BRAQUE GRIS BECKMANN

This is the story of one man consumed by the terrors of war. Despite only spending one year fighting in the north at the age of 27, he never recovered, always trying to deal with the tortuous memories. He was severely wounded by shrapnel on the left side of his body during the cold winter of the war. But it is not these injuries that he struggles with; it is the damage that was caused to his mind.

He channels his love through the sole love in his life: his painting. Once a prominent figure within the Cubism movement, his artwork has now become darker, recalling the painful memories of war. As a result people have now turned away from his work. People that had once loved his work now wanted very little to do with it. For no one wants to be reminded of the terror and bloodshed that is war. Maybe when the wounds of the war were not so fresh Beckmann’s work would once again be admired. Many of his peers turned towards other, more joyous, subject matter. But Beckmann was unable, the memories that haunted him he had to release onto the canvas. It was the only way he could seek some relief, if only for a short moment of time, from the haunting memories that followed him.

He has few friends due to his now reclusive nature, only venturing out onto the streets to acquire the bare necessities. People stare, remembering the man that Beckmann was before the war; a popular young artist breaking new ground in his area. There are few events in one’s life that could do this to someone. None of these on lookers even getting close to imagining what this man had been through; the events that had sculpted this reclusive, clearly troubled man.