By Anna Matveeva
Art created in ghettos, concentration camps, and in hiding during the Holocaust was more than an act of expression—it was defiance. The Nazis tried not only to destroy lives but also to erase memories, and creating art became a way to fight back. Prisoners risked their lives to write, draw, and document their experiences, proving how essential art was even in the face of unimaginable suffering. However, the Holocaust art was not just a record of history but also a way to cope with trauma and hold on to identity. Explore how art helped process Holocaust trauma through two pieces from the Museum’s collection.
Trauma and Its Representation
To understand Holocaust art, one must first understand trauma—how it affects memory and how art helps people cope. Trauma breaks memories into scattered, intense pieces rather than a clear story.1 If unprocessed, trauma often resurfaces later through triggers, distorting rather than fading over time.2 Processing it requires shaping these fragments into a story, but that takes time and a lot of effort.3
Memories about trauma are often difficult to put into words, and even when survivors find the language to describe it, there may be no one ready to hear and accept such a fragile narrative. Whether through painting or writing, survivors found ways to externalize their pain, turning their memories into something others could witness and understand. Art for them wasn’t just a reflection of trauma; it helped to reshape and process it, offering a way to remember, make sense of the past, and even find healing.
Alfred Kantor
One of the most striking examples of Holocaust art is the work of Alfred Kantor. A Czech-born Jewish artist and Holocaust survivor, Kantor is renowned for his visual documentation of life in Nazi concentration camps. Born in Prague, he was deported to Terezín (Theresienstadt) in 1941 and later sent to Auschwitz and Schwarzheide. While imprisoned, he secretly sketched scenes of daily life, capturing the horrors of the camps. After liberation, he recreated many of these drawings from memory, resulting in The Book of Alfred Kantor. As he writes in the preface to his book,
“It was chilling moments like these, in the very first days of Auschwitz, that prompted me to find a way to sketch again.”4
Kantor’s style is characterized by a stark, almost clinical approach to capturing the events around him, with an emphasis on detail and precision. His drawings function as documentary records rather than emotional or abstract representations. The rawness of his sketches is enhanced by their minimalism—stripping away unnecessary embellishments. The focus remains on the everyday lives of inmates, the inhumane conditions they endured, and the systematic violence of the camps.
On this drawing, for instance, Kantor portrays the horrific brutality of people being burned alive in a pit when the crematoriums could no longer handle the sheer number of bodies.
Kantor’s use of line is particularly notable. His drawings are marked by sharp, clear lines that emphasize the harshness and severity of the scenes he depicts. There is little shading or softening of forms, which gives his work an unflinching directness. The figures in his sketches often appear emaciated, hunched, or frozen in moments of intense suffering, reflecting both the physical and psychological toll of the camps. His portrayal of the camps offers an honest view of life in the ghettos and concentration camps.
Here, Kantor depicts the suffering of prisoners forced to stand in the rain during roll call. In another drawing, he portrays an extraordinarily long line for the toilet, noting on his artwork that there were only 10 toilets for 4,000 inmates.
These drawings were more than just an impulse to document the events around him. Kantor himself acknowledges this:
“Commitment to drawing came out of a deep instinct of self-preservation and helped me to deny the unimaginable horrors of life.”5
By imagining himself as a simple observer rather than a direct participant, Kantor found a way to cope with the trauma and maintain a sense of control. His work was both a record and a psychological strategy for survival.
Klara Wolf
Another example of a documentary narrative is Klara Wolf’s diaries. Born in 1909 in Budapest, Wolf chronicled her experiences under Nazi occupation in a unique and unconventional way. She described her diary as follows:
“The diary I was keeping during the time mentioned above is not a usual one – as for example that of Anne Frank’s – because I had no paper, pen, pencil; neither a quiet room, nor a place to write it. So if I could catch any possibility, I put down the happenings with a word or half a sentence, sometimes in shorthand, notes which could be understood only by me.”6
Wolf’s diary is composed of fragmented notes—brief, urgent, and often written in shorthand. Like Kantor’s sketches, her writing has a documentary approach. Rather than fully immersing herself in the personal, emotional weight of her situation, she adopts the role of an observer, recording events with a tone that often resembles newspaper clippings. The diary is filled with historical references and factual accounts, yet it also carries an undercurrent of anger.
What makes Wolf’s approach particularly striking is her choice to maintain a documentary style rather than focusing on her emotions. Wolf’s detached, factual style may not only be a reflection of personal preference but also a means of distancing herself from the horrors she witnessed.
Documentary-style works like Klara Wolf’s diary and Alfred Kantor’s sketches capture trauma in immediate and factual terms. Yet, even these historical records are not mere testimonies of collective suffering—they are shaped by the artists’ unique perspectives, memories, and emotional responses.
Thus, Holocaust art not only helps us understand trauma but also challenges us to recognize its complexity. It reminds us that while historical atrocities shape collective memory, each survivor’s pain is singular, shaped by personal history, perspective, and resilience. Acknowledging this individuality is crucial—not only in honoring those who lived through these horrors but also in ensuring that our remembrance remains nuanced, sensitive, and deeply human.
1 Engelhard, Iris M., et al. “Retrieving and modifying traumatic memories: Recent research relevant to three controversies.” Current Directions in Psychological Science, vol. 28, no. 1, 3 Jan. 2019, pp. 91–96.
2 Center for Substance Abuse Treatment. “Understanding the Impact of Trauma.” Trauma-Informed Care in Behavioral Health Services, U.S. National Library of Medicine, 1 Jan. 1970, www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK207191/.
3 Caruth, Cathy. Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016., p. 11.
4 Kantor, Alfred. The Book of Alfred Kantor. McGraw-Hill, 1971, p. 16.
5 Kantor, Alfred. The Book of Alfred Kantor. McGraw-Hill, 1971, p. 17.
6 Letter from Klara Wolf in Budapest to David Altschuler, Founding Director of the Museum, August 13, 1991.