Brassai Conversations With Picasso

^

BRASSAI

^

CONVERSATIONS WITH PICASSO

$32.50

Since the early days of his career,

been our guide

Brassai has

to avant-

garde Paris. Not only was Brassai

a

noted photographer— nicknamed "the eye of Paris" by

Henry Miller— he was

also a prolific

author and journalist

whose

My

Letters to

Parents

was

named

"a small classic in the history of the

medium" by Jed

New Republic.

Perl in the

In that book, as well as

many

Brassai described, with

charm and

humor,

the

many important

and writers with close personal

tionships.

whom

others,

artists

he developed

and professional

Not the

least

among

rela-

these

was Picasso. Brassai recorded his

many

meetings and appointments with the great Spanish artist

from 1943

resulting in Conversations with

While the two

artists

on

Picasso.

shared the

same milieu in the 1930s, until the

to 1946,

it

wasn't

1940s that they saw each other

a regular basis,

when

Brassai was

asked to photograph Picasso's works. Brassai's recollections of these visits

offer an intimate portrait of

one of the

greatest artists of the twentieth century: a

Picasso

who described Cezanne

"one and only master throws

a

';

a Picasso

tantrum because he

flashlight; a Picasso

Paris during the

(continued on back flap)

as his

who

lost a

who remained

in

German Occupation,

WITHDRAWN No

longer the property of the Boston Public Library. Sale of this material benefits the Library.

^

BRASSAT

k

CONVERSATIONS ^ WITH ^ PICASSO

«

BRASSAI

>-

CONVERSATIONS « WITH >»

PICASSO Translated by Jane Marie

Todd from

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS

Conversotions avec Picasso

CHICAGO AND LONDON

and author of My Parents, published by the University of Chicago Press. Jane Marie Todd is a translator whose works include Largesse by Jean Starobinski and Women's Brassai (born Gyula Halasz) was a photographer, journalist,

photographic monographs and literary criticism, including

Mona

Words by

The The

©

Letters to

Ozouf, both published by the University of Chicago

Press.

University of Chicago Press, Chicago

University of Chicago Press, Ltd.,

60637 London

1999 by The University of Chicago

All rights reserved. Published 1999

Originally published as Conversations

©

avec Picasso, text

and photographs

Gilberte Brassai and Editions Gallimard, 1964, 1997

Images of Preface

©

art

and sculpture

Henry

Miller,

©

Picasso Estate, 1999

1966

AL BR

12345

08 07 06 05 04 03 02 01 00 99 ISBN: 0-226-07148-0 (cloth)

ND553 .P5

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A35 1999

l899~

Brassai,

[Conversations avec Picasso. English]

Conversations with Picasso

/

by Brassai

;

translated by Jane Marie

Todd. p.

cm.

Includes index.

ISBN 0-226-07148-0 I.

Picasso, Pablo,

ND553.P5A35

(alk.

paper)

1881-1973— Interviews.

I.

Title.

1999

709'.2— dc2I

98-50463 CIP

[b]

@ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences

Permanence of Paper for Printed Library

Materials,

ANSI Z39.48-1992.

Contents

Preface, by

Henry Miller (1966)

Introduction, by Pierre Daix

Conversations with Picasso

Postscript

Notes List of

Index

/

/

i

331

367

Photographs

/

xv

/

/

/

/

379

383

V

ix

To Picasso

on

his eighty-third birthday, this

of recaptured

moments from

bouquet

his rich hours.

Original dedication to the 1966 edition.

Preface [to the original

When

ig66

edition]

had not yet estabhshed himself as a photographer. He had been a painter and was eking out a living (in Paris) writing for Hungarian newspapers. It was his eyes which I first noticed upon being introduced to him by our mutual friend Alfred Perles. ("The Eye of Paris" I first

I

dubbed him

met

Brassai, in 1930, he

a little later.)

His eyes were unusual, not only in

physical sense, but for the impression they conveyed of an

canny trait

once

ability to take in everything at

which

I

critical

kindly.

One might

un-

once. There was another

also sensed immediately, a sly

and

a

humor which

almost refer to

it

as

was

at

mali-

cious benevolence.

And

then there was the story

teller.

One

felt that

he was

to relate, down to the last detail, the marvels which had just taken in. I say "marvels" because he was able to read into the humblest object, person, or incident things which no one else would have noticed. He did not go out of his way to choose striking or exotic subjects; he could talk about pebbles on the beach with the same fascination as he could discourse on his beloved Goethe or St. Thomas Aquinas. It came as no great surprise to me therefore when recently he announced his intention to try his hand at writing. One of the first texts he showed me was a tribute to the late Hans Reichel, a mutual friend, who died not long ago virtually un-

compelled

his eyes

known

except to the few. Reichel was a painter (mostly of aqua-

and career could be said to have been the exact opposite of Picasso's. Having just written a tribute to Reichel myself, was surprised and delighted to see how superelles)

whose

life

I

rior was Brassai's text to

my own. IX

Van Gogh's

have long held the opinion that

I

work of art than

a far greater

all

Letters to

Theo

his canvases put together.

is

The

paintings will die, are dying already, but the spirit which ani-

mates the

undying and

Letters is

will give

courage and inspira-

tion to countless artists in the years to come.

some inexplicable way it seems to me which animates Picasso can never be fully ac-

say this because in

I

that the spirit

counted for by his work, no matter how prodigious

Not self

is

may

it

be.

deny the greatness of his work, but that the man himand will remain far greater than anything or everything

that

I

which he accomplishes with

his hands.

He

is

so

much more

than the painter, sculptor, or whatever he may choose to be while breath

is

He

in him.

is

outsized, a

human phenomenon.

Throughout this book, which is like a mosaic, there are abundant passages attesting to Picasso's extraordinary awareness. Nothing seems to escape his attention. He has trenchant comments on everything, from hieroglyphs to star dust. His curiosity is matched only by his memory, which is fantastic. As for his productivity, it is exceeded only by his powers of ingestion. He not only sees and understands what is going on in this

mad world, to

but he foresees.

come, but the

midst one

He

Without

feel as well.

feels that the

not only gives the shape of things his presence in

our

world would be rudderless.

Brassai has not only given us Picasso in

all

his varying

moods, he has given us a picture of the world he inhabited, the world of artists, writers, actors, musicians who gave it direction. All this resurrected from scraps of paper Brassai was in the habit of consigning to a huge vase each night after his talks

He made

with Picasso.

these notes not with the thought of fu-

ture publication but because Picasso's thoughts tions, his

way of life, seemed too precious to be

in thin air.

It

that, riffling

them

in

through these scattered notes, he decided

form

for the world to have.

And what

his subject stead,

left to

vanish

was not until some twenty or more years later

writer, let alone a

sion.

and observa-

a

man who had

temptation!

through

flattery,

A difficult

to

put

task for any

not made writing his profes-

A temptation,

I

mean,

to distort

adulation, criticism, or envy. In-

he permitted Picasso to reveal himself, to draw his own

X

portrait.

No wonder

has been

all

What

that Picasso, praised

and maligned

it

he

on reading the book. through these pages! What subjects ex-

his life, was pleased

figures parade

patiated on! Leafing through the book, which heavily,

as

seems to

me

that

I

have annotated

nothing of true consequence has

been omitted from this rich period in Picasso's life. We are given portraits and thumbnail sketches of such exciting figures as Paul Eluard, Pierre Reverdy, Andre Breton, Henri Michaux, Man Ray, Dali, Maxjacob, Mac Orlan, Braque, Andre Malraux, Cocteau, Sartre, Prevert, Matisse, neau, and many,

many

others of the epoch.

Raymond QueAlong with discus-

sions about Utamaro, Goethe, Balzac, Mallarme, Jarry, Grock,

Medrano, archaeology, the dance, death, God knows what all. Even the world to come, if one but reads between the lines. We discover that Picasso is an omnivorous the Cirque

reader, au courant to everything taking place in the world of letters as well as the

world of

art, to say

world which, through Picasso's

We

see

him

nothing of the everyday

seems crazier than ever.

eyes,

as a story teller, discover that at heart

dandy, that by nature he

is

lazy (!), that

he

is

he

is

a

an inordinate col-

one who finds treasures even in the trash can. ("Le Roi Cocteau once called him.) We also discover, and most happily, that when he puts pencil to paper, or brush to canvas, Picasso himself never knows what will come of it. And on pages 318— 319 there is this admission by the master himself which I think every aspiring artist, every one who thirsts for fame and success, should read — not once but a dozen times. "I no longer want to see new faces. Why should 1? But I am always here to my friends And their visits are that lector,

des Chiffoniers,''

.

much more precious

to

me

because

.

1

.

live in

seclusion, like a

would not wish my celebrity on anyone, not even my worst enemies. I suffer from it, physically. I protect myself as best I can. I barricade myself behind doors that are kept ."* double locked night and day

prisoner.

I

.

.

*Miller quotes here from the 1966 English language translation by Francis Price, published by Doubleday pany.

The page numbers, however,

& Company

as Picasso and

Com-

refer to the current (1999) trans-

lation.

xi

Now a word Brassai relates

about the photograph of Picasso on page

he had decided on

it,

this particular

2.

As

day to take

but one shot of Picasso and no more. This was in the year 1932; Picasso was only fifty years old. One is tempted to say he was in his prime, but then Picasso is always in his prime, it seems.

To me

ing square

have seen a good many.

I

at us, Picasso.

massive than he

is,

Eye to eye.

He seems

what with the sweater,

double-breasted jacket. is

man I have He seems to be look-

the most striking photo of the

it is

and

ever seen,

The

gaze

is

vest,

even more

and

large

steady, piercing, fixed.

He

looking clean through the lens, through his photographer,

through the very world

itself.

He

stands there like the

Rock of

Gibraltar, "the master of reality" which he has always been.

man who

A

and demons alike, a man who has God, for is he not himself some sort of god, albeit human to the core? He looks us through and through, us and the crazy, miserable world we have put together. To me that look says: "Life is good and I am the living proof of it. I have nothing but my genius to sustain me. Away with your illusions and delusions! I offer you grandeur, nobility, courage, daring. I ask for no better, no higher life. I am what I do, and vice versa. Take it or leave it. Offer me a throne and I will accept. But don't ask me to say 'Thank you!' I do what I must. Not what I ought to do, not even what I would like to do. I do,

no need

deals with angels

to talk of

"

that

is all.

So

I

hear

the camera

him

— not

man

talking to himself as he stands there facing

defiant, as he

may appear

him-

to be, but just

God be praised, say I, He has made his world; we that such a one haven't even begun to make ours. One might say that the gods were good to him. But that isn't the half of it. He was good to himself. He appreciates himself. He knows who he is and what self,

the

he

is,

the creator he

is still

he

is.

in our midst.

Banzai!

is.

"

"One World my choice of much, which our benighted politicians dread so the leader to guide it would be Picasso. I would vote for him If

even

tomorrow we were

if

to

bring about that

he were in his dotage. Certainly,

XII

at his

worst Picasso

could not make more of day regard themselves have never had an

a

mess of

as the leaders

artist at the

weary world of ours

it

will

than the humbugs who toof the world. Thus far we

helm. Until we do,

.

.

Long

and

never be anything more than the ass-

hole of creation, Plato to the contrary.

.

this sad

live Picasso!

Henry Miller

xiii

Introduction

Brassai'and Picasso

The

publication of Brassai's Conversations

1964 was

a significant event. Brassai

with Picasso

in

autumn

restored Picasso's natural-

ness to him, something that had been attempted only for the

most recent period, in Helene Parmelin's Picasso Plain (l959; EnIt brought him back to life

glish translation, 1963), for example.

for the decisive years between 193^' the date of their first meet-

and the postwar era, the period in his life about which my generation — born in the aftermath of World War I — and those that followed knew the least. I insist on that naturalness, because Brassai was able to enter Picasso's daily life and capture on the spot the reactions of the man and of the artist. Although Picasso lived in and for his art, his Andalusian temperament made him full of vivacity and spontaneity, always ready to be stirred up for a cause. He could just as easily be surprised at a discovery — an object in its rough state, a work of art, the look of a passing woman — or excited at the evocation of a memory. Brassai", a born observer, is both a great photographer, given his capacity to seize and record the unforgettable aspect of an instant, and a memoirist, that is, a ing

at

the height of the surrealist period,

writer capable of transcending the incidental to stand as a pro-

found witness to his time. There is no doubt that Picasso opened up to Brassai precisely because he realized this. If he was to pour his heart out, he needed to feel he could trust his interlocutor, and it helped if this interlocutor was a "craftsman" of some kind, a painter or sculptor perhaps, but a poet, historian, filmmaker, or novelist would also do. In short, he was seeking someone who was grappling with the external world to "make something else out of it, as Picasso liked to say. '

XV

Brassai immediately captivated

him with

his photographs.

Since the very recent opening of the Picasso archives, we

have

a better idea

of

rapher was for his the author of

how important

Picasso's

work

now

photog-

as a

even in his youth. As for Brassai, he was

art,

^

Paris by Night,

the

album he was working on during

their first meeting; he was also the first person to have the idea

of capturing the poetry of graffiti from the old walls of Paris,

published in the

first issue

of the review Minotaure in 1933-

Shortly before that, his photos illustrating Breton's article "Picasso in His

would

call

Element" revealed for the

first

time what Parmelin

"the studio's secrets of the boudoir." Brassai re-

peated the offense

Kahnweiler on

when he

collaborated with Daniel-Henry

Picasso's Sculptures

(1948).

He

tells

of the long de-

velopment of that book beginning in the Occupation years. That deep and lasting complicity lies at the heart of the dialogue Brassai recorded so well, a dialogue between equals that, as always

of his

with Picasso, goes back in time, returns to the history

art, to

the secrets of his art

This movement through time sai

the memoirist.

It is as if

book with memories of

pation, and describes

then goes back to his

its

is

also characteristic of Bras-

he wanted to escape the instanta-

neous and dated aspects of the his

and of art in general.

art

of photography.

Paris 1943'

He

begins

under the Nazi Occu-

leaden, dangerous atmosphere.

first

He

meeting with Picasso in 193^ and dehad occupied since 192O on rue La

scribes the studio the artist

Boetie. This studio lives lyze

how

the art galleries

on in his photos. He goes on to anamoved westward, from the Opera dis-

trict to place de la Madeleine in the Faubourg Saint-Honore, which explains the location of Picasso's studio. He tells of the birth of the review Minotaure and of its young publishers, Teriade and the Swiss Albert Skira, then finally draws a most accu-

rate portrait of surrealism at that

founding, adding,

as a

moment, ten

years after

its

bonus, portraits of Andre Breton and

Paul Eluard. All in twenty pages. Let us add that, in a note, Brassai puts his finger on what always stood between Picasso and surrealism, and also underscores the complicity between the two:

"What

especially

both-

ered me," he writes, "was surrealists' attitude toward painting.

xvi

Its

properly pictorial quality escaped them. For them, the only

thing that counted was intentions, feelings the subject matter, the anecdote. ality'

was accepted

Once

— erotic

or poetic

the posture of 'surre-

as the sole criterion for art, they

could

weak works to the skies, and could like even good painting only for bad reasons." As a matter of fact, Breton maintained that the attention lavished on the pictorial material, what Americans call the "painterly" aspect, destroyed spontaneity, and he approved of Picabia's characterization of Cezanne as a "fruit merchant." That was a deep misunderstanding between him and Picasso, and it is at the heart of Conversations with Picasso, even though the guiding thread of these conversations is sculpture. For Picasso, in fact, there was never a rupture between his two-dimensional praise glaringly

and

three-dimensional works. Brassai

his

is

right to say that

"sculpture was lurking like a virtuality deep within his paintings themselves.

.

.

.

Cubism

ing sculpture that offers

its

created the sensation of a rotat-

different aspects simultaneously/'

As

we approach the end of the twentieth century, we are beginning to realize that Picasso was as great a sculptor as he was a painter, was perhaps even more revolutionary in three dimensions; but in 1932, when Brassai began his photographs, his sculptures were practically unknown. The history of his thirtyplus years of activity as a sculptor, beginning with such early efforts as Picador's Head with Broken Nose, was

the time.

became

To

give

some

still

impenetrable

at

context, let us recall that this history

truly accessible only

when

Picasso brought three-

dimensional works out of his studios for the retrospective organized for his eighty-fifth birthday in 1966. Moreover, the catalog,

on the

first

compiled by Werner Spies, was published only in 197^'

eve of Picasso's death. Thus,

from every point of view,

Brassai was a pioneer in this field.

Although

Brassai'

agreed with Breton that "poetry has no

permanent address, it does not necessarily inhabit the poem, one can run into it in the street, on the wall, anywhere at all, the misunderstanding regarding Picasso's sculptures bursts forth in Breton's 1933 article in Minotaure, in which he wrote that Picasso "has

no prejudice about xvii

materials.

"

In

fact,

how-

'

ever,

although Picasso used both standard and vulgar materials,

even

castoffs,

he had the greatest respect for evei^ material he

did use. Hence, the

by Brassai

"a

vs^ere

of Picasso's sculptures photographed

first

dozen extremely elongated figurines, some-

times nude, sometimes draped, crudely carved w^ith a knife

.

.

.

He had taken them from a basket, one by one, explaining to me that he did not want to smooth them out too much, so that the wood, with its structure, its knots, and its fibers, would remain alive. into pieces of hard wood.

Brassai immediately understands this respect for the material, a result

of Picasso's familiarity with black African and Oce-

anic art. This interest originated in Gauguin, of course, but had

not yet ventured beyond ents of Picasso's

a

few avant-garde

1906—8 works were not

The antecedknown until after

circles.

well

his death. Just as quickly, Brassai recognized Picasso's sense for

innovation in his wire sculptures

— "outline

Kahnweiler called them — and he

gives

stract quality,

drawings in space,"

an assessment of their ab-

noting quite rightly that they are "in some sense

the plastic replicas of the Studio paintings of 1927^^8.

And so

the

book

is

under way. In

one discovers Dali's bewho had just

it,

ginnings in Paris and his love affair with Gala, left

Paul Eluard; Vollard's death in July 1939; Paris after the

outbreak of war, where Brassai meets with Picasso to produce series

of photos to appear in

tive in the

United

ern Art in

New York.) That

Picasso's studio

States was

Life.

(The

opening

first

at

the

a

Picasso retrospec-

Museum

of

Mod-

entitles us to a description of

on rue des Grands- Augustins, but

also to a de-

scription of the cafes in Saint-Germain-des-Pres, as they were at

and the

the time: the Brasserie Lipp, Les Deux-Magots,

Cafe de Flore,

haunted

after

only Picasso's

a restaurant

enjoying

its

heyday, which Picasso

meeting Dora Maar. Thus, life

little

by

little,

not

but also his environs come into focus. Later,

the beginnings of his

romance with Fran^oise Gilot emerge.

Suddenly, we are again in the studio on rue des GrandsAugustins, but

new sculptures,

now it is 1943-

I^i

the midst of a large

number

of

had photographed eleven years earlier at Boisgeloup, but they have now been cast in bronze, at a time when the occupying Germans were unbolting Brassai ftnds those he

xviii

Paris statues to have

nons. Picasso

tells

them melted down and turned

tograph the

Then

Brassai of this clandestine undertaking.

recent pieces appear: the rusty handlebars,

into can-

Bull's

and Man

When

with Sheep.

and pho-

bicycle seat

Brassai goes to

dialogue with Picasso immediately

Death's Head, his

moves beyond technique,

made of a

Head,

to the relation

ground, drawing and ground, that

between sculpture and

When

publisher of the book on sculptures dismisses the idea of photographing The Bird, made from a modified scooter, because he sees it .

is

as .

is,

to relief.

the

simply an "object," Picasso explodes in anger: "An

So

.

or

is

my bird is not a sculpture. not

a sculpture!

ing? Everyone's

still

.

.

What

.

.

.

is

.

To

tell

object!

me, Picasso, what

sculpture?

What

is

paint-

clinging to outdated ideas, obsolete defi-

new ones. Henri Mi-

nitions, as if the artist's role was not precisely to offer

When

Brassai brings his photos of Death's Head,

chaux, a great poet turned watercolorist and ink draftsman, there. Picasso

is

showing

come from, and

is

him where

his drawings. Brassai asks

the ideas for his drawings

"

Picasso replies: "I

don't have a clue. Ideas are simply starting points. ... As soon as I start to

work, others well up in

my

pen. To

know what

you're going to draw, you have to begin drawing."

own

a capital point, the key to his

plained to Marius de Zayas: "In

A few days later,

enough.") casso's,

art,

He makes

(In 1923, he

had ex-

intentions are not

another poet and friend of Pi-

Jacques Prevert, was present, and he triggered an

resistibly

funny scene, the reading of an inane

published by

a

man who worshiped

So goes Picasso's nicates

art.

how he

life,

and

tion. His

is

book admirably commubeing the coer-

resisted with every fiber of his

him during

the account of a witness

ir-

newly

Marshal Petain.

Brassai's

cion and threats hanging over

text,

the Nazi

Occupa-

and of a participant, an

account enriched by the moral complicity between the two.

From

this perspective,

it is

a

document of the

minating Parisian intellectual both sharp

in contrasts

and

role Picasso played in that casso

who

tells

bert Desnos,

life

hazy.

life.

during It

this

first

order, illu-

period that was

also illuminates the precise

Danger hangs

in the air.

Brassai of the arrest of the surrealist poet

who

will die in the

It is

Pi-

Ro-

deportation; hence Picasso was

xix

well

informed about clandestine

world around Picasso, from

activity.

And we

follow the

period to the days of the 1945 victory. The dialogues, accompanied by Brassai's photos taken at

the same

moment,

this

give the account

its full

scope and exten-

sion. For example, there are recorded conversations of the

group formed in 1944' composed of Pierre Reverdy — the fellow traveler of cubism and of the previous war — actor Jean Marais, Jean Cocteau, and Fran^oise Gilot. They are accompanied by a photo of Picasso staging a scene, mimicking the artiste peintre

in front of a large academic nude, with Jean Marais stand-

ing in as the

artist's

model.

Nothing would be more erroneous than to believe that these conversations focus exclusively on Picasso. They have to do with everyone who comes to his apartment or who is associated with him. Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, and Matisse — also captured in conversation and with the same lucidity — all appear, as of course do Sabartes, Picasso's lifelong friend and confidant, and Kahnweiler. Brassai was also the go-between for the first meeting between Picasso and Sam Kootz who, in 1946, came to buy Picasso's paintings for the American market and was a source of information about new trends in American painting. It all adds up to an important book on the mature Picasso, the Picasso of World War II: it is at once a document, a living biography, and a masterful inquiry into the processes and transformations of Picasso's

art, its

concrete responses to the challenges

of the mid-twentieth century.

It is

"Picasso in his element, " but

more wide-ranging, universal way than Breton's article. The book takes us up to the moment when Picasso's art has become transatlantic: in the United States, where the new generation of artists and critics is seeking the keys to modernity, his work is better comprehended than in a Europe obsessed with a difficult reconstruction and its own internal divisions. The book is all the more irreplaceable in that it allows us to understand the resources Picasso built up as he entered his sixties, a in a

resourcefulness that would burst forth in the prodigious accom-

plishments of his final period, the

Pierre

Daix

XX

last

twenty years of his

life.

Early September

1^43

Meeting with Picasso buses are rare: trees, the

ning

I

this

morning. The metro

prefer to walk.

It is

a

crowded and beautiful day, and the is

only things not yet subject to restrictions, are begin-

to dress in their loveliest colors.

winter, the fourth of this war;

I

dread the approaching

last year's

was awful. But via the

scrambled radio waves of the BBC, hope has returned: British

and North American troops have landed in North Africa; on 4 May, the battle of Tunisia was won; last month, the Allies conquered Sicily; they have just landed in Calabria and Salerno; Mussolini has fallen; Italy has capitulated; on 4 February, the battle of Stalingrad ended; von Paulus's army, finding itself surrounded, surrendered; the Wehrmacht has been pushed back to the Dnieper; the R.A.F.

shelling factories, ports,

is

and railyards. The Allied landing on the Atlantic imminent. I

am

reluctant to take boulevard Raspail.

weeks ago,

as

I

was passing the Hotel de

dropped my precious pack of

cigarettes.

la

"Hdnde

/ioc/i/"

We

their revolvers

on us and spewed

a

lit

German

put our hands up.

evening two

Paix with a friend,

We

dark. All of a sudden, flashlights brutally

One

coast seems

I

bent over in the

up our

faces.

soldiers trained

torrent of insults. Terrified

how can you get your papers out of your pockets with your hands up? The soldiers examined our identity cards, took down our names and addres-

passersby crossed the street. 'Tapiere!" But

ses,

questioned and searched

us. Finally, they let us go,

but

not before threatening to give us something to think about.

For ten days, that

I

dared not

someone had

stay in

set off a

bomb 1

my own home. at

I

found out

the requisitioned hotel

shortly before

we went

when we bent

by, and,

over in the dark,

we became suspect. In Montparnasse,

looking for

I

glance furtively

a friendly face,

at

the outdoor cafes,

which has become such

walk through the Luxembourg Gardens where, ing a year spent in Paris with boats around the pool;

my

parents,

I

a rarity;

pushed

little

white

reach boulevard Saint- Germain

I

I

dur-

as a child,

—

it

has grown so quiet, almost provincial, ever since Parisian cars

and taxis have been left rusting in garages — and, via rue SaintAndre -des- Arts, a street of cut-rate tailors, I arrive at rue des Grands -Augustins. Eleven years have passed since I first met Picasso. It

was 193^-

The

year marking the end of the "postwar" pe-

riod was already leading us toward World

having frittered away ten years — the nasse,

I

my

was working on

first

War

annees folks

book:

II.

At the time,

— in Montpar-

Paris by Night.

Among my

friends and acquaintances then were Maurice Raynal, a

good friend of Picasso's, As a young poet just starting out, he had enthusiastically participated in the cubist movement, with his pen but also with his pocketbook. The heir to was the only well-off fellow

among

the

a small fortune,

more or

less

he

penniless

and starving painters and poets. A placid man with the face of a Roman patrician and a mind that was lucid and analytical rather than intuitive or spontaneous, Raynal was fascinated by

everything that went against his nature: Alfred Jarry's colorful verve, farces,

Alphonse

Allais's black

Max Jacob's non

humor, Manolo's picaresque

sequiturs, Picasso's pirouettes, Guil-

laume Apollinaire's quick mind, Le Douanier Rousseau's artlessness. Gradually moving away from poetry, Raynal moved toward art criticism, following in the footsteps of Andre Salmon and Apollinaire. For many long years, with their sharp and sometimes mordant pen, these three musketeers of modern art defended the "new mind." Salmon had a column in Llntransigeant, the "very Parisian evening daily run by Leon Bailby. The "

other two did battle of sorts

as freelances, in rather

short-lived magazines, notably

obscure or

Soirees de Pans.

In 191O, Salmon left Ulntransigeant for another newspaper and handed over his column to Apollinaire, who was overjoyed

2

to

be able to defend Picasso, Matisse, Derain, Vlaminck, Le

Douanier Rousseau, and

Then came stolen

his great friend

Marie Laurencin.

the notorious affair of the Phoenician statues

from the Louvre Museum, which put Apollinaire in the

La Sante prison and brought Picasso up before the criminal judge. Shaken and compromised, Apollinaire too had to aban-

That was when Maurice Raynal succeeded him. A few years later, he became associated with a young Greek art critic, E. Teriade. That was the beginning of "the two blind men," the humorous nickname they used for their famous art column. With Fernand Leger, Le Corbusier, and a few other artists, Raynal sometimes invited me to dinner

don

his post at Vlntran.

at their

apartment on rue Denfert-Rochereau, decorated with

many

Picassos from the cubist period, and it was thanks to him one day, I made the acquaintance of Max Jacob, his monocle gleaming under the smooth ivory of his skull. As for the second ''blind man," a regular, like me, at the Cafe du Dome, I ran into him fairly often in Montparnasse. Teriade struck me as unctuous with a plump shape, shrouding himself in veils of mystery. One day, having made sure no one that,

was listening to us, he took words, confided

ing

a

me

aside and, in a few cryptic

proposition for

a

proposed proposal

to

me.

"Something was about to happen ..." "Someone was go"It may just be that ..." It was an important misto ... '

sion, he said; he

thing just

yet;

I

wanted

to tell

should remain

me, but he couldn't the ready

at

and

say any-

alert,

and

all, I should keep quiet about everything he had just said and should promise him not to tell anyone about it. With Teriade, I entered the realm of Greek mythology, and wondered

above

what strange peregrination

me

this cautious

Odysseus was leading

on. For weeks, the mystery only grew deeper. Finally zero

hour sounded, the

veil

cloud, which deposited

was torn away.

me

at

I

was carried off in

a

23» rue La Boetie, in Pablo

Picasso's studio.

When had

just

I

first

turned

tablished.

It

crossed the threshold of his studio, Picasso fifty.

Of course,

his reputation was already es-

was in that crucial year, however, that he would be-

gin to achieve worldwide renown.

3

The major

retrospective of

his work, inaugurated

Georges Paris

Petit Gallery

season— was

a

on

15

— the

June in the gilded salons of the

event was the culmination of the

turning point in his

For the

life.

first

time,

of 236 of his canvases was brought toand in a single glance visitors could take in his blue, cubist, and classical periods, the sum total of his exis-

a prestigious collection

gether, rose,

tence. Picasso, perhaps for the last time in his life,

selected the works, overseen the

he saw returning from sons

come home

knew would be

afar,

he told Teriade,

a

chauffeur in

"like prodigal

the eve of the battle he

he had wanted to inspect his sharp-

shooters one by one. As an artist the attributes,

On

in gilded shirts."

decisive,

had personally

hanging of his canvases, which

who had

'arrived,"

he had

all

the external signs: a Hispano- Suiza driven by

all

livery, suits

made by

the finest tailors, pedigreed

dogs, an upper-middle-class double apartment, a

little

chateau

Normandy — he had just acquired Boisgeloup — a safe, and beautiful girlfriend. He wanted for nothing. As lord of the

in a

manor, Picasso entertained Count Etienne de Beaumont, Missia Sert, Erik Satie, Manuel de Ealla, Arthur Rubinstein, Jean Cocteau — the celebrities of the day, the cream of Parisian culture. He went out a great deal, attended theater and ballet premieres, receptions and exclusive parties, always in the company of his beautiful and elegant wife. He was at the height of his "high society" period. I

was undoubtedly somewhat awestruck to find myself be-

fore him.

Some apprehension

was mixed in with that awe:

at

the time, he had a reputation for being unapproachable. In

moments of that

examined his face. Did it correspond to the one his works and legend had formed in my mind? His presence wiped away that image and my apprehension. I had before me a simple man, with no affectation, no arrogance, no posturing. His naturalness and

the awkward

kindness put

me

at ease

the strange place:

I

first

meeting,

I

from the beginning.

was expecting an

I

also

artist's studio,

looked but

it

at

was

an apartment turned pigsty. No middle-class home had ever been less middle class in its furnishings. Eour or five rooms each with a marble fireplace with a mirror above it — were en4

tirely

devoid of

all

their usual furnishings but filled with piles

of paintings, cardboard boxes, parcels, and bundles, most of them containing casts of his statues, heaps of books, reams of paper, odd assortments of objects set every which way against the walls and on the floor, and covered with a thick layer of dust. The doors to the bedrooms were open, perhaps even re-

moved, which turned

this large

apartment into

a single studio

fragmented into various nooks for the painter's various ties.

You

walked on

a dull

wooden

floor,

activi-

long since stripped of

varnish and covered with a carpet of cigarette butts. Picasso had set

up

his easel in the

the former parlor

The window

most spacious,

— the

best-lit

room — probably

only one that was summarily furnished.

faced south and offered a fine view of the rooftops

of Paris, bristling with

a forest

of red and black chimneys; in

Tower could came up to this apartment. Except for a few friends, Picasso allowed no one in. The dust could fall and settle wherever it liked, without fear of some cleaning woman's feather duster. But how had the painter, after living on the hills of Montmartre and Montparnasse, come to reside on rue La Boetie? The strange migration from the east to some western gold mine of luxury commerce, high fashion, cafes, trendy hotels, and theaters also brought art dealers in its wake. On rue Laffitte and neighboring streets were Ambroise Vollard's the distance, the slender silhouette of the Eiffel

be seen.

strange

Mme

lair,

Picasso never

Clovis Sagot's shop, the beautiful exhibition halls

of Durand-Ruel — friend of the impressionists and vendor of

— the younger Bernheim's gallery, and Georges sumptuous salons. The Rosenberg Gallery on avenue de rOpera, which belonged to Paul and Leonce Rosenberg's father, the Druet Gallery on rue Royale, and Kahnweiler's little gallery on rue Vignon, near the Madeleine, were already a few outposts of the irresistible march toward the west, toward their paintings Petit's

L'Etoile.

John Hessel was

the

first to

move

to rue

La Boetie,

followed by Paul Rosenberg, whose brother, Leonce, chose an adjacent street.

The younger Bernheim,

after a first foray to-

ward boulevard de la Madeleine, established himself in the Faubourg Saint-fionore, Kahnweiler on rue d'Astorg, Durand5

Ruel on avenue Friedland. They were followed by many other dealers, including "Pere

Cheron" and the young Paul Guil-

laume, who made Ghirico, Modigliani, and Soutine famous. All had deserted rue Laffitte.

Only Vollard,

townhouse on rue Martignac,

tes in a

migration toward the Left Bank. Just

and fauves

ter for impressionists

setting

up

set the stage for

as

his

Pena-

another

rue Laffitte was the cen-

until the beginning of the

twentieth century, the golden age of the cubists and surrealists

unfolded on rue La Boetie. In 191?' while Picasso was in Spain introducing his young fiancee,

Olga Kochlova,

to his family in Barcelona

— he had

met her in Rome, where he had made the sets and costumes for Parade — his Montrouge studio was flooded. He asked

just

new art dealer — he had replaced KahnWorld War I — to find lodgings for him and to

Paul Rosenberg, his weiler during

move

his things there.

Rosenberg rented him an apartment in

the building next to his gallery. At his dealer's wish, Picasso

was thrust into the new geographic center of the

As

art business.

at the Bateau-Lavoir, he again rented one, then two apart-

ments, identical and on consecutive floors: one to other to work in. society life, the

them was

The lower

upper floor

floor

live in,

the

became one of the centers of

his studio.

The

contrast between

striking: downstairs, there was a large

dining

room

with a round table extended with leaves in the middle of the

room, lor,

a

sideboard, and pedestal tables in every corner; a par-

decorated

beds.

No

all

clutter,

in white;

not

a

and

a

bedroom

with brass twin

speck of dust. Polished, gleaming

wood

and furniture. Picasso had been living in that apartment for fifteen years when I met him. The extraordinary thing was that, apart from the fireplace mantel, where a little of his imagination showed through, nothing bore his mark. Even his canvases from the cubist period, now classics, carefully framed on the wall next to Cezannes, Renoirs, and Corots, seemed to be floors

in the

home

of

a rich art lover rather

than in Picasso's apart-

ment.' This middle-class apartment was completely unlike his

none of the extraordinary furabout, none of the strange objects he

usual surroundings. There were

nishings he was so crazy

6

around him, there were no piles, nothing scattered about, as was his wont. Olga jealously made sure that Picasso did not impose the powerful imprint of his personality on a realm she considered hers alone. I then learned what my mission was to be: to photograph Picasso's sculpted works, which were still utterly unknown. My liked to have

photos were to

fill

review: Minotaure.

come

about thirty pages of the

The

first issue

of a new

best art review in the world was about to

into existence.

Its "artistic

director,

"

Teriade, had teamed

up with

a

young

Swiss publisher, Albert Skira. Their little office — by chance or La Boetie, in the by design? — was hidden away on 25' building next to Picasso's. He was surrounded: on one side was his art dealer,

on

the other, his publisher.

zen had the audacity to try to vert a

vert

rival

promise from Picasso into

all

a

The young

Swiss citi-

Ambroise Vollard. To conpromise of funding,

these promises into credit with printers

and

con-

to

suppliers,

was child's play for him. Through diplomacy, perseverance,

and hard work, Skira pulled off a master stroke: he published one of the most beautiful of Picasso's deluxe editions, Ovid's Metamorphoses. After that success,

it

was even easier for

tain Matisse's cooperation, since, in the friendly but

him

ob-

to

some-

times fierce competition between the two painters, Matisse had

A

no intention of being outdistanced by

his rival

year later, Stephane Mallarme's

illustrated by Matisse,

Poesies,

and friend.

was published in turn. Even though The Metamorphoses best classic vein of Picasso, the

however, with a great deal

little

book did not

poet

in the

sell well. Skira,

concern for the bibliophiles — who required

of coaxing

— immediately put

which the boundless admiration of luster:

w2ls

Lautreamont' s

who committed

out another book, to

had given new Rene Crevel — a young

surrealists

5on^5 o/Ma/c/oror,

suicide shortly thereafter

— suggested

to

odd book by Isidore Ducasse be entrusted to a young Spanish painter from Gadaques, someone with all sorts of complexes and obsessions: Salvador Dali. He was beginning to make a splash in certain fashionable and high society circles in Paris, and when he burst on the scene Skira that the illustrations for this

7

within the surrealist group, he gave the

on

life.

One

movement

a

new

lease

of the most important books in the history of sur-

realism was about to be published.

When

I

went

small office,

I

to see Albert Skira for the first time in his

was surprised to find a

tall,

slender young

man

with a pink face, blue eyes, and golden blond hair: he looked

more cal a

like a

teenage idol than an art publisher. Never was physi-

appearance more deceiving! Skira was

a

demon

workhorse, and did not conceal his ambition.

play for everyone to see, in the

It

about work, was on dis-

form of a geographical map

fixed to the wall of his tiny office. This was not a

map

of Paris,

or of France, or of Europe, but rather a planisphere with both

hemispheres, the oceans, and

the continents. Bold lines

all

originating in Paris ran across the seas to conquer the world,

marked the cities already vanquished. Beneath his nonchalant, even bohemian demeanor, Skira was dreaming of art, all right, but it was an industrialized art. Even before Malraux, he had dreamed of the "imaginary museum." He calculated his time meticulously, assessed people and relationships in terms of profit and efficiency, weighed the value of and

little flags

every minute, every smile, every handshake. "Be positive," he

repeated constantly. "Every day, one must do positive things."

And,

late at night,

things he had

done

he was

still

adding up

all

the "positive"

that day.

The "Minotaur"! Who proposed that title among so many others? Georges Bataille? Andre Masson? In any case, it was joyfully

and unanimously adopted.

symbol dear

to Picasso.

major themes, made Minotaur and

whole

its

the Sleeping

It

The fabulous

placed the review under a creature, long

appearance in his

Woman.

series of engravings,

one of his

art in 19^7'

A few years later,

it

inspired

included in the VoUard Suite,

a

and

a

beautiful etching, Minotauromachia. Even later, distraught over

weak spot and predilecblind Minotaur or as one

his marital problems, Picasso kept his

tion for

it,

depicting himself as a

pulling a cart, moving his belongings.

But

this highly significant

meaning

for Picasso

Guernica, this

name did not

and for the

surrealists.

have the same

For the painter of

ancient symbol, half- man, half-bull, was not far

8

removed from the toro of Spanish

bullfights, laden with

scure, volatile forces. Picasso felt these dark

ob-

powers moving

within himself, and he humanized them. His Minotaur personified the "monster" also alive,

its

that drove

it

on

a frenzy

— sardonic,

nostrils belching

dangerous of course, but

smoke and

nude, sleeping

to lust after

dilated by a desire

in

girls, to fling itself

and defenseless flesh. His the monster pawing the ground, on the

their young, provocative,

Minotaur was always

prowl for sleeping women. For

surrealists, this

name evoked

cruel

and ambiguous

myths: the monstrous union between Pasiphae and bull, the labyrinth built

a

white

by Daedalus, where the Minotaur

devoured Athenian boys and girls, myths that Freud had borrowed from legends and applied to the unconscious. Surrealists saw the Minotaur as the force that broke through the limits of the irrational, that transgressed borders, broke laws, and offended the gods. They identified it with their own aspirations: constant, universal violence, absolute revolt, a total lack

of submission, unbridled freedom. Whereas Picasso liked the

Minotaur for it

its

"human,

all

too

human"

for everything they discovered in

superhuman,

One

that was against nature,

surreal.

afternoon when

composing the ally felicitous

it

side, surrealists liked

first

I

went

to see Picasso,

cover for Minotoure.

I

caught

him

He had made an unusu-

montage. With thumbtacks, he attached

to a

block a piece of corrugated cardboard, similar to the pieces he

was also using for his sculptures. of his prints depicting the ribbons, lace cial leaves,

made from

On

top of

it,

he placed one

monster, and around

it

he arranged

paper, and slightly faded artifi-

silver

which, he confided, came from an out-of- fashion

hat Olga had thrown away.

When

this

montage was

to be repro-

duced, he was very insistent that the thumbtacks appear on was under this splendid cover that, on 25 May 1933, the issue of Minotaure appeared. Subsequently — like Theseus of

It

old

— Derain,

Matisse, Miro,

Andre Masson,

Magritte,

it.

first

and Sal-

vador Dali also wrestled with the fabulous creature, each giving his

own version of the monster At

that time, the surrealist

for the magazine's cover.

group was reaching

9

a

turning

point.

The

first Surrealist Manifesto

was already nine years old.

Scandals, excesses, and free-for-alls were

no longer

curable despair, fury, and sanctioned sabotage were

in

style.

all

In

in the

had stopped talking about the memorable and the telling of dreams," destined to nourish— or so Breton hoped— all future poetry. Within a few years, that source, held to be miracu lous, inexhaustible, "within everyone's reach," had dried up. Although Breton was still successfully extracting images from it for his poetry, most surrealist poets had turned away from these exercises in verbal delirium. As for the inherent contradiction within the movement, which had been tearing it apart for ten years, the breaking point had been reached. Divided be tween revolution and revelation, Breton was forever fighting on two fronts, caught between political action and artistic creation. Social commitment, which he considered "dishonorable," nonetheless held an attraction for him. And although h denounced the "vanity" of all artistic or literary activity, it was to no avail; unbeknownst to him, he was still laying the founda tions for a new school of art. The unending conflict between these two poles constituted the whole lively history of surrealism. Only Breton's powerful personality could maintain the precarious balance — compromised and shattered at every moment — by excluding from the movement, by turns, both "agita tors" impatient to launch the social revolution and artists or distant past. People

sessions of "automatic writing, hypnotic sleep,

make a name for themselves, sign contracts, make money. During the first decade of surrealism, Breton's excommunications of deviationists on the Right and Left, and the various waves of exclusion, gradually thinned the ranks. The creme de la creme of artists and poets, once praise to the skies, were eliminated or escaped on their own from poets eager to "arrive," to

Breton's yoke.^

In 1933, surrealism was no longer a wild revolt but rather successful revolution whose promoters had acceded to power.

Burdened with new responsibilities, Breton and Paul Eluard ha to try to consolidate the foundations of the movement. That was going to require a few concessions.

Although they were able

to sustain the surrealist spirit in

10

Minotaure, they

had

up the combativeness that had once reviews. And that sumptuous pubUcation,

to give

characterized their

printed in a limited edition of three thousand copies — the other issues were limited to fifteen hundred

— inaccessible

to

proletarian pocketbooks, could be addressed only to the despised bourgeoisie, to a milieu of titled

of

the

taste,

first

and monied

arbiters

patrons and collectors of surrealist works. Was

accepting that collaboration

— that collusion — with

"capitalism"

not betraying one's principles, selling out? These questions

were debated

at

length before Skira and Teriade's offer was ac-

cepted. But, faced with the eternal alternative of surrealism:

"Go out art,"

in the street with a revolver in

hand" or "go back

Breton and Eluard chose the second path. With

there was

no longer

a "radical

to

Minotaure,

break with the world" but rather

and poetry into the world and even into the world of high society. One morning, a man of about forty, tall and proud in his the great entrance of surrealist art

bearing, dressed in a well-cut suit, entered the office of Minotaure.

His

slightly

clear, limpid,

wide-open, azure blue eyes expressed

feminine tenderness and sweetness, under

a

a

high fore-

head and within the pink carnation of a long, curiously asymmetrical face. Ease, litheness, and an undefinable fragility

nated from his whole being. Yet there was in his smiling face.

We

a hint

ema-

of resignation

were introduced. His soft-spoken and

slightly husky voice — so direct, so captivating — pronounced his name: Paul Eluard. The hand he held out to me was trembling. A short time later, I learned from his own mouth that, despite an appearance of health, he had been ill and had escaped death only by a tenacious will to survive. At age seventeen, he had suffered a pneumothorax and, since then, he

lived

preoccupied with his health, almost

a

convalescent.

I met Breton for the first no longer wearing a monocle or dark he did during the heroic age of the movement, did

In this same Minotaure office, time. Although he was glasses, as

I

recognize him. With his regular features, straight nose, light-

colored eyes, and artist's mane, which fell back off his forehead and onto his neck in curls, he looked like an Oscar Wilde transformed hormonally into someone more energetic, more male.

11

His presence, the leonine bearing of his head, his impassive, grave, almost severe face, his sober, measured, extremely slow

gestures, gave

and

cinate

him

men, born to fascondemn and to strike. To me,

the authority of a leader of

to reign,

but also to

Eluard suggested Apollo, but Breton looked

Only

son.

later,

when our

able to notice that this sitive to

humor.

I

relationship

man

recall

like Jupiter in per-

became

friendly, was

I

of such great serenity was not insen-

an afternoon spent

at his

home on

rue Fontaine, in the extraordinary ambiance of his

42,

lair, filled

with fetishes from Africa, masks from Oceania, rare or strange objects, surrealist paintings

and sculptures; there, for hours by Alphonse Allais, who had re-

on end, he read me stories been enthroned among

cently

Each of these

little

the patron saints of surrealism.

melodramas, so comical, so

nasty,

some-

times incredibly cruel, has remained with me. Breton acted

out

the roles, imitated the voices of characters, gave an

all

inflection to each phrase, to each word. plicitous winks, his face radiating

ducing

me

to the arcana of black

I still

see the

contentment

com-

to be intro-

humor. He was

truly in his

element. But although he masterfully manipulated irony, sarcasm, acerbic jokes, vengeful weapons directed against others,

do not think

I

humor — sparkling,

that real

encompassing, depriving the world of

would be within

his reach.

He

begins

at

pleasant, all-

gravity

and

fatality

took his doctrine, his works, his

every action, too seriously to allow for ity,

its

humor, which,

home. In every circumstance of his

life,

like char-

Breton

could not help taking himself seriously.

According

to the

modus

vivendi worked out with the direc-

on matter, and im-

tors of Minotaure, the surrealists were not the sole masters

board. Although free to insert ages as they liked, they had

them.

I

recall a text

no

texts, subject

right to veto what did not suit

by Maurice Raynal, "God-Table-Pitcher,"

devoted to several sculptors, which led to bitter arguments.

They lol

liked Laurens, Lipchitz,

and Despiau no better than Mail-

or Brancusi. They hated the cubists and fauves. Certain

writings were also the subject of disputes. Pierre Reverdy did

not meet with any opposition.^ But Paul Valery, Ramuz, LeonPaul Fargue, and other authors elicited some resistance.

12

One

day, in the small Minotaure office,

silhouette of

I

saw the massive

Leon-Paul Fargue appear, wearing

natured Nero mask, his eyelids half-closed,

adhering to his

lip.

I

already

knew him,

his

good-

a cigarette

since

I

butt

had met him

Le Grand Ecart, the fashionable nightclub where he held court every evening. Even though he was not in the surrealists'

at

had brought a manuscript to the review "Pigeondre" — and wanted me to illustrate it with a photograph of his hand clasping a woman's hand. "A woman's hand," wrote Fargue, "a unique trance, the highest peak in my life, ravishing arm of the sea where the tributaries of blood trickle, round and perfumed hand that lifts to the head, but which seeks its place in the hollow, like a body surprised on a journey, in a bed one slips into for the first time, hunted hand, prisoner hand, frightened hand that struggles like a bird held fast and afraid."

good

graces, he

Despite the friction, the rivalries, the disagreements, the

antagonism between various currents,

Minotaure, in its novelty,

and richness of materials proved to be the most lively review and the most representative of the currents of the time.

variety,

It

contained in germ, or already in

everything that

full flower,

burst forth in art, poetry, or literature twenty or thirty years later.

Despite collaboration with other currents,

it

was the

permeated the magazine, whose from ruining it, in fact set it off.

spicy flavor of surrealism that

more

classical aspects, far

had had only individual contacts with a number of surrealist poets and painters, most of whom were no longer part of the group. Suddenly, I was thrust into their movement. I loved the fever of discovery beyond the beaten path of art and science, the curiosity about prospecting new lodes, the Until then,

mental

I

electricity with

which the

little

Minotaure office was al-

ways charged; there Breton stimulated minds.

I

agreed with the

no permanent address, it does not poem, one can run into it in the street, on the wall, anywhere at all. And I had shared part of the journey with the brain trust of the irrational mind. In person or in his letters, in his neat, minuscule handwriting in green ink on blue paper, Breton often asked me to come see him on rue

surrealists that poetry has

necessarily inhabit the

^3

Fontaine or alists

the Cafe

at

got together

on

a

Cyrano on place Blanche, where surreregular basis. Despite

for him, our relationship, though amicable,

my

great regard,

remained

distant.

Too many things about that movement put me off.^ The first sculptures by Picasso that I photographed were

a

dozen extremely elongated figurines, sometimes nude, sometimes draped, crudely carved with a knife the previous year into

He had taken them from a basket, one me that he did not want to smooth them

pieces of hard wood.

one, explaining to

out too much, so that the wood, with

and

its

fibers,

would remain

its

alive. I also

structure,

its

by

knots,

photographed

several

wire sculptures from 1930 to 193I: linear or geometrical constructions in three-dimensional space, triangles for the most part.

They were

some sense

in

the plastic replicas of the Studio

paintings of 1927"^^, bodies reduced to mere schemata. Here,

pushed abstraction to its far limits, as if he wanted to cut himself off from any attachment to reality. They could have been taken for the works of some "constructivist, " were it not Picasso

human body

for the fact that the presence of the in each

one of them. Tripods might

belly, a ball the

head. For lack of time,

graph only four or

five

oil,

from

wrought iron,

tall

and topped with sort cobblers

felt

was able to photo-

on

a shelf

next to bottles

turpentine, and hydrochloric acid.

In Olga's apartment, on small bronze

I

could be

suggest legs, a disk the

of these small metal constructions, but

there were others covered with dust

of linseed

still

a

were

a

mantel next

to Kneeling Woman, a

the blue period, stood a strange piece of

and

skeletal, a sort

of fan wearing

a fur hat

small clown; a long, pointed iron foot, the still

using,

formed

orated this "Christmas tree" with

all

its

base. Picasso

had dec-

kinds of souvenirs: an air-

from strings like silfrom the branches of a fir tree. Next to a pot, the tormented roots of a philodendron were peeking up; its stalk, with all its leaves amputated, bore at its summit a ram's horn and a red feather duster. But most of Picasso's sculptures were in Boisgeloup, and he proposed to take us there in his car. As I plane, a flag, and tiny marmosets dangling

ver balls

was leaving, he

recommended

I

bring

graphic plates with me.

14

a large

number of photo-

I

was already familiar with some of his bronzes from the

"blue period" and with his cubist woodcuts. But sculpture was

lurking like a virtuality deep within his paintings themselves, betraying his nostalgia for art in the round. For Picasso, a pe-

riod of painting on a ette

flat

surface with a bright

was regularly followed by

color, almost

from some

monochrome,

fictive

a sculptural

and varied pal-

period with

little

had been painted sculpture. Drawing from Ingres and Ceas if his canvases

zanne, cubism — a reaction to impressionism's tendency to dissolve

volumes and the

vibrations

— was born under the

the handiwork of a

Cubism

forms.

solidity of bodies into colored blotches,

that offers

its

man

aegis of

naturally

drawn

an

acute

plasticit)).

It

was

to the plenitude of

created the sensation of a rotating sculpture

different aspects simultaneously.^

That tendency toward

plasticity,

returned periodically in his

toward rigorous modeling,

later, postcubist

works. Yet curi-

ously, despite his innate penchant, after the Glass ofAbsinthe in

abandoned sculpture for fifup again until 1929, and then

1914, Picasso almost completely

teen years.

He

did not take

only in the greatest secrecy.

it

We

were

among

new works. The next day around noon, under

a

the

first to see his

dark December

sky,

I,

along with Teriade, Olga, and Paulo, Picasso's eleven-year-old son, climbed into the still

brand new,

all its

monumental Hispano-Suiza, which was brass work still gleaming. The chauffeur,

wearing white gloves, closed the door

as

gawkers looked on.

That big black car — roomy, comfortable, elegant — with mirrors and flower vases inside, did not go unnoticed. We left Paris

and headed toward Beauvais. Picasso had bought the property, he confided, because he was

a bit tired

of bringing the bulky harvest of his

to Paris every year

summer back

from Dinard, Cannes, or Juan-les-Pins,

was tired of rewrapping and unwrapping canvases, paints, paintbrushes, sketchbooks,

all

the gear of his traveling studio. In

Boisgeloup, he could leave his things there. Just before reaching Gisors, the Hispano-Suiza veered to the

and onto a small communal road. A signpost indi"Hamlet of Boisgeloup. A few moments later, I saw the

left

cated:

"

15

houses of

a

small village scaling a hill and, at the same time,

the portal to a castle attached to an old chapel.

We had

Picasso gave us the owner's tour at a dead run.

It

arrived.

was an odd

most of the rooms were unfurnished, with simply a few and there on the bare walls. Picasso himself

castle:

large Picassos here lived with

Olga and Paulo in two small rooms in the

attic.

We

dashed through the small ramshackle chapel, entirely cov-

also

ered with

and

ivy.

Picasso explained

it

was from the thirteenth cen-

sometimes celebrated there. But we were in a hurry. "There are too many sculptures to photograph and it will soon be dark," he said, leading us toward a row tury

that mass was

still

of cowsheds, stables, and barns, in the courtyard facing the house. time,

it

I

imagine was

that,

when he

visited the property for the first

less the little castle that

appealed to

him than

these

empty outbuildings to be filled. He could finally satisfy a desire that had long been suppressed: to sculpt large statues. He opened the door of one of these large stalls, and we were able to see the dazzling whiteness of an entire people of sculp-

vast

tures. I

was surprised by the roundness of

all

these forms.

It

new woman had entered Picasso's life: MarieTherese Walter. He had met her by chance on rue La Boetie and had painted her for the first time just a year earlier, on l6 December 193^' The Red Armchair. Her youth, gaiety, laughter, and playful nature had seduced him. He liked her blonde hair,

was because

a

her luminous complexion, her sculptured body. After that day, all

the

his paintings flat

surface

began

to undulate. Like the contrast

and the modeled, in Picasso

straight,

between angular

lines often interfere with curved lines, softness replaces ness, tenderness takes the place of violence.

in his

life

hard-

At no other time

did his paintings become so rippling,

full

of sinuous

curves, serpentine arms, whorls of hair. Most of the statues I had in front of me bore the imprint of this new look, beginning with the large bust of Marie-Therese leaning forward, her head almost classical, with the straight line of the forehead running straight into the nose, without a break. That line came to invade his entire body of work. In the Sculptor's Studio series Picasso was engraving for Vollard — he had shown me a few prints

16

on rue La Boetie, a silent intimate moment between the artist and his model, full of sensuality and carnal pleasure — monumental, almost spherical heads also appeared in the back-

ground. So they were not invented!

I

was very surprised to find

and blood, or rather, in the round, full of curves, the nose increasingly prominent, eyes shaped like balls, resembling some barbarian goddess. I attacked the sculptures and worked all afternoon without a break. In addition to the large heads, there were a thousand other things, in particular, a magnificent rooster, its head cocked toward the bristling plume of its tail; and a cow with dilated nostrils and twisted horns. Soon I came to my last frame. At the time, I was still using photographic plates. They were inserted into the frame and were very heavy; I had enough for twenty-four photos. If I wanted to take more, I had to unload and reload them on site, in a black sack made of an opaque fabric which, equipped with two long handles, resembled a vampire. I had to carry out that operation to continue. Hardly had

them here

I

in flesh

when

finished

barn. Picasso

night

lit

fell.

a large oil

You could not

see a thing in the

lamp. Oddly enough, there was no

electricity in the outbuildings.

When

dusk overtook him, he

confided, he often had to work by that flickering light source.

He

was used to

it.

When

he was young, he had often drawn by

the light of a candle inserted into the neck of a bottle.

lamp,

set

on

the dirt floor, projected fantastic shadows

these white statues.

To

finish off,

I

took

a

The

oil

around

photo of the "group"

in that light.

We

were not done. In the dark night falling on Boisgeloup,

Picasso insisted

on taking us

to the

grounds where, on the edge

of the wood, two of his wrought iron statues were erected. larger

one was called

The Stag.

They had been produced

The

the pre-

vious year. Intrigued as always by every branch of arts and crafts

unknown to him, impatient to try out their capabilities and his own with his two hands, Picasso had watched with curiosity as his

struck

friend Julio Gonzalez, a skilled wrought iron worker,

and

to initiate

twisted the incandescent metal,

him

in the arcana of iron

apprentice surpassed his master.

17

and

From

and had asked him

fire.

In the end, the

that brief collabora-

Gonzalez also emerged the richer: having learned the audacity of new forms from his inspired student, he converted to tion,

cubism.

We

were about to leave Boisgeloup. Someone turned on the

headlights of the Hispano-Suiza. light that

I

took one

last

And

it

was by that oblique

photo: the illuminated facade of Pi-

casso's little castle.

As he was leaving us late in the night after that exhausting "We ought to go out together some evening. What could we see? Any ideas? The Moulin Rouge? The Taharin?'' Then, after a moment of reflection: "Do you like the circus? Why don't we go to Medrano? It's been an eternity since I've gone. And we could take Paulo." The next evening, we met on boulevard Rochechouart at day, Picasso said:

the entrance to the circus. Picasso got a ringside seat.

how much

I

knew

and equestriennes, Harlequins, the acrobats, the masked clowns that this big top and ring had inspired in him. The evening was like all the others: the circus, the world of acrobats

had always attracted him.

trapeze

artists,

I

thought of

all

the Pierrots, the

acrobats, big cats, equestriennes in tutus spin-

ning on the large hindquarters of Percherons. Nothing mindboggling. Picasso was thrilled, utterly happy to sink back into the circus atmosphere, to breathe in the stables,

warm odor

of wet straw, the acrid smell of the animals.

of the

He

at the clowns, enjoyed their tomfoolery

good-heartedly

laughed

much

more than his son, who was not cheered by anything, and his wife, who was distracted and taciturn. During the intermission, we visited the stables. And Picasso told us about the circus. Whenever he had a little money, he confided, he had dinner with his friends and brought them here. Medrano was a short walk from his studio. Max Jacob, Mac Orlan, Andre Salmon, and sometimes Kahnweiler or Braque accompanied him. The theater bored them stiff. They almost never went.

PICASSO

I

was completely captivated by the circus!

I

some-

week there. That's where

I

saw

times spent several evenings a

18

Grock for the

time.

first

He

was debuting with Antonet.

It

was

especially liked the clowns. Sometimes we went backand stayed all evening to chat with them at the bar. And did you know that it was at Medrano that clowns began to give up their traditional costumes and to dress in burlesque outfits? A regular revolution. They could invent costumes, charac-

wild.

I

stage,

ters,

I

indulge their fantasies.

asked

him

if his first art

PICASSO got was more

dealer was really a

Medrano clown.

Art dealer? That's an exaggeration. Clovis Sa-

an antique dealer who

like

also sold canvases.

But

and renting a shop on rue Laffitte, near Notre-Dame-de-Lorette. His brother was an art publisher, which may explain his new he was

a real

clown before appointing himself "art dealer

choice of profession. Clovis Sagot,

hard man, almost tucked

a

now

there was a very, very

But sometimes when

is

one of my paintings

on rue

at his place.

"Pere Soulier,

at

my

"

I

another

Medrano

des Martrys, also sometimes sold paintings.

day in that shop, saw

was broke,

my arm and I sold them to him. how Gertrude Stein's brother happened to

antique dealer in the vicinity, just across from the cus

I

few canvases under

That, by the way, see

a usurer.

"

I

cir-

One

unearthed the large Douanier Rousseau you

place.

In the second part of the program that evening, there was a

group of

equilibrists: three

nude, muscular bodies formed

bold patterns by climbing on top of one another. later,

when

I

visited Picasso,

he pointed out

A few days

a stack

of canvases

and told me: "I'm going to show you someThere were our equilibrists from the other night! I had caught Picasso red-handed in the act of inspiration. I was especially surprised because, that same evening at Medrano — or the next day when I returned — I myself had photographed these same acrobats without suspecting Picasso would be taken by them. The slow evolution of these athletic bodies under the multicolored spotlights, their fragile and audacious architecture, which collapsed almost as soon as it was facing the wall thing. Look.

"

19

erected in space, impressed

whole first

series of

him

so deeply that

he painted

a

them. The acrobats, very recognizable in the

canvases, gradually disappeared as the composition be-

came more condensed, more

spare.

It

was the

first

time

I

was

more profound resemsubject matter down to its essential

able to see how, in his pursuit of a

blance, Picasso purified his

and identifying

The

traits.

last

canvas in the series was almost

A daring transposition had

abstract.

occurred. Yet

it still

cap-

tured the very particular atmosphere of the circus, with the lu-

minous

on the big top canThe group of acrobats was in the beam of the spot-

oval of the ring, the shining stars

opy, the audience in semidarkness.

reduced to an ideogram vibrating lights.^

the

Some time after our trip to Boisgeloup and the evening at Medrano circus, I returned to rue La Boetie. Mme Picasso

took

me

aside:

"We have no photos of Paulo," she

told me,

"photographic equipment intimidates him and he bursts into tears. Now that he knows you well and is used to seeing you work, he might be willing to pose without breaking down." I granted her wish. The same day, I also did a portrait of Picasso. Back then, when I photographed someone, I took only a single shot. I thought — rightly or wrongly — that by concentrat.

.

.

ing on a single portrait if I

I

could better capture the subject than

took several dozen shots,

as is the

usual practice today.

were in one of the back rooms, where, the fireplace, frameless, the

set

monumental

on

figure of Yadwigha

held court. Rousseau had painted her wearing standing in the recess of

a

We

the floor next to

window, behind

a

a

dark dress and

heavy curtain,

with the view of fortifications serving as a backdrop. That was

about 1908, and with

this painting,

unearthed in the antique

shop, Picasso discovered Le Douanier Rousseau. Yadwigha, the

something of the naive painter's devoted enough to pose nude for him.

lovely Polish instructor, was

muse, the only

He

painted her

woman as

Eve in Paradise, standing in profile, taking

the apple the serpent

her lying dreamily on

and tempter held out a

to her.

He

painted

red sofa, transported to the magic

and terrors of the virgin forest, amid gigantic leaves, bright greenery, dark liana, and long reeds, surrounded by spells

20

Preceding page,

"And

every-

thing centers

on

the blaz-

ing eyes, the stare that

pierces you,

subjugates

you, devours

you."

2,

These pages/' Files

v^ith a

few

.

.

peeking out.

.

"

of paintings, mysterious bundles

canvases by Le Douanier Rousseau

3

"The

tall

towers of empty cigarette boxes, which he

the heart to throw

.

.

.

away."

.

.

.

never [had]

"Pots of paints and paint brushes scattered,

.

.

twisted, ...

movement

.

tubes flattened,

by the convulsive

[his] fingers

feverishly impressed

had

on them."

6

"The oil lamp, set on the dirt around these white statues. "

floor, projected fantastic

shadows

"Someone turned on

the head-

lights

of the Hispano-Suiza

[and]

I

took one

last

.

.

photo: th

illuminated facade of Picasso's little castle."

9

"I

was very surprised to find them here in flesh and blood, or

rather, in the round,

shaped

like balls."

.

.

.

the nose increasingly prominent, eyes

panthers, monkeys, and birds; meanwhile, under the silver light of the

moon,

flute to her.

a

mysterious

human

figure

is

playing the

This was The Dream, one of the strangest works by

Le Douanier Rousseau, who was

also a poet

when he chose

to

be:

Yadwigha dans un beau reve, S'etant endormie doucement, Entendait

les

sons d'une musette

D'un charmeur bien-pensant, Pendant que la lune reflete Sur des fleurs des arbres verdoyants, Les fauves serpents pretent I'oreille

Aux

airs gais

Yadwigha in

Having

de I'instrument. a beautiful

dream.

fallen into a gentle sleep.

Heard the sounds of a musette.

From

a

right-minded charmer.

As the moon reflects Verdant trees on flowers, The wild serpents lend an ear

To I

the gay tunes of the instrument.

wanted Yadwigha, who also presided over the banquet honor of Le Douanier Rousseau at the Bateau-

offered in

Lavoir, to be present in this portrait.

rumpled doublewith misshapen pockets and stained lapels over

Picasso wore a gray suit with a rather

breasted jacket a

blue pullover sweater, plus

was curled, unfolding

a

cardigan.

like a petal.

these details of clothing because

I

But

1

The

collar of his shirt

could not bother with

was so fascinated by the eyes

trained on me. "Black diamonds," "glowing eyes," "jet-black eyes."

1

noted

at

the time that, contrary to what

some have

said

and believed, these eyes are neither abnormally large nor abnormally dark. They appear enormous only because they have the odd ability to open wide, revealing the white sclera — sometimes even above the iris — where light can reflect and sparkle. It is the wide eyelids that render his gaze fixed, mad, hallucinatory. That is also why, with the pupils widely dilated, the iris, 31

normally

a

dark brown, seems so black.

the eye of a visu-

It is

oriented man, and designed for perpetual astonishment.

ally

Schopenhauer was struck by a similar shape to Goethe's eye. I have done many other portraits of Picasso since then, but this first, single portrait

casso emerges as a

of 1932

monolith with

densed force of his

is still

my

favorite. In

it,

Pi-

and conmanhood. And everything centers on the all

the concentrated

blazing eyes, the stare that pierces you, subjugates you, devours

you.

Since Picasso had given his recent paintings as

me

carte blanche,

I

photographed

he had assembled them for the "presen-

tation"; his fireplace with vases repainted by his trace of the attraction ceramic held for

empty

cigarette boxes,

him; the

which he stacked on

hand — the tall

first

towers of

a daily basis

one on

top of another, never having the heart to throw them away; and a

paper hat equipped with

his eyes at night

— set

on

a

long visor — he wore

it

to protect

a chair in the middle of the

room.

I

photo of the view he saw from his studio: rooftops, chimneys, and the Eiffel Tower; of the order and disorder in took

also

a

the other rooms; of the piles of paintings, mysterious bundles

with a few other canvases by Le Douanier Rousseau peeking out;

and

The

also a

group of African

controversy caused by

statuettes.

Les demoiselles d'Avignon is well

known: did the influence of African

art play a role

casso always claimed that the birth of

cubism owed nothing

or not? Pito

African fetishes, that he himself had seen African sculptures only after he had completed the canvas. tal that

It is

purely coinciden-

what has wrongly been called his "Negro" period corres-

ponded

to the time

when he

discovered African statues and

masks.

In any case,

like Matisse,

Derain, Braque, and Vlaminck,

Picasso was infatuated with African totems.

Even in 191O, he

was already filling his apartment on boulevard de Glichy with

Fernande Olivier attests: "Picasso is going crazy over Negro works and statues — masks and fetishes from all the countries of Africa are accumulating at his place." I assume, therefore, that all the African statues I photographed on rue La them,

as

Boetie came from boulevard de Clichy.

3^

One morning when

arrived at his apartment,

I

I

found

wood floor, tubes flattened, twisted, strangled by the convulsive movement Picasso's fingers had feverishly impressed on them. The canvas

pots of paints and paintbrushes scattered on the

still there, propped up With no concern for his comfort, he was working on it away from his easel, his body doubled over, sometimes sitting on the floor. He had set his canvas any which way, any place at all. The discomfort did not bother him; you might even say it stimulated him. One day, Picasso showed me a series of drawings I was to photograph for Minotaure. He had just executed them in Boisgeloup.

he had painted during the night was against the wall.

Do you know

PICASSO

Mathias Griinewald's

the central panel of the Isenheim altarpiece?

I

Crucifixion,

like the picture

and I tried to give an interpretation of it. But I'd hardly begun draw it when it turned into something completely different.

to

Clearly,

knew

I

this altarpiece full

nothing identifiable was

from the

left

of pathos. But now, distressing scene at

Calvary except a few elements, a few allusions to the cross, to the dying body convulsed in agony, to the protagonists of the

drama. Picasso had completely transfigured them. The mouth of Mary Magdalene had

become

a

kind of gaping crater; the

clasped fingers of her joined hands, a sea

star.

Sometimes the

drawing was reduced to the almost abstract lines of force of the composition, sometimes

seemed

it

that Picasso

had taken plea-

sure in reconstituting the panel with crustacean pincers and claws.

was a

Few

traces of religious

kind of

humor — for

drapery of the loincloth, I

time,

emotion remained. Rather, there

example, the safety pin holding the a

new

Crucifixion attribute.

purposely mention this series because I

it

was the

first

work of an old master had unleashed Piimpulses, and that he turned his attention to a wrest its secret from it. Before he looked to

think, that the

casso's creative

masterpiece to

Delacroix, Manet, Cranach, Poussin, or Velasquez, Picasso

had taken aim

at

Griinewald.

influence, as he had earlier

He

was no longer bowing to an

done when he was infatuated with

Lautrec, Cezanne, El Greco, or Ingres. Picasso had himself be-

33

come something of a

Now

gres.

it is

With the

cassos.

Lautrec, a Cezanne, an El Greco, an In-

him

the old masters inspiring

he inaugurated

Crucifixion,

a

that

become

Pi-

kind of pictorial

criticism with a brush, similar to an exhaustive literary criti-

cism that seeks to extract the essence of

one

gets

under the skin of a

a

work. In each

creator, penetrates the

of his personality, sheds light on what makes the mystery of his idiom.

The

humor, and his cruelty are the under the brush." had to change photographic

glass that reveals the "style

That day in plates in

humble,

on

left

by

I

I

accidently left an unexposed, "vir-

a table. All the objects

in his

they will go off plate,

his apartment,

my black sack, and

gin" plate

him unique, on

excesses of Picasso's lovingly ir-

reverent pastiches, his verve, his

magnifying

case,

hard kernel

touched

at it,

home

the right sniffed

and

materials, however

many delayed-action bombs: moment. Picasso found my little

are so

it,

fingered

was intrigued, seduced

it,

do not know whether he was familiar with Corot's etchglass plates coated with gelatin; in any case, he did not for long the desire to attack that surface, smooth and

it. I

ings

on

resist

even

ment little

as the ice

of

a

frozen lake.

When

I

returned to his apart-

the next day, or the day after, he impishly showed

forgotten plate, holding

finger so that

I

could see

its

it

between

his

me

the

thumb and index

transparency.

"Look what I did with your plate," he said. And, in fact, it was no longer virgin. With a sharp point, his infinitely patient fingers had transformed it into a minuscule "Picasso" measuring six by nine centimeters. I remember it well. It showed a woman's profile, similar to those in his paintings and sculptures of that period, inspired by MarieTherese Walter. It was a miniature variant of his major piece of work, painted in March of that same year, 1932, and reproduced in color in Minotaure. Today it belongs to the Museum of Modern Art in New York and is titled Woman in Front of Mirror. I offered to take the plate and make a "first state" from it. "No, no, leave it with me. I have to work on it some more, "

he

said. "I'll give

it

to

you next time.

"Next time!" Since then,

I

have

"

all

too often had the oppor-

tunity to learn that, in his idiom, "next time

34

"

almost always

means "never. What became of that etched plate? I never saw it reproduced. Is it somewhere at the bottom of a crate? Broken? Vanished? In any case, the idea of making original etchings on photographic plates, and the experiment itself, date from an era before the series of photogravures made in 1937 in collaboration with Dora Maar. The text accompanying my photos of Picasso's sculptures in Minotaure was by Andre Breton. He had met the painter some time before the publication of the first Surrealist Manifesto. "The surrealist attitude toward Picasso," Breton would write on the "

occasion of the

artist's

eightieth birthday,

was always great deference on the times his

artistic plane,

and many

new propositions and discoveries revived the apWhat set him apart from the category

peal he held for us.

of so-called cubist painters, in

whom we

was the lyricism that, very early on, led

had

him

little interest,

to take great lib-

of reality that he and his

erties with the close observation

comrades of the time had imposed upon themselves. (Combat,

6

November

1961)

And

Breton praised Picasso because he was able to move beyond cubism through "violent, passionate impulses," as if that severe discipline had been "buffeted about by high winds and haunted." Breton was no doubt thinking of the "stupefying guitars," the 1913 collages with their bits

and

especially the

year, in

Woman

in

which he painted

a

Nightdress

in

of yellowing newspaper, of the same

an Armchair

woman's rosy

flesh

and

breasts peek-

ing out from a nightdress with broderie anglaise, in a mauve

armchair with

a delicate

pinkish-beige hue. Surrealists con-

sidered this painting the forerunner of surrealist painting, already in keeping with the aesthetic

"Beauty alist

will

be convulsive.

"

But

is it

championed by Breton: possible to speak of surre-

influences? In 1924' Picasso was far removed from surreal-

ism, painting giant

ing composite

women, drawing

still lifes.

like Ingres,

and produc-

Although he participated in one of so unwittingly

their exhibitions in 1925'

— his

canvases

by collectors. Even his 1933 Anatoniy, variations on the female body, executed, it was said, with tiny woodwork-

were lent to

it

35

ing instruments

— perhaps the work of his

ism — could be said to have just

*

closest to surreal-

predecessor in

as legitimate a

Arcimboldo and many French engravings, where figures of trade guilds were composed entirely of their respective tools. No doubt his mind, freed from all the constraints of surrealism, along with his audacity and the admiration the group had for him, stimulated Picasso to "compare everything that exists with everything that may exist," as some of the things he said at the time attest: "One does not delimit nature, one does not copy it either; one allows imagined objects to take on real appearances." Similarly, his paintings, which rejected forms, cast them aside, elided and shattered them, often seem to come into existence through free invention. But even when he seems miles from reality, when he seems to be taking the greatest liberties with appearances, even when the work takes on the look of the fantastic or the surreal, there

is

a solid

realism

at its

foundation. In the interstices of the painting, the model mysteriously present. ist

It is a

painter. Breton believed that was the case

even admitted

He

it.

is

mistake to see Picasso as a surreal-

and sometimes

limited his "membership" to the year

1926. In 1928, he wrote: "In

one of our own. Yet he had '

many to

respects,

we claim him

as

acknowledge that what he took

for "surrealism" was often only an unusual figuration of the real, its

reduction to signs. "What interfered in a lasting

ner with

a

more complete consolidation of his

own," Breton had to admit

thirty years later,

his indefectible attachment to the external

views

man-

and our

"had to do with

world

(to the

ob-

and the blindness that such a predisposition imposes on the organic and imaginative level" (Combat, 6 November 1961).'

ject')

For his part, Picasso stated the case plainly. serve nature.

more

real

I

"I

seek always to ob-

cling to resemblance, to a deeper resemblance,

than the

real, attaining the surreal.

derstood surrealism, but the word was used in

That a

is

completely I

have cho-

Andre Warnod

in 1945-'^

different way." Picasso said similar things to me, but

sen to

cite

the declaration he

made

to

how I un-

In "Picasso in His Element," Breton deals exclusively with his extrapictorial works.

ingly surrealist bias,

It is a

dazzling text, but

which leads Breton

36

it

has a glar-

to say that Picasso the

painter has no "prejudice" about color, that Picasso the sculp-

no "prejudice" about materials, that he seeks "the perand ephemeral" from them. He writes: "I am so happy that, though certain of Picasso's paintings have taken their place in the world's museums, he also gives due recognition to everything that must never become an object of admiration tor has

ishable

made

to

order or an object of any kind of speculation other

than intellectual."

