"There is no materiality apart
from that of color."
In art history one traditionally distinguishes between the intrinsic value and the representational value of a color. This can essentially be traced back to the art historian Hans Jantzen, who formulated this distinction in 1913 in his book about the Gothic sanctuary. Jantzen distinguishes between the "intrinsic value" and the "represenational value" of a color. He speaks of intrinsic value when the color is used in a way that is largely detached from the pictorial object--as, for example, in medieval glass painting. So soon as painting becomes "mimetic," however, it restricts the intrinsic value of the color and emphasizes its representational value. Color is then comprehended as a reference to a particular materiality of color. It is seen in terms of its reference to an object and indicates its materiality, concreteness and localization in space. Since that time, Hans Jantzen's distinction is still used for the characterization of the properties of color, although this distinction contains two major problems.
So far as the first problem is concerned, one can briefly state that today one comprehends atttributes as results of the differentiation and designation of the observer, that one introduces them as an observer category. If, on the other hand, one comprehends intrinsic values as the objective property of objects, it is then suggested that color has a quality that in one way or another is its "own," independent of every process of observation or experience. With that, however, one relinquishes the long-established epistemological points of reference whereby the attributes of color are the results of observation and experience. Today it is far more relevant to reformulate the "intrinsic value" and the "representational value" of a color in the terms self-referentiality and extraneous referentiality. Then it becomes clear that so-called "intrinsic values" are, in principle, self-referential operational forms of a code and always remain at the discrimination of an observer. "Representational values" can then be reformulated as extraneously referential forms of the system's operation that point to correlations which are themselves not present in the system, but which can only be referred to by means of the system. This, too, can only be obtained through the discrimination of an observer. In that case, the observer constructs the references of the system. They are his constructions which decide between the alleged self-referentiality or extraneous referentiality of particular components of the pictorial system.
At the end of the 1980s, two literary scholars from Siegen, Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht and Karl Ludwig Pfeiffer, directed attention in a pioneering collection of essays to the materiality of communication. Their interest was directed toward the material vehicles and conditions under which communication occurs as a social phenomenon. With a view of materials, media and forms of conductors not traditionally seen as meaningful, attention was drawn to the fact that all communications phenomena like language, writing, picture or sound require a material conductor; and secondly, to the question how the materiality of the medium determines, influences or limits the level of meaning and significance of that which is presented. Unfortunately, this important formulation of the question has thus far received only scant attention in art criticism.
Two things should therefore be clear from the beginning: first, that the entire lexical content of painted pictures rests, in the classical sense, in the meaningless materiality of its medium, which produces, influences and limits the lexical meaning. Secondly, it should be generally recognized that denotations in pictures are the cognitive constructions of viewers who judge on the basis of their life histories, their perceptual habits, as well as general social norms, traditions and systems of values. Meaning must be dealt with as a category for the viewer and not as an ontological characteristic or even as a property of certain objects.
A great deal of literature has been written about Friedemann Hahn in recent years. Most of it is concerned with investigations of motifs or of iconographic studies which explore the relationship to particular pictorial and textual sources that predate the works themselves. But the work itself and the manner in which it is painted is seldom brought to focus by the authors. This seems curious to me. For the picture itself, after all, is the basis and the source of all perception, all experiences that one can have with it, and also with all representations and motifs. I would therefore like to follow another course and precisely examine the picture itself. In the process, I would like to trace the path of the painter to the motif--the path along which the painter must proceed. Before the motif, I would like to describe the location--a location without meaning yet highly meaningful. It is a question of a path that is happily forgotten because one is so pleased when the painter has arrived at his goal.
The first decision which a painter must make before beginning to paint is that of format. Namely, it makes a significant difference whether it is a horizontal or a vertical format, whether a format is smaller or larger than the human body. In the format rests the first encounter with the viewer and his body. If the format is smaller than the human body, the viewer subordinates the picture to his visual control. He controls it completely. If, on the other hand, a format is larger than the human body, the picture controls the body of the viewer. He loses his kinesthetic orientation in the face of the format. Precisely this was the theme of Barnett Newman's "Who's Afraid of Red, Yellow and Blue."
In the small formats that come about after 1984, Hahn prefers to use square formats like 30 x 30 cm., 40 x 40 or 50 x 50. The 30 x 30 cm. formats were created from the narrow side panels (180 x 30) of the three-part pictures from the year 1979. According to his own account Hahn had some of the 30 cm. pieces for the stretchers left over. Later he considered how one could enlarge such works and developed the formats 40 x 40 and 50 x 50. When some of the squares were combined and constructed as diptychs or triptychs, the format was corrected to an optical square--i.e., to a slightly vertical format, so that total dimensions like 40 x 120, 30 x 108 or 40 x 130 come about. In the vertical formats, the dominant sizes are either 180 x 130 (thus, life-sized) or 200 x 160 as a broader vertical. Earlier standard formats were 120 x 100 for standing half-figures and 120 x 160 for two standing half-figures, thus orienting themselves to the "American focus" (Godard). The format 150 x 100 cm. appears around 1975 for the first time. In general, the formats become larger around 1979-80. For the first time, diptychs and triptychs appear. For full-figure portraits, Hahn moves from 150 x 100 to the life-sized format of 180 x 130 cm. The format 180 x 130 cm. was originally conceived as a horizontal format, but found its principle application as a vertical format and an extension of earlier formats. In the case of Friedemann Hahn, horizontal formats begin below life-sized dimensions: 100 x 120, 120 x 140 to 120 x 160. Then follows the body-format used horizontally: 130 x 180. The larger horizontal formats are mostly assembled from numerous vertical formats. Thus the horizontal format 180 x 260 consists of two vertical formats, each of them 180 x 130, or the horizontal format 200 x 400 of two square formats with the dimensions 200 x 200 cm. Fragments of scenes were preferably presented larger than life-sized in order to create the character of a medium close-up on the cinema screen. These large-format works were intended less as a corporeal vis-à-vis than as a filmic projection area into which the viewer could project himself and out of which he could obtain a personal identification with the hero.
Many of the large triptychs which have been created since 1974 derive their dimensions and proportions from a winged altar of the 16th century and a famous painting from the 20th century. Thus, the three-part painting "The Painter (Claude Monet)" from 1984 and the three-part picture "Crowbeat" are oriented to the format of the side-panels of Matthias Grünewald's Isenheimer Altar. The formats of the pictures "Japanese Rider" from 1987, "Battered Body" of 1987 and "Dead Hunter" of 1989, each of which has the dimensions 259 x 193 cm., derive from a horizontal picture by Henri Matisse, his "Bather at the River" from 1916-17, which has the dimension 258 x 385 cm. Hahn originally intended to create a two-part picture whose format would have corresponded to the Matisse picture. This plan, however, was not realized, so that the three works mentioned exist today as single panels. The triptychs with smaller formats, like "Claude Monet (Giverny)" from 1982 or the "Scene from 'Lust for Life'" (also known as "The Little Crowbeat"), which are painted in the formats 200 x 65 cm. (side panels) and 200 x 130 (center panel), derive, according to Friedemann Hahn's account, from the formats of the panels of the Isenheimer Altar. The Dresden poliptychon of the trenches by Otto Dix also serves as a model and, with its dimensions of 204 x 102 and 204 x 204 cm. for the middle panel makes its own reference to the Isenheimer Altar of Grünewald. In its depiction of the figure of Christ, the crucifixion created for the Protestant parish church in Wehr-Öflingen in 1994 also looks back to the Isenheim crucifixion. The dimensions 250 x 160 and 150 by 80 cm., however, are adapted to the spatial situation existing there. For this crucifixion there exists a Polaroid photo (ill. ) that shows the preliminary drawing with a Mary Magdalene to the left and a dog to the right, both of which have been painted over in the version realized.
In principle, through closely linking the formats to multiples or parts of the human stature (100 cm., 120cm., 140 cm., 160 cm., 180 cm., 200 cm.), a permanent, direct relationship to the kinesthetic self-orientation of the viewer is achieved. The format enters into a direct relationship to the body of a person. The body of the picture and the body of a person confront each other on an equal footing. Even without any sort of paint on it, the format of a picture alone comprises an important instrument of meaning which steers the interaction with the viewer in a particular direction, onto which the color construction and the motif then "saddle up," as it were, and proceed further.
The format of a picture makes reference to nothing other than itself. It merely presents itself as this or that format and as nothing else. Formats are therefore always self-referential components of a pictorial system, since they only refer to themselves. They structure the kinesthetic orientation of the viewer. The possibility to refer to oneself through one's own means--self-referentiality, that is--is the necessary basis for the possibility to refer with one's own (picture)-body to something that exists outside of the (picture)-body. We designate this absent thing, which is the "other," as motif, theme or subject-matter of the picture. This sort of reference is an extraneous reference. In this bi-referentiality of the components of a pictorial system--that is, in reference to onself through a simultaneous reference to the "other," the extraneous--we encounter a fundamental operating mechanism of media systems. Extraneous reference is only possible on the basis of self-reference; the "other" only on the basis of one's own means. Therefore, in order to understand how painting operates, how it lends representation to themes, motifs and events like the "other," one must have understood how this can come about with means that are peculiar to painting itself. One must recognize how the closed system of operation of strictly self-referential components like format, color, ductus and framing can be the indispensable prerequisite for the functioning of themes, motifs and events within the medium of the painting. Only the historical passage through the materiality of the medium of painting has made clear the extent to which self-referentiality is the basis for alternation and how themes, objects, figures can only be had at the price of the bi-referentiality of the medium.
Let us proceed further in our search for the path to the motif. Let us seek for additional self-referential components of the representation. In the next step the painter must decide what sort of canvas he takes and with what sort of grounding he employs it. There are, for example, fine portrait canvases with as many as 30 threads per square centimeter that have a very smooth surface or raw, sackcloth-like canvases with only six threads per square centimeter that optically create an extremely lively surface on which the light breaks and scatters diffusely into the room. Friedemann Hahn employs a relatively fine, semi-mechanically grounded Belgian canvas from the firm of Claessens in Waregem (Belgium). It consists of 17 warp threads of wet-spun flax and 14.5 weft threads of dry-spun flax per centimeter. The weight is 275 grams per square meter. The grounding consists of three coats, a liming with a polyvinyl acetate glue which causes the threads to swell up, as well as two final coats of grounding that were specially developed for oil painting and consist of titanium-dioxide white, chalk, dolomite and an acrylic binder. The grounding is applied half-mechanically with machines with a large spatula-drive. Friedemann has employed this canvas since 1981-82. It posseses good absorbency which nonetheless does not permit the paint, as in traditional grounding with gesso, to sag rapidly away. The fixative thereby serves as a sort of intermediate insulation for the ground, which should prevent a too rapid absorption of the binding agent into the grounding. The canvas he uses, which is delivered in a primed bolt-width of 210 cm. with a 5 cm. selvage is mounted onto a strong, stable stretcher with a thickness of 3.5 cm. and a width of 10 centimeters per side.
There are also some pictures, like "Landscape with Painter" of 1991 that were painted on the back of a primed canvas. For this purpose, the canvas was simply stretched on the reverse side and painted on the brown, unprimed back. This technique was developed to perfection by Francis Bacon, above all. The colors seem to rest more in the canvas than to sit on it. The linen looks drenched and colored. The coating of paint is drier, more dull, and the fabric-like nature of the canvas comes through more strongly. Within the oeuvre of Friedemann Hahn, however, this rather represents the exception.
Following a preliminary drawing with charcoal and a subsequent application of fixative, Hahn often underpaints with a translucent coat of titanium white certain parts that should radiate a particular glow. This trick leads to the light which penetrates the surface of the color being reflected back with enormous power by the extremely brilliant titanium white and in the second transit is made to glow more brightly through the local color and is lent a greater brilliance. In this way, for example, the figure of the "Large Reclining Woman" from the series "The Japanese Room" is underpainted (ill. ), lending the blue and yellow tones of the figure, in comparison to the brown-black of the surroundings, an unbelievable brilliance which, however, is only observable in the original.
The painterly appearance of the surface is very important to Hahn. Often certain portions of the surface are waxed in order to test different grades of dullness and shine with respect to the figures and the background; a technique that, above all, a painter like Ross Bleckner systematically applies in his paintings. This accentuated attention to questions of the painterly surface came about, according to Hahn, out of a certain attitude of protest against the view of his teacher Peter Dreher that only the content of the picture should count.
These are all effects that initially have absolutely nothing to do with the theme of that which is presented. Yet for the direct experience of the original through the viewer they are extremely important vehicles of meaning. The decisive aspect here is that they make reference, strictly speaking, to nothing and therefore, in the classical sense of sign and meaning have no meaning. But within the context of an understanding of visual significance decidedly enlarged by materiality and self-reference, it becomes clear that in the augmented brilliance of the paint or of the surface, which has no (classical) significance, the picture itself draws attention to itself. This intensification of the visibility can be described as a stylistic phenomenon of a particular time in which innovation, originality and attentiveness represent decisive qualitative criteria in art.
Here Friedemann Hahn finds himself in the best of company. Above all, it was Venetians of the 16th century like Titian, Veronese or the Bolognese Annibale Carracci who used viscous underpaintings with lead-white in order to intensify the brilliance and chromatic properties of folds and details of robes. Titian thus often applied a transparent red lacquer over a white underpainting. In the painting for Cardinal Odordo Farnese, "Christ and the Woman of Canaan" from 1595-98, for example, Annibale Carracci applied blue azure over a covering of lead-white in the robe of the figure of Christ. For this blue cloak he was celebrated even by his contemporaries. These refined techniques for the intensification of the surface brilliance of parts of the picture are strictly self-referentially functioning components of a pictorial system which, in the classical sense, have no meaning, yet are highly meaningful for the materiality of the medium and for the renown and the style of the painter.
Friedemann Hahn is always in search of paints that interest him and bring him further, which he would like to try out and then often rejects. Hahn buys entire assortments of a particular paint production in order to try them out. He is searching for the greatest possible brilliance, the sharpest tone, the most interesting shade. For a Veronese green of Firm A is not necessarily identical with a Veronese green of Firm B. In principle, the systematic observation, scrutiny and testing of brands of oil paint points to a heightened consciousness of the properties of tube paints. Hahn does not favor a particular sort of oil but has sampled virtually all the systems that can be bought and found his own favorites through years of experience. According to his own information, he started painting with Schminke Norma oils. In 1979, in Florence, Hahn worked now and again with Krombacher and a very little with Maimeri (work no. 71-84). Until 1979, the true rose for skin tones was mixed from white and Naples yellow from Mussini, 1979-80 from Krombacher, then again from Mussini. Since 1994 Hahn uses the Rembrandt rose of the Talens Company. Between 1980 and 1988 Hahn almost exclusively employed paints from Lefranc & Bourgeois. Thereafter Scheveningen in large containers, so-called one-kilo buckets of the Dirk Weber Spezial brand. At times, roughly from the end of 1989 to the beginning of 1993, he used something of all the colors, then increasingly Talens Rembrandt, whereby the top layer of the picture is painted with the particularly fine paints of the Series Three. Thus, in Friedemann Hahn's atelier even today there can still be found tubes and buckets of paint from the firms of Talens and Scheveningen, with which he has worked in the past (ill. ). Normally he prefers large, 200-ml. tubes or one-kilo buckets.
A similarly diversified palette of colors can be found in the estate of Edvard Munch. In March of last year I was able to view Edvard Munch's tubes of paint for the first time in Oslo. I was extremely surprised by the international composition of Edvard Munch's tube-paints. But apparently he had also explored the entire oil-paint market available at the time, in search of the colors that were "right" for him.
So that paints which only lie around and are seldom used do not dry out and become hard, at regular intervals Friedemann Hahn paints so-called "recycled residue pictures," as he calls them, in which he makes use of all these eliminated colors and cans. "Face in the Light" from 1983 (ill. ), for example, is such a picture. In this way Hahn develops a sort of negative chromatic that consists of the rejected colors. By his own admission he hates cans of paint that have to be opened with a knife in order to cut off the skin of paint and then, during the painting process, to suddenly have a hard particle of paint on the canvas. As a paint medium he uses his own mixture of doubly distilled turpentine (the best product, various manufacturers), boiled linseed oil and Venetian turpentine which makes the stroke of the brush considerably more ductile and delays the drying process.
Sometimes he adds pigments to the ready-made oil paints, in order to make the color more brilliant, drier and shorter. It should be noted, however, that Friedemann Hahn works with industrial and not with hand-ground paints, and that the industrial character (i.e. particularly finely ground, highly resistant to light, extreme saturation, etc.) is brought directly into the picture. The eccentricity, shrillness or poisonousness of his colors derives for the most part from the production techniques for industrial tube-paints. Although this can hardly be distinguished by the viewer with the naked eye, the color functions here in a strictly self-referential way. It is without meaning, yet it has the greatest effect on the expressiveness and expression of the work.
When Friedemann Hahn sets about applying paint, he does not put on a flat, homogeneous surface, but applies the paint thickly, with an extremely long-handled bristle-brush, approximately 4 cm. wide. According to his own information, he uses the widest and longest bristle-brush from the Maestro series of the da Vinci Company. Since 1981 he uses virtually no hair-brush. In short, rhythmic hatchings, the first layer of paint is loosely applied--from the joints of the arm, as it were. When the first tone is somewhat dry, the second tone of color is lightly set into the first tone, so that the bristles of the brush incorporate the tone below into the upper color. In this way there comes about an interpenetration of both layers of color that leads to an optical mixing of the colors in which both tones combine in the eye of the viewer to a virtual mixed color which, in the physical sense, is not present but comes about as a cognitive construct of the mental system. Yet it is only with a third layer of color that the surface of the picture is complete. The three color tones used all vary slightly from each other. In most cases Hahn works from the darkest tone upwards to the lightest. In "Red Nude (Venice)" from 1995, there is a dark Prussian blue as an intense tone, on which sits a dark cobalt blue that is partly overlaid with coeline blue (ill. ). In principle, this triple-layering of the paint can be found in all the works of Friedemann Hahn and, also since roughly 1979-80, in his watercolors and drawings. The surface of the color is constituted as an interactive structure, with at least three layers, consisting of brush stroke, tone and layer of the color. With this complex painterly technique, Hahn stands in the tradition of great painters. Artists like Titian, Veronese, Delacroix, CÈzanne, Van Gogh, Munch and Rothko always constructed the surface of the paint from three layers. They also always allowed the underlying color sufficient air and light in order to be able to shine forth. And they also worked from the darkest to the lightest or from the dullest to the most brilliant color. For it is precisely this technique that makes it possible to cause color to vibrate in the eye of the viewer, to transform it into an interactive and spatial light-phenomenon. Otherwise the paint remains a flattened surface, but not an imaginative phenomenon.
Hahn comprehends color as a deeply interactive phenomenon in which the ductus, the sequence of the coats (below, middle, above) and the space that the color occupies all enjoy a systematic interrelationship. But viewed precisely, the colors on the surface of the picture do not interact. It is, more precisely, the gaze of the viewer that permits colors to interact, to overlap each other, to thrust forward and draw back, to shape spatial structures, produce motifs, construct figures. Seeing is an active and a cognitive activity. In the process of seeing, the viewer engenders the picture as a construct that is fed by the traditions, norms and habits of the visual culture to which the respective viewer belongs. The culture of seeing as a tradition of experience with art produces the picture as a social construct. The artist merely provides the work. The viewer completes it. But the preconditioning is a matter of decisive importance. In the perception of the flickering surface of the paint the motif, the figure and the subject are constructed. It inscribes itself in the materiality of the surface as a constructive, cognitive act. The surface itself is, for this purpose, without significance. For it depends before this extraneously referential aspect on something that is itself not present in the picture because it cannot be present. In the picture itself and in the medium of painting there is only self-reference. Or, as Friedemann Hahn himself has formulated: "There is no materiality other than that of color." Color, understood in this way, is a closed system of relationships in which one color bears a relationship to another and color interacts with color. In this self-referential region of possibilities which the medium of color makes available--and only this region can be used by the painter to create form--there is constructed through the brushwork of the artist a formal field of references which, with the aid of a viewer and of the context, can be related to motifs and themes that exist outside the picture. But with this step we have already moved away from painting. We have arrived at certain motifs, aspects, models, contents, films, woodcuts, etc., but are no longer within the work itself. And I would like to remain there a little longer.
There is, in addition, a self-referential system based strictly on the paint but which itself is not paint--namely, the ductus of the paintbrush. In the ductus of the brush a system of reference becomes visible that since at least the middle of the 16th century has been highly valued and esteemed. First of all, in the ductus an artist exhibits his ability and the control of his hand. The ductus is the guarantee for the authenticity of the work. On the basis of ductus, the connoisseur distinguishes between the master and his assistants, imitators or forgers. The trace of the brush or the finger as recollection of the act of painting makes allusion to nothing other than itself. "The structure through the brush or finger is decisive." It makes its own self-presentation through the paint. In the strict self-referentiality of the traces of brush and finger on a painterly surface, the individual "handwriting" of the artist becomes legible. This is that which guarantees the originality of the original and forms an important point of departure for the art collector.
In an age of electronic reproduction and every sort of manipulation of visual images through the electronic media, the authenticity of the handwriting acquires considerable significance. In a crisis of authenticity and directness, an increased attention is lent to ductus as a guarantee for this authenticity and originality. Through it the work of art presents itself as authentic, as original and as real. At the same time, it points toward the crisis of the terms genuineness, originality and authenticity. In the works of Friedemann Hahn it becomes clear what significance there is in the ductus of the brush as an expression of the materiality of the medium. The more our concepts of authenticity and genuineness disappear in the simulacra of the electronic media, the more important they will be for our staging of life and our anchoring in the reality of our experiences. The ductus is therefore a self-referential system of narration which tells a story of the individual, his expression, his expressivity and the authenticity of his life. With ductus it is a question of how believable painting can still be today.
In summary, one can perhaps take note that in the works of Friedemann Hahn there are many aspects that revolve about the question of painting as painting and that are nipped in the bud by an overhasty, motif-historical or iconographically argued interpretation. It was my wish to consider more closely the components that in my opinion come before the motif and to set them to rights. For only a point of view that is prepared to see how the contents of painting are based on the materiality of the medium and the self-referentiality of its components, how through the conditions and possibilities the medium offers to the painter they can assume form, how Friedemann Hahn has probed the possibilities of this medium into its most distant corners, will be prepared to recognize the art in his works.
Hans Jantzen, "Über Prinzipien der Farbgebung in der Malerei," in Jantzen, Über den gotischen Kirchenbau und andere Aufsätze (Berlin, 1951), pp. 61-62.
In this context, see for example Peter Biere, "Sein und Aussehen von Gegenständen. Sind die Dinge farbig?" in Zeitschrift für philologische Forschung, vol. 36, no. 4 (October-December 1982), pp. 531-552.
On the problem of closed systems of signs, compare Niklas Luhmann "Zeichen als Form," in Dirk Baecker (ed.), Probleme der Form (Frankfurt am Main, 1992), pp. 45-69; and Siegfried J. Schmidt, Kognitive Autonomie und soziale Orientierung (Frankfurt am Main, 1994), pp. 34-38.
Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht and K. Ludwig Pfeiffer (eds.), Materialität der Kommunikation (Frankfurt am Main, 1988).
Exceptions are Peter Anselm Riedl, "Im Bild selbst gibt es nur die Realität der Malerei. Gedanken zum malerischen Vortrag Friedemann Hahns" in the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn: Wege zum Motiv Mannheim: Städtische Kunsthalle, 1992), pp. 10-19; and Friedhelm Häring, "Die siebenfache Verwandlung," in Friedemann Hahn: Die Farbe des Lichts (Hainfeld: Galerie Ruppert, 1993), pp. 5-8.
Cf. James J. Gibson, Wahrnehmung und Umwelt: Der ökologische Ansatz in der visuellen Wahrnehmung (Munich, 1982), pp. 243f.
Cf. Max Imdahl, Barnett Newman: Who's afraid of red, yellow and blue III (Stuttgart, 1971), pp. 11f.
e.g. in "Ray Milland and Marjorie Reynolds in Ministry of Fear 1944," 1977, in the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn (Kunstverein Wolfsburg, 1983), ill. 9.
e.g. "Humphrey Bogart in It All Came True 1944," 1973; "Frank M. Canton in the Wyoming Winter of 1887," 1979; in the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn (Kunstverein Wolfsburg, 1983), ill. 78. Regarding the so-called "American angle," see also the text by Martin Langbein in the same catalogue, esp. pp. 65f.
e.g. in "Salvatore Giuliano, Sicily 1950," 1975 (ill. 30) and "Hawaian Joe and his Giant Monsters, 1935," 1976 (ill. 38) in the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn (Kunstverein Wolfsburg, 1983).
This occurs around the year 1980. See "Arthur Rimbaud, Harrar 1983," 1980 (ill. 100 and 101) in the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn (Kunstverein Wolfsburg, 1983).
It is used for half-figure portraits like "Marilyn Monroe and Yves Montand in 'Let's Make Love', 1960," 1981.
The dimensions are 233 x 77, 233 x 153, 233 x 77 cm. See the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn, Bilder (Landesmuseum Oldenburg, Städtische Galerie Göppingen, Oberhessisches Museum Giessen, 1989-90).
There the side-panels with Saint Antony and Saint Sebastian also have the dimensions 232 x 75 cm.
See the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn: Wege zum Motiv (Städtische Kunsthalle Mannheim, 1992), ill. p. 21.
Ibid, ill. p. 23.
See the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn: Bilder (Landesmuseum Oldenburg et al, 1989), catalogue no. 61.
Henri Matisse, "Bather at the River," 1916-17, 258 x 385 cm. The Art Institute of Chicago, Charles and Mary F. Worcester Collection.
Cf. August Heuser in Friedemann Hahn: Kreuzigung (Christuskirche Wehr-Öflingen, 1994).
Cf. Andrew Durham, "Anmerkungen über die Technik," in the exhibition catalogue Francis Bacon (Staatsgalerie Stuttgart and Nationalgalerie Berlin, 1985), p. 231.
See the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn: Der Japanische Raum (Landesmuseum Mainz, 1993), ill. 4.
See also the depiction by Marlene Angermeyer-Deubners, "Lehrer und Schüler an der Karlsruher Akademie. Haben Lehrer heute noch Schüler?" in Jahrbuch der Staatlichen Kunstsammlungen in Baden-Württemberg, vol. 31 (1944), pp. 141ff.
This has been convincingly demonstrated by Aleida Assmann in Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht and K. Ludwig Pfeiffer (eds.), Stil. Geschichten und Funktionen eines kulturwissenschaftlichen Diskurselements (Frankfurt am Main, 1986), p. 127.
Cf. Niklas Luhmann, Die Ausdifferenzierung des Kunstsystems (Bern, 1994), pp. 41-48.
e.g. in the red robe worn by a member of the Pesaro family in Titian's "Pala Pesaro," 1919-26 (St. Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, Venice). Cf. Lorenzo Lazzani, "Note su alcune Opere comprese tra il 1510 e il 1542" in the exhibition catalogue Tiziano (Venice: Palazzo Ducale, 1990), pp. 382ff.
Oil on canvas, 255 x 196 cm. Parma: Palazzo Communale.
See the exhibition catalogue Der Glanz der Faranese: Kunst und Sammelleidenschaft in der Renaissance (Munich, 1995), p. 299.
Undated letter to the author from June 30, 1995.
Dirk Weber is a Bonn dealer in paints and artists' supplies.
Here is a list of the colors found in a large and a small case in the depot of the Munch Museum in Oslo: In the small case were caput mortuum from the company Aktiebolaget Wilh. Becker Kung. Hofleverantör, Stockholm; cadmium orange from the firm Blockse Fils, Terwaagne (Belgium); burnt sienna from Blockse Fils, Terwaagne (Belgium); golden ochre from Lukas Schonefeld, Düsseldorf; blue de cobalte celeste from Morin + Janet, 5 rue Lepic, Paris; dark cobalt blue from Rembrandt Talens + Zoen, Appeldorn (Holland); Parisian blue from Kaspar + C., Wien III (Made in Germany); Prussian blue from Talens, Appeldorn (Holland); violette de Mars from Le Franc, Paris; Horadamus Schmincke watercolors; scarlet red from the drawing-crayon firm of Bincey + Smith, New York. In the large case were yellow ochre from Windsor + Newton, London; madder lake from Devoe + Reynolds, New York and Chicago; bleu de cobalt. Couleur de Muzii Tempera Brilliant from Le Franc, Paris, zinkgult (zinc yellow) from Wilh. Pacht, Kobenhavn; cobalt violet from Windsor + Newton, London; cadmium red from Arnbak, Copenhagen; yellow ochre from Arnbak, Copenhagen; J.F. Raffaelli oil crayons from Schoenfeld, Düsseldorf; Gunther Wagner's oil crayons no. 575 and 560; ultramarine blue from Herm. Neisch + C., Dresden; Kremserweiss tempera from Schmincke, Düsseldorf.
See the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn: Wege zum Motiv (Städtische Kunsthalle Mannheim), p. 28.
Undated letter to the author from June 30, 1995.
See the exhibition catalogue Friedemann Hahn: Im Licht der Farbe (Landau: Galerie Ruppert), ill. 23.
Friedemann Hahn, "Wege zum Motiv," in the exhibition catalogue of the same title (Städtische Kunsthalle Mannheim, 1992), p. 38.
Cf. the more detailed treatment of the subject in Hans Dieter Huber, Paolo Veronese. Kunst als soziales System (Munich, 1995: in preparation), chapter 16.
Friedemann Hahn, "Wege zum Motiv," op cit, p. 38.
See also Richard Sennett, Verfall und Ende des öffentlichen Lebens. Die Tyranei der Intimität (Frankfurt, 1990), p. 29.