Mary Rapp - History

I have discovered that I am in Max Beckmann's diary as Mary Rapps' [St. Louis section] and have decided to do as he asked me to do many years ago, namely to write about him. I have chosen the occasion of the opening of his retrospective show at MOMA this week. I am especially eager to correct the impression given by the comments that appeared in the Times of London when his show opened at the Tate in February. The critic had little knowledge or appreciation of Beckmann's work and quoted George Grosz to the effect that Beckmann "did not like people" and "had no sense of humor." This was in complete contradiction to my experience with him. He was an extremely complex person with a rather antic sense of the comic. Though frequently bizarre and always visually oriented, it was a lively part of his personality.

As for his reaction to people, one need only read the diary with its many references to close friends. The most striking aspect of his character was his identification with mythic concepts and figures. Reading the recent news of destruction of cultural antiquities during the Iraqui 2 war, I remembered again my conversations with him about "Ur of the Chaldees" the historical core of his highly personalized visual mythology. He carried in his imagination a body of archetypal personages who populated his private space as well as his paintings.

I think that the people he embraced as friends and lovers in his life bore marked resemblance to these mythical figures only he recognized. In some way unknown to me, I must have passed the test and entered into that fellowshop because I appear as the model for several significant paintings of or about women. I am the figure in the upper left corner of the "The Fisherwomen" (Quappi, his wife, is the central figure.) He also identified me as the model in "Snake Charmer," "Frau Mit Orchidee" and "Valkerie."

Our meeting was in no way accidental. I contrived it: When I found out I could not study with him, as only graduate painting students at Washington University were eligible for his classes, I decided on a desperate move. I was writing a small "art column" in a suburban newspaper to augment the tiny income my husband, Gil, earned as a reporter. So, clutching my questionable press credentials, I presented myself at his door for an interview.

Beckmann had no English and I had no German; so I communicated my mission in bad French, and was admitted. Fortunately, Quappi his wife, spoke good English and acted as translator. After the expected questions and answers, I managed to say, "I had hoped to study with you." Quappi translated and some small German conversation followed. Then, miraculously, she said, "he will take you as a student."

The lessons ["corrections"] began the following week. I had been told to arrive at the back entrance to the art school after regular hours. I was very nervous and balancing two wet paintings that had survived a trip by streetcar. He greeted me warmly in Germanic French and ushered me to a bright spot in the teaching studio [only much later I was admitted into his personal painting studio] and the correction began. The first painting was a study of Siamese cats. After a non-commital grunt, he said he knew those animals well' then picked up a brush full of black paint and "closed the composition." The other painting was a group of men riding a merry-go-round. This elicited a question, "women don't go there?" Again with black paint he added motion lines. Then to my horror, he put the two wet canvases face to face and said, "Now we drink."

This was to be the pattern for all the lessons.

The destination [usually] for what we were to be our drinking discussions was a gaudy bar with Tahitian motif located a few more stops out on the streetcar line. I can't remember now how much whiskey we drank; but it was enough to lubricate our inadequate French. We later joked that we communicated in "Scotch."

And we did truly communicate. He asked my opinion about everything that interested him: art, philosophy, religion; and then usually told me firmly that I didn't know everything. He asked me whether I was afraid to die. When I asked him the same questions, he answered "not when I will, but when I must." It was during these sessions that he discussed his belief in the lost Atlantis and his fascination with Gilgamesh and Ur. He also explained that for him, painting was serious business, a never-ending search for the Self, the true essence of his being.

It has been suggested to me often that he must have been attacted to me. He was then about 63 years old [an "old man" to me from the vantage point of 21 years] and, despite the obvious sexual content of some of the paintings in which I appear, I never thought of our relationship in those terms. The only time I formally posed for him was on the occassion of an invitaion to me and my husband for tea at the Beckmanns. The tea turned into cocktails and he ended by doing a series of drawings of both of us. This was about the same time he painted "The Artists" also titled "Snakecharmer" but originally "The Rapps." I think he found us interesting on several levels; as a somewhat unusual looking couple who fit into his personal iconography.

