Le Feuilleton (the Serial), 8: Exclusive! “Trompe-l’Oeil,” Michel Ragon’s saga of art, artists, dealers, anti-Semitism, and critics in Post-war Paris, Part 8

by and copyright Michel Ragon
Translation copyright Paul Ben-Itzak
From “Trompe-l’oeil,” published in 1956 by Éditions Albin Michel

Part eight in the Paris Tribune / Arts Voyager exclusive English-language translation of Michel Ragon’s seminal 1956 novel taking on the world of abstract art, artists, art collectors, art dealers, and art critics in Paris, as well as post-War anti-Semitism in France. For the first seven parts, click here. For more on Michel Ragon, in French, click here. To learn how to support our work, e-mail artsvoyager@gmail.com .

Freshly returned from New York, Ancelin took tea at the Mumphys’ pad facing the Luxembourg Gardens. Monsieur Mumphy fawned over Ancelin, showering him with compliments as he did no other artist. These bouquets were destined first and foremost for the general’s son before they arrived at the young painter with a bright future.

No matter; regardless of who he was dealing with, Ancelin always conducted himself with an easy-going manner. His familiarity with the art dealers, the collectors, and even the most reserved of critics had the initial effect of shocking them before convincing them despite themselves to look upon Ancelin as a friend. Thanks initially to the rank of his father, then to his own cheekiness, at just 30 years old Ancelin had built up an address book that many older artists never compiled on their talent alone.

He never addressed an acquaintance by his last name, but always by his first name. His conversation was also laced with enigmas that only the initiated could follow. For example, he might say to Monsieur Mumphy:

“Jean promised to puff me up with Marcel. We had a long interview the other day chez Gaston.”

Translation: “Paulhan promised to sing my praises to Arland. We had a long interview the other day with Gallimard.”

By thus referring to them by their first names, Ancelin eventually convinced
everyone that he was on intimate terms with everyone else — and really did become close to all those who mattered in the art world.

Ancelin had another weapon in his arsenal: women. Not just the worldly women amongst whom his youth and his impertinence sowed bedlam, but all women. If his more or less concealed intimacy with numerous worldly women opened the doors to important collectors, his knack for seduction also exercised its charm on women who were more obscure but just as important to his career: gallery assistants, newspaper employees who made sure to slip a word to an editor. A deft painter who worked swiftly, Ancelin allocated one hour per day to his work and the other 23 to hawking it. He slept too of course, but rarely alone and as he also peopled the dreams of numerous disappointed women the same night, his time was never squandered.

And yet, this patented arrivist was not bereft of all sensitivity, or even outright sentimentality or disinterestedness. His friendships with Manhès and Fontenoy were proof of this.

When he was starting out, Ancelin found a precious support in Manhès, an established and esteemed painter. Fontenoy’s articles helped to launch him. But even today, when he no longer had need of them, he still hung out with the older painter and the journalist. He often defended them, even if these interventions were later held against him.

Young Charles joined his parents for the tea at the Mumphys.’ If the world of painting had been completely foreign to the adolescent as recently as the previous spring, he’d been bitten by the bug since he started taking courses at the Academy of Abstract Art. Bien entendu, he aped the lessons of his teachers.

As Ancelin lingered in front of the wall dedicated to Manhès, studying for the umpteenth time the technique in these paintings, dissecting them with his eyes and always extracting some profit for his own work, Charles Mumphy sashayed over to him and asked:

“What do you think you’ll discover in Manhès? You paint much better than him.”

Ancelin pivoted around, surprised by this chiding.

“Charles,” said Monsieur Mumphy with an air of reproach, “our good friend Ancelin has lots of talent, but after all, Manhès….”

“Manhès is the greatest of us all,” Ancelin cut him off with a certain brusqueness.

“Oh! Don’t exaggerate, don’t exaggerate,” Monsieur Mumphy answered in a jocular tone.

Ancelin walked over to two small water-colors, placed in discrete retreat in a corner.

“How about that! Blanche Favard! You’ve done right to add them to your collection, it’s good work!”

“Kind of you to say, kind of you to say….”

“You know that she’s become Fontenoy’s girlfriend?”

“We know, we know,” Monsieur Mumphy responded, rubbing his hands together and grinning until his face puffed up.

Ancelin approached the wall consecrated to his own paintings. He studied them as minutely as he’d examined Manhès’s tableaux earlier.

“Albert, you should give this one back to me. I’ll touch it up.”

“No, no!” Monsieur Mumphy protested. “Those paintings belong to me.”

Ancelin didn’t insist, but he continued ruefully regarding the incriminating painting.

In addition to his loyalty to his friends, Ancelin had another admirable quality: a professional conscience.

*****

After leaving the Mumphys’, Ancelin stopped in at the Laivit-Canne Gallery.

Satisfied to see one of his paintings in the show-case, he embraced the secretary upon entering and hunched over to reduce himself to the same scale as Laivit-Canne, effusively shaking the dealer’s hand.

He inspected the paintings hanging from the gallery’s walls, confirmed that he was well-placed, and remarked the absence of Manhès, who used to occupy the place of honor.

Laivit-Canne followed the painter around the room, monitoring his reactions. He interrogated him on what he thought of certain tableaux.