And

which the

dead leaf and

lace of a

Breton speaks of the

little

a butterfly are

lime of white paint between two figures

— one

canvas

on

caught in the

made of matches,

the other of a bundle of herbs; of the plant with gnarled roots,

transformed into

a sculpture

red feather duster atop

it;

by the addition of

then of the

human

a

horn and a from

figure built "

and nicknamed the "Christmas tree. At the end of his essay, Breton mentions a strange canvas

a cobbler's last

'

in preparation:

Among

a large

showed

me

in

its

number

of paintings and objects Picasso

the other day, each

more

and

freshness, intelligence,

life,

striking than the last

there was a small,

un-

finished canvas, in the same format as the butterfly, with

only

a

broad impasto occupying the center. Making sure

it

was dry, he explained that the subject of this canvas was to

be

a piece

clear

of excrement, something that would become

once he had added the

had had

to

real dried

add paint

to

flies.

He

was only sorry that he

supplement what was lacking in the

excrement; and, to be precise, in those

inimitable

pieces he sometimes noticed out in the country, at the time

of year

when children

bit into cherries

trouble to throw away the

It

without taking the

pits.

was altogether natural that Breton's attention was held by

that unfinished piece of Picasso's works, since

excrement more than by any other of

Breton required of painting only pre-

texts for "intellectual speculation."

It

was undoubtedly the

its scatological subject, and and perishable because of its material. Only the idea of this extrapictorial painting had elicited a fit of lyrical exaltation in him, despite his "slight repugnance ":

most

"surrealist" piece because of

the most "ephemeral

"

37

I

caught myself imagining those

new,

gleaming and brand Picasso would know to make them. Everything be-

as

flies,

came cheerier; not only did I no longer recall having laid eyes on something disagreeable, but I was also somewhere else, where the sun was shining and life was good, among wildflowers and dew: I moved freely deep into the woods.

One home:

off by a his

day, also in 1932,

the

I

met

man was handsome,

a strange

couple

at Picasso's

his emaciated, sallow face set

mustache; his large madman's eyes sparkled;

little

long gypsy hair was dripping with brilliantine.

striped detachable collar

and the knot in

blue-

ffis

his red string tie

betrayed his inclination to stand out in a crowd.

The woman,

of indeterminate age, with a boyish build, was thin,

tiny,

and

very dark.

Her chestnut brown

made her

face oddly attractive. Picasso did the introductions:

eyes with their piercing gaze

do you know Gala and Salvador Dali? did not know this already famous couple, but

"

"Brassai, I

a trip

by

a

had heard

I

about them. They had met two years earlier during

a great deal

few surrealist friends to Gadaques. Elena Dimi-

trovni Diakonova, a capable but taciturn and secretive

nicknamed the

"surrealist

woman,

Muse," had been Paul Eluard's wife

since I9l7- She already exerted an occult but significant influ-

ence on the group and had greatly contributed to the success

Max

and Gala had come from Switzerland, where they had been to see an ailing Rene Crevel; when they too arrived in Gadaques, it was love at first sight. "We fell in of

Ernst. Eluard

love with each other instantly," Dali later recounted.

Her mys-

terious Slavic charm, her superior intelligence, her straight

back did the

trick.

the Magrittes

When

the surrealists

— returned to

Paris,

— Bunuel,

Eluard, and

Gala remained with Dali in

the whitewashed house, "a sugar cube caught in honey," where

he had spent

his childhood.

It

was the beginning of

a fierce

attachment, an unparalleled idolatry. Dali had found "the Beatrice of his life." As for Gala, his mistress, inspiration, teacher, Egeria,

"Dali

and businesswoman

phenomenon"

all

in one, she took the

in hand; his resounding success

great part her handiwork.

38

is

in

I

and

looked

at Picasso's latest

Dali. Picasso

had seen

etchings for an hour with Gala

Dali's

work

an

six years earlier at

avant-garde gallery in Barcelona; Dali was twenty- two

at

the

had found them promising — one of the canvases, The Girl's Back, had particularly struck him — and had spoken about him to Paul Rosenberg and Pierre Loeb, who immediately took a trip to Catalonia to meet the young painter. This time. Picasso

prospecting led nowhere.

was only in 1919,

It

at

Miro's instiga-

came to Paris. He stayed only a week. He the Musee Grevin, and Picasso, whom he pre-

tion, that Dali first visited Versailles,

ferred

— as he

said to flatter

his intense veneration

him — to

the Louvre.

He

expressed

and admiration, surpassed only by his He found it intolerable that

boundless jealousy and hatred.

an

artist

other than himself could be "the greatest Spanish

him warmly. He showed a great interhim personally. When Dali settled in

painter." Picasso received est in his

works and in

Paris shortly thereafter, Picasso continued to help him, to serve as his patron, introducing

him

to

Gertrude Stein and

other friends.^

When I met him

at Picasso's, Dali,

author — with Bufiuel — of Un at

already the scandalous

Chien andalou

and

The Golden Age, was

the apogee of his "surrealist activity." His Lugubrious Game,

with the meticulously painted excrement smeared across the

half-open drawers of

a dresser, his Great Masturbator,

and other

notorious obscenities had found passionate collectors in the

persons of Viscount Charles de Noailles, Edward James in England, and a few other fans. Dali's anatomical organs, his pitchforks supporting erotic, phallic forms, his embryos, bats,

and flexible telephones, his lobsters, and grasshoppers covering deserted beaches from Cape Creus to the jagged rocks, had paved his way into high society. The "Dali phenomenon was the heavenly body whose advent Breton had long wished for, whose trajectory he had calculated, whose brilliant apparition he had awaited. Chirico was admired of course, but he remained a supporter who preceded and was external to the movement, and who expressed nothing but contempt and hostility toward it. Picasso resisted the surrealists' ardent desire to appropriate him; Andre Masson, Miro, crutches, limp watches ants,

"

39

and even Max Ernst were already better known for their pictorial qualities than for their strict "surrealism"; as for Yves Tanguy, though his desolate beaches on dead planets cast a ghostly they did not dazzle with the "convulsive beauty" Eluard

spell,

and Breton dreamed of. Dali met and surpassed their expectations: he was the dreamed-of painter of dreams, of ecstasy, of erotic frenzy; a

man

in a delirium, a neurotic with

all sorts

of complexes, the bold and lucid explorer of the "irrational." Dali's following, his authority, his ascendancy, were extraordi-

nary, not just in fashionable or high society circles, which Dali

and Gala courted day and

night,

and which bought

his paint-

ings for ten or twelve thousand francs apiece, but also within

the surrealist group. "For three or four years," Breton would say

— before later calling Dali's painting "ultrareactionary"

the

man

himself "Avida Dollars," an anagram of his

"Dali would incarnate the surrealist spirit and all its

brilliance, as only

someone who had not

the sometimes unpleasant episodes of Later, Dali

— weaned,

its

like the surrealists,

make

glow in

it

participated in

gestation could do."

on Freud — told me

was the Viennese psychiatrist's

Interpretation of Dreams that

been the great discovery of his

life.

surrealists,

and

name

Not only did he

it

had

offer the

deprived of their best elements by purges, the viru-

trompe I'oeil, which seemed to have been stolen by force from the dream and captured instantalent imagery of an oneiric

neously with the scrupulous objectivity of the photographic lens;

he also disclosed the key to his method, namely, paranoid

In 1930, shortly after they first met. Gala discovered Dali's gift for writing and began to decipher the secretive, criticism.

almost illegible scrawls he had buried away in drawers. Dali

wrote only French, but tion, a

a

French with no

spelling,

no punctua-

French that was almost entirely phonetic. She imposed

order on the chaos of his notes, producing the

text

of

Jlie Visible

method as "spontaneous knowledge, irrational knowledge based on the critical and systematic " objectification of delusional associations and interpretations. Woman. In

It

it,

Dali defines his

might seem somewhat surprising that Eluard and Breton new gospel preached by Dali,

lent such a sympathetic ear to the

were

it

not for the

fact that,

vanquished, subjugated by his dia-

40

bolical self-assurance

and power of persuasion, they saw

it

as a

promise of surrealism's renewal, as an as-yet untapped, unexploited mine, capable of replacing automatic writing, whose

subterranean riches were becoming depleted. This was nevertheless a break with Breton's

pure automatism, the intangible

foundation of orthodox surrealism. Dali replaced the surprises, the disordered spontaneity flowing

from the

anonymous, and impersonal source of the

irrational with the

collective,

"systematization" of disorder, thus restoring the rights, per-

sonal vision, complexes, and obsessions to the creative

artist.

Dali said repeatedly that he distrusted "spontaneity," in which

he found "the conventional and stereotypical varying restaurant crawfish."

He

model of paranoid delusion."

the

taste

of the un-

preferred "systematization on

On the

ruins of an egalitar-

ian and anarchical democracy, he thus established an absolute

monarchy, the reign of a ferocious, imperialist individualism.

ruminated on the word ever

"Imperialist": Dali has endlessly since. In The

Visible

Woman, he

says,

"Paranoia uses the external

world to put forward the obsessive idea, with the troubling peculiarity of

The

reality

proof, and

making the

of that idea valid for others.

reality

of the external world serves as an illustration and a is

placed in the service of the reality of our

own

minds." There was nothing very new or scandalous about that "intrusion of man's desires into the world.

"

Every art worthy

name is obsessive: it interprets, dominates, shapes realThe paranoid delusion, with its exacerbated egocentrism,

of the ity.

represents only an extreme, pathological case of the creative vi-

sion and mind.

It

was only

much

later that

Breton, liberated

from the ascendancy Dali had exerted over him and the group, would deny any originality to his paranoid criticism, a method, he would say, inspired "by the lesson of Cosimo and da Vinci: become absorbed in the contemplation of spittle and of an old wall until a second world, no less directly revealable through painting, comes into focus."'" After that

first

encounter,

comic humor, always

a step

I

saw Dali often.

I

liked his

ahead of his ideas, liked his com-

plexes, his seriousness, his wild imagination, liked the

brain worked.

It

way his

was always in turmoil, an endlessly churning

41

outboard motor,

as Picasso said.

I

sometimes liked

ings as well. In Minotaure, which liberally

him, his megalomania found strange

titles,

a

opened

its

his paint-

pages to

marvelous springboard. Under

these texts of pseudoscientific rigor, in which

humor and

Dali gave free rein to his

his obsessions,

were some-

times permeated by fantastic flashes of insight. In reading

them, you entered the realm of madness, but without escaping a closely argued, persuasive, almost always

Such was the

peared in Minotaure

as the

this

Angelus."

Who would have

imag-

harmless genre painting — the pious image of

peasant couple bowing, absorbed in evening prayer, in

dialectic.

which ap-

introduction to a long essay entitled

"The Tragic Myth of Millet's ined that

convincing

case in particular for "Millet's Angelus,"

humble homes

as the

as

a

popular

Virgin of Lourdes — was the very es-

sence of perversion, the dream example, the sexual repression? Dali writes:

"How

"monument" of

could the sublime sym-

bolic hypocrisy of the Angelus, a mass obsession, have eluded

such

a flagrant,

unconscious erotic frenzy'?"

He

me

told

it

was the invisible vulture that had appeared to Leonardo in

dream, detected and interpreted by Freud in da Vinci's gin, the

Baby Jesus, and Saint Anne,

him on

the

trail.

According

now

a

The Vir-

in the Louvre, that had put

to Dali,

it

was glaringly obvious

ground next to the man, and the wheelbarrow filled with gape-mouthed potato sacks behind the woman, symbolized the male and female genitalia. He even that the pitchfork thrust into the

attributed the incredible popularity of the painting to eroticism. Dali was so obsessed with

the Angelus in his

own

it

that, for years,

paintings and collected

all

printed with this "crepuscular simulacrum." So

its

latent

he put

the objects it

happened

that, one day in his home, I photographed a coffee service whose every cup, whose every container bore Millet's "scabrous painting. And no one who has read Dali's interpretation can see this couple in prayer with the same innocent eyes as be"

fore.

His perverse dialectic

canvases by Millet

on — became

hit its

mark. Suddenly, many other

The Reapers, The Hay Balers, The Winnower,

and

suspect, charged with erotic, subconscious, dis-

guised impulses. Similarly, the meaning of William Tell, an-

42

so

other of Dali's disconcerting obsessions, changed once he had unveiled

its

"tragic

myth." Dali saw

geance, the symbol of his tually led to

it

as the act

own set-tos with his

of paternal ven-

father,

which even-

estrangement. In William Tell, he unmasked the

monstrous legend of a father's incestuous mutilation of his son. Another of Dali's discoveries was art nouveau, whose "psychopathological" character aggravated his delusion to the point

of paroxysm.

It

was through

him

that

I first

heard about

Gaudi, architect of the Sagrada Familia, the unfinished expiatory church in Barcelona. His admiration for the Catalan creator of art nouveau was boundless.

As

often been taken for walks in Park Giiell

work — and he confided

to

me how

the enchanting vision of that

him

for

He

a child, Dali

— also

had

Gaudi's handi-

impressed he had been, how

delusional

had marked

architecture

life.''

was persuaded that the landscape of Costa Brava and es-

pecially of

Cape Creus — that "geographic delusion" — which

Dali always had before his eyes in Cadaques, must have in-

spired Gaudi as well. He found the same convulsive lines, the same eroding caves, jagged rocks, and even furious waves in the undulations of Gaudi's stones, in the convulsions of his

wrought iron works. His houses, "created for

madmen and

sex

maniacs," seemed to be modeled in the spun sugar of an orna-

mental cake, and Dali assimilated them to the sweets of an

and ornamental confectionery." All turn-ofthe-century art, diametrically opposed to utilitarian and rational architecture, which Dali hated, was for him antiplastic art par excellence, "the expression of the murkiest, the most discredited, the most inadmissible desires." In the essay — one of his best — written for Minotaure, "The Terrifying and Comestible Beauty of Art Nouveau, Dali identified so closely with art nouveau that, in "psychoanalyzing" it, he in fact performed his "exhibitionistic

"

own "self-decortication. To illustrate this text, we "

divided the task with

photographed Gaudi's architecture

in Barcelona,

Man 1

Ray.

He

did the art

nouveau of Paris. I began with the turn-of-the-century busts and vases Dali had bought at flea markets. They were decorated

43

with water

lily

women, nenuphar women,

their bodies

emerg-

ing from floral exuberance, their hair disappearing into aquatic vegetation. 'Sculptures of everything extrasculptural,"

wrote Dali, "water, smoke, the iridescence of pretuberculosis

and nocturnal emissions, woman-flower-skin-peyote-jewel-

He

cloud-flame-butterfly-mirror."

thought the faces of these

women Charhad treated with hypnosis at the Salpetriere in about the same period, and who ushered in Freud's influential discoveries. Then I photographed a few turn-of-the-century houses "hysterical" sculptures

belonged to the hysterical

cot

with their contorted facades, their "pillars of feverish flesh,"

and

also the overly

ornamental metro entrances that

filled Dali

with wonder. I

also collaborated with Dali

tentional Sculptures:

and

bus or metro

on

Phenomenon of Ecstasy and Unin-

tickets instinctively rolled

up

twisted; bits of soap or absorbent cotton "sculpted" by au-

photographed robots for In the Paradise of Phantoms by Benjamin Peret, perhaps the purest, the most intransigent of surrealist poets. I like his mind, fertile with oddities tomatism.

and

I

also

surprises, curious about everything.

One

the "Concours Lepine," a regular training cal,

We

day,

he led

me

to

ground for chimeri-

puerile, or fanciful inventions, even delusional dreams.

picked our way through the

of "inventors" — Marcel

stalls

Duchamp

was there one day, with his graphic disks called "ro-

toreliefs,"

spinning and spiraling through space — and,

among

the inevitable automatic cradles, gadgets for threading needles,

ointments for getting rid of foot warts, and stitch-counters for

we happened upon about twenty absolutely loony which, with their unintentional humor, their gratuitous-

knitters,

finds,

ness, deserve to

objects.

That

be numbered

series

among

appeared in

a

the craziest surrealist

review with a text by Peret.

photographed the sculptures of Alberto Giacometti — he had joined the surrealist group two years earlier — in his studio on rue Hippolyte-Maindron, which even at

Also for Minotaure,

I

that time looked like a plaster grotto invaded by stalagmites: The Palace, The Hour of Traces, also called The Suspended

objects that "operated symbolically"

and worked

Ball,

at

and other

being figu-

rations of dreams, unconscious feelings, repressed desires.

44

12,

"'Brassai did a series of photos of the decorative elements of these porticoes,

could believe his

eyes: art

nouveau seemed so

and no one ."

surrealist' (The Secret Life of Salvador Dali)

I

taure.

also illustrated a few texts by Breton, published in Mino-

Among the

most important ("The Automatic Message,"

with drawings of mediums, "Beauty Will Be Convulsive" "Starry Castle,"

and

so forth), there was also "Sunflower

of his 1923 poems — very obscure, almost forgotten — took on great significance in Breton's eyes the day he recNight."

One

ognized

it

his life,

as the barely veiled

description of a key love affair in

which took place eleven years

He

later.

was touched to

discover that the love object had been unconsciously described in

it,

as

had

a

nocturnal

stroll

with her to the vegetable and

flower markets, and sometimes

The woman nymph, and the

details. as a

down

most insignificant with "long ashen hair" had a music hall act lovers'

to the

walk took them to the nymphs on

Jean Goujon's Fontaine des Innocents at Les Halles, as the poem said. The text of "Sunflower Night" — the title was in-

from the city like a sun — repeated one by one every foreshadowing, premonitory line of the poem, compared the latent content of these spired by the Saint -Jacques Tower, which rises

lines to the actual events, which, according to Breton,

were a

belated fulfillment of them. According to the key notion of

"communicating vessels," very similar to Goethe's "elective our unconscious governs not only our dreams but our real life as well, and sometimes anticipates later events, chance meetings. The randomness of our lives thus becomes an "objective randomness." "Self-analysis, Breton believed, "could sometimes drain out the content of real events, even making them depend entirely on the prior activity that is least guided by the mind. To illustrate "Sunflower Night," Breton asked me for a phoaffinities,

"

"

"

tograph of Les Halles

and

a third

Minotaure

at night,

another of the flower market,

of the Saint-Jacques Tower.

— and

later in

The

appeared in

text

Mad Love — along with my

illustrations.

But, contrary to what Breton believed at the time, these photo-

graphs were not taken specially for him.

them

for

described

some time, even it,

"under

its

I

had already had

the Saint-Jacques

Tower

pale veil of scaffolding.

47

"

' '

as

he

1939

No one

In August, war seemed imminent.

still

believed the ca-

tastrophe could be avoided. Everyone feared the worst. yet,

on

15

November of that

bition of Picasso's works to

open

the

at

the

Museum

title Forty Years

And

year, the largest retrospective exhi-

— a kind of apotheosis — was supposed

of

New York, under wanted to spend the summer

Modern Art

of His Art. Picasso

in

in Antibes. But he had barely arrived there in July

when he

learned of the accidental death of Ambroise VoUard. It was a blow for him. Although the famous art dealer was no longer

buying Picasso's canvases and drawings, he was

still

publishing

numerous deluxe editions illustrated by him. Vollard had often come to see him in June to discuss his projects. In particular,

Picasso was toying with the idea of collecting

all

his writ-

ings in a single volume, illustrated with his color prints.

And

Vollard had enthusiastically agreed. His death put an end to

come back

their collaboration. Picasso

had

turned to Antibes after the

art dealer's funeral

to work.

to

to Paris.

He

re-

and went back

Impressed and attracted by spear fishing by the

light

of lanterns flickering in the night on the sea surrounding the ramparts, he was close to finishing his large painting

A^z^/if

H5/1-

when he was caught off guard by the general mobilization. The imminence of war, his worries over the fate of his works, persuaded him to rush back to Paris, an unrecognizable ing in Antibes,

Paris, a city in confusion, already its

population.

I

ran into

him

at

emptied of three-quarters of

Saint-Germain-des-Pres.

was a worried, distraught

man who

He

to have his paintings

a

know what

to do.

wrapped up, thousand books and objects on rue La Boetie and in

ordered

packed

did not

He

crates,

began

48

new

on rue des Grands -Augustins. But his works were too widely dispersed: he also had some at Boisgeloup and his

studio

Le Tremblay, the studio Vollard had rented him in 1936 when, separated from his wife, Picasso had had to hand over at

There were too many things

his little chateau to Olga.

to res-

cue, to save. Discouraged by the exhausting, unpleasant task,

which was proving he abruptly ended

as it.

laborious as moving the Louvre

He, so concerned about the

Museum,

fate

of his

works, sometimes affects the greatest indifference toward

them. "After

all,

the only thing that matters

ated by the painting and

not the fact that

it

is

the legend cre-

endures or does

not endure," he said one day, and he undoubtedly believed it

when, with no further thought for

his crates

exposed to the risk of the feared bombings, he

and paintings, left Paris

for

Royan, where he arrived on 2 September. The next day, war was declared and Europe was thrust into the storm, while Ger-

many, with the help of the Soviet Union, proceeded

to crush

Poland.

At ries

that

moment,

Life

magazine urgently asked

me

for a se-

of photos of Picasso and his work for the occasion of

its

ex-

open two months later in New York. them? How could I reach him? I learned through friends he had come back to Paris on 7 September, but for only a day. As a foreigner, he had to obtain authorization to stay in Royan. Fortunately for me, he had not found enough canvas among Royan merchants. He then made the decision to return a second time to Paris. He arrived on 12 September and stayed for two weeks. I found him one morning on rue des Grands-Augustins. He was in excellent humor. Of course, Paris had already assumed its sad war face, muffled in darkness at night, all its lights out, all its windows boarded up, its streets lit only by the blue glow of its streetlamps. But the turn the "phony war" had taken had calmed people's minds a bit. The danger of bombings seemed to have been averted for a time. The city was beginning to look more normal in daytime. The cafes, movie theaters, and the many stores which, in the first panic, had closed their doors — even the Cafe de Flore — started to open again. hibition, which was set to

But how could

I

take

49

Picasso was very busy: taking advantage of his stay in the capital,

he again tried

them

to collect all his paintings

and drawings and put

in a safe place; the best pieces of his collection were, in

fact,

put away in bank safety vaults beside gold ingots. Nonethe-

less,

he was prepared

to devote

an entire day to me.

photograph him in

his new studio, which he and in the cafes of Saint-Germain-desPres, where he had been a regular for five years, since his separation from his wife. The middle-class life on rue La Boetie, his high society contacts and success, had managed to distract and amuse him, to flatter his vanity; but in the end they weighed on him. Some people thought he had sown his wild oats, had forever forgotten his youth, his laughter, his practical jokes of days gone by, his supreme freedom, his joy in being with friends, that he had "settled down" for good: they were wrong. The bohemian life once again gained the upper hand. Stricken, wounded by his marital troubles, fed up even with painting, left alone in his two apartments, he had turned to Jaime Sabartes, his best friend from childhood, who, along with his wife, had long ago settled in Montevideo, then in the United States. Picasso asked him to return to Europe and live with him. It was like a distress call. He was enduring the most serious crisis of his life. And Sabartes came in November, moved in with his friend on rue La Boetie, and began to organize his papers and books, to decipher his poems and type them up. After that, the man with extremely sharp eyes and the man with extremely myopic eyes were almost always seen together, like the traveler and his shadow, at the Brasserie Lipp, Les Deux-Magots, or Cafe de Flore, three central meeting places in Saint-Germain-des-Pres, which at that time was beI

wanted

to

was not yet living

in,

ginning to supplant Montparnasse. For Sabartes, spending long hours in crowded, smoky, poorly ventilated rooms was pure torment.

And

they rarely

left

before midnight. But what wouldn't he have done to make his friend happy?

They came

in taxis or sometimes

on

foot to the

intersection of Saint-Germain-des-Pres, most often accompa-

dog from the "cafe period." After a conspicuous appearance at Lipp or Les Deux-Magots, they settled in nied by

Elft, the

50

around a table of friends at the Cafe de Flore, with Christian and Yvonne Zervos, Nusch and Paul Eluard, the Braques, and others. The ceremonial was always the same: waiters Jean and Pascal rush to take Picasso's inevitable trench coat — which he still

has, incidentally;

him and

M. Boubal,

Gauloise for him; Picasso says a kind word

lights his

to the cheerful, blonde

observation post

the Auvergnat owner, greets

at

Mme

Boubal, perched high on her

the cash register; he orders a half-bottle of

Evian, does not drink

it;

Sabartes,

who comments on

events with Spanish friends, watches Picasso like a

among

the day's

mother hen;

and begs sugar off customers; his will damage his dog's eyes. It was not at Le Flore, however, but at Les Deux-Magots Dora Maar, just as that, one day in autumn 1935' Marie-Therese Walter was bearing him a daughter, Maya. On an earlier day, he had already noticed the grave, drawn face of the young woman at a nearby table, the attentive look in her light-colored eyes, sometimes disturbing in its fixity. She had been moving in surrealist circles since 1934- When Picasso saw her again in the same cafe in the company of Paul Eluard, who knew her, the poet introduced her to Picasso. Dora Maar had just entered his life. I myself had known Dora for five or six years. Like me, she was beginning to do photography. Neither of us yet had a lab and for some time we had done our printing in the same Montparnasse darkroom, which a mutual friend, an American, had made available to us. Dora's father was an architect of Croatian or Yugoslavian descent, her mother a Frenchwoman from Touraine. She had lived in Argentina for a long time with her parents and spoke fluent Spanish. Sometimes we had exhibits together. But now her presence at Picasso's side made my own presence a delicate matter. Dora was better situated than anyone to photograph Picasso and his works. And, at the start of their affair, she jealously guarded that role, which she considered a prerogative, and which, in fact, she assumed with diligence and talent. It was she who photographed his sculpted pebbles and some of his statues, she who helped him with his photographic experiments in the darkroom. The series she did of the different phases in the gestaElft slinks

the tables

master chides them, fearing sweets

5^

tion of Guernica will undoubtedly endure as a precious witness

To avoid provoking Dora, who was I refrained from encroaching on what was now her territory. Our relationship

to Picasso's creative process.

prone

to outbursts

and temper tantrums,

remained friendly but

distant for a fairly long period of time,

approximately the duration of the Spanish Civil War. But curiously, as

painting

Dora abandoned photography

— she was already involved in

photographer — her attitude

also

it

to devote herself to

before she became a

changed: her professional jeal-

ousy disappeared and there was no longer any obstacle to our friendship.

Thus, on that day in September 1939 — it was the eighI think — I began my series for Life at the

teenth or nineteenth,

Brasserie Lipp, where Picasso often took his meals. Sabartes

was with him.

The

clientele of that old brasserie was noticeably

from that of Les Deux-Magots, and especially from which frequented the Cafe de Flore: it was made up of deputies, senators, ministers, star attorneys, members of the Academy and of the Institut, theater personalities, successful writers, prize-winning painters. The average age of its clients was different

that

higher than that of the regulars

slightly

dom

of young poets, painters, more or

at

Le Flore, the

less

fief-

"avant-garde,

"

an-

young poets, painters, singers, and young women, ephebi, and young men

archistic, or revolutionary

filmmakers, but also

in search of a role, a career, in search of love or adventure.

"Essence of Le Flore," theless

had

a

a

perfume not subject

to analysis,

few defining elements: Jacques Prevert and

"gang" Jean- Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, ;

still

a

nonehis

long

movement, who were already filling many sheets of paper on the marble tables; Picasso and his circle. As for myself, I had largely done my bit for Paris cafe life in Montparnasse, and was therefore not a true "regular" at Le Flore, but I had many friends and acquaintances there.

way from the

took

I

a

"existentialist"

few photos of Picasso having lunch

at

the Brasserie

Lipp, seated on vinyl in front of the wall decorated with ceram-

— made by the father of Leon -Paul Fargue, a regular of the place — and chatting with Matisse's son, Pierre. A little worried ics

that

I

might be disturbing his customers, Marcelin Cazes, the 5^

me

owner, watched

operate.

Then,

as usual, Picasso,

flanked

by Sabartes, crossed the boulevard Saint- Germain to have coffee at Le Flore, where he

people.

He

had arranged

to

meet

several

signed a few autographs, wrote a dedication on his

engravings to a

woman writer from South America;

then, at

about three o'clock, we went to rue des Grands -Augustins. In this very old corner of Paris, the street bears the of an old convent razed in I79I-

name

property extended to rue

Its

de Nevers, rue Guenegaud, and rue Christine, where Gertrude Stein once lived and Alice Toklas

still

does.

The

small

town house occupied by Laperouse Restaurant, located

at

the

corner of rue des Grands -Augustins and the quay of the same

name, dates from the fifteenth century.

I

was already familiar

with the seventeenth-century patrician lodgings

at

no. 7

with the two upper floors, which had become Picasso's studio.

Before Picasso moved

and

in,

Jean-Louis Barrault had rehearsed

had sometimes attended these sessions in the fact, it was that actor who had told Picasso that these odd rooms were available, and Picasso was immediately won over. They reminded him of the BateauLavoir, for which he was secretly nostalgic all his life, but they plays there,

I

"Barrault attic." As a matter of

were even more spacious. with

its

bridge,

its

He

could

stores, its hold.

of the building was that Balzac had there.

It is

feel

he was inside

a

ship

Another appealing feature set his

Unknown Masterpiece

— the Savoie-Carignan Hotel before — that Balzac has the master Frenhofer meet

in that locale

the Revolution

Francois Porbus and Nicolas Poussin;

it is

there that the hero

of his novel, in his quest for the absolute, moves farther and

from the representation of nature, creates and demasterpiece, and dies. Balzac's description of this

farther away stroys his

house, of the steep, dark stairway, was in fact

a

rather striking

resemblance. Moved and excited by the idea of taking the place of the illustrious shadow Frenhofer, Picasso immediately

rented the studio. That was in 1937- And on the site of the Unknown Masterpiece he had painted the "well-known masterpiece" Guernica. In the place occupied by the lier,

another panel, almost

famous canvas two years ear-

as large,

53

now

stood: Women

at Their

Marie Cuttoli's tapestry work interested Picasso

Toilette.

a great

had been reproduced v^ith extraormoment, he wanted to create a cartoon conceived directly for tapestry and had come up with the idea of using a collage technique. He had collected a large quantity of wallpaper from interior decorators, and had then cut out the women's clothing, but also their hands, their faces, and all the elements of the picture. I did his portrait in deal; several of his canvases

dinary fidelity as Aubussons. At that

front of that unfinished canvas.

The

and flaps of his and an arm on the

creases

raincoat seem to be part of the "collage"

own body.^^ photos of him in the

canvas seems to belong to his I

also did several

recess of the

window

with, in the background, the view of the rooftops, which he later painted.

mous

I

also

took some of him seated next to the enor-

potbelly stove with

its

long flue pipe, bought from

a col-

Then he showed me his recent paintings. In very high most of them depicted all the variations, all the deformations possible of Dora Maar's facial features: a nose in profile with prominent nostrils, side by side with a front view of the nose; an eye in profile facing an eye that stares directly at you. Only her delicate hands with their tapered fingers and jeweled nails were sometimes treated with more indulgence. Picasso then led me through one wing of his apartment to a small room that served as his "engraving studio." There I saw an enormous, very beautiful old hand press. The ink deposited by the thousands of hands that had manipulated the crank handles had built up on them and hardened like asphalt, formlector. relief,

ing enormous black lumps.

PICASSO It

belonged

It's

beautiful, isn't it?

Almost

to Louis Port, the engraver,

a

museum

who printed

all

piece.

my

Eugene Delatre's death. I liked this press a great deal and I bought it. For a long time, it was consigned to Boisgeloup. Now that I have room, I brought it here. Lacouriere set up the studio for me. I have everything I need to work: electric current and even a box of resin for aquatints. plates after

A few days later,

I

received a

phone

"Before he leaves for Royan, he would

54

call

on

Picasso's behalf.

like to see

you again. He

would like to come to your place. Can he come right away? Can you see him in half an hour?" My apartment was a mess. I was myself in the middle of "tidying up": piles of books, folders, and photos were scattered everywhere. Picasso left the Cafe de Flore and came to my place at 8l, rue du Faubourg- Saint-Jacques. His HispanoSuiza

is

waiting for

him below.

I let

him

see the series taken at

the Brasserie Lipp, at Le Flore, in his studio.

by the portrait of

him

He

is

delighted

with his extraordinary stove, a portrait

some of my other photos. That is why he has come. I show them to him. Eager to become familiar with them, he demands more and more from me. I come to the series taken of Paris's underbelly, dating from 1932—33- piirips, prostitutes, hoods, inverts, dives, dance halls, opium dens, brothels. that later

appeared in

PICASSO

Life.

He would

like to see

When one sees what you express through photog-

raphy, one realizes everything that can

cern of painting.

Why would

no longer be

the con-

the artist stubbornly persist in

rendering what the lens can capture so well? That would be crazy, don't

moment

to

you think? Photography came along at a particular liberate painting from literature of all sorts, from

the anecdote, and even aspect of the subject

from the

subject. In any case, a certain

now belongs

to the

realm of photography.

Shouldn't painters take advantage of their new-found freedom

and do something

else?

and take out some old cardboard boxes with my drawings in them, done in Berlin in 1921. Picasso is surprised. He did not know I had done drawings. He looks at them carefully, is astonished, and says: "You're a born draftsman. Why don't you go on with it? You have a gold mine and you're working a salt mine. A lively discussion follows. I explain to him why 1 have opted for photography. He often interrupts me and I listen to his objections, his criticism. And later, whenever we meet, the I

open

a closet

"

first

question he asks

Have you Since

started it

is

always:

"And what about your drawing? "

drawing again?

was wartime, before

I

55

could send

my photos

to the

United

needed the stamp of the military censor. I was very surprised to learn that one of my photos had been confiscated. Gould showing Picasso's hand holding a brush somehow States,

I

have revealed a state secret, breached military security?

my

no

brain, but to

avail. I

who

also appears in the photo. Picasso,

stool, or

On

on

the floor.

Most

racked

rarely held a palette in

hand, had always gotten along by putting

his

I

then examined the "palette," which

on

it

often, he did not use

a chair, a

one

at all.

rue des Grands-Augustins, he mixed his colors on a fold-

When

ing table covered with a thick layer of newspaper.

covering had been saturated with paint, linseed tine,

it

that

and turpenwould be pulled off and thrown away. In examining the oil,

photo closely, I discovered that a page of the paint-stained newspaper Paris-Soir — contained an article on the pope and an-

From

other on a cardinal.

and texts, half covered with paint, you could still read: "POPE WILL RENE HIS EFFORTS ..." FAVOR THE IN OF the

titles

.

He

sent a note to France, England, Italy,

door

to Bolshevik penetration in

Europe

.

Germany, and Poland. The Vati-

can maintains that an alliance between Paris, London, and the

.

Moscow would open

(see late edition).

From the second article, you could still read the following: "cardinal VILL PRESIDES OVER THE FESTIVAL OF JOAN OF ARC IN DOMREMY." .

The church of. both from the

.

.

.

is

.

now

a basilica. The Lorrainian Saint receives

Supreme Pontiff and from

What made

.

.

homage

.

Did he consider Picasso's act and the Supreme of smearing Joan of Arc, Gardinal Vill Pontiff with paint deliberately sacrilegious? Did he want to avoid a diplomatic incident with the Vatican? Did he suspect the censor strike?

,

a practical joke,

which, given the gravity of the situation, he

judged unacceptable? In any

case,

my

photo, confiscated by

the censor, could not cross the Atlantic.

— the drdle de guerre — is no and the Paris we loved has become a Paris of green uniforms and "gray mice," of swastikas waving over public buildings and major hotels, headquarters of the Kommandantur and the Gestapo; a Paris without taxis, cigarettes, sugar, Since that time, the phony war

longer droll

at all,

chocolate, fancy breads; a Paris of rhubarb, Jerusalem arti-

56

choke, rutabaga, saccharine; a Paris of lines and coupons, curfews

and scrambled

films; a Paris of

airwaves,

German

propaganda newspapers and

patrols, yellow stars, air raids, road-

steads, arrests, execution notices.

At the

start

Picasso was working after a fashion in his Volieres.

He

"

stayed almost a year.

He

of the war,

Royan

villa,

"Les

returned to Paris three

times to get paint, brushes, canvases, reams of paper.

The

fol-

lowing summer, he saw German troops enter Royan. On 25 returned permanently to the capital. Life was August 1940 hard in occupied Paris, even for Picasso. No gasoline for his '

no coal to heat his studio. Like everyone else, he had to accommodate himself to the sinister war existence: stand in line, take the metro or bus — rare and crowded — to get from rue La Boetie to rue des Grands -Augustins. He often had to make both legs of the journey on foot. You could see him almost evcar,

ery evening at Cafe de Flore, the friendly, well-heated refuge

where he

felt

quite at

home, better than

at

home.

It

was there

I

met him sometimes. In 1942, weary of going back and forth every day from the Right Bank to the Left, from his apartment to his studio, he decided to move to rue des Grands -Augustins for good. He bought electric radiators, unusable because of the restricted current, and had gas appliances installed, which were just as ineffective for the same reason. Now hard at work, he gradually deserted Saint-Germain-des-Pres. The "cafe period" had ended.

And

It

had

lasted eightjears.

Grands- Augustins, happy to see Picasso again in his new home. There are some changes since my last visit: the main entrance has been condemned and, to get to the "attic," you now have to take a narrow spiral staircase, where the worn, rickety stairs and darkness are reminiscent of the tower of Notre Dame. You climb and climb, so

I

arrive at J, rue des

passing the entrance to the Association des Huissiers de

Seine [Association of Seine

bailiffs],

which owns the building;

you keep climbing in the half-darkness until written by Picasso

on

a piece

la

a gigantic

HERE,

of cardboard, indicates the

doorbell.

Marcel, the chauffeur, opens the door for me. For

many

long years he has been Picasso's factotum and also his trusted

57

servant.

He

hangs canvases, adjusts frames, prepares

crates,

packs, unpacks, ships. Passing through the green plants at the

back entrance,

enter the vestibule, whose nooks and crannies,

I

armchairs, and long table are filled

vs^ith

books, catalogs, let-

and photos. With every mail delivery, the piles grow like stalagmites. In the recess of the door leading to the studio, the first painting you see is a Matisse: a large still life with oranges and bananas dating from before World War I. A small Douanier Rousseau stands next to it: The Avenue in Montsouris Park, with its tall poplars and tiny human figures dressed in black. ters,

A multitude of statues now

fills

this big

boat of a place,

some of them old acquaintances from Boisgeloup. But suddenly,

I

am

given a

start: there,

they were a dazzling white, but

here they have become dark and seem smaller. They have

been

cast in

bronze!

I

think of Breton,

And

"squandering" perishable plaster. did he manage to procure so

when

much

the Occupier was unbolting

who

by what tour de force

metal

from

all

praised Picasso for

at

the very

their bases

moment

all

the

bronze statues of Paris, France, and Navarre, and stripping bistros of their pretty "zinc counters,

copper, to make into cannons?^^

were

cast in

the others?

1939 for see

I

of them large.

I

his

"

Some

New York

more than

fifty

even when they were really of these plaster statues

exhibition. But what about

new bronzes, about twenty my surprise when

have not yet recovered from

Picasso arrives. Dressed in shorts, a striped jersey, his arms

— he looks like an itinerant wrestler ready to throw down the gauntlet — he embraces me, grabs me, and his black eyes

bare

bore into me.

PICASSO Tell me the truth! We haven't seen each other for some time — I've changed a lot, haven't I? Look at the condition of my hair. When I run across old portraits of myself, I get scared. MHiy don't you come see me more often? That's not No, you're not disturbing me. Since I don't go out to cafes anymore, I like to see my friends at home; I want to stay in touch with them. I've worked things out: the morning for friends, the afternoon and evening for work. I have good spotlights now and I often paint at night as well. But here's the reanice.

58

son

I

wanted

album of my pher on me. be you.

And

to see you: a publisher has offered to

pubUsh an

And he wanted to force a photograwould have nothing to do with that. I insisted it I'd be happy if you could accept this work. I like sculptures.

I

my

your photos of

are not so great.

The ones taken of my new works show them to you. Where are those

sculptures.

I'll

photos? Sabartes looks for them, Marcel looks for them, Picasso

on

this pile just yesterday.

left

them on top on pur-

looks for them. "But they were here I

saw them with

my own

eyes.

pose," says Picasso. Everyone

paper.

new

We

find

them

at last,

And

I

rummages through

the heaps of

they were already submerged by a

avalanche.

Look

PICASSO walnut.

them.

at

Or something

else

My

Death's

Head has turned into

could be made of

it.

a

What do you

think?

We

also look at

first, I

old photos of his sculptures.

They were much more beautiful in plaster. word about casting them in

PICASSO At

my

didn't want to hear a

bronze. But Sabartes kept telling me: "Plaster

is

perishable.

You need something solid. Bronze is for the ages." He's the one who pushed me to cast them in metal. Finally, I gave in. What do you think of them? Some have lost something in the bargain. Espeyour monumental heads. Their big, curved, smooth

BRASSAI cially

white surfaces seem to have been eaten up by the shine and

bumpiness of bronze. I imagined them in white or pink marble. They would have been less compromised, it seems me. But how did you manage to cast so much bronze?

PICASSO

That's

ported the plasters

at

a

long story.

A

to

few devoted friends trans-

night in handcarts to the foundry.

And

it

was even riskier bringing them back here in bronze, under the noses of the

German

patrols.

The "merchandise had "

camouflaged.

59

to

be

We

survey the

new

sculptures.

I

am

astonished

at

how many

there are.

PICASSO sculpture. all this I

Since Boisgeloup, I'd somewhat abandoned

Then

in the

suddenly,

last

it

got the better of

me

again.

I

did

three years, during the Occupation. Because

couldn't get out of Paris anymore,

I

turned

my bathroom

room you can heat in this big made most of them. There are many

into a sculpture studio, the only

old barn. That's where

I

more:

a display case

little

bronzes in

and,

as for

the ones

I

couldn't

cast, they're

in a studio off a courtyard next to Le

Catalan.

The

you

plasters

This big fellow

And

Picasso points to

ters high, towers over this

squarely

on

see here are the

most recent ones.

sculpted in February.

I

Man

with Sheep

which,

his long, skinny legs, with a

surly face resembles

at

over two

me-

people of statues. Nude, planted

round, bald head — his

Ambroise Vollard — the

giant

is

clasping a

lamb in the vise of his powerful arms. His left hand has a firm on the spine of the heavy animal, which is struggling; his right hand is grasping three of its hooves as the fourth is getting away. Modeled very freely, with little balls of clay quickly pressed together, like certain large Etruscan terra-cottas, Man with Sheep looks like it came all in a rush. Next to it, on a turntable, is a large head of a young girl with an impassive face, square jaw, and powerful profile, a mass of hair falling to her neck. A portrait of Dora Maar, no grip

doubt.

On

another small turntable

is

an all-white

cat, its tail

standing straight up in an exclamation point. Another bronze cat,

standing firmly on

PICASSO

I

its

four paws, has a swollen belly.

don't like high-class cats that purr

in the parlor, but

I

adore

cats that

on

the couch

have turned wild, their hair

standing on end. They hunt birds, prowl, roam the streets like

demons. They cast their wild eyes at you, ready to pounce on your face. And have you noticed that female cats in the wild are always pregnant? Obviously, they think of nothing but love. I

also see the roosters

from Boisgeloup, then an odd

woman. 60

little

What do you think of this character? One day at flea market, I dug up a "high fashion" mannequin from the PICASSO

the

turn of the century, the Edwardian era, marvelously sculpted, with a high bustline, round behind, no arms or head. So

her arms and a gift I

The

head.

a

from Pierre Loeb — the

did was adapt them to

Then

there

PICASSO

a

fit.

curious bovid head with long horns.

day, in a pile of objects

found an old

1

Guess how

(amused, observing my reaction)

head? One

that bull's

together,

is

all

think. All

I

me

Head came to

Bull's

before

did was weld them together.

about bronze

such unity that

compose

that

is

it's

made

1

jumbled up

bicycle seat right next to a rusty set of

my

handlebars. In a flash, they joined together in idea of the

gave

I

arm comes from Easter Island right arm and head are by me. All

left

I

had

a

The

head.

chance to

The marvelous thing

can give the most heterogeneous objects

it

sometimes

difficult to identify the

elements

you were to see only the bull's head and not the bicycle seat and handlebars that form it, the sculpture would lose some of its impact.

that

The

But

it.

that's also a

danger:

if

novelty of a tubular, very elongated statue attracts

attention.

Its

body

a

is

narrow

shaft

— a piece

of corrugated

cardboard must have been used to make grooves in a rolling little

pin emerging from

the lid of a box. a

a cake

As for the head,

fluted ruff.

The

left

its

Sabartes

arm, shaped

We will

— its neck a

square block, no doubt

a

like a

hand. Picasso has named calls Picasso.

it

mold, which has become

it is

kind of vase; the right arm, extended

sphere in

my

handle,

vertically,

it

Woman

clasping

is

holds

a

with Orange.

continue the sculpture inspec-

tion another day.

Do you

PICASSO

much

very

like

you

Since he asks

to

me

want

do

to

photograph

my

statues?

what

I

am

doing,

ation to him: having refused to ask the

briefly explain

I

Germans

and doing other

would

right to publish photos.

things.

61

So

I

my

situ-

for authoriza-

tion to take photographs, even though they requested

do not have the

I

it.

do so, am unemployed I

I

PICASSO We're in the same boat. I don't have the right to exhibit or pubUsh either. All my books are banned. Even reproducing lisher

my works

is

prohibited. So arrange things with the pub-

and come when you

like.

62

Late September

ig43

This morning

attack the first statue: the Death's Head.

I

A grip-

ping piece of work. More

a monumental petrified head with empty sockets, its nose eaten away, its lips gone, than a grimacing skeleton stripped of flesh. Like a block of stray stone pocked with cavities, eroded and polished from having rolled around from one age to the next. Was it the war that made this monolith rise up from Picasso's body of work?^^ I turn it over and over; I do several photos of it. Picasso insists on helping me, on watching me operate. My "method" intrigues him. I rarely look through the clouded lens; I measure the distance with a string and sometimes light the scene with magnesium powder. The explosion frightens and amuses Picasso. He nicknames me the "Terrorist" and henceforth adopts that sobriquet to refer to me.

effect will

How

do you know what the be? You have no way of judging the effect of your

PICASSO

I

don't understand.

I

calculate

lighting.

BRASSAI

it.

Why

don't

I

use spotlights? Be-

cause the multiple sources throw chopped-up, ows.

I

like light

by reflecting

PICASSO

it

from

a single

source and

I

muddled shad-

soften the shadows

off screens.

Why

are sculptures so rarely

photographed

well?

BRASSAI

Some

stupid tradition requires that a light-

colored statue be stuck up against

dark statue against

a

a

black background and

white background.

63

It's

a

the death of them.

They look

and can't breathe in the space. For a sculpture to achieve its full round shape, its lit parts have to be brighter than the background and its dark parts darker. It's so flattened

simple.

PICASSO

It's

the same thing with drawing:

on

a gray or

beige background, you use white for the light and black for the

shadows.

Is

that

BRASSAI

what you mean?

That's been the very principle of classical draw-

ing since relief was discovered and pursued that plasticity

is

no longer of interest

as a goal.

in painting,

in photography whenever you want to give the to a sculpture.

64

Although

it is

required

maximum

relief

Early October

ig4

Henri Michaux accompanies me. His greatest desire is to meet Picasso, but on his own he would never have lifted a finger. The other day, I met him by chance in Montparnasse. We were happy to reestablish a friendship that goes back twenty years, to 1924- I^i fact, Michaux was one of the first people 1 met when I arrived in Paris. I had had no news of him since the exodus. But I read the lecture by Andre Gide, Discovering Henri Michaux, which was banned by Vichy authorities, and which the author insisted on publishing as a booklet so as "not to cheat" the poet. We had a glass of wine on the terrace of La Rotonde. Michaux told me about his stay in the Midi after the invasion, first in Montauban, then in Le Lavandou in Var. Now he is staying in Paris. He questioned me in turn. 1 told him about my adventures crossing France, from Paris to the Pyrenees, accompanied by Jacques Prevert and a few friends, about our stay in Cannes and my "repatriation" in I

bring photos of the

Paris in I

Death's Head.

autumn I940-

introduce Michaux to Picasso and show him the photos of

the strange Death's Head sculpture. Picasso admires deal

the

and

and

I

am embarrassed

enormous

leather portfolio for us, placed

pulls out the

doves,

and

by his compliments.

on

a

women. His

a great

book

most recent line-and-wash drawings:

especially

tiful, so fluid, so

them

Then he opens

lines have never

stand,

chairs,

been so beau-

intense, always heaving with desire.

And how

how dazzling! It is as if his pen has been dipped in some glowing lava, it throws off sparks, burns, devastates. On many of the wash drawings, the paper, though thick, is somespirited,

65

times chewed up; the ink has eaten away

at

it

and has taken on

the black color of coagulated blood.

And while

Picasso

is

taking sheets out of the portfolio one

by one, sheets which contain perhaps his most beautiful draw-

one always says that of the most recent series), I ask him where the ideas for his drawings come from, whether by ings (but

chance or by design.

PICASSO points.

As soon

I

don't have a clue. Ideas are simply starting

can rarely

I

as I start to

what you're going

them down

set

beard,

When

it's I

work, others well up in

my

my mind.

to

know

pen. To

you have to begin drawing. If a man. If a woman crops up, I make

has a beard,

it's

the Holy Virgin."

my

me more

ries

come

"If a

it

has a beard,

woman." Or,

Saint Joseph;

A great saying,

if it

it's

a

a

in another

doesn't have a

don't you think?

find myself facing a blank page, that's always going

through

I

it

they

to draw,

man crops up, I make a woman. There is a Spanish saying: man; if it doesn't have a beard, it's version: "If

as

head. MTiat

than

my own

I

capture in spite of myself interests

ideas.

point out to Picasso that

all

the

men

appearing in

this se-

have beards, like Father Zeus.

And do you knowwhy? Every time I draw a man, involuntarily I think of my father. For me, man is "Don Jose, and that will be true all my life. He wore a beard. All the men I draw have more or less his features. PICASSO

Yes, they're

all

bearded.

"

And we

talk

about drawing, and in particular, Matisse's

drawings

PICASSO recopies

He

is

it

Matisse does a drawing, then he recopies

five times,

persuaded that the

last

one, the most spare,

the purest, the definitive one;

When

it

comes

it.

to drawing,

and

is

the best,

yet, usually it's the first.

nothing

is

better than the

first

sketch.

Taking the wash drawings from his portfolio, he comes

upon

He

ten times, each time with cleaner lines.

a neatly calligraphied

diploma.

66

my Academy

become a Academy. The Royal Swedish Academy voted

PICASSO

It's

member of the me in. What do you His sharp laugh

him. Michaux

is

think of

from the

powerful personality never

I've

it?

ringing in our ears

is still

in shock

diploma! Yes,

fails to

first

when we

leave

impression Picasso's

make. But he remarks with

a

touch of humor: "That man, who complains bitterly about so

many people bothering him

while he's

at

work, would be very

unhappy if no one were to bother him anymore. When he showed us his drawings, he was in his element." I tell Michaux: "If I had to choose from his entire body of work, I'd take his drawings without a moment's hesitation. It's his feverish pen that allows his personality to express itself without the slightest

constraint. directly.

seems to

It

He

me

that's

where

his genius appears

dips in the same inkwell for his drawings

and

most his

They come right from the source." Michaux shares my view. He finds the spontaneity and

writings.

spark of his drawings moving. "There's a smell of sulfur about

them," he

He

Paris

we have lunch in

suggests

non, next meals.

me.

tells

We

notices, with

tell

tearoom on rue de Tourwhere he often

cross boulevard Saint- Germain,

would be almost lists

bring us back to I

a

to the Senate building,

a

charming

now

takes his

so provincial.

city if the walls plastered

with

of the people taken hostage or shot, did not

reality.

Michaux

I

do not

see

anyone in the younger genera-

tion capable of succeeding Picasso, Matisse, or Braque.

MICHAUX

I

don't either,

I

don't see anyone in the

younger generation who has Picasso's stature

as a

draftsman, or

Matisse's or Braque's stature as a colorist. But perhaps

we don't

want the same thing, we're not aiming for the same thing any-

more. Picasso

is

longer trouble

us.

different paths.

but in

a genius, that's obvious,

but his "monsters

"

We're looking for different monsters and by

The question of

"succession

"

may come up,

a different way.

Michaux

is

no

right.

I

expressed myself poorly.

67

I

should not

have spoken of "succession."

It is

always

future, especially in matters of art. see any at

young painter who

is

I

wrong

to prejudge the

should have

said: "I don't

the equivalent of what Picasso was

twenty."

The tearoom

is

packed.

I

suggest

my bistro

in the Faubourg

from Cochin Hospital. It is frequented artists, and I often run into the sculptor Fenosa and sometimes Germaine Montero, surrounded by a whole gang of Spanish Republicans who listen to her openmouthed for hours. We go back up boul' Mich' and the allee de I'Observatoire. Along the way, Michaux confides that the plastic arts are becomSaint -Jacques, across

by young doctors and

ing increasingly attractive to him, that he devotes himself al-

most

exclusively to painting.

MICHAUX of the Artists

The

I'm through with poetry! their

the

object they create has a visible, palpable body.

a reply.

The poem

BRASSAI

is

allude.

hands are much more fortunate.

echo. Something concrete that, once detached

you

poor relation

Words do nothing but

arts. Voiceless, echoless.

who work with

It's

mute,

it

It's

an

from you,

gives

sends nothing back to you.

If you're taking that tack,

you should

nate music. Unless you're actually playing

it,

isn't

it

also elimi-

just

an ac-

cumulation of notes? In the end, you're faced with the para-

dox

that

music

is

the art with the fewest echoes.

MICHAUX

That's true, so long as you don't play it. Obvihundred instruments render what you have imagined, what you have created, that's a response. But will anyone play it? When and how? That's the whole question right there! Do you know that a young composer who writes a symphony today has only one chance in ten of hearing his work once in his lifetime? Only plastic art produces an immediate echo. It doesn't depend on a voice, or a printer, or performers, it's not dependent on anything. What you create with your hands is captured right there, it has a clear and true existence. And that's why I paint now. ously,

when

a

68

Tuesday 12 October

We

ig43

are going to review

all

Picasso's sculpted works with

him

and the book's publisher, and we will choose the statues to include in his album. The Bird is one of them. A child's scooter rusted, twisted, and missing its wheels — suggested the idea of a bird to him one day, just as the seat and handlebars of a bicycle suggested a bull's head.

The

little

footboard of the scooter be-

came the body of a shorebird; the upright steering handle, long neck; and the fork that held the front wheel,

A triangular piece,

beak.

served as

look

at

come

its

foot. Picasso

designed to attach busts to

added

whom

who

appear in

my album!" When

It's

it.

more an

my

ear:

object than a

sharply: "I absolutely insist that this sculpture

the publisher leaves the studio an

later, Picasso is still seething.

PICASSO

man

An

think he

to tell

some

than he does. What still

So my bird

object! is,

sculpture! He's got

if

We

nothing escapes, suddenly turns toward him, and, pointBird, says

one's

a pedestal,

a tail.

hears and understands everything,

ing to The

it

red feather for

its

head and

most of the sculptures without incident. But, when we

"Don't bother to photograph

that

a

to the scooter bird, the publisher whispers in

sculpture." Picasso,

hour

its

is

me,

nerve!

is

just an object!

Picasso, I

just

sculpture?

what

or

is

Who

does

not a

might know more about

What

is

painting? Every-

clinging to outdated ideas, obsolete definitions, as

the artist's role was not precisely to offer

He would

new ones.

have gone on grumbling for quite awhile longer,

except that Sabartes calls let arrives,

is

him

to the

more impulsive than

phone. Then Baron Mol-

ever.

69

With

his bald pate, his

big

round nose,

he has come more and more to

his gift of gab,

resemble the great clown Grock. The purpose of his

visit?

To

propose that Picasso buy an "extraordinary" sideboard for "next to nothing." er's in the

He

has just uncovered

at

it

an antique deal-

neighborhood.

BARON MOLLET

not

It's

at all

portunity! Pablo, do you want to

A unique opA

expensive!

come

at

three to see it?

magnificent deal for you. have

I

time the

known him for a long time, and this is not the first him here. An old friend of Picasso's from

have run into

I

Montmartre

days,

he often dashes in to see him. Every-

body's pal in Saint- Germain-des-Pres, he has been, by turns, the friend or confidant of Apollinaire,

them

first

calls

names: "Pablo," "Guillaume," "Max,"

"Leon-Paul," "Jean," "Amadeo, "Kaes. But this who invented and incarnated the idea of public relations

"Blaise,

man

by their

all

Max Jacob, Gendrars,

Van Dongen. He

Fargue, Gocteau, Modigliani, and

"

"

early in the century, spreading the litain to the Gloserie des Lilas,

"

news from the Cafe Napo-

connecting the Butte and the

boulevard, Montmartre and Montparnasse, this always cheerful

man, with no job and no money,

this great

minds,

knew how

to the

talents, intelligences, also

new generation of young

Raymond Q^ueneau, Jacques

propagandist of to

endear himself

poets, painters,

and

writers:

Prevert.^^

Just then, Prevert arrives with a cigarette butt between his lips.

Picasso shows

ings.

We

pears

on

him

his

wonderful sketches and wash draw-

are looking at the dove series,

when

a live

dove ap-

the step.

PREVERT the devil

There it is, the mysterious personage. Speak of and in he walks.

Picasso invites us upstairs, since his painting studio little

apartment are on the upper

most recent canvases. He

is

floor,

and he

and

displays his

phone, and we one painting: the large

called away to the

are left alone. Prevert takes a fancy to

window of the studio looking out on the tiers of old Paris rooftops and chimneys. Above all, it is the rippling line of radiator 70

parts

— the round knob,

that attracted Picasso.

PRE VERT

Look!

the radiator, finding

the long pipe rising to the windowsill

He painted it three months ago, on 3 July. Any it

other painter would have

ugly, vulgar, "unaesthetic."

left

out

He would

have focused on the "picturesque" quality of the old walls and rooftops.

And yet

the radiator

this canvas. Picasso else.

I

is

the

predominant element in

wants to be true to

life

before anything

Look, he even painted the old rag hanging on the share his view.

wall.

also prefer the canvases that are directly

I

inspired from things seen around him, like the Mother and Child

painted in May.

I

explain to Prevert that,

painted the child by himself, taking his little

body off balance. "He would have

at first,

Picasso

first steps, his

plump

down," Picasso

fallen

confided to me with a laugh, "because he can't walk yet. So I added his mother later, to support him." On another canvas, a chubby child is sitting on the ground, next to a chair on which two doves have landed. The painting is dated August of this year.

22

We ings

also

admire the brown sideboard with baroque mold-

from Le Catalan, which

Picasso twice painted in May,

against a yellow background.

BRASSAI Everything in

PREVERT a "painter

of

There's nothing gratuitous in this painting. it is

So you reality,

Each of his works

something

inspired by reality.

is

"

a

see,

more than any other painter

Picasso reacts to what's

that surprised

and begins

around him.

response to something he's seen or

to leaf

felt,

and moved him.

Picasso reappears. Prevert picks a stool

called

through

up

a small

book placed on

it.

PICASSO That's my bedside reading. Incredibly funny! As good as Jarry! But you don't quite know whether the humor is

conscious, intentional, or completely unintentional.

about Marshal Petain. Really, you have the impression way of

a tribute, the

author

is

shooting the "great

hell.

71

It's

that,

man"

all

by

to

In

the

fact,

page bears the

title

title:

The Great

Man Alone.

It's

by Rene Benjamin.

PRE VERT (reading aloud) The Marshal is virile and calm. Feminine Opinion is nervous. The Marshal thinks. Opinion feels. The Marshal wants to create. Opinion turns away and grumbles

.

.

.

Wretched souls have been seen ripping up

PICASSO

his portrait.

the conversations you have to read. For ex-

It's

ample, the Marshal's luncheon, with an abbot on his right and a state

And

on

minister

his left. Read.

Prevert, in his quick, staccato voice, reads out loud:

"Marshal,

sir,

the abbot said, "y^^ introduced

"

honor the minister. Pardon me, What is he the minister of?"

me

to his

don't quite understand.

I

"What do you think?" says the Marshal sarcastically. "Oh, a difficult question," says the abbot, turning red.

"Or perhaps

he's a minister

who

doesn't impose," says

the Marshal, serious.

"My God, I'm not

saying that,

"Well, then, that's because

around ministers," "Marshal,

I

me

the abbot replies curtly.

you don't

Marshal

says the

sir," the

"... You had

"

know your way

sadly.

abbot adds, very embarrassed.

have lunch

last

year with

M. A.

.

.

.

Him

"

knew!

"Who's that?"

"One

asks the

Marshal absent-mindedly.

of your ministers!

"Indeed

.

.

I've

.

"

forgotten him,

"

says the

Marshal

happily.

The maitre

d'

leans forward with a bottle: "Clos

du Ma-

"

rechal.

"Drink

"And anymore. They come and go.

that in peace," says the

don't worry about ministers

Wine remains.

"

72

Chief of

State.

PICASSO sage

funny, don't you think? There's also a pas-

It's

where the cabinet attaches

end of the table discuss the bombed-out vil-

the

at

what the Marshal ought to wear to

visit

Where is that passage? Here it is: What should he wear? Everyone gives

lages.

his opinion.

"Khaki?

That color is as mediocre as its name. Civilian clothes would be better." "Civilian clothes?" someone protests. "A Marshal in civilian clothes is no longer a Marshal! He should put on his sky blue outfit again."

"Oh, bravo!" That image appeals

to everyone's feelings.

"The meal ends with an Ubuesque scene, says Picasso, "someone has to read that!" And Prevert, completely at home with the abbot, the minister, and the Marshal, begins to read the page which, when recited by him, sounds like one of his poems: The Marshal, who is eating an apple, begins to laugh and choke; he coughs, he's suffocating. The whole table is wor"

ried.

But he has the strength

to say: "It's nothing."

Nonetheless, Dr. Menetrel

Everyone turns to look Finally, the

He He

at

on

is

his feet.

him.

Marshal drinks some water.

can breathe again. can talk again

"It's

your

fault,"

The abbot

is

as well.

he

tells

the abbot sharply.

startled.

"You didn't say the blessing." "My God," murmurs the abbot. "Well, then, make amends, and say orders, now on his feet.

grace!

"

the Marshal

Everyone has stood up. In his confusion, the abbot sputters

a

few words in Latin

and makes the sign of the cross The young attaches are flabbergasted. They will never know what the Marshal trip: maybe he'll dress as a Chinaman. .

PICASSO

I

don't

.

.

know how many times

n

will

wear on his

I've

reread

it.

I

know

Then

by heart.

it

there's the

dressed in a leopard skin

as a post,

dinner with Maurras, deaf

— read

I'm not kidding!

it,

woman admirer of the poet, nicknamed "Esperance." It's high comedy! And what about the audience with the six women artisans! Or when the Marshal gives his speech

Also attending

a

is

"Work Charter," or when

on

the

his

permission to sing him La

"Only the fourth

You

Lorient.

And

Or

verse!"

who

minister of health,

is

a

group of young people ask and Petain replies:

Marseillaise,

the Marshal's interview with the

returning from the

bombed

city

of

have to reread that. That takes the cake!

Prevert reads this passage out loud:

"I've

come from Lorient."

"What's

left

of it?" says the Marshal in

muffled voice.

a

"Nothing," replies the minister in the same tone.

"And what does

the population say?"

"Nothing, Marshal, time.

He

sir," says the

adds, however:

minister a second

"They think

The Marshal murmurs:

.

.

.

it's

war."

"That's good."

"In any case," continues the minister,

"I told

them you

love them."

"That's also good,

understand I

"

said the Marshal, "provided

it's

told Picasso

.

.

they

I

true.

did not have any of his statues from the

blue period, and in particular ing her hair.

.

"

"It

seems

to

me

kneeling

a little

saw

I

it

woman comb-

in your apartment

on rue

La Boetie, in the front room, on the mantel."

PICASSO

That was one of the very first, if not the first, I did it at the same time as the little Seated Woman, in l899' I think. One day I had an urgent need for money and I sold almost all my old sculptures to Vollard. He sculpture

I

did.

the one, in fact,

the two

women,

who had them

cast in

bronze. In addition to

there was the head of an old man, a woman's

head, and a Harlequin wearing a cap, which

I

must have done

seven or eight years later.

BRASSA'i

Couldn't

I

photograph them

74

at

Vollard' s?

s

PICASSO

I

should have liked them

all to

appear in the

alas! Fabiani, who succeeded Vollard, them reproduced. Did you know Vollard?

book. But

doesn't want

I went to his home on rue Martignac several first time with Maurice Raynal and A. Teriade, in The times. 1932. They were repainting the house and there was a large sign at the entrance: Attention a la peintureP^ Which I photo-

BRASSAI

graphed, in

fact.

PREVERT

Attention a

la

peinture!

What

a great sign for

an

art

dealer!

BRASSAI zanne for

Raynal wanted to ask Vollard for an essay on Ce-

Minotaure.

He

was rather skeptical and we expected

him to refuse. But Vollard was in very good spirits that day. The welcome he gave us was almost warm. I had trouble believing this likable

man

was really the "bear." As

he opened his famous "shed" for ings he didn't want to

us, the place

a rare favor,

he hid the paint-

show anyone.

PICASSO Vollard was very secretive. He knew how to surround his paintings with mystery and thereby increase their value. On rue Laffitte, he stashed almost all of them behind a partition in the back of his shop and didn't let anyone poke around.

BRASSAI It was funny to see that giant bent over double, sometimes on all fours, pulling out a dozen unknown Cezannes one by one. And he gave me carte blanche. I could photograph anything I wanted at his house, except the treasures in his "shed."

I

also

took

a

few photos in his office, where several

bronzes by Maillol and Renoir were piled in front of empty frames and heaps of reams of paper and books. was also your

submit

all

little Kneeling

Woman.

I

had

to

the photos taken at his house to him.

lighted with them,

the black cap

on

and

Among them

promise Vollard

He

to

was de-

especially liked the portrait of

him with

his head, which, in fact, he used for the cover

of the American edition of one of his books of memoirs.

75

It

was

not

a flattering portrait,

face

however.

On his

enormous body,

his

shaggy and black, his eyelids drooping over his crafty

is

He undoubtedly thought he was more jovial my photo. He told me the same thing Matisse

peasant's eyes.

than usual in

and sullen man. my demeanor makes people

said repeatedly: "I'm always taken for a sad

But I'm cheerful by nature, even

if

think the opposite."

But here's what happened that suddenly, looking

I

wanted

to tell

you about:

the photos, he cried out: "In the

at

name

of

God! You photographed that? That's awful! I hope you haven't shown that photo to anyone yet. I reassured him: "Destroy the negative as soon as you get home; I beg of you." He gave me no explanation. It was probably a nude by Maillol, and, according "

to their contract, Vollard was

supposed to reproduce only

number of copies of it. But you could

ited

see several of

a

lim-

them

in the photo.

PICASSO

One

day,

When

I

was young and needy, he exploited me.

my canvases and carted And later, he paid me a

he got hold of about thirty of

them away

for two thousand francs.

thousand francs for

my

finest drawings.

With Jacques Prevert, we go to have lunch at "Les Vieilles," in an arcade on rue Dauphine. The food is good there and their Beaujolais is excellent. As an hors d'oeuvre, Jacques, who loves cheese, orders one of those creamy Camemberts that melts in your mouth. And we talk about Picasso.

BRASSAI At the time of the invasion, he could have left if he had wanted, could have gone anywhere he wished, to Mexico, Brazil, the United States. He didn't lack for money or opportunities or invitations. Even during the Occupation, the United States consul requested several times that he leave France. But he stayed. His presence among us is a comfort and a spur,

not only for those of us

for those

who

PREVERT ful to is

him.

It

don't I

who

are his friends, but even

know him.

agree with you completely.

was an act of courage.

afraid, just like

We

The man

anyone who has something 76

should be grate-

is

not

a

hero.

to say or to

He

de-

13 "Paris had already assumed its

sad war face, muffled in

darkness

at

night."

"Picasso, flanked by Sabartes

crossed the boulevard Saint

Germain Le Flore.

to have coffee at "

Left,

"Seated next to the

enormous potbelly stove bought from a collector."

.

Above, "I

him

wanted

in his

new

to

.

.

photograph which

studio,

he was not yet living

"

in.

l8 "In the place occupied by the famous canvas [Guernica] two year; earher, another panel

.

.

.

now

stood: Women

at Vieir Toilette/'

19

"One of my photos had been confiscated [by the militaiy censor]. Picasso's

Could showing hand holding a

brush somehow have revealed "

a state secret?

20 "This morning a

I

attack the first statue: the Death's

block of stray stone pocked with

cavities,

Head.

.

.

.

Like

eroded and polished."

1 21

"We are looking at the dove when a live dove appears.

Left,

series, .

.

.

Prevert:

devil

22

and

.

.

.

Speak of the

in he walks.

"

"On [Vollard's] enormous body, his face is shaggy

Above,

and

black, his eyelids

drooping

over his crafty peasant's eyes."

Even though little

this hat

sand pie mold,

is it

only the impression of has everything

Provence, the Midi sky."

it

a

battered, twisted

needs to evoke Van Gogh,

fend.

It's

easy to be a

hero when you're only risking your

life.

For his part, he could, and still can, lose everything. Who knows what turn the war will take? Paris may be destroyed. He's got a bad record with the Nazis, and could be interned, — deported, taken hostage. Even his works "degenerate" art, "Bolshevik" art — have already been condemned and may be burned at the stake. No one in the world, not the pope or the Holy Ghost, could prevent such an auto-da-fe. And the more desperate Hitler and his acolytes become, the more dangerous, deadly, and destructive their rage may be. Can Picasso guess how they might react? He has assumed the risk. He has come back to occupied Paris.

He

is

with us. Picasso

89

is

a great guy.

ig43

Tuesday ig October

When I go upstairs to

ing. Marcel, the chauffeur,

is

disappeared from the pretty Ines; Sabartes

room as if

little

face of his housekeeper,

They are standing in the only heated around the rustic table laden with papers,

silent.

is

in the studio,

keeping

morning, everyone is frownbiting his lip, and the smile has

Picasso's this

vigil

over a dead body. Picasso, usually so

friendly, hardly says hello. His face his I

brow and looking around making conjectures.

is

tense, he

What

accusingly.

knitting

is is

going on?

start

PICASSO

(barely controlling his anger)

disappeared!

left it right

I

lute-ly sure of

not where

it

it.

And now

belongs,

it's

not where

it's

it

it

everywhere.

demand

Everyone

who

is

it

I

flashlight has

am

ab-so-

belongs!

It is

an object should disappear that way in

lute-ly

tes,

My little

this chair.

because somebody took

spent the night looking for that

on

here,

my

it

And

if it's

from me!

I

un-ac-cept-able house!

I

ab-so-

be found!

silent.

No one

dares utter a word.

Only Sabar-

adjusted to his friend's moodiness ages ago,

is

taking

and philosophically. He turns to me and, with his imperturbable phlegm, tells me under his breath: "He's surely the one who mislaid it. He must have set it down his outburst coolly

somewhere, then forgotten He's the one.

I

know him

Now he's

it.

accusing everyone.

"

well.

Christian Zervos, editor of

Cahiers d'Art, arrives.

For some

time, he has been taken with Picasso's magnificent drawings

and would

like to

publish an album of them. Picasso opens the

heavy cordovan leather portfolio, reinforced with iron fittings

90

and studs like the portal of a cathedral, and ings one by one.

takes out his

draw-

PICASSO By chance, I managed to get hold of a stock of splendid Japan paper. It cost me an arm and a leg! But without it, I'd never have done these drawings. The paper seduced me. It's so thick that, even when you scrape it, you barely graze the surface of the deeper layers.

Indeed,

it

was the voluptuousness of the paper that ex-

from mind. The appeal of the material has always played an im-

tracted these undulating, supple, ardent female bodies his

portant role in his

When says:

"Do you want

good

idea.

at all

the drawings with Zervos, Picasso

to publish these

drawings? That's

But you would have to publish the whole

out omission. life-size.

art.

he has looked

And

I

advise

That might make

you a

to

reproduce them

a very

series withas

they are,

magnificent album, don't you

think?" Zervos wants to take the series with him. Picasso

He

still

wishes

some trouble letting his works go. In any case, they count and recount the drawings. According to Zervos, there are one hundred and twenty; according to Picasso, one hundred and twenty-one. His count is correct. to

hang onto

it.

has

91

Wednesday

The

table,

20

ig43

October

only yesterday covered with dust,

clean. Catalogs, brochures, books,

dusted and even arranged by

fully

casso appears, delighted with

PICASSO hate

it

I

searched again

when people

pilfer

clean breast of things,

Maybe my tunity,

I

my

my

and

letters

size into

completely have been care-

regular piles. Pi-

surprise.

all

my

night for

things. Since

also attacked this

I

is

I

flashlight.

wanted

to

I

make

a

whole heap of books.

flashlight got misplaced in all that.

Given that oppor-

arranged and cleaned everything.

What about

BRASSAI

PICASSO

I

found

the flashlight?

it. It

was upstairs in

my bathroom.

town and goes out. Shortly up with string under her arm. She would like to see Picasso "in person." She has something to show him that will undoubtedly interest him. She can wait for him all morning if necessary. When Picasso returns two hours later, she undoes the package and takes out a little picture: "M. Picasso," she says, "allow me to present you with one of your old paintings. " And he, always rather moved to see again a work long lost Picasso has errands to do in

thereafter, a

from

woman

enters with a package carefully tied

sight, looks tenderly at this little canvas.

PICASSO Hyeres where

Yes, I

it's

a Picasso. It's authentic.

spent the

THE VISITOR

May

summer I

ask

you

92

I

painted

it

in

in 1922. to sign

it,

then? Owning

a

real Picasso

People

without his signature

who

see

PICASSO

it

in our

home may assume

People are always asking

vases. It's ridiculous! In

my

very distressing, after

is

I

a fake.

to sign

one way or another,

But there were times when

pictures.

me

it's

I

put

all!

my

always

my

old can-

marked on

signature

my works from the cubist period, un my name and the date on the back side of

the back of the canvas. All til

about I9I4' bave

know someone spread

the story that in Ceret,

the stretcher.

I

Braque and

decided not to sign our pictures anymore. But

I

that's just a legend!

We

didn't want to sign the painting

itself,

would have interfered with the composition. And even later, for that reason or for another, I sometimes marked my canvases on the back. If you don't see my signature and the that

date,

madam,

it's

because the frame

is

hiding

THE VISITOR But since the picture is couldn't you do me the favor of signing it? PICASSO

No, ma'am!

If

I

mitting forgery. I'd be putting

painted in 1^22- No, Resigned, the

I

were to sign

my 1943

cannot sign

woman wraps up

tinue to talk about the signature.

I

it,

it.

by you, M. Picasso,

it

now,

I'd

be com-

on a canvas madam, I'm sorry. signature

her Picasso, and we conask

him

if

he purposely

chose his mother's name, "Picasso."

PICASSO My friends back in Barcelona called me by that name. It was stranger, more resonant, than "Ruiz." And those are probably the reasons I adopted it. Do you know what appealed to me about that name? Well, it was undoubtedly the double 5, which is fairly unusual in Spain. "Picasso" is of Italian origin, as you know. And the name a person bears or adopts has its importance. Can you imagine me calling myself

"Ruiz"? "Pablo Ruiz"? "Diego-Jose Ruiz"?

Nepomucene Ruiz"?

I

was given

I

don't

Or

names. Have you noticed, by the way, the double

names of

Matisse, Poussin,

"Juan-

know how many 5

in the

and Le Douanier Rousseau?

93

And Picasso asks me if it was the double adopt my pen name, "Brassai." "It's from the name of my native city in tell

him, "which contains the double

5,

5

that led

all

to

Transylvania,"

I

but the sonority of the

double consonant probably played some role in

Among

me

my

choice."

the letters of the alphabet, the capital S

is

the

most graceful. "And what other movement determines the S line? Its aesthetic efficacity has long been noted by artists; the great English painter

Hogarth, in his

Analysis of Beauty,

the most perfect line, calling

it

even extols

it

as

the 'Line of Beauty.' In the

engravings that illustrate his book, which he himself did, he

shows multiple examples of

man

body, in those of

its

success, in the

forms of the hu-

a flower, in the felicitous fall

of

a

drape,

or in the outline of a piece of furniture" (Rene Huygue, La puissance de I'image).

Another

visitor arrives: the poet

Georges Hugnet.

He

has

one of Picasso's old gouaches and intends to one of your finest gouaches: a popular fete with

just discovered

buy

it.

"It's

men and women

dancers.

