Ruprecht von Kaufmann
(Germany, b. 1974)

Ruprecht von Kaufmann (Germany, b. 1974) was born in Munich, Germany, and earned his BFA at the ArtCenter College of Design in Los Angeles. He has taught at Berlin University of the Arts and the Academy of Fine Arts Leipzig, and currently lives and works in Berlin. Kaufmann is renowned for his emotionally charged and narrative paintings, blending figurative art with a dreamlike atmosphere that often evokes a sense of unease. His work explores various aspects of the human condition, using the visual language of contemporary painting to present critical narratives and parallel realities. He has exhibited in major cities such as London, Berlin, Stuttgart, Oslo, New York, and at renowned institutions such as the Georg Kolbe Museum in Berlin and the Böttcherstraße Museum in Bremen. His works are held in prestigious collections, including the Hort Family in New York, the Stelline Foundation in Milan, the United Nations Headquarters in New York, Sammlung Philara Museum in Germany, and the Deutsche Bundesbank in Frankfurt.

Ruprecht von Kaufmann works primarily with oil, creating paintings, sculptures, and works on paper. His inspirations range from literature and mythology to film and personal experiences. His style fuses elements of figurative art, evoking a narrative quality akin to dreams. His paintings often feel like unfinished stories, as if the narrative extends beyond the canvas. Kaufmann pays particular attention to texture in his work, often using thick layers of paint and collage techniques to create depth and complexity. He deliberately blurs or scrapes parts of his paintings, preserving a sense of fluidity and imperfection. His use of strong color contrasts enhances emotional expression and narrative depth, while his compositions, which blend reality and fantasy, emphasize themes of isolation and vulnerability, imbued with dark humor and melancholic undertones.

Moby Dick, authored by Herman Melville, is known for its complex narrative structure and multiple perspectives, which have had a profound influence on modernist and postmodernist literature. In “Der Weisse Wal,” Kaufmann explores how visual storytelling can express layered meanings and complex emotions. In art history, from J.M.W. Turner’s romantic seascapes to Winslow Homer’s realist marine paintings, artists have used the ocean’s grandeur and danger to explore humanity’s relationship with nature. In Kaufmann’s work, the sea is not only a stage for adventure but also a metaphor for existential themes such as the search for meaning, isolation, absurdity, freedom, and choice.

The exhibition’s focal piece, a 3.67-meter-long triptych titled “Der Weisse Wal”, is a brand-new work created in 2024 and serves as the highlight of this solo exhibition. In this piece, Kaufmann uses cool and dark tones to convey a sense of mystery and the unknown, while key details are emphasized with bright colors, enhancing the visual impact. The painting features barely visible fishing boats, sailors, the white whale, and the swaying ocean, all captured in a surreal composition that encapsulates the tension and struggle between man and whale. The dreamlike color scheme blurs the line between reality and fantasy, reflecting the human connection with nature. Another new work, “Auf Hoher See” (On the High Seas), uses visual storytelling to depict the sailors’ tumultuous relationship with the sea, evoking the power of the ocean and humanity’s insignificance in the face of nature. In “Frühling und Winter” (Spring and Winter), Kaufmann uses a surrealist approach to depict the ever-changing sea, with unpredictable shifts between spring and winter. “Leichtmatrose” (Off-Season), another new piece, features an orange background highlighting a sailor in a relaxed pose, capturing the momentary release of tension in a cinematic and dramatic style.

Through his unique figurative and narrative style, Ruprecht von Kaufmann successfully transforms the classic literary work Moby Dick into a visual feast. His imaginative and profound paintings breathe new life into Herman Melville’s original text. Not only does his art capture the essence of the novel, but the narrative elements deepen our understanding of the characters’ inner struggles and the confrontation with the forces of nature. Kaufmann’s interpretation elevates Moby Dick to new visual heights, offering viewers a fresh and captivating experience, while reviving the brilliance of this literary classic. Through his innovative artistic expression, Ruprecht von Kaufmann pays homage to the original while showcasing the perfect union of classic literature and contemporary art.

2019  Pinakothek der Moderne, Munich, Germany

2018  `Die Evakuierung des Himmels´, Kunsthalle Erfurt, Erfurt


Solo Exhibitions

2025  `LEBEN ZWISCHEN DEN STÜHLEN´, Buchheim Museum, Bernried, DE
2025  `RUPRECHT VON KAUFMANN´, CHOI&CHOI, Seoul, KR
2024  `DER WEISSE WAL´, Bluerider ART, Shanghai, CN
2024  `RETURN TO STORYLAND´, Kristin Hjellegjerde Gallery, Miami, US
2024  `DER WEISSE WAL´, Bluerider ART, Shanghai, CN
2024  `WASTLAND´, Museum Bensheim, Bensheim, DE
2023  `HUNDERT´, Galerie Thomas Fuchs, Stuttgart, DE
2023  `FORESHADOW´, Bluerider ART, Shanghai, CN
2022  `IN THE STREET,´, Kristian Hjellegjerde Gallery, London, UK
2022  `MONOLOGUE´, Bluerider ART, Taipei, TW
2021  `JUST BEFORE DAWN´, Galerie Thomas Fuchs, Stuttgart, DE
2020 `THE THREE PRINCES OF SERENDIP´, Kristin Hjellegjerde Gallery, London, GB
2020  `INSIDE THE OUTSIDE´, City Gallery Gutshaus Steglitz, Berlin, DE
2019  `INSIDE THE OUTSIDE´, UN Headquarters, New York, US
2019  `INSIDE THE OUTSIDE´, Museen BĂśttcherstrasse, Bremen, DE
2019  `DIE DREI PRINZEN VON SERENDIP´, Kunstsammlung Neubrandenburg, Neubrandenburg, DE
2019  `DIE AUGEN FEST GESCHLOSSEN´, Galerie Thomas Fuchs, Stuttgart, DE
2018  `DIE EVAKUIERUNG DES HIMMELS´, Kunsthalle Erfurt, Erfurt, DE
2018  `LIEDERBUCH´, Galerie Thomas Fuchs, Stuttgart, DE
2017  `EVENT HORIZON´, Kristin Hjellegjerde Galelry, London, UK
2017  `RUPRECHT VON KAUFMANN´, Galerie Crone, Wien, AT
2016  `THE GOD OF SMALL AND BIG THINGS´, Galerie Crone, Berlin, DE
2016  `PHANTOMBILD-BLAUPAUSE´, Nordheimer Scheune, Nordheim, DE
2015  `GRÖSSERBESSERSCHNELLERMEHR´, Forum Kunst, Rottweil, DE
2014  `FABEL´, Georg Kolbe Museum, Berlin, DE
2014  `CARNA(VA)L´, Museum Abtei Liesborn, Liesborn, DE
2013  `DIE NACHT´, Junge Kunst e.V. Wolfsburg, DE
2013  `DIE NACHT´, Galerie Rupert Pfab, DĂźsseldorf, DE
2012  `DER OZEAN´, Galerie Christian Ehrentraut, Berlin, DE
2011  `ALTES HAUS´, Galerie Rupert Pfab, DĂźsseldorf, DE
2011  `ZWISCHENZEIT´, Neue Galerie Gladbeck, Gladbeck, DE
2010  `ÄQUATOR TEIL I´, Galerie Christian Ehrentraut, Berlin, DE
2010  `HERR LAMPE´, Bundesbank, Frankfurt, DE
2009  `NEBEL´, Galerie Christian Ehrentraut, Berlin, DE
2009  `HALBMAST´, Philara Collection, DĂźsseldorf, DE
2008  `RUPRECHT VON KAUFMANN´, Galerie Rupert Pfab, DĂźsseldorf, DE
2007  `EINE ÜBERSICHT´, Konrad-Adenauer-Foundation, Berlin, DE
2006  `BATHOSPHERE´, Ann Nathan Gallery, Chicago, US
2006  `BATHOSPHERE´, Kunstverein GĂśttingen, DE
2006  `ALS MICH MEIN STECKENPFERD FRAß´, Galerie Christian Ehrentraut, Berlin
2005  `BILDWECHSEL´, Galerie Christian Ehrentraut, Berlin, DE
2005  `NEUE ZEICHNUNGEN´, Kunstschacht Zeche Zollverein, Essen, DE
2003  `OF FAITH AND OTHER DEMONS´, Claire Oliver Fine Arts, New York, US

