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- [00:01]
Susan
Welcome to the History Tricks, where any resemblance to a boring old history lesson is purely coincidental.
- [00:09]
Beckett
And here's your 30 second summary. Suzanne Valadon was born on the wrong side of the tracks and the wrong side of the blanket. Who grew up to be one of the it girls of the Impressionist era. She traveled a unique journey to stardom by parlaying her career as an artist model for the biggest names in France into an artistic career of her own. The end. Hello and welcome to the show. It's just me, Beckett. Today, as Susan is on her annual family holiday to the East Coast. Let's talk about Suzanne Valadon. But first, let's drop her into history. In 1894, Coca Cola is sold in bottles for the first time. The International Olympic Committee is founded at the Sorbonne in Paris to plan the first modern Olympic Games that were held two years later in Athens, Greece. The Tower Bridge in London opens for traffic. A fire at the site of the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago destroyed most of the remaining buildings and the wedding of Nicholas II of Russia and Alex of Hesse in the Grand Church of the Winter palace at St. Petersburg. For more on them, you should listen to our Romanov Sisters episode. Born this year. Norman Rockwell, Martha Graham, King Edward VIII of Great Britain, who we on the show know as Mr. Wallis Simpson, poet E.E. cummings and singer Bessie Smith died this year Adolph Saxe, inventor of the saxophone, poet Christina Rossetti, Mary Jane Patterson, the first African American woman to receive a BA degree and author Robert Louis Stevenson, who, among other things, wrote the strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And in 1894, a poor, untutored artist named Suzanne Valadon made her breakthrough into legitimacy during a major exhibition in Paris. Marie Clementine Valadon was born in bassines, France, on September 23, 1865, the third child and second daughter of Madeleine Valadon Culod and a series of question marks. Let's talk about Mama for a moment. She was born to a respectable working class family who on both her maternal and paternal sides had deep roots in the area, with branches following revered country professions in the military and building trades, and even local government officials. Her own father was the local cartwright, which was just what it sounds like. Although her father was technically a landowner, he had inherited sort of a higgledy piggledy assortment of little pieces of land here and there throughout the area. The family was barely able to make ends meet. That land was used for producing livestock and basically providing a subsistence lifestyle. And so young Madeline had Had to go into service as a young teenager as a linen maid, what we might call a laundry maid. Not a high status job in any case. And then when her papa died In October of 1848, her income was absolutely vital to the family. And so it was with great jo and pride, five years later, that the family learned that the local blacksmith wished to marry their 18 year old Madeleine. The blacksmith was the king of workmen. Always strong, had enough money, connected to all the local news. Due to the smithy becoming the local gathering place. Everyone needed him to shoe horses, to repair machinery and make tools. Mr. Leger Culod was considered the catch of the town. He stood for stability and security. Both Leger and Madeleine could read and write, which was uncommon enough in rural France. She herself was a hard worker from a good family. It seemed to make sense. The extended family approved, the village approved and the two mandated ceremonies, civil and religious, were performed. The village held an enormous three day festival of celebration and 31 year old Leger and his young wife set up house. She continued to work at the laundry, care of house and husband for just a little while, because within a year they were the parents of that valuable rural commodity, a son and heir named Leger, of course, after his papa. Madeleine stopped her outside work to concentrate on her family. Just before her 21st birthday, however, the family experienced a tragedy. Their two year old son, young Leger, died. Child mortality at this time was near 30%. You know, it's terrible. And Leger Sr. Developed, or maybe just began to reveal the dark side of his personality. When he was upset or increasingly drunk, his rages were the stuff of legend. He got so violent once that at one point he was taken into custody by the local magistrate after an incident and had to serve a couple of months in prison. It was in these circumstances that Marguerite gave birth to their second child, a daughter named Marie Alix. This was bad enough, but three years later Leger was found guilty of creating and attempting to pass counterfeit coins that he and his watchmaker friend had made an extremely serious crime, for which the two men were sent to a penal colony in French Guiana, which is still a part of France that sits on the northeast shore of South America. Mama had lost her husband and her home and her income. She was in a dire situation and no one in the extended family was rich enough to just, you know, sweep in and pay for everything or give her a home with no conditions. But a relative of her grandmother stepped in to offer her a job and a home. However, little Marie Alix was sent to her paternal grandparents and Madeleine Became a linen maid for the widow Greenbode at a coaching inn that she owned. It was hard back breaking work. She was not just doing laundry for a family anymore. She was doing hotel laundry. Not only that, she was expected to do the hard hours cleaning and scrubbing as a chambermaid too. Which of course is not at all the life she thought she'd be living. This is the life she thought she'd gotten away from. And now it was even worse. When Mama was 28, she received news that her husband was dead. Really dead. Not just dead to her, not just dead to the family. He was gone. And so it was with enormous interest six years later, when the 35 year old widow Culod found herself in an interesting condition. Madeline wouldn't tell the delighted gossips of town who the father was. Or you know, she'd rather spin a new cockamamie tale to each person. You know, it's a railroad worker, it's a traveler, it's a miller. They're all dead, we can't find them. People gave up trying to get the truth out of her. And when the baby was born, she was named Marie Clementine after her godparents. Not given her mother's married name, the name she went by, like we might do now, but in fact her mother's maiden name, Valadon. For on her birth records were listed father unknown. Madeleine was allowed to keep her little baby at the hotel until she was done breastfeeding. But then had to send her away to Madeline's own mother and extended cousins to raise. You know, not direct cousins, just people with loose family ties. As she toiled on for five more years, supporting her two daughters who she never saw, who were being raised apart from each other. She was bent under the shame of her husband's crime in the first place, this job in the second place. And now the shame of her illegitimate child was on her own head. I mean, what does she have to look forward to, you know, in this place, other than more of this until forever. So she had something percolating inside of her. And it took scrimping and saving. But at last she was ready. The announcement was made. She was taking her children and moving to Paris to try to make a better life. She would stay with an aunt of hers in town until she got settled. I'm done. I'm done being regarded in this way. And I'm done. Madeleine, when she arrived at Paris with her two children, was shocked to find out how expensive everything was. Not only that, she didn't know because she hadn't followed the news that Paris had been in the throes of a major siege by the Prussian army for some time, and there was a lot of rubble and destruction and danger around every corner. Also, Baron Haussman, Napoleon's architect, had been in the process of remodeling the city. Those classic beige buildings that we all love so much had seriously limited the affordable housing in Paris because he had just demolished it in the pursuit of his aesthetic ideal. So not only was there the regular level of Parisian expense, the scarcity of everything from food to housing, made the prices jacked up even further than the normal disparity between country life and city life. In fact, eggs were 14 times more expensive than they had been at home. A stroke of luck led her to the area called Montmartre, a village on hills just outside the city limits, formerly the place where you could sneak over the border to drink on the cheap and evade the laws of Paris, but increasingly becoming the haven for the working class who had had to flee Baron Haussmann's destruction and artists. Madeleine found a cheap apartment on a street, I'm just gonna say one time, because it is very hard to say, the Boulevard Rochechouart. I will spell that in the show