Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) - Volume 1 E-Book

Victoria Charles

• Herausgeber: Parkstone International
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 203

Beschreibung

Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) - Volume 1

Leseprobe

Victoria Charles & Anatoli Podoksik

Pablo Picasso

(1881-1973)

Bull, 1947. Ceramic, reddish clay, 37 x 23 x 37 cm. Musée Picasso, Antibes.

Self-Portrait, 1917-1919. Pencil and charcoal on paper, 64.2 x 49.4 cm. Musée Picasso Paris, Paris.

Author: Gerry Souter

Layout:

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© Banco de México Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo Museums Trust. Av. Cinco de Mayo n°2, Col. Centro, Del. Cuauhtémoc 06059, México, D.F.

© Estate of Pablo Picasso, Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

© Man Ray Trust / Adagp, Paris

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or adapted without the permission of the copyright holder, throughout the world. Unless otherwise specified, copyright on the works reproduced lies with the respective photographers, artists, heirs or estates. Despite intensive research, it has not always been possible to establish copyright ownership. Where this is the case, we would appreciate notification.

ISBN: 978-1-78525-705-6

Contents

Beginnings

Blue Period

Rose Period and Primitivism

The Cubist Revolution

Picasso and the Russians

List of Illustrations

Notes

Portrait of the Artist’s Mother, 1896. Pastel on paper, 49.8 x 39 cm. Museu Picasso, Barcelona.

Beginnings

Although, as Picasso himself put it, he “led the life of a painter” from very early childhood, and although he expressed himself through the plastic arts for eighty uninterrupted years, the essence of Picasso’s creative genius differs from that usually associated with the notion of the artiste-peintre. It might be more correct to consider him an artist-poet because his lyricism, his psyche, unfettered by mundane reality, and his gift for the metaphoric transformation of reality are no less inherent in his visual art than they are in the mental imagery of a poet.

According to Pierre Daix, “Picasso always considered himself a poet who was more prone to express himself through drawings, paintings, and sculptures.”[1] Always? That calls for clarification. It certainly applies to the 1930s, when he wrote poetry, and to the 1940s and 1950s, when he turned to writing plays. There is, however, no doubt that from the outset Picasso was always “a painter among poets, a poet among painters”[2]

Picasso had a craving for poetry and attracted poets like a magnet. When they first met, Guillaume Apollinaire was struck by the young Spaniard’s unerring ability “to straddle the lexical barrier” and grasp the fine points of recited poetry. One may say without fear of exaggeration that whilst Picasso’s close friendship with the poets Jacob, Apollinaire, Salmon, Cocteau, Reverdy, and Éluard left an imprint on each of the major periods of his work, it is no less true that his own innovative work had a strong influence on French (and not only French) 20th-century poetry.

José Ruiz Blasco, Pablo Picasso’s father.

Maria Picasso Lopez, Pablo Picasso’s mother.

And this assessment of Picasso’s art, so visual and obvious, yet at times so blinding, opaque, and mysterious, as that of a poet, is dictated by the artist’s own view of his work. Picasso once said: “After all, the arts are all the same; you can write a picture in words just as you can paint sensations in a poem.”[3] He even expressed the following thought: “If I had been born Chinese, I would not be a painter but a writer. I’d write my pictures.”[4]

Picasso, however, was born a Spaniard and, so they say, began to draw before he could speak. As an infant he was instinctively attracted to the artist’s tools. In early childhood he could spend hours in happy concentration drawing spirals with a sense and meaning known only to himself; or, shunning children’s games, he would trace his first pictures in the sand. This early self-expression held out promise of a rare gift.

The first phase of life, preverbal, preconscious, knows neither dates nor facts. It is a dream-like state dominated by the body’s rhythms and external sensations. The rhythms of the heart and lungs, the caresses of warm hands, the rocking of the cradle, the intonation of voices, that is what it consists of. Now the memory awakens, and two black eyes follow the movements of things in space, master desired objects, express emotions.

Sight, that great gift, begins to discern objects, imbues ever-new-shapes, captures ever-broader horizons. Millions of as-yet-meaningless visual images enter the infantile world of internal sight where they strike immanent powers of intuition, ancient voices, and strange caprices of instinct. The shock of purely sensual (visual-plastic) impressions is especially strong in the South, where the raging power of light sometimes blinds, sometimes etches each form with infinite clarity.