It's

being offered to

me

for

150,000

francs."

remember it well. I painted it in Juan-les-Pins. It was a fete on the lies de Lerins, on Sainte-Marguerite. Old people were there. They were dancing almost naked. Is that the one? Yes, you may buy it. You'll PICASSO

be getting

a

That's not so expensive!

good

I

deal.

Georges Hugnet leaves to acquire the gouache.

show Picasso my twenty "arrondissements" a series of nudes done ten years earlier, nudes made completely of round forms, curvaI

:

tures, arrondissements. Picasso sets

BRASSAI ment,

What

excited

fruit aspect of the

me

them out on

was the vase, musical instru-

female body. That characteristic was

captured in the art of the Cyclades: the into a sort of violin.

And

the floor.

I

woman

was surprised to see

was transposed

how much

the

from the "maritime coconut palm," resembles female posterior and lower abdomen.

largest fruit,

94

the

That enormous coconut you're talking about is the strangest fruit I've ever seen. Have you seen the one I own? Someone gave it to me one day as a gift. I'll go get it for you.

PICASSO

And natural

enormous nut. Mine is in its with granulated skin and hair. His has been pol-

Picasso brings back the state,

ished and shows off the grain of an exotic wood.

PICASSO

That was

male body that way. The

a

good idea of yours

to

chop up the

fe-

details are always exciting.

Then he looks at a few nudes, metamorphosed into landscapes. The outline that circles the body and simultaneously traces a relief of hills and valleys interests him intensely. You go directly from the sinuous lines of the female body to an un-

some photos the

dulating landscape. Picasso notices that in

tex-

ture of "goose flesh" suggests the skin of an orange, the net-

work formed by of stone.

One

sea waves seen

from

afar,

or the granulations

of the attractions of the photo

such associations, such visual metaphors.

is

that

And we

it

talk

fosters

about

stones: sandstone, granite, marble.

PICASSO making marble

It

seems strange to

statues.

I

me that someone thought of

understand how you could see some-

thing in the root of a tree, a crack in the wall, in an eroded stone or pebble. But marble?

It

comes off in blocks and doesn't evoke

How could Michelangelo have seen his David in a block of marble? Man began to make images any image.

It

does not inspire.

only because he discovered them nearly formed around him, al-

He saw them in a bone, in the bumps of a of wood. One form suggested a woman to him,

ready within reach. cave, in a piece

another

We

a buffalo, still

another the head of a monster.

have returned to prehistoric times.

BRASSAI A few years ago, was in the valley of Les Eyzies Dordogne. I wanted to see cave art at the source. One thing surprised me: every generation, totally unaware of the ones that preceded it, nevertheless organized the cave in the same I

in

way, at a distance of thousands of years.

"kitchen" in the same place.

95

You

always find the

PICASSO change.

He

Nothing extraordinary about

keeps his habits. Instinctively,

all

that!

Man

doesn't

those people

found the same corner for their kitchen. To build a city, don't men choose the same sites? Under cities you always find other cities; other churches under churches, and other houses under houses. Races and religions may have changed, but the marketplace, the living quarters, pilgrimage sites, places of worship,

have remained the same. Venus the same

is

replaced by the Virgin, but

goes on.

life

BRASSAI

In the lower strata of the valley of Les Eyzies, ex-

cavation archaeologists had the brilliant idea of preserving a

cross-section four to five meters high, with layers built

millennia.

It's like a

left their visiting cards:

single glance,

up over

mille-feuille. In every layer, the "tenants

fragments of bone, teeth,

"

In a

flints.

you can take in thousands of years of history.

It's

very moving.

PICASSO And you know what's responsible? It's dust! The earth doesn't have a housekeeper to do the dusting. And the dust that falls on it every day remains there. Everything that's come down to us from the past has been conserved by dust. Right here, look at these piles, in a few weeks a thick layer

On rue La Boetie, in some of my rooms remember? — my things were already beginning to dis-

of dust has formed.

do you

appear, buried in dust.

everyone to clean

You know what?

my studios, my things,

they would disturb

where

it

but especially because

likes. It's like a layer

dust missing here or there,

my

things.

because

I

wear gray

I

always forbade

dust them, not only for fear

counted on the protection of dust. settle

I

it's

It's

my

I

always let

ally. I

of protection.

When

constantly with dust, in dust, that

suits,

the only color

it

there's

because someone has touched

see immediately someone has been there.

live

always

on which

it

leaves

I

And

it's

prefer to

no

trace.

BRASSAI It takes a thousand years of dust to make a onemeter layer. The Roman Empire is buried two or three meters underground. In Rome, Paris, and Aries, the empire is in our cellars. Prehistoric layers are even thicker. We know something 96

man — you're

about primitive

right

— only because

of the "pro-

tection" of dust.

PICASSO In reality, we know very little. What is conserved ground? Stone, bronze, ivory, bone, sometimes pottery. Never wood objects, no fabric or skins. That completely skews our notions about primitive man. I don't think I'm wrong when I say that the most beautiful objects of the "stone age were made of skin, fabric, and especially wood. The "stone age" ought to be called the "wood age." How many African statues are made of stone, bone, or ivory? Maybe one in a thousand! And prehistoric man had no more ivory at his disposal than African tribes. Maybe even less. He must have had thousands of wooden fetishes, all gone now. in the

"

BRASSAI best?

do you know what the earth preserves

Picasso,

Greco-Roman

Saint-Remy, where

coins. I've followed the excavations in

a

Greek

village

is

being uncovered. With

every shovelful of dirt a coin appears.

PICASSO found!

It's

It's as if all

how many Roman coins are being Romans had holes in their pockets. They

insane

sowed coins wherever they went. Even in the

grow money

.

.

BRASSAI

fields.

Maybe

to

.

With

they're breaking a

excavations,

mold

I

always have the impression

to take out a sculpture. In

Pompeii,

it

was Vesuvius that did the casting. Houses, men, animals were instantly caught in that boiling gangue.

There

is

something

deeply moving about those convulsed bodies, captured

moment

of death.

I

at

the

saw them in their glass cages in Pompeii

and Naples.

PICASSO monstrous cataclysm.

Dali was really obsessed with the idea of such

end

castings, of that instantaneous

He

era, with the

talked to

me

about

a casting

opera building, the Cafe de

to all life by a

of the place de I'Op-

la

chicks, the cars, the passersby, the cops, the

Paix, the high-class

newspaper

the girls selling flowers, the streetlights, the clock the time. Imagine

it

still

in plaster or bronze, life-size.

97

kiosks,

marking

What

a

nightmare!

If

I

could do

that, I'd

choose Saint-Germain-d

Pres, with the Cafe de Flore, the Brasserie Lipp, the

Deux-

Magots, Jean-Paul Sartre, the waiters Jean and Pascal, M. cat, and the blonde cashier. What monstrous casting that would make.

Boubal, the

98

a

marvelous,

Monday 25 October ig43

show me the display case, or, as Sabartes calls it, the "museum." It is a large metal and glass cabinet, locked, placed in a little room adjoining the studio. To open it, he takes out his voluminous set of keys. About fifty statuettes are Picasso wants to

piled

up

in

it,

along with

wood he

has sculpted, stones he has

engraved, and other curious or rare objects, such as an agglomeration of twisted, misshapen drinking glasses, crumpled one I stare at wide-eyed! Could this be one of Picasso's "experiments"? Seeing that this strange object has piqued my curiosity, with infinite care he takes it out for me.

on top of another, which

PICASSO

I

see these glasses intrigue you. Magnificent,

They come remember the terrible

don't you think? Well, they're bordeaux glasses!

from Martinique. You're too young

to

cataclysm that destroyed the city of Saint- Pierre: the eruption

of

Mount

Pelee, in 1902,

cano obliterated lives, it also

it.

I

think. In a single night, the vol-

But although

it

me

beauty.

its

And

to

1

was intrigued and bowled

make me happy, someone gave it to melted down by the heat of the as a work of art, don't you think?

as a gift. All these glasses

earth, they're as beautiful

Then its

many human

created something: strange objects such as this

one, found in the ruins. Like you, over by

destroyed

time.

I

catch sight of the Glass of Absinthe, such a bold

It is

sculpture!

the

It is

first

work

time an object so simple has become

also bold in

its

in

a

approach: to give the illusion of

transparency, Picasso has cut away the "glass

99

"

in spots.

PICASSO

I

modeled it in wax. There colored each one differently. I

Also in this display case

is

a

this very first

form, whose swell

the other

is

it.

mold of the Venus of Les-

pugue. There are actually two copies of

damaged model,

are six bronzes of

it:

one conforms

to the

whole, restored. Picasso adores

goddess of fecundity, the quintessence of female flesh, as if called forth

and grow from around

by male desire, seems to

a kernel.

Then

there

is

the white

skeleton of a bat, attached to a black support, in the attitude of crucifixion.

PICASSO

I

love bats!

Women

are scared of them.

They

think bats can get caught in their hair, don't they? But bats are the most beautiful of animals, extraordinarily delicate. Have

you observed their brilliant little eyes, gleaming with intelligence, and their skin, silky as velvet? And look at all these delicate little bones.

BRASSAI I knew you liked skeletons! I've studied them; had fun taking them apart and assembling them. To understand the genius of creation, there's no better way than to put a

I've

skeleton back together.

PICASSO

I

have a real passion for bones.

I

have

many oth-

and sheep's heads. I even have a rhinoceros skull. Maybe you saw them in the barn? Have you noticed that bones are always modeled and not carved, that you always have the impression they come from a mold, that they were first modeled in clay? Any bone you look at, you always find fingerprints on it. Sometimes from enormous fingers, sometimes from Lilliputian ones, like those that must have modeled the minuscule, delicate ossicles of this bat. The fingerprints of the god who amused himself fashioning them — I can see them on any bone whatsoever. And have you noticed how, with their convex and concave forms, bones fit ers in Boisgeloup: skeletons of birds, dog's

into each another?

BRASSAI higher animals

The is

And how artfully vertebra

is

the vertebrae are "fitted"?

a great find!

The world

of the

based entirely on that overarching idea, not

100

What

to say "invention."

and amazes me

astonishes

with which nature always worked things out so that ate the

whole body from that single

'idea,

"

the art

is it

could cre-

deforming, meta-

morphosing these vertebrae according to need. The whole is composed of vertebrae that fit into one another like

a

but vertebrae that are so transfigured that

it

skull

construction

took

set,

and identify them.

a poet's eye to recognize

PICASSO

What poet was

BRASSAI

Goethe.

And

cranial vertebrae.

it

was the

first to

find and describe

was the skull of a sheep he picked up

put him on

in a cemetery that

The question

He

that?

the

trail.

interests Picasso passionately.

sketch of a vertebrate: a long

Then

column with two hollow

I

make

a

cylin-

one for the spinal cord and brain; the other for all the organs to be protected. Three sets of members are attached to ders,

this

column

so that

PICASSO come up with BRASSAI bers,

it's

I

it

can transport

.

can see the arms and

the third It's

.

.

legs,

but where do you

member?

the mandible, the lower jaw. Like the

not part of the column,

it's

attached to

it. It's

mem-

articu-

arms and legs, but arms and legs each end and knit together, the arm and hand joined. In fact, in birds, the lower jaw bends at its "elbow." The mandible of snakes also bends, with the addi-

lated at

its

that have

joints, just like

been ankylosed

at

tional peculiarity that the two ends are not knit together, but

simply linked by

a

snakes can swallow animals whole, even

We

talk at length

tonished that

is why enormous ones.

very elastic tissue. That, in fact,

about bones and the skeleton. Picasso

mammals

is

as-

consistently have seven cervical ver-

tebrae.

BRASSAI

It's as if

nature purposely tied

its

force itself to get along with seven vertebrae, not if

the

to

one more. As

somehow dependent on impediments. To giraffe's neck, it had to elongate them to an extraordi-

invention was

make

own hands

101

nary degree

— hence

the

stiff,

inflexible

no neck,

for the dolphin, which has practically to thin, barely visible laminae.

may make

a

man's hand,

From

neck — or, conversely, to reduce

hoof, a dog's paw, or those

a horse's

long umbrella ribs that form the armature of the

You

bat's wings.

are often criticized for your daring, Picasso, your

tions, but

them

the five fingers, nature

people should see what nature dares do in

deforma-

this re-

To better understand your art, they museums but to the museum of natural

spect with a single "motif"!

should go not to

art

history! I

am

left

alone with the

out of the "museum.

"

bronzes Picasso has taken

six little

Since

I

do not find

bare wall in the cluttered studio to serve solve to set cel for

up

board.

a

And I need

some. But the strange thing

a

a single section

as a

backdrop,

few thumbtacks.

is

I

I

of

re-

ask

that, in this crucible

Marof

where canvases come and go by the dozens, paintbrushes and tubes of paint by the hundreds, the thousands, there is art

not

a single available

thumbtack. Marcel goes to

trouble to dig some up and pulls out a few for

notched penknife. immediately

fall

When

on

Picasso joins

me

a great deal

me

of

with his

a little later, his eyes

these six sorry thumbtacks.

PICASSO

But those are my thumbtacks.

BRASSAI

Yes, they' re j;our thumbtacks.

PICASSO

Okay, I'm taking them back.

BRASSAI

Don't take them!

I

need some for my backdrop.

PICASSO Good, keep them. I'll leave them here. But you have to give them back to me. They're my thumbtacks.

102

Thursday 11 November

1^43

met Henri Michaux in Montparnasse. Even though he was in a hurry, he accompanied me part of the way along

Yesterday,

boulevard Raspail.

MICHAUX

understand why Picasso was struck by your

I

photograph of the sculpture.

Your

can't look at

We

it

Death's Head. It gives a

vision reflected back

new dimension

on

the object

to his

You

itself.

in the same way as before.

parted ways in front of Rodin's

Balzac,

but arranged to

meet the next morning at ten at the Cafe Danton. Michaux is there, waiting for me inside. We drink

a rotten

cup of "coffee," barley juice sweetened with saccharine. Last time, he was not able to see Picasso's sculptures. But this ing, tell

I

feel lousy.

him

that?

1

He

have no desire to go see Picasso.

be disappointed. But

will

I

How

morncan

I

learn he slept

and he too was dreading the visit. "What if we put it off until tomorrow? He wanted to suggest the same thing, but did not dare. Now we are both relieved. In any case, we would not have been able to see Picasso this morning. I forgot it is Thursday, and on Thursday Picasso is never home. Intrigued, Michaux asks me why.

very badly

last

night,

"

no

BRASSAI Thursday is sacred for him. No appointments, from friends on Thursday. If you happen to suggest

visits

that day to him, he answers: "Impossible,

must have something

to

Thursday. Picasso had

a

do with

a child.

it's

Thursday."

It

There's no school on

daughter with Marie-Thcrese Walter

103

Maria, or Maya. She must be ten or eleven now.

I

assume he

spends his Thursdays with his daughter and Marie-Therese.

We chaux up,

drink

is

a

second saccharine-sweetened barley juice. Mi-

somber.

I tell

him

He

looks like a hunted animal.

stories. It

is

To cheer him

eleven o'clock.

MICHAUX For the last few days, I've been in a bad way. And I keep losing everything. First my address book, then my permit. It's a stampede. I also lost my pen, and yesterday, my ration book. When I start losing things, I get scared. It's always the beginning of a dark period.

BRASSAI

You're too distracted, too absent-minded.

MICHAUX vantage.

away

Yes, and it's too bad. The objects are taking adThey have only one thing on their minds: get the hell

as quickly as possible.

We

arrange to meet the next day, same place, same time,

and Michaux

leaves.

Through

the

window

I

see his tall sil-

houette growing smaller and vanishing on boulevard Saint-

Germain. He has hardly me. It is his, all right. company with him.

to

left

when

Slyly

I

see a pale blue scarf next

hiding on the

104

seat, it

has parted

Friday 12

November ig43

Henri Michaux

is

waiting for

On

Marie-Louise.

me

at

the cafe with his wife,

rue des Grands -Augustins, we pass in front

of Le Catalan, Picasso's usual restaurant.

other day, there was

a raid

It is

The

closed.

by food inspectors. Picasso and

a

few other regulars were caught red-handed: they were eating grilled "chateaubriand"

on one of the three meatless

The

down

the week.

restaurant was closed

Picasso himself

had

MICHAUX

So

for a

days of

month and

to pay a fine. he'll starve to death. Isn't this

where Leon-

Paul Fargue had his attack?

BRASSAI with Picasso. up, but his

It

was in April,

He dropped

I

think.

He

was having lunch

something, leaned down to pick

arm wouldn't obey him. He was

We would

MICHAUX BRASSAI

have

felt

it

horrified.

the same way in his place.

Since he was taking forever to get back up,

and asked: 'What's the matter?" That's when he noticed that the expression on his face had changed. It had come all unraveled. "What's happening? Your face has Picasso got worried,

strayed outside the lines!" exclaimed Picasso with that that never leaves

humor

him. Someone called an ambulance. Picasso

informed Cheriane, the poet's wife. She had to take the metro and she said to herself: "If I see Picasso in front of Le Catalan, it means Fargue is dead." And Picasso was waiting for her in front of the restaurant entrance. But Fargue wasn't dead.

He

was lying almost unconscious, flattened by an attack of hemiplegia.

The ambulance took him 105

away. For two days, he

hovered between

life

and death. Then he came

alive again.

I

heard he was doing better.

MICHAUX paralyzed, can't

His morale

second

Better? In a manner of speaking. He's half move one of his arms or open one of his eyes.

very low. He's frightened.

is

And

attack.

about what might happen to

sive

him

in that state.

who

was the one Picasso

Michaux

is

I

didn't really

know what

tried to reassure

not around. But

is

I

me.

ing with a large straw hat

on

little

sand pie mold,

When you

MICHAUX all

is

him.

He

was very, very painful. to

my

friends.

peasant reap-

round and luminous

his head,

Van Gogh, Provence,

you happy

It

to say to

little statue: a

the Midi sun. Even though this hat

to evoke

of a

lives in fear

show the studio

particularly struck by a

battered, twisted

He

been afraid and apprehen me, I was frightened to see

since I've always

as

only the impression of a it

has everything

it

need

the Midi sky.

see such a beautiful thing,

it

makes

day.

After the Michaux have

left, I

photograph

a

few sculptures.

At about eleven o'clock, a young man arrives with a picture un der his arm. And he unwraps a landscape of Provence with a section of wall, a haystack, and a few trees in the background.

come from Aix- en- Provence, he says. "I'd like to show canvas to M. Picasso. It's a Cezanne. I think it might inter

"I've

this est

"

him.

We just

I

don't want to

look

at

sell it,

just to hear his opinion."

the canvas with Sabartes

and Zervos, who has

come in. A Cezanne? Hmmm — we are skeptical. Picasso The news of an unknown Cezanne has brought him

appears.

out of his hiding place.

nounced. He looks ing,

but

it's

He

was not "in town" after

the canvas carefully.

not by Cezanne." The young

found in

his studio.

The

on

date

at

it is

My

"It's a

man

insists: "It

family always considered

from the

all, as

an-

quality paint

it

was

authentic.

era of the Card Players/'

PICASSO (getting angry) You could be right a thousand times over, you could cite me a thousand proofs. It was never painted by Cezanne. I'm an expert. The signature is patently 106

I myself often had my me with forged a own canvases come back to signature? No fake signature would keep me from recognizing a true Cezanne! But that's not the case. He had no gift, no ability for

false.

But that means nothing. Haven't

pastiche. Every time he tried to copy other painters, he

Cezannes.

Even

You can just pack up your

after the

tering: "As if

I

is gone, Picasso is still mutknow Cezanne! He was my one and only

master! Don't you think I've looked

the one

"family Cezanne."

young man

don't

years studying them. Cezanne!

He was

made

who protected

He "

us.

at his

was

paintings?

like the father

I

spent

of us

all.

Monday 1^ November ig43

Surrounded by his paintings.

few friends, Picasso looks

a

He

is

very

at

reproductions of

unhappy with them.

good time. We were just talking about photography. Tell me, where do all these holes come from, some light, some dark, in places that have the same value on the canvases?

PICASSO

I

You've come

at a

come from uneven lighting, from a canvas, or from the matte or shine of the

explain they can

poorly stretched paint.

"We move around

being condemned to

to avoid these 'holes,' but the lens, "

do that. mother arrive. With his

a fixed point, can't always

Young Etienne Didier and

his

angelic face, his determined look, the sparkle in his eyes, he

young Picasso. I have asked them to come so he can personally show Picasso his paintings. Etienne has been drawlooks like a

ing since his earliest days, with a fire child.

He

draws

like a

I

have never seen in any

person obsessed, possessed.

He

is

in-

spired by his readings, Jules Verne, Cooper, May; by adventure films, Zorro, Tarzan, The Iron Crown; by

war and aviation

films.

Indians storming the fort, a maharajah and his retinue hunting a tiger, pirates plundering a ship, a postilion being attacked in the cordilla.

Or

there

is

a

tournament, the charge,

fly, sabers stab, lances and run through chest cavities. Everywhere are severed heads, burned houses, dead horses. That violence is reminis-

the brutal impact of armor. Arrows spears are

cent of Uccello, the old master Etienne admires. Picasso gets an

the drawingfs into

empty frame, places it on an easel, and slips one by one. He looks at them up close and

it

108

sometimes puts on his glasses to better catch a detail. He looks at them as if he had never seen a drawing before. He never takes his eyes off them. Indifferent to every-

from

a distance,

thing

else,

He

he

is

has thrown

completely absorbed in what he

all

the

is

looking

power of his attention behind

may be

racious curiosity, his force of concentration,

it.

at.

His vo-

the key to

his genius.

One

among

of the gouaches depicts a terrible free-for-all

surrounded by clouds highlighted in gold and silver, floats the spirit of an ancestor: he is encouraging the combatants from his own clan. What intrigues knights. But above the battlefield,

Picasso

the presence of a white dove bearing a message in

is

its

beak: "What does this dove represent?" he asks Etienne. But

Etienne's only reply

does

self

is

to

when someone

shrug his shoulders,

asks

him

as Picasso

a similar question.

And

questions the young boy about other images, but to no

boy

since the

way

it

is,"

PICASSO sion!

no idea," "That's the came into my head."

What excess, what profuLook at that white horse! Look

That's phenomenal!

And what

a painter's gift!

use of the white of the paper!

paint for his horse, yet

He

he

avail,

replies, unruffled: "I have

"That's what

how he made

him-

it

He

didn't use white

turned out whiter than the paper!

has been looking for an hour, amazed,

at

these draw-

and gouaches. Then he disappears and comes back with

ings

a

kaleidoscope, which he offers to Etienne. In this vast boat of a place stuffed with a thousand objects, he has

neously to find the

gift

he was looking

managed

instanta-

for.

PICASSO So come back in fifty years! I'd like to know will come of all that in fifty years! In any case, you must

what

treasure these drawings. I

have lunch on rue Servandoni,

parents.

Camoin. tisse, his still

alive

at

the

home

of Etienne's

And with a distinguished guest: the painter Charles I am delighted to meet the man — he resembles Mafriend in

fact,

only jollier

who knew Cezanne

— one

intimately.

of the rare people I

would

like

him

to

speak of the hermit of Aix-en-Provence and, to broach the sub-

109

ject,

his

I

tell

him of the young man who came

to visit Picasso with

"

"Cezanne.

A rather strange

BRASSAI

story. If someone had wanted Cezanne, he wouldn't have put his sig-

to fabricate a counterfeit

nature on a picture painted in a

style so

would have imitated him

May we assume

ture,

found,

it

better.

unlike his own.

that this pic-

seems, in his studio, was painted by a young

painter who, like you, was close to him, and vas in his

He

who did

this

can-

company?

CAM O IN

I

think not. Cezanne couldn't tolerate anyone

around him and didn't allow anyone to share his "motif. Only Renoir and Emile Bernard had that privilege. And for Emile Bernard, that ended tragically, in fact. The "motif was something sacred and secret for him. Of course, he also proposed I join him, but in a letter when I was not close by, and "

probably for that reason.

But how did you discover Cezanne? Were you

BRASSAI

al-

ready familiar with his canvases?

CAMOIN

Was

I

familiar with them!

I

was

a

student

at

the

Ecole des Beaux-Arts, the Gustave Moreau class, and I can tell you we were brighter than students in that school usually are. And, to get to quai Voltaire, every morning I had to take rue Laffitte, where Vollard had his shop. In the window, a few of

Cezanne's canvases,

among

others, were exposed to public

around the gallery, looking at the paintings, sometimes close up, sometimes from the other side of the street, only with difficulty tearing myself away from the joy they gave me. I was twenty- one. mockery.

I

always loitered

And how

BRASSAI

CAMOIN As do my three years Provence.

I

did you

come

chance would have

to

it,

Aix-en-Provence?

the city where

I

had

of military service turned out to be Aix-en-

emo-

arrived there one evening overcome by violent

was in Cezanne's town!

tion. Finally,

I

right away,"

said to myself. Naive as

I

notoriously well

to

known and

I

"I

have to see that

was,

I

man

thought he was

that any resident of Aix could

110

point out his house to me. But no one knew him, though

questioned

me

ten or so passersby. Finally, guess

I

went

straight there. Unluckily, the master was not at

was asked to wait, he'd be back soon.

I

minutes.

five

seemed

It

of inconveniencing

my

I

sat

down

long time. Suddenly,

like a

him with my odd

visit

slim chance of earning his friendship,

dashed

where they gave

At the presbytery!

his address?

home.

I

at

for

the idea

and compromising I

got so scared that

I

off.

I had hardly left when I began to regret my impulsiveness, and scolded myself for my cowardice. I was going crazy. I walked and walked, very agitated, with broad strides, sometimes headed away, sometimes toward that modest house, to which Cezanne's presence had given an incomparable prestige. For

several hours,

I

repeated this

little

game, when suddenly,

overcome with an uncontrollable desire house.

couldn't help myself!

I

knocked

at his

door.

The

artist

dow, furious to be disturbed

when he saw

this

My heart

to go

in

my

I

was

back to his throat,

I

himself put his head out a win-

at night,

impertinent soldier.

then very intrigued It

was eleven o'clock

at

night and he was already asleep. Cursing, muttering to him-

he came downstairs to open the door for me, illuminating

self,

my

face with

an

oil

for the first time. stairs.

went

I

I

lamp.

It

was by that light that our eyes met

stuttered a few words.

He

invited

me up-

followed him. He was wearing a cap, and his coming out of his pants. He had hardly set his table when he exclaimed: "Look how marvelous it in,

night shirt was

lamp on the is!

The

yellow lampshade standing out against the blue back-

ground! light

I

have to paint that! But what can you do,

completely distorts the value of colors. So

I

artificial

never paint

at

"

I even had to give up looking at paintings then. stammered my enthusiasm for his works. Very kindly, he asked me to return, even invited me to have lunch with him the next day. Imagine my joy, my emotion. Encouraged by his

night, I

welcome,

at that

time

me. Cezanne looked you're very

me

1

brought

a

few of

my

small canvases with

them attentively and exclaimed: "Why, good, young man! You're the one who will protect at

"

in Paris.

///

M. Camoin,

BRASSAI

Cezanne's words,

Cezanne

as

didn't you ever think of recording

Emile Bernard did?

He

didn't understand

but what he reported of their conversations was

at all,

very accurate.

CAMOIN Alas, no. And I'm infinitely sorry about that. But my memory is quite good and I have retained certain of his words. One line especially, a riddle for me: "It's a man like you I need. That's what he told me during one of my Sunday visits. He repeated it often after that. What did he mean by that? I've racked my brain, but I've never understood it. I "

now

think

that, living in solitude, mistrusting

most of the time, made fun of him and the need to confide in

is

an intimate conversation,

also

words

him, so

to

felt

that these words, uttered

during

appear in the book by Joachim

— a copious book,

but too romantic and Cezanne undoubtedly repeated those he must have been very preoccupied with

Gasquet, an Aries poet

my

he

his paintings,

someone who could understand him.

But the astonishing thing

rhetorical for

people who,

taste.

them.

BRASSAI But you had after you left Aix.

long correspondence with Ce-

a

zanne

CAMOIN foolish linaire lost:

little left

of

it.

Apollinaire never published them as he intended. also a

I left

more. it

have very

I

No

copy of

for Avignon.

doubt

my very

first letter

sent to

don't

remember

it

I

expressed

I

my

poem

so

much

Cezanne than

that

I

I

ended

a stanza.

to associate

my

enthusiasm for the master I

have not changed

my

maintain that nothing so beautiful has ever been writ-

ten about painting.

And

I

could find no better way to

of Aix with Baudelaire's masterpiece. I

Among

very well any-

by saying that Baudelaire's "Beacons was missing

liked that

mind.

was

Cezanne

gratitude. In any case, "

praise

I

enough to lend a whole set of letters to Guillaume Apolone day. I never saw them again. They're completely

them was after

Unfortunately,

Charles

the cheese course

Camoin and the

recites fruit.

it

for us bit by bit, between

Rubens:

A river of oblivion,

garden of

sloth,

Cushions of cool flesh that lack lover's poetry, But where life flows in ceaseless turn and toss, Like winds in heaven and the sea within the sea;

Leonardo da Vinci:

A mirror that is always somber and profound,

.

.

.

Watteau: Like butterflies in flashing colors, see

The many famous

them amble:

hearts within this carnival

.

.

.

Delacroix:

A lake

of blood, a haunt of angels of

In shadows of the hemlock's evergreen

And

will

ill .

.

.

magnificent final stanza:

this

For sure,

O

Lord,

it is

the finest heritage

That we could ever offer of our

dignity,

This fervent cry that moves apace from age to age

And comes

to die

upon

the shore of your eternity.

CAMOIN Cezanne was, it seems, moved and flattered by my letter. No doubt, aware of his own value, he did not judge the praise misplaced or undeserved.

It

was

as if

he saw

as the

it

echo of his intimate conviction that he was the great painter of the era.

He

replied immediately.

BRASSAI

Just now, you told

dress through the Aix presbytery.

CAMOIN

me you got Cezanne's adWas Cezanne truly religious?

Religion was a very special thing for him. True,

he went regularly to Sunday mass, but he did in his blood,

reasons!

"

and

he told

to ease his conscience. "I

me

it

do

because

it

was

that for hygienic

with a mischievous smile. But he did not

like the clergy, the priestly class.

^^3

He

called priests

buggers.

Wednesday

An

November ig43

I'/

unusual event, no

visitors today.

am

I

reshooting certain

sculptures.

PICASSO them?

What's going on, you're retaking

(surprised)

The

BRASSAI

Yes.

PICASSO

You're

lighting

is

much

better than the other

day.

quite there yet.

from redoing times

it

a

thing

be

gets to

like

me.

You can do

I

too often

better."

I

— umpteen times the

a real obsession.

wise, if not to better express the

tell

myself: "It's not

can rarely keep myself

After

same thing. Somewhy work other-

all,

same thing? You must always

word doesn't have the same meaning for you and for me. For me it means: from one canvas to the next, always go further and further. seek perfection. Obviously, this

The other not able to

brought at

day, with

Etienne and his mother present,

talk to Picasso

a little

age seven.

I

gouache

rescued

Etienne, deciding

it

it

about

this

the child's drawings.

morning:

and glued

it

I

I

was

have

The Three Musketeers,

done

back together because

was no good, had torn

it

up and thrown

it

in the trash.

PICASSO phenomenal. a gift for

It's a

real jewel.

I've rarely

painting

The

child you brought here

is

seen such violence, such mastery, such

at that age.

I

was struck by

it.

You

see

how

images pursue, obsess him. But however astonishing his drawings

may

be, he's not in full possession of his gift.

114

There are

no

child prodigies in painting, as there are in music.

might be taken for precocious genius

is

the genius of childhood.

disappears without a trace with maturity. this child will

But he

will

one day be

have to start

never had that genius.

a real painter,

all

What

It

may

even

a great painter.

over from scratch. As for me,

My very

first

It

well be that

I

drawings could never have

appeared in an exhibition of children's drawings. The child's awkwardness and naivete were almost completely absent from

them. vision. ings.

me.

I

very quickly

When

The

My

I

moved beyond

was that kid's age,

I

the stage of that marvelous

was doing academic draw-

attention to detail, the precision in

father was a drawing teacher,

who pushed me prematurely

and

it

them frighten

was probably he

in that direction.

Thursday l8 November

ig43

worked late into the night yesterday, so I arrive at Picasso's only around noon. Usually that does not matter. He never leaves his studio before one o'clock. But since he is gone — it is Thursday — Sabartes has closed the shop at twelve on the dot. Accompanied by Marcel and a stranger, he is already coming I

down the stairs when I arrive. Who is this stranger? I have seen him several times already at Picasso's. Dressed in a blue suit, a sometimes waits for hours in the vestibule. Sabartes and Marcel leave us. With the stranger, I rosette in his buttonhole, he

head toward the metro. drawings interest his sculptures.

my

me

He

tells

me: "Picasso's paintings and

passionately. But

I

am much

What do you think of them?"

opinion, Picasso's sculptural works are in

keen on him that, in some sense the less

I tell

foundation of his painting, and often the place where

his ideas

and grow. His sculptures are important. All his paintseem to be steeped in them. As for his plastic innovations, they will no doubt influence the future history of sculpture. Just as we are being swallowed up by the metro entrance, take root

ings

the

man

in the blue suit confides: "I'm a paint manufacturer.

I'm the one who provides Braque, Matisse, and many other painters with their colors. Picasso as well. I've been doing

it

for

and am putting together a collection. In fact, I have my heart set on a certain still life by Picasso. I'm in love with it. I've been coveting it for a long time." Then, the man in the blue suit pulls a large sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolds it, and hands it to me. It is filled with twenty years.

I

love painting

more careful than usual. poem. Surrounded by large white

Picasso's handwriting, less spasmodic,

At

first

glance,

it

looks like a

116

margins, about twenty lines are arranged into line ends with a dash, a

poem,

it is

sometimes

a very

a

column. Each

long one. But

it is

not

Picasso's last paint order:

White, permanent silver

Blue, cerulean cobalt

Prussian Yellow,

cadmium lemon

(light)

strontium

Madder

bitumen

lake,

blue and brown blue violet Black, ivory

Ochre, yellow and red

and dark Raw umber, natural and burnt

Ultramarine blue,

light

Red, Persian Terra rosa, natural and burnt

Green, cadmium,

light

and dark

Green, emerald

Japan colors, light and dark Veronese green Violet, cobalt, light and dark

Rimbaud's "Vowels." For once, all the anonypalette emerge from the shadows, with "White, permanent" in the lead. Each one has distinIt

sounds

like

mous heroes of Picasso's

guished

itself in a battle

ism, Guernica casso, as

— and each

— the blue period, could

say: "1

the rose period, cub-

was one of them."

And

Pi-

he passes each old comrade in arms in review, adds to

each one, with

a

dazzling stroke of the pen, a long dash, like a

fraternal salute: "Hail, silver white! Hail, Persian red! Hail,

emerald green! Cerulean blue, cobalt hail!"

117

violet, ivory black, hail,

Wednesday

24 November 1^43

The ringing telephone wakes me up. Henri Michaux. He

asks if

I

It's

the sepulchral voice of

can have dinner with him

this eve-

Happy to have been awakened, I go to Picasso's, where him with Baron Mollet and a few others, including the

ning.

find

I

paint manufacturer.

PICASSO

So, Brassai, did

soon, you know.

BRASSAI equipment to

PICASSO faithful to

you

sleep well? We're leaving

too late to work.

didn't intend to.

I .

It's

I

simply want to take

my

.

.

...

to take

photos elsewhere. You're being un-

me. probably come back Friday.

BRASSAI

I'll

PICASSO

What, you're not working tomorrow either?

SABARTES Catherine.

I

know why: tomorrow

He must

is

the Feast of Saint

certainly have a Catherinette to leave

on

the

shelf.

BRASSAI lish the

book.

PICASSO

In any case, the publisher has no paper to pub-

Why

should

See here.

I

We

hurry? have

all

the time

.

.

.

No one

is

rushing you.

BRASSAI

The only thing I dread

PICASSO

It's

is

the cold in your studio.

not very cold today and you're not working.

But the day you decide

to work,

it

118

will certainly

be cold

as hell.

He

Picasso looks at the time.

has taken his watch

where people usually display an equally useless

useless pocket

pocket handkerchief.

He

worn

has always

his watch that way,

attached by a small chain to the lapel button

Only

few old retirees

a

Plantes

still

wear

it

who

body

He would

else for

not put

his jacket.

But he clings to his deep-rooted,

as

a

on

play checkers at the Jardin des

that way.

outdated habits, which are dandy.

from the

surprising as the effronteries of a

watch around his wrist

like every-

anything in the world.

BARON MOLLET

Pablo,

why don't you

carry your watch

in your vest pocket?

PICASSO

Because. Should

I tell

you? All my pockets have

holes in them.

And, one

after another, Picasso turns the pockets of his

jacket, his vest,

and

his pants inside out. All are full of holes,

ripped, falling to pieces.

You

PICASSO

see?

No more

pockets and nothing in

my

pockets.

"Nothing up

my

sang in his Ode

sleeves,

to Picasso,

nothing in

my

pockets," as Gocteau

two years after they

first

met.

No

doubt

the enchanter's tribute to the prestidigitator. But his pockets are

empty now only because they were always too

full,

stuffed

with keys, penknives, matches, cigarettes, lighter, string, bits

of cardboard, and, depending on where he happened to have been, of things

as

vulgar and rare, as

commonplace and amaz-

wood or cork, root, or fragment of glass eroded by the sea can be for someone who already sees in them the latent image of a dove, a bull, an owl, or

ing, as a pebble, shell, piece of

a sheep's head.

PICASSO to

my

secure

The only way not to And when there

buttonhole. all

my

He opens

things to

my

my watch is to attach it my pockets, I

belt.

and vest. Solidly secured to his belt by a voluminous set of keys, penknives, scissors, a

his jacket

small chain are a

lose

are holes in

1^9

whole

set

of burglary tools. Gould he

where he used

side vest pocket,

have his hidden in-

still

to secret away his purse with his

entire fortune inside, held shut with big safety pins?

astonishing that this man,

who cannot

live

Is it

not

without a female

presence, also cannot find two female hands dedicated enough to

mend

his pockets?

BRASSAI

One

day

I

too have had trouble with holes in

I

was shopping,

I

was living on rue Servandoni

when

pants pockets.

that day there was a big

I

wedding

my

pockets.

put two eggs in one of at

my and

the time,

the Saint-Sulpice Church.

at

With the gawkers, I watched the newlyweds come out. Suddenly, I felt something viscous running down my thigh. It was awful. And then waiting for the yolk and white to drip all the way down to your feet!

PICASSO You should tell that story to Dali. He's had the monopoly on eggs ever since Christopher Columbus. Omelets, fried eggs, scrambled eggs, eggs, Dali has

put them

BRASSAI

all

hard-boiled eggs, poached

tortillas,

in every kind of sauce.

At the opening of one of his exhibits in

New

York, the person in charge extended his hand to the painter. Dali was holding a fresh egg in his hand. avoidable.

And

PICASSO States.

And

it

lic.

all

who They

Dali,

excels at

un-

them, has found his promised

say that the host of a very elegant recep-

all

the well-dressed, sweet-smelling

started to reek of garlic.

They looked

that was disrupting the party.

that were stinking things up.

We

collision was

the doorknobs in his apartment rubbed with gar-

Pretty soon,

odor

The

for the most viscous handshake.

People love that sort of joke in the United

land over there. tion had

made

women

for the source of the

And

They were

it

was their

own hands

appalled.

get ready to leave.

BARON MOLLET

Pablo, you have a very lovely sheepskin

jacket. It's lined with lamb's wool.

PICASSO guess

I

bought

it

a

few days ago

how much? Three hundred 120

francs!

at a flea

market.

And

Monday 29 November ig43

Had dinner yesterday Marie -Louise.

We

the

at

home

of Henri Michaux and

spoke of the event of the day: The

many ups and downs, months of discussion

After

Satin Slipper.

with the

poet — whether to cut the overlong play, whether to perform in a single evening or over two

put

it

on

last

— the

Comedie-Fran^aise

it

finally

Friday. Staging that strange play by Claudel in the

midst of the Occupation, what

a difficult

undertaking! Even

managed

hard. But Jean-Louis Barrault

reading

it is

off, less

with the production, however, than with the sultry, pas-

to pull

it

sionate voice of Marie Bell.

MICHAUX like theater

rarely go.

gation,

it

me

puts

a very beautiful thing.

is

of any sort, however;

can even say

I

I

— in the

run from in

despise

audience and onstage — with

real life. It

be out in society.

I

don't it. I

is

made

tiring.

for

a

crowd

women who

didn't want to deny Marie-Louise

the opportunity to attend this evening, but

long and very less

I

I

And when I have to attend a performance out of obliputs me in a bad mood and I slip away. The theater

in contact

of people like to

The Satin Slipper

Claudel

is

it

a great poet,

was

much

however.

I

too

have

sympathy for the man, who's too concerned about his own

fortune.

BRASSAi

MICHAUX nier's,

He's

I

Do you know him? Barely.

During

a

reading

at

Adrienne Mon-

was introduced to him and we exchanged

a real

a

few words.

character and he has courage. Don't you need cour-

age to say what you think

at

present?

121

He

is

criticized

— and

rightly so

— because he wrote

he also send

Who

a letter to the

else has

an ode to the Marshal. But didn't

Chief Rabbi defending the Jews?

No one I know

dared do that?

Today, such

a

that, exasperated,

tographing the

PICASSO

crowd has taken over

Picasso's

apartment

he takes refuge in his studio, where

last

I

of.

mean

don't want to be

can't they leave

SABARTES

am pho-

large statues. to people,

but

me to sacrifice all my time to me in peace? That's all I ask.

same, they can't force

Why

I

all

the

visitors.

and solemn as at a funeral. They're waiting. They've been waiting for you for an hour and a half. We have to do something. They're out there,

as sad

PICASSO But why did you let them in? Why didn't you tell them 1 was gone? They could have written me, left me a note. No, they're all the same, all of them, they want to see me "in person."

The

secret

meeting

lasts

quite awhile. Picasso

ing for ways to escape. "Tell them

this, tell

them

is still

look-

that."

SABARTES (imperturbable, unshakable, inexorable) It's too late now. You can't send those people packing now. You've made them wait too long. And they know you're here.

And

manager struggling with a recalcitrant actor go onstage and face the public, he pushes Picasso

like a stage

reluctant to

now asks only for a grace pecomb through his hair and take a

toward the door. Resigned, he riod, just so he can

run

a

deep breath. "Okay, I'm going,

"

he

says,

and disappears into

the vestibule.

At about one

o'clock, the

house empties out.

alone. Kazbek, a strange dog, always silent stretches out his skinny body,

We

are left

and apparently

reduced almost

to a carcass,

sad,

and

his delicate, endless paws in a sculptural attitude.

PICASSO

Have you noticed he can strike poses so extraordinary that it makes you think of anything but a dog? Look at him from this angle. Doesn't he look more like a large skate 122

dog? Dora thinks he looks like a jumbo shrimp. Man Ray took a few photos of him. Perhaps one day you will too. than

a

BRASSAI

Do you know

Suzy Solidor's Afghan

cause the dog looked like her,

unlike Kazbek,

it is

someone offered

it

hound? Be-

to her. But,

covered with very long hair.

mountain dog, whereas mine comes from the plain, even though his name is taken from a mountain. He's naked. Only his ears are covered with fur.

PICASSO

BRASSAI

It's a

Very rare in France.

PICASSO So rare that, when I take him for a walk, everyone looks at him and asks what breed he is. One day in Royan, at the start of the Occupation, a German officer accosted me. I wondered what he wanted from me. But he simply wanted to know what breed Kazbek was. I could breathe again. Marcel,

who

often walks the dog, complains that people besiege

him with questions. So I told him: "Marcel, once and for all, when someone asks you what breed my dog is, tell him it's a Charente basset hound. That will give them such a shock that they won't ask any more questions. "

123

30 November ig43

Tuesday

Right now, Picasso

signing a drawing he

is

friend, the painter Ortiz de Zarate.

offering to his old

is

A drawing by Renoir has

appeared on the easel of the vestibule. Someone has offered to

him

for a million

he ought to buy

it.

Matisse exhibition that the

still life

beautiful of

admit

it.

name

I

He

all

and

The at

a half.

He

know yet whether

does not

big topic of conversation

the Salon d'Automne.

it

is

the

Someone

with oranges belonging to Picasso

is

Henri

declares

the most

the canvases displayed. But he does not want to

has hardly

left

the group

when

a

person whose

do not know remarks: "Picasso probably has

for not putting

down

the other Matisses. Several of

his reasons

them

also

belong to him."

Man with Sheep. The "good shepherd" looks at me with his madman's eyes. He is heavy. Moving him is out of the question. I can only turn him on his axis. And how to find a suitable backdrop? How to light him? In the middle of the room, he is completely in shadow. Today,

I

attack a large piece:

Picasso enters the studio, in a lively discussion with a

of great presence us.

I

— elegant,

catch only his

first

stupendously bald.

He

man

introduces

name, which Picasso repeats inces-

santly, in fact: Boris, Boris. Boris pays great attention to

my

Man with Sheep. He assails me with his advice. "Do this." "Don't do that. "It would be better to light it that way. His persistence irritates me. It also irritates Picasso, who intervenes: "You're wasting your time, Boris. Brassai knows what lighting of

'

"

he's doing.

him I

any.

am

And your

experience with stage lights doesn't help

"

left

alone to face the shepherd,

124

who

gives

me much

more trouble than the other statues. from the front, several profile shots,

make

I

several shots in three-

quarters profile. Each time, to turn him,

by the waist, because the ewe, which very fragile.

want

to

I

a

I

take

him

delicately

struggling in his arms,

is

have almost finished. But, before leaving him,

turn him one

teresting angle.

him

several photos

I

last

time; perhaps he offers another in-

hold of him again and, gently,

take

is I

I

rotate

I hear one of the hoof precisely, which was boldly ex-

quarter turn when, with a dry crack,

lamb's hooves

—

the free

tended — fall and break into several pieces on the pedestal.

had long feared such an accident. I knew it would happen one day. For the three months that I have been picking up, turning, pulling forward, pushing back all of Picasso's sculptures, that I have been setting them on improvised, unstable pedestals, that I have been executing these risky maneuvers, most of the time without help, it is a miracle I have not broken one of them before. Once the first emotion has passed, I resolve to tell Picasso. I know he considers — and rightly so Man with Sheep one of his masterpieces. How will he react? He will certainly throw one of his violent tantrums, which I personally have never had to witness. Or would it be preferable, to cushion the shock, to tell Sabartes first? He has not shown his face this morning. ExamI

inevitably, unavoidably,

ining the debris of the hoof, attached to the body.

The

I

note

made

it fall. It

my

was

was not very solidly

nail that was

place had itself cracked the plaster.

have

it

fate.

And

supposed

The

to

hold

slightest jolt

it

in

would

the Nemesis of sculpture

do not tolerate anything that incaufrom its base. I decapitate, amputate, mutilate. I abrade fingers, nose, ears, the legs of Hercules and the arms of Venus, everything that separates from the body. Clutching itself tightly, offering no protuberance to time, wind, in-

whispers in

ear: "I

tiously ventures far

clement weather, vandals, photographers, sect, its

like a

extremities pulled in, playing dead, that

sculpture to be.

"

I

object that this statue

in bronze, where everything

is

is

curled-up inis

what

I

want

destined to be cast

permitted, where evei-ything

is

tolerated. I

announce

the news to Picasso.

^^5

He

does not

yell,

does not

trils.

do not see flames coming from the Minotaur's nosCould this be a bad sign? Haven't I heard that his cold

fury,

when he turns

blow up.

I

livid

with focused rage,

gerous than his explosions on the spot? uttering a word. pert.

Not

He examines

fragment

a

is

missing.

I'll

touch

even more dan-

follows

me

without

the debris as a technician, an ex-

He

has seen the nail, the

crack. "It's not very serious," he tells

wasn't deep enough.

He

is

it

me

calmly.

up one of these

"The notch "

days.

In the meantime, Sabartes has returned. Picasso has told

him about

the "accident."

SABARTES

I

know why you broke

it.

So that other photog-

it. And you are perfectly As you photograph Picasso's statues, you should break them one by one. Do you realize how much your photos would be worth?

raphers won't be able to photograph right!

When

I

wasn't mad,

leave

him an hour

now was

later, Picasso says to

I?"

126

me:

"I

Saturday

Since

I

4 December ig43

have finished the large statues,

I

was supposed to pho-

tograph the small bronzes and figurines locked in the "mu-

He would

seum," but Picasso guards the key jealously. it

not trust

to anyone, not even Sabartes. Now, unless he opens the

display cabinet himself,

I

cannot do

a thing. Yesterday, ex-

hausted, he told me: "I don't even have the time to take out

do it without don't have one minute this

the sculptures for you. I'm terribly sorry.

tomorrow,

morning.

that's a

promise.

I

I'll

"

All the same, he

found

a

minute

to tell

me

vous smile: "By the way, did you read about

committed

last

lives there,

Jacques Prevert

it

fail

with a mischie-

A murder was

night in the Nice Hotel. I'm very upset. Olga

wasn't Prevert

as well.

who committed

a bizarrely

A woman was killed!

I

hope

the crime."

him

good dressed poet from Saint-Germain-des-

Today, he has plenty of time.

mood with

it?

I

find

Pres: bare feet, sandals, large canvas

in a very

bag slung over his shoul-

der, a half-Nazarene, half-hobo outfit. But he is young and handsome, and that clashes with his get-up. Picasso opens his display case and takes out a dozen statues. All morning long, I work alone in his studio. As I am leaving, I run into Sabartes. He is coming down from Picasso's apartment, carrying three small canvases in pretty pink and gray

tones.

SABARTES one

He

is

the

did

it

last

in

They're part of

my

personal collection. This

portrait Picasso painted of me.

Royan four years ago. 127

I

wanted

What do you

to have

it

say?

framed,

but he insisted on doing the frame himself. But, in the pro-

he almost completely repainted the canvas.

cess,

look

I

Sabartes dressed as a Spanish grandee with a

at it:

— the kind worn in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries — radiating from his neck, and a curious black velvet

fluted ruff

cap adorned with a small blue aigrette. Even though Picasso has completely ransacked his face, sticking the eye in the ear's usual place and one ear far in his trait

daring

at

the base of the nose, even going so

on backward, the porThe curious disguise sur-

as to place his glasses

bears a striking resemblance.

prises

me and

I

ask the reason for

it.

SABARTES The idea came from me. It's a whim. I always dreamed of being painted by Picasso as a sixteenth- century gentleman during the age of Philip Escurial.

My wish

La Boetie, he

first

did not

made

a

fall

II, as

he was dressed

at

the

on deaf ears. In 1938, on rue

few drawings for

me

with this ruff,

whose starched muslin flounces amused him. He was thinking of painting me full length, life-size, in this costume of a Spanish

grandee with the starchy

ruff.

I

thought he had given up

the idea when, one day, he surprised

me

with this portrait in

Royan. Did you notice he uses the tones of Spanish paintings of the time? I

listened to him, astonished;

I

did not

know

a

hidalgo was

lurking in the soul of this fierce Republican.

BRASSAI traits

You must now have a whole collection of porThe one in Moscow, nicknamed The

painted by Picasso.

Glass of Beer,

where you have your elbows on

SABARTES

Yes,

it

a table

.

.

.

was part of the Schukin collection.

the oldest portrait of me,

from

period, 1901.

BRASSAI MTiat surprises me about it is that Picasso painted you without your glasses. You've always worn them, it

It's

the very beginning of the blue

seems to me.

128

SABARTES time,

I

Always. I'm very, very myopic and,

was wearing pince-nez. But

had taken them

off. It

my

was

as

at that

happens, that day

it

first trip to Paris. I

I

was living in

little hotel on rue Champollion. We had the habit of getting together almost every evening on the upper floor of the Cafe Le Lorrain, with Picasso and a few friends. Then, one evening, he caught me in front of a beer

the Latin Quarter, in a

glass

without

my

pince-nez, absorbed in

pic eyes lost in the void.

struck him.

did

it

SABARTES

Four in

my hobby

a third a

all.

few years

Spanish grandee.

I

if I still

how can

I

have

I've

.

you? same

that

my

year,

shoulders.

do

my

full-length por-

day you'll read the history of .

.

to the Sevres -Babylone station.

many

He

sculptures to photograph.

almost finished

know? Does

He

finally this one, the last to

he'll also

One

I'm now writing

BRASSA'i

And

knows? Perhaps

accompany Sabartes

me

the portrait.

There was another

later.

trait as a

asks

me

painter's hair falling onto

Who

portraits.

he showed

my myo-

must have

portraits did he paint of

be done.

my

thoughts,

didn't pose.

How many

BRASSAI

Then

I

my

that unusual face that

A few days later,

from memory,

19OI, with

It's

at

the studio. For the rest,

Picasso himself

remember

all

his sculp-

tures? Several of his wire "constructions" are missing as well.

I

saw them on rue La Boetie. I'd have to go over there. Picasso

promised

to take

SABARTES

me one

day.

(with the bittersweet smile that crosses his face whenever

some-

Promised? Get this into your head once and for all: promising and keeping a promise are two things that rarely coincide in his case. I know something about that. Usually, I'm the one who takes the brunt of his unkept one speaks of Picasso's promises)

promises. His promises! Look, his second portrait of 1901?

He

gave

Paris,

it

to

me

as a gift.

he told me:

celona, he offered

"I'll it

But every time

give

it

to

you

to the cabaret

129

I

wanted

to take

in Barcelona."

it

in

But in Bar-

we frequented. The paint-

ing was sold, passed from hand to hand, until, one day, he was able to buy

gave

it

back.

me. Yet

to

it

BRASSAI

it

It

came back

really

La Boetie. But he never

to rue

was my painting.

So you think

never return to rue La Boetie

he'll

me?

with

SABARTES

Don't count on

it!

He

hasn't the slightest de-

do so. That place brings back too many painful memoand he hates the idea of setting foot again in that place where he was so unhappy. Every time he starts over, it's for sire to

ries

good, irremediably. That's his strength! The key to his youth. Like a molting snake, he leaves his old skin behind gins a

new

him and be-

would even more phenomenal

existence elsewhere. After a clean break, he

never turn back. His ability to forget

than his memory.

One

is

day, for similar reasons,

he may

also

rue des Grands-Augustins.

flee

I

ask Sabartes if there are

still

many

things

left

on rue La

Boetie.

SABARTES Almost everything that was in the studio has been moved here. There are still a few old artworks in the apartment.

And what

BRASSAI lan?

I

is

there in the studio next to Le Cata-

was very surprised to hear from Picasso that

at least fifty

sculptures are in there.

SABARTES

He's undoubtedly wrong. There are only the

wrought iron works from Boisgeloup and I

ask

him

if

a

dozen

plasters.

he knows anything about Paul Rosenberg.

SABARTES

Everything was taken from him: house, fur-

nishings, silver, gallery. Fortunately, he left in time. In

York, he began

mean, he sold

a

new

life.

his canvases. That's

friendly terms with that

New

Yes, he was very close to Picasso — all.

No one

haughty man, who

contempt. But Picasso did not

let

roles were reversed.

130

him

could be on

treats artists with

get the

upper hand. The

I

would

like to invite Sabartes to

SABARTES

my eyes are too bad, I' home by nightfall. Espe

You're very kind, but

afraid of the dark. cially

dinner.

I

always want to be

now, with the blackout.

^31

Monday 6 December 1^43

As

Picasso went out early.

I

am waiting,

Marcel, the chauffeur, then of Sabartes. finder

I

look

at his

parchment-colored

do the portrait of

I

Through my view-

face, his delicate nose,

his weak eyes behind lenses thick as milk bottles. This gaze, which fixes on you from the "depths of sadness," would make his face almost melancholic if his

ing up

at

smile.

No doubt

mouth had not

taken to curv

the edges in a disabused, ironic, Mephistophelian it is

his sense of

humor,

his sarcastic wit, that

have helped Sabartes overcome the blues, judge everything philosophically and off-handedly, especially Picasso, his friend, his god, his target I

from time immemorial.

also look at his strange headgear.

He adopted

it

out of

fear of the cold, the wind, drafts: a sort of cap with flaps that

can be pulled down over the ears and fastened under the chin, or pulled up over the head and attached with a snap; or they

can

two

float free, like the

And

I

think of Hermes, in

public relations,

when

I

little

wings of Hermes's helmet.

fact, also called

Mercury, god of

see Sabartes endlessly

mediating be-

tween Picasso and the world, ushering the crowd in and out. also

I

photograph

a

few corners of the vestibule where, on

the easel, the portrait of Ines, Picasso's housekeeper, has re-

placed Renoir's drawing. Near the easel, an old armchair

is

staggering under a pile of papers with a portrait on top, one o the

many preparatory

pers are set

and

at

portraits for

the foot of the armchair.

with Sheep. Picasso's slip-

The

head, armchair,

form a kind of personage, holding of books and magazines. I move the barely

slippers

piles

Man

132

in his

arms

th(

visible slippers

and prepare to take the photo of my funny little man, comes in. He glances at what I am doing.

slightly,

when

Picasso

PICASSO "document." pers.

It'll

be an amusing photo, but

Do you know why?

never place them that way.

I

mine. The way an

artist

won't be

It's

I

my

a

slip-

your arrangement, not

arranges the objects around

revealing as his artworks.

they are truthful.

it

Because you moved

him

is

as

your photos precisely because

like

The ones you took on rue La

Boetie were like

to analyze and diagnose what I moments. Why do you think I date everything I make? Because it's not enough to know an artist's works. One must also know when he made them, why, how, under what circumstances. No doubt there will some day be a science, called ''the science of man," perhaps, which will seek above all to get a a

blood sample that allows you

was

those

at

deeper understanding of think of that science, and

man I

via

man-the-creator.

want the documentation

posterity to be as complete as possible. That's

thing

why

I

I I

often leave to

date every-

make.

I

One

we were talking with Sabartes about Pione of his works and writings, indicating not only the year, the month, and the day, but sometimes also the hour, Sabartes shrugged his shoulders. "What day, while

casso's habit of dating every

there in that?" he said.

"It's pure fantasy, a mania. anyone be interested in whether Picasso executed some drawing or another at ten o'clock at night or at eleven?"

sense

is

How could

But, given what Picasso has just revealed to me, his meticulous

dating

is

neither a caprice nor a mania, but a premeditated, re-

flective act. cal

He

wants to confer to his every

movement

value within his history of man-as-creator.

He

a histori-

wants per-

sonally to place each of his acts within the great annals of his

phenomenal

life,

before other people do

J33

it.

Tuesday J December

On

1^43

rue des Grands -Augustins,

usual, she

is

carrying

fat scrolls

run into Fran^oise Gilot. As under her arm and, despite the I

cold and the biting north wind, with her bluish fingers, swol-

len with chilblains, she unrolls a few recent gouaches,

still lifes

in vivid colors for the most part, betraying an obvious gift for

painting. "I'm going to show

them

to Picasso," she tells

me

with a complicitous smile.

known her for three years;

I met her for the first time Hungarian painter, who initiated her into the arcana of the craft. Very young — seventeen or eighteen — passionate about painting, hungry for advice, impatient to show off her talents, she often told me of her quarrels with her Paris family, which was too middle-class to accept the fact that someone could prefer painting to a university educaI

have

in the Montparnasse studio of a

tion or

artists'

studios to the comfort of their villa in Neuilly,

where she invited me one evening to have dinner. I was struck by the young woman's vitality, her tenacity in overcoming obstacles.

Her entire person radiated a freshness and restless vivaciousness. Her youthful excitement, which conferred the same admiration on painting and on painters, made me think of Bettina Brenand by poets, irresistibly drawn into the wake of geniuses, overcome at eighteen by a violent passion for tano, dazzled by poetry

Goethe. Bettina was

a

woman possessed.

For

a

long time, Fran-

had been burning with the desire to show Picasso her paint ings. A few months ago — in May — she had made his acquaintance in a Paris restaurant. She comes here often now, and waits in the 9oise

vestibule for her idol to call her.

He

does not hide the

fact that a

new passion has entered

Too

his life.

he flaunts

and proud of his good luck as a man, do not believe he would have preferred the

flattered

it.

But

I

renown of a Don Juan

to that of a great artist, as

Max Jacob

claimed. Always eager and always weary, like the famous se-

ducer from

woman

he allows himself to be enslaved by

Seville,

only to deliver himself from her in his

mantic adventures are not

a goal in

serious a matter to allow

destine. Better tears

For him, ro-

themselves, but rather the

indispensable stimulus to his creative power.

them too

art.

a

them

and tragedy than

a

to

He

considers

be furtive and clan-

modest

veil

thrown

name and face of the woman he loves. It would take little for him to shout his good fortune on the rooftops.

over the very

But even

if

he were to conceal his

lithographs, engravings,

from the

start.

The

love, his paintings, drawings,

and sculptures would betray

features of his

new

favorite

his secret

immediately

superimpose themselves on the one he has forsaken. Fascinated and subjugated by the

little, slightly

pouting

mouth, the straight nose, the beauty mark on the cheek, the ample chestnut brown hair uncoiling around her face, the wide-open, asymmetrical green eyes, the arched eyebrows, the adolescent body with the narrow waist and, already, a woman's curves, Picasso is in love with Fran^oise and allows himself to be worshiped by her. He loves her as if she were the first

woman

he ever loved.

As testimony of the idyll taking shape, of Picasso's acute which always marks a renewed creativity, I wonder how the sudden appearance of this new female presence will resonate in his art, since, for him, every love affair unleashes an original mode of expression, which usually bears a woman's name. And I also dread the inevitable heartbreak it will cause, sensitivity,

is

already causing.

When

I

see Picasso, a bit troubled, intimidated like a

schoolboy in love for the

first

time, he

tells

me, pointing

to

young artist: "Isn't she beautiful? Isn't that Fran^oise nice? Photograph her one day, will you? But be careful, her hair has the

to be a little disheveled, a little ruffled.

take her picture

when

spise neat haircuts.

she's just

And

come from

"

^35

especially, don't

the hairstylist.

I

de-

This

is

not the

"nice haircuts." it

first

He

time

I

have noted Picasso's aversion to

wants hair,

were up to him, every

woman

like cats, to

be wild and

in the world

free. If

would wear her

on her neck, in her face, onto her That is how he painted Dora Maar and Nusch most of the time, and that is how he is already painting Fran^oise.

hair unkempt, falling breasts.

136

Wednesday 8 December

ig43

"Toward the end of l6l2, on a cold morning in December, a young man whose clothing was very thin was pacing in front of the door of a house located on rue des Grands - Augustins. " I am thinking about that first sentence from Balzac's Unknown Masterpiece

today

when

I

arrive, chilled to the

bone,

at

no. 7 of that

very street.

The

studio

is

work. In any case, taille,

who

pestering

photos: Tomb.

is

me

I

fingers are so

numb

I

cannot

have an appointment with Georges Ba-

waiting for

me

the Cafe de Flore.

at

He

has been

for a long time to illustrate his books with

Story of the Eye

An odd

My

bitter cold.

fellow,

and the one he Georges

Bataille!

my

thinking of calling The

is

A scholar in his

erudi-

tion and the breadth of his mind; a child in his sensibility

and the freshness of his vision; a libertine, grandchild of the Marquis de Sade, but in the body of an anchorite tormented by remorse for his

sins,

by the pangs of conscience, by mortifi-

cation; torn between eroticism

and

of

a tragic vision

life.

At Le Flore, 1 see Jacques Prevert. Picasso told me everything," he tells me. "His Man with Sheep is now called Man with '

Hoofless Sheep/'

He

also gives

murder committed is

me

in his hotel

not the perpetrator.

about the mysterious

on rue des Beaux-Arts. No, he

The woman murdered was

and a team of resistance submachine gun fire. And we tor,

details

"

person of great depth,"

a

"collabora-

fighters took her out in a hail of talk

about Henri Michaux: "A

says Prevert.

"He

navigates

among

us

like a fish."

In fact, I need to call Michaux. Marie-Louise answers the phone: "We're both sick. still have a bad flu, and he has an abI

i37

scess.

"

She puts Michaux on.

I

ask

him

if

they are at least

good

and warm.

MICHAUX ing.

It

cating.

me

I'm in

a very nasty

And how

do not dare

him

I

I

invent

tell

It's

I

are

am

some misery

fire

go-

smoking. I'm coughing, suffo-

mood.

suffer terribly.

passion,

I'm trying to get the

(choking on his words)

doesn't want to start.

I

have an abscess that makes

you?

perfectly fine.

for myself.

138

And, out of com-

Friday

10 December ig43

Worked It is as

late into the night.

my apartment

cold in

fifteen degrees

it is

froze

I

cannot manage to get out of bed.

and Alfred died in

his bowl.

Even

With

liked Alfred a lot.

dragon

his

a

street

cold-blooded batra-

my

chian succumbs in the polar climate of I

and in the

as in the street,

below zero. The other night, the water apartment. his viscous skin,

tail,

his flaccid, bleached belly, the eyes of a cave-dwelling myopic,

enormous mouth, my

his flat head, his

triton newt, in his sub-

lime ugliness, was the very reflection of the times we

bought him difficult,

very

still

quai de

at

much

moving

alive,

move along on moved.

it

the water.

come! come,

stirred

I

my

I

pet!"

tried to gulp

paralleled act.

So that

I

cabin inside

My

it

And my

he came.

I

And

had

a

playing dead

at

the

himself to water

he rushed to

my

pencil

trained triton newt.

friends could not get over fate,

An un-

it. I

built a little

apartment, sacrificing large photo boards to

writer, a coffee maker,

it.

and

I

have a few chairs inside, a little

had hardly entered when

the heat of

A

were

himself be de-

let

From lifted

would not suffer the same

my

flies that

and wings on the surmaking dead

And Alfred

pet!"

down.

from old exhibitions I

bird merchant.

came to swallow anything at all, so long up the surface of the water: "Alfred,

level. "Attack! Attack,

lit.

a

I

got the idea of

bottom of the bowl, he immediately and

from

their feet

That was when

ceived. Gradually, he as

Megissserie

stubborn beast, he wanted to swallow

face of the water. flies

la

live in.

my own body

I

^39

type-

hot plate. Everything

was bathed in

reflected

a

a

is

well

pleasant heat,

and intensified

as in a

Ther-

mos

bottle.

I

am

able to write these notes only because of

my

cabin.

PICASSO

(mockingly)

very kind to give

me

a

you up already?

So, Brassai, are

It's

thought.

SABARTES He comes later and later, makes himself more and more scarce. I no longer have the pleasure of seeing him.

He

always arrives as I'm going to lunch.

BRASSAI rines from the

PICASSO

Picasso, could

you please

take out a few figu-

display cabinet? Will that disturb

Yes, that will disturb me.

I

of people this morning. But never mind,

And from lock

ettes. I

you?

have to see a crowd let's

go!

"museum" he takes out four or five myself up with them in the glacial studio. the

statuI

begin

sound of a bugle. It really is Comical, it comes out of the instru-

to work. Suddenly, the shattering

coming from the vestibule. ment maimed and hurts your ti-ta-ta. I

ears: Ta-ta-ti, ta-ta-ti, ti-ta-ta,

hear bursts of laughter,

a

chorus of laughter,

dom-

inated by a resonant, juicy laugh, with the spasmodic contractions of sobbing, a laugh recognizable in a

thousand: the inimitable laugh of

crowd of a

Raymond Queneau.

All of a sudden, the studio door opens. At the head of the

crowd his

Picasso, encased in his sheepskin jacket, the

is

brown

his face

hat pulled over his eyes, brandishing his trumpet,

still

red from the effort. Behind

him

are

Raymond

Queneau, Oscar Dominguez, Georges Hugnet, and other walk-ons, including a scarf

wanted

He wrung ers

brim of

a

woman

a

few

with the face of an ephebe,

knotted around her head: Valentine Hugo. Picasso

me. up the bugle

to surprise

takes

again. Yes, he

these blatting sounds

— drawn,

cheeks swell.

from

painted, or sculpted.

it.

He

He

The muscles of his neck

wrenches sharp, strident sounds from Ta-ta-ti, ta-ta-ti, ti-ta-ta, ti-ta-ta,

is

the

struts like his roost-

throws out his chest. His strain.

140

And,

again, he

his brass instrument:

followed by a

laughter.

one who has just

new

burst of

VALENTINE HUGO

What

had no idea you Every day you reveal new

a surprise!

were also an excellent trumpet player!

I

talents to us.

How could you

PICASSO peter?

I've

not have known I'm

practiced that art for a very long time!

bugle has been very useful to me.

When

trum-

a

And my

was living on rue La

I

Boetie, Albert Skira's office was in the next building. Brassai

knows

it

well.

We worked

there together at Minotaure.

Ovid's Metamorphoses for Skira. As soon as perplate, instead of picking

up the phone,

trumpet, went to the window, and played ti-ta-ta, ti-ta-ta.

I

am

left

Skira

did

I

picked up

my

Ta-ta-ti, ta-ta-ti,

came running.

alone with Picasso. Usually,

the visitors are gone by, in

I

finished a cop-

I

at

about one o'clock,

and he phones Dora Maar. She

lives close

an old house on rue de Savoie. She never comes to his

house anymore in the morning. But when he out to meet him. Together, they have lunch

he does every day, he picks up the phone. to dial the

number when Kazbek,

skin rug, stands

calls,

at

He

she goes

Le Catalan. As

has hardly begun

until then lying flat as a bear-

up and heads for the door.

Did you see the way he jumped up? He sensed I God knows how. You might assume his belly tells him it's time for lunch. But around one o'clock, I often call other people and he doesn't budge. Can anyone explain how he sniffs out Dora over the telephone line?

PICASSO

was calling Dora.

141

Monday 13 December ig43

Freezing cold. to

I

up too late and again missed Picasso. I go warm. On boulevard Raspail, in front run into Henri Michaux. His face is green,

got

Montparnasse

to get

of the pharmacy,

I

translucent as alabaster, but the metallic light of his blue eyes

on it with an almost unbearable brilliance. The more anemic his face gets, the more intense his gaze. I ask him how he has been doing. sparkles

MICHAUX

We

have only ten kilos of coal to get through

My wife has an uncontrollable cough and I'm suffering from my abscess. My arm is paralyzed, my fingers are stiff. It's mutiny: half my body disobeys me. And the winter.

It's

horrible.

the extraordinary thing revolt,

I

feel the

and pain, would you

BRASSAI

that, in the

my

whole part of

my body

in

blood. Clearly, without illness

feel it?

So you

MICHAUX

is

pulsing of

can't

work?

No! Hardly

at all!

To work well,

I

have to be

alone, absolutely alone. Right now, I'm trapped with Marie-

Louise in only

a single

when

I

talk

room we

out loud. For me,

have to be able to hear ter,

I

sometimes go

nasse.

It's

warm

keep quiet. taken for

whole,

I

a

I

hardly manage to heat.

my

it's

I

I

thoughts. For lack of anything bet-

to a little cafe facing the

Gare Montpar-

there, of course, but I'm not alone.

can't just shout out

madman

can write

a sort of incantation.

my

or a drunk, I'd be kicked out.

work very poorly in

cafes.

142

I

have to

thoughts there. I'd be

On

the

BRASSAI

Jacques Prevert can also only write

ing, but in his case

MICHAUX publishes very

he needs the multitude,

He produces very little.

little.

A few poems here

a

as he's talk-

human

Or, in any

and

presence.

case,

he

there, the rare ar-

ticle.

BRASSAI He prefers chatting to "scribbling." He's a talker more than anything. When he launches into one of his endless monologues, no one can stop him. As often among brilliant talkers, speaking

MICHAUX These

days, a

That's too bad. Because Prevert

new

"great poet"

the ones offered us,

And able.

competes unfairly with writing.

I

is

is

a poet.

discovered every day. But, of

don't see anyone

who

is

truly original.

poems whose novelty is indisput"Dinner of Heads" very much, and also the one

Prevert has written a few I

like

about the pope.

I

can't think of

its title.

To get warm, we take a seat at La Rotonde. Michaux pulls a letter from his pocket. He has forgotten to open it for several days. "I hope it's not an appointment for this morning," he says. No. It is an invitation from Jean Paulhan for an exhibit opening. The painter's name is Fautrier. The card is printed individually with the name of each person and with a color reproduction. And Michaux has received an original drawing as a gift from this painter, whom he does not know. He cannot get over

it.

H3

Tuesday 14 December

horribly cold.

It is

We

SABARTES dering

I

ig43

cannot manage to

Do you

PICASSO bronzes could

BRASSAI

room

really

easily

We were won-

are brave. Picasso's

new photos.

want to work? The studio

crazy to venture into

It's

You

this weather.

waiting for you, impatient to see the

rian.

up.

were just talking about you.

you'd come in

if

warm

it. I

advise against

it.

be transported in here where

it's

Sibe-

small

warm.

photographs in

I'd have trouble taking

is

The

this

because of the birds.

The birds? Do

PICASSO

they bother you?

I

don't under-

stand.

BRASSAI No, I'm the one who'd be bothering them. them with my explosions.

I'd

frighten

PICASSO (laughing) Your explosions? Are you sure? These canaries and turtledoves have never been hunted. They don't know what rifle shots sound like. But if they were truly afraid, would we know it? They have no way to tell us. Don't worry about the fowl! Set off your bombs! Go about your business.

The

offer

warmth. But

is I

tempting.

the statues in. Everything all

that?

.

.

The

stove

look around: not is

a

is

radiating a pleasant

nook, not

crammed

full.

a

cranny to

Ask Picasso

up move

set

to

.

BRASSAI

I've

thought about

144

it,

and

I

choose the studio.

It's

more convenient

cold.

When you're

for me. After

all,

working, you feel

it

I'm not afraid of the less.

PICASSO You're right there. In my lifetime, I've suffered from the cold more than many other people! In Barcelona, I used to burn my drawings to warm myself. In Madrid, what a winter! And was it cold in my garret on Calle Zurbano! No fire, no light. I was never so cold. And at the Bateau-Lavoir! An oven in summer, an icebox in winter. The water froze solid.

SABARTES

And on

boulevard de Clichy!

coats, blankets, everything at

hand.

I'll

We

put on over-

never forget the cold of

those nights.

PICASSO

And

in Boisgeloup, that unbeatable, drafty

barn. That was where

I

got

my

sciatica, in fact.

So

I

can

tell

you

one thing, the cold stimulates you, keeps your mind awake. It You work to get warm and you get warm by working. But a pleasant heat puts you to sleep. Go, work then. keeps you moving.

Good

luck.

H5

Wednesday 22 December ig43

Last Friday,

claimed:

I

gave Sabartes the portrait of him. Picasso ex-

"My

friend, you've never

had such

a portrait."

And Sabartes told me: "I don't like my face. I hate to look in a mirror. And I despise seeing myself in a photograph. I'm really not photogenic. And yet, I'm happy with myself in your photo." And he shows it proudly to the people present. "Look, Brassai photographed me on the 'throne.'" And Picasso adds: "All you need now is the scepter and crown.

"

Today, Sabartes brings

SABARTES

It

nally, a portrait

was a big

where

I

hit.

it

up

again.

My wife made this And I also

see a likeness!

"

remark: "Fihave a piece

of good news: we received coal and, since yesterday, the big studio

is

heated.

You won't

shiver anymore!

Even though central heating was installed in all the rooms in 1939, only the vestibule has been heated because of the lack of coal. For the first time, I can finally work without a hat, without a scarf, without an overcoat. A fine day of warmth. Even the pale winter sun wanted to join the party.

Today, casso

made

I

photograph small panels of compressed sand — Pi-

five

or

six

of them in Cannes in 1933 — composed

of palm leaves sprinkled with sand.

On

one of them

a

long

glove of Olga's stands out against the background, stuffed with

sawdust by Picasso;

little

boxes with bits of cut-up cardboard,

sewn together and painted with the

skill

and patience of a

"small hand"; and finally, a head whose neck

is

simply rolled-

up cardboard. This sculpture book

raises a

problem for me on

146

a

material

level. I

rights

am

rather badly paid

— and,

in addition to the prints

dozens to Picasso.

also have to offer is

— Picasso has retained all the

very precarious.

I

confide

claims Picasso could pay

me

my

I

give the publisher,

And my

situation to Sabartes.

for the prints

I

material situation

and

He

offers to "ar-

range" things for me.

He joins him

in the next

They

conversation.

room.

I

hear snatches of their

are speaking Catalan.