Group Exhibitions

2024  `HOME SWEET HOME´, zuhause sein von 1900 bis heute, Kunstforum Ingelheim – Altes Rathaus, DE
2024  `DISSONANCE´, Stadtgalerie Kiel, DE and Nationalgalerie Bukarest, RO
2024  `HORSIND AROUND´, Galerie Lake, Oldenburg, DE
2023  `MEDEA´, Ancient Market, Siracusa, IT
2023  `UNEXPECTED´, Wasserwerk, Bad Schmiedeberg, DE
2022  `INTERACTION NAPOLI´, Fondazione Made in Cloister, Neapel, IT
2022  `DISSONANCE´, KĂźnstlerhaus Bethanien, Berlin, DE
2022  `ON THE WALL´, Building Gallery, Mailand, IT
2022  `DAS EIGENE IM FREMDEN – EINBLICKE IN DIE SAMMLUNG DETLEV BLENK´, Museum Bensheim, DE
2022  `FLOWER´, CHOI&CHOI, Seoul, KR
2022  `FLOWERS´, Galerie Thomas Fuchs, Stuttgart, DE
2021  `DREAMSCAPES´, Cermak Eisenkraft Galerie, Prague, CZ
2021  `DAS EIGENE IM FREMDEN – EINBLICKE IN DIE SAMMLUNG DETLEV BLENK´, Museum Bensheim, DE
2020  `ALL THE DAYS AND NIGHTS´, Kristin Hjellegjerde Gallery, London, UK
2020  `FERNWEH´, Galerie Thomas Fuchs, Stuttgart, DE
2020  `NEUE WILDE UND ANDERE AUS DER SAMMLUNG STEFAN NEUKIRCHEN´, Coesfeld, DE
2019  `FEELINGS´, Pinakothek der Moderne, Munich, DE
2019  `METAFYSICA´, Haugar Art Museum, Tønsberg, NO
2019  `BIRKHOLMS ECHO´, Faaborg Museum of Art, Faaborg, DK
2018  `NEW FRONTIERS OF PAINTING´, Fondazione Stelline, Mailand, IT
2018  `CONTEMPORARY CHAOS´, Vestfossen Kunstlaboratorium, Vestfossen, NO
2018  `SCHWARZE ROMANTIK, Topicuv SalĂłn, Prag, CZ, KĂźnstlerhaus Palais Thurn und Taxis, Bregenz, AT´, Galerie der Stadt Backnang, Backnang, DE
2018  `EROS & THANATOS´, Museum Abtei Liesborn, Wadersloh-Liesborn, DE
2017  `ECCE CREATURA´, Kallmann Museum, Ismaning, DE
2017  `PAINTINGUIDE NYC´, Booth Gallery, New York, US
2017  `SCHWARZE ROMANTIK´, KĂźnstlerhaus Bethanien, Berlin, DE, Stadtgalerie Kiel, Kiel, DE, Galerie im Traklhaus, Salzburg, AT, Rumänisches Nationalmuseum der KĂźnste, Bukarest, RO
2016  `WAHLVERWANDTSCHAFTEN, German Art since the late 1960s´, National Museum of Latvia, Riga, LV
2016  `PROZAC´, KV GlĂźckstadt, GlĂźckstadt, DE
2015  `THE VACANCY´, Friedrichstrasse, Berlin, DE
2015  `KUNST WOLLEN?´, openAEG, NĂźrnberg, DE
2015  `DU SOLLST DIR (K)EIN BILD MACHEN´, Berliner Dom, Berlin, DE
2015  `TIME LIES´, Kino International, Berlin, DE
2014  `THE SEA´, Brandts Museum, Odense, DK
2014  `REVOLUTION´, Rohkunstbau, Roskow, DE
2014  `WAFFENSICHTEN´, Museum Galerie Dachau, Dachau, DE
2014  `MALEREI AM RAND DER WIRKLICHKEIT´, Haus am LĂźtzwoplatz, Berlin, DE
2013  `TIERSTÜCKE´, Museum Abtei Liesborn, DE
2013  `ALLES WASSER’, Galerie Mikael Anderson, Copenhagen, DK
2013  `WELTENSCHÖPFER’, Museum fĂźr Bildende Kunst, Leipzig, DE
2012  `CONVOY BERLIN´, Bzarsky Gallery, Budapest, HU
2011  `I AM A BERLINER´, Tel Aviv Museum, Israel, IL
2010  `WERKSCHAU I DER ERWINE STEINBLUM STIPENDIATEN´, Kunstraum Sylt:quelle, Rantum/Sylt, DE
2009  `MENSCHENBILDER 1620/2009´, Museum Hoexter-Corvey, Hoexter, DE
2008  `DAYDREAMS & DARK SIDES´, KĂźnstlerhaus Bethanien, Berlin, DE
2007  `STIPENDIATENAUSSTELLUNG´, Konrad-Adenauer-Foundation, Berlin, DE
2006  `FULL HOUSE´, Kunsthalle Mannheim, Mannheim, DE
2006  `GLETSCHERDÄMMERUNG`, Eres Stiftung, MĂźnchen, DE
2003  `REPRESENTING REPRESENTATION VI´, Arnot Art Museum, New York, US
2002  `THE PERCEPTION OF APPEARANCE´, The Frye Art Museum, Seattle, US
2001  `REPRESENTING LA´, The Frye Art Museum, Seattle, Art Museum of South Texas and Orange County Museum of Art, Los Angeles, US

