\'The Pathological Body: Modernist Strategising in Egon Schiele\'s Self-Portraiture\', Oxford Art Journal, 30:3, 2007, 377-401.

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The Pathological Body: Modernist Strategising in Egon Schiele’s Self-Portraiture Gemma Blackshaw

The Pathological Body: Modernist Strategising in Egon Schiele’s Self-Portraiture Gemma Blackshaw

This young Vienna was like a lad who has grown too quickly, tremendously tall but shockingly thin, weak of bone and precociously diseased.1

1. Julius Meier-Graefe, Modern Art: Being a Contribution to a New System of Aesthetics (William Heinemann: London, 1908), p. 307. First published in German as Entwicklungsgeschicte der modernen Kunst (Julius Hoffmann: Stuttgart) in 1904. 2. Meier-Graefe was a key ﬁgure in the organisation and promotion of the seminal 14th Secession exhibition Entwicklung des Impressionismus in Malerei und Plastik of 1903. Austellung der Vereinigung bildender Ku¨nstler O¨sterreichs (Vienna: Secession, 17 January to 3 February 1903). For an assessment of the impact of this exhibition see Robert Jensen, Marketing Modernism in Fin-de-Sie`cle Europe (Princeton University Press: Princeton, NJ, 1994). 3. See Griselda Pollock, Avant-Garde Gambits 1888–1893: Gender and the Colour of Art History (Thames & Hudson: London, 1992). For a further discussion of the variant strategies used by Vienna’s young artists to launch themselves out of the Academy see Gemma Blackshaw, ‘The Jewish Christ: Problems of Self-Presentation and Socio-Cultural Assimilation in Richard Gerstl’s Self-Portraiture’, Oxford Art Journal, vol. 29, no. 1, pp. 25 –51. 4. See, for example, Alessandra Comini’s seminal Egon Schiele’s Portraits (University of California Press: Los Angeles and London, 1974). Comini’s chapters, entitled ‘The Radical Portraits and Self-Portraits – Into the Void’, and ‘Isolation and Thematic Absorption in the Self’, are structured around Schiele’s biography, with shifts in subject matter and style being linked to personal, as opposed to cultural change. She argues: ‘There is now no interest in indicating the artist’s connection with his work, with another artist, or with society. The content is self; there is no frame of reference except self’ (p. 50). Similarly, Patrick Werkner writes: ‘In Schiele’s painting we are confronted with images that grow out of a very private creative mythology of the subconscious mind. Even those letters of the artist in which he supplies explanations or information on the content of his pictures can provide us with little more than general orientation, and indeed reﬂect a highly intuitive kind of self-interpretation’; Patrick Werkner, Austrian Expressionism: The Formative Years (Society for the

In 1910, the twenty-year-old Egon Schiele asserted his artistic independence from his mentor Gustav Klimt and Vienna’s dominant Secessionstil by embarking upon an intense project of self-portraiture. The resultant works embraced a seemingly new aesthetic of the body that we have since valued as being quintessentially ‘Schiele’: to use the words of Julius Meier-Graefe, ‘shockingly thin, weak of bone and precociously diseased’. However, Meier-Graefe’s description of modern art in Vienna, with its interesting metaphor of the pathological male body, did not evolve out of viewing such works as Schiele’s Seated Male Nude (Self-Portrait) of 1910 (Fig. 1). Meier-Graefe’s Modern Art: Being a Contribution to a New System of Aesthetics was published six years before the self-portrait’s production. Meier-Graefe’s inﬂuence in Vienna’s modernist circles through his curatorial work for the Secession during Schiele’s formative years raises the interesting question of how self-consciously Schiele fashioned himself as ‘The New Vienna’ so described by the art critic.2 It is fascinating that this question has – however – been somewhat avoided in the Schiele scholarship, with art historians hanging back from tying his self-portrait project into wider debates on the canny strategising or ‘gambits’ of the avant-garde.3 The question of what caused Schiele’s turn to the self-portrait genre, and the attendant dramatic shift in style and aesthetic, has certainly fascinated scholars. However, the persistence of the modernist legacy – with its emphasis on the artist-individual and their ‘pain’, ‘anxiety’ or ‘exclusion’ as badges of authenticity – can be clearly read in their variant explorations of the question.4 With remarkably few exceptions, the tendency is to emphasise Schiele as a traumatised individual who used the self-portrait as a means of articulating angst.5 Such a notion is admittedly made compelling by his imprisonment in 1912 on (unsubstantiated) charges of sexual immorality and the seduction of a minor, and the mental decline and death of his father from syphilis. However, this personal history, along with Schiele’s early death in 1918 at twenty-eight-years old, has driven a cult of the anguished wunderkind which negates the inﬂuence of a cultural context. Schiele’s self-portraits have thus tended to occupy a space outside of culture,6 accessible only through a form of retrospective psychoanalysis. As Danielle Knafo writes: As a consequence of his adverse childhood experiences, Schiele’s was a lifelong journey in which he searched for his lost parents in himself and for his lost self in his art. Art represented a substitute for his frustrating and lost objects and his perpetual use of self-portraiture proved a constructive means of mastering these losses . . . Like a patient in psychoanalysis, he deconstructed his self-image in order to reconstruct it anew. He employed his art as a corrective emotional experience whereupon he repeatedly nurtured, and apparently repaired, a battered psyche.7

This article will explore an alternative reading, one that will argue that Schiele’s turn to this particular genre, style and aesthetic at this particular

# The Author 2007. Published by Oxford University Press; all rights reserved. doi:10.1093/oxartj/kcm020

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Fig. 1. Egon Schiele, Seated Male Nude (Self-Portrait), 1910, oil and gouache on canvas, 152.5 150 cm. Leopold Museum, Vienna.

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Promotion of Science and Scholarship: California, 1993), p. 126. 5. The exception to this is Robert Jensen, who argues that, ‘alienated artists, like Egon Schiele, would have learned by 1910, if not long before, that alienation sells, that to be alienated was as much a role, a way of establishing a professional identity, as occupying a position in the academy’. Jensen, Marketing Modernism, p. 10. 6. Interestingly, this is not the case with Schiele’s rival Oskar Kokoschka. Kokoschka’s portrait-project has recently come under scrutiny, with scholars highlighting its self-conscious, derivative and strategic nature. See, for example, Tobias G. Natter (ed.), Oskar Kokoschka: Early Portraits from Vienna and Berlin 1909–1914 (Yale University Press: New Haven & London, 2002); Claude Cernuschi, Re/Casting Kokoschka: Ethics and Aesthetics, Epistemology and Politics in Fin-de-Sie`cle Vienna (Associated University Presses: New Jersey, London & Ontario, 2002); Blackshaw, ‘Breaking the Mould?’, review article of Cernuschi, Re/Casting Kokoschka, Art History, vol. 27, no. 22 April 2004, pp. 335–40; Blackshaw, ‘The Eye of God?’, review article of Natter (ed.), Kokoschka: Early Portraits, Art History, vol. 26, no. 1, February 2003, pp. 127–9. 7. Danielle Knafo, Egon Schiele: A Self in Creation (Associated University Presses: Cranbury, New Jersey, 1993), p. 165. 8. See, for example, Adolf Loos’ lecture ‘Ornament and Crime’, delivered in Vienna in 1908. Loos considered the presence of ornament in culture to reveal an effeminate and degenerate civilisation. Biting references to the Vienna Museum of Applied Art clearly signalled that it was speciﬁcally Vienna’s Secession culture that Loos was attacking. Adolf Loos, Ornament and Crime: Selected Essays (Ariadne Press: California, 1998), pp. 167– 9. 9. For further details of this group of nudes, including provenance, exhibition history and literature see Jane Kallir, Egon Schiele: The Complete Works (Thames & Hudson: London), p. 294. 10. This work is lost. It is known only though a photograph of the 1910 exhibition, published in Die erste internationale Jagd-Ausstellung Wien 1910: Ein monumentales Gedenkbuch (Vienna, 1912), p. 31. 11. In a letter of 11 June 1913 Schiele wrote that Reininghaus paid this sum for just one of the ‘unappealing’ works. Christian M. Nebehay, Egon Schiele 1890–1918, Leben, Briefe, Gedichte (Residenz: Salzburg & Vienna, 1979), letter no. 516.

