Postwar Flights and Hauntings
On more than one occasion, I’ve asked myself this question: What would have become of Alfred Flechtheim, what would have been his trajectory, his perceptions and contributions to art in response to and beyond the horrors of World War II? Absent the rusted nail accident (some have raised the possibility that this is too benign an explanation of his death, intimating foul play), he might have survived given that he was only 58 at the time and because he resided in England, which was spared a Nazi invasion and did not deport its Jewish population. Flechtheim, despite his diabetes, could have lived to be at least 70 (to 1948) or 80 (to 1958).
Today, many distinguished museums, galleries, and individuals are in possession of artwork known or suspected to be of illegal provenance, including artwork tracing to Flechtheim and his galleries. I do not want to wade into these waters in this essay, but institutional names and information aplenty are accessible with a few keystrokes on Google. For these institutions, the prospect of having to return or compensate artwork to legitimate heirs puts billions of dollars at risk. Thus, it comes as no surprise that there are individuals, institutions, and even governmental elements—including within Germany—that have been reluctant or altogether remiss in fostering research or providing information pertaining to the perpetrators, collaborators, and/or victims of Nazi art theft.83 Some have even suppressed information and/or blocked scholarly access to archives.
Undoubtedly, Flechtheim would have provided information, testimony, and inventory in regard to the pillage of the Flechtheim Galleries as well as his personal art collection and other properties. Sources claim that his papers and personal library were destroyed by the Nazis and as a result of air bombings in Germany and the UK. I strongly suspect, however, that interested parties may have destroyed surviving documentation during the war and in the postwar years, to erase the possibility of tracing any claims.84 In this absence, Flechtheim, as one of the most successful Jewish gallerist of the Weimar Republic, could have challenged the biased, evasive, and half-truth statements people involved in the trading of stolen art have made, such as Karl Buchholz (1901-1992), Curt Valentin (1902-1954), and Nazi party member Alex Vömel, who in postwar years claimed to have no recollection of Flechtheim.85
However, in 1933, the year Flechtheim fled and was expropriated by the Nazis, Valentin (born Jewish but converted to Christianity) began to work for Karl Buchholz, another renowned (non-Jewish) Berlin art merchant. Valentin emigrated from Germany in 1937 and settled in New York where, with assistance from Buchholz, and permission from Nazi Germany, opened an art gallery (eponymously called Buchholz); Valentin did very well and bought out Buchholz in 1939. Buchholz, who was not Jewish, was even more prominent than Valentin in Nazi Germany, for he enjoyed important connections with two powerful Nazi entities, the Ministry of Propaganda (headed by Joseph Goebbels) and the Ministry for Foreign Relations.86
Buchholz was among the first of the few dealers selected by Joseph Goebbels’ Ministry to sell “purged” art overseas. A renowned Berlin art merchant, he enjoyed important connections with two powerful Nazi entities, the Ministry of Propaganda (headed by Joseph Goebbels) and the Ministry for Foreign Relations. Curt Valentin had been a trusted employee of the Berlin branch of the Flechtheim Galleries since the late 1920s, where he had been entrusted with high-caliber dealings, such as the negotiation of contracts with artists as well as duties as co-editor of Omnibus.87
In 1933, the year the Nazis confiscated Flechtheim’s holdigs, Valentin began to work for Buchholz. Valentin emigrated from Germany in 1937 because he was subject to persecution under Nazi racial laws and settled in New York. There, with Buchholz’s assistance and permission from Nazi Germany, he opened an art gallery called Buchholz. Kahnweiler collaborated with Valentin during this period, a cooperation that may shed light on his later diminishment of his relationship with Flechtheim.88 As we’ve seen, sanitizing or altogether occluding twentieth-century art biographies is widespread and it is no exception when it comes to figures such as Gertrude Stein, whose very cozy relationship with Vichy officials has been swept under the carpet by museum narratives. 89 The Buchholz–Valentin Gallery in New York had two sections, one in the front, more public, and one in the back, where operations and transactions of stolen artworks took place. 90
In 1951, Valentin changed the name of the Buchholz Gallery to Curt Valentin Gallery, which he operated until his death in 1954. For his part, Buchholz left Germany in 1942 and, after a sojourn through Lisbon and Madrid, he settled in Bogotá where in 1958 he launched a bookstore–gallery that enjoyed great success for many decades. Today, the name Buchholz in Colombia evokes a positive association among the public, a connection to books and culture. However, over the past 15-20 years, Colombian journalism has also probed Buchholz’s murky past, although his positive reputation has not been dented. Buchholz passed away in Colombia in 1992, without ever having to account for his involvement in and usufruct of stolen artworks.