Publication

LEBEN ZWISCHEN DEN STÜHLEN, Brigitte Hausmann, Daniel J. Schreiber, Sylvia Dominique Volz,  Distanz
INSIDE THE OUTSIDE, Maynat Kurbanova, Michele Cinque, Distanz
RUPRECHT VON KAUFMANN 2007–2010, Mark Gisbourne, Nicola Graef, Magdalena Kröner, Hirmer
RUPRECHT VON KAUFMANN 2005–2006, Robert Hughes, Rolf Lauter, Julia Wallner
PAINTING A MIRROR OF HUMANITY, Leah Ollman, Los Angeles Sunday Times, 16. Juni 2002
A FUTURIST MANIFESTO – Ruprecht von Kaufmann at Ann Nathan Gallery Chicago 2002, Garrett Holg, Art News
Magdalena KrĂśner, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, Kunstmarkt

Collection

AmC Collezione Coppola, Vicenza, IT
ColecciĂłn Solo, Madrid, ES
Collection Ole Faarup, Kopenhagen, DK
Hort Familiy Collection, New York, US
Kunstsammlung des deutschen Bundestages, DE 
Sammlung Kunstmuseum Stuttgart, DE
Sammlung zeitgenĂśssischer Kunst der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, DE
Sammlung Deutsche Bundesbank, Frankfurt, DE
Sammlung Philara, DĂźsseldorf, DE
Sammlung Hildebrand, Leipzig, DE
Sammlung Holger Friedrich, Berlin, DE
Sammlung Museum Abtei Liesborn, Wadersloh-Liesborn, DE
Sammlung Veronika Smetackova, Prague, CZ
Uzyiel Collection, London, UK

IMAGE FORMATION AS A (DISTORTING) MIRROR OF REALITY

Dr. Sylvia Dominique Volz

Human existence in all its complexities—the efforts to control others through mani- pulation, a primal instinctive behavior that does not differentiate between rational and irrational—is the central theme of Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s work. Here, man is seen as a threat to nature and his own species, characterized by the neediness, vulnerability, and finitude of his earthly existence.

Deep and mysterious, the paintings draw viewers in, leaving them spellbound. We are challenged by the diversity and complexity of their encrypted and contradictory nature. They unleash a variety of associations within us, thereby generating a mix of emotions that, as the artist notes, corresponds most closely to our own experiences in life: from unease, dismay, and feeling threatened, to joy, love, and hope—at times all within a single image. We attempt to engage in, decode, and make sense of things, finally to conclude that what takes place occurs less before our eyes than within ourselves. Are the protagonists ultimately a reflection of ourselves? Whose role are we taking on? Are we an active part of the scenery unfolding before and within us?

These are therefore images we resonate and interact with as viewers. In the age of social media, this seems almost natural to us. Ruprecht von Kaufmann himself observes with fascination how so-called users employ narratives to form their own personal identities. These are the manipulated, subjective truths that certain images are designed to outwardly convey. What sticks in the mind when looking is an enviably beautiful (beautified) portrait that touches the viewer emotionally insofar as it creates a sense of lacking and awakens deeply hidden needs. In a nutshell, Ruprecht von Kaufmann artistically captures this discrepancy between reality and fiction in his painting of a female figure from behind ridding herself of her amply proportioned skin. Seen emerging is an almost vanishingly thin, slight person who seemingly shares nothing in common with the one about to be left behind (Take off Your Skin).

Slipping into various roles or manipulated images of oneself, however, is not only a phenomenon of modern times, but runs more or less throughout the entire history of mankind and art; humans have forever been concerned with whom they would like to be and in what role they would like to be seen. Even in ancient times, the concept of the person or persona was commonly used, among other things, as a term for the actor’s mask and the role one plays in acting or in life. Throughout the centuries, portraits, whether in word or image, have frequently been choreographed down to the very last detail: just think of rulers who flaunted their social status, their education, and supposed noble character traits by means of elaborately deployed symbolism, thus constructing their image in the truest sense of the word.

Ruprecht von Kaufmann is particularly interested in such figures who oscillate between worlds, between truth and fiction, and it is hardly surprising that the lyrics of US singer-songwriter Tom Waits serve as one of his sources of inspiration—a musician who is himself hard to pin down, who takes on the identities of various invented figures in his songs and creates the kind of contradictory and complex atmosphere that we encounter in Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s pictures. The painter’s protagonists appear in various guises, some powerfully manipulative or menacing, others needy and vulnerable. We encounter strange hybrid creatures, such as a centaur—half-human, half-horse—asleep in bed, a nude female figure trustingly cuddled up against it (Monster), or a being completely ensconced in a sack-like fabric moving somewhat awkwardly around the room (Die Gefährten [The Companions]). Their true identity remains literally hidden from us, not least because their heads are turned away, are distorted beyond recognition, or even omitted. This is particularly bewildering in view of the fact that we always seek to read and recognize facial features, to position ourselves in relation to others.

When observing the at times complex pictorial spaces, dominated predominantly by people and their actions, it would be remiss of us to assert that Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s work lacks narration. In fact, this is not the artist’s intention: in his view, narrative is a fundamental means for touching people emotionally. He is therefore reluctant to approach painting from a purely formal and intellectual level. This is indeed worth noting, since this pits his images against current negative attitudes in the art context towards narrative in painting. Moreover, this stance is interesting since Ruprecht von Kaufmann comes across as a highly intellectual individual whose images attest not least to an intensive examination of history, politics, art history, literature, ancient mythology, and music.

Nevertheless, what unfolds before the eye of the viewer is not to be regarded in any way as a fully developed story. Rather, they are fragments, or more precisely narrative strands that are only intimated but not resolved. At first, the artist evokes narrative using tangible means that correspond to our established modes of seeing and our subjective horizon of experience, thus offering a seemingly easy way into the imagery. This applies equally to images of circus scenes, mountain landscapes, or autobiographical themes such as childhood and the transition to adulthood—to name just a few.