moment was a strategic move, showing his astute awareness of market taste and dynamics. I hope to show that Schiele’s self-representation was not an ‘inward-looking’ art practice. Rather, it was a practice that was geared speciﬁcally towards a local art market. Seated Male Nude (Self-Portrait) put a formal distance between Schiele and Klimt, in its embrace of the self-portrait genre, and its rejection of the ornamented passive/erotic bodies of what was being criticised as an increasingly feminised Secessionstil visual culture.8 Such a departure, considering the waning popularity of the Secession, was timely and quickly attracted an interested group of almost exclusively male patrons and collectors. The self-portrait – measuring 152.5 150 cm – was part of a series of ﬁve that included a further two nude images of Schiele, all of which were completed in 1910 (see Figs 2 and 3).9 They were the largest paintings Schiele had so far produced. Interestingly, the only painting from the group to be exhibited to the public was a female nude, shown in Vienna in 1910 – a move which perhaps illustrates a concern about audience reactions to Schiele’s representation of the male body.10 Nevertheless, all three of the self-portrait paintings, and at least one of the two female nudes were bought in the same year by the industrialist Carl Reininghaus. Moreover, Schiele remarked in a letter of 11 June 1913 that Reininghaus had paid highly for the works, giving 1200 kronen for just one of the ‘unappealing’ paintings.11 Schiele’s bodies clearly had market value. I would like to argue even further that the particular type of body Schiele chose to take on as his own effectively enabled the artist to launch himself into Vienna’s narrowly circumscribed and competitive art market. The key area I aim to explore is what made this self-portrait so marketable? Where did the ‘new’ aesthetic of the body come from, and what was the nature of its appeal? In contrast to studies which stress the ‘inward-looking’ nature of Schiele’s self-representation, this article will explore the relationship between his iconography and that of photographs of patients suffering from diseases of the nervous system, published in Paris-based neuropathology journals in circulation in Vienna. I will argue that the journals provided Schiele with a new vocabulary of the body which could be used powerfully to underscore – in a truly modernist fashion – his ‘suffering’ and therefore his ‘genius’. Cultivation of such an identity was crucial amongst a group of patrons tired of the artist-collective ideology of Secession culture, and keen to promote young men representing the ‘new blood’ – for which there were many contenders. The fact that Schiele’s peers and competitors, such as Oskar Kokoschka and Max Oppenheimer, made similar use of this iconography of the body, speedily working it into their own portrait portfolios, shows how aware this group of young men were of its appeal to their supporters. The article will explore this area of neuropathology, the body and modernist strategising in Vienna from a series of different angles. Firstly, how was the image of the pathological body disseminated and popularised during this period, and what was the extent of Schiele’s exposure to it? What characterised the Viennese interest in neurological disease during this ﬁn-de-sie`cle period, and how widespread was it? How did the pathological body operate as ‘spectacle’, and who was this spectacle directed towards? Could the dissemination of the pathological body in the form of paintings and drawings amongst collectors be seen as a means of identifying a group of like-minded men and asserting their homo-social bonds? And ﬁnally, how might we incorporate this work into an analysis of OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007 381

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Fig. 2. Egon Schiele, Male Nude Kneeling, with Raised Hands (Self-Portrait), 1910, 150 150 cm (approx.). Present whereabouts unknown. (Photo: Galerie St. Etienne, New York.)

the strategies used by Schiele, his fellow artists and supporters in the deﬁning and launching of a new avant-garde? The Image of the Pathological Body

Klaus Albrecht Schro¨der was the ﬁrst to point to photographic journals popularising nervous disorder as possible sources for Schiele’s selfrepresentation, concentrating on the striking iconographic parallels.12 Schro¨der takes his examples from the Iconographie Photographique de la 382 OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007

12. Klaus Albrecht Schro¨der, Egon Schiele: Eros and Passion (Prestel: Munich & New York, 1989), pp. 83 –8.

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13. Jean-Martin Charcot, D.M. Bourneville, Paul Regnard, Iconographie Photographique de la Salpeˆtrie`re (IPS), vols 1–3 (V. Adrien Delahaye: Paris, 1876–1880). 14. Charcot, Nouvelle Iconographie de la Salpeˆtrie`re: Clinique des Maladies du Syste`me Nerveux (NIPS), vols 1–4 (Lescronier et Babbe´: Paris, 1888–1891), vols 5–8, (L. Bataille: Paris, 1892–1895), vols 9-30 (Masson et Cie: Paris, 1896–1918).

Fig. 3. Egon Schiele, Standing Male Nude with Hands on Hips (Self-Portrait), 1910, 150 150 cm (approx.). Present whereabouts unknown. (Photo: Galerie St. Etienne, New York.)

Salpeˆtrie`re (IPS) journal, which was produced in three volumes from 1876 to 1880 under the direction of Jean-Martin Charcot at the Paris hospital for diseases of the nervous system, La Salpeˆtrie`re, and disseminated widely across Europe.13 The journal concentrated on the variant manifestations of hysteria – a condition deemed more common in women than in men, which was typiﬁed by hallucinations and a susceptibility to hypnosis. The allure of the journal lay in its photographic documentation of the female body when released – via hypnosis, the inhalation of vapours or the pressing of hystereogenic zones of the body – from its civilising bonds of bourgeois behaviour. Photographs sensationally captured female patients in the midst of attacks, convulsing in their hospital beds. The violence of the attacks recorded, the voyeuristic appeal of watching the body as it moved through hysteric sequences or ‘attitudes passionnelles’, and the bewildering array of patient-responses (such as limb contracture or re-enactments of the cruciﬁxion) made the image of the hysteric a popular one. Indeed, the popularity of the IPS can be seen in the fact that the Salpeˆtrie`re team produced a further, bi-monthly journal from 1888 to 1918 (surviving Charcot’s death in 1893) under the new title Nouvelle Iconographie de la Salpeˆtrie`re: Clinique des Maladies du Syste`me Nerveux (NIS).14 Yet despite the frequency of publication and the longevity of the NIS, this later OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007 383

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journal – separated from the IPS by a period of eight years – has received far less critical attention than its predecessor. This is perhaps because it diversiﬁed signiﬁcantly, moving the focus away from hysteria to neurological disease as it was signalled in both the male and female body. Photographs of ﬁbrous skin growths and spinal deformity, conditions that were included under the umbrella of neuropathology are perhaps not – initially – as interesting as the dramatic gendering and eroticising of hysteria we see performed in the IPS journal.15 Furthermore, in its reluctance to further investigate the concept of the mind as it was opened up through the practice of hypnosis, the NIS journal moved increasingly away from Sigmund Freud’s contemporaneous development of psychoanalysis. Our tendency to privilege Freud’s cultural position has perhaps meant that we focus on Charcot’s early pioneering of hypnosis – which Freud travelled to Paris in 1885 to study at ﬁrst hand.16 This bias is reﬂected in the scholarship. Schro¨der, for example, chooses to concentrate on the links between Schiele’s self-portraits – with their grimaces and histrionics – and the IPS photographs of female patients.17 In doing so, he misses a fascinating and distinctive iconography that emerged out of the later NIS, in which photographs of predominantly male patients were used to construct a canon of the physical extremes of the body-in-pain. Despite Charcot’s assertion that, ‘hysteria is met with frequently enough in men, and is attended with all the characteristics obviously seen in the female sex’,18 male patients were not the focus of the IPS journal. With the advent of the NIS journal, and the expanded photographic documentation of conditions considered under the far wider area of neuropathology, men entered the frame. In a series of photographs entitled ‘Macrodactylie’ (Fig. 4), a young, male patient stands against a dark background, his mouth blanked out to obscure his identity. Close-up photographs of the fronts and backs of his hands display the progression of the disease. These photographs are used to frame the central image of the patient’s cropped body. The display of his arms and hands against the black cloth of his trousers throws their distortions into sharp relief. The patient is partially undressed to highlight the contrast between his skinny torso and the swollen arms and hands. We are drawn to the braces dangling from his trousers, the white lining of their waistband just visible, and the

15. This is certainly reﬂected in the critical literature, which has tended to focus exclusively on Charcot’s imaging of hysteria. See Georges Didi-Huberman, The Invention of Hysteria: Charcot and the Photographic Iconography of the Salpeˆtrie`re (The MIT Press: Cambridge MA, 2003). First published in French in 1982 (Macula: Paris); Jan Goldstein, ‘The Hysteria Diagnosis and the Politics of Anticlericalism in Late Nineteenth-Century France’, Journal of Modern History, vol. 54, no. 2, June 1982, pp. 209–39; Sigrid Schade, ‘Charcot and the Spectacle of the Hysterical Body. The “Pathos Formula” as an Aesthetic Staging of Psychiatric Discourse – a Blind Spot in the Reception of Warburg’, Art History, vol. 18, no. 4, December 1995, pp. 499–517; Douglas Fogle, ‘Die Passionen des Ko¨rpers’, Fotogeschicte, vol. 13, no. 49, 1993, pp. 67 –78; Ulrich Baer, ‘Photography and Hysteria: Towards a Poetics of the Flash’, Yale Journal of Criticism, vol. 7, no. 1, Spring 1994, pp. 41 –77; Felicia McCarren, ‘The “Symptomatic Act” Circa 1900: Hysteria, Hypnosis, Electricity and Dance’, Critical Inquiry, no. 21, Summer 1995, pp. 748–74. 16. Freud studied under Charcot from October 1885 to February 1886. This experience ﬁrst ignited his interest in hysteria and hypnosis, which he developed in such seminal texts as Studies on Hysteria (1895), The Interpretation of Dreams (1900) and Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality (1905). Sigmund Freud, ‘Early Papers on the History of the Psychoanalytic Movement’, Collected Papers, vol. 1 (The Psychoanalytical Press: London, 1924), p. 23. 17. See also Werkner, ‘The Child-Woman and Hysteria: Images of the Female Body in the Art of Egon Schiele, in Viennese Modernism, and Today’, in Werkner, Egon Schiele: Art, Sexuality, and Viennese Modernism (The Society for the Promotion of Science and Scholarship: California, 1994), pp. 51 –78. 18. Charcot, Clinical Lectures on Diseases of the Nervous System, delivered at La Salpeˆtrie`re, T. Savill (trans.) (The New Syndeham Society: London, 1889), p. 77.

ˆtrie`re: Clinique des maladies du syste`me Fig. 4. ‘Macrodactylie’, Nouvelle Iconographie de la Salpe nerveux. (Photo: UCL Institute of Neurology.)

