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Lot Essay
Painted on 14 January 1944, the present Citrons et verre belongs to a series of still lifes Picasso created during World War II. Here, a lemon cut open in two and a glass are presented on a table, a simple yet commanding composition where the brightness of the fruit contrasts with the commanding black brushstrokes that outline the objects and highlight their geometrical forms. It belongs to a series of of five works begun on 10 January, and culminating in three close composition painted four days later (Zervos, vol. 13, nos. 223-225, 227 and 228).
The still life dominated Picasso’s wartime work. Deemed a ‘degenerate’ artist by the Nazis, and choosing to remain in occupied Paris, the artist was forced to retreat to his studio during this time, entertaining friends and visitors there, and withdrawing from the café culture that had been so present in his life the years prior. Picasso, with characteristic zeal, threw himself wholeheartedly into his art. Turning to his immediate surroundings, he made the cups, pots, and quotidian trappings of his rooms his subject matter. Although resources were limited, Picasso nevertheless imbued these canvases with a profound pathos; the paintings not only serves as a record of life in the occupied city but also as an allegory of human suffering. ‘It was,’ he later reflected, ‘not a time for the creative man to fail, to shrink, to stop working. There was nothing else to do but work seriously and devotedly, struggle for food, see friends quietly, and look forward to freedom’ (P. Picasso, quoted in M. McCully, ed., A Picasso Anthology: Documents, Criticism, Reminiscences, Princeton, 1981, p. 224).
In the present work, the lemon presents a beacon of light during a dark and cold time—perhaps a gift from someone returning from the Midi, or a black market purchase. Simple items such as fruits had become a rare delicacy in occupied Paris, particularly in the middle of the winter, when everything was in short supply. The lemon therefore presents not only as a found object for a still life, but also as an insight into war-time living, a glimpse of hope in a long winter.
Picasso's interest in the works of Vincent van Gogh, the leading name on the Nazis' list of proscribed degenerate artists, is manifest here as well, especially in the use of directional strokes of color to create a woven effect in the paint's surface. While in some of the still-life paintings, objects take on the memento mori role one would expect in wartime, for the most part, the elements Picasso has chosen to paint here express a quiet and plainly stated joy in the fact of their mere existence, in a time when survivability was not to be taken for granted.
A few months prior, in May of 1943, Picasso met Françoise Gilot at Le Catalan, a restaurant close by to his studio. Describing her first encounter with the artist, Gilot explained that she had been dining with her school friend Geneviève Aliquot and the actor Alain Cuny when she noticed Picasso glancing their way: ‘Finally, he got up and came over to our table. He brought with him a bowl of cherries and offered some to all of us, in his strong Spanish accent, calling them cerisses, with a soft, double-s sound’ (F. Gilot and C. Lake, Life with Picasso, New York, 1964, p. 14). The meeting lead to an invitation to Picasso’s studio, and after weeks of courtship, the two artists embarked upon a romantic partnership that lasted almost a decade and produced two children. This new love interest amidst war time provided a new escape, a new hope, visible in the present work from the artist’s use of vivacious yellow, electric greens and vivid streaks of red.
Citron et verre once belonged to the poet Pierre Reverdy—the two artists became friends in the early 1910s, and collaborated on Le chant des morts, a book of poems written by Reverdy and illustrated by Picasso, published shortly after the war. The present painting has remained in the same private New York collection since 1987.
The still life dominated Picasso’s wartime work. Deemed a ‘degenerate’ artist by the Nazis, and choosing to remain in occupied Paris, the artist was forced to retreat to his studio during this time, entertaining friends and visitors there, and withdrawing from the café culture that had been so present in his life the years prior. Picasso, with characteristic zeal, threw himself wholeheartedly into his art. Turning to his immediate surroundings, he made the cups, pots, and quotidian trappings of his rooms his subject matter. Although resources were limited, Picasso nevertheless imbued these canvases with a profound pathos; the paintings not only serves as a record of life in the occupied city but also as an allegory of human suffering. ‘It was,’ he later reflected, ‘not a time for the creative man to fail, to shrink, to stop working. There was nothing else to do but work seriously and devotedly, struggle for food, see friends quietly, and look forward to freedom’ (P. Picasso, quoted in M. McCully, ed., A Picasso Anthology: Documents, Criticism, Reminiscences, Princeton, 1981, p. 224).
In the present work, the lemon presents a beacon of light during a dark and cold time—perhaps a gift from someone returning from the Midi, or a black market purchase. Simple items such as fruits had become a rare delicacy in occupied Paris, particularly in the middle of the winter, when everything was in short supply. The lemon therefore presents not only as a found object for a still life, but also as an insight into war-time living, a glimpse of hope in a long winter.
Picasso's interest in the works of Vincent van Gogh, the leading name on the Nazis' list of proscribed degenerate artists, is manifest here as well, especially in the use of directional strokes of color to create a woven effect in the paint's surface. While in some of the still-life paintings, objects take on the memento mori role one would expect in wartime, for the most part, the elements Picasso has chosen to paint here express a quiet and plainly stated joy in the fact of their mere existence, in a time when survivability was not to be taken for granted.
A few months prior, in May of 1943, Picasso met Françoise Gilot at Le Catalan, a restaurant close by to his studio. Describing her first encounter with the artist, Gilot explained that she had been dining with her school friend Geneviève Aliquot and the actor Alain Cuny when she noticed Picasso glancing their way: ‘Finally, he got up and came over to our table. He brought with him a bowl of cherries and offered some to all of us, in his strong Spanish accent, calling them cerisses, with a soft, double-s sound’ (F. Gilot and C. Lake, Life with Picasso, New York, 1964, p. 14). The meeting lead to an invitation to Picasso’s studio, and after weeks of courtship, the two artists embarked upon a romantic partnership that lasted almost a decade and produced two children. This new love interest amidst war time provided a new escape, a new hope, visible in the present work from the artist’s use of vivacious yellow, electric greens and vivid streaks of red.
Citron et verre once belonged to the poet Pierre Reverdy—the two artists became friends in the early 1910s, and collaborated on Le chant des morts, a book of poems written by Reverdy and illustrated by Picasso, published shortly after the war. The present painting has remained in the same private New York collection since 1987.