Subsequently then, our presumed insights are themselves called into question. Ruprecht von Kaufmann thus confronts us with all sorts of incomprehensible details, such as a horse with two hindquarters (Pastorale [Pastoral]), an illogically constructed spatial structure, or even gaps in the image, which, viewed in isolation, raise more questions than contribute to clarifying the scene. The viewer is specifically encouraged to give his fantasy free rein, to resolve what is at odds, and to convert the illogical into the logical. “The image,“ says Ruprecht von Kaufmann, “only actually comes into being within viewers themselves.” Narrative fragments thus serve as a bridge the artist constructs for us, while he himself lingers around its base and retreats after encouraging us to continue onward.

Another aspect that runs counter to the purely narrative nature of Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s work is the absence of a fully fleshed-out concept before setting to work. He begins with a vague idea that he allows to guide him. Only in the course of the painting process does it become clear what the painting is all about.

The artist himself likes to refer to the principle of “serendipity“, meaning observing something by chance you weren’t looking for, but which turns out to be a new and surprising discovery. This very principle is reflected in the creative artistic process of Ruprecht von Kaufmann, who freely proceeds from one idea to the next without an overarching concept in mind. A coincidental connection crops up here or there, or a change of direction is undertaken, at times making for unexpected discoveries. Bored-out holes or the application of collage-like elements can develop as a result, breaking up the surface and setting it in motion.

Titles for the paintings are also typically only worked out in the course of the creative process. If, as an exception to the rule, the title is decided upon beforehand, it will reference a sentence, a statement, or a song title that has inspired the artist—such as Babe I’m Gonna Leave You or You never know. But what takes shape then on the image ground is a distant cry from pure illustration.

In general, the titles are in a certain way often surprisingly ironic—when, for instance, there is almost nothing more left of the top of the head of the person portrayed in My Thoughts Grow so Large on Me (2016) than spatula-applied paint remnants, which are more reminiscent of refuse than higher-minded activity. Or Der Entertainer, whose head consists solely of a plume of smoke. Or when the sleeping couple in Rude Awakening slides upside down off the downward sloping bed, as if being literally disposed of. It goes without saying that a humorous title can relativize the gloom and heaviness of the image theme when a hound-from-hell-like creature tears away at another beast and is simply titled Sorglos [Carefree] A riveting contrast emerges, reminiscent of films by Martin Scorsese or Quentin Tarantino, where a scene marked by brutality is often accompanied by cheery music.

Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s manner of playing with our typical modes of perception in his paintings keeps the eye of beholder constantly in motion. It seeks out a pivot point, finds it, is distracted again, then potentially returns to the earlier point and drifts off from there in another direction. Physically the moving up and down in the space in front of the painting also does not seem to provide sufficient clarification. Potentially paradigmatic of this is the work In the House , in which the viewer moves—reminiscent of a film sequence—from left to right through a house. A total of six locations are traversed; beginning with the stairwell, the viewer is led deeper and deeper into the interior until suddenly finding himself outside the house.

Significant for Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s work is the variation in perspective that is particularly easy to comprehend here, given the artist’s alternating between a bird’s-eye view and an only slightly elevated observer’s point of view, once diagonally from the left, and then, in the next instant, diagonally from the right. The darting of the eye creates in viewers a sense of insecurity, even an oppressive feeling—specifically when the artist shows us an acrobat from behind standing on a swing at a dizzying height looking down at the floor of the circus ring, in a moment of maximum concentration and tension. It almost feels as if the floor is being pulled out from under our feet—as if it were up to us to swing the swing and whirl through the air like an aerial acrobat (Der Trapezakt [Trapeze Act]). The visual angle of the painting but also the very shape of the painted panels raise questions when a multi-element work like State of the Art , reminiscent of a foldable altarpiece, has an asymmetrical outer shape that would never allow it to function as such.

While Ruprecht von Kaufmann has been creating his works in oil on canvas for many years, 2014 marked a turning point when he decided to use linoleum as painting surface and has since then been doing so consistently. The multi-part portrait series Die Zuschauer [The Spectators] (2014) serves as an example of this switch: peering out at us from fifty-five DIN A4-sized panels are various characters or “personalities”; a variety of portraiture forms are employed here, from the head shot to the bust and the head-and- shoulder portrait, to the half- length figure. As you move in, you notice that the portraits almost seemingly dissolve at times. Eyes are drilled out, facial features are only indicated vaguely or in outline or even painted over using a spatula, while scraping threatens to destroy others. Also conspicuous is the assortment of colors we encounter here; the palette ranges from more reserved gray and blue tones to shrill orange, yellow, or bright magenta. Such color experimentation, however, is not only related to the portraits themselves, but also seems to take its cues from the background hues. At times, strange color sprinkles from the linoleum remain evident.

Here we find ourselves at the core source of the color: it is actually the linoleum itself that literally sets the tone for the painting. Ruprecht von Kaufmann came across the material—a mixture of linseed oil and cork—by chance. While doing construction work on his own home he discovered variously colored linoleum panels that soon aroused his artistic curiosity. The material, produced in a variety of shades, promised to become an experimental field of almost unlimited possibilities.

He subsequently ordered a colorful potpourri of 40 x 30 cm panels and experimented extensively with the way the oil paint behaves on the surface of the ground, which, unlike canvas, does not need to be primed due to its material properties. Ruprecht von Kaufmann noticed that while a blank white patch on canvas always looks “unfinished,” the substrate of a linoleum panel can simply be “left alone” when needed [Schmelzwasser [Meltwater]. Accordingly, he allowed himself to be guided by the material’s various colors, working with the vibrancy of the respective hue as a reference point. A playful process, a dialogue was set in motion, because each image, each color, gave birth to a new idea: violet meets yellow, yellow encounters blue, orange comes across gray-green, magenta runs up against black. Even more experimental are the paintings, in which wallpaper or floors are covered with colorful patterns and the figures framed as if in a jungle, such as in Monster , Auferstehung [Resurrection], Der Zeuge [The Witness], or You Never Know . The potential color combinations seem virtually inexhaustible.

The newly discovered material matched Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s long- cherished desire to use color more powerfully as an individual element, in contrast to earlier works, which are characterized by a rather homogenous, muted tonality. The images thus achieve an obvious presence, but still remain subtle enough that they avoid becoming too conspicuous.

In switching from canvas to linoleum, Ruprecht von Kaufmann was also able to fulfill another wish to give individual elements in the image a more graphical quality, thus setting them apart from other areas of the image. If we look at works such as Schmelzwasser [Meltwater] , the figures actually seem refined and reserved, as if drawn on paper. The artist likes to emphasize that brushes and paint flow particularly well on linoleum and that it is well suited for the calligraphy of motion. The image background, he humorously remarks, can be “painted over as easily as a botched oil painting,” where the color also remains on the top surface, over underlying layers of paint.

