The Sprayer of Zürich

A few days ago I was in an a parking lot of the ETH (Federal Institute of Technology) in Zürich when I noticed some graffiti drawings on the walls.  I am far from being an expert, but they look to me like they must be originals from Harald Naegeli, the so called Sprayer of Zürich.

Is it a Naegeli original?

Between 1977 and 1979 Zürich became the home to around 900 works of art from a mysterious graffiti artist, who soon acquired the name "The Sprayer of Zürich".  The city authorities were appalled and eventually Harald Naegeli was identified as the criminal artist and apprehended.  Naegeli, however, fled the country, but was put on trial in absentia, found guilty of damaging private property and sentenced to nine months in prison and a fine of 206,000 CHF.

Naegeli's case became a cause celebre.  He found refuge in Germany where he was welcomed by leading artists like Joseph Beuys. Back home in Zürich 72 artists and writers called for a pardon.  But the city authorities demonstrated that an artist who damaged private property would receive far less forgiveness than millionaire tax-evaders (who are generally welcomed in the city, as long as it is foreign taxes that they are evading). After the Swiss had made repeated requests for extradition, Naegli gave himself over to Swiss police and served his term.

Since then times have changed. Most of Naegeli's public works have long been erased.  Some of those that remain are now protected.  One of the originals, "Undine" from 1978, was restored in 2005 at the costs of the Zürich tax-payer, graces a wall of the German Seminar at the University of Zürich and now has official protection status. A highlight of the recent official opening of an extension of the city zoo involved Naegeli making one of his creations in front of an invited audience that included the city president among the dignitaries. Naegeli's plans for his graffiti, drawn on paper, fetch 5,000 CHF or more.  His few pieces of graffiti that still adorn city walls have become a tourist attraction.

Undine by Harald Naegeli (Photo: D. Bachmann)

Naegeli, who is now 72 years old, still works, though rarely in public places. This weekend it was rumoured that a new graffiti of his had appeared near the steps leading up to the Grossmünster. Too late, by the time journalists and photographers got wind of it the drawing had already been erased by a worker from the sanitation department. If graffiti appears on a wall, he maintained, his job is to erase it, Unlike the legal authorities, his job is not to judge what is art.

Read more essays like this about Zurich in my ebook.

The Return - Reclaiming History

All Dutch children learn in school that their country was occupied by Nazi Germany from 1940-1945. Novels, plays, television and cinema all reinforce what is learned in the classroom. The death toll among the Dutch, around 250,000, was the highest in Western Europe. And yet, an oversight that has been institutionalized is the memory that a large part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands was occupied not by the Germans, but by the Japanese, namely, the Dutch East Indies (present day Indonesia). The Japanese occupation lasted from March 1942 until August 1945.

During this time many Dutch citizens were imprisoned in camps. Many men were forced to work in notorious conditions, such as the Burma Railroad. Some women were forced into prostitution to service Japanese soldiers, the so-called “Comfort Women”. The end of World War Two in the Dutch East Indies did not bring about peace but was followed by the Indonesian war of independence, from 1945 until 1949. This was followed by the “repatriation” of about 300,000 Dutch citizens to the European homeland. Many of these had been born in the East Indies and had never before set foot in Europe. Most were dark skinned, children of ‘mixed-marriages”, and found themselves in a homogenous white society that had little understanding for the difficulties of the new arrivals. And so, their experiences during the period 1942 to 1949 were simply erased from the narrative of national history.

In August 2010, to mark the 65th ending of World War Two, 200,000 copies of the comic strip, or graphic novel, De Terugkeer, (The Return), were distributed to all students in the third year of secondary school in The Netherlands. The book has been produced by the newly founded Indisch Herinneringscentrum (Dutch East Indies Remembrance Centre). It tells the simple story of an old Dutchman, called Bas who has lived his adult life in The Netherlands, surrounded by memories of his childhood in the Dutch East Indies, but in a society that is not interested in his past. Born and bred in the Dutch East Indies he was imprisoned by the Japanese as a young boy. Upon liberation he finds that Indonesian nationalists have turned violent and the newly freed Dutch are now reliant upon their former Japanese captors for protection – an ironic situation that is factually correct. Bas is repatriated to Holland but is conscripted into the army and sent to fight in the Dutch East Indies. This is a sensitive part of Dutch history and has spent decades safely swept under the carpet. But De Terugkeer tries to convey a balanced view, showing the difficult conditions under which Dutch soldiers fought but also admitting that they carried out atrocities, such as the shooting of Indonesian prisoners, though the very controversial term "War Crimes" is avoided. As an old man Bas returns to Indonesia in search of an old flame of his, a native girl called Soerati. This love story element is a bit unrealistic, but I suppose it has been included in order to keep the distracted teenagers of the 21st century engaged with the story.

"Bang, bang, bang" - Three Indonesian nationalist prisoners are shot by Dutch soldiers.

The Indisch Herinneringscentrum was created in 2007 by the Ministry of Public Health, Welfare and Sport and is operational since 2009. Its mission is to inform the public in an accurate and imaginative manner about the period 1942 to 1949 in Dutch East Indies and about the history of the Netherlands-Indies community from 1900 until today. The foundation was also involved in the creation of a DVD “Oorlog in Paradijs” (“War in Paradise”), released on August 16th 2010, and in a permanent exhibition “Het Verhaal van Indie” ("The Story of Dutch East Indies”) which opened on August 16th 2010.  Clearly, something is afoot in The Netherlands.  After decades of being ignored, there seems to be an official attempt to reclaim this sensitive period of history and to bring it into the public's historical consciousness. This is the result of work by pressure groups representing the "Indisch" community in The Netherlands who for years have engaged in the struggle to acquire a place in the collective national memory.
De Terugkeer may have been given to schoolchildren free of charge, but I bought my copy in a bookstore in The Hague for 17.95 Euros. Ouch!


See also my article on the Indonesian novelist Pramoedya Ananta Toer and my article on the Dutch memory of the Indonesian Revolution

Hans Bellmer's Dolls

I visited an exhibition, called Double Nexus at the Gemeente Museum in The Hague, The Netherlands last week, which exposed me to the work of an artist who was completely new to me. The exhibition examines similarities in the work of Louise Bourgeois and Hans Bellmer.  I must admit, I had never heard of Hans Bellmer before. I found his work to be intriguing and disturbing. Bellmer was a German artist who lived from 1902 to 1975.  His work was famous among the surrealists in France.  During the 1930s Bellmer worked in almost complete isolation in Nazi Germany, producing art that was deliberately opposed to the Nazi aesthetic.  Eventually his work was banned and he went into exile in Paris; when the Nazis conquered France he was imprisoned in a camp.  After the war he continued to live and work in France.

He was possibly inspired by his love for a teenage girl and he was certainly influenced by Jacque Offenbach's Tales of Hoffman, in which the protaganist falls in love with an automaton - the stuff of typical German expressionist angst. Most importantly, the Nazis famously promoted a reactionary view of art that idolized the human body, at least, the perfect Aryan body.  Bellmer rejected this authoritarian concept of art and instead he created a series of dolls that he mutilated and then photographed. The dolls have the appearance of young girls and are obviously sexualised. It is as if Bellmer is wishing himself to fall in love with his own young, mutilated images. The result is disturbing because of the eroticism inherent in the photographs of these child-like forms, intriguing because they are mutilated, yet beautiful.

One of Bellmer's original dolls

Jan Steen's Gift and Sinterklaas

It was on a cold, wintery night, exactly a month ago, that my family stood before the fireplace singing songs to Sinterklaas, otherwise known as Saint Nicholas.  It was December 5th, the eve of Saint Nicholas' Day and, like Dutch families the world over, we were celebrating the arrival of the gift bearing saint from his home in Spain. Suddenly: "Boom", "Boom", "Boom": Someone was thumping loudly on our front door.  Normally this would have caused some apprehension among my children. Instead, they shrieked with happiness and ran towards the sound of the commotion, pulling the front door open wide to reveal the darkness and two very full sacks stashed with gifts.  The children called into the night: "Thank you Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) and Thank You Zwarte Piet (Black Peter)".

Then the loot was lugged into the living room.