notes. Madeleine could find no work, however, as a linen maid, despite her years of training and to becoming a charwoman, a woman hired to do the rough work you wouldn't expect your own servants to do. She had to work almost all the hours of the day just to make ends meet. Practically, what this meant for the daughters was a completely unsupervised lifestyle. Teenager Marie Alex almost immediately took up with a suitor. That's its own kind of worry. And I will say Marie Clementine, age 5, had largely just had this sort of upbringing all along. The life in her village had given her a taste for freedom, for sure. And now the entirety of Montmartre was her world. She was a beautiful child, everyone agreed. With dark, wavy red hair and giant blue eyes, she looked like an angel and acted, most agreed, like the devil himself. She ran wild all over the place. She would climb railings, she got up on people's roofs and looked in the window. She was graffiti ing everywhere with pieces of charcoal. Suzanne Valadon, the artist, later said that she had been obsessed with drawings as a kid. And she said what she was doing on everyone's roof was laying there on her stomach, observing, observing everyone, taking notes in her mind, filing it away in her imagination. And then she would practice her art all over the city. In fact, Mama was Oy, very displeased that she also practiced her art at home on the wallpaper. Well, she's definitely running wild in a very street urchin like manner. Malmartra being a village again. The gossip flowed about Mama. This bumpkin comes up here with no man and lets her terror of a daughter loose on the town. There's just no winning. There's no winning for Madeline at all. She's back exactly in the zone where she was last time. She kept her head down, she worked her booty off. Everyone called her drunk or crazy or they assumed her daughter acted like that because she was abusive at home or. Why would she be like that? I mean, she basically had the OG Gen X childhood. Didn't she leave the house in the day and then come back when the street lights come on? Not even sure there were streetlights. But Madeline was demoralized by dashed hopes, I think, in the resumption of her grueling life. And now she was far away from a support system. So she was in a much worse position than she had been before. When Marie Clementine was about 9, her sister married her young man. Hooray. Like hooray. That ended well. And she moved to a town about 200 miles away called Nantes. There was an experiment sending Marie Clementine to live with her sister and the new husband. But after a short time, the son in law's like, I did not sign up for the likes of this. Please take this tornado back, I beg of you. She is ruining our reputation in town. Oh my goodness. Luckily for Mama, not too long after our friends returned to town, the nuns of St. Vincent de Paul opened a charity school right down the street. And Mama did not hesitate to enroll her. And off she went, this child of the streets to be made into a lady. Because yes, they taught the girls a few academic subjects. Reading, writing, and some what they called counting. But much emphasis was placed on tasks that would fit their charges to be good wives and mothers. Ironically, they even had instruction in doing laundry as well as doing accounts. Sewing, plain and fancy. But most of all, obedience and propriety at all times, which I think we all know had no chance of sticking. Marie Clementine would literally climb the walls to get out of school and take to town. Sliding down banisters and parkouring over rooftops, running and jumping and making a genuine spectacle of herself. What she needed was a skate park. I had one of those kids too. You need a skate park, I'm sorry to say. What she got was a never ending series of punishments that rolled off her Back like water. Marie Clementine had too little respect for authority to care what they said. Like, not in a mean way, exactly. She just lacked the capacity to be shamed into acting any differently than she felt like acting. I acted like a boy, she said later. That's pretty telling. That's what she thinks boys are always allowed to act like. The nuns gave up on her when she was 13, which in this time and in her social class was high time that she was put to work. Anyway. Mama had gone into service at about the same age, if you remember. Within a year she had so many jobs. She was at a dressmakers. Nope. As a child minder, a fruit vendor at a factory where she made funeral wreaths. She was a waitress in one place and a dishwasher in another. Everywhere she resented being told what to do by people. She hated being trapped in a place and expected to nod and smile when what she felt like doing was yelling. Curiously, she got a job as a young woman, as a stable hand. Now, they're still the same basic problems. But the horses loved her and she learned to ride, which kept her interest for a while. Meanwhile, the local bars and cafes had drawn her in. They are full of, let's call them, colorful characters, definitely a lively atmosphere. And it was here that she met a young man who knew a guy and put in a good word. And before you knew it, Marie Clementine had joined the circus. Literally. And like dancers, the performers were pushed hard. But Marie Clementine loved every minute of it. She began as a gymnast and then she moved on to horseback riding tricks. And soon she was up on the trapeze. That is a true daredevil move. They, you know, they sell aerial lessons around here and there's a preview lesson for $15. And even the video they have up on the website made me have shivers down my back. I just can't even do it for that price. It just scares the crap out of me. But there she was, up in the air. The trapeze act had been invented by a man with a very familiar name, Jules Liotard, Famous also, of course, for his titillatingly tight pants. The artists of Montmartre flocked to the circuses that popped up. They were obsessed. There is an art piece right now by Degas from this very year called Ms. Lala and the Cirque Fernando. Also Renoir has a famous portrait of two young lady acrobats from the same year. Both of those men will come up a little later in our story. But just know that everybody is attracted to the wild nature of the circus. Even. Even the fancy people of town come to sit in the audience. But the great reviews she got and all of that applause could not save Marie Clementine from gravity. One day at rehearsal, she fell from a great height. It was thought at the time that she might have broken her back. She was certainly in great amounts of pain and confined at home, alone in her bed. After that brief glimpse of the world's excitement, it's hard to say which was worse, honestly, the injury or her isolation. After a while, it was necessary to the household that Marie Clmentine earned some money as she convalesced and Mama brought sewing piecework home for her to do. The rage. The rage Marie Clmentine felt. I get. I get it. There was no safety net at the circus, and there is certainly no safety net financially at home. One of her visitors was a girl she'd met out and about, a pretty Italian girl named Clelia, which may not, of course, have been her actual name, because that name means famous. That has all the hallmarks of a stage name. Well, Clelia had a suggestion. I do modeling for artists. You know, you need stamina and flexibility, which you have. You don't need to really exert yourself. You can still do it while you're getting better. You definitely have the beauty for it. You have to be comfortable with nudity, though. But if you get a good reputation, you can make a lot of money. And Clelia looked nothing like her. They were not in direct competition for the same artists. And so Marie Clementine's like, sign me up, show me where to go. She dressed with more care than usual and went one Sunday to an informal cattle call. Potential models gathered in the Place Pical at the base of Montmoretre Hill and waited to be chosen by the artists looking for models. And it was this day that made her modeling career drawn to her striking and unusual good looks and her direct manner. One of the most famous and well respected artists in the city hired her to sit for him as he was painting a giant commission for the city of Lyon. Now, he's nowhere near as famous today as he was in his day. His name is Pierre Puvy de Chavon. He was the man. Degas, who was sort of fastidious himself, called him a peacock. He was very well dressed, he was extremely professional, particular dedicated to his craft, as serious in his way, for expecting excellent performance as the master of the circus had been. Marie Clementine was so. I mean, I won't say intimidated exactly, but she was in awe of him. His manner, his style of living, his reputation. Everything about the situation was new and scary. Of course, she had to fake it until she made it. There was no textbook for becoming an artist model. It's an undeniably strange situation to be in, to be naked in a room with a total stranger who is basically staring at you for eight to ten hours a day.
