning of his career is
the most experimental and progressive he ever wrote. Initially he
echoed Rimbaud, but later on he adapted the lessons he picked up
from the expressionists, especially Georg Trakl and August Stramm.
They gave his debut Verzen a German touch. Immediately after the
publication of this ‘red booklet’ however, Marsman turned back to
neo-classical and symbolist traditions.
In Marsman’s critical writings the shift appears less abrupt. It
is even possible to maintain that he propagated a ‘light’ version of
modernism. This is especially the case in the manifestoes he published
during his first term as an editor of the literary review De vrije bladen
[The Free Pages]. Although he objected to “modernism unthinking”
[“modernisme à tort et à travers”] (Goedegebuure 1981: 147), he
seemed to be aware of the necessity to be contemporary, and so he
pleaded for ‘a jump into the dark’, i.e. a non-traditional innovation of
arts and literature (Marsman 1938: 233-235).
As I have been trying to show so far, the Dutch version of
modernism and avant-garde is eclectic, owing not only to the passive
or even rejecting attitude towards the avant-garde manifested by
Marsman, Nijhoff, Slauerhoff and others, but also to the fact that the
new currents and movements didn’t reach the neutral and thus isolated
Netherlands during 1914-1918, the period of the First World War.
After 1918 the various ‘isms’ that constitute the avant-garde had
ended up in one big melting pot that was received as one whole in the
Netherlands. In the articles of Constant van Wessem, an important
spokesman of the young literary generation, the voices of such diverse
modernists as Apollinaire, Marinetti and Cocteau were echoed. This
becomes clear when we pay attention to Van Wessem’s key-words:
‘game’, ‘tempo’, ‘dance’, ‘equilibrism’, ‘fantasy’, ‘punch’ and

‘knock-out’ (Van Wessem 1941).
In the Netherlands the term Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (a translation
of Neue Sachlichkeit) was not mentioned explicitly before the end of
the twenties. Van Wessem was the first to do so in a series of articles
which were meant as advice to the authors of narrative prose (Anten
1982). The relatively late appearance of the term does not mean that
during the early twenties Dutch authors and critics were totally
unaware of the new developments in fiction. In earlier statements Van
Wessem and Marsman had already used the term ‘zakelijkheid’
(including the connotations ‘objectivity’ and ‘austerity’) and had
asked for more matter-of-factness, topicality and stylistic
concentration. In his manifesto ‘De sprong in het duister’ [‘The Jump
into the Dark’] Marsman speaks about a new penchant for reality.
The new curiosity seeks for reality; not because of her appearance, but
because of her character; it penetrates concrete objects until it reaches
their marrow; it unveils their (would-be poetic) atmospheric haze; it
doesn’t see them as decorative motive, as symbol for personal
feelings, but as a thing; it sees, so to speak, the attitude, the behaviour
of the thing; it sees the relations and the proportions between things,
and also the tensions between men and their situations. It suggests its
conclusions in the image; it doesn’t explicate. It makes you feel
relations and proportions, but doesn’t psychologize; it is graphic: it
doesn’t reason; it synthesizes; it doesn’t analyze. It is not egocentric.
[De nieuwe aandacht zoekt de werkelijkheid; niet om haar

verschijning, maar om haar karakter; zij doordringt de concreta tot op
hun kern; zij ontsluiert ze van hun (z.g. poëtisch) atmosferisch waas;
zij ziet ze niet als decoratief motief, als gevoels-ornament, als
symbool voor eigen gevoel, maar als ding; zij ziet a.h.w. de houding,
het gedrag van het ding; zij ziet tusschen de dingen de relaties, de
verhoudingen; zoo tusschen de menschen de spanningen, de situatie’s.
Zij suggereert haar bevindingen in het beeld; zij expliceert niet. Zij
maakt relaties, verhoudingen voelbaar; zij verpsychologiseert ze niet;
zij beeldt: zij redeneert niet; zij synthetiseert; zij analyseert niet. Zij is
niet egocentrisch (Marsman 1938: 235).]
This is the synopsis of a program that corresponds to the core of the

German Neue Sachlichkeit poetics. Yet Marsman seemed not to be
aware of the movement, and if he did, he clearly didn’t pay attention
to it. For him it was no problem to combine the expressionist views
which he adopted at a rather early stage with opinions about Neue
Sachlichkeit he may have seen expressed in periodicals like Der
Querschnitt, Die neue Rundschau and Die literarische Welt. Not
earlier than 1929 he explicitly stated that expressionism was over
(Marsman 1938: 260-265), so it is plausible that he stuck to
expressionist poetics even though in Germany the tide had turned.
The expressionist element in the passage which I quoted from
Marsman’s essay ‘The Jump into the Dark’ is implicit in the claim
that reality has a ‘heart’ and that it is possible to unveil it. Such a view
is premised on the idea that reality has a double nature: on the one
hand there is the perceptible, on the other hand there are the qualities
in things one can’t perceive. This ambivalence is of course a relic of
Platonist idealism, which witnessed a revival during the first decades
of the nineteenth century (Wiedman 1979). Dependent on the
romanticist heritage, expressionism is idealistic in its metaphysics.
In the context of Dutch literature and Dutch poetics between 1920 and
1930, it was relatively unproblematic to combine expressionist ideas
and ideas that were held by adherents of the Neue Sachlichkeit. As
both currents were received in less than ten years time, their
respective differences got much less attention than their similarities.
Obviously, the two movements were seen as two slightly different
branches of avant-gardism, branches that could provide innovating
stimuli against old-fashioned realism in prose and aesthetic
symbolism in poetry. It is the austerity rather than the objectivity of
the Neue Sachlichkeit that is stressed in its Dutch counterpart. By
neglecting the anti-metaphysical dimension of the new poetics it is
possible to transform the stylistic devices of expressionism and Neue
Sachlichkeit into instruments against the outdated prose of realists and
naturalists that had dominated the Dutch novel since the end of the
nineteenth century. The transition is one from realism to austerity, as
Anten (1982) has put it, not from expressionism to objectivity. Critics
who propagated Modernism were at the same time quite clear in their
defence of creativity and imagination against what Marsman called
‘the aesthetics of the reporters’ (Marsman 1938: 7-16), according to
which facts are identified with art. The defence bears a conservative
element insofar as it reconfirms romantic ideas about art and artists.
This conservative element is one of the causes of the relative
backwardness of Dutch culture, seen from the perspective of the
international avant-garde. It is not until the second half of the
twentieth century that surrealism and imagism receive serious
attention from Dutch writers and critics. The dominance of idealistic
poetics and romanticist views on the relation between the arts and
society have to do with the strong position the poet and critic Albert
Verwey, main figure of the Eighties Movement, held until 1940
(Kamerbeek 1966; Goedegebuure 1984). Verwey in particular
influenced many younger authors, such as Marsman, in their creative
works as well as in their conceptions of literature.
One might assume that there is a gap between the idealistic
views shared by symbolists like Verwey and expressionists like
Marsman. In fact there is no such gap. Theories of the so-called
constructivist painter Mondrian, the most representative member of
De Stijl, are idealistic too. In one of his statements he speaks about the
surface and the essence of reality. The latter projects itself into the
soul and must be transformed into an image. The opposition is
formulated in terms that are almost impossible to translate adequately:
Mondrian rejects afbeelden (‘represent’) and wants the artist to use his
graphic powers; the artist must beelden (‘form’) (Loosjes-Terpstra
1959: 15).
It is exactly the term beelden that is a key word during these
years. It is closely linked to verbeelden (‘imagine’). As Mondrian’s
words already suggest, beelden has an anti-mimetic connotation and
must be distinguished from afbeelden, which refers to a reproductive
activity. We saw that Marsman, in his essay ‘The Jump into the Dark’,
also used beelden. How widely the term had spread becomes clear
when we are confronted with a remark made by the critic Gerard van
Eckeren, not exactly an outspoken modernist. He writes:
Art is and should be beelding. In this age of transition, after the one-
sided representation of reality to which the principles of the
Movement of the Eighties had led, this seemed to be forgotten. But
the moderns at least stick again firmly to the new conception.
[Kunst is en blijft beelding. Mag men dit, in den overgangstijd, na de

eenzijdige “realiteits”-weergave, waartoe tachtiger-principes leidden,
al een oogenblik vergeten hebben, de modernen van thans houden dit
beginsel weer streng vast (cit. Anten 1982: 31).]
As I put before, prose fiction written by authors of the Neue

Sachlichkeit contains thematic and stylistic elements derived from
expressionist poetics. It seems clear why this is the case, at least in the
Dutch situation. The expressionist Weltanschauung shows a deep
social concern which doesn’t harmonize with the explicitly claimed
objectivity. Still, there is hardly one novel or story to be found in the
context of Neue Sachlichkeit without this social concern. Even in the
work of the self proclaimed hard core Neue Sachlichkeit author M.
Revis one can easily distinguish the critique of capitalist society. In
8.100.000 M³ zand (8.100.000 m³ Sand) Revis chooses a point of view
which is associated with verses about the vanity of all human efforts
in the Book of Ecclesiastes. This point of view enables the author to
put the ideologies of work, productivity and profits in a relativistic
perspective. A similar point of view is taken in Gelakte hersens
[Varnished Brains], Revis’ novel about Henry Ford’s automobile
industry.
The same absence of objectivity in the strict sense is found in
the documentary novels and reports written by German authors like
Egon Erwin Kisch and Heinrich Hauser. Although these authors never
explicitly take sides, the metaphors they use indicate their position in
the social debate. Kisch calls machines ‘Moloch’ or ‘predator’ and
speaks of ‘the kettle’s iron teeth’ (Kisch 1925). Workers in turn are
compared to machines (Goedegebuure 1992; Grüttemeier 1995). The
new elements in these texts are partially formal, partially thematic.
Kisch and Hauser mix the narrative with the documentary, and
introduce a narrator who behaves and speaks like a reporter. The
topics they deal with are technology, industry and urbanization. In
their formal aspects they seek affiliation with new media (cinema,
photography, journalism). Famous in this genre of documentary
novels is Ilja Ehrenburg’s 10 H.P. The Life of the Automobile, which
treats the same theme as Revis’ Gelakte hersens. Both novels are
based on Ford’s autobiography. What may strike us is the satirical
treatment Ford’s success story receives in the hands of Ehrenburg and
Revis. This element contrasts once more with the pretended
objectivity of the theoretical premises and shows a deeply rooted
social concern.
With respect to the impact of the new Russian cinema,
represented by Eisenstein and Pudovkin, the montage technique also
appeared to be very productive in narrative prose. The same could be
said about the model of the modern newspaper report. Indeed, several
critics and authors welcomed the new impulses from cinema and
journalism. But on a more detailed level of style, typical expressionist
devices lingered on. The novel Stad [City, 1932] by Ben Stroman fits
very well into the scheme of Neue Sachlichkeit narrative prose. The
story is concentrated on the hard facts, which are reported as tersely as
possible. Psychological digressions or motivations are absent. There is
a montage of narrator’s text, stream of consciousness and objet trouvé

images, such as advertisements, superscripts and newspaper headlines.
But there are also rare sentences that show a type of metaphor that is
suggestive and associative in that it combines elements that are
disjunct, semantically speaking. A few examples: ‘Flash-light
advertisements on the roof roar with laugher’; ‘Labor is growling’;
‘Silence is growing over her’. We find sentences like these also in
Roel Houwink’s fore mentioned booklet Novellen.
I will end this survey by quoting a few more sentences from F.
Bordewijks short novel Knorrende beesten [Grunting animals, 1933].
The theme of this text is similar to that of Ehrenburg’s and Revis’
novels about the automobile industry. But in its elaboration it shows
remarkable differences. Bordewijk’s text, in which cars play the
leading part, is not documentary or even factual. Its style is just as
evocative, even lyrical, as is the case in Houwink’s Novellen. But in
its choice for modern and technical topics, however, it shows affinity
with the Neue Sachlichkeit. Here we should remember Marinetti’s
manifesto of futurism, in which the racing car is celebrated as being
more beautiful than the Nike of Samothrake. Marinetti’s role as
mentor of the Neue Sachlichkeit is beyond doubt (Goedegebuure
1992). But the founding father of futurism also inspired the
concentrated expressionist style. In this respect Bordewijk’s novel is
an example of the synthesis of futurism, expressionism and Neue
Sachlichkeit. Some critics and literary historians (Niemeyer 1953,
Anten 1982) reserve the term ‘magical realism’ for this kind of texts,
but I think that is too sophisticated. There is enough magic in Neue
Sachlichkeit and enough realism in expressionism to corroborate the
thesis that these two currents in Dutch literature of the twenties and
thirties are two birds of a feather.
As I stated before, Neue Sachlichkeit remained a relatively marginal

phenomenon in the context of Dutch literature. A prominent, in
today’s canon highly ranked author such as Bordewijk only shared
some features of the Neue Sachlichkeit poetics. His short, (anti-)
utopian novel Blokken [Blocks], comes the closest to Neue
Sachlichkeit, whereas Knorrende beesten, which I just mentioned,
shows more affinities with expressionism. Later on Bordewijk moved
into a more traditionalist direction, turning back more or less to the
conventional realistic novel.
It is among less prominent, and nowadays even forgotten
authors that Neue Sachlichkeit got adherents. M. Revis put the Neue
Sachlichkeit program consequently into practice. He was also the one
who got all the blame from critics who refused to see in Neue
Sachlichkeit more than a short living fashion. Menno ter Braak, who
became Holland’s leading literary critic during the thirties, sneered at
Revis as “the Dutch branch of Ehrenburg & Co” (Ter Braak 1949:
181, 417). This mockery can be understood as extra degrading,
because Ter Braak didn’t appreciate Ehrenburg either. As a matter of
fact, he and his fellow critic E. du Perron rejected nearly all the
branches of the international avant-garde (futurism, Dadaism,
surrealism and so on). Although both of them are considered as
modernists, their version of modernism was ‘non-spectacular’, as was
the case with the poet and critic M. Nijhoff.
Ehrenburg, Döblin, Dos Passos and other novelists who can
be associated with the trend towards objectivity and matter-of-
factness, received a much warmer welcome in the avant-garde
periodical i 10, edited by Arthur Lehning. In the Dutch literary debate
i 10 played a very marginal role. After two years it disappeared. It was
in i 10 that Marsman reviewed Dos Passos’ Manhattan Transfer and
Döblin’s Berlin Alexanderplatz. But it is beyond doubt that he never
would have contributed to i 10, had Lehning not been a close friend of
his. Marsman never got enthusiastic about the Neue Sachlichkeit and
other modern trends, and so did ninety percent of his writing Dutch
contemporaries.
Bibliography
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en 1932. Utrecht: Reflex.
Benjamin, Walter. 1966. Angelus Novus: Ausgewählte Schriften II. Frankfurt am
Main: Suhrkamp.
Bordewijk, F. 1982. Verzameld werk I. ’s-Gravenhage: Nijgh en Van Ditmar.
Braak, Menno ter. 1949. Verzameld werk V. Amsterdam: G.A. van Oorschot.
Bürger, Peter. 1984. Theory of the Avant-Garde. Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press.
Denkler, Horst. 1968. ‘Sache und Stil: Die Theorie der “Neuen Sachlichkeit” und ihre
Auswirkungen auf Kunst und Dichtung’ in Wirkendes Wort 18: 167-185.
Döblin, Alfred. 1920. ‘Bekenntnis zum Naturalismus’ in Das Tage-Buch 1: 1599-
1601.
Goedegebuure, Jaap.1981. Op zoek naar een bezield verband: De literaire en
maatschappelijke opvattingen van H. Marsman in de context van zijn tijd.
Amsterdam: G.A. van Oorschot.
Goedegebuure, Jaap. 1984. ‘H. Marsman tussen traditie en vernieuwing’ in De gids
147: 337-342.
Grüttemeier, Ralf. 1995. Hybride Welten: Aspekte der ‘Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ in der
niederländischen Literatur. Stuttgart: M & P Verlag.
Hauser, Heinrich. 2010. Schwarzes Revier: Reportagen. Bonn: Weidle Verlag.
Hermand, Jost. ‘Einheit in der Vielheit? Zur Geschichte des Begriffs “Neue
Sachlichkeit”’ in Bullivant, Keith (ed.) Das literarische Leven in der
Weimarer Republik. Königstein: Scriptor: 71-88.
Houwink, Roel. 1961. Persoonlijke herinneringen aan Marsman. Amsterdam: De
Beuk.
Kamerbeek, J. 1966. Albert Verwey en het nieuwe classicisme: “De richting van de
hedendaagsche poëzie” (1913) in zijn internationale context. Groningen:
Wolters.
Kisch, Egon Erwin. 1925. Der rasende Reporter. Berlin: Reiss.
Landsberger, Fritz. 1928. ‘Der Geist im Wirklichen’ in Die neue Rundschau 39: 337-
343.
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‘Weissen Sozialismus’. Stuttgart: Metzler.
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Haentjens Dekker & Gumbert.
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Marsman, H. 1938. Verzameld werk III: Critisch proza. Amsterdam: Querido.
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116 (2): 1150-1174.
Revis, M. 1932. 8.100.000 m³ zand. Utrecht: De gemeenschap.
Revis.M. 1934. Gelakte hersens. Utrecht: De gemeenschap.
Schmied, W. 1969. Neue Sachlichkeit und Magischer Realismus in Deutschland
1918-1933. Hannover: Schmidt-Küster.
Sloterdijk, Peter. 1983. Kritik der zynischen Vernunft. Frankfurt an Main: Suhrkamp.
Sötemann, A.L. 1976. ‘Non-Spectacular Modernism: Martinus Nijhoff’s Poetry in
European Context’ in Bulhof, Francis (ed.) Nijhoff, Van Ostaijen, ‘De Stijl’:
Modernism in the Netherlands and Belgium in the First Quarter of the 20th
Century. The Hague: Mouton: 95-116.
Stroman, Ben. 1932. Stad. Rotterdam: W.L. en J. Brusse.
Van Wessem, Constant. 1941. Mijn broeders in Apollo: Literaire herinneringen en
herdenkingen. Den Haag: A.A.M. Stols.
Wiedman, August K. 1979. Romantic Roots in Modern Art: Romanticism and
Expressionism, a Study in Comparative Aesthetics. Old Woking: Gresham.
Willet, John. 1978. The New Sobriety: Art and Politics in the Weimar Period 1917-
1933. London: Thames and Hudson.
Objectivity and Emotion, the Challenge of the
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid: Albert Kuyle As a Test Case
Lut Missinne
Abstract: In 1930 the critic Victor van Vriesland commented on the school of the
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as follows: “It was up to literature to fully obscure and confuse a
notion which was originally clear and well defined.” [Het bleef […] voor de
letterkunde weggelegd, de volle maat tot de verdoezeling en verwarring van een
oorspronkelijk klaar omschrijfbaar denkbeeld bij te dragen. (1954:72-73)]. More than
eighty years later there still isn’t much clarity about the definition of the literary
movement Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Dissension exists with regards to the point whether
Nieuwe Zakelijkheid should rather be regarded as a reaction to effusive expressionism
(Anten, Becker) or as a continuation of expressionism (Goedegebuure). Neither is it
clear if this designation mainly concerns phenomena of content or style, nor if it has a
normative poetical purport or a literary historical and descriptive meaning. The names
of the authors quoted as typical examples of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid even complicate
matters. For one Willem Elsschot is the “indisputable champion of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid in Dutch Literature” [de onbetwistbare kampioen van de Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid in de Nederlandse literatuur” (Schampaert 1985:130)]. Yet Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid is only applicable to Elsschot in a restricted sense, referring to his sober
style (Van Boven&Kemperink). While Hans Anten rates Ferdinand Bordewijk among
the expressionist generation and contests the inclusion of his novels in the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid (1982:113-114), Jaap Goedegebuure considers Bordewijk’s novels
Blokken, Knorrende beesten and Bint as “the crown” of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
(1992:105).1
Besides disagreement on the representatives of this literary movement, there
is also disparity on the criteria determining a literary work to be ‘zakelijk’ or not.
Some authors, like Goedegebuure (1992) and Anten (1982), discern a thematic
dimension (a preference for modern technical developments and social issues,
regardless of whether it is linked up with critical engagement), from a stylistic and
formal one (a sober style, cinematic influence, simultaneity). More relevant than this
question however, is the question how a key notion like objectivity – as a potential
counterpart of engagement – manifests itself in the formal and narratological
characteristics of these novels, in particular in the use of narrator types, narrator
comment and focalisation.
314 Lut Missinne
One of the most intricate obscurities in defining Nieuwe Zakelijkheid is the paradox in
the author’s attitude towards social reality. On the one hand these authors are
presumed to favour a form of social realism, which suggests a critical disposition
towards social problems and a certain partiality in rendering reality. On the other hand
it is generally assumed that they aim for objectivity and detached observation.
What does objectivity mean?
This contribution aims at clarifying this ambiguity by investigating the

