NEW YORK CITY
2:00:09 AM UTC
Gallery highlights
Rediscovering Francis Picabia: The Kitsch and Depth of His Nudes
Bill Wood
September 23, 2024
Lately, I’ve found myself captivated by the work of Francis Picabia. In New York, two exhibitions currently showcase his unique vision: "7 Paintings and 1 Painting" at Galerie 1900 - 2000 and "Francis Picabia: Femmes" at Michael Werner Gallery. Both shows highlight his overlay paintings and the pin-up girl series—works created in the aftermath of World War II, some twenty years after he had made his mark as a Dada founder and abstractionist provocateur. This “bad boy” phase, characterized by his playful engagement with soft-porn imagery, seems to echo the radical shift Philip Guston made when he embraced figuration in the 1970s, confronting the personal, political, and darker currents of American life.
So, what makes these Picabia nudes so intriguing—and why do they appear to grow more compelling each year? For starters, Picabia was one of the first artists to paint directly from magazine photographs. While others had used images from throwaway culture as collage elements, he was unique in making them the sole subject of his paintings. Like Warhol two decades later, Picabia embraced the pulp and trash culture of the time, magnifying society’s fascination with sex, stardom, and desire.
Viewing the nude paintings in person reveals a fascinating dichotomy: the kitsch quality of the soft-core images juxtaposed against Picabia's technical skill and rich personal history as a painter. He was known to abandon entire bodies of work in favor of new ideas, which gives his nudes an almost rebellious charm. You could argue he’s a precursor to the postmodern art movement, blurring the lines between high and low culture while recycling elements from both art history and popular culture. At its core, Picabia’s trajectory is a mashup of modern culture, reflective of the time after the turn of the century.
Of course, we cannot ignore the inherent "male gaze" in a man's portrayal of the female nude. At first glance, Picabia's nudes might resemble the work of a nameless Sunday painter found in a thrift shop, priced at ten dollars. They possess an intentional awkwardness reminiscent of Warhol’s assertion that “art is liking things.” This suggests that anything can be art; it’s simply a matter of selection, and therein lies the art itself. Picabia’s commitment to these paintings, employing care and intuitive decisions that only a seasoned artist could navigate, elevates them beyond mere kitsch.
Femme aux chrysanthèmes, ca. 1938-1939, Oil on canvas
©Michael Werner Gallery
His approach to pin-ups, transforming torn pages from "girlie magazines" into high art objects, speaks volumes about the private and unspoken desires of life. Interestingly, Picabia's work was largely forgotten after 1920 and only regained traction with the neo-expressionist movement, thanks in part to David Salle. Salle’s homage to Picabia in his early exhibitions, particularly his use of Picabia’s “transparency paintings,” reignited interest. These works feature overlapping images vying for the viewer’s attention, much like the nude paintings that run concurrently with them.
Femme au lys, ca. 1941, Oil and pencil on cardboard
©Artsy
Salle’s exploration of Picabia’s line drawings over figures—often female nudes—reopened a dialogue about the artist’s work from the 1940s, which had previously been dismissed as kitsch and the meanderings of a fallen artist. When you consider that Picabia was creating these nudes at the same time as some of Picasso’s most celebrated works, the differences in craft and intellectual engagement are striking. The fact that Picabia was relatively forgotten during this time allowed him the freedom to paint for himself, unbound by market pressures.
The personal exploration inherent in these nudes challenges the conventions of 20th-century art. By rejecting the rules and embracing low culture, Picabia positioned himself as an outsider with insider knowledge of what constitutes a legitimate work of art. His status as one of the original Dada artists—alongside Duchamp, Man Ray, and André Breton—redefined our understanding of art as a reaction to the devastation of World War I. Having witnessed immense destruction, Dada artists sought to wipe the slate clean and create meaning from the chaos that remained.
Contemporary art, as we know it today, owes much to Duchamp's readymades and the innovations of Dada artists like Picabia. It's commonly acknowledged that without Duchamp, there would be no Warhol; without Warhol, no Jeff Koons—an unbroken lineage, for better or worse.
