Karl-Heinz Adler and Geometric Abstraction in the GDR


Karl-Heinz Adler. Schichtung von Halbkreisen (Layering from a Semicircle). 1959. Collage, Ingres paper, and graphite on card, 26 3/4 x 26 3/4″ (68 x 68 cm). Courtesy Galerie EIGEN+ART Leipzig/Berlin. Photo: Uwe Walter, Berlin

This past summer I went with colleagues from MoMA on a research trip to Germany to learn about art in the German Democratic Republic (GDR). MoMA’s website post: notes on modern and contemporary art from around the globe recently published an essay I wrote on artist and industrial designer Karl Heinz-Adler. Adler died this past November after a long career. He used abstract, geometric forms in both his fine art and design work–even during the GDR, with its official policy of Socialist Realism. Only in the past few years has his art received wide recognition. I consider Adler’s career and working approach under the changing political conditions in Germany in the essay.

Karl-Heinz Adler, who died in November 2018, used an abstract geometric approach in both his design and his fine art practices. This essay explores the different reception that Adler received with these two bodies of work in the German Democratic Republic (1949-90), where the official artistic style was Socialist Realism. Given state control and the resistance to alternative aesthetic forms, it is remarkable that Adler’s abstract geometries found their way into the everyday life of East German citizens.

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Adler designed the stone facade system seen to this day on the Hotel Pullmann, Dresden. Courtesy Galerie EIGEN+ART Leipzig/Berlin. Photo: Uwe Walter, Berlin

Three New York Exhibitions to Catch Over the Holidays

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In New York over Thanksgiving, I saw so many great shows, much of which I want to write about in more depth, and missed so many that I wanted to see. To save you from a similar fate of missing shows in the holiday chaos, allow me to point out three exhibition that will be closing soon after the New Year. Of the shows that I did see, these three stuck out as being well-worth the effort of seeing over the holidays.

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Chris Offili: Night and Day was the biggest (pleasant) surprise for me. I was familiar with the British artist’s work, from his original controversial dung paintings to his red, green, and black makeover at the British Pavilion at the Venice Biennale, but I hadn’t realized how lush and sensuous his large, detailed paintings could be. This gorgeous visual quality was apparent overall, and highlighted by the way they were installed in the museum. Especially in his most recent blue paintings, the viewer gets the rather rare experience of painting as one would with Rothko: an intense bodily confrontation and visual experience that grows over time. However, the subject matter quickly pulls it away from the sublime and into the lyrical.

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I, being an ignoramous, or perhaps merely too young, was not familiar with Gober’s work and wasn’t sure what I would make of the artist’s sinks and other examples of warped domesticity at Robert Gober: The Heart Is A Metaphor. What I found was pleasantly tactile work whose logic proceeded like that of dreams, intuitively making sense. It was odd, touching, bizarre–and images of it stick. I only wish I could walk through it again.

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Finally, Egon Schiele: Portraits is a beautiful and thorough show of this Viennese Expressionist painter’s work. The collection overall makes clear the stark break a young Schiele made with Gustav Klimt’s decorative style in favor of the psychological, in a city where Freud was doing his pioneering work in psychoanalysis. Remaining stylized, Schiele veered toward an expression of the inner mind, in ways that feel freshly startling. Similarly, his drawings, sometimes conventional, show his precocious skill as a draftsman.

Ravelled Reviews

Paul Cezanne, Still Life with Fruit Dish



In honor of Cubism, Gertrude Stein, and Cezanne, a fractured ravels in review that attempts to document the act of ravelling. (Unfragmented links included).

Yesterday, it was Cubism, Visual and Literal, without Gertrude Stein’s mug in the end, before some explicit in odd ways not explicit enough notes on Butt in ASS , dear lord what a title for an exhibition, and horses, really big horses and what glitter at Jack the Pelican and why would they have named the gallery that, whose full name is Jack the Pelican Presents, and then in between is smushed a really great piece written by Richard Serra– Had I dressed it up better, images and all, maybe more people would have read it, my eyes are caked with sleep, before, before is so long ago, and my finger hurts from a paper cut given by a file folder, who knew such barbarities existed, so then here we are, we’re reviewing ravels, but what the hell happened this week, do I drink too much that I have the memory of a goldfish, but wait–I’ll check, oh dear, I really need a new website. And then i had written about loving my ‘hood, which terrible choice of word now strikes me as particularly annoying, and yet we must march on, although to note the accordion shop is choice, and so then- then now my boyfriend came into my room and did a flying ninja pose and told a work story, Gertrude didn’t have to deal with this, and so lastly I see I wrote about the High Line, which is nice, as I tell you, but maybe not so special it needs to be written about so much, but then I broke that cardinal.

Pablo Picasso, The Reservoir, Herta de Ebro

Images from the special exhibition on the fifth floor of MoMA, which leads you by the nose over to the room next door, for this savagery, savagery!: