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The Making of Markova

~ A biography by Tina Sutton

The Making of Markova

Tag Archives: Henri Matisse

Matisse Makes Cut-Outs Dance

02 Friday May 2014

Posted by Tina Sutton in Uncategorized

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Alicia Markova, Andre Eglevsky, Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, Ballets Russes, Chatting with Henri Matisse:The Lost 1941 Interview, George Balanchine, Grace Robert, Henri Matisse, Isadora Duncan, John Russel, L'Etrange Farandole, La Dance, Le Chant du Rossignol, Leonide Massine, Martha Graham, Matisse Cut-Outs, Matisse: Father & Son, MOMA, Pierre Courthion, Rouge et Noir, Serge Diaghilev, Tamara Karsavina, Tate Modern, The Borzoi Book of Ballets, The Nightingale

Matisse began experimenting with cut-outs when designing for the ballet.

Matisse began experimenting with cut-outs when designing for the ballet.

“There are no second acts in American lives,” wrote F. Scott Fitzgerald. Fortunately, celebrated artist Henri Matisse was French. Wheelchair bound after debilitating stomach cancer surgery in 1941, the 72-year-old picked up a pair of scissors and never looked back.

“I came within a hair’s breadth of dying,” Matisse told Swiss art critic Pierre Courthion at the time. “Long live joy . . . and french fries!” (You can read the entire fascinating interview in a recently released book from Getty Publications.)

Matisse's paper cut-out designs for Léonide Massine's Rouge et Noir

Matisse’s paper cut-out designs for Léonide Massine’s Rouge et Noir

That new lease on life led to a jubilant new art form, currently on view in the exhilarating exhibit Matisse Cut-Outs at London’s Tate Modern (moving on to New York’s MOMA in October). “Bold, exuberant and often large in scale, the cut-outs have an engaging simplicity coupled with incredible creative sophistication,” the Tate makes clear.

Matisse pinned cutouts directly on Markova!

Matisse pinning cutouts on Markova!

Matisse had actually begun experimenting with painted paper cutouts just prior to his illness while working on the Barnes Foundation “Dance” mural and a Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo production called Rouge et Noir, which, incidentally, premiered 75 years ago this month. Choreographed by Léonide Massine, the work was a dramatic allegorical ballet set to Dmitri Shostakovich’s First Symphony. Matisse’s new use of cut-outs would become integral to the design, begun in 1938. Matisse went so far as to pin cutout shapes directly onto Massine’s star ballerina – Alicia Markova!

Massine was mulling over Rouge et Noir when he made one of his frequent visits to Matisse’s studio. Off in the corner were the artist’s “Dance” mural mock-ups for the Barnes Foundation in Pennsylvania. From the Making of Markova:

Matisse's mural for the Barnes Foundation

Matisse’s mural for the Barnes Foundation

Massine recalled, “I pointed out to him [Matisse] that they were very similar in conception to the ballet I was planning, which I visualized as a vast mural in motion, he became suddenly very interested.”

Arched set for Rouge et Noir

Arched set for Rouge et Noir

The high vaulted arches would become the formative background element in the backdrops for Rouge et Noir.

Matisse then produced a series of boldly colored mockups of his proposed set and costume designs by combining gouache and cut paper shapes painstakingly adjusted until perfect, then thumbtacked in place.

Matisse's cut-out-inspired curtain for Rouge et Noir

Matisse’s “signed” Rouge et Noir front curtain

Massine was so taken with Matisse’s work on the ballet that he had the artist boldly sign his name in large black lettering on the Rouge et Noir front curtain. The choreographer wanted the audience to know, even before the ballet began, who was responsible for the awe-inspiring design.

According to Grace Robert in The Borzoi Book of Ballets: “The most exciting feature of Rouge et Noir [briefly called L’Etrange Farandole] is the décor by Henri Matisse. The setting consists of a backdrop and several flat arches painted in primary colors, in front of which dancers dressed in suits of fleshings in red, blue, yellow, and black, with headdresses that covered their hair (with the most important group, including Man and Woman, in white), ebbed and flowed in changing patterns. It was extraordinarily effective scenically . . . The groups formed and came apart, making wonderful blocks of color like an abstract painting set in motion.”

