Woman of the Week: Suzanne Valadon (née Marie-Clémentine Valadon)

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Self-portrait (1927)

‘Suzanne’ Valadon (1865-1938) was born as the bastard Marie-Clémentine Valadon, and only acquired the name by which we know her today as an adult, when her work as a live model for the artists of Montmartre earned her the nickname derived from the biblical story, Susanna and the Elders. She graduated from modelling to using models herself as a painter and artist, and became known for the individuality lent to her work by her female perspective, although she is, somewhat sadly, perhaps best remembered as the mother of Impressionist painter Maurice Utrillo.

Though born in Bessines, Suzanne moved to Paris as a small child. She began to work when she was just 11, finding various jobs including waiting tables and factory work, until she ended up performing as an acrobat in a circus around the age of 15. Though she wanted to continue in this line of work, a serious back injury obtained from a fall whilst on the trapeze prevented her from pursuing this passion, and she turned instead to modelling.

Her first known employer was Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, with whom it is generally assumed she had some kind of romantic or sexual relationship. However, she also had a relationship with Miguel Utrillo, beginning in 1881, and it was he who eventually claimed paternity of the illegal child that Suzanne gave birth to in 1883. Maurice Utrillo, as he became known, was raised largely by his grandmother as Suzanne continued to model and started her career as an artist.

Though her career started with Puvis, Suzanne had become a popular model for many other artists, including Toulouse-Lautrec and Renoir, who is attributed as the inspiration behind her nickname. She cultivated strong relationships with many of them, being romantically involved with Lautrec while becoming firm friends with Edward Degas, one of the most ardent advocates of her work. Through her observation of their techniques while they painted her, and with their instruction and influence, Suzanne became a self-taught artist who specialised in the female nude and frank, candid portraits.

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Danse à Bougival (Pierre-August Renoir, 1883) features Suzanne Valadon as the principal dancer

As models, Suzanne frequently used her own mother and son, depicting domestic scenes with a gratifying sincerity that can be found equally in her female nudes. Criticised by some for her bold style, with her figures being accused of being ‘too masculine’, others consider her startling honest treatment of the female form as the evidence of her talent. Although other female artists, such as Berthe Morisot, also favoured female subjects, Suzanne’s lower-class background gave her the liberty to paint nudes where their bourgeoisie roots held them back. Thus, Suzanne provided some of the first widely known representations of the female form produced from a female perspective.

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Catherine reclining nude on a leopard skin (1923)

In 1894, Suzanne became the first woman to ever exhibit at the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts, though it was only after her marriage to stockbroker Paul Mousis in 1896 that her new-found financial stability gave her the time to dedicate herself to her art. It was in the early 20th century that her perhaps most famous tableaux, such as Adam and Eve, Casting the net and The joy of life were finished. These large-scale oil paintings became famous for daring to show men as an object of desire for women, and for being the first pieces by a female artist to focus on sexual pleasure in general.

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Casting the net (Le lancement de fillet) – 1914 (Centre Georges Pompidou)

The subject of these paintings was her significantly younger lover, a painter named Andre Utter who was a friend of her artist son’s. She divorced Mousis in 1913 to remarry Utter, and the three artists lived together in Montmartre, where their former atelier now forms part of the Museum of Montmartre, supporting themselves off their work. By the 20s, though, their relationship had declined, and the pair eventually separated unofficially. Suzanne died in 1938, suffering a stroke whilst painting at her easel and dying in hospital shortly after.

On Provins: Gallic roses and the fairs of Champagne

Where and what?

Have you heard of Provins? I hadn’t, unless perhaps it was mentioned in my hearing but, thanks to my still-imperfect grasp of French accents and pronunciation, filed  under references to ‘Provence’. Which may have led to some confusion if we were talking about how to get there, seeing as Provence is in the south of France, about 4 hours by train from Paris, whereas Provins is a mere 1 hour and 25 minutes by the same vehicle.
That’s how I got there, on a beautifully sunny day in late winter that had us all convinced that spring had arrived early (in fact, winter put its bitter claws back into us a week later, so I was intensely glad to have profited from the sunshine).
To start with, let it be said that I wholly recommend the place in general. It’s quite touristy, but in a more quaint and charming way than Paris, and with largely French visitors – although I do my best to harbour no bias to a particular country and the tourists it may produce, it’s still nicest to be surrounded by people of the country you’re actually visiting when you’re sightseeing.
I had the luck to be there on a market day, so even the ‘new’ part of town was bustling with activity as clothes and books and fresh produce spilled abundantly from fold-up tables in the main street while the market hall hosted butchers’ stalls, baked goods and long rows of fish and seafood lying glassy-eyed on their banks of ice cubes. Although Paris has wonderful fresh food markets, I couldn’t help but appreciate the wholesome simplicity of an average small-town Saturday market, free from any pseudo-traditionalism.

