alternatehistory.com
Chapter II
As a young man he had excelled at the arts and upon encouragement from his family, journeyed to Vienna, the Hapsburg capital, to become an artist. As one might imagine, his art was considered far too radical for the conservative establishment and he instead made a living painting for tourists before finding his own way into the smaller, people's, galleries where he would often host shows for his fellow workers.’
~ Traudl Junge, The Emergence of our Hope
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Franz had a cheery outlook, though unlike many peddlers and strivers amongst the Vienna populace his circumstances provided him with a justification to have one. His career in the School of Fine Arts allowed him to pursue his imaginative concepts for a living whilst discussing the latest trends with some of the world’s greatest artists. Best of all however, it had allowed him to teach, his classes were free to the children of Vienna and the notion of nurturing prospective talent thrilled Franz, the joy the children put into their work was not only rewarding but the notion that one day several revolutionary artists might point to him as their teacher made him feel as if he were leaving an investment to the future.
For someone like Franz, it was a job where Monday was almost as good as Saturday, yet he enjoyed his free time just as much and on a beautiful day like this it would be inexcusable not to have a walk in the park. It was hard not to be near the Stadtpark if you lived in central Vienna and though he would often walk through on his way home from the academy he enjoyed it for leisure as well, the great space hosted many different attractions, cafes, concerts, dances, plays, bars and even just idle conversation with strangers. It was a link between communities, and on a nice day you could find almost all of Vienna’s differing social and ethnic groups when walking through it; Austrians, Germans, Poles, Jews, Rich, Poor, Catholic, Protestant, military men, aristocrats, bourgeois, workers on half-day and, of course, the starving artists.
Franz could not take his eyes off the rather dreadful looking figure glaring at the concession stand nearby, he couldn’t tell whether the vagrant was annoyed that he’d been told to move himself and the rather ramshackle “all my own work” display he’d assembled or whether he was simply hungry. The man was too old for Franz’s art class but he was certainly young, possibly aged by what appeared to be hard times, he might have been in his early twenties or perhaps just a destitute tramp gifted with a young face, regardless there was something hypnotic about him and Franz decided to have a look at his little garden exhibition even if it were just to humour a fellow artist who had fallen upon hard times.
At a closer inspection the vagrant’s initial look of deep thought appeared to be more of a bored sulk than any underlying brilliance waiting to be tapped. Nonetheless the work he had on display was at least better than much of the dross you got on the streets. Several “all my own work” style vendors would try and make some easy money by selling off sketches of buildings as postcards, offering to paint tourists who wanted a memory of Vienna or doing a rough sketch of someone’s house on the general pretence that the home inspired some sort of brilliance so as to attempt to solicit a sale out of vanity. Some of Franz's louder colleagues labelled it a form of prostitution yet this man clearly fell somewhere in between and as he gave Franz a disinterested look it was clear that amongst the usual postcard-type work there was some genuine talent. There were also indicators as to why he was sitting in a park rather than a classroom or a gallery if indeed he’d ever had such aspirations. Some people just had a knack for copying things they’d read or seen but there were always ways that this could be investigated, and Franz aimed to do so.
“I see that you’re a classicist”, Franz spoke neutrally, guessing that the man was the type of person who would sneer at praise but scowl at the most benign criticism. There were many like that in the art world and they were easy to spot, the man turned his head slightly, as if surprised that Franz was more than a gawking tourist. The vagrant did his best attempt at a smile in the miserable situation.
“Yes, well I believe that neo-classicism is the correct term”
Even as the young man appeared to think out loud Franz smiled, pedantry could be a pleasure when two individuals had a mutual interest.
”I’m not sure we’ll ever find a superior form of art, Austrian or German at the very least. The Italian renaissance has some interesting work mind you but nowhere near as good as a Carstens or a Fussli.” Fussli was Swiss, though Franz didn’t make anything effort to correct the young man despite his own neo-classical one-upmanship.
The conversation between Franz and the young man whose name turned out to be Adolf was more intellectual than Franz might have hoped for, though regrettably the young man seemed surprisingly sharp with someone who just wanted a conversation. Franz figured he must be impatient given that he was wasting the young man's time with discourse whilst potential customers might have been drifting by, yet when Franz bought a painting of Nurnberg town hall and went to leave the seemingly reluctant conversationalist went out of his way to shake his hand and thank him for the chat.
