(Belles) Surprises in a time of cholera: Journal d’une artiste maman parisienne

julie sabrinia bizien

Sabrinia Bizien, “Abundance.” Just one of the elements that helped the author find – and plant – surprises around the compact apartment in the East of Paris that she shares with her husband Thomas and their sons Armand (8) and Aimé (4) during the two months France’s population was confined at home.

By Julie Safier-Guizard
Translation by Paul Ben-Itzak with the author

(V.O. Française follows translation.)

How does an over-worked, overtly creative Parisian mother, daughter, musician, youth choir director and writer make sure she stops and smells the roses? By noting, recording, and sharing them with friends and family. For Julie Safier-Guizard, for the past 630 days this has meant keeping daily journals of “Petites Joies” and “Surprises.” When the pandemic arrived, bringing with it, on March 15, a government order to shelter in place (lifted May 11; French restaurants, cafés, and other workplaces fully re-open today, public schools beginning next Monday), allowing just one-hour per day outings for health and family imperatives, physical exercise, or grocery shopping, Julie Safier-Guizard, the daughter of an American man and French woman and a Paris native, saw no reason to stop looking for surprises.

March 15 – 21, 2020

Surprise, Day 186

Against all odds, not knowing what exactly I might have nor when I’ll be better, I’ve decided to continue the challenge of “Surprises,” so that these little scintillating sparks of mischief, joy and life might do some good for us every day. I’d dreamed up scores of possibilities with the wild things; at the end of the day they found, entirely on their own, a passionate, all-consuming pastime: Skinning carrots!

julie kids and carrotsShort-order chefs en germe: Armand and Aimé on voluntary KP duty.

Surprise, Day 186 1/2:

Unable to go outside to see the flowers bloom, we’ve created our own… in all colors!

First, we draw by hand or with the computer flowers that we then color. Then we cut them up and then, finally, fold the petals over one by one. When the flowers are placed in the water, the petals  unfold more or less rapidly.

julie bizien hidden with flowersFlower-power: Les vrais fleurs chez Julie and Thomas – a professional gardener – soon got some company thanks to  apprentice faux fleurs gardeners Armand and Aimé.

Surprise, Day 186 2/3

“We are at war….” The voice of our dear president resonates in the kitchen from the small crackling radio, missing half its antenna.

Thomas is frozen stiff, holding the radio in his hands like a fragile object.

I imitate the orator and tell myself that it won’t be tomorrow that we’ll be getting a television. I like imagining too much….

Sitting on my knees, Aimé finishes his apple sauce (the only dish that he seems to like at the moment).

As for Armand, at the same time riveted to the radio and a trifle antsy, he ends up asking, after the president has enumerated all the activities to be proscribed, “But why doesn’t he say to not watch television too much?”

How true! What an unpardonable omission!

 

Surprise, Day 187

Aimé seizes my pills:

“Mom, it says here, ‘Pills for never being sick.'”

Génial!

Surprise, Day 187 1/2

To liven up meal-times in a way that insures they don’t degenerate into total chaos, we make up riddles. Aimé gets into the spirit of the thing… in his fashion:

“You’ve guessed what it is?”

“An animal?”

“Yes!”

“Yellow?”

“No! Blue.”

“An… elephant?”

“No.”

“A bird?”

“No, a leopard!” cries Aimé, delighted to divulge the answer.

“But Aimé… a leopard, it’s…”

“A blue leopard is blue!” he declares in a tone that allows no room for debate.

And indeed, he’s right!

Surprise, Day 188

We cannot guarantee that the words which follow are correctly spelled.

“Mom, I don’t want you to dye!”

“What do you mean, Aimé?”

“I don’t want you to dyonos!”

“Er, Aimé….”

“I don’t want you to morose… that you’ll be dead, if you really need me to spell it out! You understained now?”

Surprise, Day 189

“Aimé, I don’t want you hanging out alone on the balcony.”

“It’s not ‘balcony,’ Mom, it’s ‘balcokneeeee’!”

“How’s that?”

“I said, It’s not ‘balcony,’ it’s ‘balcokneeeeee!'”

“Oh, of course: the balcokneeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

“Yes, ‘balcokneeeeeeeeeee’ is ‘balcony’ in Aimish…”

But of course!

Surprise, Day 190

“Mom, can I be a girl?”

“Um, Aimé, you’re a boy…. So you’d rather be a girl?”

“Yes!”

“Okay…: Is it that you want to do things girls do, or that you want to be a girl?”

“Be a girl! Just a little bit! But after I’ll be a boy again, okey-dokey?”

Magic wand, anyone?

Surprise, Day 190 1/2

Opening the window yesterday, I received a shock. It wasn’t like usual. Because my nose had a sudden urge to plunge into the nocturnal air and take it in completely. It was the aromas…. Yes, that’s it, one senses the night’s aromas like never before. I felt as if I were enveloped in a soft quilt made up of a thousand aromatic corners, innumerable patchworks, patchworks each of which offered its own unique perfume…. It was somewhat fluid, indeterminate, but at the same time it was like I was getting inebriated inhaling each aroma in such an exquisite manner. Starting tonight, every night I plan on opening my window and making a ritual out of trying to recognize at least one of these patchworks. Odors, effluvia, and perfumes will be my playground.

Our Planet is finally able to breathe and reclaim its colors. I want to cry with joy.

Surprise, Day 191

This morning everything is perfectly quiet. I enter their room discretely and find the boys, for once, calm … and very busy!

The room is filling up little by little with stickers and collages of all kinds. It’s entirely likely that the walls will soon be saturated, given the length of the wait which is expected….

julie picture in bathroomSalle des surprises: Art ‘caché by Sabrinia Bizien.

