Károly Kincses
Brassaï: The Hungarian Documents
A Chronology in Letters 1940–1984
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As co-editor of the series History of
Hungarian Photography, published by
the Museum of Hungarian Photography in
Kecskemét, I have worked on the oeuvre of
almost fifty Hungarian photographers over
some twenty years. The series has included
several photographers who left Hungary
when quite young, such as André Kertész,
László Moholy-Nagy, Márton Munkácsi
and Robert Capa. Most recently, my colleagues
and I have spent two years studying
the life and work of Brassaï (born in 1899 as
Gyula Halász), including research on his
relatives and friends, alive or deceased.
During this project, two events helped to
place Brassaï's work in an entirely new light.
The first of these was a 2006 auction in
France, where 550 vintage Brassaï photographs
were sold to private collectors,
dealers, galleries and public collections for
tens of thousands of euros, the first such
auction since the deaths of Brassaï (1984)
and his widow Gilberte (2005).
The second event was an unexpected
stroke of luck, of the kind any museum will
experience only once. As in a fairy tale, a
man arrived in Budapest from Brasov in
Transylvania, after a 12-hour train journey,
carrying two enormous, musty-smelling
folders. Opening the folders, we found 221
original Brassaï letters, along with postcards,
early drawings, signed photos, newspaper
clippings—a total of 637 items, which
were offered to us at a very reasonable price.
Although the museum was unable to purchase
the material, their possessor donated
forty letters to the museum, and we acquired
copies of the other documents as well.
Many of Brassaï's relatives and descendants
of his friends live in Transylvania
or Hungary to this day. We started investigating
these connections and visited the
places where Brassaï spent time, more or
less regularly, during his youth. We had
clearly embarked on this project at the
twelfth hour. Many early documents, such
as photos, drawings and letters came to
light, some of which had lain in drawers
for half a century. By collecting them,
transcribing the interviews and gathering
together the scattered sources, we have
uncovered some hitherto unknown events
in Brassaï's life, events that left direct or
indirect traces on his art as well. The documents
shed light on his school years, during
which he recited poetry, was involved in
sports and got his start as a painter. Some
interesting details surfaced regarding the
First World War years and his involvement
in the 1919 Revolution at the Budapest Arts
Academy. We know exactly how he left for
Berlin in December 1920, how he returned
to Brasov, which by then had become part
of Romania, and how he left his native city
for good to go to Paris in late February 1924.
The book, Gyulus: Brassaï képek és dokumentumok (Gyulus: Brassaï Pictures and
Documents) thus compiled presents Brassaï's
Hungarian connections more fully than any
previous publication. It also includes his so
far unpublished correspondence with his
family after 1940, and documents presented
to the Museum of Hungarian Photography
by János Reismann, Miklós Rév, André
Kertész and others. The title Gyulus, is the
diminutive of Gyula (Julius), which was how
he signed his letters to his family even at
the age of seventy.
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Our activity also resulted in an
exhibition with over 100 pictures, held at
the Mai Manó House in Budapest, the
Museum's sister institution (10 September
to 2 December 2007). Brassaï's relatives in
Hungary and Transylvania were of great
help in this project, and we wish to thank
them again for their cooperation.
Most of the events of Brassaï's long
life are well known. The roots of his
oeuvre, however, have long remained
hidden. Brassaï lived in Brasov (Brassó
for Hungarians and Kronstadt for its
German population) until the age of 18,
and in 1931, at the age of 32, he adopted
the name alluding to his hometown's
Hungarian name. As he himself often
related, he only used this name at first to
sign his com- mercial photographs while
he was hoping to establish himself as a
painter under his real name.
Part of the correspondence with his
parents from the years between 1920 and
1940 was published by Kriterion, Bucharest,
under the title Előhívás (Developing, 1980);
here Brassaï writes about his struggles and
successes as he was trying to find his place
after his arrival in Paris. This volume came
out in English as well (Brassaï: Letters to My
Parents: 1920–1940. Chicago and London:
The University of Chicago Press, 1997).