And the still-mute, inexperienced perception of a child born in these parts responds to this shock with a certain inexplicable melancholy, an irrational sort of nostalgia for form. Such is the lyricism of the Iberian Mediterranean, a land of naked truths, of a dramatic “search for life for life’s sake”,[5] in the words of Garcia Lorca, one who knew these sensations well. Not a shade of the Romantic here: there is no room for sentimentality amid the sharp, exact contours and there exists only one physical world. “Like all Spanish artists, I am a realist”, Picasso would say later.

Gradually the child acquires words, fragments of speech, building blocks of language. Words are abstractions, creations of consciousness made to reflect the external world and express the internal. Words are the subjects of imagination, which endows them with images, reasons, meanings, and conveys to them a measure of infinity. Words are the instrument of learning and the instrument of poetry. They create the second, purely human reality of mental abstractions.

In time, after having become friends with poets, Picasso would discover that the visual and verbal modes of expression are identical for the creative imagination. It was then that he began to introduce elements of poetic technique into his work: forms with multiple meanings, metaphors of shape and colour, quotations, rhymes, plays on words, paradoxes, and other tropes that allow the mental world to be made visible. Picasso’s visual poetry attained total fulfilment and concrete freedom by the mid-1940s in a series of paintings of nudes, portraits, and interiors executed with ‘singing’ and ‘aromatic’ colours; these qualities are also evident in a multitude of Indian ink drawings traced as if by gusts of wind.

“We are not executors; we live our work.”[6] That is the way in which Picasso expressed how much his work was intertwined with his life; he also used the word ‘diary’ with reference to his work. D.H. Kahnweiler, who knew Picasso for over sixty-five years, wrote: “It is true that I have described his œuvre as ‘fanatically autobiographical’.

That is the same as saying that he depended only on himself, on his Erlebnis. He was always free, owing nothing to anyone but himself.”[7] Jaime Sabartés, who knew Picasso most of his life, also stressed his complete independence from external conditions and situations. Indeed, everything convincingly shows that if Picasso depended on anything at all in his art, it was the constant need to express his inner state with the utmost fullness.

Portrait of the Artist’s Father, 1896. Blue watercolour on paper, 18 x 11.8 cm. Museu Picasso, Barcelona.

The Embrace, 1900. Oil on cardboard, 53 x 56 cm. Pushkin Museum, Moscow.

One may, as Sabartés did, compare Picasso’s œuvre with therapy; one may, as Kahnweiler did, regard Picasso as a Romantic artist. However, it was precisely the need for self-expression through creativity that lent his art that universal quality that is inherent in such human documents as Rousseau’s Confessions, Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, and Rimbaud’s A Season in Hell.

Let it also be noted that Picasso looked upon his art in a somewhat impersonal manner, took pleasure in the thought that the works, which he dated meticulously and helped scholars to catalogue, could serve as material for some future science. He imagined that branch of learning as being a “science of man, which will seek to learn about man in general through the study of the creative man”.[8]

But something akin to a scientific approach to Picasso’s œuvre has long been current in that it has been divided into periods, explained both by creative contacts (so-called influences, often only hypothetical) and reflections of biographical events (in 1980 a book called Picasso: Art as Autobiography[9] appeared).

If Picasso’s work has for us the general significance of universal human experience, this is due to its expressing, with the most exhaustive completeness, man’s internal life and all the laws of its development. Only by approaching his œuvre in this way can we hope to understand its rules, the logic of its evolution, and the transition from one putative period to another.

The works of Picasso published in the present volume cover those early periods which, based on considerations of style (less often subject matter), have been classified as Steinlenian (or Lautrecian), Stained Glass, Blue, Circus, Rose, Classic, ‘African’, proto-Cubist, Cubist (analytic and synthetic)… the definitions could be even more detailed. However, from the viewpoint of the ‘science of man’, these periods correspond to the years 1900-1914, when Picasso was between nineteen and thirty-three, the time which saw the formation and flowering of his unique personality.

There is no question about the absolute significance of this stage in spiritual and psychological growth (as Goethe said, to create something, you must be something); the Hermitage and Pushkin collections’ extraordinarily monolithic and chronological concentration allows us to examine, through the logic of that inner process, those works which belong to possibly the least accessible phase of Picasso’s activity.

By 1900, the date of the earliest painting in the Russian collections, Picasso’s Spanish childhood and years of study belonged to the past. And yet certain cardinal points of his early life should not be ignored.

