by Beatriz Zimmermann
Egon Schiele’s self-portrait, a study in badass attitude if ever there was one, hangs in New York City’s Neue Gallery, an elegant Upper East Side maison that houses one of the greatest collections of early twentieth century Austrian and German art. It’s here, in this well-appointed space, that I find myself admiring Schiele’s Self-Portrait with Arm Twisted Above Head. He stands (and poses) apart from the rest. First, there’s the question of his youth, forever preserved thanks to dying at the age of 28. He got one more year than the rock-n-roll trinity that is Hendrix, Morrison and Joplin and during that time he managed to check the boxes on all the requisite antics of any bona fide rock star – school dropout, small town pariah, fashion icon, and all-around rebel who at one point was even arrested for lewd acts (and possibly worse). All this, before dying suddenly of Spanish Flu in 1918.
Born in 1890, Schiele was not born to a family that would understand, let alone encourage an artsy bent. His father, Adolf Schiele, the stationmaster in the small town of Tulln, about eighteen miles west of Vienna, expected young Egon to follow in his footsteps – perhaps as an engineer. This seemed promising given Egon’s obsession with drawing trains, beginning as early as the age of one and half. But this might qualify as the first misreading of his art, as it wasn’t the trains that were of interest, but the drawing of trains. Schiele was packed off to the Rea Gymnasium at the age of 11 to begin his formal education that would prepare him for the engineering career his family envisioned. However, being far from home left him feeling lonely and unmotivated. Private tutors did little to improve the situation which would only be aggravated by a swift downturn for the Schiele family when his father contracted syphilis. Adolf’s death and the years of madness that preceded it would mean the loss of family savings and a precipitous drop in the family’s middle-class station. This reversal of fortune would force Schiele’s mother to turn to wealthier relatives for support. Believing this an opportunity, Schiele convinced his mother to allow him to abandon any aspirations to become an engineer and instead apply to the prestigious Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. Egon was not only accepted but became, at sixteen, the youngest student ever admitted. At school, he immediately attracted attention for his talents as a brilliant draftsman, but he would also raise eyebrows for his rebellious behavior, which included devoting increasing attention to artistic circles outside of school. This included exhibiting in commercial galleries prohibited by academy regulations. Schiele would ultimately withdraw from school in 1909, following a formal letter of protest.
His education, however, would hardly falter. As a pupil and protégé of Klimt – his idol as a teen – Schiele only sharpened his technique in the most astonishing way. His devotion to Klimt would last all his life until Klimt’s death in February 1918 when Schiele would paint his mentor on his deathbed.
Schiele moved seamlessly within avant garde circles, making the circuit as an up-and-coming artist. Not quite twenty, Schiele’s art attracted controversy and often, outrage. As his signature graphic style took shape, Schiele would take on a bolder defiance of conventional beauty norms. His portraits and self-portraits evoked a searing sexuality, tapping a directness that was unprecedented at the time. His sitters, often presented in the nude, posed in revealing and unusual positions which created angular compositions and a distorting, unsettling effect.
Schiele is said to have been sexually precocious and perhaps scandalously so. Rumors of an incestuous relationship with his younger sister, Gerti are sprinkled in the Schiele lore and it’s true that he left a trail of scandal wherever he went. While his sexually charged art would become a reliable source for scandal, it was his studies of young girls and his use of children as nude models that drew criticism. In 1911, Schiele briefly lived in his mother’s hometown of Krumau in Southern Bohemia, where his eccentric manner of dress peaked the curiousity of townspeople while his practice of having young children visit his studio quickly attracted the disapproval of locals. It’s been speculated that it was Schiele’s own childlike ways that allowed him to connect with children and perhaps make him a beloved figure with them. Whether Schiele was a Pied Piper figure or possibly something even darker, we can’t know for sure, but we do know that Schiele was eventually arrested in his studio and jailed for twenty-four days, accused of kidnapping a twelve-year-old girl (later reported to be a runaway). Although the charges were eventually dropped, Schiele was convicted of exposing children to erotic images.
The folkloric German tale of the Pied Piper, a mysterious figure who holds a special power via a magical instrument, dates back to the Middle Ages and centers on the theme of dark magic. The piper who would rid the town of its scourge of rats by leading them out with his spellbinding pipe music returns to cast this same magic over the children of the town: revenge for not having been compensated for the rat removal, as promised. The children trail eerily behind him, drawn to the notes that lure them away from safety of home.
