The disintoxication

Picabia:

Our ideal is 'the disintoxication'. We want to become an antidote for all the Immunised from our fallen art. We tend towards the White considered as a psychic entity or, in order to concretise this tendency thanks to innumerable rapports of colour and music, we tend toward the 'la' pure = 435 vibrations.

'Well-known occultist' Vivian du Mas:

I recognise in the paintings of Picabia the translation in aesthetic language of a part of that other world. I can vow that the representation of it is exact. I affirm that these paintings are not a simple fantasy, but a representation of the astral world.

Gertrude Stein:

Picabia has conceived and is struggling with the problem that a line should have the vibration of a musical sound and that this vibration should be the result of conceiving the human form and the human face in so tenuous a fashion that it would induce such vibration in the line forming it. It is his way of achieving the disembodied...

All his life Picabia has struggled to dominate and achieve this conception.

Should I be worried that this all makes complete sense to me?

And, speaking of being worried, I'm becoming increasingly concerned at this incursion of the neighbours' into my studio, which is growing at an alarming rate:

I might have to do something about it. I assume that, if anyone saw me trying to get round the back of the neighbours' place with a knife in my hand, they'd realise there's a reasonable explanation.

In other news, on Saturday, a couple of friends and I went to see Steve Ignorant and his Crass tribute band. It was excellent. On the way out, I heard one old punk say to another 'He's wearing glasses. You can't hit him.'

I looked around and, sure enough, there wasn't anyone else wearing glasses evident. When I related this, Rose's daughter Wendy helpfully pointed out:

Well, you do have one of those faces that people just want to hit.

Good painting

Good painting is not what sells ... good painting does not exist; what exists is the man who has something to say and who uses the medium of painting ... to externalise his personality...

The personality which springs from a system can no more interest us than that of a maniac who could only write with orange ink...

Ah! Certainly I prefer the cubism of Picasso and Braque in 1913 ... the pity is that many people do not yet see how much creative spirit there was in the cubism of these two men; they often confound them with the group of idiots cast in their wake...

Delacroix, Ingres, Corot, Cezanne, Sisley, Pissarro, Seurat, Gustav Moreau, Picasso, Marcel Duchamp, these are men who have laid bare life, their life: their pictures have real pollen and their names can only be asserted under the nose of those who think that an epoch is great because it lasts a long time and those who participate in it are numerous. Such is the idea of the small school of the beaux-arts-cubists founded by L'Esprit nouveau; they know the why of everything, they have their laws, they know good and evil, they imitate God driving Adam and Eve out of paradise, God not being able to endure sin! Sin, the serpent, that is Dada!

L'Esprit nouveau will only be new when it is dead. At least then it will have evolved!

In several weeks 'the Salon of good painting', the Salon d'Automne, will open. In finishing, may I offer a word of advice to the members of the jury: to refuse pitilessly all that they like and accept only what horrifies them; in this way we might perhaps have an exhibition less stupid and less monotonous and some innovators would run the risk of having the great luck to exhibit in a palace consecrated to the glory of French art and decreed a public utility.

That's Picabia in 1922. I might have to steal 'beaux-arts-cubists' – but change it to 'beaux-arts-conceptualists'. Here's the artist Picabia'd like to see:

A man who would not be influenced by anyone, who would not be preoccupied with modernism or cubism or dadaism; who would not be socialist or communist or the contrary; a man who would simply be himself ... A man who would succeed in communicating to us the desire for a life of openness and full activity ... A man, finally, who would lead us to the new world to discover: the world of love which the mediocre have no desire to enter and which frightens the 'intellectuals' for fear of ridicule.

Jesus Christ invented that manner of life long ago; I would prefer it to the present dilution.

Another footnote

In the second part of [Alfred Jarry's The Supermale], the Supermale dismissed the act of love as a machinelike action which could be repeated indefinitely when fortified with 'perpetual motion food', a compound of alcohol and strychnine. An experiment was arranged to verify his claim, and while 'science' (represented by a doctor) recorded the data of the experiment the Supermale proceeded to surpass the world's record for intercourse.

Complications arose when his partner, a young American girl, fell in love with the indifferent Supermale. To stimulate a reciprocal carnal desire in the Supermale, the girl's father (determined that his daughter should have her man) appealed to an engineer to make a love-inspiring machine.

The machine was hastily constructed and strapped to the Supermale despite warnings by the engineer that it might not do what it was intended to do. 'So much the better, this will be an experience,' interrupted the girl's father, as he pressed the commentator.

In a bizarre turn of events, the love-inspiring machine fell in love with the Supermale, overheated, short-circuited, and killed him.

Tee hee

On appearances alone the probability of sexual content [in French impetuosity] cannot be overlooked as the phallic shape thrusts into an opening defined by the looping lines and concentric bands. The title causes some pause by attributing impetuosity to the female, but that may have been Picabia's intent. In fact, the male part can be seen, not as the aggressive element, but as a dumb, defenceless form drawn into a trap bristling with aggressive objects.

