Pablo Picasso died on April 8th, 1973, and he took with him an enormous secret. When I initially saw a copy of Picasso’s painting, Mandolin and Guitar in my art history class, I saw a face, and then saw the mandolin and guitar. I was so intrigued that I sought an explanation for this curiosity, yet most of the sources I consulted made no mention of the face I saw. This paper will examine the critics’ and historians’ descriptions of the painting, look at Picasso’s inner circle, and scrutinize the politics of the changing art scene around the time of the painting. Finally, I will offer a new analysis of this painting and the deeper meaning I believe it contains.
Although Picasso maintained close friendships with a number of artists and poets, his relationship with the poet Guillaume Apollinaire was by far the most profound. Picasso and Apollinaire met sometime in 1905, after Picasso’s work was exhibited at Berthe Weill’s gallery. Apollinaire’s first article on Picasso was published in Apollinaire’s one and only issue of La Revue immoraliste, in April of 1905. Jean Mollet, introduced the two at a bar called Austin’s. The artist and poet quickly became friends. Picasso’s studio on rue Ravignan in Montmartre known as Bateau Lavoir was frequented by Apollinaire, Louis Aragon, Cocteau, Breton, Paul Eluard, Max Jacob, Jacques Prevért, and Pierre Reverdy. Picasso found the company of the poets to be more intellectual and stimulating than that of his painter friends.
One well-known caper involving Apollinaire and Picasso occurred in 1911. First, an Iberian statue disappeared from the Louvre, followed shortly afterward by the Mona Lisa. The once-complacent authorities apparently began to inventory and investigate other missing items after noting the absence of Leonardo’s famous painting. The thief of the Mona Lisa, Vincenzo Perrugia, was found and sentenced. But another man named Gery Pieret was responsible for taking the Iberian statue, as well as two others that had disappeared some time earlier. Apollinaire had met Pieret in the stock-exchange region of Paris where they both worked until Pieret was fired. Apollinaire took him in sometime in 1907, allowing Pieret to sleep on a cot in his kitchen. Around this same time Pieret stole two Iberian statues, selling the first to Picasso, and abandoning the second when the artist refused to buy it. Pieret remained friends with the painter and the poet occasionally staying with one or the other. Then in 1911, Pieret stole a third Iberian sculpture and sold it to the Paris-Journal where Apollinaire was employed. The journal published an article about the anonymous thief, and mentioned his previous thefts and sale to an unspecified Parisian artist. Soon afterward police questioned and arrested Apollinaire in connection with the thefts. After being interrogated by the judge, Apollinaire finally named the thief, and stated that a painter friend of his had unwittingly purchased the stolen goods. Interestingly, the paper neglected to mention the name of the painter; however Picasso was ousted eventually. Picasso was terrified when he was summoned by the police, and initially denied any knowledge of the affair. Apollinaire thought he was left to shoulder the burden alone, until he was permitted to question Picasso, who then confirmed Apollinaire’s version of the story. Later, a disgruntled Apollinaire confronted Picasso on his self-preserving behavior requesting they meet “finally to have a real discussion about our personalities and the problems between us, in other words about our friendship. My friendship for you runs deep, which doesn’t mean that it isn’t bleeding in places”. The experience, although painful, provided fodder for future works by both artists and, along with Apollinaire’s forthright conversation furrowed the soil for their relationship to deepen.
In 1914 Apollinaire volunteered in the French army to support the country during World War I. His first assignment was in an artillery division that did not experience active combat. He then volunteered to serve with the infantry at the frontlines. He returned to Paris in 1916 after suffering a head wound. The wound was later trepanned, and subsequent photos show Apollinaire with his head bandaged. Apollinaire and Picasso exchanged many letters, poems and drawings during this time, growing closer in spite of the geographic distance that separated them.
In 1918, a Spanish flu epidemic swept over Europe. Apollinaire weakened by his head wound, and suffering from emphysema was stricken with coughing fits. Apollinaire had contracted the flu; he died at 5 p.m. on November 9th. Picasso was too devastated to even write the notices for the newspaper. Although his best friend had died, Picasso would always carry the memory of Apollinaire with him—hearing his voice, and seeing his face in the world around him.
