Multiple partners sex photos
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The prostitutes in Otto Dix’s Three Wenches (1926) — a body for every perverse taste — and Three Prostitutes on the Street (1925) are obviously grotesque. So is the prostitute pictured in Lady with Mink and Veil (1920). The Businessmen Max Roesberg, Dresden (1922) and Dr. Mayer-Hermann (1926) are more subtly grotesque. Roesberg is as angular and lean as his telephone and Mayer-Hermann is as bulbous, not to say bloated, as his X-ray machine. The attribute defines the man, indeed, has taken him over, given him his personal as well as social identity. Indeed, the machine has more personality than he does.
Capitalism and technology inform all of Dix’s paintings, appropriating human presence — dehumanizing the body. Capitalism and technology also show their omnivorous presence and ominous power in Georg Scholz’s Self-Portrait Before an Advertisement Pillar (1926), with its automobile and gas pump as well as advertisement pillar — still a feature of German public space — and Rudolf Schlichter’s The Writer Bertolt Brecht (1926), standing in front of an automobile. Without the larger-than-life automobile backing him up, the cigar-smoking Brecht is all pretentious ego, and without the sturdy pillar and pristine automobile behind him Scholz is a troubled bourgeois, his propriety a shaky facade on his misery.
Dix, a lifelong Communist, may have been critical of capitalism and technology — his etching Dead Soldier in a Trench and drawing How I Looked as A Soldier (both 1924), have as much to do with all-powerful technology, as the weapons suggest, as with war, and his Metropolis (Triptych) (1928) represents, with cynical wit, the unsavory contradictions of capitalism — but he could not deny their power and importance. They determined modern life — both high life and low life. They had sordid consequences, but nothing could be done about them. Satire, after all, is impotent revolution. Dix ruthlessly shows the underside of Baudelaire’s "heroism of modern life," discrediting its idealism completely. But his modern "disasters of war" and "disasters of sex" — for the New Objectivists war and sex express failed human relationships, with resentment and violence, latent or manifest, the signs of failure — are rooted in romantic realism. As Goya’s "Disasters of War" and "Caprichos" — his sardonic take on the disastrous war between the sexes — makes clear, Romanticism believes that war and sex are the fundamental realities of human nature, whatever the social circumstances in which they appear.
There is nothing more objective in New Objectivity painting than machines. They were meticulously represented, in acknowledgement of their social importance. Unlike Picabia and Duchamp, who sardonically used them to make sexual jokes, the New Objectivists show great respect for machines. They have the integrity, authority and character — inescapable presence and hard givenness, and the authenticity of use value — human beings lack. Compared to them, human beings seem vulnerable, as in Dix’s The Poet Iwar von Lьcken (1926); or misshapen, as in Georg Grosz’s portrait of Max Hermann Neisse (1925) and Christian Schad’s Agosta the "Winged One" and Rasha the "Black Dove" (1929); or mad, as in Dix’s Dr. Heinrich Stadelmann (1920), a psychiatrist.
The artists did not exempt themselves from this harsh judgment, as Beckmann’s Self-Portrait with Champagne Glass (1919) with its grotesquely distorted hand makes clear. While not as crippled as Dix’s Skat Players (1920) — handicapped veterans, kept going by technology (hearing aids, mechanical jaws) — or as bizarre as Dix’s The Dancer Anita Berger (1925), or as demented as Gert Heinrich Wollheim in his Self-Portrait (1922), Beckmann is clearly a twisted individual. He is not one of George Grosz’s Pimps of Death (1919), but he is also emotionally ugly — and dangerous.
The New Objectivists have a striking ability to convey idiosyncratic individuality, as is shown by Dix’s The Journalist Sylvia von Harden , (1926), but they also have a strong sense of the ridiculous, conveyed by the exaggeration of details, as Dix’s Prostitute — Girl with Red Bow (1922) makes clear. The human body — especially the female body — seems inherently ridiculous to Dix, as Sweet Little Elly (1920) and Elli (1921) suggest. No classically ideal proportions here. Is Dix a misogynist, perhaps in response to the repulsive, ever-present prostitutes, evoking physical disease and social pathology? Max Beckmann also seems to be a misogynist, if with less ferocity, in his portraits of Maria Swarzenski and Carola Netter (1923) and Kдthe von Porada (1924). There’s a general sense that life is disgusting — rancid and decaying — in New Objectivist portraits, suggesting they’re not as objective — matter-of-factly descriptive, supposedly with photographic verisimilitude — as they’re supposed to be.
The people who come off looking better than most — who are treated with a certain amount of respect, and allowed dignity and decency — are the art dealers on whom the artists were dependent, among them The Art Dealer J. B. Neumann , portrayed by Ludwig Meidner in 1919, and Alfred Flechtheim , portrayed by Dix in 1926. (But he’s accompanied by two faded abstract paintings, suggesting the realist Dix’s distrust of him.) But The Art Dealer Johanna Ey doesn’t come off too well in Dix’s 1924 portrait of her, not only because of her obesity, but because of her lurid appearance. She’s another grotesque female, as though femaleness was inherently grotesque, not to say gross.
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