The great director saw Klee not just as his favourite painter, but as a peer interested in the same forms of creative expression
It might have seemed like a coincidence when, in 1938, a Paul Klee painting caught Alfred Hitchcock’s eye. Following the premier of his film The Lady Vanishes, he stopped into an art exhibition in London and was drawn to the Swiss-German artist’s Maske mit Sense (Mask with Scythe). It cost £600, or about $35,000 today, and despite the commercial success he was enjoying, Hitchcock likely hesitated at the price tag.
Persuaded by an unspoken connection, or perhaps by the familiar theatrical theme of masks, Hitchcock eventually pulled out his chequebook and made the purchase. As a result, this work became a foundational piece of his art collection.
Hitchcock, the so-called master of suspense, was one of the 20th
century’s most notable directors, having made films like The Birds (1963),
Psycho (1960), and Rear Window (1954). He used templates that audiences were
familiar with from the noir era — espionage, crime, voyeurism — but flipped
them in a modern way that explored psychology through film aesthetics. His art
collection, which features Klee among others and continually inspired him
throughout his career, is included in the Works on Paper Day Sale at Christie’s
New York on 14 May.
Maske mit Sense (1927) was created two years after Klee and the Bauhaus group
were forced to relocate from Weimar to Dessau, a move which eventually provided
him with the use of a large studio space in the city’s famous Bauhaus building,
as well as a need to refine his core theories to educate its student body.
‘Klee was working within all sorts of important movements of the
time,’ explains David Kleiweg de Zwaan, Senior Specialist at Christie’s. ‘He was
working with Wassily Kandinsky, Laszlo Moholy-Nagy, Walter Gropius, and he was
profoundly inspired by the work of Franz Marc, as well as Picasso's Cubism and
Robert Delaunay's ideas on colour. However, he never explicitly joined anything
— he had his own style, independent from them, but it was not created in
isolation.’
Like Hitchcock, Klee studied, observed and took part in the
dominant trends of the time, but his style was always his own. Studying these
processes, he worked to refine these already explosive theories of modern art.
Kleiweg de Zwaan says, ‘We don't necessarily think of Klee as an
abstract painter, but that was how Hitchcock viewed him. He was not taking
Klee’s work at face value but looking at the very deep thoughts Klee elucidated
in his paintings, as well as his writing.’
Though they were different in their artistry — Klee worked as a
relatively independent painter, while Hitchcock operated what was essentially a
creative factory — both were close observers of what was happening around them
and they laid the foundations of two of the 20th century’s most distinct forms
of artistic expression: modernism and cinema. Their bodies of work, attractive
to a wide audience because they were not overt in their intellectualism,
revealed a deep commitment to their respective forms under a mask of distinctly
ludic playfulness.
For Hitchcock, his tendency toward theatrical subversion lurked
beneath boilerplate Hollywood plotlines. As he said to Cinema magazine in 1963, ‘I put
first and foremost cinematic style before content.’ For him it was about the
road taken, rather than the destination: ‘I don’t care what the film is about,
so long as the audience goes through that emotion!’
His famous cameos, for example, are not just a director inserting himself as an Easter egg in his films. He is posing a question of authorial intention — a fundamental query when distinguishing between entertainment and art. It’s unclear whether his appearance is as the director of the movie, the insertion of an unrelated character, or both. This tactic echoes throughout the various disciplines of modernity, but it’s notable in Klee’s Odysseisch, from 1924, depicting the mythic hero Odysseus.
We quickly recognize Odysseus, hands clasped in front of him, as
the subject of this drawing. Like many artists before him, Klee returns to
classic characters of myth, but here the reference is somewhat misleading. As
the art historian Peter-Klaus Schuster noted: ‘What Klee, as a poetry-writing
painter and painting poet thus sets before our eyes are by no means
illustrations of ideas or literary prescriptions. This kind of decodable
clarity is utterly lacking with Klee. He is not a painter who spells out his
thoughts.’
Instead, Klee’s work — and Hitchcock’s — is left open to the
perception of the viewer. ‘Rather than being a closed, formal language,’ says
Kleiweg de Zwaan, ‘the work of Hitchcock and Klee is very approachable. As an
audience, you can either stick your toe in or go all the way down the rabbit
hole with both artists.’
Klee approached Homer’s Odyssey knowing that it had often been retold for modern audiences, like in James Joyce’s Ulysses from two years prior. Klee’s version, through its delicate, childlike line drawing style, reflects Hitchcock’s thoughts on composition over content. It is the kind of playful, poetic fantasy that both often saw in the world of theatre, ballet and fairy tale.
Cinema so shocked its first audiences that one
early filmgoer in Paris wrote ‘I can no longer think what I want to think. My
thoughts have been replaced by moving images.’ Hitchcock knew the power of his
medium, but he also recognized how it fit into the greater artistic canon.
He saw reflections of his own creative interests
in Klee, whether through the movement of the eye along the canvas as it follows
the line — which, as Klee said, was just ‘a dot that has gone for a walk’ — or
in his masking of more serious creative intentions under a guise of play.
‘Klee’s works do not allow themselves to be
read at the glance of an eye across a room’ says Kleiweg de Zwaan. ‘He is really
looking to control his viewers, their thoughts and experiences, something
Hitchcock also sought to do.’ Their shared creative sensibility is at the nucleus
of important 20th century forms. It is, as Klee quoted from the German poet
Heinrich Heine in his journal: ‘To laugh, as if Death were tickling us with his
scythe.’
https://www.christies.com/features/alfred-hitchcock-and-paul-klee-12222-1.aspx?sc_lang=en&cid=EM_EMLcontent04144C06Section_A_Story_4_0&COSID=42665747&cid=DM477094&bid=308562331#fid-12222
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