Matisse drawings for his Rouge et Noir "cut-out" costumes

Matisse sketch for “cut-out” ballet costumes

Markova as "Woman" with Andre Eglevsky as "Man" in Rouge et Noir

Markova as “Woman” with Andre Eglevsky as “Man” in Rouge et Noir

As I explained in The Making of Markova:  Once again the themes were monumental: man and woman battling the spiritual and material worlds, with current political overtones. There was also a battle between Massine and his dancers, as his choreography was tremendously difficult (and often physically painful) to master. “On the call-board the first day, were three names – Theilade, Slavenska, Markova,” wrote dance critic Mary Mack of The Music News. “As the work progressed, two names were dropped, Markova remained.”

In discussing the process of learning new choreography, Markova confessed. ”I’ve rehearsed for a new ballet and haven’t been able to walk for two days.” She used Massine’s Rouge et Noir as a case in point:

photo by Maurice Seymour

photo by Maurice Seymour

“He decided he wanted to blend the classical technique with [Isadora] Duncan from the waist up, with acrobatics and some [Martha] Graham. That’s what I had to reproduce for him. The first day my legs were black and blue. I had two large black marks on my hips.

The second day, since my leggings had been splintered whenever I hit the wood floor, I came back wearing linen slacks. For the whole of the rehearsal for the ballet Rouge et Noir, I used to put cotton wool to pad my hip bones. I had kneecaps on, and I used to put a pair of linen slacks over the lot. I was well upholstered!

When it came time for the performance, all I had on was just white silk tights all over, no padding. I learned by that time where to put the strength, how to try to get the most effect and save myself. But even then, I used to have pads in the dressing room with witch hazel when I came off. There again, you see, I was willing to be bruised black and blue for Massine to achieve choreographically something superb. Now there were many dancers in the company who wouldn’t do it. This isn’t really fair.”

Matisse observed Markova in rehearsals so his cutout shapes would best emphasize here movements.

Matisse’s cut-outs added poetry to her movements.

Markova brought Matisse's dance cutouts to  life

Markova brought Matisse’s dance cut-outs to life.

Grace Robert certainly felt Markova’s efforts were worth it: “As long as Alicia Markova was Woman, Rouge et Noir had a strong emotional impact. A very abstraction of womanhood, yet she wrung the heart with her magnificently understated agony in the face of loss and adversity – a symbol and precursor of the hell that was already breaking out in Europe, to spread all over the world. As she was succeeded in this role by a dancer of considerably less (to put it charitably) artistic stature, Rouge et Noir lost any interest except as a piece of stage decoration.” But what a stage decoration!

Matisse & Massine first met at the Ballets Russes in 1919.

Matisse & Massine first met at the Ballets Russes in 1919.

Rouge et Noir was not the first time Massine and Matisse had collaborated on a ballet. In 1919 the two met at the famed Ballets Russes, where the unimaginably persuasive Serge Diaghilev talked a reluctant Matisse into designing Massine’s production of Le Chant du Rossignol (The Song of the Nightingale), with music by Igor Stravinsky. Though his rival Picasso had been working on sets and costumes with Diaghilev for years, Matisse didn’t want to take time away from his painting. “But I’ll only do one ballet and it’ll be an experiment for me,” he would later explain to Pierre Courthion. “And so I learned what a stage set could be. I learned that you could think of it as a picture with colors that move.

The decoration on Matisse's costumes for The Nightingale (1920) alluded to colored cutouts to come.

Matisse’s decorative Nightingale ballet costumes presage his later cut-outs.

“These colors are costumes. The colors move, but they mustn’t alter the expression conveyed by the set. They must be subordinated to a single grand expression and be able to interact without wrecking the harmony of the rest. The choreographer, Massine, was a great help to me; he understood my notion perfectly.”

The feathers on the Matisse-designed Nightingale costume for Tamara Karsavina molted off on opening night!

The feathers on the Matisse-designed Nightingale costume for Tamara Karsavina moulted off on opening night!

Unfortunately for Matisse, “the dressmakers said that they couldn’t understand his sketches,” according to John Russell’s Matisse: Father & Son. “Tamara Karsavina, who had the role of the live Nightingale (as opposed to the mechanical one), said that on the first night the feathers moulted off her costume.”

