Hug Mundinger: A Clarifying Anecdote on the Artist as a Young Man

Hug Mundinger

Standing before a large-scale airbrush painting

made using templates and spray cans

Hug Mundinger vor einem seiner großformatigen Spritzbilder

hergestellt mit Schablonen und Spraydosen

(Image from kunst.ag)

I've previously written about my friendship with the German artist Hug Mundinger, but my memory of some details concerning what he told me about his life has required some corrections.

I had written about how he had lost both hands and one eye in a wartime explosion, but I didn't know all the details of that, so a couple of weeks ago, his son Stefan Mundinger wrote to add some things that I hadn't known:

In ihrem Blog von 25.3.08 schreiben sie, daß sie leider keine farbigen Bilder meines Vaters sehen können. Das wäre sehr bedauerlch da mich interessieren würde ob ihnen die vielen verschiedenen stile und techniken die mein Vater benutzt hat gefallen. Konnten sie die Bilder bei Art Channel sehen. Oder nun bei www.kunst.ag.de via Google?

Kurz noch zur Geschichte der Kriegserlebnisse meines Vaters nach dem granaten Angriff und der Verletzung wurde er in ein Feldlazarett gebracht, ob von amerikanischen Soldaten oder deutschen weiß ich nicht. Ich vermute es waren Deutsche, denn ein paar Tage später wurde er mit einem kranken Transport von der umkämpften Front weiter ins Hinterland verlegt.

Dieser Krankentronsport (Eisenbahn) wurde von gegnerischen Jagdfliegern angegriffen. Als schon einige Verletzte getroffen wurden beschloß der Sanitäter aus dem fahrenden Zug zu springen. Mein Vater wollte ebenfalls springen, aber der Sanitäter sprang alleine ab, denn mein Vater war erst ein paar Tage zuvor verletzt worden war natürlich am ganzen Kopf verbunden und konnte natürlich auch nicht sehen.

Als der Mann der neben meinem Vater auf dem Boden saß einen kopfschuß erlitt und starb entschied mein Vater alleine aus dem fahrenden Zug abzuspringen. Dies gelang, da er aber nichts sehen konnte tastete er sich an den Bahngleisen entlang bis er an eine kleine Bahnstation kam. Er konnte später nicht mehr sagen ob er einen halben oder ganzen tag oder in der nacht gegangen war, aber dort in der Bahnstation (in Holland) wurde er freundlich aufgenommen und später in ein Krankenhaus gebracht.

I will translate these German passages, adding a comment or two:

In your blog of March 25, 2008, you write that, unfortunately, you are unable to see any of my father's paintings in color. That would be very regrettable, for I would be interested whether or not my father's many different styles and techniques appeal to you. Would you able to see paintings at the Art Channel? Or perhaps at www.kunst.ag.de via Google?

Unfortunately, http://www.kunst.ag.de/ seems inaccessible from Korea, or perhaps one has to be a member, but www.kunst.ag seems to work. Is that the same website? I typed "Mundinger" into the "Suchen" slot and located 75 paintings by your father. The Art Channel also seems to work fine, at least for now, and I've located the page with some of your father's works. I'll have to take a closer look at both websites when I have more time, but the images look good, and I'd encourage readers to click on the links and see for themselves. The image above, of course, comes from the kunst.ag site.

Now on to the interesting and clarifying anecdote supplied by Stefan Mundinger -- and keep in mind that his father had just two days before lost both hands and one eye to an exploding grenade:

Now briefly concerning the story of my father's war experience: after the grenade attack that wounded him, he was brought to a field hospital -- whether by American or German soldiers, I don't know. I suspect that it was German soldiers, for a few days later, he was put on a transport heading from the front lines for the hinterlands.

This railroad transport of injured soldiers was attacked by enemy jet fighters. Because some of the injured had been hit, the orderly decided to jump from the moving train. My father likewise wanted to jump, but the orderly had jumped out alone, for my father had been injured only a couple of days before and had his entire head bandaged, of course, and was also naturally unable to see.

When the man sitting next to my father on the floor suffered a headshot and died, my father sprang alone from the moving train. He succeeded, but since he could see nothing, he felt his way along the railway tracks until he came to a small train station. He later was no longer able to say whether he had been walking half a day, or the entire day, or into the night, but there in the train station (in Holland), he was received with kindness and later taken to a hospital.

I had no idea of just how difficult Hug Mundinger's experience had been, but now that I read these details, I find his survival simply amazing.

Those of you who don't know about Hug Mundinger might want to read my earlier blog entries about him.