What’s there to see?

In terms of sightseeing, I bought a 12 euro Provins Pass which gave me access to everything apparently worth seeing in the old part of town. That includes, specifically, les sousterrains – ‘the underground’ – one-time quarries converted into storage that stretch beneath the town; the town museum, the small fortified tower (la Tour César) and the somewhat kitschy grange aux dimes (tithe barn) which has mocked-up displays of various tradespeople surrounded by their work – weavers, potters, merchants, etc. Each display is accompanied by a short dialogue between the figure and a very conveniently curious 13th century visitor, giving you a basic understanding of the roles the workers played in a medieval context. The audio is easy enough for kids to follow, but still informative enough to be interesting to adults – assuming you don’t happen to be an amateur medieval expert already.

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La Tour César (right) with the dome of St. Quiriace church in background

The town museum is essentially just a collection of oddities related to the area, and reminds me strongly of small-town Aussie museums where they don’t really have enough history in the area to justify a whole museum and try to make up for it by dedicating a room to art-deco bathroom fixtures or some random inhabitant’s family tree. There’s zero coherency to the exhibits, with Neolithic stone fragments displayed beneath a Belle-Epoque era painting of someone-or-other and faced by some wooden Renaissance religious effigies. It seems strange, considering their strong links to medieval history, that there isn’t anything more particularly aimed at vaunting this, but I suspect from the emptiness and lack of information on the displays that this might be due to lack of funding.

A taste of history

The foires de Champagne (Champagne fairs) were 6-8 week long affairs that encompassed practically any and all goods – food, precious metals, livestock, cloth, trinkets, spices, whatever the merchants could find and make a profit on. By decree of Count Thibaut IV de Blois, there were 6 held annually, in 4 different major cities of the region: Troyes, Lagny, Bar-sur-Aube and Provins. The regular influx of visitors served to enrich these host cities, and the authorities began to provide guaranteed, free protection to merchants travelling to the cities in order to ensure that these profitable events continued smoothly. Over the 12th and 13th century, the towns grew in wealth and importance, so it makes sense that is this time from which the major buildings and the town’s fairly extensive ramparts date.
These ramparts, of which more than a kilometre’s length of the original 5km exist, are freely accessible. Following them makes for a pleasant ramble down cobbled roads and grassy lanes, with cultivated fields spreading wide on one side while you gaze over the rooftops of Provins on the other. Being there in the very beginning of spring, I revelled in noticing the first brave blooms of field-flowers along the path, even if the glorious sun that had accompanied me through my visit in the town itself was in the middle of setting.

There’s also plenty of houses from later periods, though, and walking through the town’s cobbled streets provides a reasonably picturesque mix of non-descript buildings that are difficult to place chronologically, and pretty examples of half-timber houses from around the 17th century.

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If you truly fall in love with the town, there’s sure to be a half-timber house like this one currently available for purchase

The rose of Provins (rosa gallica officinalis)

The town is also famous for the Provins rose, supposedly brought back to Europe from the Crusades by the local count, Thibaut IV, the same one who introduced regulations to the Champagne fairs. Also known as the Gallic rose,  the hardy flower was used in religious ceremonies and for medicinal purposes up until the late Middle Ages – to aid digestion when made into a syrup, relieving sore throats as a candy, and applied to the skin as a lotion. It’s still popular in dozens of different forms today, and you can find anything from rose-flavoured ice cream to coffee to liqueur in the various shops in the old town. Personally, I can recommend every rose product I sampled myself, which is to say: rose petal jam (excellent on waffles), rose ice cream and rose-infused honey!
All things considered, Provins makes a lovely daytrip if you’re in Paris or its environs, and is well worth a stop if you’re just travelling through the area. Particularly for those with children, who tend to be unimpressed by beautiful cities like Paris and much more interested in clambering over some city walls and sampling sugary pink goodness, it provides a fun and wallet-friendly experience of a small French town with a fair bit of interesting history to keep you occupied.
There’s also a number of spectacles, including regular bird of prey shows held on the ramparts, and medieval reenactments involving horses and knights, but as I didn’t bother coming at the right time I can’t proffer an opinion on them. Check out the Provins tourism site for more information!