Markova in her pure white Nightingale costume by Matisse

Markova in her pure white Nightingale costume by Matisse

Though it looked sumptuous, the 1920 ballet was a flop. But four years later, the perennially broke Diaghilev decided Matisse’s designs were too beautiful to waste. All-new choreography was in order, and it was to be the first major effort from an untried 20-year-old talent – George Balanchine. Karsavina was replaced by the 14-year-old Alicia Markova, the youngest ever soloist at the company, with Matisse asked to create her new costume.

While Markova was dreamily picturing a brown feathered bird tutu, Matisse had other ideas. Uncharacteristic for the King of the Fauves, he dressed Markova in an all-white unitard head-to-toe with white osprey feathers covering a close-cropped bonnet. (For more on that amusing costume story, see my former post Alicia In Wonderland.) Balanchine’s Nightingale – with daring choreography for the young dance prodigy Markova – was a hit. Remarkably, Matisse would once again clothe Markova in a white unitard for Rouge et Noir some fifteen years later.

Matisse's oil, The Ballet Dancer, 1927

Matisse’s oil, The Ballet Dancer, 1927

When one thinks of artists and the ballet, Degas instantly comes to mind for his paintings and pastels, and perhaps Picasso for his set and costume designs. But during the time Matisse worked with Markova on The Nightingale, he too fell under the spell of ballet, producing a series of ballerina drawings called “Ten Dancers,” as well as several luscious Ballet Dancer oils.

However, Matisse had always been fascinated by the movement of dance, which he celebrated throughout his career in some of his most superb large scale works.

Matisse's magnificent La Danse, 1909

Matisse’s magnificent La Danse, 1909

“For me, a color is a force,” he told Pierre Courthion. “My pictures are made up of four or five colors that collide with one another, and the collision gives a sense of energy.”

"The Dance", 1938

Matisse cut-out The Dance, 1938

From his early dynamic Fauvist paintings to his delightfully original cut-outs, Matisse taught colors how to dance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Mastering Stravinsky: Markova’s Rite of Passage

23 Monday Sep 2013

Posted by Tina Sutton in Uncategorized

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Alicia Markova, American Ballet Theatre, Ballet of the Elephants, Ballets Russes, Bronislava Nijinska, Circus and the City: New York 1793-2010, Discovery.com, George Balanchine, George Benjamin, Henri Matisse, Igor Stravinsky, Matthew Wittman, Picasso, RIngling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, Sergei Diaghilev, The Firebird, The Jewish Museum, The Rite of Spring, Vaslav Nijinsky, Vera Stravinsky

Stravinsky & Nijinsky shocked the world with The Rite of Spring

Stravinsky & Nijinsky shocked the world with The Rite of Spring

No one said breakthrough art is easy, either for the creator or the initial audience. When Igor Stravinsky composed The Rite of Spring (Le Sacré de Printemps) for the Ballets Russes 100 years ago, it spearheaded a revolution in contemporary music – and a revolt in the theatre. Ballet patrons physically rioted when faced with the cacophonous score accompanying Vaslav Nijinsky’s equally provocative choreography. Though police were called in, impresario Sergei Diaghilev couldn’t have been happier. The more his ballet company shocked, the more press he got, and the more tickets he sold.

“No composer since can avoid the shadow of this great icon of the 20th century, and score after score by modern masters would be unthinkable without its model,” British composer George Benjamin wrote of Stravinsky in The Guardian this past May. “This, in a way, is cubist music – where musical materials slice into one another, interact and superimpose with the most brutal edges, thus challenging the musical perspective and logic that had dominated European ears for centuries.”

Picasso's cubist cardboard costume for Parade (1917)

Picasso’s cubist cardboard costume for Parade (1917)

Diaghilev was a genius at choosing artists who challenged the status quo. Who but the avant-garde Russian would have asked Picasso to create cubist ballet costumes – out of stiff cardboard no less!

A surreal Bronislava Nijinska at the Ballets Russes

A surreal Bronislava Nijinska at the Ballets Russes

– or applaud Bronislava Nijinska’s startling surrealist make-up for Léonide Massine’s Kikimora in 1917?

When Diaghilev invited Alicia Markova to join the Ballets Russes as its youngest-ever soloist in 1923, she was a shy, unsophisticated 14-year-old. (See photo below.)