Title page of Brassaï's book on Henry Miller,
inscribed by him as 'Gyulus', his family pet name,
to his sister-in-law Ilus and his brother Kánka.
For Brassaï, the breakthrough came
with his first album, Paris de nuit, with 60
photographs published in 1932. It became a
classic and afterwards Brassaï's career
progressed by leaps and bounds.
The selection presented here chronicles
the most important events of his career in
chronological order from 1940 to his death.
Dry biographical data are now complemented
by the previously unpublished
excerpts and documents.
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...
1948 Histoire de Marie, based on the stories of Brassaï's cleaning woman, is published
with an introduction by Henry Miller. This book finally brings him much media attention.
If you get this letter in time, you can hear my voice for five minutes in the
programme "Lu et approuvé", next Tuesday the 17th, at 8:35 p.m. Paris time.
[...] The recording was done this afternoon, so I can listen to myself as well.
Marie has been published and is already in the bookshops. Both the printing
and the layout came out very well; I think it will be a great success and the
first edition will soon be sold out. Thus, on the threshold of my 50th birthday
(and according to schedule) and before bringing out my more serious books,
I have embarked on a literary career. Several famous writers (Charles Plisnier,
etc.) were at the radio; they had come to talk about Maeterlinck's works but
stayed on to listen to Marie. I watched them through the glass wall during
the recording; they were laughing their heads off and afterwards offered
warm congratulations to their new colleague. (Letter to his parents, 11 May)
Les sculptures de Picasso, containing Brassaï's photos, is published in French and a little
later in English. Focal Press brings out Camera in Paris, with 62 photos, which establishes
Brassaï's name in Britain, thanks to the publisher's excellent marketing.
My dears, I'm not writing from London but from Scotland, from Edinburgh.
We got here by plane on Friday. [...] We left Le Bourget on September 2,
accompanied by Carmel Snow, the editor of Harper's. This was my first plane
ride. [...] A Scottish captain was our guide in the castle; I took pictures of the
Scots Guards who guard Buckingham Palace in London. [...] There were
three performances of Rendez-vous at the Edinburgh Festival, one of them
attended by the Queen. (Letter to his parents, 4 September)
He plans another photo exhibition, much larger than any of his previous:
I have decided to put on a large photo exhibition to celebrate my 20 years in
photography, my 50th birthday and my French citizenship. I'm not sure
where and when it will take place, but it will probably happen during the
winter. I'm thinking of about 300 photos, and am currently in the process of
selecting them and making prints. This will take a lot of time and money, but
it is very important as I have never had a one-man photographic show before
and my photos are mostly known only from reproductions. 175 photographs
are now ready, blown up to 40 by 50. I am convinced that this will be the
most beautiful collection of photos anyone has ever seen. [...] Now that I'm
on the threshold of my 50th, I feel that my life is only beginning; it is only
now that I'm given a chance to speak. With no more financial difficulties to
hold me back, I can finally devote my time to some of my deepest passions
which I earlier had to put off not by a day, but by a year or ten years. This is
why I want to get photography over with—in the most elegant way possible.
[...] Many hugs and kisses for all of you, from your Gyulus who loves you
very much. (Letter to his parents, 26 September)
1950 He takes photographs to be used as sets in the play D'Amour et d'eau fraîche by Elsa
Triolet and Jean Rivier at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. He also produces sets for the
ballet Phèdre by Jean Cocteau and Georges Auric, premiered at the Paris Opera, and for En
passant by Raymond Queneau at the Théâtre Agnès Capri. His finances improve and,
forgetting the frequent impecunious periods during the early Paris years, for the first time
he tells his parents about their summer home purchased in 1948 in great detail and with
several small drawings included.