Returning to Picabia, he didn’t just choose objects to present untouched; he was also a precursor to Jasper Johns, who two decades later created handmade readymades. Like Warhol, who took a publicity photo of Marilyn Monroe from Niagara and enshrined it in gold paint, Picabia rescued images from the trash, placing them in a context that elevates their status.
Nu de dos, ca. 1942-1943, Oil, pencil on board mounted on wood
©Michael Werner Gallery
I find the Picabia nudes far more challenging and interesting than the transparency paintings, which feel overly reverential to art history. The nudes encapsulate pure desire and lust—albeit in a soft-core manner—intertwined with modernism and the historical significance of the nude in art. Up close, Picabia's nudes seem to fall apart: what appears to be a nose is merely a slash of paint, and his methods vary from seamless brushwork on one part of the body to areas that feel almost hastily rendered. This raises the question of when a painting is “finished,” suggesting that it reaches completion when the artist can no longer do anything more—an almost bored acceptance of its state.
The allure of Picabia’s nudes lies in their throwaway quality, a nonchalant kitsch style intertwined with carnal desire, presented in a humorous, distanced manner. If you were to hang a Picabia nude next to a 1940 Picasso masterpiece, I believe the Picasso would seem dated, like a Dior dress from 1950, while the Picabia could have been painted anytime in the last 200 years. The only telltale sign of the timeframe might be the hairstyles.
Briseis, ca. 1929, Oil, pencil on canvas
©Sotheby's
CONCLUSION
Like all great painting, Picabia’s work reads as an affront to “good taste,” layered with a Frankenstein-like quality. These paintings were incredibly ahead of their time—intentionally or not. They mark the beginning of the high-low dichotomy in art that many artists embraced following the decline of Abstract Expressionism, and they laid the groundwork for pop art, albeit twenty years earlier.
Soft-core porn magazines exist at the bottom of the cultural hierarchy, yet in the right hands, they can be transformed into something elevated and meaningful. I’m reminded of Duchamp’s reflection on Warhol: “It’s not the soup can that interests me, but the person who decided it was important to paint the soup can.”
What strikes me most about Picabia’s nudes is his decision to take a pin-up girl torn from a “girly” magazine and reimagine her through the historic medium of oil painting. In person, these works possess a strong object quality, filled with texture and painterly incidents, sometimes painted over previous works. They are not slick reproductions; they evoke a sense of reverence, almost like religious relics. And isn’t that what all art aspires to be? A religion with its saints and sinners, where the viewer can be both, while the saint—or god—might just be Francis Picabia.
Ultimately, it’s the enduring power of time that serves as the great leveler, illuminating those artists whom future generations turn to for inspiration. Francis Picabia is one such artist, growing ever more significant with each passing day.
Exhibition Information:
Galerie 1900 - 2000: "7 Paintings and 1 Painting: Francis Picabia and Harold Ancart"
Michael Werner Gallery: "Francis Picabia: Femmes"
NEW YORK CITY
2:00:09 AM UTC
NEW YORK CITY
2:00:09 AM UTC
Gallery highlights
Rediscovering Francis Picabia: The Kitsch and Depth of His Nudes
Bill Wood
September 23, 2024
Lately, I’ve found myself captivated by the work of Francis Picabia. In New York, two exhibitions currently showcase his unique vision: "7 Paintings and 1 Painting" at Galerie 1900 - 2000 and "Francis Picabia: Femmes" at Michael Werner Gallery. Both shows highlight his overlay paintings and the pin-up girl series—works created in the aftermath of World War II, some twenty years after he had made his mark as a Dada founder and abstractionist provocateur. This “bad boy” phase, characterized by his playful engagement with soft-porn imagery, seems to echo the radical shift Philip Guston made when he embraced figuration in the 1970s, confronting the personal, political, and darker currents of American life.
So, what makes these Picabia nudes so intriguing—and why do they appear to grow more compelling each year? For starters, Picabia was one of the first artists to paint directly from magazine photographs. While others had used images from throwaway culture as collage elements, he was unique in making them the sole subject of his paintings. Like Warhol two decades later, Picabia embraced the pulp and trash culture of the time, magnifying society’s fascination with sex, stardom, and desire.