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peculiar left eye, which rolls away from the camera to an object (person?) standing to the side. A photograph of the ‘giant’ Charles (Fig. 5), aged thirty years and measuring 2 metres, 4 centimetres, is taken next to a metre-rule. Charles, diagnosed with gigantism and infantilism, is naked, his arms held away from his body with hands and ﬁngers ﬂattened against the wall. His left leg is longer than his right, and is bent at an awkward angle towards his right knee. We see him from the front and back view, noticing the contrast of the pale skin and ruddy hands, the lack of body hair, the defensive raising of the shoulders, the indentations of the ribs and – oddly – the tuft of dark hair above his left ear. We see, in a dramatically lit photograph, the torso of an elderly patient with an indentation of the thorax (Fig. 6). The patient tilts his head towards his wasted body. Thin, lined skin stretches and sags across the protruding bone structure. The ball and socket joints of the shoulders are knotted like ﬁsts above arms covered in ﬂaking sores. We are unsure at ﬁrst if we are looking at a swathe of ﬁne, creased fabric draped across his stomach, or skin. Other examples, such as a patient with curvature of the spine photographed seated and standing (Fig. 7), show the harrowing extremes of the body documented in the NIS. Despite the number and array of bodies and conditions photographed, the NIS quickly developed a speciﬁc way of presenting the patient which could be considered in terms of the formation of an iconography. With the exception of those few who needed physical support in order to stand, all of the patients

ˆtrie`re: Clinique des Fig. 5. ‘Gigantisme et Infantilisme’, Nouvelle Iconographie de la Salpe maladies du syste`me nerveux. (Photo: UCL Institute of Neurology.)

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are photographed on their own or (less frequently) standing next to another patient for force of contrast. Metre-rules, either held by the patient or propped against a wall, along with canes, chairs, footstools, adjustable stands and blocks for supporting the head, often frame the patient, highlighting – through their linearity and precision – the disorder of the body they measure and support. In most cases, the patients are photographed against a neutral background, such as a wall or curtain of dark fabric, in order to focus attention on the body.19 The body is predominantly photographed entirely or partially naked. It is photographed both as a whole and in parts, with details of a swelling, a lesion or a deformed joint often framing the larger, central image. Almost without exception, the patient’s face is shown, staring directly at the camera. The patient is often shot in different positions – sitting, standing, bending or stretching upwards. For example, in a series of shots (Fig. 8) we see front, back and side views of spinal deformity, arms held in progressive positions to demonstrate the movement of the scapula, head raised and lowered. The shots are labelled alphabetically and are displayed on the same page, in order to give the viewer a totalising image of the patient’s body, and the effects of movement upon it. This ability of the photograph to capture the movement of the body was considered by Charcot to be its key strength. Moreover, the gap between the clinical examination of the patient and the photographic image of the patient’s body was not considered problematic. Indeed, Charcot claimed that the photograph was more accurate than the medical observation, in that it ﬁxed the pathology under scrutiny thus permitting the doctor to study it repeatedly. The imaging of the patient’s body was therefore central to the diagnosis and treatment of neurological disease. The photographs provided doctors with a visual vocabulary with which to deﬁne neuropathology, enabling categories of disease to be constructed and disseminated amongst medical communities. Charcot’s claims for the photograph as a diagnostic tool were in keeping with the late-nineteenth-century celebration of the camera for its ‘disinterested’ and ‘empirical’ reproduction of the object. However, as we have seen through the descriptions of the photographs above, the gaze on the patient’s body, and the subsequent representation of this body, was far from clinical or detached. Interestingly, this seems to have been the intention. In the second volume of the NIS Charcot claimed that the gaze of the doctor had to be fused with the gaze of the artist, with one effectively guiding the other: ‘Le me´decin est inse´parable de l’artiste. L’un guide de l’autre; ils s’entraident mutuellement’.20 As far as Charcot was concerned, the act of looking at the patient’s body was made medically sophisticated only when conditioned with an appreciation of aesthetics. Accordingly, many of the photographs were published alongside comparable ﬁgure types in predominantly Old Master painting to highlight what Charcot considered to be a necessary interchange between the medical and aesthetic gaze. Charcot considered the Salpeˆtrie`re photographs as making an important contribution to the representation of the human body in art, both growing out of and developing a visual tradition. Accordingly, the journal included details of the representation of leprosy in works by Albrecht Du¨rer, syphilitic facial deformity in Francisco Goya’s oeuvre and St Anthony tortured by demons in Matthias Gru¨newald’s altar paintings to not only ‘prove’ the historical precedence of neuropathology, but to also stress the aesthetic value of the patient’s body. A visual lineage of the pathological body was thus constructed, and the 386 OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007

Fig. 6. ‘Thorax en Entonnoir’, Nouvelle ˆtrie`re: Clinique des Iconographie de la Salpe maladies du syste`me nerveux. (Photo: UCL Institute of Neurology.)

19. Such backgrounds are always disrupted – by a scuffed skirting board, a heap of discarded trousers or the corner of a stained sheet. We might consider such disruptions as the photograph’s punctum, the term used by Roland Barthes to describe, ‘the accident that pricks me (but also bruises me, is poignant to me)’. Similarly, loose threads, buttons, braces and drawstrings always disturb the photograph, operating as ‘sting, speck, cut, little hole – and also a cast of dice’. Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida: Reﬂections on Photography (Vintage: London, 1993), p. 27. The length of this article does not unfortunately allow for further interpretation of the NIS photographs, such as their fetishistic presentation of the body. 20. NIS, vol. 2, p. 492.

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inter-relationship of the ﬁelds of medical and art historical interest and investigation stressed. The importance of this project can be seen in the fact that the journal became a collaborative effort between the Salpeˆtrie`re medical team and individuals such as Paul Richer, the artist in residence, and Albert Londe,

Fig. 7. ‘Myopathie Primitive Ge´ne´ralisee´’, ˆtrie`re: Nouvelle Iconographie de la Salpe Clinique des maladies du syste`me nerveux. (Photo: UCL Institute of Neurology.)

ˆtrie`re: Clinique des Fig. 8. ‘Paralysie du grand dentele’, Nouvelle Iconographie de la Salpe maladies du syste`me nerveux. (Photo: UCL Institute of Neurology.)

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the photographer in residence. The popularity of their search for the visual evidence that united the projects of medicine and art is evident in Richer’s increasing autonomy. His Les De´moniaques dans l’Art (1887) was followed by a second volume Les Malades et les Difformes dans l’Art (1889) and L’Art et La Me´decine (1902). The image of the pathological body – whether in contemporary medical photography or Old Master painting – clearly had market value, with Richer’s books being geared towards general consumption. Moreover, the work completed by Richer was considered by his contemporaries to be ‘the most curious manifestation of contemporary art’, for which Richer was elected to L’Acade`mie des Beaux-Arts in 1905. Richer’s publications emphasised not only the aesthetic value of the patient’s body, but also the way in which doctors could shed new light on the representation of deformity (les difformite´s) in art, a project deﬁned by Richer as the visual tracing of ‘L’invasion de la pathologie dans l’Art’. This, he claimed, evolved out of the NIS journal: ‘une large place a toujours e´te´ re´serve´e a` la critique scientiﬁque des oeuvres d’art ayant quelque rapport avec la me´decine’.21 What we perhaps see in this sustained effort to highlight the ‘invasion’ of pathology into art, and art into the imaging of pathology, is the expectation that the NIS journal would appeal not only to doctors, but to artists. I would like to argue even further that in its privileging of the image, the journal effectively marketed itself as a source book for modern artists searching for new iconographies of the body. The striking visual links between the photographs, with their obsessive repetition of the image of the fragmented and distorted body, and Schiele’s self-portraiture should perhaps lead us to consider exactly what impact the NIS journal and its notion of what constituted neurological disease had on Viennese medical and visual culture. How was the journal imported, how did it capture the public imagination, and what was the nature of its appeal to the city’s artists? Disseminating the Image: Charcot in Vienna

In his evaluation of his analyses in Studies on Hysteria of 1895, Freud makes the following comment: I have often in my mind compared cathartic psychotherapy with surgical intervention. I have described my treatments as psychotherapeutic operations; and I have brought out their analogy with the opening up of a cavity filled with pus, the scraping out of a carious region. An analogy of this kind finds its justification not so much in the removal of what is pathological as in the establishment of conditions that are more likely to lead the course of the process in the direction of recovery.22

Freud’s description of psychotherapy as a surgical investigation of the diseased body – though metaphorical – is signiﬁcant in that it illustrates the absolute centrality of the body to Vienna’s psychiatric community. Such faith in the body’s communicative potential was undoubtedly part of the legacy of the New Vienna Medical School, led by the celebrated pathological anatomist and consultant to the Ministry of Education, Carl von Rokitansky (1804 – 78), who pioneered the use of the autopsy – reputedly performing more than 80,000 post-mortems. Despite Freud’s rejection of the organic basis of hysteria, the metaphor he uses to describe his new practice is therefore cannily embedded in the language and tenets of the psychiatric community in which he was immersed.23 William M. Johnston has described these 388 OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007

21. Paul Richer, L’Art at La Me´decine (Gaultier, Magnier & Cie: Paris, 1902), p. 4. 22. Sigmund Freud & Joseph Breuer, Studies on Hysteria, James and Alix Strachey (trans.), (Penguin Books: London, 1991), p. 392. First published in 1895. 23. This is not surprising considering that Freud’s formative years were spent in neuropathology. In 1882 he worked at the Vienna General Hospital, publishing his work on cerebral anatomy, in 1885 he was appointed University Lecturer in Neuropathology, and from 1886 to 1893 his research included projects on the cerebral palsies of children at the Kassowitz Institute in Vienna.