My dears, I received Daddy's postcard a day late, because there are two
villages named Èze, one on the sea-shore (Èze-Plage) and the other on the
hill, at an altitude of 300 meters (Èze-Village). If the address only says Èze,
the letter will go to Èze-Plage and they won't bring it up here until the next
day. [...] Although we're on vacation, I've been very busy, this time with our
little house; it took us ten full days to make it comfortable. [...] Our two
rooms have beautiful white walls and dark beams, the floors are in red
faience; our dining-room table also has faience tiles—green. The staircases
are of black slate. The contractors worked very well and, having first seen the
house almost in ruins, I was very pleasantly surprised. [...] Èze has a very
special setting; it dominates the whole Riviera. We can see Èze-Plage and
St. Jean-Cap-Ferrat below; to the left are Monaco, Menton and the Italian
Riviera, to the right the bay of Villefranche, then Mont-Borou and Nice. [...]
The purchase of the house in Èze even made good business sense, because
we bought it for 50,000 francs and it is now worth, maybe, 800,000. [...]
Kánka, as architect, might be interested in the floor plan of the house, so I'll
sketch it. (Letter to his parents, 17 July)
1951 Brassaï tries his hand at a new art form on the occasion of a masked ball in an
aristocratic house.
Today we are a bit tired, because we didn't get home from the soirée of the
Vicomtesse de Noailles until 6 in the morning. It was a splendid ball; people
had been talking about it for weeks. We were among the 300 invited guests.
The theme of the evening was the population of an imaginary town, Lunesur-
Mer—to be more exact, a party held in that town. Gilberte was the village
idiot, confounded by the atomic bomb. I was the montreur d'images, but
I also played an important role in the programme. Marie-Laure de Noailles,
to whom I once showed the moving images I had invented, asked me to
project them at the party. It took me four days to draw the nine moving
images in colour and to realize 24 figures. In addition, I had to build a little
theatre. Half an hour before the show, I was still busy gluing coloured
cellophanes, hiding in a separate room. I didn't have a chance to rehearse
with the orchestra. In spite of that, I had a great success. I can't go into how
the figures moved, but it was not a marionette show. Yet the figures move all
their limbs and come into fantastic relief. Don Quixote rides his Rocinante
and Sancho his donkey, at the wildest gallop. In my skit Les Blanchisseuses,
the shirts and underpants flutter in the wind which lifts the skirts of the
blanchisseuses, etc. The applause grew from one tableau to the next, and
when the last one was finished (with the frenetic boogie-woogie dance of the
Hottentot Sisters), I received a veritable ovation. Marie-Laure embraced and
kissed me (I had surprised her by bringing to life her two famous Goya
paintings). For the rest of the evening, they kept congratulating me and
asking what the secret of this wonderful animation was. Jean Cocteau said
this was the most diabolical thing he'd ever seen in his life. Georges Auric
liked it so well he said he wants to compose some original music to go with
it. [...] The success was all the more surprising since it came from the coldest
of all audiences, from people who are the hardest to impress. Ambassadors
were present, the greatest names of the French aristocracy, and several
famous writers and composers. (Letter to his father, 17 January)
The exhibition Five French Photographers opens at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Most
of Brassaï's photographs have been taken in Brittany, Spain and Marrakesh; the other four
photographers involved are Henri Cartier-Bresson, Robert Doisneau, Izis and Willy Ronis.
As for the exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, I've managed to
reach an agreement with them. They invited four other French photographers
besides me, but I wanted to exhibit my work in a one-man show. In the end,
I accepted their proposal to display 50 of my photographs in 40 by 50, while
the other four photographers will have 25 pieces each, of a smaller size. The
show will open in early October. (Letter to his parents, 28 June)
1952 Robert Delpire, the director of Editions Neuf, publishes Brassaï (Photographes,
dessins), his first book to contain drawings and sculptures in addition to photographs.
The book in preparation, Brassaï, has been keeping me very busy because
I had to take care of almost all the details. It was finished a few days ago and
it came out very beautiful. [...] There are about 60 photos in the book, and
an 8-page essay by Henry Miller, "Oeil de Paris", written in 1932. My most
recent sculptures are shown in six pages, and another six contain my earliest
drawings from 1921. There is also a text similar to Marie, this time from the
life of a cab driver. Unfortunately I never received Daddy's three letters with
the childhood recollections. So I had to write Souvenir de mon enfance
myself. It turned out longer than planned, but I think it is lively and funny.