A close relative of mine recalls having been at the Buchholz bookstore in Bogotá many decades ago, in the 1960s, when he witnessed Buchholz throw a tantrum—in front of the janitor, who was mopping the floor at that moment—calling Colombians “dullards” because they did not purchase books. My relative retorted, dryly and curtly, that he should assess the price at which he sold his books vis-à-vis the minimum wage and then weigh in on whether book purchases were within the reach of the average Colombian. Anecdotes like these are important in that they reveal decidedly less palatable aspects of a person who has otherwise been lionized and their actions sanitized. Yet the question remains: How do we assess the ethics and morals of the merchants, buyers, and other accomplices and beneficiaries of stolen artwork? Apologists say that merchants facilitated the preservation of thousands of stolen artworks that the Nazis would otherwise have destroyed. 91 Yet this survival was mostly a (fortunate) collateral effect of the profit-driven objective in the sale and trade in stolen artwork.92 Moreover, had “rescuing” paintings been at the forefront (or even been a secondary) consideration in the minds of individuals who knowingly traded in stolen art, the thick shroud of secrecy, half- truths, and evasiveness regarding artwork provenance and destination would not have continued into the postwar years to this very day.
The bottom line is that the only honest, ethical action the museums should take is the return of the artwork to the original owners or heirs, even several generations later—end of story. Yet, if we acknowledge that billion–dollar interests lie at stake, perhaps a realpolitik approach might accommodate a workable agreement between the rightful heirs and holding institutions/individuals in regard to leasing, exhibit rights, and profit distribution. Failure to take the latter path voids even the subtlest shade of validity behind the “custodian-preserver apologetics” put forth to exculpate collaborators and legitimize those who currently possess said artwork.
Over the past couple of decades an energetic debate has revolved around the legal, philosophical, and historical ramifications of this question. In response, Petropoulos has proposed the “gray area” concept to catalogue certain kinds of accomplices and collaborators of the Nazi regime (not necessarily sympathizers), such as cultural and intellectual figures.93 In my view, the refusal to provide testimony and information on the fate of stolen art aggravates culpability, regardless of what combination of motives led individuals and institutions to make a “Faustian Bargain” with the Nazi regime and its collaborators. 94 Flechtheim’s survival would have almost certainly changed the equation.95
Even so, Flechtheim’s declarations would probably have remained inert from a legal standpoint until the 1990s, when more than forty countries signed treaties wherein committing to the investigation into provenance for known and suspected stolen art. The application of this resolution has moved slowly or simply remained on paper. Attorneys on behalf of the likely holders of stolen art have used delays and legal technicalities to starve out their opponents or delay until the death of claimants or until they can invoke a statute of limitations. In my view, no statute of limitation should be placed insofar as Nazi-era restitution claims are concerned.
Media coverage of litigation in Nazi stolen art tends to be rare in mainstream outlets, given that defendants and plaintiffs often prefer to keep proceedings quiet (whether in negotiation or during actual court proceedings). More high-stakes cases tend to make their way into the media limelight; these cases usually involve high- caliber painters or paintings, individual or in lots, and involve astronomic sums. The media also serves as a tool for plaintiffs who rightfully want to draw attention to the stonewalling and repeated thwarting they often face from defendants in seeking restitution. Among the better known cases with greater media coverage include the heirs of George Grosz (neither he nor his family is Jewish) and, of course, the remarkable case between Maria Altmann and the Republic of Austria in regard to Adele Bloch Bauer I, painted by Gustav Klimt, now the subject of a best- selling book and a Hollywood blockbuster movie, The Woman in Gold. There are several claims that involve Flechtheim paintings, both from his personal collection and from the Flechtheim Galleries; there is substantial information online easily accessible through a simple Google search.
El rinconcito levantino 