Art in Exile
If you’re a painter, you need paint and brushes. Right? As a sculptor you rely on stone and chisels. As a weaver, you depend on a loom and thread. But what if you’re an artist in exile? What if you’re on the run, living through the middle of a war? What if materials aren’t even available and, if they are, you don’t have the resources to obtain them?
Source: trembelingart.com/brush-cleaning-basics/
Given that my studio is full of more stuff than I can use for the rest of my life, I don’t deal with scarcity. Plus I love to pick up things—shells, rusted metal, twigs, driftwood—which means there’s always something I could work with. But when I chanced upon a video about Samson Schames (1898-1967) and then about other artists in exile, I couldn’t help wondering how I would have managed in their circumstances. What I learned made me realize that people have been repurposing and recycling for artistic purposes long before it became fashionable in our time. No matter the dire conditions, artists find a way to keep on creating, to keep on expressing what needs to be made public.
The Tear (1941), by Samson Schames. The outline of an anguished face, made by pressing lengths of hemp cord into drying cement, is punctuated by a single shard of dark glass—the titular tear. New York, Leo Baeck Institute Art and Objects Collection. Source: cjh.org/
Born in Frankfurt, Germany, Schames was a painter, set and textile designer. But, by 1934, he was forbidden to display anything because he was a Jew. Leaving much of his artwork behind, in January 1939 he escaped Germany via Holland. He arrived in England, prepared to work after a lengthy period of hardship and persecution. In London, he attended weekly sessions in figure drawing with a group of German radical artists in exile (I’m guessing they were deemed guilty of “degenerate art” by Hitler). Among them was his former teacher Oskar Kokoschka (1886-1980), an Austrian artist, poet, playwright, known for his intense expressionistic portraits and landscapes. Schames was able to paint in a spare room belonging to yet another German-born artist, the sculptor Benno Elkan (1877-1960). While exile is never an easy state to be in, Schames could work and exhibit without the racial restrictions of Nazi law. Unfortunately, that was not for long.
The Gate to Huyton (1940), by Samson Schames. Pencil and watercolor on paper. New York, Leo Baeck Institute.
Although a refugee, Schames was imprisoned in 1940 along with other Germans —considered security threats because of their origins—in Huyton Alien Internment Camp, near Liverpool. Suddenly he had no access to any materials, let alone canvas and paint, which led to making do with detritus, cobbling together bits of wood, glass, stones, and even debris left by German bombings on the camp. “[I] made my own color out of black soot, which I mixed with thick condensed milk,” Schames told a New York radio station in 1950, after he’d emigrated to the U.S. “That made the most marvelous black I ever used.” He employed whatever he could secure, sometimes by giving up ration coupons—red beet juice, shoe polish, jam, and he even applied them with brushes he made of his own hair attached to twigs he’d found. He transformed his internment into an opportunity to develop new art techniques in unconventional media.
Crown of Thorns (1940-41), by Samson Schames. Gypsum, nails, etc. New York: Yeshiva University Museum. Source: yumuseum.org/.
Schames’ ability to be so resourceful led to a new phase in his artwork upon returning to London. As a Fire Guard in the Civil Defence, he patrolled the neighborhood of Golders Green and was deeply impacted by the destruction wrought during the Blitz. In the streets and buildings torn apart by constant aerial bombardment, he picked up rubble (glass, cement, wire, metal, etc.) and began making monumental mosaics to capture the pain and suffering all around him: for example, “Crown of Thorns,” “Execution,” “Yellow Star,” and “Promised Lebensraum.” The shards expressed a broken world. I can easily imagine that they also expressed a broken heart at the loss of his family and homeland, where they’d lived for centuries. Click for a video discussion with more images or for a shorter version.
Promised Lebensraum (1943), by Samson Schames. New York, Yeshiva University Museum
Execution (1943-44), by Samson Schames.
As we are all too aware, refugees are a fact of life around the world because of persecution, genocide, war, and other devastating conditions. Some of them are also artists, like Syrian Akram Safvan, who is now sculpting in Turkey, or Iranian Shirin Neshat, unable to return to her country and wrestling with a sense of social responsibility about her homeland. Tibetans in exile try to retain their traditional arts in India.
Akram Safvan. Source: unhcr.org/
Artists in adopted countries demonstrate resilience and perseverance in carrying on creative expression, especially to tell the truth about not only what they have lived through, but also what they have seen others suffer. The number of artists who have endured or who are now enduring exile is too great for me to write a comprehensive post. But, for anyone who is interested, there are many books and exhibits to explore. They reflect both the loss and the hope that these artists feel and the need to challenge what is wrong and advocate for what is right. They also reflect exile as more than a state of mind or physical action. Uprooted from the familiar, they have a chance to innovate in form and technique. And, for some women, exile presents the possibility of liberating themselves from societal restrictions and creating a new artistic identity.
Questions & Comments:
If you’re an artist in exile, how do express your situation and that of those left behind? Are you coping with different materials, new ways of working?
What refugee artists are you aware of? Whose work do you feel drawn to?
How can exile offer advantages even in the midst of dire conditions?
