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The Dreaming Boys §
Die Träumenden Knaben
Oskar Kokoschka
1907-08
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LATE 1907 - Fritz Waerendorfer commissions, on behalf of the Wiener Werkstätte company, the young Oskar Kokoschka to the creation of an illustrated book dedicated to his own beloved children. Defiant/foolhardy, the 21 years old would meet his benefactor… with a damningly artful piece - balk with lust, fanciful creatures, and queer lullabies - lamenting a mysterious sleeping beauty, referred to as “the girl Li”.
Strikingly beautiful, yet in content rather troubling... the piece didn’t meet the brief as intended to say the least.
Die Träumenden Knaben - The Dreaming Boys, alternatively: The Dreaming Youth, or The Garden of the Dreaming Youth, was Kokoschka’s very first commission - and an expressionist coming of age of sorts. Startled by its content, the publisher withdrew from the project upon seeing the proofs. The work, dedicated famously to Gustav Klimt, had to be produced in-house and barely made it to Vienna’s 1908 Kunstschau exhibition, where its reception - as well as, obviously, its sales were tedious.
The book nevertheless, not only launched Kokoschka’s career - whose friendship with publisher Kurt Wolff; architect Adolf Loos; as well as the likes of Gustav Klimt; Gustav Malher, or Egon Shiele, often rescued him from similarly destructive tendencies. More importantly, it crystallized the birth of a movement that would propel German expressionism to historical relevance - let alone worldwide fame. Today, surviving copies of Die Träumenden Knaben’s original lithographs are owned by the Museum of Modern Art; the Los Angeles Museum of Art, as well as {amongst others} the National Gallery in Scotland - some of them fetching no less than 24, 000 U.S.D on the auction market.
Also, it may come as a surprise that the works - whose colorful lithographs have been put on display by enviable institutions throughout the years, has yet to be translated {or else rendered accessible} in the English language. Kokoschka, after all, was not only a praised painter - but an accomplished writer; a playwright, and a printmaker in his own right. Yet to date, [or unless I am mistaken - to be (re)verified] only an Italian version was more or less widely circulated - as well as a limited reproduction comprised of a pamphlet in Italian & French, drawn in 620 copies, released in 1995 - and whose specimens are now considered rare.
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What possessed the young Kokoschka to serve, unabashedly, his benefactor in this manner? - one can only surmise. The mystery that so shrouds the book may well have contributed to its fame - let alone to Kokoschka’s lifelong repute as the beloved (terrible) prodigy of Vienna’s early-century avant-garde.
The piece caused an uproar in the stilted circles of the Viennese bourgeoisie, at the time. No less of course, because of its mischievous embezzlement of the children’s format. Also - one of the many interests of proposing a new translation (/edition) of this text, revolves around an exploration of that unrest - in the comparative contexts of then and now. What part of it shocked its audiences, then? How does it differ from the ways in which it may stir, still - shock, or move us, today? Impossible to say without the words, of course - and the intricate questions they raise, unavoidably, in the process of translating (therefore, actualizing) them.
The piece in itself begs important questions - often overlooked as such - about the inherent violence of childhood and teenagers. The young Oskar - an agitated boy marked by a tumultuous childhood, was in fact then enamored of a girl named Lilith. His romance with her, however, was cut short as he, wanting to impress the girl, had (allegedly) blown-up an ant’s nest in a neighboring play garden... nearly killing the (rather unimpressed) young girl in the process. The book, in all likelihood, is a lament to the girl - springing out of nothing but a scorched ego and a broken heart.
But there is more to it than meets the eye - as the dedication to Klimt, amongst other elements, hints at. The piece is drenched in German folk-song symbolism and creatures straight out of a Debussy (1862-1918) flute solo, or a poem by Mallarmé - whilst adopting a bold, cacophonic style foreshadowing the expressionist outbursts - the Tempests, no doubt, that would follow. It is, or in a way, a precocious piece of yet resolutely modern art - but one that did not, in its (genuine) naiveté, fully turn its back on the traditions it broke, or stemmed out from. Pegged in between, it speaks of this fleeting moment of toggle between the ancient and the new - or indeed perhaps “The Bridge” before, as it was, the quarrel. And one that seems to contradict everything that was later to be pompously rashed about the “ruptures” of a (radically, new) Modern Art - and the contradictory movements that would ensue.
Hereby enfolded is a proposal for a facsimile (rendition/re-edition) of the works - enclosed in a collectible coffret comprised of commentaries + newly updated translation(s), bringing the relevance - and enduring beauty of this fiery expressionist piece to the fore.
F L A S H F I C T I O N B O O K S is an original idea and a start-up by marie martine all rights reserved © 2022
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