Last but not least, the material, he explains further, is characterized by a certain resistance to pressure compared to canvas. This is of particular significance when Ruprecht von Kaufmann occasionally applies paint to individual parts of the canvas with a spatula.

It goes without saying that the formal changes mentioned also have an effect on content. Both graphical elements and individual areas left unpainted in the background at times lend the pictures a degree of abstraction that enters into an exciting dialogue with the rest of the painting. If one looks at the last works Ruprecht von Kaufmann created on canvas prior to switching to linoleum—the series with circus scenes—a tendency towards greater abstraction can already be seen in them. In contrast to earlier paintings, the background here is no longer as detailed, but is on closer inspection more reminiscent of sketched-out, geometric forms.

Ultimately this development leads to the linoleum works, in which individual image layers are distinguished from one another even more clearly than before—by graphical elements, by sections that dissolve into carved-out marks, and by fragments of foil applied in a collage-like manner. All of these contribute to the increasingly sculptural quality of the images—almost as if wanting to question the classical art historical distinction between genres of painting, sculpture, and drawing.

Content-wise, the individual layers represent different levels of meaning: for example, the four figures in Schmelzwasser [Meltwater] seen in the foreground of the image and painted directly onto the “raw” linoleum, represent four generations of the artist’s family. From left to right, seated, is Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s great-grandfather, standing next to him his grandfather, followed by his father placed diagonally in the image, and finally ending with the artist himself in a nearly horizontal position. The figures, dressed in military uniforms, are arranged clockwise, as if alluding to the factor of time and thus to transience.

It is interesting to note that Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s figure is only rendered graphically in outline, therefore escaping our perception, so to speak, while his forebears enjoy a greater physical presence. It seems as if the artist is alluding to the fact that his life can still be “filled out.” Rising up in the background behind the figures is an impressive mountain range, whose mid-section, now a melting glacier, has been removed and broken up by marks gouged out of the image ground.

Based on the clothes they are wearing, the figures shown are not only family members but also four generations of alpine troops. Ruprecht von Kaufmann, who completed his military service in mountain rescue, emphasizes how much this time fostered his love of nature. His abiding sense of responsibility towards it and, related to this, towards all future generations, is echoed in particular in the mountain theme that recurs throughout his body of work. This is where the location of yearning and the memorial are united—the latter in particular when the artist expresses the threat of melting glaciers and icebergs, not only in the work Schmelzwasser [Meltwater] mentioned above, but also in Jannu, Der Fjord [The Fjord], Natur [Nature] and Landschaft [Landscape]. Especially in the context of the current debate on climate action and the global Fridays For Future movement, these images are more compelling than ever.

It is clear that Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s paintings should never be thought of solely in a subjective-autobiographical context, but that, above and beyond this, they must also be considered from a global, universally valid perspective. These are deeply personal images that we are only able to access via our own emotionality. In them we search for, recog- nize, question what is presented and develop it further. The power and powerlessness of the protagonists reflect and move us, above all because they show us how mutable man is, in both a negative as well as positive sense. The step from perpetrator to victim—and vice versa—is often less than a stone’s throw away from each other, and in this peculiar entangling we have a mutual effect on one another. In Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s painting, man’s facets are as varied and diverse as the range of tonalities between black and white. As viewers, we are challenged to enter into a dialogue in order to come to this realization in a dynamically variable manner.

Author: Sylvia Dominique Volz
Sylvia Dominique Volz is a renowned German art consultant, editor, and curator who holds a Ph.D. in art history from Heidelberg University. She provides contemporary art collection consulting services for private collectors and corporate institutions. Additionally, she has served as the editor-in-chief for the prestigious contemporary art private collection guide, "The BMW Art Guide," on multiple occasions.

Painting as if Directing a Movie

Ruprecht von Kaufmann, born in 1974 in Munich, is a contemporary painter living and working in Berlin, Germany. Von Kaufmann achieved international recognition with his figurative body of works, mainly consisting of oil paintings on linoleum and charcoal drawings on paper. The German artist distinguishes himself from the bulk of contemporary figurative painters with his dynamic touch and unique colour palette. Strongly marked by an edge of surrealism and the absurd, von Kaufmann populates interiors and landscapes with figures. Drawing inspiration from daily life as a comment on reality, evoking intriguing narratives and captivating images.

Julien Delagrange (JD): First and foremost, welcome on Contemporary Art Issue. Thank you for taking the time for this interview.

Ruprecht von Kaufmann (RVK): My pleasure!

JD: The only way I can start this conversation is by congratulating you on your most recent monographic publication, Ruprecht von Kaufmann : 2013 – 2020. Almost a retrospective in print, a true landmark for any artist. Could you talk us through the catalogue?

RVK: In 2013 I had discovered linoleum for myself as a painting ground. Just before that I had pushed my painting into a new direction, of simplifying the backgrounds and leaving some of the underlying drawing visible in the finished painting. The paintings became rougher and more sketch-like, but at the same time – I felt – more to the point and more impactful. The strange thing about these kind of changes was, that I had been striving to push my work into that kind of direction for a while, and then all of a sudden this door opened and all I needed to do was walk through it.

In 2018 when I first started thinking about a new book, it seemed very important to document these crucial shifts, to give those, for me very pivotal works, a platform. So that’s why it has some retrospective qualities. In discussion with my wife – who is incredibly supportive of what I do and who has designed the book – we came up with the idea of not showing the works in chronological order, but to restructure them into overlying themes that tie very different pieces from different years together. Even though the publisher was sceptical at first, I am very happy we went that way. It makes the book more lively and interesting to read. Sylvia Volz did an incredible job with the very difficult task to tie it all together in her text. I think it is a very important invitation into the world the paintings encompass.

The pandemic nearly chocked the project. My gallery – Gallery Thomas Fuchs in Stuttgart – who has co-financed the book was really uncertain if we should go through with it in an unpredictable year like 2020. Fortunately two museums, the city owned Gallery at Gutshaus Steglitz in Berlin and the Buchheim Museum near Munich, offered me solo shows at around the same time, and with that came some financial support from their end. That finally got the project off the ground. A book like this is a collaborative effort, that I couldn’t have realised without the support of a holehost of people. Too many to name them all here!

JD: As often, monographs or retrospective shows are key moments for an artist to reflect on their work. Does the monograph have an effect on your artistic practice or direction?

RVK: Not really, to be honest. I have never been much of a looking back kind of guy. It’s like mountain climbing. The last climb isn’t of any importance. Only the next one counts. For me it’s the same with paintings.

And at the same time, yes, a book like this is great, because it reminds you of what you have done with your life for the past couple of years. But for me, changes and the continuous evolving of my work has always been essential. If I would just repeat what I have been doing before, I might as well be working in any other job. What is so fantastic about being an artist, is that every painting wants something different, something new from you.

