Nathan Altman: An Artist “Between Two Worlds”

In his autobiography My Life (1923) ^{2 2} Marc Chagall, Ma vie, trad. de Bella Chagall, Paris, Éditions Stock, 1931. , Marc Chagall talks about his childhood in Vitebsk and his years of study, first in Moscow and then in Paris. He describes his return to Russia in 1914, up to his final departure from the Soviet Union in 1922. Several pages are devoted to his collaboration with the Yiddish theater in Moscow ^{3 3} The Jewish Chamber Theater became the State Jewish Chamber Theater (GOSEKT) in 1920, then the Moscow State Jewish Theater (GOSET) in 1924. , founded by director Alexis Granovsky ^{4 4} Alexis Granovsky was a key figure in Russian Jewish theater. After working with Max Reinhardt in Munich, he founded the Jewish Studio-Theater in Petrograd in 1919; it later moved to Moscow and became the Jewish Chamber Theater in 1920. He made his first film, Jewish Luck (based on stories by Sholem Aleichem), in 1925. He later emigrated to France. and art critic Abram Efros. ^{5 5} Abram Efros was also the author of the first biography of Chagall published in Russia in 1918. Jewish theater was finally allowed to flourish after centuries of discrimination, since the Soviet authorities looked favorably on national minority cultures during this period.

Chagall saw this as an “opportunity to abolish the old Jewish theater, with its psychological naturalism and glued-on beards.” ^{6 6} Marc Chagall, Ma vie, op. cit., rééd. 1993, p.232. Before designing any sets or costumes, he devised a monumental decorative scheme for the performance hall itself, with seven panels on themes from theater, music, dance, and literature. He combined Jewish iconography with stylistic influences from Futurism, Cubism, and Suprematism – a veritable manifesto for a new Jewish art.

After the success of this exceptional commission, the fledgling Habima company proposed that Chagall “undertake the production design for The Dybbuk…the two theaters [i.e. GOSET and Habima] being at that time in a state of war.” ^{7 7}Ibid., p.234. Chagall emphasizes the competition between the two theaters, which might have made him uncomfortable. For Chagall, staging S. An-ski’s play had special significance. Both he and An-ski had grown up in Vitebsk, and he could imagine the author of The Dybbuk saying to him: “You are the only one who can do it. I was thinking of you.” ^{8 8}Ibid., p.236.

The collaboration with Habima didn’t materialize: Chagall’s memoir details his artistic differences with the director, Yevgeny Vakhtangov. He notes that one year later, the company staged the play with sets and costumes by an artist “who was commissioned to paint like Chagall.” ^{9 9}Ibid. Why did Chagall, now permanently based in Paris and enjoying both critical and public success, dwell on this missed opportunity with Habima’s Dybbuk? Did he already grasp the emblematic nature of the play? And what did he mean by “painting like Chagall?”

Nahum Tsemakh, founder of the new Habima troupe, chose the artist Nathan Altman to create sets and costumes for The Dybbuk. Altman was two years younger than Chagall, and their lives were similar in several ways. Born to a traditional family, Altman grew up in the Pale of Settlement and studied in Odessa. He too left for Paris in 1910 to finish his training, then returned to Russia and became a major artistic figure. He was originally from Podolia, the region where An-ski had led his ethnographic expeditions, and he took an immediate interest in folk art. According to Dominique Jarrassé, ^{10 10} Dominique Jarrassé, Existe-t-il un art juif?, Biro, 2006, rééd. Éditions Esthétiques du divers, 2013. this attraction to Jewish folk culture is akin to the affinity for primitivism seen in other nations, especially those where questions of identity were central. Altman joined An-ski’s 1913 expedition and documented Jewish gravestone decorations together with painter Solomon Yudovin. ^{11 11} Solomon Yudovin, ethnographer and photographer, documented An-ski’s ethnographic expeditions. He was also An-ski’s nephew. He then freely interpreted these folk motifs in a series of original graphic works ^{12 12} Ruth Apter-Gabriel, «Un passé qui renaît, un futur qui s’évanouit », Futur Antérieur:l’avant-garde et le livre yiddish (1914-1939), Paris, mahJ-Skira-Flammarion, 2009, p.54. , published that same year as a portfolio titled Evreïskaïa Grafika (Jewish Graphic Arts) ^{13 13}Evreiskaïa Grafica (L’art graphique juif), Saint-Pétersbourg, 1923. . It’s among the most successful syntheses of European avant-garde visual forms with Jewish popular iconography.