“Why haven’t you hung any of Manhès’s paintings?” Ancelin asked.

“Manhès is finished.”

Then he adopted an unctuous tone:

“You did quite well in New York, my dear Ancelin. Your exhibition was not a huge financial success, but your paintings are catching on. Next time you’ll sell everything. You have the stuff it takes to succeed. I’m going to be frank with you. Up until now, I’ve kept you in the shadow of Manhès and I was wrong. It’s a good thing that I had a falling out with that imbecile. Now I’m going to put all my stakes on you.”

Ancelin did not seem very happy about this.

“I’m the stand-in who replaces the star.”

“No, no!” Laivit responded testily. “You’ll see…. I’ll take you under my wing. I’ll make you skip a generation. Okay, so Manhès was your initiator; let’s recognize that. But you’re the better painter.”

Ancelin was slightly inebriated by Laivit-Canne’s words. This stroke to his ego, though, was tempered by bitterness over the dealer’s ingratitude towards Manhès. And then there was this comment again, the same that Charles Mumphy had pronounced: “You paint better than Manhès.” The phrase worried him. “There’s a conspiracy brewing against Manhès. I’ll warn him tonight.”

****

Ancelin reunited with Manhès, Isabelle, Fontenoy, and Blanche at the Select. He embraced Isabelle and Blanche, shook hands with his friends.

He talked about his trip to New York, of the warm welcome Abstract art was receiving over there.

“The French,” observed Manhès, “are always complaining with a certain rancor about the Americans who swept up all the Impressionist paintings. But they’ve conveniently forgotten that the Impressionists were understood in America from their very first exhibition. It will be the same for us. We live in Paris, but our paintings will go to American museums because the French bureaucrats of the Fine Arts administration ridicule our work.”*

Ancelin didn’t know how to talk to Manhès about the conspiracy which he’d devined. To do this he’d have to allude to the comparisons by Charles Mumphy and Laivit-Canne which were excessively flattering to him, and this embarrassed him. Fontenoy brought him to the heart of the subject by announcing:

“I’ve been fired by L’Artiste.”

“No!”

“Oh yes, Old Man. Already, while you were in New York, I had several squabbles with the editor-in-chief. They refused to let me write something about the Manhès-Laivit-Canne rupture under the pretext that it might upset the gallery. Then, when I proposed to write about a visit to Corato’s studio, they asked me to sing the eloges of Yves Brayer. If it was just that, I could have dealt with it. But now L’Artiste has launched an all-out campaign against Abstract art. I thought I’d dodged the problem by proposing a ‘piece’ on Courbet. But when I started looking at Courbet more closely, I got a glimpse of the conventional aspect of the personage. The famous ‘Bonjour, Monsieur Courbet’is indeed a chef-d’oeuvre… of boorishness and of conceitedness. Courbet’s sole quality is in the matter; his signature style is beautiful. But what conventionality in the sources of his inspiration! Voila the gist of my article on Courbet. Bad idea! My timing could not have been worse. It just so happened that they were getting ready to hold up Courbet as an example for the young painters. The die was cast. It was time to relieve themselves of my services.

Ancelin seemed crushed:

“It’s a tough blow. There’s no way of repairing the damage?”

Fontenoy sighed wearily.

“I don’t have the will any longer. I held on to the Artiste gig as long as I could. To continue, I’d have to deny everything I’ve fought for.”

Ancelin remained lost in thought.

“That’s out of the question, but it’s a huge sacrifice all the same…. From time to time the newspaper publishes your poems. You’ve got a tribune there that it will be difficult to replace elsewhere in the near future.”

“I’m well aware of that. If it was just a minor misunderstanding, it could be fixed. But we’re about to confront a major offensive. Did you see the latest issue of Le Figaro?”

“No.”

“Claude-Roger Marx has penned a piece with a bold headline: IT’S TIME TO BRING BACK GREEN WITH COURBET. Elsewhere, Dunoyer de Ségonzac is going after non-figurative painting. In another major daily, they turned over an entire page to Vlaminck just so he could rail at all Modern Art, from Cubism to the Abstracts — except of course his own painting. I had the presentiment of a catastrophe. Now it’s a certitude.”

“Don’t make like the biblical prophet,” Manhès warned. “I earn enough for us to start our own revue. That’ll rile them up! How’s that for an idea? What do you say? If we launch a review of our own? Of course, Fontenoy would be the editor-in-chief.”

Fontenoy suddenly had a vision of one of his dreams coming true: Directing an avant-garde revue, mingling poetry and painting, music and architecture. Then he tried to dismiss this over-flattering idea:

“You know, it’s really expensive to print a revue!”

“How much?” asked Manhès, tensing up. “Work up an estimate, evaluate the possibilities and the risks of the adventure. Make up a demo issue. Nothing’s impossible. In any case, I’d be quite happy to toss our own revue on their path to trip them up!”

They parted in the excitation of this idea.

Copyright 1956, 2020 Michel Ragon. Published by Albin Michel, 1956. Translation copyright Paul Ben-Itzak.

*At the epoch as now, the French government — represented here by the Fine Arts department of the culture ministry — has the right to pre-empt the sale at auction of works it deems national treasures. If it so deems them.

