Half of my city lives online now, and it’s chilling that it doesn’t represent the real version at all. One still has to fight the urge to walk through every leading TikToker in the East Village. My favorite type of video produced by these kids is a man in a street interview, asking newlyweds questions like “What are you wearing?” or “How confident are you?” It’s great that they think we can ask for any advice from anyone, when no one can think of anything better to do in New York than to make content.
But the audience has always been interested in the inner lives of urban people, an area explored by “Brassaï: The Secret Signs of Paris” at the Moderna Museet, the first major Swedish presentation of the artist, aka Gyula Halász (1899-1984). This Transylvanian-born foreigner took the name of his hometown, Brassó, and set himself up as a direct photographer of Paris after dark. Curator Anna Tellgren, working with the photographer’s nephew Philippe Ribeyrolles and the Estate Brassaï Succession—which lent almost the entire exhibition—collected more than 160 antique gelatin silver prints, each hand-crafted by Brassaï, as well as his 1956 short film. The selection traces three of his lifelong subjects: the night city and its inhabitants, the artists he ran with like Pablo Picasso and the anonymous street graffiti he followed for a century—long before graffiti became a sought after office decoration.
Le Roi Soleil (c. 1950) is a good example of the latter body of work, holding the cover of his book Graffiti (1960). He shows an ugly, anonymous painting hacked into the wall of the Porte de Saint-Ouen, a bustling market gate on the northern edge of Paris. The title is strange, yes, it refers to the man who once said “l’état c’est moi,” but one sees in this image a monarchy that was presented as different but no less than Versailles. The photographer carried packs of cards to draw each sign and write its address, so that he could return for better lighting or check how the sculpture had changed over the years.
He loved to know his subjects, and you could see from this interest in the masks how he became friends with Picasso, this closeness is shown Picasso in His Studio, Rue des Grands-Augustins (circa 1939-40). The artist feels comfortable enough to squeeze the sculpture under the harsh lights of a professional photoshoot that allows us to see its various textures and—though this was not intended—Picasso’s swagged out drip. And to think that he was originally hired to write only three-dimensional works of art. His notes came from their hangers and turned Conversations with Picasso (1964), with words from the artist, “Read this book if you want to understand me.”
Among his most famous works Lovers at Small Paris Café, Place d’Italie (circa 1932), a nightlife picture that at first glance makes similar claims to transparency. The couple is sitting at a banquet in the corner, surrounded by mirrors, so the picture promises to look at all aspects of their embrace. But in reality we can’t see any of their faces completely, and the emotions in them are not understood. This is a picture of love in the abstract, with all its beautiful darkness and smoke.
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