In Time of Lockdown: Reflections on Locks, Lockdown, Isolation

Locks and the Viennese Secession Mrs R L Jerstice (CR, Head of Psychology) ‘He was 56, his habit was to have a bowl of whipped cream for breakfast every day, and he was seriously overweight…

So, there were underlying conditions there.’ (Kallir) We can think of this Covid period as a unique, or dare I even say – unprecedented, time in human history; yet lockdowns and isolation have been part of the human experience for millennia. From the Black Death to Ebola, we have been battling unwelcome and invisible invaders. Most recently, the Europeans’ experience of a pandemic was the Spanish Flu, the 100th anniversary of which we mark with uncomfortable irony this year, whilst in the throes of new national lockdown.

As you read this article, I want you to cast yourselves back to 1910s Vienna, and to visit the world of the Secession movement’s kings; Klimt and Schiele. The gilded, ornate, swirling and flamboyant world of Secession Vienna may have seemed light years away from the grim lived reality of its citizens, grappling with the fallout of the First World War and a new, invisible invader.

This was a suffering that the Viennese, not unlike the rest of Europe, would have to handle in isolation. This was a private and barely acknowledged grief. Whilst we collectively are bound by grief and locked in together by a sense of duty and fear, there was no national monument to those victims who died of the Spanish Flu; no mass support for the health care professionals risking it all, no doorstep clapping. One could of course argue that given the timing (in the wake of the bloodiest war that the modern-day world had experienced) there were more pressing priorities. However, what makes this pandemic more harrowing than our own, given the context, was the loss of young life. Given the already depleted numbers of young men, it seems particularly heart-breaking to think that the death toll comprised mainly the young.

Klimt, mentor of Schiele, became a ghoulish spectacle in 1918, when, after dying from a stroke (which is argued to have been caused by the Spanish Flu) he was sketched by his prodigy, Schiele. The warped and twisted face encapsulated the harrowing death suffered by many of his generation. This raw and naked portrayal of death was a stark reminder of the reality of the world in which both artists were working; and one at times, many argued, Klimt isolated himself from. The vivid, gilded and ornate swirling characterised most of Klimt’s works allowed the viewer to enter into a dream-like state and to reconfigure our understanding of the use of lines within portraiture. It provided an escape from the war and diseased-ravaged reality and allowed us to enter our own ‘phantasy’ world (Klimt was highly influenced by Freud).

However, it would be remiss to only ‘see’ Klimt as The Kiss, although his most celebrated work explores the most complex of all ‘locks,’ that of the romantic relationship, he also produced some extremely raw work.

Working at the fringes of society, Klimt engaged prostitutes for a series of intimate portrayals of sexuality. By using the women’s own ‘voices’ and direction, he unveiled a hidden aspect that the middle classes in Vienna were wholly unprepared for. Women were brutally laid bare, in a way that they had not been seen previously – these were not nudes in the Renaissance model, but almost uncomfortably close, raw and uncensored.

Modern eyes might be right to cast doubt on the authenticity of the ‘women’s voice’ and instead may see a seedier and more misogynist side to Klimt’s series, given the voyeuristic nature of the pieces and the obvious power imbalances between artist and muse. But, one thing should not be underestimated, and that is the fact that the ‘lock’ had forever been broken on the proverbial ‘pandora’s box’ of feminine sexuality.

Klimt was not just content with breaking the chains and unleashing female sexuality; he also looked to cast a modern eye on another central aspect, motherhood. Mother and Child, the perennial tableaux, was yet again brought to new life by Klimt. Evoking the ‘Madonna and Child’ pastiche, Klimt delivered a modern look through the use of bold geometric patterns paired against the juxtaposition of the swirling, glinting, golden, sweeping arches and warm Mediterranean colours. With hints of the Byzantine past which influenced decades of European artists before him, Klimt and the wider Succession movement arguably ripped apart the consensus of the art 99