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Part of the
exhibition

Amsterdam, the Magic Center Art and counterculture 1967-1970

7 Jul 2018 until 6 Jan 2019

Longread — 17 Aug 2018 — Geert Buelens

“You are free as a bird
Because everything is possible there”

— Kris De Bruyne, “Amsterdam” (1975)

Amsterdam looks at itself

Amsterdam was not always a “Magies Sentrum,” and the Stedelijk Museum was not always part of that center. In 1961 the Stedelijk mounted an exhibition of photographs of the city, in collaboration with the local newspaper Het Parool. No fewer than 25,000 photographs were submitted for dag amsterdam and, after a selection process by jurors that included Stedelijk director Willem Sandberg and photographers Lies Wiegman and Aart Klein, the 394 images that were chosen largely highlighted the continuity of everyday life in the city. Accompanied by aphorisms culled from the Bible, Seneca, Shakespeare, Goethe, and Vasalis, the selection accentuates the cyclical nature of the day, and of life in general. Which is precisely how the material was presented: children grow up and become active members of the community; the sun rises above the canals and sets again; people rush to work and return home later.

The essence of the city is left untouched. “Amsterdam is amsterdam is amsterdam” is the title of Han Hoekstra’s introductory review and, in a foreword typeset as a poem, Sandberg emphasizes how much “amsterdam as few cities / assimilates all who settle / even hagenaar and rotterdammer.” This city, then, is very far from being a cosmopolitan melting pot, and is modest in size. With the consistent use of lowercase typeface for the quotes (Bertus Aafjes: “Because within the lassos of the canals life is so warm and small”), the catalogue conjures an image of Amsterdam as a manageable, intimate place where nineteenth-century Dutch mores still prevail and cozy domesticity is the norm. Here, the shaggy-haired Pleiners and Dijkers (similar to Britain’s Teddy Boys and America’s greasers) who provoked moral panic and cultural pessimism elsewhere are presented under the heading “the new generation (alongside the old),” in which visual rhymes between young and old reinforce continuity.1

[ill. Spread uit catalogus pp. 130-131].
Spread of Dag Amsterdam, 1961

In the early sixties Amsterdam is ethnically diverse. There are Chinese restaurants, Indonesian office clerks, and black café patrons, dockworkers, and fairground-goers. The city’s art life is that of every middle-class city with a large working class: ladies and gentlemen frequent the theater, concert hall,

and museum; ordinary families visit the circus, the park, and the bar. There was a lot going on in Amsterdam, but no happenings as yet. The images for the book and exhibition were created by talented amateurs and established photographers like Eva Besnyö, Leonard Freed (later a Magnum Photos member), Philip Mechanicus, and Eddy Posthuma de Boer.

Notable by their absence were the two photographers who, during the sixties, would become synonymous with Amsterdam, even on the international stage: Ed van der Elsken and Cor Jaring. Socially, Van der Elsken was certainly part of the local bohemian crowd, but in his work he was mainly drawn to those places on the fringes or underbelly of society, where the idea of “domesticity” received a very different interpretation. Jaring became the house photographer of the “Magic Center.” It was his camera that captured the now iconic images of the gatherings at the Lieverdje with Robert Jasper Grootveld, Bart Huges with a hole in his head, and the first happenings around Grootveld and Simon Vinkenoog [ill Vinkenoog uit Jarings Amsterdam, p. 86].

In the early sixties Amsterdam is ethnically diverse. There are Chinese restaurants, Indonesian office clerks, and black café patrons, dockworkers, and fairground-goers. The city’s art life is that of every middle-class city with a large working class: ladies and gentlemen frequent the theater, concert hall,

and museum; ordinary families visit the circus, the park, and the bar. There was a lot going on in Amsterdam, but no happenings as yet. The images for the book and exhibition were created by talented amateurs and established photographers like Eva Besnyö, Leonard Freed (later a Magnum Photos member), Philip Mechanicus, and Eddy Posthuma de Boer.

Notable by their absence were the two photographers who, during the sixties, would become synonymous with Amsterdam, even on the international stage: Ed van der Elsken and Cor Jaring. Socially, Van der Elsken was certainly part of the local bohemian crowd, but in his work he was mainly drawn to those places on the fringes or underbelly of society, where the idea of “domesticity” received a very different interpretation. Jaring became the house photographer of the “Magic Center.” It was his camera that captured the now iconic images of the gatherings at the Lieverdje with Robert Jasper Grootveld, Bart Huges with a hole in his head (the color photos in particular made it abundantly clear that this was no frivolous circus act, and the first happenings around Grootveld and Simon Vinkenoog.