- [19:56]
Susan
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- [22:15]
Beckett
Pierre of course admired her for her beauty and her utility to his project. He appreciated also that she had inner resources. She had a lively face. Things were going on inside of her head. She did not distract him. She kept her poses without correction, all in all it was a good working relationship. She, of course, in this era, before radio or Spotify or Netflix, had absolutely nothing to do but observe how Pierre painted, how he prepared his supplies, the arrangement of his workshop. She began to learn a lot from him. Although she was so intimidated, she never admitted to him that she also liked to draw. She didn't want the condescension. I think she didn't think he would make fun of her exactly. But you know that manner people get, like, oh, how nice. You like to draw a little, you know. She wanted to really tell someone not to have cold water poured on her secret ambition. She drew nearly constantly, anytime she had time, but always destroyed her work. She was never satisfied with how the actual drawing didn't match up with how she'd viewed it in her head. It's very common with creative pursuits. Listen to the first 10 episodes of this show for a little taste of that. It is really good that she did not care about her reputation out in the wider world because society viewed artists, models, lives as tantamount to prostitution. Soon the rumors flew about that she, age 15, and Pierre, age 60, had become lovers. And I'm very sorry to report that the probability is that they had. Similar to the way that we talked about Nell, Gwen, Josephine Baker, Ziegfeld Follies, performers. Part of the job of artist model. At least the nude or figure models seem to be tacit acceptance of the fact that your employer would have full access to your body. It came with the territory. Predatory as all this is, it's terrible. Ugh. So we have to understand it's happening in the background this whole time. Marie Clmentine developed over the course of this, her first modeling job, a professional way of working. So much so that Pierre recommended her to his friends, which in light of what I just said above, woof. Sounds kind of wrong, doesn't it? But I mean, she was a much sought after model and had plenty of work. And rather than list all the paintings she's in, you know, as they come up and all the artists, maybe I'll put together a list by year of the works that she posed for. I'm only going to call out a few a little bit later in her career, but it's a lot. She is everywhere. Marie Clamantine took this opportunity to change her name. From now on, around Montmartre, she was to be known as Maria. Kind of exotic, simple. It's almost like she changed into a different person. Now she was much sought after company to go to dance halls and cafes and parties and events. She was someone to be seen with the muse, about town, if you will. She was connected in gossip and in reality with the people that mattered in the burgeoning art world of Malmartra, which was heady stuff for someone who was still only 16. She began an actual age appropriate relationship with an exciting, fun loving artist and engineer who would later become extremely famous, named Miguel Utrillo. They were like peas and carrots. They hung out at Le Chat Noir. You know that poster everyone has of the Black Cat, the French bar and cafe that was the hottest ticket in town? And that is where they had their first meeting. Longtime listeners will know. I also met my husband at a bar, although we like to edit it too. We saw each other across a crowded room. You know what? Sometimes it all works out. And then. Maria was talent spotted by one of the heaviest hitters in the city. Pierre Auguste Renoir was one of the most sought after portraitists in Paris. He had made his name through official channels at the Salon, which was Paris's arbiters of what counted as art with a capital A. We talk more on that in our Mary Cassatt episode. But they're the authorities. And now he had an idea for a series of three paintings featuring couples dancing. And he wanted Suzanne to model for them. And he took this so seriously that like Cinderella, Maria was taken to a noted couturier to have her white satin ball gown especially fitted. Renoir himself agonized over which gloves she should wear, how her hair was to be done. The setting had to be perfect. He hired a trusted male friend of his to be the man in this first painting that is called Dance in the City, set inside of a formal ballroom. Soon, inevitably, now, 17 year old Maria and 40 year old Renoir were, as they say, romantically involved. One of Renoir's friends was quoted excusing the just I don't even know the, the behavior that was accepted, although it was all pointed at the women anyway. He said moral freedom was not reprehensible for a girl so long as she stayed at home and helped support her mother. There you go. One time Maria was late for a sitting and Renoir had to come out and fetch her. That was very unusual for her. She had a very strong work ethic. And he found her at home lost in a drawing she was doing and there was a big pause and all he said to her was, oh, so you draw too then? And then nothing, no praise or anything, no commentary. And I think it was a bit of a blow, you know, you want a little Encouragement, don't you? Most of her work now continued to go onto the fire. She had not gotten any positive reinforcements from Renoir. I think that we have all seen the second in Renoir's series. It's called Dance at Bougival. In fact, if you have seen Gilmore Girls, this is the exact painting Lorelai is recreating in the tableau of Living Art in season four, episode seven. Again, Renoir was absolutely anal about all the details, from the bonnet to the shoes. There's even a little wedding ring on her finger to give the painting some respectability. Also, you'll see on the floor dropped flowers, sort of to indicate that the woman, the character in the painting, was swept up from where she was sitting and spontaneously invited to dance. As a contrast to the more formal setting of the previous painting. The third painting in the series, which is called Dance in the country, notably has a different face. And here's the rumor that Renoir's actual girlfriend heard about what was going on and came to the studio and literally wiped Maria's face off the painting and demanded that she be painted there instead. So I do not know. That's what the gossip says. That's actually what Maria said later. It's a super fun story. And the woman in this painting does have a completely different face from the other two paintings. So there you go. Well, that's it. Even people who've been studying it really have not come to a conclusion about what happened there. So I am not going to attempt it. Shortly after this brouhaha, which delighted the neighborhood gossips, had something else to fill the airwaves with. Maria was pregnant. But who was the father? Renoir, of course, said some. That boyfriend of hers, Utrio, said others, or more darkly some, had heard of a scandal after a neighborhood man had tricked her into a private room and assaulted her. Now, Maria wasn't saying if she even knew. It is true that both of the painters left town around then, and also that her mama never liked the neighborhood man after this, saw him as an enemy, of course, but no one definitively stepped up to take responsibility, either legally or financially. Maurice Valadon, father unknown on his records too, was born to the 18 year old Maria. On the day after Christmas, while she was convalescing, Maria made a drawing of herself, which for the first time she kept and we can still see today. At last her drawings were starting to approach her visions of what they ought to be. In fact, she began to keep more and more of her work from now on, like she'd crossed A threshold with it. There's a beautiful chalk drawing of her mother that survived from this period also. But now what is to be done? Unlike such other women painters as our old friend Mary Cassatt or Bertha Morisot, she did not have a wealthy family supporting her as she worked on her art. Her own drawings were going to have to be fitted into the corners of real life. And then let's look at the situation of the two adults in the house. Maria certainly had the higher earning potential. And unlike in a more, let's call it, bourgeois or upper class neighborhood, Maria having had a child out of wedlock, this, this circumstance would not lock her out of the kind of employment she'd become famous for. So Mama was to look after the child and Maria would earn enough for all of them. It's a little bit of pressure, but off she went to the studios of Paris where she was enthusiastically welcomed. Back of note during this time period, Bertha Morisot painted Maria as a tightrope walker. And despite the possible violent disapproval of Renoir's girlfriend, who in fact bore him a child and was his future wife, Maria continued to model for him for a number of years. When Maria was 20, she became close to the upstairs neighbor, 22 year old painter Henri Toulouse Lautreck. He was a man of startling appearance due to injuries stemming from a congenital disease and two broken legs. He had a full size torso and extremely short child sized legs. He had to walk with a cane. Those cobblestoned hills of Montmartre, I mean, they must have been torture. He was born of an aristocratic family. In fact, technically he was a comped account Comte Henry as a courtesy title. His father was the Comte de Toulouse Lautrec. He had an enormous advantage in parents who not only supported his dream of being a painter, but who actively wished for this to happen and provided him with a number of opportunities and finances. But he was 100% about this Momartra life. And as soon as he got settled, he started hosting basically a salon for artists and writers and all the cool kids. Free food and drink for all who could resist. And Maria served as hostess during most of these soirees. She was, you know, OG with this neighborhood's art establishment. She brought a level of camaraderie to the gatherings which were lively with discussions and poetry and drinking and art. Toulouse Lautrec began to paint her. In fact there's a photograph of her in an extremely interesting and expensive, by the way, bird like hat that he bought for her. And then a companion piece where he painted her and it is amazing to see the photograph and the painting side by side. And also amazing to see just how beautiful of a woman she was in real life. Which is sometimes hard to tell in the paintings. Almost inevitably, they too became lovers and very, very good friends. This is telling. It was really unlike her to show her art, to act anyone. But she did trust him and went through her work with him. And he was extremely complimentary, which had to have been gratifying after all this time, you know, all that dismissal from other painters. What's more, he put his money where his mouth is. He, some say, was the very first person to buy some of her work. He went so far as to hang her pictures on his walls and then dared people to guess what famous artist friend of his had done them. It was influencer marketing at its finest. People kept guessing. Degas. Degas.
- [34:31]
Susan
See?
- [34:31]
Beckett
See, Maria. They equate you with a master. You should never stop painting. Encouragement. Man was here. I like it. I like him. He also gave her a different name. He began to call her Suzanne, after the famous story of Susanna and the Elders from the Bible of a young woman surprised in her bath by two older men who threatened to tell everyone unless she let them have their way with her. Notably, our old friend Artemisia Gentileschi painted one of the more famous depictions of this story, having had her own trouble in this area, by the way. But there have been many, many, many throughout the centuries depictions of this story. Toulouse Lautrec said it applied to her since she was often nude in front of older men. Hilaire, Mom. Still, from this time, she began to sign her work. Suzanne Valadon. It was perhaps a new rebirth. 90% of parents are concerned about microplastics and cleaning products, yet most don't know they're cleaning with them every day.