Vian versus virus(es): Born 100 years ago today, he spat on their graves before he went to his at the age of 39

Texts by and copyright Boris Vian
Translated and introduced by Paul Ben-Itzak

Tempting as it’s been in these heady days of impending pandemic to translate and share an excerpt from Albert Camus‘s “The Plague,” I just can’t bring myself to do it. (The latest development here in France: The culture minister is among the 1400 infected.) Not because historical parallels can be perilously inexact — notwithstanding that French radio announcers’ initial pronunciation of the name of the Chinese town where that country’s Corona virus affliction started sounded a lot like the cosmopolitan Algerian coastal city in which Camus situates his 1948 drama, Oran. But because I realized that what makes the author’s high moral stance problematic is that the indigenous population in Albert Camus’s Oran are the invisible men (and women). Born 100 years ago today and dead at the age of 39 when his heart burst as he watched a preview of the film version of his novel “I’ll Spit on Your Graves,” in which the pseudonymous “Vernon Sullivan” recounts a vengeful murder spree against white people, Boris Vian, songwriter and novelist, poet and playwright, Pataphysician and DJ, jazz critic and promoter (he introduced Ellington in France), godfather of the post-War Germanopretan scene and cornet player who blew his heart out, puts Camus to shame when it comes to moral consistence.

To condemn war, Vian doesn’t pick a morally uncomplicated example but chooses the justest of just wars, setting his novella “Les Fourmis” (the Ants) on a beach in Normandy where an Allied soldier wanders along a beach littered with German corpses, and his 1946 anarchist burlesque “Horse-quartering for beginners” in the home and abattoir of a horse-quarterer in Arromanches on D-Day, when his hero’s main preoccupation isn’t “their war” but to get the “Fritz” who’s (probably) been sleeping with his daughter for four years to make her an honest woman. Similarly, if the moral high ground of many French critics’ of anti-Black racism in the United States is often undermined by their ignoring similar tendencies in their own backyard (sure, Josephine Baker had it better in Paris than in the U.S., but if the “melomanes” flocked to see her at the Folies Bergère in the 1920s, the banana belt probably had something to do with it), when Vian uses a jazz press review (largely of the American jazz press) as a prism — the excerpt below, from Vian’s Jazz Hot jazz press review of June 1956, is just one example — to examine the treatment of Blacks in the United States, he starts out by allowing that he’s throwing his stones from a glass house:

“In the April 1956 issue of Jazz Journal, a fine piece by Berta Wood on racial prejudice. It’s a good thing that the Americans themselves have decided to enter the fracas by protesting against the bullying to which Blacks there are subjected; because given the fashion with which we comport ourselves in certain quarters we should probably shut our traps on the subject.

“In a word, Berta Wood writes about  ‘The Record of Emmet Till.’

“You know the story: the young Black man Emmet Till accused of raising his eyes and casting his lewd gaze on a good white woman; on the basis of which the good woman’s husband and brother-in-law kill him in cold blood and are acquitted by the all-white jury faster than you can say ‘Jim Crow’.

“About which the Blacks have made a record. ‘The Record of Emmet Till.’

“At night, on the radio, when everyone’s at home, there’s a sudden silence. And then the record is played.

“And the record is sung by a Black man with the flat voice of a Black man, without any apparent trace of emotion. It recounts how Emmet Till, at the age of 14, whistled one day in admiration when the white woman walked past him, and how the whites came to look for him at his uncle’s, took him to a barn, and beat him to death. And how the white men laughed when the verdict was pronounced.

“The record is played without any introduction. Just this moment of silence before and another after it’s finished playing. And the program continues as if nothing’s happened.

“This will surely not keep the murderers from sleeping. Because in all the countries of the world, the murderers sleep deeply.”

In a(nother) historical moment in which right-wing politicians in Italy, Poland, and Hungary often resort to a thinly veiled racial purity argument to keep the refugees penned up in frontier junctions like, lately, a Greek island called Lesbos, an item from Vian’s column of July-August 1956 is also worth sharing and translating:

“A little joker named Asa Carter, the secretary of the Council of White Citizens of Northern Alabama, has condemned ‘rock and roll’ in declaring ‘that it is being encouraged as a method of lowering the white man to the level of the Black man’ and that it is ‘part of a conspiracy to sap the morality of our nation’s youth. It is sexual, amoral, and constitutes the best way to bring together the members of the two races.’

“… which seems to me like an excellent idea. For that matter, the future lies in the mixing of the races, whether Carter, Asa likes it or not, from the moment one finds (and one does happily find) people who couldn’t care less about the color of their neighbor as long as he’s sympathetic.”

Extracted from Boris Vian, “Chroniques de Jazz,” text established and introduced by Lucien Malson, copyright 1967 Editions La Jeune Parque.