 [ill Vinkenoog uit Jarings Amsterdam, p. 86]
Simon Vinkenoog in Jarings Amsterdam

When the Provo movement added a pronounced flavor of social activism to the artistic side of Amsterdam’s counterculture, it was documented by Jaring and Van der Elsken alike. They chronicled the protests and police violence elicited by the marriage of Beatrix and Claus, as well as the white-painted bikes and increasingly long hair.

During this time the city soon came to see itself as part of the rebelliousness that was also associated with the capital in the Stedelijk exhibition of 1961. In the book Amsterdam, een lastige stad (1970), Johannes Marius Fuchs looked at the pedigree of what was clearly a trait innate to Amsterdammers; the scuffles of 1966 were cast as the final act in a sequence of revolts that also comprised the so-called Communist Rising of 1848, the Eel Revolt of 1886, and the February Strike of 1941. Fuchs, however, went a step further. He called the chapter of his book that examines the construction workers’ protest of 1966 “the long hot summer,” presenting the events of those months as a prequel to the Long, Hot Summer in the United States a year later. Apart from the fact that the summer of 1967 in America witnessed the deaths of more than seventy people, riots in 159 cities, and the destruction of 2,500 stores in Detroit alone—wholly incompatible with the single fatality in Amsterdam (death by natural causes), the twelve broken windows shattered when construction workers stormed the headquarters of the daily paper De Telegraaf, and a handful of burned cars—what happened here hadn’t been seen since the Dutch Golden Age: Amsterdam was again considered a model, a city that sets an example for the rest of the world.2

The world looks at Amsterdam

This wasn’t completely unfounded. The Provo movement had caused an international furor, and the capital would quickly become the epicenter of counterculture on the continent. The addition of “continent” here is nevertheless important as a relativization. However notorious Amsterdam would become in the late sixties, the infamous incidents and individuals had a history that was by no means always local. Although with Vinkenoog and Constant a line can be traced from the Experimental Group in Holland, Cobra and the Situationists, to Provo and their descendants, the American and British youth cultures were largely responsible for setting the tone throughout these years. The Provos were also seen in this light abroad. In her booklet Protestformen der Jugend (1969), Else Pelke spoke of the Provos in the same breath as beatniks, “Gammler” (the German version of the Dutch “nozems,” or rebellious youth), and hippies, and justifiably placed the Dutch phenomenon within the context of the new cultural form of the Happening.3

Not only did the Amsterdam heralds of counterculture share their bohemian looks with the American Beat Generation, their own artistic practices were fueled by them. At the famous first Dutch event Open het graf (“Open the grave,” December 9, 1962), they enlisted the help of Beat poet Allen Ginsberg. In June 1965 Vinkenoog shared the stage with Ginsberg, Gregory Corso, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, during the big international poetry event in London's Royal Albert Hall that would become the model for the legendary Poëzie in Carré of February 1966 that Vinkenoog organized. The Brussels variant that Vinkenoog staged in September 1966 featured a performance by Ted Joans, a poet who often sojourned in the Low Countries and appeared in the short documentary Jazz and Poetry (1964) by Louis van Gasteren, among other things. 

Along with LeRoi Jones (later known as Amiri Baraka), Joans was a rare black voice in the Beat world, and in 1966 he and stanley brouwn provided the only black contributions to the famous manifesto issue, edited by Vinkenoog, of the magazine Randstad (Joans provided information about the early happenings put on by Allan Kaprow and Claes Oldenburg).4

And then a meaningful anomaly occurred. In 1970 Van Gennep published Mijn zwarte gedachten. Een manifest by Joans, a Black Power text both poetic and irreconcilable—completely in line with other books by black figureheads such as Stokely Carmichael that appeared in the Kritiese Biblioteek during this time. The text on the back flap stresses the relationship between the fight for civil rights in America with the struggle for emancipation in Africa (and Joans does the same: “Black Power will teach all blacks that Timbuktu is just as important for African Americans as Bowling Green”5), but anything to suggest that this struggle might also include the Dutch colonies in Latin America is nowhere to be found