- [35:53]
Susan
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- [36:05]
Beckett
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- [36:32]
Susan
I'm really happy that our kids. I have a son who Keeps telling me how much microplastics are a problem. And he's 20. So the kids behind us know about these microplastics. They know what they're doing to our bodies and our environment and they're worried about it. So I, I'm so happy to see that. And us choosing for our families to make this Blueland choice is a bonus. It's just. Yep, we get you, kid. We understand the problem too. Blueland is on a mission to make it easy for everybody to make sustainable choices. Hardworking, clean products can be the norm, not the exception. And just like us, you can do better for your family and the planet at the same time.
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Beckett
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- [37:34]
Susan
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Beckett
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- [37:57]
Beckett
That's blueland.com chicks to get 15% off. One of Toulouse Lautrec's drawings of Suzanne Valadon, called the Hangover, had been reproduced and was hanging in one of Toulouse Lautrec's friends houses when the famous artist Degas saw it and said, imagine a young man has been doing this when we've all been working so hard. It was like the biggest compliment, it was amazing from that guy. Toulouse Lautrec felt like he had gotten his accolades and he was well on his way. And he wanted Suzanne to have the same chances and experience that he had just had. Do you see what I mean? He's like the only one that really ever pushed her to get her work seen and, and not to give up, you know. How, how though was he going to get her art in front of Degas? He knew a guy who knew a guy. He was friends with a sculptor named Bartholomew, who was associated of old with the great Degas, who was this notorious curmudgeon, by the way. By now he had a tongue like a whip. And people were simultaneously full of respect and deathly afraid of him. Like, don't ask him if you don't want to be told, kind of. Also, he was very upper class acting, you know, intimidating. But Toulouse Lautrec was not intimidated. He used that network and got permission for Suzanne to go to Degas house by appointment and present her sketches. How terrifying. She didn't want to do it. Which reminds me of when I used to make my sister go get her own candy from the pool concession stand, and she didn't want to do it. But even Tilly's little trek's like, I'm not going with you. You have to do this. And if you don't do this, if you don't use this chance I've given you, you are going to regret this for the rest of your life. And you know what? Evaluating that statement, she knew he was right. You know, and what, what do you have to lose, I guess. Oh, by your equilibrium. But anyway, when she arrived at Degas house for the first time, she was just wracked with nervousness. Wracked. Degas was famous specifically for his, let's call it acid tongue toward people who, quote, presumed to be artists without having had any training. And this was men who were, you know, expected to be painters. And then here she was who and what? She was going into the lion's den for something that really mattered to her. She had a portfolio of her sketches under her arm and. And a brave smile on her face. The maid showed her through to the great man. And she almost died, but instead just sat on a chair and she watched him go through her work. And he was mumbling to himself and flipping them back and forth. He took everything to the window. He took a very long time looking at everything. And then he turned to face her. It was a moment of truth. And her heart stopped. And this is what Degas said to her. Yes, it is true. You are indeed one of us. And her mind went blank. She had no memory of how she got home. It was the best day of her life. It was the best day of her life. She sent a letter of thanks to Bartholomew for the introduction. And Bartholomew said, and I quote, you brought me the joy of meeting a real artist. It is I who am indebted to you. Love them. Love this guys. Suzanne and Degas became good and long lasting friends. He was a coach, kind of. He kind of eased her work out of this raw state it was in into a more refined presentation, not changing how she presented it. She. She. Actually, he admired her the most for not copying anyone else's style. She had a style all her own. He taught her new techniques of producing her Art and gave advice. And she, in return, gave him the scurrilous neighborhood gossip. He hardly ever got out anymore. He. His sight was failing, you know, he had become a little more of an introvert. But he loved meeting up with her. Degas affectionately called Suzanne a ferocious she devil. She was, I think, an ideal companion at this time of his life. She gave as good as she got. I mean, there's no doubt she. She idolized him. She absolutely did take his advice, but she was not putting up with his doo doo, you know what I mean? And she'd call him out, you know, he'd lost a lot of friends due to his grumpiness. She thought it was a charming quirk. Degas could do no wrong, you know. But Renoir was like, ugh, what a creature he was, that Degas. All his friends had to leave him. I was one of the last to go, but even I couldn't stay until the end. So Suzanne was a lifeline a little bit. Now, I do not know what to say exactly about this scenario. When Suzanne was 23, still dating Teulous Lautrec, you will read in some sources that Suzanne tried to kill herself. Now, other books say it was nothing but a tactic to try to intimidate or bully Toulouse Lautrec into marrying her. Whichever way it shakes out, they broke up right after that occasion. Toulouse Lautrec actually had a broken heart. He was in a state. But as far as anyone knew, they never hung out again, not even as friends. I think there was at this point a giant betrayal. I really think so. At home, I have to say, things are looking grim. Little Maurice had turned five and was alternately extremely shy and then full of rage. He would throw dishes and break them and scream and have these episodes. His grandmother could not handle him. He was getting a bit of a reputation around the village. There was something. There was something serious percolating in little Maurice's behavior. The women sent him to school. He was of the right age in hopes that that would even out his temperament. But no dice. And Suzanne went so far as to take her son to be evaluated by experts at a pediatric hospital. And the doctors came back with a diagnosis of, quote, mental debility. And they advised her to put him in an institution and to no longer care for him at home. To which she balked and took him back home, determined to keep her child with her. So there is that enormous pressure of a child with special needs at home. Miguel Utrillo, the former age appropriate boyfriend you remember, was back in town and back in her circle. Again. And here's how the legend goes. Once upon a time, Suzanne was talking about her son to a table full of artists at a cafe. And she mentioned that she did not know if the work, meaning her son, was by Renoir or by Pierre Puvy de Chavannes. And Mr. Atrio said, Give him my name. I would be happy to sign my name to the work of either of those gentlemen. So you could think it's, you know, dismissed. Little cafe talk. Ahaha, that's really funny. But literally, Miguel Utrillo went down to the City hall and legally recognized Suzanne Valadon's son as his son. Why exactly? Everyone was bewildered. After all this time, with no proof, why accept that responsibility? Maybe, as it cost him very little, it was simply a chivalrous gesture. Maybe it was that he wanted to rekindle their relationship. He has competition. A composer named Eric Sati, who was writing whole pieces inspired by Suzanne. And unusually, a rich, almost, let's call him a muggle in the world of Malmartra. A respectable, upstanding, upper class, regular businessman, very attractive, don't get me wrong, named Paul Moussi. Drawn to Suzanne as the manic pixie dream girl. I do believe, and I cannot believe we're able to integrate our usual magnet into this episode. But let me tell you, Utrio saw the way the wind was blowing and left the battlefield of Suzanne's attention. He was invited to produce some work for the 1893 Chicago World's Fair. And he decided to go, you know, Suzanne thought he would come back like he always did, but he'd had it at last and he was gone. Degas was impressed by some drawings that she had done of her son Maurice, and he used his connections to get her work. These sketches featured in a prominent shop during an Impressionist exhibition. This particular venue was the kind of place that one would go to discover new art, where the influencers caught sight of the new avant garde. And so Suzanne's work being featured there was a giant coup and gave her an enormous amount of street cred. A reviewer said of this exhibition, real art can now only be found outside the schools and official institutions. Yes, her art career had become a real possibility. It was Degas's idea to get her work included in the 1894 exhibition of the Salon de l' Societe national des Beaux Arts, one of the most successful of the rival organizations that were objecting to the stringent rules of the official Salon. Two of the voting members were old friends. Pierre Puvida Chavon, her first employer. They approached him. And he freaked out and flapped around like you didn't go to school. I don't think it's going to work. People are going to talk. Because, you know, this organization, even though it said it was, you know, the rebel organization. Had just as strict a rules as the original salon, which I find hilarious. But the sculptor Bartholome, again, who was definitely in her corner, said, I got this. He wrote to a key voting member. That everyone listened to. In a manner exactly calculated to get this guy's attention. Four or five days ago, a poor woman arrived on my doorstep. Carrying an enormous folder of drawings. Having been sent by a friend. She wanted to exhibit at the Champ de Mars and was seeking a sponsor. I do not recommend her to you. I ask only that you look at the drawings. Signed Valadon. When they pass before the jury, you will see serious flaws. But also, I believe, such curious qualities. You will almost certainly be pleased to receive them. To which the