Málaga must be mentioned, for it was there, on 25 October 1881, that Pablo Ruiz Picasso was born and there that he spent the first ten years of his life. Although he never depicted that town on the Andalusian coast, Málaga was the cradle of his spirit, the land of his childhood, the soil in which many of the themes and images of his mature work are rooted.

He first saw a picture of Hercules in Málaga’s municipal museum, witnessed bullfights on the Plaza de Toros, and at home watched the cooing doves that served as models for his father, a painter of ‘pictures for dining rooms’, as Picasso put it. The young Pablo drew all of this and by the age of eight took up brush and oils to paint a bullfight, Picador.

His father allowed him to draw the feet of the doves in his pictures, for the boy did this well and with real knowledge. He had a favourite pigeon with which he refused to part, and when the time came for him to start school, he carried the bird in a cage to classes. School was a place that demanded obedience; Pablo hated it from the first day and opposed it furiously.

And that was how it would always be: a revolt against everything that felt like school, that encroached upon originality and individual freedom, that dictated general rules, determined norms, imposed outlooks. He would never agree to adapt to his environment, to betray himself or, in psychological terms, to exchange the pleasure principle for reality.

The Ruiz Picasso family never lived an easy life. Financial difficulties forced them to move to La Coruña, where Pablo’s father was offered a position as teacher of drawing and painting in a secondary school. On the one hand, Málaga, with its voluptuous and gentle nature, “the bright star in the sky of Mauritanian Andalusia, the Orient without poison, the Occident without activity” (as Lorca put it); and, on the other, La Coruña on the northern tip of the Iberian peninsula with its stormy Atlantic Ocean, rains, and billowing fog. The two towns are not only the geographical, but also the psychological poles of Spain. For Picasso they were stages in life: Málaga the cradle and La Coruña the port of departure.

When the Ruiz Picasso family moved to La Coruña in 1891 with the ten-year-old Pablo, a somewhat rural atmosphere reigned over the town; artistically speaking, it was far more provincial than Málaga, which had its own artistic milieu to which Picasso’s father belonged. La Coruña did, however, have a School of Fine Arts.

There the young Pablo began his systematic studies of drawing and with prodigious speed completed (by the age of thirteen!) the academic Plaster Cast and Nature Drawing Classes. What strikes one most in his works from this time is not so much the phenomenal accuracy and exactitude of execution (both of which are mandatory for classroom model exercises) as that which the young artist introduced into this frankly boring material: a treatment of light and shade that transformed the plaster torsos, hands, and feet into living images of bodily perfection overflowing with poetic mystery.

Woman Reading, 1900. Oil on cardboard, 56 x 52 cm. Pushkin Museum, Moscow.

Picador, c. 1888-1890. Oil on panel, 24 x 19 cm. Private collection.

He did not, however, limit his drawing to the classroom; he drew at home, all the time, using whatever subject matter came to hand: portraits of the family, genre scenes, romantic subjects, animals. In keeping with the times, he ‘published’ his own journals, La Coruña and Asul y Blanco (Blue and White), writing them by hand and illustrating them with cartoons.

Let us note here that the young Picasso’s spontaneous drawings have a narrative, dramatic quality; for him the image and the word were almost identical. Both of these points are extremely significant to the future development of Picasso’s art.

At home, under his father’s tutelage, the good man was so impressed by his son’s achievements that he gave him his palette, brushes, and paints, and during his last year in La Coruña, Pablo began to paint live models in oils, such as Academic Study. Old Man in Profile and Beggar in a Cap.

These portraits and figures, free of academic slickness, speak not only of the early maturity of the thirteen-year-old painter, but also of the purely Spanish nature of his gift: a preoccupation with human beings, whom he treated with profound seriousness and strict realism, uncovering the monolithic and ‘cubic’ character of these images. They look less like school studies than psychological portraits, less like portraits than universal human characters akin to the biblical personages of Zurbarán and Ribera.

Kahnweiler testifies that in his old age Picasso spoke with greater approval of these early paintings than of those done in Barcelona, where the Ruiz Picasso family moved in the autumn of 1895 and where Pablo immediately enrolled as a student of painting in the School of Fine Arts called La Lonja. But the academic classes of Barcelona had little to offer in the way of developing the talent of the young creator of the La Coruña masterpieces; he could improve his craftsmanship on his own.