The birth of the term “Surrealism” has a somewhat cloudy beginning. Apollinaire used the term in a theatre program describing Jean Cocteau’s ballet Parade, as manifesting ‘sur-realisme’. However, he may have gleaned the term from Picasso. One month earlier May 18th, 1917, Jean Cocteau’s ballet Parade premiered at Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris. It was a fusion of dance, acting, music, and sculpture that consisted of one act, and took an entire fifteen minutes. Picasso designed the set and costumes. Composer Eric Satie wrote the music, and the choreography was by Leonid Massine. For his first involvement with theatre, Picasso created costumes reminiscent of Cubism, geometric forms that represented buildings and skyscrapers. Sound effects included rattling bottles, a typewriter, sirens and gunshots – new sounds that formed an unsettling backdrop for this modernist statement. Dancers awkwardly clomped around the stage, reflecting a modernized and de-human era. Later, in 1917 Apollinaire again used the term surrealism, in the subtitle of his two-act play Les Mamelles de Tirésias, a ‘drame sur-réalisme’.
Picasso painted Mandolin and Guitar in the year 1924 while he was staying at La Vigie at Juan-les-Pins along the French Riviera. At 180.9 x 220.8 cm, it is one of the largest canvases he ever did. To say that the painting is multi-faceted would be an understatement as it is layered with complexity. Nancy Spector, curator of the Solomon R. Guggenheim museum in New York where the painting resides refers to the painting’s style as synthetic cubism. Author John Richardson says “This grand coup de théâtre exemplifies a new, more supple and expressive form of late cubism.” By “coup de theater”, Richardson is referring to Eric Satie’s ballet Mercure with scenery and costumes by Picasso, and choreography by Léonid Massine. Carter B. Horsley of The City Review, an online “zine” for Manhattan describes the painting thus: “The raked floor suggests a stage; the space between the table-legs recalls a prompter's box; the wedges of papered wall to left and right double as curtains; the balcony looks as insubstantial as a painted set. And in fact Picasso developed the composition from his set for 'Night,' the introductory scene of Mercure, an avant-garde ballet produced and choreographed by Massine for Count Etienne de Beaumont's Soirees de Paris: the reclining figure of the set has been replaced by a group of still life objects and the stars of the backdrop have migrated to form the pattern on the tablecloth.” John Richardson agrees with critic Elizabeth Cowling’s observation that the painting is a response to Matisse’s remake of De Heem’s Still Live, “La Desserte”. Picasso did not care for his rival’s attempt at cubism.
Andre Breton first met Picasso the night Apollinaire died. The impending death of the poet was about to leave an enormous void in Picasso’s life—one that perhaps Breton hoped to fill. Following Apollinaire’s death, Breton took on the word surrealism. Whether he intended to capitalize on the Apollinaire’s name, or to wrench the term from purely literary clutches was a matter of debate. Breton stated:
“It would be dishonest to dispute our right to employ the word SURREALISM in the very particular sense in which we intend it, for it is clear that before we came along this word amounted to nothing. Thus I shall define it once and for all:
SURREALISM, noun, masc., Pure psychic automatism by which it is intended to express, either verbally or in writing, the true function of thought. Thought dictated in the absence of all control exerted by reason, and outside all aesthetic or moral preoccupations.”
Breton very much wanted Picasso to be involved with the Surrealist movement. However, Picasso never publicly aligned with the Surrealists. Instead he allowed his works to be included in surrealist publications, thus giving the movement cPopulated with complex, often inscrutable forms, The Tilled Field, with its puzzling iconography, is an abstract depiction of the landscape of Miró's Catalan homeland. The painting, teeming with organic forms that merge and meld seemingly in defiance of nature, is a testament to Miró's ever-increasing stylization and abstraction at this point in his career. The picture may be viewed as both an homage to Spain's past and a statement on the political upheaval in Europe. In subtle ways, Miró's works frequently expressed his own political sentiments as does this one as well as works from the period leading up to and throughout World War II. The painting also emphasizes how extremely radical was Miró's departure from his previous, naturalist style once he arrived in Paris and was exposed to the avant-garde art of that city in which innovation thrived.
