8. Art in the City of Sobriety

“...Modeled after New York City and thriving off the profits of industrial expansion and moral laxity, Berlin continued in its perverse fixation with capitalist culture in which commercialization, the mass media, and the ‘melting pot’ society shaped all facets of urban life. Capturing this new sober reality visually was the ambition of the artists of the Neue Sachlichkeit artistic movement, including satirist George Grosz and filmmaker Walther Ruttmann....”

Berlin, the capital of the Weimar Republic,¹ the “greatest purely modern city in Europe” (Frisby 43),² and the “skeptical, sober city of quick-witted, sharp-tongued people, leading all German cities in sarcasm and insolence” (Grosz, Autobiography 65) had become the definitive metropolis of Europe during the early twentieth century. Rapid industrial development, haphazard and eclectic urban planning, and an ever expanding population propelled Berlin forward as a Weldstadt, both thoroughly modern and diverse, and thus the perfect milieu in which to experience and observe ‘modernity’ (Frisby 43). The print portfolios of George Grosz and the city-film Berlin: Symphony of a Great City by Walther Ruttmann attest to this fact, presenting the modern viewer with a visual kaleidoscope charting the physical and psychological geography of Weimar Berlin from the differing perspectives of two artists working and living in Berlin during what is known as the ‘stabilization period,’ from 1923 to 1929.

During this pivotal stage in German history, the methodology of Neue Sachlichkeit swept through all facets of German society and culture. This term, originally coined by Gustav F. Hartlaub in 1923, came to encompass a large spectrum of national ideologies that would shape cultural as well as artistic practice (Crockett 1). Throughout Germany, and especially in Berlin, the emulation of the American model of “economic democracy” (Hermand 59) and the ultimate metropolis of New York became paramount in regaining stability following the crippling effects of defeat in the First World War. The obsession with  ‘Fordism’ incited an industrial boom leading to a ruthless battle for profits. In this new ‘sober’ society, labor would be replaced entirely by machines, allowing all citizens to partake in a wide variety of new and exciting leisure activities. Even sex, as part of an ‘open’ lifestyle, had become a kind of “sober eroticism carried out with sportsmanlike fairness” (Hermand 60-61). The city itself became a sight of “positive alienation” where the standardization and homogenization of the populace, coupled with the commodification of everything, unified the masses in their extreme isolation and “pragmatic resignation” (Hermand 61-62). Modeled after New York City and thriving off the profits of industrial expansion and moral laxity, Berlin continued in its perverse fixation with capitalist culture in which commercialization, the mass media, and the ‘melting pot’ society shaped all facets of urban life (Natter 214).³ Capturing this new sober reality visually was the ambition of the artists of the Neue Sachlichkeit artistic movement, including satirist George Grosz and filmmaker Walther Ruttmann.

In order to achieve complete objectivity, Grosz and Ruttmann employed similar approaches to documenting the burgeoning metropolis of Berlin. For example, Grosz monitored subjects on the streets outside the hub of the Berlin avant-garde, the Café des Westens, incessantly sketching the people and objects he observed in a form of almost constant surveillance (Eberle 7). He drew obsessively and with indifference, never sparing any subject from his critical eye (Grosz, Autobiography 125-126).⁴ Similarly, Ruttmann shot his film continuously for a year using new smaller cameras that were purposely hidden from public view in order to capture natural occurrences (Weihsmann 21).⁵ The documentary footage he acquired was then organized onto index cards, which could be rearranged at will. The final structure of five acts or movements, inspired by theatre and music respectively, consisted of a filmed reel for each act encompassing an overarching theme (Weihsmann 21). Grosz’s print portfolios followed an analogous organizing concept, with each individual portfolio targeting a specific sector of German society through an ordered sequence of images.⁶ The portfolio, like the film, was bound in such as way as to suggest links to music or poetry with the cover as an overture and the subsequent images as variations on a common theme or stanzas in a poem (Reisenfeld 21). Correspondingly, Ruttmann uses the term ‘symphony’ in the title to underline the musical qualities of urban traffic, reaching mid-day crescendos of explosive nervousness that fade into the lull of mealtime in a murmuring drone of relief. In this sense, both Grosz and Ruttmann were striving toward the same ends of pure documentary, while simultaneously trying to achieve the timeless ideal of the Gesamtkunstwerk. 