Woman of the Week: Queen Christina Alexandra (née Kristina Augusta Wasa)

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Christina aged approximately 16, between 1640 and 1642 (by Jacob Henry Elbfas)

Queen Christina of Sweden (1626-1689) isn’t one of the few queens that people actually know about, but it certainly isn’t because her life and character don’t merit the recognition. Literally from the moment she was born, Christina was causing scandals. Apparently born with unusual quantities of hair and a ‘strong, hoarse voice’, the birthing attendants initially believed the infant to be a male, which entertained her father, Gustav II Adolf, immensely. ‘She’ll be clever,’ he said, ‘she has made fools of us all!’

 

 

 

In fact, the strange stories about her birth, as well as her reportedly masculine behaviour and appearance, has lead modern historians to theorise that she may have had one or more unacknowledged disorders, such as polycystic ovary syndrome (which can cause hirsutism and obesity), Pervasive Developmental Disorder (encompassing behavioural disorders such as autism), or Disorder of Sex Development (involving abnormal development of sexual characteristics), although her skeleton was judged ‘typically female’ when analysed in 1965.

Having no other children, Gustav arranged for his daughter to be raised exactly as a male heir would have been, from studying statecraft and sciences to learning to fence and hunt bears. It wasn’t surprising, then, that she became known as ‘the Girl King’ when at age 6, she inherited her father’s kingdom after his death in the Thirty Year’s War – even at her coronation, her official title was ‘King of the Swedes, Goths and Wends’.

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Christina depicted on horseback in a portrait intended to gain favour with Philip IV of Spain, in 1653 (by Sébastien Bourdon)

Due to her youth, Sweden was ruled by a Privy Council until she came of age at 18, but Christina attended council meetings from the age of 14, showing a keen interest in politics and diplomacy. She is reported to have spent 10 hours a day at her studies, learning up to 8 languages other than her native Swedish and developing an interest in culture, religion and art that would last throughout her life.

As reigning queen, Christina continued to be an enthusiastic patron of the arts, gathering scholars, musicians and artists to her court, among which were philosopher René Descartes and kabbalist Menasseh Ben Israel, as well as various prominent Jesuits. It was her discussions with these last that finally convinced the young Queen that she should convert to Catholicism – a significant decision, considering that at the time, it was illegal to be Catholic in the country of Sweden. The punishment for such an offence? Only execution.

Nonetheless, Christina was determined. She had already made her first cousin, Charles X Gustav, her heir in 1649, and in 1652, after strong opposition from her advisors, Christina abdicated in favour of her heir, citing her desire to remain celibate as the reason for her decision. Immediately after the ceremonies were concluded, she disguised herself in men’s clothing so as to pass herself off as ‘Count Dohna’ whilst travelling through Denmark, a country still hostile to Swedish monarchy, on her way to Rome.

The true reasons for Christina’s celibacy may not have been purely religious motives, however. Christina’s sexuality remains a mystery even now, as she was rumoured to have romantic liaisons with both men and women but had no public relationships throughout her life. She was conjectured to have had relationships with both Charles Gustav and her long-time friend and bookkeeper, Decio Azzolino, but also with a female friend, Ebba Sparre, who is frequently alleged to have been the Queen’s lover due to the Queen’s description of her as her ‘bed-fellow’, and the intensely emotional letters written between them, which included the Queen declaring that she would always love Ebba.

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Monument to Christina in St Peter’s Basilica, ordered by Pope Innocent XII in 1702

Upon reaching Rome, Christina enjoyed considerable popularity, becoming famous as the monarch who gave up her country for her love of God. She spent the remainder of her life maintaining her extensive patronage of the arts whilst living in Italy and France. Though she made a failed attempt to regain the Swedish throne after the death of Charles X Gustav, Christina ultimately never returned to power and died in relative peace in 1689 in her palace in Rome, leaving her autobiography unfinished. Contrary to her wishes, Pope Innocent XI arranged for her to be buried with great ceremony in the Grotte Vatican beneath the St Peter’s Basilica in Rome, making her the third woman ever to be interred there.