Surprise, Day 191 1/2

I divert myself by planting surprises all around our apartment, utilizing glossy paper, the printer, and poster putty…. In this way, the eye settles on the gentle tableaux (by Sabrinia Bizien) and gets lost for a moment.

Not far from the dish-washing liquid… above the kitchen table… to the left of the stove, in the bathroom….

I’ll see how the boys react….

Surprise, Day 191 2/3

With the kind permission of Miss MM, “Paint-brush meets plume” goes public for at least 14 days. 14 days with a daily painting and accompanying poem….

In this way we hope to provide a bit of balm for these difficult times.

julie unicornAnd what about you? Do you still believe in wonder-full surprises? Art by Mariane Mazel.

Painting by Mariane Mazel
Poem by Julie Safier-Guizard

First Encounter

From the gushing of purple
I cry towards you
I am red lip-stick
I am cherry blossoms
Dangling from ear-lobes
And I cry towards you
Born from my pallor
Cousin of violet
It is
all the same
inside me that this cry
Vibrates the most intensely
Purple cry
Violetas.

(Author’s biography follows original French version below.)

Version française originale
par Julie Safier-Guizard

Depuis 630 jours, Julie Safier-Guizard, maman – artiste parisienne, enregistre les ‘Surprises’ et ‘Petites joies’ quotidienne, y compris dans le foyer qu’elle partage avec son mari Thomas et leurs fils Aimé (4) et Armand (8). Et ce ne serai pas un petit confinement de 2 mois qui vas les faire arrêté, les surprises. Au contraire. — PB-I

Du 15 au 21 mars

Surprise, jour 186

Envers et contre tout, ne sachant ni ce que j’ai exactement, ni quand j’irai mieux, j’ai décidé de continuer le défi des SURPRISES, pour que de petites étincelles de malice, de joie et de vie, nous fassent du bien chaque jour.

J’avais prévu plein de possibilités avec les fauves, finalement ils se sont trouvé eux-mêmes une activité passionnante : l’épluchage de carottes !!!

Surprise, jour 186 bis

A défaut de se promener pour voir les fleurs éclore… On en a fait de toutes les couleurs !

Dessiner ou imprimer des fleurs que l’on colorie. Puis les découper et enfin replier pétale sur pétale. En mettant sur l’eau chaque fleur de papier, elles vont se déplier plus ou moins vite…

Surprise, jour 186 ter

« Nous en sommes en guerre… »

La voix de notre cher président résonne dans la cuisine à travers le petit poste grésillant auquel manque une moitié d’antenne.

Thomas s’est figé, tenant le poste comme une chose fragile.

Je me figure les mimiques de l’orateur et me dis que ce n’est pas demain la veille que nous aurons une télévision. J’aime trop imaginer….

Assis sur mes genoux, Aimé finit sa compote (seul plat qu’il semble apprécier en ce moment).

Quant à Armand, à la fois attentif et un peu agité, il finit par lancer :

— Mais pourquoi il ne dit pas de ne pas trop regarder la télévision… ?

(C’est vrai ça ! Quel impardonnable oubli !)

Surprise, jour 187

Aimé se saisit de mes médicaments :

– Maman, il est écrit dessus « Pastilles pour ne plus jamais être malade ».

Génial !

Surprise, jour 187 bis

Pour animer les repas de manière à ce qu’on parte un peu moins dans tous les sens, on fait des devinettes.

Aimé joue… à sa manière :

– Vous devinez alors ?

– C’est un animal ?

– Oui !

– Jaune ?

– Non ! C’est bleu.

– Un… éléphant ?

– Non

– Un oiseau ?

– Non, un léopard, s’écrie Aimé, ravi de divulguer sa devinette.

– Mais Aimé… un léopard c’est…

– Un léopard bleu, c’est bleu !, lance-t-il d’un ton sans réplique.

Et il a bien raison !

Surprise, jour 188

[Nous ne certifions pas la bonne orthographe des mots qui vont suivre]

– Maman, je veux pas que tu moures !

– Pardon Aimé ?

– Je veux pas que tu mourisses !

– Mais Aimé…

– Je veux pas que tu mors… que tu sois mort, pour que tu comprennes !

Vous avez comprisse ?

Surprise, jour 189

– Aimé, je préfère que tu ne restes pas seul sur le balcon.

– Pas le balcon maman, le baaaalcon !

– Pardon ?

– Je dis : pas le balcon, le baaaalcon !

– Ah, oui : le baaaaaalcon !

– Oui, baaaaalcon c’est le balcon en « français Aimé » !

Ah mais bien sûr !

Surprise, jour 190

– Maman, est-ce que je pourrais être une fille ?

– Euh… Tu es un garçon Aimé… tu aimerais être une fille alors ?

– Oui !

– Bon… Tu as envie de faire des choses de fille ou être une fille ?

– Etre une fille, juste un petit peu ! Mais après je serai encore un garçon, d’accord ?

Baguette magique, anyone ?

Surprise, jour 190 bis

Hier soir, en ouvrant la fenêtre, j’ai reçu un choc. Ce n’était pas comme d’habitude. Car mon nez a eu envie de se plonger dans l’air nocturne et de l’accueillir entièrement. C’étaient les odeurs… Oui, c’est ça, on sentait les odeurs de la nuit comme jamais !

Je me suis sentie enveloppée dans une douce couette aux mille recoins odorants, aux patchworks innombrables, patchworks qui chacun proposait son parfum… C’était assez flou, indéterminé, et en même temps j’étais comme saoule de recevoir chaque odeur de manière aussi fine.

A partir de ce soir, chaque nuit, j’ouvrirai ma fenêtre et m’amuserai à reconnaître au moins l’un ces patchworks. Odeurs, effluves et parfums seront mon terrain de jeu.