The Futurist Anarchist Funeral is Now

orsay carraFrom the exhibition Félix Fénéon, Les temps nouveaux, de Seurat à Matisse, on view at the Musée d’Orsay in Paris through January 27 before moving to the Museum of Modern Art in the Spring: Carlo Carrà (1881-1966), “Les Funérailles de l’anarchiste Galli (the anarchist Galli’s funeral),” 1910-1911. Oil on canvas, 198.7 x 259.1 cm. New York, Museum of Modern Art, bequest of Lillie P. Bliss (exchange), 1948. Photo ©Paige Knight. In the entry for Angelo Galli (1883-1906), in his “Dictionnaire de l’Anarchie” (Albin Michel, 2008), Michel Ragon writes: “Brother of Alessandro Galli, stabbed to death by a guard at the factory where he’d gone to check on strike-breakers on May 10, 1906. During his funeral procession, joined by an exalted crowd, violent scuffles broke out with the mounted troops. The painter Carlo Carrà, who at the time frequented the anarchist milieus, found himself among the crowd and, moved by the mass demonstration, the violence of the brawls with the police, the black oriflammes being brandished and the shrouds covered with red eyelets, painted in remembrance one of the most astonishing Futurist tableaux…,” of a mammoth scale, exposed to great success in Paris, London, and Berlin in 1912. A contributor to the newspaper Il Tempo upon its founding in 1918, on March 8, 1910 (as Guillaume Apollinaire would note in Le Petit Bleue on February 9, 1912), Carrà joined Umberto Boccioni, the poet Filippo Marinetti, and a handful of others on the stage of the Chiarella theater in Turin to deliver the Futurist Manifesto, in their words “a long cry of revolt against academic art, against museums, against the rule of professors, of archeologists, of …. antique dealers…..” Fist-fights and cane battles immediately broke out, Apollinaire noted, the “great audience tumult” only ending when the police intervened. (Guillaume Apollinaire, “Chroniques d’Art,” Gallimard, Paris,  1960.) For more on anarchists and unionists from Michel Ragon, click here. For more Ragon on art — exclusively on the Dance Insider and Arts Voyager — click here.

Vanishing Acts: Waiting in Limbo with Maguy Marin, Nidaa Badwan, Gaza, & Lutèce

marin umweltCompagnie Maguy Marin in Maguy Marin’s “Umwelt.” Photograph by and copyright Christian Ganet and courtesy Theatre de la Ville.

By Paul Ben-Itzak
Copyright 2015, 2019 Paul Ben-Itzak

First published on the DI/AV on December 11, 2015, in the wake of the November 13 massacre in Paris of 130 innocents from France and around the world on the café terraces, outside the stadiums, and in the Bataclan concert hall by a bunch of cowards. For an update on Nidaa Badwan — who is no longer waiting in limbo — click here.

PARIS — One of the endurance tests of a work of art is its malleability over time. When I first saw Maguy Marin’s “Umwelt” 10 years ago in its Paris premiere at the Theatre de la Ville – Sarah Bernhardt, if the choreography was dense, its spirit was still unrelentingly slapstick, with nine performers taking turns surging rapid-fire — solitary, paired, or in triplets — from the opening between three lateral walls of mirrors, le tout, mirrors and humans with their various props (baby dolls, turkey drumsticks, army helmets, guns, aprons, foliage, blonde wigs, laboratory jackets, pills, buckets of dirt…) buffeted about by wind machines as they engaged in everyday human interplay and gestures from kisses to fights, with the occasional flashing of fesses and genitals tossed in to remind you it was, after all, European modern dance. Even the bombastic score — played by a single strand of twine which crossed the downstage from one spool to another, caressing the strings of three prostrate electric guitars en route — didn’t perturb the frothy demeanor of the movement. What outraged me was that where no one had walked from the same theater during a Wim Vandekeybus spectacle the previous week which projected graphic images of children being tortured and killed, 40 spectators fled “Umwelt,” the more optimistic work. On Friday December 4, though, at the opening of the reprise of “Umwelt” on the same stage, I started sobbing at the first appearance of the performers. With their bright pedestrian outfits and variety of human shapes and ages, in their frantic running back and forth, fighting against the torrential currents of the wind and lost in the confines of the buckling rows of mirror-wall centurions, they seemed to be the 130 innocents killed November 13, discombobulated and disoriented over what had just happened to them, trapped in this antechamber like Captain Kirk hovering between two dimensions, juggling the detrius of their lives on Earth until we the survivors could set things right. At the moment, the verdict is still out, as we too seem to be hovering like Kirk between two worlds — or at least two worldviews, that of trepidation and fear and that of persevering hope.

On Thursday, I returned to the Place de la Republique, where previously, reading a note *whose message I didn’t agree with* implying a causal relationship between these senseless murders and Western intevention in the Middle East (Da’esh attacked us first!) — I was nonetheless heartened to see the statement, and that no one had taken it down, because this is the France they want to destroy, the France which embraces debate and disagreement and dissent. In the United States, striking workers are kept a block away from the workplace they’re picketing; in France, they actually occupy the workplace, and police aren’t called in to clear them out. (These rights aren’t a given; workers died for them.) At the Maison Europeenne de la Photographie right now, as part of the first biennial of photography of the contemporary Arab world, an entire floor is taken up by an exhibition on the disastrous effects of the Israeli invasion of the Gaza strip in 2014, particularly in polluting the area’s water supply. The MEP is an institution of the city of Paris. A similar exhibition would never happen at a municipal museum in the United States, or if it did, Israeli lobbyists would insist on a counter-exhibition postulating a false equivalence of victimhood. It’s institutions like these — vaunting free speech, and a wider opening to Arab perspectives than anywhere else in the Occident — that protected France for so long from the terrorists, with their lying attempts to justify their actions as vengeance for mistreatment of Arabs and Muslims. And it’s this France which the terrorists want to destroy. To them — horrible as this is to say — it’s not so much the body count that matters, as how we react to the blood-letting and whether they succeed in dividing us and getting us to modify our values, or at least our interpretation and implementation of them.