And the gifts were arranged in a pile on the living room floor, to the cat's delight.

Each gift came with a long poem, penned by the saint himself, comenting on the children's behaviour throughout the year, adding a commendation here, a light-hearted reprimand there. The scene that then ensued was one that connects with scenes in Dutch households, stretching back across centuries.  Take the following painting, for instance, by Jan Steen.

Jan Steen: Feast of St. Nicholas, 1665-8.

Steen was a genius at painting household interiors.  In Dutch the saying "a Jan Steen household" still refers to a household that is invariably in a state of untidy confusion, much like mine. But his Feast of Saint Nicholas, painted between 1665 and 1668 and housed today in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, is one of his most beloved works.  It is astounding how it depicts traditions that are as alive and well in the 21st century as in the 17th century.  Sinterklaas has just been to visit this family.  The little girl in the foreground is delighted with her gifts; her bucket is filled with sweets, nuts and other goodies and she clutches her doll possesively as her mother streches out her hands in a loving gesture.  Most experts agree that the doll respresents St. John the Baptist.  To the left of the little girl her older brother is weeping and his elder sister is holding up his shoe, revealing the source of his tears - there is a birch-rod, instead of sweets, in his shoe, a severe reprimand.  Saint Nicholas is aware that he has been a bad boy.  But nevermind, Steen doesn't want the story to end with sadness. To the right of the elder sister Granny beckons the boy, some gift or other has been hidden behind the curtain.  The boy will have learned his lesson, but will still get his toy. Another boy holds a baby in his arms and is pointing up the chimney: "Look, that how Sinterklaas came in". A younger boy is gazing up the chimney in wonder. In the centre of the picture sits the Dad and in front of him stands another boy who is pointing with a smile at his distressed older brother.  This child is staring straight out of the canvas, past his mother's gaze, and looks directly at us.  His is the point of entry, inviting us into the tableau, making us a part of the cosy (the Dutch would say "gezellig"), family scene. We are invited to be included in the celebration, and this is Jan Steen's gift to us, a gift to be still enjoyed nearly 350 years later. In the foreground of the picture we see a number of items that make up the paraphernelia of how Dutch familes still celebrate this family festival, nuts spilt on the floor, almond cakes and cookies containing ginger and other spices from the Indies.

Only the types of gifts that Saint Nicholas bears have changed.  My children were happy with their CDs, nintendos, Wii games, handbags and jackets.  By the end of the evening the living room, with its mountains of discarded wrappings, looked like it had been the scene of a riot, a truely Jan Steen household. Luckily, there wasn't a birch-rod in sight.  And most importantly, it had been "gezellig".

Evan D.G. Fraser and Andrew Rimas. Empires of Food: Feast, Famine and the Rise and Fall of Civilizations.

In my last post I provided a link to my review of Empires of Food in History Today.  But I'm not completely satisfied with their edited version of my review - so here is my original version:

We now know that modern agriculture is a technical sleight of hand that converts fossil fuels into food. In northern Europe potatoes grown in soil saturated in artificial chemicals are harvested by oil guzzling machines, loaded onto trucks and driven to the south of Italy to be washed by badly paid immigrants, then transported back up north to be sliced by oil guzzling machines, deep frozen and packaged in bags made from oil. Our ‘agriculture’ is destructive to animals, insects, fish, and plants, and is unsustainable.


Food experts have warned us. Tristan Stuart wrote that “infinite abundance is an illusion” (Waste, 2009). Carolyn Steel said “our food system is no more secure, ethical or sustainable than Rome’s was” (Hungary City, 2008). Now Evan Fraser and Andrew Rimas want to warn us that we are about to go the way of previous food empires - we face collapse. Let’s be clear: I get their message. I agree with it. I’m an environmentalist and a vegetarian. Therefore it is with reluctance that I say: as a work of history, this book leaves much to be desired. “History” is the label that the publishers give on the back cover of the book, so it is as history that I will evaluate Empires of Food.