Among other things, I related Daddy's adventures in the garden of Warté, and
the Parisian scenes I still remembered (from 1903? Or was it 1904?). There
are also a few pages of Notes, about Miller, Prévert, Picasso, Paris de Nuit,
Marie, my four stage sets, etc. [...] As for the New York exhibition, I can be
satisfied with the success, from what Carmel Snow, Dobó and Radó have told
me; I have also received a few press reviews. [...] I am happy to read in
Daddy's letter that if poor Mummy's condition hasn't improved, it hasn't
worsened either and her mood is somewhat better. I will send more packages
within days (yarn and medicine). [...] I congratulate Mummy on her 75th
birthday, and send you all many kisses. Your loving Gyulus. (Letter to his
parents, 22 January)
After a long illness, Brassaï's mother dies in Bras¸ov. From now on his letters home are
addressed to his father.
1954 The preface to Séville en Fęte (Collection Neuf, Robert Delpire Editions) is written by
Henry de Montherlant. The text is compiled by Dominique Aubier. Brassaï's 74 photos are outstanding;
they probably owe a great deal to Picasso, who often spoke to him of Andalusia.
We are both doing very well. We're more comfortable since we've been in our
new apartment, but our responsibilities have also increased. [...] The trip
to Barcelona was interesting but exhausting. I photographed Gaudí's
architectural works above all (Kánka may have heard of him, he was active
around 1900); after delivering the photos, I was quite exhausted. So for ten
days I went to Cauterets, a little spa in the Pyrenees at an altitude of 1000
meters, accompanied by my friend Radó, who had come from New York to
Paris for three weeks. [...] I climbed the Pic du Midi, but Radó wasn't up to it.
(Letter to his father, 2 September) [...] At the moment, I'm working on my
Chicago exhibition, which will be at the Art Institute from 15 November
through 1 January, 1955. Then the material will go to Rochester. (Letter to
his father, 11 September)
1955 The previous year, he purchased a 16 mm camera at a sale. His experience of filmmaking
is minimum (from working with Alexander Korda almost twenty years previously);
nonetheless, he tackles everything himself: script, camera work, editing. For weeks, he
visits the Vincennes zoo every day to shoot his movie Tant qu'il y aura des bętes. He
concentrates on the movements of the animals, skipping, dancing or acrobatic, and creates
a surprising, occasionally comic, movie with suitable music for each movement. It is
screened privately at the Cinéma Marbeuf on 8 December.
It's been exactly one year since I bought my 16 mm camera. Since then I've
been experimenting with the possibilities of film in my free time. It's costly
and my equipment is not complete yet, but I've acquired the most important
lenses. For the last few months, I've also had a projector and a screen, as
well as a viewer, a cutting board and everything that's needed for editing.
I finished my first film—35 minutes long—a few days ago. Now I'm adding
the sound, which unfortunately requires a lot of additional things. [...] The
fact is I'm interested in film, even more than in photography, and the results
are encouraging. I can see now that the concept of my film is entirely new,
filled with original cinematographic ideas. [...] Many kisses, your loving Gyulus.
(Letter to his father, 11 September)
In spite of the evident success of this film, he makes no others, although he does take many
more photographs. Several US cities put on exhibitions of his work.
1956 Although mostly engaged in marketing his movie, various publishing projects also
keep him busy.
I'm horribly busy these days. I'm working on three books; in addition, there
will be a 15-minute television programme about me and with me on
Thursday; I have to write a text and compile the photographic material for
the special Brassaï issue of the Swiss journal Camera. A series of pictures is
also due at Harper's this week. Fortunately, I'm in good health and in good
form. I haven't sold the film yet (I'm thinking about a financially
advantageous agreement); if this doesn't work out, it will be released at a big
theatre in Paris. (Letter to his father, 17 January)
The film is nominated for the 1956 Cannes Festival, where it wins the Palme d'Or for most
original movie. His father, visiting his son in Paris between August and October, manages
to see it.
