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I am up to my neck in visions - and this work means to me exclusive emotions, bouncing excitement, bugging street front on paper! or whoosh! a starry sky circling above a red head, a tram bursting into the picture , telephones ringing, a woman in labour crying out, while knuckle-duster and flickknife sleep peaceably in the pimp's sticky trouser pocket - ah and the labyrinths of mirrors, you magic street gardens where arce changes men into swine, funny laden hat with tuft of leathers or the run-tum-tily walk at the Parthephon, where the receiver clings to the ear and the music of the gramophone, palm trees are ships in which you sail away or the songs of the signboards, you golden umbrella, the round dance of the letters - and the part-red, wine-sodden nights where the moon is side by side with

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infection and cursing cab drivers and where strangulations take place in dusty coal cellars - oh emotion of big cities!

George Grosz Letters to Otto Schmalhausen

June 30, 1917 p48 (same as above)

...Gorsz was forceful as a graphic artist only where he hated, where he could be satirical: a positive attitude was not his cup of tea at all. -Schneedle p78

Brecht imagined that one day Grosz had discovered in himself a violent and irresistible love for a certain typical mug which as it happened, had been mug of the ruling class.

-Schneedle p.84

"All these objects, people and events, I drew most carefully. I loved none of them. Neither those in a restaurant nor the ones in the street. I was arrogant enough to call myself a natural scientist, not a