However, it seemed at that time that ‘proper schooling’ was the only way of becoming a painter. So as not to upset his father, Picasso spent two more years at La Lonja during which time he could not but fall, albeit temporarily, under the deadening influence of academism, inculcated by the official school along with certain professional skills. “I hate the period of my training in Barcelona”, Picasso confessed to Kahnweiler.[10]

The studio which his father rented for him (when he was only fourteen), and which gave him a certain freedom from both school and the stifling atmosphere of family relations, was a real support for his independence. “A studio for an adolescent who feels his vocation with overwhelming force is almost like a first love: all his illusions meet and crystallise in it”, writes Josép Palau i Fabre.[11] It was here that Picasso summarised the achievements of his school years by executing his first large canvas, First Communion (1896), an interior composition with figures, drapery, and still life, displaying beautiful lighting effects, and Science and Charity (beginning of 1897), a huge canvas with larger-than-life figures, something akin to a real allegory. The latter received honourable mention at the National Exhibition of Fine Arts in Madrid and was later awarded a gold medal at an exhibition in Málaga.

Young Girl with Bare Feet, 1895. Oil on canvas, 75 x 50 cm. Musée Picasso Paris, Paris.

Pierrot and Dancer, 1900. Oil on panel, 38 x 46 cm. Private collection.

If one assesses the early Picasso’s creative biography from the standpoint of a Bildungsroman, then his departure from home for Madrid in the autumn of 1897, supposedly to continue his formal education at the Royal Academy of San Fernando, in fact ushered in the period of post-study years, his years of wandering. Moving from place to place, Picasso began the haphazard travel that is typical of this period and corresponds to the inner uncertainty, the search for self-identity and the urge for independence that denote the forming of personality in a young man.

Pablo Picasso’s years of travel consisted of several phases within a seven-year period, from the ages of sixteen to twenty-three, from his initial departure to Madrid, the country’s artistic capital, in 1897, to his final settling in Paris, artistic capital of the world, in the spring of 1904. As it had during his first visit, on his way to Barcelona in 1895, Madrid to Picasso meant first and foremost the Prado Museum, which he frequented more often than the Royal Academy of San Fernando in order to copy the Old Masters (he was particularly attracted by Velázquez). However, as Sabartés was to note, “Madrid left a minimal imprint on the development of his spirit”.[12] It might be said that the most important events for Picasso in the Spanish capital were the harsh winter of 1897-1898 and the subsequent illness that symbolically marked the end of his ‘academic career’.

In contrast, the time spent at Horta de Ebro, a village in the mountainous area of Catalonia, where he went to convalesce and where he remained for eight long months (until the spring of 1899), was of such significance for Picasso that even decades later he would invariably repeat: “All that I know, I learnt in Palarés’s village.”[13] Together with Manuel Palarés, a friend he had met in Barcelona, who invited him to live in the family home at Horta, Pablo carried his easel and sketchbook over all the mountain paths surrounding the village, which had preserved the harsh quality of a medieval town. With Palarés, Picasso scaled the mountains, spent much of the summer living in a cave, sleeping on beds of lavender, washing in mountain springs, and wandering along cliffs with the risk of plunging into the turbulent river far below. He experienced nature’s power and came to know the eternal values of a simple life with its work and holidays.

Indeed, the months spent at Horta were significant not so much in the sense of artistic production (only a few studies and the sketchbooks have survived) as for their key role in the young Picasso’s creative biography, with its long process of maturing. This basically short biographic period merits a special chapter in Picasso’s Bildungsroman, a chapter portraying scenes of bucolic solitude spent amid pure, powerful, and life-giving nature, reflecting feelings of freedom and fulfilment, offering a view of natural man and of life flowing in harmony with the epic rhythms of the seasons. But, as is always the case in Spain, this chapter also includes the brutal interplay of the forces of temptation, salvation, and death, those ‘backstage players’ in the drama of human existence.

Blue Portrait of Jaime Sabartés, 1901. Oil on canvas, 46 x 38 cm. Museu Picasso, Barcelona.

Self-Portrait “Yo”, 1900.Watercolour, crayon and ink on paper, 9.5 x 8.6 cm.The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Palau i Fabre, who described Picasso’s first stay at Horta, notes: “It seems more than paradoxical, I nearly said providential, that Picasso should have been reborn, so to speak, at that time, when he left Madrid and the copying of the great masters of the past in order to strengthen his links with the primitive forces of the country.”[14]

Another point: the value of the young Picasso’s experience at Horta de Ebro is that it should provide scholars with food for thought, regarding both the question of his Mediterranean sources and Iberian archaism at a crucial moment of his formation in 1906 and his second trip to Horta ten years later (1909), which marked a new stage in his artistic development: Cubism.

