Friday 9 April 1944 Picasso is unusually elegant today: dark blue suit, white shirt, checkered red tie. Jean Marais is there, his Samoyed dog at his side as usual. Amid the other people, I am delighted to see Pierre Reverdy again. I like his male voice, his black Chasselas eyes–close relatives of Picasso’s own–the haughty… Continue reading Brassaï

reverdy’s house

I entered Reverdy’s home without knowing the poet, without knowing the architect, without knowing the mason; but I discovered his house on my journey, after a crossroads, on a mountain path not much wider than one’s steps. It seemed, from inside, to be very small like familiar words: a house for one man’s gestures and… Continue reading reverdy’s house