Another key motivation behind the works of both Grosz and Ruttmann was the desire to reach the masses, which, like the artistic ideology of the Gesamtkunstwerk, is common to the development of both the print portfolio and cinema. As an artistic medium, the print portfolio developed from the desire to visually convey narrative through a universal language of images (Reisenfeld 7-10).⁷ By means of mass production, the print cycle could reach a wide audience (Reisenfeld 22-23), creating a vital point of reconnection with the “social stratum” for agitated and alienated inhabitants of the bustling metropolis (Reisenfeld 22).⁸ For example, Grosz, by producing his prints primarily through the commercial process of offset lithography (Reisenfeld 104), increased his production to allow for wider distribution and used cheaper materials to accommodate the reduced economic means of the working classes (Reisenfeld 105).⁹ In fact, the majority of his print portfolios published from 1919 to 1925 by the Communist press Malik-Verlag were purposely geared toward educating and mobilizing the proletariat (Lewis 124). However, the inherent limitation of scale, allowing for only one viewer to look through the portfolio at a time, was one of the major shortcomings of the medium.

By contrast, the film had developed in an opposite manner, becoming progressively larger in scale from the modest sized photographic studies of Eadweard Muybridge and Etienne Marey to the monumental mise en scène of the public movie theater (Pelfrey 200-201).¹⁰ The illusion of movement created by displaying several images consecutively within the breadth of a second had enthralled early cinemagoers at the new nickelodeons (Pelfrey 194-200).¹¹ Ruttmann picked up on this modern fascination with motion and the new rhythms produced by movement in the urban setting in his documentary film of Berlin produced in 1927. The ebb and flow of traffic on the city streets is given precedence over any sense of narrative or social commentary (McElligott 209). In fact, one might view Ruttman's Berlin as a testament to the ‘rhythm’ of metropolitan life rather than an entirely objective record of the city (Chapman 39-40). Although Ruttmann, for the most part, remained true to the concept of documentary by maintaining an objective and comprehensive viewpoint, his use of montage, collage, close ups, and staged scenes pervades his indifference toward the city and its subjects, revealing his keen interest in abstraction. The opening sequence is an exemplar of his background in abstract and experimental film (Natter 215), transforming the oscillations of the quiet waters into a flood of geometric shapes and lines, which are overlaid with and then replaced by the ‘real’ surroundings of the city. The pervasiveness of these subjective elements suggests the complex nature and avant-garde ambitions of the film, and, by extension, the city of Berlin itself, unmasked beneath the superficial façade of objectivity.

Not surprisingly, the streets of Berlin are the focus of the majority of images produced by both Grosz and Ruttmann. As the focal point of human, animal, and mechanical traffic and interaction, the street was a veritable 'asphalt jungle,' an intricate and lush overgrowth of modern life. Grosz and Ruttmann observed what German sociologist Georg Simmel terms ‘social distance,’ in which people remained isolated despite their physical proximity, on the streets of Berlin, an effect of the new ‘sobriety’ on social relations (Frisby 48-49).¹²

Grosz and Ruttmann approach such distressing cultural byproducts of Neue Sachlichkeit ideals in Berlin society in distinctive ways, reflecting both the influence of their respective media in addition to their personal views. Grosz, deemed the “German Hogarth,” had utilized his clear talent for satire in the early stages of the Weimar Republic to aid the newly formed German Communist Party (KPD) (Crockett 37).¹³ However, following a harrowing trip to Russia in 1922, in which he witnessed first-hand the harsh realities of Communism in practice, Grosz became disillusioned with the Leftist cause and desired independence from the demands of the KPD (Kane 50). Grosz’s gradual shift from “political cartoonist” to “benign social reporter” during the stabilization period is also evidence of the influence of Neue Sachlichkeit tendencies in his art (Grosz, The Day of Reckoning x). Prints from his portfolio Ecce Homo (Fig.1), published in 1923, and Love Above All, published in 1925, illustrate this change in visual approach. For example, in Figure 1, entitled “Cross-Section,” isolated fragments of people and objects overlap and intersect at various angles, distorting and reassembling space in order to recreate the overwhelming experience of walking through the city streets. Another image from Love Above All entitled “Unconnected” offers a much-clarified version of a similar scene with the figures and architectural setting conforming to a rudimentary sense of perspective and order.¹⁴ Here, figures are shown walking down a narrow Berlin street, their expressions aloof and severe. The acutely angled viewpoint, which locates the viewer slightly above street level, is meant to suggest a disinterested spectator, looking down over the droning masses. Also, the sympathetic perspective evident in the intimate and revealing images of “Cross-Section” is discarded in “Unconnected” for a supposedly more objective and detached viewpoint that is situated slightly above the subjects. This clear shift in perception and visual treatment of subjects is indicative of Grosz’s personal political disillusionment and consequent adherence to the popular new ‘documentary’ aesthetic approach.