Viewing the nude paintings in person reveals a fascinating dichotomy: the kitsch quality of the soft-core images juxtaposed against Picabia's technical skill and rich personal history as a painter. He was known to abandon entire bodies of work in favor of new ideas, which gives his nudes an almost rebellious charm. You could argue he’s a precursor to the postmodern art movement, blurring the lines between high and low culture while recycling elements from both art history and popular culture. At its core, Picabia’s trajectory is a mashup of modern culture, reflective of the time after the turn of the century.
Of course, we cannot ignore the inherent "male gaze" in a man's portrayal of the female nude. At first glance, Picabia's nudes might resemble the work of a nameless Sunday painter found in a thrift shop, priced at ten dollars. They possess an intentional awkwardness reminiscent of Warhol’s assertion that “art is liking things.” This suggests that anything can be art; it’s simply a matter of selection, and therein lies the art itself. Picabia’s commitment to these paintings, employing care and intuitive decisions that only a seasoned artist could navigate, elevates them beyond mere kitsch.
Femme aux chrysanthèmes, ca. 1938-1939, Oil on canvas
©Michael Werner Gallery
His approach to pin-ups, transforming torn pages from "girlie magazines" into high art objects, speaks volumes about the private and unspoken desires of life. Interestingly, Picabia's work was largely forgotten after 1920 and only regained traction with the neo-expressionist movement, thanks in part to David Salle. Salle’s homage to Picabia in his early exhibitions, particularly his use of Picabia’s “transparency paintings,” reignited interest. These works feature overlapping images vying for the viewer’s attention, much like the nude paintings that run concurrently with them.
Femme au lys, ca. 1941, Oil and pencil on cardboard
©Artsy
Salle’s exploration of Picabia’s line drawings over figures—often female nudes—reopened a dialogue about the artist’s work from the 1940s, which had previously been dismissed as kitsch and the meanderings of a fallen artist. When you consider that Picabia was creating these nudes at the same time as some of Picasso’s most celebrated works, the differences in craft and intellectual engagement are striking. The fact that Picabia was relatively forgotten during this time allowed him the freedom to paint for himself, unbound by market pressures.
The personal exploration inherent in these nudes challenges the conventions of 20th-century art. By rejecting the rules and embracing low culture, Picabia positioned himself as an outsider with insider knowledge of what constitutes a legitimate work of art. His status as one of the original Dada artists—alongside Duchamp, Man Ray, and André Breton—redefined our understanding of art as a reaction to the devastation of World War I. Having witnessed immense destruction, Dada artists sought to wipe the slate clean and create meaning from the chaos that remained.
Contemporary art, as we know it today, owes much to Duchamp's readymades and the innovations of Dada artists like Picabia. It's commonly acknowledged that without Duchamp, there would be no Warhol; without Warhol, no Jeff Koons—an unbroken lineage, for better or worse.
Returning to Picabia, he didn’t just choose objects to present untouched; he was also a precursor to Jasper Johns, who two decades later created handmade readymades. Like Warhol, who took a publicity photo of Marilyn Monroe from Niagara and enshrined it in gold paint, Picabia rescued images from the trash, placing them in a context that elevates their status.
Nu de dos, ca. 1942-1943, Oil, pencil on board mounted on wood
©Michael Werner Gallery
I find the Picabia nudes far more challenging and interesting than the transparency paintings, which feel overly reverential to art history. The nudes encapsulate pure desire and lust—albeit in a soft-core manner—intertwined with modernism and the historical significance of the nude in art. Up close, Picabia's nudes seem to fall apart: what appears to be a nose is merely a slash of paint, and his methods vary from seamless brushwork on one part of the body to areas that feel almost hastily rendered. This raises the question of when a painting is “finished,” suggesting that it reaches completion when the artist can no longer do anything more—an almost bored acceptance of its state.
The allure of Picabia’s nudes lies in their throwaway quality, a nonchalant kitsch style intertwined with carnal desire, presented in a humorous, distanced manner. If you were to hang a Picabia nude next to a 1940 Picasso masterpiece, I believe the Picasso would seem dated, like a Dior dress from 1950, while the Picabia could have been painted anytime in the last 200 years. The only telltale sign of the timeframe might be the hairstyles.