It was shown in one of the Parisian movie houses after a piece about miners.
The elephants, hippos, giraffes, birds, ostriches and monkeys of the
Vincennes Zoo dance an entire ballet on the ground and on trees.
The otherwise silent piece is accompanied by some splendid music.
(Gyula Halász: On the Threshold of the One-Hundredth Year, p. 153)
During this visit, Brassaï's father is struck by a car while on his way to the Jardin de
Luxembourg. Fortunately, the old man escapes without serious injury. Brassaï had
premonitions about the event:
Mon cher Reismann, [...] Things are getting more complicated just now,
because Paris traffic has become horrible and I can't let my father walk
around the city by himself, even though that is his most fervent wish. On the
other hand, I am terribly busy at the moment. Gilberte won't be back for
another week. Well, it will all work out one way or another. Un amical merci!
Brassaï. (Letter to János Reismann, 22 August)
The exhibition Graffiti meets with great success at the Museum of Modern Art in New York,
and makes Brassaï well known in the United States.
Paris has become a kind of home port from where we are planning various
new trips. They want me in New York at all costs, they have invited me and
will cover all expenses. This would be a good opportunity since I'm going to
have a major exhibition, called Graffiti, at the Museum of Modern Art and they
would like to have me at the opening. I would have preferred to go in the
spring of 1957 and spend two to three months in order to get to know the
country and Mexico, too. Right now I'm making a major effort to learn the
language with the help of Assimile and other books. I can read and ask
questions, but I have a hard time understanding the answers. There is
another circumstance that is hampering my travel plans: the arrival of my 85-
year-old father who is going to come to Paris around the same time. [...]
Despite his age, he is remarkably youthful in mind and body. He has just
finished a book on Béranger, and frequently sends poems to Gilberte (in
French). As for me, I feel pretty youthful too, ready for new beginnings. Thus I
threw myself into movie-making, with some success as you can see: Tant qu'il
y aura des bętes was chosen from a hundred French short films for the
Cannes festival, and it won a prize there so that I came home with a huge
"certificate"! I have some very fond memories of this festival, not because of
the "certificate" but because Gilberte and I stayed at one of the big luxury
hotels in Cannes (paid for by the Princess) and I didn't feel the usual
obligation to take photos and write reports, which tends to ruin these
business trips. The film even had some commercial success; for months I've
been living on the royalties. After selling it for a very good price in France,
they sold it in several other countries as well, even Greece and Norway! Since
I had made the film all by myself, including the editing (though Bessière wrote
some very beautiful music for me after the final editing), and since I had signed
an exceptionally lucrative contract this time, I may earn twenty to thirty times
what I spent on it. But it's better not to talk about the amount of time it has
taken! Frightening! Weeks and months! I did it as a study, and it was well
worth the effort. I may make another film soon if I fall in love with another
subject. [...] For three years now we have not lived on Fbg. St. Jacques; the
apartment was too small for the two of us. We now live in a villa surrounded
by a garden (Villa Adrienne, 19 avenue d'Orléans, Pavillon Vauban), where
I can devote myself to gardening for recreation. I only have ferns and other
wild plants which I brought from Fontainebleau and the Chevreuse valley.
I wanted to find myself among the underbrush when I woke up in the
morning... It is surprising that such a thing can exist two steps away from the
lion of Belfort. So I go back and forth between Fbg. St. Jacques and the villa;
sometimes, also, I go to my studio in the Rue Saint-Gotthard. Someday you
may get a chance to come to Paris... Now I stop gabbing. Friendly handshake,
Brassaï. (Letter to János Reismann [orig. in French], 11 August)
1957 He receives a gold medal at the Venice Biennale for his photography. He visits the
United States for the first time, staying for several months. He sends a few photographs home
via the Budapest photo-journalist Miklós Rév (who had visited him a year earlier in Paris) for
the show Twentieth-Century Hungarian Artists Abroad at the Budapest gallery Műcsarnok.