Alicia Markova at age 14, the newest member of the Ballets Russes (1923)

Alicia Markova at age 14, the newest member of the Ballets Russes (1924)

Her first starring role was in Le Chant de Rossignol (The Song of the Nightingale), with choreography by George Balanchine – his first major commission for Diaghilev – and music by Igor Stravinsky. While the tiny dance prodigy had no problems mastering Balanchine’s complicated and supremely athletic dance sequences, Stravinsky’s music was another matter. As Markova reminisced in The Making of Markova: I remember the very first rehearsal with Balanchine. I started to cry and they said what’s the matter? I said I’m never going to be able to learn this. You know, this isn’t music to me. What am I to do? And Stravinsky was so wonderful. . . . He said, “There’s no worry. I’ll be there for all the rehearsals, and I will conduct, [unheard of for the celebrated composer!] and as long as I’m here, you mustn’t worry, but there’s one thing you have to promise me . . . You’ve got to learn the scores by ear. You must learn the instrumentation, orchestration and everything by ear,” he said, “and then you’ll never have any worry for the rest of your life.” And he was so right.

Markova's star-maker Sergei Diaghilev, with her music teacher Igor Stravinsky

Markova’s star-maker Sergei Diaghilev, with her music teacher Igor Stravinsky

Not only did Stravinsky become Markova’s music instructor, but he accompanied her, Diaghilev, and Henri Matisse (the lucky Alicia’s art teacher!) to the studio of Nightingale costumier (and former ballet dancer) Vera de Bosset Soudeikine, who incidentally, would become Stravinsky’s second wife. Matisse was responsible for Markova’s costume design, with Mme. Soudeikine charged with bringing his creation to life.

Stravinsky happily married to  second wife Vera Soudekina, both subjects of a fascinating new play Nikolai and the Others at Lincoln Center last spring

Stravinsky happily married to second wife Vera de Bosset Soudeikine, both subjects (along with Balanchine), of Richard Nelson’s fascinating play Nikolai and the Others, performed at Lincoln Center last spring.

When Matisse announced his plan to cover Markova’s little girl hair bob with a white bonnet trimmed in osprey feathers – an extravagantly expensive trim – the budget-minded Diaghilev emphatically cried ‘No!” As Markova finishes the story in The Making of Markova: But please Sergevitch,” pleaded Matisse, “the little one needs them round her face to soften the hard line of the bonnet and make her a little bird,” protested Matisse. “No ospreys,” repeated Diaghilev. Then Stravinsky entered the argument. He too thought they were necessary, but Diaghilev was adamant and refused, and unexpectedly Stravinsky turned to Matisse and said, “Henri, we buy the ospreys between us, 50-50, yes?” “Yes!” echoed Matisse, and so I had my ospreys, and how I guarded them, as if they were gold.

Balanchine and Stravinsky collaborated on a gargantuan task 1942 . . .

Balanchine and Stravinsky collaborated on a gargantuan task 1942 . . .

While Markova never again had trouble with Stravinsky’s unique musical phrasing, others were not so lucky, as when the composer collaborated again with Balanchine in New York in 1942. The mystified dancers? Pachyderms at the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus! As Matthew Wittman explained in Circus and the City: New York 1793-2010: “‘The Ballet of the Elephants’ production was an attempt by John Ringling North to bring high culture into the circus and featured fifty elephants in pink tutus accompanied by female dancers. The rhythm changes in Stravinsky’s Circus Polka proved difficult for the elephants to grasp, and it was only performed intermittently.”

Apparently circus elephants do forget when it comes to dancing to Stravinsky

Apparently circus elephants do forget when it comes to dancing to Stravinsky

Evidently pigeons and songbirds don’t care much for Stravinsky’s dissonant compositions either, according to a research study posted on Discovery.com. The classical cadences of Bach are more to their liking. Fish, it appears, are musically non-judgmental – if listening to either composer’s music results in more food.

The very human Markova, however, was an ardent and vocal Stravinsky fan – of both the man and his exhilarating music. The two remained lifelong friends and visited each other often in the United States where Stravinsky moved with Vera during World War II.