Briseis, ca. 1929, Oil, pencil on canvas
©Sotheby's
CONCLUSION
Like all great painting, Picabia’s work reads as an affront to “good taste,” layered with a Frankenstein-like quality. These paintings were incredibly ahead of their time—intentionally or not. They mark the beginning of the high-low dichotomy in art that many artists embraced following the decline of Abstract Expressionism, and they laid the groundwork for pop art, albeit twenty years earlier.
Soft-core porn magazines exist at the bottom of the cultural hierarchy, yet in the right hands, they can be transformed into something elevated and meaningful. I’m reminded of Duchamp’s reflection on Warhol: “It’s not the soup can that interests me, but the person who decided it was important to paint the soup can.”
What strikes me most about Picabia’s nudes is his decision to take a pin-up girl torn from a “girly” magazine and reimagine her through the historic medium of oil painting. In person, these works possess a strong object quality, filled with texture and painterly incidents, sometimes painted over previous works. They are not slick reproductions; they evoke a sense of reverence, almost like religious relics. And isn’t that what all art aspires to be? A religion with its saints and sinners, where the viewer can be both, while the saint—or god—might just be Francis Picabia.
Ultimately, it’s the enduring power of time that serves as the great leveler, illuminating those artists whom future generations turn to for inspiration. Francis Picabia is one such artist, growing ever more significant with each passing day.
Exhibition Information:
Galerie 1900 - 2000: "7 Paintings and 1 Painting: Francis Picabia and Harold Ancart"
Michael Werner Gallery: "Francis Picabia: Femmes"
Gallery Highlight
Rediscovering Francis Picabia: The Kitsch and Depth of His Nudes
Bill Wood
September 23, 2024
Lately, I’ve found myself captivated by the work of Francis Picabia. In New York, two exhibitions currently showcase his unique vision: "7 Paintings and 1 Painting" at Galerie 1900 - 2000 and "Francis Picabia: Femmes" at Michael Werner Gallery. Both shows highlight his overlay paintings and the pin-up girl series—works created in the aftermath of World War II, some twenty years after he had made his mark as a Dada founder and abstractionist provocateur. This “bad boy” phase, characterized by his playful engagement with soft-porn imagery, seems to echo the radical shift Philip Guston made when he embraced figuration in the 1970s, confronting the personal, political, and darker currents of American life.
So, what makes these Picabia nudes so intriguing—and why do they appear to grow more compelling each year? For starters, Picabia was one of the first artists to paint directly from magazine photographs. While others had used images from throwaway culture as collage elements, he was unique in making them the sole subject of his paintings. Like Warhol two decades later, Picabia embraced the pulp and trash culture of the time, magnifying society’s fascination with sex, stardom, and desire.
Viewing the nude paintings in person reveals a fascinating dichotomy: the kitsch quality of the soft-core images juxtaposed against Picabia's technical skill and rich personal history as a painter. He was known to abandon entire bodies of work in favor of new ideas, which gives his nudes an almost rebellious charm. You could argue he’s a precursor to the postmodern art movement, blurring the lines between high and low culture while recycling elements from both art history and popular culture. At its core, Picabia’s trajectory is a mashup of modern culture, reflective of the time after the turn of the century.
Of course, we cannot ignore the inherent "male gaze" in a man's portrayal of the female nude. At first glance, Picabia's nudes might resemble the work of a nameless Sunday painter found in a thrift shop, priced at ten dollars. They possess an intentional awkwardness reminiscent of Warhol’s assertion that “art is liking things.” This suggests that anything can be art; it’s simply a matter of selection, and therein lies the art itself. Picabia’s commitment to these paintings, employing care and intuitive decisions that only a seasoned artist could navigate, elevates them beyond mere kitsch.
Femme aux chrysanthèmes, ca. 1938-1939, Oil on canvas
©Michael Werner Gallery
His approach to pin-ups, transforming torn pages from "girlie magazines" into high art objects, speaks volumes about the private and unspoken desires of life. Interestingly, Picabia's work was largely forgotten after 1920 and only regained traction with the neo-expressionist movement, thanks in part to David Salle. Salle’s homage to Picabia in his early exhibitions, particularly his use of Picabia’s “transparency paintings,” reignited interest. These works feature overlapping images vying for the viewer’s attention, much like the nude paintings that run concurrently with them.