Pablo Picasso died on April 8th, 1973, and he took with him an enormous secret. When I initially saw a copy of Picasso’s painting, Mandolin and Guitar in my art history class, I saw a face, and then saw the mandolin and guitar. I was so intrigued that I sought an explanation for this curiosity, yet most of the sources I consulted made no mention of the face I saw. This paper will examine the critics’ and historians’ descriptions of the painting, look at Picasso’s inner circle, and scrutinize the politics of the changing art scene around the time of the painting. Finally, I will offer a new analysis of this painting and the deeper meaning I believe it contains.
Although Picasso maintained close friendships with a number of artists and poets, his relationship with the poet Guillaume Apollinaire was by far the most profound. Picasso and Apollinaire met sometime in 1905, after Picasso’s work was exhibited at Berthe Weill’s gallery. Apollinaire’s first article on Picasso was published in Apollinaire’s one and only issue of La Revue immoraliste, in April of 1905. Jean Mollet, introduced the two at a bar called Austin’s. The artist and poet quickly became friends. Picasso’s studio on rue Ravignan in Montmartre known as Bateau Lavoir was frequented by Apollinaire, Louis Aragon, Cocteau, Breton, Paul Eluard, Max Jacob, Jacques Prevért, and Pierre Reverdy. Picasso found the company of the poets to be more intellectual and stimulating than that of his painter friends.
One well-known caper involving Apollinaire and Picasso occurred in 1911. First, an Iberian statue disappeared from the Louvre, followed shortly afterward by the Mona Lisa. The once-complacent authorities apparently began to inventory and investigate other missing items after noting the absence of Leonardo’s famous painting. The thief of the Mona Lisa, Vincenzo Perrugia, was found and sentenced. But another man named Gery Pieret was responsible for taking the Iberian statue, as well as two others that had disappeared some time earlier. Apollinaire had met Pieret in the stock-exchange region of Paris where they both worked until Pieret was fired. Apollinaire took him in sometime in 1907, allowing Pieret to sleep on a cot in his kitchen. Around this same time Pieret stole two Iberian statues, selling the first to Picasso, and abandoning the second when the artist refused to buy it. Pieret remained friends with the painter and the poet occasionally staying with one or the other. Then in 1911, Pieret stole a third Iberian sculpture and sold it to the Paris-Journal where Apollinaire was employed. The journal published an article about the anonymous thief, and mentioned his previous thefts and sale to an unspecified Parisian artist. Soon afterward police questioned and arrested Apollinaire in connection with the thefts. After being interrogated by the judge, Apollinaire finally named the thief, and stated that a painter friend of his had unwittingly purchased the stolen goods. Interestingly, the paper neglected to mention the name of the painter; however Picasso was ousted eventually. Picasso was terrified when he was summoned by the police, and initially denied any knowledge of the affair. Apollinaire thought he was left to shoulder the burden alone, until he was permitted to question Picasso, who then confirmed Apollinaire’s version of the story. Later, a disgruntled Apollinaire confronted Picasso on his self-preserving behavior requesting they meet “finally to have a real discussion about our personalities and the problems between us, in other words about our friendship. My friendship for you runs deep, which doesn’t mean that it isn’t bleeding in places”. The experience, although painful, provided fodder for future works by both artists and, along with Apollinaire’s forthright conversation furrowed the soil for their relationship to deepen.
In 1914 Apollinaire volunteered in the French army to support the country during World War I. His first assignment was in an artillery division that did not experience active combat. He then volunteered to serve with the infantry at the frontlines. He returned to Paris in 1916 after suffering a head wound. The wound was later trepanned, and subsequent photos show Apollinaire with his head bandaged. Apollinaire and Picasso exchanged many letters, poems and drawings during this time, growing closer in spite of the geographic distance that separated them.
In 1918, a Spanish flu epidemic swept over Europe. Apollinaire weakened by his head wound, and suffering from emphysema was stricken with coughing fits. Apollinaire had contracted the flu; he died at 5 p.m. on November 9th. Picasso was too devastated to even write the notices for the newspaper. Although his best friend had died, Picasso would always carry the memory of Apollinaire with him—hearing his voice, and seeing his face in the world around him.