Many thanks to Stefan Mundinger for supplying these extra details.

Hug Mundinger: Follow-Up

Hug Mundinger (1925-2005)

(Image from Kunst für alle)

In yesterday's entry on Hug Mundinger, I openly wondered what he meant by his remark on the "multivalenz des raumes und der zeit," which I translated literally as the "multivalence of space and time."

His daughter, Ms. Angela Mundinger-Tausch, sent me an email with a bit of context to her father's remark:

He had written his doctor [thesis] about Picasso and Braque. He studied a lot about cubes. He was interested in Bauhaus. He had met Kahnweiler -- a friend from Picasso. These were the influences he had had whilst studying arts in Stuttgart. The movement, the relations of cubes, the space and time and life within were his themes. He always connected cubes, dimensions and figures in his paintings. These relationships within them fascinated him. Sometimes he drew figures upon his cubes, sometimes he added life-like things to the cubes.

By doing so he more and more thought about what "Time " (Zeit) means. Space also fascinated him What does it mean? "Raum-Zeit-Kontinuum" [i.e., "Space-Time-Continuum"] and so on were many of his themes on his paintings. Then he connected these meanings in his painings.

This information from his daughter suggests to me that Hug was drawing a great deal from the Cubist preoccupation with space and time, which doesn't exclude an interest in modern physics, of course, for Cubism drew upon that as well -- and Hug's fascination with the "Space-Time-Continuum" implies some interest in relativity theory. Yet, perhaps more to the point in understanding Hug's interest is that the Cubists experimented with multiple perspectives in their paintings, and I suppose that such could imply multiple temporal moments as the perspectival eye moves from one point of view to another, all in one single painting (which is what makes Cubist paintings so disorienting).

Hug's daughter has corrected some of what I wrote about her father and also provided more information. First, the corrections:

He was wounded and walked on his own to the hospital . . . . In hosptal in Holland he asked the nurse to tie a pencil to his right fist (we always said fist to his injured arms), and he thus started drawing. (He could not hold it at that time, for the fists had bandges.)

These corrected details provide an even more impressive picture of Hug Mundinger. Imagine walking to a hospital after losing your hands and an eye!

Now, the additional information:

His own daddy was a worker (a plumber) working in the small village Löchgau, having a shop there and repairing everything. Hugo was his only son, and 2 sisters. As he came home from war, everybody said: you can't work any more. But he said: "Now I'll learn and study for I have my head and this is not injured." So he finished A- level in Ludwigsburg and then wanted to start studying arts in Stuttgart. They did not accept him first . . . [but eventually did so.]

He finished his studies in Stuttgart Kunsthochschule, married my mother, studied German in Tübingen (I was born) and became a teacher for arts in Gymnasium [i.e., high school] in Tübingen. He had his hobby everyday, painted every day throughout his life . . . [and developed] different styles.

Hug's daughter also provides a resume of his accomplishments. Among these were the doctoral dissertation alluded to above, "Die Landschaft im Kubismus bei Pablo Picasso und Georges Braque" [i.e., "Landscape in the Cubism of Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque"], and studies and exhibitions in such varied places as Tübingen, Kernen, Stuttgart, Straßburg, Paris, Rome, Perugia, Moscow, Jerusalem, New York, and Ann Arbor.

An impressive man, an impressive life.

Hug Mundinger Remembered Again

Hug Mundinger Sketching Self-Portrait

(Image from Kunst für alle)

About a year and a half ago, I posted an entry on Hug Mundinger, an artist whom I met while living in Tübingen, Germany, where I was conducting research for my doctoral dissertation and teaching English on the side to support my studies.

Hug was one of my older, private students.

I was again reminded of him because his daughter, Ms. Angela Mundinger-Tausch, read my blog entry and generously offered to provide more stories of her father, who was -- as she put it -- "a great personality." He certainly was that! He was humorous, irrepressible, open, and amazing -- especially amazing, for if you look closely at the photo above, you'll see that he is sketching his 'self-portrait' without any hands . . . and despite having only one eye. How? I once asked him:

He told me that he had been a young soldier in World War II and that a grenade had landed and exploded in front of him. When he regained consciousness some minutes later, his hands were missing, and his eye was hanging out of its socket.

American soldiers found him and put him in a military hospital for treatment. During his recovery, he made the decision not to give up his dream of becoming an artist, so he practiced his drawing by holding a pencil tightly between his two wrists and sketching that way.

"But how do you perceive dimensions?" I asked him. "Isn't everything flat with just one eye?"

"I stand like this," he explained, standing in one place, "then like this," he added, having shifted himself slightly to one side.

