Gris juan biography of rory

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  • Of the Cubists: Juan Gris greased the wheels.
  • By the outbreak of World War Two he owned more than a hundred Cubist pictures.
  • Lurching up to bed with the champion of Cubism

    John Richardson is one of those gossips who knows – or at least knows about – everyone. For example (on page 118, to be precise), Marie-Laure (1), Maurice Bischoffsheim (2), the Comtesse de Chevigné (3), the Duchesse de Guermantes (4), the Marquis de Sade (5), Jean Cocteau (6), the Vicomte de Noailles (7), an anonymous gym instructor (8), Igor Markevitch (9), Diaghilev (10), Nijinsky (11), Maurice Gendron (12): I was the daughter of 2, an immensely rich Belgian banker, and the granddaughter of 3, who was said to be the model for 4, and was also – would you believe it? – the great-great-granddaughter of 5. She contemplated marriage with 6, opted for 7, but discovered him in the arms of 8 – whose sex is unspecified in the haste to explain that she was herself soon in the arms of 9, the ‘somewhat feral-looking composer’ who had been the ‘last great love’ of 10 and later marri

    Artists

    One of my areas of kort vers writing has been a series of brief biographies of fine artists. Rather than bury them in other pages, I thought I’d put them on display here.

    Hans von Aachen enjoyed painting boobies
    With nipples like two dainty rubies.
    His work’s less well known
    Than when first it was shown:
    Fans embarkin’ today are Hans newbies.

    The work of German painter Hans von Aachen (1552–1615), a leading representative of Northern Mannerism, combined influences from his time working in the Netherlands and in Italy. As well as his portraits of the aristocracy and his religious and allegorical paintings, von Aachen was known for his nudes; his erotic mythological scenes were a favourite of the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II.

    The Scottish-born architect Adam
    Would design mighty mansions and clad ’em
    In stone and in brick;
    All the nobs got in quick,
    So to boast at their banquets, “We had ’im.”

    The well-travelled Robert

    Already, at the age of three, the author of these lines was remarkable: he'd make a portrait of the concierge as an Aunt Sally, earthenware color, mouth wide open, at the moment when, eyes full of tears, she was plucking a chicken. The chicken stuck out a platonic neck. But this game of Aunt Sally was just a way to resehandling the time. All in all, it's remarkable that no one has remarked on him; remarkable, but not regrettable, for if he had been remarked upon, he wouldn't have been remarkable: his career would never have gotten off the ground, which would have been regrettable. It's remarkable that he might have become something to regret, and regrettable that he might have become something to remark upon. Aunt Sally's chicken was a goose.

    By Max Jacob

    Translated by Ian Seed


    From The Dice Cup

    byMax Jacob

    translated by Ian Seed

    Published by Wakefield Press (2022)


    Max Jacob (1876-1944) was a French poet, painter, writer, and critic. A key figure of the bohemia

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