man evidently said, absolutely. Because five of her drawings were accepted by the jury. And all were mounted in the same room as the likes of Bartholomew and Degas. And though she was not the first woman to be featured in this exhibition. She was for sure the only untrained and unaffiliated artist. To exhibit at the Societe National. She was a radical inclusion to a radical movement. Degas also reached out to one of the most important art dealers of the time. And encouraged him to present an exhibition of Suzanne's engravings at his gallery. The year after that triumph. This engraving was a complicated technique. That he, Degas himself, had taught Suzanne. And he was extremely proud of the positive public response to her work. She began to focus on painting as well as drawing. Limiting her color palette for both financial and aesthetic reasons. And you'll recognize when you see her work. That in contrast to the Impressionists. Who rarely use the color black at all. She made a point of highlighting the curves of the human body. With a very strong black outline. It was a striking technique. And her bold, limited palette made her work stand out. Now that she'd had what might be considered her big break. Dealers and collectors began circling about. Also, her unique background as an artist's model. Provided the spiciness of a little story to tell the buyers and the viewers. Her paintings were in a style entirely new. Her portraits, self portraits, nudes and scenes from childhood life. Were just uncompromising and unromanticized. This was her very first taste of artistic success. Professionally, Suzanne seemed to be gathering steam. But her personal life had, let's call them, messy elements. Little Maurice had begun drinking, not in the convivial way of the average inhabitant of Montmartre, but in a problematic way also. He's very young. That worried his mother and grandmother very, very much. Suzanne sent him to his sanatorium for professional help. And this romantic triad, let's call it Suzanne, had going with both the composer Satie and the businessman Moosi, both of whom had asked her to marry them right after meeting her. She'd said no both times, but specifically, I want to tell you why. She said that she had turned down the wealthy Moosie. She said she was free now, but if she married him, he would own her. But we can still keep seeing each other. It's no problem. I'm not worried about the propriety. They all three often went out together. So strange. Each of the men held out hope that she'd eventually choose him because she clearly cared about him. This reminds me of birds, you know, showing all their colors in order to attract a mate. Sati composed songs about her. His admiration for Suzanne was open and heartfelt and, I'm going to say, innocent, and also clingy. Musi had perhaps greater firepower. Stability and serenity are powerful motivators, in addition to, of course, personal attraction. Also, there was Maurice to consider. A father figure of this kind wouldn't come amiss. Paul Moussi leased a house in the village of Pierre Fete, about 12 miles north of Paris, which he intended to be a country retreat for himself and Suzanne and her family. Suzanne's mother, Madeline, of course, was delighted to move back to a quiet rural village similar to the one she'd been brought up in. What a gift, really. You need to get away from the chaos of Montmartre, said Paul, in order to concentrate. Never fear. I'll give you a horse and I'll give you a cart, so you can drive straight in whenever you want to work at the studio. Because as an incentive, he had provided a studio for her in 12 Rue Courtaux that Susan and I have been to. The building now houses the Musee de Montmartre. The studio itself, though, is amazing. You should see it up at the top of a hill. It has giant windows and a skylight and a view over the city. Renoir had worked in a stable next door. It was a extremely good address. Suzanne's relationship with Sati was not able to withstand this circumstance, and they broke up. And Sati was beside himself with grief. And as far as anyone knows, never had another relationship in his entire life.
- [53:37]
Susan
You know how all year long, except in the Summer, you're wanting that summer glow on your skin. Well, even in the summer, the summer glow can be highlighted. I always travel with a small travel sized bottle of Osea Undaria algae body oil always. And I just came back from a beach vacation and putting it on my skin, which was already summer glowing, it just boom, brightened it up.
- [54:02]
Beckett
And the smell, oh so good, so citrusy. It's got mandarin, grapefruit and lime and then notes of sweet mango and spicy cypress. Just perfect. It's almost like the scent of the summer.
- [54:17]
Susan
And if you use it in the summer, then when you use it in the winter, you have that smell memory. So now in January, I'm going to smell it and think of being at the beach.
- [54:28]
Beckett
Also with osea, we never have to choose between our values and our best skin because OSEA has been clean Beauty since 1996. It's vegan, it's cruelty free, it's also climate neutral certified. So all those things are very important to me. So not only does the product bring you spectacular results, it exemplifies my core values as well.
- [54:53]
Susan
Same. And it does its job. If you've never used the Andaria algae body oil before, it's a very rich feeling, but it's not greasy. It's been clinically proven to instantly improve skin elasticity. You can see it like that creepiness, it goes away. It visibly firms and makes my skin feel more sculpted, more toned. Something, it just makes it better.
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Beckett
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Susan
And you can get 10 off your first order site wide with code CHICKEN. @oseamalibu.com you'll get free samples with every order and free shipping on orders over $60.
- [55:43]
Beckett
Head to o s e a malibu.com and use code chicks for 10% off. Mousy renewed his suit. Marry me. With a powerful incentive. Under his protection, Suzanne could afford to give up modeling entirely and create artwork without worrying about finances. Well, after the lease was up on the initial property, Moosi built a new mansion for her in the same area. And on August 5, 1896, Suzanne married Paul Moussi at last. But that promised vast output of creativity really never came to pass. After an initial, you know, flurry of work, she produced less and less art, in fact. And if you think about it, a 12 mile trip, depending on how fast you make your horse go, is anywhere from an hour. If you're super mean to it to three hours as a commute. Ugh, that's irritating. I mean, there's good intentions and all, but practically speaking, she was just a little bit too far away from her studio. Degas complained he never saw her anymore, though she did write to him. Degas wrote back, sounding like a dad, and I quote every year I see this handwriting drawn like a saw arriving. Terrible Maria. But I never see the author arrive with a box of drawings under her arm. And yet here I am, getting very old. Happy New Year of the Guild. Was it a sign, you know, that her creative life had been drained away, just as she finally felt physically secure? Also, here's the unspoken role she'd taken on as the wife of an upper class man. There was now a household, and it was her responsibility to manage it. Servants to direct, meals to plan, society to be visited. Descartes wrote her, put your art over your duties at home. Which is. Is definitely a radical statement from someone of that time, especially a man. There were definite advantages to her life at the mansion for the first time, she developed a passion for flowers and the enjoyment of gardening. She even constructed rustic garden furniture that was the envy of the neighborhood. It was not an exciting life, but freedom from want. That's certainly something Suzanne has never experienced before. Mr. Musi, to his credit, did notice that his wife's artwork had really died off. And with it, part of her spirit that had attracted him to her in the first place. He moved the family back into the beloved 12 Rue de Courtau, keeping the country house for the occasional weekend or for the heat of the summers. And sure enough, her output exploded. She made over 25 pieces, well, 25 documented pieces just in that first year back. Hooray. But she was not able to ignore the ever increasing problem she had in her life. Her son Maurice, and his worsening behavior. He was enrolled in a school out in the country where he was relentlessly bullied for his Paris ways and his Paris accent. And reports from the school talked about truancy, disrespect for authority, violence, poor work. Suzanne reincarnated, really. During his teenage years, he was clearly addicted to alcohol. At one point, when the strategy was to remove the alcohol from the house, of course, his grandma Madeline had a supply of her own, which he stole. He rampaged through the house drinking cologne and anything else he could find. And now he was into the green fairy absinthe and not the absinthe of today that makes its innocuous green appearance in a $25 cocktail at a cool secret bar in a basement Downtown? No, the real deal that still had wormwood in it and caused visions, some said, or hallucinations, said others. He had also become much more violent during his uncontrollable rages, destroying parts of the house. Mousy and Suzanne consulted any medical expert that they could find. But just before his 19th birthday, during a particularly nasty rage, Maurice broke into Suzanne's room with a knife and had to be restrained. And his stepfather, Mousy searched his room to go get the gun that they thought he had bought. And Maurice flew into such a rage, he threw furniture and tchotchkes out of the windows among the shards of glass. The doctor they called decided to forcibly sedate him and then commit him to the Asylum of St. Anne. And he had to stay there for a number of months. Not only this, exactly. Now Suzanne heard of the death of Henri Toulouse Lautrec, who had himself died in a sanatorium at the age of only 37. And his cause of death was partly put down to complications arising from his alcoholism. His favorite cocktail had been the earthquake, which is half cognac and half absinthe, which probably tasted like licking the inside of a hamster cage. I cannot imagine. It was awesome. And that is pro level drinking right there, off the deep end. He was a talented