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24. William M. Johnston, The Austrian Mind: An Intellectual and Social History 1848–1938 (University of California Press: Berkeley, Los Angeles, London), pp. 223–37. 25. For example, Rokitansky’s pupil Theodor Meynert, whose research lay in the structure and function of the brain and spinal cord, held the post of Prosektor (doctor responsible for performing autopsies) at the Asylum from 1866, and was promoted in 1870 to director of the Asylum clinic. The diagnostic and the therapeutic were therefore brought together in the same institution, albeit somewhat uncomfortably – Meynert was forced to resign. Rokitansky’s inﬂuence was such that Meynert was soon ‘re-located’ to become director of a new, second psychiatric clinic in the Vienna General Hospital created in 1875, a post which he held until his death in 1893. See Erna Lesky, The Vienna Medical School of the Nineteenth Century (John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 1976). 26. See Jan Goldstein, Console and Classify: The French Psychiatric Profession in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1987). Goldstein’s reading of Charcot’s contributions to psychiatry has been problematised by Mark S. Micale in ‘Hysteria and its Historiography: the Future Perspective, History of Psychiatry, vol. 1, 1990, pp. 33 –124. Micale convincingly embeds Charcot in the French Laennecian and Cruveilhieran tradition of pathological anatomy, and the Bernardian tradition of experimental physiology. Micale argues: ‘In accordance with this etiological outlook, Charcot’s methodology for the study of the nervous disorders was an organic-pathological one in which the essential scientiﬁc exercise consisted in correlation of ante-mortem clinical observations with autopsical data. What intrigues Charcot most about these curious disorders was not their intermediate severity . . . but their ability to mimic physical disease’, p. 67. 27. Charcot writes: ‘A great number of morbid states, evidently having their seat in the nervous system, leave in the dead body no material trace that can be discovered. Epilepsy, hysteria . . . come to us like so many Sphinx, which deny the most penetrating anatomical investigations.’ Charcot, Clinical Lectures on Diseases of the Nervous System, Delivered at La Salpeˆtrie`re, vol. 3, Thomas Savill (trans.) (The New Syndeham Society: London 1889), p. 240. 28. Shorter has drawn attention to Obersteiner’s achievements in the anatomy and pathology of the nervous system. For example, the ‘Obersteiner-Redlich area’, where the posterior nerve roots enter the spinal cord, is named after him and Emil Redlich. Edward Shorter, ‘Mania, Hysteria and Gender in Lower

tenets as ‘therapeutic nihilism’, arguing that the post-mortem and the epikrisis (the critical discussion following the anatomical investigation of the cadaver) were the focus of medical training and research in late-nineteenth-century Vienna, with Freud emerging out of a diagnostic – as opposed to therapeutic – culture.24 Johnston perhaps overly polarises these two types of culture. In Vienna, the University-based pathological anatomical approach to psychiatry championed by Rokitansky actually existed alongside an Asylum-based therapeutic approach, which focused on the daily observation and institutional treatment of the mentally ill.25 However, Rokitansky’s authority certainly meant that the pathological anatomical approach to psychiatry carried the professional prestige. I would argue that the status of pathological anatomy in Vienna’s psychiatric circles made the city ripe for the dissemination of Charcot’s work. Despite Freud’s privileging of Charcot as the ‘founder’ of the mind through his ‘discovery’ of hysteria (and our critical tendency to follow suit),26 Charcot resolutely refused to separate such conditions as hysteria from multiple sclerosis, neuro-syphilis, paralysis or Parkinson’s Disease, increasingly championing through the NIS journal the somatogenic basis of all neuropathology. In contrast to Freud, Charcot considered hysteria as having an organic basis in the brain and spinal cord (albeit one which had not yet been discovered, despite ‘the most penetrating anatomical investigations’).27 Our centralising of Freud has meant that we tend to limit Charcot’s impact in Vienna by considering him solely in terms of the inﬂuence of his early work on hypnosis on the development of psychoanalysis. But is there an alternative picture? Charcot’s entire oeuvre of work was certainly well represented in Vienna’s libraries. Heinrich Obersteiner, director of the large nervous clinic Ober-Do¨bling in Vienna’s nineteenth district, donated the extensive library built up by himself and his father (who preceded him at Ober-Do¨bling) to the University of Vienna’s neurological institute, which he founded in 1882.28 This library, which both doctors and medical students had access to, held the complete run of both the NIS and the IPS journals. Charcot publications were also held in the University’s central library: for example, Oeuvres completes (a 9 volume publication which ran from 1886 to 1890, acquired in 1889); the Archives de physiologie normale et pathologique journal (produced under the direction of Charcot, E. F. A. Vulpian and Brown-Le´quard, running from 1868 to 1898); Lec¸ons sur les maladies du syste`me nerveux faites a` la Salpeˆtrie`re (5 volumes, running from 1872 to 1893, acquired in part in 1885); Lec¸ons sur les localisations dans les maladies du cerveau (2 volumes, published in 1876 and 1880, acquired in 1882); Neue Vorlesungen u¨ber die Krankheiten des Nervensystems insbesondere u¨ber Hysterie (which was interestingly translated by Freud, published in 1886, and acquired in the same year); Les de´moniaques dans l’art (published in 1887, acquired in 1901); and Les difformes et les maladies dans l’art (published in 1889, also acquired in 1901).29 The library at Vienna’s public psychiatric hospital, The Lower Austrian Provincial Institutions for the Care and Cure of the Mentally and Nervously Ill ‘am Steinhof’, similarly held works by Charcot, including the Oeuvres completes, Lec¸ons sur les localisations dans les maladies du cerveau, Berthold Fetzer’s translation U¨ber die Localisationen der Gehirn-Krankheiten of 1881 and Freud’s translations Neue Vorlesungen u¨ber die Krankheiten des Nervensystems and Poliklinische Vortra¨ge of 1892.30 OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007 389

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Charcot’s work was also disseminated by other means. Despite his position against Charcot, Freud avidly collected his publications, and those of his followers, for his personal library, which was divided in two on Freud’s departure from Vienna after the 1938 Anschluss. Freud decided to take with him to London his 10-year run of the NIS journal (1888 – 1899), as well as the Oeuvres completes with its personal dedication: ‘A` Monsieur Le Docteur Freud, Excellent Souvenir de la Salpeˆtrie`re. Charcot 23. Janvier 1888’.31 However, Charcot was not just a key ﬁgure in Freud’s research. His work also inﬁltrated Vienna’s medical research and teaching culture. As Edward Shorter has uncovered in his work on hysteria in Vienna, leading doctors imported, supported and ratiﬁed Charcot’s ﬁndings: Richard von Krafft-Ebing (director of the First and Second Psychiatric Clinics); Max Leidesdorf (director of Ober-Do¨bling and the First Psychiatric Clinic); Julius Wagner-Jauregg (director of the First and Second Psychiatric Clinics); and his pupil Emil Raimann, who published work on Charcot’s concept of hysterogenic zones of the body.32 Such interest in Charcot’s work is indicative of the wider Viennese initiative, spurred on by the work of leading psychiatrists, to contain, categorise and cure disease. Fears regarding the modern urban environment and its debilitating effects on the nervous system took on a degree of urgency in Vienna through the research-ﬁndings of such ﬁgures as Krafft-Ebing. In his catalogue of the sexual perversions, Psychopathia Sexualis of 1885, the proliﬁc psychiatrist claimed that the ‘monstruous excesses of sexual life’ he had observed in his practice could always be traced to ‘neuro-pathological conditions of the nation involved’.33 The Lower Austrian Government responded to these fears with investment, instigating a 40-year period of psychiatric reform,34 which was perhaps most sensationally marked with the opening of Steinhof, the largest psychiatric hospital of its kind in Europe with a capacity for 3000 patients, in 1907. Crucially, this ‘reform’ in the diagnosis and treatment of disease was considered to be a matter of public interest, with the city’s new psychiatric spaces being opened up to viewers from the ‘outside world’. For example, an exhibition on the care of the insane was opened in honour of the Emperor Franz Josef I’s Silver Jubilee celebrations in 1898, which polarised the traditional approach to psychiatric treatment (using objects such as shackled wax ﬁgures) with the contemporary (represented by models of newly built observation wards).35 Such shifts in psychiatric treatment from ‘old’ to ‘new’ – shifts which we should problematise – were speedily incorporated into a public relations effort which sought to stress the transparency and progressiveness of the Empire’s health system. The patient’s body became – in many ways – a public body, to be reassuringly displayed to audiences as a paciﬁed, ordered, ‘cured’ object which could no longer threaten or disrupt the social fabric. The paraded control of the patient’s body could thus be used to signal the forward-thinking modernity of the Empire itself.36 Innovation was also stressed through the involvement of Vienna’s leading architects and designers with the planning of such spaces as Steinhof. Otto Wagner (an early collector of Schiele’s drawings, whose portrait was completed by the artist in 1910) designed the layout plan of Steinhof, and the church. Koloman Moser (who also collected Schiele’s graphic work) designed the church windows. Similarly, the private Purkersdorf Sanatorium ( founded in 1890 by Krafft-Ebing but re-designed and re-built in 1904– 5) was designed in the Secessionstil spirit as a total-art-work by 390 OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007