Femme au lys, ca. 1941, Oil and pencil on cardboard
©Artsy
Salle’s exploration of Picabia’s line drawings over figures—often female nudes—reopened a dialogue about the artist’s work from the 1940s, which had previously been dismissed as kitsch and the meanderings of a fallen artist. When you consider that Picabia was creating these nudes at the same time as some of Picasso’s most celebrated works, the differences in craft and intellectual engagement are striking. The fact that Picabia was relatively forgotten during this time allowed him the freedom to paint for himself, unbound by market pressures.
The personal exploration inherent in these nudes challenges the conventions of 20th-century art. By rejecting the rules and embracing low culture, Picabia positioned himself as an outsider with insider knowledge of what constitutes a legitimate work of art. His status as one of the original Dada artists—alongside Duchamp, Man Ray, and André Breton—redefined our understanding of art as a reaction to the devastation of World War I. Having witnessed immense destruction, Dada artists sought to wipe the slate clean and create meaning from the chaos that remained.
Contemporary art, as we know it today, owes much to Duchamp's readymades and the innovations of Dada artists like Picabia. It's commonly acknowledged that without Duchamp, there would be no Warhol; without Warhol, no Jeff Koons—an unbroken lineage, for better or worse.
Returning to Picabia, he didn’t just choose objects to present untouched; he was also a precursor to Jasper Johns, who two decades later created handmade readymades. Like Warhol, who took a publicity photo of Marilyn Monroe from Niagara and enshrined it in gold paint, Picabia rescued images from the trash, placing them in a context that elevates their status.
Nu de dos, ca. 1942-1943, Oil, pencil on board mounted on wood
©Michael Werner Gallery
I find the Picabia nudes far more challenging and interesting than the transparency paintings, which feel overly reverential to art history. The nudes encapsulate pure desire and lust—albeit in a soft-core manner—intertwined with modernism and the historical significance of the nude in art. Up close, Picabia's nudes seem to fall apart: what appears to be a nose is merely a slash of paint, and his methods vary from seamless brushwork on one part of the body to areas that feel almost hastily rendered. This raises the question of when a painting is “finished,” suggesting that it reaches completion when the artist can no longer do anything more—an almost bored acceptance of its state.
The allure of Picabia’s nudes lies in their throwaway quality, a nonchalant kitsch style intertwined with carnal desire, presented in a humorous, distanced manner. If you were to hang a Picabia nude next to a 1940 Picasso masterpiece, I believe the Picasso would seem dated, like a Dior dress from 1950, while the Picabia could have been painted anytime in the last 200 years. The only telltale sign of the timeframe might be the hairstyles.
Briseis, ca. 1929, Oil, pencil on canvas
©Sotheby's
CONCLUSION
Like all great painting, Picabia’s work reads as an affront to “good taste,” layered with a Frankenstein-like quality. These paintings were incredibly ahead of their time—intentionally or not. They mark the beginning of the high-low dichotomy in art that many artists embraced following the decline of Abstract Expressionism, and they laid the groundwork for pop art, albeit twenty years earlier.
Soft-core porn magazines exist at the bottom of the cultural hierarchy, yet in the right hands, they can be transformed into something elevated and meaningful. I’m reminded of Duchamp’s reflection on Warhol: “It’s not the soup can that interests me, but the person who decided it was important to paint the soup can.”
What strikes me most about Picabia’s nudes is his decision to take a pin-up girl torn from a “girly” magazine and reimagine her through the historic medium of oil painting. In person, these works possess a strong object quality, filled with texture and painterly incidents, sometimes painted over previous works. They are not slick reproductions; they evoke a sense of reverence, almost like religious relics. And isn’t that what all art aspires to be? A religion with its saints and sinners, where the viewer can be both, while the saint—or god—might just be Francis Picabia.
Ultimately, it’s the enduring power of time that serves as the great leveler, illuminating those artists whom future generations turn to for inspiration. Francis Picabia is one such artist, growing ever more significant with each passing day.
Exhibition Information:
Galerie 1900 - 2000: "7 Paintings and 1 Painting: Francis Picabia and Harold Ancart"
Michael Werner Gallery: "Francis Picabia: Femmes"