Franz was surprised at the sudden change in mood yet presumed he had simply mistook the man’s sharpness for impatience when in fact it was earnest intrigue. He decided he'd like to talk to his odd individual again.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to go just now but would you like to have lunch tomorrow?” Franz could have asked this Adolf character if he wanted to continue the conversation immediately but he had already completed his business after the inference that the seller had lost interest in his conversation and it would seem odd to hang around after motioning to leave. The young artist’s eyes lit up at the notion of a free lunch and before shaking hands again the two arranged to meet again in the park to have lunch in the Kursalon the next day.
As Franz left the park the sky began to darken and on his way home he found himself buying a paper bag to cover his painting in case the clouds did not cooperate on his way home. Though the rain held off until he was secreted within his small private studio, a closer inspection of the painting he’d bought made it seem as if the colours had run regardless.
It was a strange effect, for the town centre's buildings remained in the pristine and detailed form that had motivated him to buy the painting, but the centre itself was devoid of life. Yet again, Franz remembered why his new friend probably wouldn’t have been welcome in the academy, for Adolf’s people were ghosts of what should have been portrayed in the scene.
The figures hung on the canvass like silhouettes. They had form, though at first glance they didn’t seem to be there at all. They weren’t smudged, it was just that their bodies seemed to be as much part of the concrete and brickwork as the buildings around them. As if they were incorporated into the very fabric of the scene.
“Neo-classicist?!” Franz snorted to himself.
He had seen these shadow people before.
---
The painting is Before The Parachute Opens by Tullio Crali
The original futurist manifesto is rather tiresome and indulgent but it's nonethless important.
‘You have objections?—Enough! Enough! We know them… We’ve understood!… Our fine deceitful intelligence tells us that we are the revival and extension of our ancestors—Perhaps!… If only it were so!—But who cares? We don’t want to understand!… Woe to anyone who says those infamous words to us again!'
Lift up your heads!’
~ F. T. Marinetti, The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism
'The young Adolf Hitler suffered first hand from the corruption and incompetence of the old imperialist system that ruled tyrannically over much of central Europe. A regime which glorified aristocracy and crushed the freedom of thought that Comrade Hitler seeks to inspire!Lift up your heads!’
~ F. T. Marinetti, The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism
As a young man he had excelled at the arts and upon encouragement from his family, journeyed to Vienna, the Hapsburg capital, to become an artist. As one might imagine, his art was considered far too radical for the conservative establishment and he instead made a living painting for tourists before finding his own way into the smaller, people's, galleries where he would often host shows for his fellow workers.’
~ Traudl Junge, The Emergence of our Hope
---
Franz had a cheery outlook, though unlike many peddlers and strivers amongst the Vienna populace his circumstances provided him with a justification to have one. His career in the School of Fine Arts allowed him to pursue his imaginative concepts for a living whilst discussing the latest trends with some of the world’s greatest artists. Best of all however, it had allowed him to teach, his classes were free to the children of Vienna and the notion of nurturing prospective talent thrilled Franz, the joy the children put into their work was not only rewarding but the notion that one day several revolutionary artists might point to him as their teacher made him feel as if he were leaving an investment to the future.
For someone like Franz, it was a job where Monday was almost as good as Saturday, yet he enjoyed his free time just as much and on a beautiful day like this it would be inexcusable not to have a walk in the park. It was hard not to be near the Stadtpark if you lived in central Vienna and though he would often walk through on his way home from the academy he enjoyed it for leisure as well, the great space hosted many different attractions, cafes, concerts, dances, plays, bars and even just idle conversation with strangers. It was a link between communities, and on a nice day you could find almost all of Vienna’s differing social and ethnic groups when walking through it; Austrians, Germans, Poles, Jews, Rich, Poor, Catholic, Protestant, military men, aristocrats, bourgeois, workers on half-day and, of course, the starving artists.