nature of narrative objectivity in a few nieuw zakelijke texts. With the
notion of objectivity I do not refer to objective perception of reality in
an epistemological sense, the fundamental impossibility of objective
perceiving and rendering, as was reflected upon by postmodernism
and poststructuralism. Such considerations were not under discussion
amongst the nieuw zakelijke authors from the thirties. Yet time and
again it becomes clear that they attached great importance to make the
impression of striving for objectivity. They tried to arouse a notion for
the reader that all facts and events were described and narrated in a
most impersonal way.
To a large extent this claim to objectivity laid by nieuw
zakelijke authors can be traced back as a reaction against former
literary trends, such as late romanticism, idealism and expressionism,
thus being a counter-positioning. This negative reaction can easily be
made more explicit: it implies distaste for pathetic descriptions,
compassion or other empathic feelings from the narrator for his
characters. But this pursuit of an effect of objectivity can also be
expressed in a positive way. By the imitation of film and reportage
nieuw zakelijke authors tried to obtain a mode of rendering a story
without appreciative, depreciatory or commenting interferences from
the narrator.
Before analysing a concrete example, I will take a look at
what contemporary literary critics and later literary historians have
said about objectivity. When in 1932 Hendrik Marsman tried to
characterize modern readership and modern literature, he appreciated
the phenomenon of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as an indication of
resistance to psychological analyses and a rejection of “hollow
phrases, frills, forgery, literature and romanticism” [frase, franje,
vervalsing, litteratuur en romantiek (Marsman 1979: 409)]. The
contemporary way of writing was, according to Marsman’s
assessment, supply meeting the demand of the modern reader:
Objectivity and Emotion, the Challenge of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid 315
He [the modern reader] wants the modern world and the modern
individual, the outer and inner reality rendered accurately, harshly,
perspicuously, seen with cool, clear eyes, recapitulated briefly. […]
He asks for its objective, impersonal, zakelijk account, by reporters
and makers of documentary films – and in literature especially by the
novelist.
[Hij [de moderne lezer] wil de moderne wereld en den modernen

mens, de uiterlijke en de innerlijke werkelijkheid exact, nuchter, klaar,
gezien door koele, zuivere oogen en bondig samengevat. […] Hij
vraagt haar weergave, objectief, onpersoonlijk, zakelijk, van den
reporter en van de makers der documentaire films – en in de litteratuur
vooral van den romancier (Marsman 1979: 407).]
Methodologically translated, his commentary implies that the nieuw

zakelijke novelist should behave like a reporter:
We require from the reporter that he does not slip in between the
reader and his object, that he gives a true-to-life rendering and lets the
theme speak for itself; that he describes what he sees and hears,
accurately and synthetically, briefly and precisely.
[Van den verslaggever moet men eisen dat hij zichzelf niet tussen den
lezer schuift en het object, dat hij het gegeven natuurgetrouw afbeeldt
en spreken laat voor zichzelf; dat hij weergeeft wat hij ziet en
beluistert, exact en synthetisch, beknopt en precies (Marsman 1979:
407-408).]
By this Marsman largely endorsed what Constant van Wessem had

written in De Vrije Bladen in 1929 about modern prose. Taking up an
objective position was a matter of distancing oneself from one’s own
feelings2, so as not to intrude between the reader and the described,
but as to depict reality in a sober and impersonal way. Marsman
however, did not conceive of such prose as real art because it ignores
the essence of art: magic and imagination.
Menno ter Braak saw a clear manifestation of clinical
observation in the filmic character of modern novels, a dimension he
also considered typical of the admirers of Ilja Ehrenburg’s 10 PK. Het
leven der auto’s. Ter Braak was of the opinion that the literary variant
of that kind of observation could be found in a combination of the
rejection of psychology (already mentioned by Marsman) and
observation from the outside: “the multitude of characters these
authors work with, is exclusively presented from the filmic outside
[…] full tilt, under various exposures, from the bottom, from above,
316 Lut Missinne
from behind and in front” [het heirleger van personages, waarmee

deze auteurs werken, [is] uitsluitend van de filmische buitenkant
[genomen], in vliegende vaart, met verschillende belichtingen, van
onder, van boven, achter en voor elkaar (1949:141)]. Typical authors
practicing this mode of external observation were, in the eyes of Ter
Braak, Albert Kuyle and Jef Last. They belonged to those “novelist-
journalists, who have missed a filmic career” [roman-journalisten, die
de film hebben misgelopen (1949:144)]. Anyway, it is remarkable that
this orientation towards the external was criticised both by Marsman
and Ter Braak as a defect of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. Ter Braak seems to
have reinforced his dislike of this style with every nieuw zakelijke
novel that was published. His wish to react against his competitor, the
critic Victor van Vriesland, who had spoken highly of the work of
Revis, might have influenced Ter Braak’s attitude (Beekman and
Grüttemeier 2009). It was still more striking that even a hard-core
nieuw zakelijk author like Ben Stroman (1935) took the view that this
exclusive attention for the outside was at the expense of depth.
When in 1935 the critic C. Tazelaar described various
subgenres of this new phenomenon (the report novel, the filmic novel,
the simultaneous novel, the confession novel, the vitalistic novel and
the vie romancée), he considered the “optical aspect” a typical
characteristic of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid. “The impression that a
character gets of something is not described, but is suggested in this
way to the reader. He can see it by optical means, just like the
character himself has seen it.” [De indruk, dien een boekfiguur krijgt
uit het een of ander, wordt niet beschreven, maar precies zoo den lezer
gesuggereerd. Langs den optischen weg ziet de lezer het, zooals de
boekfiguur het zag (Tazelaar 1935: 12)]. Another way of saying the
same thing was for Tazelaar to talk about “the pursuit of optical
diction” [het streven naar optische zegging (Tazelaar 1935: 13)],
something he came across both in the filmic as well as in the report
novel. For him, this “optical” aspect comes down to an attempt for the
narrator to convey immediately to the reader that which has been seen,
to show the reader something in such a way as the narrator or his
character has seen himself. For that purpose a range of typographic
forms can be used, e.g. a different font, italics or bold, as Tazelaar
illustrates with regard to the novel Stad, written by Ben Stroman. This
book contains a passage, in which the narrator reports without further
introduction or explanation that a character takes the tram, “chooses a
seat. NO SMOKING” [kiest een zitplaats. VERBODEN TE ROKEN].
The marking by the use of capital letters indicates that this is the text
on a sign in the tram. Further, an italicized passage suggests shreds
from a radio program. This procedure, which has often been used by
Stroman and could be called mimetic, is an important characteristic of
the report novel according to Tazelaar. Other report novelists Tazelaar
(1935: 16-17) mentions are young authors like Albert Kuyle, Albert
Helman and A. den Doolaard.
When scrutinizing the filmic novel in his next chapter,
Tazelaar points to still another characteristic of optical diction: the
omission of continuity in the narrative:
Instead of continuity and sequential coherence we now have the
scenic, instead of motivations by reasoning we now have explications
by observation, instead of the image through words we now have the
image through graphics. The optical diction I have spoken about is the
main point, and the narrative, that indeed entails a certain continuity,
is to be found in the repeated appearance of the same characters and
an already familiar scenery.
[Voor de continuïteit, het in volgorde samenhangende, is het

tafreelmatige in de plaats gekomen, voor het motiveerende door
beredeneering het verklarende door aanschouwing, voor het beeld-in-
woorden het beeld-in-lijnen. De optische zegging, waarover ik sprak,
is hier hoofdzaak, en het verhalende, dat uiteraard zekere continuïteit
meebrengt, wordt gevonden in het telkens doen terugkeeren van
dezelfde personen en een te voren al aanschouwde omgeving.
(Tazelaar 1935: 28-29).]
For Tazelaar a filmic novel achieves narrative continuity by

repeatedly presenting the same characters in the same scene, not by
telling a coherent story about those characters. Tazelaar not only
defines this optical diction in rather specific terms, namely as a
technical narrative device, he also interrelates the claim for objectivity
with emotional distance. Van Vriesland likewise saw a connection
between emotional distance and filmic techniques. He stated that
zakelijkheid aims at reality as such, like in a good film: “As is the case
in a good modern film, attention is not so much drawn to affects as to
the objects themselves.” [Evenals in de goede moderne film, richt de
aandacht zich niet zozeer direct op de affecten, maar eerder op de
voorwerpen (Van Vriesland 1958:76).].
Both contemporary discourses of the thirties and later literary
studies often use all kinds of medical metaphors to describe this
unemotional detached attitude. Thus Tazelaar, imitating Van Wessem,
318 Lut Missinne
compared nieuw zakelijke novels to “literary X-ray-photography

burning instantly trough all covering and catching the skeleton. It is
surgery on life, opening, exposing: sharply, shortly. Therefore
Marsman called one of his essay collections ‘De Anatomische les’.”
[literaire röntgenfotografie, die door alle omkleeding meteen
heenbrandt en de skeletdeelen grijpt. Het is ‘operatieve chirurgie van
het leven’, openleggen, blootleggen: fel, kort. Marsman noemde
daarom een van zijn opstellenbundels ‘De Anatomische les’ (Tazelaar
1935:10).] It also was this “lack of sentimentality” of Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid, about which F. Schmalenbach said in 1940: “[p]erhaps
its innermost kernel may be found in a radical rejection of all
emotional bias, a deliberately cultivated lack of sentimentality, so to
speak”.3 Later Subiotto (1973) would speak about the “cold clinical
eye”4 and Becker describes a nieuw zakelijk author as the
“>Vivisekteur< der Zeit” (Becker 1995: 10).
In his study Van realisme naar zakelijkheid Hans Anten
(1982: 123-124) links the pursuit of objectivity directly to stylistic
devices: synthetic, austere and tense writing, omitting details, sober
and functional language. If one highlights these formal characteristics,
one can on the one hand sustain the view of R. Meijer and argue that
Bordewijk is nieuw zakelijk and belongs to “the best representatives
[…] of the Neue Sachlichkeit”. If one on the other hand favors the
dimension of content, one has to conclude that Bordewijk has nothing
to do with Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (Anten 1982:83). However, in his
conclusion Anten points out that
this pretended and assumed objectivity should be put into perspective.
Selection, arrangement and presentation of ‘real facts’ can reduce this
objectivity and are often used with a certain intention.
[door sommige gepretendeerde en veronderstelde objectiviteit

gerelativeerd [dient] te worden. Selectie, arrangement en presentatie
van de ‘feiten der realiteit’ doen er afbreuk aan, staan dikwijls in
dienst van een bepaalde tendens (Anten 1982: 125).]
Repetitions, comparisons and metaphors can also subvert an objective,

impersonal attitude and add irony to what is told. He concludes:
When, however, the narrating instance gives no direct comment and
the protagonists are mainly characterized by their actions, utterances
and thoughts in ways that the narrative perspective lies more with the
protagonists – which was supported by Van Wessem, then objectivity
is done justice to.
[Wanneer echter direct commentaar van de vertellende instantie

achterwege blijft en, wat Van Wessem voorstond, de personages
vooral worden getekend door hun handelen, spreken en denken, zodat
het standpunt van waaruit verteld wordt meer bij die personages komt
te liggen, dan wordt aan de objectiviteit eerder recht gedaan (Anten
1982:125-126).]
What the claim for objectivity implies for the narrating instance and
focalisation is not easy to define: both a ‘filmic’ perspective or in
narratological terms external focalization, meaning that characters are
only shown from the outside, and internal focalization, meaning that
the described is seen from the perspective of a character in the
narrative (intradiegetic) seem to be possible interpretations of the
concept of objectivity. Anten may rightly put this objectivity into
perspective. Yet, he still considers the suggestion of objectivity as a
litmus test for an author to be nieuw zakelijk or not. In a comparison
between Revis and Bordewijk he points to a number of differences
and similarities. According to him, the most important difference rests
on a notion of objectivity that emanates from the work of Revis and of
the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid:
In other words: the full lack of any suggestion of objectivity in
Bordewijk’s fiction is why I don’t typify his novels as nieuw zakelijk.
[Anders geformuleerd: het geheel en al ontbreken van de

objectiviteitssuggestie in de fictie van Bordewijk is voor mij reden
zijn eerste romans niet als nieuw-zakelijk te karakteriseren. (1996:88)]
In his study Hybride Welten (1995) Ralf Grüttemeier also draws

attention to the pursuit of objectivity of nieuw zakelijke authors and
illustrates how they realize this objectivity in a very particular way.
First of all, documentary data is used to create an authentic sphere
with authentic details. Furthermore, this documentary evidence also
serves to express a specific Weltsicht. Through their specific way of
staging their data nieuw zakelijke authors confront different views and
thus present a Stimmenvielfalt [multiplicity of voices], that can be
understood as a particular interpretation of objectivity. How this
mechanism works Grüttemeier shows in detail in the work by Jef Last
and M. Revis. According to Grüttemeier Revis does not even aim at
an objective depiction of reality:
at second view in the author demonstrates that he does not strive for
objective rendering after all but for a stylization of a particular register
320 Lut Missinne
of language, a particular worldview and eventually a dialogue between
the different voices.
[weiȕ auf den zweiten Blick zu verdeutlichen, daȕ es ihm letzten

Endes nicht um objektive Wiedergabe geht, sondern um die
Stilisierung eines bestimmten Sprachregisters, einer bestimmten
Weltsicht und letztlich um den dialogischen Bezug verschiedener
Stimmen aufeinander (Grüttemeier 1995: 194).@
Revis’ poetics is much more a matter of objective rendering than

believing in it („ein Bekenntnis zu ihr“, Grüttemeier 1995: 194).
Jaap Goedegebuure (1992) differentiates the term objectivity
in a similar manner. In the second chapter of his book entitled
“objective, but not impartial” [objectief, maar niet onpartijdig], he
asks what the requirement of objectivity, plainness, etc. implies for the
social commitment of authors. In other words: do these novels tend to
preserve the social status quo, when they do not openly criticise
society? According to Jost Hermand and Helmuth Lethen the answer
was clear: they reproached neusachliche authors for an alleged lack of
social commitment. Goedegebuure however, just like Anten and
Grüttemeier, tries to investigate how authors manage to have their
texts simultaneously evoke an impression of objectivity and a clear
personal viewpoint. This simultaneity is possible by ingeniously
arranging contrasting facts or by mixing up unlike categories –
examples from Ehrenburg and Revis illustrate this – so that the reader
experiences a kind of critical awareness. Such strategies serve to
express a point of view in a very sophisticated manner.
Objectivity in narratological terms
This brings us to the question how objectivity can be translated into

formal narrative techniques and devices, in other words: what does the
pursuit of objectivity narratologically mean for the organization of the
narrative?
A first and rather obvious interpretation of the concept
objectivity is that an objective text is a text whose content is presented
“ideologically impartial”, so that no explicit message is passed on to
the reader, and that no preferences for specific worldviews, values or
convictions are expressed. This means that no explicit ideological
points of views come up. That formal textual characteristics can
convey certain ideological positions in an implicit way has been
illustrated by the studies of Philippe Hamon and Vincent Jouve.
The appearance of the narrator in the story must be mentioned
here too. An objective narrator then is a narrator who does not
comment, does not intrude between the reader and the story
(Marsman), but still confines himself to descriptions, rendering his
impersonal and objective perception: a narrator as a “beobachtender
Berichterstatter“ (Becker 1995:12). Essentially this objectivity is
possible both with a visible and an invisible (dramatized or
nondramatized) narrator, and also with a present or absent (overt or
covert) narrator. After all, the presence or visibility of a narrator does
not by definition necessarily hinder an objective effect. The essential
point is the way in which the narrator renders the story. In addition, a
similar construction could exactly be used to evoke the suggestion of
objectivity and authenticity, in the sense that the one who has
observed everything can be heard by the reader in his unmediated,
direct report. As a consequence a narrator in a nieuw zakelijke novel
will rather acquire his authority by a mimetic mode,5 than by a
diegetic narrative mode. No introduction, no psychological or other
explanations: “the reader sees things, just like the protagonist has seen
them” [de lezer [ziet] het, zooals de boekfiguur het zag (Tazelaar
1935:12)].
With respect to the objectivity claim, we could also formulate
some narratological expectations on focalisation: both an extradiegetic
(“as the narrator has seen it himself”) and an intradiegetic focalisation
(“as the character has seen it”) are possible. Other than Luc Hermans
& Bart Vervaeck (2001) in their Handbook of narrative Analysis I do
not use the term ‘external focalisation’ for focalisation from the
outside of the fictional universe, but ‘extradiegetic focalisation’
instead, with analogy to the extradiegetic narrator. What is called
internal focalisation by Hermans & Vervaeck, I call – with analogy to
the intradiegetic narrator – an ‘intradiegetic focalisation’. Internal
focalisation in the way I use this term, refers to the perceived object,
namely, is at work when a scene is seen through the eyes of a
character, so that the reader knows his or her feelings and thoughts,
contrary to external focalisation, where the characters are only
perceived from the outside. What objectivity implies for the focalized
object (mostly the characters) is not so easy to determine. Becker
(1995:13) thinks that a typically nieuw zakelijke narrative mode is
linked to the conscience of the characters, and therefore uses internal
322 Lut Missinne
focalisation. Also Anten, following Van Wessem, takes the view that
objectivity is attained when the protagonists are mainly characterized
by their actions, speech and thoughts, “so that the viewpoint from
which the story is told lies more with the characters” [zodat het
standpunt van waaruit verteld wordt meer bij die personages komt te
liggen” (Anten 1982: 125-126)]. Despite the fact that focalisation and
narration are mixed up here, implications are that nieuw zakelijke
authors show a preference for internal focalisation (with rendering of
the conscience, thinking and feeling of the characters). Bearing this
observation in mind, it is remarkable that at the time, Marsman and
Ter Braak criticised the nieuw zakelijke authors for being “too
exclusively turned to outward appearances, and too little – whatever
they may pretend – on the heart of men.” [De neiging, de richting der
zakelijkheid is te uitsluitend gericht op de omringende uiterlijkheid, te
weinig – wat zij ook moge beweren – op het hart van den mens.”
(Marsman1979: 409)]
Anton Kuyle, the story ‘Werkverschaffing’
I would now like to illustrate the approach to objectivity by way of

two texts by Albert Kuyle, an author who does not belong to the core
of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid (like Revis, Wagener, Stroman), but whose
name is often mentioned together with Stroman, Wagener, Last and
Vestdijk in about one fifth of publications on Nieuwe Zakelijkheid
(Grüttemeier 1995:17).
The first text is the short story ‘Werkverschaffing’ (Kuyle
s.d.) that was first published in the catholic journal De Gemeenschap
in 1931 and later as the opening story in Kuyle’s volume Harmonika
(1939). The second text is the novel Harten en brood, published in
1933, a typical crisis novel, that was rated among the Nieuwe
Zakelijkheid because of its subject matter and its filmic character,
although it was often commented that Kuyle wrote with too much
“larmoyante sentimentaliteit” (Ter Braak 1949:141).
‘Werkverschaffing’ tells the story of the catholic worker
couple Veenendaal. Mrs. Veenendaal suffers from tuberculosis with
very little prospect of recovery, when the couple cannot afford to buy
the milk she needs for her convalescence. Her husband Kees has
become unemployed but out of necessity he takes a job in the clay pits
of Jipsuma organized by relief works (‘Werkverschaffing’). There he
can earn the money his family needs to stay alive. However he cannot
stand the situation and manages to get home, where he finds his wife
dying.
With his short stories Kuyle earned an excellent reputation at
the beginning of the thirties. Du Perron called him together with
Helman “two of the best young prose authors” [twee der beste jongere
prozaschrijvers (1955:270)], Anthonie Donker (1932) ranged Kuyle
together with Helman among the best short story tellers of the young
generation in the Netherlands. According to Goedegebuure (1992:29)
‘Werkverschaffing’ is “an excellent specimen of a text suggesting
objectivity and a very strong social commitment” [een uitstekend
specimen van een objectiviteit suggererende tekst waaruit een zeer
sterk maatschappelijk engagement spreekt]. The story starts with a
passage that can be called typically nieuw zakelijk:
The milk costs fifteen cent per liter. This is not much, if one considers
that champagne costs eight guilders a bottle, and there exist perfumes
of which 50 milliliter should bring in forty guilders. Yet is already
more if one considers that there are two hundred thousand people
unemployed, and it is too much for someone who has, once he has
paid his rent, one guilder and a ten-cent piece left to live on with four
children.
[De melk kost vijftien cent per liter. Dat is niet veel, als men bedenkt
dat champagne acht gulden de flesch kost, en er parfums zijn waarvan
een twintigste liter veertig gulden moet opbrengen. Het is al meer als
men bedenkt dat er twee honderd duizend werkloozen zijn, en te veel
voor iemand die als hij zijn huishuur op zij heeft gelegd, nog een
gulden en een dubbeltje per dag heeft om met vier kinderen van te
leven. (Werkverschaffing, 9)]
The economic crisis, the poverty of the large families and the grinding
contrast between the poor and rich, all these topics already come up in
these introductory sentences. It looks as if an extradiegetic narrator is
speaking and commenting on the milk prices as someone with social
commitment, but not at all as an example of distant or objective
narration.
There are other passages in this story – not many however –
that better fit the characterization nieuw zakelijk. One of the most
neutrally working, enumerating and documentary descriptions is to be
found at the end of the story, at the moment when Kees must go to the
‘Werkverschaffing’.
324 Lut Missinne
Jipsuma. ‘Improvement of existing streams’, the file is called. All
sorts of things can be said about it. Cooperation between state and
municipalities. Costs of those employed in state working-programs.
Employment return. There are two great advantages the working-
programs brings along, that is the answer to a question in Parliament.
[Jipsuma. ‘Verbetering van bestaande beken’, heet het dossier. Er valt

van alles over te vertellen. Samenwerking van rijk en gemeente.
Kosten van te werk gestelden. Arbeidsrendement. Twee groote
voordeelen brengt de werkverschaffing mede, wordt er in de Kamer
op een vraag geantwoord (Werkverschaffing 28).]
On the same page Kees arrives at his new workplace:

A trainstop. Claypaths. Hostile farms with snow-white curtains and
shining well-fed dogs under the haystack. Report. Place in the shed, a
wooden bed, and a compartment in the big cupboard. Take care of
your goods, not all of them can be trusted.
[Een halte van de trein. Kleiwegen. Vijandige boerderijen met

hagelwitte gordijnen en glanzend-gevreten honden onder de hooiberg.
Aanmelden. Plaats in de keet, brits, en vak in de groote kast. Oppassen
op je goed, want ze zijn niet allemaal te vertrouwen
(Werkverschaffing, 28).]
The short sentences suggest that they are cited directly from the
employment file and indicate that the situation is hard and inhuman
for Kees. The author uses a documentary style in this scene in order to
attain an effect of objectivity. At the end of the story he performs a
much more striking intervention to convince the reader of the gravity
of this social situation. After a pathetic accusation – reminding of
Multatuli’s criticism of the exploitation of the Javanese people at the
end of Max Havelaar (1860) –, following the description of Mrs.
Veenendaal’s miserable situation, he states: “Twelve thousand marked
persons, from a repudiated proletariat. Twelve thousand marked
persons, slaughtered because of money. Twelve thousand marked
persons, from innocent children murdered in the factory”
[Twaalfduizend geteekenden, uit het proletariaat dat verleugend
wordt. Twaalfduizend geteekenden, uit die [sic] geslacht werden om
het geld. Twaalfduizend geteekenden, uit de onnoozele kinderen die in
de fabriek werden vermoord (Werkverschaffing, 34).] Then the
narrator directly addresses the reader: “Now it no longer matters what
I write. Now the story no longer matters. It is but short anyhow.” [Nu
komt het er niet langer op aan, wat ik schrijf. Nu komt het verhaal er
niet op aan. Het is trouwens nog maar kort (ibid.).] He breaks through
the fictional illusion and forces the reader to face up to the exemplary
‘authenticity’ of the story. Paradoxically enough the narrative ends
with a dramatic scene situated within the fictional world, namely a
scene around the deathbed of Kees’ wife.
In order to convince the reader of his view, Kuyle periodically
uses a documentary style but also employs a pathetic style, in order to
appeal immediately to the reader. Seen from the perspective of the
claim for objectivity and emotional distance these are the two
extremities of the spectrum.
The use of very diverse techniques, including rapid transitions
and changes, also on the level of narrating and focalising characterise
the whole novel. The first pages can illustrate this very well. After the
passage on the milk price quoted above in which the narrator conveys
his sympathy with the poor by an enumerative description of goods
and prices, the visible I-narrator immediately disassociates from his
characters and takes a position outside the fictional space, from which
he comments: “Mrs. Veenendaal has never calculated as precisely as I
do now, that she has but 11 ten-cent pieces.” [Vrouw Veenendaal
heeft nooit zoo precies uitgerekend als ik nu doe, dat ze maar 11
dubbeltjes heeft…(Werkverschaffing, 9).] In the same sentence the
narrator then again evokes the impression that he is close with this
family and adopts the popular language register in the description of
their situation “to get by on it with the boys and her husband” >om met
de jongens en d’r man [my italics] rond te komen (ibid.).]. Further the
narrator converses with the reader behind the character’s back – a
conversational situation that is simulated by the many rhetorical
questions and a repetitive “stel je voor” [imagine].
Imagine her asking why she was called Mrs. >vrouw@ Veenendaal by
everyone, and Miss >juffrouw@ Veenendaal by the messenger of the
burial society, and why all women from the other street, where rent
was three guilders more, were called Ladies >mevrouw@? [...] Could
not she then have formulated a question like ... why is Mrs. Jansen
with her double thick red ribbon sitting in the first rows of the
congregation and I with my greasy blew lace only on the last bench?
[Stel je voor dat ze vroeg waarom ze vrouw Veenendaal genoemd

werd door iedereen, en Juffrouw Veenendaal door de bode van het
begrafenisfonds, en waarom alle vrouwen uit de andere straat, waar de
huur drie gulden hooger was, mevrouw werden genoemd? […] Zou ze
dan niet een vraag hebben kunnen formuleeren als volgt…. Waarom
326 Lut Missinne
zit mevrouw Jansen met een dubbel dik rood lint om vooraan in de
congregatie en ik met een vette blauwe veter om mijn hals in de
achterste bank (Werkverschaffing, 9-10)?]
At first sight the above seems to render Mrs. Veenendaal’s thoughts,

but through the way in which the beginning passage is imbedded in
the beginning of the story, it is clearly marked for the reader as
something of a mental exercise, instigated by the narrator and
meaning something like: if Mrs. Veenendaal had been educated, this
kind of questions and reflections might have come up in her mind.
Subsequently the text moves on to a genuine free indirect
speech, whereby the thoughts of Mrs. Veenendaal sitting in the
church, are reproduced: “At last Sjaantje still was a child, although
she now took care of the other boys.” [Tenslotte was Sjaantje nog
maar een kind, al paste ze nou op de andere jongens.
(Werkverschaffing, 11)] Yet immediately after this, the narrator steps
backwards again and pursues his argumentation: “If Mrs. Veenendaal
had been at school, she would have known that it was about the ‘idée
divine’ and the ‘idée satanique’ [Als vrouw Veenendaal een mulo-
opleiding had gehad, had ze geweten dat het over de idée divine en de
idée satanique ging. (ibid.)] In other words it looks as if the narrator
continuously wants to disturb the reader’s illusion that he is reading
the thoughts of the characters. He does so also by inserting narrative
comment in the transition from the passage about Mrs. Veenendaal to
the one about her husband Kees, a passage that could easily have been
presented as a sort of camera turn:
Kees cannot hear her thoughts. He has his own thoughts anyway, and
can miss hers. It is a miserable thing, this Roman Catholic Union,
Kees thinks. If you ask a plain question, they make a fool of you, as if
you are completely mad to ask that.
[Kees kan haar gedachten niet hooren. Hij heeft trouwens zijn eigen
gedachten, en kan de hare missen. Het is met die roomsche bond ook
geen pest gedaan, denkt Kees. Als je iets gewoons vraagt, zetten ze je
even voor piet snot, alsof je hardstikke mesjokke ben om daar mee aan
te komen (Werkverschaffing, 12).]
The narrator is quite expressively present with direct comments on the

characters and with a critical social point of view, so that one wonders
why this text has been called “evoking objectivity”.
Sometimes focalisation is also panoramic in what Ter Braak
would have called a filmic technique with the result that the actions of
Objectivity and Emotion, the Challenge of the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid327
the two main characters performed at two different locations can be
described in one and the same sentence: “When Kees is walking up
the alley with his fishing rod ahead, his wife takes her Sunday dress
from the clothes hanger.” [Als Kees met zijn hengel vooraan in de
steeg loopt, haalt zijn vrouw d’r zondagse japon van het houtje
(Werkverschaffing, 18).]
On the other hand this novel contains passages that really
strike the reader as typically nieuw zakelijk. A clear example is the
description of Kees’ first day in Jipsuma:
Today Kees starts in Jipsuma. With the spade. The spade is sharp,
shining steel. About four seconds are needed to stick the spade into
the clay, and to throw a clod of clay over the edge of the ditch. Almost
five thousand times a day the spade glides into the clay. One foot steps
on the side of the spade. The muscles of the arms harden. The clay
flows over the edge.
[Vandaag begint Kees in Jipsuma. Met de spaai. De spaai is scherp,

blinkend staal. Zowat vier seconden zijn er noodig om een spaai in de
klei te steken, en een kluit kleigrond over de rand van de greppel te
gooien. Bijna vijfduizend keer per dag glijdt de spade in de klei. De
voet treedt op de zijkant van de spade. De spieren van de armen
harden zich. De klei vliegt over de rand (Werkverschaffing, 29).]
The mentioning of numbers and the description of the act as a

mechanical one, not executed by humans but by their separate limbs,
attain such a sober effect. However in the following passage the style
radically changes:
It takes Kees eleven seconds to stick a spade and throw the clay away.
It is a motley crew, the sixty diggers. God’s free nature? Did you say
that? That nature is to be seen in a park or on a Sunday afternoon
walk. But then dinner so pleasantly sinks to your intestines and your
little boy talks about the cows. Here God’s free nature is the stubborn
layer of clay that must be stabbed out.
[Hij [Kees] doet elf seconden over een spade steken en weggooien.
Het is een raar zoodje, de zestig gravers. God vrije natuur? Zei u dat?
Die is te zien in een park of ’s Zondagsmiddags als u wandelen gaat.
Maar dan zakt het eten zoo lekker naar uw dikke darm en praat uw
kleine jongen over de koeien. Gods vrije natuur is hier de weerbarstige
laag klei die afgestoken moet worden (Werkverschaffing, 30).]
Here the narrator even goes so far as to push the reader into the role of
the rich, because he wants to emphasize the misery of the clay diggers.
328 Lut Missinne
We can see that there is a strong narrator’s voice in this text, a

clearly present narrator who sympathises with the poor and repeatedly
criticises the rich, who immediately appeals to the reader (e.g. with
rhetorical questions), anything but “objectiviteitsuggererende”
devices. Measured by the ‘objectivity effect’ it really surprises that
this text has ever been called zakelijk. Apparently some passages with
short sentences, a few numbers and the suggestion of a quotation from
a newspaper or document suffice to evoke the impression of a nieuw
zakelijke text. And most probably also the subject matter, the
economic crisis, has played a role in the attribution of this
qualification.
Harten en brood
Now we come to Harten en brood (Kuyle 1933), which is just like

‘Werkverschaffing’ a story about the crisis in the thirties. At the center
is the family Janssen, consisting of rather clichéd characters. Father
Jansen and son Peter do manual labor and live under a constant threat
of dismissal. Daughter Mary works as a housemaid in a rich bourgeois
family and son Willem is the opposite of Peter. Willem is an
intellectual who would like to go to college. Literary criticism called
this text ‘tearful’ [‘larmoyant’] (Ter Braak 1949: 141) and even
referred to it as a collection of “manifests that seem to be copied for
convenience’s sake from some Roman Catholic nutcracker”
[manifesten, die voor ’t gemak uit een of andere Roomsche
Notenkraker schijnen overgenomen (Coster 1947: 69)]. However, the
way in which Kuyle smuggles the narrator’s point of view into the
narrative is more sophisticated than the reviews might suggest.
This novel also includes some typically nieuw zakelijke
passages. It is “a filmlike novel, told in a beautiful language and at a
pace that nears the speed of the ‘10 P.K.’ by Ehrenburg” [een boek-
als-een-film, prachtig van taal en met een tempo, dat de vaart van de
“10 P.K.” van Ehrenburg bijna nabij komt] was to be read in a
catholic literary history book (Van Oldenburg Ermke 1935: 152). Ter
Braak even criticised the novel for its ‘Ehrenburg-style’, when he had
read about the nervous atmosphere that marks the company described
in it:
This is a threatening beast that nobody has seen. It sneaks from one
department to another. It scratches its sharp claws on the heads of
those in charge, and puts a shy fear in the eyes of all who see their
daily bread endangered.
In Manchester family Smith buys a new carpet, and their radio gets a
new pair of bulbs. Late in the evening tired people listen to the
dancing music from the Savoy hotel. Sometimes they hear the stock
market list, a shrill and inarticulate scorn for the simple outsider.
[Dit is een dreigend beest dat niemand heeft gezien. Het sluipt
tusschen de eene afdeeling en de andere. Het trekt zijn scherpe
krabben over de koppen van die wat te zeggen hebben, en zet een
schuwe angst in de oogen van allen die hun brood in gevaar zien.
In Manchester koopt de familie Smith een nieuw vloerkleed, en hun
radio krijgt een nieuw stel lampen. Laat in den avond zitten moede
menschen met secuur geveegde voeten op het kleed, en ze luisteren
naar de dansmuziek uit het Savoy-hotel. Soms komt er een rijtje
beurskoersen doorheen, een scherpe en onverstaanbare hoon voor den
eenvoudigen buitenstaander. (Harten, 66)]
But just like in ‘Werkverschaffing’ the narrator comments explicitly,

for instance on the outer appearance of the characters. The company
owner is compared to a worker: “The flesh is rosier, not so hard and
dense, and under his chin begin the roles of fat, close together like the
roles of a stage wig.” [Het vleesch is roziger, niet zoo hard en dicht,
en onder zijn kin begint de genoegelijke groei van wat spekwalletjes,
dicht opeen als de rolletjes van een tooneelpruik (Harten, 26)] There
is also a dialogue between Janssen and his son Peter, presented
scenically, which is rounded off with a narrator’s comment: “This is
part of the cheerful conversation between Jansen and Peter.” [Dit is
een gedeelte uit het opwekkende gesprek van Jansen en Peter (Harten,
16).]
And in the same way as in ‘Werkverschaffing’ contrasts
convey a critical viewpoint. Harten en brood opens with a description
of nature, dew and mist, and is interrupted after a few sentences by a
narrator’s comment, wondering if it is still worthwhile to write a
novel, now that life is feverishly hurrying on and newspapers reveal
all the facts of life. Next the author uses his typical contrastive
technique and brings into relief the romantic dew with all that
morning dew can mean for poor people: “Dew, dew, dew, dew
belongs to roses and to roses belong happy people. But when dew
drops over the tramp lying in the verge, the dew has become a moist
misery, and when getting up the man looks for a place the dew cannot
reach.” [Dauw, dauw, bij dauw hooren rozen en bij rozen gelukkige
330 Lut Missinne
menschen. Maar als de dauw over de zwerver valt die aan de wegberm
ligt, is de dauw een natte ellende geworden, en opstaand, ziet de man
rond naar een plaats waar de dauw niet komen kan (Harten, 8).]
However, there are many passages in which the narrator
smuggles his vision into the text in a more indirect and subtle way,
e.g. in descriptions. Breakfast of the working father and son is
described as follows: “Nice sandwiches, with no filling” [Fijne
boterhammen met niks (Harten, 16)], before they resume work in their
“fine factory” [fijne fabriek (Harten, 17)]. The point of view revealed
by the descriptions is not always ironic or critical, but can also betray
empathy for the characters, when they are poor people: When Jansen
undresses before going to bed he is described as “a little factory
worker, who doesn’t look rude and crude anymore. An old child in a
sleeping suit, completely tired out.“ [een fabrieksmannetje, dat
heelemaal niet ruw en onbehouwen meer lijkt. Een oud kind in een
hansop, dat zich veel te moe heeft gemaakt (Harten, 13).]
In addition, a biased organization of the story material betrays a
specific point of view e.g. in the following enumeration of all the
activities that the rich lady Willy has in front of her:
At eleven she is at the breakfast table, and then there is no spare half
hour any more. She must go to the hairdresser or she must go
shopping. She must have lunch at home or somewhere else. She must
drink tea at home or somewhere else. She must play tennis and ride
horseback twice a week.
[Om elf uur zit ze aan het ontbijt, en dan heeft ze verder geen half
uurtje meer vrij. Ze moet naar de kapper of ze moet boodschappen
gaan doen. Ze moet thuis of ergens anders gaan lunchen. Ze moet
thuis of ergens anders thee drinken. Ze moet tennissen en tweemaal in
de week paardrijden. (Harten, 125)]
Also bringing out the contrast between the rich and the poor, a device
Goedegebuure (1992: 30ff) already pointed at, is often used in this
novel to express the narrator’s viewpoint. A good example is the
following scene in the graveyard:
The graveyard is so mild as life has never been, and it is so sadly

sincere in its way of commemorating. The rich lie under their heavy
stone. [...] And the poor, they lie on the edge of the field, where the
streamlets carry off their secrets to the ditch.
[Het kerkhof is zoo mild als het leven nooit was, en het is zoo droevig
eerlijk in zijn manier van gedenken. De rijken liggen onder hun zware
steen. […] En de armen, zij liggen aan de rand van den akker, waar de
kleine waterloopen hun geheimen wegdraven naar de sloot (Harten,
61).@
Another subtle way of presenting the narrator’s view is by way of

irony: irony slips into passages that render thoughts or memories of
the characters. Mr. Van Duin, so the reader is told, has difficulties to
remember what “a colossally great amount” [een allemachtige hoop]
of money eight hundred guilders formerly actually was:
Except when he sees children. When he sees children play or meets
them in the street with their mothers. Because of his childhood, which
is still clear to him. The terrible sorrow that some children had a real
leather horse bridle with bells, and that he always had to knit one on a
reel.
[Behalve als hij kinderen ziet. Als hij kinderen ziet spelen of met hun
moeders in de straat tegenkomt. Want zijn kindertijd, die is nog helder
voor hem. Het schrikkelijke verdriet, dat er kinderen waren met een
echt paardentoom van leer met bellen, en dat hij er altijd een moest
breien op een klosje (Harten, 59).]
Even when a character comes to speak in direct speech, it is not

always rendered in a neutral way. The credibility of his or her words is
undermined, because through the text and context the reader has
become acquainted with the disapproval of the narrator. In the
following example Van Duin says:
Well, gentlemen. Of course we can discuss this topic with satisfaction,
but our conversation does not show many prospects. This does not
concern an accelerated speed or shrinking of activities. It is simply a
matter of new machines. Of better machines that are so bloody well
constructed that we can safely miss half of our hands.
[Tja, heeren. We kunnen er natuurlijk met genoegen over praten, maar

er zit niet veel perspectief in ons gesprek. Het betreft hier immers
geen kwestie van versneld tempo, of van inkrimping van de
werkzaamheid. Het is een doodgewone zaak van nieuwe machines.
Van betere machines, die zoo verduiveld goed in elkaar zitten dat we
er veilig de helft van het personeel bij kunnen missen (Harten, 117).]
Van Duin’s direct utterances are ridiculed by the context in which

they are situated. When his sister dies, Van Duin says: “Time cures all
things”, at first sight a neutral utterance in this context. This proverb is
used again twice in the narrator’s text, each time as the introduction to
a new paragraph. By the third time it has shifted into a cynical
332 Lut Missinne
comment by the narrator: “Time heals all things. If not with

lovingness and compassion, then with callosity and money”. [De tijd
heelt alle wonden. Is het niet met teederheid en mededoogen, dan is
het met eelt en geld (Harten, 59).]
Free indirect speech

