CASTLE in MARIGNY-BRIZAY
LA MAILLETERIE
by Paul Loskill, 1979
"When I first met Will Hall in 1915, the initial impression came from his manner of being. One could confidently assert that it was quite unusual for the time and did not go unnoticed. It resembled the look of Mao today: a high-collared gray jacket, but with a Schiller-style collar for the neck closure, tubular-shaped trousers, heavy studded shoes, a Loden cape in winter or rainy weather. Additionally, his hair fell onto his shoulders, and he never wore a hat or cap. He attracted attention on the street and was the subject of mockery and ridicule, which he absolutely disregarded. He refused to take any means of transportation. Often, he would already be at my house in Düsseldorf by 8:00 in the morning. He walked from Neuss through Heerdt - Oberkassel - the Rhine bridge, at that time the only bridge also used by pedestrians. Moreover, there were pockets inside the cape on the left and right sides, one always containing salt and the other potatoes in their jackets and a piece of dry bread. He was teetotal, vegetarian, a non-smoker, and rejected anything related to femininity."
There were many people who, upon meeting him, could barely conceal a mocking smile, but as soon as there was a conversation, a discussion, it vanished and never reappeared. Will Hall addressed any subject, and the way he brought out the expressive character was astonishing; as soon as he found the concept that clarified the situation, he would continue the conversation without pause.
During that time, there was already a not insignificant graphic, picturesque, and also literary production. His beginnings, rooted in an expressionist sphere, were behind him; he was already seeking and moving closer to his own assertion, to his 'absolute painting'.
It had to give him the possibility to translate lived events of all kinds, whether they were optical, acoustic, intellectual, or in artistic form. It is astonishing with what tenacity he continued to work to achieve his goal. Certainly, the Cubism of Braque and Picasso already existed, but he rejected it, as he saw it as a dead end and no solution to the object.
This struggle was interrupted by another battle, as he was mobilized in 1916, and after a brief training, sent to the front in the material battle of the Somme, where he had to prove himself on the front lines like everyone else, in the mud and blood. So we were separated, but in the early spring of 1917, I experienced the same thing. A small event is worth mentioning. After six weeks of training, I was in Düsseldorf for my first leave where I visited 'the great German exhibition in the palace of arts.' I was about to greet a non-commissioned officer who wanted to enter, but after a military salute, he replied, 'but it's Paul' - It was Will Hall in his military uniform, with ribbons and his only baggage a bag containing bread attached to his belt, filled with cigarettes, and the military bag filled with spirits. 'Yes, this war has completely changed us all.' Will Hall came out with only minor injuries and was promoted to officer; I was severely wounded and captured by the English.
Released in 1919 from captivity in England, I quickly went to the Academy of Arts in Düsseldorf. W.H. gave no further sign of life until the moment, I believe it was in 1922, when he reappeared.
He voluntarily went to the Baltic wars, deliberately got to know and appreciate the Russian landscape, and made acquaintances. He brought boxes filled with numerous literary works, drawings, and notes for images, all with simple materials, pencils and colored pencils on newspaper or wrapping paper, but of great value to continue his creation. On my advice, he also entered the academy and worked with Professor Aufseeser. Once, we looked together, watched, and sorted through the treasures accumulated in the boxes for whole days. I was surprised that he found so much time and humanity in the dirt of the trenches and shell holes or in his wooden quarters to continue working towards his artistic goal. Yes, his 'absolute painting' was there. I set aside some sketches and asked him to create as many as possible in large format. That's what he did in the following years, and some that I had acquired were preserved, thank God, before being destroyed by bombs during the Second World War, but all the rest of his work was destroyed by bombs. Among those I had acquired was 'Reiterlied' (The Rider's Song, 1918), I believe it was the first work of 'absolute painting.' It was based on an acoustic experience: he finds himself in a ditch surrounded by a dense winter environment, and on the other side, the song of the Russians from a cavalry on the move. These are, as for many Russian soldiers, sounds of the joy of life. He did not see this troop, so it was purely an acoustic event. He finds himself in a murky environment of an early morning. These are, as is the case with many songs of Russian soldiers, sounds full of the joy of life, associated with the approach of death, contempt for death, disciplined by the rhythm of the march. He did not see this troop, so it was purely an acoustic experience that was applied to the canvas.