Austria: 1891–1905’, History of Psychiatry, vol. I, 1990, p. 164. 29. I would like to thank Markus Stumpf, archivist at the University of Vienna library, for his assistance with this information. 30. I would like to thank Professor E. Gabriel, director of Steinhof, for his assistance with this information. 31. The Freud library is divided between two sites, The New York State Psychiatric Institute, housed at Columbia University, USA, and The Freud Museum in London. I would like to thank Keith Davis, librarian and archivist at The Freud Museum for his assistance with this information. 32. Shorter, ‘Mania, Hysteria and Gender’, n. 19, p. 11. 33. Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis: with Especial Reference to the Antipathetic Sexual Instinct (London: Staples Press, 1965), p. 4. First published in 1885. 34. The First Psychiatric Clinic at the Vienna Asylum for Lower Austria was founded in 1870, followed by the Second Psychiatric Clinic at the Vienna General Hospital in 1875 (expanded in 1887 to include a neurological section), and the careful planning and construction of Mauer-O¨hling, a state psychiatric hospital with a capacity for 1000 patients, from 1898 to 1902. For further details of this complex period of change in the provision and management of psychiatric care see, Magda Whitrow, ‘The Early History of the Vienna Psychiatric Clinic’, History of Psychiatry, vol. 1 (1990), pp. 419–25. 35. Exhibitions held in Vienna to demonstrate psychiatric care and speciﬁcally the use of art as a therapeutic exercise to engage patients are currently being researched by Luke Heighton in his dissertation, ‘Madness and Modernity: Images of and by Psychiatric Patients in Vienna 1890–1914’. 36. Leslie Topp has recently analysed the ways in which Steinhof was presented to the public as a utopian city, drawing attention to the rhetoric surrounding the hospital as a shining symbol of a modernity elevated (both ideologically and geographically with its location in the Vienna Woods) above the morass of Viennese urban life. Topp argues: ‘The separation between the “greatest asylum in Europe” and the existing city, with its ﬂaws and complications, was something to be exploited for its full effect, not softened. It was a showy separateness, a model for the modern world, a “white city”, an exhibition of the future’. Leslie Topp, ‘Otto Wagner and the Steinhof Psychiatric Hospital: Architecture as Misunderstanding’, Art Bulletin (March 2005) vol. LXXXVII, no. 1, pp. 130– 156, p. 151.

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37. W. C. Kettel, A History of the Department of Obstetrics & Gynaecology, The University of Iowa, 1848–1980 (University of Iowa: Iowa City, 1981), pp. 53 –4. Quoted in Anton Schaller, Die Wertheim-Klinik (Wilhelm Maudrich: Vienna, Munich & Berlin, 1997), p. 29.

Josef Hoffmann, who secured Schiele’s place at the Internationale Jagdausstellung in 1910, where Schiele exhibited his female nude belonging to the group of self-portraits discussed at the opening of this article. The Wiener Werksta¨ tte was commissioned for the interior design of the Purkersdorf, with work being carried out at a time when Schiele was working under its inﬂuential auspices. Artistic interventions from Vienna’s modernist circles in the care and cure of psychiatric patients were therefore well-rehearsed by individuals working in the same circles as Schiele before his turn to an iconography of pathology in 1910. There is, however, more compelling evidence to suggest that he had ready access to images of the pathological body. Schiele’s friendship with the gynaecologist Dr Erwin von Graff is signiﬁcant. Graff studied pathological anatomy under Hans Eppinger from 1904 to 1908, until moving across to gynaecology, a ﬁeld in which he maintained a reputation as ‘a master anatomist’.37 Perhaps in recognition of this passion for dissection, Schiele’s commissioned portrait of Graff (Fig. 9) focuses on the doctor’s elongated hands, with their prominent knuckles and single bandaged ﬁnger-tip, which appear to clamp his mottled, arthritic body into place. Graff was working at the University’s Frauenklinik when he was ﬁrst introduced to Schiele through Carl Reininghaus (who was to

Fig. 9. Egon Schiele, Portrait of Dr. Erwin von Graff, 1910, oil, gouache, and charcoal on canvas, 100 90 cm. # Private Collection, New York. Courtesy Neue Galerie, New York.

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become the owner of the self-portrait series which opened this article) in 1910.38 Schiele was given permission by Graff to draw the patients at the clinic in the same year. Although the only obvious drawings from this association are of pregnant women and babies, this activity provides us with crucial evidence that Schiele was working in a clinic within a university which championed the pathological anatomy approach to psychiatry, and which held the complete run of the NIS journal. Moreover, this work was facilitated by Graff, whose background was in pathological anatomy. It is no co-incidence that in this exact same year Schiele embraced the image of the diseased body, translating the new iconography he had access to at the University across to his self-portrait practice. Schiele’s friendship with the performance artist and theatre painter Erwin ‘Mime van’ Osen (1891 –1970) is similarly key. Osen (as seen in his portrait by Schiele, Fig. 10) was an original member of the Neukunstgruppe, signing the 1909 declaration, and contributing to the group’s exhibition at Vienna’s Pisko Salon in December of the same year. They had a close working relationship; Osen modelled for Schiele throughout 1910 when both artists were painting together in Krumau, Schiele took over his studio in June 1912, Osen used Schiele’s studio to ﬁnish a portrait in 1913 (according to a letter transcribed by Comini),39 and postcards from Osen to Schiele run from 1909 through to 1914. Both artists were also involved with Graff; in a letter dated 18 May 1910, Graff asks Schiele to pass on his warmest greetings to Osen, asking for the date of their return to Vienna.40 Arthur Roessler, Schiele’s early, ardent patron considered Osen a plagiarist, claiming that in a letter of July 1912 Schiele complained that Osen had signed his name to Schiele’s drawings and sold them as his own.41 The importance of this accusation is that it shows the extent to which Schiele and Osen were working alongside each other in similar modes and with similar subjects. The signiﬁcance of their relationship for this article is in a letter dated 1913, transcribed in its entirety by Alessandra Comini, and quoted in part within another letter from Osen in Schiele’s Complete Documents.42 The letter from Osen to Schiele states: ‘I still have to ﬁnish a portrait in Vienna and a few drawings at Steinhof for the ‘Science Day’ where Dr. Kronfeld will be speaking on pathological expression in portraiture . . . I am already simulating all diseases so that I may get away sooner’.43 It is not clear from the letter whether Dr Kronfeld’s talk, presumably accompanied by Osen’s drawings, was held at Steinhof, though this is possible. Although Dr Kronfeld is not on the 1907 list of head doctors at Steinhof, there was a theatre – Gesellschaftsraum – at the hospital where guest speakers were invited to give public lectures. This letter is certainly well known in the Schiele scholarship, but there has not as yet been any mention of the two pages in Schiele’s sketchbook of 1913 to 1915 held in the Vienna City Library where the words, ‘Kronfeld – Saturday 10– 12 o’clock – Monday 2 – 4 o’clock’ are written on a page which includes ﬁve studies of the male ﬁgure in motion, and an additional mention of ‘Dr. Kronfeld’ ﬁve pages later.44 This information is crucial to an assessment of Schiele’s exposure to ideas on the representation of pathology in portraiture; not only was Schiele working closely with an artist who was drawing patients at Steinhof, he was also meeting with a doctor whose interest lay in pathological expression. We have not until now had proof of Osen’s involvement at Steinhof beyond the letter and the contemporaneous example of Kokoschka – who 392 OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007

Fig. 10. Egon Schiele, Portrait of Erwin Dominik Osen, ‘Mime van Osen’, 1910 pastel and gouache on paper, 38.3 30.3 cm. Leopold Museum, Vienna.

38. Comini, Egon Schiele’s Portraits, p. 72. 39. Comini, Egon Schiele’s Portraits, p. 204, n. 66. 40. Nebehay, Schiele, p. 131, n. 102. 41. Roessler, Briefe und Prosa, pp. 69–70. This speculation is further supported by Nebehay, who writes that Osen was also using Schiele’s painting titles in 1945: ‘Wahrscheinlich scheint uns, daß sich Osen 1945 eines Bildertitels Schieles bediente, wir er ja schon fru¨her seine Art zu signieren imitierte’. Nebehay, Schiele, pp. 551–2. 42. Comini, Egon Schiele’s Portraits, pp. 203–4, n. 66. It is interesting that despite stating that the original letter is in the Albertina Egon Schiele Archive, it is not reproduced in full in Nebehay. In Nebehay there is the following extract only: ‘Dann muss ich in Wien noch ein Portra¨ t fertig machen und einige Zeichnungen auf dem Steinhof fu¨r den Naturforschertag, wo Dr. Kronfeld spricht, u¨ber den pathologiesschen (!) Ausdruck im Portra¨ t . . .’ Nebehay, Schiele, p. 170, n. 570. 43. This translation is by Comini. 44. Nebehay, Egon Schiele’s Sketch Books (Thames and Hudson: London, 1989), pp. 356–7. Dr Kronfeld is mentioned on pp. 70 and 75 of Schiele’s 1913/1915 sketch book.

