Is it Art, or Can It Still Go in the Wardrobe?

When one studies art history, one unavoidably encounters the name Joseph Beuys. The German artist marked a turning point in art history by redefining creative action and integrating political functions into the art world, thus giving art a new mission. In the search for connections between fashion and art, Beuys’s reinterpretation of the artistic universe can provide valuable clues.

Born in 1921 in Krefeld, Beuys was the son of a merchant. Even as a schoolboy he was fascinated by art and often visited the studio of the Flemish painter and sculptor Achilles Moortgat. During World War II, Beuys enlisted in the German Air Force in 1941 and served as a pilot. In 1944, he survived a severely damaging plane crash over Crimea. He later wove a legend around this event, claiming that local villagers nursed him back to health with fat, honey, and shelter in a felt tent. These three materials would become central elements in his art.

After the war, Beuys gradually entered the art scene and revolutionized the very concept of art. He declared every single person an artist and viewed creativity as the result of independent thinking. To foster this thinking, he organized discussion circles in which participants also spoke about politics. As a professor at the Düsseldorf Art Academy, he opened his lectures to students who had been rejected by the institution. He was convinced that everyone’s innate creativity could—and should—be nurtured. His actions had consequences, however, and in 1972 he was dismissed from the academy.

A year earlier, Beuys had named his student Johannes Stüttgen as his master student. In this role, Stüttgen carries on Beuys’s ideas and aspirations. Together with Beuys, Stüttgen co-founded the “Omnibus for Direct Democracy,” creating a forum for free and independent discussions with the goal of promoting referendums.

I was deeply interested in the artist and had the opportunity to conduct what was more a conversation than an interview. Even before our meeting, Beuys had prepared me thoroughly and challenged me to think about the connection between fashion and his work.

When I arrived at Stüttgen’s home in Düsseldorf, his first question was how I had come across the magazine’s theme. I explained that in the fashion world, the question of its connection to art repeatedly arises—and that “structure-givers” want to offer every consumer the chance to find their own answer. Stüttgen then voiced his doubts about any link between the two industries:

People often assume fashion and art are intertwined, yet fashion generally concerns the exterior—image or form—and is, unlike art, ephemeral. Trends come and go in waves; what was fashionable yesterday is often forgotten today. Art, by contrast, deals with deeper issues and is timeless. I was surprised by Stüttgen’s skepticism and asked him what connection he himself saw between fashion and Beuys.

That’s an interesting perspective, and I’m really looking forward to our discussion. I first encountered Beuys during my art Abitur (A-levels). His views and aspirations fascinated me, so I wanted to explore him more closely in my magazine. I’m convinced that Beuys can help us search for possible links between fashion and art. Whether for or against is secondary for now. That’s one reason I sought out this conversation with you. On the other hand, I want to pass on the thoughts of Beuys and yours to the younger generation, because I believe they can help us with many of today’s problems.

I would like to begin by learning more about your own background. You initially studied theology—how did that come about, and why did you ultimately decide against it?

“As a young man I actually aspired to a career as an artist, but at some point I began to doubt the significance of art. I searched for answers to life’s big questions and wondered what art contributed to that. Philosophy also occupied me, but I found no satisfying philosophical answers in art. Art seemed to extend only until death—not beyond. This emptiness led to deep despair, and I ended up in theology because I saw a link between the search for life’s meaning and the question of God—a kind of thinking beyond the ordinary. The subject wasn’t foreign to me; my father was closely involved in theology, so I already felt somewhat at home in that field. I eventually chose the theologian Joseph Ratzinger (later Pope Benedict XVI), although at the time I didn’t know who he would become. Even then, I admired him as an outstanding teacher—imagine the largest lecture hall at the University of Münster filled four times a week at 8:00 a.m.! Ratzinger was like a magnet, with a calm and humble presence that exerted enormous pull. I was impressed, but I didn’t find what I was searching for, and after two semesters I dropped out.”

I read that after leaving university you worked in a puppet theater. How did that happen?

“After I left my studies, I was again in that desperate place. Joseph Ratzinger couldn’t help me out of my misery, though I still admired him. I didn’t leave because of him—rather, I left despite him. I simply didn’t find what I was looking for. At that time existentialism—especially through Kafka’s literature—played a major role for me. Kafka’s texts gave me a sense of fulfillment, which led me to puppetry. Puppetry for me was a way to ask questions about life: Who really controls us? It was a refuge from my aimlessness.”

How did you then transition from puppetry back to art?

“As I said, I had practically abandoned art. The turnaround came when my girlfriend became pregnant and I had to earn money. I thought, ‘Well, then I’ll give art a try—I can do that.’ I applied to the academies in Kassel and Düsseldorf to make sure I’d be accepted somewhere. In the end I was admitted to both, which made me lose a bit of my reverence for the program. Everyone had always said it was hard to get into art school, but I had no problems. My awe for art education evaporated immediately. Had I not met Beuys back then, I probably would have left again after a year. Drawing didn’t fulfill me and didn’t satisfy what I was looking for.”