man who died early due to his lifestyle. He was also suffering from syphilis. And Suzanne must have worried what her son's fate would be if something didn't change. Upon Maurice's return from the sanatorium, his doctors advised Suzanne to find something to occupy her son to distract him from alcohol. Well, there's one thing Suzanne felt like she could teach him, and that was the art of painting. He took to it immediately, which really isn't that big of a surprise given that, you know, 75% of the candidates to be his biological father were professional artists. She often said later that she had simply introduced him to art and hadn't taught him anything at all. He did resist the lessons, but she persisted. She dragged him into proficiency or recognizing his own talent. But the distraction from alcohol didn't necessarily work. One day he was painting in plain air, as they say, out in a field. Her son was so drunk that he was near unconscious, sick and very upset. And a young man walking by was able to sort of manhandle him up, find out where he lived and walk him home. Oh, thank you, thank you. Any friend of my son's, you know, that's how 41 year old Suzanne Valadon met the 20 year old Andre Otter, a painter and electrician from Montmartre. Who just happened to have been recovering from an illness out at his family country house. He knew who she was, of course. Any inhabitant of a marcher did, really. And over the next couple of years, I'd almost say he exhibited stalkerish behavior. Almost going where she liked to hang out, setting up his easel where she'd be sure to pass by, befriending her troublesome son. They even took lodgings together, Utter and Maurice. One fateful day, Suzanne invited Utter in to see her artwork and studio. And they began a passionate affair. Suzanne was in love, perhaps for the first time in her life. All of those other relationships had been for security or companionship. Perhaps those two were heedless of gossip, notice, propriety, anything. Of course, though all of Mamartra was in on the secret. Mousy was the last to know. And when he discovered their relationship, he went to the studio and threw her out. And then threw everything out. Supplies, canvases, everything. Destroying many of her artworks in his firestorm. So Suzanne, at the age of 43, packed up her belongings and her two cats and her German shepherd, Pierre. And a goat. A goat left the house in the country and went to live with Utter and her son. Ugh. I can imagine the state of it. Anyway, Madeline, of course, had to come too. It was cozy, for sure. Suzanne didn't even bother to show up at the divorce hearing. So after 13 years of marriage, she gave up her affluent lifestyle, her studio, which hurt more financial security and servants, to return to her old, uncertain but bohemian lifestyle. She was taking quite a risk. I think the unusual situation of mother, son, and extremely young lover was woo gossip. And the three began to be called the Terrible Trio or the Infernal Trio. I would say both of those adjectives likely refer to Maurice, unless what they mean by that is the general sort of unsavoriness that this specific combination of people living together seem to exemplify. Which I get it. I do. But a blanket of inspiration had landed on both Utter and Suzanne's. Suzanne produced her very first nude self portrait. And during this time she also produced her first large scale landscape, her first floral painting. She used Utter as a model, notoriously and most famously for a work called the Casting of the Nets, which features three versions of her model, a woman painting uncompromisingly male nudes. Shocking. She was one of the first women to do such a thing. And he in turn, painted her. She was inspired to experiment with materials, with her subject matter, with the number of colors in her palette which blossomed from only 5 to 14. All of this she attributed to the inspiration of being in love. Now, ultimately, Maurice found a painting style all his own. It's not exactly photographic, but I guess I'd say scenic. His models were the streets and buildings of Montmartre. And unlike his mother's grittier work, which was loved by connoisseurs and critics, but not exactly a pretty thing to hang on a bedroom wall, Maurice's more approachable art was increasingly admired by the public. Although Usher called it the art for the boutique. And he really dismissed it as common, I guess. But Maurice himself was a loose cannon. Almost inevitably, he was back in the grip of alcohol during the day. Painting, almost another obsession, now drove him outside to paint during excruciating hangovers. Given that ibuprofen would not be Invented until the 1960s, he found the best cure for his hangover was, of course, the hair of the dog. And the cycle continued more and more. The existence of any people existing in his radius caused more of his old violent outbursts of rage that led to trouble with the law, for which Suzanne had to go and fetch him. Maurice would sell paintings with the paint still wet for the price of a bottle of liquor. He once tried to disrupt another artist's show and got thrown out. So he set up a quickly painted art show of his own in the alley next door. He was notorious. Suzanne was always having to pay for broken windows and apologize for insults. And when he couldn't get it together to paint anything of his own, Maurice was known to steal Suzanne or Utter's work, to flog on the street for a little money to keep him in drink. Two years after the divorce, the whole entourage would be able to renew the lease of her former studio at number 12 Rue Courtau. Except the goat. I don't know why that was called out specifically. Except the goat, whose habit of eating everything led Suzanne to find it its own home, she thought. At a petting zoo, so she was told. I don't know. Perhaps someone ate it. Soon the apartment and studio became a meeting place for young aspiring artists and poets. Famous names spent their salad days hanging out here at Suzanne's. And it was through these extremely young friends, and also her extremely young boyfriend, that Suzanne became reintroduced to the artist and cool kids of Amartra. Only now, instead of a young, beautiful new arrival, she was now almost like a mascot. I hate to say it that way, but more like a figure of, you know, let's hear the stories of the olden days. Do you know what I mean? The building that Degas had lived in for over 20 years was slated for demolition. And it was his old friend, his terrible Maria, Suzanne Valadon, who helped him to pack, found him a new place to live and helped to rehang his art collection in his new home, which at this point included over 25 pieces of her own art that he had bought throughout the years. It was like the old spirit of Momhartra was gradually slipping away from her. But her work was going from strength to strength. She had a solo show in one gallery, participated in a group show at another prominent gallery. Her work was gaining accolades in academic circles, but this did not really translate into monetary gain. Most of her customers, in fact, were other painters, people that she knew that acquired her work out of their sheer admiration for her talent. Glory, of course, is not gold, but Suzanne loved the real compliments from those that she respected. That was more important to her than commercial success. I'm very sorry to say, although it's not a surprise that Andre Atter was resenting Maurice's behavior all the time and so angry that Suzanne kept bailing her son out of every trouble he encountered. Maurice resented Utter's presence in his mother's life during the time when I guess he expected that he and his mother would finally be able to become closer without the presence of a stepfather in the way an now here he had one really that was literally just about his age. Another source of jealousy was that Maurice's paintings were selling very much so the only one of the terrible trio really to be making a living. He was sort of raking it in, but that most of the money realized from those paintings was being recycled into alcohol. The little family at the studio reached such a hard stage of finances at one point that Suzanne was forced to sell her country house, her only real asset that she had brought from her marriage. And then the world was plunged into war. Maurice was immediately rejected from armed service due to his mental state mostly. But Utter was one of the earliest to enlist and the two decided to marry so that in case anything happened to Utter, Suzanne would be entitled to the financial benefits of spousal support. And so at 49, although she reduced her age to 47 for the official documents. At 49, Suzanne married the 28 year old Andre Utter. And then Utter went off to war. The year Suzanne turned 50, her mother Madeleine died, age 84. And of course, this was the profoundest of shocks. In August, her son Maurice was placed in an asylum by authorities after he attacked a woman on the street with a saucepan. I just do not Know where this idea came from. But Suzanne was doing a series of drawings and sort of fell in love with the demeanor of her young blonde female model and had this idea that all Maurice needed was a wife, a stable presence that could fix him. And during every session she talked and talked Maurice up to Gabby was her name, tried to get her on board to marry her son. At one point, the model even agreed to it. And that's before she met Maurice, who upon his release from the asylum, let's just say, proved himself. No catch. And Gabby backed out immediately, of course. And that's not the last time that Suzanne would try to get him a wife. And I think it is very poor behavior to put all of the fixing of him on a wife. I just think that I. I don't know. I guess she's grasping for any solution. 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Susan
Of course you can substitute things, but even substituting is so easy. On my last box, they said you might like Gruyere, Prosciutto, Egg bites. And they come with little cuties, you know, those little orange tangerines. Yeah, it's a breakfast. So I'm like, okay, I'll get a couple of those. And I did. And my son had one the first day and he's like, this is the best thing. He goes, can you just get a dozen of these? And I tried it the second day and yep, he's right. So I'm telling you Griere, Prosciutto, Egg bites and cuties. Just put them in the microwave for a couple minutes. They made a fantastic sandwich, but just plain, they were fantastic too.