The Pathological Body

45. Kokoschka’s drawing The Lunatic Girl of 1908 (Wien Museum, Vienna) also shows the artist taking inspiration from – and perhaps even working within – the psychiatric hospital. 46. For a complete list of Schiele collectors and dealers who knew the artist see Kallir, The Complete Works, pp. 684– 6.

was commissioned by Adolf Loos to paint the portrait of a patient-friend, Ludwig Ritter von Janikowsky, whilst he was receiving treatment at Steinhof in 1909 (private collection, New York).45 However, three of the patient-portraits completed by Osen have now been discovered, and are published for the ﬁrst time in this article (see Figs 11 and 12). As beﬁtting their role to illustrate pathological expression in portraiture, the drawings focus on the face of the patient. Despite this, we see in Fig. 12 the twisting of the patient’s body, with withered legs and shoulders raised awkwardly about his ears suggesting curvature of the spine. Osen also takes care to depict in both images the clenched hands of the patients. Factual accuracy is also central to Osen’s representation of the patients. The notes included on the drawings detail the names of each patient – Karl Kalnik and Oskar Lo¨wg – the date of their admission to Steinhof – 1913 and 1911, respectively – and their patient numbers – 1802 and 1963 – as well as Osen’s signature and the date of the drawing’s completion in 1913. These details match exactly the Steinhof records. It is impossible to determine whether such attention to detail was insisted upon by Steinhof, Dr Kronfeld, or – perhaps more interestingly – by Osen, in an attempt to lend the sitter an identity beyond that of ‘patient’. However, what these drawings provide us with is ﬁrm evidence that one of Schiele’s closest friends was collaborating with doctors on the representation of disease, taking inspiration from the image of the patient and working directly inside the psychiatric space. Although produced in 1913, 3 years after Schiele embarked upon his project of pathological self-portraiture, Osen’s drawings considerably enrich the context we should be placing Schiele’s self-fashioning within. Not only was Schiele working in a city that prided itself as the leading centre for psychiatry in Europe, amongst individuals involved in the ‘innovating’ of the reforms, he was also closely connected to an artist later invited to undertake a project of portraiture at Steinhof. This context enables us to push beyond the noting of iconographic parallels between Schiele’s self-portrait project and the image of the pathological body disseminated in Charcot’s NIS journal. Why did Schiele turn to this image, how central was it to his oeuvre, and what did it signal to his patrons and supporters? The Spectacle of the Pathological Body

The striking links between Schiele’s three nude self-portrait paintings (Figs 1 – 3) and his graphic work of the same year show the extent to which the representation of his own body suffused his entire practice in 1910. Although clearly related to the large oils he was to produce in the early months of 1910, the drawings – as evident in their sheer number – were much more than preparatory sketches. I would argue that in their detail, conscientious signing and dating (the distinctive S.10 – Schiele 1910 – signals the ﬁnished drawing) and repetitive iconography, the drawings were conceived as an independent body of work, geared towards the demands of a speciﬁc market. They were certainly avidly collected by such individuals as Heinrich Benesch, von Graff, Moser, Reichel, Reininghaus, Roessler and Alfred Spitzer, all of whom became active as patrons during 1910.46 Although many of the drawings and the large self-portrait nudes on canvas were not exhibited, their speedy entry into private collections, their sale and exchange amongst collectors (often OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007 393

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Fig. 11. Erwin Osen, Portrait of Karl Kalnik, 1913, pencil and pastel on paper, 45 65 cm (approx.). (Photo: Raiffeisenbank Schladming, Austria.)

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47. Oskar Reichel often permitted Schiele to exchange or resell to other collectors works he had acquired earlier. 48. See for example, Fritz Karpfen, Das Egon Schiele Buch (Der Wiener Graphischen Werksta¨ tte: Vienna & Leipzig, 1921). Arthur Roessler, ‘In Memoriam Egon Schiele’, Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration, vol. 44, no. 11 (August 1919), pp. 226–43; Roessler, Breife und Prosa von Egon Schiele (Verlag der Buchhandlung Richard Lanyi: Vienna, 1921).

Fig. 12. Erwin Osen, Portrait of Oskar Lo¨wg, 1911, pencil and pastel on paper, 40 60 cm (approx.). (Photo: Raiffeisenbank Schladming, Austria.)

organised by Schiele)47 and their publication in the ﬁrst wave of literature on Schiele48 shows us that they certainly had exposure, albeit within a carefully cultivated network of almost exclusively male supporters and patrons. The fact that 1910 marked one of Schiele’s most lucrative years for self-portrait sales and portrait commissions further shows that the image of the pathological body he offered was one which clearly appealed. We could interpret this appeal in terms of the body’s functioning as a ‘spectacle’. I would now like to consider how the body was represented by Schiele. How was it organised? How was it looked at? And how was it bound up with issues of desire? OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007 395

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Nude Self-Portrait, Grimacing (Fig. 13) was an important work for Schiele – he used the distinctive, grimacing face with its incised brow, locked jaw and pulsating red ear in no less than three posters throughout 1912, thus taking the drawing out – albeit as a fragment – into the public domain.49 The body is imbalanced; the broad shoulders – with their angular and chiselled bones – contrast with the withered waist, the shrunken ball of the stomach, the fragile triangle of the pelvis. The elongated arms form hard right angles to the body, framing its disarray. We are directed towards the hands, held up with much physical effort, with long ﬁngers spread to reveal the bulbous knuckles. Fine, red washes trickle from the ear to the throat, with its protruding collar bones and knotted tendons, to the ribcage. The body is allowed no setting or support, but is edged in a shaky white line of paint to throw its anatomical extremes from the picture surface. We notice the spreading of the thin paint with the artist’s ﬁngers and thumb to delineate the bicep, the hollow arm pit, the stomach and pectoral muscles. The corporeal is therefore signalled not just in the pathology of the body represented, but also in the manner in which it is drawn, with Schiele’s nail-marks lending an extra visceral ‘charge’ to the image. Schiele was to repeat this formula throughout 1910– 11, with few changes. His graphic oeuvre in particular shows him returning constantly to the depiction of his hunched, spasmodic, contorted body-in-pain, which demands a harrowing communication with the viewer. This idea of communication, ideally followed by the identiﬁcation of the viewer with the artist-subject is, I believe, central to Schiele’s project. The representation of his body as a dismembered and degraded site is geared speciﬁcally towards inspiring pity in the viewer it confronts. This suffering body, isolated from any narrative context which could help to dissipate our anxiety-in-looking, ‘moves’ the viewer, ideally enabling the viewer to identify with the subject.50 Such a dynamic was crucial to maintain in order for Schiele to cultivate a relationship between himself and his patrons that went beyond that of a mere ‘sale and exchange’ market dynamic. However, what is interesting about this question of gazing at and identifying with the anguished male body is that it had to be managed carefully, as seen in the case of Max Oppenheimer. In the same year as Schiele’s self-portrait project, Oppenheimer represented himself in similarly anguished terms as Christ in a Deposition scene which included a cast of supporters reverently holding his splayed, naked body (Fig. 14). The cast of ﬁgures was in fact a group portrait; Schiele, Peter Altenberg, Karl Kraus, Heinrich Mann and the physician Dr Oscar Reichel (a patron also shared by Schiele) are all depicted. The painting operated as a powerful statement of Oppenheimer’s sense of belonging to this inﬂuential (and with the exception of Tilla Durieux) exclusively male circle. His belonging was signalled through the way in which the supporters were represented around Oppenheimer’s body, gazing at both the broken body of the artist within the image, and the male spectator assumed outside the image, and thus articulating – in a very complete visual exchange – a shared bond. We could interpret this shared bond in terms of homosociality – the professional and social network that binds men together. Oppenheimer provides us with an example of how a male community of friends, collectors and patrons could be united through the act of looking at the artist’s body. This homosocial dynamic was a precarious one which had to be managed carefully. Anthea Callen has recently highlighted the desires and tensions that 396 OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007

Fig. 13. Egon Schiele, Nude Self-Portrait, Grimacing, 1910, gouache, watercolour, and pencil with white heightening, 55.8 36.9 cm. Albertina, Vienna.

49. ‘Shaw oder die Ironie’, poster for a lecture by Egon Friedell (11 April 1912); ‘Krieg’, Der Ruf (May 1912), title page; ‘Musik Festwoche’, poster for Akademischer Verband fu¨r Literatur und Musik in Wien (25, 29 June, 1912). 50. This dynamic is also at work in the devotional gazing at Christ as the Man of Sorrows. For a further discussion of the referencing of Christ’s broken body in Vienna’s modernist self-portraiture see, Blackshaw, ‘The Jewish Christ’.

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51. Anthea Callen, ‘Doubles and Desire: Anatomies of Masculinity in the Later Nineteenth Century’, Art History, vol. 26, no. 5, November 2003, pp. 669–99, p. 677. 52. See Karl Kraus, ‘Kokoschka und der andere’, Die Fackel, no. 339–40, 30 December 1911, p. 22. Oppenheimer’s Deposition is now lost. It is further discussed in Marie Agnes von Puttkamer, Max Oppenheimer – MOPP 1885-1954 (Bo¨hlau: Vienna, Ko¨ln & Weimar, 1999), p. 85.