How did Beuys change your attitude toward art?

“It’s actually a very simple story. As I mentioned, I was tormented by the question of death. My thinking couldn’t get beyond death—I was stuck there. I first met Beuys at a public discussion; I wasn’t even in his class yet. During the talk he said a sentence that struck me in the heart: ‘He who does not know death does not know what thinking is.’ I felt he knew something I didn’t. It seemed he had knowledge beyond death that was hidden from me. He connected that hidden knowledge to thinking—interesting to me. It was as if he said, ‘You can only get to that point if you begin to think—not feel or believe, but think.’ From then on I knew: That is my teacher! I decided to join his class—he practically invited me to.”

Was it then clear to you that Beuys held the answer to your questions?

“Exactly. Beuys gave me the opportunity to explore my questions more deeply. During the circle discussion he spoke about a pistol and questioned its relationship to death. At first I thought the answer was obvious: a pistol can kill someone. But Beuys’s explanation was different: he said a pistol is a technical device, assembled from elements that could only exist by first killing a natural object. He defined technology as living connections that are killed, re-analyzed, and reassembled. His definition of technology was enlightening for me and showed how the issue of death is present in everyday life. It was a low point from which Beuys pulled me out.”

Did his popularity compare to that of Ratzinger?

“When I studied with Beuys, the crowds grew as he became more famous. I hadn’t known him before. It was thrilling to see my teacher, whom I greatly admired, suddenly become world-famous. In a way, it confirmed my judgment.”

Could you quickly find an answer to your questions in Beuys’s class?

“The most important thing I learned from Beuys is that some questions take years to answer. He taught me perseverance and motivation to answer my own questions; it can be hard work. As his student, I asked all my questions. I was persistent, and Beuys guided me as a teacher, answering question after question. Of course, his teaching wasn’t just about answering my questions—he evaluated and guided our work, and he conducted actions that you might not immediately understand but that always felt right. Sometimes you don’t understand something, yet it still feels right—that’s normal and drives motivation. If you don’t understand something, pursue it; that ignites energy.

And then there’s the question of energy—one of the most important questions of all. It’s not just about coal, gas, or nuclear power; that’s superficial. It’s about human creativity and motivation. Today’s energy debates are too shallow—they focus only on maintaining prosperity, which I find relatively uninteresting. That leads us to the political dimension of Beuys’s concept of art. You immediately come back to the energy question, the human question. Then there’s his famous slogan, ‘Everyone is an artist,’ meaning every human being is naturally creative."

There’s another well-known phrase associated with Beuys: ‘Is this art, or can it be thrown away?’ You are especially linked to that phrase. Can you tell us about it?”

I told Beuys I needed a fat corner. Others might need a refrigerator or a desk, but I needed a fat corner. He gave me one for my studio at the Academy. After Beuys’s death, the Academy wanted to remove everything belonging to him as quickly as possible—including my fat corner. When they destroyed it, I sued the State of North Rhine-Westphalia and secured a settlement of 40,000 DM. It wasn’t about the money for me, but about the discussion. By the way, this case is still of interest to lawyers today, because I had to legally prove my ownership of the fat corner, which is not easy for such a work. In the end I achieved what mattered most: the discussions it generated.

You yourself taught art at a secondary school for a time. How did you approach education there?

“I tried to answer questions and open discussions—just as I’m doing with you now. I asked myself what the students expected from me. I absolutely did not want to reproduce the outdated school system. As an art teacher, I had the advantage that my colleagues knew little about art, so I could design my own educational approach. After one year I already had my resignation in hand, but I had vowed to teach for as many years as I had been a student—nine years. So I persevered. The school tried to fire me, but they couldn’t. The students understood me and were convinced by my teaching style. I deliberately chose a school in Gelsenkirchen—one of Germany’s poorest cities—because I wanted to meet those people in frustration at eye level and support them.”

So you took on the role of guiding light, as Beuys did for you?

“Yes, exactly. A good teacher should always act as a guide."

Did you experience difficulties as a teacher that you hadn’t recognized before?

“Of course—many! But I didn’t ignore them; I faced them head-on. As a teacher I had two goals: first, to last the nine years; second, to devote myself to the struggling students and support them. My time teaching was a constant experiment. I studied how to work with students who fell behind and what tasks to assign them. I paid little attention to the school system and focused on individual observation. I also offered voluntary after-school clubs. My colleagues called me crazy, but for me it greatly eased my work.

There are poor students—are there then bad works of art? Do you distinguish between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ art?”

"Yes, absolutely—that is the most important distinction of all. If I couldn’t make that distinction, I wouldn’t even know why I’m talking about art. Art is the highest designation—the highest level of human creativity and purpose. So of course I distinguish between good and less good art, just as my task as a teacher is to point out where my students can improve and how they can develop their skills. If I didn’t make that distinction, the student would stand there wondering whether everything is good or bad. Only through differentiation can improvement occur. You must also distinguish between good and bad fashion to draw meaningful conclusions.