We had access to an automobile on occassion and arranged to take the Beckmanns on small excursions. Our outings were to sites he wanted to see: once to the Indian Mounds in Cairo Illinois, which he found interesting but a little disappointing. Another time to a black nightclub where we were the only white people and not too welcome. He wore his habitual ferocious expression and caused some uneasiness in the celebrants. His social responses frequently caused dismay. On one occasion, at a large dinner party, jokes were being told in English. Everyone laughed, then waited while Quappi translated for Max. His response, "Oh ja."

When I was finally, after several months, invited into his private painting studio I was awed by the sighte of a huge room lined by paintings facing all four walls. He turned them to face me one at a time and at his own whim. I was first shown a still life of onions, which I admired. He smiled and said, "Ja, I painted that for little girls." After a pause, he turned another canvas, a powerful study of lovers plunging toward the sea, each holding a cut silhouette of the other. I gasped. He said, "That I painted for very big girls."

We had a few differences of opinion. He was annoyed when I suggested his lean painting method might require restoration in future years, then pretended to find it an amusing thought that someone who paid a handsome sum of money for one of his paintings might be vacuuming it up off the floor in time. He was hurt when I expressed admiration for Matisse, outraged when I admired Picasso.

Despite his renown, he was always appreciative of recognition and enjoyed being feted. When he was invited to return to Germany for a commemorative exhibit, he hesitated; but was pleased once again to be a "good German" and decided to accept.

This is a small vignette of a large experience. Even after all these years, I still find myself understanding a cryptic remark or the genius of a particular stroke of black paint that then was clouded in a mist of "Scotch."