Notre Terre respire enfin et reprend des couleurs. Je voudrais crier de joie…

Surprise, jour 191

Ce matin, c’était très silencieux… Je suis entrée discrètement et j’ai vu les garçons, pour une fois, tranquilles et très occupés !

La chambre se remplit peu à peu de gommettes et collages en tous genres. Il est très probable que les murs arrivent à saturation étant donné la longueur de l’attente qui s’annonce…

Surprise, jour 191 bis

Je me suis amusée à semer des surprises dans notre appartement, en utilisant le papier photo, l’imprimante et la pâte à fixe… De cette manière, l’œil tombe sur les doux tableaux et peut s’y perdre un instant.

Non loin du liquide vaisselle, au-dessus de la table de la cuisine, à gauche de la cuisinière, dans la salle de bain…

Je verrai comment réagissent les garçons….

Surprise, jour 191 ter

Avec l’aimable autorisation de Demoiselle MM, « Pinceau et plume se rencontrent » devient public pendant au moins 14 jours.

14 jours avec quotidiennement une peinture et son poème…

Nous espérons ainsi diffuser un peu de baume en ces temps difficiles.

julie unicornEt vous? Est-ce que vous croyez toujours aux surprises? Art par Mariane Mazel.

Peinture de Mariane Mazel
Poème par Julie Safier-Guizard

Première Rencontre

Du jaillissement du pourpre
Je crie vers toi
Je suis bâton de rouge aux lèvres
Je suis fleurs cerises
Aux lobes d’oreilles
Et je crie vers toi
Né de ma pâleur
cousine du violet
C’est pourtant en moi que ce cri
Vibre le plus
Cri pourpre
Violetas.

Une petite chaise d’enfant, un dessin et des pinces à linge. C’est avec ces objets que Julie Safier-Guizard a commencé à fabriquer des histoires, à l’âge de 5 ans. Le dimanche, chargée de son matériel, elle sonnait à la porte des voisins de son immeuble, et s’ils voulaient bien l’inviter, elle accrochait un dessin au dossier de sa chaise et inventait pour eux un conte. Aujourd’hui, si Julie est devenue musicienne de métier, elle n’a jamais cessé d’écrire. Auteur de fragments de vie et de nouvelles pour adultes, Julie fait aussi jouer son imagination pour les enfants : en avril 2017, la maison lunii lui a commandé une série de 18 histoires audio pour les 3-6 ans et elle est en train de terminer l’écriture d’un roman jeunesse.

A small children’s chair, a drawing, and a few clothes-pins. It was with these objects that Julie Safier-Guizard started making up stories, at the age of five. On Sundays, her arms loaded with her props, she’d ring the doors of the neighbors in her Paris apartment building, and if they were up for inviting her in, she’d hang a drawing on the back of her chair and invent a story for them. These days, if Safier-Guizard has become a musician by metier, she’s never stopped writing. The author of fragments of life and short stories for adults, she also makes her imagination play for children: In April 2017, the Paris publisher Lunii asked her to make a series of 18 audio stories for children three to six years old, and she is currently finishing a novel for adolescents.

(Updated noon French time) Paris année zero: Keeping our word — A program of solidarity for our times

by Emmanuel Demarcy-Mota
Artistic director, Theatre de la Ville, Paris
Translation and Introduction by Paul Ben-Itzak

(Translator/editor’s note: While the Theatre de la Ville furnished the Dance Insider & Arts Voyager with a copy of Emmanuel Demarcy-Mota’s statement in the original French, what follows is a journalistic, and not official, translation, as the English text was not coordinated with the Theatre de la Ville. Demarcy-Mota’s stance here is striking in both a global and historic context. In the first realm, whereas “Dance NYC,” which should get the Bessie award for “Least Effective and Most Out of Touch Arts Lobbying Organization in the United States,” is now making the ludicrous claim that “dancers are necessary workers,” putting them on the same level, essential worker-wise, as health and food workers (exactly the kind of insulated naval-gazing thinking that makes dance be treated less serioiusly in the U.S. than in Europe), EDM has a more global, less self-interested, au-dela de sa propre nombril perspective. And in the historic context, and given that French president Emmanuel Macron has likened the battle against the pandemic to “a war,” it’s no accident that Sarah Bernhardt, in whose former stomping-ground the Theater de la Ville EDM directs is based, turned her own lavish home into a MASH unit during the Prussian siege of Paris of 1870 — herself volunteering as a nurse.)

Five propositions imagined with an ensemble of players from the domains of Health, Culture, Education, and Justice.

Four temporalities whose rhythm has been determined by the epidemic: the confinement, the deconfinement, the coming season and the Day After. Four pillars to put in place: Culture, Health, Education, Justice.

Health has been our absolute priority these past few months. Culture is our absolute priority at this moment that we emerge from confinement.

Our country, certainly attenuated but profoundly modified, has a strong desire to reconstruct itself with a view to creating a different kind of world where the idea of solidarity is at the heart of the debate.

In order for our society to recover its strength, we would like to propose a new model able to bring together the arts, science, and education with, as its corner-stone, the union between health and culture.

We wanted to bring together an ensemble of allies from the fields of health, justice, education, and the arts to create a new space for dialogue and coordinate new actions.

Together we are founding “Tenir Parole” (Keeping our Word), a new alliance of leaders from different realms who share a common desire to stimulate and propel a new approach to imagination.

We will strive for the emergence of new forms of solidarity in relying on our capacity to think together. We will work against frontiers, whether they be of the physical or mental variety or between disciplines or human beings.

We will create a proximity and an amity to traverse this unprecedented period of history together.

“Tenir parole” (Keeping our Word) is a way to infuse power in the imagination, to incarnate a convergence of visions, to stimulate the manifestation of life and give hope.

Rather than allow an uncertain present to be imposed upon us, we want to invent desirable tomorrows. Thus, at the end of this tempest, if we’ve “kept our word,” we will have learned, reflected, exchanged, and created.