The most complex mixing up of narrator’s and character’s text and
viewpoint occurs in passages with free indirect speech. This is by
definition a narrative mode in which the boundary between narrator
and character is blurred. Kuyle’s narrator uses this camouflage area to
hide his personal interventions.
The novel Harten en brood displays the same flexibility of
viewpoint and focalisation as the short story. After the explicit
comment by the I-narrator: “Nevertheless I will write a novel” [Ik zal
toch een roman schrijven (Harten, 7)] the visible, extradiegetic
narrator introduces the character Jansen, who is sitting on his chair
and looking around: “Maybe he looks, but sees something else.
Something that is not right. Willem for instance, [...] Yes, Willem
knows what he wants. He works wearing a white collar, and, after all,
this is something they have never gotten around to. Not he and not
Peter.” [Misschien kijkt hij wel, maar ziet hij iets anders. Iets dat niet
op het plaatsje is. Willem bijvoorbeeld, […] Ja, Willem weet wat hij
wil. Die werkt met het boord om, en dat is ten slotte toch iets waar zij
nooit aan toe gekomen zijn. Hij niet en Peter niet (Harten, 9).@ It
seems that we are dealing here with a transition to internal
focalisation, more specifically to a quoted monologue, that continues
over more than one page.
That’s impossible, such differences within a family. One worker lives
differently from another, and for a gentleman there is no room. For a
boy who has his nose so high in the air that he can't see the ground,
and always wants to study further. Headmaster he wants to become,
and therefore he constantly works. Not that he [Willem] is indolent to
Jansen, but there is no cordiality in his behaviour.
[’t Was niks gedaan, zoo’n verschil in de familie. Een arbeider leeft
anders dan een ander, en voor een mijnhéér is er geen plaats. Voor een
jongen die het hoog in de bol heeft, en altijd maar dóór wil leeren.
Hoofd wil ie worden, en daar werkt hij alsmaar voor. Niet dat hij
tegen Jansen beroerd is, maar er zit geen hartelijkheid in (Harten,
10).]
The mentioning of ‘Jansen’ in the last sentence does not fit in a free
indirect speech that renders the thoughts of the character Jansen.
Therefore what should have been written is: Not that he is indolent to
him [Niet dat hij tegen hem beroerd is]. The just quoted thoughts (and
also the rest of this page) however could very well be those of father
Jansen. Yet in the sentence “Not that he is indolent to Jansen,…” there
is another focalisation at work which seems to appropriate the
thoughts and language of Jansen. Where regular free indirect speech
renders the thoughts and words of a character in a mixed mode (partly
with characteristics of direct, partly of indirect speech), this mixed
mode is used here to evoke the impression of touching the thoughts of
the protagonist, while in fact it betrays a far reaching empathy by the
narrator. At that moment in the story there even is no character present
who could serve as a carrier of these thoughts.
Somewhat later these thoughts, represented as those of Jansen -
although they cannot be his - pass into thoughts or utterances of Peter.
Then we move again to Jansen’s thoughts, and further to the thoughts
of the mother:
They still do sleep together, the boys, but Peter is damn well refusing
to say goodnight, when Willem doesn’t do so first. […] So was their
relationship more or less. Sometimes things went a little better, but
that was because Willem just tried to be cooperative for a while.
When they were about to play cards, for a moment arguments were
kept off. And when mother had begged and pleaded with them again
to preserve peace. That worked for a little while. But more because of
mother, than because of them being really peaceful.
Since mother was troubled herself because of those differences
between her very own children. It stabs you in the heart, if you see one
cry who is right anyway, and you can’t admit that he is right. Because
Mrs. Jansen also knew that Willem’s good brains were not that
brilliant. Really, she was clever enough to know that if Peter had had
the chance, he would have done as well at least. But then, they didn’t
regard Peter as very talented at school.
[Slapen doen ze nog wel bij mekaar, de jongens, maar Peter verdomd
[sic] het wel te rusten te zeggen als Willem het niet eerst zegt. […] Zo
was de verhouding ongeveer. Soms ging het een beetje beter, maar
dan was het omdat Willem probeerde mee te doen. Als ze aan het
kaarten sloegen, dan was de ruzie even uit de lucht. En als moeder ze
weer eens gebid en gesmeekt had om toch de vrede te bewaren. Dat
hielp even. Maar meer om moeder, dan omdat er werkelijk vrede was.
334 Lut Missinne
Moeder zat er immers zelf óók mee in, met dat verschil tusschen haar
bloed-eigen kinderen. Dat doet je immers de doodsteek aan, als je er
een ziet huilen die gelijk heeft, en je kan hem geen gelijk geven? Want
vrouw Jansen wist ook wel dat die knappigheid van Willem zoo’n
vaart niet liep. Ze was heusch slim genoeg om te weten, dat als Peter
de kans gekregen had, hij het er zeker zoo goed zou hebben
afgebracht. Maar ja, in Peter zagen ze op school nooit veel (Harten,
11).@
With a sentence like “Because Mrs. Jansen also knew …” the stream
of the character’s thoughts is interrupted by the narrator’s opinion, but
at the same time the mixed narrative mode is maintained, because
“knappigheid” (good brains) sounds like an expression coming from
the mother.
This remarkable narrative style, introducing a narrator who
presents a story as if he gives the floor to a character - using a free
indirect speech mode - is also seen in other moments and by way of
other techniques. At the beginning there is a passage, in which Peter is
speaking: “Much ado about nothing, says Peter. As if these folks cared
for the church. It was all about a hot meal, and nothing else, says
Peter.” [Kouwe drukte, zegt Peter. Alsof het de lui om de kerk te doen
was. ’t Ging om bikke-cement, en om niks anders, zegt Peter.] Then
follows the sentence: “Peter says everything here in the house. Father
and mother and Marie don’t say much. And Willem only says that he
can’t talk to a fool, an idiot.” [Peter zegt hier in huis àlles. Vader en
moeder en Marie die zeggen niet veel. En Willem zegt alleen dat hij
met een gek, met een dolleman niet kan praten (Harten, 21).] All
characters that are potential speakers or thinkers of the sentence “Peter
says everything here in the house” have been mentioned in the
preceding scene. Moreover, these sentences come at a moment in the
story when there is nobody present who could have said or thought
such a sentence. Again, it is the narrator, who so to speak disguises as
one of the characters speaking. Again, this effect is created by way of
some of the characteristics of free indirect speech used here: the
deictic “here” (“Peter says everything here [my italics] in the house”),
the use of interjections, as is for instance the case in the opening
sentence of the third chapter: “Jansen and Peter are standing at their
looms. Well, they have time to think now.” [Jansen en Peter staan aan
hun getouwen. Die hebben nou de tijd om na te denken (Harten, 22).],
the use of typically colloquial repetitions: “Now it looks as if this
Frits, this Mister Frits [my italics] isn’t such a stupid boy at all…”
[Nu lijkt het wel alsof die Frits, die meneer Frits, toch niet zoo’n
domme jongen is,…” (Harten, 25).]
So we can conclude that the novel Harten en brood contains
two kinds of free indirect speech: (1) the conventional form, rendering
a character’s thoughts, for example in: “He has always given them
what belonged to them, and it is not his fault that that is not much.
Otherwise he has always given them freedom. Always.” [Hij heeft ze
altijd gegeven wat ze toekwam, en dat dat niet veel is, daar kan hij
niks aan doen. Voor de rest heeft hij ze altijd vrij gelaten. Altijd
(Harten, 23).] These are words of the owner of the Mega-factory who
is speaking to his son after a discussion about how the workers are
treated. (2) In a second type of free indirect speech, which is
characteristic of the very novel by Kuyle, the narrator tells the story in
this very same mode, however without having a character stand
behind these words. In this way Kuyle evokes someone who is
articulating the thoughts of the characters, the voice of a narrator. This
also seems to me an explanation for the fact that this novel so
intensely uses free indirect speech, much more in fact than there are
situations in which characters appear.
This fading of a narrator’s and character’s viewpoint have a
counterpart in the seemingly unproblematic fading of the narrator’s
position outside and inside the fictional universe, a specimen of
metalepsis. The narrator in Harten en brood directly addresses one of
his characters. When Jansen gets fired at the end of the story, the
narrator says:
This is not a man anymore. This has become a completely aimless
human being. The factory threw him out. He can’t go back in that
building of fast living…. Run slowly, Jansen, run slowly. You are not
in a hurry anymore. Why do you want to get home so fast? You are a
drowned man, you have inhaled gas.”
[Dit is geen màn meer. Dit is een volkomen doelloos mensch

geworden. De fabriek wierp hem uit. Hij mag niet meer terug in dat
gebouw van het snelle leven […] Loop zachtjes, Jansen, loop zàchtjes.
Je hebt nu geen haast meer. Waarom wil je vlug thuis zijn? Je bent
verdronken man, je hebt gas binnen gekregen (Harten, 71).]
But at other places the narrator also leaves the fictional universe and
directly addresses the reader: “They don’t invest in factories and they
don’t buy shares that can plummet one of these days. Oh no, they
contrive it much more shrewdly. You have already run through all
336 Lut Missinne
these new estates, at the outskirts of town, haven’t you?” [Ze steken
hun geld niet in fabrieken en ze koopen er geen papieren voor die
vandaag of morgen kelderen en je droog zetten. O neen, die leggen dat
véél verstandiger aan. U is toch wel eens door al die nieuwbouw heen
geloopen, aan de rand van de stad (Harten, 139)?]
Although Kuyle’s novel generally is not counted among the hard-core

nieuw zakelijke literature, several contemporary reviews often
connected him to the lightening example 10 PK. Het leven der auto’s
by Ilja Ehrenburg. If we take a short look at such a hard-core nieuw
zakelijk novel, for instance 8.100.000 m³ zand by M. Revis (1932), we
see that many of these characteristics, even if not with the same
intensity, can be found in that novel too. Revis does not actualise
objectivity as the absence of any narrator’s comment or by restricting
himself to the outer appearance of characters or to external
focalisation. Rather Revis’s novel also stages an extradiegetic, visible
narrator, who comments, directly addresses the reader, and does not
take a distanced or detached position. He also makes clear his ironical
viewpoint, emphasising social problems, as the following example
shows:
Fortunately the Child Protection Law van Houten is not valid yet, so
that the children can help, they spud up weed. A cow eats grass. Of
course. Shouldn’t a cow eat? The children spud up weed. Of course.
Aren’t children hungry anyway? Hunger is the best sauce, and God
blesses the poor; if there is a shortage, he makes it up, if not with
bread, then with mercy.
[Gelukkig is de kinderwet-van-Houten er nog niet, de kinderen

kunnen dus meehelpen, ze wieden gras. Een koe vreet gras.
Natuurlijk. Een koe moet toch vreten? De kinderen wieden gras.
Natuurlijk. Kinderen hebben toch honger? Honger is de beste saus, en
God zegent de armen; als er tekort komt, legt Hij wat bij, is het geen
brood, dan toch genade (Zand, 11).]
And he does this more often, also by directly addressing the reader, as
is illustrated in the next example. At that particular moment the
entrepreneur Van Dool has accepted another commission to dig a
ditch. The text describes the moment as follows: “Van Dool was
elated. In the same year he accepted still another such commission.
Profit f 830. Dear reader, this meant that there was one entrepreneur
more in The Netherlands.” [Van Dool was in de wolken. Hij nam in
hetzelfde jaar in Heibroek nòg zulk een sloot aan. Winst f 830.
Waarde lezer, dit beteekende, dat er een ondernemer meer was in
Nederland (Zand, 15).]
The objectivity effect is not reached by narratological devices,
aimed at detachment, but the impression of sobriety and cool
calculation is rather evoked by mentioning numbers in the text:
Suzanne and Kees van Dool came to love each other, just love, and it
was a love for life, that lives so solidly in your heart as your own flesh
is your body. More, dear reader, I won’t say about this, because the
title of this writing is 8.100.000 M3 of sand.
[Suzanne en Kees van Dool kregen elk ander lief, eenvoudigweg lief,
en het was een liefde voor het leven, die zoo hecht woont in je hart als
je eigen vleesch je lichaam is. Meer, o lezer, zal ik hierover niet
zeggen, want de titel van dit geschrift luidt: 8.100.000 m3 zand (Zand,
18).]
It is striking how the numerical data is introduced just at those

moments where the narrator tries to avoid an emotional turn in the
story, the cool numbers serve as a contrast to emotive subjects. This
contrasting can be considered a literary transposition of film montage.
Another example: “Once I have seen the mute, desperate eyes of a
horse, when the tram had ruled over its legs above the hoofs. A horse
costs f 300 tot f 600.” [Ik heb eens de stomme, wanhopige oogen van
een paard gezien, toen een tram het de voorpooten boven de hoeven
had afgereden. Een paard kost f 300 tot f 600 (Zand, 27).] Emotional
events are not withheld, but countered by sober announcements in
figures.
Also the pure rendering of characters “from the outside” (Ter
Braak) is not maintained here. As a reader we do get to know what
Kees van Dool thinks and feels and what Suzanne is thinking of when
she has seen an artist.
Conclusions
When we look how the pursuit of objectivity in nieuw zakelijk prose
takes shape on the narratological level, we find this happens in a
complex and paradoxical way. Not only comments by a narrator can
indeed be found, partly implicit comments in the orchestration of the
data, like Goedegebuure observed, but also explicit comments, in
338 Lut Missinne
direct forms of address to the reader, in rhetorical questions and by

way of irony.
Moreover it also turns out that the requirement that the narrator should
not slip in between the reader and the object, a common opinion in the
discourse on Nieuwe Zakelijkheid can hardly be satisfied. The
description Marsman gave of zakelijke novels, namely that they give
an “objective, impersonal, zakelijk account, as by a reporter” doesn’t
hold up. What Menno Ter Braak found, namely that the ‘epigones of
Ehrenburg’ exclusively looked at the “filmic outside” doesn’t seem to
have become practice either, not even with someone like M. Revis.
And neither can one insist that Harten en Brood is completely
composed of filmic effects, if this means (as in the article ’Ehrenburg
maakt school’) to render the “filmic outside”. The interpretation of the
concept Nieuwe Zakelijkheid in literature has become more and more
complex. A narratological analysis, combining attention to
focalisation and to the narrator’s viewpoint can help us to interpret
this type of novels in a new way.
Notes
1
Cf. Anne Marie Musschoot: “It still remains a controversial point, whether the well-
known work from the thirties, the short novels Blokken, Knorrende beesten and Bint
are or are not representative of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid.” [Het is nog steeds een
omstreden vraag, of het bekende werk uit de jaren dertig, de korte romans Blokken,
Knorrende beesten en Bint [...], nu al dan niet representatief is voor de nieuw
zakelijkheid (cit. Grüttemeier 1999: 334).]
2
See: Constant van Wessem, Het moderne proza III. In De Vrije Bladen 6 (1929),
327-328 (cit. Van den Toorn 1987:48).
3
Cit. Van den Toorn 1987:41.
4
Cit. Grüttemeier 1995:40.
5
“gestische, beobachtende Schreibweise” (Becker 1995:21).
Bibliography
Anten, Hans. 1982. Van realisme naar zakelijkheid. Prozaopvattingen tussen 1916 en
––– 1996. Het bekoorlijk vernis van de rede. Over poëtica en proza van F. Bordewijk.
Groningen: Historische Uitgeverij.
Beekman, Klaus and Grüttemeier, Ralf. 2009. ‚Zaakkundige zakelijkheid en
organische verbanden. Victor van Vriesland als cultuurhistorisch criticus.’
in Dorleijn Gillis J. et al. (eds.). Kritiek in crisistijd. Nijmegen:Vantilt: 61-
83.
Becker, Sabina. 1995. ‚Neue Sachlichkeit im Roman‘ in Becker, Sabina and Weiß,
Christoph (eds). Neue Sachlichkeit im Roman. Neue Interpretationen zum
Roman der Weimarer Republik. Stuttgart and Weimar: Metzler: 7-26.
Boven, Erika van and Kemperink, Mary. 2006. Literatuur van de moderne tijd.
Nederlandse en Vlaamse letterkunde in de 19e en 20e eeuw. Bussum:
Coutinho.
Braak, Menno ter. 1949. ‘Ehrenburg maakt school’ [1934] in Braak, Menno ter.
Verzameld werk V. Amsterdam: Van Oorschot: 138-144.
Coster, Dirk. 1947. ‘Van pamflettist tot schepper’ in Coster, Dirk. Menschen, tijden,
boeken. Amsterdam: Querido: 65-72.
Donker, Anthonie. 1932. Ter Zake: Beschouwingen over litteratuur en leven.
Arnhem: Van Loghum Slaterus.
Goedegebuure, Jaap. 1992. Nieuw zakelijkheid. Utrecht: Hes.
Grüttemeier, Ralf. 1995. Hybride Welten. Aspekte der “Nieuw zakelijkheid” in der
niederländischen Literatur. Stuttgart: M&P.
––– 1999. ‘Bordewijk en de Nieuwe Zakelijkheid’ in TNTL 115: 334-355.
Kuyle, Albert. S.d. ‘Werkverschaffing’ in Harmonika. Utrecht: Het Spectrum: 9-36.
––– 1933. Harten en Brood. Hilversum: N.V. Paul Brand’s Uitgeversbedrijf.
Marsman, Hendrik. 1979. ‘De aesthetiek der reporters’ [1932] in: Marsman, Hendrik.
Verzameld Werk. Amsterdam: Querido: 430-410.
Oldenburg Ermke, Frans van. 1935. Van Alberdingk Thijm tot Van Duinkerken en
Kuyle. Overzicht van de jonge katholieke letterkunde in Nederland. ’s
Hertogenbosch : Malmberg.
Perron, Edgar du. 1955. Verzameld Werk II. Amsterdam: G.A. Van Oorschot.
Revis, M. 1932. 8.100.000 m3 zand. Utrecht: De Gemeenschap.
Schampaert, Paul. 1985. ‘Hans Anten: Van realisme naar zakelijkheid.
Prozaopvattingen tussen 1916 en 1932’ in Spiegel der Letteren 27(1-2):
130-133.
Stroman, Ben. 1935. ‘De nieuwe zakelijkheid in de literatuur‘ in Houwink, Roel (ed.)
Rondom het boek 1935. Utrecht and Amsterdam: s.n.: 77-84.
Tazelaar, C. [1935], Het proza der nieuwe-zakelijkheid. Aanteekeningen over het
nieuwste Nederlandsche proza. Kampen: Kok N.V.
Toorn, M.C. van den. 1987. ‘Nieuw zakelijkheid. Oorsprong en ontwikkeling van een
term’ in De Nieuwe Taalgids 80 (1): 40-54.
Vestdijk, Simon. 1941. ‘Apotheose der zakelijkheid’ in: Vestdijk, Simon. Muiterij
tegen het etmaal. ’s Gravenhage: A.A.M.Stols: 180-183.
Vriesland, Victor van. 1958. ‘Onzaakkundige zakelijkheid’ in: Vriesland, Victor van,
Onderzoek en vertoog. I. Amsterdam: Querido: 72-77.
New Objectivity in the Work of the Russian-
German Artist
Nikolai Zagrekov/Nikolaus Sagrekow
Rainer Grübel
Creation is the only possible way for the artist to get to know the world.1
[Ɍɜɨɪɱɟɫɬɜɨ – ɷɬɨ ɟɞɢɧɫɬɜɟɧɧɚɹ ɜɨɡɦɨɠɧɨɫɬɶ ɞɥɹ ɯɭɞɨɠɧɢɤɚ ɩɨɡɧɚɬɶ ɦɢɪ.]
Nikolai Zagrekov
Abstract: The frequent use of the term “New Objectivity” in Dutch and German
critical discourses differs from its long lack of use in their Russian counterpart.
Discrediting the concept as close to Nazi-art, the prominent Soviet critic Mikhail
Lifshits prevented it from a neutral or even positive use. Another consideration is the
presence of the partly congruent Russian term and concept of “thingism” (veshchizm).
This explains the evasion of the notion “New Objectivity” in Russian works on
Ehrenburg, who has been a Russian representative of this development (1). The art of
the Russian and German artist Zagrekov / Sagrekow tends to be treated as the only
example for this style in Russian art. Zagrekov avoided both contemporary non-
mimetic aesthetic concepts: Kandinsky’s abstract and Malevich’s non-figurative art.
His inclination to prose-like mimetic art helps to explain this resistance against the
non-mimetic impact on art in the early 20th century. (2) However, it seems
problematic to subsume all of Zagrekov’s art under the notion “New Objectivity” as
suggested by O. Medvedko. Rather, as J. Bowlt argued, his way of painting differs in
time and depends on the subjects and genres of each individual work. Zagrekov shares
his inclination to new realism with artists from “OST” (Society of Easel Painters) in
Moscow and the “Circle of Friends” in Leningrad. Because of these melanges and
differences the work of Zagrekov is highly significant to considering the relation of
“New Objectivity” to the art of the Avant-garde as well as to Socialist realism (3). To
introduce the term “New Objectivity” into the discussion of Russian developments,
not only in fine arts but also in literature, film and photography, in the first half of the
twentieth century seems to be a promising project (4).
1. Cultural asymmetry in the use of the term “New

Objectivity”
In the use of the term “New Objectivity” we observe an amazing
342 Rainer Grübel
discrepancy between Dutch and German discourses about culture on

the one hand and its Russian counterpart on the other hand. Whereas
German and Dutch critics of literature and art, photography and
cinematography used this notion quite often when they characterized
phenomena in their fields of concern (mostly regarding the second
half of the twenties and the first half of the thirties in the 20th century),
their Russian colleagues almost never applied this term, at least never
in relation to works of Russian or Soviet culture.2
In Soviet times the concept of “New Objectivity” was harshly
discredited by the failed artist and successful critic Mikhail Lifshits
(1905-1983). Colleague and friend of the Marxist philosopher György
Lukács, he agreed to the latter’s rejection of modernism and avant-
garde art and literature3. Referring to the failing duality of
expressionism in the eyes of the Nazi-critic Alfred Rosenberg, Lifshits
stated in 1969 in his article “Art and Fascism in Germany”: “As far as
‘German New Objectivity’ is concerned, it also failed to find a way
out of the problem”4. The critic, who seems to have considered
himself a socialist equivalent of the fascist ideologue Rosenberg, even
announced “New objectivity” to be integral to Nazi-art:
A special place in such claims for a monumental generalization of the

visual picture, which expresses the misty idea of a “New Order”
directed against bourgeois anarchy, must be given in the beginning of
the twenties to “New objectivity” in Munich. This element, which
firmly entered the amalgam of official Nazi-aesthetics, requires a
more detailed explanation and concrete examples. 5
It is plausible that under the circumstances of the official introduction

of the doctrine of Socialist realism in 1934 until its collapse in 1989,
nobody in the Soviet Union ever tried to discuss the relation of
Russian film directors and photographers, writers or painters to the
European movement of “New Objectivity”.
A recent incentive to discuss the innovative Russian prose-
writers Andrei Platonov and Vladimir Nabokov by comparing their
narrative compositions with those in the prose of “New objectivity”6
was met with reticence by Russian critics. While in Dutch and
German articles the notion of “New Objectivity” has repeatedly been
used7 in connection with works of the Russian writer Ilja Ehrenburg,
even canonical surveys on Russian writers like Russian literary
encyclopaedias of the last decennia avoid this concept by not even
mentioning it.8
New Objectivity in the Work of the Artist Nikolai Zagrekov 343
Another reason for avoiding the use of “New Objectivity”
when discussing Russian writers in Russia is the fact that there were
some developments in Russian culture in the 1920s that were
conceptually-speaking partially congruent with “New objectivity”, but
used other names for these developments. In the middle of the 1920s
Ilja Ehrenburg was like El Lissitzky9 a prominent representative of
“Thingism” (veshchizm), a movement, which to a certain degree
corresponded with (Russian) constructivism (Grübel 1981, Lodder
1985). In 1923, Ehrenburg and Lissitzky edited a trilingual Russian,
German and French journal in Berlin, which was called “Veshch’,
Ding, objet”. It showed an inclination to materialism rather than to
idealism, to concrete subjects rather than abstract ideas and to the
texture (surface structure) of artefacts rather than their mental themes.
The concept of Ehrenburg and Lissitzky was also not far from the
avant-garde group “Left front of arts” (LEF) and their journal with the
same name. It was headed by the futurist poet Vladimir Maiakovskii
but included the photographer Alexander Rodchenko, the film director
Dziga Vertov, the writer Sergei Tret’iakov and artists like Liubov
Popova and Varvara Stepanova. Some years ago, the Russian Slavicist
Il’ia Kukui, who works and lives in Germany, called LEF “the tribune
of Soviet New Objectivity”.10 In 1923, due to the initiative of
Vladimir Maiakovskii, the journal LEF published George Gross’s
article, “On my works”, and presented two of his drawings. The editor
Maiakovskii introduced him as a “constructivist” (Gross 1923: 28-29).
However, for Ehrenburg “New Objectivity” was only one
stage of his career as a writer. Around 1910, he started as an admirer
of Russian symbolism. In the first half of the 1920s he became
enthusiastic about constructivism, and in its second half he joined
“New Objectivity”. Later, in the early thirties, especially in his novel
“The second day” (1933), he proved to be a representative of Socialist
realism, the rude consequences of which he criticized in his last novel
“The Spring Thaw” of 1954.11A final reason for the difficulty of using
“New Objectivity” as a term in Russian is the fact that there are four
different expressions that were used as equivalents for German “Neue
Sachlichkeit” and Dutch “Nieuwe Zakelijkheid”. Aside from the
currently dominant term “Novaia veshchestvennost”12 we find also
notions like “Novaia predmetnost’”,13 which come closer to its
English equivalent “New Objectivity” (cf. German “Neue
Gegenständlichkeit”) and “Novaia veshchnost’”14, which literally
means – “New thingness”. The last expression takes the Russian term
344 Rainer Grübel
that Ehrenburg and Lisitskii (Lissitzky) propagated with the addition

