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Lot Essay
Picasso painted this vibrant, bust-length portrait of his daughter Paloma on 7 January 1951, when she was nearly two years old. The artist depicted Paloma as an adorable, chubby toddler with a cheerful expression, outlining her pudgy cheeks, chin and fingers with confident swoops of bright green paint. Her cropped, dark-brown hair and fringe, adorned with a cobalt blue bow, are similarly invoked with simple, striated brushstrokes. Paloma is dressed like a miniature version of her father; she wears a charming Breton sweater, similar to the striped nautical top that formed part of Picasso’s own painterly uniform while living in the south of France. This likeness of Paloma is an expression of paternal tenderness and affection, but also of the joyous energy that suffused the artist's work in the early 1950s.
Paloma was Picasso’s second child with Françoise Gilot, with whom Picasso began a tumultuous affair during World War II. Paloma was born after the conclusion of the war, on 19 April 1949, when Picasso was sixty-seven years old. Her name, the Spanish word for dove, was inspired by the iconic symbol of hope and peace; a dove also appeared in a poster that Picasso designed for the Peace Congress in Paris that year. Though he distanced himself from the quotidian realities of childcare, Picasso was thoroughly enamored with his young offspring; their lively presence seemed to reinvigorate him and his work following the devastation of the war.
Together with their young children, Picasso and Gilot made a home in La Galloise, a pink villa in Vallauris, situated on the Mediterranean coast between Cannes and Antibes. During this brief period of domestic bliss, Paloma and her older brother Claude were frequent subjects of Picasso’s painting and printmaking practice. They did not formally model for their father, as one might for a traditional portrait, but rather served as muses; their youthful energy, spontaneity and creativity provided ample inspiration for the artist. As Paloma later recalled, “We never posed for my father. We were too young and he did everything from memory, from his imagination. I think, especially when he had Claude and me, he became fascinated with the whole idea of childhood, with the fact that children don't have preconceived ideas. There was a freedom to that, to the idea that for children, anything is possible” (quoted in M. Kimmelman, “Picasso’s Family Album,” The New York Times, 28 April 1996).
In addition to choosing childhood as a subject matter for his paintings, Picasso also embraced a childlike aesthetic, which is on full display in Buste de jeune fille (Paloma); he brightened his color palette, softened his contours and clarified his lines. In doing so, Picasso simulated the simplified vision of a child—while also cheekily thumbing his nose at conservative criticisms of abstraction. As art historian Michael FitzGerald wrote, “Having brought us into sympathy with the child's universe, Picasso then immerses us into their world by inverting an old canard against modern art. He took the conventional dismissal of non-naturalistic styles as ‘something a child could do’ and employed it to project the perceptions of a youngster not yet adjusted to his or her own body, or certain of how to navigate the outside world” (“A Triangle of Ambitions: Art, Politics and Family during the Postwar Years with Françoise Gilot,” Picasso and Portraiture: Representation and Transformation, exh. cat., The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1996, p. 430).
Just one year after the execution of this painting, however, Picasso’s partnership with Paloma’s mother was irrevocably fractured. Gilot, a painter and printmaker in her own right, had neglected her work in order to model for Picasso—and, eventually, to bear and raise their children. Frustrated by the uneven terms of their arrangement and hungry with her own artistic ambitions, Gilot eventually left Picasso in Vallauris and returned to Paris with Paloma and Claude in tow. After the 1964 publication of her revealing memoir, Life with Picasso, Picasso became even further estranged from his children with her. As with many intimate portraits of his beloved son and daughter, however, this painting remained in Picasso’s possession until his death in 1973, when it became part of the artist’s estate.
Paloma was Picasso’s second child with Françoise Gilot, with whom Picasso began a tumultuous affair during World War II. Paloma was born after the conclusion of the war, on 19 April 1949, when Picasso was sixty-seven years old. Her name, the Spanish word for dove, was inspired by the iconic symbol of hope and peace; a dove also appeared in a poster that Picasso designed for the Peace Congress in Paris that year. Though he distanced himself from the quotidian realities of childcare, Picasso was thoroughly enamored with his young offspring; their lively presence seemed to reinvigorate him and his work following the devastation of the war.
Together with their young children, Picasso and Gilot made a home in La Galloise, a pink villa in Vallauris, situated on the Mediterranean coast between Cannes and Antibes. During this brief period of domestic bliss, Paloma and her older brother Claude were frequent subjects of Picasso’s painting and printmaking practice. They did not formally model for their father, as one might for a traditional portrait, but rather served as muses; their youthful energy, spontaneity and creativity provided ample inspiration for the artist. As Paloma later recalled, “We never posed for my father. We were too young and he did everything from memory, from his imagination. I think, especially when he had Claude and me, he became fascinated with the whole idea of childhood, with the fact that children don't have preconceived ideas. There was a freedom to that, to the idea that for children, anything is possible” (quoted in M. Kimmelman, “Picasso’s Family Album,” The New York Times, 28 April 1996).
In addition to choosing childhood as a subject matter for his paintings, Picasso also embraced a childlike aesthetic, which is on full display in Buste de jeune fille (Paloma); he brightened his color palette, softened his contours and clarified his lines. In doing so, Picasso simulated the simplified vision of a child—while also cheekily thumbing his nose at conservative criticisms of abstraction. As art historian Michael FitzGerald wrote, “Having brought us into sympathy with the child's universe, Picasso then immerses us into their world by inverting an old canard against modern art. He took the conventional dismissal of non-naturalistic styles as ‘something a child could do’ and employed it to project the perceptions of a youngster not yet adjusted to his or her own body, or certain of how to navigate the outside world” (“A Triangle of Ambitions: Art, Politics and Family during the Postwar Years with Françoise Gilot,” Picasso and Portraiture: Representation and Transformation, exh. cat., The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1996, p. 430).
Just one year after the execution of this painting, however, Picasso’s partnership with Paloma’s mother was irrevocably fractured. Gilot, a painter and printmaker in her own right, had neglected her work in order to model for Picasso—and, eventually, to bear and raise their children. Frustrated by the uneven terms of their arrangement and hungry with her own artistic ambitions, Gilot eventually left Picasso in Vallauris and returned to Paris with Paloma and Claude in tow. After the 1964 publication of her revealing memoir, Life with Picasso, Picasso became even further estranged from his children with her. As with many intimate portraits of his beloved son and daughter, however, this painting remained in Picasso’s possession until his death in 1973, when it became part of the artist’s estate.