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Lot Essay
Souza lived in a modest rent-controlled apartment. I remember that, although it was quite high up, there was very little light, even once one had passed through the corridor which led to his living room; little more in his bedchamber accessed through these now famous glass doors. Modesty dictated that the doors should form a screen; practicality that drawings should cover the glass. The absence of light in the apartment drew attention to these doors - where one might have expected a view Souza had determined that we should see his work. Even the windows, the blinds pulled down, gave space for more drawings. There was no particular order amongst the drawings on the doors, landscapes, nudes heads whatever came to hand; indeed they were changed. Once it was suggested that we should hang this big yellow canvas on one of the doors - I was deputed to hold the canvas up [...]. But it didn't work and the doors survived.
(Julian Hartnoll, F. N. Souza's friend and dealer commenting on the present lot, London, April 2011)
Having left London for good, Souza arrived in New York in late 1967, soon to be followed by his wife, Barbara Zinkant. The young couple, seeking a new life in this city of dreams, find themselves in a hotel in Times Square, living among a group of heroin addicts frequenting "Needle Park" (Bryant Park). The urgency to find a home was dire and Barbara finds an apartment on 67th Street on the Upper West Side, which was to remain Souza's home for the rest of his life. Five small rooms, including a largish living room, were very quickly covered with Souza's paintings, drawings and chemicals. It was this room that featured these doors. In 1971 their son was born. In preparation they renegotiated their living space to accommodate a nursery.
In those days, Souza's chemicals were cheaper than curtains, so Francis gave me a stack of chemicals to choose from to use on the French doors so as to maintain privacy in our new found boudoir.
(In conversation with Barbara Zinkant, May 2011)
Thus began the life of these doors. It became Souza's lifelong installation piece, a storyboard, his one-man show. Barbara's favorite colour being blue, she cherry-picked the chemicals with blue tones to create a curtain between the inside and the outside. The work became a conversation piece with all of their guests. The doors remained clad in this new found identity until the late 1970s. Barbara moved out of this apartment in the mid-70s and life took a different turn for Souza. The doors became like the tant
donns, reminiscent of Marcel Duchamp's last major work representing a wooden door with a pair of peep holes. In time, the chemicals began to be replaced by drawings of people Souza knew, women he met, imagined landscapes and religious icons - a preoccupation from his childhood. The scenery changed as drawings were added, removed and destroyed.
"Break on through to the other side", said our father as he opened the large French doors in his apartment to point out the 'bed room' where we were to sleep. The doors formed an integral part of Souza's New York apartment behind which guests could put-up and where front of, an extraordinary life lived for more than 30 years. My father had sent me a snap of himself in the early seventies posed in front of the doors, wearing the colourful macaroni necklace I had made and posted to him and this occasion was our first introduction to this great object d'art; those French doors. The images in the doors were different then. The panels filled with the 'chemical alterations', a technique he had invented a few years before. Oddly about the same time, an anthology by Souza titled 'Hair on the Door' arrived at our house for our mother. As young teenage girls, growing up in London, we were both thrilled and embarrassed at dad either looking groovy or trying to look groovy with long hair, floral shirt and necklace. But those doors looked fascinating; exciting; thoroughly modern; what a great pad dad!
(In conversation with Francesca Souza, May 2011).
(Julian Hartnoll, F. N. Souza's friend and dealer commenting on the present lot, London, April 2011)
Having left London for good, Souza arrived in New York in late 1967, soon to be followed by his wife, Barbara Zinkant. The young couple, seeking a new life in this city of dreams, find themselves in a hotel in Times Square, living among a group of heroin addicts frequenting "Needle Park" (Bryant Park). The urgency to find a home was dire and Barbara finds an apartment on 67th Street on the Upper West Side, which was to remain Souza's home for the rest of his life. Five small rooms, including a largish living room, were very quickly covered with Souza's paintings, drawings and chemicals. It was this room that featured these doors. In 1971 their son was born. In preparation they renegotiated their living space to accommodate a nursery.
In those days, Souza's chemicals were cheaper than curtains, so Francis gave me a stack of chemicals to choose from to use on the French doors so as to maintain privacy in our new found boudoir.
(In conversation with Barbara Zinkant, May 2011)
Thus began the life of these doors. It became Souza's lifelong installation piece, a storyboard, his one-man show. Barbara's favorite colour being blue, she cherry-picked the chemicals with blue tones to create a curtain between the inside and the outside. The work became a conversation piece with all of their guests. The doors remained clad in this new found identity until the late 1970s. Barbara moved out of this apartment in the mid-70s and life took a different turn for Souza. The doors became like the tant
donns, reminiscent of Marcel Duchamp's last major work representing a wooden door with a pair of peep holes. In time, the chemicals began to be replaced by drawings of people Souza knew, women he met, imagined landscapes and religious icons - a preoccupation from his childhood. The scenery changed as drawings were added, removed and destroyed.
"Break on through to the other side", said our father as he opened the large French doors in his apartment to point out the 'bed room' where we were to sleep. The doors formed an integral part of Souza's New York apartment behind which guests could put-up and where front of, an extraordinary life lived for more than 30 years. My father had sent me a snap of himself in the early seventies posed in front of the doors, wearing the colourful macaroni necklace I had made and posted to him and this occasion was our first introduction to this great object d'art; those French doors. The images in the doors were different then. The panels filled with the 'chemical alterations', a technique he had invented a few years before. Oddly about the same time, an anthology by Souza titled 'Hair on the Door' arrived at our house for our mother. As young teenage girls, growing up in London, we were both thrilled and embarrassed at dad either looking groovy or trying to look groovy with long hair, floral shirt and necklace. But those doors looked fascinating; exciting; thoroughly modern; what a great pad dad!
(In conversation with Francesca Souza, May 2011).