Shepherding the reaction is new terrain for a president who was elected above all to address economic challenges. So far — while there are those on the far Left here who might disagree with me — the response, particularly by the patient interior minister Bernard Cazeneuve, has been considered and tempered, given the unprecedented circumstances the country faces, *and* the crucial regional elections he must supervise at the same time and that, if the far Right takes three to four of the new 13 super-regions in Sunday’s second round as they have a good chance to do, could weigh heavily on the 2017 national elections and the fate of liberty, fraternity, and equality in a country that swears by them. So the following is offered not as back-seat driving, but as the perspective of a foreigner who doesn’t want to see France lose what in a way, we all feel a ‘proprietary’ stake in (and should not imply that there are not Frenchmen and women who feel the same, up to and including the president).

Returning to the Place de la Republique Thursday December 3, then, I found the monument around which the notes have been posted below the votive candles encircled by barricades which made it impossible to approach closer than 100 meters, and thus no longer possible to read the declarations which were the main souvenir compelling Parisians and visitors to hover there in silent contemplation. The two discrete national police officers patrolling the place had been augmented to 20, with a fleet of vans standing nearby. There was a reason and even a noble motivation for this; on the previous Sunday, some demonstrators had reportedly trashed some of the mementos, so that the police were there to protect the shrine and prevent further damage. Still, it made me sad that, at least at this site, it was no longer possible to link ourselves in solidarity around the WORD, the word which has been precious to France and Frenchmen and women since Descartes, since Voltaire, since Moliere, the Chevalier de la Barre, Balzac, Hugo, Baudelaire, Flaubert, Sand, Zola, Jaures, Sartre, Camus and De Beauvoir and right up to modern scholars and philosopher-pundits Stora and Onfray.

gazaGaza, Beti Hanoun, April 2015: A girl from Beti Lahia leads her little brother to a water distribution point. In June the U.N. described the devastation in Gaza  following Israel’s 2014 invasion as “unprecedented.” According to the U.N., Israel killed 2,251 Palestinians, including 1,462 civilians among whom 551 were children. Hamas killed 72 Israelis, including 67 soldiers and five civilians. Photo copyright Massimo Berruti, who received the Prix Photo AFD / Polka for his work. Courtesy Maison Europeenne de la Photographie.

The second decision which saddened me — even if I understand the well- intentioned reasoning — was that to temporarily suspend free Wednesday late afternoons / early evenings at the Maison Europeenne de la Photographie. The reasoning is evident; a magnet for the (mostly) young (less likely to have the resources to pay for a ticket), cosmopolitan, hip, and decoratively dressed, of all cultures, this is demographically exactly the type of event that was targeted on November 13. Popular and crowded — even if the MEP carefully monitors capacity — with several floors and essentially one exit, it’s obviously a vulnerable assemblage. Still, the contemporary Arab world photography exhibition is the perfect counter-argument to the terrorists’ (false and duplicitous) recruiting tool that the West is out to harm Muslims and Arabs. Andrea & Magda’s “Sinai Park” shows the deleterious effects of, among other factors, Daesh’s terrorism on tourism investment in the Sinai. And the Italian photographer Massimo Berruti’s “Gaza: Eau Miracle” shows the calamitous effects of Israel’s 2014 invasion of this occupied territory on the area’s water supply, particularly in his photos of Gazan children searching for water amidst the rubble. In other words, the high visibility of both the biennial in general and these exhibitions in particular proves the contrary of Daesh’s claims as regards France. Perhaps MEP could take a cue from Theater de la Ville director Emmanuel Demarcy-Mota, who, in the face of restrictions on school outings following the declaration of the state of emergency, has promised to bring the artists to the school so that the theater can continue its ambitious education programs. MEP could, for example, bring a slide-show version of Berruti’s award-winning work to French schools, including the banlieus or suburbs.

The MEP room devoted to Berruti’s Gaza work also featured, in continuous loop, a France 24 television report on the devastating effects of Israel’s Gaza invasion, part of which was a featurette on Nidaa Badwan, a Gazan artist caught between two extremes. Prevented by Israel from leaving Gaza, frowned on by Hamas’s “morality” police (who even beat her after arresting her for an outdoor performance) because she dresses like, well, like any Belleville artist, and distressed by the dilapidation that confronts her every time she goes outside, the 28-year-old artist decided to create her own cocoon in her 9-square-foot bedroom, lining it with egg-carts to diminish the outside noise and taking a series of self-portrait photographs (illumined by rare moments of sunlight). When the director of the Jerusalem French Institute read about Badwin’s book based on this project, “100 Days of Solitude,” in the New York Times, the institute organized an exhibition in East Jerusalem. When it came time for the opening, Israel refused to issue her a visa.

nidaa badwan100 Days of Solitude: Gaza Artist Nidaa Badwan captured — and free — in her home and studio. Photo courtesy Nidaa Badwan.