One Calendar, Five propositions

The Troupe of the Imaginary

Created during the confinement and engaged amidst poetic and scientific consultations, the troupe brings together at this stage more than 50 people from various horizons: the actors of the Theatre de la Ville troupe, joined by young Italian, Senegalese, Egyptian, Cameroonian, Central-African, Congolese, Taiwanese, and French actors, as well as by scientists associated with the project: the neurosurgeons Carine Karachi and Hayat Belait; the neurology professor David Grabli; biologist Marie-Christine Maurel; biologist and philosopher Georges Chapouthier; physician Kamil Fadel; architect Denis Laming; and astrophysicist Jean Audouze.

Together, we have developed, in order to be able to act from the moment confinement began (March 15 in France), invent alternative ways of creating, maintain a link with the population and combat individual isolation, “poetic and scientific consultations by telephone,” which have already reached nearly 5,000 people across France and beyond.

The consultations have been offered in 15 languages: Seven European languages (French, Greek, English, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and German), six languages spoken on the African continent (Wolof, Beti, Lingala, Sango, Congo, and Pidgin) and also in Arab and Mandarin.  “The troupe of the Imaginary” will develop new actions and continue its consultations in the months to come.

Dancers, musicians, and historians, partnering with the Rectorate of Paris, are joining this team beginning May 18 to suggest new forms of consultations.

The European Encounters of May-June

Meetings will be held starting the week of May 18. In rapport with the evolution of the deconfinement, they can be held by distance and bring together the world of culture — public and private — as well as those of health, justice, and education.

The emergence from confinement as a moment to learn together is the occasion to create bridges, to propose a new model which brings people together to co-construct perspectives on a common future. Because ignorance is also a form of confinement and it is through knowledge that we must find the emergency exit that will enable us to escape from asphyxia.

At the hour when we must all construct the 2020s, let us make our theaters the place for a community gathering, the reflection of our social commitments and of our will for esperance. Let us build a new Europe, a Europe of culture but also of sciences, of the environment and of young people.

Open-air artistic propositions beginning in June

The cultural world must now support the care-givers, the care-receivers, the confined. This is the moment to experiment, test, invent.

We will be allying ourselves with the doctors of the Salpêtrière Hospital and with the Rectorate of the City of Paris to initiate the first experiments, artistic manifestations to be held outdoors and in different spaces around Paris. Performances, readings, concerts, testimonials by the caregivers, actions for the sick, film screenings and art installations will be proposed in unexpected places: from the gardens of the Champs-Élysées to those of the Salpêtrière, not forgetting the parks, retirement homes, elementary schools, and high-school courtyards.

These propositions must be geared towards the population in its entirety and inscribe themselves in the continuity of our art education programs and of our commitment to re-inventing a place for the arts in schools.

“The troupe of the Imaginary,” with the ensemble of 50 actors, scientists, dancers, and musicians who constitute it will be fully mobilized from the end of May and throughout the Summer.

The Academy of Health and Culture

In connection with the program “Charter 18XX1 – Turning 18 in the 21st Century,” a new academy centering on health and culture will be launched to work with young people and recreate ties with the experienced of the older members of our society. Encounters around art and science will take place during the month of August, and can be open to the public.

For the first time in its history, the Theatre de la Ville’s spaces will be open all Summer:

* At l’Espace Cardin, in partnership with the doctors of Salpêtrière Hospital, young artists and young care-givers will work to elaborate projects which can be prolonged this fall on themes linked notably to movement: “Normality and abnormality,” “Liberty of movement, Liberty of thought.”

* At the Theatre des Abbesses [in Montmartre] ateliers on the practice of dance and theater will be offered, free and open to the public of all ages. This new project is inscribed in a partnership with the city of Paris and can include European partners, to trace new perspectives together and share our desire for a theater without borders.

* A 2020/21 season of solidarity and re-invention: Today, we need to deconstruct our seasons to be able to reconstruct them in another fashion, in imagining many potential scenarios. Together, we are ready to adapt, to re-invent, to re-assess our different propositions to amplify the occasions for solidarity with the artists, the health milieu, the worlds of education and justice and also our European and African friends and partners.

Three scenarios:

* Scenario #1 incorporates the obligation for physical social distancing as health regulations evolve, leading us to drastically reduce our capacity to accommodate the public in our theaters.

* Scenario #2 adds to this the absence of all international theater, dance, and music companies outside Europe, the frontiers outside the European member states remaining closed.

* Scenario #3 includes the absence of European as well as extra-European companies, who combined represent more than 50% of the planned programming at the Theatre de la Ville and the city-wide Festival D’Automne between this September and December. Under this scenario, we will only be able to welcome companies situated on the national territory.

Whichever scenario comes to pass, nothing will be, nothing can be, like before. So why not transform these obstacles into a new challenge? After months of strict confinement, we now need to push back the walls, quench our thirst for creation, for bodies and movements, for encounters with the population. We will mobilize artists and those from other disciplines to invent innovative propositions which rely on our capacity to imagine together. Next season we will go into the hospitals, the elementary and middle schools, the high schools, the parks and the gardens, the stadiums if need be.

In the theaters, we will invent unprecedented subterfuges, adapted parcourses and real artistic propositions in dance, in music, and in theater which turn sanitary restrictions into the stipulations for a new imaginary, and we will find the pathways to economic viability. If the virus has felled a number of our fellow citizens, we will take back the edge on the terrains of the imagination and of thought, of sharing and of solidarity.

The Day After

If we have collectively been able to invent new spaces and new forms, to experiment with new ways of being and making, to create dialogues between the ensemble of the arts, the sciences, and different domains of thought and of the economy, we would now attempt to erect new foundations for the future.

