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And yet at that time, you were spoilt for choice!
I have always thought so, and that's why I was very
open to Russian Constructivism and De Stijl, which
both contributed to the rapid development of the
Bauhaus. I mentioned Malevich five minutes ago,
but I was also close to El Lissitzky. Between 1923 and
1932, I published my famous magazine Merz.
Constructivism was a key element in it, as were all
the new ideas. Even my work in the Twenties gained
in structure under all these influences. I came to
think that every form was the fixed, instant image of
a process.
Meaning?
(Irritated) I don't believe it - you really have to have
everything explained to you! Well, then, when you
have a system, you arrive at the fixation of an idea,
just as the developer brings out a photograph on
the paper. Do you see? Obviously not. This is the
adman talking to you. In 1924, I founded my own
advertising agency, the Merz Werbezentrale, which
was very successful. It provided an opportunity to
launch new forms and highly original typographies. I
really loved that period - I travelled all over Europe,
really enjoyed life, and made a lot of money while
building up a solid reputation as a highly eccentric
businessman.
Yet another occasion to recycle your Merz!
You know, my greatest success between the
wars was the Merzbau, a building I was never able to
finish, and which was destroyed during an air raid in
1943. (Getting worked up) That was my ultimate aspiration
- a place that brought together the art and
non-art of a totally Merz world! Max Ernst used to say
that it was an enormous abstract grotto. In fact, it
was an autobiographical building, linking places
that were each more astonishing than the next.
(Looking at us with dismay) You seem to be out of
your depth again…
And then what happened during the Thirties?
That was the end of the prosperous years… With the
arrival of Hitler, my links with international modernism
were broken, and I had to get out. Obviously,
THE IMAGINARY INTERVIEW THE MAGAZINE
Germany didn't forget about me, and I had the
honour of taking part in an exhibition of "degenerate
art" in 1937. If the circumstances had been less
tragic, I would have said that this was an extraordinary
event, because it contained everything that
was significant in German art.
Where did you go during the war?
First Norway, then England. I was interned on the
Isle of Man, alongside a lot of German artists and
intellectuals. I tried to immerse myself again in the
golden years of the Merz, but to my amazement,
I was considered a has-been, as the British say, by
the younger generation. (Sighing) For them, I was a
pathetic relic of a distant avant-garde with middleclass
attitudes. When things settled down, I was able
to move to London with my son. I haven't really
moved much since then, and I do the portraits of a
few upstarts to earn a living, as I did when I was
younger. Destiny is a bit of a joker, don't you think?
I continued with my collages, of course, incorporating
advertisements from American newspapers.
At the beginning of the year, the MoMA in New York
remembered the old celebrity I had become, and
commissioned an entire wall of relief collages: I'm in
the middle of working on it (with a mischievous
glance): it's called the Merzbarn!
Once a Merz, always a Merz, obviously!
As you say… On reflection, maybe it's my biggest
mistake. Because I've gone too far, I don't think I'll
ever be part of the pantheon of great artists, despite
Dada and all the success I achieved during the Twenties.
Do you know why I relegated myself to the
margin, despite myself? Because in the end,
I'm anything but a professional anti-establishment
man.… Interview by Dimitri Joannidès
I
"Schwitters in Britain", Tate Britain, Millbank, London, UK -
Until 12 May. www.tatebritain.com
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N° 23 I GAZETTE DROUOT INTERNATIONAL
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