	I have discovered that I am in Max Beckmann's diary as Mary Rapps' [St. Louis section] and have decided to do as he asked me to do many years ago, namely to write about him. I have chosen the occasion of the opening of his retrospective show at MOMA this week. I am especially eager to correct the impression given by the comments that appeared in the Times of London when his show opened at the Tate in February. The critic had little knowledge or appreciation of Beckmann's work and quoted George Grosz to the effect that Beckmann "did not like people" and "had no sense of humor." This was in complete contradiction to my experience with him. He was an extremely complex person with a rather antic sense of the comic. Though frequently bizarre and always visually oriented, it was a lively part of his personality. As for his reaction to people, one need only read the diary with its many references to close friends. The most striking aspect of his character was his identification with mythic concepts and figures. Reading the recent news of destruction of cultural antiquities during the Iraqui 2 war, I remembered again my conversations with him about "Ur of the Chaldees" the historical core of his highly personalized visual mythology. He carried in his imagination a body of archetypal personages who populated his private space as well as his paintings. I think that the people he embraced as friends and lovers in his life bore marked resemblance to these mythical figures only he recognized. In some way unknown to me, I must have passed the test and entered into that fellowshop because I appear as the model for several significant paintings of or about women. I am the figure in the upper left corner of the "The Fisherwomen" (Quappi, his wife, is the central figure.) He also identified me as the model in "Snake Charmer," "Frau Mit Orchidee" and "Valkerie." Our meeting was in no way accidental. I contrived it: When I found out I could not study with him, as only graduate painting students at Washington University were eligible for his classes, I decided on a desperate move. I was writing a small "art column" in a suburban newspaper to augment the tiny income my husband, Gil, earned as a reporter. So, clutching my questionable press credentials, I presented myself at his door for an interview. Beckmann had no English and I had no German; so I communicated my mission in bad French, and was admitted. Fortunately, Quappi his wife, spoke good English and acted as translator. After the expected questions and answers, I managed to say, "I had hoped to study with you." Quappi translated and some small German conversation followed. Then, miraculously, she said, "he will take you as a student." The lessons ["corrections"] began the following week. I had been told to arrive at the back entrance to the art school after regular hours. I was very nervous and balancing two wet paintings that had survived a trip by streetcar. He greeted me warmly in Germanic French and ushered me to a bright spot in the teaching studio [only much later I was admitted into his personal painting studio] and the correction began. The first painting was a study of Siamese cats. After a non-commital grunt, he said he knew those animals well' then picked up a brush full of black paint and "closed the composition." The other painting was a group of men riding a merry-go-round. This elicited a question, "women don't go there?" Again with black paint he added motion lines. Then to my horror, he put the two wet canvases face to face and said, "Now we drink." This was to be the pattern for all the lessons. The destination [usually] for what we were to be our drinking discussions was a gaudy bar with Tahitian motif located a few more stops out on the streetcar line. I can't remember now how much whiskey we drank; but it was enough to lubricate our inadequate French. We later joked that we communicated in "Scotch." And we did truly communicate. He asked my opinion about everything that interested him: art, philosophy, religion; and then usually told me firmly that I didn't know everything. He asked me whether I was afraid to die. When I asked him the same questions, he answered "not when I will, but when I must." It was during these sessions that he discussed his belief in the lost Atlantis and his fascination with Gilgamesh and Ur. He also explained that for him, painting was serious business, a never-ending search for the Self, the true essence of his being. It has been suggested to me often that he must have been attacted to me. He was then about 63 years old [an "old man" to me from the vantage point of 21 years] and, despite the obvious sexual content of some of the paintings in which I appear, I never thought of our relationship in those terms. The only time I formally posed for him was on the occassion of an invitaion to me and my husband for tea at the Beckmanns. The tea turned into cocktails and he ended by doing a series of drawings of both of us. This was about the same time he painted "The Artists" also titled "Snakecharmer" but originally "The Rapps." I think he found us interesting on several levels; as a somewhat unusual looking couple who fit into his personal iconography. We had access to an automobile on occassion and arranged to take the Beckmanns on small excursions. Our outings were to sites he wanted to see: once to the Indian Mounds in Cairo Illinois, which he found interesting but a little disappointing. Another time to a black nightclub where we were the only white people and not too welcome. He wore his habitual ferocious expression and caused some uneasiness in the celebrants. His social responses frequently caused dismay. On one occasion, at a large dinner party, jokes were being told in English. Everyone laughed, then waited while Quappi translated for Max. His response, "Oh ja." When I was finally, after several months, invited into his private painting studio I was awed by the sighte of a huge room lined by paintings facing all four walls. He turned them to face me one at a time and at his own whim. I was first shown a still life of onions, which I admired. He smiled and said, "Ja, I painted that for little girls." After a pause, he turned another canvas, a powerful study of lovers plunging toward the sea, each holding a cut silhouette of the other. I gasped. He said, "That I painted for very big girls." We had a few differences of opinion. He was annoyed when I suggested his lean painting method might require restoration in future years, then pretended to find it an amusing thought that someone who paid a handsome sum of money for one of his paintings might be vacuuming it up off the floor in time. He was hurt when I expressed admiration for Matisse, outraged when I admired Picasso. Despite his renown, he was always appreciative of recognition and enjoyed being feted. When he was invited to return to Germany for a commemorative exhibit, he hesitated; but was pleased once again to be a "good German" and decided to accept. This is a small vignette of a large experience. Even after all these years, I still find myself understanding a cryptic remark or the genius of a particular stroke of black paint that then was clouded in a mist of "Scotch."	MARY RAPP BORN: St. Louis, Missouri STUDIED: Washington University, St Louis painting: Fred Conway Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts Sculpture: Paul Manship; Private Instruction in Painting: Max Beckman EXHIBITED: Brooks Memorial Art Gallery Memphis, TN High Museum of Art Atlanta, GA Birmingham Museum Birmingham, AL Jackson Museum Jackson, MI Chattanooga Museum Chattanooga, TN Fine Arts Museum of the South Mobile, AL Nassua Visions Gallery Atlanta, GA Art Who? Ocean Springs, MS Grisham Cornell Decatur, AL Temple Gallery San Miguel de Allende, Gto., MX Galeria Principal, Bellas Artes San Miguel de Allende, Gto., MX Grupo Xomax Pozos, Gto., MX COLLECTED: Work in private and public collections in USA, Mexico, and Europe FUNDED: National Endowment for the Arts grant for "Traveling Sculpture" in 1983 REVIEWS: "Atencion" San Miguel: Jan 2000, "Her sculptural techniques range from architectural constructs in copper and cement to sensitive studies and portraits in clay and bronze. The works on paper range from large monoprints and mixed media to pencil sketches. Though her scope is wide, there is no doubt these works are from the same relentless synthesizing eye." Mobile Press Register, 1989: "Mary Rapp showed her achievements in scultpure using materials such as cement, stone, etc... of a figurative, abstract tendency, her work is established at a stage of maturity with techniques she knows well; yet she is still experimenting." QUOTES: "My work is a doorway into another level of experience... a way of perceiving the world and my own reactions that I could not have discovered with words."