 

 

 

Woman of the Week: Hedy Lamarr (née Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler)

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Hedy in a publicity shot, 1940

How many inventors can lay claim to the title ‘the Most Beautiful Woman in Films?’ There’s just one who springs to mind, but such singularity is typical to Hedy Lamarr (1914-2000), the Austro-Hungarian film star who invented the basis of Wifi and Bluetooth in her free time. Gorgeous, successful and obviously ingenious, Hedy is the kind of role model the world should know about.

Hedy’s life was fascinating before she ever began to dabble in inventing. The daughter of Jewish-born parents, Hedy was born in Vienna, capital of the now obsolete Austro-Hungarian Empire. In the late 20’s, she trained as an actress in Berlin under theatre great Max Reinhardt. A year after appearing as an extra in her first film, Geld auf der Straße, she caused worldwide sensation by starring in 1933 film Extase, in which she not only appeared naked in numerous scenes, but even mimicked an orgasm onscreen – the first time a female actor had done so in a theatrically-released film.

After the attention garnered by her acting, at 19, Hedy married Friedrich Mandl, an Austrian military arms manufacturer and one of the richest men in the country. Her husband turned out to be a controlling pro-Fascist, and Hedy found herself practically imprisoned in her own luxurious home. It was there, though, that she first became familiar with weapons technology, as she attended dinners with her husband where conversation focused around new developments in armaments and artillery.

Opinions differ as to how she left her suffocating and morally compromising marriage. Hedy claimed to have drugged her maid to escape disguised in her clothes, but other sources suggest she simply disappeared during a dinner party to which she had worn as much expensive jewellery as possible. In either case, by 1937 she had met Louis B. Mayer in Paris and signed a contract with MGM studios, thus launching her Hollywood career. She chose her film name out of reverence for silent film star, the late Barbara La Marr.

Hedy’s smouldering good looks and the scent of scandal that surrounded her guaranteed her success in the flourishing film industry. She starred in various famous films over a period of 20 years, starting with Algiers in 1938 and including Boom Town (1940) with Clark Gable as leading man, White Cargo (1942) and Samson and Delilah (1949), which was at the time of its release the third highest-grossing film made.

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Hedy as Delilah in 1949 film, Samson and Delilah

Being frequently typecast as little more than a glamorous sex symbol with relatively few acting challenges, Hedy sought distraction in inventing, despite having no formal training. Horrified by the course of World War 2, she turned her inventing attentions to the war effort. Hedy realised the importance of radio-guided torpedoes but lamented how easily they could be disarmed by jamming the radio signal controlling them. To get around this, she proposed the idea of frequency-hopping: sending messages via multiple different frequencies, changing rapidly and semi-randomly from one to another so that it would be harder to block. If the control centre was synced to change to the same frequencies as the torpedo, the message would still be received perfectly clearly.

“Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid.” – Hedy Lamarr

Sharing her ideas with composer George Antheil, the pair used piano rolls as the foundations of the device that would actually allow this frequency-hopping, the earliest form of spread-spectrum communication. They patented their ‘Secret Communication System’ in 1942, and submitted the idea to the US Navy, who took little

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Excerpt from 1942 Lamarr-Antheil patent

notice of the civilians’ suggestion until 1962, when it was used during the Cuban missile crisis. Unfortunately, by this time, the patent had expired. The same patent is now recognised as the basis of the field of frequency-hopping, widely used not only in military communications but in all kinds of wireless transmission including Wifi, Bluetooth and CDMA (used in GPS and mobile phones).

Hedy and George’s impressive work finally began to find acknowledgement in 1997, with both of them receiving the American Electronic Frontier Foundation Pioneer award, prompting Hedy’s sardonic remark, ‘Well, it’s about time.’ A century after her birth, and 14 years after her death, Hedy was also posthumously inducted into the National Inventors Hall of Fame.

 

Woman of the Week: Rumer Godden (née Margaret Rumer Godden)

“I wish I knew when I was going to die,’ ninety-six-year-old Dame Frances Anne often said, ‘I wish I knew.’
‘Why, Dame?’
‘Then I should know what to read next.” In This House of Brede, 1969

Rumer Godden was a 20th century author who wrote with wit, charm and sensitive insight into human nature in its various manifestations. Though born in England in 1907, Rumer lived in modern-day Bangladesh until her parents decided to send her to school in England at the age of 12.  The influence of this experience during her formative years can be seen in the vividly colourful characters and settings for her novels, as she describes a stately old mansion in Cornwall with the same lively detail as her one-time home in a primitive cottage in the mountains of Kashmir.