From Robert Browning’s poem: “The Pied Piper of Hamelin: A Child’s Story”:
Once more he stept into the street;
And to his lips again
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician’s cunning
Never gave the enraptured air)
There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,
And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
Out came the children running.
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.
The theme of leading and luring might have loosely applied to Schiele and how he was depicted at the time of the scandal, the seizure of artwork, and his imprisonment. One hundred and twenty-five of Schiele’s works, all considered degenerate, were confiscated by police and as a symbolic gesture, the judge burned one of Schiele’s drawings in the courtroom. These experiences had a notable impact on Schiele who would never again use children as models, but the explicitness of his art would only intensify.
The start of World War I in late 1914 and a heightening flirtation with Edith Harm, a middle-class woman from a well-established family, would lead to thoughts of marriage and usher in a new wave of revelations as an artist. The couple would rush to marry after Schiele was drafted into the army and four days before reporting to basic training in Prague. After a brief stint in Czech Bohemia, Schiele was posted closer to Vienna where he was often permitted to sleep at home. Although many Austrian artists were shielded from active military duty by exceptionally lenient regulations and special allowances, Schiele struggled to wrangle such arrangements for himself. He would spend his days digging trenches or guarding Russian soldiers of war; this leading to unexpected inspiration for his art as he started to identify with the plight of his prisoners. His particular vantage point to the war and its miseries made him a steadfast pacifist, at the time another radical move. He later created a series of poignant studies of Russian POWs. The rawness of this work and his signature stamp of sexuality began to take on a growing humanism.
Later, when transferred to a prisoner of war camp a few hours away from Vienna not considered a war zone, his superiors began to accommodate his artistic needs. Although the war greatly reduced the opportunities for organizing exhibitions and selling art, Schiele would benefit from notable exposure thanks to the publication of a left-wing Berlin periodical that presented a special Egon Schiele issue. This, combined with a new sponsorship from a young art dealer, invigorated Schiele while he also forged a relationship with a new gallery and then presented work in a War Exhibition that opened in Vienna and subsequently traveled to Holland, Sweden and Denmark.
Buoyed by new victories while still in the army, Schiele took a larger studio for work and with the intention of establishing an art school here. The space was difficult to heat though, and in the autumn of 1918, Vienna was plagued by shortages in food and fuel. The stage was also set for a pandemic in the form of the Spanish Flu that would sweep through Europe and the world. Edith, six months pregnant, fell ill. Bedridden and too weak to speak, she penned the following message to Schiele:
“I love you eternally and love you more and more infinitely and immeasurably.”
His second deathbed vigil in the span of a year, this too would produce a masterly and emotionally wrought work that captures the likeness of a beloved figure with astonishing clarity. Emily’s gaze is weary and knowing, likely aware that Death has taken a seat at her bedside. Schiele’s sketch captures the precariousness of the moment and the inching forward into what is unreachable or unknowable. Poignantly, the unknowable will become knowable as Schiele, already ill as he sketches, dies on October 31, 1918, just three days after Edith succumbs.
Schiele has left a stunning body of work and a parade of wiry, raw exquisite human figures charged with an electric eroticism; each figure reaching, defying, and perhaps luring us with a boldness that was unsettlingly different to others during his lifetime. But what many considered depraved was later looked upon more favorably, and perhaps softened by what would become more familiar. This is what iconoclasts do – they kick to the curb the accepted rules of the times and create anew out of the rubble or sometimes seemingly out of thin air.
Schiele experienced another wave of notoriety years after his death and with the rise of Hitler and the Nazi party. Once again, his work would be singled out as degenerate and countless works would be rounded up and destroyed. Art and politics often mirror each other, whether they be strange bedfellows or a dance of the zeitgeists. Schiele has managed to ride these waves, finding himself looking directly back at us now as he poses, unabashed and brimming with a confidence justified by his extraordinary skill. There are many opportunities to partake in a staring contest with Schiele if one wishes. He created many self-portraits, suggesting a preoccupation with the self, not unlike a Picasso. He appears as the hero of his life, fallen or otherwise, and this most modern sensibility makes us nod in recognition. Secretly, don’t we all want to be rock stars?
Beatriz Zimmermann lives in New York City and is an art lover and a writer in the beauty space. Her work has appeared in Town & Country Magazine, Coveteur, Modeliste Magazine, and Rakes Sense, a London publication dedicated to the art of perfumery. Her fragrance articles have been award-nominated both in the U.S. and in the UK. Her work explores and connects beauty themes with broader conversations around art, history and culture.
After the Art 