A rainbow becomes a literal obstacle in Rainbow Obstacle (Hindernis Regenbogen), where Moriz Jung turns the sky into a stage for absurdity. The eye is drawn first to the drama overhead: a biplane, caught mid-crash, has collided with the arc of color itself, sending pilot and machine spinning against a backdrop of thunderous black clouds. The rainbow, usually a symbol of hope or peace after a storm, is rendered here as a solid, impassable barrier—its ends anchored in the landscape, its spectrum slicing through the gloom.

Below, a figure with a camera on a tripod bends low, perhaps to capture the spectacle or shield themselves from the chaos above, while a peaceful village lies unaware in the distance. The composition’s sharp contrasts and saturated palette heighten the sense of comic disaster, while the angular forms and bold outlines recall the visual language of early 20th-century posters. Created in 1911, this print belongs to a world on the cusp of modernity, when flight was still new and full of promise—and peril. The early 1900s saw a surge in graphic art, especially in Vienna, where artists like Jung contributed to the playful, satirical spirit of the Wiener Werkstätte.

Such prints were often commissioned for postcards or magazines, intended to amuse or provoke with their clever twists on everyday life and technology. Little is recorded about the journey of this particular work, now held in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but its wit and style remain a testament to the restless imagination of its era. The rainbow, once crossed only in myth, here becomes a comic hazard of the modern age—inviting us to look again and wonder what other boundaries might be waiting in plain sight.