When historians begin an investigation with their conclusion already drawn, this makes for bad history. It is, in effect, history written backwards. Like a team of lawyers, Fraser and Rimas have set out to secure a conviction, and they are willing to ransack the past to find evidence that will bolster their case. This might be okay for lawyers, but we expect more from historians. One might argue that neither author is a historian (that much is obvious), but they do claim to have written a work of history. But their methodology is flawed. They are not really interested in why Rome fell; they just want to make a point.

Their use of footnotes is erratic. Frequently their citations refer to a book or website, but not any specific pages. Far too often they make unsubstantiated assertions. They claim that Modern Israel provides one of the few cases of a country that went to war for water. Which war are they talking about? Incredibly, there is no reference to a source for this. Then there are the errors in historical fact. In 1591 the King of Spain was not the Emperor of Austria!

In their desperation to keep the reader reading, the authors cannot pass up any opportunity make a joke or pun. They offer us the following wisdom: “Piracy, like bad lighting and tuberculosis, was one of the ancient world’s accepted misfortunes”. Unfortunately, this type of silliness punctuates every page. The sub-heading of a section that examines Hannibal of Carthage is: “Hannibal Lectured”.



Then there are the constant comparisons made with today (perhaps in order to make history relevant or just for laughs). The Early Christian Desert Fathers were like “the hippie movement of recent generations”. St. Anthony “opened an organic farm” (what other type of farm was there, in the pre-industrial age?) The monk John Cassian was, “a rising star on the church hierarchy” who wrote a “how to guide for abbots.” St. Benedict, founder of the Benedictines, invented “a Model T of group asceticism” and “invented a successful business model.” His monasteries were “much like modern transnational corporations.” The St. Denis fair near Paris “was similar to today’s Walmart”. I found myself wondering was I reading a book from Horrible Histories for adults.
The authors attempt to frame their narrative by telling the tale of a Florentine business man called Francesco Carletti who in the late 16th, early 17th century travelled around the world. This, I suppose, is meant to keep the narrative together, but I found Carletti’s adventures simply decorative and added little to any historical understanding. I’m afraid I came to view him as some sort of comic-strip figure, a bit like “Tintin in the New World”.

Every secondary school student learns from their English teacher the importance of clear transitions. But the obscurity of the transitions in this book left me floundering. For instance section four opens in today’s China, eight pages later we are with 16th century Carletti in the New World; after four pages he is jettisoned and we are in ancient Mesopotamia; within three pages we are in ancient China; nine pages later it is ancient Sumeria; we return to China after just two pages, and then after a further two pages we are in the UN’s Millennium Goals. The entire book is structured like this.

That said, Empires of Food is a light read, with a serious purpose and an important lesson for the way we live and consume today. Don’t let me put you off. Please read it. But a work of history it is not.

Review of Empires of Food by Evan Fraser and Andrew Rimas

We have been warned by food experts that our ‘agriculture’ is destructive to animals, insects, fish and plants, and is unsustainable. Tristan Stuart wrote that ‘infinite abundance is an illusion’ (Waste, 2009) and in the words of Carolyn Steel: ‘our food system is no more secure, ethical or sustainable than Rome’s was’ (Hungry City, 2008). Now Evan Fraser and Andrew Rimas want to warn us that we face a similar fate to previous food empires: we face collapse. I both understand and agree with their message and it is reluctantly that I argue that, as a historical study, Empires of Food leaves much to be desired. The book is described by its publishers Random House as a ‘history’; it is therefore as history that I will evaluate Empires of Food. Read the rest of my review at History Today

Picasso Visits Zurich, Again

The Picassos with Swiss artist Gottard Schuh outside the Hotel Baur au Lac

Last weekend I visited the current exhibition at the Zurich Kunsthaus, entitled simply, Picasso. It will surely prove to be unique for the 21st century, for it was co-curated by none other than Pablo Picasso. That’s right, the Pablo Picasso. No, I’m not crazy and yes, I know he is long dead.


In 1932 the Kunsthaus became the first ever museum to host a Picasso retrospective. Museums were supposed to exhibit the works of established dead artists, not of living artists like Picasso, who was 50 at the time, and clearly much alive. The Kunsthaus, very much at the cutting edge, went one step further and asked Picasso to curate the exhibition himself. He selected over 200 paintings; so many, that the Kunsthaus had to temporarily remove its permanent collection.