I think of Badwan, armed only with her beret and her camera, determined to make her art even in the face of extremes on both sides. And it occurs to me that if she can persist and create a niche in a space of liberty smaller than even many Paris apartments, maybe we can maintain ours, and liberate Noemie Gonzalez and the other 129 November 13 martyrs from their limbo.
PS: Taking my lunch yesterday abreast of the Ourcq canal in the suburb of Pantin, right outside the Paris Peripherique, I noticed a motorcyclist in a municipal uniform stopping by each of the trees and lowering his vacuum…. to suck up dog poop. We here are much more comfortable preserving beauty than fighting destruction. We are finding our way. So when the Canadian militant Naomi Klein gets up, as she did earlier this week in Paris during the climate conference, and invites her followers to defy the State of Emergency’s prohibition of demonstrations, having the gall to call the government’s ban “draconian and opportunistic,” I want to say: You are a guest here. (And one who has been welcomed on the public media waves.) We are not here to help you sell your books. Please take your self-promoting defiance elsewhere while we work this out, in our fashion.

nidaa badwan new roomNidaa Badwan in the “New Room” — as this photo is called —  and studio accorded to her by Italy after this story first appeared. Photo courtesy Nidaa Badwan

The body feminine: A summons to appear

By and copyright 2018, 2019 Fatima Khemilat
Translated by Paul Ben-Itzak

Editor / Translator’s Note: With the recent umpteenth resurgence – instigated by a member of a far right political party who excoriated a Muslim parent accompanying a school field trip to a public meeting for wearing a head scarf, entirely legal in France – of the tired national (media) debate over the Muslim veil, instead of jumping into the melee by regurgitating our own tired point of view, we decided it was time to translate a scholarly essay, based on sound scholarly research, which goes beyond this particular polemic to explore larger (and largely unresolved) societal issues relating to the presence of women – and the female body – in the public commons in France which this and other recent debates reflects. A doctor in political sciences from the  Institut d’études  politiques in Aix-en-Provence (CHERPA), Fatima Khemilat is a lecturer at the university Paris-Est Créteil specializing in relations between the Muslim religion and public authorities. Numbered footnotes are the author’s. Lettered footnotes – and any opinions expressed therein —  and bracketed comments, with a couple of exceptions intended to illuminate several references whose meaning might not be apparent to readers outside France, are the translator’s. Because of latent confusion (on the part of the public and the translator, not the author) over the meaning of ‘voile integral’ – literally, veil entire or veil complete – sometimes called the niqab, which generally speaking covers the lower face but not necessarily the eyes, and should not be confounded with either the burka or the hijab (head-scarf) – in certain instances below we’ve kept the original French terminology in order to respect the integrity of the author’s intended meaning. The following essay was originally published in  les Cahiers du Développement Social Urbain,  no. 68, second semester 2018, and is translated and published with the permission of the author. After several attempts to do justice in the translation to the wordplay in the original title without sacrificing its intended meaning, we gave up. That title:  Le corps des femmes : une assignation à (par)être. Like what you’re reading? Please consider making a donation today by designating your payment in dollars or Euros via PayPal to paulbenitzak@gmail.com , or write us at that address to ask how to donate by check. Don’t read English? Drop us a note and, to the extent that the author permits, we’ll drop you the French original. Today’s translation and publication of this article sponsored by Freespace Dance.

The unequal access of women to public spaces has been the object of a major body of scientific and activist literature. This inequality relies on an anthropologically gendered division of territories and of the functions relegated to them: private spaces with their domestic and reproductive tasks have been allotted to women, and public spaces structured by and for men, who see themselves awarded the tasks considered as the most noble and complex. This sexualized apportioning of jurisdictions is still the rule today because if women now have access to public spaces, it’s an access that is conditional. Women are seen as available objects whose essential purpose is to attract.  Their principle capital, to employ Pierre Bourdieu’s terminology, thus relies on their physical attributes, their desirability. So that masculine domination “constitutes women as symbolic objects in which the being (esse) is a being perceived (percepi) (A), which has the effect of placing them in a state of permanent bodily insecurity or, at best, of symbolic dependence: they exist first and foremost by and for the regard of others, that is to say as welcoming, attractive, and available objects.” (1)

The female body, permanently onstage

This symbolic violence perpetrated on women is incarnated — literally becomes flesh and blood — in their bodies, notably by the injunction to be thin, or what the Moroccan Muslim feminist Fatema Mernissi refers to as “the 36-24-36 harem.” If women residing in conservative countries are circumscribed to living in a physical harem, between four walls, for women in Western societies this containment (B) is their own bodies. It’s as if the body becomes the continuation of the harem, extended as a space of confinement, in the sense that like the harem, it limits their movements and circumscribes their possibilities for emancipation. There is thus a metonymy between the female body and the intimate space. Taking our cue from Naomi Wolf (C) and Pierre Bourdieu in their respective work on masculine domination, these “’body codes’” insidiously paralyze women’s aptitude to enter the corridors of power. The resources of women who do manage to enter into the competition are so dependent on their physical aspects that there’s no question of equal opportunity.”  (2) (C2)

