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J erusalem, 24 December 1904. The artist Gustav Bauernfeind is preparing to celebrate Christmas with his wife Elise and son Otto when he suddenly collapses, struck down by heart failure. He gasped his last breath “underneath the half-decorated Christmas tree” according to Otto, who was only ten at the time. It was a poignant and rather early death (at the age of 56) for an artist who, unusually among the Orientalists, had taken the decision to locate himself permanently in the Middle East.
The usual pattern for Western artists specialising in depictions of the region was to make periodic expeditions to destinations such as Egypt, the Levant, North Africa and Turkey to carry out research, visit scenic locations and gather material. Once armed with field sketches, notes, photographs and local artefacts (the latter to serve as potential props), they would then head home to their studios to work up paintings destined for their dealers, clients and galleries across Europe and North America.
Bauernfeind was different. A native of Sulz am Neckar in southwest Germany, he trained initially as an architect in Stuttgart before moving into painting. His big break came in 1879 when King Ludwig II of Bavaria asked him to paint a large watercolour of the interior of the old opera house in Bayreuth. It was testament to Bauernfeind’s growing reputation that he landed such a prestigious commission. But his subsequent decision to spend the fee on his first trip to the Orient, rather than remain in Germany and make the most of his potentially lucrative connection with King Ludwig, was to have long-term implications for his artistic career.
Why the Orient? Bauernfeind had shown no previous interest in the region, but his sister Emilie and brother-in-law Wilhelm were working as missionaries in Beirut and were surely encouraging him to visit. “Everything which is in our power to do to make the Orient pleasant and interesting shall be done,” Wilhelm wrote. “Of course, I must tell you beforehand, you will find Syria to be no Italy. No such abundance of architectural art treasures are to be expected here; all the same, I should think that in spite of this, an artist could find a worthwhile field for his studies here, and would not regret his journey.”
In the spring of 1880 Bauernfeind arrived in Alexandria on the first of three extended sojourns in the Middle East over the next few years. He made his way to Beirut and then travelled to Jerusalem, the city that he was to depict with such expansive drama and majesty – more so perhaps than any other Orientalist artist. His initial response was mixed: he loved the vibrant colours and diversity of life, but also felt unsettled. “In the last few weeks of my stay in Jerusalem nothing would allow me to get anything down properly on paper,” he wrote in January 1881. “You would not believe how hard a time one has of it with letter-writing here in this country, where skies are perpetually blue and one is plagued by an unceasing homesickness for God only knows what.”
But Jerusalem had struck a chord, and the monumental architecture and wider landscapes of Palestine were to provide him with endless inspiration and the opportunity to showcase his prodigious artistic ability. He also felt a strong sense of place there, writing to his mother about how “you have to live in a country like this a long time before becoming even superficially familiar with all it has to offer”.
Convinced that he was better off producing his finished paintings on location rather than in a studio environment back in Germany, Bauernfeind chose to spend the greater part of his time in Palestine. By 1887 he was contemplating building a house in either Jerusalem or Jaffa, and had also forged a long-distance arrangement with the London-based dealer Arthur Sulley, who was eager to sell the artist’s works to influential British collectors.
But Bauernfeind struggled to deliver. Unable to share his sketches and ideas easily with fellow artists or other kindred spirits, and lacking an entirely satisfactory studio space, he constantly complained about the light, the dust and, well, everything. Lonely and frustrated, in 1889 he returned to Germany full-time and rented an atelier in Munich. But despite selling some of his most iconic and well-received works via Sulley, all too often he failed to complete commissioned pieces on time and tried to placate the increasingly exasperated dealer with regular lists of ‘works in progress’. Yet Sulley wanted finished paintings rather than promises. When these were not forthcoming, in 1892 he severed contact completely.
The end of the relationship was a disaster for Bauernfeind. Financial woes followed, and by 1895 he was reduced to petitioning Luitpold, Prince Regent of Bavaria, for a position as the curator of one of the royal art collections. His desperate plea included mention of the heart defect from which he suffered (and which was ultimately to kill him). But no reply was forthcoming, and imploring letters to Sulley also went unanswered.
In the summer of 1896 the ever more troubled Bauernfeind took the decision to leave Germany for good and relocate permanently to Palestine. Having sold most of the family possessions to pay for the passage, he arrived in Jerusalem with his wife and small son. Little is known of their life over the following eight years, but the geographical isolation only served to compound the family’s wider financial problems. Sales of paintings were very few and far between.
Towards the end, Bauernfeind tried to keep food on the table by offering art classes to expatriates. His sudden death saw Elise reduced to touting her husband’s paintings to tourists and their guides, with the latter offered commission on every work sold to someone in their group. It was a sad postscript to a career that, despite flashes of brilliance, had largely failed to fulfil its vast potential. Elise died three years later, in 1907, and the orphaned Otto returned to live in Germany.
When we now contemplate masterpieces such as Jerusalem, From the Mount of Olives at Sunrise, it seems impossible that during his lifetime Bauernfeind did not achieve the fame and wealth of contemporaries such as Frederick Arthur Bridgman and Edwin Lord Weeks. So, what went wrong?
Bauernfeind’s decision to base himself largely in the Middle East was arguably a strategic error. It saw him far removed from the centres of patronage and cultural exchange that drove the Orientalist art industry, and largely dependent on a dealer whom he may well never have met in person. Then as now, constant networking was crucially important – something that he failed to recognise – and too many missed deadlines helped seal his professional fate.
Today, thankfully, the skill and grandeur of Bauernfeind’s paintings are truly appreciated as the work of an outstandingly accomplished artist and an expert visual interpreter of historic Jerusalem. Despite the disappointment and despair of his final years, he has now come to occupy his rightful place in the very top echelon of the Orientalist cadre.
