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That summer, while Gertrude and Alice were away, Marevna worked on the copy of Picasso's portrait of Gertrude. Picasso, did not know the work was going on. She worked in privacy although I'm sure Diego gave her a few suggestions. Nobody else, watched as she toiled behind locked doors, mostly at night. I saw very little of her. It was an anxious time for me as I tried to fill a portfolio of my own work for the dealers who were now visiting me with more frequency.
I was painting with an attitude buoyed by the ever present thought that my work
was finally in demand. It bothered me to know that Gertrude had created an interest
in my work by her act of gratitude. But, I still had that urge to succeed. If
this is how it was to happen. So be it. Robert Thinks about the Fickle Art Public It always bothered me to think of the fickle public and how artists were 'made'. I was not meant for serious work. I wanted to be part of the Paris scene. We all met at sidewalk cafes and listened to the shrill sounds of Mistinguette and a newcomer named Josephine Baker, who sang like a canary. Girls tried to imitate her by wearing their hair in the singer's personal style called 'the Baker Fixe'. An uneducated vaudevillian from the American south, Josephine captured the hearts of Frenchman and became rich along the way. I went to hear her one night and was impressed but not nearly as impressed as I was on June 19th, when I attended George Antheil's famous concert. Paris Was Filled with Many Trend-Setters Paris was filled with trend-setters from Stravinsky, to Picasso: from Man Ray to the Dadaist Tristan Tzara. As I look back to those heady days in my sparse little Paris studio, I thank god for the good fortune I had in going to Paris in the first place. I was surprised at the size of the crowd that gathered at the theatre the night of George Antheil's infamous concert. Sylvia had assured me that the tickets she sold me were the last ones available. I had bought them two months in advance and arrived with Caresse. Harry had gone back to Boston to see his uncle J.P.Morgan. Caresse was the star of the show. Photographers followed her as she smiled, waved and clung into my arm. Her bright red gown with its plunging neckline framed her eye-appealing and ample bosom. No doubt she was wearing one of the strapless brassieres she herself had invented. Getting Introduced to Virgil Thompson In the crowd were painters, writers, publishers, composers, of course, newspaper people, devotees and hangers on. I was introduced to Virgil Thompson, the would-be composer friend of George Antheil's. Their teacher, Nadia Boulanger was there as were hundreds of music lovers and regular concert goers. Caresse knew everybody. I was introduced to the Countess of something-or-other, the Maharanee of Cooch Behar, Prince Jean d'Orleans (the pretender to the throne of France). Prince George of England said hello as did Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks. There were dukes, duchesses and the one man I had heard so much about, the temperamental and often enigmatic Ernest Hemingway and his new wife Pauline. I saw the impresario Serge Diaghilev, who was with a small smiling man with a pointed goatee. This, I later discovered was Eric Satie. With them was the poet Max Jacob in his checkered suit and flaming red cape. Picasso was not with him. Picasso Disliked Concerts Picasso had a dislike for concerts. He found the theatre boring, unless it was something Spanish. "What a pair we make!" Max exclaimed to Caresse. "We'll set the trend this year. Red will be the color of the intelligentsia. N'est ce pas?" Guillaume Apollinaire was there with Marie Laurencin and I was introduced to the futurist artist, Fillipo Tommaso Marinetti who, like Gertrude, proclaimed in his manifesto the end of syntax and sentence structure. He would have agreed with Gertrude who tried to purge Hemingway's work of adjectives. Generally it was a sophisticated audience, mostly well-dressed and interested in good music. But there was a group of unshaven, unwashed too who sensed that something was about to happen. They would not be disappointed. Pound Was the Most Vociferous Of
all the attendees, the one who was the most visible and most vociferous was Ezra
Pound with his unkempt goatee and shining green cape. He had a matching, oversized
beret and a golden scarf around his neck. His voice could be heard by all. He
was Antheil's self imposed impresario. He greeted everyone in his twangy accent.
I was rescued from him just on time. As we entered the ornate hall, I heard him
shout, I
followed Caresse to our seats. She slipped me a 50 franc note. I was relieved to find that we were seated next to Michael and Sarah Stein and their son Allan. "I see you're an aficionado," Michael smiled. "No. Hardly. But I met Mr. Antheil and he interested me in this concert." "Mr. Anteil might be more interesting than his music. He's an accomplished pianist, but I'm not certain of his composing ability." "Look," said Caresse, slipping her arm through mine and leaning close to me, "there are airplane propellers on stage. This is going to be amusing. Too bad Harry's missing this gala event." Satie and His Friends Were Also There I looked around. Satie and his friends had three boxes. Ezra Pound was now in a box overlooking the stage. He was talking in a loud voice to someone in the orchestra. With him was a painter I had seen in the quarter. I later found out it was Fernand Leger, who lived in the same building as Pound. Strong searchlights, like those found on a ship, played down on the stage. The crowd was noisier than usual. There was a feeling of anxiety in the air. After a while, the houselights dimmed. Musicians came on stage. Well, perhaps they were not all musicians. Two of them carried saws. One held a hammer. At started as the diminutive George Antheil strutted onto the stage. He bowed and sat at a Grand piano which had been electrically wired to three others. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a lethal looking pistol. He nodded to a musician who hit a gong and carefully placed the piston on the piano. Then, without fanfare, he began to play. So, too, did the others. The cacophony was ear splitting. As Antheil pounded the shining keys with two hands. The bassoons blared in discord. Saws, triangles and hammers could be heard while someone started the whirling propellers. People Began to Mutter...Then Screamed At
first, people began to mutter, then call out, then scream. "Shoo,"
some screamed and the yelling became worse as the propellers whirled causing a
man's wig to fly through the air noisily Satie yelled from his box, "Quel
precision!" He hollered. "Quel passion!" Bedlam broke loose. People punched one another at will. Nobody remained seated. Some simply waved their fists. Others headed for the door. And when the confusion was added to by purists trying to quiet the noise makers so they could concentrate on Antheil's Symphony Mécanique, George himself stopped playing, reached for his pistol and fired it into the ceiling. The shock of the pistol roar brought silence to the crowd and those who remained either smiled or held their ears. The Theatre Was Filled with Bravos and Catcalls When it was finally over, the theatre was filled with bravos and catcalls. People argued and began fighting. Chairs were thrown from the balcony. At one point I saw Ezra sliding down a rope so he could do battle centre stage. "Silence, imbeciles!" he shouted. The police were called. People were carted away bleeding. Some socialites were arrested. It was pandemonium as people fought in the aisles. Caresse and I escaped through a back door. We hastily took a taxi back to her spacious apartment. "It
was marvelous," she shouted. "I just adored it. Tomorrow we will visit
Mr. Antheil and tell him so in person." (To
continue, click here)
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