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Lot Essay
‘Picasso is often heard to say that when he paints, all the painters are with him in the studio. Or rather behind him. Watching him. Those of yesterday, and those of today… A painter in solitude is never alone’.
(H. Parmelin, Picasso Says…, trans. C. Trollope, London, 1969, p. 40)
‘Painting is stronger than I am; it makes me do whatever it wants’ (Picasso, quoted in M.L. Bernadac, ‘Picasso 1953-1972: Painting as Model’ in exh. cat., Late Picasso, London, 1988, p. 49). Picasso made this emphatic statement in 1963, at the beginning of a period when painting became not only the primary component of his artistic output, but also the singular theme, subject and preoccupation of his late career. Throughout the 1960s, he entered into battle with some of the most revered artists and masterpieces of the past. He depicted the studio, the artist and the model in countless iterations, honing in on the sacred, secret moment of inspiration and the ensuing artistic creation; he painted himself, shown either in the guise of the swashbuckling musketeer, or, as Le peintre of 1967 shows, as a painter, with paintbrush and palette in hand, a declaration on his lifelong identity as an artist and a powerful assertion of the legacy he wished to leave.
Completed on 25th March 1967, Le peintre combines both the persona of the musketeer and the painter. The profile of a curly haired, moustachioed man with an ornate white ruffled collar dominates the large canvas. He is holding a palette and brush in his hand, leading the viewer to assume that he is standing in front of an unseen easel, engaged in the act of painting. The musketeer had first appeared in Picasso’s work just a few months before he painted Le peintre. After undergoing surgery in the autumn of 1965, the artist endured a long period of convalescence that he spent at his home, Notre-Dame-de-Vie, in Mougins. During this time he immersed himself in the world of literature, as well as the great art of the past. Reading Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, the plays of Shakespeare and the novels of Dickens and Balzac, his mind was filled with visions of a long-gone age and an assortment of heroic male characters.
Picasso also became increasingly interested in Rembrandt at this time. When his wife Jacqueline was later asked where her husband had found the character of the musketeer, she responded simply, ‘They came to Pablo when he’d gone back to studying Rembrandt’ (J. Roque-Picasso, quoted in G. Schiff, exh. cat., Picasso The Last Years, 1963-1973, New York, 1984, p. 31). He increasingly identified with the great Dutch artist, who had, like him, enjoyed a long and prolific career. ‘You and I, old fellow’, Picasso once said of himself and Rembrandt, ‘are the only ones who can paint everything’ (Picasso, quoted in P. Daix, Picasso: Life and Art, New York, 1993, p. 355). At around this time, Picasso projected Rembrandt’s The Night Watch (1642, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam) onto his studio wall, discussing it with Jacqueline and others, and John Richardson, the artist’s biographer and friend, noted Picasso’s interest in monographs of the Dutch artist and volumes of his drawings that he had pored over during his recuperation (J. Richardson, exh. cat., Picasso: Mosqueteros, New York, 2009, p. 19).
All of these influences came together in 1966 when Picasso returned to painting. A new figure materialised onto his canvases: the musketeer. Splendidly dressed, handsome and charismatic, this 17th century cavalier filled Picasso’s work as he painted with a new and impassioned vitality. ‘When things were going well’, Jacqueline recalled, ‘he would come down from the studio saying, “They’re coming! They’re still coming”’ (J. Picasso, quoted in A. Malraux, Picasso’s Mask, trans. J. Guicharnaud, New York, 1994, p. 78). These musketeers served as an emphatic symbol of life, masculinity and above all, virility. Now in his mid-80s, able to travel only locally, and with his vaunted sexual powers on the wane, Picasso transformed himself into the brave, adventurous and virile musketeer, clad in ornate costumes and involved in daring escapades, romantic exploits and heroic deeds.
By the spring of 1967, the figure of the musketeer began to merge with that of the painter, a character who had dominated Picasso’s work of the 1960s. Instead of a lance or sword, Picasso depicted the musketeer brandishing a paintbrush, and often paired this painter-musketeer character with a reclining nude. Armed with a palette and brush – the defining symbol of painterly creation – the musketeer of Le peintre affirms Picasso’s unimpeded creative powers as he defiantly fought the passage of time with his unceasing creativity and prodigious artistic powers. As John Richardson wrote, ‘Picasso, who never quite outgrew his birth-right of black beliefs and superstitions, put his faith in his miracle-working paintbrushes and the death-defying images of carnality that they engendered’ (J. Richardson, Sacred Monsters, Sacred Masters: Beaton, Capote, Dalí, Picasso, Freud, Warhol, and More, London, 2001, p. 238).
Le peintre could also be seen to evoke another artist whom Picasso greatly admired: Vincent van Gogh. Picasso was said to have felt a strong affiliation with the Dutch artist, referring to him, John Richardson states, as his patron saint (Picasso, quoted in J. Richardson, ‘L’Époque Jacqueline’, in Late Picasso, op. cit., p. 32). It is said that he used to project one of Van Gogh’s self-portraits onto his studio walls and, as Hélène Parmelin, a friend of the artist who spent a great deal of time with him towards the end of his life, recalled, ‘Picasso talks about Van Gogh all the time, and thinks about him all the time… For him, Van Gogh is the one painter whose life was exemplary, up to and including his death’ (H. Parmelin, Picasso Says…, trans. C. Trollope, London, 1969, p. 37). Unlike the other artists to whom Picasso looked in his late career – Delacroix, Manet, Velázquez and Rembrandt, amongst others – his artistic dialogue with Van Gogh went beyond the appropriation of compositions or themes, manifesting itself as a deep spiritual identification with the artist. Using the same vigorous, expressive and instinctive brushwork, Picasso, like Van Gogh, painted his own image countless times, creating powerful works that boldly declare, affirm and celebrate his life-long identity as an artist.