Now I’d like to know what connection you see between Beuys and fashion. I’ve actually never seen a link between those worlds."

I would start with Beuys’s outfit. With his fisher’s vest and felt hat, he had a very interesting look that in some way reflected his personality.

“Outfit is the keyword. Would you be willing to call Beuys’s appearance ‘fashion’?”

That leads to the question of how one defines fashion—but I’d argue that every person defines and creates their own fashion.

“So you’re saying that the way you’re dressed here isn’t random, but your own choice. Yes, I understand that well, and the same was true for Beuys. Personally, though, I wouldn’t call it fashion. I’d even advise against calling it fashion, because what you’re talking about is something profound, something human. By shaping one’s life individually, one also determines one’s appearance to convey a specific message. In that sense I wouldn’t call it fashion—at least not in the conventional sense of how I understand the term. I find ‘fashion’ an uninteresting term; I’d rather call it art, which makes it more significant.”

I agree. The term “fashion” is strongly tied to consumption.

“Yes—consumption and impermanence. And that brings us back to the previously discussed problem of fleeting trends: today one way, tomorrow another. I don’t want to deny that; it’s all there, especially in Düsseldorf on Königsallee. But I believe one shouldn’t cling too much to the term ‘fashion.’ I still find the starting point very interesting.”

In an interview, Beuys was once asked about the function of his “fashion”—specifically, whether his hat served a protective function. What do you think? What function did he give his clothing?

“Protection—let’s leave it at that for now. But I’d first address the image itself. It was a striking image. We must ask whether it was characteristic or not—by ‘characteristic’ I mean whether it resonated with the person and their ambitions. It must fit. That brings us back to the earlier point when I spoke about feeling that something is fitting even if you don’t fully understand it. Children always proceed that way: they question every action because they experience a sense of fitting without fully understanding it. Now the question: was Beuys’s appearance fitting?”

I would say yes. His appearance stood out—somewhat eccentric but above all striking and direct. At the same time, through its color palette it also appeared calm and serene. Overall, I’d describe his outfit as highly communicative.

“Absolutely. One could say he staged himself as a figure. He once said, ‘The elephant or the hare doesn’t constantly change its uniform.’ He thus linked his outfit directly to a characteristic form, where certain items took on different roles. Ratzinger was similar: he appeared modest and humble, without making a fuss. Beuys didn’t make a fuss either, but he used himself as a figure—an action figure. We would need a long discussion about his actions, which we won’t have time for today, but we must now address: what does ‘action’ mean? From an economic standpoint, action means production, entrepreneurship. Action is not consumption. The concept of action is actually the antithesis of consumption.”

At this point I’d like to ask: Beuys essentially marketed himself. In principle he was his own company. He used his tools—his fisher’s vest, his felt hat—to build his brand. One might even argue that he expropriated fashion and redefined it for himself as something new.

“Yes, absolutely—that’s beautifully described. I’d add that he took something out of fashion and gave it a meaning it never had before. He continuously used objects like his hat in his actions. The hat was not only a protective device for his head injury but also functioned as a kind of crown—similar to a cowboy’s hat. In bourgeois times, the hat played the role of a crown. Hats also carry other traditions, like the magician’s hat. If one spoke in detail about headgear, one would encounter a variety of characters that a hat can convey. That already goes deeper than fashion, comparable to art objects. In that sense, Beuys’s outfit expressed a specific intention.”

“Does aesthetics play a role in art?”

Yes, of course. Aesthetics is nothing other than the study of appearance. When one examines the history of aesthetics, it always ends in art. But aesthetics is not only external. For example, Art Nouveau was an aesthetic movement that sought to adorn industrial products with elegant forms. You notice that pure industrial products don’t speak to certain spiritual forces but only communicate with the intellect. In that sense, aesthetics is the question of the relationship among all of a human being’s spiritual qualities—thinking, feeling, and willing.

The human body itself has often been defined by artists as an art object. If fashion is our “second skin,” can fashion itself be considered an art object?

“That depends on whether this ‘second skin’ fits or not—whether it is ‘true.’ You can’t avoid that question. Of course, one could ask: who decides that? First, you must decide for yourself. But the self-set criteria must also prevail externally.”

I must say I find this discussion with you very interesting. With your “Omnibus for Direct Democracy” you also offer a platform for discussions…

“On the basis of equality. That means communication and discussion always on an equal footing. Because that is the secret of democracy. What’s interesting about equality is the question of difference. Unfortunately, many don’t understand the connection between equality and difference. That ought to be our society’s core theme: creating that link. That’s why every conversation I have with different people and viewpoints is so interesting—because everything else would be fashion (ha ha!). I see ‘fashion’ as linked to temporary, fleeting trends or magazines. That may be very interesting, but I always ask about the continuum. In general, I wouldn’t exclude fashion—but fashion must be freed from its mere superficiality. It must express a genuine human need. Its goal must be to emancipate itself from fashion and become art.”