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George Grosz: Berlin

1/10
Amor Lichtspiele (Cinema Amor), 1924

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

2/10

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

3/10
Deutschland, ein Wintermärchen (Germany, a Winter's Tale), 1918

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

4/10
Fern im Sued das schoene Spanien (Far in the South, beautiful Spain), 1919

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

5/10
Frühlingsanfang (Beginning of Spring), 1928

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

6/10
John, der Frauenmörder (John, the Woman Slayer), 1917

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

7/10
Junger Knabe (Young Boy), 1923

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

8/10
Nachtszene, Berlin (Nightscene, Berlin), 1915

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

9/10
Sonniges Land (Sunny Land), 1920

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

10/10
Stammtisch (Regular’s table), 1916

Private Collection, Courtesy Richard Nagy Ltd, London

Free

This is a miserable, mean, nasty little exhibition – not that you’d expect anything less when it comes to George Grosz’s wonderfully caustic art. His work is often described as satirical – yet that hardly comes close to capturing the brilliant bitterness of the appalled fury with which he attacked the degeneracy and decadence of German society during and after WWI. With his grotesque parade of bloated capitalists, cadaverous whores, decrepit generals and maimed war veterans, Grosz conveyed a sense of civilization gone to seed, of humanity overrun by violence and corruption.

The 50 works on display here, mostly small drawings, nicely trace his stylistic development – from his initially jittery, slightly tremulous line, mainly detailing bawdy or oddly grisly sexual scenes, to the bolder, more savage caricatures of his café studies, where the hideous squeeze of overlapping bodies evokes the seething cauldron of bourgeois Berlin life. And then, from about 1918 onwards, come some of his most famous, most horribly magnificent works, in which sickly watercolours are used to give a sour, sclerotic feel and his cacophony of characters are arranged into fractured, prismatic compositions.

The exhibition closes with Grosz’s street scenes of the mid-to-late 1920s, which are less well known, though all the more intriguing for it. Rather than fragmented composites, they depict entire slice-of-life vignettes in a more observational, realist style – incidents of everyday vanity and hypocrisy, such as beggars being ignored by well-heeled passers-by, or fawning old men pursuing pretty young girls. Though there’s greater humour evident in these works, the sense of disgust remains powerfully acerbic.

Gabriel Coxhead

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