Today I am forcing myself to make shifts and changes more gradually, because I learned over the years, that collectors and galleries and art critics don’t follow along as quickly. You need to give them time to catch on, lead them along with your thinking. Several times, I have lost almost all of my collectors and had to built up a new collector base, because many just didn’t like the direction I was taking with my work. That’s just part of the job.

JD: The book compiles your work from 2013 up to 2020. Would you say there is a visible development?

Absolutely, I would say so. As I have mentioned before, 2013 brought huge shifts in my work and the first paintings in the book are still painted on canvas. And then you can see the process of how I explored different routes and avenues, that the changes in material and in thinking offered. One of my heroes is Beck (the musician). I love how, with his albums, you never know what you will get in the next one. The only thing you can rely on is that it will be different. So in the book you probably won’t read through it and like every painting. But maybe, and hopefully, you will grow to understand and love some of the ones that you didn’t connect with at first.

Unfortunately the book doesn’t include the smaller works, they often are my experimentation ground and could have filled in some of the steps in between larger works. But it would have gotten too extensive. So maybe there will be another book with just the smaller format works in the future.

JD: As you have mentioned, sadly, there still is the issue of Covid. How did you experience the pandemic and in what manner did it have effect on you or your works?

RVK: The pandemic has been a mixed experience. Partly, I enjoy the slow pace, because it allowed me to spend more time painting and less time organizing exhibitions. It also has led me to think about other avenues more, like maybe getting back into teaching as well. I love teaching, but it’s also such a time drain. But Covid has got me thinking about that again.

Then there are all the concealed shows and the cancelled fairs. I have an exhibition in the City Gallery Gutshaus Steglitz in Berlin right now. But no one can see it. That’s a really sad experience. And even though I am used to less social contact than most people, I am starting to feel the strain of social isolation. But I try not to worry too much and focus on what’s ahead and how to keep going. So far my galleries have been doing great work to power through the pandemic. But really I am most worried for my kids right now. They have more or less lost an entire year of schooling and of companionship. For them it’s been really rough.

All of that might creep into my paintings eventually. It usually takes a little while for current experiences to filter though memory and be reassembled into ideas for paintings.

JD: A recurring characteristic throughout this body of works of seven years of painting is the implicit absence of faces. Blurred, evaded, hidden, destroyed with a strong impasto or sometimes simply not painted. How did this strategy come about and why?

RVK: I want the people in my paintings not to be a specific person, but a specific type of person. So I am consciously avoiding ‘portraits’ in my paintings. For me a painting becomes alive through the viewer who encounters the image later on. And for the viewer it becomes possible to make the painting their own if they recognize figures out of their own life experience. So I try to leave the figures as open as possible while being as specific as necessary.

JD: The implementation of this image formula has been increasingly visible over the past two decades. What’s your viewing point upon this matter? Why do we feel so strongly not to paint faces and/or view pictures without faces?

RVK: We make connections with another person through the face. We think we can ‘read’ othersthrough their eyes. We also think that emotions are transported through the expressions on a face. But if those clues are missing, we are being thrown back onto ourselves. We intuitively empathise with emotions that are communicated through posture and body language. This reaction is much more subtle. It’s like a riptide that pulls us under and into the painting, when the surface looked harmless and quiet. But then your own emotions that are being triggered. I want the viewer to have a strong emotional response to my paintings.

JD: Does painting itself sometimes demand to blur of hide the faces?

RVK: Blurring or erasing is a regular part of my painting practise. I want the paintings to have a certain rawness and fluidity that would get lost if I laboured too much over a certain section. So I often take a scraper and scratch out hole areas when I feel they have gotten too tight and too precise and then work back into the remnants of what was there before. That process of destroying and rebuilding can go on for quite a while. I want the failures still to be visible. To me the figures look more believable that way, because they are themselves flawed, like actual human beings. But leaving mistakes visible also allows a presence of vulnerability on my end. A true connection is only possible when you allow yourself to be vulnerable. And I want the paintings to connect with their audience.

JD: As painter, one could argue you are a painter who paints from the heart. What role does intuition have in your creative process?

RVK: Intuition is always a very essential part of the painting process. That’s what differentiates painting from Conceptual Art. The painting process is a continuous series of sometimes incremental decisions. Of course some of these decisions, usually the drastic and more dramatic ones, are well planned and thought out. But to brush over the many, many minor decisions you take without a conscious thought process, would be greatly undervaluing their importance. Like driving a car down a road. Yes you think about it when you need to take a turn. But a large part of the driving process happens subconsciously.

But most importantly, don’t underestimate failures and happy mistakes. They can’t be calculated and anticipated. But when they happen they sometimes dictate a new direction that you hadn’t thought of starting out. Sometimes they crystallize an idea and help you in being more precise. That’s what people used to call ‘a muse’ in the old days, I presume. It can happen that a painting takes control, tells you exactly what it needs. And then it’s my role to step back and follow that lead. I find that this usually results in a better painting then I could have hoped for. So it’s a process that is just as much intuition as it is planing and conceptual thinking. And experience makes the borders between the two more and more blurry and permeable.

JD: Personally, when I am browsing through your work, what staggers me the most is the immense variety of compositions and figures. Some images seem to go beyond the absurd, depicting scenes that could not even be induced by a feverish dream. Could you tell us a bit more how these compositions and images are built?

RVK: Composition is probably the key. I am obsessed with compositions, they are the backbone of every painting and offer so many possibilities to influence the emotional expression of a painting. It’s possible to counter very extreme imagery with a very orderly composition or vice versa. I am always envious of film directors, because they have a timeline, music and sound available to them. So to me it’s important to introduce a sense of a before or after into the painting. A strong sense that something must have led up to the depicted moment and that something will happen afterwards. Thinking about my paintings that way opens up so many possibilities of expression to me.

JD: I can not help but smile when seeing this particular painting, Die Gefährten – The fellows in English – from 2015. It looks like a small dinosaur is captured in a morph suit? A fascinating intersection of pure science fiction and a hallucination of some sort. Could you talk us through the process, how the image originated and how one should/could approach this painting?

RVK: There is no right way to approach a painting. It’s allowing yourself to buy into the internal logic of the painted world, to dive int o the mood. I try with my paintings to generate a ‘parallel’ reality, that somewhat mirrors our own, but is strange enough to feel unsettling, like how our own behavior might look to someone looking in from the outside. So by allowing yourself to slip into the painting, I hope you come out of it with a slightly altered perspective on your own life. Ideally.