1958 His photo Reedstalks is chosen by the architects of the UNESCO headquarters in
Paris (Le Corbusier, Marcel Breuer, Pier Luigi Nervi, Bernard Zehrfuss and Georges Salles)
to be on permanent display in the building. János Reismann, living in Stuttgart at the time,
introduces Brassaï to a German publisher. The correspondence between Reismann and
Brassaï, about 40 documents, as well as Reissmann's other correspondence, contains
interesting biographical and historical information. A few selected excerpts follow.
We fell into each other's arms Tuesday morning at 7. After telling me that
I hadn't changed at all, so that he could highly recommend my lifestyle to
anyone, he refused to go to the hotel booked for them by Weipert, but wanted
to have breakfast and a chat instead. His balding head was covered by a cute
velvet cap bought in Scotland covered in cigarette burns; he didn't in the
least look like "prominent" personalities do. He talked about his experiences,
his travels and his life with incredible zest and youthfulness. He follows life,
and all artistic manifestations, with such youthful curiosity and interest that
I felt almost like an old man next to him. But he infected and awakened me
with his youthfulness! I could fill 30 pages with all the interesting and
charming things he told me—about his adventures in the United States, his
father, our mutual acquaintances, about Paris. Of course he demanded to
hear my stories, too. (Letter from János Reismann to Erzsébet Mágori, July 9)
Reismann is fascinated by Brassaï's personality and tries to catch his character in his next
letter to his partner:
He has this unbiased, playful, unprejudiced curiosity children (4-6 yearolds!)
have, a curiosity without vested interest, snobbery or singleness of
purpose. Such curiosity is a quality of those artists favoured by God, in
whose hands everything comes alive, those who can tackle any material
immediately, following the simplest rules and following ideas that seem the
most banal. They don't have to struggle in order to create for the delight of
humankind—they just play. Brassaï is one of those. (Letter from János
Reismann to Erzsébet Mágori, August 6)
A few months later, Brassaï, almost 60, writes from London to Bras¸ov. He spends more and
more time in Provence, despite his frequent travels, commissions, exhibitions and books.
The extreme pressures result in a serious illness, from which he recuperates in the south.
Brassaï writes about their new property, replacing their house in Èze-Village:
We've bought a property of about 4,000 square metres; all of a sudden I am
the owner of 27 olive trees, 35 almond trees, plus fig trees, etc. There are
several houses on the property, built in 1889, somewhat run down but in
good and inhabitable condition, though no one has lived there in the last
30 or 40 years. The location is excellent; it is, so to speak, a 200-meter
terrace above the Mediterranean, between Monte Carlo and Nice. [...]
We didn't even have a garden the size of a handkerchief before, but now
we've become completely entranced, so to speak, and I grabbed a spade,
hatchet, mattock and rake and worked up there the whole time, first around
the buildings. It's almost like digging in Pompeii, for the old paved courtyard
among the houses was covered by 30-40 cm of dirt. I couldn't have dreamt
of a better therapy after my illness and, in fact, I am now completely cured.
(Letter to János Reismann, 17 June) [...] I can tell you now that I am
completely healed: I had some kind of nicotine poisoning, and had to stop
working for several weeks and follow a hygienic regime. So we went to Èze in
order to sell our house there and buy something closer to Paris instead, for
instance in the valley of Chevreuse. Meanwhile the political situation in
France became more serious (almost on the brink of civil war), so we stayed
in the south for almost three months instead of three weeks. [...] Now I'm
writing from Stuttgart, where I had successful negotiations with a German
publisher and printing company about the publication of two books. Graffiti
will be published in 20 thousand copies; we also discussed the contract of
a book about southern France. (Letter to his father, 4 July)
The Graffiti exhibition opens in America, at the Institute of Modern Art.