(H. Parmelin, Picasso Says…, trans. C. Trollope, London, 1969, p. 40)
‘Painting is stronger than I am; it makes me do whatever it wants’ (Picasso, quoted in M.L. Bernadac, ‘Picasso 1953-1972: Painting as Model’ in exh. cat., Late Picasso, London, 1988, p. 49). Picasso made this emphatic statement in 1963, at the beginning of a period when painting became not only the primary component of his artistic output, but also the singular theme, subject and preoccupation of his late career. Throughout the 1960s, he entered into battle with some of the most revered artists and masterpieces of the past. He depicted the studio, the artist and the model in countless iterations, honing in on the sacred, secret moment of inspiration and the ensuing artistic creation; he painted himself, shown either in the guise of the swashbuckling musketeer, or, as Le peintre of 1967 shows, as a painter, with paintbrush and palette in hand, a declaration on his lifelong identity as an artist and a powerful assertion of the legacy he wished to leave.
Completed on 25th March 1967, Le peintre combines both the persona of the musketeer and the painter. The profile of a curly haired, moustachioed man with an ornate white ruffled collar dominates the large canvas. He is holding a palette and brush in his hand, leading the viewer to assume that he is standing in front of an unseen easel, engaged in the act of painting. The musketeer had first appeared in Picasso’s work just a few months before he painted Le peintre. After undergoing surgery in the autumn of 1965, the artist endured a long period of convalescence that he spent at his home, Notre-Dame-de-Vie, in Mougins. During this time he immersed himself in the world of literature, as well as the great art of the past. Reading Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, the plays of Shakespeare and the novels of Dickens and Balzac, his mind was filled with visions of a long-gone age and an assortment of heroic male characters.
Picasso also became increasingly interested in Rembrandt at this time. When his wife Jacqueline was later asked where her husband had found the character of the musketeer, she responded simply, ‘They came to Pablo when he’d gone back to studying Rembrandt’ (J. Roque-Picasso, quoted in G. Schiff, exh. cat., Picasso The Last Years, 1963-1973, New York, 1984, p. 31). He increasingly identified with the great Dutch artist, who had, like him, enjoyed a long and prolific career. ‘You and I, old fellow’, Picasso once said of himself and Rembrandt, ‘are the only ones who can paint everything’ (Picasso, quoted in P. Daix, Picasso: Life and Art, New York, 1993, p. 355). At around this time, Picasso projected Rembrandt’s The Night Watch (1642, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam) onto his studio wall, discussing it with Jacqueline and others, and John Richardson, the artist’s biographer and friend, noted Picasso’s interest in monographs of the Dutch artist and volumes of his drawings that he had pored over during his recuperation (J. Richardson, exh. cat., Picasso: Mosqueteros, New York, 2009, p. 19).
All of these influences came together in 1966 when Picasso returned to painting. A new figure materialised onto his canvases: the musketeer. Splendidly dressed, handsome and charismatic, this 17th century cavalier filled Picasso’s work as he painted with a new and impassioned vitality. ‘When things were going well’, Jacqueline recalled, ‘he would come down from the studio saying, “They’re coming! They’re still coming”’ (J. Picasso, quoted in A. Malraux, Picasso’s Mask, trans. J. Guicharnaud, New York, 1994, p. 78). These musketeers served as an emphatic symbol of life, masculinity and above all, virility. Now in his mid-80s, able to travel only locally, and with his vaunted sexual powers on the wane, Picasso transformed himself into the brave, adventurous and virile musketeer, clad in ornate costumes and involved in daring escapades, romantic exploits and heroic deeds.
By the spring of 1967, the figure of the musketeer began to merge with that of the painter, a character who had dominated Picasso’s work of the 1960s. Instead of a lance or sword, Picasso depicted the musketeer brandishing a paintbrush, and often paired this painter-musketeer character with a reclining nude. Armed with a palette and brush – the defining symbol of painterly creation – the musketeer of Le peintre affirms Picasso’s unimpeded creative powers as he defiantly fought the passage of time with his unceasing creativity and prodigious artistic powers. As John Richardson wrote, ‘Picasso, who never quite outgrew his birth-right of black beliefs and superstitions, put his faith in his miracle-working paintbrushes and the death-defying images of carnality that they engendered’ (J. Richardson, Sacred Monsters, Sacred Masters: Beaton, Capote, Dalí, Picasso, Freud, Warhol, and More, London, 2001, p. 238).
Le peintre could also be seen to evoke another artist whom Picasso greatly admired: Vincent van Gogh. Picasso was said to have felt a strong affiliation with the Dutch artist, referring to him, John Richardson states, as his patron saint (Picasso, quoted in J. Richardson, ‘L’Époque Jacqueline’, in Late Picasso, op. cit., p. 32). It is said that he used to project one of Van Gogh’s self-portraits onto his studio walls and, as Hélène Parmelin, a friend of the artist who spent a great deal of time with him towards the end of his life, recalled, ‘Picasso talks about Van Gogh all the time, and thinks about him all the time… For him, Van Gogh is the one painter whose life was exemplary, up to and including his death’ (H. Parmelin, Picasso Says…, trans. C. Trollope, London, 1969, p. 37). Unlike the other artists to whom Picasso looked in his late career – Delacroix, Manet, Velázquez and Rembrandt, amongst others – his artistic dialogue with Van Gogh went beyond the appropriation of compositions or themes, manifesting itself as a deep spiritual identification with the artist. Using the same vigorous, expressive and instinctive brushwork, Picasso, like Van Gogh, painted his own image countless times, creating powerful works that boldly declare, affirm and celebrate his life-long identity as an artist.