In 1945, Markova starred in The Firebird at Ballet Theatre, with music by Stravinsky,

Markova starred in The Firebird at Ballet Theatre (1945), with music by Stravinsky

Markova asked Stravinsky to compose music for her Broadway debut – to which he happily consented – and she delighted starring at the Ballet Theatre (today’s American Ballet Theatre) in the 1945 revival of The Firebird, the composer’s first commission for the Ballets Russes back in 1910. (Though Michel Fokine choreographed the ballet for Anna Pavlova, she refused the role proclaiming Stravinsky’s music “noise!”) Marc Chagall (currently the subject of a illuminating new exhibit at The Jewish Museum in New York) designed Markova’s breathtaking Firebird costume, which was covered in shimmering gold dust and topped with a dramatic headdress of bird of paradise feathers. One wonders if osprey plumes were still just too expensive!

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Goodbye Dali: A Surreal Experience at the Ballet

16 Friday Aug 2013

Posted by Tina Sutton in Uncategorized

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Alicia Markova, Antony Tudor, Bacchanale, Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, Elsa Schiaparelli, Eugene Berman, Ferran Adria, Henri Matisse, Labyrinth, Leonide Massine, Marc Chagall, Museo Reina Sofia, Nini Theilade, Pompidou Center, Primavera, Romeo & Juliet, Salvador Dalí, Sandro Botticelli, Sergei Diaghilev

Though Markova was dressed by many modern artists, here by Matisse, Dali was the one that got away. © Maurice Seymour

Though Markova was dressed by many modern artists, here by Matisse, Dali was the one that got away. © Maurice Seymour

As a longtime art lover, I was continually fascinated by Markova’s friendships and working relationships with many of the most famous modern artists of her day. While my last post dealt with the enormously complicated construction of classical ballet costumes, Markova was also a star of avant-garde contemporary works, with costumes and sets as cutting-edge as the startling dance sequences. In addition to wearing costumes by Matisse and Chagall (as discussed in earlier posts), Markova was dressed by Giorgio de Chirico, Marie Laurencin, and Andre Derain, among other modernists.

Salvador Dali - the very definition of surreal

Salvador Dali – the very definition of surreal

Salvador Dali was almost one of them, and here’s the amusing behind-the-scenes story.

Dali's theatrical "Mae West" room, recently exhibited at the Centre Pompidou in Paris

Dali’s theatrical “Mae West” room, recently exhibited at the Centre Pompidou in Paris

The Spanish-born Dali (1904-1989) is so famous for his surrealist works that his name has become short-hand for the term. (Check out the fantastical food imaginings of Catalan chef Ferran Adria, which led to his nickname “Salvador Dali of the kitchen.” An exhibit of his edible art renderings is currently on view at Somerset House, London, coming next to the Boston Science Museum.)

Dali's disconcerting painted backdrop for Massine's ballet Labyrinthe (1941)

Dali’s disconcerting painted backdrop for Massine’s ballet Labyrinth (1941)

Even 24 years after Dali’s death, a blockbuster retrospective of his work, first at the Pompidou Center in Paris and currently at the Museo Reina Sofia in Madrid, has broken all previous attendance records. The artist who once famously said, “I don’t do drugs. I am drugs,” never lacked for attention alive or dead. So it’s only natural that Dali’s theatrical public persona would have given rise to commissions for theatrical set design.

Dali's set for Massine's Bacchanale (1939). The dancers emerged from the swan's breast.

Dali’s set for Massine’s Bacchanale (1939). The dancers emerged from the hole in the swan’s breast.

In 1939, the ever-inventive choreographer Léonide Massine hired Dali to design the set and costumes for his one act ballet Bacchanale, set to music by Richard Wagner. As Jack Anderson writes in The One and Only: The Ballet Russe De Monte Carlo, “The season’s scandal was Bacchanale . . . Dali’s decor was dominated by a huge swan with a hole in its breast through which dancers emerge, some in remarkable costumes.

As Dali's Venus in Bacchanale, ballerina Nini Theilade appeared to be nude

As Dali’s Venus in Bacchanale, ballerina Nini Theilade appeared to be nude

 “There was a woman with a rose-colored fish-head. Lola Montez wore harem trousers and a hoop skirt covered in teeth. The Knight of Death turned out to be an immense perambulating umbrella.. . . Prudish audiences blushed to behold the male ensemble with large red lobsters (as sex symbols) on their thighs, and Nini Theilade, portraying Venus, created a sensation because she seemed totally nude. In actuality, she wore flesh-colored tights from her neck to her toes.”