Whatever Picabia's intent with French impetuosity, this watercolour does appear to be charged with sexual content which had become a major ingredient of his work since early 1913. Then and later those themes revealed a man who sometimes viewed himself as a passive victim of sex, but was more often burdened with an insatible desire for woman as mother, muse, and mistress.

Yet his paintings rarely operated as indulgent autobiographical documents; the conditions of his personal life were transformed into abstract compositions suggestive of more universal longings, frustration, and despair.

Now, if you can be arsed, go and read the quote in this post, except where it says 'lyric poetry' read 'Picabia's abstract paintings of 1913–14'. (It is also worth noting in this context that Apollinaire made 'an intriguing, unexplained reference' to Picabia's 'painted poems' in his article 'Simultanisme-Libbrettisme' in June 1914.)

It is always nice to have one of one's mad theories confirmed. It makes up for when others get destroyed.

And, incidentally, this transformation of the quotidian into the universal is a major connection between Picabia and Piero – that and certain stylistic affinities.

And again

More hijinks

One evening around July [1912], after numerous cocktails with Claude Debussy at the Bar de la Paix, Picabia proposed to Apollinaire that they drive to Boulogne and take the boat to England, where Gabrielle was vacationing. The poet immediately agreed, noting that they should have no trouble since he spoke English. The next morning they arrived, famished owing to the inability of English waiters to understand Apollinaire's particular dialect, which he described as 'ancient Irish'. [Picabia wrote later: 'That trip is still one of my best memories. I never had such a gay, witty, and enterprising companion as Apollinaire.']

After an amusing adventure or two in English nightclubs, Apollinaire and the Picabias returned to France, pausing for dinner in Boulogne where Gabrielle recalls a serious discussion about 'pure painting'. In her memory, Apollinaire recoiled from the prospect of totally abstract art, calling it 'an inhuman art, unintelligible to the sentiment which risks remaining purely decorative'. 'Are blue and red unintelligible?' responded Picabia; 'Are not the circle and the triangle, volumes and colours, as intelligible as this table?'

Gabrielle also wrote:

I think I should point out that it was as a result of this trip, and despite these apparent misunderstandings, that Apollinaire modified some of his points of view and added to his "meditations esthetiques", which had not yet been published in book form, several corrections regarding the history and evolution of the new painting ... In Picabia he had discovered an aspect of that evolution which he found rather disquieting, but the strength and impetus of which he could not deny.

Here's another quote from Gabrielle, about visiting Barcelona on her honeymoon:

We had brought some of those pastilles that make you lose all sensation of scale and distance. Francis wanted to play a joke on [his young cousin] Manolo, but with such unfortunate results that the poor boy mistook a window for a door and nearly broke his leg.

A footnote

During the early twentieth century, smoking clubs were not uncommon for the 'social' use of opium among well-to-do Parisians, and both Picabia and Apollinaire participated in them (conversations with Mme. Buffet-Picabia, October 1962). That practice was apparently more important for Picabia and continued by him until ca. 1918–19.

Efforts by this author to detect an influence of the drug in Picabia's art have failed to isolate any demonstrable feature in either the conception or execution of his paintings.

The effect of opium on artistic creation is largely unexplored.

Quote of the day

Gabrielle Buffet has recalled that, when she first met Picabia [in September 1908], he was bored with his past work; small drawings of monstrous figures and abstract designs* flowed from his pen, and he talked animatedly about liberating art, about producing 'painting situated within pure imagination which recreates the world of forms according to one's desire and imagination'.

Though initially astonished by Picabia's application of that idea to painting, her study with Vincent d'Indy had already exposed her to similar theories in music. That fostered a stimulating intellectual rapport between Gabrielle and Francis which flourished alongside a headlong romance.**

As his personal and artistic aims became focused, Picabia took dramatic action to cast off the past and start off anew. In the course of a few months he broke with the Galerie Haussmann, auctioned off all his older paintings, jilted a mistress of long standing, and married Gabrielle Buffet.

*

**

Spurious

Some pics

Our friends Liz and Andy went on trip to look at the good paintings last year. Well, some of them at least. It couldn't be all the good paintings. Obviously.

But I digress.

Andy's gloatingly sent me some photos:








These are just the Picabia ones of course. There are about 700-odd others.

And a bonus, just for laughs

The readings

...assuming you can read them – and work out where the first one begins and finishes.

Another flagrant rip-off

Picabia's response to being outed for ripping off an engineering drawing continues:

Copying apples, anyone can understand that; copying turbines: that's stupid. In my opinion, what is even stupider is that The hot eyes, which was inadmissable yesterday, now becomes, through the fact that it represents a convention, a painting that is perfectly intelligible to everyone.

The painter makes a choice, then imitates his choice, whose deformation constitutes Art; why not simply sign this choice instead of monkeying about in front of it?