It is the moment to consider that this epidemic is also a factor in the acceleration of our choices and of our commitments. Today, we must imagine a Day After which will be comprised of a new reflection on a planet that will be durable and solidary. Today, we need to keep our word.

Emmanuel Demarcy-Mota
May 13, 2020
Paris

We would like to extend our thanks to all those who have committed themselves with us and to those who will do so in the future.

A Dance Insider/Arts Voyager May Day exclusive: Michel Ragon’s The Book of the Vanquished (“La mémoire des vainçus”) (Extracts, in newly revised translation, with new introduction)

by and copyright Michel Ragon
Translation copyright Paul Ben-Itzak
Original French-language novel copyright Éditions Albin Michel

Editor’s note: On this May Day 2020, with Donald Trump abusing the Military Production Act to potentially send workers to their deaths by asserting he has the right to pre-empt state decisions to close the meat-packing plants which are loci for virus contamination (where’s Upton Sinclair when you need him?), and with the governors of Iowa and Nebraska insisting that those who refuse to return to hazardous working conditions will see their unemployment benefits cut off, we thought the moment propitious to revise and share our translated excerpts of Michel Ragon’s “La mémoire des vainçus” (literally, “the memory of the vanquished”), as proof that if the struggle is still not over, the battles of the vanquished are never really in vain. And can still serve as inspiration for the labor and human rights struggles to come. (To read the Paris Tribune / Arts Voyager serialized publication of Michel Ragon’s “Trompe-l’Oeil,” click here. )

“The ideal is when one is able to die for one’s ideas. Politics is when one can live for them.”

— Charles Péguy, cited on frontispiece, “The Book of the Vanquished.”

“Books can also die, but they last longer than men. They get passed on from hand to hand, like the Olympic flame. My friend, my father, my older brother, you have not entirely slid into oblivion, because this book of your life exists.”

— Michel Ragon, Prologue, “The Book of the Vanquished.”

Part One: “The little girl in the fishmongers’ wagon” (1899-1917)

(Excerpt, 1911-1912.)

“As for me, I’m just a poor sap! For those of us at the bottom of the heap, there’s nothing but bad breaks in this world and the one beyond. And of course, when we get to Heaven, it’ll be up to us to make sure the thunder-claps work.”

— Georg Büchner, “Woyzeck,” cited on the frontispiece of Part One of “The Book of the Vanquished.”

“Sometimes it’s better to be the vanquished than the victor.”

— Vincent Van Gogh, cited in Lou Brudner’s preface to “Büchner, Complete Works,” published by Le Club Français du livre, Paris, 1955.

Translator’s note: With the exception of Fred and Flora, who may be real, may be fictional, or may be composites, all the personages cited below and in Michel Ragon’s novel are based on real historical figures, notably Paul Delesalle (1870-1948), the Left Bank bookseller. Later adopting the pen name Victor Serge, Victor Kibaltchich (1890-1947) would become a noted Socialist theorist who, like Fred in “The Book of the Vanquished,” eventually broke with the Bolsheviks. Rirette Maîtrejean was his actual companion. Raymond-la-Science, René Valet, and Octave Garnier were real members of the Bonnot Gang, the details of their denouement recounted by Ragon as translated below accurate. For the other personalities evoked, including leading figures in the European Anarcho-Syndicaliste milieu in its heyday, as well as certain events alluded to, I’ve included brief footnotes, as these personalities and events may not be as familiar to an Anglophone audience as to Ragon’s French readers, for whom they represent markers in the national memory, notably the infamous “Bande à Bonnot,” whose exploits still resonate in a contemporary France wracked by youthful alienation and haunted by the terrorism in which this is sometimes manifest.

Every morning the cold awoke the boy at dawn. Long before the street-lanterns dimmed, in the pale gray light he shook off the dust and grime of his hovel at the end of a narrow alley flanking the Saint-Eustache church. Stretching out his limbs like a cat he flicked off the fleas and, like a famished feline, took off in search of nourishment, flairing the aromas wafting down the street. With Les Halles wholesale market coming to life at the same time, it didn’t take long for him to score something hot. The poultry merchants never opened their stalls before debating over a bowl of bouillon, and the boy always received his share. Then he’d skip off, hop-scotching between the trailers loaded with heaps of victuals.  Every Friday he’d march up the rue des Petits-Carreaux to meet the fishmongers’ wagons arriving from Dieppe, drawn by the aroma of seaweed and fish-scales surging towards the center of Paris. The sea — this sea which he’d never seen and which he pictured as a catastrophic inundation — cut a swathe through the countryside before it descended from the heights of Montmartre. He could hear the carts approaching from far away, like the rumbling of thunder. The churning of the metallic wagon wheels stirred up a racket fit to raise the dead, amplified by the clippety-clop of the horseshoes. Numbed by the long voyage, enveloped in their thick overcoats, the fishmongers dozed in their wagons, mechanically hanging onto the reigns. The horses knew the way by heart. When the first carriages hit the iron pavilions of the market, the resultant traffic jam and grating of the brakes rose up in a grinding, piercing crescendo that reverberated all the way back up to the Poissonnière quartier. The drivers abruptly started awake, spat out a string of invectives, and righted themselves in their seats. Those farther back had to wait until the first arrivals unloaded their merchandise. The horses pawed the ground and stamped their feet. The majority of the men jumped off their carts to go have a little nip in the bistros just raising their shutters.

On this particular Friday, at the rear of one of the wagons sat a small girl. Her naked legs and bare feet dangled off the edge of the cart, and the boy noticed nothing more than this white skin. He drew near. The girl, her head leaning forward, her face hidden by the tussled blonde hair which fell over her eyes, didn’t see him at first. As for the boy, he only had eyes for those plump swinging gams. By the time he was almost on top of them, he could hear the girl singing out a rhymed ditty. He approached his hand, touching one of her calves.

