Ester Borgese

There have been times when the general public was not only held in high regard, but was even courted: one need only think of the most famous painter of antiquity, Apelles, who displayed his paintings in the street and hid himself away to eavesdrop on the opinions of ordinary people. Even Leonardo da Vinci and Annibale Carracci subjected their works to the criticism of the common people, who never lie, according to the motto vox populi, vox dei.Yet, from the 18th century onwards, the idea emerged that the right to pass judgement on art was the exclusive preserve of that cultured elite who, from all over Europe, flocked to Italian cities to refine their taste, thanks above all to the opening of the most elegant princely collections. The wider public ended up being mocked and opposed by writers, connoisseurs and the artists themselves, who portrayed them as a vulgar and undignified rabble.Today, opportunities to enjoy art and participate in cultural life have grown exponentially, and museums, aware of the undeniable value of the masses, stage spectacular events and set up educational departments to attract as many visitors as possible. Whether celebrated or despised, their influence can no longer be ignored.It is from this premise that Oskar Bätschmann’s research begins. Through a rich variety of anecdotes, illustrations and writings from different eras, the author tells the story of the public that art history has yet to discover, bringing them to the fore as never before.

Countless books have been written on Adolf Hitler. When CBS announced its intention of producing a film on his youth years ago, the almost unanimous chorus of protest that ensued can be summarised as saying: “We know who he was and what he did. What else is there to know?” Frederic Spotts offers a completely unprecedented view of Hitler and the Third Reich in a surprising examination of the Führer’s aims and huge machinery he built up around him. The key role of culture in his vision of the Arian super state has seldom been addressed. It was not the end to which power should aspire but a means to obtain it. From the spectacular mass rallies in Nuremberg to the imposing architectural works, from the musical festivals and his tormented relationship with Wagner to the policies of cleansing, from his own watercolours to the dream of opening an enormous art gallery in Linz: the artist manqué thus succeeded in expressing his talent by mesmerizing Germany and most of Europe. The only enemy that Hitler would not have imprisoned once the fighting was over but “left living comfortably in a fortress with permission to write his memoirs and paint” was Winston Churchill, the British officer who painted the ruins of a village during the Great War while Hitler immortalized a church on the other side of the river. Carl Burckhardt, the commissioner of the League of Nations in Danzig who met the Führer twice in 1939, was therefore probably right to suggest that the dictator had a split personality: “the rather gentle artist” on the one hand and “the homicidal maniac” on the other. For obvious reasons, writers have concentrated on the homicidal maniac for over fifty years now. While in no way wishing to ignore the second Hitler, Spotts addresses the first.

An artist undertaking a portrait cannot but consider the pose to be given to the subject. Standing, sitting or reclining? What feelings will the expression convey? Will the arms be folded or busy performing some apotropaic rite? While a portrait unquestionably strikes us first and foremost for the quality of the painting and the sitter’s identity, every gesture, expression and posture of the body actually constitutes a key to a casket in which we can discover traces of the lifestyle of a particular historical period and legacies of cultures distant in time and space. And who could be better able than Desmond Morris to take up the challenge of recounting the history of body language in such a way as to delight the reader? Combining his two personae, the ethologist and Surrealist painter, he guides us on an extraordinary exploration of the postures that have attracted the attention of art lovers for centuries, from Roman statuary all the way to Pop Art. We thus discover why Napoleon was always portrayed hand-in-waistcoat and sovereigns often with one foot towards the viewer. And while it is true that gestures like shaking the fist are universal, sticking the tongue out can be interpreted as a manifestation of demonic nature or simple childish impertinence depending on the period involved. With brilliant insight, Morris tells us how artists have given shape in their works to the changes involving social habits and conventions over the centuries. In doing so, he encounters surprising similarities and eternal recurrences, rediscovering long-forgotten gestures and shedding new light on masterpieces regarded as more familiar.