I love Caspar David Friedrich. My modern art professor at graduate school had a bit of an OCD thing about him and I think it passed on to all of his students - or maybe I like Friedrich because I always wanted my modern art professor to like me. He was a very interesting human. He was married to a ridiculously beautiful red-headed writer whose first novel (which he insisted we all went out and bought and read, which we all did), was based on a woman who was obsessed with poisoning her husband. This did not seem to worry him. It worried me. He wore very round-toed shoes. He got me my first job.
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Profoundly yet sensitively Germanic, images by Caspar David Friedrich are those of a Wagner in nucleo - without the heavy orchestral breathing. Implicitly musical, the painter's tender art reaches back to Mozart and on to Richard Strauss, filled with death and transfiguration. A one-man, more benevolent Brothers Grimm, Friedrich, born in Swedish Pomerania, never terrorized his enchanted audience of overgrown Kindergartners.
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