He had taught himself to see in perspective by using his one eye to look at the same object twice, from two different positions -- something that the rest of us do automatically by virtue of our two sound eyes.

The image above also includes a biographical 'sketch' that touches on these points:

Selbstporträtmalerei in jeder form hat mich schon als jugendlicher begeistert. selbst nach der amputation beider unterarme und dem verlust des rechten auges durch eine kriegsverletzung hat mich die malerei nie losgelassen. ab ca. 1969 entwickelte ich eine eigenständige mal-und spritztechnik: multivalenz des raumes und der zeit. ab dieser zeit widmete ich mich auch großformatiger räumlicher darstellungen wie z.b. "DIE GROßE ZEITMASCHINE" (360x560 cm). während der beschäftigung mit derart großen formaten bis hin zum "UNENDLICHEN BILD" habe ich mich immer auch kleineren formaten gewidmet und viele verschiedene techniken benutzt z.b. lithographie aktmalerei aquarell und sprayfarben.

Translated, this more or less reads:

Paintings of self-portraits in any form have inspired me since my youth. Even after the amputation of my lower arms and the loss of my right eye through a war injury, painting did not abandon me. Starting about 1969, I developed my own independent painting and spraying technique: multivalence of space and time. Since then, I have devoted myself to large-scale spatial depictions such as "The Great Time Machine" (360 x 560 cm). During my engagement with this sort of large format, up until the time of my "Unending Image," I have also always dedicated myself to smaller formats and used many different techniques, such as lithography, nude portraits, watercolor, and spray painting.

That's my rough, rushed translation, so feel free to improve on it. Perhaps somebody could explain what Hug meant by "multivalenz des raumes und der zeit," which I've translated literally as "multivalence of space and time" -- an instance of my understanding the words but not the larger meaning.

I'd link to more colorful online illustrations of Hug Mundinger's art, but the links that I've received from his family don't seem to work from here in Korea, so all that I can provide are links to black-and-white images on the same website as the one above.

Remembering Hug Mundinger

Hugo Karl Mundinger

July 20, 1925 - April 5, 2005

(Image at Künstlerbund Tübingen)

Yesterday's anecdote about my time in Tübingen reminded me of how quickly time moves along, and today's websearch for an old friend, Hug Mundinger, confirms it.

I met Hug Mundinger about 15 years ago through Tübingen's German-American Institute ... indirectly. The director of the English program had been tutoring him in English but had too many responsibilities and so asked if I were willing to take over for her.

"Hug Mundinger?" I echoed. "Who's that?"

"He's an artist," she said.

"Why is he called 'Hug'?" I asked, figuring it was a nickname.

"His name's really Hugo," she explained, "but he's a very warm person and wants to express this by his name."

"Oh ... great," I muttered, thinking that I had him pegged, but I agreed to take him on as a private student. I got directions to the Künstlerbund, which means "Artists' Association," crossed the Neckar River, and wound my way to an old part of Tübingen down from the central marketplace.

There, I found the Künstlerbund ... locked. So, I waited ... and waited ... and waited. I was beginning to reconsider my agreement to tutor this artist, given his apparently rather 'creative' approach to making an appointment, when the door unlocked and an old man appeared before me, somewhat shabbily dressed in rough, grey clothes.

"Come," he said, motioning me within. "I am Hug Mundinger."

I especially recall his motioning me to enter, for his right hand was missing ... as was his left. And I soon observed that he also had a glass eye.

I entered and began teaching him English.

Only weeks later, when I knew him better, did I feel comfortable enough to ask him how he had lost his hands and eye. He told me that he had been a young soldier in World War II and that a grenade had landed and exploded in front of him. When he regained consciousness some minutes later, his hands were missing, and his eye was hanging out of its socket.

American soldiers found him and put him in a military hospital for treatment. During his recovery, he made the decision not to give up his dream of becoming an artist, so he practiced his drawing by holding a pencil tightly between his two wrists and sketching that way.

"But how do you perceive dimensions?" I asked him. "Isn't everything flat with just one eye?"

"I stand like this," he explained, standing in one place, "then like this," he added, having shifted himself slightly to one side.

He had taught himself to see in perspective by using his one eye to look at the same object twice, from two different positions -- something that the rest of us do automatically by virtue of our two sound eyes.

He was an amazing character, and I taught him English until 1995, when I finally finished my doctoral research and abandoned Germany for different lands and other adventures, but exceedingly sorry to leave this fascinating man behind.

Now, he's gone, for over a year already, and I have only a few samples of his work and these few memories...

Rest in peace, Hug.