Ruttmann employs a similar sense of documentary style through different methods of representation. The term ‘cross-section’ is often applied to his treatment of Berlin, as Ruttmann makes a clear attempt to form an all-inclusive visual panorama of the Berlin cityscape by only briefly addressing each aspect (Hake 128-129). Interestingly though, Ruttmann also fragments the human body using the cinematic techniques of the close-up and montage, dissecting the body into separate parts that are expressive of the fragmentary nature of modern experience in a way similar to Grosz’s interpretation of the ‘cross-section’ of urban life in Berlin presented in Figure 1 (McElligott 223).

The use of text in both artists’ works reflects the growing importance of language in the mass media as well as in art. Grosz’s clever use of captions in his earlier works becomes diminished in the guise of objectivity, and also relates to his reuse of prints in several portfolios. Borrowing heavily from popular songs, well-known poems, plays, and political speeches, selected under the guidance of Herzfelde (Grosz, The Face of the Ruling Class xiv), Grosz recontextualizes the quotations by juxtaposing them with his satirical imagery (Fig. 2) (Grosz, The Day of Reckoning 12).¹⁵ This image, published first in The Day of Reckoning from 1923 and again in the portfolio Die Räuber (The Robber) of the same year, takes its caption in both reproductions from the play Die Räuber by Friedrich von Schiller written in 1781, recontextualizing the meaning of the captions while simultaneously mocking the canon of German theatre (Grosz, The Day of Reckoning vii; Reisenfeld 105).¹⁶ The original caption “Swim, he who can, and whoever is too weak, go under” is a comment on the imbalance in wealth and well being amongst the classes in Germany (Grosz, The Day of Reckoning 61). In the Die Räuber image, the caption, which reads “Even lions and leopards nourish their young. Ravens feast their brood on carrion,” evokes the sense of men, specifically those of greater wealth, being lower than animals in their greed and selfishness (Reisenfeld 107-108).¹⁷ In addition to these acerbic rereadings of the Schiller texts in the context of Grosz’s politically charged prints, the images themselves are being recontextualized within different sequences of images collected within a print portfolio as a Marxist devaluation of ‘uniqueness’ through mass reproduction (Reisenfeld 107).¹⁸ In later portfolios assembled during the ‘stabilization period,’ such as Der Spiesser-Spiegel (Mirror of the Philistine), published in 1925, these pointed and witty captions are simply replaced by numbers or descriptions of the scene, again reflecting his adherence to new objective tendencies (Lewis 176).¹⁹ Nonetheless, his sense of misanthropy and Leftist political views can still be discerned in his visual differentiations of classes in German society.

Ruttmann also uses text in his film to express his subjective views on social conditions in Berlin. In Act IV, headlines begin to emerge from the text of a newspaper: “Crisis,” “Murder,” “Stock Market,” “Marriage,” “Money, Money, Money, Money, Money, Money” (Hake 133).²⁰ These words reflect the new values of the ‘sober’ society, which Ruttmann presents as the oppressive and relentless pressures of daily life. The words assault the viewer, forcing confrontation with an immoral and corrupt reality in which value is based solely on monetary worth.