Nathan Altman belonged to “a wider movement of intellectuals engaged with the issues of their time, and shared their belief in the future without erasing the past.” ^{14 14} Nathalie Hazan, «Avant-propos », Futur Antérieur, op. cit., p.11. As An-ski realized, preserving traces of Jewish shtetl life was essential – as was the creative adaptation of this raw material. After the disaster of the First World War, Jewish folk art and the “magic of Yiddishkeit” ^{15 15} Henryk Berlewi, «Les zigzags de l’art juif», Almanakh, Paris, 1955. Texte yiddish traduit en français par Batia Baum, dans Futur Antérieur, op. cit., p.229-231. became fertile ground for a modern art that reinvigorated Jewish culture. Not only Chagall and Altman, but a whole generation of artists who shared this vision took part in publishing Sovreimenaïa Evreïskaïa Grafika (Modern Jewish Graphic Arts, 1924) ^{16 16}Sovreimenaïa Evreiskaïa Grafika, Berlin, Petropolis, 1924. : Boris Aronson, Lev Zak, El Lissitzky, Lazar Lozovick, Issachar Ber Ryback, Alex Tyschler, David Shterenberg, Jacob Steinhardt, Joseph Tchaïkov, and Yossif Elman. All sought to free themselves from religious tradition, and recognized the essential role of Yiddish literature and theater.

Carried away by popular enthusiasm for the October Revolution (1917), Nathan Altman abandoned his research for a time. In 1918, he was named Director of the visual arts section of the People’s Commissariat of Petrograd. He helped design monumental decorations for the first anniversary of the revolution, with colossal abstract sculptures and a dynamic Futurist construction. He was also authorized to paint Lenin’s portrait in 1920. ^{17 17} Altman published his sketches in the portfolio Lenine, Nar. Kom. po Prosveshcheniiu, Saint-Pétersbourg, 1921. But his revolutionary fervor was brought to an end by Habima’s Dybbuk commission, which allowed him to revive his interest in Jewish art.

Nathan Altman’s artistic trajectory made him the perfect choice for Habima. He was familiar with the Hasidic world described by An-ski from his childhood, and drew inspiration from it. But he had enough distance from that world to be able to interpret it for his contemporaries. He and Vakhtangov complemented each other particularly well. Vakhtangov knew nothing about Judaism and was unable to read Hebrew. Altman had the expertise to design sets and costumes inspired by Yudovin’s photographs taken during the An-ski expedition. He also understood the stylistic principles of Cubism and Futurism (simplification of forms, broad and colorful surfaces, exaggerated diagonals and spatial fragmentation) and of Expressionism, which emphasized the surreal quality of the play. In comparison with the rudimentary sets for the Vilner Trupe’s premiere of The Dibbuk, Habima’s were far more inventive. ^{18 18} Odette Aslan, Les Voies de la création théâtrale, no.VII, CNRS, 1979.

Altman’s contribution was decisive and allowed Vakhtangov to “create a sharper, more jarring and dynamic look, which he called ‘fantastic realism.’” ^{19 19}Ibid. Thus Altman’s set for the first act, where he successfully uses brown and gray tones to capture the interior atmosphere of an Eastern European wooden synagogue, with its central reading podium and Torah ark at the back. Flats on either side, painted with subtle hues of gray-brown, enhance the perceived depth of the scene. The flickering of dim lights fragments the space and creates a sense of mystery. This fusion of realism and stylistic distortion accentuates the timelessness of the first act, immersing the viewer in a mystical and dream-like Jewish world.

In the second act, Altman disregards An-ski’s stage directions and reduces the shtetl just to the facade of Sender’s house, decorated for Leah’s wedding. Flat areas of bright color contrast with the set from the previous act. But here too the diagonal lines portend collapse. This is the backdrop for the convulsive beggars’ dance, whose gray costumes set off its vivid colors.

In the last act, which features the exorcism ending in Leah’s death, Altman emphasizes the nightmarish atmosphere by distorting the perspective. He creates a sense of compression with an enormous table covered by a white cloth that tilts toward the spectators. The miracle-working rabbi presides at its summit. The table is a geometric shape, a white prism that structures space and captures light. It casts the farthest corners of the stage into shadow, enhancing the supernatural ambience.