In this painting the main character is the ‘monster’ lumbering about. I like your description about a dinosaur captured in a morph suit. I was trying to get this creature, that looks sort of cozy and soft and unthreatening, but at the same time feels unnerving, because the shape of the thing is unreadable and obscured. It is at the same time familiar and strangely alien.

Then there are the Companions that the painting is named after. The men that are placed in the lockers turning their back to the monster. The inspiration is taken from the Odyssey. There – as in many other hero stories – are Odyssey’s men, who are his faithful companions throughout his adventures. But we never learn their names or anything more about them. They are exchangeable stand-ins, foot soldiers. The ‘sideshow-bob’ of mythology. Disposables, that you can pull out of the closet, whenever you need someone whom you can turn into a swine.

Even though the painting is kind of dark and moody, it’s one that isn’t meant to be all serious. Usually there is a lot of humour in my work. So I am glad that it makes you smile.

JD: Another characteristic aspect of your oeuvre, offering visual continuity throughout the variety of scenes and compositions, is your colour palette. I note there are many blues, purples, pinks and greens dominating the overall view of your works. They seem to affirm what we’re seeing is not reality.

RVK: When I started out in painting, I was very influenced by the old masters. I was using the ‘old master style’ and therefore my paintings had that coloration and light as well. But I always felt it wasn’t quite right. The light didn’t look like light looks nowadays, with neon-lamps and all kinds of colourful light sources. I wanted to have a coloration that feels more as if being under water, or in a badly lit night club or something. Where skin tones don’t look healthy and pink, but are dominated by greens and blue. The effect would be exactly that we do not see something real, but what we are seeing is a reflection of reality, that we are moving through some kind of daydream. Like in dreams, things look familiar, and also not at all like in waking life.

JD: One can ascertain a generation of contemporary figurative painters marked by surrealism and a darker atmosphere rooted in existentialism. In my humble opinion you have been one the leading figures for this generation. What’s your view on this tendency in contemporary painting?

RVK: Honestly, I am not very firm about ‘current tendencies’ in contemporary painting. I was always just simply interested in trying to push my work more and more to where I felt it needed to go, to paint the things that go through my head. That has come at the expense of looking too much at what others are doing. That might be arrogant, but for me it’s a matter of how to spend my time. I am addicted to painting and I am always thinking about how to get the next creative hit. So there you are. Of course there is no greater compliment for an artist, then to be able to inspire other artists, no greater honour then to be seen as an artist’s artist. But that’s one of the many things that aren’t for me to determine. All I can do is make my work, that’s it.

JD: I think that makes it even more interesting. It seems to be a very unintentional phenomenon when speaking with the artists associated with this tendency. They all seem to be following their own interests and urges, as do you. Are there certain artists, colleagues, with whom you can identity your work with? Has there been a reciprocal influence?

RVK: Of course, I am stealing stuff like crazy. But it’s hard to narrow it down to just a few names. And usually I try not to look at the instagram feed of people whose work I admire too much out of fear to be influenced too much. I adore the work of Lars Elling (b. 1966), Justin Mortimer (b. 1970) and Nicola Samorì (b. 1977) to name just a few.

But even more, inspiration I draw from song lyrics and from books. I love literature and I am addicted to audio books (and coffee to complete the trilogy of my addictions). A good book can trigger a million images in my head, that I can just run with. That’s why a lot of my titles are quotes from Song Lyiks or prose. And then of course movies: they have been a huge influence on me. In my head I am directing a film as I paint. There are so many questions that need to be answered in the course of a painting; from composition, to lighting, to time of day, to clothes, colours, backgrounds and how the image will be cropped. All of which influence the final outcome. It is like directing a small movie.

JD: I’ll be looking forward for the ‘movies’ – paintings – you’re set to direct in the years to come. Thank you for your time and even more for your genuine and intriguing view on art, painting and life. It has been a true pleasure, Ruprecht von Kaufmann.

THE ART OF THE VOID

Daniel J. Schreiber

It is a meeting of titans when Ernst Ludwig Kirchner’s Große Berglandschaft and Ruprecht von Kaufmann’s Der Fjord appear together for the first time in an exhibition at the Buchheim Museum in 2021. Both mountainous landscapes measure two-by-six meters each. Apart from their size, their extreme horizontal format, and their theme, the two monumental paintings seemingly have little in common. In Kirchner’s painting, the viewer has the impression of standing in the middle of a summertime, alpine valley of meadows, trees, and boulders. Von Kaufmann’s counterpart takes a coolly distant position. We observe from a distance a snow-covered alpine mountain range by a fjord.

Von Kaufmann had numerous opportunities to study Kirchner’s monumental painting up close. He grew up on Lake Starnberg in Tutzing, only seven kilometers away from Bernried, where the Buchheim Museum is located. Kirchner’s major work there forms part of the Expressionist collection of museum founder Lothar-Günther Buchheim. By the time the museum was founded in 2001, Kaufmann had long since left and made his way into the world. Soon after finishing high school he moved to Los Angeles to study art at the Pasadena College of Art. Thereafter, he lived in Los Angeles, New York, and moved to Berlin in 2003. But whenever the desire to see his parents and the local landscape of his youth drew him back to Tutzing, he would also go see Kirchner’s Große Berglandschaft.

In 1931 Kirchner applied the composition of barely mixed colors with bold dashes of his brush onto the coarse burlap of his painting surface. Warm-hued, orange- brown tree trunks and boulders stand out against the crisp green of the forest and meadows. The dark-blue linear contours of the trees and boulders underscore the interplay of contrasts. A light blue sky, inserted wedge-like between the ridges, draws the viewer’s attention to the center of the painting. This magnificent work, which Kirchner created in 1931 for a mixed-choir theatrical performance at the Gasthof ”Zum Sand“, an inn located in Davos Frauenkirch, apparently does not reference a specific location. As a backdrop for the performance of the play “Die Tochter vom Arvenhof oder Wie auch wir vergeben” (“The Daughter from the Arvenhof, or As We Forgive”) by Paul Appenzeller, the painting exudes an overall folksy appeal. It is, as Lothar-Günther Buchheim put it, an “archetype of the Alpine landscape.”

Although it was made eighteen years after die Brücke had dissolved, the large- scale painting is a fine example of the art created by the artist group Kirchner co- founded in Dresden in 1905. According to Buchheim, Kirchner and his friends placed just as much importance on the function of the image to reproduce reality as on the striving for free forms of expression. Conveying these two opposing tendencies has remained an ongoing task of art to this day. In other words: art is only comprehensible if it starts with our horizon of experience, and only powerful if it transcends this. That was as true then as it is today.

