LIFE IMITATES ART

One of the features that has always drawn me to both the writing of and the reading of fiction, is the way that fiction writers often begin their books by asking the question: "What if....?" Historical facts, actual events, accurate portrayals of the clothing people wore or the food they ate during a given period, these can become springboards from which a believable story emerges, as opposed to actually being the story. Non-fiction writers are more bound to the facts when they write, while for fiction writers, these facts serve the same purpose as shading or color in a painting. They give the work dimension and credibility, but it is the embellishments, empathy, and flights of fancy that give the characters their breath and the settings their immediacy.

The recovered Chagall

I wrote my novel Phoebe & The Ghost of Chagall over the course of three years, and it involved a fair amount of research in the areas of:  Hitler's troubled relationship to art, the rich and compelling life of Marc Chagall who graced this earth for almost a full century, the circle of now-famous artists before their fame in pre-World War One Paris, the occupation then liberation of Paris, art theft and the thriving black market and how they work in tandem, art stolen from Jewish homes and elsewhere by the Nazis during World War Two, and finally, the most compelling fact of all: the one hundred paintings that actually went missing during Marc Chagall's lifetime. In real life, these "lost" painting were a source of great trepidation for the painter, so in my book, with the liberating format of fiction, Chagall gets to come back to the world of the living and retrieve one of these lost paintings, and help a woman with some very real problems of her own in the process. I think in fiction, the goal is to let the research fuel the story, make it seem plausible, without taking the reader out of the tale. Facts should have the role in fiction much like that of a very skilled waiter. The flavorful dishes appear before you and are whisked away and replaced by others so seamlessly and unobtrusively, that one forgets the waiter is even there. But without the waiter, the excellent experience could not happen.

I have attended quite a few writers' workshops and there was a moment in one of them where we were critiquing a fellow writer's story and someone said: "It just doesn't feel real."  The author, even though she was technically supposed to be in the "cone of silence" part of the class, shouted triumphantly: "But this really happened!" At this point, the teacher jumped in, making a harrumphing noise and holding up his hand in a shushing motion, telling her: "That doesn't matter at all if we don't believe it." This has always stuck with me, and served as a beacon in the partially-made-up land of fiction. Along these lines, I love stories about real-life events that begin: "You can't make this stuff up." What follows this opener is usually compelling because indeed there are times when fact is stranger than fiction.

And then there are times like this week, when fact and fiction collide. I avidly follow any news or current events that involve Chagall or stolen art, because frankly, I became a bit obsessed with these topics while I was working on Phoebe & The Ghost of Chagall. A few days ago, I found a link containing an event that could have come straight from the pages of my book.  It was a fantastical story that told of 1.4 billion dollars worth of stolen art, masterpieces of so-called "degenerate art" that were thought to have been destroyed by the Nazis. Instead, these paintings had been hiding in a run down apartment building in Munich in 2011. The current occupant of the building, and hence the owner of this cache, was the 80 year old Cornelius Gurlitt, son of Hildebrand Gurlitt, the modern art specialist recruited by Hitler to sell off some these appropriated paintings to raise money for the Third Reich.

Just this initial story raises a wealth of magnificent and juicy questions, the stuff of good fiction. How could Cornelius, who was caught while being investigated for tax evasion, not have known the origin of these paintings, as he claimed? He was described as a man living in squalor who would sell a painting every now and then when he needed cash. And why did the authorities wait two full years to go public with this story? They expressed that they were concerned that claimants would be coming out of the woodwork, and authenticating such claims would be a nightmare. But meanwhile, records are dying along with the rightful owners, who are now in their 80's and 90's and knowing this, it would seem that time would be of the essence. Plus, there is a well-known organization called Art Recovery International that has long been in the business of reuniting Jews with the art stolen from them during the Second World War. Would posting pictures of the newly-rescued art on this site not have been a terrific place to start?

The recovered Matisse

I think there should be compensation for the rightful owners.  That said, I have hopes that this generation will see fit to make sure that art of such magnificence finds its way to the walls of museums.  I strongly believe, as does Chagall, or rather the Chagall character in my book, that beauty of this caliber should be seen by many eyes, not squirreled away in the darkened apartment of the nefarious Corneliuses of the world. My book has a happy ending. Justice is served, paintings are in the hands of their rightful owners. And some will, of course, continue to remain unaccounted for, just as in this real life drama. So here is where we are experiencing that rare and wonderful moment of overlap, where writers and readers of both fiction and non-fiction can eagerly await the next installment.





Link to purchase Phoebe & The Ghost of Chagall:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_3_14?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=phoebe%20and%20the%20ghost%20of%20chagall&sprefix=phoebe+and+the%2Caps%2C206&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Aphoebe%20and%20the%20ghost%20of%20chagall