. [ill. affiches ‘FNL de Vietnam’ van Mederos Pazos en ‘Dia del guerrillero’ met Che van Elena Serrano, uit tentoonstelling]
René Mederos Pazos, FNL de Vietnam del sur, 9 años de ejemplo y de victoria (Liberation Forces of South Vietnam, 9 years of example and victory), 1969. Collection Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam
. [ill. affiches ‘FNL de Vietnam’ van Mederos Pazos en ‘Dia del guerrillero’ met Che van Elena Serrano, uit tentoonstelling]
Elena Serrano, Dia del guerrillero heroic (Day of The Heroic Guerrilla), 1968. Collection Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam

Vietnam, Cuba, Bolivia, China, Angola, Iran—all hotbeds of revolutionary, anti-imperialist, and postcolonial fervor—were addressed in the Kritiese Biblioteek, established by publishers Van Gennep, De Bezige Bij, and Meulenhoff, but there was nothing about Suriname, the Antilles, or racism against black communities in the Netherlands. Joans was also mindful of this fact. In a major interview with Amsterdam newspaper Het Parool, he stated, “[The Surinamese] are not aware of their problems. The Surinamese is and remains African, even though he playacts being Dutch. We must not only serve the whites, we must also awaken the blacks.”6 The Surinamese poet Michaël Slory had no need of this wake-up call. In the collections he published during this decade, Slory presents the struggle for African, Vietnamese, and Surinamese liberation as one.

] Vietnam, Cuba, Bolivia, China, Angola, Iran—all hotbeds of revolutionary, anti-imperialist, and postcolonial fervor—were addressed in the Kritiese Biblioteek, established by publishers Van Gennep, De Bezige Bij, and Meulenhoff, but there was nothing abo
Michaël Slory, Brieven aan Ho Tsji Minh (Letters to Ho Tsji Minh), 1969. Collection International Institute of Social History (IISH)

The interview with Ted Joans appeared on August 30, 1969, exactly three months after Willemstad, in Curaçao, went up in flames; six weeks after the moon landing but, most significant of all, just after Joans attended the first Pan-African Cultural Congress in Algiers, a gathering of black artists, writers, intellectuals, diplomats, and revolutionaries from Africa, the United States, Europe, Latin America, and the Caribbean. During a performance with free jazz musician Archie Shepp and local Tuaregs, Joans saw for himself how powerfully African rhythms and roots forged connections between people who had never met, and had apparently also grown up in entirely different musical cultures. What slavery had once torn apart was brought back together by music. From the sparse Dutch coverage of this exceptionally rich and influential festival there was nothing to indicate that the country had played a part in this history, or any hint of the visible, palpable mark it had left on both the Netherlands and the other side of the world. Joans had seen it immediately

] Vietnam, Cuba, Bolivia, China, Angola, Iran—all hotbeds of revolutionary, anti-imperialist, and postcolonial fervor—were addressed in the Kritiese Biblioteek, established by publishers Van Gennep, De Bezige Bij, and Meulenhoff, but there was nothing abo
Michaël Slory, Brieven aan de guerrilla (Letters to the guerrilla), 1969. Collection International Institute of Social History (IISH)

In Algiers he had been struck by a picture that inspired him to write a poem about the Dutch role in the slave trade. The image depicted the selling of twenty enslaved Africans by a Dutch warship in Jamestown, Virginia, precisely 350 years earlier, in late August 1619. High time for the Netherlands to accept responsibility for the incident and, by way of compensation, contribute to funding a black university. A Dutch translation of the poem was printed alongside the interview under the heading “Ieder voor zijn eigen” (“Every man for himself”): 