of “New” to “Thingness”.
The Dictionary of Art-Terms, written in the years 1923-1929
in the State Academy of the Critic of Arts (GAKhN), presents “New
Objectivity” under the label “Verism” (Russ. Verizm) and mentions as
examples Käthe Kollwitz, Otto Nagel and Max Beckmann.15 In this
article the critic Pakhomova (2005: 89) offers a definition that holds
true not only for Verism, the more politically left-leaning wing of
“New Objectivity”, but largely also for its neoclassical fraction: “In
opposition to parts of the expressionists, which look for a general and
stylizing expression, the representatives of Verism see the maximal
true and sharp transmission of the unique phenomenon as their task,
whilst they preserve its concrete sharpness.
There is only one Russian artist, in relation to whom the term
“New Objectivity” currently has been used regularly and also by
Russian critics: the painter and architect Nikolai Zagrekov (1897-
1992). He is also or even better known under the name “Nikolaus
Sagrekow”16. In 1922, he left Russia and lived and worked in Berlin
until his death in 1992. Therefore, he is considered, and saw himself,
not only as a Russian but also as a German artist.
2. Drawing and the prose-like orientation of Zagrekov’s

art as defence against concepts of abstract and non-
figurative art
The plot should be […] fairy-tale-like.
Zagrekov, Notebooks
It is not easy to understand why in his Moscow time (1919-1921) the

young art student Nikolai Zagrekov, who had come from Saratov,
followed neither the line of Kazimir Malevich’s non-figurative art nor
of Vasily Kandinsky’s abstract painting. At that time these radical
artistic options were both present in Moscow: Kandinsky left the
soviet capital only in December 1921 (in the same month, as
Zagrekov, for Germany) and Malevich’s exposition “From
Impressionism to Suprematism” was shown there in 1919/1920.17
Young Zagrekov surely took note of their pioneering concepts but
obviously did not follow their suggestions to break completely with
the tradition of mimetic aesthetics in art. He also stayed away from the
Swiss-German movement of Dadaism and its provoking
manifestations, which in Berlin reached their peak in the “First
International Dada-Fair” (1920, cf. Kataloge 1988). Its leading figures
in art in Berlin, George Grosz and John Heartfield, later became
themselves representatives of “New Objectivity” in the second half of
the twenties.
Ill. 1; Red Army soldier, end of 1910s
One possible primarily biographical explanation for Zagrekov’s

rejection of these revolutionary developments in art is his profound
education in drawing. It began as early as his time in Saratov, where
in the Bogoliubov-Drawing-School he was a scholar of Fedor
Korneev (1914-18), and in the State High School of Free Artistic
Studios (SVOMAS, 1918-21) he was taught by Aleksandr Savinov
and Aleksei Karev. He further crafted his drawing during his years as
a student of Petr Konchalovski and Il’ja Mashkov (1919-21) in the
“Higher Art and Technical Studios” (Vkhutemas) in Moscow,18 and at
the “Berlin Educational Institution of the Museum of Arts and Crafts”
346 Rainer Grübel
(Unterrichtsanstalt des Kunstgewerbemuseums Berlin, 1922-25).19

Guided by Professor Harold Bengen (1879-1962)20, a teacher of
drawing and decorative art, Zagrekov worked in Berlin from 1925
until 1933 – first as a teaching assistant and later a teacher of nude and
outdoor drawing and painting. In what direction Zagrekov could have
developed, if he had stayed in the Soviet Union, is shown in his
drawing “Red Army soldier” (ill. 1, Nr. 137, late 1910s).
Drawing traditionally aims at a precise reproduction of
objects, while outdoor painting makes as little sense without a painted
subject as the genres of the nude21 and nature morte. Zagrekov largely
practised the art of drawing as well as the genres of the nude, of
outdoor painting and of still life all the way through his last artistic
period after the Second World War.22
A further, intrinsic motivation for Zagrekov’s distance
towards non-figurative and abstract painting can be derived from his
aesthetic orientation. Its prerequisite is a principal dissimilarity
between different types of art. As we distinguish poetry from prose in
literature, we can also conceive a difference between a “poetic” and a
“prosaic” way of painting.23 The first one is more interested in the
means of expression and much less, if at all, in reference, whereas the
second is primarily oriented towards reference where the means of
expression are merely instrumental with regards to referentiality.
Thus, Kazimir Malevich, who also wrote poems, embodied a
‘poetic’ way of art, in which the painted objects are less important
than the ways of painting.24 During the 1920s, he even denied any
sense of representing any objects in his art of Suprematism. In the
case of Kandinsky the explanation is more complex, because he was
less driven by the poetic mode of painting. In fact, he practised rigid
abstract art only in a rather limited number of paintings (for instance
“Picture with circle” from 1911 and “Black grid” from 192225), while
in the majority of works he reduced the relevance of reference by
abstracting from complex outlines, details of surface structure and
differences in the surface colours of (re)presented objects. Zagrekov,
who surely was aware of these developments and very conscious
about his own way of painting, once deprecated himself, to be too
much bound to reality and its objects: “My shortcomings: / Excessive
realism, objectivity.” [Ɇɨɢ ɧɟɞɨɫɬɚɬɤɢ: / ɑɪɟɡɦɟɪɧɚɹ
ɪɟɚɥɢɫɬɢɱɧɨɫɬɶ, ɩɪɟɞɦɟɬɧɨɫɬɶ26]. It is a pity that no date is indicated
in his note but we have reason to locate it in the midst of the 1920s,
since in the beginning of his notebook there is a reference to a journal
of the year 1924. The young artist was evidently aware of his
orientation to reality and even assessed it as a deficiency. This
disaffection probably drove his distancing himself from either
Kandinsky’s abstract painting or from Malevich’s non-mimetic art or
even from them both. Nonetheless, there is a drawing Zagrekov,
called “Sketch for an abstract painting” (ill. 2, Nr. 141, 1921), which
reveals his interest in Kandinsky’s concept. As the painting itself
seems not to have been carried out (beyond the sketch) and since there
are no other traces of other abstract nor of non-figurative painting in
Zagrekov’s known work, one can conclude that Zagrekov stopped
half-way.
Ill. 2: Sketch of an abstract painting, 1921
Furthermore, the spirit of the Berlin High School of Art, in which

Zagrekov first studied and then taught, was influenced by ideas of the
“German Work Federation” (Deutscher Werkbund), an association of
artists, architects, designers, and industrialists. Following the example
of the English Arts and Crafts movement, it aimed at the integration of
art and craft in design. For this reason architects and artists were
taught in the same classes and Zagrekov became not only a painter,
but also an architect. The principles of the movement were expressed
by the slogan “Form follows function”. One of its Berlin protagonists
348 Rainer Grübel
was Karl Hofer, previously a representative of expressionism and later

of expressive realism. In 1920, he became a teacher and in 1921 a
professor at Zagrekov’s school. Soon after the National Socialists
seized power, he was fired and eight of his works were labelled
“degenerate art” in the exhibition of the same name (Entartete Kunst,
1938).
Ill. 3: Still life, Oil on canvas, 1926
Zagrekov’s art subjugated the “poetic” principle of painting,

which deals with the technical means of creating pictures, to the
“prosaic” modus of representing objects. However, during the
twenties he carried out a lot of experiments with painting surfaces,
their fixing, the type of colour and the relation between different types
of colours.27 He used to produce his own colours from powder and he
experimented with a combination of water colour and oil. He painted
his “Nature morte” from 1926 (Stilleben, Nr. 21, ill. 3) with
watercolour on linen and fixed it afterwards with oil tempera and oil
varnish. In his painting, “The girl with the T-square” (Das Mädchen
mit der Reißschiene, Nr. 304, Nr. 24, 192928), he applied almost no
primer to the canvas at all and thus produced the effect of a fresco.29
Zagrekov deliberately chose the colours and often used in one and the
same painting only a very limited number of them. Repeatedly, he
worked with contrasting colours, as in his paintings “Cyclamen”
(Alpenveilchen, 1920s, Nr. 44), “Purple dahlias” (Purpurrote Dahlien,
1924, Nr. 9), “Lovers” (Verliebte, Nr. 23, 192), “Lying nude”
(Liegen[d]er Akt, 1925, Nr. 12) and “Amaryllis” (1972, Nr. 95). The
combination of slight abstraction and insistent figuration comes to
light in the use of broad brushstrokes in pictures like “Landscape”
(Landschaft, Nr. 1, 1924), “Flowers in a vase” (Blumen in Vase, Nr.
4, 1923), “Tree” (Nr. 18, 1925) and also in “The girl with T-square”
(Nr. 39, 1929). With plain body colour he experimented in paintings
such as “The Lovers” (Verliebte, 1927, Nr. 2330) and “The shot
putter” (Kugelstoßerin, 1930, Nr. 46). In all these cases, the technical
means have the mimetic function to shape the painted subjects.
In his first notebook (again without a date), he wrote “It is
impossible to reject the laws of nature. Nature is stronger than human
beings.” [ɇɟɥɶɡɹ ɨɬɜɟɪɝɚɬɶ ɡɚɤɨɧɵ ɩɪɢɪɨɞɵ. ɉɪɢɪɨɞɚ ɡɧɚɱɢɬɟɥɶɧɨ
ɫɢɥɶɧɟɟ, ɱɟɦ ɥɸɞɢ.31]. He thus prioritized outside reality (more
precisely that part of it, which is not touched by culture) above all
products of human culture.32 In the same context he noted with regard
to manifestos and theories of painting: “The art of painting is not
afraid of words. It says: I, myself, am nature.” [ɀɢɜɨɩɢɫɶ ɧɟ ɛɨɢɬɫɹ
ɫɥɨɜ. Ɉɧɚ ɝɨɜɨɪɢɬ: ə – ɫɚɦɚ ɩɪɢɪɨɞɚ.] Different from Malevich and
Kandinsky, Zagrekov saw painting itself as prior to all theoretical
texts about it. And indeed, there seems to be no declaration about art
from his hand and none, which he signed.
Having in mind this interest for technical innovation on the
one hand and the tendency not to give up the relation of art to an
outside reality, to which it refers, on the other hand, one can assume
that “New objectivity” came for Zagrekov as a relief: Here was a new
development in art, which did not demand a ban on concrete objects
as matters of reference for paintings, and which, nonetheless, made it
350 Rainer Grübel
possible to use all the advanced techniques of modern art. The

importance of what his eyes saw physically and physiologically is
documented by his drawing “The eye” (ill. 4, about 191533): For
Zagrekov the eye mediates between nature and picture.
Ill. 4: Eye, midst of the 1910s, pencil
As his way of painting nevertheless was affected by abstract

and non-figurative art, it is modern and traditional. He used many of
the achievements of Avant-garde art, but remained faithful to the
mimetic foundation of aesthetics. His picture “Water-colour Portrait
of a Girl on White Ground” (Mädchenporträt vor weißem
Hintergrund, Nr. 6) from 1924 combines an abstract white-grey
background with the mimetic depiction of a concrete girl in front of it.
And in his portrait “Woman-athlete” (Sportlerin, Nr. 35) from 1928,
the figurative and individual portrayal of the woman contrasts with a
non-figurative black background. The “Still Life” (Nr. 21) from 1926
puts a completely white table surface and an evenly white, almost
non-figurative flowerpot besides the in a reduced mimetically way
depicted plant and vase.34 The black feet and the black edging of the
table are likewise slightly abstracted in the iridescent background of
this picture. It is this painting of Zagrekov, which together with the
sketch for the poster “Chocolate (Schokolade, Nr. 276, 1930s), comes
closest to the art of Russian constructivism.35 But instead of letters,
technical and geometrical subjects given in pictures of Russian
constructivists,36 Zagrekov’s “Still Life” shows a careful composition
of objects of civilisation, selected according to the tradition of the
genre. What is missing here but present in Zagrekov’s many other
nature mortes are – flowers and fruits.37 The painting presents still life
without biological life, nature morte without nature. Again Zagrekov
uses the benefits of radical modern painting and clings at the same
time to the mimetic tradition of classical art.
3. “New Objectivity” as one of Zagrekov’s creative

possibilities
In her informative book Nikolai Zagrekov (2004, it is the first

monograph about the artist38), Russian philologist and art critic Ol’ga
Medvedko emphasizes the concordance between the different
components of Zagrekov’s art. In her vision, the harmony of different
artistic styles in Zagrekov’s work has been crowned only by “New
Objectivity”:
His “New Objectivity” is the harmonic composition of Art Deco,

German expressionism, the influence of which is especially
perceptible in his still lives and his landscapes, which went through
the filter of the “Jack of Diamonds”.39
In contrast to this unifying picture, I would like to emphasize the

differences between the single developments and schools, with which
Zagrekov has been in contact. In the first place I am not convinced
that his art can be attributed to only one style, be it “New Objectivity”
or another style. His artistic work is rather characterized by a variety
of styles, which change not only according to the times in which the
works were created, but also in compliance with its subjects and
chosen genres. Like the writer and philosopher Vasilii Rozanov, who
proved to be sensitive towards cultural contexts of publication as well
as towards themes of texts and their genres, and who represented in
different newspapers or journals dissimilar opinions about one and the
same topic, the artist Nikolai Zagrekov practised in diverse artistic
contexts different kinds of painting. “New Objectivity” was only one
of the creative possibilities that he carried out in his works of art.
Moreover, Medvedko’s list of contemporary artistic
movements, with which Zagrekov can be associated, is far from
complete. In Saratov, the young artist was initially influenced by the
352 Rainer Grübel
Volga school (mainly by Fedor Korneev and Aleksei Karev); and

already there he saw symbolist and impressionistic paintings. In his
pictures “Flight to Egypt” (Flucht nach Ägypten40, Nr. 2, 1923),
“Lovers” (Nr. 23, 1927)41 and the landscape “Clearing in the woods”
(Lichtung, Nr. 64, 1930s) a symbolist element is obvious. Traits of
impressionism we find in the painting “Landscape” (Nr. 1, 1922) and
the nature morte “Lilac bouquet” (Fliederstrauß, Nr. 3, 1923), those of
Expressionism in “Trees at a ditch” (Bäume im Graben Nr. 10,
192442) and “Blue distant lands” (Blaue Fernen, Nr. 113, 1930).
Many of Zagrekov’s flower pictures show the influence of
impressionism and expressionism, not only in his “Lilac Bouquet”
(Nr. 3) from 1923 and his “Flowers in a vase” (Blumen in Vase, Nr. 4)
of the same year but also “Purple dahlias” (Pupurrote Dahlien, Nr. 9)
from 1924, “Cyclamens” (Alpenveilchen, Nr. 44) of the 1920s and
even “Still live with dahlias” (Stilleben mit Dahlien, Nr. 82) from
1955.
Already in Saratov but also in Moscow and Berlin, Zagrekov
was confronted with Cubism and Constructivism. Cubism43 shows its
effect in the broken perspective of the pictures “Head of an old
woman” (Kopf einer alten Frau, Nr. 171, 1922), “Flowers in a vase”
(Blumen in Vase, Nr. 4) from 1923, and “Landscape” (Landschaft, Nr.
10) from 1924. There is a resemblance to constructivist painting that I
already mentioned in relation to “Still life” from 1926. Zagrekov’s
picture “Park” (Park, Nr. 15) from 1925 testifies to the transition from
expressionism, which was present already in the landscape “Treetops”
(Baumkronen, Nr 43, 1920s) and in “Sunset at the lake”
(Sonnenuntergang am See, Nr. 130, 1970s), as well as the transition
from cubism, evident through special use of colouring and shaping of
leafs and branches of the tree, to “New Objectivity”.
Moreover, Zagrekov was very interested in the art of Italian
Quattrocento. This attention to early Renaissance (and above all
Botticelli) is reflected in paintings like “Landscape with pine”
(Landschaft mit Kiefer, Nr. 86, 1950s) and “Landscape near Potsdam”
(Landschaft bei Potsdam, Nr. 83, 1958). Their art of using perspective
matches with Zagrekov’s neoclassical attitude and corresponds to his
interest in being in contact with artist societies in Italy. Here we
observe a surprising congruence with Malevich’s turn to Italian
Renaissance in his later years: In 1933 he painted a self-portrait with
the title “The Artist” (Chudozhnik44), in which he staged himself as a
painter of that time.
Finally, we notice also some overlap of Zagrekov’s art with
Socialist realism and, horribile dictu, even with National Socialist art.
For instance, in his celebration of the human body in the cultural
practice of sports we find congruencies with Leni Riefenstahl’s
“Triumph Of The Will” (1936) as well as parallels to Socialist Realist
art like Aleksandr Deineka’s.45 Nevertheless, Zagrekov never
subordinated the individual human body to the collective of a mass,
which was practiced in German as well as Russian totalitarian
culture.46 Even in his picture “Runners at the finish” (Läufer am Ziel,
1937, ill. 547) with its five swastikas on a flag and the shirts of the four
sportsmen, we observe the strong individual, almost exalted motions,
gestures and mimics that derive from expressionism.48 Another
irritating picture is the “Foyer in the Reich Chancellery” (Wandelhalle
in der Reichskanzlei, Nr. 49) from 1933, which was probably painted
after Adolf Hitler seized power49. I am far from accusing Zagrekov of
having produced Nazi-art. None of his pictures have ever been
exhibited as part of the “Great German art-exhibition” (Große
Deutsche Kunstausstellung) during 1937-1944 in Munich, where Nazi
leaders like Hitler, Goebbels und Göring used to buy paintings. But in
Zagrekov’s annoying work “The reaper” (Schnitter, Nr. 55) from 1938
we find affinity to Nazi-art. Is it by chance that the peasant is blond
and tall?50 This painting unmasks the proximity of Zagrekov’s way of
painting to Nazi-art, when compared to of Malevich from 1928/1929
of the same title. (Zhnec/Senokos/Na senokose).51 In summary,
Zagrekov showed that he could have painted real Nazi-art that would
have propagated the ideology of National Socialism. But in fact he did
not.
Ill. 5: Läufer im Ziel, oil on canvas, ca. 1937

354 Rainer Grübel
Socialist realism also lies in the range of Zagrekov’s stylistic

possibilities. At the end of the Second World War the Red Army, after
conquering Berlin, used his house as its first Kommandatura. High
Soviet militaries invited Zagrekov to paint portrays of Marshall
Zhukov (Nr. 71, 1946) and other officers. Soon afterwards, he also
created portrays of Lenin (Nr. 72, Nr. 73, ca. 1946, Nr. 79, 1948),
Stalin (ill. 6, Nr. 75, ca. 1946) and Molotov (Nr. 74, 1947), for which
he likely took reproductions and photographs as models. There is a
trait of static posture and monumentalism in these pictures, which is
otherwise alien to his way of painting. It indicates that he was familiar
with the monumentalism in portraits of Socialist realism as it is
presented in Gerasimov’s painting “Stalin and Voroshilov in the
Kremlin after a rain”.52
Ill. 6: Portrait of Stalin, oil on canvas, ca. 1946
In his notes, probably from around the 1920s, Zagrekov considered

the multiplicity of movements and styles as a special feature in the
culture of that time:53
Our time is so multifaceted and varied that in order to attract the
attention of contemporaries a special strain and calculation in the
choice of the subjects is necessary for the artist. Necessary is a certain
originality, a fairy-tale-manner, a novelty, accidentalness in the idea
that the spectator has not yet seen.
[ɇɚɲɟ ɜɪɟɦɹ ɧɚ ɫɬɨɥɶɤɨ ɦɧɨɝɨɝɪɚɧɧɨ, ɪɚɡɧɨɜɢɞɧɨ, ɱɬɨ ɞɥɹ

ɩɪɢɜɥɟɱɟɧɢɹ ɜɧɢɦɚɧɢɹ ɫɨɜɪɟɦɟɧɧɢɤɨɜ ɧɟɨɛɯɨɞɢɦɨ ɞɥɹ
ɯɭɞɨɠɧɢɤɚ ɨɫɨɛɨɟ ɧɚɩɪɹɠɟɧɢɟ ɢ ɪɚɫɱɟɬ ɜ ɜɵɛɨɪɟ ɫɸɠɟɬɚ. ɇɭɠɧɚ
ɤɚɤɚɹ-ɬɨ ɨɪɢɝɢɧɚɥɶɧɨɫɬɶ, ɫɤɚɡɨɱɧɨɫɬɶ, ɧɨɜɲɟɫɬɜɨ, ɫɥɭɱɚɣɧɨɫɬɶ ɜ
ɡɚɦɵɫɥɟ, ɱɟɝɨ ɟɳɺ ɡɪɢɬɟɥɶ ɧɟ ɜɢɞɚɥ.]
In this analysis Zagrekov also stresses mental innovation as an

obligatory trait of contemporary works of art. Of course, he could not
but take notice of the reduction of this multiplicity in the totalitarian
art of the Nazi-time and its tendency to negate innovation. In another
note from the 1930s Zagrekov draws in a sibylline way attention to art
as an expression of the way of life that is dominant in a given time:
“Every art has its prototype in the life of its time.” (ɍ ɤɚɠɞɨɝɨ
ɢɫɤɭɫɫɬɜɚ ɟɫɬɶ ɩɪɨɨɛɪɚɡ ɜ ɠɢɡɧɢ ɟɝɨ ɜɪɟɦɟɧɢ.54) Again he
emphasizes the priority of a reality outside of the art – here with a
focus on the collective life of a population beyond and above the
inventions of the artist. Once more it would be of great significance to
know the exact date of when his note was written. Does it already
speak to the National Socialist way of life? Then it would mean that
the multiplicity of the culture of the 1920s has given way to
uniformity, which was also part of the totalitarian culture in the Soviet
Union.
In his 2007 article on Nikolai Zagrekov, published in the
catalogue “New objectivity of Nikolai Zagrekov and Russian artists,”
John Bowlt presents an adequate complex picture of the connections
of Zagrekov’s painting with the history of world art. Indeed, Zagrekov
tried almost all the styles of painting of his time – like Kazimir
Malevich, who during his career went through almost all
contemporary artistic schools before he created his own style, the
famous Suprematism with its principal non-objectivity. However, in
difference to Malevich and Kandinsky, he never used his own style for
the foundation of a new school of art. Therefore, his art is less relevant
for the reconstruction of the development of new artistic possibilities
than for the reception of these developments by European artists. And
it is an indicator for how the public welcomed these innovations,
when, for most of his life, Zagrekov was a well selling artist.
356 Rainer Grübel
Repeatedly, his portraits were shown on covers of German weeklies.