“Eh, lower the mitts! Why, the nerve!”

For the rest of the lengthy excerpt, subscribers e-mail paulbenitzak@gmail.com . Not yet a Dance Insider / Arts Voyager subscriber? Subscriptions are $59 or Euros / year, or $36/students, teachers, artists, dancers, and the unemployed. Just designate your payment via PayPal to paulbenitzak@gmail.com , or write us at that address to learn how to pay by check. Exceptionally for this excerpt, even non-subscribers can can write us before May 7 and receive a free copy.

Protected: Le Feuilleton (the Serial): (English translation followed by V.O. française) Exclusive! “Trompe-l’Oeil,” Michel Ragon’s saga of artists, dealers, critics, & anti-Semitism in Post-War Paris, Part 13: The Empire Strikes back against Abstract art (Subscriber-only content; to learn how to subscribe, e-mail paulbenitzak@gmail.com.)

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Protected: Le Feuilleton (the Serial): (English translation followed by V.O. française) Exclusive! “Trompe-l’Oeil,” Michel Ragon’s saga of artists, dealers, critics, & anti-Semitism in Post-War Paris, Part 12: Bartering painting for meals on the place de la République (Subscriber-only content; to learn how to subscribe, e-mail paulbenitzak@gmail.com.)

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Protected: Le Feuilleton (the Serial), 11: Exclusive! “Trompe-l’Oeil,” Michel Ragon’s saga of artists, dealers, critics, & anti-Semitism in Post-War Paris; Part 11: Secret Origins of Abstract Art (Subscriber-only content; to learn how to subscribe, e-mail paulbenitzak@gmail.com.)

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Dance Insider/Arts Voyager/Paris Tribune / Maison de Traduction new content now available exclusively to paid subscribers

Starting today and in part in order to cover increased expenses and allow for increased risk under current conditions, all new articles, literary translations, and art on the Dance Insider, Arts Voyager, Maison de Traduction , and  Paris Tribune will be available exclusively by paid subscriptions, either via password-only access on the magazines or lavishly illustrated PDF articles e-mailed directly to subscribers. These articles will include the message of our Principal Sponsors, Freespace Dance and Slippery Rock University Dance. Limited, low-cost, content-related text with link ads will also be available. Subscriptions are $59 / year, or less than $5 / month. Subscriptions for working dancers, students, and the unemployed are $44/year. You can subscribe by designating your payment through PayPal to paulbenitzak@gmail.com , or write us at that address to learn how to pay by check sent through the mail.

Le Feuilleton (the Serial),10: Exclusive! “Trompe-l’oeil,” Michel Ragon’s saga of artists, dealers, critics, & anti-Semitism in Post-War Paris; Part 10: Conflicts

Vera Molnar, Montparnasse, d'après Klee, en bleu, vert et rouge 2006 To demonstrate how the Abstract Art of which Michel Ragon was one of the first champions is very much a living tradition, where possible the Dance Insider / Paris Tribune are including art from current or recent exhibitions with our exclusive, first-ever English-language serialization of Michel Ragon’s “Trompe-l’oeil.” Above, from last year’s exhibition at the Galerie Berthet- Aittouarès (in, bien sur, Saint-Germain-des-Prés): Vera Molnar, “Montparnasse d’après Klee en bleu vert et rouge,” 2006. © Galerie Berthet-Aittouarès.

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

Part 10 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 nine  parts, click here. For more on Michel Ragon, in French, click here. To learn how to support our work, e-mail artsvoyager@gmail.com . To support us through PayPal, just designate your donation to paulbenitzak@gmail.com .

Fifteen days later, in the throes of correcting the proofs of the second issue, Fontenoy felt a sudden surge of discouragement. Blanche was working in her atelier at the Cité Falguière. He dropped everything and went to see his companion.

Walking down the Boulevard Montparnasse, he took stock of the results of the first issue of the revue. It was too soon to draw any conclusions, but he had the impression of hurtling against a wall. Like Manhès, what had pleased him about this adventure was the battle to come, the possibility of finally saying in print everything he’d been stifling about this conspiracy against the movement of painting that he loved. This revue would be a little bomb which would go off in the midst of the conformists, the cabals. They’d be forced to respond to so many specific accusations. But neither L’Artiste, nor Le Figaro, nor any other newspaper had yet noted, even with two measly lines, the new revue’s existence. Everything continued just as it had been, as if the revue didn’t exist at all. Some booksellers in Montparnasse and Saint-Germain-des-Prés had put it in their windows. Its successful launch depended on them, and on eventual subscriptions in response to the comp. copies that had been sent out.

Blanche was flattened out on her stomach on the divan, working on a water-color. Fontenoy plopped down next to her. In the atelier, numerous water-colors had been framed behind glass, ready for the imminent exhibition.

“You know,” she remarked, continuing to paint, “it’s no laughing-matter to try to get the bookshops to sell the revue….”

“I know. But it’s the only way to spread the word.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You made the rounds of the art bookshops that you know well, and that know you. No problem. You leave the copies on consignment and they say thanks. But me, I hit the other bookshops. You have no idea how they react. Some don’t accept consignments as a matter of sheer principle. They tell me: ‘When you come back to pick up the unsold copies, they’ve disappeared under a pile. They can’t be found and we have to pay you anyway. Two months later they surface and are unsellable. No no, no consignments.’ ‘Okay, so buy a fixed number of issues.’ ‘You must be joking. We’re inundated as it is!’ And those are the nice ones. Others take a quick look, disabusedly shrug their shoulders, and say no. Some pick up the revue, leaf through it, and burst out in guffaws: ‘Ah! Cool, it’s a take-off? I get it — very clever…. But our customers won’t get it at all.’ I was, however, able to place a few copies that were accepted on consignment, begrudgingly, and in those cases most likely because of my gorgeous eyes.”