My dear Daddy, I sent you a letter in today's mail, with the texts of the
Carmagnole and the Ça ira that you asked for. But I forgot to congratulate
you (belatedly) on your birthday. Are you 86, or 87? I can only wish that
Ça ira... ça ira... ça ira (if it has gone this far). I am sixty years old myself
[...] I enclose the clipping of the new UNESCO headquarters; there have already
been three or four articles like this one. The Comité artistique was very
pleased with my photo, and wrote me a thank-you letter. The photo is six
meters wide and three meters tall; it will be very effective since it is in a large
room. (The trouble I had with this!) Fact is, I'm one of eleven international, artists
chosen. Many kisses, your loving Gyulus. (Letter to his father, 16 September)
[...] I'm working on several books at once, but haven't taken any photos in
weeks. The model of Graffiti is finished, and I hope I'll find a good publisher
for it. The Graffiti exhibit has been invited to London and Tokyo. [...] I'm also
thinking about a new film, but the idea hasn't quite matured yet. In addition,
I'm working on a book on photography, for which I already have a publisher;
soon I'll be able to give literary reviews some excerpts from it. (Letter to his
father, 4 February)
1960 Alarmed by his illness and mindful of his age, his situation, his whole existence, he
informs his father of a momentous decision:
I don't think I'll have Daddy's energy and youthful mental alertness at 86.
I can feel my age already in my sixties, because nothing goes as fast and
easily as it used to. [...] After my trip to Brazil, which was beautiful and
interesting but very exhausting, I made an inventory, so to speak, of all the
important works that I still want to produce, and since the list is a long one,
I have made the decision not to accept any work that I'm not 100 per cent
interested in. That includes Harper's Bazaar and other things as well. Thus in
recent months I was able to devote myself to things I was interested in,
although my financial situation was not always the best. [...] One result is
that the exhibition of my sculptures opened on 8 March. I exhibited 50
sculptures in stone and I can say the success was great. I sold a few
sculptures and drawings, even the Musée d'Art Moderne bought some.
I could have sold even more if I had set my prices lower, but this exhibition
will travel to the United States in the autumn and therefore I saved the
material for later. (Letter to his father, 11 April)
He finishes Graffiti, whose idea was first conceived in the 1930s. The album is first published
in Germany, and then, a year later, in France. He is also working on Conversations avec Picasso.
My dear Reismann, I was very glad to hear from you, and good news yet. [...]
I have come to Paris for a few days from the South to take care of a few
things before I return to Èze-Village before the end of the week. We stayed in
Juan-les-Pins for quite a while because I accompanied Henry Miller to the
Cannes Festival (he was on the jury). I also met Picasso. Gallimard will
publish my book about him (conversations), which I have to finish in the next
few weeks. I think Gallimard will end up publishing Graffiti as well. I saved a
copy for you (I only received twelve!). I will send it soon. Everybody likes it,
including Picasso. (Letter to János Reismann, 12 July. Original in French.)
Jean-Marie Drot makes a TV film on Brassaï, using the music of Béla Bartók (probably at
Brassaï's request). Both Henry Miller and Raymond Queneau speak in the film, which also
features Jacques Prévert's poem.
It was a success beyond all expectations... The broadcast was advertised as a
real event; I had to give sixteen interviews and all my photos (that is, photos
of me) went like hot cakes. After the broadcast, there was a stream of
telegrammes, greetings from well-wishers... It was very touching, almost like
a funeral without the wreaths; truly the honours were such as if I had died...
I unexpectedly achieved a new authority, enabling me to publish whatever
I want. I can take my manuscripts out of the drawers and my photos out of
the boxes. I have enough for thirty books! But enough of bragging. Now
I have to guard against success. I have hired two secretaries to close the
gates. For now everyone wants something from me. I have sold eight drawings
to the Musée d'Art Moderne, and a dozen or so sculptures since the
exhibition [...] I don't even dare to tell you that I wrote a play in the spring,
Le Cri de détresse. I think it's very interesting. Conversations with Picasso
will be published by Gallimard in the spring of 1961. [...] It is interesting that
last November, after my 60th birthday, everything that I had taken on and
collected all my life, and the short time I have left to bring it all to light, all
this brought on a sudden attack of panic. All my life I was running slowly, in
the rear of the field, but now the bell for the last lap has given me a signal.