The “Girl with the T-square” (Nr. 39, 1929) made the front-page of
the art-and-literature-journal “Youth” in the autumn from 1929.55
Ill. 7: Double Portrait,Oil on canvas, 1927
Pictures of Zagrekov like “Double portrait” from 1927

(Doppelbildnis, Nr. 25, ill. 7,)56 and “Woman portrait (Rosa Mein)”
(Nr. 40) from 1928(?), the “Spanish woman” (Nr. 33) from 1928
(which is said to be the portrayal of a Jewish girl),57 and the portraits
“Frau von Stryk” (Nr. 38, 1929), “The girl with the T-square”58 (Nr.
39, 1929) and his “Painter” from 1930 (Nr. 67) in particular can be
considered part of German “New Objectivity”. All these pictures (with
the exceptions of the “Portrait of a student” – “Porträt eines
Studenten”, Nr. 57 and “Painter” – “Maler”, Nr. 67, both from the
1930s) show women as independent human beings in a new world.
These pictures differ from traditional academic paintings and
expressionism as well as from abstract and non-figurative art. I
assume that the profession of an artist and teacher who often worked
with female students and models, made it easier for Zagrekov to
accept the new position of women in modern society. It is notable that
the artist in a photographic portray, taken in 1929, collects around
himself exclusively paintings that can be ranked within the canon of
“New Objectivity”.59
If we follow the traditional subdivision of “New Objectivity”
into a more politically-engaged “Verism”, the technically
conventional and less political “Academism” and “Magic realism”,
which forms a bridge to Surrealism, we can assign Zagrekov’s art of
this inclination most properly to the academic affiliation. Though
Zagrekov created an election poster for the German Social Democratic
Party (“A place for the working people!” – Platz dem Werktätigen!
Nr. 266) and painted a portrait of President Friedrich Ebert (Nr. 11,
1924), who was a member of this party, he never positioned himself as
an outspoken political, let alone radical, artist.60
When compared to Verism what is missing in his art is the
grotesque style and caricature of George Grosz and John Heartfield,
the critical attitude towards the modern town and its society of Otto
Dix (cf. his triptych “Metropolis” from 1927/28 and “The war” (Der
Krieg61) as well as the puzzling and sometimes even mysterious
ambiguity of Franz Radziwill (cf. his “Demons” – Dämonen62).
Zagrekov is not only characterized by a positive attitude towards
nature (present in his many landscapes and even more in the nature
mortes) but also towards the town as a place of life (cf. “Tower with a
clock”, Nr. 20, 1926). His charcoal drawing “Industrial landscape”
(Industrielandschaft, Nr. 254, 1930s) seems to be an exception.
Sometimes his positive stance towards human beings, which grounds
his many portraits and nudes, includes a touch of humour, as in the
Portrait “Farmer with award-winning rabbit” (Bauer mit
preisgekröntem Kaninchen, Nr. 16, 1925). And it is always the
individual that is shown by Zagrekov, never the mass, let alone
anonymous human beings as part of the mass (as in Oskar Griebel’s
“International”, 1928-193063).
There is an idea that Zagrekov might have taken from Lev
Tolstoi’s aesthetics, the principle of empathy: “The artist must, when
he paints or draws, experience that, which he depicts. Gefühl!
(feeling).” (ɏɭɞɨɠɧɢɤ, ɤɨɝɞɚ ɩɢɲɟɬ ɢɥɢ ɪɢɫɭɟɬ ɞɨɥɠɟɧ
ɩɟɪɟɠɢɜɚɬɶ ɬɨ, ɱɬɨ ɢɡɨɛɪɚɠɚɟɬ. Gefühl! (ɱɭɜɫɬɜɨ).)64 This maxim
sets Zagrekov’s art apart from most works of “New Objectivity”
358 Rainer Grübel
where the distance between the artist and his subjects, the famous
“coolness” prevails. Zagrekov’s works, which can nevertheless be
attributed to “New Objectivity”, come closest to the paintings of
another representative of “New Objectivity”, Georg Schrimpf. They
share a common admiration for classical art, value craftsmanship and
stick to traditional genres. As the November-Group that Schrimpf was
a member of, the work of Zagrekov shows a certain mixture of styles.
However, different from Schrimpf, who in 1918 was part of the
Action committee of revolutionary artists and worked in favour of the
Bavarian Soviet Republic, Zagrekov never engaged in any political
movements.
Zagrekov’s pictures like “The female shot-putter”
(Kugelstoßerin, Nr. 46) and “Herta attacks (Hanne on the ball)” (Herta
greift an (Hanne am Ball, Nr. 48), both from 1930, can be placed on
the borderline of “Neue Sachlichkeit.” They are figurative and seem to
be determined more by their themes than by the contraposition to non-
figurative painting.
It is plausible that a biographical detail prevented Zagrekov
from becoming a supporter of any mass-orientated political doctrine,
be it Soviet Real socialism or German National Socialism. When he
was a child of 8 years, his father, a successful lawyer of Saratov, was
killed during the pogrom there in October 1905. On the street he
protected a young Jewish boy against a Russian nationalist Jew-hater,
who intended to beat the child. The pogrom activist hit Zagrekov, who
defended the boy, with a truncheon on his head. Due to the father’s
death the Zagrekov family fell into poverty and became dependent on
relatives. For the young son, Nikolai, it must have been a catastrophe.
This traumatic experience could have motivated the young
man not to realize in his pictures death, chaos and destruction, or,
aesthetically speaking, not to seek the ugly.65 Instead of the horrible
metropolis, present in Otto Dix’ Cartoon for the triptych “Metropol”
(Großstadt 1927-1928) as well as in Max Beckmann’s “The night”
(Die Nacht, 1919), in his triptych “Departure” (Abfahrt, 1932-193566)
and in George Grosz’ “Pillars of Society”, (Stützen der Gesellschaft,
1926) Zagrekov was looking for beauty.67 This defiant and desperate
“Nevertheless!” protects this beauty from kitsch. In a secular setting
things reveal their loveliness, be they a face or a naked body, a flower
or a landscape.
A second shock came in 1936, when, during the time of
Stalin’s “Great purges,” Nikolai’s brother Boris Zagrekov, a circus
artist, was imprisoned by the NKWD. He was tortured with needles
that were put under his finger- and toe nails to bring him to talk about
the activities of Nikolai living in National Socialist Germany. From
that time on, because of a fear to cause them harm, Nikolai terminated
all correspondence with his family in the Soviet Union for the rest of
his life. When his nephew Vasilii Tokarev was arrested by the
Gestapo in Riga in 1943, Zagrekov’s efforts to help him had no
success. The young man was killed and his parents died from grief.
4. Zagrekov in the context of contemporary Russian art

and the possible productiveness of the term “New
Objectivity”, applied to Russian culture
In the 1920s, Russian artists were still much more in dialogue with
their Middle- and Western European colleagues than in the following
decades. Right after the October revolution they could still travel to
Berlin, some of them even lived there for months. Later on, when
Stalin seized power in the Soviet Union, and National Socialism
played a more and more decisive role in German politics and culture,
Paris became the capital of Russian emigration. In the middle of the
1920s dozens of Russian artists still lived in the German capital. Yet
Zagrekov seems to have kept himself away from Russian emigrants
and official representatives of Soviet culture. Though it was the same
cultural context, in which Nabokov wrote his Berlin poetry or prose
and in which Zagrekov painted his pictures, there is no document that
suggests that they ever met. It even seems probable that Zagrekov kept
away from all the activities around Russian art and was determined to
become a German artist.
One cannot yet decide to which degree Zagrekov was familiar
with the developments in Russian art after he left Moscow, even
though he stayed in contact with his relatives in Saratov until 1936.
One of his notes seems to be familiar with the group LEF and its
concept of “literature of the fact” as well as to the idea that Russian
formalists forwarded about literary every-day-life: “With respect to
the subjects much ordinariness, everydayness.” (ȼ ɫɸɠɟɬɧɨɦ
ɨɬɧɨɲɟɧɢɢ ɦɧɨɝɨ ɨɛɵɞɟɧɧɨɫɬɢ, ɛɭɞɧɢɱɧɨɫɬɢ).68 Of course these
notes are abbreviations of complex ideas, summaries of intricate
argumentations and allow often for a variety of interpretations.
360 Rainer Grübel
During the 1920s, German art was still present in the Soviet
Union. The “First All-Union German Exhibition” opened at the State
Historical Museum in October, 1924 and “German Art of the Last
Decade” was presented in the State Museum of New Western Art in
the fall of 1925. Thus, Russian artists had the opportunity to become
acquainted with the works of their contemporary German colleagues.
The groups of artists, united in “OST” (Society of Easel Artists, 1925-
193169) in Moscow and “Circle of Artists” (Krug khudozhnikov,
1926-1932) in Leningrad showed in their resistance to renounce the
mimetic function of art and their openness to new modes of painting
the clearest similarities to “New Objectivity”. But it is difficult to
determine, which parts of these similarities were consequences of
(genetic) influence and with that of (typological) coincidence. Most
probable is a combination of both phenomena: An autochthone
opposition to abstract, non-figurative and analytic painting was
strengthened by the experience that there were also colleagues in
German speaking cultures (but also in the Netherlands, in Italy and
France a.m.) who refused to say goodbye to the reproduction of
concrete subjects of the outside world as well as the knowledge that
these artists were united in artists’ associations and jointly organized
exhibitions.
At any rate, Aleksandr Deineka’s “Female portrait” (Zhenskii
portret, 1920-1935)70 resembles the satirical pictures of Georg Grosz.
And V.I. Grinberg’s “Nature morte with herring” (Natiurmort s
seledkoi, 1925)71 is neither far from Dick Ket’s “Still life with grape“
(Stilleven met druiventros)72 from 1934 nor from Rudolf Dischinger’s
“Gramophone” (Grammophon, 1939) 73.
The 2007 Petersburg exposition “New objectivity of Nikolay
Zagrekov and Russian painters”, tried to show parallels between
Zagrekov’s art and the works of his colleagues in the Soviet Union.
The exhibition was based on a seductive principle of outside topic
similarity. But thematic congruency can nevertheless involve
important differences in the vision of the subjects. Zagrekov’s
“Portrait of the Artist’s wife” (Nr. 32, 1931) was thus juxtaposed to
Leonid Akishin’s “Family portrait” from 193174. However, whereas
Akishin’s portrait places the husband in the middle (he looks in the
eyes of the viewer) and puts his wife and son to the side, in
Zagrekov’s picture his wife is not only the solitary subject of the
picture, but she is also shown as a much more self-confident person.
She looks (like in Zagrekov’s for “New Objectivity” even more
typical “Portrait of the artist’s wife” (Porträt der Ehefrau, Nr. 50, early
1930s75) from above into the eyes of the viewer. In Akishin’s picture
the woman directs her eyes to her husband and her son, as if her
position was defined by her relation to both of them. So we cannot at
all agree with the surprising conclusion of the Russian critic Ekaterina
Degot’ (2007: 37) in the catalogue of this exhibition about the
advanced position of art in the Soviet Union76:
The means, which were accessible to the artist in a country with an

already destroyed bourgeois order, proved to be so much more radical,
that they for a long period isolated the Soviet art from all the rest of
the world.
This surprisingly affirmative judgment about totalitarian Soviet art of

the thirties and forties is contradicted by the much more convincing
argument of Natal’ia Adaskina (1995, 386) about the destruction of
the Soviet cultural public and the banishment of advanced art into
privacy:
Researching the [Soviet] culture of the thirties, we are confronted with
the phenomenon, that the works which are in today’s view important
to this time, have not been part of the general art-events but a private
matter of the creator, or were accessible only to a very limited number
of persons.
It was not at all radicalism, which isolated the art of the Soviet Union
from the late 1920s until the fifties from the rest of the world, but the
doctrine of Socialist realism, the impossibility for the artists to visit
foreign exhibitions and galleries, and the rare presentation of
advanced foreign artists in the Soviet Union during this time.
One should note an important difference between Zagrekov’s
way of painting and the program of Socialist realism. It was Georgy
Lukács (1939) who pointed to the typical as the speciality of Soc-
realism. Zagrekov, however, wrote in his notebooks: “The typical
phenomena ceased to interest us in art. The exceptions are what attract
us.” [Ɍɢɩɢɱɧɵɟ ɹɜɥɟɧɢɹ ɩɟɪɟɫɬɚɥɢ ɢɧɬɟɪɟɫɨɜɚɬɶ ɧɚɫ ɜ ɢɫɤɭɫɫɬɜɟ.
ɂɫɤɥɸɱɟɧɢɹ – ɜɨɬ ɱɬɨ ɜɥɟɱɺɬ ɧɚɫ.]
And so I find, for instance, the painting “Portrait of a sitting
woman” (Portret sidjashchei zhenshchiny77, 1920s) of A.N.
Samochvalov with the self-confident habitus of the woman because of
her impressive posture and the analogue contrast to the neutral, almost
non-figurative background, much closer to the design of Zagrekov’s
picture than Akishin’s. And by their neutral, almost abstract
362 Rainer Grübel
background and the reduction to the topic of sports Samochvalov’s