Women are, so to speak, eclipsed by their bodies, which thus transformed into objects are availed of like objects. They’re thus reduced to the materiality of their being, or rather appearance, by recurrent reminders in public spaces, as much immaterial as material.  In its immaterial, or if you prefer virtual, dimensions, the public space refers to the public stage: the media, social networks, Internet, advertising. The female body is over-represented in these domains, reduced to the status of an object to be exhibited, at one’s disposition and up for sale. This hyper-sexualization is never synonymous with power, whereas the representation of the male body in advertising, its eroticization, is associated with the ideal of power, of strength, and of virility. In material public spaces (streets, thoroughfares, other spaces open to the public) women see themselves reminded of their rank as objects by blatant harassment, or what’s known as the “male gaze.” (3) Thus it is that men, by a sort of magic social spell, not only see themselves as authorized — and self-authorized —  to judge, gage, and scrutinize women’s bodies but also to share with them the verdicts of their judgments. The whistles, hoots, and other “flirting techniques” are even presented as flattering, because the objective is attained: Please men, no matter which men, no matter what the price. Women’s bodies are thus not only seen as inherently sexual and therefore desirable (passive) but never desiring (active.)

Public spaces, conditional presence

The hyper-sexualization of the female body has two possible consequences when it comes to spatial segregation. In societies where sexuality is forbidden in certain enclosed spaces, notably for religious reasons, women (objects of temptation) are sent home or directed to female-only spaces: hammam, landry-room, “female-only” sections in places of worship, etcetera. They are allowed to access public spaces under certain conditions: that they demarcate the spatial barrier by covering / dissimulating their hair / bodies, being accompanied by a man, or being accompanied by other women. Women thus don’t occupy the public space, they simply traverse it, in transit. Cafés, restaurants, streets, cybercafés are thus seen as inherently masculine spaces of socialization. On the other hand, in secular societies where sexuality is presented as a depoliticized and/or pacified object, when in reality it never is (cf. the interdiction for women to expose their nude torsos in public, which does not apply to men), women can access public space to a limited degree.

The spatial segregation also takes on the form of a temporal dimension. In a certain sense there are two types of public spaces: the diurnal public space and the nocturnal public space. If it’s more and more admissible that women have access to the former, the latter on the other hand remains by and large a masculine space. It’s as if there’s a curfew which applies to “respectable” women, that is to say those not suspected of being “loose” floozies. After a certain hour, the streets are essentially populated by men, and breaking the tacit curfew subjects women to familiar penalties: street harassment and rape. These last operate as vague sanctions, indicating that the public space is, and remains, above all a space belonging to men.

The injunctions are therefore at the least paradoxical. Women are at the same time expected to be desirable, attractive (make-up, high-heels, tight outfits and other aesthetic accessories which restrict their mobility) and yet not overly so, otherwise they risk being labeled with the stigma of “whore.” The [French] misdemeanor of passive solicitation put in place by the law of March 18, 2003 re-enforces the gender differentiation of the temporal and territorial occupation of public space. The simple fact of a woman finding herself in certain neighborhoods reputed as sectors of prostitution, of being there at an hour considered late, of being dressed in a certain way or, worse, having a few condoms in her purse, is sufficient to constitute the misdemeanor of passive solicitation. It’s the judicial materialization of the temporal and spatial segregation imposed on women.

Women, summoned to limit themselves to a ‘type of feminine purity’

In the same manner, at the other end of the spectrum of feminine stigmas one finds women who wear the partial or full veil. The female body being an object of desire, attempting to dissimulate it and, by so doing, essentially withdraw it from the matrimonial and/or sexual market of the dominant population constitutes an offense now punished by the law in France (Law of October 11, 2010 on non-dissimulation of the visage in public spaces). In secularized countries, the figure of the “respectable woman” or as anthropologists might put it “the symbol of pure femininity” is thus circumscribed between these two extremities by, respectively, the figures of the foil and the scarecrow, of the prostitute and the veiled woman. The two are for that matter seen as having legally limited access to the public space. Respectable women must thus take part in the matrimonial and sexual marketplace, without trying to extract themselves from it by wearing a voile integral or charging for access to it, which might suggest that they control their desire and their sexuality, a privilege reserved for men. [Emphasis added by translator.]  Pure femininity is thus a femininity which simultaneously demonstrates a certain probity and reserve while still remaining accessible.

The July 18 video-taped attack on Marie Laguerre served as the occasion to elevate to the forefront of the public agenda “the battle against sexual and sexist violence,” from which resulted the adaptation of the Law of August 3, 2018 (D). The penalization of street harassment nonetheless was not unanimously applauded by feminist organizations and figures. The latter reproached the discriminatory nature of such a measure, which to a certain extent targets racialized men of modest origins. In effect, reading between the lines, the figure of the “Arab garcon” evoked by Nacira Guénif-Souilamas and Éric Macé (E) is considered to be the real target of the measure, while for their part the dominant white males continue to exercise sexist and sexual violence in the halls of power: in the artistic, political, military, and major business domains, etcetera. The economic and racial dimensions are therefore articulated both as relates to the people committing the acts of violence and those subjected to them.