The birth of the term “Surrealism” has a somewhat cloudy beginning. Apollinaire used the term in a theatre program describing Jean Cocteau’s ballet Parade, as manifesting ‘sur-realisme’. However, he may have gleaned the term from Picasso. One month earlier May 18th, 1917, Jean Cocteau’s ballet Parade premiered at Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris. It was a fusion of dance, acting, music, and sculpture that consisted of one act, and took an entire fifteen minutes. Picasso designed the set and costumes. Composer Eric Satie wrote the music, and the choreography was by Leonid Massine. For his first involvement with theatre, Picasso created costumes reminiscent of Cubism, geometric forms that represented buildings and skyscrapers. Sound effects included rattling bottles, a typewriter, sirens and gunshots – new sounds that formed an unsettling backdrop for this modernist statement. Dancers awkwardly clomped around the stage, reflecting a modernized and de-human era. Later, in 1917 Apollinaire again used the term surrealism, in the subtitle of his two-act play Les Mamelles de Tirésias, a ‘drame sur-réalisme’.
Picasso painted Mandolin and Guitar in the year 1924 while he was staying at La Vigie at Juan-les-Pins along the French Riviera. At 180.9 x 220.8 cm, it is one of the largest canvases he ever did. To say that the painting is multi-faceted would be an understatement as it is layered with complexity. Nancy Spector, curator of the Solomon R. Guggenheim museum in New York where the painting resides refers to the painting’s style as synthetic cubism. Author John Richardson says “This grand coup de théâtre exemplifies a new, more supple and expressive form of late cubism.” By “coup de theater”, Richardson is referring to Eric Satie’s ballet Mercure with scenery and costumes by Picasso, and choreography by Léonid Massine. Carter B. Horsley of The City Review, an online “zine” for Manhattan describes the painting thus: “The raked floor suggests a stage; the space between the table-legs recalls a prompter's box; the wedges of papered wall to left and right double as curtains; the balcony looks as insubstantial as a painted set. And in fact Picasso developed the composition from his set for 'Night,' the introductory scene of Mercure, an avant-garde ballet produced and choreographed by Massine for Count Etienne de Beaumont's Soirees de Paris: the reclining figure of the set has been replaced by a group of still life objects and the stars of the backdrop have migrated to form the pattern on the tablecloth.” John Richardson agrees with critic Elizabeth Cowling’s observation that the painting is a response to Matisse’s remake of De Heem’s Still Live, “La Desserte”. Picasso did not care for his rival’s attempt at cubism.
Andre Breton first met Picasso the night Apollinaire died. The impending death of the poet was about to leave an enormous void in Picasso’s life—one that perhaps Breton hoped to fill. Following Apollinaire’s death, Breton took on the word surrealism. Whether he intended to capitalize on the Apollinaire’s name, or to wrench the term from purely literary clutches was a matter of debate. Breton stated:
“It would be dishonest to dispute our right to employ the word SURREALISM in the very particular sense in which we intend it, for it is clear that before we came along this word amounted to nothing. Thus I shall define it once and for all:
SURREALISM, noun, masc., Pure psychic automatism by which it is intended to express, either verbally or in writing, the true function of thought. Thought dictated in the absence of all control exerted by reason, and outside all aesthetic or moral preoccupations.”
Breton very much wanted Picasso to be involved with the Surrealist movement. However, Picasso never publicly aligned with the Surrealists. Instead he allowed his works to be included in surrealist publications, thus giving the movement cPopulated with complex, often inscrutable forms, The Tilled Field, with its puzzling iconography, is an abstract depiction of the landscape of Miró's Catalan homeland. The painting, teeming with organic forms that merge and meld seemingly in defiance of nature, is a testament to Miró's ever-increasing stylization and abstraction at this point in his career. The picture may be viewed as both an homage to Spain's past and a statement on the political upheaval in Europe. In subtle ways, Miró's works frequently expressed his own political sentiments as does this one as well as works from the period leading up to and throughout World War II. The painting also emphasizes how extremely radical was Miró's departure from his previous, naturalist style once he arrived in Paris and was exposed to the avant-garde art of that city in which innovation thrived.
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