Holland again

to holler loud again

that they should remember

Holland you little fat flatland

Holland you rich mechanical bitch

I scream

I growl

I pronounce these words

in your golden guilder ears

1619 was the year

do you hear do you hear

1619 was the year

August was the time

do you hear do you remember

August 1619 was the date

I scream twenty times

I howl twenty shouts

I denounce that Dutch deed

Holland Black is

back indeed

you sold us like gold

or goats

[illustratie. hier zou, via Delpher, uit Het Parool het gedicht kunnen worden overgenomen, dus in de opmaak van de krant uit 1969]
Poem by Ted Joans in Het Parool. Unknown, 30-08-1969. Consulted at Delpher on 16-08-2018

you kidnapped us from Africa in your boats

I scream in Rotterdam

I scream in Den Haag

I scream in Amsterdam

and in goddamn Haarlem

I shout in pain and poverty

for the twenty black men

and women inside of me

Holland hear me help me

my message travels

the universe with speed

reparation! reparation

for black people

the twenty now more

than twenty million all

in desperate need

Holland you must hear

the price to pay is not

too dear Pay it now

before it’s too late Pay

the price or join South

Africa’s future fate!7

Was Amsterdam, or Holland, able to hear this call for reparation? There are few indications. The Dutch government was occupied with very different concerns and, spurred by the sudden eruption of counterculture, the country and predominantly the capital had acquired a hip, and hence entirely unhistorical and morally questionable image. Rolling Stone, the American counterpart of Hitweek since 1967, and now well on the way to becoming the new generation’s Bible, dispatched reporters to Amsterdam; they couldn’t believe their eyes and ears.8 Before long, the city would become a sanctuary for mostly long-haired youth from all over the world.

Amsterdam became an open city, a place where sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll, and the most extravagant arts could be experienced like nowhere else. “Prohibited prohibition” is a classic slogan of the civil unrest in Paris in May 1968, but in practice, in the repressive atmosphere in France under De Gaulle, it made little, if any, impact. In the Dutch capital, however, taboos of any kind appeared to have been outlawed.9 Of course that was not the case, but local cultural protagonists cultivated this image with such fervor that they sometimes seemed to be engaged in city marketing through sex. Jaring's photobook Amsterdam (1969), published in four languages and with a text by Emile Fallaux, added fuel to the fire. “But fortunately: however far something goes too far, it can be found in Amsterdam.”10 Portrayed in such a way, the city became a kind of Wild West, the place par excellence where Puritans were exiled and transgression was the order of the day. Jaring’s book also provided the visuals—photos of naked women, some daubed in body paint and others not—that illustrated what the touristy American pulp Amsterdam After Dark by Phil Lewis, published in the same year, could only convey with adjectives and exclamation marks. What was euphemistically called “the immense, massive, and multitudinous nature of the nightlife industry” in the civilized bourgeois version commissioned by KLM, Surprising Amsterdam, by the famous travel guide author Arthur Frommer, Lewis was already advertising on the back cover with “Sex circuses on houseboats / Clubs featuring two-hour-long sadomasochistic spectaculars” and other frivolities that could make a visit to Amsterdam “the most shocking and exciting experience of a lifetime.”11

Phil Lewis, Amsterdam After Dark, New York: McFadden-Bartell, 1969

In the ratatouille he served up, Lewis did not distinguish between forms of exploitation he presented as an opportunity (“It’s the place where you can rent a girl for cut-rate prices”), an exclusive agency for call-girls, gay bars, and the happenings of the Sigma Foundation (“Amsterdam’s tabernacle of the super-kooky”), where one Simon V. (Vinkenoog, probably) tried to convince the sensationalist author of the artistic content and the life-changing ambitions paraded there.

“I believe in freewheeling, perpetually swinging theater with fascinating freak-outs for all… Spontaneity is the soul of our theater and we base our style on the life-theories of Lao-Tse, Swami Wahamigupta [sic], and Allen Ginsberg… Live on the edge! Choose the extreme! Acid be praised!”12

— Simon Vinkenoog

Little center

Internationally, Amsterdam rapidly acquired a special reputation, but in the international art world, the city was for the moment associated with the minimalism of Nul, Arte Povera, and the conceptualism of Ger van Elk, Marinus Boezem, and Jan Dibbets, or the geometric abstraction of Ad Dekkers (the only Dutch contribution to documenta 4 in 1968), rather than with the exhibitionistic burlesques of Sigma.13 When the city was the subject of an exhibition at the prestigious Guggenheim in New York in the early seventies, the same Dekkers was invited, along with Jeroen Henneman, Reinier Lucassen, Jan Roeland, Jan Schoonhoven, and the artist who had been allowed to fill the Dutch pavilion during the Venice Biennale in 1968, Carel Visser. Not only Amsterdam, however, was presented at the Guggenheim.14

In the catalogue accompanying the Amsterdam Paris Düsseldorf exhibition (1972), Guggenheim director Thomas M. Messer gave no clear explanation of what, exactly, bound these three cities together.