In fact, both Grosz and Ruttmann comment on the expansive gap in living conditions separating the wealthy from the poor on the streets of Berlin. A common thread among Grosz’s prints, including his ‘objective’ works, lies in his intense hatred toward the bourgeoisie coupled with a diminishing sense of sympathy for the plight of the proletariat. Conversely, Ruttmann simply documents the inequality without making any overt commentary. For example, in Act III, he compares the disparity between a rich man smoking and a poor beggar picking up cigarette buts, yet refuses to give a face to either class.²¹ Grosz, on the other hand, presented the face of the ruling class as a target for attack, while he depicts the face of the poor ‘everyman’ for self-identification and empowerment of the working class. For example, in the print “Ants II,” originally published in 1923, Grosz employs type caricature to create a definitive face for the proletarian masses (Grosz, Love Above All 71; Lewis 121). The depiction of a mob of workers marching across a barren industrial wasteland may at first appear to sympathize with the plight of the working class. However, the pejorative title “Ants” describes the lowly position of the proletariat by comparing the masses to insects, which indicates a lack of sympathy for their suffering and oppression under American capitalism.

The bestiality of men is a recurring theme in the work of both Grosz and Ruttmann. Grosz found the greed, lust, and gluttony of bourgeois men in Berlin particularly repugnant and highly reflective of male animalistic urges. For instance, in an image entitled “Call of the Wild”, originally published in 1930 (Grosz, Love Above All 116), Grosz shows a cabaret dancer, posing provocatively and wearing a costume in likeness to Josephine Baker, who has reduced the male audience to slobbering swine. Thus, the phrase ‘men are pigs’ takes on literal meaning in this print, which condemns the moral depravity of Weimar society.²²

Ruttmann, on the other hand, uses montage to juxtapose images of animals with people in order to make a less direct comparison. For example, in Act I, the feet of the walking crowd are compared to the hooves of cattle being led to slaughter, a comment on the mindlessness of the crowd and subordination of the working classes. In Act II, the telephone operators are compared with screaming monkeys and fighting dogs, accentuating the insanity and tension in this new era of mass miscommunication. Finally, in Act IV, the lunchtime crowd is compared to animals feeding at the zoo, reducing mealtime to a kind of primitive show of hierarchy and social status, in addition to its function as a break from the rush of metropolitan traffic (Hake 135). Interestingly though, women, as objects of male desire, do not seem to blend into this bestial crowd in the same ways as men (Gleber, “Female Flanerie” 70).²³

The role of women in Weimar Berlin, seen through male perception in both cases, offers some interesting possibilities in addition to elucidating their obvious limitations. Although women were becoming more ‘free’ in terms of legal rights, their place on the streets of Berlin was still very much restricted to their function as commodity or visual object (Gleber, “Female Flanerie” 71-73).²⁴ The new opportunities for women to work in white-collar professions, though seemingly progressive, still relegated women to subordinate roles, both in the workplace and on the street (Gleber, “The Woman and the Camera” 109). Shown nude or wearing sheer clothing, with the noted exception of his Neue Sachlichkeit prints, almost every woman in a Grosz’s portfolios are represented as sexual objects for the male gaze, even when walking on the street. For example, in a print entitled “Second Income” from Love Above All (3), Grosz places a woman in the foreground of a busy street scene, in which faceless men filing past her as she waits impatiently. Her lax pose and floppy-rimmed hat advertise her sexual availability and promiscuity. In addition, the caption “Second Income” is an implicit reference to prostitution, assigning the seemingly innocent, fully clothed woman in the foreground to the role of a sexual object (Grosz, Autobiography 91).²⁵Grosz also presents women who are wholly dependant and thus subordinate to their male partners. For instance, in a print entitled “Sticking like a Burr” from Love Above All (51), Grosz shows a couple with their arms linked as they casually stroll down the sidewalk. Once again, the title, “Sticking like a Burr,” suggests the woman’s clinging dependence on the man, who is also depicted in larger scale. This limited range of types that Grosz employs for women is a clear reflection of his chauvinistic subjective views (Grosz, Autobiography 21-29).²⁶ In comparing these images by Grosz with similar shots of women on the streets of Berlin in Ruttmann’s film, one may observe a similarity in appearance from objective approaches. However, the print captions make clear Grosz’s intended reading of the woman on the street while Ruttmann’s figures remain ambiguous.