As Dali’s contribution to Bacchanale made the only lasting impression in Massine’s less-than-stellar work, it only added to the artist’s legend. As the egotistical Dali once said of himself, “There are some days when I think I’m going to die from an overdose of satisfaction.”

The always amusing Salvador Dali

The always amusing Salvador Dali

But the great surprise in this tale is not that Massine continued to work with Dali, next on Labyrinth in 1941, but rather that the crazy Catalonian was hired by British choreographer Antony Tudor for his planned “intimate” new staging of Romeo & Juliet at Ballet Theatre (today’s American Ballet Theatre). Perhaps Tudor never heard Dali’s comment: “It is good taste, and good taste alone, that possesses the power to sterilize and is always the first handicap to any creative functioning.”

One of Dali's proposed "crutch-themed" set designs for Tudor's Romeo & Juliet.

One of Dali’s proposed “crutch-themed” set designs for Tudor’s Romeo & Juliet.

Alicia Markova was Tudor’s choice for Juliet and his choreographic muse. She laughingly remembered their meeting with Dali to view his proposed set designs. Crutches were everywhere to symbolize doomed love, but perhaps the most memorable suggestion was that the famous balcony be constructed as a giant set of false teeth (your sexual innuendo goes here) supported by gigantic sky-high crutches.

At Markova's suggestion, Botticelli's Primavera inspired the set/costume designs for Tudro's Romeo & Juliet (1943)

At Markova’s suggestion, Botticelli’s Primavera inspired the set/costume designs for Tudor’s Romeo & Juliet (1943)

Though Markova always wondered what Dali had in mind for her Juliet (perhaps a leg cast?) it was the ballerina herself who inspired the eventual design theme executed by the Russian Surrealist (and Neo-Romantic) Eugene Berman. At Sergei Diaghilev’s urging, the teenaged Markova had spent hour upon hour at the Uffizi Museum in Florence studying Renaissance art. As I wrote in The Making of Markova: “The way the female figures in the paintings held their hands in repose, and the subtle tilt of their heads were poses Markova later incorporated into her own delicate dance movements. 

Botticelli's central figure inspired Markova's Juliet costume

Botticelli’s central figure in Primavera inspired Markova’s Juliet costume

Markova and Hugh Laing in Romeo & Juliet, 1943

Markova and Hugh Laing in Romeo & Juliet, 1943

“Her favorite Renaissance artist was Sandro Botticelli, especially his euphoric Primavera. A rapturous work of tremendous scale, the well-known painting provided endless inspiration for the ballet’s saturated palette, costume detailing, and floral motifs.”

To capture the innocence of youth, Markova, aged 32 when she played the teenaged Juliet, had a red wig made to resemble the Botticelli beauty above. The ballerina won rave reviews for her portrayal. But the attention didn’t stop there. The attendant publicity for the much praised ballet caught the eye of several couturiers who immediately turned Markova’s diaphanous, empire-waist gowns into the next season’s big fashion trend.

Dali-inspired shoe hat by Elsa Schiaparelli

Dali-inspired shoe hat by Elsa Schiaparelli

Dali's surrealist jewlery

Dali’s surrealist jewlery

Who knows what trends Dali’s Romeo & Juliet might have inspired? He collaborated with great friend and couturier Elsa Schiaparelli on her infamous shoe hat and lips-pocket suit seen here. And Dali’s own Surrealist jewelry designs – weeping eyes with clock-dial pupils and Mae West’s sexy smile in rubies and pearls – still fetch great sums at auction.IMG_2173

More recently, Women’s Wear Dali (I mean Daily) noted the artist’s continued influence on fashion accessories. Perhaps if Dali’s Romeo & Juliet designs had been used, stylish crutches would have hobbled down runways – something quite useful when wearing today’s sky-high stilettos, don’t you think?

