“I realize how much I care about how this hard and soft, losable object has survived.  I need to find a way of unraveling its story.  Owning this netsuke – inheriting them all – means I have been handed a responsibility to them and to the people who have owned them.  I am unclear and discomfited about where the parameters of this responsibility might lie.”

– Edmud de Waal

The Hare with Amber Eyes by Edmund de Waal, a world-famous ceramicist, is a memoir about his inheritance of 264 tiny Japanese wood and ivory carvings (netsuke) and his desire to know who has held them and how the collection managed to survive the Second World War. This passage from his book speaks to me in so many ways. I understand what it’s like to inherit art, I know the desire of wanting to unravel the story, and I completely relate to feeling baffled about what the meaning and shape of this responsibility has in my own life.

Today’s photograph is one of the 17 by Moshe Rynecki emailed to me by the Jewish Historical Institute (ZIH) several weeks ago. ZIH has titled the piece, “Stolarz zydowski,” which I believe translates to: Jewish Carpenter. It is undated.

The black and white photo on the left is from the Otto Schneid archive at the University of Toronto’s Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library. Although I do not know if this piece survived the Second World War (and if it did, who has it), I know it is in the archive because my great-grandfather mailed the photo to Schneid in 1930.  But what I have trouble understanding is why Moshe chose to send a photo of this piece to Schneid as an example of the style and quality of his work.  When he mailed this image to Schneid in 1930 he had many other paintings to choose from that were, I would argue, better and more appropriate to share.  He was supposed to be presenting a portfolio of his work – to showcase his body of work to Schneid. I’m not convinced this piece does that very well. What about it did he think Schneid would find compelling?

The painting at the right is held by the Jewish Historical Institute (ZIH) in Warsaw.  I received a photograph of it a few weeks ago.  It was painted two years after the one of his father’s death, but they really are companion pieces and deserve to be hung together. Although I think of the two as a pair, this piece painted for his mother is a very different style than the one done for his father. In the one for his father you can see Avraham on his death bed with a woman, presumably his wife, sitting next to him.  But in this painting portraying the death of his mother, what appears to be the same woman from the first painting, is seated along with two other people (who are they?), and his mother is not shown upon her deathbed.  Who is this woman who appears in both these paintings? Is it one of Moshe’s sisters? An aunt? A family friend? Perhaps these people are sitting shiva?

[February 2014 update.  The original post talked about a third painting held by my family.  We have since pulled the “painting” from storage and realize that it is not, in fact, a painting, but a photograph of the painting.  It is unclear when, or from whom, my Grandpa George obtained this painting.  Here’s what I originally wrote in the blog post, but have now crossed out: The third piece – the one on the far right – is a piece held by my family (my apologies for the rather low quality of the photo).  It is, as far as I can ascertain, EXACTLY the same as the piece in the middle held by ZIH.  I have seen a few examples of my great-grandfather painting the same scene in a slightly different way, but never a replica of a piece.  My father and I are in the midst of trying to resolve this curious discovery. We plan to pull the one we have out of its frame to examine it more closely against the photo of the one held by the Jewish Historical Institute. Perhaps we will be able to more easily discover any possible differences if we do a close analysis.  But if the two are exactly the same – the question I most wonder is: Why?  The only probable answer I can come up with is that he wanted to give a copy of the painting to someone else who he thought would appreciate having it.]

The paintings I have known by my great-grandfather have always been what I would call “final” pieces.  I know that he had sketch books and that he must have created different versions of paintings along the way, but I was never lucky enough to see any of those.  In this past year of “finds” I have learned that he did, in fact, create multiple versions of paintings.  In the 17 photos that ZIH emailed me several weeks ago (the picture at the far left) combined with two other photos I found in books and online over the last 10 years, I can now finally see the progression of  his choices. Looking at these three together provides such depth and insight! This is why I continue to search for the lost paintings – because each new “find” combined with the knowledge of the others we already know about, greatly expands understanding into his body of work. These three pieces are all held by the Jewish Historical Institute (ZIH) in Warsaw.

George Clooney and editors are reportedly in the final phases of editing Monuments Men, a film about the recovery of Nazi looted art. With an unprecedented profile and level of publicity for an early 2014 release, the early November news regarding the discovery of the Gurlitt Munich trove was tremendously serendipitous. The combination of news and publicity has brought recognition of and interest in issues of Nazi looting and art crime to an all-time high. In the space created by the vast interest in these two stories, I believe there is room created for a number of other lesser known but interesting narratives of Holocaust era lost and looted art, including the Moshe Rynecki story. Rynecki was a Polish-Jewish artist (not a dealer or collector), who was a prolific painter of the Jewish community in the interwar years (it is estimated he had created 800+ paintings, sketches, and sculptures before the outbreak of the war), and perished in the Holocaust. While the story has its roots in the Second World War, it is now also a 21^st century story about a great-granddaughter’s efforts (mine) to find her family’s lost art legacy.

