“Die Hunde werden größer” (The Dogs Are Getting Bigger) is the enigmatic title Max Beckmann chose for this scene—disturbing in all its directness and brutality—from his famous “Welttheater" (World Theater). According to the inscription on the back, Beckmann probably began this work while still in exile in Amsterdam, shortly before he voyaged to New York (August 29 through September 9, 1947). He completed it toward the end of that same year, and, on December 27, 1947—a few months after finally arriving in the U.S.—he wrote in his diary in St. Louis: “Beautiful in the winter sun at Delmar. Infinitely cheerful. […] Corrected new and old watercolors. Finally, ‘The Dogs Are Getting Bigger.’” A bizarre scene unfolds in a confined and crowded space: A gigantic, vaguely outlined dog has its arms wrapped around a half-naked woman screaming in agony and is just about to sink its teeth into her flesh. With its head thrown back, an equally monstrous dog at the right edge of the picture howls at the sky, while—separated by a dark purple curtain—figures in the left half of the picture, some wailing, some clinging tightly to one another, and some watching indifferently, bear witness to this sinister spectacle. But what is Beckmann trying to express in this scene? What deeper meaning does this artistic excess convey, created between Amsterdam and New York, between Europe and America?

Christiane Zeiller attempted to decipher the enigmatic scene in the exhibition catalog “Max Beckmann. Exil in Amsterdam” (Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam / Pinakothek der Moderne, Munich 2007), drawing on earlier Beckmann research: “Whether the theme can be ‘unequivocally interpreted as a male sexual fantasy’ (J. Weiss in: Munich et al. 1984, no. 196, p. 369), cannot be determined with absolute certainty; however, eroticism and violence—especially in this combination—have been an important theme in Beckmann’s oeuvre since his major work "Die Nacht" (1918/19 [..]). The title may allude to the fast pace of life in the U.S. [...], but even more so to the loud, garish nature of the depiction. During his brief three-month stay in the U.S. [...], Beckmann attended a series of cocktail parties and celebrations and participated in the vibrant life of New York.”

However, the reason for the enormous, nightmarish violence and brutality of this scene remains unclear. Did Beckmann leave us a complex political allegory with this enigmatic work—one that, in all its unsettling directness and brutality, resembles a modern martyrdom and thus vaguely recalls his painting “Hölle der Vögel” (1937–38), Beckmann’s famous and unsettling allegory of National Socialism? Given Beckmann’s personal circumstances and the political climate in 1947, this idea seems unlikely only at first glance. For even though World War II had officially ended with Germany's unconditional surrender in May 1945, the horror was far from over even after Dutch Liberation Day—which Beckmann euphorically celebrated as such in his diary entry on May 5, 1947. The Dutch government launched “Operation Black Tulip”, which aimed to deport all ethnic Germans residing in the Netherlands as “enemy subjects”. Beckmann himself likely escaped deportation solely because he assisted a Dutch resistance fighter and was officially classified as a “non-enemy” in 1946. But even Germans who were already in the United States were stigmatized as “enemy aliens”, and, in some cases, were interned until 1948. Beckmann’s situation in 1947 was thus that of a man unwelcome everywhere: in Germany, he had until recently been branded a “degenerate artist” by the Nazis; in the Netherlands, he was still living in daily fear of being declared an “enemy subject” and, until his long-awaited journey to the U.S., exposed to the threat of deportation. He wasn't even truly welcomed in the U.S.A. either, as entry requirements for foreigners remained strict: Beckmann's first application for an entry permit had already been rejected in 1939; in 1947 he finally applied for a visitor’s visa as a “non-enemy” alien, which initially allowed him to accept an invitation to serve as a visiting professor at Washington University in St. Louis, where he completed this challenging masterpiece. However, to change his status from visitor to immigrant, Beckmann ultimately had to leave the U.S. again for a few months in 1948 and return to the Netherlands before he was finally allowed to enter America as an officially recognized immigrant in September 1948. In 1947, Beckmann was like a modern-day Ulysses on an endless, agonizing journey, trapped and beset on all sides by looming dangers. So are they Beckmann’s worries and fears, his deep psychological torments of 1947, that have flowed into “The Dogs Are Getting Bigger” in all their menace, brutality, and harshness? Anyone familiar with Max Beckmann’s highly condensed "World Theatre“ can—or rather, should—assume so. [JS]