In contrast to Grosz, Ruttmann’s film, through this ambiguity of narrative, allows for greater possibilities of interpretation relating to the roles of women on the streets of Berlin. Traditionally seen as ‘streetwalkers’ or prostitutes when walking the streets alone, the potential for female flânerie has often been overlooked. The commodification of the female body, both in terms of prostitution and mannequins in shop windows made in striking likeness to real women, which was so prevalent during this period of capitalist economic fervor, certainly supported these sexist presumptions (Gleber, “The Woman and the Camera” 109). A pivotal scene in revealing possible observance of the female flâneur (or flâneuse) in Berlin is the chance encounter in Act III between a man and a ‘prostitute’ through a shop window (Gleber, “The Woman and the Camera” 109).²⁷ Her nonchalant temperament has repeatedly been interpreted as a sign of her business, selling her body to the man through the glass of the storefront like a mannequin.²⁸ However, this view only accounts for the male gaze. By confidently subjecting her surroundings to her own active gaze, this woman takes on the role of wandering flâneur, thus shattering her traditional role as object (Gleber, “Female Flanerie” 82).

Another important scene concerning the roles of women in Berlin is the staged suicide incident. This event is foreshadowed in Act I with shots of the ‘disquieting’ mannequins in the sunlit shop window, referencing the objectification of the female body as a commodity, followed by the bridgepost at the scene of her death (Gleber, “Female Flanerie” 77).²⁹ In line with Ruttmann’s interests in abstraction, the suicidal woman functions as a symbol for the insanity of metropolitan life (Chapman 38). One might consider this the climax of modern experience, at which the façade of the sober individual dissolves to reveal self-destructive psychosis and social depravity. The romanticized psychological link between women and hysteria (taken up by the Surrealists) is here illustrated by the woman’s madness, consciously represented in the spiral leitmotif, which is repeated in the circles of her eyes in close up (Hake 137). This scene is particularly crucial in conveying the destructive effects of commodification and the overwhelming pace of metropolitan life with its relentless barrage of stimuli (Minden 203).³⁰ In a way, it is also critical of the dehumanizing effects caused by sudden innovation and integration of technology into daily life.

This idea of mechanized humanity is especially well addressed in Ruttmann’s film, where the rhythms of endless repetition in mechanical processes are mirrored in human movement, evoking the sense of humans as automata. This is best illustrated by the scene in Act V in which Ruttmann provides a close up view of the legs of a chorus line performing the Charleston. The interconnectedness of their limbs, exactitude of their movements, and constant repetition the dance steps create a direct comparison with the repeated motions of the machines in the factory production lines from earlier scenes. The mannequins and automatons that appear throughout the film are analogous to the alienated human cogs within the “gigantic city machine” of Berlin (Hake 135). In fact, the city itself seems to hover between the realms of organic life (McElligott 224)³¹ and the mechanical creation of humankind as a hybrid of all modern vices (Hake 128). Though Grosz does not make any explicit analogies between humans and machines in his portfolio work, his ‘Constructivist’ phase from 1920 until his fateful trip to Russia in 1922 reveals the influence of De Chirico’s manchini in the disorienting settings of a ‘metaphysical’ reality (Eberle 18). Although this was a failed experiment in mechanomorphic forms, Grosz, like Ruttmann, saw the ‘new man’ as essentially robotic and faceless (Grosz, Autobiography 87).³² Evidently, neither artist was particularly optimistic about the future of humanity under the incursion of industrial machines in the new ‘sober’ city of Berlin.

Naturally, expressing such views contrary to the advancement of the ‘New Objective’ way of life provoked harsh critical reception. Grosz was put on trial on no less than three occasions for offensive and obscene images that depicted what he believed to be the ‘truth’ beneath the pretense of stability in Weimar society (Kane 52). The function of his prints, in his eyes, was to express his unique worldview, which he invested with his judgments of the immorality in Berlin society as ‘deadly sins’ (Grosz, Autobiography 149-150).³³ Kracauer’s review of Ruttmann, by contrast, accused Ruttmann’s film of “showing much” but “revealing nothing,” and, thus, of being completely devoid of any critical social judgments (McElligott 226). However, the label of ‘documentary’ is quite obviously deceptive. Ruttmann, who was not concerned with documenting the visual reality of Weimar Berlin, offers the viewer instead a phenomenological recreation of life within the city. Bombarding the senses with the overwhelming stimuli of modern life set to the pace and rhythm of its relentless flow, the viewer becomes caught in the current of Weimar Berlin and, through watching, experiences the very essence of life at the pivotal point in an evolving modernity (McElligott 223).³⁴ As a complement to this visual representation of Berlin as a spectacle of motion, Grosz offers the psychological, political, and social aspects purposely neglected in Ruttmann’s film documentary. Therefore, by combining these two disparate, subjective, and incomplete portrayals of Weimar Berlin, masked beneath the façade of objectivity, we find a correlation that resurrects the city from the murky streams of time.    