Picasso arrived in Zurich with his wife, the former Russian dancer from Sergei Diaghlev’s Ballet Russes, Olga Khokhlova, and their son Paolo and they checked in at the very plush Baur au Lac, then, as now, one of the world’s greatest hotels. They had, to all intents and purposes, the appearance of a good bourgeois family: Olga enjoyed the shopping on the Bahnhofstrasse; ten year old Paolo was bored; they went sailing on the lake and enjoyed the beautiful September sunshine; they enjoyed a meal of boiled ham in the beautiful Belvoir restaurant. But Picasso was a regular attendee at the balls and fancy dress parties of Europe’s old aristocracy, a fixture in the Parisian café society of Jean Cocteau and Coco Chanel, a man who slept with nearly every woman who took his fancy and, furthermore, a persistent frequenter of brothels. He had recently fallen in love and had began a secret affair to sleep with his 17 year old model Marie-Therese Walter. But being a good catholic, Picasso refused to contemplate a divorce.

Head of Sleeping Woman

Sometimes an exhibition makes history, instead of simply recording it. This one certainly did. Some of the paintings were still belonging to Picasso and were for sale, but in the oppressive economic climate of the time this aspect of the project was, unsurprisingly, a disappointment; only one painting was sold – to the Kunsthaus itself. Regarding the other works, the Kunstmusem had acquiesed in Picasso’s choices and managed to borrow from the various collectors those works that were in private hands, arranging transportation and security, insurance and the safe return of all works to the owners. Two catalogues were published including a number of interpretive essays and a series of reading by a number of experts was arranged. The press was well informed ahead of time and the opening was well attended and widely reported across the continent. The left-wing press complained of wasting funds on decadent art in a time of public economic hardship. The local psychoanalyst and self-styled oracle Carl Gustav Jung, visiting the exhibition proclaimed the works to be an indication of schizophrenia and condemned all of modern art. (He had previously condemned James Joyce’s novel Ulysses.) Despite Jung’s judgement, or maybe because of it, the number of visitors to the exhibition broke all records. The Kunsthaus had taken a risk, had done something that no museum had ever done before, and though it wasn’t immediately apparent, it had created a new trend. In New York and Paris, London and Amsterdam, museums began to exhibit the works of major contemporary artists, accompanied with a grand opening, press releases, catalogues, and readings. Zurich’s Kunsthaus had shown the way.

Visitors at the exhibition Picasso

And so we return to today. The current exhibition commemorates the 100th anniversary of the birth of the Kunsthaus by reviving a part of Picasso’s original 1932 exhibition. Nearly one third of the original works, chosen by Picasso himself, have returned to Zurich. In this way, Picasso, though long dead, is still co-curator of his own exhibition, together with the main curator, the Kunsthaus’ very much living Tobia Bezolla. This makes it a unique opportunity to appreciate the work sof the 20th century’s greatest artistic genius, chosen by himself.

Girl in a Chemise

It is a breathtaking experience, and a reminder of simply what a magnificent painter Picasso was. How could the man, with his philandering and posing, have produced so many works of such extreme beauty? There are no landscapes, no animals and few trees; a couple of flowers in vases, lots of guitars and, again and again, the human figure, in particular, the female figure, puny and sad, gigantic and proud, mutilated and abstract. Even his earliest works, from the late 19th century, possess hints of the genius within. By 1904 his genius had already become apparent. I stood before Girl in a Chemise, and realised how useless words are – the painting, with its flattened surfaces, says everything there is to say. The correct initial response to these works has to be silence. A new, radical chapter in the history of art had started. Within a short while the experiment with cubism commenced, an abrupt intervention in art history. Thereafter Picasso is completely free and there follows primitiveness, collage, monumental figurative portraits, the colourful and entirely flattened guitars and mandolins and fruit vases, the phallocentric portraits and, by 1932, his almost abstract surrealist works. Those who today obsess about innovation and creativity in the business world should pay a visit to the Kunsthaus to witness what innovation and creativity mean. The Picasso exhibition continues until January 2011.

Woman with Yellow Belt