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Beckett
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Susan
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Beckett
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Susan
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Susan
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- [74:37]
Beckett
Susanna, 51, was still extraordinarily beautiful, although increasingly regarded as eccentric. Her clothing, while haphazard, was artistically draped. Her mind was quick but scattered. She had enormous talent but produced these works that no one could understand. And then she had that sun, that millstone around her neck, that terrifyingly violent, unpredictable man. And when they weren't together, he went off the rails. And then, just like everyone else, they had to deal with the food shortages, fear, all the news in the press. Andre was wounded and came home. He actually had a bullet that they left in because it was too close to his heart for them to operate on. And the unholy trinity was back to a certain degree. A famous gallery did mount a show of all three of their work. And it was mostly Maurice's paintings that sold with a distant second place to Suzanne's harder to understand work. And I'm sorry to say that Andre Utters were largely dismissed to the point where from now on, Utter spent most of his time managing the careers of the other two. And that would be a pattern that would last the rest of their partnership. But Maurice's work was so, so popular. There was a framer quoted in the newspaper that said that 8 out of every 10 commissions he got to frame were either a nutrillo painting or someone knocking his style off. Also in the paper, this quote. It is a story unparalleled in the history of art. Without any desire on his part, a painter has attracted countless disciples who neither like nor admire their master. Interesting. A nude painting by Suzanne and the painting called Moulin de la Galette by Maurice were bought by the French fashion designer Paul Poiret. Famous, Poiret would tell his clients how chic it would be if they also had an original by Valadon or her son Maurice. That is the height of fashion. And of course, this led to feverish buying of the existing work. And also, the prestigious art dealers in the Rue de Faubourg Saint Honore were flooded with requests from respectable middle and upper class people for portraits from Suzanne Valadon. Amazing. Now, I'm here to say you have to have strong sense of self confidence if you want Suzanne to paint you. Because let's just put it this way. Suzanne Valadon was not a person to flatter her subject unnecessarily, either in person or in paint. Kind of cracks me up. Did they know what they were getting into? But her reputation was such now that she was regarded as an authority figure in the world of art. I would like to read a quote from another review. This extraordinary woman breathes life into everything she paints. She is passion itself. One seeks in vain to find someone to who she can be compared. When Suzanne was 55, she was elected a member of the Salon d', Autom, which was a juried exhibition she'd been showing in since 1909. And now she was a voting member of the organization. It was a very big honor. And Otter negotiated a sort of retainer from a major gallery for both Maurice and Suzanne, guaranteeing the whole trinity an income of a million francs a year. This was a fabulous amount of money. And as a result of their new income, Suzanne and Utter bought the Chateau St. Bernard, which is just outside of Lyon. Still there, now a wedding venue. I will give you a link. It's very beautiful. It was here that she painted still lifes and landscapes over the next 10 years, and her output of work increased exponentially. She had found another comfortable place to produce work. I will say that once Suzanne had money in her hand, she was absolutely known for her generosity. Anyone with half a story could get a handout. True friends could get a leg up. She really let it flow through like water almost in the best sort of a way, lifting others as she had made it, you know. It's very admirable of her and really says a lot about her character, I think. She and Maurice had regularly scheduled gallery show after gallery show and good reviews after good reviews. And at last, at last, Suzanne was receiving the compliments she had sought so long ago from the likes of Renoir and didn't get. And the recognition of a talent that Toulouse Lautrec had seen at a very, very early age. The first book about Suzanne was written in 1922, when she was 57 years old. How nice to see the praise when you're alive. I always think about Vincent van Gogh and how he always thought he was a failure for his whole life. You know, it's the only scene in Doctor who that I've really seen is when they take him to a retrospective of his work to see how people respond into it. I have to find a link to that for you, you know, that makes me sad. Anyway, so if you have someone in your life that you think deserves a compliment, I would say give it to him right now. Don't wait now. Mr. Utter. Jealous of Suzanne's relationship with her son, I think, and irritated intensely by his erratic behavior, he began to openly womanize. He had mistresses, and he did not really bother to hide them very well. Suzanne was brokenhearted. She was still madly in love with her husband, and her passion for him had never, never failed. She was intensely jealous, rightfully so. I think their fights were legendary, and the cracks were obviously beginning to widen in her marriage. Tensions were high enough that Suzanne moved out of her beloved studio to a house nearby at 11 Avenue Juneau, a move that was facilitated financially by Maurice's agent. Actually, there was a studio there for Suzanne as well. Spacious living rooms. But Mr. Utter stayed back at 12 Rue Courtau, claiming he was going to do nothing but work there. But Suzanne despaired of his fidelity. And I'm sorry to say that most meetings from now on between husband and wife ended up in horrible arguments. But they always seemed to circle back to each other. The household limped along, each in their separate locations. A retrospective of Suzanne's work was set up when she was 64. Think about what an honor that is to have someone gather all your work together and show it in a gallery, to show people how you've developed as an artist, the different periods you've gone through, etc. But no less a fan than the Prime Minister of France came to tender his compliments and his congratulations and his embraces. He was a true friend. She'd known him a long time, long before he was the Prime Minister for sure. And he came to give her his very, very public accolades. I really loved that. That was an enormous compliment. But at the end, someone said in the paper, and I quote, we cannot doubt that the work of Suzanne Valadon will touch people in the future, even more so than it does today. Then it went on to say, because if we love Valadon, it is not only because she's a great painter, but also because she has given us this fantastic genius who, to pay daily homage to his mother, signs his canvases Maurice Outrio V for Valadon. Now, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, the son's reputation and career eclipsed that of his mother. So much so that Suzanne Baladon's work, although so well known in its own time, has faded a little bit from history. But at this time in Suzanne's timeline, her painting began to be shown internationally to great acclaim in New York, in Prague, in Geneva and in Britain. And I would like to quote Valadon's work elaborated in solitude will remain outside of time like something at once sensitive, pure and strong. And another reviewer said that she was, quote, worthy of joining the great masters of yesteryear in. In a surprise and genuinely unwelcome maneuver, Maurice finally married someone. The bride was Suzanne's friend, Lucy, the widow of a customer. Actually, she was six years Maurice's senior and really took total charge of Maurice. Both Utter and Suzanne were 100% sure she'd married him for his money. She did, however, prove to be a very patient caretaker of his welfare and his career. She really kind of shaped him up, actually changed his trajectory. And all in all, took one worry off Suzanne's mind, which was, what would happen to Maurice after she inevitably left this mortal coil? Who would take care of him? Well, now at least she had an answer. Though I am super irritated by something the bride said after her wedding to one of her friends. That the and I, the umbilical cord between Suzanne and Maurice had never been cut and she was the one chosen by God to cut it off. Off. And then she had the nerve to wonder out loud, like, we used to be such good friends and now she doesn't want to hang out with me. I mean, I'm paraphrasing, but like, yeah, she does