Mann an der Bar (Man at the Bar) [p. 57] 

Curator: "Mann an der Bar," or "Man at the Bar," rendered with simple pencil strokes. You sense he might be nursing something stronger than simple contemplation, doesn't it evoke a whole mood? Editor: It's incredibly haunting, yes. The sketchiness of the lines gives it a vulnerable feel, like a half-remembered dream clinging to the edges of consciousness. I wonder about the role of bars as public places where private struggles become visible, somehow acceptable. Curator: Absolutely. It is Beckmann we’re discussing, after all. Known for digging right into the core of the Weimar experience with clawing candor. To see that tension distilled in this quick study, it hits me right in the solar plexus. The slight upturn of the mouth, a forced wry smile, all the angst he packs into the drawing. Editor: That forced smile in an urban arena rings very familiar. Public rituals of anonymity in 20th Century life always seemed to be performed against the backdrop of massive social upheavals. You see bars as spaces for escapism and silent communion amid isolation. Curator: Precisely. Even this mere drawing—it screams of unspoken things and raw human nerves. In a curious way I also see humor there—it has to be Beckmann’s dark, un-heroic approach. A bit resigned but not broken, which probably speaks to the moment of inspiration behind it. Editor: Considering that we see the artist primarily through his large scale paintings, it’s interesting to note this is just pencil on paper. Its disposability amplifies how the bars acted as fluid, temporary public sphere for reflection about these characters that came to inhabit a shared, cultural imagination. Curator: That’s beautifully put. Beckmann captures a transient state, yet makes it monumental on the level of feeling. I see not just a portrait, but a glimpse into a very human, fragile moment, one echoed perhaps in any bar on any street. Editor: Indeed. Beckmann gifts us with a stark reminder of the solitary figures lurking in our collective memories of culture itself, distilled with deft immediacy. It's that echo that stays with you.