Rumer was soon to return to the country that had already laid such a strong claim to her heart, as she and her older sister, Jon, struggled to settle into English life. While in London, she had trained as a dancer despite having serious spinal damage resulting from a bad fall as a child, and in 1925 Rumer moved to Calcutta to open a mixed-race dancing school. Despite public shock at her audacity, Rumer and her younger sister Nancy ran the Peggy Godden School of Dance successfully for 20 years.

When the Second World War broke out, Rumer was unhappily married to Laurence Foster, with two young children, Jane and Paula, and had just published her first best-seller, the novel Black Narcissus, which dealt with a group of Catholic nuns living in India. Her husband having joined the army, Rumer decided to move to Kashmir with her children in 1942, living initially on a houseboat and later in a remote house in the mountains. The small family lived without many modern luxuries of the time, such as electricity or running water, but were still considered as well-off compared to the local Indians. Their time in Kashmir came to an abrupt end when it was discovered that their Indian cook had tried to poison them by adding ground-up glass to their food, in addition to quantities of opium and marijuana, with no apparent motive. Finding little support from the community, both of locals and other British colonists, Rumer returned to England to support her children through her writing.

Rumer divorced her first husband in 1948 and remarried the year after, her second choice being James Hayn Dixon, who she remained with til his death despite her wry comment that she “loved Mr. Darcy far more than any of [her] own husbands.” Since her first publication in 1937, Rumer had been writing prolifically, and her output remained consistent until her death in 1998, with her last novel, Cromartie versus the God Shiva acting through the Government of India, being released the year before.

Though reasonably widely acknowledged as an influential European writer of the 20th century, since her death almost twenty years ago, Godden’s legacy has faded from attention. But the themes of  childhood innocence and the contrasting corruption of adult life that emerge through much of her work remain as relevant today as half a century ago.

“I know now it is children who accept life; grown people cover it up and pretend it is different with drinks.” (The Greengage Summer, 1957)

Her work, whether intended for adults or children, throbs with theatrical characterisation and fascinating stories woven into the tapestry of everyday life, reflecting the huge array of experiences she had in her own life.

Famous Works:

The River, 1946
The Diddakoi, 1972 (Winner of the 1972 Whitbread Award in the Children’s Book category)

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Portrait for Vogue, 1947

On How to Save the World

A handy guide for effecting genuine social change. Follow these five simple steps and you’re sure to succeed!

Step 1: Recognise and accept the difficulties
If there’s an issue that needs changing, it’s because our society currently thinks it’s easiest and/or for the best that we leave things as they are. They may well deny this, claiming to think equality and saving the planet is great, but ultimately most people who swear they’re not racist will also end up arguing that it’s ‘too much work’ to have to, y’know, not be racist. This applies to sexism, environmentalism, homophobia, classism, and many other issues.

Step 2: Overcome your growing misanthropy
As you meet more and more people in your campaign against that thing in human society you really hate, you will gradually realise that if humans didn’t exist, that bad thing wouldn’t exist either. This frequently leads to high levels of misanthropy in both amateur and professional campaigners, and can be a difficult phase to get out of. Unfortunately, it will never go away completely, but most find that a combination of excessive optimism, annoyingly inspiring fellow-campaigners and alcoholic tendencies help them to cope with their urge to kill everyone and start society afresh.

Step 3: Organise a clever and logical campaign
This should be something that provides a really smart way to change people’s behaviours and attitudes, and is wholly ingenious and relatively simple to put into practice. There’s no point giving you suggestions, because every campaign needs a different approach. Just figure out how to circumvent people’s innate biases, laziness and miserliness and be interested in recycling and trans rights instead!

Step 4: Organise a highly publicised campaign
It should be very popular on social media platforms, but rarely achieve anything beyond that hallowed ‘increased awareness’, like the Ice Bucket Challenge, or wearing a safety pin. It might not be useful for creating social change as your original campaign was, but being famous on the internet means strangers will know who you are. This will let you keep trying to run helpful campaigns once most people have forgotten about the pro-recycling hashtag that you started on Twitter that was retweeted by Emma Watson AND Greenpeace!!