Works Cited

Berlin: Symphony of a Great City. DVD. Dir. Walther Ruttmann. Singa Home Entertainment, 2004.

Chapman, Jay. “Two Aspects of the City: Cavalcanti and Ruttmann.” In The Documentary Tradition: From Nanook to Woodstock. Ed. Lewis Jacobs. New York: Hopkinson and Blake, 1971. 37-42.

Crockett, Dennis. German Post-Expressionism: The Art of the Great Disorder 1918-1924. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999.

Eberle, Matthias. World War I and the Weimar Artists. Trans. John Gabriel. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985.

Frisby, David. “Social Theory, the Metropolis, and Expressionism.” In Expressionist Utopias: Paradise, Metropolis, Architectural Fantasy. Ed. Timothy O. Benson. Los Angelos: Los Angelos County Museum of Art, 1993. 88-108.

Gleber, Anke. “Female Flanerie and the ‘Symphony of the City.’” In Women in the Metropolis: Gender and Modernity in Weimar Culture Ed. Katharina von Ankum. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997. 67-88.

______. “The Woman and the Camera – Walking in Berlin: Observations on Walter Ruttmann, Vereha Stefan, and Helke Sander.” In Berlin in Focus: Cultural Transformations in Germany. Ed. Barbara Becker-Cantarino. Westport: Praeger, 1996. 105-124.

Grosz, George. Love Above All and Other Drawings. Trans. Stanley Appelbaum. New York: Dover Publications, 1971.

______. The Day of Reckoning. “Introduction” and “Notes” by Frank Whitford. New York: Allison & Bubsy, 1984.

______. The Face of the Ruling Class. “Introduction” and “Notes” by Frank Whitford. New York: Allison & Bubsy, 1984.

______. George Grosz: An Autobiography. Trans. Nora Hodges. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1983.

Hake, Sabine. “Urban Spectacle in Walter Ruttmann’s ‘Berlin: Symphony of the Big City.’” In Dancing on the Volcano: Essays on the Culture of the Weimar Republic. Eds. Thomas W. Kniesche and Stephen Brockmann. Columbia: Camden House, 1994. 127-142.

Hermand, Jost. “‘Neue Sachlichkeit’: Ideology, Lifestyle, or Artistic Movement.” Trans. Stephen Brockmann. In Dancing on the Volcano: Essays on the Culture of the Weimar Republic. Eds. Thomas W. Kniesche and Stephen Brockmann. Columbia: Camden House, 1994. 57-67.

Kane, Martin. Weimar Germany and the Limits of Political Art: A Study of the Work of George Grosz and Ernst Toller. Fife: Hutton Press, 1987.

Lewis, Beth Irwin. George Grosz: Art and Politics in the Weimar Republic. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1971.

McElligott, Anthony. “Walter Ruttmann’s ‘Berlin: Symphony of a City’: traffic-mindedness and the city in interwar Germany.” In The City in Central Europe: Culture and Society from 1800 to the Present. Eds. Malcolm Gee, Tim Kirk, and Jill Steward. Brookfield: Ashgate, 1999. 209-238.

Minden, Michael. “The City in early cinema: ‘Metropolis,’ ‘Berlin,’ and ‘October.’” In Unreal City: Urban experience in modern European literature and art. Eds. Edward Timms and David Kelley. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985. 193-213.

Natter, Wolfgang. “The City as Cinematic Space: Modernism and Place in Berlin Symphony of a City.” In Place, Power, Situation, and Spectacle: A Geography of Film. Eds. Stuart C. Aitken and Leo E. Zonn. Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 1994. 203-227.

Pelfrey, Robert. “The Film Age I.” In Art and the Mass Media. Iowa: Kendall/Hunt, 1996. 193-218.

Reisenfeld, Robin. The German Print Portfolio 1890-1930: Serials for a Private Sphere. Eds. Richard A. Born and Stephanie D’Alessandro. London: Philip Wilson Publishers, 1992. 

Sabarsky, Serge. George Grosz: The Berlin Years. New York: Rizzoli, 1985.

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