Art Without Borders: Modernity in Central Europe

Map It:  Smithsonian 

THE IMAGERY in the National Gallery's new exhibition of modernist photography may be familiar — bohemian portraiture, slice-and-dice cityscape, surrealist montage, etc. — but the three things that matter most are location, location and location. The "where" alters the "what."

That's true whether you're talking about Prag or Praha, Vilna or Wilno, Krakau or Krakow. The names change depending on who was in charge at the time.

"Foto: Modernity in Central Europe, 1918-1945" focuses on the territories caught between the pincers of West and East.

With many small-scale works packed tightly into a few rooms, it's a dense show, and it covers a lot of political ground. The fascist mythos is advanced by snow-bunny cheesecake emblazoned "Ski Heil!" (really) and bucolic "Homeland Photography," such as Wilhelm Angerer's eerily supernatural snowscape, "Song of the Blessed."

Then there are the voices of dissent, which tend to be those of the underdog, whether manic (John Heartfield's screaming self-portrait), secret (the absurdist montages Jindrich Heisler created in hiding), or nearly inaudible (the horrifically fragile "Legs Stretched Into Wire" from Wadysaw Strzeminski's series "To My Friends the Jews").

"Foto" isn't so crass as to state a moral, but it does have one: When aesthetics plays handmaid to ideology, be careful. Because paper will bear whatever's printed on it.

» National Gallery of Art, 600 Constitution Ave. NW; opens Sun., runs through Sept. 3; 202-737-4215. (Smithsonian)

By Glenn Dixon for Express
Photo courtesy NGA