At first, von Kaufmann’s fjord landscape seemingly has little to do with this definition. The realistic precision of detailed brushwork plays too great a role. There is little doubt that we are dealing here with the depiction of an actual mountain range. The first question we ask of the painting is where this snow- capped mountain is located, not whether it even exists. Even its astonishing iridescence does not undermine its photorealistic appearance. From William Turner and the art of watercolor that followed, we are aware that artists make use of special lighting conditions in nature, such as the sunset, to bring colorful, atmospheric compositions to canvas. We assume here that we are observing a panorama on a winter afternoon. The color spectrum ranges from the orange of the afternoon sun on the right edge of the picture to the cooler purple and blue tones of the twilight hour on its left edge.

Contrary to first impressions, von Kaufmann’s fjord painting goes far beyond our perceptual reality. In actuality, it is much more an “embodiment” of all mountainous landscapes on earth than Kirchner’s painting was in his time, since Kirchner’s imaginary image was based exclusively on his impressions of the valley slopes of the Landwassertal. Von Kaufmann, on the other hand, a citizen of the world and former mountain hunter, skier and climber, has summited many a peak on various continents. Where is the depicted mountain range to be found? It rises up into the sky everywhere and nowhere. The painting is a substrate of the artist’s painterly and mountaineering experiences in New England, California, Alaska, Norway, around his local Karwendel range, and elsewhere.

The color scheme has nothing to do with an actual lighting situation. A romantic sunset atmosphere is hinted at, but the surrounding white of the painting surface largely neutralizes this. In comparison to Kirchner’s painting, it is obvious that a compositional concept was critical here. The expressionist color palette is reinterpreted. Over the entire breadth of six meters, von Kaufmann executes a barely detectable transition from orange to blue—the two colors Kirchner highlighted in creating a decisively placed, complementary contrast in his mountainous landscape. The two colors stand for summer and winter, for day and night, for cold and warm. They are the quintessence of contrast. Von Kaufmann’s measured gradation makes clear that everything in the world belongs together, even the greatest contrasts.

With von Kaufmann, however, the most important artistic elements are not the colors, not the forms, but the voids! The fact that we initially pay the slightest attention to them is due to a peculiarity of our visual perception. In seeking to take in our surroundings, our eyes move constantly back and forth. While doing so, only small areas appear before the lens. Another limitation is that sharp vision is only possible on a small part of the retina. Blurred images are excluded by our brain without our noticing. The impulses arriving in our visual cortex comprise only a fraction of the visual impressions, and are even a far smaller part of an image of our surroundings scanned by our searching eyes. Nevertheless, we get a visual sense of the overall picture. This is based on the enormous capacities of our brain to supplement missing information based on previous experience and biological parameters. Only about 10 percent of the nerve fibers in our visual cortex originate in the eye. The brain adds the remainder of the visual information. So we are used to arriving at our view of things with very little data.

Ruprecht von Kaufmann ingeniously shows us how susceptible this system is to failure. Only after several careful inspections do we notice that we are seeing nothing more than the diffuse, muted white of the painting ground on over 60 percent of the painting surface. Our perception has turned these voids into a hazy winter sky, snow- covered rocks and meadows as well as a glacier tongue sliding over the valley floor. But not every void is the same. The sky reveals the bare, unworked painting ground. The snow-capped rocks in the foreground are enticed out of our imagination with the help of a few sketchy brushstrokes. Otherwise, the pure painting ground shines through here too. Its soft, diffuse, slightly tonal white is the result of von Kaufmann’s very special choice of materials: what we are looking at here is neither canvas, nor cardboard or wood, but linoleum.

As we all know from art class, this material is easy to cut and carve. The artist also makes use of this unique characteristic. The section occupied by the glacier tongue was originally covered in impasto paint that Kaufmann had applied with a broad brush. Part of this paint application remains on the lower right edge of the picture, where the fjord appears. The horizontal brushwork evokes the idea of a calm surface of water illuminated by the evening sun. The painting’s entire palette of hues is seen here in thick smears, some of which extend beyond the painting’s edge. However, the artist carved out the painted surface with linoleum knives following the form of the glacier tongue, which flows from its area of origin through a valley into the water. Remnants of paint are only preserved on some of the ridges remaining between the tool marks. They enliven the monochrome surface and give it the appearance of a porous, broken edge of an ice mass.

The greatest marvel we experience with von Kaufmann’s fjord painting, however, is the three-dimensional effect that occurs when looking at the glacier. How can it be that we think we see the ice masses physically in front of us, when they have in fact been cut into the white linoleum as hollow forms? Here, too, the artist plays a trick on us by exploiting a weakness in our perceptual apparatus. Strictly speaking, our eyes cannot perceive spatiality. The retinal image is always two- dimensional. A spatial image is only created by our brain’s interpretation of the visual impression. Information about spatial relationships is gained from shadows and proportions, for example. The artist makes use of both. On the one hand, the cross-sections of the carved-out hollows become narrower as they recede. On the other, the ridges between depressions cast shadows. Our eyes cannot make out whether it is a hollow or a positive form. So the brain has to decide what is in front of it, and it does so based on evidence. Nobody has ever seen a glacier as a negative form. That’s why this can’t be the case here either, it thinks. And it transforms the two- dimensional image with shadows into a sculptural, positive form.

But if we inspect the image more closely, especially when looking at the surface from the side, we can see that we have fallen for an optical illusion. We realize that our imagination has turned a void into a sculptural body. Here the painting encourages us to go beyond our horizon of experiences and think further. Can’t we fill in other voids with ideas as well? Shouldn’t it be possible to peer into the void of the future in a way that is oriented toward insight and action? Shouldn’t we only have to evaluate past and present information and add in anticipated changes for the future? The subject of glaciers in particular seems to demand such imagination. An historic 1895 photo of an Alaskan glacier inspired Kaufmann’s painting of the glacier. Since that time most of the glacier has melted due to global warming. Only deformations in the landscape created as it slid down into the valley still remain. Perhaps the losses brought about by civilization should be seen as a challenge to the imagination. One that envisions a new, richer future in their place.

Author: Daniel J. Schreiber (b. 1965)
Daniel J. Schreiber is a distinguished German art historian and the current director of the Bucerius Kunst Forum in Germany, a museum renowned for its collection of German Expressionist art. Schreiber studied philosophy, ethnology, German studies, and comparative folklore at Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich. He later earned master's degrees in philosophy, art history, and ethnology from the University of Hamburg. Schreiber has held various positions in the field of art and museums, including roles at the Museum of Arts and Crafts in Hamburg, the Böttcherstraße Art Collections in Bremen, the Frieder Burda Museum in Baden-Baden, and the Rolandseck Arp Museum. He has also served as a managing curator at the Kunsthalle Tübingen.

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