not want to hang out with you because you're mean and, and dismissing her. I, I don't want to say input, but like existence, you know. Suzanne painted an extremely unflattering portrait of her daughter in law, by the way. Hilariously, that portrait received accolades when it was shown at the Salon of Contemporary Portraitists. It was called the Image not of a Face but of a Soul. And I'm sure the daughter in law, who hated the way it came out, was not very pleased with that praise, to be fair. Suzanne also painted what some might think is an enormously honest portrait of herself, a nude bust that is unflinchingly honest about the way she had aged. It is so interesting to sit side by side all the portraits she has done of herself throughout the years. To see the progression of her life. Suzanne was distraught by the marriage. I get it. You do think she'd be more grateful about having that enormous stress of his care and behavior taken from her. But I can see, you know, they've been together so long, they've been in each other's lives daily. And now her own marriage had fallen completely apart. She had no one. She's by herself. She's by herself. She doesn't have the stamina she once had. The fire to just go out and throw care to the wind and make herself a whole new life again. It was a lot. But she pulled together her strength and her fire and went on. And that's what you have to do. Suzanne continued painting and regathered an eclectic circle of friends to her studio. A lot of young artists, A lot of young men. One who was a literal prince. How about it? Utter tried to object, and she just put out her hand. No objections accepted. Good for her. She showed in an international exhibition of women artists right alongside the likes of our old friend Mary Cassatt and first female impressionist Bertha Morisot. And here is what she said about it. And I quote her. You know, cherie, I often boasted about my art because I thought that's what people expected for an artist to be. Boastful. After what we've seen this afternoon, I feel very humble. The women of France can paint too, you know. But I think perhaps God has made me France's greatest woman painter after all. What was that about boasting? But, you know, what is it? Boasting, if it's true? The year Suzanne turned 72, France itself bought three of her paintings, including the casting of the nets that I talked about before. And several drawings that they were going to add to the country's national collection of art. Amazing. And then, very next year, a major gallery produced an elaborate and very complete retrospective of her work, calling in pieces from all over the world for their exhibition. Reviewers agreed that she, in her cruelly honest, unfeminine style of art, had cemented her place in art history. On the morning of April 7, 1938, with that exhibition of her life's work still on the walls of that gallery, Suzanne was at her easel, working on a still life in her studio and had a stroke. A neighbor heard her cry out and gathered assistance to break down the door. And one of the neighbors traveled with Suzanne to the hospital. And according to the woman's report, as the ambulance passed The Arc de Triomphe, Suzanne Valadon gave one last sigh and then she was gone. After a funeral attended by luminaries of the artistic world, but notably not her son, because the daughter in law did not believe he'd be able to handle it, Suzanne Valadon was laid to rest at the cemetery of St. Owen beside her mother, Madeleine. One of her friends issued a commemorative bronze coin. On the front was her portrait, her self portrait, the first one she had done when she was only 18. And on the back was a heart. And around it three words. Give love, Paint. That's a great tribute. On her tombstone is listed her name, the words artist, painter, and then an incorrect birth date. Two years younger. You're welcome. Andre Utter, who died in 1948, is buried in the same grave. Suzanne Valadon's work totals over 475 paintings, 275 drawings and 31 etchings. And of course, this does not include all the works that were destroyed by Suzanne, by her dogs, by her son, or lost over the years. This is another incident, by the way, in which I say the chances of finding a Valadon or a new trio in the wild, especially in France, I mean, they're not high, but they're not zero, if you know what I mean. And the chances are good that a museum near you may just have a Valadon of their own. And that brings me to the end of our coverage of Suzanne Valadon, who started out at the absolute bottom of and made it in triumph to the top of her profession. The ripples she created in the art world are still felt today. And now it's time for media. Let me give you little big and bigger. How about that? These are all extremely good biographies. I found great use in all of them. The smallest one, which actually has the most color prints of her work, is called Suzanne Valadon by Therese Diamond Rzynski. It's part of the Universe series on women's artists. It's very small, but has, like I said, a lot more of the portraits. Now that you know the story, that might be a good place to go. The one in the middle, super good read. Very birthed to death, very easy to read. Suzanne Valadon, mistress of Montmartre by June Rose. And then, oh, for a little more detail and a lot more 360 degree view, there is Renoir's the Secret Life of Suzanne Valadon by Kathryn Huitz. All three of those are amazing. I wanted to recommend a biography of Maurice Utrillo, but honestly, the ones I read. I didn't think gross to the level of recommendation. Not to say there isn't one out there, just that I did not locate one. There is a great biography of Toulouse Lautrec, however, Toulouse Lautrec, a definitive biography by Henri Perrijot. Highly recommend. As promised, I will link you out to The Chateau de St. Bernard, which is now a wedding venue. Quite beautiful. Also, don't miss the website of the Musee de Montmartre. It has a recreation of what Suzanne Valadon's studio looked like while she was using it. There is Renoir's old stable studio on the premises as well. A beautiful garden, a beautiful view over the city of Paris, and in fact, the only vineyard within the city limits is just in its backyard. Also, at least when I was there, on the stairs is the original poster for Le Chat Noir. You've seen it in the poster stores. We've all had it in our apartments at one point. And now you can see the original, so don't miss that. Definitely worth seeing. And then right down the hill is Le Maison Rose, famously painted by Maurice, So. And all of Montmartre, famously painted by Maurice. Definitely head into that area. If you go to Paris, if you use a vpn, you can see the only movie I could find about Suzanne Valadon, Suzanne Peintre Sans Concession. It's a documentary and I can't see it in this country. So if you are in Europe, that is something you can see and I will provide you a link. I think that someone should make a Suzanne Valadon movie. I really do. Is anyone listening? Who has the power? I mean, you don't even have to make up any drama. There is sexiness built in. You don't have to, like, artificially put it in. I'm looking at you. Game of Thrones, it's all there. Art, magic, music, soundtracks, already there. Scenery's already there. I mean, I would like to be invited to the premiere, please. Just remember that. Just remember that. If you take that up also. Last but not least, Season 4, Episode 7 of the Gilmore Girls features the Festival of Living Art, in which Lorelai reenacts Suzanne Valadon, although the whole time they call her Renoir Girl. Fair enough. I'll give you some more links in the show notes@thehistorychicks.com and in closing, here is a quote from Suzanne. My work is finished, and the only satisfaction I gain from it is that I have never surrendered. I have never betrayed anything that I believed in. You will see that it's true. One day, perhaps. If anyone ever takes the trouble to do me justice, I hope so much that we have. Thanks for listening. Bye. If you liked what you heard today or learned a little something, please tell a few friends about us or leave a review for us on Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts. This Pinterest board is going to be chalk full of art. So don't forget to go to our Pinterest board at the historychicks and see all of the artwork. Links to the things we talked about today will be found@thehistorychicks.com and the song at the end is Work of Art by Bonse Susan and I will be back soon with another story of another woman from history. See you next time. Are you are a work of art work of art work of art you are your kind of beauty doesn't come easy can't take my mind of you I'm so embarrassed watching you undress can take my eyes of you sa my shoulder counting the D lines I'm caught in heaven 247 losing my grip of time with you, with you, with you Sa nobody see the beauty in me Sam.