Fig. 14. Max Oppenheimer, The Deposition, 1910, oil on canvas. Present whereabouts unknown, formerly in the collection of Dr Oskar Reichel, Vienna.

characterised the male gaze in both medical and artistic late-nineteenthcentury arenas when it turned – unusually – on the male body. She argues: ‘Representations of male homosociality risk transgressing the fragile boundary between the licit and the illicit, between the homosocial and the homosexual, but the risk is greatest, perhaps, where no female is portrayed’.51 It is signiﬁcant that these same individuals included in Oppenheimer’s painting were to turn viciously against the artist in 1910, switching their allegiance to Kokoschka in an attack laced with anti-Semitic (and possibly even homophobic) slurs on Oppenheimer’s character as the Other (der andere).52 Could we perhaps interpret Oppenheimer’s self-portrait – with its pale, languid and submissive body of the artist – as a step too far in its demands on the male gaze and its suggestion of an erotic subtext to their looking? Was Schiele’s pathological representation of his body in fact a canny means of circumnavigating such tensions – uniting his supporters through their collective gaze on his body, but disrupting this body sufﬁciently to avoid the worrying tremors of homosexual desire? Schiele was certainly more successful in ensuring the lasting allegiance of his supporters. This was perhaps due to the fact that he quickly extended his iconography of pathology out from his self-portraiture to the imaging of his friends and patrons. We have already identiﬁed the emphasis Schiele placed on the diseased body in the process of decay in his portrait of Erwin von OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007 397

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Graff (Fig. 9). This iconography is typical, with his commissioned portrait portfolio becoming increasingly a complementary body of work to the self-portraits. We could argue that Schiele’s own self-image as the diseased artist was bolstered by his comparable representation of his sitters, with the portraits combining to create a single identity for a collective of ‘like-minded’ individuals. Although the body is largely covered in his portraits, the grimacing faces, putrid ﬂesh-tones, withered limbs and pronounced joints protruding from the suits of his sitters certainly articulate a shared identity. This identity further enabled Schiele to articulate a more profound relationship to his patrons than that of mere ﬁnancial necessity. The portraits thus disseminated – through the shared pathological body – a notion of artist – patron kinship, successfully distracting the viewer from the transactional processes that lay behind the portrait’s genesis. The portraits therefore appeared ‘impelled’ as opposed to ‘deliberated’, becoming an extension of Schiele’s own self-image. Such a notion was quickly consolidated by Schiele’s enthusiastic patron Roessler, who described the artist as revealing in the portrait the terminal disease of his sitters: His cold, glittering eyes have seen the pale hues of decomposition in human faces, the death under the skin; and with indescribable wonder he has gazed upon deformed, contorted hands with craggy skin and nails of yellow horn . . . With a sense of awe, he has observed the strange changes in the skin, lined with lifeless veins through which watery blood and dirty juices slowly trickle, and the green eyes behind red, infected eyelids that shunned the light.53

Schiele’s patrons collaborated in this form of homosocial-bonding, by not just commissioning works of themselves, or volunteering their services as sitters (Heinrich and Otto Benesch, Max Kahrer, Eduard Kosmack, Oppenheimer, Reichel, Reininghaus, Roessler, Sigmund Rosenbaum, von Graff and Otto Wagner), but also buying portraits of each other. Reichel’s portrait of 1910 (private collection, Kallir no. P166) – though initially declined by the sitter – was speedily bought by Hermann Eissler following its exhibition at Schiele’s one-man show at the Galerie Miethke in 1911. Wagner’s portrait of 1910 (present whereabouts unknown, Kallir no. P164) – though cut down to a fragment – was nevertheless bought by Roessler. Karl Zakovsek’s portrait of 1910 (Neue Galerie, New York, Kallir no. P160) was bought by Reininghaus in 1912, who followed this purchase up with his acquisition of Schiele’s double portrait of Heinrich and Otto Benesch (Neue Galerie der Stadt Linz, Wolfgang Gurlitt Museum, Kallir no. P250), completed in the early part of 1913. Heinrich Benesch, though lacking the capital of patrons such as Reininghaus, also collected portraits by Schiele, acquiring drawings of Max Kahrer (Albertina, Kallir no. D623), Eduard Kosmack (Albertina, Kallir no. D637), Oppenheimer (Albertina, Kallir no. D588) and Reininghaus (present whereabouts unknown, Kallir no. D609), all produced in 1910. This sale or exchange of portraits is a distinctive feature of this particular group of collectors, and it was unusual. Unlike Klimt’s portraits of society ladies (which stayed with the sitter or her family) and Kokoschka’s rejected portraits (which were bought up by only one patron – Loos), Schiele’s portraits quickly found a local market of interested collectors. Their purchasing of each others’ portraits was not only a means of sustaining Schiele, but also a means of ﬁnancially supporting the construction and marketing of their group identity. We perhaps see in their efforts the 398 OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007

53. Roessler, ‘In Memoriam’, p. 231–2.

The Pathological Body

vulnerability of this particular group of men. How else to explain the sharing of identity, the declaration of relationships, and the professing of ties? I would argue that Schiele was more than aware of this. Although Schiele’s pathologising of his body in his self-portraiture was to continue throughout 1911, his burst of portrait-painting and sales was largely conﬁned to 1910, with no portraits of either male or female sitters being completed in 1911. We could argue that this intense portrait-painting activity of 1910 was geared speciﬁcally towards consolidating Schiele’s position in a competitive art market; the large and expensive self-portraits on canvas bought by Reininghaus launched him, but they could not complete the avant-garde ‘gambit’ alone. The Language of Pathology: Avant-garde ‘Gambits’

Fig. 15. Gustav Klimt, Medicine, 1901 – 1907, destroyed 1945. (Photo: Albertina, Vienna.)

54. Ludwig Hevesi describes the painting thus in Hevesi, ‘Neue Bilder von Klimt: Sezession’ (16 March 1901), reprinted in idem, Acht Jahre Sezession (Marz 1897–Juni 1905): Kritik, Polemik, Chronik (Vienna 1906), pp. 316– 9, see pp. 316–7 for his discussion of Medicine. 55. ‘Die auf dem Bilde vorkommenden ﬁguralen Darstellungen sind derart, dab selbe vielleicht fu¨r ein anatomisches Museum, niemals aber fu¨r einen allgemein zuga¨ nglichen Repra¨ sentationsraum in der Universita¨ t passen, weil sie keine fachma¨ nnische Verwerthung als Lehrmittel bilden, sondern durch Roheit der Auffassung und Mangel an Aesthetik das grob Publicum tief verletzen mu¨ssen’. Hermann Bahr, Gegen Klimt: Historiches – Philosophie, Medizin, Goldﬁsche, Fries (Vienna, 1903), p. 46. 56. Karl Kraus, Die Fackel, lxxiii (April 1901), cited in Christian Nebehay, ed., Gustav Klimt: Dokumentation (Vienna 1969), p. 254. 57. ‘Well, gentlemen, this is Medicine, Klimt’s latest work of genius . . . now I ask you to try and think of something sensible in front of this picture. I can’t – the walls are turning, and my stomach too. Help, where’s the exit? . . . Thank God, it’s passed; Medicine has had its effect’. Bahr, Gegen Klimt, pp. 55–56.

Meier-Graefe’s description of modern art in Vienna as ‘a lad who has grown too quickly, tremendously tall but shockingly thin, weak of bone and precociously diseased’ was published in 1904, one year after Herman Bahr’s publication of the scathing reviews that followed the display of Klimt’s paintings for the ceiling of the new University of Vienna building (1900 –1907). Klimt’s Medicine (Fig. 15), exhibited at the 10th Secession exhibition of 1901, was attacked for its pessimistic interpretation of the University’s celebrated faculty, with delirious and diseased bodies spiralling around ‘the pale skeleton of Death’54 despite the presence of Hygeia, the personiﬁcation of Health. In Gegen Klimt, Bahr collated the public condemnations of the painting, including that of an anonymous reviewer for the Wiener Morgenzeitung, who considered how the bodies in Medicine were more suited to an anatomical museum than a university.55 Klimt’s ﬁgures, with their curved spines, swollen stomachs and rigid limbs, were bitingly thought to have more diagnostic than aesthetic value. This opinion was echoed throughout the press, with a viewer writing in Die Fackel commenting sarcastically that ‘the chaotic tangle of decrepit bodies is a symbolic representation of conditions at the Vienna General Hospital!’56 Such criticisms brilliantly – though unwittingly – underline the aims of the Salpeˆtrie`re’s NIS journal: to highlight the invasion of pathology into art, and art into the imaging of pathology. I would argue that Bahr’s 1903 reminder of the reception of Klimt’s Medicine inspired Meier-Graefe – working in Vienna on the 14th Secession exhibition in the same year – to use the metaphor of the ‘precociously diseased’ Vienna. Klimt’s painting provided Meier-Graefe with an example of how the pathological body could be used powerfully as a sign for modern art. The power of this sign of the pathological body lay in its ability to seep sensationally into the very language of art criticism. The furore over Klimt’s painting is perhaps best encapsulated in the comic descriptions of visitors who – at the mere sight of the bodies – have to rush out of the Secession exhibition to vomit.57 Descriptions such as this show that the pathological body clearly carried that vital avant-garde quality: the capacity to shock. However, Klimt was not able to complete this avant-garde move. The damning reviews were seemingly too much for the artist, who retreated from the representation of the body, increasingly concealing it in ﬂat, decorative panels which attempt (not always successfully) to suppress its eruptive, visceral qualities. I would argue that in a move typical of Pollock’s model of the three-pronged avant-garde gambit – reference, deference, difference – Schiele returned to this early OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007 399