Altman also exploits the graphic power of Hebrew letters, giving them a major role in the decorative scheme – as he would also do with designs for a book cover ^{20 20}Got der Fayer («Dieu, le feu»), Yekhezkel Dobrushin (texte), Nathan Altman (illustrations), Moscou, Ts.K.R.K.Y.F., 1922. and an Alef bet (an alphabet book). ^{21 21} Issachar Ber Ryback, Alef bet, Fanny Schargorodska (texte),Nathan Altman (illustrations), Odessa, Moiah, 1916. In the first act, the first verse of the prayer Shema Israel (“Hear, O Israel”) is suspended across the upper part of the set above the reading podium, giving visual form to the spoken words. In the second act set, the words Kol chatan v’kol kalah (“The voice of the groom and of the bride”) – an extract from a traditional Jewish wedding blessing – hang over the aborted marriage scene. The third act takes place under the words Hashaar ladin (“The gate of judgment”), a phrase found at the entrances of Jewish cemeteries. These hanging words enliven the sets and give them the modern look of a Cubist collage.

Chagall’s cover for Troyer ^{22 22} Marc Chagall, Troyer, Hofshteyn, Kiev, Kultur-Lige, 1922. shows the same fascination with the plasticity of Hebrew letters, as do the early works of El Lissitzky ^{23 23} El Lissitzky, Had Gadya, Kiev, Kultur-Lige, 1919. and the Alef bet by Issachar Ber Ryback.

According to Altman, “the painter should create all aspects of the performance: the sets, the actors’ visual appearance including costumes and makeup – the characters as well as the accessories.” ^{24 24} Nathan Altman, «Repetitsyi “Gadibuka” i eskisy Altmana», Evgueni Vakhatngov, doumenti i videtelstva, Moscou, Indrik, 2011, p.405. Altman saw himself as an all-around artist, who composed each act as if it were a painting, with great economy of means and considerable audacity. He conceived the play as a total work of art, brought to life by the actors in their costumes and heavy makeup. He oversaw every aspect of the production. He found typical shtetl garments and personalized them, reinventing them with touches of paint to enhance their uniqueness and expressivity. He also painted the actors’ faces in collaboration with Iouri Zavadski, ^{25 25} Nina Gourfinkel, L’Expressionnisme dans le théâtre européen, Paris, CNRS Éditions, 1984. distorting them out of all recognition. Though makeup was commonly used in Yiddish theater to eschew naturalism and emphasize the absurd, here it was pushed to extremes. Altman played with contrasts and opposites. The principal characters were dressed in black and white, the beggars in gray, and the townsfolk in colorful garments.

The overall aesthetic of The Dybbuk, with its “strange power of seduction,” ^{26 26} Claude Sarraute, «Le Dibbouk, d’Anski au Théâtre des Nations», Le Monde, 12 juillet 1957. made a deep impression on the audience. This visual impact enhanced the play’s success. In his sets and costumes, Altman revived a “specifically Jewish world, forgotten by some, unknown and unsuspected by others” ^{27 27} Berthe Schucht, «Le Dibbouk. La “Habima” en Égypte», Illustration juive, no10, juin 1931. – a final “refuge for those who hope to escape the suffocation of materialism.” ^{28 28} Nina Gourfinkel, op. cit..

At the height of the First World War, An-ski titled his play Between Two Worlds. The Dybbuk was only the subtitle. Over time, the play has become known by its subtitle. But the cryptic phrase “between two worlds” suggests An-ski’s openness to multiple interpretations. First, it evokes the “two worlds” of the dead and the living that wandering spirits can traverse. It also seems to predict the enormous success of the play itself in introducing Yiddishkayt to the rest of the world. And this “in betweenness” alludes to the disappearance of traditional Eastern European life in the wake of modernity and the Bolshevik Revolution.

In his own way, Altman perfectly interprets An-ski’s original title. In the free artistic atmosphere of the early Soviet period, he brought the old Jewish world back to life through avant-garde visual forms. And these radically new forms were themselves nurtured by Communist utopian ideals. Neither An-ski nor Altman could have imagined that this world in transition would be obliterated by the Shoah.