“Spartakovka”78 from 1928 as well as his “Girl in a football-T-shirt”
(Devushka v futbol’ke79) from 1932 seem to me to be even more
equivalent to Zagrekov’s “Shot Putter” (Kugelstoßerin, Nr. 46) from
1930 than Samochvalov’s “Girl gymnast” (Fizkul’turnica80) from
1935, where the “girl gymnast” holds a bunch of flowers in her hand
and thus tells the story of a victory. Deineka’s graphic “The Boxer
Gradopolov” (Bokser Gradopolov81) coincides in year of production
(1925) with Zagrekov’s “Portrait of the boxer Hans Breitensträter”
(Porträt des Boxers Hans Breitensträter”, Nr. 13, 1925).
Furthermore, the self-confident posture and the intensity of
the women’s look A.I. Rusakov’s “Portrait of the painter N.V.
Ivanova-Leningradskaia” (Portret khudozhnitsy Ivanova-
Leningradskaia82, 1932) can be compared with Zagrekov’s “Portrait of
the woman-artist Clasnitz” (Bildnis der Malerin Clasnitz, Nr. 36) from
1928. In the pose of the women in Zagrekov’s “Lying nude”
(Liegen[d]er Akt, Nr. 12) from 1925, a parallel of distancing can be
noticed with Aleksandr Dejneka’s “Nude” (Naturshchitsa83) from
1936, also lying and showing her backside. And Deineka’s „Girls on
their weekend“ (Devushki v vykhodnye dni84) from 1949 are with
their self-assured habit certainly not less similar to Zagrekov’s
“Double portrait“ (Nr. 25) 1927 than Vladmir Odintsov’s “Two girls”
(Dve devushki85) from 1933.
The parallelisms between Zagrekov’s aesthetics and those of
the Soviet culture of the 1920s and 1930 exceed the field of art. And
they should be placed in a more general cultural context. Zagrekov
valued traditional mastery (in his case especially in drawing) in art as
much as did Aleksandr Voronskii, the founder of the literary group
“Mountain ridge” (Pereval, 1923-1932) in Russian literature. As in
certain novels of Ehrenburg belonging to the series “Chronicle of our
days” and in Nabokov’s “Guide to Berlin” (1925, Putevoditel’ po
Berlinu) we can trace a critical and distanced attitude of the narrator
towards the told objects. We can even regard Zagrekov’s “Rhythm of
work” (1927) as a pictorial metamorphosis of the verbal description of
the labour of Berlin street-workers in Nabokov’s (1999: 178) report:
On the crossroad, along the rails the asphalt is torn open; four workers
beat in turn with hammers on an iron post; the first has hit it, the
second lets the hammer go down already with a wide and precise
movement, the second hammer crashed down and rises high while one
after the other the third and the forth break down evenly.
In famous works of Andrej Platonov as Chevengur (1927, 1929) and
The Foundation Pit (Kotlovan 1930) the narrator’s surprising mixture
of empathy and distance towards his characters, nature and the told
events can be analysed more profoundly, if we consider it in
correlation with the cold attitude of the teller in novels like Erich
Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front (Im Westen nichts
Neues), Döblin’s Berlin Alexanderplatz and Ferdinand Bordewijk’s
Cubes (1931, Blokken) or Bint (1934) and M. Revis’ 8.100.000 m3
sand (1932, 8.100.000 m3 zand).
It would surely be worthwhile also to compare the tendency of
“New Objectivity” in its neoclassical wing with the way back to
traditional forms in the music of Igor’ Stravinskii (cf. his Concerto
grosso), Hindemith and Sergei Prokof’ev (cf. his Classical
symphony). Criticized by Adorno as step back in the history of music,
they show parallel developments in the art of music. But still more
results can be expected from comparisons in the field of photography
(Rodchenko)86 and film (Dziga Vertov), where we find developments,
which in spite of their distance to the art of painting can be described
in analogy to “New Objectivity”.
My analysis of the works of Nikolai Zagrekov has shown, that
it is much too simple to equate the art of “New Objectivity” with
National socialist culture as it is much to imprecise too see it as a
common movement with Socialist realism. Surely, there are more
transitions than juxtapositions between Magic realism, Verism and
Neoclassicism and totalitarian art but Zagrekov himself and the
reception of his work have proven that the differences are more
significant than the congruencies. And what is the critique of art in the
end, if not the art of discerning?
Notes
1
Zagrekov, Tetradi (jotters). Zagrekov’s jotters and notebooks are quoted in my
translation from Medvedko 2004 on the website
http://lit.lib.ru/m/medwedko_o_l/text_0010.shtml. (20.06.2011). The English edition
(Medvedko 2005) was not accessible.
2
This was different in the 1920s, when Russian critics discussed the German
exhibitions of art in the Soviet Union and compared the pictures of German artists
with those of their Soviet colleagues.
364 Rainer Grübel
3
Lukács 1932a, 1932b, 1934, 1936, 1939, Lukaþs 1933, 1934. In 1962 Lukács (1962,
196) blamed Beckett to present a wrong attitude towards reality. Cf. Adorno 1961,
Martinson 1981.
4
The article was reprinted in 1978.
5
Lifshits 1978. Quoted from: www.i-u.ru/biblio/archive/lifshic_iskusstvo/05.aspx
(10.10.2007). Lifshits negative attitude towards New Objectivity was obviously
influenced by Lukács’ earlier criticism of this movement. The emphasis on the
“Munich ‘New objectivity’” alludes to the origin of the German National socialism in
the Bavarian capital.
6
Grübel 2004, 2010. Ralf Grüttemeier (1995a, 1995b) has related the Russian writer
Ilja Ehrenburg to the movement of “New Objectivity” already in 1995.
7
Cf. the article of Ralf Grüttemeier on Ilja Ehrenburg in this volume.
8
A.I. Rubashkin, Erenburg. In: P.A. Nikolaev (ed.), Russkie pisateli 20 veka.
Biograficheskii slovar’. Moscow 2000: 794-796. V.V. Popov, Ơrenburg. In: N.N.
Skatov (ed.), Russkie pisateli. XX vek. Vol 2, Moscow 1998, 635-639. It is a pity, that
G. Heidemann (2005) in her careful work on Ehrenburg and Nabokov in their Berlin-
time also avoids the notion “new objectivity”.
9
Cf. El Lissitzky, architect, painter, photographer, typographer. Eindhoven / Madrid /
Paris 1990.
10
Il’ia Kukui, Dramaturgiia.
11
There is a biographic correspondence of Erenburg and Zagrekov: their competence
in the art of surviving. But Ehrenburg had to compromise much more in order to
survive in the context of Soviet totalitarism than Zagrekov in Germany. So the latter
never felt motivated to write a personal letter to Hitler as the first did 1953 with
regard to Stalin.
12
Cf. Turchin (1990), who spoke about the “art of a lost generation” (this being the
subtitle of his article on New objectivity), opened a new page in the history of Russian
research about this movement. In 2004 he introduced Zagrekov to Russia.
13
So the Russian dictionary of 1939 (Ushakov, Vol 3: 718) noted the term
“objectivity of art” (ɩɪɟɦɟɬɧɨɫɬɶ ɢɫɤɭɫɫɬɜɚ). Nowadays however, this expression is
used to characterize developments of contemporary art as mass-art (Sokolova 2007).
14
So Lev Kopelev (1968, 215), the author of the article on German literature in the
“Short Literary Encyclopedia” of 1968 translates the term as “Novaia veshchnost’”.
Another (but not often used) synonym is the expression “New matter-ism”, “New
efficiency” (Novaia delovitost’). Cf. for instance Nechiporuk et al. 1984, 361.
Zatonskij 1988, 321.
15
Prominent members of Verism as Otto Dix, August Wilhelm Dressler, Albert
Birkle, Christian Schad, George Grosz, Conrad Felixmüller, Bernhard Kretzschmar,
Georg Schrimpf, Karl Hubbuch, Rudolf Schlichter and Karl Rössing are not
mentioned here, in contrast to the socialist Kollwitz and her friend, the communist
Nagel, a member of the “Red Group” (Rote Gruppe), which he presented 1924-1925
to Moscow, and to Beckmann, who, however, called his own art “transcendental
realism”.
16
The variety of spelling Nikolai Zagrekov’s name has been due to the artist himself.
In the beginning he signed his paintings in Germany as “Nikolai Sagrekoff”. After it
became more and more clear that he would stay in this country, he wrote his Russian
first name in a Germanised manner: “Nikolaus Sagrekow”. This version should
protect (and possibly has protected) him from persecution as a Russian enemy; Hitler
started the war against the Soviet Union in June 1941.
17
As the third variant of a revolutionary change in the relation of art to reference (that
is to the depicted reality), the analytic method of Pavel Filonov, left no traces in
Zagrekov’s work, we keep it aside here. The reason may be his work in Petrograd.
18
At this time he met the Russian artists Pavel Kuznecov and Kuz’ma Petrov-Vodkin,
who also came from Saratov. Konchalovsky admired most the paintings of Matisse,
Cézanne, Van Gogh and Picasso.
19
In 1924 this school merged with the Berlin Highschool of Fine Arts (Hochschule
für die Bildenden Künste) into the United State Schools for Free and Applied Arts
(Vereinigte Staatsschulen für Freie und Angewandte Kunst).
20
Bengen came from Art Nouveau (Jugendstil) and was a representative of Berlin
Secession, which soon developed in the direction of New objectivity. Later he became
a fellow traveler of Nazi-art. 1940 he did ceiling and wall painting in the Reichsbank
in Berlin and in 1942 his idyllic painting “Shepherdess” (Hirtenmädchen), offered in
the Great German Exposition of Art (Große Deutsche Kunstausstellung) in Munich
was bought by Hitler. Cf. http://www.gdk-research.de/db (1.11.2011).
21
It would be worthwhile to compare Zagrekov’s nude sketches and drawings (for
instance Nr. 162, Nr. 223, Nr. 229) with those of Vladimir Tatlin (cf. the setches Nr.
48-53 in Shadowa 1987).
22
Cf. Nr. 134-265. After he was fired by the Nazis in 1933, Zagrekov had to earn his
living basically by selling his paintings. His work as teacher (1934) and head (1937)
of the Private School for outside painting in Berlin-Siemensstadt, founded by his
friend Eugen(e) Spiro (1874-1972), who being Jewish left Berlin in 1935 and seemed
to have put the administrative leadership of his school into the hands of Zagrekov, did
not pay much. As it included teaching Jews - who were starting in 1938 principally
not allowed to study in German public art-schools - and as he helped Jews to survive,
Zagrekov followed the example of his father, who lost his life by protecting a Jewish
boy.
23
In this direction points Lebedeva (1993, 185), when, regarding “Electroorganizm”
and “Projectionism”, she writes about the “lyrics of science”. A third type of art,
which corresponds with the theater and comes out in artistic performances and
happenings, seems to have been without relevance for Zagrekov. Cf. his distance to
Dada.
24
The same we could say about the Dadaist Hans Arp (1886-1966), who was a poet
and a “poetic” sculptor and painter. It was this poetic art and the poetic way to
consider art, which Lukács (1996:142) and with him Lifchits, denied: “What must be
avoided at all costs is the approach generally adopted by bourgeois modernist critics
themselves: that exaggerated concern with formal criteria, with questions of style and
literary technique.”
25
“Kartina s krugom”, repr. in: Wassily Kandinsky 1989, Nr. 50; “Black grid”
(Schwarzer Raster, 1922, repr. in: Tendenzen der Zwanziger Jahre 1977: Nr. 1/175).
26
Quoted from Medvedko 2004, website.
27
It is possible, that Zagrekov knew the work of Max Doerner (1921), which was
famous in Dresden New objectivity (Neue Sachlichkeit 2011, 144-169.)
28
Cf. the T-square in Dix’ painting “Portrait of the painter Franz Radizwill” (Bildnis
des Malers Franz Radizwill, repr. in Neue Sachlichkeit 2011: 197).
29
Pfefferkorn 1985: [11].
366 Rainer Grübel
30
Cf. Franz Marc, „Fighting forms“ (Kämpfende Formen, 1914, Neue Pinakothek,
München), where the red colour is set against the black one. Zagrekov offers instead
of Marc’s abstract forms recognizable contours.
31
First notebook [Zapisnaia knizhka ʋ 1]. Quoted from Medvedko, website.
32
This principle matches with his frequent use of the genres landscape and still life.
33
The picture is presented in the catalogue Nikolai Zagrekov 2004: 180, Nr. 134). In
the following text we refer to this catalogue by giving the numbers of the works in
accordance with it in brackets. Cf. Bowlt (2007, 128), who also emphasized the
relevance of this drawing.
34
Cf. Alexander Kanoldt’s nature mortes „Stilleben II“ 1926 (Dresden Albertinum)
and „Stilleben IV“ (1925, repr. in Neue Sachlichkeit 2011, 99), where you have in the
first creating perspective shadows on the table and pleats in the curtain of the
background, and in the second a structure on the wall and profiles in the cupboard in
front.
35
Cf. on constructivism in general: Rickey 1995. Cf. Lisitskiis Promotional poster for
Pelikan and Bahlsen.
36
Cf. Samuil Adlivakin, “Nature mort” (1920), repr. in: A.D. Sarab’ianov,
Neizvestnyi avangard. Moscow 1992: 43; Ivan Puni, “Nature morte with letters and a
pitcher” (1919?), repr. in: Sovetskoe iskusstvo 1988, Nr. 277. Natan Al’tman,
Bespredmetaia kompoziciia (1919-1920), repr. in: Sovetskoe iskusstvo 1988, Nr. 9.
37
We find the same in Dick Ket’s “Still life with violin and white vase” (Stilleven
met viool en witte vaas, 1930, repr. in: Tendenzen der Zwanziger Jahre 1977: 4/88).
38
In 2005 it also came out in an English version.
39
Medvedko 2004, website.
40
The religious motif is extraordinary in Zagrekov’s oeuvre. Also exceptional is the
missing child Jesus, who is, for instance, present in Nikolai Kul’bin’s “Flight to
Egipet” (Begstvo v Egipet, 1911, distemper on paper, repr. in Sarab’ianov, 1992: 125,
Nr. 96).
41
The last one reminds beside Petrov-Vodkin’s “Playing boys” [Igrajushchie
mal’chiki] of 1911 and his “Youth. The kiss” [Junost’. Pocelui] (1913) also Paul
Klee’s “Flower myth” (1918) and, of course, Rodin’s sculpture “The kiss” (1886).
42
We can also compare it with the fauvist painting “Three trees” (Troi abres, 1923) of
André Derain, repr. in: Tendenzen der Zwanziger Jahre, 4/40.
43
Cf. Dmitrii Sanikov, “Cubic composition” (Kubicheskaia kompoziciia, early 20s,
repr. in Sab’ianov 1992: 281, Nr. 297).
44
Repr. in Malevich 2001, Nr. 61.
45
Cf. his painting “Runners” (Beguny, 1934), Russian Museum, St. Petersburg (repr.
in: Gosudarstvennyi Russkii Muzei 1974).
46
Cf. Otto Griebel, „Die Internationale“, repr. in Antona and Merkert 1995: 232, and
P.A. Osolodkov, „Matroses (October)“ (1928, repr. in: Ob“edinenie 2007, Nr. 247).
47
Repr. in “Velhagen & Clasings Monatshefte”, Vol 53, 1938-1939, 1: 96. It is
missing in the catalogue Nikolai Zagrekov, 1897-1992, 2004.
48
As the extreme mimic and body-motions here are motivated by the theme of sports,
it is interesting that in a similar painting by Deineka called “Runners,” created only
three years earlier, (Beguny, 1934, Russian Museum, St. Petersburg), the motions of
the sprinters are much more congruent, while their mimic seem to be much more
controlled. In addition, Deineka’s picture includes a woman figure who looks at the
runners. This woman’s look includes the view of the spectator so to speak, who thus is
not alone. However, Deneika’s “Race” (Beg/Sorevnovaniia, 1930, repr. in Velikaia

utopiia, Nr. 362 still shows sprinters with a much more individual type of motion.
49
It seems that a SA-man in uniform is standing in the Reich Chancellery. Zagrekov’s
motivation for this motif is quite uncertain. Is it the document of a witness?
50
On the other hand there is the picture “Farmer with ax” (Bauer mit Axt, Nr. 322.40)
of 1935, which truly repeats the typology of the somewhat ironic Portrait “Farmer
with award-winning rabbit” (Bauer mit preisgekröntem Kaninchen, Nr. 16) of 1925
and by self-citation becomes ironic itself.
51
Repr. in: Sarabianov and Shatskikh 1993, 75. There are (possibly) early variants of
this subject called “Mower” (1912, repr. in: Kazimir Malevich. Chernyi kvadrat.
Moscouw 2001, Nr. 9) and “The reaper [on a red background]” (1912-13, repr. in:
Sarab’ianov 1992, 167); however, the dating of these pictures is still quite unsure.
Near to New objectivity is Curt Quermer’s complementary painting “The sowers”
(Die Säer, 1934, repr. in: Neue Sachlichkeit 2011: 283).
52
Repr. in Antonova and Merkert 1995: 404. There seems to be have been only one
monumental painting of Zagrekov, his 4,5 meter long “Rhythm of work” (Rhythmus
der Arbeit, 1929), which (as has been recognized by critics) was influenced by
Ferdinand Hodler’s painting “The Woodcutter” (Der Holzfäller”, 1910, now in
Kunstmuseum, Bern). Zagrekov’s work has been destroyed by bombs, but several
sketches (cf. Nr. 26-29, Nr. 189-99) remained in the legacy of the artist.
53
This conviction corresponds to Lissitzky’s and Arp’s (1925) book “Die
Kunstismen”, which collected a dozen movements.
54
Quotation from Medvedko 2004, website.
55
Cover “Die Jugend”, Nr. 44, 1929 under the title “Die Tochter des Architekten
Nachtlicht”. It is Ursula [Ursel] Nachtlicht (1909-1999) – after her emigration:
Knight. She was the daughter of the prominent Jewish architect Leo Nachtlicht (1872-
1942), who was killed in a concentration camp). With the help of Zagrekov she was
able to immigrate in April 1939 to London. Her father stayed in Berlin, as he could
not get a British work permit.
56
We can compare the demonstrative gesture and posture of the two women with that
in Tamara de Lampicka’s “Irene and her sister” (Irene et sa soeur, 1925, repr. in:
Tendenzen der Zwanziger Jahre, 1977: 4/100) and in Karl Hubbuch’s “Two times
Hilde” (Zweimal Hilde, ca. 1927, repr. in Realismus 1981: 240).
57
It is possible that Zagrekov renamed the picture in the 30s in order to avoid
persecutions by the Nazis.
58
There is a second version of this picture (Nr. 306, 24, repr. in Novaia
Veshchestvennost’ 2007: 44), which shows the girl in a different garment.
59
Nikolai Zagrekov, 1897-1992, frontispiece; the painter seems to be busy with his
most famous “Double portrait” (Nr. 25). In his “Self-portrait” of 1952 (Selbstbildnis,
Nr. 81) we see in the background only the “Portrait of the artist’s wife” (Porträt der
Ehefrau, Nr. 32) from the early 1930s, still a work, which can be attributed to New
Objectivity.
60
He painted also portraits of the liberal-conservative chancellor Gustav Stresemann
(Nr. 24, 208, 1927) and of the Liberal Walter Scheel (Nr. 346, 64, 1977, Nrs. 348, 66,
1979). Zagrekov estimated successful politics as Willy Brandt and painted their
portraits (Nr. 349, 51, 1973, Nr 98, 1976) but he did not engage in political parties and
his art does not show political activity if we do not consider devotion to people in the
Polis by portraying them as a general form of political engagement.
368 Rainer Grübel
61
Repr. in Eco 2007: 344-345, resp. Neue Sachlichkeit 2011: 120-121.
62
Repr. in Realismus 1981: 111, Nr. 133.
63
Repr. in Antonova/Merkert 1995: 232.
64
Tolstoi developed this principle in his book “What is art” (1897-98). Zagrekov
shared also Tolstoi’s theory of the aesthetic effect – the feeling, incarnated in the work
of art is transferred into the mind of the recipient.
65
Cf. Eco 2007.
66
Both repr. in Hochmut vor Gott 1984: 22-23, 30-31.
67
It is noticeable that Zagrekov, who lived during the whole war in Berlin, seems to
have painted no pictures with ruins at all. However, he actively took part in the
reconstruction of the house of the Association of Berlin artists at Lützowplatz, which
was twice destroyed by bombs..
68
Quotation from Medvedko 2004, website.
69
It was Lunacharskii ([1926] 1967) himself, the Soviet minister of culture, who in
his article on the exposition of the Union of Russian artists (1925) wrote about the
similarity of OST to New objectivism. Especially he mentions Deneika, Tyshler and
Shterenberg.
70
Repr. in http://www.deineka.ru/work-jenski_portret.php (3.11.2011). It is
noteworthy, that on the occasion of the Deneika-exhibition in Rome (Palazzo delle
Esposizioni 17.2.-1.5.2011), organized in the context of the Russian-Italian year of
culture and language, Vitalii Lavrushin, holder of an influential Moscow art gallery,
asked the question “Is A.A.Deneika – New objectivity?” And this keen observer of
the art market of our days even supposes a congruency of the art of our time with new
realism: “Obviously the art of Aleksandr Deineka is by something consonant with the
general moods of our time”. [ȼɢɞɢɦɨ ɱɟɦ-ɬɨ ɫɨɡɜɭɱɧɨ ɢɫɤɭɫɫɬɜɨ Ⱥɥɟɤɫɚɧɞɪɚ
Ⱦɟɣɧɟɤɢ ɨɛɳɢɦ ɧɚɫɬɪɨɟɧɢɹɦ ɫɨɜɪɟɦɟɧɧɨɫɬɢ.] 21.02.2011.
71
Repr. in Ob”edinenie 2007: 105, Nr. 158.
72
Repr. in Realismus 1981, Nr. 273.
73
Repr. in Realismus 1981, Nr. 236.
74
Repr. in Novaia veshchestvennost’ 2007: 88, 89.
75
Repr. in Novaia veshchestvennost’ 2007: 22, 61.
76
Already in her book on Russian art of the 20th century Degot’ (2000) integrated
(Soviet) Socialist realism together with the projectionists, with the facto-graphy of the
1920s and new realism under the label “synthetic projects” into one and the same
development. In her last book Degot’ (2009) repeats Boris Groys’ thesis about
Russian Avant-garde as the mother of Socialist Realism. The fundament of this
misleading genesis is in her case the myth of a common “political project”, which
never existed – even not as an intention of many avant-garde artists. In the Zagrekov-
Catalogue she writes to be convinced, that all the discussions about art in the 20th
century were not about non-figurative or realistic art, not about art theory and their
concepts, but exclusively about “the status of the work of art” (Degot’ 2007: 24). In
this respect the work of Zagrekov indeed is especially poor!
77
Repr. in Ob”edinenie 2007: 9.
78
Repr. in Ob“edinenie 2007: 61, Nr. 54.
79
Repr. in Ob“edinenie 2007: 62, Nr. 56.
80
Repr. in Novaia veshchestvennost’ 2007, 111.
81
Repr. in http://www.deineka.ru/work-bokser_gradopolov.php (19.10.2011).
82
Repr. in Ob”edinenie 2007: 67, Nr. 66.
83
http://www.deineka.ru/work-naturshitca.php (20.10.2011).
84
http://www.deineka.ru/work-devushki_v_vyhodnye_dni.php (22.10.2011).
85
Repr. in Novaia veshchestvennost’ 2007: 101.
86
Litvinova (2010) uses the term “New objectivity” very generally to assign any
realistic kind of photography.
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1988.
Aleksei Gan’s Constructivism
and its Aftermath
Willem G. Weststeijn
Abstract: Aleksei Gan (?1889/93-1940/42) was one of the main theoreticians of

Russian Constructivism, which in the 1920s tried to create a new art for the new
proletarian society. In his manifesto like book Constructivism (1922) Gan vigorously
attacked all forms of traditional, 'bourgeois' art and proclaimed mass produced
industrial art. Although Russian Constructivism was based on purely Marxist ideas,
the Soviet authorities neither liked nor understood it. In the 1930s Socialist Realism
became the official and obligatory doctrine for all forms of art in the Soviet Union.
One of the differences between Western or International

Constructivism (New Realism) and Russian Constructivism1 is that
the former can be considered a style in art, one of the avant-garde
movements that was predominantly aesthetically orientated, whereas
the latter was strongly influenced by ideology and appeared under the
aegis of doctrinal socialist ideas after the Revolution of 1917. This
does not mean, of course, that socialist ideas did not play any role in
International Constructivism, but that International Constructivism
was not determined by and dependent on ideology to such a degree as
Russian Constructivism so evidently was.
Most artists in Russia not only accepted the Revolution, but
welcomed it enthusiastically. Many of them saw the social and
political upheaval more or less as the result of their efforts to
thoroughly change art in the years before the Revolution, and were
quite ready to continue their work in the service of the new communist
state.2 They were convinced that they would become the ‘official’
artists of the new state, as they wholeheartedly endorsed its ideology
and were more than willing to help to create the new society that
communism promised.
Russian Constructivism has its roots in prerevolutionary
Russian art,3 but the term was coined after the Revolution, during the
374 Willem G. Weststeijn
debates within INKhUK (Institut khudozhesvennoi kul’tury – Institute

of Artistic Culture), the first branch of which was set up in Moscow in
May 1920 as a section of IZO Narkompros (Otdel izobrazitel’nykh
iskusstv pri Narodnom kommissarite prosveshcheniya – Department
of Fine Arts in the People’s Commissariat for Education). INKhUK
was dominated by leftist artists, who extensively discussed the role of
art and the artist in a communist society. Some of the more radical
artists, who were against ‘aesthetic’ easel-painting and favored
utilitarian, productive (tridimensional), ‘objective’ art, formed a group
within INKhUK, calling themselves the First Working Group of
Constructivists (Pervaya rabochaya gruppa konstruktivistov). The
group was officially organized in March 1921 by Aleksander
Rodchenko, Varvara Stepanova and Aleksei Gan and also included the
Stenberg brothers, Konstantin Medunetskii and Karl Joganson. Gan, a
fervent Marxist, expressed the ideas of the group in his book
Constructivism (Konstruktivism), which appeared in 1922 in Tver’.
Aleksei Gan
Aleksei Gan (?1889/1893 -?1940/42) did not become such a

prominent artist as, for instance, Aleksander Rodchenko, but he
played a leading role in the development of Constructivist ideas. Little
is known about his life, not even the exact dates of his birth and death.
From 1918 until 1920 he was head of the section of mass
performances of TEO (Teatral’nyi otdel), the theatrical department of
Narkompros and organized mass spectacles and festivals in Moscow.
As a member of INKhUK he was one of the organizers of the First
Working Group of Constructivists. In 1922-23 he published and edited
the journal Kino-Fot, in which he expounded his ideas about
photography as the necessary replacement of painting and about film
Aleksei Gan’s Constructivism and its Aftermath 375
as the only objective means of recording life. In 1923 he published the
pamphlet Long live the demonstration of life (Da zdravstvuyet
demonstratiya byta). Although he split with Rodchenko and other
Constructivists in 1924, he continued to lead the First Working Group
of Constructionist and attracted a number of younger artists who
worked together with him in the field of kiosk building, furniture and
book and poster design. Later he became a member of OSA
(Ob”edinenie sovremennykh arkhitektorov – Society of Contemporary
Architects) and worked from 1926 until 1930 as the artistic editor of
its journal Contemporary Architecture (Sovremennaya arkhitektura).
In 1928 he was a founder of the group October (Oktyabr’), a union of
artists, designers and architects who advocated Constructivist ideals.
In the middle of the 1930s Gan worked in the Far East, in the city of
Khabarovsk. Gan was an inveterate alcoholic, who often looked for
medical treatment, but turned out to be incurable. During one of his
drinking-bouts he seems to have called Stalin a “pock-marked
scoundrel”. In those years one could have been arrested for less than
that. ‘He died in a bad way’ is what we know about the end of his life,
but we are left to wonder about when and how that happened. He was
probably shot or starved to death in one of the camps of the Gulag.4
Gan wrote Constructivism in 1922, five years after the
Revolution, in a year when Lenin already had announced (in 1921) his
New Economic Policy (NEP – Novaya ekonomicheskaya politika), a
partial return to private enterprise and capitalism in order to save the
country from total disintegration and chaos.5 For a better
understanding of what Gan is writing in his book, it is important to be
aware of this historical background: Constructivism is not only an
exposition of the ideas and ideals of the First Working Group of
Constructivists, but also an attack on the advocates of traditional art,
for whom the NEP was a sign that they could express their ‘old-
fashioned’ views more openly and would probably be supported by
new powers that subscribed to their views.
Constructivism, which was designed in a typically
constructivist manner, probably by Gan himself, opens on the first
page with an agitational statement:
Constructivism is a phenomenon of our days. It started in 1920 among