Of the female body relegated to somewhere else or the altérisation of sexism

In the case of femininities labeled as impure, things are even more flagrant. Historically prostitution districts are situated close to centers of masculine sociability and mobility: train stations, ports, downtowns.  From this fact, these districts and the neighborhoods around them, reputed for being “bad neighborhoods,” are prey to depreciated real estate values. The prostitutes, often represented as being foreigners, are thus progressively turned out to the perimeters of the cities, the suburbs (F), peripheral towns and woods. In the same manner, out of fear that the erecting of a mosque will send real estate values plummeting, certain cities exercise their right of pre-emption or simply refuse to deliver construction permits to push Muslim places of worship out of the cities. Besides this, the law forbidding wearing the niqab [which, as distinct from the hijab or headscarf, covers the lower part of the face though not necessarily the eyes] in public spaces allows for two exceptions: private spaces and mosques. For this reason, and to avoid the public disturbances that the interpellation and legal fining of a woman wearing such a veil might engender, police officers demonstrate a certain indulgence vis-à-vis women [spotted wearing the voile integral] next to mosques which themselves are situated in the suburbs. This is one of the reasons that women who wear the niqab, as with prostitutes, are essentially more visible in the suburbs.

The presence outside of cities of these women regarded (in the eyes of the patriarchy, be it religious or neo-liberal) as inherently submissive participates in the symbolic assignment of sexism to “the lost territories of the Republique” (to employ Emmanuel Brenner’s terminology). In this manner, sexism is framed as coming from an elsewhere (un ailleurs), as symbolic (foreign cultures) as it is territorial, in a spatial, temporal, and civilizational  metonymy: present/city center/European-ness [versus] past/suburb/foreign cultures. This symbolic and territorial circumscription of sexism to the other side of the tracks also enables its embodiment in the figure of the “Arab youth.” This demarcation and this altérisation of masculine domination shrewdly enables remaining silent on and invisibilizing the sexual violence perpetrated on women in the hearts of cities, amongst more privileged social categories. It also more or less enables the defining and unifying of an “us” in a strategy of civilizational differentiation in which the barometer is “the condition of women,” or what the sociologist Eric Fassin qualifies as “sexual democracy.” Certain controversies have thus come to reactivate the idea of an imbrication straddling territorial, gender, racialized, and economic dimensions. In other words, understanding the modalities of the occupation of the public commons by women necessitates realizing a genuine geography of intersectionality, in which women voilées intégra­lement  and prostitutes define, whether we like it or not, the obligatory boundaries.

1. Pierre Bourdieu, “La Domination masculine,” éditions du Seuil, 1998.
2. F. Mernissa, “Le Harem et l’Occident,” éditions Albin Michel, 2001.
3. In English in the original text.

A. Translator’s note (TN): “Esse est percipi” (To be is to be perceived.) – Berkeley

B. TN: In English and italicized in the original text.

C. See Naomi Wolf, “The Beauty Myth.” 1990, Chatto & Windus.
C2. Several years ago the Parliamentarian and president of the French Green party  Cecile Duflot was riddled by several of her male peers for the skirt she was wearing while delivering an address.

D. TN: On July 18, 2018 in Paris – as reported by the Parisian newspaper on July 29, 2018 – a 22-year-old woman named Marie Laguerre was assaulted (before witnesses and as recorded on video-tape) by a man after she refused to accept obscene remarks she said had been proffered at her. The incident – and a years-long campaign against sexual harassment on the streets of Paris and public transit – prompted the passage by the French legislature of the law of August 3, 2018, which sets out penalties for several forms of sexual aggression and harassment.

E. TN: Nacira Guénif-Souilamas is a French anthropologist and sociologist specializing in questions of gender and ethnicity, immigration and integration, and racial, cultural, and social stereotypes. Eric Macé’s work in sociology focuses on power rapports, notably in the cultural and media spheres and as relates to gender and ethnicity.

F. TN: The French term ‘banlieu’ doesn’t necessarily describe the same population, social, living, and economic conditions as found in the American equivalent suggested by the most obvious translation, ‘suburbs,’ at least in the Parisian context. While both are on the outskirts of a large city and there are certainly some well-to-do ‘banlieus’ outside of Paris, in general the banlieus are more ‘cosmopolite’ than their U.S. counterparts, home to numerous ‘cités’ or public housing projects, and economically modest to poor, with youth unemployment in some banlieus as high as 40 percent in recent years. According to some commentators – often from the Right but also including some leading feminists nominally considered on the Left – some of the cafés and bars in some of the neighborhoods of some of the banlieus are ‘no-fly’ zones for women. (My analysis here as throughout in these translator’s notes doesn’t necessarily reflect the author’s point of view.) My own – strictly anecdotal – evidence belies this reading: Living in the immediate Paris suburb of the prè-St.-Gervais earlier this year (down the street from a store-front mosque; I recognized it as a mosque by the pairs of shoes carefully deposited on the sidewalk outside on Fridays), if I remarked that the clients of the bar-café across the street were mostly men in their 20s to late 50s, many probably residents of the nearby Rabelais public housing project, I also observed that the occasional female client who entered for her morning coffee (or late-morning ‘petite blanc’) was welcome. And the male clients who lingered on the sidewalk were regularly subjected to (what sounded to my non-Arab speaking ears like) good-natured haranguing from the hijab (headscarf)-wearing babushka who lived upstairs.