That

what they do

is

sometimes with intimate matters, when they want ers

from understanding. No doubt they

to keep oth-

are talking about

my

photos. They discuss things for a long time. Sometimes Picasso raises his voice.

SABARTES I

pleaded your

the photos.

I

Then

his friend returns.

Well, no,

I

wasn't able to "arrange" things. But

case. Picasso absolutely

does not want to pay for

know him. He can be generous, but you must never

money. He strikes back. It's become an instinct with him. Maybe it comes from the times of poverty. Bank notes and ready cash have retained all their presconfront him directly with

tige in his eyes.

a request for

He has always preferred to pay in paintings or

drawings rather than cash, even

when the

artworks in question

were worth more than the sum due. I'm sure

he'll

you one day, perhaps when you've forgotten

all

you

to

make

about

it

it. I

up

to

advise

continue to offer him the prints.

I tell

Sabartes

I

have always offered

never thinking of asking that only

my

later, Picasso

him

current situation obliged joins

me

my

photos to Picasso,

for anything in exchange,

me

to

do

so.

and

A little

in the studio.

PICASSO I hope you'll understand my point of view. Zervos, who photographs and publishes all my paintings and drawings, always gives me a print. The other publishers do the same, even when it wasn't stipulated in the contract. It's not your place to offer me the photos, that's up to the publisher. Since authorized him to publish the book, he'll make a great deal of money, and it's only natural for him to graciously offer I

me

these prints of

my

sculptures.

with him.'^^

H7

You should

settle the

matter

24 December ig43

Friday

Yesterday,

I

worked

at Picasso's

apartment

nessed the delivery of the "raw materials."

main

staircase

livery

men

opened and, for two hours, Marcel and the debrought up clean canvases, dozens and dozens of

them. This temple of a factory.

I

morning and witThe doors of the all

art

took on something of the look of

was amused by the thought that, in

a

few weeks,

Picasso will have increased their "net worth" by a

hundred-

or thousandfold.

Today, Picasso opens the "museum" for his little statuettes.

nude

Among them

is

me and

a fairly realist

takes out

standing

in wheat-colored bronze, with windswept hair.

of the three copies, he has engraved in the bronze breasts,

her

little

On

itself:

one her

belly are polished like the feet of a venerated

saint by the kisses of pilgrims.

PICASSO How do you like this tiny little slip of a woman? Doesn't she seem alive? I've redone her I don't know how

many

times.

And his fingers lovingly caress the breasts of the little Venus. When I am alone with Sabartes, I have a long conversation with

used

a

him about Man

a

ask

him whether

Picasso

model.

SABARTES saw

with Sheep. I

lamb

at

A model!

You've got to be kidding!

Le Catalan. But can he control

his

He

said

he

memories?

More likely, the lamb he saw at Le Catalan simply revived the memory of other lambs he'd seen in his childhood. His memory of forms

is

phenomenal.

When

148

he was very young, he cap-

tured them so well in every detail, he recalled them so exactly,

And

BRASSAI

work from

life

any longer.

sometimes he

still

has to

need

that later he didn't

yet,

to

make meticu-

lous sketches "from nature."

SABARTES

Sometimes, perhaps, but more to

exercise his fingers than to refresh his

need

to.

He

can reinvent

all

and

reality in all its variety, in all its

Men, women, animals,

truth, without using models.

knows them

distract

memory. He doesn't plants,

he

by heart, their curves, their uniqueness, every

angle. Everything has

become

his

own

some

in

sense.

He

always

goes straight to the heart of things.

BRASSAI

Doesn't the nature of his

memory remind you

of Balzac? Steeped in forms and observations, he too never

needed to gather material to them inside him. In fact, he bert

— that he possessed

create his characters. said

— referring to

every sort of

He

Louis

carried

Lam-

memory, of places, names,

words, things, shapes. But deep down, he could never separate out nature from his phenomenal

"second nature."

wanted

I

his mysterious capacity for

my

spoke of

a

kind of

still

didn't dare

who

tamper with

mimesis and invention. Perhaps he

it.

Rereading tion for

He

have the impression that this man,

to elucidate everything,

was afraid of

gift.

The Magic Skin a few years later,

I

found confirma-

belief. In his preface, a thirty-year-old Balzac

wrote:

Among the

truly philosophical writers, a moral, inexpli-

unheard of phenomenon occurs, for which science has difficulty accounting. It is a kind of second sight that allows them to discern the truth in every possible situation; cable,

or, even better, some unknown power that transports them where they must be, where they want to be. They invent the

true by analogy, or see the object to be described, either be-

cause the object comes to them, or because they themselves

go toward the object.

H9

SABARTES casso too

is

stant, every

Your comparison with

extraordinarily steeped in such things. At every in-

form of reality

is

something once, he retains

know when or how cil

Balzac seems fair. Pi-

it

it

him.

available to

forever.

When

he's seen

But he himself doesn't

will surface again. Also,

when he

puts pen-

or pen to paper, he never knows what will appear. I

ask Sabartes

SABARTES

how Man

its

had etched

after

SABARTES saw

offering

all

these

him

the beard

is

day,

the easel with a bearded figure? I

I

thought he

he did the sculpture.

No, the engraving preceded it, was its origin. human figures around the bearded man,

gifts.

Among

receiving

it.

came from. Afterward, large

to be.

resemblance to the shepherd. But

was struck by it

came

Picasso began a large etching.

The one on

BRASSAI

You

with Sheep

these gifts

is

a

lamb. The

man with

That's where the idea for the statue

Picasso, to get a clearer idea, did a very

number of drawings, about

a

hundred perhaps.

BRASSAI I photographed about twenty of them the other on an easel, as they were being executed. That sculpture is

surprisingly fresh.

SABARTES And do you know why? After months and months of preparation, he modeled it in one sitting, in a few hours. Ask him one day. He'll tell you about it. had forgotten all about it, but — by a curious coincidence — we spoke of the good shepherd and his sheep today, I

appropriately,

on Christmas Eve of this

150

sinister year 1943-

Friday

g

April

Yesterday, into

1944

coming out of a restaurant

Henri Michaux. He was wearing

in Montparnasse, a beautiful

I

ran

sheepskin

coat.

"The outward "I got I

it

was on

with

signs of weakh!"

my watercolors.

my way

to

draw

at

La Grande Chaumiere, and Mi-

chaux offered to accompany me. But trance, he

became

hesitant

as

we approached the en-

and asked me

a great

number

of

questions:

"Don't they ask anything when you go in? Don't they watch

what you do?

Do you

have to deal with professors?

"No, you're completely

free,

"

I

"

reassured him. "You do

You sit where you want, provided there are Most of the people go there not to draw but to get warm. since it's fairly cold this evening ..."

what you want. seats.

And

The room was

full. It

was very hot.

On

the starkly

lit

plat-

form, the generous flesh of Victoria was on display. Perched

on

a tall stool,

me

completely. But I'm pretending to draw, otherwise I'd look

Michaux felt somewhat reassured. Once he had regained some control of himself, he whispered in my ear: "1 could never draw here. The crowd inhibits back to the

wall,

suspicious." His eyes wide open, he was looking at the

women

and men of every age, hunched over their sketchbooks and blocks, around this nude standing stock still on the platform in an unimaginable pose, her buttocks covered with goose flesh and turning blue, her members numb, suffering from cramps. And he told me in a whisper, since, in the silence, you heard

^5^

only the squeaking of pens and pencils: "For someone

know what's going on

doesn't

PICASSO

What

here, this spectacle

a surprise!

The other

is

who

alarming."

day, Sabartes said to

me: "Funny, we don't

see Brassa'i anymore. What's going on? Gould he have become one of Dr. Petiot's victims?" Seriously, we were beginning to worry. Strange things are happening.

As

a

matter of

caught up in drawing,

fact,

back to Picasso's in three months.

And

I

I

have not been

understand his worry.

In occupied Paris, any long separation can

mean goodbye

forever.

PICASSO

Do you know

they arrested Robert Desnos?

BRASSAI I heard that. How terrible. And formed friend of his warned him by telephone knew the Gestapo was going to come.

PICASSO

He

yet, at

an in-

dawn. She

could have fled in his pajamas. But he

started to get dressed.

He had

not yet finished

when

the door-

bell rang.

BRASSAI I'm sure he did it on purpose. He didn't want Yuki to be arrested in his place. So he did not want to flee. Is he

still

in Fresnes?

PICASSO

We

He's already been transferred to Gompiegne.

continue to

talk

about Robert Desnos for

a

long time.

him a great deal. Hardly more than a few weeks ago, he did some marvelous etchings for Contree. I first met Desnos about I927» when he was living in the same house as Andre Masson and Juan Miro, on 45' Blomet, the street Picasso likes

of the famous Negro Ball, where native Martiniquais and Gua-

delupans danced.

He

very incarnation, in

He

led a harried

was

fact,

life,

still

part of the surrealist group,

with his

gift

hand at several occupations: I would run into him late at and bars, after his exhausting

tried his

rental agent, broker, journalist.

night in Montparnasse cafes

its

of poetic clairvoyance.

work in the editing rooms. He was the soul of friendship, brotherhood, generosity. Loneliness, destitution, fatigue,

152

could never chase the smile from his

of Siramour, the vampire of Loveless

lust for life. Finally, the siren Night,

or interfere with his

lips

the ghost of the Journal of an Apparition

found an incarna-

tion in him. In the deified love of the surrealists, along with

Nusch, and Gala, Yuki, the ex-wife of

Elsa,

ing a major figure. There was radio work,

it

was becom-

was a time of mot-

from seeing

proverbs, advertising slogans. Far

tos,

Fujita,

this as his

downfall, a "moral suicide," Desnos, a troubadour and trou-

who

vere a

loved sailors' songs and street ballads, welcomed

return to the popular sources of poetry.

He

as

it

finally achieved

comfort, took an apartment in the old house on 19, rue Maza-

home

rine, near Picasso. This

of love and friendship, plastered

with abstract canvases and naive paintings,

where day and night the enormous

cords,

crammed

rustic table was per-

manently laden with bottles and refreshments tors, this

home

galore, even

of re-

full

welcome

to

visi-

was never empty. There was flowing wine

during the Occupation. But in recent months,

Desnos had become almost unrecognizable. His pink, round, uncreased face had dissolved. Nothing was left of it but a shadow behind the large dark glasses, which now concealed his bulging blue Picasso

is

eyes, so childlike, so

checkered red

shirt,

at his side as

see Pierre selas eyes

usual.

tie.

Jean Marais

Amid

Reverdy again.

— close

relatives

I

mood I

refuge

among

I

tell

friends,

former

him and

had

live

officer in the

suit,

I

am

white

Samoyed dog

there, his

male voice,

like his

of Picasso's

He

questions me.

is

the other people,

holds his head and even his

lized as a

ingenuous.

unusually elegant today: dark blue

delighted to

his black

Chas-

own — the haughty way he

swings, his quick temper.

my

to flee

apartment, take

with a fake identity card. Mobi-

Romanian army,

1

chose to

Even though Reverdy is not directly threatened, he is overwhelmed by the war, as someone who saw death everywhere desert.

even of

it.

when I

it

quote

was

more

this line,

discreet.

He

asks

me

if

Brasserie Fipp shortly before his attack: "What

ing

in,

I

can see the end

which Leon-Paul Fargue uttered a

at

the

time we are

dear friend! Rabbit pelts are worth more than

liv-

human

"

ones.

Could we be on

the eve of the Allied landing? Everyone

^53

is

talking about

citing the increasingly frequent, destructive,

it,

and deadly bombings. Picasso

tells

strange stories. Jean Marais

adds his own — tragical, comical, magical in their horror. "The

"made her fly through the window and landed her safe and sound on the ground. The heavy air carried her as if on a cushion." force of combustion," he says, sixth-floor

PICASSO

heard of

I

a girl

who was thrown

by an exploding bomb. She was lying there

against a wall

flat as a

bas-relief

on

a

me

of the carnage and atrocity of the Spanish Civil War. Guer-

nica

bloody background. All these scenes of horror remind

.

.

blood,

.

Except that the Spanish

like violence, cruelty, they like

blood

— the blood of horses,

like to see

flow, stream

the

blood of bulls, the blood of men. Whether it's the "Whites" or the "Reds, " whether they're flaying priests or communists, there's always the

same pleasure in seeing blood

flow. In that re-

spect, they're unbeatable.

An

art

publisher arrives.

PICASSO Here's the only publisher who pays me. And by the by, I need his advice to get the others to pay me! You should write up contract proposals for me. Don't beat around the bush! Put

down

the most advantageous conditions for me.

Publishers are an odd

morning, ings.

a

German "I

Look, by the way, in

my

mail this

publisher suggests an album of

At the end of his

nerve to write:

you

lot!

letter

— mark my words! — he

hope, M. Picasso,

that,

my

paint-

has the

my

thanks to

book,

many of your paintings!" I think he's the one, who will sell many of his books thanks to my artworks!

will sell

rather,

The

art

publisher explains he

Douanier Rousseau and would

is

preparing

like to

a

book on Le

reproduce

all

the Rous-

seau canvases Picasso owns. Picasso raises his arms in the air: "As if

have enough to do with

The blame!

art

Why

publisher are

my own works!

tells

you such

I

didn't already

"

him: "You have only yourself to

a great collector as well?

Why

did you

bring together such beautiful things?" In

fact, a

new album of Le Douanier Rousseau

has just ap-

The

peared.

from

last

piece of mail to arrive,

the piles of books. Picasso takes

"Look, that one's

cries out:

And, taking us

it is still

leafs

it,

peeking out

through

it,

and

a fake!"

as his witnesses,

he continues to look

through the book.

PICASSO Look! This one's also a fake. And here's a and a fourth. All these heads leaning sentimentally to one side. Rousseau would never have painted that! The heads of his characters were always planted squarely on the body and the expression on their faces, even the children's, was mean. Whereas the faces painted by the forger are totally soft and sweet. Such tricks have become common currency. Someone does a serious-looking album; someone takes the name of an art critic in vogue and they've pulled it off. The fakes have been slipped in and authenticated. It's incredible! And there third,

who

are always imbeciles

Picasso also story

X who's

voice says: "I

.

.

.

about the fake El Grecos in Chicago,

tells

had not heard

I

painter

for

fall

right.

Someone remarks:

"It's

fabricating these fake Rousseaux."

met the painter X. In

a

the

Another

he was complaining

fact,

him of fabricating fake Rousseaux. 'It much, he told me. Tor him to accuse me of paint-

that Picasso accused

wouldn't take ing The

'

Sleeping Gypsyl' " Picasso

The

art

publisher announces he has just uncovered an old

and

Picasso by Picasso

PICASSO ally,

I

first

that he has

asks

me

if

much

if

his face lights up,

tant to take

all

once, and he

I

tell

new

my

self-portraits are very rare.

my

my own

response

him, "Yes,

Re-

face.

I've

is

negative, he

—

about fifteen

me: "Show

sculptures.

it's

me

all

is

I

am

reluc-

— from my briefcase

of them,

all

of them.

your photographs that allow

Through them,

"

eyes.

i55

dis-

brought you photos,"

he wants to see them right away.

odd, don't you think, but

judge

it.

have something to show him; usually the

I

the prints

tells

bought

time on

question he asks me. If

appointed. But

to

My

Well done!

haven't spent

He

guffaws and everyone laughs.

I

see

at

It's

me

them with brand

He

can only

cast a

quick glance

them, so he walks around

at

in circles with the packet in his hand, seeking a "safe place."

Not finding one, he goes

bedroom, his "Noah's ark," where he saves everything that moves him at the moment — a letter, a book, a magazine, photos — from the flood. He will look at them or read them in peace at night in upstairs to put

in his

it

bed.

At about half past noon, I am left alone with him. Suddoor opens, Ines enters, holding springtime in her arms: an armful of lavender and white lilies. denly, the

PICASSO her eyes?

The

Isn't Ines

beautiful? Have you seen the color of

You should photograph her one

graceful

young woman

is

day.

decorating the

flowers. For about ten years, she has often

room

with

opened the door

for

me. With her matte complexion, her long black hair, her always-beaming smile, and her flowered dresses, she could be taken for a Polynesian vahine.

Do you know Mougins?

PICASSO

It's a

town on

a hill

be-

hind Cannes. That's where I spent the summer of 193^ with Dora, in the Vaste Horizon Hotel.

BRASSAI

Yes,

few paint spots you served in

memory

PICASSO

I

Someone showed me door. They are religiously pre-

even lived there.

left

on

of your

a

a

stay.

Well, that hotel

is

where Dora discovered Ines.

She was working there with her elder

sister,

Ines as chamber-

maid and her sister as cook. She was beautiful. She was kind. So we took her and brought her back to Paris.

We are just about to leave when the paint manufacturer arrives. He proposes a "trade" with Picasso: his property in exchange for the

To its

still life

he has been coveting for

a

long time.

entice him, he pulls a series of photos of this property and grounds from a pouch. I have the impression the offer does

not leave Picasso indifferent. proposition.

When

I

He

is all

ears as he listens to his

leave the studio, a lively discussion

ready under way.^°

156

is

al-

24

"Sabartes:

.

.

.

Look, Brassai photographed

Picasso adds: All you

need now

is

me on

the scepter

the throne.'

and crown.

"

And

25

Picasso: I

It

won't be a document.'.

never place them that way.

'

.

.

You moved my

slippers.

26

"Picasso: Isn't Ines

beautiful?

Have you seen the color of her eyes?"

27 "But the cat and 1 share the secret

of 1

its

birth.

can no

longer look at

it

without

seeing the

woman."

28

"Picasso:.

But ...

.

I

.

I'm going to mimic the

need

a

model!

.

.

.

He

artiste peintre.

.

.

.

then suggests that Jean

Marais play the role of the 'woman.'"

29

Top/'yiy foot suddenly hits spills

30

.

.

.

:

something and knocks

it

A liquid

over. ...

Kazbek, soaked, jumps up, Picasso abruptly turns around.

Boffom, "Picasso:

.

.

.

What

attracts attention

the crease in Jean Cocteau's pants!

.

.

.

before anything else?

Cocteau was born with

a

It's

pants

crease in his cradle,"

31

Right,

"The

light

is

marvelous today.

It

sets to vibrating the rooftops,

the chimneys, the sections of wall Picasso always has in front of him.

"

Tuesday

I

go out

27 April ig44

early.

But what bad luck! Two air-raid warnings within Allied bombings are intensifying day and

half an hour! The

night. Recently, a few

on

bombs from

the La Ghapelle train station,

British airplanes,

fell at

dropped

the foot of the

Mont-

martre butte. In Lacouriere's studio, where Picasso does his etchings, his canvas

shards of glass. finally arrive

I

am

Still Life

with Chinese Lantern

was damaged by

held up in the metro for a long time, but

on rue des Grands -Augustins.

I

ring the bell.

A

long wait. Scantily dressed, in slippers, unshaven, his hair un-

combed, Picasso himself opens the door. No doubt Sabartes and the chauffeur were held up somewhere.

good time. Just this morning I was thinking about photography. When I woke up and looked at myself in the mirror with my disheveled hair, do you know what thought came to me? Well, I was sorry I wasn't a photographer! It's completely different the way other people see you and the way you see yourself in a mirror at certain moments. Several times in my life, 1 happened to catch an expression on my face that I've never been able to find in any of my portraits. And they may have been my truest expressions. Someone ought to make a hole in a mirror so that the lens can capture your most intimate face unawares.

PICASSO

Could

You've come

at a

Picasso be thinking of the terror-stricken look

his face that sad day in

November

1918,

when

on

the death of Guil-

laume Apollinaire was announced to him? He was shaving at the Hotel Lutetia. That was when he took to despising mirrors

— all

mirrors — which, day by day, with the cold cruelty of 165

their reflections, throw the furrows, wrinkles,

and dark circles engrave, back in our faces. Having

that time never ceases to

seen the shadow of death pass over his face that day, he stopped

drawing and painting himself.

Jean Marais arrives with his dog. He is carrying an enormous broomstick under his arm. He is staging Racine's Andro-

Edward VII Theater. Most of the roles have gone movie stars. All Hermione's crazy acts of revenge interest

maque to

the

at

the actor passionately.

He

has the notion of putting the charac-

ter of Pyrrhus, usually relegated to a secondary role, in the

forefront.

He

wants to grant Greek

and blackmail in people's

war's bitterness, revenge, "It's a its

barbaric play," he

savagery.

He

power

fate its full

tells us.

And

he wants

He

himself will play Pyrrhus.

to

to excite

hearts.

bring out

all

wants to appear

almost nude, dressed only in a leopard skin. In his slightly raucous voice, he

tells

my

Picasso: "I will have only a scepter in

hand to indicate my rank." And, so that it will be worthy of Achilles, his father, and Peleus, his grandfather, king of the Myrmidons, Jean Marais adds: "I would like this scepter to be something magnificent, barbaric. Picasso, could you make it for me?" Picasso turns the broomstick over and over. "Leave it with me," he tells him. "I may have an idea later. But how will I find the time? Are you in a hurry for it? "

"Very

need

it

much

so,

I'm afraid," the actor

replies. "I

would

for tomorrow."

Fran^oise Gilot, Pierre Reverdy, and the Catalan sculptor Fenosa, whose small bronzes Picasso

likes, arrive.

And

also the

actor Alain Cuny. I

enter the sculpture studio and notice that the

plaster Seated Cat

is

broken. There's

a story

behind

tail

of the

this cat

and

Picasso told me its secret one day. He first modeled a standing woman and made a plaster cast of it. But he was not happy with the statue. Then he had the idea of transforming the woman

into a cat. legs, the

else

The woman's

bust became the

front paws of the

knows about

the secret of

its

this

birth.

cat.

cat's

Then he added

metamorphosis. But the I

can no longer look 166

at

head; her two the rest. cat it

and

I

No one share

without seeing

the

woman.

broke the

the "cat

It is

woman"

long

tail? It

broken on the

base.

And

cat.

Who lies

it

some mali-

Picasso, not without

tell

"

Now

stood up so proudly!

cat's

I

"woman

or the

cious joy: "So I'm not the only one to demolish your sculptures."

PICASSO

mob

at

my

But

place.

your

it's

And

fault!

The other

everyone was dismayed

lamb's broken hoof. "Brassai's the one

them. "When he comes to turn the Man its

with Sheep,

by the

this cat

my

which

fragile hoof. Naturally,

were to take

Since peared.

It's

my

your

fault,

last visit

An enormous

place,

from

a distance

be taken for

a

casso

is

my

your

I

told

statues,

I

myself broke the

three weeks ago, a

new

to

tail

canvas has ap-

canvas in a gilded frame, a is

— but only a very great

nude volup-

so well painted

distance

— she

could

- r

to the antique dealer

Aubry. Pi-

run out of canvases and brushes. He's

obsession.

by

it

fault!

ways been preoccupied with that. But since the war,

become an

"

came off in his hand. It's as if I don't you see!" And, wanting

it

She belonged

afraid he'll

it,

he breaks everything! To

Courbet.

SABARTES

the sight of the

so heavy, he took hold of

is

tuously displaying her generous flesh. She that

at

who broke

tail,

demonstrate how you broke off the cat.

day, there was a

He wanted

it's

al-

really

to put together a stock of old

canvases in case he ran out of clean ones.

He

told the antique

Then, when Aubry offered him This woman bowled him over. He would never dream of touching it. He likes it too much.

dealers to be this one,

he

on

fell

the lookout.

in love with

it.

And, in fact, he is so happy and proud of his "discovery" when friends or visitors come to see him, he prefers to have them admire the buxom woman rather than his own

that

works.

"What do you think of it?" he asks me. "What if we took a photo of our 'lady'? And with all of us around it?" But he has already changed his mind. "I know what we'll do! I'm going to mimic the artiste peintre in front of the canvas.

"

'67

Now he this life

is all

of the party,

hold of him,

gets

excited at the idea

He

when

it is

as

and cannot stand

still.

For

the desire to play a practical joke

imperious

as the desire to

paint a pic-

down one of his palettes from the one dating from his stay in Royan. He grabs a handful of brushes from a pot and plants himself in front of the nude. His gear is even funnier since he himself almost never paints with palette in hand. And we laugh at all his comical postures as he tries his best to imitate the artiste peintre. The artiste peintre! It is as if nothing puts him in top form like the pleasure of making fun of him. He is having a great time! His voice becomes sarcastic, his laughter rises to a high pitch. There is nothing he abhors so much as the artistic "ivory tower" he calls it — attitude toward life, creatures, and ture.

wall

has already taken

— the

things.

He

wants to

commune

with

reality, all

of

reality, at its

most immediate and most vulgar, at its least picturesque, its and for him, the "artistic" point of view seems poor and shabby. How many times have I heard him say: "I do what I can. I am not an artiste peintre/' as if he wanted to clear himself

truest,

of slander. And yet, in front of some panorama of the sea, some landscape, he has frequently repeated: "Oh, if only I were an artiste peintre," or, "This would be marvelous for someone who was an artiste peintre/' or, "What a pity I'm not an artiste peintre."

Sabartes says that sometimes, looking in the display win-

dow of an quaint

art dealer

little

who

sells

paintings of sunsets, full moons,

cows, or groves reflected in the mirror of a lake,

"How amusing it would be to paint " You cannot imagine how that would amuse me! Picasso exclaims:

may

It

thus be that a touch of envy

is

like that!

combined with

the

irony. Everyone has his limits, his boundaries, even Picasso. As

the uncontested master of form, the formless remains outside

domain. Insensitive to music, he does not have the soul of a landscape painter. "The indeterminate treetops of forests" will always be determinate for him. He has hardly touched his canvas when clouds, vapor, air sparkling in the distance, seem his

to crystallize into solid, tangible blocks with sharp angles, en-

closed within a network of squares, triangles, and rectangles.

One

day, in front of a canvas

on which 168

Picasso

had sketched

a

few figures,

him

I

heard him

say to the painter

Bahhus (he

likes

and owns done the characters, now you're going to paint the interior for me. You have a knack for creating an intimate ambiance, I don't." It was not just a whim. Did not Rubens, a man of forms above all, often entrust the landscape in his compositions to La Patelliere, the first great landscape painter? "But we've forgotten the model!" says Picasso. "I need a model! What is an artiste peintre without a model?" several of his paintings):

for his British cool

"I've

He then suggests that Jean Marais play the role of the "woman." Marais does not have to be begged. He lies down on the ground, contorts himself, keeps picking up dust from the floor with his pale green corduroy suit until he finds the

pose, his two arms folded behind his head.

el's

Then

I

mod-

take a

photograph of this scene "directed" by Picasso. He wants to show us the most recent canvases and we go upstairs. No doubt he has a few misgivings before unveiling his barely completed works, but that slight apprehension is a long way from the bashfulness of Braque, who sometimes waits

months, even

years, before resolving to allow strangers' eyes to

see certain pictures. Picasso's "shyness"

is

quickly overcome by

the desire, the urgency, to see the "public's" reaction.

sometimes seen him circling rows of through them, snaring

a canvas,

lating them, displaying them,

and

I

have

grouping them, completely ab-

sorbed in the ritual of presentation, to his paintings;

I

rummaging rooting out another, manipustretchers,

all

for persons insensitive

have wondered why he bothered.

cause the very act of "presentation"

is

an important

It is

be-

moment

in

his creative process. It is through other people's eyes that his work becomes separate from him, that his mind becomes aware of what he wanted, what he succeeded in doing. He has sometimes received the same shock as the beholder from a painting put to the test in that way, and I have sometimes heard him say of a canvas he had just shown in public: "I'm seeing it for the "

first

time.

The ceremonial of that operation changed since the Bateau- Lavoir.

It

has probably not

consists of erecting a sort

of pyramidal construction with his paintings, assembling

169

them — usually around an easel with one or even several paintings already on it—juxtaposing small formats and large to highlight their affinities or differences. Picasso adores these improvised arrangements where chance plays a role, the final

reunion of works from the same

grouped together for a family portrait as it were, which their forthcoming and irremediable dispersion into the world renders touching. With a single glance, and often for the last time, he embraces an entire period. Picasso himself found inspiration in his "presentations," as several drawings and paintings attest. I have photographed them at different times in his life.

He

litter,

— which preeminent role — as leitmotiv, and

displays a series of "nocturnes" with the candle

electrical blackouts give a

dark shadows

cast

The operation never ends for room, when all the space

by the flame.

lack of paintings, but only for lack of is

saturated,

the void filled.

all

In the back of the studio, a skylight projects the harsh light

from outdoors onto the

canvases.

By means of an iron ladder,

Picasso can, if the desire strikes him, escape his studio via a fanlight

onto the rooftops of

on

Paris.

Near the

skylight,

hanging

rough portrait of him. It is not by his hand. I learn it is the painter Ortiz de Zarate, one of Picasso's oldest Spanish friends, who began to paint it in this

very high

the wall,

I

see a

very studio. I

want to do

a

casso insists that

I

press the shutter.

timer gives is

me

"group" photo of the individuals present. Piappear in

There

is

it

also.

no point

He

wants to

verdy, Jean Marais,

obstacles:

take

and Fenosa;

my

I I

rehearse the path will

I

is

Pierre Re-

to his left, Fran^oise Gilot

Sabartes. For the sake of symmetry,

Sabartes.

Marcel to

about ten seconds to join the group. Picasso

in the middle, his dog at his feet; to his right

Jaime

call

to that, the automatic

will take,

I

and

will stand next to

which

is

cluttered with

have several canvases to step over before

I

can

place.

The light is bad, the pose is fairly long. I ask my friends not to move and I press the shutter. The little clockwork mechanism

starts to

make

group before the

its

click.

buzzing noise. I

I

rush over to reach the

pass the first canvas without incident,

I'JO

when my foot suddenly hits something that must have been liquid spills onto the red tile: Kazbek,

successfully step over the second,

something and knocks

A

behind the canvas. soaked, ter

is

jumps up,

it

over,

Picasso abruptly turns around.

released. Everyone

laughing and he

is

is

And the

shut-

triumphant:

"I

told you so! Brassai breaks everything, knocks everything over,

Tomorrow he may start a fire here." The overturned object was Kazbek's large bowl, full of wa-

floods everything.

ter.

Since the photo was ruined, we are about to begin again.

But can one ever redo twice into the

same

photo?

a

It is as

my good

river, as

impossible

as

stepping

friend Heraclitus said. As

Picasso, worried about the integrity of his canvases, rushes to

get

them out of the way

so

can get by, the "group"

I

itself

has

changed. Sabartes, called to the phone, has disappeared.

Another individual has appeared: the touchy Catalan painter Ortiz de Zarate. An old face from Montparnasse, he is the one who engraved the poem by Apollinaire on the tombstone of Le Douanier Rousseau executed by Brancusi. And shortly thereafter, Jean Cocteau's chiseled profile emerges from his frogged sheepskin coat, the

And

the camera.

moved

except Kazbek,

This casso's.

is

He

latest style.

He joins

everything works well this time.

not the

who

first

has

time

I

become

a

us.

I

click

No one

has

ghost dog.

have run into Cocteau

at

Pi-

sought refuge in Perpignan after the exodus, where

and then eagerly returned to Paris. In late 1940, he moved into the Hotel Beaujolais, on the edge of the Palais-Royal garden, and in 1942 he took an apartment on the second floor at 36, rue Montpensier, on the side by Colette's home and Grand Vefour. I sometimes saw him in that he finished The

Typewriter,

strange place, cared for by his faithful Madeleine, with her big cat

and

slate

board of "duties,

"

a place

whose window over-

looked the arcades, gates, and streetlamps of

this

melancholic

garden, which even the ghosts of libertines and fashionable

women

have deserted. Picasso and Cocteau have

known each lost none of

other for twenty-eight years. Their friendship has its

fervor since the day the poet

managed

to tear the painter

away from his studio in Montparnasse and dragged him to

Rome

in the

middle of the war, creating

171

Parade with

him and

Diaghilev in 1917. Gocteau often said Picasso was

encounter of his

life.

doubt stimulated

The

painter's audacity

and

principal

the

no humor,

lucidity

mind, as did Picasso's metamorphosing himself, his verbal

his quicksilver

his gift for starting afresh,

wit, his ellipses, his incisive definitions, the

"depths of his

imagination." Since his return, Cocteau often comes here to

draw from that inexhaustible source. Sometimes they have lunch together, with or without Jean Marais,

And

at

Le Catalan.

Gocteau no longer dreads finding himself face

to face

with Paul Eluard, since the two poets have set aside the old and

sometimes violent quarrels that divided them during the surrealist period. I look at Gocteau: still young and slender — not a strand of silver hair in his crew cut

an ounce of extra

flesh.

— all muscle

the tapered fingers, admirably highlighted jacket sleeves so

narrow and

making Juliette,

or the Key to

wrists,

— displayed — by

seem skimpy,

so short they

in rhythm to the dizzying volubility of his lips. film. After

and nerve, not

His long hands with their bony

Dreams

and

He

talks

flutter

about

The Ghost Baron,

for which he wrote the lines, he has just finished shooting

inspired by the legend of Tristram and Isolde.

Eternal Return, is

the

first

It

full-length film for which he conceived the entire

screenplay. "If poets were to seize hold of the movies," he says,

"they could

become

the

via regia

of poetry.

new

plans and already thinking about a

"

Gocteau

is

full

of

film he wants to pro-

duce on his own, with Jean Marais and Berard:

Beauty and the

Beast.

When

the visitors have gone,

I

am

left

alone with Picasso.

Suddenly, an all-black sculpture in relief hanging from the wall attracts

my

attention.

rabbit, dried out like a

PICASSO

Isn't

it

I

approach and discover

a

skinned

mummy.

marvelous?

I

found

it

in the cour

Garree of the Louvre. I

am amused

by the thought that

this

miserable rabbit,

thrown out or lost in the courtyard of the Louvre, might one day enter the Louvre Museum. Picasso would have only to rehabilitate

it,

confer his dignity on

it

17^

by incorporating

it

into a

bathroom on rue La Boe-

painting, as he did with the rag in the tie,

which became the

Guitar.

try its luck at a similar

Why

couldn't that skinned rabbit

adventure?

pickup everything, especially what other people throw out. Do you know what nickname Gocteau gave me one day? "The King of Ragpickers"! Look.

PICASSO

And

I

me

he shows

whole

a

series of small, white

wooden

boxes.

I

PICASSO came home.

pulled

I

It's

Look how ingenious

and closes with just two work of art! I

little nails

share Picasso's love for

made

it is:

serving as hinges.

humble

of ideas we cherish:

comes

last to

"I

behave

like

when

so inge-

the top opens

A real

materials and castoffs,

think of Leonardo in this respect, his head

I

erty,

trash can last night

truly a miracle that boxes are

niously, so simply!

and

them out of a

crammed

full

someone who, out of povand

the fair and buys the things already seen

despised by everyone else."

BRASSAI them together drawer

filled

I

them and glue Every box becomes a little

love big matchboxes.

to

make

skyscrapers.

I

stack

with matches, thumbtacks, paper

clips,

vaccine

points, safety pins, fuses, cigarette butts, cigarette papers.

the air raids, blackouts,

and

scarcity of tobacco,

it's

my

With

only

useful piece of "furniture," always within reach.

PICASSO

I

cigarette box. piles

on the

I

never dare throw out a matchbox or, in

fact, a

Do you remember the Boetie? And the matches! I al-

keep them, stack them.

fireplace

on rue La

ways want to make sculptures, constructions out of them. They are

good

at

representing in miniature those metal tubes that

are assembled to

make

scaffolding. Wait, let

me show you some-

thing.

and comes back holding in his hands a wooden board, on which an astonishing and bold con-

Picasso disappears little

J73

struction stands,

made of a whole network of matches,

to

one another by

to

photograph

it.

little

plasteline balls.

But Picasso

tells

me

I

would

it is

attached

like very

much

missing a few ele-

ments, and that he intends to complete this match sculpture.

one o'clock, after mind, I'll photograph It is

all, it

and my camera

next time.^^

is

put away. Never

28 April ig44

Paris,

I

have arranged to go this

morning with

Picasso to the studio

annex on rue des Grands -Augustins. He

bed and invites me up. A sign of friendship: only family members and his closest friends are allowed in his bedroom. is still

in

The bareness of this room stands in sharp contrast to his overflowing studio. Sitting up in bed, he smokes a Gauloise. He must have smoked a great number of them last night, the ashtray

is

filled

with butts. Marcel has just brought up the mail.

Several letters, already

blanket of his bed.

opened and

On

read, are scattered

a stool are last night's

No one

ing's papers. Also a few books.

erary

life,

lished.

that

He

this

has ever seen Picasso

with a book in his hand. Yet he has read and everything. His remarks indicate he

and

on the morn-

remembered

well-informed about

is

lit-

he knows about everything that has been pub-

reads a great deal. But never during the day, only in

the wee hours, after he has put

down

his brushes, until

he

falls

asleep.

PICASSO Often, you have not come when you made an appointment with me. You have preferred your bed or a

woman bed

to Picasso.

For once,

day.

Do

that

damn broomstick

time. It's

I

also have the right to prefer

my

you think? We'll go to the studio another you know why I'm still in bed, by the way? It's because

to you, don't

I

worked on

in the corner. I

take the stick.

spirals into

it,

it

of Jean Marais's gave

almost

Do you It is

all

night.

me

such

Do you want

like this royal scepter

geometric

^75

style

hard

to see it?

of Pyrrhus?

very beautiful. Picasso has

circles in the

a

burned long

of some reinvented

archaic art.

am

I

struck by his infallible gift for giving

any material he touches.

From

the

first stroke,

life to

he guesses, in-

and reinvents the most fitting technique, as if the sources, secrets, manual skills, age-old experiences of all the graphic and plastic arts have always been instantly at his dis-

vents,

posal.

PICASSO

At

first, I

wanted

to paint

it.

But onstage,

black-and-white make more of an effect than color. with the idea of burning the

stick.

pyrographic instrument here. That's I

when

I

thought of

turned and turned

my

And Jean

this stick

you. He's

come

for

up .

.

to ."

Marais

little electric

on

took longer and was harder than Sabartes comes

But with what? is

I

I

came up

have no

in a hurry.

hot plate. All night,

the incandescent coils. I

It

imagined.

announce: "So-and-so wants

to see

"So-and-so just phoned

fie'll

here in an hour."

176

.

.

.

be

May 1944

Wednesday 3

This time

I

hope we

be able to go to the studio annex.

You've come

SABARTES lutely

will

inundated

this

at a very bad time. Picasso is absomorning. He'll never have the time to go

with you to the warehouse. I

prepare to leave when, radiant, friendly, he suddenly ap-

pears. peintre

I

show him the photo in which he

in front of the

also take the

buxom nude. He

it

will

amuse you,

No one

when

"I

on

quick

it.

I

briefcase, start-

developed

a

it all

the

We were all lookAnd what do we

document!

the "event" occurred.

budged. Yet you had knocked over the bowl, the

water was spilling. Except for Kazbek, act

my

artiste

think."

Well done. What

PICASSO ing in the lens see?

I

mimicking the

delighted with

photos of the "group" out of

ing with the one that was "spoiled."

same,

is

is

the spot.

Why?

Because

I

I

was the only one to re-

have the quickest reflexes, as

as a dog's.

BRASSAI (laughing) The others didn't flinch so as not to spoil a photo with Picasso. And you were anxious to see whether 1 had ruined your still lifes. That's my version. Picasso laughs, but he

knows

I

am joking.

Because he does

possess supremely quick reflexes. In the speed of his gestures

and

gaze, in his vigilance, his instant reactions,

centration, the presence of lapse or distraction

mind of the

I

would be punished by death.

with the second photo of the "group,

177

"^^

find the con-

torero, whose slightest I

present

him

Look. What

PICASSO else?

attracts attention

before anything

the crease in Jean Gocteau's pants! Like a razor

It's

plumb

blade; like a

line!

Ever since Lve known him, his crease

has always been just as clean, just as impeccable. Cocteau was

He was born ironed. And look at the elegance of Jean Marais. And there I am in the middle! Between those two, with my corkscrew pants with no born with

a

pants crease in his cradle.

trace of a crease left,

pointments

I

look

South American woman. I'm sorry.

ing,

bum.

like a

I

have a

morning, including one with

this

And I

still

We

can't

have to

number of ap-

a beautiful

go to the studio

fix

this

myself up. But

graph what you wish, even that young South American, like her.

The

mornPhoto-

stay.

you

if

You're not disturbing me. light

is

marvelous today.

It sets

to vibrating the roof-

tops, the chimneys, the sections of wall Picasso always has in

front of

him when he

trum of washed-out

paints: a discreet

and

grays, reds,

backdrop in

a

spec-

win-

beiges. Via the large

dow, the sun's rays penetrate the room; make the dust on the old beams tes;

fly;

splinter

on

stream onto the red hexagonal their

bumpy

tiles called tomet-

surface; illuminate the

little

metal

and laden with brushes and tubes of and flood the rug where voluptuously and warms his paws and

table stained with paint

color, vestiges of a night of struggle; Picasso's

dog

stretches

skeletal hindquarters. I

do

a

few photos. During

with visitors.

From

all this

downstairs

I

time the vestibule

hear the

murmur

versations, the rise of voices, Picasso's sharp laugh. For a

ment, he comes back upstairs with the South American her his canvases.

It is

noon. The

filled

is

of their con-

mo-

to

show

visitors have left.

SABARTES I'm leaving too. There's an air-raid warning air. And, in case of air raid, they cut off the gas before

in the get

home and I can't prepare my to me several times.

lunch. That's already hap-

pened

comes upstairs and

down: "Oof! Finally alone." Then he abruptly asks me the eternal question: "What about drawing? Have you taken up drawing again?" Picasso

sits

178

I

Since the

brought

a

new year

box of my

I

have started again, and in

He

recent drawings.

fact,

I

have

wants to see them.

PICASSO I like them even better than your early drawings. I have no reason to flatter you or pull your leg. You ought to do an exhibition. What sense is there in hiding these things? You must show them, sell them. I tell him that, having opted for photography, I did not want to spread myself too thin, that for twenty years I have not touched a pencil and that, if he had not insisted, I might never

have taken up drawing again.

PICASSO

You

have a

hear me, fully. It

gift

it's

Frankly,

(almost angry)

and you don't

I

like that

the hand; one can

photography

submission.

as to a

convent.

no longer bore your

PICASSO

No

You

was

It

not possible, you

It's

a

you

part!

One

has the eye but not

One

objects.

retreats to

yourself entered an order

harsh discipline. Your can-

it

lasted only a little while.

to say, to express,

unbearable in the long run. career

"

is

an

When

any submission becomes

One must

one's vocation and the courage to

The "second

satisfy

signature.

doubt. So

you have something

cation.

it.

on your

no longer touch

during the cubist period. vases

exploit

not possible that photography could

requires total abnegation

BRASSAI

don't understand you!

I

make

have the courage of a living

illusion!

I

from one's vo-

was often broke

and I always resisted any temptation to live any other way than from my painting. I too might have done drawings for satirical magazines like Juan Gris, Van Dongen, or Villon. L'Assiette au Beurre offered me eight hundred francs per drawing, but I was intent on earning my living from my painting. In the too,

beginning,

I

did not

sell at a

high price, but

ings,

my

canvases went. That's what counts.

I

tell

Picasso

I

I

sold.

My

draw-

did not choose photography as a "second ca-

reer," a livelihood, but as

one of the means of expression of

our time.

^79

BRASSAI

Few

artists are gifted

enough

put across

to

Les

They would starve to death. Matisse told me one day: "You have to be stronger than your gifts to protect them." You had that gift: at twenty- five, you were famous, you had been successful. demoiselles d'Avignon.

PICASSO Well, success is an important thing! It's often been said that an artist ought to work for himself, for the "love of art," that he ought to have contempt for success. Untrue!

An

artist

cially to

needs success.

produce

his

And

not only to

body of work. Even

live

off

a rich

it,

but espe-

painter has to

have success. Few people understand anything about

not everyone art

is

sensitive to painting.

art, and Most judge the world of

by success. Why, then, leave success to "best-selling paint-

its own. But where is it written that must always go to those who cater to the public's taste? For myself, I wanted to prove that you can have success in spite of everyone, without compromise. Do you know what? It's the success I had when I was young that became my wall of protec-

ers"? Every generation has

success

tion.

The blue

period, the rose period, they were screens that

shielded me.

"The

BRASSAI

best hiding place

is

early glory," said

Nietzsche.

my

PICASSO

Quite

success that

I

Picasso displays

my

against the furniture, lessly repeats:

was from within the shelter of

right. It

could do what

I

liked,

anything

I

liked.

He sets them along the walls, floor. He looks at them and end-

drawings.

on

the

"They must be exhibited,

sold. Leave

it

to

me.

take care of it."

I'll

We

casso introduces

me

to a stranger

"Whose beautiful drawings

PICASSO one

I

"I

The doorbell rings. Piwhose name I do not catch.

have been talking for an hour.

Do you

was thinking

are these?" he asks.

want to exhibit them? You're just the

of.

couldn't be happier," says the stranger.

180

"I like

them."

Picasso, pointing to

me,

tells

him: ''Here's the

artist.

You

have only to work things out with Brassai."

When

the visitor has

have done better.

be in good hands.

It's

left,

Picasso

tells

me: "You couldn't

going even faster than

Do you know

I

thought. You'll

'Renou et Golle' gallery in very good gallery. I myself

the

the Saint-Honore district? It's a had an exhibition of my drawings there before the war, in 1936, I think. The man you just saw is Pierre Colle. I'm sure you'll be successful."

We

leave the studio together

and he

gives

"Don't price them too high. What matters large

number

is

me more that

you

advice:

sell a

of them. Your drawings must go out into the

world."

181

Thursday

4 May 1946

Sabartes, wearing his cap with the chin strap,

is

in the

company

of a young man, Robert Marion, brother-in-law of Christian Zervos, and Marcel. In front of

them

is

an enormous stack of

boxes, tied with string and stuffed with drawings and gouaches.

On

one of them

Each one bears an inscription and

a date.

read: Boisgeloup, 1936. In another,

see Picasso's oldest Paris

I

I

drawings, together with several filled sketchbooks, each page

numbered, annotated, and stamped, part of a I

museum

as if

they were already

collection.

ask Sabartes if Picasso possesses

He must

many of these

boxes.

many are locked in crates or cupboards. How could anyone know how many there are? Some have been sorted and contain only his own works, others are a mix of prospectuses, old engravSABARTES

have about

sixty

of them. But

and lithographs by other own. Making order of all that would be

ings, exhibition catalogs, drawings,

painters along with his quite a task!

The

three

men

busy themselves taking the inventory of

these treasures, destined for a

new volume of

all

Cahiers d'Art, a

monumental publication

that is supposed to embrace Picasso's something never before done during an artist's will probably never be up-to-date. Even in a hun-

entire oeuvre, lifetime.

It

dred years, people

will still

be discovering some drawing, some

gouache, some sculpture of his that has escaped every

list,

every

inquiry. I

am

surprised to see Marcel, the "chauffeur"

182

— without

a

car to drive for the last four years

— armed with a ruler,

ing the inventory operation.

he who

in

its

respective category,

It is

direct-

classifies every sheet

announcing in an authoritarian

voice: "No. 2735' graphite. Thirty by thirty- six, Boisgeloup,

l6

March 1936,"

To my

giving every

work by Picasso an

great astonishment, this

pletely familiar with Picasso's different periods,

technical terms.

I

share

my

official status.

"man of the people"

com-

is

and even uses

surprise with Sabartes.

The example of Marcel demonstrates how Pimost revolutionary impulses naturally become classical.

SABARTES casso's

Not one of his works, however enigmatic or bold irritates

him,

elicits

it

might be,

reprobation or uncontrollable laughter.

Marcel no longer sees anything subversive or aggressive about them. These paintings must have baffled him in the beginning, of course. But twenty years of intimate and daily dealings

with these works have taught

him

mains incomprehensible

many. The growth of this simple

to

to read a language that

still

re-

chauffeur proves that Picasso, always addressing an as-yet nonexistent public, creates that public criteria

and

also

imposes on

by which his body of work must be judged.

ahead of the times,

it's

If

it

the

Marcel

is

because, thanks to his familiarity with

Picasso's paintings, the period of apprenticeship was consider-

ably reduced in his case.

Watching

some

fairly

all

these drawings go by,

I

am

surprised to see

meticulous portraits, in which every eyelash, every

crack in the lips, can be counted. These almost "naturalistic" and sometimes even conventional drawings crop up in each of Picasso's different periods and seem to be independent of the context and style of the moment. I pick up one of these drawings, which depicts Dora Maar sleeping.

SABARTES that

What

are you doing,

drawing with one hand?

good god! Picking up

If Picasso

were here he'd

There's nothing in the world he's so particular about

drawing surface of

his artworks.

smooth, without

wrinkle.

a

On

He

wants

it

kill

you.

as the

impeccable,

that matter, he's intractable.

183

No

friendship would survive such a blow!

threw out

a

publisher

who

The other

day,

he

rashly took hold of a drawing with

one hand and in the middle, not with two hands along the edges.

184

Friday

5 May 1944

This morning we leave — finally! — with Picasso and the book publisher for the studio annex. rather see again

— are wrought

The

first

sculptures

I

see

— or

iron figures fiom the grounds of

Boisgeloup.

They were

PICASSO

severely

damaged. During the war,

the castle was occupied, first by the French army, then by the Wehrmacht. The Germans committed no acts of destruction. It was the French soldiers in the "phony war" who amused

themselves by hoisting

them

as best

I

my

statues

through the windows.

I

redid

could.

Then he opens the crates. I am eager to see all these works, which are unknown to me. Because of the shortage of bronze, they are still all in plaster: birds, doves, human figures, many faces in bas-relief,

sometimes modeled in negative space. Oth-

ers are curious plaster cast impressions.

I

imagine Picasso amus-

— but with the gravity that children and gods devote — by pressing all sorts of shapes, structures, and

ing himself

to their play

materials into the fresh plaster.

And — why

the bark of a tree. first

see

He

takes a

of these experiments go back to 1934 trying out a pastry mold and those

him

molds

that kids love so

much

at

as

monumental

an orange, leaf.

The

Boisgeloup. little

I

sand pie

and refolded, can pro-

as the

Great Wall of China,

that the impression of a simple newspaper,

crushed, can take on the appearance of

round bottom of

lid,

the beach, surprised to see that

casting a simple cardboard box, folded

duce something

box

not? — a living or dead

a

crumpled, creased,

rocky mountain.

The

the cake or sand molds, the rectangle of box

185

perforated with two, three, or four holes to serve

lids,

as eyes,

nose, and mouth, give birth to primitive faces similar to neolithic idols

or the graffiti on Paris walls. Often, several of these

impressions are assembled into

most beautiful ated in

is

a

human

a single sculpture.

from corrugated cardboard, holding

its

One

of the

figure with a rectangular face crea cast

of real leaves

arms: a barbarically extravagant goddess stepping out of

mythology. I

am

struck by the novelty of these plastic experiments. Pi-

done no more than contrive encounters with familiar and structures, assigning them new meanings and new destinies. The artist's hand — the sculptor's thumb — modeling the clay and leaving its imprint in it is totally absent. Without intervening directly, he let his figures model themselves, denying his own hand. And what a hand! The most skillful, the most patient and impatient to draw, engrave, paint, model, casso has

materials

sculpt.

But curiously,

I

find this eliminated, prohibited

hand

as

and as object in many casts and impressions, as if Pihad shifted to his hands the attention he once granted to his face. With his left hand, he had made a whole series of charcoal sketches, gouaches, and pastel drawings "from nature" about twenty years earlier. Here, he pressed them into fresh plaster and made casts, a closed fist at the end of a strong wrist, as if he wanted to seize all its concentrated power. I also see a cast of his right hand, executed, I think, by someone else. It stands alone and autonomous, a monument of supreme potency, equilibrium: fleshy palm. Mount Venus sensually jutting out, willful thumb, fingers pressed tight against one another, preventing any light from passing between them. And what clarsubject casso

ity,

what cleanness, in the deeply etched lines that furrow that

large

palm of a craftsman, dominated by the

rises straight as a rocket to the base

line of fate that

of the middle finger.

Sabartes was mistaken. Picasso was right. There were in fact

about fifty sculptures, which we took from the crates and unwrapped with Picasso. He tells me: "You see, you've still got plenty on your plate! The publisher, a bit frightened by the size the book would "

186

be

if

it

included

all

these "plastic" pieces, whispers to me,

pointing out certain "impressions": "You could

set

them aside, him and

they don't seem very important to me." Picasso hears protests: "Yes, yes, they are too very important!

lute-ly insist that they appear in

And

I

ab-so-

your book."

Picasso can have lunch at Le Catalan again. After four

weeks of forced closure, his favorite restaurant reopens doors today.

187

its

Tuesday 12 June

As

am

I

ringing the doorbell,

never

set foot

casso,

but

I

1^44

see a

hear violent outbursts:

"I'll

He may be Pitake my painting!"

here again! Tell that to Picasso!

am man

I

I

Ortiz de Zarate!

I

want to

out of control, overcome by

of rage, which

a fit

now manage to The Spanish painter wanted to do Picasso's portrait: "You'll come to my place when you like, and I'll pose for you,"

neither Sabartes's cool nor his diplomacy can calm.

Picasso

you."

had told him.

And

"I

want

to have

my

portrait

done by

Ortiz de Zarate began work. Picasso graciously de-

"You can leave your canvas and paints here, you'll continue tomorrow." The rough portrait was hung on the wall, that is where I no-

voted a

first

ticed

a

it

session to him, others were to follow.

few weeks ago. Ortiz de Zarate returned the next day,

and Sabartes told him: "He's very busy, but wait." And he waited an hour, two hours, all morning. "Come back tomorrow, there won't be so

many people

here.

"

And

the painter

came back the next day, and the next, all week, several weeks. At the end of his rope, this easily irritated man has exploded this morning. He was shouting, yelling. Gesturing wildly, he

pounded on

his chest: "I too have

my

pride,

my

ego! If Picasso

wants to have his portrait done by Ortiz de Zarate, he has only to

come

to

my

place, he

knows my address! This

farce has

gone

on long enough!" He reclaimed his canvas, his paints, his He took them, slammed the door, and took off like madman. Sabartes tells me: "A narrow escape. The paint manufacturer arrives, beaming. He has suc-

brushes.

"

ceeded in trading his property for the 188

still life. "I

am

de-

a

34 "Casting

a

simple cardboard box, folded and refolded, can pro-

duce something

as

monumental

35 "The impression of crushed, can take

a

on

as the

Great Wall of China.

simple newspaper, crumpled, creased, the appearance of a rocky mountain.

"

"

36 Opposite, "Fleshy palm, Mount Venus sensually jutting out, willful

thumb, fingers

pressed tight against

one another. 37

"

Left, "As if Picasso

had shifted to his hands the attention he once granted to his face. Here, he pressed them into .

.

.

fresh plaster."

38

Below,

"[He] made

casts [of] a closed fist at

end of a strong he wanted seize all its concen-

the

wrist, as if

to

trated power."

"One of the most

beautiful

is

a

human

figure with a rectangular

face created

from corrugated cardboard, holding

leaves in

arms: a barbarically extravagant goddess stepping out

its

of mythology."

a cast

of real

lighted!" he tells tainly the

me.

enormously.

"I like that still life

most beautiful of

cer-

It is

the ones Picasso has painted

all

recently."

SABARTES

(to the paint

Lucky

manufacturer)

stiff!

You

have in-

credible luck! Do you know that your famous "castle" has just been destroyed by a bomb? And just a few days after the signing! Obviously, you couldn't care less, it's not your business anymore. You have the still life after all! I

do not know whether Sabartes

prankster, you never just a joke.

He

know what

is

joking or not. With that

to believe.

The

story

may be

loves to pull people's leg. Practical jokes have be-

come second nature with him. He makes

a

joke or announces

a

catastrophe with the same imperturbable face. P. Beres, ers,

publisher of deluxe editions, arrives with

including, to

my

great pleasure,

my

old friend

six

oth-

Raymond

Q^ueneau. Picasso does the ritual display of his canvases, but the latest news about the war

too exciting for us to talk calmly

is

about art or painting. Things are gives his opinion.

moving quickly and everyone

General Juin's French army has just taken

Rome, and astoundingly, the Allies have landed in Normandy. do not know exactly what is going on. The official statements of the Germans are garbled, BBC broadcasts are longwinded. Through the scrambled signal, we have learned that Bayeux, Isigny, and Carentan have just been liberated. The Al-

We

lies,

of course, do not seem to have gained

we have the impression the bridgehead unassailable "Atlantic wall,"

it

is

much ground,

holding. As for the

has truly given way.

J

93

but

Friday

Mme

l6 June 1944

M.

M

has been pestering

an El Greco

to sell.

I

me

for several days. She has

must notify "Pablo."

No

doubt he would

The other day, late in the morning, alone with him and spoke to him about it.

be happy to buy

PICASSO

it.

Yes, that interests me,

And

that El Greco.

if I

don't buy

it

I

would

myself,

I

I

was

really like to see

could find

a

The only problem is that many stolen paintings are circulation at the moment. And if you don't know exactly

buyer.

whose hands they've passed through, you expose yourself worst kind of trouble. If the painting was stolen, you're obliged to return

what you get for

and, since the value of

it

it

may be worth

consider you a fence.

Then you

Mme

here to

it

M.

M

my

called

falling,

hope thing would

going to prison.

studio. Let

me

is

to the

next to nothing. Unless they risk

The

the papers of the El Greco are in order.

be to bring

money

in

best

I

me know.

yesterday.

The

El Greco will be

morning. She found a fellow to pull the handfrom I'Etoile to les Grands-Augustins can take

lent to her this cart.

The

trip

two hours. Therefore, she needs to know

would

like to receive

it.

She

will wait for

what time Picasso

at

my

telephone

call

be-

fore giving the signal to leave. Picasso

is

washing himself when

I

arrive

and

asks

me

to

bedroom. I catch sight of him in the doorway of the bathroom, shaving. Naked, broad-backed, bent over

come

upstairs to his

in front of the mirror, he looks like a Japanese wrestler, but

thinner.

hands.

I

tell

him about

the El Greco.

He

throws up his

PICASSO Very bad timing! What a day! All my actors from Desire Caught by the Tail are coming over this morning. And quite a few other people. There will be a huge crowd. Really, I'd prefer I tell

another day.

him

that

Mme

M.

M

's

but that the El Greco can

days,

hours, until

option

is

only good for two

stay at his place for forty-eight

Monday morning.

PICASSO That's very nice, but I don't want that! What if a bomb fell on my studio tonight? What if you caused a fire? The painting would be destroyed and I'd get the worst of it. But why don't they bring over the El Greco this morning after I'm dying to see

all?

An

it.

And

it

will certainly interest people.

El Greco isn't something you see every day. call

I

Mme

M.

M

.

"Picasso agrees.

The

El Greco can

leave."

He

has shaved. Shaved so close, in fact, because of the re-

ception and the presence of pretty

me

vites

to stroke his face,

smooth

women,

that he

as a baby's skin.

proudly in-

He

shaves at night before going to bed, to save time in the ing.

Now he just

barely washes off the shaving soap

his face:

"You shouldn't wash too much, you know,

me,

unhealthy."

"it's

BRASSAI Days of Man?

He

Do you know

the

often

morn-

and wipes "

he

book by Dr. Besan^on:

tells

The

describes the bathroom, the obsession with soft-

ening up in hot water every day,

as the

most wretched and un-

healthy invention of civilization. Picasso, his interest piqued, wants to

BRASSAI

He's

a

know more.

funny doctor. He's taken the opposite

And his book is quite a "You have hemorrhoids?" he says. "Thank your lucky stars, you'll have a long and happy life. He makes fun of everything doctors prescribe and advises only one remedy: "Drink wine and make love. It's one of the funniest books I've ever

view of everything medicine teaches. scandal.

"

"

read.

W5

From while he

the outset, this doctor has

all

Picasso's

sympathy and,

I also tell him this anecdote about "A healer had just been arrested. He is being

getting dressed,

is

the weird doctor:

he breaks

grilled at the police prefecture. After a few hours,

down and

confesses he's a doctor with a degree.

He

begs the

police inspectors not to divulge his 'secret,' because

make him

Picasso

tween

a

it

would

lose his entire clientele."

almost finished getting ready.

is

He

white shirt and a dark beige wool shirt.

Now

latter

and puts

great

many of them, most

on.

it

hesitates be-

He

time to choose the

it is

opts for the

tie.

He

has a

with polka dots, checks, or squares,

white and red, black and red, blue and white. All his

he has

life

been very attached to his ties, even at the Bateau-Lavoir. Fernande says he piled the ones he could not bear to part with in an old hat box. I notice that the bow ties he preferred in his "high society period have almost all disappeared. Has anyone noticed, in fact, that these motifs — polka dots, squares, and checks — often appear in his paintings, that the combination of colors in his tie, his shirt, his jacket, are sometimes reminis"

cent of a fragment of his canvases? For today, a reception day,

he puts on

sumptuous pale blue tie with large white polka dots and, after some hesitation, selects a wool jacket. After all,

he

will

be

a

at

home.^^

In the meantime, the vestibule must already be visitors.

them. Picasso goes downstairs. photos.

with

filled

Marcel has come upstairs several times to announce

A new "motif

"

has

linger upstairs to take a few

I

made

two pots of tomatoes, no doubt

its

appearance in the studio:

a gift.

On

the long stalks,

barely hidden by the leaves, a few tomatoes are beginning to

from tender green to orange. The studio with drawings and rough gouaches depicting

ripen, turning

is

ready filled

these

al-

plants.

When

I

engaged in

on

him surrounded by people, an animated discussion. Once he has got to talking rejoin Picasso,

I

a topic close to his heart,

PICASSO false!

.

.

.

All represent

but

all

life "as

find

no one can interrupt him.

the

documents of every period

seen by

196

artists." All the

are

images we

have of nature we owe to painters. perceive talk

That alone ought

it.

about "objective

reality."

not valid for costumes or for Just this

me, and

morning, while I'll

give

it

to

through them that we

make such images

But what

human

You

suspect.

objective reality?

is

It's

not for anything.

types,

was shaving, this sentence came to

I

to you: objective reality

folded, the way one folds a sheet

once and for

It is

and

locks

must be

carefully

away in

it

a closet

all.

Marcel informs

me

that the "El

The

Greco"

is

waiting in front

of the house in its cart. who pushed it along the Champs-Elysees, through the place de la Concorde, along the quays of the Seine, sweat

and wiping

heels,

is

down

fellow

to no. 7 of this street,

his forehead.

Mme

M.

M

is

covered with

hard on his

,

out of breath. Swathed in several layers of blankets,

enormous. Impossible to get it up the It will come up by the main stairway and

the painting lies there,

small spiral staircase.

the front door, as befits a distinguished guest, Picasso orders. it is in the middle of the studio. The good fellow, Mme M. M and Marcel busy themselves stripping off the ropes and blankets. A dozen persons already collected in the studio

Now

,

follow the operation with interest. Finally, the veil

My

first

affair: a

is

disastrous.

It is a

face

is

doubtless reminiscent of El Greco, but the

hands and drapery are overfinished, the nered.

large religious

Christ with a crown of thorns staggering under the

The

cross.

impression

falls.

A great

cross too

man-

No one

moves, no one dares say a word. Piand approaches the canvas. And from the stentorian voice of Mme M. M suddenly

on

that silence

and

silence descends, the result of stupor rather

than deep emotion. casso puts

sky

his glasses

rises.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have before you one of the

most beautiful El Grecos. trifle for

such

a

Its

masterpiece.

German museum. But

the

He thought he

Germans

spise Christ. Therefore, he lion.

owner was asking

is

it

could

sell

it

to a

don't like El Greco and de-

prepared to

Four million! That's giving

eight million, a

let

it

go for four mil-

away."

She was bellowing with the disarming self-assurance of

W7

a

guide holding forth in front of a gang of ignoramuses. Amused, Picasso was listening to her

he

is

happy

to

listen

— for,

whatever one might think,

opinions — and probably would

to people's

if she had not been rash enough to say: "One of the most beautiful El Grecos, gentlemen, and I'm not the one saying it, that's the opinion of the

not have interrupted her so brutally

director of the Prado

Museum

himself."

These words make the painter

Excuse me, madam! Fm the director of the

PICASSO

Prado Museum!

named by

am

ports,

And

I

have a say in the matter. Yes!

I

was never ousted.

I

had

was

Everyone wanted to

tell

me

And

I

to read a pile of re-

was bombarded, flooded with letters from

I

istrees."

I

the government, the Republican government.

director;

still

start.

my "admin-

of his admiration, his de-

And the safety of all those masterpieces! That caused me many worries, many headaches! But I could never touch a penny of my "salary," which was very meager. After all, I was

votion.

only the director of a

of

all its

phantom museum, of a Prado emptied

masterpieces, which had taken refuge in Valencia.

Then

Picasso turns to

Mme

M.

M

:

you wish the opinion of the Prado Museum, madam, I give it to you: yes, it's an EI Greco, the most beautiful EI

"If will

Greco of all the El Grecos he made to order for certain convents or certain churches. If the good sisters of Saint Theresa or the orphans of Saint Ursula asked him for a few more tears, he happily added them, so many pesetas per tear. One has to live. But this El Greco of the good sisters does not interest me at all! No, the curators of German museums are not such idiots, believe me! If it had been a good EI Greco, they would have bought

it,

that

is

certain, in spite of the crosses, the tears,

and the Christ."

He

asks

Marcel to place Matisse's

bananas next to the El Greco.

He

still life

with oranges and

looks,

compares the two

my

The

paintings.

PICASSO

Definitely,

I

prefer

198

Matisse!

subject

hardly matters to me.

Greco

I

judge them

not even in the same league

is

my

Sabartes, at

side, tells

uation with that Matisse. tisse

exasperates me.

slightest affinity for

Informed by

a

of an El Greco for

I

me:

"I

How can

The

patches of paint.

as

El

as this Matisse!

don't share Picasso's infat-

he think

beautiful?

it

Ma-

have never had and will never have the

him."

telephone sale,

call

from

Picasso of the presence

Fabiani, Vollard's successor, rushes in

from rue de Martignac. But,

examining

after

it,

he also backs

out.

"No one wants And,

as it is

refastened, as

the

main

ing

little

goes

on

it?

"

Picasso asks.

"Wrap

being dressed again in

it is

it

all its

up!" blankets,

its

ropes

being brought down by the front door and

staircase to

its cart,

Picasso, with his sharp

and mock-

laugh, says to the people present: "Poor El Greco!

the way he began.

No one

He

wants anything to do with

him. Fortunately, he has seen better times. Once, when he had recently

been rediscovered,

a

Spanish patron bought two of his

paintings that were in France. Saints, ones.

And

century.

I

them back

to Spain.

Grecos.

That happened in the

was only twelve years old, but the canvas-bearers,

two painters from Barcelona friends, told

remember which Pyrenees on foot on

don't

they were transported over the

a stretcher to get last

I

me

who

later

became my good

about the strange pilgrimage of the El

"

Someone

asks Picasso

how he

discovered the Toledo

painter.

PICASSO

had already seen a few of his paintings, which impressed me very much. That was when I decided to take a trip to Toledo, and it left a profound impression on me. It's probably owing to his influence that my human figures from the blue period It is

I

became elongated.

almost noon.

A new wave

of visitors arrives.

The cream

of the intelligentsia has arranged to meet here. Also present are Michel Leiris

and

his wife, Louise

^99

— "Zette

"

to

her family

the sister-in-law of Kahnweiler, whose gallery she runs. Even

on rue La Boetie— when Picasso, suffering no longer wanted to see anyone — the Leirises were among the rare guests who were still welcome. It was in their new apartment, a short walk from Picasso's studio, on the fifth floor of a building on quai des GrandsAugustins — almost all the windows have a view of the Seine in his darkest days

bad

a

case of the blues,

that the "premiere" of Picasso's play Desire Caught

by the Tail

place the other day. Picasso wrote this diversion in

took

Royan in

four days — between 14 and 17 January 1941 — in a school noteHe let his mind wander in keeping with "automatic writ-

book.

ing"; his verbal trance gave free rein to dreams, obsessions,

avowed

desires, comical

un-

connections between ideas and words,

everyday banalities, the absurd. In

it,

Picasso's

humor and

inex-

haustible spirit of invention are displayed in their pure state.

him during those few uniform Royan — the harsh winter, the German Occupation, the

Everything that preoccupied days in

hardship, the isolation, the suspicion, the pleasures of the bed-

room and

kitchen

— is

characters: Bigfoot,

The

six acts

the driving force behind his burlesque

Onion,

and

Tart,

so on.^^

of the tragic farce unfolded on

they were colorful.

The

set for the

second

sets as

varied as

act represents

one of

the hallways of "Sordid's Hotel." In this scene, the most successful perhaps, a half-dozen feet

— two

feet in front of

each

door — writhe in pain, cry, whimper, and yelp: "My chilblains! chilblains!" At other points, the undertaker drags the heroes away from a luncheon they are preparing and crams them

My

into coffins, or a crocodile devours a policeman.

The

idea of that performance, or rather public reading,

originated with Michel Leiris, ing" to a

man

I

think.

He

assigned the "stag-

of the theater: Albert Camus.

The

task of de-

announcing the acts, and presenting the protagonists also fell to Camus. He was equipped with a stick that struck the three blows to announce the beginning of the performance. Leiris played Bigfoot; Raymond Queneau. Onion; scribing the

sets,

Jean-Paul Sartre, Round-End; Georges Hugnet,

Fat Anxiety;

Jean Aubier, Curtains; Jacques-Laurent Bost, Silence. The beautiful actress Zanie de

Campan, along with Louise 200

Leiris,

Dora Maar, and Simone de Beauvoir, divided up the female roles: Tart, the two Doggies, Skinny Anxiety, and her Cousin. They rehearsed at the Leirises' for several afternoons. Worried, intrigued, and moved, Picasso himself was sometimes present

these sessions.

at

A large audience filled the

Leiris apartment the day of the

performance. Braque was there, along with many writers and other

artists.

Also attending were the Anchorenas, superrich

Argentinians who, in spite of their billions, were never able to acquire the door painted by Picasso that he had promised

them.

Even though she did not follow Picasso's stage directions — "Everyone comes out dressed and covered in soap suds from the bathtub, except Tart, who is completely nude — faithfully

'

Campan was

Zanie de /

have

trails.

six

hundred

liters

Osseous

of milk

And

Blood sausage.

gums, sugar

a great success in the role

in nry urine,

wear

rny hair

sow's

tits.

all

over

the ridiculous outfits I

Tripe. Sausage.

my hands

En-

to

crippled with gout.

and marshmallow. Modestly

am given

mother and a perfect whore, and I know how

And

Ham.

covered with chipolatas. I have mauve

and egg white

Lips twisted from honey

cavities. Gall.

dressed, clean, I

my

in

of Tart:

with elegance. I

am

a

dance the rumba.

the audience listened in silence to another lover's

monologue: You have a nicely turned leg and a well-formed navel, a slender waist and perfect breasts, a terrifying arch to the eyebrow,

flowers, jour hips a sofa, fights in the

Nimes

and

the folding seat

andjour mouth

ofjour

arena, jour buttocks a dish of cassoulet,

shark fin soup. But rny

little

creampuff nj duck,

rny

wolf

is

a nest of

box at the bull-

belly a

andjour arms I

am

a

losing rny

head (four times).

The

play was enthusiastically applauded

gratulated. this

Some people

work by Picasso

Apollinaire's The

as a

and the author con-

have turned up their noses, seeing

mere

trifle, a

Breasts of Tiresias;

hoax, a distant echo of

others found in

it

the colorful-

ness of Rabelais, the inspiration of Alfred Jarry. Picasso

wanted

to

thank his "actors" by inviting them to his place.

Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Pierre Reverdy came,

along with the women, dressed to the nines: Zanie de 201

Cam-

pan, wife of Aubier's editor, had put on

ban; and Simone de Beauvoir, author of

who

is

breathtaking

a

silk

tur-

last year's The Guest,

usually soberly dressed, went to the trouble of wearing a

brooch and took the high crown of her hair up another notch. As for Valentine Hugo, she must have paused before the family jewel case before opting for the enormous brooch on her chest: a coat of arms surmounted with a crown and angels made of a silver compound, encrusted with enamel and carbuncle, v^hich is

now

attracting people's eyes, especially Picasso's.

VALENTINE HUGO to

Mme Victor Hugo.

fashion

at

it's

a

piece of jewelry?

belonged

It

the handiwork of the great jeweler in

the time, Froment-Meurice, the "Cartier" of the

Second Empire. but

my

See

It's

How

do you

precious relic that

I

A bit busy for my taste,

like it?

take out only

on important occa-

sions.

And They

she asks Picasso to show her his recent engravings.

and nudes.

are displayed in a corner of the studio: heads

"How beautiful

they are!" exclaims Valentine, "you haven't

even trimmed them. Alas,

me

tors forbade

can't

I

to engrave.

It

do

that

anymore. The doc-

seems I'd go blind

if I

con-

tinued." Picasso gives a tour of his sculptures. But he has saved a sur-

From

prise for us.

his secret

cupboard, he takes out

manuscript by Alfred Jarry, from the is

crammed

full

as easily

he had

me

filled

The cupboard

and

illustrated by his

hand.

He

have pulled out manuscripts by Eluard, Ai'a-

gon, or Andre Breton

he showed

cycle.

faded

of rare books and manuscripts by poets and

writers, almost all annotated

could just

Ubu

a

as

by Reverdy or

Max Jacob. One

the manuscript of Apollinaire's

with animals of

all

kinds by his

Bestiaries,

day,

which

own hand. The

most of the letters received from his poet friends. The Jarry manuscript he showed us was Ubu Cuckold or Ubu in Chains. Picasso recites several colorful passages from

cupboard

it;

also contains

he knows them by heart. "We should stage that one!" he

Albert Camus,

who shows

a

keen

tells

interest.

In another group, people are discussing the Vichy authorities'

ban on

Andromaque,

produced and performed by Jean Mar202

Edward VII Theater. The Milice interrupted the performance and had the theater closed down. Since 1941. a regular cabal has risen up against Jean Cocteau and Jean Marais. They have been the butt of an avalanche of insults, and the ais at

the

press has constantly lashed out against them.

of Parents

The 194^

revival

Le Gymnase was disrupted by violent demonmembers of the Milice. The Typewriter, which was

Terribles at

strations by

A

playing at the Hebertot Theater the same year, was banned. series of incidents disrupted

performances of Britannicus. The

young actor got into a brawl one day with Alain Laubreaux, one of the most venomous Occupation critics, and Cocteau was injured, beaten black and blue on avenue des ChampsElysees. The "New Order" government attributes France's defeat to the relaxation of mores and has staged Socratic trials. Andre Gide and Jean Cocteau, "corruptors of French youth" — both by their works and by their personalities — were preappointed scapegoats.

Some maintain

that the hostile fate befalling the heroes of

Andromaque did not spare the play

formed";

movie

"It

itself: "It

was poorly per-

was a mistake to give the parts of tragedians to

stars."

As for Jean Marais, leaping about half naked on

the stage, his back gleaming, his chest and hips swathed in a

panther skin, brandishing the looked rather

like a

edy's excesses inevitably verge

REVERDY

I

decorated by Picasso, he

just ran into

on comedy. Jean Marais.

He

is

desperate.

of protest to the newspapers have had no effect.

His

letters

can

criticize a play, say all the

a

stick

dancer. Others object that onstage the trag-

man's private

life is

bad things you

like,

unacceptable. Jean Marais

is

You

but attacking powerless be-

The censor has officially banned his replies from being published. Where are we headed? They can odiously drag you through the mud and you don't even have the fore his slanderers.

right to

defend yourself.

Valentine

REVERDY Valentine.

I

Hugo

asks Reverdy what

Working,

me? I'm

he

is

working on.

not working on anything,

find that events are outpacing literature.

203

HUGO

All the same,

communiques

are

REVERDY

I

more

you don't mean

interesting than

do indeed. That's

to insinuate that

poems?

exactly

what

I

mean. That's

the only literature that deserves to be read right now.

can assure you

remark

I

disaster, the

me

interests

to Reverdy,

Commune,

ulated

And

I

passionately.

"The

years

1870— 71,

years of war, of

were very productive for the

painting and poetry,

cially

you

it

war

as if the

espe-

arts,

war had in some sense stim-

"

artists.

REVERDY That's very possible, my friend. All I is that I am nearly paralyzed by events, incapable

can

tell

of writing

a single line in these frightening times we're living in.

offer to take a photograph. Alas! Several people have al-

I

ready

left.