the ‘mass-action’ left-wing artists and ideologists.
The present publication is a propaganda book, by means of
which the Constructivists begin their struggle with the supporters of
traditional art.
The cover of Aleksei Gan’s Constructivism.
The second page is blank and the third page contains only the battle
cry, underlined by a thick, black line: “We declare uncompromising
war on art!” After another blank page there is, on page 5, the slogan,
with the same underlining as on page 3: “Long live the communist
expression of material structures!”6 Gan continues with some
quotations from the Communist Manifesto, in which is stated that
communism does not change religion and morality, but destroys them.
It is the leading message of his first chapter: “Revolutionary-Marxist
Thought in Words and Podagrism in Practice”. In the chapter Gan
clearly states his position as a true Marxist, who firmly believes that
the proletarian revolution has put an end to the old world, and he
attacks everybody and everything that still belongs to this world. In
his view art, traditional art and aesthetics is something of the old
world and will disappear in the new communist society, in which an
entirely new form of art, objective, technical, industrial art, will
triumph. But Gan is not blind to what happens around him. The
building of a new society does not run parallel with the idea that the
new society needs an entirely new form of art. On the contrary: even
politically sound party members, including officials in Narkompros,
have a ‘minimal Marxist education’ and still think traditionally about
art and beauty, like many other representatives of culture. “But we had
just succeeded in liquidating the civil war and changing over to
peaceful construction, when the art producers once again raised their
heads, and our purveyors of culture opened their agitational mouths
and sowed provoking words about the everlasting values of the
beautiful. (…) Thousands of black servants of art are working under
the protection of quasi-Marxists, and in our revolutionary days the
‘spiritual’ culture of the past still stands firmly on the stilts of
reactionary idealism” (Constructivism, 11-13).
Constructivism p. 19
For Gan this ‘anti-Marxist’, ‘bourgeois’ attitude of many artists and

officials of his time is unacceptable and insupportable. In his opinion
the communist revolution means a definite break with everything of
the past, including its art and culture. Hence the (in his book heavily
underlined and printed in large letters) slogan “Death to art!”,
followed by “It arose naturally, developed naturally, and disappeared
naturally” (Constructivism, 18-19). It is the task of Marxists, he
writes, to formulate new phenomena of artistic labour. The only

suitable new form of art after the proletarian revolution is
Constructivism, “the slender child of an industrial culture”
(Constructivism, 19). As intellectual-material production it will put an
end to speculative activity in artistic labour and declare war on
traditional art.
In his next chapters Gan continues to elaborate the differences
between the art of the old world and that of the new communist
society, basing himself on the Marxist view that the economic
structure of society (substructure) determines the social and
intellectual processes of life (superstructure). Being a product of social
life, art always changes and depends on the changing economic
circumstances. Gan uses this theory to oppose the view that art is
something that has eternal value and, accordingly, would not
necessarily change its character under changing economic
circumstances. “Art has never been something that has not been made
by human hands, something eternal, once and for all established. Its
forms, social significance, means and tasks have changed in relation
with the changing technical resources, the economic, social and
political systems and the conditions of the organization of human
society” (Constructivism, 29).
After the proletarian revolution, Gan maintains, times have
changed radically. Quoting a article by Nikolai Bukharin, one of the
leading Bolshevik theoreticians and economists,7 in which rhetorical
questions were asked, for instance whether Eskimos in their ice might
be able to invent the wireless telegraph, or whether it would be
possible to transfer Lenin to the Middle Ages and have tournaments
on the Red Square at which knights fight each other to the death for
the smile of a lady, Gan argues that an interest in art of former times is
just as absurd.
In an age in which nobody will even think of entering a carriage and

in this way travel to Petrograd, we are going to sit down quietly,
though virtually, in another age and look most seriously at the hands
of an old woman painted by Rembrandt or at the hips of the Venus of
Milo.
Enough of this idiotism.
Our culture is a culture of work and intellect, an age of high
technology.
And just as the structure of society is determined by the
development of the forces of production, that is to say the
development of technology, the social phenomena are composed of
the contents of the given society on the one hand, and of technological
progress on the other (Constructivism, 35).
As the new, proletarian society is completely different form the

former bourgeois one, culture and ‘art’ (Gan does not use the word in
connection with the Soviet state, as the word has an aesthetic flavour)
of the new society must be completely different as well.
Our age is the age of industry.

And sculpture must give way to a spatial solution of the object.
Painting cannot compete with photography.
The theatre becomes ridiculous when the outbursts of ‘mass action’
are the product of our times.
Architecture is powerless to stop developing Constructivism.
Constructivism and mass action are indissolubly connected with the
labor system of our revolutionary life (Constructivism, 36).
Gan realizes that he has to fight for Constructivism, as Marxist theory

is not conform with, at least not for the time being, the reality around
him, in which party officials in matters of art are old-fashioned and
prefer realistic nineteenth-century easel painting to avant-garde art.8
He devotes an entire chapter to “our Marxists”, “who are still in the
clutches of the odious past”, “foaming at the mouth defend the
sovereign rights of eternal and imperishable art” (Constructivism, 42)
and do not want to acknowledge that the times have changed
drastically and irreversibly. Gan on the other hand stipulates that the
only thing that is important in the present culture is what is
indissolubly linked up with the general tasks of the Revolution. In this
culture, the territory of work and intellect, there is no place for
“speculative activity”. Art, which by its nature cannot tear itself away
from religion and philosophy, is something of the past. Instead of it
the new society has (must have) “intellectual-material production” that
is closely connected with science and technology.
The greater part of Constructivism is an attack on ‘old’ art and
aesthetics and on those who still believe in art despite that they are
living in a new, proletarian society that requires entirely new means of
artistic expression. In the last chapters of his book Gan explains what
these new means are and what Constructivism in fact is and wants to
achieve. According to him, only Constructivism can give expression
to the objectives of the new actively working class, as it unites the
formal with the ideological. Prerevolutionary leftists artists, who
continued their work after the revolution and even became leaders and
organizers of new schools and institutions, did not really succeed in

creating the right new forms of artistic expression, as they were not
dedicated, socialist conscious revolutionaries and were more
interested in their own, individual work than in the tasks they owed
the proletarian revolution. Formally these artists (Suprematists,
Abstractionists etc.) were on the right path, but they still were not
“Constructivists in the general business of construction and movement
of the many million of human mass” (Constructivism, 53).
Accordingly, it was necessary “to find the Communist expression of
material constructions, i.e. to establish a scientific base for the
approach for constructing new buildings and services that would meet
the demands of Communist culture – in its transitory state, in its
progress, in short in all the formations of its history, beginning with
the period of destruction: that is the first task of the intellectual-
material production in the field of construction, i.e. Constructivism”
(Constructivism, 53).
In Gan’s conception of Constructivism there are three
fundamental principles: the tectonic (tektonika), faktura (faktura) and
construction (konstruktsia). He formulates them as follows:
The techtonic or the techtonic style organically arises and is formed

on the one hand from the characteristics of Communism itself, and on
the other from the efficient use of industrial materials. The word
techtonic is taken from geology, where it is used in connection with
eruptions from the entrails of the earth. >…@
Techtonic, as a discipline, should lead the Constructivist in practice
to a synthesis of the new content and the new form. He must be an
educated Marxist, who has left art far behind and really makes an
attempt on industrial material. Techtonic is his traveling star, the brain
of experimental and practical activity.
Constructivism without techtonic is the same as art without color.
Faktura >Gan compares it with the process of smelting iron, which
eventually turns into an object@ is the working of the material as a
whole and not the working of only its surface. >…@
More precise, faktura is the organic condition of the worked
material or the new condition of its organism.
Faktura is the consciously selected and purposefully used material
that does not halt the movement of the construction, nor limit its
techtonic.
Construction must be understood as the collective function of
Constructivism.
If the techtonic unites the ideological and the formal and as a result
provides a unity of conception, and the faktura is the condition of the
material, the construction reveals the process of structuring itself.
In this way the third discipline is the discipline of the forming of the
conception through the use of worked material (Constructivism, 61-
62).
Working with these three disciplines the Constructivists will announce

their second slogan: “Long live the communist expression of material
expressions!” With this slogan Gan primarily has in mind that the
main task of the Constructivists is to drastically change the
surroundings of the inhabitants of the proletarian republic and build a
communist city that would be different in every respect from the
bourgeois capitalistic cities. In formulating this task he probably had
in mind his own experiences with the organization of mass spectacles
and the decoration of streets and squares in praise of the Revolution.
Another task of the Constructivists is to create a system of the general
formation of the object. There is no art any more, no design, objects
should only have a utilitarian function and everything has to be
conceived technically and functionally. In this way, Gan maintains,
there is a crucial difference between Constructivism in Russia and the
Constructivism in the West. In the West it is just a name for the new
art, but it remains art and cannot break away from it. Moreover, it has
nothing to do with politics. Constructivism in Russia is different,
because the social order is different and because the social order is
indissolubly linked up with Constructivism, the communist expression
of material constructions. “Our Constructivism is a fighting force, and
implacable: it wages a severe battle with the padagrics and paralytics,
with the rightest and leftist painters, in a word with all those who even
slightly defend the speculative artistic activity of art. Our
Constructivism is fighting for the intellectual-material production of
communist culture.” Although Gan’s Constructivism is a book of 70
pages, it has, in many respects, the character of a manifesto, the
typical ‘genre’ of the historical avant-garde.9 The tone is provocative
and from the beginning to the end Gan’s attitude is belligerent. He
particularly attacks the party officials who are responsible for the
organization of the cultural world, but who, in his opinion, are only
quasi Marxists, as they are not convinced that the material world,
including cities, streets, houses, the interior of houses and all kinds of
appliances, has to change radically in order to meet the requirements
of the new proletarian society. Their greatest sin is that they are still
believing in traditional art, whereas Gan proclaims that the days of art
are finished, because art belongs to the old bourgeois world, and is,
accordingly, useless for the proletarian state. It has to be replaced by
material, industrial production for the benefit of the working class. In

Gan’s utilitarian view there is no place for aesthetics, the only
criterion for communist inspired material production is that it is useful
and functional for the working class.
As is usually the case with manifestoes, the borders between
proclamation and practice are vague. As one of the leaders and the
main theoretician of the First Working Group of Constructivists, Gan
met with support from leftist artists in INKhUK and, particularly,
from other theoreticians, such as the Formalists Osip Brik and Boris
Kushner, who were also writing (and lecturing) on the role of the artist
as “the engineer in production”10 in the total organization of society on
the basis of communist ideology. However, not many artists devoted
themselves to industrial production and the ‘real’ engineers in the
factories had no need for artists to assist them in the material
formation of the product. Constructivist practice lagged behind its
theory. There were some leftist artists, among them Vladimir Tatlin,
Varvara Stepanova and Lyubov Popova, who started to work in
factories, but they were not involved in real industrial mass
production, but merely added decorative elements to objects that were
already existing.
Varvara Stepanova, designs for textile and clothing.
This even holds true for one of the few Constructivist objects that
were mass produced: the textiles designed by Stepanova and Popova.
In ‘adding’ their design Stepanova and Popova were just working as
applied artists and might have done their work also outside of the
factory. Generally, Constructivist objects did not find their way to the
factories, but were fabricated in only one copy, or did not surpass the
stage of a model or a drawing. It is true that some buildings were built
by Constructivist architects, but these (unique) objects did not change
the city to such an extent as Gan had in mind, and it is doubtful
whether these buildings were really “indissolubly connected with the
labor system of our revolutionary life”. They were objects that, as
buildings, were naturally utilitarian, but in their style did not differ so
much from Constructivist buildings in the Western world and, like
those, might even be seen as works of art.
One of the never built Constructivist utopian buildings.
Design for the Palace of Congress.
Gan’s wish for Russian Constructivism to do away with art and find
the communist expression of material structures was difficult and
perhaps impossible to realize as the task was relegated to artists who,
of course, could not renounce their nature and talent. In everything
artists produced, and even if it was produced expressly for the new
proletarian society, the artistic and aesthetic inevitably crept in. This is
apparent from the small-scale fields of artistic production to which the
Constructivist artists out of necessity had to restrict themselves:
typography, poster and exhibition design, textile design, photography
and photomontage, models and drawings of utopian means of
transport.11
Aleksander Rodchenko, photomontage and bookdesign
Russian Conceptualism prides itself on having a large number of

talented artists, who were readily willing to work for the new
proletarian society, although certainly not all of them subscribed to
Gan’s slogan “Death to art!” Political and economic circumstances
prevented the Constructivist artists to become the artists-constructors
Gan dreamt of,12 so that they could not perform the task he had
allotted them: to totally transform the environment by mass
production. However, Constructivism entered into history as a lively
and original movement that left many interesting objects of art,
utensils, drawings, designs. Gan’s manifesto-like book undoubtedly
stimulated the development of Russian Constructivism. He, and other
leftist artists and theoreticians, many of them confirmed Marxists,
could not foresee that the bolshevist leaders proclaimed a proletarian
society, but did not really create it, given that the Soviet Union
gradually became an authoritarian state instead of a real people’s
republic. The signs of this development were already clear when Gan
wrote his Constructivism: the ‘Marxist’ party leaders were not
interested at all in the new ‘Marxist’ production art, thereby violating
their own political theory. In the beginning of the 1930s
Constructivism and other movements in avant-garde art and literature

were forbidden by the Soviet state. They were replaced by the
obligatory socialist realism. In that constellation was neither
room nor need for the development of artists around a concept
of New Objectivity.
Notes
1
An introduction into Russian and International Constructivism can be found in Bann
1974: xv-xlix.
2
To commemorate the first year of the Revolution many artists were employed in
decorating the cities with enormous posters, revolutionary slogans, statues of Marxist
leaders etc.
3
See Gray 1962; Lodder 1983: 7-42.
4
The information about Gan’s life is taken from Lodder 1983: 243-244, the entry on
Gan in Jane Turner (ed.), The Dictionary of Art. Vol. 12. London: Macmillan, 1996:
35-36, and from the journal Cinematographic Notes (Kinovedcheskie zapiski), 49,
2000: 212-230.
5
The civil war had put a great strain on the country, the Kronshtadt rebellion had been
repressed with difficulty and there was much disenchantment and dissatisfaction with
the policies of the Bolshevik government. The NEP soon brought economic relief to
the Soviet Union.
6
Excerpts from Constructivism appear in Bann1974: 32-48 (translation John Bowlt),
together with an illustration of the cover of the book. For short discussions of the
book see Lodder 1983: 98-101; Grübel 1981: 28-33.
7
Nikolai Bukharin (1888-1938) was a revolutionary and prominent leader of the
Comintern. After the Revolution he became a member of the central committee of the
Communist Party and published a number of books on economy. After Lenin’s death
in 1924 he became a full member of the Politburo. As so many of the high party
functionaries he was arrested in 1937 and, after having been found guilty of
counterrevolutionary activities, executed.
8
Taking Lenin as their example, who admired Tolstoy and was not at all interested in
the poetry of the Futurists.
9
Much has been written about the role of manifestoes in avant-garde art and
literature. See Yanoshevsky 2009, 2: 287-315. Luca Somigli’s claim that ‘it is
precisely through manifestoes that avant-garde artists and writers […] attempt to
articulate new strategies of legitimation of their activity’ can be applied to Gan’s book
as well. Somigli 2003: 20.
10
Boris Kushner (1888-1937) , who made his debut as a poet in 1914, was an active
member of INKhUK where he delivered in 1922 a number of lectures on production
culture. One of them was called “The Role of the Engineer in Production”, another
“The Artist in Production”. He identified the artist with the engineer, which led to the
widely used term “artist-constructor” in Constructivist writings.
11
The most famous one being Tatlin’s air bicycle Letatlin, which he developed in the
beginning of the 1930s. See Lodder, op.cit.: 213-217.
12
The party officials for the greater part did not like avant-garde art, including that of
the Constructivists; the factories, which had to produce in difficult circumstances,
were not interested in collaboration with artists.
Bibliography
Bann, Stephen. 1974. The Tradition of Constructivism. London: Thames and Hudson.
Gray, Camilla. 1962. The Russian Experiment in Art, 1863-1922. London: Thames
and Hudson.
Grübel, Rainer. 1981. Russischer Konstruktivismus. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.
Howard, Jeremy. 1996. ‘Gan, Aleksey (Mihaylovich)’ in Jane Turner, The Dictionary
of Art. Vol. 12. London: Macmillan: 35-36.
Konoplev, A.B. 2000. ‘Aleksey Mikhaylovich Gan’ in Kinovedcheskie zapiski
(Cinematographic Notes), 49: 212-230.
Lodder, Christina. 1983. Russian Constructivism. New Haven and London: Yale
University Press.
Somigli, Luca. 2003. Legitimizing the Artist. Manifesto Writing and European
Modernism, 1885-1915. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
Yanoshevsky, Galia, 2009. ‘The Literary Manifesto and Related Notions. A Selected
Annotated Bibliography’ in Poetics Today XXX, 2: 287-315.

Neue Sachlichkeit and Avant-Garde - Ralf Gruttemeier

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AvantGarde

International Advisory Board

Amsterdam - New York, NY 2013

Photographer: Felicitas von Baczko, ‘Treppe im Atlantishaus’ (before 1932)

Ralf Grüttemeier, Klaus Beekman and Ben Rebel

I. Neue Sachlichkeit and the Discourse on Modernity

Kees van Wijk

II. The International and Intermedial Dimension of Neue

III. Neue Sachlichkeit and Avant-Garde

Ralf Grüttemeier, Klaus Beekman and Ben Rebel

Neue Sachlichkeit keeps attracting the attention of the public, as most

Gestaltung in terms of Lukács), for a lack of politically desirable

connotation of ‘modern’ – for example with regard to the paintings of

intermedial cross-references in a tree-structure of specific influences

Neue Sachlichkeit some years later, as Sabine Kyora (infra) shows in

Anbeek, Ton. 1999. Geschiedenis van de literatuur in Nederland, 1885-1985.

“Poëzie en nieuwe Zakelijkheid” (Poetry and Nieuwe Zakelijkheid /

Netherlands of the 1930s. Which names (of poets) were associated

1.1. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as a semantic complex

indications, semantic notions that occur together, be it in varying

1.2. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid before Nieuwe Zakelijkheid

communal kitchen, the clothing subscription – these are the hallmark

1.3. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as a term to indicate prose and

1.4. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid: poets and characteristics

In short, during the 1930s, a specific cognitive scheme became

work gives “something indefinable” to “modern people” that

2. The poetry of Nieuwe Zakelijkheid as a generation

2.1. The generation problem

>Men schrijft weer Mei. De maan is blank en goed gerezen.

e.g. the youngest lyrical poets, a quasi-cynical mock-pessimism that

At the same time the nieuw-zakelijke mentality implied a threat to the

2.2. Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and the problem of poetry

2.3. The return to the mystery of poetry

2.4. Conclusive remarks: Nijhoff as a model

map by Nieuwe Zakelijkheid continued to be poetry’s base but were

doubt celebrates modern reality, technology and the ‘Dinglichkeit’,

In conclusion, it can be stated that Nieuwe Zakelijkheid and poetry are

Jordaan, L. 1927/1928. ‘De strijd om het witte doek’ in: Nu 1, 1: 71-74.

Kees van Wijk

1. From expressionist example to constructivist

who ideologically and practically supported the German government

In Paris in 1925 Müller-Lehning became acquainted with the abstract

It will give an opportunity to express the renewal of one domain with

2. The introduction of the aesthetic term Neue

progressive movements in art and architecture. The Dutch architect

Kandinsky placed the German term Neue Sachlichkeit in quotation

>Nicht nur dass die „Neue Sachlichkeit“ die Gegenständlichkeit auf

and musicians, but offered few practical alternatives in the field of

3. Between New Vision and New Objectivity:

According to Moholy-Nagy, even the figurative painting of the Neue

We can also regard – with caution – some of the painters working

In his i 10-articles Moholy-Nagy continued his exploration of the new

For Moholy-Nagy the photographic innovation represented a historic

The photographical process has no precedent among the previously

Fig. 1. Moholy-Nagy – Fotogramm 1922

It was necessary to investigate all new visual experiences: conscious

Fig. 2. Foto F. Bruguière, New York: Mechanische Fantasie,

Just as Moholy-Nagy had written in his Bauhaus book, he stated in i

Fotografie’ (Painting and Photography). His article was a full stated

For Kallai, painting was inevitably a more aesthetically satisfying

These possibilities contain the seeds of photography’s greatest threat

Phillips 1989: 100). Kassak explicitly condemned the Neue

The ‘fateful question’, in my opinion, is not ‘painting or film’, but