As those of you who have been following the story for awhile know, a few weeks ago (after many years of pleading) I received an email from the Jewish Historical Institute (ZIH) in Warsaw with photos of 17 of the 52 pieces by my great-grandfather in their possession. Here is another one of those pieces.  I believe ZIH titled it, “Zydzi nad ksiegami,” [translation guess: Jews of Books].

This piece reminds me of so many others: The men sitting at the table, hunched over their books, head in hand, more books stacked on shelves behind them, and the light fixture with its lovely and graceful arms.  I am again reminded of the power of my great-grandfather’s paintings to lend a glimpse into a world he knew well, but which was destroyed in the Second World War.  His art is more than just a legacy for my family – I am passionate about sharing it with others.

Yesterday I received an email from a woman who had shared the small art catalog of my great-grandfather’s works with a Holocaust survivor.  She wrote, “he loved the book of paintings…[he] sat alone at the window of the apartment looking at it by himself for a long time.”  And that really, is what it’s all about – sharing the art.

More mysteries that need solving. Any help would be greatly appreciated!

On the Chaim Goldberg Wikipedia website entry, there is a section titled “List of Kazimierz-Dolny artists.” In this section my great-grandfather is listed as artist number 53: Mojzesz Rynecki (1885-1942). The birth and death dates do not match my family’s own records, but this is an alternate spelling of his first name and I’ve seen these dates used before.

According to a Polish tourist website about the Kazimierz Dolny artist community, artists began visiting the town and painting there starting in the late 18th century. However, the small town on the Vistula River really began to see an influx of artists in the 20th [Read more…]

Today is both Thanksgiving and the second night of Hanukkah.  Best wishes to you and yours on this unique celebration of Thanksgivukkah!

This photograph is perfect for posting today both because of the subject portrayed in the painting and because I am thankful for all the help that made it possible for me to share it here.

The brief story:  In April I gave a talk at Bet Haverim in Davis, California.  After the talk there were several questions about how others might help the project – to crowd source the research. One such offer of help came from a woman who had a connection to a Fulbright scholar in Warsaw.  Ultimately this scholar visited the Warsaw library to track down a Polish-Zionist newspaper, Nasz Przeglad, [Read more…]

Today I am sharing an excerpt from the memoir written by Moshe Rynecki’s son as well as three paintings.  I share these two paragraphs because they give insight from the artist’s son about his father’s body of work.

In eight years, my parents’ home didn’t change much. More art. This one could notice immediately. And my father’s works were different. He matured and developed his unmistakable style. His colors became more alive than in his old paintings. His watercolors especially were brilliant, secure, positive, and somehow more courageous. The subject matter remained the same. Jews and poor people were painted. Begging in the streets, praying in synagogues, homes, and outdoors. He painted simple and holy days, men playing chess, or working. Women were sewing, knitting, or arranging flowers. If men were arguing, one could see and feel it was a Talmudic discussion. He did a few fairly large scenes of wedding details, such as under[Read more…]

Before the Second World War even began, Hitler and the Nazis made lists of art across Europe that they coveted. And not only did they desire it, once their march across Europe began, they openly sought out and took whatever they could. While much of their focus was on what one might call “the greatest artwork of Western European culture,” the Nazis pretty much stole everything imaginable. Yes, they took fine art, sculpture and collectibles like coins, gold, and books. But they took so much more. They stole jewelry, Torah scrolls, furniture, dinner place settings, musical instruments, and people’s personal photo albums. Nothing was too big or too small to take. Much of the thieving was about possessing great works – but much of the taking was also about the humiliation and the attempt to erase[Read more…]

Two things about this post today.  First, an excerpt from Surviving Hitler in Poland: One Jew’s Story, a memoir written by Moshe Rynecki’s son, George.  These three paragraphs are from a chapter titled, “My Father was a Painter.”  Second, below is a photograph of a Moshe Rynecki painting held by the Jewish Historical Institute (ZIH) in Warsaw.  I saw this photograph for the first time last week when the museum emailed me photos of 17 of the 52 Rynecki pieces held in their collection.  I wonder if this piece might have been painted inside his home at 24 Krucza Street in Warsaw.  The painting was acquired by ZIH in 1946.  The painting is dated 1934.  ZIH has[Read more…]

Another of the 17 photos I received from the Jewish Historical Institute (ZIH) in Warsaw of my great-grandfather’s paintings. This one was obtained by the museum in 1946. I wish I knew where all the pieces that were obtained in 1946 were found. Did the person with whom Moshe hid the pieces hand them over or were they discovered in an abandoned home/barn/basement? Wish I knew…

This piece has been titled “Uliczni muzykanci” which translates to, I believe, The street musicians. It is dated 1932. The small children [Read more…]