My whole life will be summarized in the next few years. I'm glad that you are
satisfied and at peace, after so many difficult, turbulent years. But you will
understand, I think, that for me, the days of long journeys, and even short
ones, are past. That's why I don't believe I will be able to go to Hungary,
despite your kind invitation and my own longing. We have just bought a little
property in the South; a quiet corner just above the Mediterranean, with 40
olive trees and just as many almond and fig trees. It is between Nice and
Monte Carlo. I will work there for the greater part of the year because Paris,
inundated by cars, is becoming more and more uninhabitable—like a river
infested by crocodiles or a sea by sharks. Especially if you have been
discovered by four or five million TV viewers. Since the broadcast I am
constantly being addressed by strangers, newspaper vendors and even cab
drivers: I know you, sir, I know exactly what you do! I've seen you on TV.
(Letter to János Reismann, 13 November)
The TV film in question is not broadcast by Hungarian television until 1997, twenty-seven
years after its shooting.
1964 Conversations avec Picasso finally comes out in time for Picasso's 83rd birthday, with
50 photographs. It is translated into a dozen languages, including Hungarian in 1968.
My dear, good Daddy, winning the Nobel Prize wouldn't have made me
happier than your little postcard! So you are alive and well, and still writing,
marching towards the 100-year jubilee to the tune of the Marseillaise [...]
My conscience was very, very bad. Your charming letter of invitation [...]
reached me at a moment when I wasn't sure how to solve my own problems.
Our new house (the little old houses restored and enlarged) was not
inhabitable until late last September. The constructions continued through
the winter, so that we spent the winter here. Gilberte never budged, while
I went to Paris on business four times, for 10–15 days each time, except for
my fourth trip in April. Then I went for three weeks but ended up staying
three months because of the publication of the Picasso book. It would have
been impossible just then to go to Romania, as you had wished.
Conversations avec Picasso [...] will come out at the end of October or early
November. It was hard and delicate work that almost made me ill. I can't
even judge the book any more after all these re-readings, revisions and
corrections. But I think it's an interesting and rich book—the liveliest ever
written about this painter of genius. [...] I returned to our little paradise at
the end of June, in a very bad nervous state. After a few days' rest,
I embarked on a new book: Conversations avec Henry Miller. (Gallimard has
already given me an advance on that one.) I wrote 240 pages in two months,
based on my notes; I think I can finish it before the deadline. [...] I'm
scarcely interested in photography any more—it was planned and decided
that way in my life's programme. I haven't held a camera in more than two
years. Your proposal that I should take photographs of my native land came
at the wrong moment. All the more so that I would never know what I could
or couldn't do there, and what I was or wasn't allowed to shoot. I'm 66 years
old myself (in a few days) and I have to devote my precious remaining
time to the publication and promotion of my works. (Letter to his father,
28 August)
His book Images de caméra is published. Besides his own photographs, it contains work in
various genres by leading photographers from France and elsewhere and may be best described
as a subjective history of contemporary photography. No matter how carefully
Brassaï watches his health, no matter how much he tries to change his lifestyle, he suffers
another heart attack.
I had a heart attack five months ago. I'm well again, slender as a youth, and
it has reduced my weight from 78 kg to 66 [...] I have no desire to travel, and
even less to do photography. But I do feel like writing, and I will certainly do
a few more books. Conversations with Picasso is a great moral success, and
a financial one as well. Since its publication, six countries have purchased
the rights. Picasso likes my book very much. This portrait resembles me the
most, [he said]. And he helped prepare an exhibition of mine in Cannes.
(Letter to János Reismann, 15 March)
...
Károly Kincses
is Chief Consultant at the Museum of Hungarian Photography in Kecskemét and the
Hungarian House of Photography at the Mai Manó House in Budapest.
Author and editor of numerous books, he has most recently edited
Gyulus: Brassaï képek és dokumentumok (Gyulus: Brassaï Pictures and Documents,
Magyar Fotográfiai Múzeum, 2007) as volume 45 in the series
A magyar fotográfia történetéből (History of Hungarian Photography).