Amsterdam, Paris, and Düsseldorf are today among a number of vital European art centers. They do not reflect Dutch, French or German characteristics, but rather take their place within an international style which, subtle divergencies notwithstanding, spans across a sophisticated art map from New York to Buenos Aires and from Milan to London and Tokyo. Artists, particularly young artists, practicing abroad, however, are seen in New York only if they have New York dealers or have come to the attention of a New York museum through other channels. The purpose of this show, therefore, is to provide a meaningful outlet for a chosen group of foreign-based artists and to acquaint visitors to this museum with their work.

— Guggenheim director Thomas M. Messer

Messer formulated a modest ambition: to introduce the museum visitor to artists who worked in an international style (and thus belonged to a globalizing art world), but whose only chance to break into the New York scene was to be shown by a local museum or picked up by a gallery. This instantly speaks volumes about how “sophisticated” the global atlas of art really was: even those from Buenos Aires or Milan who wanted to make it would have to pass through New York, while New York artists who made it in their own city instantly commanded a world stage. It made the title of the exhibition in the Guggenheim even more interesting. Amsterdam and Düsseldorf were indeed part of the art world, but that Paris was presented on the same level was nothing less than a statement—perhaps even an insult. Blaise Gautier, director of the Centre national d'art contemporain and the author of the short introduction to the Paris section of the catalogue, could hardly ignore it, but tried to give a positive twist.

“I also feel that the inclusion of Paris with Amsterdam and Düsseldorf — in itself a decision subject to question and dispute—is a portent of a new climate taking shape in Europe, a climate in which contacts between centers are multiplying regardless of hierarchy or precedence.”

— Blaise Gautier, director of the Centre national d'art contemporain

In other words, in an increasingly unified Europe, it should be possible to present large and small centers together and, in that spirit, Parisians accepted that they were on show in the New World alongside second-class art cities such as Amsterdam and Düsseldorf. Of course it remained controversial. Because of this juxtaposition, New York confronted Paris with a dismal fact of which it was already aware: the mecca of art had moved to the United States, subsequently relegating Paris to the periphery for good, even though in 1968 the City of Light had presumed it was the epicenter of all cultural and political revolutionary zeal. 

Messer does not explain the special place of the Dutch and the West German cities in modern art. At first glance, it is the differences that stand out. As the heart of the Dutch Golden Age, the home of the Rijksmuseum and Stedelijk Museum, the location of the Tachtigers, the birthplace of the Amsterdam School, and the “A” in Cobra, Amsterdam had been the most important art city in the Netherlands for centuries. On the other hand, Düsseldorf was unable to compete with Berlin or Munich in its own country.

Posters during Amsterdam Magisch Centrum, 2018, Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam. Photo: Gert Jan van Rooij

In postwar West Germany, however, the city rapidly emerged as perhaps the most important hub of contemporary art. Joseph Beuys and Sigmar Polke were active there, it was where Zero pioneers Heinz Mack, Otto Piene, and Günther Uecker studied or taught, where Gerhard Richter and Konrad Lueg launched their Leben mit Pop – eine Demonstration für den kapitalistischen Realismus in 1963, and the city where Bernd and Hilla Becher presented their black-and-white photographs of industrial heritage in the late sixties. The Bechers, Beuys, Polke, and Uecker were part of the Guggenheim’s Düsseldorf selection, together with Marcel Broodthaers and Dieter Rot, among others. The résumés of those Belgian and Bern-educated artists illustrates how relative this association with the capital of North Rhine-Westphalia was. Broodthaers made iconic exhibitions at the Kunsthalle in Düsseldorf, but Wide White Space in Antwerp was also crucial in his early years. For his part, Rot exhibited in the gallery of René Bock in West Berlin, but also in legendary exhibitions like Bewogen beweging (1961) and Schrift en beeld (1963) at the Stedelijk.

All things considered, Antwerp could also have been part of the Guggenheim exhibition, but more fundamentally, following the same logic, Rot could just as easily have fitted into the Amsterdam contingent. Although cities like Amsterdam and Düsseldorf owed their fame as centers of modern art to their renowned museums, their reputation also undeniably rested on their place in international avant-garde networks such as Fluxus and Nul/Zero.15 For Amsterdam, these associations were of great importance. They demonstrated that the city—with the immutable image projected by dag amsterdam—had become an important pivot in the increasingly internationalizing avant-garde shortly after the Second World War, and that, despite the cyclical course of days and seasons, an in-depth cultural transformation was on the horizon.