Step 5: Continue to work diligently for many years*
Genuine social change usually takes at least a whole generation or longer to occur. To stop people from saying that you are a ‘quitter’ and that ‘you never really cared and it was all for the fame’ you will have to spend most of the rest of your life working in the same field and doing boring things like doing the accountancy work on your funding and telling people the same thing over and over again in identical-looking conference rooms in hotels across the country. Change will come, and you will be proud of your efforts, but still always feel like you failed in actually changing enough. Congratulations! You’re not a quitter, you changed the world, and now you have to hope it stays changed for the better. Have a gold star, and maybe someone will give you a Nobel Prize.

*Alternatively, you can choose to die young and hopefully become a martyr for whatever the social change you were campaigning for happened to be. This works best if you die in some kind of accident related to supporting your cause, preferably due to humans who oppose it. Being shot by the cops whilst protesting police brutality is a good example, although already widely used.

Woman of the Week: Marie Laurencin

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Self Portrait (around 1905 – Musée Marmottan Monet, Paris)

Marie Laurencin (1883-1956) was a contemporary of Picasso and Delaunay and friends with both. Despite the significant role she played in the Paris avant-garde movement, her artwork remained largely uninfluenced by the Cubism being developed by her close associates, and is frequently forgotten today.

 

Marie, illegitimately born to Pauline Laurencin, cited her date of birth as 1885, claiming that ‘the age of a natural child is always mysterious – it is found neither in reality nor in dreams, it is not determined by a date.’ Her father, a tax collector who refused to officially recognise his daughter, visited her rarely.

Marie’s career began officially when she went to Sèvres to study porcelain painting at the age of 18. She soon returned to Paris to study at the Académie Humbert, where she turned her focus to oil painting, one of the mediums she would use most often in her recognisable works. It was there, too, that she first met George Braque and Georges Lepape, fellow students who were impressed equally by the fantastic, whimsical canvases she executed with such apparent ease, and her engrossing personality – ‘my name’s Marie Laurencin,’ she told the curious Lepape, ‘but call me Coco.’

At the age of 24, Marie exhibited at the famous Salon des Indépendants for the first time. She met Picasso, who in turn introduced her to Guillaume Apollinaire, and soon became ensconced in the circle of artists and writers that made up the avant-garde movement and particularly the Section d’Or, which focused on Cubism and Orphism. She began a long-term romantic relationship with Apollinaire, being generally recognised as his muse and particularly as the Tristouse Ballerinette from his 1916 work, ‘Le Poète assassiné’.

Marie married a German artist, Otto von Wätjen, in 1913, causing her to flee to exile in Spain when war broke out a year later, as she had lost her French citizenship upon marriage. She remained there until 1919, finding solace and inspiration in the works of Vélasquez and Goya, and beginning friendships with various new artists, including Gleizes, Delaunay and Picabia, the latter two with which she would later exhibit. She divorced her husband in 1921, and would go on to have various affairs, often with well-known figures such as diplomat Philippe Berthelot and lesbian literary expatriate, Natalie Clifford Barney.

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Portrait de Mademoiselle Chanel (1923 – Musée de l’Orangerie, Paris)

 

 

In this period, Marie made a name for herself as a portraitist, with the famous faces gracing her canvases ranging from ladies of nobility to Coco Chanel. In 1923, Serge de Dhiagelev asked her to undertake the décor and costuming for his ballet, ‘Les Biches’. Her work was received successfully, and ballet costuming and décor became a new facet of her creative expression.

Though criticised for her repetitive subjects and relatively unvaried style, Marie’s work remains highly recognisable for those very reasons. She preferred to depict young girls with dreamy, mask-like features, accompanied by various animals, from unicorns to swans to faithful hounds. Both human and beast frequently have a strong sense of unreality, with figures appearing to undergo transfigurative processes within the image. She focused on themes of femininity, relying heavily on pastel shades of blue, pink and grey which she felt helped to express these themes.

Upon her death in 1956, caused by cardiac arrest, Marie was buried in the famous Père Lachaise cemetery according to her wishes: dressed in, with a rose clutched in one hand and the love letters written to her by Guillaume Apollinaire laid across her heart.

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Watercolour for ‘Les Biches’ (1923 – Musée de l’Orangerie, Paris)