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Unmasking Markova: The first peek into her personal archives

08 Monday Jul 2013

Posted by Tina Sutton in Uncategorized

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Alicia Markova, Ballet Headpieces, Ballets Russes, Boston University, Henri Matisse, Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center, Sergei Diaghilev, Stage Door Canteen, WWII rations

Markova in Les Masques (1933)

Markova in Les Masques (1933)

Alicia Markova was a pack rat. The woman saved everything, from costume invoices and injury X-rays to rare music scores and her first evening gown. (It was Lanvin – a gift.) And then there were the letters: file upon file overflowing with a lifetime of correspondence from famous (and infamous) dancers and choreographers, ardent fans, and some of the greatest creative artists of her day.

While I was writing my biography of the ballet legend, many of those letters proved revelatory, but so did countless other objects, professional materials, and extraordinary photographs (see below) that are part of the Alicia Markova Collection entrusted to the Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center at Boston University.

Markova in Hollywood (1945) © John E. Reed

Markova in Hollywood (1945) © John E. Reed

At 14, Markova was the youngest -ever dancer the Ballets Russes (1925)

At 14, Markova was the youngest-ever dancer at the Ballets Russes (1925)

Though I was privileged to be the first person given access to Markova’s treasure trove of personal memorabilia, many illuminating items from those archives are now on public view for the first time in the Gotlieb Memorial Gallery on the first floor of Mugar Memorial Library on the Boston University campus (July through November 2013).

For me, assisting the Gotlieb’s resident artist and exhibition wizard Perry Barton was a fond reminder of the lengthy, yet rewarding process of organizing the vast collection. It was such a joy to suddenly discover a long-hidden gem. One of my most cherished “finds,” now on exhibit, is an original Matisse pencil self-portrait given to Markova during her Ballets Russes days.

As you can tell from the photo above, Lilian Alicia Marks was just a child when Sergei Diaghilev invited her to join his illustrious company. She was so much younger, smaller, and less worldly than all the other dancers that the older artistic geniuses in her midst took little Alicia under their collective wings.

Matisse self-portrait

Matisse self-portrait

To Markova, he was "Uncle" Henri Matisse (1925) at the Ballets Russes

“Uncle Henri” Matisse (1925) at the Ballets Russes

The 56-year-old Henri Matisse was completely enchanted by the sweet, shy girl who called him “Uncle Henri.” In addition to designing the costume for her first major role, the groundbreaking painter took the time to teach Markova about modern art. Alicia was a very serious, earnest pupil, and perhaps to amuse her one day, Matisse sketched a humorous self-portrait (similar to the one at right), which he then initialed and presented to her. The grateful student then folded it in half and carefully placed it inside one of her Ballets Russes programs for safekeeping. There it remained until I discovered it over eight decades later.

Markova had many amazing headpieces. From Cimarosiana, 1927.

Markova had many amazing headpieces. From Cimarosiana, 1927.

Reading Markova’s journals made me look at many of her keepsakes in rather different ways. For example, the legendary ballerina saved many exquisite headpieces, several of which she made herself. They were all carefully wrapped in tissue paper, something she did before and after every performance. One in particular appeared rather scruffy inside, and I later discovered why.

Markova kept her headpieces in place with glue!

Markova kept her headpieces in place with glue!

When Markova was at the Ballets Russes, her hair was in the page boy style of a young girl, as seen above left. Diaghilev insisted she wear a headband on stage to keep it neatly in place until long enough to smooth into a dancer’s bun. During one of her astounding spin combinations one evening, the headband flew off, eventually encircling her neck like a hula hoop. Though Diaghilev was impressed that she continued to dance impeccably, he warned her it must never happen again. From then on, Markova actually glued her headpieces on. Though it was a special, non-permanent glue, it still managed to grab hair and skin upon removal, remnants of which were clearly visible inside a feathered crown I unwrapped (similar to the one above). Lucky for Markova, she had a thick head of hair.

Markova volunteered at the Stage Door Canteen throughout WWII

Markova volunteered at the Stage Door Canteen throughout WWII

Though Markova’s archives contain many priceless, historic items, my favorite was much more personal. It was a tiny pale pink leather pouch. From the contents (which included hernia clips and a removable tooth bridge!) it was clear the ballerina carried it with her everywhere while dancing across the United States in the late ’30s and ’40s. Also inside was a war ration book dated 6/21/43. I later learned Markova used the bulk of her weekly rations to buy goods that were impossible to procure in England during the war, sending weekly care packages to her family and friends in London. A small black and white photo of Markova’s mother and sisters was attached to the ration book.

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