This was what he had always wanted, and here he could realize and create it; it became a pure creation, the freedom of pure expression, unrelated to representations of objects. This is how he exhibited many works of his absolute painting in the twenties because there were practically no buyers, and almost all of them later became victims of bombs. The lived events from the series of pastels <Russie> come from the period spent in the Baltic countries, but there he did not give up on the concrete because he wanted to create a series of folkloric paintings, with the understanding that he wanted to preserve folk songs. This is a series that must be kept together because it is a closed set, the idea and action of which would be lost if it were disintegrated. Moreover, these pastels also show many other realistic and naturalistic works (for example, his portraits, which were often commissioned to avoid starving) that were assured in the naturalistic form. Just as it was a requirement for Picasso not to move to the abstract until mastering the natural form, it was also valid for him. I remember that in the twenties, he completed some portrait commissions for generous clients with musical talents whom he trained in a very expressive manner. Unfortunately, I no longer remember the names or addresses of these individuals. In his absolute painting, he achieved expressions that truly revealed his own personality at that time.
Without any other intention, a small circle was also formed at that time, which met on a fixed day (it was Thursday) at Pastor Mennicken's house in Neuss. This circle included Pastor Mennicken, Dr. Karl Schorn, Will Hall, and myself.
Discussions would carry on into the wee hours, never lacking in topics. Pastor Mennicken's specific expertise lay in the Vulgate, but he possessed a vast general knowledge, and last but not least, he was highly skilled in music. Karl Schorn was a poet by nature, as evidenced by his poem "l'interrogatoire," but unfortunately, the residents of Neuss considered him a local poet because he sometimes took on odd jobs to make ends meet. (He coined the slogan: Neuss, the city between coal and cereals). Will Hall was the adept dialectician who, in the battle of words, could pin anyone against a wall who didn't know his tactics. But he too had a vast general knowledge and a keen intuition for other intellectual domains, even if he didn't have direct access to them for some reason. Thus, after a conversation with Will Hall that seemed endless, I crossed the Neuss bridge in the falling night (Karl Schorn and Pastor Mennicken lived in Neuss) to return home to Düsseldorf. The main topic of conversation that evening was about Kant, and Will Hall had participated extensively, raising objections that indicated a thorough understanding of Kant and his philosophy through reading. I was very surprised when, as we crossed the bridge, he confessed to me that he had never actually read Kant. Often, this journey home would end in broad daylight, as the practice of accompanying each other home sometimes continued until dawn.
I would like to revisit once again "Reiterlied" (The Rider's Song), one of his early works of absolute painting, whose creation I described above. I had acquired it, and it was hanging in my house.
Now came the 'Reich' of a thousand years with the ostracism of this painting. Thus, the painting was now in danger, as any party member who was offended could take the necessary steps to have it seized and destroyed. W.H. had the best idea: from now on, we'll say that it's the painted version of the Horst Wessel Lied. So it remained hanging and survived the thousand years quite well.
After the war, we could breathe again. But when in the fifties the abstract tide flooded us, much of it created by epigones who also called themselves 'avant-garde' (I could immediately name at least a dozen who, until 1945, worked in the spirit of their leader and suddenly became abstract without any other reason), I then felt for the first time something like resignation in W.H. Perhaps it's not uninteresting to hear that I once had a discussion with Max Ernst (it was in 1960 here in France at his house), a conversation about this flood of the abstract. He searched for a file in which he had collected reproductions of abstract epigone creations. It was indeed disconcerting to see how far the mutual enrichment went. But the most dramatic aspect was to know how far this eye-catching mutual enrichment went. But the most dramatic aspect was that this kitsch was successful, hanging in many homes, public buildings, and also in galleries. Will Hall, whose first work fell victim to bombs, was now forced to see how this guano covered everything that was authentic and creative. Subsequently, he had productive intervals alternating with periods dedicated to meditation.
He had young friends who regarded him in the human hierarchy as a teacher, with whom he had no connections whatsoever because he did not dream of making humanity happy; indeed, he had a penetrating mind, but he lacked the spirit of a sect.
From his last creative periods, I am familiar with works that, both in form and color, have a rigid clarity (it is appropriate to avoid the term 'clarification'), a clarity that perhaps recalls good technical forms, something romantic, as in his early works, but they lack development. However, the development is consequently correct, and there are beautiful works among them.
I have written this brief description of the man Will Hall and some ideas for understanding his work, in the hope that they may perhaps encourage efforts to protect his work from disappearing into oblivion. This danger is pressing; indeed, only a small portion of his work remains, but it also deserves to be preserved. What can be done?
La Mailleterie , 20.1.1979 Paul Loskill, friend of Will Hall
Source: Translation of the Exhibition Catalog: WILL HALL 1897 – 1974, Clemens-Sels-Museum Neuss, October 6 – November 10, 1991.
Portrait of Paul Loskill, by Will Hall, 1940, Oil on cardboard, 80 x 60 cm