Oh yeah

Here is Picabia's The hot eyes (on the right):

The inscriptions are 'Homage to Franz Jourdain' (one of the founders and the first president of the Salon d'Automne), 'Acknowledgements to the Salon d'Automne', and 'Out of onion comes strength'.

I do like that hand.

Not only did this picture make headlines because of its plagiarism of an engineering drawing but it also prompted Franz Jourdain to issue a press release reassuring the public that there was not, in fact, an explosive device behind it that was timed to go off during the opening, as was rumoured.

Picabia painted over this picture, with the appropriately named Fig leaf:

Interestingly, he didn't overpaint it with white first and then do the figure, but rather did it the other way around – the figure first, straight on top of The hot eyes, and then the background.

Here endeth the lesson.

The hot eyes

This picture came from a Picabia quote:

Le Matin took great pride in showing on their front page my painting from the Salon d'Automne, The hot eyes, printing a diagram below it of an air-turbine brake published in a scientific journal from 1920. 'So Picabia invents nothing; he copies!' I'm afraid so, he copies an engineering drawing instead of copying apples!

But wait, there's more!

Paris, 5 May 1924

My dear friend [Picabia],

I am leaving Paris for a few days, but could not help but tell you right here and now what a surprise it was for me to hear of 391's reappearance and how I perceive the terms of your communication to the papers.

I have no idea whatsoever of distracting you, or advising you; you know what reservations I have on your recent activities, on the very meaning of this activity (Montparnasse, the Ballets Suedois, a rather boring novel, Paris-Journal, etc). I would abstain from expressing myself so clearly on this subject, in view of the profound respect and affection that I shall hold for you despite everything, if this morning's Journal du Peuple had not inflicted your latest little ranking on me. I see no point in telling you that I decline your cordial invitation with all my heart, as I shall urge all my friends to do. May the old posturings of Satie, you have thus found Huelsenbeck, bravo Rigaut, etc, compensate you for our refusal.

Your friend:

ANDRE BRETON

Picabia published this letter in the next issue of 391, and included his reply directly underneath it:

When I smoke cigarettes, I'm not in the habit of keeping the butts.

Quote of the day

21 May 1919

My dear Tzara,

I'm sorry you're not coming to Paris yet. Your presence would do me good because you are really not like all these men who turn art and intelligence into a profession, all these individuals who work at being great men and nothing more. My only aim, though, is foolish tenacity. Luckily I have my friend Ribemont-Dessaignes; he's working a lot right now and what he does is really what I like best. His works have an incomparable quality, ripples of himself and riches in the sun...

I'd be so happy if you could come. Please have my paintings sent to me.

I'm no longer working.

My best wishes, your friend,

Francis Picabia

My best regards to Arp.
We may have a beautiful gallery in Paris; he must send me his works.
Janco too.
The will brings life down on its knees; nine months later feigned euphoria crosses trivial thinking. F.P.
Matisse's exhibition. Very bad.
Negro exhibition. Good.
P. Guillaume has a review. Stupid.
SEND DADA.

Compare and contrast with this exchange between Tzara and Breton:

[Letter from Tzara to the surrealist group, 20 December 1932]

I ask that this be communicated to all the surrealists:

1. It is unacceptable that I should be asked to come and defend myself against a very grave accusation, and that, even before the meeting takes place, I should be insulted over the phone.
2. I believe I've acted with complete good faith toward the surrealists and that preventing me from explaining myself in this manner is a low, disgraceful act.
3. I hold all those who pass judgement on me without knowing the material and psychological conditions behind the act of which I'm accused to be rotten individuals.
4. Should any of you require the necessary explanations, I am at your disposal.

[Letter from Breton to Tzara, 21 December 1932]

1. It is indeed regrettable that, despite my intentions, I lost my temper over the phone and insulted you: I will try to publicly explain which remarks led me to lose my composure on that occasion.
2. It was never my intention to prevent you from explaining yourself – quite the contrary.
3. I am waiting to be told about the material and psychological conditions of which you spoke so that I can form a definitive opinion.
4. We ask you to come by tomorrow Wednesday at 6 o'clock sharp avenue Malakoff.

Okay, that's a little unfair, but fucking hell.

The avant-garde

Two schools: Sainte-Vierge by Ingres in 1841 and by Picabia in 1920.

Picabia

The best anecdote in Dada in Paris is in a footnote.

Francis Picabia would ring up his friends, put on a fake voice, and tell them something like 'The game is up – your wife knows everything.' He'd then go visit them to observe their agitation.

What a cunt.

Rainy day viewing

A friend of mine sent me a link to some lectures that accompanied the Duchamp, Man Ray, Picabia show at Tate Modern.

I'm going to concentrate on Picabia for the research paper at school this semester. We have to give a seminar where we present three texts related to our research. I'm thinking a couple of texts by Picabia, and this.