After his first stay at Horta de Ebro, a matured and renewed Picasso returned to Barcelona, which he now saw in a new light: as a centre of progressive trends and as a city open to modern ideas. Indeed, Barcelona’s cultural atmosphere was, on the eve of the 20th century, brimming with optimism. Calls for a Catalan regional renaissance, the agitation of anarchists, the latest technological wonders (the automobile, electricity, the phonograph, the cinema), and the novel idea of mass production served as a backdrop for the growing certainty in young minds that the new century would usher in an unparalleled flowering of the arts.

It was therefore not surprising that in Barcelona, attracted to contemporary Europe, and not elsewhere in patriarchal, lethargic Spain, modernism appeared.

The Catalan version of cosmopolitan, artistic fin-de-siècle tendencies combined a broad spectrum of ideological and aesthetic influences, from Scandinavian symbolism to Pre-Raphaelism, from Wagner and Nietzsche to French Impressionism and the style of popular Parisian journals.

Picasso, who was not yet eighteen, had reached the point of his greatest rebelliousness; he repudiated academia’s anaemic aesthetics along with realism’s pedestrian prose and, quite naturally, joined those who called themselves modernists, that is, the non-conformist artists and writers, those whom Sabartés called “the élite of Catalan thought” and who were grouped around the artists’ café Els Quatre Gats.

Much has been said concerning the influence of Barcelona modernism on Picasso’s turn-of-the-century work, regarding which Cirlot notes: “Critics find it very useful to be able to talk about ‘influences’ because it enables them to explain something they do not understand by something they do, often completely erroneously and resulting in utter confusion.”[15]

Indeed, the issue of temporary influences of style (Ramón Casas, Isidro Nonell, Hermenegildo Anglada Camarasa), which tends only to obscure the authentic, natural elements of Picasso’s profound talent, should be eliminated from our consideration. Barcelona modernism served to give the young Picasso an avant-garde education and to liberate his artistic thinking from classroom clichés.

The Absinthe Drinker, 1901. Oil on cardboard, 67.3 x 52 cm. Melville Hall Collection, New York.

Le Moulin de la Galette, 1900. Oil on canvas, 88.2 x 115.5 cm. Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York.

Portrait of Jaime Sabartés (Glass of Beer), 1901. Oil on canvas, 82 x 66 cm. Pushkin Museum, Moscow.

But this avant-garde university was also merely the arena for his coming-to-be. Picasso, who in 1916 compared himself with a tenor who reaches a note higher than the one written in the score,[16] was never the slave of what attracted him; in fact, Picasso invariably begins where influence ends. True, during those Barcelona years Picasso was much taken with the graphic ‘argot’ practised by contemporary Parisian magazines (the style of Forain and Steinlen, who drew for Gil Bias and La Vie Parisienne, among others).

He cultivated the same kind of sharp, trenchant style, which excludes the superfluous and yet, through the interplay of a few lines and dots, manages to give living expression to any character or situation, depicted through ironic eyes. Much later, Picasso was to say that in essence all good portraits are caricatures; during his Barcelona years he drew a wealth of caricature portraits of his avant-garde friends, as if caught up in a frenzy of graphic inspiration.

He seems to have been trying to conquer his model, to subject it to his artistic will, to force it into the confines of a graphic formula. It is also true, however, that the literary, narrative quality of the boy Pablo’s handwritten and illustrated La Coruña journals find their way into this new, modernistic form.

During 1899 and 1900 the only subjects Picasso deemed worthy of painting were those which reflected the ‘final truth’: the transience of human life and the inevitability of death, seen in The Kiss of Death. Bidding the deceased farewell, a vigil by the coffin, a cripple’s agony on a hospital bed, a scene in a death room or near a dying woman’s bed, including repentance of a ne’er-do-well husband, a long-haired poet steeped in sorrow, a lover on bended knee, or a grief-stricken young monk.

All these were versions of that same theme (the Museo Picasso in Barcelona has no less than twenty-five such graphic works and five painted sketches). Finally he executed a large composition called The Last Moments