We

in the middle.

all

go upstairs to the painting studio. Picasso

On his

right are Zanie de

Eluard — daughter of Gala — and

Leiris, Pierre Reverdy, Cecile

Dr. Lacan; on his

left,

Hugo and Simone

Valentine

voir.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Michel

ting

on

the floor. Albert

Leiris,

Camus

ment, Picasso's dog, Kazbek,

is

Campan, Louise

his

de Beau-

and Jean Aubier

are sit-

squats down. At the last

mo-

back turned to the lens, joins

the ''group." 1

leave the studio with Pierre Reverdy.

We

walk toward

Saint-Germain-des-Pres, discussing recent events. As we are parting ways, he says point-blank: portraits

ing

you did of me.

my lifetime, my my death."

I

like

"I

hope you

still

have the

them. Don't publish them dur-

friend; let

them be

after

204

a witness to

what

I

was,

Saturday 12

I

wonder

May 1945

has changed here.

if life

My

last visit

was on 21 June

1944, almost a year ago! Two months later, 25 August, was the Liberation of Paris, and from one day to the next, Picasso's

made him

studio was invaded. His courageous attitude

standard-bearer, and the whole world wanted to salute

a

him

as

the symbol of recovered freedom. Poets, painters, art critics,

museum

directors, writers dressed in the

uniform of Allied

ar-

mies, officers or simple soldiers, climbed the steep staircase in a

compact mob. There was

become just

has

as

a

crush of people

at his place.

He

popular in Red China, in Soviet Russia,

he was in the United States after his major exhibition in

as

New

York. And, for months, Picasso good-naturedly relished uni-

made himself available to journalists, to photographers, and even to the curious who wanted to see him

versal glory, graciously

"in the flesh." I run into Ines in the courtyard. Marcel at the entrance, and Sabartes in the vestibule. Everyone at his usual post. "What a surprise!" exclaims Sabartes. "Why don't you come anymore? by "

"I it's

was waiting for the storm to pass. Since the Liberation,

been

a

mob

PICASSO Yes,

it

scene, hasn't it?"

(embracing me)

Brassai, what's

become of you?

was an invasion! Paris was liberated, but

am under

siege. Visitors

day, there was a

nothing better

come

I

do than

still

every day in packs. Again yester-

huge crowd here. People behave

to

was and

to see

them.

205

as if

Of course,

I

I

had

also love

doing nothing. lazy.

Gome,

And

I

I'll

find

it

very pleasant. By nature,

I

am

rather

show you something.

Picasso drags

me

off to his

"something" he wanted to show

little

apartment.

The

me is a first edition of a book He has just acquired it.

of poetry by Stephane Mallarme.

Hardly had he paid for likeness of the poet.

book and

for this

He

also

I

it

He

when he enriched

tells

wanted

me, smiling:

to recover

"I

it

with a very good

paid a high price

my money."

opens an Edgar Allan Poe, in which he has

also

sketched the author's portrait. Making rare books unique by

on them has become a habit with him. Almost all the books for bibliophiles from his treasure cupboard are annotated and adorned by his hand. putting his personal stamp

Nonetheless, he has another reason for showing

me

this

book. Under the portrait, in his spasmodic, choppy handwrit-

he has written three words.

ing,

And

in three words, he has

marked a historic event in his life. I read them on the flyleaf: "no more forelock! Paris, 12 May 1945." His famous black lock of hair, which slipped out of his hobby painter's hat and frightened his family, the black crow's wing, drawn, caricatured, even sculpted a

from the with

hundred

times, which veered abruptly

far right, fell over his forehead, grazed his left eye

its tip,

only to gradually curl up toward the temple

— that

lock has undoubtedly long since disappeared. There were only a

few stray strands

left,

baldness, but which he

tained with care.

It

symbolic strands powerless to mask his still

saw as relics of his youth and main-

was not until this morning that he had the

courage to make a clean break with

burying the dead lock of hair in

a

this

bygone

past,

solemnly

book by Mallarme.

PICASSO One cannot live both in the present and in the So when are you going to photograph me without my lock

past.

of hair?

And

I

notice that, yes, his hair

is

cut short.

End

of the

"forelock period."

PICASSO

When will the album come

206

out? I'm looking for-

ward

to

immensely.

it

It's

always a pleasure to see dispersed

works, lost from sight long ago

not forgotten, brought to-

if

gether again. By the way, the other day

We

of your photos.

looked

I

came

across a batch

them with Dora.

at

For the moment, the publisher has no paper.

BRASSAI

I'm also missing several of your old sculptures.

photograph only Madman

in

Cap

at

the

home

I

was able to

of a collector.

PICASSO What can be done? Fabiani still doesn't want them reproduced; I myself own a few, but on rue La Boetie. In any

case,

did

it

I

now

have Seated Woman here,

my very

first

sculpture!

I

in 1899.

BRASSAI Picasso

is

We're exactly the same age. turning the

the right light,

when

little

bronze around, trying

Paul Eluard arrives. Since his

dedicated to Pablo Picasso in 1926, closer

ties

been established between them, bringing the to Picasso,

who

to find

first

poem

of affection have

surrealists closer

illustrated several of Eluard's collections. In

1936, the poet gave

on

a lecture

Picasso in Barcelona, where a

retrospective of his painting was being held. But the poet be-

came the

painter's major partner only with the Spanish Civil

War, which raised their consciousness and brought about shift in their art.

The

the rush of events.

great stanzas Eluard wrote at the time

were an echo of Guernica. The two men's power, their

will to

creation are the

For the most neither of living

"lust for life," their

transform pain and sorrow into the joy of

common

realist

whom

denominators of their friendship.

of painters and the most visual of poets,

can imagine

life

without love,

art

is

the act of

and seeing and not of imagining and dreaming;

the physical,

it

a

Together, they took a position in relation to

built

on

requires the support of reality and flees every-

thing gratuitous.

us.

Eluard, who He bought a

with them.

I

is

back from London, has many things to

few statuettes from the Cyclades and

remark

that, if

the sculptures in the world,

I

I

is

tell

happy

had to choose from among all would take one of these Cycladic

207

moment's from the Aegean Sea, so

goddesses without tures

a

quintessence of the plastic

ELUARD

The

art

hesitation; for

me, these sculp-

spare, so pure, represent the

arts.

market

almost nonexistent in Lon-

is

don.

And

They

can't indulge in "extravagances."

the taxes are enormous. People have

little

money.

So the foreigner easily money. I came across a very beautiful drawing from the blue period. Only eighty pounds sterling. But I was out of money. Roland Penrose offered to lend it to me. In the end, he bought it himself. finds very interesting objects for

And

NUSGH

I

so

wanted

little

to have a

drawing from your

"blue period."

An

art

publisher arrives, and Picasso shows us the series of

engravings he has

ELUARD

made

for him.

You must be

(to the publisher)

happy! Picasso has

good job for you. Usually, you'd have to badger him times, use up a lot of saliva and shoe leather to get everything. You know that yourself. The book

done

a

don't

know how many

complete: everything

is

in

it;

I

is

the etchings, the culs-de-lampe,

absolutely everything!

The publisher settle,

fiow

much do

PICASSO you

tells I

Picasso:

still

have one thing to

owe you?"

Really, are

to the cash register?

And

"We

you serious? You want me

Come on

he drags him into an adjoining room.

later, they

to take

then!

A few minutes

reappear.

PICASSO

Done.

ELUARD

But no one heard the cash register ring.

PICASSO Well, you'll hear it ring soon enough. I'm going one with a bell. And I hope it'll ring often.

to install I

was happy

I

had run into Paul Eluard. Since our collabo-

ration at Minotaure, we have remained

208

on

friendly terms.

He

sent

me autographed

seen

him during

ber 1943' Zone. I had in

But

copies of his books.

the Occupation; the

I

had

time was in

last

rarely

Novem-

preparing to move to the Unoccupied

my hands some

v^hich were circulating

of his Roneotyped poems,

under the

table,

and

also Poetry and Truth,

book printed in red ink, but I did not know the role he had taken on so courageously, if not recklessly, in the Resistance. a

Like Picasso, Eluard did not want to leave Paris. Plus de plaine plus de rire

Le dernier chant Sur

s'est

abattue

campagne informe

la

No more plain no more The last song has fallen

On

et

noire.

laughter

the formless black landscape.

A few weeks ago,

entering

a cafe

by chance on boulevard

had seen him again with his wife, his hair hands trembled more than before. He joyfully announced that, after spending the final months of the Occupation in an apartment on rue du Bac, lent to him by trustworthy friends, he had just been able to Saint-Germain,

I

grayer, Nusch's face paler. Eluard's

move back It

into his

own home. Why

didn't

was arranged for the next day. Eluard

come

I

lives in

to see

them?

La Chapelle,

one of the most desolate neighborhoods of Paris, among goods pyramids of coal, coke, and

stations, warehouses, gasometers, slag.

Born

in Saint-Denis

France, which has flag

—

it is

become

— the burial ground

almost with pride that he sang:

an ugly facade.

"

And

it

"I

was born behind

was something of the ambiance of his

childhood that Eluard found in La Chapelle also

— "beautiful

in a

would say. The Saint-Martin Canal, passes through his home town, is not far away. And

sinister way,

which

of the kings of

the city of factories and of the red

"

as Prevert

Leon-Paul Fargue, the "pedestrian of

Paris,"

is

almost his

neighbor.

This

is

where Paul Eluard

lives, in a

three-room apartment

on the fourth floor, in a building like all the others on rue Marx-Dormoy: a chapel of art and poetry in the heart of La Chapelle. The trinity dear to Eluard is named Max-Ernst209

Chirico-Picasso. Ernst, logne,

is

A large is

present in the

whom

Eluard

Blindfolded

mannequin standing

first

met in 192O in Co-

Man and in

a portrait

of Gala.

in front of a strange construction

and defrom the age of Porlong fascination with Chirico is compa-

representative of Ghirico, painter of rigid bodies

serted,

dreamy

The

ticos.

plazas draped in silence,

surrealists'

rable only to that with Lautreamont, the other "fixed point" in their

movement. Mystery, the unexpected, the dream, the

traction of an

unknown

at-

universe charged with anxiety, every-

thing they liked they found in these enigmatic works, which

The cult of Chirico and Lautreamont dates from the day Andre Breton, riding a bus along rue La Boetie during World War I, saw The Child's Brain in Paul Guillaume's display window. He jumped off the bus and

were "surrealist" before the

fact.

bought the canvas, which his disciples could henceforth admire in his home. Eluard used to own the famous Mannequins of the Pink Tower

to

and

anger when Chirico, in

the arts, repudiated ings.

Then surrealists' confusion turned a mind shift rare in the annals of

Poet's Departure.

They took

and denigrated

his "metaphysical

his about-face as a blow, a stain

on

"

paint-

his char-

acter.

my last visit here, the Picassos have taken over among them, the portrait of Nusch, which dates

But since walls and,

from August ture with of, as if

all

^

masterpiece. Picasso painted this airy crea-

the gentleness,

all

the delicacy his brush

her head with

its

frail

adolescent's body, her delicate neck,

her childlike mouth, the a

on her Emerging from

slight smile

beam of light.

background, Eluard's partner looks

lips,

wafted

a pearl gray

like a disincarnated,

imma-

being.

Eluard has many other paintings. early drawings by Salvador Dali,

red

capable

rebellious hair, her eyes encircled by long

onto the canvas on terial,

is

he had sought repose from the terrible in the graceful.

Nusch's bust, her

lashes,

the

still life

I

saw

a

curious series of

and an unexpected blue and

by Chagall from 1912,

Table with a Bottle.

A canvas by

Roland Penrose, ambassador to England for the surrealist movement, attests that he could be a painter when he chose. Picasso and Eluard were his guests at his propthe English art critic

210

Penrose married Lee Miller, the beautiful Amer-

erty in Sussex.

ican

of

from the

Man

Ray's,

annees foUes in

whose

Montparnasse,

portrait, full of

student and model

a

humor and

imagination,

Picasso painted in 1937-

Mad King, sculpted

in

wood

with a knife by a mental patient,

presides over the premises, holding court in a corner with

laced boots and

its

disproportionately large head wearing a

its

surrounded by small pre-Columbian terra-cottas, from Easter Island, British Columbia, and New MexEluard's favorite object is a bronze death's head, whose

crown.

It is

fetishes ico.

skull

opens

tic-tic

of

at

the press of a button to reveal a watch: the tic-

of time

is

tucked into the brain

like a

worm

in a piece

fruit.

Eluard opens his large Directoire library to out Balzac's Unknown

Masterpiece, illustrated

me and

takes

by Picasso and en-

riched with a few original drawings; then a rare

relic,

the only

existing manuscript by Isidore Ducasse, count of Lautreamont.

All the books in Eluard's possession have

pered with

are a few letters

on

autographs, drawings, photographs, espe-

letters,

cially Dali's Visible

been lovingly pep-

Woman and Andre Breton's

and drawings from

Nadja. In the latter

Nadja, Breton's notations

the strange heroine of surrealism,

and many photos, in-

with Glove and another of the Hotel des Grands Hommes, across from the Pantheon, where Andre

cluding one of Woman

Breton lived

at

the time. Eluard also shows

manuscripts, and

am

I

surprised

at all

me

a

few of his

own

the crossed-out words.

poems — so simple, so limpid — you would think they had come in a single burst of inspiration. Eluard dispels that illusion. Not one of them emerged fully formed from his pen. He wrote them laboriously, sometimes struggling over them for a long time. "There is as much conscious will as spontaneity in a poem, he tells me. "Few fortuitous images can appear as such in a poem. They must be purified, mastered, in keeping with the feeling that dictates the poem. Rapture has to Reading

his

"

be calligraphied, verbal delirium controlled by the poet's sensibility."'^'^

During the lunch prepared by Nusch, Eluard told

me

I

was struck by what

about the writers who influenced him. Before

2N

mentioning Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Lautreamont, Shelley, Novalis, Holderlin, or Goethe, he evoked Walt Whitman. It is possible that ten years earlier,

before his conversion to militant

communism, Eluard might not have put forward time," he

tells

this

name

so

had lived in our me, "the great American poet would have cho-

categorically as that of a predecessor. "If he

sen the same path

I

did."

212

Paris

15

May ig45

from its long illness and starting to come alive again. You wonder where all these ravishing young women are coming from, pedaling bare-legged on their bicycles, their skirts multicolored corollas puffed up and whipped about by the wind. At ten

Joyful times, happier faces. Paris

o'clock,

of

my

I

have a date with her

of reservations.

like to I

known each other

have

"

come? She

meet him. But just yesterday she was

see her sitting

Gorgon's hair and beaming

We me

Cafe Danton, the usual "base

at

expeditions to Picasso's apartment. Will she

would undoubtedly full

visibly recovering

is

eyes,

on

the terrace with her

drinking

for four weeks.

a glass

of muscatel.

A magazine

asked

for a photograph of Woman with Orange to illustrate an article

on Picasso's sculpture. "Our messenger boy will ride by in an hour to pick up the photo." But after the phone call, a young

woman

appeared in the place of the courier. She apologized:

"The bike messenger got an emergency call from the maternity ward. His wife just had a baby. So I took on ..." We exchanged

a

drawings.

made

a

Time

mistake:

with Orange. with

few words. She started to look

What

passed. it

I

at

my

photos,

my

gave her the photo in question, but

was Young

a tragedy!

Girl Playing with Ball

The weekly had

Orange in the following issue

to publish

and apologized

the error. But, thanks to that blunder,

I

I

instead of Woman

Woman

to readers for

was able to see her

again.

She

is

there in a white blouse, pleated plaid skirt,

mauve

Basque espadrilles from the Pyrenees, where she comes from.

She has come simply

to tell

anything in the world.

me:

"1

How would 213

wouldn't go to Picasso's for he receive

me? To

bring

a

woman

home

no reason, with no pretext How can I persuade her? I order two more glasses of muscatel. She protests: "But in what capacity? What capacity?" "If you absolutely insist on a 'capacity' so you can go to Picasso's," I tell her, "I name you my 'secretary.' He wants to buy drawings from me and you can be the one to present the box." Finally, the muscatel has had its effect. Marcel announces us. Picasso appears, bare-chested, wearstrange

to his

for

..."

ing skimpy blue shorts: "You're not alone? Excuse me. I'm not presentable. Showing

He

says this

half-turn. But he

PICASSO as if I'd

Why,

stays.

she's very

of the house.

how are you? I greet you you find? (Turning to me): girl. I'm going to get dressed.

Hello, Mademoiselle,

known you

forever, don't

charming,

I'm having quite

you in

up naked in front of a young lady ..."

with false modesty and pretends to make a

a

few

this

visits

He knows

all

today. Brassai will give

the nooks

and crannies.

you I'll

a

tour

be with

a few minutes.

When

did Picasso acquire the habit of receiving guests in

such skimpy outfits?

A photograph of 1912,

taken in his studio

on rue Schoelcher, across from the Montparnasse cemetery, shows him already in shorts, bare-chested, his cap pushed back. A longtime habit no doubt. Fernande says that, in the summer heat of the Bateau-Lavoir, he sometimes welcomed visitors in boxer shorts, and that certain prudes asked him to put on a pair of pants. Gilberte is delighted. "How unaffected he is. I didn't imagine him that way." We are in the studio and she examines the sculptures assembled here, then catches sight of Woman ange.

"Look," she

tells

me, "but for

that statue

have met, might never have gotten to

with

know each

"

other.

"You're forgetting the bike messenger's wife and baby, say,

laughing.

"We owe them

as well,

Or-

we might never

more than we can

"

I

repay."

Picasso reappears, just as naked as before. Instead of get-

ting dressed, he went looking for a box of chocolates for

Gilberte.

214

Take some. They're very good. The Americans

PICASSO offered

me

whole freight load.

a

Fifteen minutes later, he rejoins us, dressed. the date of

my

exhibition

at

Renou

I

et Colle.

chance to say something good about some-

one, people are wary. that's often the way

BRASSAI

You wouldn't

think

so,

would you? But

it is.

Since you asked for them,

I

brought you

drawings. But the best ones are not in the box.

my

announce

I'm delighted! For once someone listened to

PICASSO

me. Usually, when

for

I

exhibition. So

I

kept

my

them out

you should choose from the ones

I

ex-

hibit.

On

PICASSO

my mind is at rest! Your 'best among the ones you set

that account,

drawings" are certainly in this box,

do

bad job of choosing their works for We ought to leave that choice to other people. You'll be a success and you'll go on, I hope. Why not do etchings? That would suit you. You draw them as usual, but with a sharp tip, in varnish, and you can get all the effects desired. The burin requires more care and manaside. Painters always

an exhibit.

ual

And Fm no

a

exception.

skill.

A military officer

comes

in. It

is

"Colonel Berger," former

colonel of the International Brigades.

And

Picasso embraces

Andre Malraux.

MALRAUX good shape!

I

What

a pleasure to see

was worried

when

I

you again!

And

in such

learned you were in occupied

Paris.

When

PICASSO

did we

last see

each other? Four years

ago? Strange things have happened since then.

I

have often

is becoming of Andre Malraux? was one of the ones who didn't come back. You

thought of you. What afraid you'd be to

tempt

fate.

Malraux,

I

You pursue danger. You're who was

in

Garonne and Gorreze,

command

tells

how he 2^5

like

a daredevil.

of the maquis in Lot-etgot through

all

the rough

how he was arrested, then freed, Gestapo. "The greatest enemy of the secret army," he

times during the Resistance,

by the

He also talks German communi

"was not the Wehrmacht, but the Gestapo."

says,

about the "Iron Plan," the plan to sabotage cations,

which was successful beyond their wildest expectations

MALRAUX heard the

fifty

I'll

never forget that night in June

air-raid signals

on

BBC, which

the

when we

finally gave

us the green light.

A few months ago,

Malraux

Josette Clotys. She

elist

tragically lost his wife, the

from the

fell

Gaillarde station just as she was about to rejoin him.

not

talk

mander

about

it.

He

recounts his

latest feats as

in Alsace: the taking of Strasbourg

fight to prevent

MALRAUX

its

nov

train in the Brive-la-

He

brigade

does

com-

and the dramatic

being evacuated.

All over

Germany, people

military putsch against Hitler failed.

are sorry that the

The war was

already virtu

There was not a glimmer of hope left. How many Ger would have been spared! I passed through the big cities: Berlin, Hamburg, Frankfurt, Munich. All in ruins. You'd have had to see it! It's unimaginable! I've just come bac from Nuremberg. That city where Hitler held his big parades is nothing but a sinister skeleton now. ally lost.

man

cities

PICASSO

MALRAUX

It

must be unreal.

Yes, unreal!

An

apocalyptic sight!

No

streets

nothing but carcasses and big bulldozers clearing them

left,

snowplow through

out of the way,

like a

duced

For instance,

tory.

The

to dust.

The only

things

explosions blew

left

I

saw the

piles of

Museum

houses re-

of Natural His

standing are a few sections of walls.

human and animal

skeletons

all

over the

They stare at you here and there in unexpected posisometimes through broken windowpanes. It's a house o horrors. The house of the dead. Do you know what it reminds place. tions,

me

of? Goya!

PICASSO

What about

the Nazi leaders?

216

41

Following page

and poetry

,

"This

is

where Paul Eluard

in the heart of

La Chapelle.

lives "

.

.

.

|inj a

chapel of

art

I

MALRAUX ler, volatilized

Each met the fate befitting his character: Hitin the fire and swords of the Berlin hell. A

Wagnerian death, worthy of Twilight of the Gods, accompanied by "Stalin's organs." Even that insignificant Eva Braun, through her suicide with Hitler, assumed the aspect of a heroine from the Nihelungen. Goebbels, the fanatical and cantankerous clubfoot, also committed suicide, after he had slaughtered his wife and five children. As for the fat, bon vivant Goring, the smiling Goring, well, he lives on: he eats and drinks, changes his outfit, gives interviews, struts, has himself photographed from every angle.

And what

PICASSO he had!

Hung up

by his feet

butcher shop. Every time

throwing out his

about Mussolini! What

I

like a flayed side

saw

many

ask Malraux if there are

MALRAUX my

I

him

rode around in

a

the crowd,

throwing his head back,

chest,

pression someone was kicking I

of beef in

him haranguing

end

a terrible

had the im-

I

in the behind. attacks

on

the "occupiers."

accompanied only by think if there had could have done that? No, in reality,

orderly and a junior officer.

a car,

Do you

been any real resistance I there is no resistance left. The Germans are relieved. Content, rather, to be occupied by us and not by Soviet troops. They're coming out of a nightmare. And even fanatical Nazis, though they may not admit it, would rather it be all over.

BRASSAI rious

Why is

"German

MALRAUX

everyone talking so

maguis"? It's a

Is it

its

survival!

can do

all

On

legend, but a legend carefully main-

They have

every interest

the pretext of fighting the "resistance,"

one

kinds of things that would not be justified otherwise.

For example, you see at

about the noto-

just a legend?

tained by the "occupiers" themselves. in

much

a

detachment armed

to the teeth leaving

night for an expedition against the "maquis.

ing, soldiers return

from the

"

In the

morn-

forest with the captured "en-

emy": hares, wild boars, enormous bucks, and other game. the pretext of fighting the "maquis," they go hunting.

2/9

And

On the

leaders close their eyes.

They too

benefit: they will eat the

"enemy."

Nusch Eluard, who has just The author of Man's Hope and The Human Condition comes

Picasso introduces Malraux to arrived. alive.

Nervously tapping his temples, he speaks to us

he were addressing

MALRAUX lies

a vast

now

as if

audience.

The most

serious thing,

you

see, is that the

don't have a well-defined policy in Germany.

Al-

The Russian

method

is completely different from the English, the French, and the American. And the Americans often behave in an incoherent and even contradictory manner. You want an example? They decided to wage an intense propaganda campaign over the radio. And that may be an excellent idea. But at the same time, and with the utmost rigor, they have confiscated all the radio sets. You see them everywhere piled up by the hundreds, the thousands. No German can listen to their propaganda anymore.

Nusch

Is

MALRAUX

there anything Yes, pigs.

The

left to

buy in Germany?

quantity of pigs

is

unimaginand slaugh-

able. It's as if only the pigs escaped the destruction ter.

You wonder

if

they are French pigs that rushed by the

trainload to Germany. That's very possible.

look

was unable to

their identity papers.

at

We

I

go into the studio. Malraux

with Sheep,

is

keenly interested in Man

whose hoof Picasso has reattached since the "ac-

cident."

PICASSO After I don't know how many sketches and months of reflection, I assembled that statue in a single afternoon. Paul Eluard was there. Marcel helped me. I first built the armature. But it's rarely calculated properly. I sort of messed up mine. It was much too weak and could not bear the load. The statue started to wobble under the weight of the clay. It was awful! It threatened to collapse at any moment. I had to act fast.

I

enlisted Paul Eluard as well.

chored Man

with Sheep to

the beams.

220

I

We

took cords and an-

decided to

cast

it

in plas-

ter immediately. I'll

remember

It

was done the same afternoon.

that one.

intended to get back to

I

What a job! it. You see

these long skinny legs, the barely indicated feet, hardly sepa-

from

rate

the

like the rest. it's

too

ground?

I

would have preferred

didn't have time. Finally,

I

late. It is as

If

it is.

I

touched

it

to

model them

left it as it

I

Now

was.

now, I'd run the

risk of

ruining everything.

We

go upstairs, and Picasso displays his

the quays of the Seine, the bridges, Notre Cite, the Vert- Galant. Small,

latest canvases:

Dame,

the

He de

la

sometimes minuscule paintings.

PICASSO (to Malraux) You're surprised, eh? I've never been considered a "landscape artist." And that's sort of true. I haven't painted many landscapes in my life. But they came on their own. Since I

I

was unable to travel during the Occupation,

often took walks with Kazbek along the Seine and

became

I

steeped in the Pont-Neuf, the Pont Saint-Michel, the trees

along the quays.

One

me unbeknownst

to myself

began

to seep out.

kind of synthesis of them. Not one was painted from sketches,

How

do you

like

had permeated

day, all those things that I

tried to create a

Not one with the "motif" in front of me. is

a "slice

of

life."

them?

Malraux looks

at all

the variations

on

the same theme.

He

compliments certain color schemes: symphonies of grayish beige hues, dark or light, of grayish casso painted the Parisian banks in

mauve and blue all

kinds of light:

skies. Piat

daylight, twilight, nighttime; flooded with sunlight or

the starry sky.

He

also

shows us

a

dawn,

under

painting of the Vert-Galant

where, between the arches of the Pont-Neuf and the large trees of the quays, one can make out the equestrian statue of Henri IV. Painted in I943» this landscape

is

the

first

of the series. In

another canvas, the white silhouette of Sacre-Coeur,

a

memory

of youth, appears above the rooftops.

Malraux

leaves us. Picasso

groups together

all

the canvases

on which Notre Dame appears and asks me: "Have you photoDame from behind? find the back view more

graphed Notre

beautiful than the front.

I

"

221

BRASSAi

Yes,

the cathedral

have photographed

I

From

it.

that angle,

more unusual. What bothers me, however,

is

is

the large metal spire planted right in the middle of the architectural construction by Viollet-le-Duc. trary,

it

PICASSO like

it.

morillo

On

I

v^as also

the contrary.

completely arbi-

surprised by that spire. But It's like a

I

don't dis-

banderilla thrust into the

of Notre Dame.

What

BRASSAI is

It's

seems to me.

appeals to

me

in your landscapes of quays

that they're a striking likeness even

though you

can't really sit-

uate anything in particular.

aim for likeness. A painter has to obmust never confuse it with painting. It can be translated into painting only with signs. But you do not invent a sign. You must aim hard at likeness to get to the sign. For me, surreality is simply that, and has never been anything else, the profound likeness beyond the shapes and colors by means of which things present themselves.

PICASSO

I

always

serve nature, but

Paul Eluard and a bibliophile come in, the latter offering book bound by Bonet. And Picasso buys this rare book illustrated by Picasso. A young American soldier, the photographer Francis Lee, arrives as well. And then Baron Mollet. Nusch asks Picasso if he has been working much recently. a

PICASSO too

many

I

can't

work

well right now.

Too many

visitors,

meetings, delegations, parties.

NUSCH ELUARD

How fortunate

that they keep

you from

working somewhat. Otherwise it would be terrible! You'd paint day and night and you'd corner the market on all the canvas available.

The

You should

very

bed, almost

last

leave

some

for other people.

painting by Picasso

monochrome, with

nude lying on gray and blue. Even

is a

a little

large

though the parts of the body are completely scrambled, the breasts attached almost to the rump, it exudes an enormous voluptuousness.

222

a

PAUL ELUARD (leaning into me) among all these canvases, I'd take admire the sticks

and

still lifes

I

had

to choose

nude.

from

Of course,

I

with candlesticks and leeks, but candle-

do not touch

leeks

If

that

me

very

much. Whereas

that

nude

moves me.

Picasso drags Paul Eluard

and me into

apartment and, with an enigmatic smile,

show you something." And from a drawer he it

he confides the very

rise to the surface

Eros.

And one

"I'm going to

takes out his "private

"

bursts of inspiration,

first

sexual obsessions.

cially, his

his little adjoining

says:

No

throughout

doubt

his

notebook. To

and espe-

male preoccupations

under the sign of

his work,

could assemble an astonishing anthology of

all

women's bodies with a prominent slit, aggressive nipples, enormous wagging rear ends; these men's fingers stroking

these

their flesh; these Minotaurs heaving with desire. selles d'Avignon,

come

the

a "classic,"

work

that gave birth to cubism,

ought to appear in

bawdy dream? Was

it

it

Les demoi-

not the fruit of

a

not originally called The Brothel ofAvignon?

And yet,

in

disguises

and transposes

all

Was

it.

Even

which has be-

these images of desire, a slight veil of modesty his obsessions into the symbolic, the

magical, the mythological.

It is

only in his private notebooks

that Picasso gives free rein to his eroticism. Like

masters, in the margins of his

work he nourishes

most great his "hell."

A

is always within reach to receive his most immeand intimate confidences. "Art is never chaste," he tells me one day, showing me the erotic plates of Utamaro, prints of

small notebook diate

great beauty in which the sex organs in close-up, stripped of all their crudeness, surge

up in

a strange frenzy, like so

many

strange plants in a strange landscape, buffeted by a strange gale.

This notebook

through

it.

Among

is

cently executed after

the Seine.

No doubt

ers, their easels

filled with

undoubtedly only

the erotic images,

one of his

a

sample.

We

leaf

see a sketch Picasso re-

I

daily walks with

Kazbek along

inspired by the swarms of amateur paint-

trained on the "motif,

"

Picasso drew the quays

apes which, brushes in hand — some are perched on

branches — are painting Notre Dame. 223

we all have lunch together at Le Catalan. around a single table: Baron Mollet, Picasso,

Picasso suggests

We

are

sitting

all

Gilberte, Francis Lee, Paul Eluard, Nusch, the bibliophile,

and

I.

A ninth

seat, still

empty,

reserved for

is

was notified by phone before we

Picasso

left.

is

Dora Maar, who starving and

orders a chateaubriand. Kind, courteous, and considerate—

almost

and

at

home

— he

in this restaurant

sees to their orders.

He

does his conversation reach

is

form

in top

its full

thinks of the others

Nowhere

today.

range of wit and imagina-

tion as at the table, during a meal, surrounded by friends. At such time he abounds in mischievous stories, malicious gossip, memories, he crackles and sparkles with puns and

paradoxes.

A born storyteller,

spontaneous, with an inimitable

gift for

improvisation. Today, finding himself in a friendly environ-

ment, he manifests his unbridled

taste for

amusement, con-

stantly telling, or rather acting out, stories.

woman

He

talking to a

is

seated at a nearby table. In the brouhaha, only a few

fragments of sentences reach

"She was

my

ears.

really very beautiful.

She had splendid

She usually drove her car in the nude. for a ride.

We had

a blowout.

I

day, she invited

her. So

I

had

me

Then we ran

patched the hole.

money on

out of gas. She had no

One

breasts.

to

lend her

five

francs."

Dora Maar

She

arrives.

is

somber. She wrings her hands,

clenches her teeth without a word, without a smile. She

sits

down. Not two minutes have passed before she stands up and says: 'Tve had enough, I can't stay. I'm leaving." And she walks off.

Picasso,

and runs

who

has not had his chateaubriand yet, stands up

after his friend. Dora's departure was so

he could not stop her. rupted.

We

The two empty

continue to

talk,

places take away our appetite.

Eluard, with her lovely smile, leans into

not worry about

it!

sudden

but the meal

Woman

me and

that

is

dis-

Nusch

says: "Let's

trouble!"

An

hour later, shaggy, panic-stricken, terrified, Picasso reappears at Le Catalan. I have never seen such confusion on his face. "Paul, come quick, I need you, he says to Eluard. The "

224

poet stands up and follows Picasso. the table.

It is

already four o'clock

them.

An

leave.

In his Jeep, which he

eternity.

Gilberte and

me

Now we and we

do not dare

are

still

Neither one comes back. At is

very

proud

back to Montparnasse.

225

of,

leave

waiting for

five o'clock

we

Francis Lee takes

Thursday 1^

May ig45

Ran

into the English painter

day,

on quai Montebello,

to paint

a

M. C. He

me, "The other

tells

for the first time in

landscape with Notre

Dame

the canvas. Everything was going badly.

in I

my

life I

wanted

struggled with

it. I

have rarely been so un-

happy with what I was doing. The very idea that some curiosity seeker might get a look at my painting drained me of my abiliSuddenly,

ties. It

was Picasso!

sensed someone behind me.

I I

wanted to

paintings.

I

life

turned around. have

I

felt

so

I've

And now there

that awful thing

I

budge, his dog lying you, go on.'

my

dreamed of meeting him, showing him he was, behind me, looking at was making. I hoped he'd leave. He didn't

confused. For years

my

Never in

die.

Do

underneath me.

7 I

at his feet.

watch

Picasso

He

said: 'Don't let

paint?

was so ashamed

I

My

bother

were giving way

legs

wanted

me

to

jump

into the

Seine." I

was careful not to

tell

C.

— not wanting to push him to sui-

— that his

canvas must have made a deep impression on Piand the person who painted it were probably the inspiration for the drawing he made in his private notebook when he got home, of all the apes squatting or perched in trees, painting Notre Dame.^^ cide

casso. It

226

Friday l8

May ig45

Appointment with Jacques

Prevert

at

the Cafe de Flore. Pierre

a limited edition album of my drawpoem by Prevert is supposed to accompany them. But this poem is a long time coming. The drawings are being printed and a few sheets with my text on them are supposed to appear at my exhibit. The poem is progressing, it seems. As for

Tisne ings,

is

going to publish

and

a

the honorarium, Jacques

me:

tells

"I

don't want any money;

my tailor for a suit." Around noon, we go up to Picasso's apartment. He introduces us to an elderly man, whose name I do not recall. Probably also a friend of Pierre Mac Orlan, since he talks particu-

have the publisher pay

larly

about the author of Quoi

left,

Picasso

tells us-. "I like

des brumes.

Pierre

"I'm delighted to hear that,"

PICASSO

I

knew him

in

After the visitor has

Mac Orlan

"

a great deal.

says Prevert.

He even lived at the Max Jacob, then by

Montmartre.

Bateau-Lavoir, in the studio occupied by

Andre Salmon, and then by Reverdy, think. Mac Orlan was thin! And he wore an enormous cap pulled over his eyes. Ever since he's moved away from Paris, living almost as a hermit, I don't see him anymore. But we have remained very good friends. A fairly secretive man, unknowable, in fact. I

BRASSAI

on

About ten

years ago,

I

was working on

the underbelly of Paris; a kind of study in mores.

He

lan was supposed to write the text for

it.

especially if he can find his cherished

social fantastic

fided in me:

likes

a

book

Mac Or-

photography, in

it.

He con-

Montmartre, the Butte, the Bateau-Lavoir, Le

Lapin Agile, what does

all

that

mean 227

to

me? Memories

of the

'bohemian

life'?

That's

all

bullshit! It

me

reminds

of the hotel

owners who took

my room

A horrible time,

to tell the truth, of hardship, poverty, humili-

There

ation.

is

nothing so terrible

martre — fortunately,

enough cash

key because

I

to pay for a hotel I

them up. But most of the

He

was

such

a

room, went

with the rent.

late

youth. In

lived there only a year

literally starving to death. If

hit

as

I

—

I

a suit, a real

to see

my

Mont-

didn't have

meal.

friends,

it

I

was

was to

time, they were as broke as

I

was."

has nothing but bitterness for his adolescence and the

"picturesque" Montmartre.

PICASSO

That's right.

He

was often really

luck. But, in spite of his troubles, irresistibly

down on

Mac Orlan was

funny. Always telling colorful stories.

his

cheerful and

A mind full

of spontaneity and paradoxes. To make some money, he often

wrote

little articles

for

humor magazines

or satirical journals,

and even licentious novels like Guillaume Apollinaire. Someone ought to put together a collection of those texts. Le Sourire published a large number of them. They were signed "Dumarchais" or "Dumarchey," his real name. One day when he was flat broke and his publisher didn't want to advance him any more money, we thought up a very good trick. See what you think. We put Mac Orlan to bed, closed the windows, pulled the curtains. I made up a few empty bottles to look like drug bottles, with labels and colored lids I had manufactured. Once the room was turned into a sickroom, we went to see his publisher to announce tearfully and in a shattered voice that our dear friend was — dying. Panic-stricken, he followed us to our "patient's" bedside. Then, sighing, his eyes clouded with tears, he coughed up — twenty francs. Twenty francs! A fortune at the time. He would never have given them to a healthy Mac Orlan so he could eat his fill and do his work as a writer!

PREVERT Le chant de Uequipage, Sous la lumierefroide, what beaubooks! Mac Orlan is more than a "master of adventure sto-

tiful

stories about corsairs and acrobats, and hoodlums. But he did more than that. He gave something tragic, magical, and poetic to his characters' lives. ries."

Others have written

prostitutes

228

He

and violence only

likes risk

A funny guy,

Mac Orlan.

The conversation

I

like

to better

put his finger on

fate.

him.

drifts to the colorful figure

of Baron

Mollet.

PICASSO I like Mollet a great deal, good and loyal as a He came just this morning. Broke as usual. And I helped

dog.

him out

a little, as usual.

Baron Mollet! What an adorable man! He never gets angry. Right now I'm working with Paul Grimauld on a feature-length animated cartoon: The Shepherdess and the Chimney Sweep, based on the Grimm tale. I made up a bird to be mod-

PREVERT

erator of

all

from

films

the action.

scratch.

I

I

don't like to invent characters for

prefer to base

them on people

I

my

know.

Pierre Brasseur, Michel Simon, and Arletty have often played

themselves in Bird,

I

my

films.

As

I

was looking for the character of

said to myself: "But of course. Bird,

my bird,

that's

Baron Mollet! Fits him like a glove! And then I built my character on him. So, the other day, I ran into him. I know everything," he told me, "there's no point in your denying it!" I was playing the fool. Through an indiscretion, he must have "

learned about the thing. is

me?" he

stead.

He

I

was afraid he'd be angry. "So, Bird

asked. But he was not offended, he was flattered in-

thought

it

was funny.

BRASSAI And what vitality at his age! No one is more restYou run into him on the Left Bank, the Right Bank, in

less.

Montparnasse, Saint-Germain-des-Pres, He's the

last to

go to bed and the

Passy, everywhere.

first to get

up

in the

morning.

PICASSO

known him, one studio

He he's

is

as

he has always been. Ever since

roamed from one

cafe to another,

to another, reporting the latest

news about every-

one, always up on everything that's going on. In

through him that took

me

to a bar

I

got to

know Guillaume

I've

run from

it

was

Apollinaire.

He

fact,

near the gare Saint-Lazare one day — Ausin's

229

on rue d'Amsterdam— where

the poet was a regular.

And

it

was

in that same bar that I in turn introduced Max Jacob to Guillaume ApoUinaire. Mollet is a regular marriage broker. He loves to make matches.

BRASSAi"

Was he once rich?

PICASSO

He's always been broke. Looking for

Only the

always afraid of finding one.

a job.

And

role of confidant suited

him. That was how he became Guillaume Apollinaire's "secretary," his claim to fame.

He

BRASSAi

Was he

PICASSO

Too proud and too modest

a fact that

he did

a

his "secretary"?

thousand

services for

denies to

it.

admit

it.

But

it's

ApoUinaire; he read

and organized his papers, even wrote The Murdered Poet, The Moon King, and other texts at his dictation. They worked side by side, founded magazines together, argued. He also fended off the people assailing the poet. So he really was his "secretary." But

who

done plenty of things, does not like to work, to practice a trade, is even ashamed of the word. Yet this man, who has always sponged off other people, is the soul of geneMollet,

rosity.

You

has

have to admit

it!

by

If,

a miracle,

he has

a little

money, he immediately thinks of his friends. His greatest pleasure is to be of service, to make someone happy. In the worst of circumstances, he brought me presents. Oh, nothing big, a little tobacco, a Havana cigar, a book, whatever. But they warmed your heart.

BRASSAi

Is

PICASSO

No more

ferred that

title

he

really a

on him.

baron?

than

am.

I

It suits

It

him

was ApoUinaire

admirably!

And

venting and playing that role, he has finally become I

know

a

who con-

by in-

a

baron.

young woman. She had an episode of depression.

She imagined she was the queen of Tibet!

a

queen.

And

And

not just any queen, but

she immediately began to act like a

queen goes barefoot. She wouldn't eat anymore: a queen, don't you see, is above such things. And she talked about a duke all the time. queen. She wouldn't wear shoes anymore: ""^^

230

a

"The duke did

this," "the

duke did

when someone

that." But,

spoke to her about this duke, she repUed: "He's no longer

named

duke, he's been

PREVERT

a

a

count!"

That's marvelous!

A duke who's been

named

a

count!

PICASSO It's marvelous and it's troubling. We're in the land of enchantment and in a nightmare. Where is the line between imagination and delirium? Speaking of ranks and titles, do you know this story? Napoleon, wanting to reward one of his officers, told I

am

"I

name you

already a field marshal, Sire!

"then

I

name you

As he is

him:

is

a colonel!

a field

marshal!

"All right,

"

"

"But

.

.

.

Napoleon,

"

leaving Picasso, Prevert

what happened to the son of

my

tells this little story:

came back, she finds her kid

at

"This

housekeeper. His mother

scolded him, then she went out to clean houses.

of clothes, about to leave.

said

"

When

she

the doorway with a bundle

He had

packed

all

his little things.

'What are you doing?' his mother asked him. I'm leaving, give

me my

bread coupons.'"

PICASSO Give me my bread coupons. That's what the poor kids of today have to think about when they run away.

PREVERT

"And where do you want

to

go?" "To Monsieur

Monsieur Jacques, that's me. "He's very kind. Monis, he'll keep me!" Then his mother said: "To Monsieur Jacques's? But Monsieur Jacques is gone. He's on a trip. Then the kid turned pale. Without a word, he undid his bundle and put away his little things.

Jacques's."

sieur Jacques

"

231

Friday

25 May J 945

Jacques Prevert and Roland

young dancer so ambitious he's chomping at the bit, a renegade from the Paris Opera, came to see me. A troupe has formed and is going to put on three ballets at the Sarah Bernhardt Theater. They have asked me to do the sets for Prevert's Rendez-vous. Kosma will do the music, Mayo the costumes. I must set up three sets of gigantic photos on stage. I have made the scale model. Today we go with Prevert to rue Casimir-Delavigne, to the home of the director of the new ballet troupe. I have learned in the meantime that this man is none other than the "Boris I ran into at Picasso's, Boris Kochno, former collaborator with Serge Diaghilev, and his friend. I saw him again the other day, he was coming to Picasso's place to ask him for the curtain promised for our ballet. Naturally, he has not begun yet. On Petit, a

"

the whole, Picasso despises "commissions." able

when he can work

He

is

only comfort-

in complete freedom. For books, he

generally makes do by letting

someone choose from

his

abun-

dant graphic works the engravings or lithographs best suited

Even the aquatints for Buffon came about spontaneously, and it was Vollard who worked things out by choosing more or less corresponding texts from Buffon. Boris badgered him about the curtain for Rendez-vous to no avail, it was still in for the text.

the planning stage. "Listen, Boris,

I

have an idea," he told him. "Since you're

why don't you choose from among my recent gouaches the one that would best fit the spirit of Rendez-vous? There are some with candles, death's in a hurry to have this curtain,

42 "The The

strange big building of the Bateau-Lavoir has survived. rotted shutters are closed.

Juan Gris's former studio."

.

.

.

The two windows

.

.

.

.

.

.

belong to

heads, mirrors. That expresses the idea of destiny very well.

be easy to enlarge the one you

will

It

like best."

Boris finally took a gouache with a black velvet mask and a lit

The

candle.

The

curtain for our ballet had just materialized.

ballet lover's

home

is

strange,

large terraces over-

its

look the dissection rooms of the School of Medicine, perched

among

high it

the rooftops of the Latin Quarter.

with Christian Berard.

great past

It is filled

— drawings by Picasso,

sky, Stravinsky,

and the

Kochno

shares

with memories of ballet's

portraits of Diaghilev, Nijin-

great Russian ballerinas

bronze horse from the

— arranged Kochno's

around

a

place

gleaming, polished, waxed, with the smell of leather,

is

Italian Renaissance.

lavender, and orange blossom; but

door

that links

where

to insiders

who

to Berard's apartment,

you enter

a

the

world

nonchalant slovenliness, and the odor of tobacco

dust,

and opium

it

when you go through

reign.

It is

there that Christian Berard

— "Bebe

"

— lives, a man as gifted for fashion as for drawings,

up theater plays like so many and ingenuity of Paris high fashion. Having become the toast of Paris, his dirty fingernails, his rumpled shirts, his worn-out shoes are a delight to high society and the upper-crust salons in Paris, which are thrilled to be able to welcome this dandy in reverse, with for fifteen years has dressed

pretty

women, with

the sobriety, elegance,

Jacinthe, his inseparable

white terrier, nestling in

little

his arms. I

bald

look

at

man

the appealing

eyes, his

A

still

handsome but completely

young man he once

high forehead, which

has restored. traits,

Boris, seek in this

a beautiful

was, his large black

drawing by Picasso

curious alliance between manly and childlike

between energy and indolence, naturalness and affec-

tation.

We

talk

about Rendez-vous and

my

sets.

A young

dancer has just arrived: Marina de Berg. She

will

Russian

be the hero-

ine of our ballet, "the most beautiful girl in the world."

we

leave with Prevert, Boris, in his grave voice with

Russian accent,

is

its

When

harsh

discussing the terms of her contract with

her.

235

26 May ig4S

Saturday

At the Cafe de Flore with Jacques Prevert, the painter Mayo, and the stage designer Trauner. We discuss the Rendez-vous ballet. Ribemont-Dessaignes is at a nearby table. His blue eyes gleam through narrowed eyelids under the immense cupola of his skull, bald since the cradle. alist, a

He

was

a Dadaist,

then

a surre-

I got to know him when he was new kind of literary review, beautifully put

poet and novelist, and

editor in chief of a together:

One

Bifur.

day in about 193O, in his minuscule office

on boulevard Saint-Germain, he handed me

a

manuscript en-

titled: Family Memories, or the Slave -driving Angel.

"Read

He

thor. I

it,"

is

began

he told me, "and remember the name of

new sound to French poetry." "We were living in a little house in

bringing to read:

Maries-de-la-Mer, where

my

Saintes-

father was a truss manufacturer."

"Even when he writes," Ribemont-Dessaignes added, as if

he were speaking.

ature.

An

au-

its

a

It

comes from the

exceptional case.

He

loves life

streets,

"it's

not from

liter-

and has contempt for

'right-thinking people.' With his simplicity, his search for happiness, his caustic I

I

inquired the

humor, he escapes

heard "Jacques Prevert.

Dessaignes that

An hour

later

guez, a strapping bullfighting. ten.

Avery

made

I

He

"

It

and, for the

first

time,

was also through Ribemont-

his acquaintance shortly thereafter.

I am at Picasso's. He is with Oscar Dominman from Teneriffe, also passionate about

has been

coming around more and more

gifted painter, with astounding

from Picasso, too much becoming "after the manner of

even:

a great deal

are

all classification."

name of the author

236

" .

.

.

skill,

he

is

some of his Picasso has a

of-

learning canvases

weak

spot for this big lout with the gigantic, disproportionate head

of a hidalgo and a

down

mustache,

little

coat. Nonetheless,

who

is

today wearing a heavy

and vitally robust man. dark humor, and perhaps also

an

attractive

mind, his and troubling side of his Spanish blood. A demon inhabits this large body with the peaceful appearance, and no one is safe when, spurred on by alcohol, he lashes out. I have Picasso likes his quick

the violent

seen

Dominguez brandish

switchblade or a revolver, causing

a

panic and clearing the room.

It

was he

who put out

the eye of

the surrealist painter Victor Brauner during a night of boozing

and rage in Montparnasse. He threw a glass at his face, thus fulfilling, as in classical tragedy, a premonitory dream. For years, Brauner had seen himself as one-eyed, and, obsessed by that vision, always depicted the human faces in his paintings and sculptures with only one eye.

Dominguez admires

the freshness of Picasso's latest

still

lifes.

PICASSO move beyond

I'm finishing them a certain stage,

lose in spontaneity

what

I

it

less

and

less. If I

wouldn't be right

might gain in

were to

anymore.

solidity. Also,

I

fewer and fewer colors and

let

role. If that continues,

soon reach the point of putting

signature and the date

I'll

on

the bare canvas play a larger

you think?

of young painters arrives. Gischia

know. Close up and from

my

absolutely bare canvases. Bare can-

vases are so beautiful, don't

A group

I'd

use

is

the only one

a distance they sniff, finger,

I

and

compare them, dissect Sometimes their voices rise

scrutinize Picasso's still-wet canvases,

them, seeking to plumb his

secret.

and they have violent disputes among themselves. Then we talk about the suffering of deportees, who are returning in their convict uniforms with heads shaved, emaciated, eyes haggard, almost crazy, visions of

their heads;

we

talk

about the martyrdom of those who

their hides at Auschwitz, Dachau,

camps. Picasso

is

horror stuck in

seething.

He

left

and the other extermination

has long kept silent, but his face

emotion and his anger. This man who, until the Spanish Civil War, had never concerned himself with politics

betrays his

237

good Spaniard, he leaned toward monarchism — but who, like Paul Eluard, has now committed himself body and soul, exa

plodes.

We must

PICASSO self.

fight fascism

wherever

Fight against the courts, which are

much

it

manifests

it-

too lenient to-

ward "collaborators." Didn't the Marshal himself escape punishment because of his advanced age? If the Germans — God us! — came back again to occupy France, for my part, I'd be the first to "collaborate" with them. Yes, I'd associate with them, do business with them. Because you really aren't rewarded for resisting. They pass over all kinds of illegal dealings, every sort of crime. Understand that if you can.

And

he continues in the same bitter and violent tone. In find the echo of his almost daily conversations

his diatribe

I

with Eluard

on

moment.

this

hot topic, which preoccupies them

"I see pitiful, idiotic

bling with fear

as

the

mob

women, "

laughs

at

Eluard

said,

at

the

"trem-

them. They didn't betray

France. In any case, they didn't lecture anyone. In the

mean-

Some, knowing their power, even remain calmly at home, hoping to begin again tomorrow." Picasso's "Understand that if you can" was in fact the title of one of Eluard's poems, in which he pointed an accusing finger at judges who struck indiscriminately and acquitted with disgusting leniency. time, bandits with apostles' faces have left the country.

In a few days, opens. As

I

am

my

exhibition of drawings

leaving,

ask Picasso if

I

it is

at

Renou

et

Colle

true he has had a

falling-out with Pierre Golle.

PICASSO between

us,

A falling-out?

nothing that

No. Things are just a little cool would keep me from going to your ex-

hibition. But don't count

on me

for the opening.

Opening

nights bore me.

group of Spanish painters has arrived. They often come to see him: Manuel Angeles Ortiz, Hernando Vines, Pedro Flores, Castanyer, and Joaquin Peinado are part In the meantime,

a

of the old guard. Picasso has known them for about twenty

238

who

comes around. Of the younger ones, I have sometimes run into Antoni Clave, the sculptor La Torre, and Xavier Vilato, Picasso's nephew. From the outset, every Spanish and Republican artist is like

years, along with Francisco Bores,

rarely

part of his family; he considers himself their spiritual father.

But he has never given advice to any of them regarding painting or sculpture. In that area, he thinks, everyone must

out

he can.

as

I

leave with Peinado.

I

was exhibiting

He

has

known

make

Picasso since

1924.

PEINADO

That

tomne, where it

and

said to Ortiz,

year, Picasso visited the Salon a canvas.

d'Auin front of

who was accompanying him and had been

introduced to him by Manuel de

Falla:

work of a Spanish painter."

tainly the

He paused

"This painting

"It is

cer-

is

by Peinado,

I

know

him," Ortiz had replied. "Then bring him to see me." That

how

was

met him. And

I

him

associated with

though

I

until Sabartes intruded in his

a great deal. Less since then.

life, I

Because even

was very close to Sabartes, he went so far in his devo-

from getting near American friends to rue him on the phone: "Come

tion to Picasso as to keep Picasso's friends

One

him.

day,

wanted

I

to take a few

des Grands-Augustins and

I

called

you like, and bring your friends," he said, "but you'll see only me. "And why won't I see Picasso? "He's working at if

"

"

day, to

I

went

to

be seen, in

pears.

I

hear

now and

gone every morning." The next the studio with my friends. Picasso was nowhere

Lacouriere's right

fact.

a

On

the stroke of noon, Sabartes disap-

whispered conversation. Then, suddenly, very

do so want to see my friend PeiHe embraced me. He was extremely kind

loud, Picasso's voice: "Yes,

He joined us. me and my friends.

nado!" to

And we on

is

talk

I

about Sabartes, of the thankless task he agreed

and devotedly, regardless of the bitterness and resentment he might cause, to ensure that Pito take

for Picasso, joyfully

casso has that

most precious of commodities,

his time.

It is

to

preserve his genius that he became his guardian angel and, to certain extent, his jailer. Playing that role, he has trouble dis-

a

tinguishing between sincerity and flattery:

is

the kindness

shown him addressed to his person or to the "intercessor"? Hence his suspicious ways, his distrust, even of his friends. This evening

my

I

am

leaving to go look for a few photographic

and Andre Virel, a young colonel in the secret army, accompany me. I need a dance hall with only the words DANCE HALL on the sign. But all of them are called "Jo's Dance Hall, "Four Seasons Dance Hall," etc. 1 do not find any on the Left Bank. It is midnight, and I finally elements for

stage set. Gilberte

"

unearth

my dance

hall

near the

arcade, behind rue de Lappe.

Bastille, in the

sordid Thiere

do not have the set for the murder in the Rendez-vous ballet. We are in La Villette late at night. The strange drawbridge on rue de Crimee, crossing I still

over the stagnant waters of the

Ourcq Canal,

its

sinister black

wheels standing like an instrument of torture, will supply with that

set.

240

me

Tuesday

29 May ig45

The day of my opening approaches. vert's.

and

He

has completed the

recites

publisher,

it I

to

poem

Last Sunday,

dedicated to

reread this passage from the poem:

comme des arbres enormes comme des fleurs elles surgissent des

bains de vapeur

de I'etouffante vie coutumiere

dans

la

montrent sans pudeur

violente fraicheur

-

de leur matiere premiere

Venus Callipyges ou Belles Ferronnieres filles modeles de Joinville-le-Pont femmes d'ffercule ou de Gaston echappees des prisons de Piranese

un jour de grande Bien plantees sur

la

figuration.

comme

des plantes

plante de leurs pieds

elles jettent vers le ciel

delave consterne et les

choque

colonnes montantes de leurs jambes

sur lesquelles se balancent les

splendides jardins suspendus

de leurs seins

et

de leur cul.

Light as trees

huge

my

was

as flowers

they emerge from steam baths

24i

at

Pre-

drawings

me. In the metro, before submitting

Legeres

et elles se

I

it

to the

from suffocating ordinary life and display themselves immodestly in the violent freshness

of their raw

state

callipygian Venuses or pretty ironworkers

models from Joinville-le-Pont wives of Hercules or Gaston

escapees

on

a

from Piranesi prisons

day of great figuration.

Firmly planted

on

like plants

the soles of their feet

they cast toward the washed-out,

dumbfounded, shocked sky columns of their legs on which sway

the rising

the splendid hanging gardens

of their breasts and

This morning,

ass.

send

I

my

drawings on two carts to the gal-

Saint-Honore district. Then I drop by Picasso's. I him a word of thanks. In essence, he is the one who "organized" my exhibition. But he is still in bed. Sabartes is executing a delicate maneuver. Second only to God, he is lery in the

want

to give

the master of this big old barn, Picasso's lair

Lavoir

number two — and from

his

— the

command

Bateau-

post he gives or-

Baron Mollet comes by, you must gone out. If the American girl comes by. you must shut her up in the studio so she can t run into him. But if the publisher B. comes by, he must be announced immediately; Picasso wants very much to see him." And Sabartes tells me: "There's an American woman who wants to see Picasso. Lady Abdy is chaperone and Baron Mollet ders to Marcel and Ines: "If

tell

him

Picasso has

cicerone. She's coming, like

New York

others of her

friends will die of jealousy

Tm back from Europe. Escurial, Versailles,

I

when

saw the pope,

I

ilk,

so that her

she announces:

visited

Pompeii, the

my

drawings for

and Pablo Picasso."

In the afternoon

hanging.

many

at

the gallery,

A stranger enters. He

is

I

arrange

wearing

a

gabardine rain-

mustache, and

coat, the trace of a

a lightweight

fedora pulled

around among the drawings displayed young saleswoman, says "I'll take this one. Pierre CoUe introduces me. He gives his name: "Dunoyer de Segonzac." A little later, someone else comes in and buys two of my drawings — M. Blaisot, the wellknown bibliophile. Even before the opening of the exhibition over his eyes.

on

the

wood

He

walks

floor and, addressing the "

I

already have three red dots.

U3

Wednesday 6 June

Bright sunny day.

ig45

When

around noon, Sabartes collector, but he told

me

you should wait for him. I

stay in the vestibule

from my

go by rue des Grands -Augustins

I

tells

me:

"Picasso's busy. He's with a

to tell you, if you

happened

by, that

"

and read

Bistro-Tabac, a series

a

few passages to Sabartes

of conversations in a cafe in sum-

mer 1943 during

the Red Army's taking of Kharkov. comes down with the collector. It is Roger DutilAnd I am happy to see him again. »

Picasso leul.

DUTILLEUL

We

were just talking about you. Picasso

showed me your drawings. You have

a regular

exhibition

at his

them, so

show

place.

PICASSO A permanent them to everyone.

exhibition!

I

like

I

Along with Andre Lefevre, Douglas Cooper, Marie Cuttoli, the banker Max Pellequer, Jeanne Walter (Mme Paul Guillaume), and Georges Salles, Dutilleul is undoubtedly one of the major French collectors, with a wealth of Picassos as well.

A confirmed bachelor, is

a

maniac,

are not

like

most

sparkling with wit, Roger Dutilleul

collectors.

hanging on the

His most beautiful canvases

walls of his apartment, but are piled in

and the pantry. Perhaps he wants to produce an ever-changing feast for the eyes by taking them out rarely, one

the laundry

by one,

as the

Japanese do.

Dutilleul wanted to see

appointment with him,

I

my

drawings. But

did not

244

know

this

when

I

would be

made

the

a historic

World War

and that at the very moment of his visit General de Gaulle would be making his speech. When Dutilleul arrived at my apartment, accompanied by a young sculptor, Marc Boussac, I greeted him with La Marseillaise, firecrackers, cannon blasts, bells ringing full tilt in all the churches of Paris: moving background music for our discussions, transmitted over the airwaves and coming through the windows as well, open on that beautiful spring day. "The other day, I spoke to Picasso about Derain," Dutilleul told me. "Picasso finds Derain a bit lacking in audacity and freedom. But he is hardly one to talk. Whatever leap, whatever perilous jump he makes, he always lands on his feet like a cat. Whereas other people ... I understand their caution. They'd break their necks if they tried to show as much audacity and freedom as he does." day, the day of the

II

armistice,

Leave your drawings with me for a few more make my choice without being disturbed. How you selling them for?

PICASSO days.

I

much

want are

to

For some time, Picasso has been addressing miliar

tu.

Should

I

me

with the fa-

do the same and say, "Pablo, tu sais?'' It is not some twenty years, that holds me back,

the difference in age,

nor the long habit of using vous — he sometimes says, "Now that all the same age — but rather the example of those who say tu to show off an often precarious familiarity. Picasso and

we're

"

Kahnweiler, friends for forty years, use the formal each other. As for his

him him

"Pablo." Sabartes "Jaime,

"

first

calls

vous

with

name, few of his close friends call him "Picasso" and he never calls

but only "my old friend,

245

"

or even "son."

Friday 15 June

1945

This evening, the

first

big evening of ballet

at

the Sarah Bern-

hardt Theater since the war began. Liberated Paris was rallying.

We

have emerged from a long, four-year night, and this

evening was something of

dom.

A month ago.

capitulated.

The

a celebration

ballet lovers,

the Paris celebrities,

of our recovered free-

Hitler committed suicide, the

Wehrmacht

high society, are there, and

from Etienne Beaumont

Dietrich, Jean Cocteau to Picasso.

A

the only reminder that the war goes

all

Marlene few khaki uniforms are

on

to

in the Far East.

— Gilberte on Dora Maar next to Picasso — we leaf through the sumptuous program: we see Picasso's curtain, drawings by Berard, Valentine Hugo, Mayo, and Lucien Coutard; photos of my set, of the men and women ballet dancers. Very recently, I have become immersed m this world of smiles and crying jags, of leaping and tripping up, the exciting and hysterical Sitting next to Picasso in the orchestra seats

my

right, with

world of ballet.

I

on boulevard de

have followed the rehearsals in a dance studio Glichy, then onstage, in the limelight, the par-

oxysm of edginess and excitement of the final hours before the "show. I have seen Boris and Bebe quarreling and making up, getting worked up and bursting into tears, all night long; Ro"

land

Petit, full

of gusto, with

tively directing a

pumped-up

muscles, authorita-

young and undisciplined troupe, training Ma-

rina de Berg, Ludmilla Tcherina, or Zizi Jeanmaire, beautiful

and

fragile as a

Tanagra figurine. "We were

who left

is

with

nothing but the ashes of the unforgettable phoenix Serge de Diaghilev, we read in the introduction by Jean Gocteau. "But "

the

myth and the truth of the myth 246

are well

known. The phoe-

nix died only to be reborn.

Diaghilev's ghost hovers over this

"

packed, elegant, enthusiastic, tumultuous hall. its

atmosphere,

Its

impatient frisson, are somewhat reminiscent of Russian balof the past. Could this miraculous synthesis of music,

lets

dance, and pictorial art have been successfully reproduced?

The excitement about

these

new evenings of ballet, the colvisits from Boris have awak-

laboration of his friends, and the

ened

him

Picasso's old passion for dance. Every time

me on my

in recent days, he has questioned

hearsals are going,

on

the dancers,

I

have seen

endlessly sets.

He

pervised the execution of his curtain, spoke of his

on how

re-

closely su-

own

ballets:

the Chinese Prestidigitator, the Jugglers in Parade, his gigantic

Managers, his

little

American

curtain peopled with

girl; his

Equestriennes, Harlequins, Guitarists from his rose universe;

on which he painted a bare and men in capes and sombreros; the curtains and sets of Pulcinella, which he made with Stravinsky at the Paris Opera; those of Manuel the Goyaesque curtain of

Tricorne,

space over the arena with

women

de

Falla's Cuadro flamenco, set in a

in mantillas

nineteenth-century theater,

with red, black, and gold loges; the curtain of the Mercury ballet for "Soirees de Paris

He may

rot.

"

with

its

big white Harlequin and red Pier-

have also been thinking of the spring of I925»

which he spent with Olga in Monte Carlo, devoted almost

men and women.

exclusively to ballet dancers,

After

a

long delay, in an atmosphere of irritation and over-

excitement, the evening begins with The

Carnies,

by Kochno, Be-

and Sauguet. The cast of characters from the "blue period" comes alive again. Overwhelmed, half-starved, emaciatec rard,

in their rags, acrobats guet.

The armless and

move

to the

legless

Siamese twins attached by

languorous tunes of Sau-

woman,

the butterfly

a single large

woman,

the

pink bow — Berard's

masterpiece — the mechanical doll, danced by Ludmilla Tcher-

and the clown are each

Roland Petit as a prestigious prestidigitator throws out flowers and doves. The Georgian Etherie Pagava, youthful grace in person, gets the most applause. ina,

Then

it is

casso's blue,

a great success.

time for Rendei-vous.

The

red curtain rises on Pi-

mauve, and beige curtain, the candle and black vel-

vet

mask disguising

tionless for a long

The word

destiny.

moment. There

is

remains

Suntuchia

applause. There

might look

is

Communist

hissing, shouting. Ever since Picasso joined the Party, his paintings, whatever they

mo-

have the

like,

on some people as the muleta on a bull. Did not people once seek revenge on the paintings of Courbet when same

the

effect

Vendome Column

was knocked over? At the Salon d'Au-

tomne, which opened its doors barely six weeks after the Liberation and where Picasso — waiving his rule for once never to participate in salons

— exhibited seventy-four of his

strated noisily, even pulled

A torrent of shouts, does not flinch. fore! is

Some

of his bronzes, there was an outcry.

five

He

The uproar

down

a

demon-

few canvases.

of hissing, but applause

only frowns a

and

canvases

visitors

as well. Picasso

He has seen it all beme at intermission,

little.

that evening, he will tell

only a watered-down version of the scandal triggered twenty-

eight years ago,

on

this

same place du Chatelet, by

Parade.

the time, high society was awaiting a sequel to Scheherazade Specter of the Rose.

But what they saw was an ear-splitting cubist

trampled on convention. 'Ticasso,

ballet that

At and

and

Satie,

I,"

Cocteau remarks, joining us, 'couldn't get backstage. The crowd recognized us, threatened us. If it hadn't been for Apollinaire, his uniform, the bandage around his serious head

wound, the women would have gouged out our

eyes with the

hatpins they were wielding." Picasso's curtain rises

dance

tille

hall,

in the center, a right, a

with tall

a

on my

first set: to

the

left,

my

Bas-

red spotlight on the word 'daNCE

panel of

a

streetlamp

crumbling section of wall with

lit

";

on the 'A la Belle

in blue;

a hotel sign,

Etoile," tinted yellow by a spotlight. I

am

time was

relieved. Putting a

up

a set

made of photos

wager, but the atmosphere

is

there:

it is

for the

first

truly the set-

and dreadful adventure invented by Prewhere love and death intertwine; for the idyll born in sleazy bars and ending in blood; for the inevitable encounter

ting for this marvelous vert,

with destiny. Applause. Picasso gives his

elbow

as

the orchestra attacks the

me

first

music, nostalgic and heart-wrenching

248

a

friendly poke with

measures of Kosma's

as a street ballad.

And,

in the very middle of the ballet, Loris's voice sings for the

first

time:

Les enfants qui s'aiment

S'embrassent debout contre Et

les

les

portes de

la

nuit

passants qui passent

Les designent du doigt.

Children in love embrace Standing against the doors of night

And

passersby as they pass

Point their fingers

Second night.

Its

set:

the

at

them.

column of the Corvisart

elevated

metro

at

black shadow, projected by a streetlamp against a

is like the profile of an Easter Island statue. Destiny will show its face there. Third set: the drawbridges of rue de Crimee. Crime, Crimee. That is where Marina de Berg, in black stockings, short mauve skirt, and yellow blouse clinging to her breasts — a costume invented by Mayo — kills the young

wall,

man

him with a razor, after an audaciously lascivious pas de deux. The frank, harsh, and disturbing poetry of Rendei-vous has won over the audience. desperately in love with her by slashing

Picasso sets.

I

tells

me:

"It's a

very beautiful thing.

And

I

like

would never have thought photography could do

249

your that."**

Tuesday 10 July

1945

Appointment with Marina de Berg, the young Russian dancer, at half past eleven. Yesterday morning we took a walk through Les Halles, amid the piles of vegetables. I bought her a crate of peaches. She confessed her deepest desire to me: to meet Picasso.

I

promised

her to his apartment.

to take

Miraculously, she

is

on

time. But so nervous, so agitated,

that she cannot even swallow her coffee. "It's crazy,

me. "How he can be rina.

will

me? What

he receive

very, very nasty!"

The worst

that could

bad time. Right now,

at a

happen

it's

seeing him.

I

she

tells

him? It seems no fear, Mathat we miss him or come mob scene. The last time,

can

I

say to

reassure her: "Have

I

there was such a crowd that

"

is

often a

turned around and

left

without

"

Marina is in luck. Picasso is there, bare-chested, in blue shorts. Few people are there, barely two or three. I introduce her: "You saw her dance the other night at the Sarah Bernhardt Theater." I remember it well. You were remarkable in You danced "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World." You're dangerous with your dagger. I saw how you kill the man in your arms. The ballet is a success, don't you think?

PICASSO

Rendez-vous.

As

a

matter of

fact,

we've

Since his visitors are tour, Brassai.

And

worked together.

all

still

Show Marina

there, he tells

a bit

especially, don't forget the

of

my

studio,

'museum.'

minutes, then we'll go upstairs."

250

me: "Give her It'll

my

a

sculptures.

take

me

five

But before leaving

us,

he whispers in

my

ear: "She's

charming!"

Marina is delighted: "He's terrific, your Picasso! So unaffected! So kind! I'm having a great time! I show her all the sculptures. She purses her lips. Except for the cats and roosters, nothing appeals to her: "There are nothing but monsters here! Horrid things!" When he is free, Picasso has us go upstairs to his studio and shows us his latest still lifes. "I started them at six o'clock last "

night."

look

I

ror.

On

at

them. Three variants of the same

each canvas,

jects in front

skill

Of course,

it.

with mir-

bare in spots, the cold hues of the ob-

of the mirror contrast with the colorful

tones reflected in

ous

left

still life

warm

Picasso's fluidity, his marvel-

in covering the canvas, can be disconcerting.

Three

paintings completed in a few hours. But don't we get a false idea of "painting"

when we think of all

the paintings that

required years of effort and labor? Even Delacroix recom-

mended: "One ought

rough paintings

to paint

the freedom and openness of the sketch. casso uses canvases like sheets of paper colors.

think

"

that preserve

More and more,

and

oil paints like

Pi-

water-

Sometimes, however — and more often than one might

— he lets a painting ripen for several weeks

or months,

if

not years. Chamel House, an enormous picture drawn in charcoal

and

a reply

state;

of sorts to

then, one day,

I

remained for weeks in the same

Guernica,

saw patches of color timidly appearing.

"I'm going very slowly," Picasso told me.

"I

don't want to ruin

the initial freshness of my work. If I were capable of it, I'd leave as

other canvas.

would never be

a

finished' canvas, but only the different states'

of a single painting, which usually disappear all,

it

and take it to a more advanced state on anThen I'd do the same thing with that one. There

I'd start again

it is,

don't the words 'finish off,

'

as

one works. After

execute, have a double '

mean-

ing? To complete, to end, but also to put to death, deal the death

blow?

I

paint so

neity, and,

once

many I've

canvases only because I'm seeking sponta-

expressed something with some success,

don't have the heart to add anything to

25^

it."

1

Marina looks at these three still lifes with mirror. She is dismayed: "How dreadful your pictures are! They frighten me! Three paintings since six o'clock yesterday afternoon. And how

much do you sell them for? Tell me the truth, Brassai, do you them? You find that beautiful? It's just snobbery that

like

makes I

of you say that."

all

am

afraid the dancer's innocent frankness will offend Pi-

casso.

PICASSO she

I

like

love that!

is! I

was speaking to just ings, Picasso,

Marina! She's genuine, candid! She

Did you

now? He just

I

don't get

him and was not mad Marina,

ings? If

at all!

much

out of them!

"

I

listened to

His candor delighted me.

(Turning

you think of my paintunderstand you, not one of my canvases has had the mocking tone)

in a I

is as

young American painter I told me: "I loved your paint-

was crazy about your paintings ten years ago.

I

But now? Frankly,

to

see the

:

So,

is

that all

good fortune of pleasing you.

MARINA (a offer me one,

little flustered)

to

And

I'd

Oh, on

choose that portrait.

she points to an Arlesian

the only canvas in the studio that

We

woman is

burst out laughing. Marina

PICASSO

the contrary. If you were

by Andre Marchand,

not by Picasso. is

Relax! You're not the

embarrassed.

One

first.

day, at the

Bateau-Lavoir, Paul Poiret, the fashion designer, looked little

gouache.

derful!

Olivier. fallen

inspired!" But

It's

A

And he was

at a

ecstatic: "It's extraordinary! It's it

wasn't mine,

it

won-

was by Fernande

portrait of herself, painted by her. Poiret was crest-

when

I

told him.

know Fernande

BRASSAI

I

PICASSO

Oh yes. And

didn't

you her drawings. I have Very beautiful drawings, heart wasn't in

Fernande had

a large

number

One

day

I'll

show

of them in

my

boxes.

she also drew.

you'll see. She was veiy gifted, but her

They look a little like Marie Laurencins. but more powerful stroke, not so prettified.

it.

a

Olivier painted.

^5^

Picasso looks at Marina. She

her head resting

legs crossed,

nose in the

is

sitting

on

a

bench, her bare

on her arms, her

lightly

little

her eyes gleaming mischievously under her

air,

tousled red hair, her face, long neck, and arms sprinkled with freckles.

PICASSO adorable. If

She's very beautiful, that Marina. I

were an

artiste

peintre

You'd do my

MARINA

.

Her

profile

is

.

.

no thank you! I want none of that! You won't fix me up the way you did all those women over there, their eyes in their ears, their mouths portrait! Well,

in their noses!

PICASSO No, not at all! I wouldn't treat you like other women. I'd make you very beautiful! By the way, how old are you?

MARINA

How old would you

say

PICASSO

But you can

Whisper in my

I

am?

I

never give

my

age.

man

like

tell me.

ear.

An

old

me.

MARINA

But you're young.

I

never imagined you so

young. What do you think of Rendez-vous?

PICASSO

It

looks like

heard people talking highly of isn't

it.

On

it's

going to work out fine.

I've

it, and the critics spoke company is good. But it

a great deal about

the whole, the ballet

enough just yet. Oh, if only you'd seen Diaghiman! He didn't fool around! He always his hand, and when someone didn't obey him,

disciplined

lev.

What

had

a stick in

a forceful

well then, he'd hit

him.

MARINA

You

PICASSO

Of course! When you

think that's

you don't forget forming discipline. stick,

MARINA

it

a

good method?

in a hurry!

get hit

He

on

the butt with a

was unbeatable for

What do you think of Boris? He's

253

very capable,

very intelligent, don't

himself.

He

take

trained by Diaghilev

has good taste.

PICASSO I

He was

you think?

my

But

alas!

He

latest graffiti

isn't

Diaghilev.

from my

He

briefcase.

snatches

them away from me. PICASSO paid

Walls are a marvel, don't you think? I've always

a great deal

was young,

I

of attention to what happens on walls.

often even copied

graffiti.

And how many

been tempted to pause in front of a nice something on it. What held me back was that

have

.

BRASSAi

PICASSO

You

couldn't take

gether,

it

there,

me

it

and

carve

.

with you.

to

its fate.

Graffiti

why don't we

day,

belong

to every-

take a walk to-

with a penknife and you with your camera?

could make scratches on the

on

it

.

I

Yes, of course, the fact that you have

(laughing)

abandon one and no one. But one

to leave

my

wall

I

When times

walls,

I

and you could photograph

graffiti.

BRASSAI

You've never had occasion to carve on

PICASSO

Yes,

I

have too.

the walls of the Butte.

bank.

It

One

I

left a large

day in Paris,

a wall?

number of carvings I

was waiting in a

was being renovated. So, between the scaffolding, on

section of

condemned

wall,

I

put up

a graffito.

a

By the time the

had disappeared. A few some sort, my graffito reappeared. People found it odd, and learned it was by — Picasso. The bank director stopped the construction work, had my carving cut out as a fresco with all the wall surrounding it, and inlaid it in the wall of his apartment. I'd be happy if you construction work was completed,

it

years later, because of a modification of

could photograph I

it

one

ask Picasso if he left

day.

many

paintings

on

walls,

now

lost

forever.

He mentions

the

human

figures he painted

on

the landing

of one of his studios in Barcelona and also the nude, the

254

hanged man, and the couple making

love with

which he decor-

ated Sabartes's garret there.

PICASSO I

turned

it

In that garret, there was also an oeil-de-boeuf.

into a gigantic eye.

simply enclosed

I

it

within two

large eyelids.

On the walls of Frede's first cabaret in Montmartre, he left nude woman, a hermit, a portrait of Sabartes, and a bat. They had all disappeared. There is not even a reproduction of them. No one thought of removing them from the walls. Pia

casso was not yet Picasso. But a

bottle of Pernod, and

still life

on

fared better. Painted in 1912

it

removed along with

transported to Paris in

A few people have

it

Ma JoUe

was saved. Kahnweiler

whole section of the

a

title

the wall of a villa in Sorgues,

where he spent the summer with Eva,

had

with a mandolin, a

of music bearing the

a sheet

wall,

and

a special casing.

arrived in the meantime, including

Nusch Eluard. BRASSAi"

would

tain

rise

I'd like to

on

do

boy carving. In front of this girls

a ballet called "Graffiti."

a large wall

covered with

wall,

on

graffiti

The cur-

and

a little

the pavement, three

would dance the Hopscotch. Later, the

graffiti

little

would

step

out of the wall: "Arrow" pursuing "Heart," "Sickle" pursuing

"Hammer." There would lia,"

the

and other

also

be "Death," "Masks," "Genita-

signs.

PICASSO So Marina, what Hopscotch for us! BRASSAI

are

you waiting for? Improvise

must be danced on one foot, like a piece of music written for one hand. Those are the rules of the game for the Hopscotch. But careful!

It

Marina de Berg dashes out onto the red hexagonal tiles of one foot on point she sways, leaps, pirouettes to heaven and back down to hell. I remark that the Hop-

the studio, and, with

scotch and this "pas de demi" might in fact inspire a rather original choreography.

We

applaud. Picasso

core! Encore!"

It

constantly encouraging Marina: "En-

is

would not

much

take

for

him

to shout: "Ole!

Ole!"

Out of breath, I'm having

I

she

sits

a great time!

down and

tells

me: "I'm having fun!

He's fantastic, your Picasso!"

PICASSO You must come back and see me again, Marina. can give you helpful advice. For example, why are you wearing

high heels? That's not allowed.

MARINA

Because

was going to see Picasso and wanted to

I

please him.

PICASSO High heels damage the feet. A dancer should never walk around in anything but sandals. No one ever told you that? Show me your slippers. Marina holds out her ballerina shoes. Picasso undoes the He is visibly moved.

laces.

PICASSO

This reminds

also a ballet dancer.

BRASSAi

me

of

many

things.

My wife

was

She ordered her slippers from Milan.

Don't you think Marina looks

like

Olga?

PICASSO I was struck by the resemblance! My wife had the same profile, the same neck, the same eyes. And, like you, she was Russian.

The resemblance between Kochlova caught

me

the

off guard the

Kochno's apartment.

And I am

his marital troubles, his

young dancer and Olga moment I met her at Boris

pleased that Picasso, forgetting

stormy separation, the confiscation of

his paintings, has retained only the dazzling

image of his wife

young dancer met one winter's day in Rome; and that, forgetting his bruises, he is deeply moved to rediscover, in Marias a

na's pretty

little face,

the

woman who once

captivated him. His

commitment to happy things chases the bad memories from mind and keeps only the moments of happiness. Picasso tells Dora Maar, who has just arrived: "This is the

his

dancer Marina de Berg. Look, Dora, doesn't she look Olga, the young Olga?"

256

like

And

he continues to question the dancer.

And how do you

PICASSO

Do you it

in the door. Except that

And

solid.

— your sUppers

MARINA

you can

I

PICASSO leather.

do

don't really look very It's all

wear them twice to soften them. But once

I still

my wife.

also

must wear out quickly.

It

danced in public, they're done

good

it,

the toes are not reinforced properly inside.

made of cardboard.

ing to

soften the toes of your shoes?

crush them in the door? Yes, that's

I've

for.

have quite

a

few pairs of slippers belong-

I'm going to get them for you. They're made of

I'll

them

give

to you.

And how do you

secure

your leotard? That's an important matter. You don't secure Well,

I'll

show you next time how you have

Andre Bloch, like to

director

to secure leotards.

He would

Art d'Aujourd'hui, arrives.

reproduce the painting by Picasso that has just been exe-

cuted in multicolored gems. able,

it?

The painting

is

quite recogniz-

but translucent.

PICASSO A curious thing, don't you think? Marie Cuttoli had the idea for this experiment with gems. Do you know Jean Crotti, the brother-in-law of Marcel Duchamp and Jacques Villon? to

fie's the inventor.

He

spent ten years trying

superimpose various translucent and colored materials.

Someone remarks

that these

gems

are not unlike stained

glass.

PICASSO

They're completely different. Nothing to do

with glass panels set in lead.

with light.

Of crushed

glass.

It's

an amalgam of glass and paint

You

take a plate of glass,

you

light

from below. You display colored, cut, carved glass of various and thicknesses until you obtain the hues desired. You can transpose any painting into gems, but wouldn't it be more it

sizes

interesting to create original works of art directly, using that

process?

As

1

find that translucent material tempting.

usual, this

Picasso

new mode of expression

and spurring

his imagination.

He

is

already

consuming

disappears to get

dressed.

When

he comes back wearing

a steel-gray suit,

he

is

holding an envelope in his hand.

PICASSO People are always asking me for the most incredible things. Look what someone sent me: twelve thousandfranc bills, unstamped. They are invalid. An American, Katherine Dudley, sent them to me. She has had many troubles. And now she forgot these bank notes in a drawer and let them become invalid. She asks if I have any way of exchanging them for her. As if I were the Banque de France! But I have an idea. And she may be able to get her money back.^^

The

tenth of July 1945

is

day for Picasso. Beginning

a big

today, he can again ride in his car.

"Marcel

is

delighted," he says.

'

He's already

But before taking us out, he wanted to drive on

up the motor

When

filled the tank.

a road, to

wake

after five years of forced sleep."

must return your manuand had Dora read it. It's very interesting. You have a gift for capturing conversations. By the way, did you find my signature at your exhibition? I went by he leaves me, he

script of Bistro-Tabac.

the other day.

And

You

I

read

says: "I it

weren't there, too bad!"

Marina de Berg: "Come back and see me. I'll look for the slippers. And I'll explain to you how you secure he

tells

the leotard." I

have lunch with Marina.

"Are you happy?" "Delighted! "That's

He

how he

others, never.

Now

was so kind to me."

There are people he adopts right away; you can go to his place whenever you like.

is.

You'll be welcome." "It's strange,

and

yet,

I

"

says

Marina.

have the impression

tween you and me, he was than in his

suit.

When

gentleman, and the

he was great.

tie

"I

saw

him for the first time, known him. Just be-

I've always

much

better in shorts, bare-chested,

he got dressed, he became too didn't suit

"

258

him

at all.

But in

much

the

his shorts,

Thursday 2 August

The world war

is

1^45

ending.

The newspapers announce

the

end of

the Potsdam Conference.*^

At Les Deux-Magots, Jacques Prevert, looking smart, brand new clothes from head to foot: gray suit, gray hat, red tie, red pocket handkerchief, and two eyes as turquoise as two tropical fish against a translucent background of pink coral. He has just returned from London. We talk about The Doors of the Night, a film Marcel Carne wants to produce, based on the ballet Rendez-vous. Kosma will write the music, Marlene Dietrich and Jean Gabin will star in it. But Jacques is exasperated with film circles.

One

PREVERT

day in Paris, and you're

sions, contracts, meetings,

about the film

is

what

a

mug, what an ordeal the metro he's gotten!' 'Hey, 'Is

it's

hair?'

Impossible!'

gotten

much

Rene

as:

that really Jean "

guy

like

worn

out. Discus-

nuisance! Everything

me

I

just ran into

with

my famous

around me, I hear nothGabin! Look how old Gabin! What the hell happened to

comments such

him?' or

damn

so tiring, so demoralizing.

Gabin, and he told me: 'Tor ing but

a

But

I

is!

All

'Look,

it's

Gabin, that old

man

with the gray

find that, although Gabin's hair has

grayer, his face hasn't aged at

all.

Bertele, a devoted friend, has collected Prevert's

ems, scattered here and there, and they

will

po-

soon appear in

one volume.

PREVERT

By the way, the cover of

nice with your graffiti.

And

look what

259

I

Paroles will

look very

received.

An album

of

my poems. The

high school students in Reims had the idea them from magazines and made this Roneotyped book. There is only one copy and they offered it to me. No collecting

has ever given

young

me

strangers

so

and

much

pleasure as the gesture of those

their teacher.*^

260

26 November ig4^

Tuesday

SABARTES

Yes, they've

form. Fran^oise

young

back. You'll see, he's in top

expecting a baby. That's

again. He's never

And

ing with energy. again.

is

come

been

made him

feel

so cheerful, so happy, so burst-

he's already started to

Almost every morning he goes

to the

do lithographs Mourlet brothers'

studio.

Picasso arrives, bare-chested, tanned as a Sioux chief, his

head shaved, of the sea last visit,

at

his face

still

burned over and over, the salt and wind and on his skin. Shortly after my

in his nostrils

in April, he spent a few days in Menerbes, Vaucluse,

Dora Maar's home;

Juan; in August, he d'Azur.

It

was his

in June, he took a short trip to Golfe-

left

first

again with Fran^oise for the Cote

long

stay in the

Midi since the war be-

gan in August 1939, when the general mobilization forced him to leave Antibes. Seven years have gone by. Picasso's dislike of the

midity

— already felt

northern

fog, the

in his childhood

low

sky, the

hu-

when he was torn from

temperate Malaga and transplanted to cloudy, rainy Galicia was never so strong

as

during the years of Occupation when he

sea

and could no longer escape summer. And never had his longing for light, heat, risen so strongly within him as after the Liberation.

He had

discovered the Cote d'Azur in 1919 arid had exclaimed,

lived as a recluse, if not a prisoner,

Paris every

and "I

understood

this

landscape belonged to me!

the eastern Pyrenees

Now

"

For

a

long time

and the Cote d'Azur competed for him.

the latter seems to have won.

Relaxed, in

a

good mood,

his eyes brighter

261

than ever, Pi-

casso

We

embraces me.

have not seen each other for fifteen

months.

BRASSAI

Picasso, they say

you repainted the Grimaldi

Castle.

PICASSO Absolutely true. Are you familiar with that palon the way to the Antibes ramparts? Someone once offered to me for twenty thousand francs. It's magnificent, don't you

ace it

think?

worked

The

old square tower, the terrace overlooking the sea.

like a

I

madman.

Do I remember the Grimaldi Castle! A small, dilapidated museum when I visited it for the first time some fif-

provincial

teen years ago,

it

was mounting an exhibit devoted to Napo-

leon's landing at Golfe-Juan.

of

human

What

a

comical demonstration

fickleness! Sealed letters addressed to the police pre"

announcing in veiled terms the "unfortunate event, asking for horses and reinforcements to fight it; posters in bold type announcing, "The Usurper has dared trample the fect in Grasse,

of the fatherland!" replaced the next day with posters pro-

soil

claiming, "French people!

among

Our

dear

Emperor

is

once again

and signed with the same name; proclamations that had invited the population and the army to fight Napoleon now ordered them to help him in any way possible, with men, horses, money. In twenty-four hours, the world had turned tail. The emperor's power emanated from the old walls, and the sea air that stirred these yellowed papers was the breath of that marvelous and heartbreaking epic of the "Hundred Days." And now Picasso is evicting Napoleon from the Grimaldi palace and taking his place. us!

"

PICASSO beach.

One

day,

Do you know

for a drawing for the

wherever

I

ately said:

ing?" So have

I

many

go, don't

"What

if

I

ran into the palace curator on the

de La Souchere? Timidly, he asked

me

museum. People ask me for drawings they? Gould I refuse him? He immedi-

you gave us

thought about walls at the

it.

a

painting rather than a draw-

And I made

Grimaldi Gastle.

painted something on them."

He 262

this proposal:

It

"You

might be better

was delighted.

He

if I

offered

me

upper floor of the museum. "Yes, " I told him, "but don't have anything here to make frescoes with. Painting di-

the whole I

rectly

on

the wall

they bought

me

is

too risky."

"No

matter," he replied. First

sackcloth canvases, execrable ones; they also

offered canvases

remounted on plywood.

with large sheets of asbestos cement.

Do you

them.

And

Finally, I

want to see them? Here they

And, from

ended up

painted frescoes for are.

envelope, Picasso pulls out a bundle of

a large

photos by Sima: his murals; himself working in standing up,

I

a

bathing

sitting, squatting, his hairy chest, the

suit,

whites of his

sun-baked as Gandhi's. I look at the horned centaurs with tridents on their shoulders, playing the flute and pipes; maenads, female fauns, nude bacchantes with full breasts, plump behinds, streaming hair falling to their narrow waists. Everywhere the body of Fran9oise Gilot. Deer cavorting. In the background, the sea with liteyes sparkling, his face as

photos:

tle

little

fauns,

sailboat triangles.

a great

filigree

An

innocent

pagan joy animate drawings

as

the Mediterranean.

gaiety, a sensual happiness,

these lighthearted figures, these

all

it

were, pastoral scenes against the blue of

1

ask what the dimensions of these panels

are.

PICASSO They are big, but they seem small on the enorwalls. Three meters by one meter and a half. Others are smaller. This one I nicknamed "La joie de vivre." This other one is Odysseus surrounded by sirens. I painted it on three plates of asbestos cement placed end to end. I'll leave them all in that room. They want to make it into a "Picasso Museum. 1 may donate the other objects made there, bones, sculpted

mous

"

stones.

The publisher of our book arrives. We made an appointment with Picasso to ready the album of his sculptures for publication. Alas! There are still many missing. At least fifteen. This has been dragging on for three years now. Some of his old sculptures are with one collector or another. take a

morning

for

me

to do.

the photos that have already

We open

been taken. 263

And

each

will

the box that contains

all

PICASSO

Impossible! Did

never have believed Since

I

I

had done

/

really

so

do

many

all

that?

I

would

sculptures in

my

life.

have several versions of each sculpture from various

we have to choose. We sort them out and provisionally make up the pages. Picasso opts for chronological order. angles,

PICASSO

In the meantime, I've done some work for you.

Small objects,

He comes

I'll

show them

back with

a

box

to you. full

of stones, bones, fragments

of plates and crockery that have been ground by the graved and sometimes carved

sea, all

en-

slightly.

I do these things on the beach. The stones are you want to carve all of them. And the sea shapes

PICASSO so beautiful

them

so nicely, gives

them such pure, such complete, forms,

we have only to add a finishing touch to make them into works of art. In one round stone, I saw an owl, so I made it into an owl; another, triangular one suggested a bull's head or a goat's head to me. Some evoked women's heads or fauns' heads. This one I didn't even dare touch: with its nose and eye sockets dug out by the sea, it looks exactly like a "death's head. I have nothing to add to it. that

"

And, one after another, he takes out these little stones, modeled and polished by the sea, engraved and etched by his hand. They are like the relics of some unknown Picassoan civilization.

Now we

PICASSO

How surprised strange signs.

should throw them back into the

sea.

people would be to find stones marked with

What

The publisher

a

conundrum

they'd be for archaeologists!

asks if the stones are

hard to work with and

what instrument he uses to engrave them.

PICASSO I

start

They're very hard.

A dreadful amount

with anything, whatever's handy.

sharp scissors.

^64

And

I

of work.

continue with

The publisher remarks is

different

from

PICASSO

that the "style" of these

Well, I'm changing

my

You These are my

stones

change in

"stone ages."

Someone should publish

"complete works."

signature.

One

different

that in the

all

all its

I

variations.

sorry that the reproductions of

is

album.

cannot truly follow the creative

process except through a series with

The publisher

have only

the time.

all

to look at the

like

new

that of the stones he engraved before the war.

some of

mediocre.

his old sculptures are so

"Kahnweiler showed them to me," he

says,

"I'm loath to

publish them in this album."

They

PICASSO jects

are execrable!

reproduced that

it

So different from the ob-

actually gets to be interesting.

often render in black what

I

did in white.

productions! Sometimes, in place of different ones, so unlike

times

— it's bizarre,

my own

my

that

don't you think?

I

And

They

the color re-

colors,

I

find other,

get a shock.

— the worst

And some-

reproductions,

the ones where everything has been misrepresented, where

nothing remains of excite

me. Yes,

my

painting, turn out to be the ones that

to be frank

.

.

.

prise give pause for reflection?

doesn't that element of surIt's like a

new version,

a

new

my work. What does an irreproachable reproduction offer me? I simply rediscover my own painting. Whereas a bad reproduction gives me ideas, interpretation, if not a re-creation of

sometimes opens horizons I

am

left

to

me.

alone with Picasso. While we were talking, his two

turtledoves were cooing so intensely that they almost

drowned

out our words. They are in a very pretty cage, fenced in by reeds, which, in fact, Picasso has often painted.

BRASSAI I photographed them while you were gone. had landed on the cage.

One

PICASSO Usually, I let them go free. Often they land on my hand, on my head, or on my shoulders.

265

He opens

the cage

and the two birds

fly

out, flapping their

wings noisily, one chasing the other. Pigeons fascinated Picasso even in his childhood.

He

always

saw them fluttering around him. His father painted them, often leaving his son the job of finishing their feet. Since then,

been heard at his place. He likes them them free even more. Doves, pigeons, and have become motifs of choice in his art.

their cooing has always

and

in cages

turtledoves

likes

PICASSO

Turtledoves

may be

the most sensual animals.

They're constantly playing love games. I'd

going on in their cause

my

little

heads.

turtledoves are

may

And

it's

— both males.

like to

know what's

even more bizarre be-

Could they be

inverts?

men, but he adores all animals, as woman's presence. At the BateauLavoir, he had three Siamese cats, a dog, a female monkey, and a tortoise; a tame white mouse lived in a table drawer. He liked Frede's donkey, which grabbed a packet of his tobacco one day; loved the tame crow at Le Lapin Agile and painted it — in Woman with Crow — with Frede's daughter, who had become Mac Orlan's wife. In Vallauris, he had a she-goat; in Cannes, a monkey. As for dogs, not for one day has he been without their company. As a young man, he did a portrait of himself walking a pooch. He always wanted to have a rooster and a she -goat in his apartment, and dreamed of having a tiger. If it had been up to him, he would always have surrounded himself with a regular Noah's Picasso

indispensable

love or hate

at his side as a

ark.

I

Knowing how interested he is in tell him: "I know an old maid who

the activities of animals, creates artificial flowers

for the big fashion designers in an eighth-floor garret, sur-

rounded by

And

birds.

that bird

bought

it

a

is

She

also has a

so in love with

female, the

it

its

free.

mistress that the day she

new bird was

her. So to reward the bird for

time the old maid buys

male turtledove that goes

its

so jealous

it

wanted

to kill

attachment, from time to

a celluloid doll.

And

the male turtle-

dove plays such love games with the doll and swoops down on so violently that you'd think series of

it

wanted

photos of the bird and the

266

to rape

doll:

it's

it.

I

it

did a whole

like Leda and the

One

porcelain egg.

same male turtledove sitting on 'Male turtledoves brood too,' the woman ex-

plained to me.

And when

Swan.

ficial egg,

day,

I

found

hers gets the urge,

and for three weeks no one can

PICASSO

Have you noticed

our lovemaking?

to

that

It

attracts

it sits

get

it

on

a

that arti-

off."

that animals are very sensitive

them, excites them,

sets their

fire. Especially dogs and cats. I knew a woman who had two enormous Saint Bernards, both males. One day, a man came into her life. She was very much in love with him. Well, the first time they slept together, the two Saint Bernards came up to the foot of the bed, stood on their hind legs, enormous, threatening. They stood up and begged in such an odd

blood on

way that the

lover, panic-stricken, leapt out of

BRASSAI

bed and ran

Speaking of your "beasts in love,"

a colonial

governor brought two marmosets from Oceania back

He

it:

a naturalist, said:

marmosets don't breed in

noticed that one of his vited the scientist over

He

to Paris.

was very proud of them and boasted they would produce

young. But one of his friends,

on

off.

little

and

captivity."

"Don't count

Then, one

apes had a swollen belly.

said: "So,

day, he

He

in-

what do you say now?"

was skeptical, shook his head, but had to

bow before

the evi-

when he examined the marmosets closely, he Your marmosets are both females!" The governor got all sheepish: "Two females? Then where is dence. However,

exclaimed: "Impossible!

the

male?

his brain.

"

It

was a complete mystery. All night long, he racked

Suddenly, he was overcome by

a terrible suspicion:

one or the other ape with her? He hired a and had his wife followed. And he learned she was sleeping with a Tahitian man, and that he owned a male marmoset. And since apes imitate the behavior of human beings — and our lovemaking, as you say, sets their blood on fire — their marmosets had bred in captivity. The man got a divorce and his wife married the Tahitian. didn't his wife take

private detective

The story amuses Picasso a great deal, and he tells me: "When you tell stories, it's uncanny how much you look like Manolo.

"

26;

leave

I

him.

It is

not the

first

me

time he has compared,

to

Manolo. Ever since our first meetings he has said: "You remind me of Manolo." Who is this man? I have been trying to elucidate the "Manolo mystery" for a long time. A Spanish painter told me one day: "Manolo? You mean Ugue, Manuel Ugue? He was the son of a general, but sort of the way Apollinaire

is

the son of a cardinal. In any case, there was nothing

military about him.

roamed

As

he was down

a child,

at

the heel,

the streets of Barcelona with hooligans. After he

joined the army, he owned

a horse, a harness,

weapons. Then

one night, farewell Spain! He crossed the Pyrenees with weapons and baggage. In France, he sold the horse, the harness, and the weapons, and with the money bought a ticket for Paris."

The sculptor Jean Osouf, a friend of Manolo who lived with him in Geret, told me: "Everyone liked Manolo. He might play a thousand pranks, but his verve and spirit made up for everything. He made trouble so off-handedly that no one dreamed of holding a grudge. When I knew him, he had already settled down, but he kept playing practical jokes on people, he couldn't help

it.

He

never passed up

he had to hurt his best friends. The stories

One

mous

ears that

That fellow with

his

'I

you!

can't hear a thing at this

donkey ears

sound.' His neighbor believed him.

him coming up all

tell

if

a

and, pointing to the ears, said: cert!

could

even

band gave an outdoor concert. A butcher — seated in front of Manolo had enorstuck out. Manolo leaned over to his neighbor

evening in Ceret,

good fellow — a

I

a joke,

is

absorbing

The

all

next day,

to his apartment: 'Listen,

Manolo,

Ugue I

con-

the sees

thought

You really had me going! You can't block music with your

night about what you told me.

Your

story doesn't

hold water!

"

show with a big hat.' Maurice Raynal asked me to accompany him

ears the

way you block

martre to take

a

a

few photos of the "holy places

"

to

Mont-

of cubism.

He

on the topic. This after-

going to give a lecture with slides noon, via the steep grade of rue Lepic, swarming and smelling of food, we climbed the Butte. At the corner of rue Gabrielle. at no. 49, Maurice Raynal points out a studio perched on the

is

268

top floor: "Picasso's very

painted The

But did you know

Burial of Casagemas.

from Barcelona,

That where he

studio!

first Paris

that, arriving

Picasso nearly settled in Montparnasse rather

than the butte of Montmartre?

He

was just about to rent a stu-

on rue Campagne- Premiere when a Catalan painter returning to his own country offered him his place on rue Gabridio

elle. If it

hadn't been for that encounter, the cradle of cubism

probably would have been Montparnasse and not Montmartre."

We

arrive at the small square covered with trees, rue Ravig-

nan, which has since become place Emile-Goudeau. The strange big building of the Bateau-Lavoir has survived. Raynal

On

me

it

used to be called

the outside,

it

has not changed: the rotted shutters are closed.

informs

'

House of the Trapper."

Raynal explains that the two windows to the

of the en-

left

Juan Gris's former the building, whose hallways and studios have

trance, overlooking the square, belong to studio.

We

visit

been completely refurbished. Raynal evokes a string of memories, the legless base of his bed, the round folding table, Picasso's white wooden cupboard and his rickety, creaking easel, as a matter of fact, he still has in his studio on rue des Grands -Augustins. He also tells me how Picasso and Fernande moved from the Bateau-Lavoir to his studio on II, boulevard

which,

de Clichy, near place Pigalle.

RAYNAL first

I

helped them. What

"middle-class"

home

in Paris.

a

north; an apartment that was sunny the trees of avenue Frochot.

minister. Yes, Delcasse! canvases,

And

change!

A large, at

It

was Picasso's

airy studio in the

noon, looking out on itself belonged to a

The building he lived in

we did not have much

it

too.

to transport.

Apart from the

The few shabby

furnishings barely filled the servants' quarters.

We

go up to place du Tertre. Here and there, Raynal comes

across what rets

is left

from the

garden

at 12,

of the bars, the bistros, the

past.

We

also visit the country

cafes, the

house and

caba-

rustic

rue Gortot, the other headquarters of the cubist

period, long occupied by Pierre Reverdy, Uter, Suzanne Vala-

don, Utrillo, Van Gogh, and Cezanne's and Gauguin's friend

269

Emile Bernard.

was on this same street that Picasso, to make

It

large canvases, rented a studio

We

behind

have a "httle rose" in a bistro.

garden in about 1908.

a

question Raynal about

I

Manolo.

RAYNAL I was very fond of the man, and Picasso adored him. For Manolo, who was ten years older than he was, the young Ruiz always remained "little Pablo." Manolo was the one who saw what he could become. And Picasso listened to him more than

to

anyone

else.

he allowed to tease him,

BRASSAI

Ugue may have been

criticize

the only person

him, contradict him.

me

People are always telling

about his swin-

dling. Couldn't he live off his sculpture?

He

RAYNAL Too

was very gifted, but he prostituted his

unconcerned about

nervy, too

never took to disciplined work.

and even by

petty larceny.

pair of pants while he was

he brought them back.

It

One still

He

gifts.

his future, his success,

preferred to

day,

he

in bed.

stole

live

Max Jacob's

Then,

few hours

a

he

by his wits only later,

was not that he suddenly developed

scruples, as the poet thought,

it

was just that no secondhand

wanted to buy such worn merchandise. In the same way, one day he "borrowed" Leon-Paul Fargue's clothes, and Fargue never saw them again. And when his good friend, the sculptor store

Paco Durio, foolishly trusted him with his apartment, when he returned from Spain he found the walls bare. Manolo had sold Vollard the magnificent Gauguin collection.

him

death," he told

innocently,

my death andjour Gauguins.

I

"I

was starving to

"my only choice was between

chosejour Gauguins." Luckily,

Vollard, suspected of receiving stolen goods, returned the paintings.

Manolo

bust or statue.

He

also

organized "lotteries."

The

prize was a

sold the tickets, but the day of the drawing

never came. In the meantime, he had sold off the "grand prize."

Sometimes

them. "I'm he

said.

to

my

I

much

had

a

all

the tickets had the same

number on

too kind-hearted for people to get jealous,"

weak spot for Manolo.

garrison in Toul, near Nancy.

270

I

even took

A strange

him with me

idea, don't

you

do your military training in the company of a "deserter"? But he was such a marvelous companion. And yet this man who led such an eventful life was the soul of sobriety. He never drank. In my little bungalow on rue de Rennes, I invited think, to

a

few friends over one night to share

a

hunt.

Around midnight, we were

He

except Manolo.

was acting

like a

a

all

duck brought back from a little drunk on wine

"party-pooper." Alfred

Jarry, completely drunk, suddenly stood

Beat

it!

Or

I'll kill

Then Jarry took

up

him: "Get

to

you!" Manolo didn't budge.

We

his rusty revolver out of his pocket

all

lost!

laughed.

and — bang!

bang! — fired two

shots at him. Luckily, he missed. Terrified,

Manolo took

running down the

BRASSAI

off

But was he

a

stairs.

good sculptor? Did he have exhibi-

tions?

RAYNAL

Yes.

to accept cubism.

A good

sculptor! But completely unwilling

The only thing was, when he happened

finish a sculpture, he immediately traded

it

to

for a place to sleep

or something to eat. Several cabarets in Montmartre owned some of his works. In Barcelona, he liked a dairyman's daughter, and he sculpted human figures and animals for her out of butter. His renown began to spread, however. Alfred Stieglitz heard of Manolo and put on his first exhibition in New York. Yes, the photographer Stieglitz.

Picasso

He

and Matisse in the United

was also the

States.

first to

Then, one

exhibit

day,

Ma-

nolo ran into Frank Haviland, from the superrich family of porcelain manufacturers in Limoges.

point of his

BRASSAI

RAYNAL

was the great turning

Haviland liked to rub shoulders with

life!

to play the role of patron.

his wing, pulled

It

It

was he

him away from

Is

that

artists,

who took Manolo under

his chaotic Parisian life.

when he moved

to

Ceret?

around 19^0, after spending a decade in Paris. But before leaving Montmartre, he met "Totote, a young and pretty barmaid in the Latin Quarter, and married her. The bohemian was always homesick for Spain. As a "deYes,

"

serter," his country's soil was

forbidden him.

271

It

was to smell

the fragrance of Catalonia that he chose Ceret. Kahnweiler

offered

him

a

contract with a

little

pension and he was able

to

get to work.

BRASSAI

And when

did he return to Spain?

RAYNAL He was always watching for a political change, The fall of Alfonso XIII finally allowed him to return

amnesty. to his

country after forty years of

BRASSAi

And

RAYNAL

He

exile.

Picasso?

was always great friends with him.

It

was in

his company that he spent several summers in Ceret before World War I, first with Fernande, then with Eva. And even now he is delighted to see him again with Totote and his daughter,

Rosaline.

Wednesday 27 November ig4 6

morning. Sabartes counts them for me. He counts and recounts, afraid of making a mistake. At noon I am left alone with Picasso. He pulls out a curiI

attack the engraved stones this

ous plate for

me

PICASSO it

represent?

with an owl

to see,

left several

Jarry It's

engraved by Alfred Jarry.

at his feet.

Did you know Jarry

You ought

always

owls are the ancestors of

had

my

to

a live

photograph

it

owl living with

is

a fellow

one

day.

him? His

my own.

Since he has been asking for the latest series of

What does

of these bas-reliefs.

not always easy to guess. This one

a

long time,

I

have brought

graffiti.

PICASSO These graffiti are really astonishing! What phenomenal inventiveness you find in them sometimes. When I see kids drawing in the street, on the pavement or on the wall, 1 always stop to look. It's surprising what comes out of their hands. They often teach me something. I

show him these strange

faces

made

solely of two or three

holes, but so evocative, so expressive. Picasso was inspired by

them, or rather entered into dialogue with them, in several of his sculptures.

Look

PICASSO

at

those eyes.

They

are

all

deep holes dug

And yet some seem to be bulging out, as if they Where does that come from? It's not an optical

out of the wall.

were in effect;

relief.

we

see very well that they're holes.

fluences our vision.*^

273

Our knowledge

in-

Do you

BRASSAI

believe there are different "styles" of

my mind.

each country? That question has been on

graffiti for

PICASSO I'm sure of it. Italian and Spanish graffiti — know them well — bear no likeness to Parisian graffiti. For example, the phalluses you see on walls in Rome are specifically Italian. In fact, Rome has a great wealth of graffiti, you should collect them for fun. Putting together this collection was a great idea. Without photos, graffiti exist, but it's as if they didn't exist. In the same way, I made objects out of paper that will exist only because of photography. If you come back early tomorrow, I'll show them to you. And you'll photograph them. Otherwise they are destined for destruction.

BRASSAI

on

the wall,

Even now, most of my graffiti no longer they've been painted over or torn down.

PICASSO you

a

I'd like to help

few "tips."

prison.

It

Some

day

has extraordinary graffiti!

Boisgeloup was nearby and prison

is

you in your search.

should take you to

I

unique.

I

I

can give

I

the Gisors

visit

used to go there often.

spent hours looking

A prisoner sentenced to

his time plastering the walls with graffiti.

ever they might say, people were

exist

them. That

at

twenty years spent

It's

incredible!

more humane back

What-

Of

then.

course, the prisoner did not have his freedom. But he was quite at circular

home room

came from

in his "cell."

with

skylights

And

he took advantage of

on

knife or a regular knife

— yes,

him, when he got the urge, that's

It's a

the ceiling, the prisoner, with his pen-

he was allowed to keep his knife

was able to carve a series of notches in the

And

it.

very high ceiling. Since the only light

a

to

wall,

which allowed

climb to the top, up to the

light.

how he managed to fill the walls of his cell with absoYou should photograph them one day.

lutely splendid graffiti.

They

are

As to give

I

little

am

masterpieces!

leaving,

them

to

I

try to

reclaim

my

graffiti.

He

is

reluctant

me.

PICASSO Would you be willing to leave them with me tomorrow? I'd like to study them this evening.

till

Thursday

28 November 1^4^

As arranged,

I

PICASSO but

arrive early.

I'm sorry to have bothered you

have to go out.

I

back tomorrow? together.

them.

I

Can you come do those paper objects the sun the other day and looked at

have an urgent meeting.

was marvelous. They were translucent

It

my

comes back):

beret?

A beret,

have only one. If it

I

didn't matter.

I

were to mislay or lose

You went

into a store still

him whether the little bronze come back from the founder. Yes,

(a bit perturbed)

it

something very upsetting happened it

and

I

to save

place.

completely ruined it.

it.

I

it

.

.

Before the war,

.

and bought one. But to-

find berets?

ask

PICASSO

as alabaster. (Pi-

Where is my beret? Sabartes, have you now there's a very precious thing. I

day? Tell me, Sabartes, can you I

bust of

Dora Maar has

came back to

me.

wonder

if

I

I

to

me. But

wanted

might

But Dora owns exactly the same bust.

I'll let

morning,

absolutely want us to

held them up to

casso leaves, then

seen

I

this

to patinate

still

Go

to

be able

her

her know.

This morning — with nothing better to do — I photograph the large leather portfolio in which Picasso keeps his drawings

and washes; the main door with the Kanak sculpture; the little table with pots and brushes that serves as his "palette"; and then the Catalan Virgin with large studio.

Is it a

gift?

home

here, seems to be

to his

homeland and

a

halo of light, in

a

corner of the

This Spanish Madonna, so far from

one of the rare

ties still

linking Picasso

the religion of his childhood.

275

An hour

am

Dora Maar's place on rue de Savoie. She took up painting some time ago, and it is worth noting that she has been able to escape Picasso's formidable influence. Her still lifes — a piece of bread, a pitcher — are very sober and later,

I

at

are not reminiscent of the painter's palette or any of his periods.

Dora has

many

a regular "Picasso collection": in

portraits of her

and the many

ful of small objects fabricated

addition to the

there

still lifes,

is

a

drawer-

by Picasso's playful fingers,

al-

ways active and inventive. Taking a thousand precautions, she

pulled them out for

me

the other day so that

I

could photo-

graph them: small birds made of tin caps, wood, or bone; piece of wood transformed into a blackbird; a

eroded by the

sea,

transformed into an

a

bone fragment

eagle's head.

humorous and mischievous trompe I'oeils: of wood, colored brown, has become a cigar;

And charred

hoaxes,

a

piece

a flat

bone

has been turned into a nit comb. Picasso meticulously drew the fine teeth

the

and embellished

many papers and

fingers, they are a delight. cigarette boxes.

has

become

with a pair of

it

boxes, cut

Most

The round Q

the head of a

in

little

up with are

lice in love.

scissors or

As for

torn with

made of paper napkins or its little bow tie

CELTIQUE with

human

figure.

Amid

the ani-

mals — fish, fox, goat, vulture — the satyr masks, the children's faces, the death's heads,

an extraordinary

had

a

and

a

long woman's glove, there

series of dogs. It has

its

own

white lap dog she adored. But one day

sole his grieving mistress, at every

meal for

it

history.

is

also

Dora

died. So, to con-

several days Picasso

dog with his big black eyes and floppy ears. The nose, eyes, and mouth are sometimes poked out, but more often burned with the embers of a match or cigarette. The fluffy paper of the napkin has vanished, replaced by the silky, wavy white coat of this dog summoned back to life, staring at us through the fringe of its long fur. When I speak to Dora about the "patinated" bronze and resuscitated the

little

the "accident," she bursts out laughing.

DORA MAAR So you don't know how Picasso my bust? Well, he peed on it. And for several days 21^

"patinated" in a row.

Maybe he was embarrassed horrid to look

BRASSAI

to tell you.

The bronze

got to be

at.

that possible?

Is

I

too have often heard that

urine patinates bronze. Pere Maillol "watered" the large statues in his garden every day. Often, he confided to

Roi, he even "held

me

in Marly-le-

in Paris to save this precious elixir for

it"

his bronzes.

MAAR

Picasso thought so too. But the result was disastrous.

The bronze turned completely green, but an

appalling green.

And to think that it happened to a bust of me in particular. I

return to rue des Grands -Augustins to drop off

eras.

I

run into Sabartes.

SABARTES

I

didn't

And we

talk

know him

my cam-

about Manolo.

in Barcelona, even though cabaret. Only in remember how we met

we frequented the same milieu and the same

my

Paris,

during

like

was yesterday.

it

first stay, I

in I90I-

I

had an appointment with Picasso in

Luxembourg Museum. He came with a Catalan. It was Manolo. We became great friends and began to go to cafes and cabarets on the Butte and in the Latin Quarter. At the time, he didn't speak a word of French. In fact, he always kept a delicious accent. Alas! Since he moved to Geret, I've lost track of him. You want to see a photo of the man? I don't have front of the

any, but

I

can show you

which appeared in

And

I

a

a portrait

German

"A

,

Selbstbildnis,

review.

hollow cheeks, the high forehead, the

finally see the

which Fernande Olivier depurebred Spaniard, his too-black

bushy eyebrows of Manolo's scribed as follows:

of himself his

little

face,

"

under too-black hair. On my way downstairs, I run into Ines. I did not know she lived in the same building, below Picasso's studio, that she was married to Gustave, a metalworker, and that she had a sixmonth-old little boy. am surprised to discover the life of eyes in a too-black face

I

this little family nestling in Picasso's large

"Monsieur

my

Brassai,

shadow.

she says pleasantly, "do you want to see

"

"

Picasso collection ?

277

I

enter the

so low

little

home, almost devoid of light, with

you can touch

it

with your hand.

The

a

roof

walls are filled

with Picassos, highlighted by a few color prints: portraits of Ines, usually painted as birthday presents; a very beautiful

draw-

ing in India ink of a bull goring a picador's horse; an original etching from the "Buffon" series depicting a guinea fowl; a

gouache

still life;

and

a

few lithographs.*^

Friday

29 November 194^

An American journalist

has

come

to see

me. He

is

not the

first

imagine that a word from me is enough to get Picasso to welcome him with open arms. But although I sometimes intro-

to

duce friends to him, this

have always sent strangers packing. But

I

young journalist, Mr. Wallace,

preparing for tune on sive list

that,

it;

had

I

him and

is at

is still

We

tenacious.

is

ready to go, and so resolute

is

killed

me.

I

liked that in

have arranged to meet this morning.

alone.

We

talk

about the album of his sculp-

nearly finished.

should he ask to write

What

PICASSO

it?

if

good of time with my sculptures and

you wrote

job. You've spent a great deal

it?

I'm sure you'd do

we've often talked about them. Write the

Surprised,

know

within

has been

The publisher is going to repaper soon. What holds him back is the text. Who

which

ceive the

not

He

his entire for-

Having compiled an impres-

stake.

would have

refused, he

gave in.

I

Picasso tures,

his career

of questions to ask, he

is

He wagered

this visit for a year.

it.

I

I'm

all

for

it.

am

not an art critic and that I do enough to situate his sculptures should get on with it and he will arrange

object that

his

body of work

He

insists:

I

text,

a

I

well

things with the publisher. I

ask

him

PICASSO

if

we can photograph I

was supposed to go out this morning. But

things have worked out;

going

to

hop over

you wait for me?

his "sculpted" papers today.

to see

I'll

stay.

And we

can work on that. I'm

Dora Maar and then

I'll

be back. Will

stay

I

Point

He

with Sabartes.

explains to

me

that the review Le

wants to publish a special issue on Picasso and asks for

my

collaboration.

SABARTES

Kahnweiler's in charge of preparing the issue;

we ought to choose from among your photos with him. It's been dragging on for two years. And do you know why? The letter the editorial office sent us was set down on that table. It was quickly buried. We found it again only a few days ago. We've been thinking of giving this special issue a rather intimate flavor. Kahnweiler will publish a few conversations with Picasso and also 'documents, for example, a selection of the thou"

sands of letters sent to him. I

And wouldn't

it

be more amusing,

thought, to choose some of the insulting ones? They make up

a regular

anthology of insults! I'm right in the middle of read-

The nastiest ones random?

ing and organizing them. Shall

we pull one out

And from

at

this pile

of

letters, arriving

are in this pile.

from every corner of

the globe, we pull out this one:

A group of painters

is

protesting the works you've been pro-

madman, though even

ducing, clinkers worthy of a

the

at

exhibit by mental patients at Sainte-Anne there were

some

better than yours.

Since

all

our

bases France

efforts to crush

— especially in

your wicked work, which de-

relation to foreign countries, as

the latest deliberations of painters in England prove

we decided your

failed,

fate last

week

at

— have

Club du Fauas you

the

bourg, and since the government allows you to do like,

we

are going to take action

In conclusion,

home

truths.

know how

I

I

.

.

personally must

know you, you

.

tell

you

a

few

are an incompetent

little

who

doesn't

to paint or draw.

So place

all

your garbage next to the works of the great Leonardo da Vinci, and

painters: Raphael, Michelangelo,

you

will see

And

what

since

garbage

you are

a.

the "idiot's formula,"

you

are!

failure,

an

incompetent,

you have found

good only for imbeciles!

280

But how unfortunate for the country that young people

Poor

are following you!

cretins!

Signed:

A group

of painters, real ones! Paris, 15

June 1946

American journalist, arrives with his questionon several typed pages. I introduce him to Sabartes, who on his role as Grand Inquisitor, and, knowing perfectly

Wallace, the

naire takes

well

how

to speak English,

interrogation.

Then he

SABARTES

It's

immediately subjects him to

a close

turns to me.

truly astounding the kinds of questions

Americans can ask: my hair, if I had any, would stand on end. Have you read his list? More than fifty questions, and what questions! The exact speed at which Picasso executes a painting, an engraving, a drawing; the number of works produced per day, per week, per month, per year! How many autographs does he sign? The number of works sold, exhibited, in museums, in his possession, etc. You have to have a special kind of brain to ask

all that.

And how

naive to think Picasso will answer

them. In the meantime a dozen people arrive, even, perhaps fifteen, most of

them

Dutch, many Americans. They

They

all

stand and wait for

techambers

to glory,

all

him

more than

that

foreigners: Swedes,

want

to see

and hear

Picasso.

in this most inhospitable of an-

where there

is

not

happy, however, because the ambiance

a free seat. is

They

are

already palpable.

Here and there you can see sculptures and gouaches. They look, they poke around, speak in hushed tones: "Very interesting! "Very beautiful! My American is beginning to be at a "

"

loss. Picasso's all

absence bothers

these people.

I

tell

him

him

rue des Grands-Augustins remind

Weimar

much

as

that these

as the

presence of

morning receptions on

me

of Goethe's receptions

fame

same attraction and reproduces the same phenomena. Rushing in from Stockholm, London, Paris, New York, visitors to the "sage of Weimar" waited with the same patience and impain

in the last century. Universal

281

exerts the

same curiosity and veneration — and no doubt the same nervousness — for the apparition of His Excellency von tience, the

Goethe. "Yes! Yes!

Weimar!

I

understand!" the American

Exactly!

But Picasso

is

most noon. Even

I'll

put

it

into

my

late getting back. if

I

What

wait.

I

tinies in their respective centuries.

ies

I

at first sight,

is

going on?

the

more

a

would be amusing

Picasso,

exceptional des-

As paradoxical

think about

I

It

might

it

more

the

it,

as

affinit-

find in their characters, their natures, their love affairs,

their lives. Very visually oriented

— eyes wide

open on the

world — staring with curiosity and astonishment. eye that feels; lebrity:

I

feel

him,

I

young

make a little bow, surfrom him" (Sabartes

Picasso). Werther, the blue period

— romanticism,

then romanticism overcome, repudiated: "All that

ment"

with an

with a hand that sees" (Goethe). Early ce-

prised by the magical force emanating the

"I see

youthful presumptuousness, authority, influence over

his group. "Passing in front of

on

It is al-

go to the studio and take

Goethe. Weimar.

to write a comparative study: Goethe and

seem

me. "Goethe!

he were to come back now we could not

photograph the paper sculptures. few photos while

tells

paper. Thanks for you."^^

(Picasso).

is

only senti-

Cubism. "Objects gradually brought me up The lust for learning, an in-

to

their level" (Goethe). Lucidity.

nate capacity for mimicry: putting himself in skin, seizing

on

every

form of

existence.

An

someone

else's

iron stomach,

good digestion. "The best genius is someone who knows how welcome everything, appropriate everything without being

harmed by

it

in the slightest" (Goethe). Giving without becoming

spent; taking without getting taken.

von Stein — yes,

more or

less

yes

Gertrude Stein and

— educators

the same

.

.

.

Charlotte

and inspirations who played

role of trainer, Egeria.

The

ability to

pull himself together. Satirical wit, a taste for buffooneiy practical joker side tanic.

An

Devotion

to

of Mephistopheles, more

— the

ironic than Sa-

ever vigilant sensuality. Eroticism. Violent passions. to love. Ability to change. Constantly rejuvenated by

the intervention of a

new woman's

face:

extreme excitement,

rush of creative energy, the birth of a new work. Love

282

as

spring-

board, always subordinated to something that transcends Similarity in terms of "egocentrism"

place what

who

have in

I

my head?" is

will write in

my

(Goethe). "Obviously, only he

has been the most sensitive can

hardest, because he

"Who

:

it.

become

the coldest

and

forced to encase himself in solid armor

from rough handling; and very often that armor ends up weighing him down" (Goethe). Creative power; expertise, sureness of method; capacity to breathe life into any material. Thirst for the new — Faust, perpetually to protect himself

unsatisfied,

whose

thirst

can never be quenched. Disconcert-

ing novelty of every work.

"When people

think I'm in Weimar,

I'm already in Erfurt" (Goethe). Stupefying increasing, universal renown.

Youth

activity.

Ever-

to the end. Increasing

solitude.

hear the chattering of the crowd in the vestibule.

I

I

am

in

windows with a bronze head in close-up when, suddenly, the door opens and, accompanied by Dora Maar, Picasso enters. He is completely shattered. He has just pushed through the crowd of visitors without saying a word to anyone. the midst of photographing one of the large studio

DORA MAAR

There was abso-

(barely holding back her sobs)

nothing wrong with her. Just this morning she was in very good spirits. We talked a long time on the phone. We were lutely

supposed to have lunch together. She consciousness. Three hours later,

lost

of

fell all it

was

all

a

sudden. She

over. Cerebral

hemorrhage.

PICASSO Eluard

is

(repeating

dead!

MAAR

We

Eluard

in a

is

Nusch was everything

in Switzerland. to

"I can't

imagine

my

ceive of the idea of losing her.

her.

"

It's a

terrible

The news

We

him. Everything

wife, his friend, his secretary, his

he told me:

Nusch

cracked voice)

is

gone! Nusch

loved her so much.

I

sent .

.

.

him

everything. His

guardian angel.

life

telegram.

a

A year

without Nusch.

I

ago,

can't

con-

could not get along without

blow for him.

spreads.

The

visitors are

283

dismayed. They

will

not

see Picasso. his

list

of

The audience

fifty

so

is

it is

left.

Poor Wallace

Marcel closes up. His peasant

the classical chorus

for us,

cancelled.

folds

up

questions.

Everyone has sense

is

we

common

commenting on the events: "Oh, from this earth. "^^

are quickly swept

284

Friday 13 December

1^4^

home, I found a phone message from you come as soon as possible to Piback this morning.

Yesterday, returning

Sabartes: "Brassai, can casso's?"

He

calls

Come

SABARTES

He

ing.

on

told

me

quick! Picasso did something surpris-

to call you.

the phone. You'll see.

most of I

them

it.

Jump

What's

it all

A surprise! We He might

into a taxi.

about?

I

can't explain

have to make the

change his mind.

find Picasso in the midst of a crowd of people, most of foreigners.

large black checks

He

wearing

is

— no

have hardly said hello

doubt

when

a thick

a gift

red wool jacket with

from an American

Sabartes drags

me

visitor.

I

toward the stu-

"Come, come, leave all those damn nuisances behind! " them soon! Look! And what do I see? The artiste peintre! There he is, big as life, in front of an enormous canvas, in a white smock, with a palette and a handful of brushes in his hand. There he is, meditating on the secret of this fairly enigmatic painting, first called Serenade, then Auhade, depicting two women: one nude, reclining on a couch reminiscent of the variegated stripes of Le dio:

We'll be rid of

Douanier Rousseau's Sleeping Gypsy; the other dressed, sitting in a chair, a mandolin on her knees. No doubt the simultaneous presence of two

women

of this painting and of

theme.

in his life played a role in the genesis a series

of other canvases with the same

''^

SABARTES

(watching for the

effect

285

of surprise on my face)

What do

you say? The idea came duced it on the spot. I

look

the

at

to

him

all

artiste peintre. It is

of a sudden.

And

he pro-

the large bronze figure with

the turn-of-the-century mannequin's

body

that Picasso has

rigged out in that way. In a rush to join us, he has gotten rid of his visitors. "I

His eyes are gleaming with mischief.

wanted

you

to give

a surprise!

Strange fellow,

what about his palette? Did you look

from the United able glass, Pyrex

a

I

got

it

They make them there out of unbreakthink. As a palette, it's worthless. You can't

States. I

see the colors very well,

same, what

palette?

at his

huh? And

it's

absurd! But a glass palette,

And

magical object!

for this get-up: the

artiste peintre

that's

what gave

me

the

all

the idea

with his luminous, shimmering

palette!" I

take a few photos of

it.

complicitous eyes, he

tes's

on

played a good joke

Picasso helps as

is

a pal.

amused

When we

me

as a

and, under Sabar-

schoolboy who has

are done, he gets out a

few statuettes for me.

PICASSO tact.

I

I

found

several of

them. But dry I

is

in-

should glue the others back together. But when and

how? Next week? They're fire

them. Alas, only one

clay

give Picasso the

is

little

earthen figurines.

so very fragile,

I

forgot to

breaks, crumbles.

it

photographs of his engraved stones and

also a few views of his studio.

BRASSAI Canvases photographed in their environment seem more alive to me than mere reproductions. You see the painting

as

it is, its

exact dimensions.

nothing so deceptive

as a

showed me the one of Bacchanale and canvas.

a

I

was surprised to learn

PICASSO Here box)

On

reproduction! I

the whole, there's

The other day you

took

it's a little

it

for a very large

gouache.

(laughing mischievously and taking ''Bacchanale'' from it is!

I

painted

it

"after Poussin,"

during the

bloody days of the Liberation, in August. People were shooting off guns everywhere. Tanks were shaking the house. I

look

at Bacchanale: a

whirlwind of desire, of entangled bod-

286

ies.

On

gouache

this

as well, the battle

was raging. Taking his

cue from Poussin, Picasso, in these tragic days, had given free rein to his eroticism.

Around

the bearded faun

and the nymph

plump behind and aggressive breasts, there was a mehand-to-hand combat. Hands and feet were shooting out from everywhere, you could not tell which body they belonged

with the lee,

to.

PICASSO

In the

photographer made

American

a

first

come and

to

days of the Liberation, an

color reproduction of see

it.

He

American

was the

first

me. His name escapes me. But

you're right to prefer a painting located within

its

environ-

I always begged Zervos not to limit himself to reproducOften you understand a painting better from the life surrounding it.

ment.

tions.

And we

return — for the umpteenth time — to these paper

sculptures, which unforeseen circumstances have always pre-

vented us from photographing up to now.

them without

I

could have done

Picasso present. But he wants to attend this ses-

sion, because, he thinks, for these fragile,

ephemeral

objects,

the finishing touches are very important.

PICASSO

I

want

to

make them with you. We need

able to devote a full day to them.

It

to

be

takes a long time to find

the right angle for shooting, the most favorable lighting. But

when could we

find a day for that?

287

Tuesday

1'/

December 1^4^

A big commotion.

They have finally delivered the truckload of coal. Carrying black sacks on top of their heads, their faces dirty, the coal merchants come and go, as Ines and Marcel stuff the furnaces and fireplaces. It is a hard winter.

SABARTES

What good

(grumpily)

is all

Siberian cold we'll never be able to heat this

Wouldn't

it

be better to confine ourselves to

soon

come up,

With this enormous studio. a few rooms? It

that coal?

seems

like as

up

the coal, without giving off the slightest heat.

all

as the sacks

the furnace swallows

Picasso makes only a brief appearance. He looks like a hunted animal. He speaks to Sabartes and keeps repeating: "The judge, the judge. At four o'clock I'm summoned to appear before the criminal judge. You absolutely must come with me. What if we were to telephone P.? He could also come with us.

You know very well I don't like to go the judge by myself." The judge! He has probably never

You're never too

before

.

.

.

been able to forget the incredible from the Louvre Museum, when,

story of the theft of statuettes after

Guillaume Apollinaire

dawn of authority and loses

was arrested, Picasso was himself charged and brought before a judge.

He

is

absolutely terrified

his grip at the sight of a I

summons.

only get to photograph one terra-cotta statuette.

did not have time to prepare the others for me. conversation with Sabartes. lished book:

Portraits

I

Then

He I

have a

have just read his recently pub-

and Memories.

A delicious book in

its

discon-

one might say, methodical disorder. Like a faithdog gamboling around its master, following him even as he

certing, and, ful

at

288

turns this way and that, on a single page Sabartes

jumps

to

end-of-the-century Barcelona and returns at top speed to the antechamber swarming with people, the ringing phone. Marcel announcing a visitor, Picasso's mail to be sorted, read, put away. I like the fact that this man, once he has found his god, does not smugly devote himself to worshiping him, but also

him

criticizes

ings.

He

in his scathing way, teases

him

for his shortcom-

does not hesitate to show his contradictions, his un-

certainties, his pedantry, his

which are

moodiness,

all

his weaknesses,

With unconcealed bitterness, he which separated him from his year. This little biography, which makes

also his strength.

even alludes to their falling-out, friend for

more than

a

every effort to draw Picasso's portrait, also depicts Sabartes be-

tween the

lines: despite his

self-portrait. esty,

It

extreme discretion,

it is

almost a

modwho never

reveals his touchy humility, his prideful

the willful self-effacement of a resigned witness

stubbornly imposes his personal view on Picasso. I

congratulate

him

for his lively, irreplaceable book.

SABARTES So you read the history of my portraits? It was Picasso who prompted me to write down those memories. One day when I was idle and discouraged in Royan, he advised me to work, to write. That's when I got the idea of using the portraits

he painted of

me

As chance would have did

my

portrait.

as a

it,

at

guiding thread for every stage of

my

my memories.

life at his side,

What do you think of it? Give me your

he

crit-

icism!

BRASSAI

The

can make

is that you say Nothing about women. As if they did not exist. That discretion distorts somewhat the facts themselves. You have Picasso take solitary journeys and make the reader feel sorry for him, when in reality he was with someone. That changes everything. Why don't you ever talk about the women? Yet you did acknowledge their importance in his life, in his oeuvre, didn't you? You're better situated than anyone to talk about them.

only reproach

nothing about Picasso's love

SABARTES

Too

I

affairs.

well situated.

289

My

lips are sealed.

For me,

that subject

is

know what Picasso, in his of women and love. You would think,

taboo. In

heart of hearts, thinks

fact,

don't

I

wouldn't you, that he confides everything to me, that I'm trusted with his most secret thoughts? Don't kid yourself!

That's not

We

speak.

at all

the case!

When

I'm alone with him, we rarely

are the perfect example of two people sharing their

As for his love affairs, I note only the happy passions on his painting, which always follows the

loneliness.

of his

and

fall

of his love

affairs.

women? To enumerate don't think so. Picasso's I

look

at

He

is it

and

arrives.

He

290

counted in his

life? I

go, art remains. is

now living in much less

looks like his mother,

father.

rise

necessary to talk about

women who

Women come

son Paolo

him.

the

But

effects

Switzerland. like his

20 December

Friday

The other

day,

I

ig4^6

had dinner with Gilberte

at

La Coupole.

And

amid all these diners grappling with shellfish and seafood in this enormous cafe and restaurant in Montparnasse, I ran into Henri Matisse. In excellent spirits, wearing a cap with bold checks, he was eating heartily in the company of the lovely Lidia.

MATISSE We'll be staying another two weeks in Paris. I'd like you to come see me on boulevard Montparnasse, because I've been thinking of you. Before we left the Midi, I told Lidia: "When he visited me in Vence this summer, Brassai very much admired the hat made of punk by Romanian shepherds. I ought to bring it to him in Paris. Put it with our things. You tried it on and it suited you beautifully. Its soft suede color "

brings out the black sparkle of your eyes.

You ought

photograph of yourself in that extraordinary Surprised,

when

I

to

do

a

hat.

thanked him for his attention, even though

had not shown any desire to see myself in that bizarre hat. So as not to disappoint him, I promised to pick it up at his place. "I made an offer," he said as he left us, I

was in Vence

"take advantage of

I

it!"

This afternoon,

I

go up to his place, in the building

boulevard Montparnasse.

God knows

I

am

at

132,

familiar with the

building! Coincidentally, Gilberte lives there!

From her

place,

the bird's-eye view of Matisse's apartment sometimes allows us to see Lidia lines.

hanging Matisse's soaking-wet drawings on

Her whole kitchen

is

filled

sometimes with

laundry hanging from clothespins.

291

The

first

time

long-

that strange 1

went up

to

that apartment, about ten years ago,

it

was to photograph

Ma-

with his birds, most of them exotic; at the time, he was amusing himself by offering a selection of woolen threads in the colors of his palette to a couple of industrious birds, which were weaving small "Matisse" tapestries between the bars of the tisse

cage with their beaks.

The

beautiful Russian

where, during

my

woman

shows us into the main

earlier visit a few

months

room

ago, Matisse was in

bed, cutting out colored paper figures evoking Oceania. As they were completed, Lidia put

MATISSE coming back

Memories of my

very

little at

later, as obsessive

fish, birds, jellyfish,

don't you think, that

all

the wall.

trip to Tahiti are only

me, fifteen years

to

madrepores, coral,

me

them up on

sponges.

now

images:

It's

odd,

and sky inspired came back from the islands abso-

these delights of sea

the time?

I

empty-handed. I didn't even bring back any photos. And had purchased a very expensive camera. But, once there, I

lutely

yet

I

hesitated: "If

I

said to myself,

take pictures of everything

I

see in Oceania,

Fll see only those paltry images.

And

the

"

I

pho-

may keep me from forming profound impressions. I was right, it seems to me. It's more important to absorb things than to try to capture them from life. tos

"

It

was the

first

time something so similar to Proust's invol-

untary memory had manifested Time Regained. Proust says in

fact:

itself in

painting.

A kind of

'Titerature that confines itself to 'de-

scribing things,' to doing a worthless survey of lines and surfaces [Proust

is

implicitly targeting photography]

that,

even

from

reality, a literature that

as

it

calls itself realist,' is at

the utmost degree, since

it

is

the furthest

a literature

remove

impoverishes and saddens us to

abruptly breaks off

all

communica-

tion between your present self and the past, the essence of which resides in things, and between your present self and the future, where literature invites us to savor it once more. It is that essence that art

He

worthy of the name must express.

also says, with Matisse:

particular time, a

book we

"Moreover,

read, does not

"

a thing we saw at a remain joined for-

around

ever only to what was

joined to what we were

at

us;

also

it

the time;

it

remains faithfully

can only be played back

by the same sensibility, by the person we were

And, somewhat graphs of

a

later,

whom

person

at

the time."

Proust also speaks of "those photo-

one

merely thought of him" (Time

recalls less well

than

if

one

Regained).

MATISSE I am cutting out all these elements and putting them up on the walls temporarily. The little marks represent the horizon line. I don't know yet what I'll come up with. Perhaps panels, wall hangings. All those images have disappeared

from the

wall.

And

I

ask

what has become of them.

MATISSE off to

I

made

England and

linen, white motifs

on

gone

large panels out of them. They've

be "published" there: printed on

will

A limited

background.

a beige

edition

of thirty copies. In their place tisse's canvases,

now

is

an enlarged photograph of one of Ma-

on which he has drawn

few arabesques in

a

charcoal.

had this photo of my painting taken with a tapestry in mind. I'm transforming it. Tapestry is different from oil painting. It obeys different laws. On a black panel, I'm go-

MATISSE

I

ing to indicate

my

"palette," that will suffice for the execution.

But Matisse, always so eager for news, patience to ask

me

been

forty years, he has his

comrade

what Picasso has

in arms.

London

I

his pal

and

remember

trembling with im-

is

been up

to recently.

For

his rival, his bete noire

last year, at

and

their joint exhi-

and Albert Museum: Matisse showed me a voluminous packet of English reviews and articles devoted to the event, and told me with some sadness and bitterness: "He's the one who's getting most of the insults, not me. They're courteous toward me. Obviously, next to him, I always look like a little girl." And that reminded me of Picasso's joke: "Braque is my wife," which later became,

bition in

.

.

at

the Victoria

.

"Braque,

.

my

ex-wife."

293 4

.

.

he? What is he doing? How are his love affairs going?" The most insignificant gesture, the slightest joke that has fallen from his lips, the most minor events in his life interest him, excite him. In Vence, he told me: "Every year, I send a crate of oranges to Picasso. He dis-

"How

So he questions me:

plays

them in

and

his studio

is

every visitor: 'Look

tells

No one

mire, these are Matisse's oranges.'

and ad-

dares touch them,

no one dares eat them. In exchange, Picasso sends me buyers. Recently, I had a visit from two individuals on his recommendation. They had very international names. They bought a painting from me, even paid a very good price for it, in dollars and in cash. But, you see, the dollars were counterfeit. By the time I realized it, they were long gone. They were crooks. I tell him how Picasso came up with the idea the other day of dressing up his bronze "mannequin" as an artiste peintre with a "

transparent palette in his hand.

No doubt

MATISSE

a

present from Paul Rosenberg.

1

re-

from him. What a preposA transparent palette! For you to see the colors has to be opaque. I didn't even try out the one he

ceived a similar palette in Plexiglas

terous idea! properly,

it

sent me: anything that shows through the glass gets in your

way. By the by, have you seen

In

fact, I

the

tisse at

saw

it

a

my

few days ago,

main amphitheater

"It's a frightful it

at

an evening devoted to Ma-

still

last

time

ordeal to be filmed," he told me, "but

I

submit-

You know yourself better once you screen. I did not much like the se-

ve

"

quences showing the canvas

as

it

developed to

its

or those of his hand painting in slow motion. rather painful and unconvincing, and

making an appearance

was rather astonishing.

I

upset from the shooting.

good-heartedly.

seen your image on the

tisse

The

the Sorbonne.

at

saw the painter in Vence, he was

ted to

film?

No

I

told

in his great cape

doubt he wanted

I

final stage,

found them

him

so.

But Ma-

and white gloves image

to leave that

of himself to posterity.

MATISSE ing shown.

I

was very uncomfortable while the film was be-

Many

things about

it

bothered me.

294

It's

very indis-

creet to

show your private

why Bonnard refused same filmmakers

BRASSAI

He

Le Cannet.

fact,

Some time like,

was

I

my

at

later, filled

interested

me

understand Because the

Bonnard's during that time in

MATISSE

me

felt like I

I

place, except

my face," it

he told me.

was his por-

mind: "If you but only from the back."

the most, he changed his

you can photograph

I

I

a display.

with remorse, knowing

ked, in the audience. But

me.

at

And

was mourning the loss of his wife. "Photograph

everything you want

trait that

you work.

to submit to such approached him.

also

In

face as

as well,

was caught with it

my

pants down, na-

was an unforgettable lesson for

was overwhelmed by the slow motion.

What

a strange

work of the hand, captured by the movie camera and decomposed. That sequence left me dumbfounded. I kept wondering: "But is that really you doing that? What the devil can I do now?" I had lost my bearings. I didn't recognize my hand or my canvas. And I thing! Suddenly,

you

see the completely instinctive

anxiously questioned myself: "Is

continue? Which way see a

my hand

drawing,

I

so scared as

own

is it

it

going to stop?

going to go now?"

I

going to

Is it

was stunned to

go on and on until the end. Usually, when get stage fright, if not panic.

way, as if

I

"Eyes shut.

hand beyond

But

I've

"

I

saw

The

start

never been

my poor hand in slow motion had drawn with my eyes shut.

when

I

going

its

spontaneity, the obscure power of the

and even the brain, preoccupied Matisse a great deal. He wanted to know what it could do when abandoned to its fate, cut off from the body as it were. Perhaps Picasso's exercises played some role in this. The the control of the eyes

drawings,

made

closed, in

which the organs — eyes, nose,

in about 1933, in the dark or with his eyes ears, lips

— no

longer

occupied their usual place, were undoubtedly the source for the dismantled faces that appeared a few years later. in 1939, in his studio

on rue des

One

day

Plantes, Matisse did a draw-

me blindfolded. It was a face drawn with a piece of He executed it with a single line. In this very expressive

ing for chalk.

portrait, the eyes,

mouth, nose, and

ears overlapped, as in Pi-

casso's distorted faces. Matisse was so delighted with

me

asked

to take a picture of

him

doubt that work of Matisse's now

MATISSE And did you The one shot in the United

in front of the drawing. exists

only in

see the film about

States?

It's

my

he

that

it

No

photo.

Fernand Leger? and un-

very amusing

pretentious, even though the color values are dreadful. Leger's

You

him making

"You have to know how to make a salad!" He puts in salt and pepper, mustard, he adds oil and vinegar. Then he says: "You also have to know how to make beef stew! Then you see him taking a ladle and tasting the stew. But then, don't you see, "You have to red face

is

just horrid.

see

a salad.

"

know how

to roast a chicken too."

And

there's Leger, taking

two golden brown chickens from the oven, pouring sauce over

shown painting, as if painting were the logical follow-up to good cooking. "Don't you see, you must also know how to paint." And he plays around with colored bits of wood. He puts them on the canvas. But he puts too much on, everything gets muddled and you can't make out a thing anythem.

Finally, he's

more. His cooking was much more convincing that

his

painting.

And

Matisse bursts out laughing, his teeth showing between

his silvery

looks

at

beard and mustache.

them with

I

show him

a

few

interest, especially those that

He

graffiti.

show female

genitalia.

MATISSE Since the earliest times, they have always been more or less the same way: as a "coffee bean. Do you know the red light district in Toulon? You could see this sign everywhere on the walls. And every brothel bore this "coffee bean" as its sign. Sometimes carved, sometimes painted. depicted

I

"

him whether he

ask

has recovered completely

from

his

illness.

MATISSE Before,

I

The operation

gave

me

a

curious kind of shock.

was very weak in arithmetic. Now, I'm almost infatu-

ated with numbers. They're running through

time.

The operation must have

given

296

me

a

my head

all

the

head for numbers.

The

effect of

ers, after

shock

is

always unexpected.

One

of

my

publish-

an operation, could not remember anything from be It had erased his past. And one day I was

fore the procedure.

cured from

a

head cold by taking snuff. I sneezed ten times, it was gone. Shock theory is all the rage now

twenty times, and

sympathico-therapy, electroshock. ten years ago,

from a

when

his sciatica,

Do you remember? About much

Picasso himself was suffering so

he was finally cured by

a

doctor

who applied

kind of electroshock to the base of his nose.

As

I

am

leaving,

made of punk. She

I

speak to Lidia about the famous hat

me: "M. Matisse is very attached to that hat. It is very fragile and inflammable. If an ash from a cig arette were to fall on it, it would burn up like a match. Therefore, since

tells

you smoke, M. Matisse would prefer that you not you do your portrait at his home."

take the hat, that

297

28 December ig46

Friday

At eight o'clock in the morning, someone insolently ringing

me awake. There's an outburst, someone my name, knocking violently at the door. A strapping young man is standing in front of me, wearing a black hat the doorbell startles is

shouting

with turned-up brim and snow boots. "I

want

Picasso!

He stairs.

fight.

to see Picasso!

Now! Now!

begs

me

Furious

He

am

I

"

he

says in English. "I

to get dressed.

at

want to see

in a hurry!"

The

taxi

is

waiting for us

being awakened by that fanatic,

1

down-

put up a

come on behalf of Carl Holty. He from my friend from his pocket. I ask the Amerisend the taxi away. In any case, one cannot bother Piexplains he has

takes a letter

can to

casso so early. "I

Orly. first

don't have a minute to lose, I

want to

set

since the war.

up

a Picasso

We

the hell out of him!

"

he

insists. "I just

exhibition in

arrived

New York,

at

the

have to stay ahead of Rosenberg, beat

matter of hours,

It's a

if

not minutes.

"

Samuel Kootz. He has just opened a galRosenberg on Fifty-seventh Street. He specializes in American abstract art. His enormous briefcase is stuffed with presents. He takes out Sidney Janis's Picasso, a book that has just appeared in New York. Kootz points out several paintings reproduced in it, asking me if they are still available. He asks me a load of questions: if Picasso is on the outs with Rosenberg, if

The man's name

is

lery near

he

is still

selling

him

paintings.

me at the beginning me to collaborate on

Harriet and Sidney Janis came to see

of the year, in February, this

I

think, asking

book, which was supposed to contain Picasso

S98

s

works from

45

Preceding page

,

"Picasso:

The people who 46

Above, .

.

.

"Third

kills

the

set

carve

.

.

.

I have often made such them turn immediately

Crime, Crimee. That

young man desperately

is

faces myself. to signs."

where Marina de Berg

in love with her."

48

"A drawerful of small objects fabricated by [his] playful and inventive. Taking a thousand precautions, she pulled them out for me."

Above,

fingers, always active

"One

day

.

drawn with

.

.

a

Matisse did a drawing for piece of chalk."

me

blindfolded.

It

was

a face

"The day

Left,

session see

.

.

.

me and

after [that]

came

[Matisse]

to

asked point-blank:

Have you developed my photos? Are you happy with

them? What expression do have on

my

face?

"Kahnweiler composes his mail without

Above,

.

glasses,

with an

.

.

his

enormous

behind him: a woman under a pine tree.

Picasso lying

I

"

"

"It's like a

piece of architecture in reinforced concrete... one of these

giant statues of Picasso's,

nicknamed Angels."

produced during the war and the Occupation, works still unknown to the American public. And the author was able to announce proudly: "Not one of these original paintings has yet been seen in our country." Then I photographed a few Picasso "motifs" for them, the inside of Dora Maar's apartment, Mme Cuttoli's collection. Janis was a shirt manufacturer who gave up his profession 1939

to 1946, everything

because of his passion for painting, to the despair of his

owned a beautiful collection of modern paintings and also of American naive paintings, on which he published a very beautiful book. Another of his brother. In 1930, he already

works, published two years ago, was devoted to abstract and surrealist art in the

United

him

to Sabartes.

States.

am with Kootz at Picasso's. I introduce And while the art dealer, joyful and excited

At ten o'clock,

I

at

having achieved his goal, begins to poke around in the vestibule, Sabartes takes

me

aside:

"Another American? Where the

you pick him up? I wonder if we'll see Picasso today. He worked late into the night. He's still asleep." But hardly has devil did

he pronounced these words when the sound of steps on the staircase

in luck.

announces

He opens

magi offering

Picasso's arrival.

He

is

beaming. Kootz

his bulky briefcase and, like

gifts, takes

is

one of the three

out a box of cigars, a few tins of to-

bacco. Camels, and a pipe and pipe cleaners, things that are still

rare in Paris. Picasso keeps repeating in English:

all

"Thank

you very much! Thank you very much!"

He

laughs and turns to me: "That's the only thing

offered

me

so

much

tea, coffee, shirts,

'thank you.

chocolate, cigarettes, tobacco, so

and

hats, that

I

I

can say

Americans have

in English. Since the liberation of Paris,

at least

had

much

to learn to say

'

book by Sidney Janis, which Picasso immediately grabs from his hands. I love his curiosity, the way he paws the ground, ready to pounce on his prey. On Kootz

also takes out the

the book's cover vas: Serenade,

PICASSO

is a

color reproduction of his large 1942 can-

or Aubade.

(leafing through the book)

307

It's

not bad

at all! It's

very

Of all the books published on And what a good idea to show of my paintings as well: my win-

good, even! Don't you think?

my

work, it may be the best. some photos of the "motifs dow and the rooftops, Dora, the tip of the Vert-Galant with the statue of Henri IV, the banks of the Seine, Notre Dame. "

I

didn't copy any of that. But the photo proves

well, that the essential

is

I

captured

it

there.

Picasso flips through the pages: seven years of paintings and sculptures. Sometimes he exclaims something and emits his sharp laugh.

PICASSO

Look, the painting reproduced here no longer

made another one from it. And this one? Changed, The head you see here has vanished completely. And in this still life, the pot has become an owl in the meantime. I don't know what's going on with me at the moexists! I

unrecognizable.

ment, but I'm overcome with

my

And

old paintings.

a

kind of compulsion to rework

reproductions of them evoke nothing

but phantom paintings.

Sometimes he grimaces

as well, since

it

has to be admitted:

the color prints are just awful.

PICASSO I

Why do

maintain that

a

they persist in getting the color

black-and-white reproduction,

duces the values accurately,

is

more complete and

if it

wrong?

repro-

gives a

more

accurate idea of the painting.

He

is

Maar, in lar,

indignant a

when he comes

across the portrait of

green blouse streaked with red and

Dora

a white lace col-

painted on 9 October 1942.

BRASSAI blouse.

I

particularly like this portrait, especially the

A nice bit

of paint.

PICASSO I'm pleased you noticed that blouse. I made it up completely by the way, Dora never wore such a thing. Whatever people might say or think about the "ease" with which paint,

I

I

too sometimes have to struggle a long time with a can-

308

How I

vas.

repainted

sweated over that blouse! For months it.

BRASSAI Like Cezanne and Vollard's more than a hundred sessions to it.

PICASSO

shirt.

He

devoted

Yes, he was usually so harsh, so dissatisfied, but

he was happy with his

shirt.

And

I

admit I'm happy with

blouse. In the background of that picture, a

painted and

I

water jug, and

of bread. Later

a piece

I

I first

my

painted bars,

erased them.

Kootz displays a series of reproductions and comments on them. Sabartes translates his words for us. "I decided to improve abstract painting in the United States. The only kind of painting that counts now. I am a patron of the arts. I finance six one-hundred-percent American painters: William Baziotes, Carl Holty, Glarner, Browne, Gottlieb, Motherwell. They all work for me." think of Cocteau,

I

New York

who

told us the other day: "Those

poor

They get a spanking if they dare draw anything They are trained for abstraction from the

kids!

recognizable. cradle."

The American breeder

talks

point of his bition in vases.

He

dealer talks about his stable the way a horse

about his thoroughbreds. But he comes to the

visit.

He

New York.

explains to Sabartes the idea for the exhiPicasso will not have to lend

wants to buy them,

all

him

of them. Sabartes,

the can-

at first

wary, judges the Yankee visitor's proposals worthy of interest.

And

he begs Picasso to show him his canvases.

We

go upstairs

Kootz is ecstatic: "Beautiful! Very beautiful! he repeats in English. Sometimes he also says in broken French: "Fo'midable, fo'midahle!'' the only word he knows besides merci and je vous aime. But sometimes, turning to me, he says: "I don't like them very much, they are not abstract enough! Nothing is abstract enough for him. to the studio.

"

"

Tirelessly, Picasso ers,

shows his canvases:

still lifes

with pitch-

with death's heads, with sheep skulls, with mirrors, with

candles, with leeks.

And

also the series of

309

women's

portraits.

He

the

tells

American dealer through

really the 'portrait' of the

woman

of today.

nity to study her closely in the metro.

He

Sabartes, "I think I

had the opportu-

"

holds back the most recent canvases

till

the end of the

show. Painted in Antibes, they are teeming with sea fauna: with

lifes

fish, eels,

particularly attracted him.

head and mutter: enough!"

"It's

against Gray Background,

I

Plant.

am

brown color

But Kootz continues

not abstract enough!

It's

to shake his

not abstract

Finally, after a great deal of equivocation,

nine canvases: Young Tomato

And

left

still

octopuses, cuttlefish, lemons, and espe-

urchins, whose movable spines and hot

cially sea

it's

he

selects

Head, Seated Woman, Rooster, Head

Girl with Hat,

Head of a Woman, Woman

with Sheep's Head, Sailor,

he goes off with Sabartes to discuss the price.

alone with Picasso.

He

shows

me

his

most recent

canvases with owls.

PICASSO

This

now. In Antibes

I

is

my head

what's going through

right

often worked late into the night, and the

cries of the owl, the only tenant in the destroyed tower,

were

me company. Then, one day, the animal responsible for the cries got hurt and revealed himself. I was able to hold him in my hand. He became my friend and companion. the only things keeping

And

in several paintings

perched on I

vas.

I

I

see the oval silhouette of the bird

a rustic chair.

show him the photos of the

artiste peintre

in front of the can-

point out they are a bit reminiscent of the paintings he

is

doing now.

PICASSO

That's very understandable. Even though

don't copy anything,

or another in

BRASSAI

my

my surroundings come

I

back in one way

canvases.

Cezanne never wanted

to

touch his brushes

at

night.

PICASSO

He had

only an

oil

lamp!

light obviously distorted the colors.

have now, which are bright

as daylight,

310

And

that very yellow

But with the floodlights we

we can very well paint

at

night.

The

light

to natural light.

I

have

night

at

magnificent,

is

You should come one

I

even prefer

night to see

shadows making

it.

it

A light

around the canvases and projected onto the beams: you find them in most of my still lifes, almost all of them painted at night. Whatever the atmosphere, it becomes our own substance, it rubs off on us, arranges itself to fit our nature. that sets off every object, dark

Picasso brings

me

A little

Bastille Day.

a

a ring

minuscule canvas depicting Paris on

marvel. In a few brush strokes he has ren-

dered the quays, the row of Paris houses, Notre Dame, the

and

trees

flags rustling in the

wind. Since he has been living in

France, this working-class celebration has been his greatest joy.

In

it,

he finds something of the bustling crowd of Andalusian

streets, the

common

people dancing the Sardana on Catalan

plazas, the festive colors of the Feria. tille

Day was

particularly

But the most recent Bas-

moving for him. This holiday of danc-

ing and gaiety, lasting three days and three nights, with

its

fireworks and parade, was also a celebration of France delivered.

PICASSO day. I

This

painted

The

For

five years,

first Bastille

Day

we were denied the national holitouched me, so

after the Liberation

it.

makes

tiny size of this painting

me

think of one of

Ho-

kusai's tours de force.

BRASSAI Do you know Hokusai once drew two pigeons on a grain of rice? He did it in an inn, to unwind after he had worn himself out painting his enormous canvas, perhaps the biggest painting ever executed, which was painted the same day.

PICASSO

(prickingup

his ears)

I

know he

didn't

also painted

large canvases.

The man was hurt when

BRASSAI "You're only

a

all

painter of small formats,

"

he ever heard was,

and he resolved

to

huge coup. His students prepared an enormous stretcher for him, as big as the facade of a seven-story house.

pull off a

They covered

it

with paper.

The day of the demonstration, Ho3^^

behind him sacks of rice soaked in India ink and hung around his neck. The crowd that rushed to see it couldn't make out a thing from the long furrows he was making. He also took brooms dipped in ink and sprinkled the panel here and there. But when the painter kusai walked across his panel, dragging

— he had invented end — everyone

gave the order to stand the painting upright a

whole system of ropes and pulleys

recognized the features of

Dharma,

Dharma

to that

in that gigantic image.

god of tea, has a magnificent legend, by the way. This priest, overcome by sleep during his prayers, was so annoyed that he gouged his eyes out and cast them far from him. The plant that grew where they fell keeps you from falling asleep:

the

tea.

it is

PICASSO

I

one day Hokusai made

remember

a

that story.

painting by releasing chickens,

That happened

at

the

home

on it. Then he took the and let them run across

I

that

don't

who

painter had a

few wavy blue lines

a

chickens, dipped their feet in red ink the paper scroll.

nized the Tatsuta River, which in the leaves, similar in

of a prince

The

to have a "painting" by Hokusai.

long scroll of paper unrolled, and drew

maple

remember only

I

the circumstances.

BRASSAI wanted

know

didn't

fall

And

everyone recog-

washes

shape to chickens'

down crimson

feet.

These improvisations by Hokusai excite Picasso only bemany affinities with him: a keen curiosity about every aspect of form; the power to capture life on the fly and fix cause he has

it

with a fluid, concise stroke; patient attention; dazzling execu-

Hokusai did

tion. Like Picasso,

jected nothing. tools at

He sometimes

all

kinds of experiments, re-

used extrapictorial means, the

hand — for example, the tip of an egg dipped in ink. He make humorous, comical, tender, or cruel

liked to improvise, pastiches. In fact,

is

there not something Japanese about Pi-

casso's gift for fabricating objects out of

nothing? Are not the

amusing or miraculous surprises he can extract from a piece of a paper napkin close to Hokusai's feats? And what

wood or

about the predilection for not suspending the

312

activity

of his

hands for one single day in a long life? I imagine Picasso the way the "crazy old man of drawing" depicted himself in his Trea-

one brush in his mouth, one in each hand, one in each foot, in a never-ending painting frenzy. While we are speaking, I cannot take my eyes off the little tables, transformed into a battlefield the day after combat by the empty, twisted tubes, the stained, crumpled newspaper tise

on Colors:

strewn with brushes.

My

PICASSO night. I

I

palette

was too tired.

photograph the

I

is

left

alive today. it

I

painted

late into the

in a mess.

table. Picasso

the infamous "paper sculptures

'

announces he has prepared we have be-

for me. Ever since

gun talking about them, they have intrigued me a great deal, and I ask him to show them to me. He takes them out of a box. They are tiny figures made of lightweight paper, rolled and shaped by his fingers,

as fragile as a butterfly's wing.^^

Sabartes and Kootz reappear.

ended.

Now

there

is

a

The

of paper on which Picasso has drawn is

meeting has

three-way discussion about the purchase

of the paintings and the exhibition.

But the bird

secret

I

go over to look a large

at a

sheet

bird with a plume.

not the dominant feature of the drawing. No,

would be the date: 25 DECEMBER 46. In the fever of exciteall around the bird, in longer and longer strokes, he has written: 25 DECEMBER 46, 25 DECEMBER 46, as if he had wanted to give the Christmas Day we just celebrated a place apart in his memory. What could have happened on 25 December 1946^ Will we ever know? A little ways from it, the same bird has already landed on a canvas. It is still rough, but the that

ment,

December 46. I leave with Kootz. He is thrilled. The deal is in the bag. Picasso and Sabartes have asked him to come back the next day painting

is

already signed: 27

for the details. In his excitement, he has accidently left his

snow boots

at Picasso's

apartment.

3^3

Wednesday 2 January ig47

run into Jaime Sabartes. He has a big of the ones from Kootz's briefcase. I

SABARTES

You

American! Ever since

running around:

that day

ticket

you brought him

damn

to us, I've

been

windows, waiting rooms, the prefec-

He bought

the condition that he could take

plane. Within three days, tions, all the

mouth, one

gave us one hell of a job with your

ture, customs, ministries.

on

cigar in his

had

I

the nine paintings only

them with him on

the air-

to collect all the authoriza-

paperwork.

At the Grand Hotel, Samuel Kootz is packing. Veni, vidi, vici. He is happy. By means of God knows how many transatlantic cables and telephone calls, he has organized his Picasso exhibition in

New York,

has ordered cards, posters, catalogs, has

up the press. As a real coup, he is even thinking of booking Louis Armstrong and his orchestra for opening night. stirred

Paris did not interest him.

He

was absolutely oblivious

whether he was on the Right Bank or the nasse or at the Paris Opera. the Folies-Bergere.

He

steps in a Paris street.

I

He

Left, in

him

Montpar-

never saw the Eiffel Tower or

never got out of his ask

as to

if

taxi to

hazard a few

he has visited the Louvre.

"The Louvre Museum? It's not abstract enough for me," he There was only one thine on his mind: Picasso.^*

replies.

Cannes, Tuesday ly

May i960

We

Henry Miller

have dinner with

where he a

is

staying.

At the next

at

the Hotel Montfleury,

table are Bunuel, his son,

and

few friends.

BRASSAI I spoke to Picasso on the phone yesterday. His voice was so young that I wondered: "Is that really he?" And so friendly: "What a surprise to hear from you, Brassai! Come over day after tomorrow if you're free. We can spend the whole afternoon together. We'll be by ourselves. I'll expect you at Xa Californie' at 2:30."

MILLER

So, day after tomorrow, you'll see

BRASSAI

him

again.

me in a letter and repeated it member of the Cannes Festival jury

Henry, you told

in Paris: you agreed to be a

only in the hope of meeting Picasso.

MILLER to

Yes,

name. But day val

I

is

after

drawing to

me

wrote you and asked you to introduce

him. For me, Cannes

is

forever associated with Picasso's

tomorrow,

a close

I

have a very busy day.

The

and we're more and more rushed.

festiI

have three shows to see instead of two, and the second one begins at three o'clock.

You can be

BRASSAI by

taxi.

And

MILLER est desires.

you'll get to

Meet Picasso But

I

at

the festival palace in five minutes

meet him. .

.

.

Of course,

don't like to rush things.

it's I

one of my deep-

could probably go

with you to his place. But the very idea of leaving

him

at a fixed

time would poison every minute of our conversation. What

would be the point of such a hasty meeting? You need more time and peace and quiet to make a connection.

BRASSAI

I'll

And you'll

introduce you.

be able to come

back another day. You're in Cannes, and even by La Califor-

from Picasso. Soon you'll be in Big Sur, in Greece, in Japan, God knows where. And Picasso may be in Vauvenargues. It would be a missed opportunity. nie, just a few steps

MILLER

You're probably

But don't tempt me.

may present

We must

fium-hum, ha-ha-ha. it to chance. The opportu-

right,

leave

one day. I'm a fatalist. It's possible Larry will take me to Vauvenargues when I'm in Nimes.^^ And if I can't meet him in this world — I'm sixty- eight years old, and he's eighty — I'm sure I'll run into him later, in ten million nity

years,

I

don't

itself

know where, because

like that, always

GILBERTE

remain

Do you

forces like that, energies

active.

really

think so?

You

believe in

immor-

tality?

ha.

MILLER Yes, You know, my

in a sense. Immortality!

dear Gilberte,

I

am

Hum-hum,

almost

a follower

ha-haof

I've never had the opportunity to meet him. The Hindu sage, you know, who lives in Ojai, California. Immortality? As Nietzsche said on the brink of mad-

Krishnamurti, even though

ness: eternal return. suits

me. In any

him, how

Why

not?

I

case, tell Picasso

much I would

am a philosopher when it how much I like and admire

too

have liked to meet him.

316

Cannes, Wednesday l8

Half past two in the

May 1960

hills

of Cannes, in front of La Californie.

is as ordinary and opulent as all those surrounding it from the era of grand dukes, the glory days of the Cote d'Azur. But the grounds! For want of a gardener, no doubt, pines, cypress, eucalyptus, mimosas, medlars, rose laurels, and honeysuckle have grown haphazardly, choking one another in the luxuriant vegetation. Only the high plumes of palm trees emerge from it, breathing in the sea air and

Picasso's villa

scouring the blue horizon of the Mediterranean.

honor of offering

and

Picasso

the Bateau-Lavoir, Boisgeloup, Vallauris, Palace,

happen

anything in "good

the

his treasures a place to live, of in-

spiring the art of his final years, of inscribing

like for

How did

to fall to this villa? taste,

Only

his

"

its

name

beside

and the Grimaldi

Picasso's

immense

dis-

fondness for the comical,

— the villa staggering under the — his indifferent attitude

the misshapen, the baroque

is

weight of stucco and round motifs

toward the places he

lives,

and

his

penchant for trusting in

Providence can explain his choice. That explains why he

Kahnweiler the

task of

later

his studio

from Montmartre

to

honeymoon with Eva, ma jolie, and had Rosenberg find him an apartment while he

Montparnasse during

why he

moving

left to

his

was away from Paris, pursuing perfect love with Olga in Spain. I

am

my great surprise, The groundskeeper's wife an-

about to ring the doorbell, but to

the gate to the villa

is

not closed.

The courtyard

nounces

us.

cars, the

most prominent of them

the right of the doorstep the Boisgeloup park;

is

is

empty. In the garage are several a

large white Lincoln.

an old acquaintance,

on the

left, a

3^7

The Stag

To irom

strange metal flower with

made of a dismantled

petals slashed to bits,

missile that once

sowed destruction.

Looking

on

tiny

this

visor, Picasso appears.

not changed. In

doorstep with a high awning

He

kisses

a close-fitting

me on

both cheeks.

wool sweater,

his face

as its

He

has

weathered

by the mistral and the direct sun, he

is solid as a rock and his none of their fire. He leads us into his "studio": rooms lined up in a row, bathed in light by bay win-

eyes have lost

three vast

dows overlooking the grounds. On the whole, nothing has changed since the day I made his acquaintance on rue La Boetie, except for the expanded I am so happy meet up with him again. Unfortunately, I will not see Jacqueline Roque, his young lady friend, whom he met in Vallauris and who has shared his life for six years. She has just had an operation. But Picasso is now relieved. She is doing better, she has been brought back to La Californie.

space and the things accumulated around him.

to

PICASSO

I

think of you often.

You

had an exhibi-

recently

tion of drawings and sculptures, didn't you? Lve heard reports

about

it. I

keep up on everything.

we saw each other

BRASSAI

PICASSO you ever come

How long has

that possible?

to see

me?

How many times

have

I

I

think. Thirteen years.

Thirteen years?

been tempted

my

film Tant

qu'ilj aura des betes

Why

didn't

him? And

to visit

that temptation was never so strong as at the

1956 when

been since

last?

Nineteen forty-seven, Is

it

Cannes

Festival in

was playing alongside

The Picasso Mystery.

BRASSAI in Eze-Village.

you, to

.

.

I I

come

to the coast fairly often.

have often been

I

have a house

with you in spirit. But to

call

.

PICASSO

You were wrong.

I

don't want to see

new

faces

anymore. What's the point? But I'm always here for my friends. And I cherish their visits even more since I've been living as a recluse, a prisoner.

I

wouldn't wish

318

my

celebrity

on

anyone, not even I

my worst

protect myself as

I

can.

I

enemies.

gives

It

me

physical pain.

barricade myself behind double-

bolted doors night and day.

But the gate was open

BRASSAI

.

.

.

PICASSO You found it open only because I was expecting you and I gave the order to open it for you at 2:30. BRASSAI

If

I

understand you, we're in

a fortified castle.

For friends you lower the drawbridge.

more or

how

PICASSO

Alas! That's

BRASSAI

What about Vauvenargues? Aren't you more pro-

less

it is.

tected there?

PICASSO It's worse. Curiosity seekers come in droves. They spy on you with binoculars. They watch your every move. Perhaps scopes

from

very

at this

from

moment

people are observing us with tele-

the lies de Lerins. If

indiscreet eyes,

I

really

wanted

to

be

ought to pull the curtains on

I

windows. But then, don't you

see, I'd

safe

all

these

be depriving myself of

and the landscape I need. It's awful. Another danger threatens me here:

the view of the grounds

And

that's

not

all.

soon an enormous building, will

I

don't

know how many

be going up on the property next door. Not only

hide

my view

able to spy

force

me

of the

de Lerins but

lies

on me from

all

stories, will

it

the tenants will be

That will probably But what are you doing on the

their balconies.

to flee this place.

coast?

I'm spending three weeks with Henry Miller in

BRASSAI Cannes. He's

member

a

of the jury

at

the festival.

During the

day he's very busy, but we spend the evening together. He's afraid of celebrity; if his works were published in the States,

United

he'd fear losing his peace and quiet.

PICASSO even more

I

understand him. What's the point of having

money when you

already have

enough? You

can't eat

four lunches or four dinners just because you're richer. Rich or poor,

I'll

never smoke anything but Gauloise cigarettes.

3^9

The

only ones

I

like. So!

By the way, have you got

a

Gauloise?

I

don't have any in the house.

BRASSAI would so like

wanted

I

to introduce

you

to

Henry

Miller.

He

meet you. But today was a bad time. He had And he didn't want to see you in a rush.

to

a

three o'clock show.

PICASSO

I

have great admiration for

Henry

Miller. Per-

haps you could come back with him after the festival? MHiile

we

are talking, Picasso watches Gilberte, looking

springlike in her green print dress.

PICASSO

What region

GILBERTE

(laughing)

PICASSO ately that

One

you from?

are

I'm

a little bit

(his eyes glowing with

Catalan.

Catalan?

warmth)

saw immedi-

I

your eyes were not from around here, but from

always belongs to one's country. But

GILBERTE

I

don't think you've heard of the

in the eastern Pyrenees where

PICASSO

But

tell

me.

I

my

there.

exactly?

little village

father was from.

know

the region well.

A tiny little village.

GILBERTE

from where

name

Its

is

ridiculous,

Caudies - de - Fenouilledes

PICASSO

But

I

know Fenouilledes

well. It's in Roussillon,

right at the top, near the Spanish border.

Do you

speak

Catalan?

A few words.

GILBERTE

Picasso laughs

and

asks

5ouf[/are5.

her

a

question in Catalan, which

she does not understand.

PICASSO

I

BRASSAI

In any case, she loves the region. She's crazy

see.

You're not

a very

good Catalan.

about Sardanas. Picasso

and

alert

lifts

his

Catalan

arms and whistles

who begins

a

to dance,

320

Sardana.

It is a

who makes

young

his feet,

wearing curious suede moccasins, glide in step on the inlaid

wood

floor.

Now glowing,

Catalan country. free,

he has

left

for

who knows where,

he in Gozol, above the Andorra

Is

for

valley,

happy, drinking, hunting with the peasants, dancing with

the girls, having fun with the smugglers, escaping

of a mule,

as

he once did?

Or

on

the back

in Ceret, in the eastern Pyre-

Braque and Manolo, he spent so youth? He was dancing the Sardana. He

nees, where, with his friends

many summers in his "One always belongs

was there.

BRASSAI

When

to one's country."

Sunday afternoon in Barcelona, I got a shock. That sour, harsh music. That large plaza filled with young women and young men. The pocketbooks, the jackets piled up on the cobblestones, and around each pile a circle of dancers — men and women — weaving in and out. It was so unexpected.

I

PICASSO

arrived one

And

almost pitiable. Not so solemn.

I

thought

a I

the seriousness of the faces, strained,

burst of laughter, not a smile. Everyone

was witnessing a religious ceremony.

Well, the Sardana

is

a very serious thing!

And

You have to count the steps. In every group there is a leader who does it for the others. That dance is a communion difficult!

and poor, young and old dance it together: the mailman with the bank director and servants hand in hand with their masters. of souls.

It

abolishes class distinctions. Rich

show him my graffiti album, which has just been published in Germany. We sit down around a small round table flip through it. I am trying to transcribe faithfully the words exchanged, I

but without their context they can hardly breathe,

to

like a fish

out of water. Picasso's studios, wherever they might be, what-

commotion. Only the frequency of my visits could immunize me from the violence of the shock. But 1 have not seen Picasso for thirteen years. Most of the works and objects that surround me here are unknown to me. Nothing protects me anymore. I have been assaulted a few times in my life: in the port of Tangier by a crowd of Arab porters, shouting, gesticulating, one pulling on the tails of my ever they might be, always cause a

321

another grabbing

jacket,

on rounded me Istanbul,

my

in a ring

I

who

sur-

could not escape; in Bahia on All

army of picaninnies

in a

fit

of over-

the sight of the movie camera, dancing a sara-

at

band around

suitcases; in

vacant lot in Pera, by a tribe of gypsies

a

Saints Bay in Brazil, by an

excitement

my

overcoat, another

But never was I assaulted La Californie. Art and nature, creation and myth, knights and bullfighting, popular images, Olympus, Walpurgisnacht, all attract your attention. All these their captive prisoner.

so brutally as in this villa of

once, competing with one another,

things begin to speak

at

pulling you right and

left,

knocking you over, skinning you

reducing you to raw nerves.

alive,

While

am

I

conversing with him, from the back of these

enormous rooms, are these

women

Les demoiselles d'Avignon gives

seum of Modern Art

mean? And

Are they recent works?

And what

New York? And

in

ness of their coloring

tions.

I

it

catches

it

ahead of

I

What

in the

what does the strange-

sun with

a strange beauty, pale as a

Where does

drop

me and

my

come from?

it

And

these silver

and Picasso me. At eighty years

cigarette holder,

holds

it

out to

old his muscles are as supple, his reflexes as quick as ever.

am

Mu-

these bronze bull's heads?

be Picasso's handiwork?

cups? That's when

the eye.

live

have never seen them in reproduc-

this big

is

winter sun, shining on the wall?

Mexico? Could

me

looking for here? Don't they

I

astonished by the bizarre fabric of his horizontal-striped

pants.

Raw

silk?

come from?

Hand-woven unbleached wool? Where does

look

I

at his face,

in his profile which,

from

I

the corner of the eye, fan out to-

toward the cheek. The

ward the forehead, toward the

ear,

twelve lines etching his profile

when he

this swirling

Look, tian?

it

do an inventory of the creases

laughs.

And what

is

around us? These brown, black, and white spots? hound. And is the one following it a Dalma-

a basset

And

another one,

dogs, by the dozen, by the

nooks and crannies of the

Montrouge,

more hundred, to spring out from all the studio: his two watchdogs from

a third one, a

boxer?

expect

his first Parisian fox terrier, all the Frikas, Elfts,

Kazbeks. All the dogs Picasso owned in his liked to own.

I

I

listen to

him, but 3^^

at

life

or would have

the same time

all

the ob-

made by him,

jects

collected by him, or reaching his place by

me and

mysterious paths corner

attack: Pregnant Woman,

ramic owl; the crane. bird

this

try to

I

formed. The

is

neck, a piece of cable?

The

And

its

delicate foot?

bottles, these

sel?

I

and

like

no doubt

aigrette,

it

an old gas spigot? What

fruit,

brothers and

sisters

of the

repainted in oil? Are they recent?

enormous

these three

long

a spade; the

what about these carafes, these

bronze pieces of

Glass ofAbsinthe,

What about

decipher the castoffs from which

tail is

about

in

still

protruding breasts; the ce-

plaster, with the swollen belly, the

spotlights focused

on

the ea-

have seen them somewhere. But of course! They ap-

peared in the series he painted of

Added

this studio.

to this or-

emotion of having found Picasso again after so many years, of hearing his voice, which has become more steady, more solemn, of submitting to his gaze and the whole host of memories suddenly called forth, thirteen years to catch up on, a thousand questions to ask. My thoughts are set deal of the senses

buzzing

the

bees in an agitated hive or like a disturbed anthill.

like

How to

is

render

this

rushing swarm of sensations, of images,

of words; the emotions they bring forth, the memories that flood in

at

the same time?

view of things,

I

am

to

an

all

overall, instantaneous

disconcerted by the need to describe them

in an arbitrary order. the instruments in a

Used

It is as if

symphony

an orchestra leader had to make play not together, but

one

after

another, in a random, scattered order. Only a form of writing

conceived els as

like a

symphonic

score, staggered across as

many

lev-

there are simultaneous impressions and emotions to be

translated, could render such overcharged, overrich instants

with some accuracy.

It would probably be only an artifice beyond the linguistic "rules of the game," but otherwise, how could anyone place the words reported here within their con-

text, so that

they have their ring of truth?

Thus we is

are sitting

looking through

words about graffiti

graffiti in

you spoke of?"

PICASSO

around

my book it. I

a little

round table and Picasso him quoted his

Graffiti. I tell

"What bank was

I

it

where you did the

ask him.

The BNCI. See

Sabartes about

it.

He knows

ev-

erything.

How

morning

at

is

he? Very

I

Ever faithful to his post. Every

rue des Grands -Augustins,

times he comes to see

because

well.

me

Some-

as in the past.

here in Cannes or in Vauvenargues,

never go to Paris anymore.

In the album, Picasso comes across the chapter "The Lan-

guage of the Wall." The large brush strokes that obliterate the inscriptions

on

the wall surprise him.

You

PICASSO

did well to photograph that. Because that

shows the nature and limits of abstract are very beautiful.

But

it's

a

These brush strokes natural beauty. Brush strokes that art.

have no meaning will never make a painting. strokes

and sometimes

mean something: crowd. To arrive concrete

it

a bull,

I

too

make brush

even looks abstract. But they always

an arena, the

at abstraction,

mountain, the

sea, the

you must always begin with

a

reality.

He comes grouped the

to the chapter "Birth of the Face,

faces

made of two or

"

where

I

three holes.

PICASSO I have often made such faces myself. The people carve them turn immediately to signs. Art is the language of signs. When I pronounce the word "man," 1 evoke man; the word has become the sign for man. It does not represent a

who

man

the way photography could.

face, sufficient to

evoke

it

Two

holes are the sign of the

without representing

strange you can do that by such simple that's very abstract

most abstract things can be the height of "

But

complexity.

PICASSO low?

I

sors.

But

at a

A pigeon?

say that because the it's

probably not

bird

I

he exclaims: "This

took for

a

Don't you think

"

pigeon or

is

a

he

pigeon.

it's

rather a swal-

wings cut across each other a

The

reality.

Rouault!" "That's a Klee." In the chapter "Animals, pauses for a long time

isn't it

means? Two holes

when you consider man's

In the chapter "Masks and Faces,

it.

a swallow,

like scis-

but the Bird,

the very idea of a Bird.

We come

to the chapter "Love."

Two superimposed

hearts,

one right side up, the other upside down,

like a sort

of

em-

brace, attract his attention.

PICASSO That's extraordinary! I've seen thousands of hearts on walls, but never in such a constellation. In the chapter "Primitive Images," an "Aztec" head particu-

and he exclaims: "That's as rich as the facade of a cathedral! Your book connects art to the primitive arts. It also shows — and this is important — that abstract art is not so different from brush strokes or wall structures. Whatever you might say or think, you're always imitating something, even if you don't know it. And when you give up nude models, at so many francs per hour, you get many other things to "pose" for you. Don't you think? You may be happy to learn that at this moment, I too am doing graffiti. But they are carved not in the wall but in cement. The invention of a Norwegian artist. My graffiti are enlarged and carved with electric scissors. They are designed for a building in Barcelona, and each of them will be two or three stories high. I want to show you the model for them. And Picasso, wending his way through the extraordinary larly attracts his attention,

clutter of his studio,

among

the

cliffs

of paper, goes not with-

out difficulty, but without hesitation, toward a pile and pulls out the envelope of photographs he wants.

The building with

the gigantic graffiti stands out against the four strange towers

of the Sagrada Familia.

BRASSAI

You'll be competing with Gaudi.

When I photome to your

graphed his architecture in Barcelona, Pratz took sister's

house and to the Vilatos

also to the Junyers.

I

at

the Paseo de Gracia, and

was surprised to see

how many of your

works there are in Barcelona. Along with those the there possesses,

PICASSO

someone could make There's talk of that.

acquire an old palace for I

ask

him where

PICASSO

it.

this big

We

a "Picasso

The

museum

museum."

municipality wants to

shall see.

sun on the wall comes from.

From Barcelona

actually. It's a cross-section

of

palm tree trunk. These suns are carried in processions on Palm Sunday. Marvelous, don't you think? I myself used to make paintings with palm leaves.

a

GILBERTE

Are you familiar with the objects sold in Nice at Easter? Palm leaves are cut up, folded and refolded. Sometimes they're very beautiful! in front of the churches

Such things are typically Mediterranean. And look at the delicate hues. As it dries, it becomes lighter, more luminous. It really is the sun, joy, don't you think?

PICASSO

He

also reveals the secret of Les demoiselles d'Avignon,

which

dominates the studio.

Come and look closely at

PICASSO

low from Toulon got

it

mon

of

Many

postcard.

sacrilege.

into his head to

my visitors

They don't recognize my

find

it. It's

make it

colors.

a tapestry.

that after a

A felcom-

horrible and talk of

But

that's precisely

what appeals to me. The colors of the painting were already completely different on the reproduction, and the weekend painter invented

though

it

new

ones.

It's

reminds you of Les

almost

a different picture,

even

demoiselles d'Avignon.

And we take a tour. He points out an extraordinary mahogany cupboard equipped with a large number of shallow drawers.

PICASSO It belonged to Matisse and, since I often admired it at his home, after his death his family gave it to me as a gift. He had ordered it for himself, wanted it to be very tall with about forty drawers to put his drawings in. Don't you

think

its

proportions are beautiful?

of Matisse;

it's

BRASSAI

just like

When

I

look

at

it,

I

think

him.

What about

this

magnificent totem from the

New Hebrides? PICASSO Not braid,

is

far

Also

from

a

present from Matisse.

there, shining in

a torero's

costume.

3^6

all

the splendor of

its

gold

PICASSO

That's a sad story.

The costume of light you

here belonged to the matador Chicuelo

II.

He

see

personally sent

me. But he died tragically. If only he'd been killed by a bull! But no, he died in a stupid airplane accident. Matadors it

to

time nowadays, they're always in

travel all the

many more a bull.

gone. I

die in car or plane accidents than

By the time

him

PICASSO to

if

he

I

following bullfights so assiduously.

my

passion. But sometimes

I'm in the arena in

spirit,

I

I

can't get

hear the paso

see the crowd, the entrance of the cuadrilla, the first

One

bull that charges the picadors. to miss a corrida that

that led

the horns of

message of friendship.

it's

case,

on

And

costume reached me, he was already

is still

Yes,

them. In that

doble,

this

final

It's like a

ask

a hurry.

me

I

began

day,

found

I

it

so painful

to evoke every phase of

it.

months,

right into tauromachy. For a few

And

I've

been

doing several India ink drawings every afternoon.

And we

talk

about his large exhibition

organized by Roland Penrose.

I

ask

him

at

if

the Tate Gallery,

he

is

thinking of

going to London.

PICASSO

Why would

paintings again?

I

my time looking at my own memory and I remember all my many of my canvases to the organizers I

waste

have a good

paintings. But I've lent

me enough pain. They're exhibiting only paintings and very few of my recent works. But you'll also see the large curtain from Parade. Exhibitions don't have much to offer me anymore. My old paintings no longer interest me. I'm and

that gave

much more At the

curious about the ones

sight of

all

his

new

that first existed in ceramic

his masterpiece She-Goat,

haven't

yet.

explains he had

form

some of

lent themselves to

made of a wicker

branches, tin cans, and terra-cotta jars,

"No one

done

sculptures, including bronzes

— Picasso

the terra-cottas cast, those whose

and

I

I

basket,

it

palm

cannot help but

say:

will ever be able to publish truly complete books

on your works. Hardly has one appeared than you've already made it incomplete. After four years, we thought

we'd managed to bring together since then, I've seen others crop

all

your sculptures. But

up

book. Even recently, in the auction

that were not in the hall, a

curious

wood

sculpture of yours passed through, similar to an African fe-

never seen

tish. I've

it

reproduced anywhere.

I

was familiar

with only three of your sculptures from the cubist period: the two Nude Women

know

I

was? Here's was

still

didn't

with the Square Head. I

there was also this child."

PICASSO I

and the Man

its

had forgotten

story.

living in

My

it

myself.

housekeeper's

Montmartre and was

time. So, for a doll,

I

Do you know what

little girl

fairly

wanted

broke

carved her that "cubist" statue.

at I

it

a doll.

the

don't re-

member anymore how the little girl liked it. I also don't know what hands that wood statuette could have passed through since then before

it

was sold

at

the Hotel Drouot.

BRASSAI Kahnweiler would like to publish a new, "updated" book of your sculptures. It's supposed to be published by a Stuttgart firm. He asked me to photograph the statues you've done since 1947-

Whenever you

PICASSO ing, but

The

like.

Break them

as well.

photographers are awful, and the worst was

statues of

mine he broke! Even

Then we come

I'm jok-

Man

Ray.

the unbreakable ones.

across a series of silver dishes.

PICASSO Francois Hugo made these things for me. Jean Hugo's brother, a marvelous craftsman. I did a few drawings for him. All these objects are made of silver. Impressive, isn't it?

And yet,

also

going to

much more expensive make me some gold jewelry.

it's

not

than bronze. He's

The three dogs reappear. The one I took for a basset hound is actually a dachshund. His name is Loump. Yan, boxer,

is

blind. Picasso

tells

the

us that his blindness does not pre-

him from getting around and from coming when he is called. The third one, black and white, is a magnificent Dalma-

vent

tian.

"He's found his way into several of

casso.

3S8

my

paintings,

"

says Pi-

Placed on a sideboard on

hollowed out with

PICASSO a

"panettone.

I

forgot about

"

caves, like a sheer cliff

it's

it. It's

eroded by the

It's

an Italian bread with raisins in

We

ate a piece of

it.

A treat

started to nibble at

Now

a silver plate stands a cut cake,

it,

for

dug

a

my

about —

it

sea.

It's

it.

called

Then

two years ago.

mice, don't you see? They

maze

inside.

completely dried out, hard

as beautiful petrified as the

So

as iron.

I

left it to

them.

But I'm keeping

rocks of Les Baux. Don't

you find? Night

is

beginning to

many long

with Picasso for tions,

shows

and

this

I

A few months

on La

Californie.

hours, he talks

We

have been

tirelessly, asks

ques-

guides us through the twists and

that,

turns of his labyrinth.

with me.

fall

have brought a packet of manuscripts ago, while tidying up,

found

I

bearing the inscription: "Conversations with Picasso.

a "

I

box reread

to show them to Picasso. He is not surprised to learn that these are our conversations. In his time, he read and admired my Story of Marie and the words taken down in a bistro and tobacco shop during the Occupation.

them and wanted

PICASSO esting! Let's I

read

from the

you wrote all that down? That's so interdown and you'll read me a few pages.

Really, sit

him pile.

the account of several "visits" chosen at I

read twenty pages, thirty pages.

He

continue. Attentive, pensive, amused, he listens terrupting story.

me sometimes

For example, when

as

to point out a detail or I

read about

my visit

random

asks I

me

to

read, in-

complete

a

with the dancer

Marina de Berg, he stops me.

PICASSO

In the end,

I

wasn't able to

tell

her how you se-

cure a leotard, was I? Well, with a coin! At the time, Olga used a

penny with

a

hole in

it.

You

rolled

it

and it secrets, which

into the fabric

held the leotard in place. Every craft has

its little

make up. That's the trick I wanted to teach the dancer. By the way, what's become of her? She was so mis-

you

can't

chievous, so cheerful, that Marina.

BRASSAI

She gave up dancing and retired 329

to a convent.

I

must interrupt my reading. At seven

Miller

expecting us

is

places his

hand on

"It's as true, as

As

I

am

at

the festival palace.

o'clock,

We

Henry

get up. Picasso

and tells me: You must publish

the packet of manuscripts

genuine,

leaving,

I

as

your

graffiti.

it."

think of these three or four gouaches on

bullfighting that will never see the light, that

museum

will ever possess,

noon on

this

Wednesday

no

collector,

because instead of drawing

l8

May i960,

friends.

330

all

Picasso devoted

it

no

afterto his

Postscript

22 September ig6o

Thursday

Mme I

Georges Duthuit — Marguerite Matisse — comes to see me.

have not seen her in

but the ceal

many long years. She

has not changed,

cloche hat in rainbow- colored hues cannot con-

little

her white hair.

MARGUERITE DUTHUIT

I've

taken

on

a difficult job:

establishing the catalog of Matisse's paintings. So

photos. They can give

me

vas or another.

all

have

I

I

I'm

need your

valuable indications about one can-

my

father's

documents, and

yet, it's a

very rough business. All the fakes.

BRASSAI

Fakes?

DUTHUIT to

It's

contend with

an astounding thing! Since June

several fakes.

The

I've

They borrow almost literally different compose a new one. Very distinguish from the genuine ones.

boggles the mind.

ments from difficult to

had

diabolical skill of the forgers ele-

several canvases to

What about Matisse experts?

BRASSAI

DUTHUIT closely are

way from that

I

The few persons who followed his output dead. Bernheim as well. I myself often lived a long

my

father.

was only in the

last

three years of his

life

was nearby.

BRASSAI tions

It

If

made of his

DUTHUIT BRASSAI

I

remember well,

Matisse always had reproduc-

canvases.

Only during

Do you

certain periods.

yourself

own many of his works?

33^

DUTHUIT

Not

many.

SO

My

father did not leave

works, and we divided the whole estate

Since

I

have

little

hanging on the

BRASSAi

yesterday.

at

my

among

place, there

is

the three of us.

not

a single canvas

walls; they are all in piles.

What about

DUTHUIT us, my

brought

room

many

Picasso?

Picasso ...

I

remember

the day the Steins

and me, to rue Ravignan. It's like it was That's where we met him for the first time. I rememfather

The Steins were strange people! Leo, Michael, and Gertrude. They had all had a German education. Gertrude and Leo came from German universities. They had come to Paris after the San Francisco fire. The family was very rich, their father owned a streetcar company in that city. After the visit with Picasso, we went on foot from Montmartre down to rue de Fleurus, where the Steins were living. We could have gone back on the Batignolles-Clichy-Odeon double-decker or even on the bus that went from place Pigalle ber his big Saint Bernard.

La Halle -aux-Vins, but we preferred to walk. And we did not go unnoticed! On avenue de 1' Opera, people would turn around and look at our group dumbfounded. The Steins were

to

in

odd get-ups,

especially Gertrude,

who was

massive,

fat,

rather mannish. She dressed in big gray corduroy dresses, not

And

went around in leather strap san-

at all

in fashion.

dals,

barefoot like Nazarenes or like the

BRASSAI

they

Do you

still

all

Duncan

family.

see Picasso very often?

When I happen to run into him, he is the soul of kindness. He heaps reproaches on me: "Marguerite, why don't you ever come to see me anymore? We're all DUTHUIT

Very

rarely.

in the same boat now, we're

him or

try to see

BRASSAI

him,

During

I

all

the same age ..." But

run into

if

I

call

a wall.

a short stay at the coast, Pierre Reverdy,

not wanting to submit to that sometimes humiliating ordeal, Picasso know he would like very much to see him, but only on condition that Picasso be the one to take the trouble. And

let

Picasso went to see his friend. But if he did that for everyone.

332

he wouldn't have any time

DUTHUIT can. His

I

fame

know.

paint.

left to

And

I

He

understand.

does what he

overpowering. But his attitude

is

is

sometimes

When Matisse died, we informed him immediately. They were very friendly, intimate. You would have thought he'd come to the phone to tell us how this sad news affected him. After a long wait, we were told: "M. Picasso is having baffling.

lunch, he cannot be disturbed." a

phone

We

were expecting

a telegram,

Nothing. Thinking no one had given him the

call.

message, we called back.

him

It

And when we

was the same thing.

we were

"M. Picasso has nothing to say about Matisse, since he is dead." Could he really have said that? Or could someone have replied unbetried to speak to

knownst

to

a third time,

told:

him, to spare him intense emotion?

BRASSAI

and he

Picasso doesn't like to hear about death

hates effusiveness. That news was a terrible blow for him, I'm

sure of

was so he wouldn't lose his composure that he took

it. It

He loved Matisse. He always deHe bought many of his canvases. He has

refuge in work, in silence.

fended his paintings. a

whole collection of them.

No one knows

DUTHUIT owns.

exactly

A few very old landscapes, and

how many

Matisses he

painted in Switzerland before

few later works. In about 1939 they did a canvas exchange. Picasso chose a painting by my father,

the fauve period,

a

,

from among his own. He offered him a rather terrifying portrait of Dora Maar. But my father admired the canvas, though he did not like it very much.

but he did not

let

Matisse choose

And

BRASSAI

1944. Picasso liked

DUTHUIT traits

me

the large

my

fiercely

with Oranges

defended

In his collection, there

of me, entitled

with

and

it

Still Life

Marguerite,

long hair.

A year

is

from l^Oj

it.

also .

and Bananas of

My

one of the porfather painted

later, after their first

meeting,

they did an exchange and Picasso chose the portrait of me.

was struck by

BRASSAI

its

I

extreme simplicity. don't think Picasso and Matisse have

333

many

He

affinities. It's their

other the way

rivals

renown that linked them. They liked each form an alliance, spy on each other. Their

natures were so different.

My

DUTHUIT

father didn't need to surround himself

with a circle of friends as Picasso did.

more

solitary,

He

was more reserved,

and he often told me: "Conversation with

people doesn't offer

me

my

a thing. It steals

And he always categorically refused How many times did he tell me: "In life,

out."

practice painting or go out in society.

me

time, empties

social invitations.

one must choose: One cannot do both

things at the same time."

BRASSAI Yet he was very sociable. Much more than Braque or Bonnard. I always had the impression that my visits were enjoyable to him.

When

was not just out of politeness,

he insisted it

I

come

You were one of the people he someone who could offer him something.

his

And

his

It

cost

him

a

it

got along with,

famous Cezanne, do you

DUTHUIT My father donated it to lifetime. He bought it from Vollard

head by Gauguin.

him,

seems to me.

DUTHUIT BRASSAI

to see

own

still

it?

the Petit Palais during

along with

a

woman's

sum at the time: fifpawn my mother's ring to

fabulous

He even had to money. His friends told him: 'You're crazy to pay a fortune for such a lousy painting. Return it to Vollard, even if you have to lose a few hundred francs, and be happy if he takes it back." But my father replied: Fm not crazy. I don't know what I'll get out of life, whether my paintings will earn me money one day or not. All I know is that this painting is a masterpiece and one day it will be worth a great teen hundred francs!

come up with

deal.

Can

buy them

I

make

this

BRASSAI canvas.

He

the

What

often had

investment for

a better

my

children than to

painting?" I

understand how he managed

surprises

me

no money.

is

It

to acquire the

that he was able to hold onto

must have been tempting

334

it.

to sell

it.

DUTHUIT

There were certainly temptations. Often we were almost destitute. No money, no hope, not the slightest possibility of escaping Paris.

remember

I

that after

my

father

had gone several years in a row without a day of vacation, he exclaimed one day: "I can't go on! I'm suffocating! Air, air! I need country, sea, sky! We must absolutely get away." Obviously, selling the Cezanne would have allowed for trips, stays in the country, a more comfortable life. But even under the

my

worst circumstances,

father wouldn't hear of

by some miracle, we finally rented

a place there, a

lived not far

from

us.

left

but

He

was expecting a

my

can speak to

him

How much do you want for it? It was a tempting My father, so as not to offend Maillol, did name a price,

it.

a price so exorbitant that the sale

to

buy the Cezanne for such I

admire

bound to fall Bernheim did not

was

fact,

a price.

his force of character.

stubbornness? In the end,

suffered for

it

was his

But wasn't

own work

it

re-

that

it.

DUTHUIT in.

I

"

BRASSAI ally

from Bernheim. "Sell your Ce-

visit

father:

through: ten thousand francs! And, in

want

day,

kind of garret in ruins. Aristide Maillol

Seeing our destitution, he said to

offer.

One

for Saint-Tropez. Matisse

zanne. Bernheim will pay you a good price.

about

it.

Stubborn, that he was.

He

held out, never gave

His painter friends, Camoin, Bonnard, were already begin-

ning

to find buyers.

Not wanting

was not selling anything.

When

to give in

Woman

with

on

the price, he

Hat was exhibited at

d'Automne, he had not sold a single canvas in three could he have found a buyer for that painting, which baffled people and cost five hundred francs, a considerable sum at the time? But, just before the salon was to close you probably know this story — the office wrote that someone was offering three hundred francs for Woman with Hat. I remember it like it was yesterday. The landlady had just handed him the mail. My father, still in pajamas, took the letter and went to the window to read it. As usual, my mother was observing his face. She knew all his expressions: good news, annoyance, the Salon

years.

And how

335

made

anger, pain, uneasiness. But that day, she

my

As

a mistake.

had an expression so painful, he sign of painful emotion for him — that my mother, frantic, asked him: "What's the matter with you? Aren't you feeling well? Tell me!" Then my father, not knowing how much his face was upsetting my mother, told her simply: "Don't worry about me. But this letter was a hell of he read the

letter,

was blinking

a

blow!"

at

And

ing to

father

a rate

—a

he held out the

hundred

three

such

francs for

my

letter to her:

my mother

go for that price!"

let it

"They're offering

painting." "I hope you're not goreplied, even

more

heroic than he. Later, we became friends with Gertrude Stein,

who

told US: "I told

hundred

my brother:

'That canvas

The man who painted

francs.

is

to the public's taste,

and he

And

when my brother learned

I

was overjoyed

also

worth

well

five

made no concessions won't give in on the price.' it

that Matisse was

holding to his price."

BRASSAI

Is

your mother

still

alive?

I

ran into her in your

old apartment in Nice behind the quai des Etats-Unis, in that

sunny home.

DUTHUIT

She died eighteen months ago. She

one night and never woke up.

A perfect

asleep

fell

ending, don't you

think? She had a phenomenal memory, remembered absolutely everything, the

most insignificant

date, the smallest

event.

We

look

his studios villa

at all

the photos

I

took of Matisse, his interiors,

on boulevard Montparnasse, rue

of "Reves," in Vence,

BRASSAi

He

at

des Plantes,

at

the

the Salon d'Automne.

loved to be photographed or filmed.

When

did portraits of him, he was always impatient to see them.

I

The

day after a session in his studio on rue des Plantes in 1939'

came

to see

me and

asked point-blank: "Have you developed

my

photos? Are you happy with them? What expression do I have on my face?" His "expression," that's what preoccupied

him.

He

often told me: "I'm a cheerful man, happy even. But

I

have a forbidding expression on

a

morose professor.

I

look

like

my

face.

I'm always taken for

an old fogey.

"

And

it

was true.

Matisse was jolly. But laughter did not torted his face.

He

become him.

It

dis-

looked for himself in his portraits and had

trouble finding himself; the stern ones belied his nature; the

smiling ones caricatured him. Just the trace of

up

light

DUTHUIT laughing.

of

all

You're

They

right.

I

smile had to

hate the portraits in which he's

give the impression of a

his faculties. But, despite his

deterioration, Matisse retained

all

rework his large collage panel.

It's

man

not in possession

advanced age, his physical

his intelligence, all his lucid-

to the end. Just before his death,

ity,

a

his face.

he was

odd, in

quite able to

still

how, with age,

fact,

he came to resemble his father more and more. As you may

know, he was I

mention

DUTHUIT the

a

major grain chandler from Nord. Matisse's religious funeral.

When my

he who insisted that his children be baptized. wasn't religious conviction that impelled

but rather respect for ents

a

and grandparents.

my

parents got married,

one who wanted their marriage blessed by

him

father was

a priest. It It

was

probably

to act that way,

family tradition going back to his parIt's

for that reason that

religious funeral.

337

we opted for

a

GisorSy

14 February ig6l

A real spring day,

luminous, sunny.

than on the Cote d'Azur,

as

sors to see the "Prisoner's

casso has

We

been

me

telling

take the road

I

hot

It is

as in

much

hotter in Paris

We go

Tamanrasset.

Tower" and

its graffiti,

to

Gi-

which Pi-

about for twenty years.

took with him when

I

accompanied him

about the same time of year, thirty years

to Boisgeloup. It was

ago. Since then, the Paris suburbs have spread out to Pontoise.

You

have to get thirty-five kilometers outside Paris before

it is

really the country, with large fields, horses in single file, peas-

ants busy harrowing.

When

I

"Hamlet of Boisgel-

arrive at the

oup" junction, I cannot resist the desire to take another look at what was one of the landmarks of Picasso's existence. And I would like to show it to Gilberte. I recognize the small chapel topped by a Gallic rooster and the entry gate to the castle. A boxer is frolicking on the lawn. In the yard, I notice the silhouette of a young man. No doubt the current owner of Boisgeloup. But now Fuego, my demoniacal two-year-old griffon, noticing the boxer, dashes into the yard.

apologize for this invasion. That

Paulo,

who

I

I

him

to

recognize the young

but in that deeply etched

have trouble finding the fragile face of

inspired so

BRASSAI

PAULO

I

follow

when

is

man as Paulo, Picasso's son. He must be forty years old now; face of a buccaneer,

I

many of his

thought the

castle

father's Pierrots.

had been sold long ago.

No, my father never wanted

keeps everything.

338

to sell

it.

He

always

But he did liquidate his apartments on rue La

BRASSAI Boetie.

PAULO

Because he was forced

oned. Otherwise he would

still

to; they

were requisiti-

have them, you can be sure of

that.

And now he's

BRASSAI

PAULO

also leaving

Yes, because of the building they put

door. He's going to

self will live in

BRASSAI

PAULO is

For

my

isn't

father

is

La Californie

too

I

my-

very happy there. is

not

too far from the coast. at all crazy

The funny

about the Cote d'Azur.

was even some question of his settling there.

fortified castle of Collioure was for sale.

for a

either,

prefers the eastern Pyrenees, Banyuls or Collioure.

a time, there

The it

Yet he

sell

a

keep Vauvenargues.

he'll

Vauvenargues

that

He much

And

it.

up next

Mougins, where he's just bought

settle in

piece of property. But he won't

thing

La Californie.

late.

new

And

since he doesn't

place to

BRASSAI

live,

like to

He

spend

learned about

his time looking

he stayed in Cannes.

Obviously, in Collioure he'd be

Catalan country. But there must be

many

at

home,

in

things attaching

him

to the coast as well: Antibes, Vallauris, friends.

PAULO

And

No, you're wrong. Nothing attaches him to it. and visitors fol-

friends even less than memories. Friends

low him everywhere.

While we are

talking,

on

devilishly courting Paulo's boxer, a his

and sunny lawn Fuego is young mother who accepts

the green

tumultuous tokens of esteem.

BRASSAI You were eleven years old when I spent a whole day here photographing your father's sculptures. Do you re-

member? PAULO

Now Fm

the

It

was for Minotoure, wasn't

one who

it?

I

remember it well. my wife.

takes care of Boiseeloup, with

339

We

often

come from

Paris to

spend

few days. But everything

a

has been neglected here. There was not even a groundskeeper.

Do you want

tour?

a

While we were the castle; are

now

walls

its

bare.

PAULO

I

talking,

I

was examining the stables facing

used to be entirely covered with

They

ivy.

point this out to Paulo.

Yes, everything was covered with

ivy,

even the

you couldn't see the chapel anymore, not the walls or the bell. So I had all those big branches of ivy, which had become regular tree trunks, sawed down to the ground. roofs;

We walk. The state.

The

yard has

a great deal

flower beds have

all

square enclosure of the farmyard has piles of rotten ble,

as

beams. What interests

where Picasso sculpted

PAULO damp as

It

all

was over there,

it's

become

me

vacant

lot, is

with

the sta-

letters:

bears the placard,

It still

HISPANO-SUIZA.

find Gilberte and Paulo's wife in the kitchen. She

PAULO kitchen

is

Do you

want

For the moment,

large

We come

to

this

is

and warm. But we're visit them?

to a large

ramshackle

and her

fireplace next to

which

I

is

delicate profile.

where we fixing

live.

The

up certain rooms.

room turned

of bundles of firewood. With difficulty,

and

a

in particular

completely empty now. Just

pretty with her gray, transparent eyes

lor

unkempt

his large statues.

A nearby barn served as a garage.

full

its

before.

painted in bold black

We

of charm in

disappeared and the lovely

I

into a shed,

recognize the par-

photographed Picasso and

Olga in 1932.

PAULO ing

it

for the

We

This

room

moment.

was too badly damaged. I'm not touch-

Soldiers

camped out

here.

go upstairs to the third floor, the garret. In the right

wing are two charming, well-heated rooms.

PAULO

These are our lodgings. This

is

where

my

father

painted.

rooms

He

left traces

of paint on the floor.

much. You have the

very

Beyond the

best view

He

from

liked these

here.

chapel and the entry gate, you can see the

little

houses of the hamlet rising in

tiers

on

the

hill,

up

to the cur-

tain of greenery of the Boisgeloup woods.

On

the wall are three

and Paulo

amateur photos: Picasso, Olga,

casso looks

age five.

lar

and

on

the wall indicate

We

little

The photos date from 19^6. Piuncomfortable, hunched up in his detachable col-

at

suit.

Two large posters of toros home of an aficionado. It was Vallauris corridas with Paquito Mu-

have a drink in the kitchen.

we

are in the

Paulo who organized the

fioz, at his father's instigation.

das in the Midi

PAULO

It

still

ask Paulo if organizing corri-

amuses him.

interests

ting a bull to death

I

is

me

passionately. Unfortunately, put-

prohibited on the coast, one can put on

only La Camargue games with toros, games with cocardes,

etc.

Paquito Mufioz, our bullfighting impresario in the Midi, died.

He had

an

attack. It's a great loss.

I

miss

him

a great deal.

But you yourself go into the arena. What

BRASSAI

effect

does that have on you?

PAULO

I'm afraid. But not

all

the time.

When

the bull

grazes you, you don't have time to be afraid anymore. But

when

it

charges you from a distance, that's an awful

moment.

That black thing getting bigger and bigger, and with horns.

A transistor Mme Picasso

is

day.

I

ask

them

Kahnweiler

PAULO

playing on the table.

tells

if

me

she heard

they saw

my

me on

last Sunon which

the radio

television broadcast,

also appeared.

No, because we don't have

a set.

But Picasso prob-

ably saw you. He's excited about television now. He's at

La Californie for

a

year and

a half.

had one

In the beginning he was

rather contemptuous: "All these faces do nothing for me, said.

Then he

he

London and also the wedAnd that won him over. He has a

saw his exhibition in

ding of Princess Margaret.

"

34

J

weak spot for Princess Margaret. He even had a dream about her. "If I had had that dream under the reign of Elizabeth I, would have certainly been decapitated," he said with a laugh. Imagine Picasso

We

at

Buckingham

Palace!

are getting ready to leave,

old baby boy wakes

only grandson.

I

up

when

in his carriage.

ask if he has

the eighteen-month-

It's

Bernard, Picasso's

met him.

PAULO Yes. And when he was littler, my made a whole series of drawings of him. The

straw hats with ribbons.

little

And

all

skirts,

is

swarm of

are wearing extraordi-

multicolored blouses, strange

You would

think you were in Mexico

of them rush toward us, holding out poor

banks made from tin cans.

that today

They

all sides.

nary masks, long flowered

or Peru.

father even

Picassos walk us out to the car. Suddenly, a

children appears from

I

We

Mardi Gras.

342

have completely forgotten

6 June 1962

A crowd at Louise

Leiris's,

rue Monceau, where the very

harvest of the octogenarian painter

is

latest

being exhibited. After ac-

Mamany stunning varia-

quiring Velasquez's Las Meninas, Picasso has cast his sights on net's Dejeuner sur Vherhe, of which

he displays

and — at the time — scandalous nudity of the woman among the dressed men that must have struck him and attracted him the most. He returns constantly to this nude, has her walk among the group in sometimes comical postions.

It is

the strange

tures.

In the crowd

I

man from

catch sight of a

bald, his face plastered to a canvas as if he taste

from

It is

looks

at

to

He has made a good reYou hardly notice he is

Sabartes!

his attack of hemiplegia.

dragging one leg and that one of his arms

still

He

savor the colors.

it,

covery

the back, his head

wanted physically

is still

paralyzed.

me, recognizes me.

SABARTES So, there you are! Good news! Good news! The Picasso Museum in Barcelona will open soon. And yours truly

is

the honorary curator.

who decided

It

was the town councilors in Bar-

What do you think? There will be thirty-five rooms: on the ground floor, ceramics and sculptures; on the second, canvases and pastels; on the third, Picelona

that!

casso's graphic works.

even

a

photo

BRASSAI

There

will

be an archive,

a library,

and

library.

That's marvelous!

I

congratulate you!

about the works that were in the municipal celona?

343

museum

What of Bar-

SABARTES

They

will also

vases, fifty engravings,

and

come

to this hall: twenty can-

thirty lithographs, everything Pi-

casso has offered the city of Barcelona since I9l7-

which he

inas,

perhaps,

set aside for this

museum. And one

me

a

Las

Men

day,

Guernica.

Despite the ailment that has afflicted him,

of

Then

I

find in front

museum

transformed, happy Sabartes. This Picasso

Barcelona

his final act of devotion, the

is

ment of his

his apotheosis.

life,

He

tells

in

crowning achieve-

me

about

it

with

strange fervor.

One

SABARTES

day Picasso said to me:

the way, what do you want to do with

books in your collection?"

museum" city,

if

told

I

all

him

my

"My

of course, but this

I

"It's

My

lips

in Barcelona?"

The

Now

were sealed.

I

By all

my

a "Picasso

my

native

have so few attachments to Malaga.

museum

lasted three years.

and

was planning

I

in Malaga. "In Malaga?" he replied.

we located

friend!

canvases

What

negotiations

can

tell

you: Jean

Ainauv, the director of Barcelona museums, was the one who took the matter in hand. Gradually,

all

the difficulties were re-

mayor of Barcelona, offered two

solved. Jose de Porcioles, the

magnificent fourteenth-century palaces, our choice, which be-

longed

to the city.

He had

scale

models of these two palaces

sent to Mougins. In the end, Picasso opted for the Aguilar Palace.

It is

splendid.

I'll

be going to Barcelona soon.

What about

BRASSAi

SABARTES

He'd

Barcelona again. But

Picasso? Will he return to Spain for

He would

certainly like to. as

you

love to see

well know, in 1939' the day the

Treaty of Burgos was signed, he swore he would never in Spain again as long as his desire, it.

He

he

is

resisting.

the Franco regime

But

even got excited about

conception Sabartes

as for the

it.

He

set

foot

lasted. So, despite

museum, he was

all

closely. falls silent.

Then,

all

344

for

oversaw the plans and the

of

a

sudden, he

tells

me:

"How

could the mice in the studio on Grands -Augustins have

nibbled on your drawings and spared Picasso's?"

That question "nibbled" on

my

leaves

me

drawings.

perplexed. Picasso's mice never

The man

vents things out of whole cloth

has not changed.

He

in-

and advances them with the

greatest seriousness.

am

me: "Do you know we're neighbors again? Because of the stairs I had to climb, I had

As

leave

I

my

leaving him, he

old lodgings and

I

tells

now

live

vard Auguste-Blanqui, by the Glaciere metro station.

and

see

me."

345

to

near you, on I24» boule-

Come

Wednesday

October

ig62

At the home of Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, 47'

known him

have

he welcomes

alert,

Monceau. and

for a long time. Astonishingly healthy

me

to his vast office.

What

a contrast

be-

tween his minuscule gallery on rue Vignon and his setup here,

which

is

almost too sumptuous. Picasso said: "Without him,

would have never had

whelmed by

a career."

the boldness of Les

He

I

was the one who, over-

demoiselles d'Avignon,

decided in

buy everything Picasso would produce, except five 1907 paintings per year, which the artist kept for himself. Picasso was twenty- seven at the time and Kahnweiler twenty- three. They have been friends for fifty-five years! Only the fatality of the two world wars temporarily broke their pact: in I9I4' Kahn weiler had to flee France because he was a German citizen; in 194O' even though he had become a French citizen, he had to to

flee Paris

because he was Jewish. Twice in his

and then found him again

casso,

who made

it

life

he

after the cataclysm.

lost Pi-

man

This

possible for the painter to survive through the

commission on the sale of every commission that varies depending on

hard years has since earned

one of his paintings,

a

a

the canvas, often reaching half the price.

Under trait

a

magnifying

glass,

Kahnweiler

by Juan Gris he has just acquired.

is

examining

a

por-

Then he composes

his

mail without his glasses, with an enormous Picasso behind

him:

a

woman

lying

the rock. Before

I

under

a

pine

tree, in facets as if carved in

enter his office,

I

linger in the galleiy, fasci-

nated by Picasso's new linos: faces of women, with color.

still lifes

bursting

KAHNWEILER casso broke

They're phenomenal, don't you think? Pi-

new ground

years ago, he

began

in linoleum.

Then he

for each color

mode

in that area, as in so

to carve a portrait of a

got the idea

— of recutting the

plate. In seeking his

satisfied with three

or four colors;

to perfection. In the beginning,

now he

twelve colors in his engravings using the

He must

there's

own

many

as

plate! It's diaboli-

possible!

I

don't even

know what name

mental operation.

BRASSAI

Clairvoyance.

KAHNWEILER I

gets as

same

he was

see in advance the effect of every color, because

no pentimento

to give that

a

plate

of expression, he daringly breaks new ground in every it

ance.

others. Five

by Cranach,

— instead of executing a

same

process and brings

cal!

many

woman

would

Yes, you're right,

call it "pictorial

few days ago and saw

it's

a

kind of clairvoy-

premonition."

I

him working. When he

he makes out or sees in advance the final

was

at his

home

attacks the lino,

result.

But how did he come to work with linoleum?

BRASSAI

KAHNWEILER

As

usual, by sheer chance.

Do you remem-

ber the period in about 1945' when he started doing lithos and was beginning to go regularly to Mourlot's? At that time, it was still

cold in his apartments and he preferred to work in a well-

heated studio.

It

was for that purely material reason that he de-

voted himself to litho. For lino,

it's

somewhat the same thing.

In the Midi, where he cannot see the prints immediately, he's reluctant to do etchings

send

and

lithos.

a plate or stone to Paris.

annoys him. And, in

fact,

It's

For each

state,

he has to

too complicated and that

he has executed very few of them

there. But for linos, he found the man he needs in Vallauris: a young printer who brings the print from the plate engraved one day back the very next. It's that speed that stimulates him. That explains all the marvelous plates produced by his hands recently.

I

tle

remark

that the vivid colors of these linos

of Matisse's cut papers.

347

remind me

a lit-

On

KAHNWEILER

that point,

I

really can't agree with

you! Picasso used colors this pure during several periods in his life, as

And do you remember

early as the cubist period.

canvases painted in about

BRASSAI

The

KAHNWEILER

1932—33?

era of Woman

Yes,

his

and

all

in the

in about 1932?

Mirror,

the canvases v^ith forms set ofT

by black strokes? They evoked the brilliant colors of stained glass.

him

But Matisse plays no role in

a great deal.

Do you know

that!

that,

That

said, Picasso liked

one day when Matisse was

sorry he couldn't look at Picasso's latest canvases because he was

bedridden, Picasso found out about

and had a whole load of and showed them to him at the Hotel Regina, in the Cimiez section of Nice? He wanted to make him happy. Yes, Picasso loved Matisse, and admired his recent

works delivered in his

it

car,

his paintings. I

after I

tell

the story of the El Greco for sale

comparing

my

prefer

it

and how

Picasso,

with his Matisse, had declared: "Decidedly, "

Matisse!

KAHNWEILER

somewhat from his great passion for El Greco. The Toledo painter had an indisputable influence on him, of course, but as he evolved he moved away from him and closer to Velasquez, who has now unPicasso has recovered

doubtedly become his favorite painter.

He

still

likes certain

portraits by El Greco, but likes his compositions

for me,

my

favorite painter

is still

Rembrandt.

I

much less. As him above

put

El Greco and Velasquez. In addition to his talent as a painter,

there

is

an incomparable glow of human warmth about him.

Whatever one might say or think today, that's an ity for me. Picasso also has that human warmth. I

tell

him

essential qual-

that Sabartes does not share Picasso's admiration

for Matisse.

KAHNWEILER there never was, casso: he's

It's

very simple. For Sabartes, there

and there never

will

is

also a

all

unique

348

not.

be any painters besides Pi-

not the greatest painter of

only painter. Sabartes

is

and he doing?

time, but the one

case.

How

is

Well, after that attack of hemiplegia, which his age,

he recovered

body

part of his

and he has taken up dinner

fairly well

is still

and

is

so

dangerous

fairly quickly.

a bit paralyzed,

Obviously,

but his morale

his activities again.

The other

is

day,

good I had

He had just returned from a trip to Picasso Museum is dear to his heart.

at his place.

lona, because the

While

I

am

at

Barce-

photographing, Kahnweiler looks through the

newspapers and suddenly exclaims: "The philosopher Gaston Bachelard just died.

He

was seventy-eight years old,

like

me.

And we and

I

were born almost the same day: he on 27 ]une 1884 on 25 Ji^^^ of the same year."

When his

home

I

leave

him, Kahnweiler gives

me

directions to get to

next Sunday in Saint-Hilaire, near Chalo-Saint-

Mars, where he invites us for lunch: "Michel Leiris

et Zette

— Louise

and her husband — were very sorry they'd be gone.

They've

left

You'll see

for Africa to attend an ethnography colloquium.

them when

they get back."

349

Sunday 21 October ig62

We

Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler's. These last few days the weather has been gray, gloomy, and I was afraid it would continue. But this morning the sky is cloudless, a Midi sun is flooding the countryside all along the southern highway. Kahnweiler's property, "The Priory" of Saint-Hilaire, near Etampes, has a wonderful location on a hill and overlooks a row of poplars and the valley. The first courtyard, next to the ruins of an ivy-covered Benedictine chapel, holds a surprise leave early for

for us. it

An enormous

statue stands there, five or six meters

looks like a giant insect that has emerged

Not

far

work.

from

It is

shifting,

I

it,

still

lying

on

the lawn,

from

is its

its

tall;

chrysalis.

wooden form-

undoubtedly by Picasso. Since the sun will soon be taking a few photos of it when, through a small

am

door separating

that courtyard

from the one surrounding

the

house, Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler appears, looking healthy and pink.

The presence of our dog Fuego

dog, Dina, a boxer,

KAHNWEILER

is

worries him; his

own

not very friendly with other dogs.

This statue was

first

destined for the Salon

d'Automne. Then we changed our minds. I had it erected here and it will remain here. It took more than a month to construct it, and was finished barely two weeks ago. Formworks for all the planes had to be made first; it's like a piece of architecture in reinforced concrete. It also required a solid foundation: it weighs several tons. A Norwegian sculptor, Carl Nesjar, invented the technique and also the material, a mixture of gray gravel attacking

and cement. The forms

them with

a pistol that

stay

smooth. But by

shoots sand, the gravel can be

uncovered, and the bluish, granular surfaces thus obtained contrasts

with the light-colored, smooth surfaces.

You should

see

the Norwegian, wearing a helmet like a Martian, working with his strange

weapon. Douglas Cooper would

one of these giant

statues of Picasso's,

also like to erect

nicknamed "Angels," on

his property in Uzes.

BRASSAI Picasso told me about this Norwegian sculptor and showed me the scale model of a house in Barcelona with large cement surfaces, on which graffiti were to be engraved.

KAHNWEILER cess. It's a

finished now,

It's

ner of the building. The

effect

Guided by Kahnweiler, we tine chapel, a

it

used the same pro-

curved surface, four meters high, which covers

a

truly striking.

is

cross the ruins of the Benedic-

demolished during the Revolution. There are

few twelfth- century capitals

of

left

nected by an arch and covered with

KAHNWEILER

Under

it.

ivy.

Henri Laurens made those for the

The

still

the foliage of

columns are standing, con-

the big trees near the chapel two

tor Jacques Doucet.

cor-

capitals are cubist.

He

collec-

also sculpted a

fountain for Doucet. All these works were on his property.

Doucet wanted

to

1920, Picasso's

Les demoiselles d'Avignon

bring in the works of

wall of his stairwell. After his death,

sculptures,

and

Les demoiselles d'Avignon

seum of Modern Art

in

New York.

fountain in the garden below.

I

modern

art.

Since

had been fitted into the I bought the Laurens was sent off to the

In

a

moment

Mu-

you'll see the

also have Laurens's Siren in

front of the house. In our region of Ile-de-France, terra-cotta is

as resistant as

color

is

stone and takes a patina well.

"The Priory"

is

a beautiful

if

Picasso has

come

KAHNWEILER settling

pretty pink

house built during the Napole-

onic empire. Kahnweiler bought

him

Its

already turning green in spots.

to Paris.

about ten years ago.

ask

eight or nine years ago, before

in the Midi. Since spring 1955'

He

I

here.

Only once,

permanently

come back

it

is still

hasn't

keenly interested in everything

35i

going on there, keeps informed, wants to see as many photos as possible of his exhibitions, but doesn't display the slightest desire to

attend or to leave the Midi. Naturally, he hasn't seen

"The Priory" in

its

present

The house had

state.

completely redone and the garden put in.

Germany done by

the gardens in

And I had him come

a certain

here. He's the one

I

very

to

be almost

much

liked

landscape architect.

who planted

every-

thing you see, these perennials, somewhat rare in France, but very

common and

leaves.

beloved in

Germany

for their evergreen

But there are others. These young shrubs are Judas

trees.

BRASSAI

I

saw them along the Bosporus in the spring,

laden with mauve flowers. They were magnificent.

KAHNWEILER ready

bloomed

Mine have white

this year.

pear trees? They bore

And you

flowers.

They have

al-

see those espalier apple

and

amount of fruit, except the ones the wall. They are being trans-

a large

that were put in too close to

planted.

My

host also shows

me

the vegetable garden with

cabbage, tomatoes, greens. terest taken

by

this

Somewhat surprised by

man, who spent

in trees, flowers, and fruit,

I

ask

its

plots of

the keen in-

his life in the art business,

him

if

he

likes the country.

KAHNWEILER

I'm more a city dweller. If it hadn't been would never have had the idea of owning property in the country. She's the one who looked for it and found it. We came across "The Priory" by chance. Saint-Hilaire, the last village still surrounded by greenery, is located just on the border of Beauce, which extends from Etampes to the forest of Orleans. Beyond it there are the wheat fields, the monotonous plain. As you know, my gallery is open on Saturday, but only in the morning. Every week we leave for Saint-ffilaire in the afternoon, and we stay until Monday afternoon. for Zette,

We

I

have an aperitif on the terrace. Kahnweiler introduces

us to his two sisters-in-law. Berthe

Lascaux,

who

is

also here.

is

the wife of the painter

Their daughter married the painter 35^

Vilato, Picasso's

nephew.

I

how

ask Kahnweiler

Picasso

is

doing.

KAHNWEILER

Michel and Zette saw him two weeks ago

and found him in excellent shape. He's continuing his series of linos. Now he's carving faces of bearded men, very beautiful it seems. I talked to him yesterday on the phone, by the way. He told me he was happy with them too. When I called him, he was just leaving for the beach in Cannes with Jacqueline. They go swimming every day. At the end of October and at eightytwo years old,

He's always so anxious about

isn't that terrific?

been

seriously

ralgia.

On the whole,

ill.

And do you know how he

eral times

I

happened

He

he thought he was consumptive.

his health! In his youth,

was afraid he had every sort of ailment. In

to find

reality,

he has never

the only thing he had was neu-

With cat pelts! Sevdown, his shoulders

treated it?

him

lying

covered with furs. His enormous output might give the impression he overworks himself.

guards his health. Even

exam, the same doctor, in

When

he

stays in

feels the

need

Not

now he fact,

Is

he looks after himself,

who took

care of Matisse.

he sometimes

to regain his strength,

bed for two or three

BRASSAI Mougins?

at all:

often goes in for a doctor's

days.

he living permanently on his new property in

KAHNWEILER

Permanently?

No one

can

say.

There

is

never anything permanent about him. In any case, for the

ment, he

likes

it

there.

"Notre-Dame de Vie"

is

mo-

a beautiful

house, designed with several bathrooms, very convenient, very

comfortable. Picasso had

a

new

section added as a studio.

he himself proudly announced to

me one

white telephone in every bedroom. place a

is

day that there

And

is

a

The modernism of his new

obvious from the entry gate: the visitor has to talk into

microphone

protect Picasso

BRASSAI

to be

from

announced.

And

there are high walls to

indiscreet eyes.

What about La Californie?

KAHNWEILER

Almost

all

his things are

353

still

there.

He

sometimes goes back get the urge to

up something. And

he should spend the night there, he could, since even the to pick

if

beds are in their place.

And how

BRASSAI

KAHNWEILER severe.

It's a

The landscape

time,

first

I

pointed

it

thinking about filling

I'm

a

Spaniard and

is

gubrious

magnificent thing, but too

out to him. it.

Too

enough

Nonetheless, he has never

to live there.

As for Jacque-

truly frightened in that isolated, haunted, almost lu-

castle.

BRASSAI

Picasso wanted to have his Escurial.

KAHNWEILER times goes

down

Something

there

when he

or Nimes. Aix-en-Provence I

too

severe? You're forgetting that

like sadness."

I

vast,

When I visited it for the He replied: "Too vast? I'm

itself is so sad.

liked Vauvenargues well line, she

about Vauvenargues?

Kahnweiler

tell

I

is

like that.

A caprice. He

some-

attends the bullfights in Aries

on

the way.

was surprised

when

I

found

recently

Paulo's family in Boisgeloup.

KAHNWEILER wanted

After the war, in about 1946, Picasso

to return to Boisgeloup.

I

everywhere, waist high. That was

A simple

to Paulo.

great deal I

ask

and

my

I

host to

Then,

The

grass was

growing

when he thought of offering I like him a

it

and straightforward person. also like his young wife.

KAHNWEILER poverty.

We found

accompanied him.

the property in a state of total neglect.

tell

me

about Manolo.

In his youth, Manolo lived in dreadful

to survive, he

became something of a swindler.

Unfortunately, that became "his legend," which has greatly

damaged

his career as

an

artist.

also the victim of a legend.

weird, farfetched

you But as

He

titles to his

to believe that his

At another

level,

Erik Satie was

got into the habit of giving

compositions. That might lead

music was weird and farfetched

Satie was a very great

composer.

And

his

music

can be. People are only just beginning to realize

354

is

it

as well. as serious

today.

Ma-

nolo was

a

good

sculptor.

Of course,

about cubism, but his statues have bustness.

You probably know some

a

he understood nothing

peasant force, a ro-

of the stories about his swin-

tell you one, in which I myself was the victim. Ever had gone off to Ceret, then to Caldas de Monbuy in Spain, I had sent him a sum of money every month. One day he wrote me that he was working on a 'Very big sculpture" and that therefore I should double his monthly payments, which I did for several months. When he finally sent me his work, in-

dles.

I

can

since he

stead of a "very big sculpture,"

received a small statue, about

I

him for an explanaresponse was? "My statue only

forty centimeters high. Astonished, tion.

And do you know what his woman is

I

asked

looks small because the

squatting. If she stood up,

she would be very, very big." But

I

one, in full

fact,

of charm and

We

didn't hold a grudge.

held a grudge against him. Manolo was spirit,

a

inexhaustible in his verve and

speak of Sabartes's recent trip to Catalonia.

Museum

Kahnweiler how the Picasso

in Barcelona

vitality.

And is

No

character

I

ask

pro-

ceeding.

KAHNWEILER

It's a

magnificent fourteenth-century

mansion, the Aguilar Palace, on Montcada

most mansions in the Marais, had become

a

warehouse.

it

Street. But, like

was completely dilapidated,

has been very well restored,

It

sixteenth-century frescoes were even discovered in offered the

museum

Picasso

his Las Meninas series, with all the prepara-

tory drawings. Theoretically,

augurated

it.

some

it

was supposed to be formally in-

and

this fall. Sabartes

I

were supposed to attend.

— and no doubt — it opened without

But, because of the floods that have ravaged Catalonia pecially for political reasons,

es-

fanfare.

BRASSAI

What about

KAHNWEILER there!

It's

you can

funny!

It I

exists,

visited

it

Don

in

Malaga?

but there are no works by Picasso

some time

see there? Well, all sorts of

laga artists, friends of

museum

the Picasso

ago.

Do you know

what

hackneyed paintings by Ma-

Ruiz, Picasso's father. In the end,

Sabartes will give the Malaga

museum 355

only his collection of Pi-

casso's graphic works,

of

which are of very great value,

matter

as a

fact.

What about

BRASSAI

offer the Barcelona atives

me

showed

their

casso's oldest canvases,

more

the Vilato family?

museum

Is it

going to

owns? Picasso's relcollection one day. I saw some of Pisuch as Science and Charity, but also some the canvases

it

recent works.

KAHNWEILER

The

Vilatos are not rich.

They cannot

museum, but can only sell depend on the price the museum can offer in

And

offer their collection to the

it.

that will

ex-

change.

Lunch the wall

I

is

served in the dining

see a

still life

room flooded with

On

light.

by Picasso, a sculpture and drawing by

Henri Laurens. An abstract fresco with bright colors by Fernand Leger adorns an entire wall.

KAHNWEILER

That may be

his last work.

He

painted

you to

see that little drip of paint?

wipe

it

has remained.

off. It

it

Do

here on the bare wall, scarcely two weeks before his death.

Leger intended to come here

It

does not bother

me much.

Leger was truly very gifted for large mural decorations. But, for lack of commissions, he created very few of them.

turned

a

deaf ear.

You

have to admit

Catholic Church knows ists:

it:

how to spur on

The

in France only the great

Matisse, Leger, Rouault, Le Corbusier.

contemporary

You

rier has

a

few syntheses of contemporary

shown

ten reluctant, task.

They

a great deal if

art.

art-

have to go to

Vence, to Ronchamp, to Sancellemoz, to Rocquencourt,

want to see

state

if

you

Father Coutu-

of merit in imposing art on an of-

not hostile, clergy. That has not been an easy

some reason,

object, not without

that "his artists"

were for the most part nonbelievers. But the most beautiful thing Leger ever did

Rocquencourt.

work by

a

I

is

find

certainly the stained glass

it

fairly

communist and

religious sensibility.

windows of

extraordinary that this religious

atheistic painter does not

Without making the

slightest

offend the

concession

in his art or his ideas, Leger simply took the elements of the

Crucifixion that suited his

art:

the

356

hammer,

the nails, the

sponge, the dies, the ladder,

etc.,

in short, the objects he was

in the habit of glorifv'ing.

BRASSAI At the church on the ^\5sy plateau, he proceeded the same wav. The entire facade depicts the attributes of the Virgin in mosaic: the throne, the crown,

frescoes if he'd

KAHNWEILER commissions

like

think Picasso would have executed many had commissions?

He

Picasso's a different matter.

ver\'

much.

Guernica.

them spontaneously. And he agreed somewhat

what

Do you

about Picasso?

more

And

etc.

War and

to

reluctantly, giving in only at

Peace,

doesn't

he created

do the Unesco panel Georges

Salles

s

insis-

None

tence. But reallv. he was not rewarded for his effort.

of

works were so poorlv received.

his other

On

BRASSAI

account of the architects! Thev offered him

t see it from a suitable disAs soon as you step back, a catwalk cuts off the panel. And do you know what that catwalk is for? It's a passagewav between the two rooms for the electrician

but you can

a very large surface,

tance. That's what's shocking.

responsible for lighting.

KAHNWEILER

-

That catwalk surprised me

the architect Breuer the reason for

He

it.

as well.

replied: "I

I

asked

made

it

to create a rupture."

BRASSAI

It's

that "rupture" that prevents

vou from

seeing Picasso's fresco properly.

KAHNWEILER

But you also did

BRASSAI

seven bv three meters.

plain,

it

s

Reeds,

well located.

the dinner

at

a

panel for Unesco.

As the creator of

And

I

can't

that panel.

Laurent's place, held for the

artists

I

com-

attended

who had dec-

orated the Unesco palace. Except for Picasso and Miro, we

were

all

there.

And

what

a lovely

line-up of architects! Le Cor-

busier, Nervi. Breuer, Gropius. Zerfus. At dessert, Evans, the

director of Unesco, stood up to give

whiskey and good wine, he fist: "It's

done!

It exists!

pounded

And we're 357

a toast.

Overheated with

the table violently with his

the ones

who produced

it!"

Then he added Georges

Salles

in a

going to

is

of Picasso's panel." to stand up, but

and you can today.

it

years."

And

sincerity

all

Georges

what he thinks

Salles was

about

masterpiece.

It

hardly matters what one thinks

beauty will be obvious in ten years, in twenty

he proposed to send him of us.

all

KAHNWEILER

a

telegram of congratula-

Which was done.

around the

are sitting

directly

us in

Le Corbusier beat him to it: "All I can say my experience and my judgment — is that Pi-

a

is

Its

tions signed by

We

tell

A bit surprised,

trust

casso's panel

of

mocking tone: "And now, our friend

table.

This caviar

is

very fresh.

from Moscow. Nadia Leger brought She has just spent

bottles of Vodka.

a

It it

has just arrived

back, along with

few weeks there, to pre-

pare the major Fernand Leger exhibition, which will take place in

December. In

fact, it will

ever held. Everything there, along with

some.

many other

A turning point,

I

will

be hung

I myself lent them — in Soviet artistic and I hope — behind the Iron Curtain, next to

canvases.

think

the most backward of

life,

be the largest Leger exhibition

from the Musee Leger

all

Germany. In comparison, Czechoslovakia is in the forePoland and Hungary. I myself will go to Russia for the inauguration of that exhibition. Michel and Zette will accompany me. Nadia Leger asked us for our head size, so East

front, followed by

that she could order fur hats, because

Moscow

in

it

may be

very cold in

December.

Kahnweiler, who

will

soon be eighty years

old, eats with

good appetite. He serves himself large spoonfuls of caviar and downs several glasses of vodka. The main course is a delicious duck a I'orange, followed by cheese and a chocolate tart. And we talk of collectors. very

BRASSA'i

Much fixed

I

up

manded

Mme Jeanne Walter's collection. had imagined. The Orangerie is being

recently saw

richer than to receive

I

it.

Because Paul Guillaume's widow de-

that the paintings be exhibited as they are in her

home, with

furniture, carpets, hangings, chandeliers.

express condition of her bequest.

358

It's

the

KAHNWEILER

You

admire

always have to

offer their collections to the state. But

criticize

I

cisely for setting conditions. It's stupid to

tion be exhibited as a collection.

What

all

the Renoirs,

all

the Gezannes,

sense

all

who

them pre-

require that a collecis

simply prevents them from being displayed in der:

art lovers

a

there in that?

more

It

logical or-

the Picassos together,

them by school, by era, the only presentation worthy of interest. The set of one collector or another, as merior else grouping

torious as his efforts might have been, est. It's logical to

of very limited inter-

break up these collections, but naturally the

name of the donor ought

Gamondo

BRASSAI

is

he willed his collection

to

appear on each painting.

stipulated the

same condition when

to the state.

KAHNWEILER Yes, and for a long time there was a Gamondo collection at the Louvre. But since the thing was so absurd, they I

ask

had

to

break

him what

has

it

up.

become of the Roger

Dutilleul col-

lection.

KAHNWEILER

Since his death, his nephew in Roubaix,

Jean Masurel, owns it. He like paintings and would no doubt have continued his uncle's admirable collection, but unfortunately his wife

is

less

was a great collector! was one of

my

helm Uhde,

appreciative of painting. Roger Dutilleul

What

a delicious

first clients, if

not

man! Do you know he

my very first? He played

so refined, so cultured.

tant role in the

development of modern

have the standing he deserves.

He had

art.

I

also liked

a very

Wil-

impor-

But he doesn't

lived in Paris since the

beginning of the century and knew Picasso before

I

did.

It

was

who spoke to me of the strange canvas of Les demoiand prompted me to go see it. A German subject like myself, Uhde lost his very beautiful collection following World War I. When he came back to France, he turned to the naive painters. He was also one of the first to discover and like he, in fact,

selles

Avignon

Le Douanier Rousseau.

Then we

speak of a few Spanish painters, friends of Picasso.

359

Oscar Dominguez had

BRASSAI

of mimicry, which could assimilate

all

kind

a diabolical skill, a

sorts of techniques.

Dur-

ing the Occupation, he frequented Picasso's studio almost daily

and appropriated

his palette so well that their

works

could almost be confused.

KAHNWEILER too

far.

for those as to

(smiling ironically)

But Picasso always showed

who were

inspired by him, even

paint fake Picassos.

how to make cate fakes.

a

name

One

He pushed mimicry a great deal

day,

when

A skillful painter who

a bit

of indulgence they went so far

does not

know

for himself will always be tempted to fabriI

spoke to Picasso of the fake Picassos, say-

Do you know what his response "How can you expect me to file a complaint against forgers? I am sure to find myself in front of the judge, face to face with Spanish painters, my friends, with handcuffs on their wrists." One day, to help a painter from South America, Picasso offered him a pastel. This painter came to my place and ing he ought to do something.

was?

proposed

to sell

it.

bought

I

it

A few days later,

from him.

Pierre Loeb, panic-stricken, arrived at

my

house.

He

told me:

bought this pastel of Picasso's. It seems it is identical to one you already own!" We compared the two pastels. His was a copy. The same artist had painted three or four copies and had sold them all. How did Picasso react? Well, he was very amused by it. And he reimbursed from his own pocket the victims of his unscrupulous friend. That friend had committed swindles only because he wanted to go back to his country and could not pay for the return ticket. As soon as he got back, he "I just

the

sent a telegram to Picasso with these words: 'Tablo, I'm a

bandit."

When

lunch

is

every

room

cially

recent works.

over,

Kahnweiler has us

there are four or five canvases,

The most

curious

with a prominent belly and the pubic

marked, which offers are also

still lifes

its

Mme

a

house. In

Picassos, espe-

bawdy nude,

conspicuously his bed.

But there

many Massons, Kermadecs,

On

one wall I recognize the very Kahnweiler painted by Derain, of

Rouvres, Beaudins, Lascaux. beautiful portrait of

many

may be slit

charms just above

by Juan Gris,

visit his

360

which

I

have seen only a reproduction.

beautiful earthenware table by Picasso.

I

am

The

very taken with a

library

is

decorated

with a she-goat by his hand, a large canvas, painted in green hues, with preparatory drawings for glass case,

Kahnweiler

members made of copper strips, case I see a curious mask by Juan ball. All the

it

in the stairwell.

From

also

by Picasso. In that same

Gris,

made

for a costume

drawings and paintings Picasso offered Kahnweiler

bear this dedication: "For D. H. K., his friend Picasso," or: "For his friend D. H. K. Picasso."

Night

is

a

takes out a tiny she -goat with articulated

falling

when we

leave

361

"The Priory."

Thursday

2^ November ig62

At the home of Louise and Michel Leiris, 52 bis, quai des Grands -Augustins. A noiselessly sliding glass cage deposits us on the fifth floor. All five rooms of the apartment overlook the Seine. Through the curtain of plane trees and poplars on the quays, already stripped bare by

autumn, one

sees the Palais de

Justice, the quai des Orfevres, Sainte-Chapelle, the

Pont-

Neuf, and the Vert-Galant, one of the most beautiful views in Paris,

too invaded,

it

alas! like a

skin disease, by the proliferat-

ing mass of cars.

Michel Leiris receives us in the "music room," where, during the Occupation, Picasso's

Desire Caught by the Tail

was per-

On the walls are very beautiful Juan Gris, Braques, Fernand Legers from the cubist period, Andre Massons, and above all Picassos. But it is the carpets and armchairs that give this apartment its particular cachet. You walk and sit on works of art. One of the carpets — the most beautiful, in a beige, brown, and gray color scheme — is by Henri Laurens; another, more brightly colored one is by Miro. As for the dining room chairs arranged around the table, they are all by Juan Gris, executed in Aubusson after his cartoons. Kahnweiler has just returned from his gallery and offers us an aperitif. He talks of his recent stay in London where he atformed.

tended

a

major

sale.

KAHNWEILER later,

made

I

still live

thinks

a

there.

it is

When

I

number of trips I

find

it

London, and My brother and sister

was young, there.

I

lived in

extraordinary that this country, which

better than others, which was

362

and

still is

in

some

areas, has let itself

As

far as

comfort

on illusions now. concerned, London has become the least

be outdistanced.

is

living

It's

comfortable. Central heating has spread throughout the world.

In London,

exists

it

only in

Kahnweiler has us casso did of

him

own, somewhat separate apart-

visit his

ment, where, near the bed,

I

in charcoal,

graph. In that same

few rare "luxury" buildings.

a

room

I

notice the beautiful portrait Pi-

and which

also exists as a litho-

see the large portrait of

Mme

Kahnweiler, one of the best known works of Andre Derain. few canvases by Fernand Leger and

adorn the

I

am

keep only canvases that

to hang.

My

choice

made,

is

Van Dongen

A

also

walls.

KAHNWEILER I

a small

collection I

not

and

really like

I

is

but an

a collector,

that

art dealer.

my walls

rather sentimental. But once

allow

So

me

my

would not part with my paintings for any-

thing in the world. Zette came across this apartment during the Occupation. At the time,

my wife. Our

I

was hiding in Limousin with

old apartment was in Boulogne, whose country

charm had not resisted the expansion of an industrial city. It had become uninhabitable. My sister-in-law moved all our things here. When we came back to Paris after the Liberation, we had the agreeable surprise of rediscovering our apartment on quai des Grands -Augustins, a short walk from Picasso, exactly as

it

was in Boulogne.

In the library, where every shelf the ceiling, the very pretty

KAHNWEILER tantly.

But

I

wood

is

stuffed with books

fireplace

I'm sacrificing

need the spot for my

my

is

up

to

being taken apart.

fireplace only reluc-

art books. It will

be replaced

by shelves.

Wherever

I

go, an avalanche of

books has invaded the living

quarters, blocked the

bedrooms and

boom"

is

in apartments

the streets. All will

my

hallways.

the equivalent of the

The "book "traffic boom"

friends and acquaintances suffer

not be long before we

will

no longer be 3^3

from

it.

in It

able to go out into

the street because of the cars, or

home

because of the invasion

of books.

What about

BRASSAi books?

I've

never seen any on the shelves. He's never had a

must have

brary. But he

KAHNWEILER been in

always

a large

Ever since

piles. So,

he puts them in Paris, in

Picasso? What's he doing with his

crates.

I've

much

to time, to get rid of them,

it's

easy for

him

to find the

object he wants. Until his attack of hemiplegia, Sa-

to us, Zette

and me,

left

running

to find

truckfuls or vanfuls

thing he

books have

Cannes, in Vauvenargues. Picasso claims he knows ev-

bartes was responsible for

many

his

has crates of books everywhere, in

erything that's in his crates, that

book or

known him,

from time

He

li-

number of books.

this

kingdom.

what he asks us

— I've

forgotten

Now

for. Little

it's

by

up

little,

how many — of every-

in Paris were sent to the Midi.

And

there can't be

on rue des Grands -Augustins. But, in spite of Pihis phenomenal memory, his supervision from "lists,

left

casso's

"

distance, certain things cannot be found. For example,

it

was

impossible for us to put our hands on a series of engravings

made

in about 193O, in vivid colors, which Picasso claims he

packed in one of those

crates.

364

a

Notes

Introduction 1.

1994

See especially the exhibition organized by at

the

Musee

2. Picasso always

Picasso in Paris,

Anne

Picasso photographe

Baldassari in

ig00—igi6.

held onto these figurines, carved into

and dating from autumn 1930. Twelve

are

now

in the

fir

Musee

wood Picasso

in Paris. 3. It

does not matter that Brassai dates them from 1930— 31, though from autumn 1928. At the time, he had no way of dat-

they are in fact

ing

them more

precisely, since Picasso was always very vague

year of manufacture. Paris: Picasso tal

They too can be found

in the

Musee

about the

Picasso in

held onto them, primarily because they were experimen-

pieces, but also because they

had been rejected

as a

plan for an

monument. The canvas they most resemble is The Studio, New York, Museum of Modern Art, Gift of Walter P. Chrysler Jr.

Apollinaire

Conversations with Picasso 1.

This was the beginning of

sequently acquired

a very beautiful collection. Picasso

numerous Gezannes

(a

view of Estaque and

a

sub-

black

group of peasants by Le Nain, a Ghardin, a few (a portrait, an interior with a reclining woman), very beautiful Renoirs, Degas, and three or four Le Douanier Rousseaux. Most of the canvases were obtained in exchange for his own paintings, especially with Vollard. Picasso also owns Braques, castle, in particular), a

small Gourbets,

some Vuillards

Modiglianis, Matisses, Derains, Miros,

Max

Ernsts, sculptures by

Laurens and Adam, watercolors by Max Jacob, and works by younger painters. He was one of the first to discover and collect engravings by Bresdin. Long locked in safes, most of his works are now in Vauvenargues. 2. Pierre Naville was excluded for being too doctrinaire, Antonin Artaud and Philippe Soupault were cast out for their literary activity. The biggest purge took place in 1929. Robert Desnos, the medium of the movement, Jacques Prevert, its enfant terrible, Roger Vitrac. its play-

Dada renegade, and a few other memThey registered their resentment of Breton in an unusually violent tract: Un cadavre. With the same cold resolution, other members were also liquidated: Joseph Delteil, Andre Masson, Picabia, Marcel Duchamp, Georges Bataille, Raymond Queneau, Marcel Duhamel, and so on. Finally, in 1931, came the expulsion of Georges Sadoul and Louis Aragon, who deliberately opted for

Wright, Ribemont-Dessaignes, a

bers were part of that "tumbrel."

communism. For Breton,

surrealism was not only a way of thinking, way of behaving. That explains the police investigations, the secret dossiers, the meddling in the private lives of his comrades in arms. Breton could not, would not accept that, to survive, surrealist poets had to take on journalistic activities of one sort or another. But is it possible to judge his "inquisitorial judgments" without considering his lofty ideas about freedom and love? He expected surrealism to

but also

a

beyond civilization, uniting man with cosand to rediscover mystical, alchemical, esoteric knowledge. Surrealism sometimes took on the trappings of a religion. That explains his pretensions to be a magus, head of a secret society, and his references to occultism, to the Orient, to Buddha, to the great pioneers, to the Dalai Lama. As the "Incorruptible One," Breton sowed reestablish secret relations,

mic

forces,

name

terror in the 3.

of the surrealist ethic.

Reverdy was persona grata: Aragon, Eluard, and Soupault always

him as a pioneer and recognized his beneficial influence on own poetry. They contributed to his review Nord-Sud and published poems by him in Litterature, some with a surrealist bent. "Our litrevered

their

erature," they said in 1924'

is

very inferior to that of Reverdy.

not afraid to declare that Reverdy to

now

is

We

are

the greatest living poet. Next

him, we are but children" (cited by Maurice Nadeau in

Histoire du

surrealisme)

4.

What

painting.

particularly bothered

Its

me

was surrealists' attitude toward

properly pictorial quality escaped them. For them, the

only thing that counted was intentions, feelings subject matter, the anecdote.

cepted

Once

— erotic

or poetic

the posture of "surreality

'

— the

was ac-

could praise glaringly weak

as the sole criterion for art, they

works to the skies, and could like even good painting only for bad reasons. These reservations were already expressed by Baudelaire, perhaps the only poet to have liked painting for itself and not for the ideas in it

destined to I

suffer

move

when

I

the poet within him:

see [the artist] seeking to seize the imagination

through sources located

at

the extreme limits of, or even beyond,

his art.

To

seek the poetry party line in the conception of a painting

the surest way not to find

Painting

is

is

it.

interesting only for

its

368

color and form;

it

resembles

poetry only inasmuch

awakens ideas of painting in the

as the latter

reader.

Importing poetry, the mind, and feeling into painting,

modern

all

these

miseries are vices particular to eclectics.

5. In 1908, Picasso told his friend Gonzalez that, if one cut up and reassembled the planes of his painting, one would be in the presence sculpture. And, three years later, he declared that a painting ought show objects with such plasticity that an engineer could execute them

of a to

in three dimensions. 6.

This Medrano circus series was

"Variations

on

the Circus" in the

later reproduced under the title volume of Cahiers d'Art devoted to Pi-

works between 193O and 1935was no doubt the bitter disappointment caused by Picasso's failure to "rally behind" surrealism that led Breton to denounce his blindness, even though Breton had always praised the artist's clairvoyance. casso's

7. It

This disillusionment was surpassed only by that caused by Freud's fierce resistance to establishing any relation whatever between psychoanalysis

and surrealism, despite

Viennese garding a

visit

all

Breton's efforts and his

visit to

the

addressed to Stefan Zweig in 1938, reby Dali, Freud wrote: "Up to now I have been inclined

scientist.

In

a letter

to consider the surrealists

— who

tron saint — as lOO percent alcohol, 95 percent)." 8. the other hand,

On

seem

madmen

it is

to have

(let

adopted

me

as their

pa-

us say, rather, as one says of

indisputable that Picasso's literary

Tail, are indebted to surrealist poWithout the example of automatic writing and free association, Picasso might never have dreamed of spewing forth the colorful verbal torrent of his imagination. And, oddly, he did so at a time when he had become associated with Paul Eluard, who had just turned away from automatic writing for good. 9- Picasso even lent him money for his first voyage of discovery and conquest to the United States. Dali continually denigrated him, even insulted him, beginning at the time of the Spanish Civil War. 10. One has only to substitute the words "creative artist" for "para-

works, including

Desire Caught by the

etry.

noia" in Dali's definition for

forms and even for

man who 11.

all

it

the great

to

be valid for

styles,

all

the great creators of

beginning with the primitive

discovered the shape of a buffalo in the relief of a cave.

Gaudi

also

had

more impressed by

a

considerable influence on Miro. But he was

the important role

Gaudi gave

to color in his archi-

tecture, in his multicolored mosaics, his glowing red crockery. In Park

pointing out the rippling benches encrusted with broken crockand sometimes set out like "Miros" before the fact, Miro told me: "That's where all my art comes from." As for Picasso, he always claimed Gaudi had had no influence on him. Certain elements of Giiell,

ery

Gaudi's architecture, especially chimneys, were, however, a kind of

prelude to cubism. 12.

of

"Serious childhood neurosis," refuge in an ideal world, hatred

reality, etc.;

tive

delusions of grandeur, perverse megalomania, "objec-

megalomania";

a

need and sense for the supernatural and for

hyperaesthetic originality; absolutely shameless pride, frenetic exhibi-

tionism of "fancy" and of an imperialist "imagination"; no sense of proportion; the realization of desires in solid form; a majestic blos-

soming of unconscious,

irrational, erotic tendencies

.

.

.

;

a close

dreams, reveries, daydreams; the presence of characterisoneiric elements — condensation, displacement, etc.; flagrant orna-

affinity with tic

mental coprophagia; a very slow, exhausting onanism, accompanied by an enormous feeling of guilt. 13. "One day I discovered, right in the middle of Paris, turn-ofthe-century Paris metro entrances, which were unfortunately already being demolished and replaced by horrible anonymous constructions. The photographer Brassai did a series of photos of the decorative elements of these porticoes, and no one could believe his eyes: art nouveau seemed so surrealist" (The Secret Life of Salvador Dali). 14. For example, we saw an "insectodrome" for "obstacle courses for cockroaches" or other bugs, with parallel running lanes, an electric signal to indicate the arrival of the winner, and individual electric switches to stimulate the competitors; a "dog poop-collecting" cane, hollow inside, with a small pivoting scoop that allowed one to pick up and place inside the cane whatever the dog left on the sidewalk (the dog itself carried the cane with elastic bands attached between its tail and ears); a gramophone inlaid with a miniature Opera building turning on the turntable, giving the illusion you were attending an evening at the opera; a portrait of President Lebrun made out of five- and ten-franc postage stamps; a chicken laying cigarettes; and so on. 15.

My

contribution to Minotaure consisted of sculptures by Ai'istide

Maillol,

Henry Laurens, Despiau, and

Vollard;

Paris Nocturnes,

on Ambroise and nudes, accompanied by a text by Maurice Raynal. It was in Minotaure 3—4 ^^^.t published my first article on graffiti, whose title, "From Cave Walls to Factory Walls, " was suggested to 16.

This plan for

Lipchitz; a series

published alongside Young's

me

Nights:

by Paul Eluard.

a tapestry was never executed.

When

1

recently (in

1963) asked Marie Guttoli why, she told me Picasso had insisted that his cartoon not leave his studio, that all the work of transcription take place there. But, for technical reasons, that was not possible. 17.

Despite the convenience, Picasso never worked on this

home

press. Because of the cold, he preferred to go to Lacouriere's. on the

Butte, whose studio was always well heated. 18.

I

Gontrary to what some might believe, most of these statues un-

bolted from their bases were not

made

They were des-

into cannons.

tined for the colossal statues of Arno Breker, fiitler's protege and

Third Reich,

official sculptor for the

being

19. Since

cast in

monument,

Apollinaire

bronze, this head has become the Guillaume

erected

on

the square of the Saint-Germain-

des-Pres church.

seems to me that the death's head motif began with the skelehead in Royan in 1939reappeared with the skelecontinued with a series of still lifes tons of bull's heads in 1943 with death's heads in 1945 194620.

It

ton of

a sheep's

21. In

came

cluded 22.

1963, he published his memoirs, written as recollections that at random; it was entitled Memoires du Baron MoUet and in-

him

to a It

preface by

Raymond Queneau.

was premonitory: four years

23. [The equivalent of "Caution:

mean

later,

Fran^oise Gilot bore

him

Claude.

a son,

Wet

Paint," the sign could also

"Pay attention to painting"— trans.]

24- Leon-Paul Fargue describes his attack

at Le Catalan as follows: group where each had his knees, his bottle. Picasso proposed a paradox from time to time, the way someone pulls a Brazilian cigarette from a case. A doctor greeted me. I saw an order of leg of lamb go by. And wham! The hour of reckoning, which falls with its storm accumulated drop by drop, had sounded" (En rampant au chevet de ma vie, 1946). 25- One day, he said to Sabartes: "People don't pay enough attention. That's what makes Cezanne Cezanne: when he is in front of a tree, he looks attentively at what is in front of his eyes; he stares at it, like a hunter homing in on the animal he wants to take down. Often a painting is only that. You have to give it all your attention"

"No one was looking beyond

the

little

.

.

.

.

.

.

(Sabartes, Iconographie)

26. [Charles Baudelaire, The Flowers of Evil and Paris Spleen, trans. WilEditions, Ltd., 1991), pp. 33

liam H. Crosby (Rochester, N.Y.:

BOA

and 35-— trans.] Rubens, fleuve d'oubli, jardin de Oreiller de chair fraiche

Mais

oil

I

oil la vie afflue et s'agite

Comme

l

air

dans

le ciel et la

la

sans cesse,

mer dans

Leonard de Vinci, miroir profond Watteau, ce carnaval

Comme

oil

paresse,

on ne peut aimer,

et

la

mer

sombre

bien des coeurs

.

.

.

.

.

.

illustres

des papillons errent en flamboyant

.

.

.

Delacroix, lac de sang hante des mauvais anges,

Ombrage par un Car

c'est

bois de sapins toujours vert

vraiment. Seigneur,

le

.

.

.

meilleur temoipnag-e

37^

Que nous puissions donner de notre dignite Que cet ardent sanglot qui roule d'age en age mourir au bord de votre

Et vient 27-

eternite!

The publisher of the Editions du Ghene went bankrupt.

Picasso's

appeared in 1949 in France, then in England, with a text by D.-H. Kahnweiler and more than two hundred of my photos. 28. Dr. Petiot was the Landru of the Occupation. With false promises to send them to America, he attracted many people, men and

Sculptures

women, along with their fortunes, and burned them up tory oven on rue Lesueur,

in his crema-

For two years, Desnos had been part of a Resistance network. member of the staff at Editions de Minuit. His deportation from Compiegne to Buchenwald is well known: his backbreaking exodus as a convict, in great part on foot, to Theresienstadt, Czechoslovakia; his death on 8 June 1945 j^st as the nightmare was ending Q,^'

He

was also a

for many; the return of his ashes to Paris. Also well known is the gripping poem — the very last — found on him at the time of his death: "I Have Dreamt So Fiercely of You. " But does anyone realize that this "last poem" was only a reminiscence of another, very old one, entitled, "I Have Dreamt So Much of You," which appeared in the collection A la mysterieuse (To the mysterious one) in 1926? Everything is already said in it, almost word for word, as in a first draft. And Desnos, far from Paris, suffering from a high fever, separated from his be-

found no premoni-

loved, at death's door, seeking words to express his distress,

better way than to evoke the epilogue of this exceptionally tory

poem.

J'ai tant reve

de

ne me reste fantomes et plus ombre cent

qu'il les

qui

marche, parle, couche avec ton fantome, peut-etre, et pourtant, qu'a etre fantome parmi

toi, tant

se

fois

promenera allegrement sur

le

que I'ombre qui se promene cadran solaire de ta vie.

et

I have dreamt so much of you, walked and talked so much, lain with your ghost, that I am left, perhaps and nevertheless, to be only a ghost among ghosts, and a hundred times more shadowy than the

shadow

that

wends

the sundial of your

Twenty years give

it its

come

later,

its

way,

and

will

wend

its

way, cheerfully across

life.

Desnos had only

to

condense this prose poem to haunted him in 19^6 had be-

definitive form: the ghost that

his destiny in 1944.

It

was the

last act

inspired sleepwalker:

de toi, marche, tellement parle, Tellement aime ton ombre.

J'ai reve tellement fort J'ai tellement

of "clairvoyance" for that

me

Qu"il ne II

me

reste

reste plus rien de toi.

Tombre parmi les ombres ombre que ombre

d etre

D'etre cent fois plus D'etre

Dans I

1'

1

ombre qui viendra and reviendra

ta vie ensoleillee.

have dreamt so fiercelv of vou.

Have

so

much

walked and talked.

So much loved vour shadow, That I am left with nothing of vou.

am

be the shadow amid shadows hundred times more shadowv than shadow the shadow that will come and come again Into your sun-drenched life. I

left to

To be To be 30.

I

a

think he

of Picasso,

is

the director of Couleurs Linel. favorite supplier

of Braque and Matisse.

as well as

31. Xaturallv. this plan was never realized, like most of those

on

the spur of the

moment. That

fragile construction

made

was probably de-

stroved.

32. Peinado tells me (November 1963): "One dav. I was at his house when the telephone rang. 'Is that vou, Pablo'^ This is Van Gogh.' And Picasso, without the slightest surprise or hesitation, said: 'Yes. but which one? \'incent or Theo? "

33-

dandy

It is is

a

mistake to believe Picasso dresses 'anv which wav."

lurking within him.

condemned

intermittent inactivity. Wlien the dandy awakens, there

on the period, an outburst of fanciful, costumes in unusual hues,

vet

A

simplv. for lack of time, to is.

depending

surprising, colorful vests, vel-

shirts, jackets,

cardigans with giant

flowers, polychromatic socks, extraordinary- sweaters. Picasso has a verv

him wide-brimmed

personal conception of elegance and his coquetrv compels dress unlike

anyone

else, fie

wears berets, caps,

sombreros, derbies, and even top

to hats,

Montmartre. he wore the blue canvas jacket of zinc workers and red cotton shirts bought at the Saint-Pierre market.

Now

hats. In

he orders his strange pants with horizontal

from Sapone; he wears men's jackets in and even white fur overcoats. 34- Picasso painted a few canvases of them between 3 and lO Au-

stripes in horse blanket fabric

women's gnst,

fabrics

when

the Allied armies were advancing toward Paris.

35- In an essay.

Raymond Queneau shows

to

what extent the plav

was steeped in the preoccupations of the Occupation — hunger, cold, etc.

36.

About ten

depicting Nusch a

portraits of Eluard attest to their

and manv drawings and canvases

friendship. In 1944. Eluard published

book on Picasso containing most of the poems and

373

texts

devoted to

him. In 1947'

mam

la cleffragile

wrote

a

long prose

du probleme de

fragile key to the

la realite

poem entitled L'homme qui tenait en man who held in his hand the

(The

problem of reality).

37. In his last booklet, Le phenix of I952> illustrated by the beautiful

engravings of Valentine Hugo, the dedication written in his careful

handwriting and initialed with the crossed swords of his odd signature, was a cryptic and friendly reproach: "To Brassai, closer to him than he thinks. Paul Eluard." This was his weeks

last

message.

He

died

a

few

later.

38.

Upon

Nusch's death, Eluard offered

this

painting to the Musee

de I'Art Moderne. 39. Eluard never saw "automatic writing" as an end in itself, but as way to enrich and add suppleness to his poetry. For him, it was only a catalyst. His inimitable voice, already formed before the surrealist experiment, emerged from it all the more authentic. The friendship between Eluard and Breton, their names placed side by side on many texts for several decades, seems to attest they were of the same persuasion in all matters. Their profound differences revealed themselves only later, when Breton acknowledged that "Eluard participated in joint activities not without reluctance." He criticized him — and this was a major heresy — for attaching himself to "aesthetic" poetry in the traditional sense of the word. And, as the proof and open confession of that heresy, Breton cited the blurb for Les dessous d'une vie (The underside of a life, 1926), in which, even at that time, Eluard contrasted poetry to dreams and automatic writing, an attitude Breton judged "ultrareactionary and in formal contradiction with the surrealist spirit." "The telling of a dream cannot be taken for a poem, " wrote Eluard. "Both are living realities; but the first is a memory, immediately worn out, transformed, an adventure; and from the second nothing is lost, nothing changes. The poem heightens the universe for the sole benea

fit

of

human

faculties, allows

man

to see different things in a different

way." But Eluard always very loyally recognized his debt to surrealism

and especially to Breton, who, he claimed, had been and remained the " one who "had most taught him to think.

November 1946, after his long stay in Antibes, permanently adopted that Gandhi outfit for his morning receptions on rue des Grands-Augustins. 41. In 195O' when Picasso was named "honorary citizen" of Vallauris, he gave the city of potters a bronze replica of his Man with Sheep, which was erected on the church square. 40.

It

was only in

that Picasso

42. Picasso's surliness about the

artiste peintre

lence only ten years later, in the I953~54 Verve.

ers,

Among

among

all

all

came out

in

of Drawings,

all its

vio-

published in

mannered, academic paintand bald "masters" adorned with ribbons and

the bearded, high society,

the fat

Series

374

decorations, grappling with the dazzling bodies of the "most beautiful

models," the apes on the quays of the Seine reappeared: one of these apes, palette in hand, was painting a

young nude, dressed only

in a hat

and necklace.

The person

43.

The

44for

many

years

at

Jean Rivier

Raymond

at

the Theatre Marigny, was

and toured the world. Subsequently,

other photographic

Cocteau

at

Le

Theperformed

Rendez-vous ballet, with Picasso's curtain, revived at the

Champs-Elysees, then

atre des

Dora Maar. Since the lunch from a nervous depression.

in question was

Catalan, she had been suffering

sets:

the Paris Opera; D'amour at

I

executed three

the ballet Phedre by Georges Auric

the Theatre des

et

d'eaufraiche

Champs

Elysees;

Q^ueneau, En passant, performed

at

and Jean

by Elsa Triolet and

and

a

one-act play by

the Theatre Agnes- Capri.

A

few days later, Picasso waved these bills at me: "Look, I re45. valued them." He had carved a little wood plate and had printed the

engraving on the twelve bank notes, "revaluing" them beyond their price.

Twenty years returned the

later, in

bills to her.

1962,

I

asked Katherine Dudley

if

Picasso

had

"Never," she said, laughing. "Can you imag-

time I run into him, he apologizes, throws his hands in the and tells me: Yes, Katherine, I revalued your bank notes, and I need to give them back to you.' But he'll never do it, never." 46. Four days later, on 6 August, the atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. On 15 August, Japan surrendered. ine! Every air,

47-

A few days later,

Marcel Carne, Jacques Prevert, the

set

de-

Kosma, and I met at "Les Vieilles" on rue Dauphine, to discuss Doors of the Night. Carne wanted the sets to recreate the atmosphere of my Paris by Night. Marlene Dietrich was supposed to come with Cabin, but only the actor joined us. Kosma opened his briefcase and pulled out a few sheets of music. He sat at the out-of-tune piano. Prevert told Cabin: "Here's a song you'll be singing with Marlene in the film. Kosma began the tune and, hunched over the notes. Cabin, signer Trauner, Joseph

"

in an unsteady voice, started to croon:

Les feuilles mortes Et

le

dans

vent du nord la

ramassent a

emporte

la

pelle

nuit froide de I'oubli.

The dead

And

se les

up wind sweeps them away

leaves are raked

the north

Into the frigid night of oblivion.

We

were witnessing the birth of

Feuilles mortes,

the great postwar love

song that circled the globe. In the end, Marlene Dietrich, paying no attention to the song even though it was written for her, turned down the role on the pretext that the film presented France in too bad a

375

light.

And Jean Gabin

Nattier and a

did the same. They were replaced by Nathalie young singer discovered by Edith Piaf: Yves Montand,

As for the role of Destiny, it was given to an actor who was beginning to make a name for himself: Jean Vilar. 48. That important remark by Picasso takes us back half a century to the great turning point in our art. As soon as one refers to something we know, it is a matter of indifference whether the eye is represented

as a

hole or as a bulge, indicated by a jacket button, a black

pebble, or a piece of coal. Placed within an oval, this sign will always as an eye. D.-H. Kahnweiler notes that on Wobe masks and Picasso owned one — in the place of the eyes were two long cylin-

be identified ders.

"Of course,

Picasso did not imitate

but the lesson he drew from tal

it

Wobe

art," says

encouraged him

to

Kahnweiler,

bring about

upheaval in the plastic arts of the West and to give up

Wobe masks

a to-

imita-

all

all its pu1912— 14 are striking evidence of this new state of mind. Their kinship with Wobe masks is beyond doubt. Consider, for example, the hole in the guitar represented by a cylinder of sheet metal or a plasteline cone; that solution, which leads us

tion. rity.

.

.

.

.

.

.

to read a

attested that this was a "sign" in

Picasso's reliefs of

protrusion

as a

depression,

lindrical eyes of Wobe masks.

this

same

strictly

analogous to the cy-

At other times and conversely,

pression signifies a protrusion. It is

is

a

de-

(Picasso's Sculptures)

characteristic of the

that struck Picasso in the graffiti

masks.

49. Later on, thinking of his

many

families, Picasso

bought

several

apartments on rue Gay-Lussac, not far from the Luxembourg Gardens.

One

casso's

of these apartments was occupied by Fran^oise Gilot, Pi-

two children Claude and Paloma, and Francoise

other by Ines's family. Fairly often, Ines's son,

who

is

s

husband; an-

now

eighteen

years old, spends his vacation with Picasso in the Midi, in the

pany of

Picasso's children,

who

are about the

same

com-

age.

50. [In English in the original. — trans.] 51. This death, so sudden and unexpected, plunged Eluard into

a

hope in the world, in poetry itself. The great poet of love, happiness, and joie de vivre fell silent. His friends — including Picasso and Dora Maar deep sadness. In losing Nusch, he also

who did

everything to alleviate his pain, were powerless witnesses to his

despair, which his life upside

Nous ne

made him a wreck. Only later, the down resonated in his poetry like a

vieillirons pas

ensemble

jour en trop: le temps deborde

Voici

lost his faith in life, his

le

376

event that turned sob, a ciy of revolt:

mon amour le

poids d

leger

si

un

prend

supplice

es morte et ce mot a tout detruit pour moi Regne ma vie vegetale le neant accroit L'hiver sombre et la neige ancienne des tombeaux

Tu

Aurore en moi Dix-sept annees toujours claires Et

la

mort entre en moi comme dans un moulin.

We

will not grow old together and now day is too much for me: time overflows

my

love so light takes

on

the weight of a torment

You

are

dead and

My vegetable The

life

this

word has destroyed everything

for

me

reigns nothingness grows

dreary winter sinks and the old snow of graves

Daybreak in me Seventeen years always bright And death enters me as it would

a mill.

52. Painted in ig^^, Aubade belongs to the 53. In the end,

I

lost forever.

Two

Musee d'Art Moderne.

was never able to photograph them.

I

fear they are

:

Kootz returned to Paris with a whole batch of abstract canvases, a selection from his stock pen. They were supposed to appear in the "Realites nouvelles" exhibition. But the jury of this group decided otherwise. All Kootz's canvases failed to pass muster be54-

years later,

cause they were insufficiently abstract.

was only ten years

It

later,

during

a stay in

the United States, that

learned the dark side of the expedition to Paris. art business

both

from

textiles?

He had come

the fabric business. But are not fabric

I

to the

and canvas

Before opening his galleiy on Fifty-seventh Street,

Kootz had other in painting only

galleries, but during a slack period, since the boom began in about I950- At the time he got the idea for

the Picasso exhibition, despite the painter's "overproduction," there

was a scarcity of his canvases on the American market, which had not

had

a fresh

supply of Picassos for seven years. Kootz

left

nothing to

chance: thanks to the book by Sidney Janis, he was able to contact

few major collectors and

a

reproduced in the book. Seeing his "promises to sell guaranteed, a rich Chinese shipowner lent a sympathetic ear to his plan. They were supposed to divide the profits fifty-fifty. In that way, the nine Picasso canvases had alsell

in advance certain paintings "

377

ready been sold

To be allowed

before

Kootz's trip and the opening of the exhibition.

into Picasso's

home, the

art dealer

contacted several per-

sons boasting they were the painter's close friends. But on the eve of

They did not know him. That was when Kootz asked Carl Holty to write me note. Out of discretion, my friend turned him down and gave into

his departure, disaster struck: everyone got cold feet.

even

a

his

La Guardia Airport. Kootz did not manage to get Louis Armstrong for his famous opening. It was at the opening night of another exhibition that he booked Peter Johnson, the boogie-woogie jazz star. 55- "Larry" is the nickname of Lawrence Durrell, who lives near Nimes. 56. Yesterday in an evening paper, I read the words of Brigitte Bardot, and I am struck by how similar the complaints about celebrity sound. "It's worse than ever. True madness. I have a convertible and I can't take the top down. A terrace, a garden where everyone is shootpleas only at the very last minute, at

ing with telescopes, with telephoto lenses.

I

ery night, have to choose a desert island for sert

is

no fun. There

are times

when

I

want

have to lock myself in ev-

my vacation. But to

run

to a plastic

the de-

surgeon

and have him change my face." 57- Among the faces composed of two or three holes are, in particular, the Standing Bather of 1929, and several of his robot women from 1930. Picasso later returned to that form of representation in a large

number

of his sculptures.

58. Every time Picasso loses a friend, the whole world waits for "what he thinks." Thus he was literally besieged at Braque's death and

had

to flee his

home when Cocteau

died.

378

/ Photographs

1

Picasso in his studio

on rue La

Behind him, Le Doua-

Boetie.

nier Rousseau's Yadwigha (1932). 2

Picasso's studio, rue

3

The mantel

21

La Boetie, with

a

painting by Le Doua-

22-3

nier Rousseau (1932). in his studio with stacks of

empty

cigarette boxes,

repainted vase, and a 1931 sculpture (1932). His "palette" on rue La Boetie, after a night of work (1932). Picasso's apartment on rue La Boetie. On the mantel are the a

4 5

"Christmas tree" and the

first

sculpture by Picasso,

24 25

from 1899 26

(1932).

6

Picasso's sculpture studio in Boisgeloup, at night (1932).

7

The thirteenth-century

8

The

27

chapel and the portrait of Boisgeloup

28

(1932). castle

of Boisgeloup illuminated by the headlights of the

Hispano-Suiza (1932).

29

9

Picasso's sculpture studio in Boisgeloup (1932).

30

10

Miro in Park

11

Salvador Dali and Gala in their Paris studio (1932).

45 45 4^

Giiell in

Barcelona (1955).

turn-of-the-century metro station (1933).

12

Element of

13

Saint-Germain-des-Pres church and Les Deux-Magots, photographed

a

at

night during the blackout (1939).

14

Picasso at the Brasserie Lipp with Pierre Matisse (1939).

77 7^

15

Picasso at the Cafe de Flore. At the next table,

79

16

Jaime Sabartes. Picasso in his studio on rue des Grands-Augustins (photo published in Life on the occasion of the major Picasso exhibition in

17

18

New York

signed for 19

at

the

one of

Museum

of

Modern

Art) (1939).

bronzes (1939)Picasso in front of Women at Their Toilette, a tapestry cartoon dePicasso with

Picasso's

Mme

his

Guttoli.

hand mixing

Not executed (1939).

Dcat/i'i /icaJ

Si

82—3

paints (photo confiscated by the mili-

tary censor) (1939).

20 Bronze

80

(1943).

84 85

21

A dove on the staircase on rue des Grands -Augustins (l2

22

ber 1943). Ambroise Vollard in his mansion on rue Martignac (1933).

23

Die

Octo-

bronze (1943).

i?ea]}er,

86 87

88

24 Jaime Sabartes (22 December 1943). 25 Chair in the vestibule on rue des Grands -Augustins, with a preparatory portrait of Man with Sheep (6 December 1943). 26 Ines, Picasso's housekeeper, shining his shoes (9 April 1944). 27

5eafeJ Caf, plaster

28

mimics the artiste peintre. Jean Marais the model (27 April 1944).

29

Group, studio on rue des Grands Augustins. Left

(1944).

157

158 159 159

Picasso

plays the role of

160-I to right: the

sculptor Fenosa, Jean Marais, Pierre Reverdy, Picasso, Fran9oise Gilot,

30 Group on

Jaime Sabartes, Brassai (27 April 1944).

9oise Gilot, Fenosa,

Cocteau, 31

162

the same day. Left to right: Ortiz de Zarate, Fran-

Brassai'

Jean Marais, Pierre Reverdy,

Picasso,

Jean

(27 April 1944).

Picasso's painting studio, rue des

162

Grands -Augustins,

dog Kazbek (3 May 1944). The "presentation" of canvases (27 April 1944)33 The inventory of Picasso's draw^ings and gouaches

w^ith his

163

164

32

d'Art.

tian Zervos, Marcel, the chauffeur,

34

Sculpture cast from

a

35 36

Sculpture cast from

a

37

38 39

for Cahiers

Left to right: Robert Marion, brother-in-law of Chris-

and Jaime Sabartes.

folded piece of cardboard (1943)-

crumpled newspaper (1943)Cast of Picasso's right hand (1943). Imprint of his right hand cast in plaster (1943). Cast of his right hand making a fist (1943)Woman with Leaves, composed of imprints and of a cast of live

40 Meeting with

Picasso, rue des

190 191

^9^

Grands -Augustins, by the

"actors" of the play Desire Caught

Leiris,

189

189

192

leaves.

right:

164

by the Tail.

Upper

left to

lower

Dr. Lacan, Cecile Eluard, Pierre Reverdy, Louise

Zanie de Campan, Picasso, Valentine Hugo, Simone

de Beauvoir, Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, Michel Leiris,

and Jean Aubier 41

(16

2I7

June 1944).

Paul Eluard in his apartment in La Chapelle, rue Marx-

Dormoy

2l8

(1944).

42 The entrance

to the Bateau-Lavoir, place

merly rue Ravignan (25 November 1944).

43 Sculpture cast from a cake mold (1943)44 Sculpture cast from a box lid (l943)' 45 Paris graffiti (1933).

3S0

Emile-Godeau, for233 ^34 234 299

46 Marina de Berg and Roland vous,

Petit in the third set

ballet by Jacques Prevert,

Mayo, photographic

sets

by Brassai. Stage curtain by Picasso.

47

"Dora Maar's dog," paper silhouette torn with burned out the eyes with a cigarette (1943)-

48

Little figures cut

49 Mannequin

of Rendez-

music by Kosma, costumes by

30I

out of paper (1943)-

statue dressed by Picasso as

30I an

artiste peintre.

The

pal-

ette is made of glass (13 December 1946). 50 Drawing by Henri Matisse, done blindfolded with a hammer and a piece of chalk on the door of his studio on rue des

Plantes (l939)51

52

Matisse and his

his studio

on rue des

Plantes (1939).

302

303 304

Daniel-fienry Kahnweiler in his office in the Louise Leiris gallery (17

53

model in

300

fingers. Picasso

October 1962).

Angel, statue in

305

reinforced concrete by Picasso, erected in the

courtyard of "The Priory" of Saint-Hilaire, belonging to

D.-H. Kahnweiler

(21

October 1962).

381

306

Index

Numbers

in italics refer to

photographs.

abstraction: in America,

and painting from

309— lO; 20, 36,

life,

71, 324—25; sculpture and, and surrealism, 36, 222

African

art, xviii,

14;

Auschwitz, 237 "Automatic Message, The" (Breton), 47 Avenue

Ainauv, Jean, 344 Aix- en -Provence, IIO— 13 Alfonso XIII, 272

ballet,

Alfred (triton newt), 139 Allais, Alphonse, 12

Balzac,

Bacchanak (Picasso),

Angel (Picasso),

202—

350-5l> 53

226

201-2, 230, 288 Armstrong, Louis, 378

mimicking

of,

Beauty and the Beast (Cocteau), 172

atti-

31O, 28,

49,-

of Drawings,

374~75;

statue

285-86, 294. 49

Aubade (Serenade) (Picasso), 285,

307

"Beauty Will Be Convulsive" (Breton), 47

of,

Aubier, Jean, 40

368—

371-72

12

of, xx,

167-69, 177, 28; Picasso's

Series

Georges, 137 Bateau-Lavoir, 269— 70, 42 Baudelaire, Charles, 112— 13.

"Beacons" (Baudelaire), 112— 13,

tude toward, 168, 223, 226;

photograph

Barrault, Jean-Louis, 131

69, 371-72

nouveau, 43—44, 370,

artiste peintre:

149-

Bataille,

Apollinaire, Guillaume, 3- 165,

art

de, 53, 137,

Bastille Day, 311

animal behavior, 266—67 apes, 223,

Honore

Barcelona, 43, 321, 325-26, 343-44. 349. 355. 10

36—37

Andromaque (Racine), 166,

286—87

246-47, 256-57, 329. See

50, 211

(Hogarth), 94

Anatomy (Picasso),

(Doua-

also Rendez-vous

Allied landing, 153-54, 193 Analysis of Beauty

Montsouris Park, The

in

nier Rousseau), 58

32

in

Beauvoir,

Simone

de, 52,

40 Bell,

Marie, 121

Benjamin, Rene, 7^-74 bequests,

358-59

Berard, Christian, 235

202,

Marina

Berg-.

58, 329.

de, 235, ^49'

250—

broomstick, 166, I75~'76

46

140—41

bugle,

Bernard, Emile, 112

BulVs

Bertele, Rene,

bullfighting,

259 Besan9on, Dr., 195—96 Bestiaries

(Apollinaire),

Bird, The

(Picasso),

202

Bistro -Tabac

Blaisot,

(Brassai),

cafe period,

244, ^5^

Cahiers d'Art,

8, 9; first

15—18; portrait

visit to,

of, 7;

sculptures from, 185— 86,

second

visit to,

50-53, 57

90

Camoin, Charles, 109— 13 Campan, Zanie de, 20I, 40 Camus, Albert, 200, 40 Cannes film festival, 315

243

Block, Andre, 257 Boisgeloup: castle of,

xix, 61

326-27, 341

Cadaques, 38 Cafe de Flore, 52-53, 15

69

266-67, 313

birds,

Head (Picasso),

Carne, Marcel, 259

6;

338—42, 354;

Carnies, The

studio of, 9

(Kochno, Berard, and

Sauguet), 247

bombing of Paris, 165 lOO—

carvings, Picasso's, 264,

bones,

castings, Picasso's,

Bonnard, Abel, 295

44 276 cataloguing, 182— 83, 23 Catholic Church, 356-57 castoffs, 173,

Boulevard de Clichy, 269 Boulevard Raspail, I Boussac, Marc, 245 Braque, Georges, 293

celebrity, 319,

Cezanne, Paul, 106-7, IO9-13,

320

Brasserie Lipp, 52, 14

334-35 Chagall, Marc, 2IO

Braun, Eva, 2 19 Brauner, Victor, 237 Breasts of Tiresias, The

378

censorship, 56,

Brassai, Gilberte, 213-14,

Charcot, Jean-Martin, 44

(Apollinaire),

Charnel House (Picasso),

Chicuelo

201

II,

25^

327

Breker, Arno, 371

Chdd'sBram, The (Chirico), 2IO

Breton, Andre: Brassai's collabo-

children's art, IO9, II4— 15

ration with, 47; character of,

Chirico, Giorgio de, 2IO

12; as

magus of surrealism, 368; and Paul Eluard, 374;

"Christmas tree

physical appearance of, II— 12;

circus,

on

Picasso, xvi,

ifesto,

xvi,

36—38;

9, 35- See also

clothing, Picasso's. 196. 214'

His Ele-

Surrealist

373-74

Man-

Clotys. Josette, 2l6

Club du Faubourg, 280

surrealism

Cocteau, Jean, II9, 171-73, 178.

bronze, 61

bronze

statues,

(Picasso), 14,

18-20, 357. 369 Claudel, Paul, 121-22

35—38, 369;

Nadja, 211; "Picasso in

"

37. 5

publications for Minotaure, 47'

ment,"

35'

37, 38, 39^ 43'

363—64

books,

347 185— 86, 34,

58— 60,

148,

276—

203, 30 cold, 118, 139, 142,

17

384

144-45

Dharma, god of tea, 312 246—47, 253-54

238 238 commissions, 35^—57 Concours Lepine, 44- 37^ collaborators, Nazi,

Diaghilev, Serge, 232,

Colle, Pierre,

Diakonova, Elena Dimitrovni

confiscation, 56, ig

(Gala),

38

Didier, Etienne, IO8-9, II4-15

"Conversations with Picasso" (Brassai) 3 2 9-3

Dietrich, Marlene, 259, 375

"Dinner of Heads"

Corot, Jean-Baptiste-Camille, 34 costume, Picasso's, 196, 214'

(Prevert), 143

Discovering Henri Michaux

(Gide), 65

document, 133

373-74 Cote d'Azur, 261, 317

dogs, 123, 267, 276, 322, 328, 47

courage, jG, 89

Dominquez, Oscar, 236—37, 360

Crotti, Jean,

Doors of the Night, The (Prevert), 259,

Crucifixion

257

(Griinewald),

33~34

Cuadro Jlamenco (de Falla),

cubism, holy

247

268— 70

sites of,

curtains, 232, 235,

375-76 Dordogne, 95—96 double

^47

Cuttoli, Marie, 54, 257,

370

207-8

Cyclades,

93—94

"s,"

Doucet, Jacques, 351 drawing, technique of, 66—67 drawings, Brassai's, 55' 178— 81, 244—45; exhibition of, 181,

Dachau, 237 tion with, 44; Brassai's view of,

215, 238, 242-44 Dudley, Katherine, 258, 375 Durio, Paco, 270

41—42; on casting, 97;

Durrell, Lawrence, 3^5' 378

Dali, Salvador: Brassai's collabora-

counter with Gala

fame

of,

sions of,

en-

first

of, xviii,

dust,

38;

39— 4O; obses-

7^8,

42—43;

96-97

Duthuit, Marguerite, 331— 37 Dutilleul, Roger,

arid Picasso,

244-45, 359

39; and paranoia, 37O; physical

appearance

of,

jokes of, 120

;

38,

and

movement, 39— 4I;

11;

The

El Greco, 194-99,

Eluard, Cecile, 40

Visible

Eluard, Nusch, 283-84, 373,

Woman, 211 David (Michelangelo),

374' 376 Eluard, Paul: friendship with Pi-

95

Days oj Man, The (Besan^on),

195-96

casso,

Head (Picasso),

xix, 59-

of,

II,

4^'

poetic technique of, 211— 12;

Dejeuner sur I'herbe

(Manet), 343

Desire Caught by the Tail (Picasso),

politics of, 1

207, 238; role in

Resistance of, 209; and wife's

95,

200-2, 362, 369, 40 Desnos, Robert, xix— xx, 152— 53,

death,

376-77

English painter (M.C.), 226

372-73 bills,

home

influences on, 212;

physical appearance of,

63,

65, 103, 20

devalued

207, 373—74;

209— II;

death's head motif, 371 Death's

3o8 248

ease of painting, 25I'

practical

surrealist

equilibrists, 18,

erotica,

258, 375

385

223

20

eruption of

Mount

Pelee,

Gisors prison, 274' 33^

99

34-35

etchings,

glass plates,

exhibition, Brassai's, 181, 215.

238. eyes, ix,

34—35

Glass ofAbsinthe (Picasso), 15,

99-100

242-44

128— 29 "God-Table-Pitcher" (Raynal), 12

31-32, 273-74. ^95'

Glass of Beer, The (Picasso),

324. 371

Goebbels, Joseph, 219 fakes,

273—74' 3^4 106-7, 109-10, 333, 360

Falla,

Manuel

faces,

de,

Goethe, Johann Wolfang von, lOI,

281-83 Gogh, Vincent van,

239

Family Memories, or the Slave -driving

Angel (Prevert),

105— 6,

Gonzalez, Julio, 17— 18

Goujon, Jean, 47

270, 371 Fascism,

238

graffiti, Brassai's,

fashion sense, Picasso's, 196,

Graffiti

female body, 94—95 Fenosa, 29, 30

fluidity, 251,

(Brassai),

32 1, 323-25

granite, Great

95 Man Alone,

The

(Benjamin),

71-74

375

90

flashlight,

254—55' 273"

74, 296, 325' 45

373-74

Feuilles mortes,

373

39

Golfe-Juan, 262

236

Fargue, Leon-Paul, 13,

x,

Golden Age, The (Dali),

Great Masturbator (Dali), 39 Grimaldi Castle, 262-63

308

Grimauld, Paul, 229 Gris, Juan, 346, 361 eroup 170— 71, I77— '* 11photographs, 01 0

Fontaine des Innocents, 47 Fort^ Years of His Art (Picasso),

4S

Franco, Francisco, 344

'

Frede's,

78, 204, 29.

255 Freud, Sigmund, 40, 4^' 44'

Griinewald, Mathias,

369

Guernica (Picasso), Guitar (Picasso),

Gabin, Jean, 259, 375 Gala (Elena Dimitrovni Diako-

hair,

'

30

33—34

357

173

women's, 135— 3^

Haviland, Frank, 2 71 "high society" period, 4 fiitler, Adolf, 2l6, 219

nova), 38

Gaudi, 43, 369-70 Gauguin, Paul, xviii

Hogarth, William, 94 Hokusai, 311— 14

gems, 257

296 Germany, postwar, 2l6, 219— 20

genitalia,

Holocaust, 237-38

Ghost Baron, The (Cocteau), 172

Holty, Carl, 298, 378

Giacometti, Alberto, 44 Gide, Andre, 65, 203

Hour of Traces, The (Giacometti). 44 Hugnet, Georges, 94

Gilberte, 213-14,

Gilot, Fran^oise, xviii,

261, 263, 29, Girl's Back,

Hugo, Francois, 328 Hugo, Valentine, 202, 40 Human Condition, The (Malraux), 22 Huygue, Rene, 94

320 134— 3^'

30

The (Dali),

39

386

"I

"I

Lautreamont (Isadore Ducasse), Le Catalan, 24, 105 Le chant deVequipage (Mac Orlan),

Have Dreamt So Fiercely of You" (Desnos), 372-73 Have Dreamt So Much of You"

228

(Desnos), 372-73 lies

222 35^—57 Leger, Nadia, 358 Leiris, Louise (Zette), 199— 200, 349, 362-64, 40 Leiris, Michel, 199-200, 349, 362-64, 40 Lee, Francis,

de Lerins, 94, 319

In the Paradise of Phantoms (Peret)

,

Leger, Fernand,

44

Ines (housekeeper), 132, 15^'

277-78, 26

66

inspiration, artistic, insults,

280-81 (Freud),

Interpretation of Dreams

7

40

Isenheim altarpiece, 33—34

Les demoiselles d'Avignon (Picasso)

32, 223, 321, 326, 346, 351,

Jacob, Max, 3, 270 Janis, Sidney, 298,

359 Les Deux-Magots, 51, 13

307— 9,

95—9^ Theo (Van Gogh) x Liberation of Paris, 205, 246 Les Eyzies,

377-78 Jarry, Alfred, 202, 27l,

Letters to

273

Johnson, Peter, 378 Key

fuliette, or the

to

Dreams (Cocteau)

,

lighting, 108,

2—3

L'Intransigeant,

Kahnw^eiler, Daniel-Henry:

Loeb, Pierre,

first

Louvre Museum,

second

visit to,

346—49,

5^'

visit to,

350— 6I;

Picasso's

Luxembourg Gardens,

Kazbek, 122-23, ^41' ^9' 3^ Woman (Picasso), 14, 75

M

7,

25^

Boris, 232,

Kootz, Samuel,

xx,

39

2

Mme M, 194-99 M. C. (English painter), 226

Kneeling

Kochlova, Olga,

288

3, 172,

Lugubrious Game, The (Dali),

Sculp-

376

tures, xvi,

Kochno,

31O-II

linoleum, 347

172

,

Maar, Dora: bust

235

298, 307— 13,

of,

275-76;

nervous breakdown

of,

224—

377-78 Kosma, 232

25, 230-31, 375; and Nusch Eluard's death, 283—84; por-

Krishnamurti, 316

trait of,

333; relation with Pi-

casso, xviii,

Mac Orlan,

La Californie, 317-19, 321-23,

,

40

La Chapelle, 209-IO, 41 "Lajoie de vivre" (Picasso), 263 landscape painting, 221

Magic Skin, The (Balzac), 149

La puissance de r image (Huygue), Las Meninas (Velasquez),

227—29

Mod Love (Breton), 47 Mad King, 211 Madman in Cap (Picasso), 207 Madonna, Spanish, 257

353-54 Lacan, Dr.

5^—52

Pierre,

Malaga, 344, 355-5^ Mallarme, Stephane, 7>

94 343, 355

206

Malraux, Andre, 215-16, 219-2O

Laubreaux, Alain, 203 Laurens, Henri, 351, 356, 362

Man

387

Ray, 211,

328

Man

Medrano memory,

accident

with Sheep (Picasso):

with, 125-26, 137, 167; descrip-

60 execution

tion of, xix,

Metamorphoses (Ovid), 7, 141

of,

;

148—50, 220— 21; photographs of,

Man

metro entrances, 44, ^2 Michaux, Henri: on the

124; preparatory drawings

with Square

and drawing

Head (Picasso), 328

220

Man's Hope (Malraux),

151— 52; an

class,

105— 6; on ill137—38, 142; on Jacques

Manet, Edouard, 343

ness,

Prevert, 143;

210

meeting with Pi-

casso of, 65, 67; in

Manolo (Manuel Ugue):

nasse,

277; resemblance to Brassai

267—68; return to Spain of, 272 sculptures of, 27I; thievery of, 270-71, 354-55

Michelangelo, 95 Miller, fienry, 315-16, 319-2O

;

"Millet's An^e/us" (Dali),

German, 2I9~^0

Minotaur and

Marais, Jean, 166, 169, 176-78,

202-3,

28, 29,

Montpar-

103 Michaux, Marie-Louise, 105

portrait

of,

maquis,

67

Fargue's attack,

Mannequins of the Pink Tower (Chirico),

of,

arts,

68, 121; distraction of, 104;

13^-33' 25

for,

18— 20, 369 148— 50, 292—93

circus, x,

the Sleeping

42 Woman (Pi-

casso), 8

30

7—9'

Minotaure, xvi,

Marcel (chauffeur), 57-58, 183,

H— ^3'

42

Minotauromachia (Picasso), 8

Marchand, Andre, 252

Miro, 362, 369-70, 10 mirror, 165—66

Margaret, Princess, 342

mobilization, general,

Marguerite (Matisse),

Mollet, Baron, 69-70,

33

333

Marion, Robert, 182, 33 marmosets, 267

48—49 229-30,

371

money, 147

match sculptures, 173—74

Montmartre, 227-28, 268-70 Montparnasse, 2—3

materials, art, xvii, xviii, 37' 9^,

Mother and

Masurel, Jean, 359

173,

Mount

368

drawings

;

of,

death

of,

Murdered

333;

230 Musee

66—67, 50; exhibi-

tions of, 124, 293; fakes of,

33I; film on, of,

(Picasso), Jl

99 Munoz, Paquito, 34^

Matisse, fienri: catalog of paintings of, 331

CMd

Pelee,

Leger, 358

Museum

294—96; home

291—93; Picasso's admira-

Vie (Apollinaire)

Poet,

of

Modern

tion for, 198-99. 333, 348; photographic portraits of, 336—

Nadja (Breton). 211

37, 5^' religious feelings of,

Napoleon, 231. 262

337; and

rivalry with Picasso,

294' 332, 334; and hiti,

trip to

48

naturalness, xv, 4

"Negro

Ta-

292-93

Matisse, Marguerite,

Art,

Mussolini, Benito, 219

"

art, xviii,

Nesjar, Carl,

32

350

Nietzsche, Friedrich, 316

331—37

Matisse, Pierre, 14

Night Fishing

388

in

Antibes (Picasso)

.

4S

notebooks, erotic, 223

Picasso, Bernard,

Notre Dame, 221-23, 226 Nude Woman (Picasso), 328

Picasso, Paulo, Picasso (Janis),

222-23

nudes,

342

29O, 338-42, 354 298, 307-9

Picasso by Picasso,

Nuremberg, 2l6

"Picasso in His

Occupation: and collaboration,

Picasso

55

1

Element

xvi, 36—38 Museum, 343—44, 349,

(Breton),

238; deprivation

of, 5^-57' 200, 373; Picasso's role in, xix— XX, 88—89; repression of,

1-2, 56-57' 67, 153,

Ode

203

old masters,

7,

247

Poet's

(Mallarme), 7

Departure (Chirico),

Poiret, Paul,

(Giacometti),

popular

44

fete,

portraits: of

4, ig

94 Dora Maar, 308— 9;

panettone, 3^9

of Jaime Sabartes,

paper sculptures, 287, 313, 377'

Man

247-48

paranoid criticism, Paris by Night

Portraits

40— 4I1 37^

288— 9O; of

Nusch Eluard,

Paroles (Prevert),

Penrose, Roland,

268, 345 Prado Museum, 198

238—39 2IO— II

presentation of canvases, 169— 70-

32

Benjamin, 44 Petain, Philippe, 71-74

Prevert, Jacques: ballet ol, 232,

Peret,

Petiot, Dr., 152,

288-90 practical jokes, I20, 193, 228,

259

Peinado, Joaquin,

235—36; collaboration with 241— 42; film of, 229, 259, 375-76; Michaux on, 143; on Picasso. yo—Jl, jS, Brassai of, 227.

372

Roland, 232, 247, 4^

Pher\omer\on of Ecstasy, The (Dali),

44

photography: Brassai's technique 20, 63-64, 108, 265; Pi-

89, 137; poetry of, 259-6O; and runaway boy, 23 1; The Shep-

casso's views on, 55' ^56.

herdess

179-80

See also Rendez-vous

Picador's

Head

with Broken

casso), xvii

206

and Memories (Sabartes),

Potsdam Conference, 259

(Brassai), xvi

Park Giiell, 43, iO Parmelin, Helene, xv

of,

Ray, 211; of

210, 373; in rare books,

48 Parade (Picasso),

Petit,

2IO

252

Pont-Neuf, 221

188, 193, 373

,

97—98

119-20 Poe, Edgar Allan, 206

paint manufacturer, I16— 17, 156,

palette, 56, llj

xvi,

pockets,

Poesies

Palace, The

,

"Pigeondre" (Fargue), 13

141

Pagava, Etherie,

(Kahnweiler)

place de I'Opera,

252

Osouf, Jean, 268 Ovid,

318

(Parmelin), xv

376

33—34

Oliver, Fernande,

Picasso Plain

Picasso's Sculptures

(Cocteau), II9

to Picasso

355 Picasso Mystery, The,

Nose (Pi-

and

the

primitive man, Priory,

Chimney Sweep, 229-

95—97

The, 350-52, 361, 53

promises, 129 properties, Picasso's,

Royan, 49 rue des Grands -Augustins, 49—

339

292—93

Proust, Marcel,

50, 53. 54. rue La Boetie,

public, 180, 183 Pulcinella,

3h 40

25, 29, xvi,

3—7.

2, 3, 4,

1,

5

247 Sabartes, Jaime: devotion of, 50,

(Mac Orlan), 227 Q^ueneau, Raymond, 373

Quai

des brumes

239-40, 298, 344. 348; and Museum, 343—44, 349,

Picasso

355; portraits 146,

rabbit, skinned,

172—73

127—29, 132,

jokes and, 193, 345; public relations and, 122, 132; Portraits and

Racine, Jean, 166 rare books, 202,

of,

15, 24, 29, 33; practical

206

Memories,

Raynal, Maurice, 2—3, 12,

268—

70

196— 97.

realism, Picasso's, yo—yi, See also abstraction

288— 9

Sagot, Clovis, 19

Sagrada Familia, 43, 325 Saint-Germain-des-Pres,

xviii,

98. ^3

Red Armchair, The (Picasso), 16

Saint-Hilaire, 35O-52, 53 Saint -Jacques Tower, 47

Reeds (Brassai),

Salles,

Reaper, The (Picasso),

23

357

Georges, 357~58

Reichel, Hans, ix

Salon d'Automne, 124 sand panels, 146

64, 108 Rembrandt, 348

sandstone, 95 Sarah Bernhardt Theater. 232,

reflexes, 177.

373

relief, xix,

Rendez-vous (Prevert): 232,

235—

246

320— 21

36, 46; film of, 229, 259,

Sardana,

375—76; performance

Sartre, Jean-Paul, 52.

246—49;

of,

Picasso's evaluation

of, 253; sets for, 240, 248-49; touring of, 375

Renou

et

Golle, 215,

238

reproductions of artworks, 265,

286-87 Resistance, xx, 209, 215— 16, 372

Reverdy, Pierre, 153, 29, 30,

203— 4, 332,

40

Satin supper. The

scapegoats.

203

scepter ofPyrrhus. 166, 175— 7^ and Charity (Picasso),

Science

35^

man, 133 sculpted papers, 279 science of

Sculpto/s Studio (Picasso), 16

sculpture: cubist,

and abstraction,

185-86; definition

Rocquencourt, 35^ Roque, Jacqueline, 318, 353, 354 Rosenberg, Paul, 6, 130 Rousseau, Le Douanier, 20, 31,

and painting,

importance of for,

of.

69:

Picasso's, xvii; 15.

369; stones

95

166-67, 27 Woman (Picasso). 74, 207

Seated Cat (Picasso). Seated

14;

328; from Boisgeloup,

Ribemont-Dessaignes, 236 Rimbaud, Arthur, II7

154-55. h 2

40

(Claudel), 121

Segonzac, Dunoyer de, 243

Serenade (Aubade) (Picasso),

and

Picasso, 35—38, 369; and Robert Desnos, 153; Salva-

285.

307 Series

of Drawings (Picasso),

dor Dali, 39-41

374~75

She-Goat (Picasso), 327

Surrealist Manifesto, 9,

Shepherdess and the Chimney Sweep, The

surrealist objects,

229 92—94

Suspended

(Prevert),

signature, Siren

(Laurens), 351

skeletons,

seau),

la

tapestry, 54,

tauromachy, 327

(Lautreamont)

,

technique, Picasso's painting,

7

(Mac Orlan),

lumiere froide

237. 251, 295 William, 42-43

Tell,

Spanish Madonna, 257

Teriade, E.,

Spanish painters, 238—39

"Terrif^^ing

Spies,

Werner,

,

317-18

Standing Bather (Picasso),

xvi, 3, 7

and Comestible Beauty of Art Nouveau, The"

xvii

The (Picasso), Ij

(Dali),

43-44

thumbtacks, I02

378

"Starry Castle" (Breton), 47

Thursdays, 103—

Stein, Gertrude, 332,

tomato plants, 196

Stein, Leo,

Tomb, The (Bataille), 137

torero's costume,

332

Stieglitz, Alfred, Still Life

336

332

Stein, Michael,

271

with Ghinese Lantern (Picasso),

Treatise

with mirror (Picasso),

313

247

triton newt, 139

trumpet, 14O— 41

251 Still Life

on Colors (Hokusai),

Tricorne,

still lifes

326

Trauner, 236

165

with Oranges

(Matisse),

and Bananas

198-99. 333 264—65, 273

Story of the Eye (Bataille),

265—66

turtledoves, Twilight of the

stones, carved,

Gods (Wagner), 219

Typewriter, The

(Cocteau), 171,

Ubu

Studio, The (Picasso),

Ubu Cuckold (Jarry),

success, 180,

329 367

in

67—68

"Sunflower Night" (Breton), 47 of,

See

Uhde, Wilhelm, 359 Un chien andalou (Dali), 39 Unesco panels, 357~58

surrealism: Brassai's view of, xvi—

13—14; evolution

202 202 Manolo

Chains (Jarry),

Ugue, Manuel.

205

succession, poetic,

203

137

Story of Marie (Brassai),

xvii,

318

370, 18

Tatsuta River, 312 2

228

Stag,

44

(Chagall), 2IO

Tant qu'ilj aura des betes (Brassai),

(Douanier Rous-

285

Songs of Maldoror

Sous

,

292-93

Tahiti,

Skira, Albert, xvi, J, 141

Soirees de Paris,

The (Giacometti)

Table with a Bottle

lOO—

Sleeping Gypsy, The

Ball,

35

37^

9— II;

Unintentional Sculptures (Dali),

excommunications of, lO, 367-68; and Paul Eluard, 374;

Unknown

53. 137, 211

39J

44

Masterpiece, The (Balzac),

Vauvenargues, 339, 354 Velasquez, Diego, 343, 348

Woman

Venus of Lespugue, lOO

Woman

in the

Vert-Galant, 221

Woman

with

Woman

with Glove (Dali), 211

Woman

with

Woman

with Orange (Picasso), 61,

lOO—

vertebra,

Victoria and Albert

Museum, 293

Vilato family,

356 Vinci, Leonardo da, 42 Virgin, the

Visible

Woman, The (Dali), 40-41, 211

8

"Vowels" (Rimbaud), II7

(Mme

Yadwigha 31.

in

135,

289— 90 (Picasso),

53—

II:

aftermath

of,

2l6,

2

213

Zarate, Ortiz de, 124, IJO—Jl,

Walt, 212

188, 30 Zayas, Marius de, xix

376

Front of Mirror (Picasso)

(Douanier Rousseau), 20,

Young Girl Playing with Ball (Picasso),

War and Peace (Picasso), 357 wash drawings (Picasso), 65—66

Woman

335—36

54.

Paul Guil-

103-4

art,

348 266

255

laume), 358 Walter, Marie-Therbse, 16— 17,

Wobe

Hat (Matisse),

at Their Toilette

279-84

Walter, Jeanne

Whitman,

Mirror (Picasso),

Crow (Picasso),

165, 193; literature and, 204. wrought iron sculpture, 17— 18

Wagner, Richard, 219 wall paintings,

an Armchair (Pi-

219—20, 237. 246; armistice of, 245; beginning of, 48—49; end of, 259; events of, I, 153,

76, 270, 22 ,

in

36

World War

Vollard, Ambroise, 48, 57, 75-

Wallace, Mr.,

women, Women

42

Vollard Suite (Picasso)

Nightdress

213-14

Baby Jesus, and Saint Anne, The

(da Vinci),

in

casso),

,

34

Zervos, Christian,

90— 91

BOSTON '^'^^lljllllllljl^

3''||i9 04030 434 5

Boston Public Library Alston Branch Library 300 N. Haivard Street Allston,

MA

02134

The Date Due Card in the pocket indicates the date on or before which this

book should be returned to the

Library. Please do not remove cards from this pocket.

At the same time,

it

would be

mistake

a

to believe these conversations are only

about Picasso. Instead, they

one who comes into

and

treat every-

his life, the artistic

intellectual debates of the time,

and the events of World War

II

from

Andre

midst. Paul Eluard,

those in

its

Breton,

Man

Ray, Jean-Paul Sartre,

Henri Matisse — all of these

and

artists

and more, make appearances

writers,

in these pages.

Brassai relates his encounters with

and other luminary Parisian

Picasso

figures in great detail,

wood

dull

from the

studio floor to the

artist's

smoky

cafes. Conversations with Picasso gives us

an intimate view of one of the most creative milieus of

modern time

as

well as a rare look at the day-to-day

of Picasso,

life

all

from

the original

perspective of the "eye of Paris."

Brassai (born Gyula Halasz, 1899-1984) was

a

photographer, journalist, and author

of photographic monographs and criticism, including Paris de Nuit sity

My

.

literally

The Univer-

of Chicago Press published his Parents in

1997-

J^-^ic

Marie Todd

whose books include

translator

Jean Starobinski and Women's

Letters to

a

is

Largesse

Words by

by

Mona

Ozouf, both ])ublished by the University of Chicai^o Press.

Front cover photograph of Picasso's hand by Brassai.

©

Gilberte Brassai.

Back cover photograph of Brassai and

© I'

H

Lucien I

N

I

I

I)

C'lcrirue.

IN

I

II

I

U.S.A.

i^icasso,

"

"Read

this

book ifjou want

to

understand me.

—PABLO PICASSO

" "Brassa'i's

hook has been

essential to me.

— lOHN RICHARDSON AUTHOR OF A

LIFE

OF PICASSO

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO www. press, uchicago.edu

ISBN

0-226-07148-0

PRESS