Franz could not take his eyes off the rather dreadful looking figure glaring at the concession stand nearby, he couldn’t tell whether the vagrant was annoyed that he’d been told to move himself and the rather ramshackle “all my own work” display he’d assembled or whether he was simply hungry. The man was too old for Franz’s art class but he was certainly young, possibly aged by what appeared to be hard times, he might have been in his early twenties or perhaps just a destitute tramp gifted with a young face, regardless there was something hypnotic about him and Franz decided to have a look at his little garden exhibition even if it were just to humour a fellow artist who had fallen upon hard times.
At a closer inspection the vagrant’s initial look of deep thought appeared to be more of a bored sulk than any underlying brilliance waiting to be tapped. Nonetheless the work he had on display was at least better than much of the dross you got on the streets. Several “all my own work” style vendors would try and make some easy money by selling off sketches of buildings as postcards, offering to paint tourists who wanted a memory of Vienna or doing a rough sketch of someone’s house on the general pretence that the home inspired some sort of brilliance so as to attempt to solicit a sale out of vanity. Some of Franz's louder colleagues labelled it a form of prostitution yet this man clearly fell somewhere in between and as he gave Franz a disinterested look it was clear that amongst the usual postcard-type work there was some genuine talent. There were also indicators as to why he was sitting in a park rather than a classroom or a gallery if indeed he’d ever had such aspirations. Some people just had a knack for copying things they’d read or seen but there were always ways that this could be investigated, and Franz aimed to do so.
“I see that you’re a classicist”, Franz spoke neutrally, guessing that the man was the type of person who would sneer at praise but scowl at the most benign criticism. There were many like that in the art world and they were easy to spot, the man turned his head slightly, as if surprised that Franz was more than a gawking tourist. The vagrant did his best attempt at a smile in the miserable situation.
“Yes, well I believe that neo-classicism is the correct term”
Even as the young man appeared to think out loud Franz smiled, pedantry could be a pleasure when two individuals had a mutual interest.
”I’m not sure we’ll ever find a superior form of art, Austrian or German at the very least. The Italian renaissance has some interesting work mind you but nowhere near as good as a Carstens or a Fussli.” Fussli was Swiss, though Franz didn’t make anything effort to correct the young man despite his own neo-classical one-upmanship.
The conversation between Franz and the young man whose name turned out to be Adolf was more intellectual than Franz might have hoped for, though regrettably the young man seemed surprisingly sharp with someone who just wanted a conversation. Franz figured he must be impatient given that he was wasting the young man's time with discourse whilst potential customers might have been drifting by, yet when Franz bought a painting of Nurnberg town hall and went to leave the seemingly reluctant conversationalist went out of his way to shake his hand and thank him for the chat.
Franz was surprised at the sudden change in mood yet presumed he had simply mistook the man’s sharpness for impatience when in fact it was earnest intrigue. He decided he'd like to talk to his odd individual again.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to go just now but would you like to have lunch tomorrow?” Franz could have asked this Adolf character if he wanted to continue the conversation immediately but he had already completed his business after the inference that the seller had lost interest in his conversation and it would seem odd to hang around after motioning to leave. The young artist’s eyes lit up at the notion of a free lunch and before shaking hands again the two arranged to meet again in the park to have lunch in the Kursalon the next day.
As Franz left the park the sky began to darken and on his way home he found himself buying a paper bag to cover his painting in case the clouds did not cooperate on his way home. Though the rain held off until he was secreted within his small private studio, a closer inspection of the painting he’d bought made it seem as if the colours had run regardless.
It was a strange effect, for the town centre's buildings remained in the pristine and detailed form that had motivated him to buy the painting, but the centre itself was devoid of life. Yet again, Franz remembered why his new friend probably wouldn’t have been welcome in the academy, for Adolf’s people were ghosts of what should have been portrayed in the scene.
The figures hung on the canvass like silhouettes. They had form, though at first glance they didn’t seem to be there at all. They weren’t smudged, it was just that their bodies seemed to be as much part of the concrete and brickwork as the buildings around them. As if they were incorporated into the very fabric of the scene.
“Neo-classicist?!” Franz snorted to himself.
He had seen these shadow people before.
---
The painting is Before The Parachute Opens by Tullio Crali
The original futurist manifesto is rather tiresome and indulgent but it's nonethless important.
- The Red
- Word Count: 1.4k