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work of his mentor, recognising (along with Meier-Graefe) its potential and pushing the iconography of the University paintings one step further.58 Rising resentment at the inﬂuence of Klimt, the lingering preoccupation with decorative art, and the sublimation of artistic individuality as signalled in the communal working practices of the Secession, meant that it was the right time for such a move. Schiele’s benefactors and allies were quick to contribute to this avant-garde assault, with Roessler in particular being keen to challenge the Secession’s grip on what was considered to be ‘modern’ in Vienna’s art circles (a grip which was simply replaced after Klimt’s departure in 1905 with the Galerie Miethke, with Carl Moll as its artistic director).59 We see their support not only in their patronage of Schiele, but also in the language they use to describe his art, which further contributed to his iconography of pathology and thus his avant-garde gambit. In Das Egon Schiele Buch of 1921, which contained ﬁve self-portraits and two portraits of von Graff and Paris Gu¨tersloh with distinctly similar pathological body types, Fritz Karpfen reﬂects that, in 1908 (when Schiele exhibited 10 oil paintings at the Kunstaustellung in Klosterneuberg), Schiele’s art was still ‘healthy’ (gesund). However, in 1910 public opinion turned at the revolting aspects of his work. In the Fra¨nkischer Kurier of 1911: ‘The Viennese Schiele is unhealthy (ungesund) and for our taste inaccessible’. Similarly, in an unspeciﬁed source, ‘Egon Schiele’s aberrations are some of the most disgusting we have seen thus far in Vienna’.60 Karpfen defended Schiele’s work against such charges, citing Roessler’s view that ‘the perversity in Schiele’s portraits and nudes was not his fault, as this was simply the nature of his models – the contortions and the diseased stares were simply a faithful rendering of the body and mind of mankind of our time’.61 The materiality of the body in Schiele’s work was also celebrated by critics such as Otto Benesch, painted alongside his father by the artist in 1913. Benesch, in his foreword to the exhibition catalogue accompanying Schiele’s one-man show at the Galerie Arnot in 1915, observed that Schiele’s paintings from 1910 are ‘organically structured . . . a network of closely interwoven cells that cannot break without the whole body disintegrating into sore shreds of skin’.62 Kurt Rathe, writing in 1919, similarly focuses on this rupturing potential of the body in his description of Schiele’s ‘blood-thirsty asceticism’ and portraits that visualise the ‘pulsing juices of the blood’;63 and Hans Tietze in ‘Nekrolog’ considers how, ‘in tight contortions, Schiele’s bodies showcase a twitching rigidity just like skinned ﬁgures; living corpses’.64 Tietze goes on to comment that this ‘subcutaneous way of painting, a suffering under a deep-seated wound’ was now typical of some artists of the day.65 Although he does not mention any names, Tietze must have had Kokoschka in mind with his reference to ‘artists of the day’. The reception of Kokoschka’s portraits of 1909– 10 (slightly preceding Schiele’s work) similarly focused on the pathological representation of his sitters, and their nauseating effects on the viewer. For example, on viewing Kokoschka’s Portrait of Lotte Franzos of 1909 (The Phillips Collection, Washington, DC) at the Hagenbund exhibition of 1911, Josef Strzygowski (professor in art history at the University of Vienna) noted that, ‘A horrible smell wafts from the portrait of Lotte Franzos’.66 Karl Schreder of the Deutsche Volksblatt considered Lotte’s portrait – amongst others by Kokoschka – in similar terms as, ‘distorted expressions caused by debilitating illnesses or a corrosive process of decay . . . how gruesome the thoroughly crippled 400 OXFORD ART JOURNAL 30.3 2007

58. Pollock deﬁnes ‘reference’ as the ability of the artist to link his work up to what is currently considered avant-garde. ‘Deference’ is the willingness of the artist to defer to the existing avant-garde leader who ‘had the latest move’. A further ‘move’ is required to seal the success of the ambitious artist; that of ‘difference’, a third strategy which – though dependent on the older artist’s example – advances it forward and thus supplants it. This three-pronged assault is a delicate one to manage: ‘An avant-garde gambit works only if you can evoke a reference text, and rework it so that its status is overcome and it space occupied. If the work is too different, reference will be stymied; if it is too close, deference will overwhelm its separate identity and it will seem merely derivative, or worse, banal and hackneyed’. Pollock, Avant-Garde Gambits, p. 28. 59. See for example Roessler, ‘Hagenbund’, Arbeiter Zeitung, 14 May 1912, ‘Drei Jungwiener Maler’, Die Aktion 5 (February, 1915), p. 80 and ‘Jungo¨sterreichische Malku¨nstler’, Donauland. Illustrierte Monatsschrift, vol. 1, no. 1 (1917), pp. 209–213. Roessler contrasts Vienna’s applied art – with Klimt as its ﬁgure-head – with artists such as Schiele, Kokoschka and Oppenheimer, who were able to ‘peel people inside out’ in front of horriﬁed spectators. 60. ‘Der Wiener Schiele ist ungesund und fu¨r unseren Geschmack unversta¨ ndlich . . .’. ‘Egon Schiele, dessen Verirrungen mit zu dem Ekelhaftesten geho¨ren, was man bisher in Wien gesehen hat . . .’ Karpfen, Das Egon Schiele Buch, p. 23. 61. Karpfen, Das Egon Schiele Buch, p. 24. 62. Otto Benesch, ‘Katalog Vorwort zur Kollectiv-Ausstellung Schieles in der Galerie Arnot, Wien January 1915’, reprinted in Roessler (ed.), In Memoriam Egon Schiele (Richard Lanyi: Vienna), 1921, p. 33. 63. Kurt Rathe, ‘Egon Schiele Weg und Ziel’ Wien February 1919, in Roessler, In Memoriam, p. 45. 64. Hans Tietze, ‘Nekrolog’, in Roessler, In Memoriam, p. 58. 65. Tietze, ‘Nekrolog’, in Roessler, In Memoriam, p. 58. 66. Josef Strzygowski, ‘Junge Ku¨nstler im Hagenbund’, Die Zeit, 9 February, 1911. Quoted and translated in Natter (ed.), Kokoschka: Early Portraits, p. 120.

The Pathological Body

67. Karl Schreder, ‘Kunstuntergang im Hagenbund’, Deutsches Volksblatt, 9 February, 1911. Quoted and translated in Natter (ed.), Kokoschka: Early Portraits, p. 120. 68. See, for example, Cernuschi, Re/Casting Kokoschka, pp. 21 –50. In his chapter ‘Body and Soul: Kokoschka’s The Warrior, Truth, and the Interchangeablity of the Physical and Psychological in Fin-de-Sie`cle Vienna’, Cernuschi considers the local intellectual framework which enabled Kokoschka to associate the peeling back of the skin to reveal the interior of the body (seen in his exposure of blood vessels, bones and sinewy tendons) with the revelation of psychological ‘truth’. This ‘interchangeability’ is placed convincingly within Kraus’s ‘exposure’ of the hypocritical bourgeois fac¸ade, Loos’s critique of Secessionstil ornament which conceals the underlying material and structure of buildings, and Freud’s concept of ‘excavating’ psychological truth by penetrating the civilising and self-protecting layers of the conscious mind.

hands – swollen in parts, half-rotten in others – as if leprosy had already begun its appalling ravaging process’.67 Such criticism arguably shows that it was not just Schiele who recognised the avant-garde potential of Klimt’s University paintings. The representation of the pathological body had clearly enabled more than one artist in Vienna to break out of Secessionstil idioms, although Kokoschka was less conﬁdent in depicting the body-in-pain in its entirety, preferring to concentrate on the face and hands only. It is interesting, however, that whilst Kokoschka’s identity as artist-surgeon, and ‘subcutaneous’ representation of the body has come under much scrutiny,68 Schiele’s comparable strategies have not been explored so rigorously. It has therefore been difﬁcult to fully appreciate the methods he used to launch himself into the competitive and hostile climate of Vienna’s art market, where friendships and alliances had to be both declared and nurtured. By drawing attention to the iconographic links between Schiele’s self-portraits and that of the NIS patient-photographs, I hope to have demonstrated how his work can productively be reintegrated into this context. I would argue that the turn to the photographs – readily available in Vienna’s medical and public libraries – was a canny move by an artist who was aware of live debates in Vienna about neuropathology and the debilitating effects of modern life on the body, as well as the inadequacy of Secessionstil art to represent this body. The harrowing photographs of ‘les malades’ and ‘les difformes’ provided Schiele with source-material to take the human body as represented in Klimt’s University paintings one step further – in Pollock’s words, ‘advancing it and supplanting it’. He was certainly helped in this endeavour, and we should not underestimate the role of physician-friends working in pathological anatomy, critics such as Roessler championing the skin-peeling techniques of the new ‘Jungwiener Maler’, and patrons such as Reininghaus, purchasing the self-portrait that ﬁrst staged the ‘gambit’. We could shift the modernist focus on Schiele to his patrons, perhaps even speculating that the iconography of pathology was proffered and fostered not by the artist, but by his market. However, I think it is ultimately more satisfying to consider the ‘gambit’ as a collaborative effort, with Schiele representing his body as a pathological and pitiful site for male spectators who could – in looking, buying, exchanging and identifying – promote the artist as the ‘precociously diseased’ young Vienna. I would like to thank my colleagues on the AHRC-funded research project ‘Madness and Modernity: Art, Architecture and Mental Illness in Vienna and the Hapsburg Empire 1890– 1914’. Project members include Dr Leslie Topp (project leader), Dr Sabine Wieber (post-doctoral research associate), Luke Heighton and Nicky Imrie (PhD students), Birkbeck College. For their responses and helpful comments, I would also like to thank Tag Gronberg and Shearer West. An earlier version of this argument was presented at The Association of Art Historians annual conference, Oxford Brookes University, 2001.

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\'The Pathological Body: Modernist Strategising in Egon Schiele\'s Self-Portraiture\', Oxford Art Journal, 30:3, 2007, 377-401.

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