From Dylaby to Sigma and from Provo to Paradiso, the city developed into a beacon of artistic renewal as the sixties progressed. Whereas the happenings initially attracted only a few dozen spectators, the later forms of new art reached a substantial audience through television and large performances towards the end of the decade. Amsterdam was not by any means a Magic Center for everyone but, as 1970 neared, few would have been unaware of the pioneering experiments that had taken place there.

Installation view of Dylaby, 1962

About the author

Geert Buelens is Professor of Modern Dutch Literature at Utrecht University, and the author of De jaren zestig. Een cultuurgeschiedenis (Ambo/Anthos, 2018).

Notes

1. For more on Dijkers and Pleiners see, for example, Kennedy 1995, 31; Righart 1995, 160; and Hekma 2013, 51.

2. As if to underline the historic character of the events, the incidents of June 1966 were immediately recorded several times. See, for example, Fahrenfort et al. 1966; Nuis 1966; and Mulisch 1966. For the long, hot summer of 1967, see Buelens 2018, 568–571.

3. Pelke 1969, 17; Rolf Ulrich Kaiser sketches a similar history in Underground? Pop? Nein! Gegenkultur!, which also touches on the post-history of the Provo movement (Kaiser 1969, 156–175). Three years earlier, Margret Kosel had also presented Provos, Gammler, and Beatniks as part of the same phenomenon.

4. stanley brouwn later explicitly refused any form of categorization and the publication of photographs of his work or himself; it is not known whether he gave his permission for the photos by Jurgen Müller-Schneck of the artist and his public in the West German town of Neu-Isenburg that were published in Randstad (the translated caption reads, “BROUWN finds his way through the town ‘this way BROUWN,’ while visitors in the gallery are kept informed of his progress by walkie-talkie.” Randstad 11–12, 168–169).

5. Joans 1970, 19.

6. Dull 1969.

7. The poem (signed “Ted Joans, Amsterdam, August ’69”) was published in English in Negro Digest (February 1970, 74) and Joans’s collection of poems, Afrodisia, appeared the same year. For more on the Pan-African festival of Algiers. See Buelens 2018, 707–713.

8. Albright 1970; and Alverston 1970. See also Buelens 2018, 795.

9. For more background (and a degree of relativization) concerning the legal and institutional changes that led to Amsterdam’s image as heart of the sexual revolution, see Hekma 2013. Also see the longread Gert Hekma wrote for this exhibition.

10. Jaring and Fallaux 1969, 6.

11. Frommer 1970, 121. Lewis 1969.

12. Lewis 1969, 9, 15, 16–17.

13. The first Arte Povera exhibition (and catalogue) of Germano Celant in 1969 included work by Van Elk, Dibbets, and Marinus Boezem. In that same year Dibbets, Boezem, and Van Elk also featured prominently in the noteworthy exhibitions When Attitudes Become Form by Harald Szeemann in the Kunsthalle Bern and Op losse schroeven: situaties en cryptostructuren by Wim Beeren at the Stedelijk Museum. See also Celant 1969; Cherix 2009; and Rattemeyer 2010.

14. Archive material at the Stedelijk Museum reveals that this exhibition was not initiated by the Guggenheim, but by Stedelijk director Edy de Wilde, who sought to promote young Dutch art in the United States. The Jewish Museum in New York was approached; in the end, it was the Guggenheim which hosted the exhibition, perhaps largely because it wanted to loan works from the Stedelijk for a major Malevich retrospective to be staged in 1973. Collaboration with other cities was needed to finance the New York project; overtures to Milan and Turin proved fruitless, but Paris and Düsseldorf took part. De Wilde’s original list included conceptual artists such as Jan Dibbets, Wim T. Schippers, and Marinus Boezem, who, in the end, were not among the group who were to be exhibited in the New York show (with thanks to Sophie Tates for bringing together these documents and reconstructing this history).

15. See the detailed documentation in Beeren 1979; Stegmann 2012; and Pörschmann and Schavemaker 2015.

Bibliography

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