Clown [p. 15] 

Curator: Here we have "Clown," a pencil drawing by Max Beckmann. What’s your immediate take? Editor: Haunted. It feels unfinished, like a fleeting thought barely caught. I get a sense of melancholic introspection from those down-turned eyes. And that almost desperate energy in the scribbled lines… he's on the verge of disappearing! Curator: The harlequin or clown figure has been a potent symbol throughout art history—often a mask for deeper emotional or psychological states, allowing a critique of society through humor and satire. I see echoes of that here. Editor: Absolutely, that makes total sense. There’s this performative aspect, right? The clown as someone putting on a face, maybe shielding us, maybe shielding himself, from… what exactly? That's what the raw, gestural style amplifies – the fragility underneath. Curator: The Expressionist movement favored such subjects—outsiders, the marginalized—as mirrors to anxieties and discontents of their time. Think of the turbulent interwar period. Did these caricatures serve to mock? Comfort? Challenge? Editor: More like confess, wouldn't you say? Beckmann's style feels rawer, less polished than other expressionists. More a fever dream than a stage production, all rendered with simple graphite on lined paper. A discarded, everyday feel is rather touching. Curator: Indeed. The materials and the process speak volumes, a sort of private exploration emerging from an unadorned surface. Almost a psychological X-ray. What do you take away from its linear design? Editor: The lines... They give it the urgency. A need to get the essence down fast before it slips away. Looking at that long, strong nose… there’s something defiantly individual about this clown. But so vulnerable too, laid bare in a few strokes. I'm touched. Curator: Perhaps that duality, between boldness and vulnerability, the grotesque and the pitiable, is at the heart of the image and the clown's eternal appeal, don’t you think? Editor: Agreed. A fleeting sketch…a window to somewhere dark and very real. I’m thankful for this quiet moment, this peek behind the painted grin.