In a corner of the atelier Fontenoy spotted the pile of rejected revues. He had a sudden spurt of revolt, of anger:

“But how the hell are we supposed to get off the ground if the newspapers give us the silent treatment, if the bookstores refuse consignments, if the subscription drives meet up with nothing but negligence and indifference!?”

Fontenoy perceived that hostility to their cause wasn’t the only factor. The bookstores held themselves above the internecine factional squabbles, but their detached attitude could become just as lethal, if not moreso, as any frontal attacks.

Blanche straightened up her material on the table, cast a last glance at the fresh water-color she’d just finished and came over to sit next to Fontenoy, lacing her plump arms around him.

“Worries, worries, worries! How’s about putting your ‘big ideas’ aside for a moment and getting back to the two of us? Have you finished the preface for my exhibition? What are you planning, for me, in the revue?”

“All that on the other hand is going very well,” Fontenoy responded with lassitude. “Look, I have the text for your preface right here in my pocket. Read through it. For the revue, Rinsbroek will talk about you, it’s preferable.”

“And you won’t put in any of my images?”

“That’ll be up to Rinsbroek.”

“Come again? But what good does it do then to be the editor-in-chief?”

“Rinsbroek wants to talk about you. He’ll say what he judges needs to be said and we’ll publish a reproduction of your work if he considers that you merit it.”

Blanche bit her lip. Fontenoy grasped her tenderly around the waist and kissed her on the temple:

“Listen, Blanche. Don’t get upset. I’m being brutal, but we have much bigger worries these days. Your exhibition will go quite well and in all probability we’ll publish a photo in the revue. Rinsbroek’s article will certainly sing your praises, otherwise he wouldn’t have accepted the assignment. But on principle, I just want to make it clear, once again, that I won’t put any pressure on him. It’s just not comprehensible. It’s as if you’re asking me to employ the very methods in our revue that we’re fighting against when others practice them.”

Blanche didn’t answer. She read over Fontenoy’s handwritten text for the preface:

“How set are you on citing Klee? I know you just mean to use it as a reference, but won’t that just make them think that I imitate him, like all the rest?”

Fontenoy replied, exasperated: “Delete Klee if he bothers you so much!”

Blanche got riled up:

“I like Klee. I don’t deny that. But the reference here just bothers me.”

And she put her dainty little finger on the sheet of paper. “It’s like your phrase: ‘Blanche Favard is an abstract painter who composes with parcels of memory.’ I understand what you’re getting at. My compositions include forms which resemble foliage, even landscapes. I agree. But what will Charles Roy say? The Salon des Réalitiés Nouvelles jury is quite capable of rejecting my submissions under the pretext that they’re Naturalist.”

“So now it’s Charles Roy’s opinion that matters the most to you!?” Fontenoy exclaimed, stupefied.

“I just don’t want to get everyone’s hide up like Manhès.”

“You’ll succeed, Blanche,” Fontenoy re-assured her, thoughtfully. “And what’s more, you’re talented.”

Huysmans to Puvis to Zola: When the author of ‘J’accuse’ touted a monumental artist who refused to go with the tide

Puvis de Chavanns Young women at the seaside smallerFrom the exhibition Huysmans from Degas to Grünewald: As seen by Francesco Vezzoli, in principle running April 3 through July 19 at the Strasbourg Museum of Contemporary Art (after an earlier run at the Orsay Museum, to whose boffo press service we owe these images): Pierre Puvis de Chavannes (1824-1898), “Jeunes filles au bord de la mer (Young women at the sea-side), 1879. Oil on canvas, 205.4 x 156 cm.  Paris, Musée d’Orsay. Photo © musée d’Orsay / rmn. (For more art from the exhibition, click here.)

Text by Emile Zola
Translated by Paul Ben-Itzak

One of the benefits of the Orsay Museum’s latest penchant for re-envisioning  the late 19th-century work which is its charge through the eyes of contemporaneous critics  is that the polyglot writers often dictate a polyglot selection of artists which means that major figures overdue for their own solo shows get a cameo. Such is the case with the exceptional  Pierre Puvis de Chavannes (1824-1898)’s 1879 oil “Jeunes filles au bord de la mer (Young women at the sea-side),” which features in the work exhibited at the Orsay and theoretically to be exhibited through July 19 at the Strasbourg Museum of Contemporary Art for  Huysmans from Degas to Grünewald: As seen by Francesco Vezzoli. Joris-Karl Huysmans (1848-1907) may well have referred to himself as a “Dutchman putrefied with Parisianism,” but if we’re to judge by the Puvis painting above, his tastes were anything but. It’s no surprise that in 1880 — a year after this tableau was made — Emile Zola invited Huysmans to collaborate in the collection “Les Soirées de Medan.” Which connection is enough of a pretense for us to turn the Puvis floor over to the great man, as Zola singled out the painter in his review of the 1875 Salon, published in two “Letters from Paris” which appeared in Le Sémaphore de Marseille of May 3 and 4 and in “Le Messager de l’Europe” in Saint-Petersburg. Today’s translation and art goes out to Holly, and to all the Holly Golightlys of the world, in esperance for the period when we’ll all be able to go lightly again. — PB-I

I’ve saved Puvis de Chavannes’s large tableau for the end. Secluded at the Sainte-Croix convent, Radegonde gives refuge to poets and protects the world of Letters against the epoch’s barbary. Here at last is a truly original talent, who trained himself far from any Academic influences. He alone can succeed in the art of decorative painting, in the vast frescos exposed to the raw light of public institutions. In our times, with the crumbling of classic principles, the fate of mural paintings has become critical. The nobility of heroes, the simplicity of the drawing, every rule which makes the tableau a type of bas-relief in which the ‘cooler’ colors have trouble standing out in the midst of the marble of churches and palaces, have collapsed, making way for the explosion of the romantic brush. And suddenly, it seems to me, Puvis de Chavannes arrives and finds a breach in this impasse. He knows how to be interesting and alive, in simplifying the lines and painting with uniform tones. Radegonde, surrounded by nuns in white gowns, is listening to a poet declaiming verse between the walls of a convent. The scene exudes a grandiose and peaceful charm. To tell the truth, for me Puvis de Chavannes is but a precursor. It is indispensible that large-scale painting is able to find subjects in contemporary life. I don’t know who will be the painter with the genius to know how to extract the art of our civilization, and I don’t know how he’ll do it. But it is indisputable that art does not depend on either draperies or the antique nude; it takes root in humanity itself and consequently every society must have its own conception of beauty.

From Emile Zola, “Ecrits sur l’Art,” copyright 1991 Editions Gallimard.

Father is the child of the man: Chagall par Apollinaire, in poetry and criticism

Chagall Le Père smaller

From the exhibition “Chagall, Modigliani, Soutine… Paris pour école, 1905-1940,” in principle opening April 2 at the Museum of the Art and History of Judaism in Paris, where it runs through August 23: Marc Chagall, “The Father,” 1911. MahJ, dépôt du Centre Pompidou, MNAM-CCI. © Centre Pompidou, MNAM-CCI, Dist. RMN Grand Palais / Philippe Migeat © Adagp, Paris 2020. Click here to read more about the exhibition.

Criticism & Poetry by Guillaume Apollinaire
Translations by Paul Ben-Itzak

(Like what we’re doing? We are continuing to post, daily when possible, under extremely difficult circumstances because we believe that in these perilous days it’s vital to share reasons to live, and art is one of them. If you have not yet donated or subscribed to the DI/AV, please join Lewis Campbell and others by doing so today in designating your payment in dollars or Euros through PayPal to paulbenitzak@gmail.com , or write us at that address to ask how to donate by check.)

Not only did the Surrealist poet Guillaume Apollinaire review Chagall’s show before it traveled from Paris to Berlin in 1914; his poem “Rotsoge” served as the preface to the exhibition catalog. Our translation of that poem, re-titled “A travers l’Europe” for the poet-critic’s monumental “Calligrammes,” follows the review below.  Today’s translations dedicated to my father Ed Winer, who died December 7, 2019 at the age of 81. And to all our valued living elders, because if there’s another reason we’re featuring this painting today, it’s this: Years ago, jogging down to the river from my digs in Fort Worth, Texas, I used to come across a sign on the outskirts of the (private) golf course that bordered the water: “Dr. Dan Patrick, for U.S. Senate.” This week that same Dan Patrick, now lieutenant governor of the Lone Star state, told Fox News (the president’s main information source) that (as Democracy Now reported) maybe all the old people should just let themselves die off, as a sacrifice to the young people so that America can get back to work. Where’s the A.M.A. (American Medical Association, which should sanction Dr. Patrick) when you need it? For more on the exhibition “Chagall, Modigliani, Soutine… Paris pour école, 1905-1940” at the Museum of the Art and History of Judaism in Paris where (in theory) you can see the real McCoy of the Chagall painting, click here .

Marc Chagall

by Guillaume Apollinaire

(From L’Intransigeant, June 4, 1914.)

The Jewish race has not yet shone in the plastic arts. In the modern movement, for example, only Pissarro can be cited as having played an important role among the pioneers of Impressionism.

Being presented at this moment at the Sturm gallery in Berlin, which has exposed a large number of the young French painters and particularly [Robert] Delaunay and Léger, is the work of a young Russian Israelite painter, Marc Chagall. To this information I’d like to add that one can see his paintings in Paris at the Malpel gallery on the rue Montaigne.

Chagall is a colorist full of an imagination which, sometimes springing from the fantasies of Slavic folk imagery, always surpasses it.

He’s an extremely varied artist, capable of monument-scale paintings, and he doesn’t let any system cage him.

His show, which I caught before it travelled to Germany, includes 34 oils, water-colors, and drawings from different periods. I prefer his more recent work and above all his “Paris as seen from the window.”

Collected in Guillaume Apollinaire, “Chroniques d’Art” (1902-1918), copyright 1960 Librairie Gallimard and compiled and annotated by L.-C. Breunig. Including the lead to the poem below which served as preface to the Chagall exhibition catalog.

****

A travers l’Europe

by Guillaume Apollinaire

To M. Ch.

Rotsoge
Your scarlet visage your biplane metamorphosed into a hydroplane
Your circular house where a pickled herring swims.
I must have the key to the eyelids
Happily we spotted M. Panado
And we’re assured on that account
What do you see my dear M.D….
90 or 324 a man in the air a veal who sees through her mother’s stomach.

I’ve looked for so long on the roads
So many eyes are shut along the roads
The wind makes willow-groves cry
Open open open open open
Look oh just look therefore
The old are bathing their feet in the wash-basin
Una volta ho intesto dire Chè vuoi
I burst into tears at the memory of your childhoods

And you you show me a harrowing violet
This little painting where there’s a car reminds me of the day
A day made up of mauve morsels yellows blues greens and reds
Where I went to the country with a charming chimney holding its dog by the leash
It’s gone it’s gone your little reed-pipe
Far from me the chimney smokes Russian cigarettes
The dog barks at the lilacs
The night-light has petered out
Petals have shat on the gown
Two golden rings next to the sandals
have lit up on the Sun
But your hair is the trolley
riding through Europe dressed with little multi-colored lights.

From “Calligrammes: Poems of Peace and War (1913-1916),” copyright Librairie Gallimard 1925 and Club du meilleur livre 1955.