Sylvette David, Picasso's Muse
On the Creative Process: Excerpts from an Interview with Rob Couteau, "'I Was Sylvette': An Interview with Picasso's Muse, Sylvette David, 'The Woman with the Key'"
I first became aware of Sylvette David thanks to “The Bust of Sylvette,” which was commissioned by architect I. M. Pie for the Silver Towers housing complex in Greenwich Village. Fashioned after a smaller piece that Picasso made from folded sheet metal, the statue was constructed in 1968 by the artist’s official fabricator, the Norwegian sculptor Carl Nesjar. Standing at a towering 36 feet and weighing 60 tons, it’s composed of concrete poured over black basalt pebbles. By sandblasting the cement surface and exposing the dark stones, Nesjar re-created the effect of Picasso’s line drawing of Sylvette. --Rob Couteau
__________
Sylvette posed for Picasso dozens of times in 1954, and she later became a talented painter herself. Now known as Lydia Corbett, she recently co-authored an engaging memoir (with her daughter Isabel’s help), titled “I Was Sylvette.” One of Picasso’s last living muses, this is her story.
Rob Couteau: Over the years, I’ve introduced so many people to the marvelous “Bust of Sylvette” in Greenwich Village.
Lydia Corbett: Ah, this is the first time that I’ve heard anyone talk about it! Nobody seems to know there’s such a big sculpture of me in New York; I can’t believe it.
RC: When NYU wanted to construct another building there that would have obstructed the view, you wrote a letter in support of the protest.*
LC: Oh, yes, I did, because I didn’t want them to destroy it. That was terrifying wasn’t it? Well, I must say, I was honored to be done by Picasso; I’ll never forget it.
In 2014, I was invited to Bremen, Germany. They exhibited all of Picasso’s Sylvette portraits. The man who did that, Christoph Grunenberg, used to be the director of the Tate Gallery, in Liverpool. That’s where I met him. One day, he phoned and said: “Would you like to see all your portraits in one place?” I said, “Oh, it’s a dream of mine! For sixty years, I’ve been thinking of this; it’s marvelous that you’d think of it.” And so, it happened. I went to Bremen, to see all the portraits, and they were wonderful. I was crying; I was very moved by them all. He put such love into those paintings.
RC: I’ve read so much about Picasso, yet I’ve never heard anyone say what you just said: That he put so much love into the paintings. That’s a very interesting insight.
LC: I think so. He loved me, but as a beautiful inspiration.
____________________
RC: You were talking about the love that Picasso put into his work. Is this something that you felt intuitively?
LC: Well, I could feel. You know how, when you’re young, you feel people. He was not at all flirting. Not at all. He wasn’t the type to be an annoying old man. He was seventy-three. And he was like a father figure. But he tried to make me laugh. Taking me up in a little bedroom, he showed me the place, and suddenly he jumped on the bed, you know? And I thought: ‘That’s very funny; I’m not jumping too.’ You see? I thought he was playing a game with me, to make me relax.
____________________
RC: We read these stories about you posing for Picasso, and we try to imagine the feeling of the atmosphere. What were you picking up during those magical hours when you posed for him? What was the atmosphere like; what was he transmitting to you?
LC: Well, the excitement of being a creator. He was excited by my hair; the beauty of my face, I suppose. He saw lots of things. He loved the Greeks and the Egyptians, the Cycladic ladies. All toward the East from Vallauris. It’s a Mediterranean place, you know? The Greeks were very spiritual people, and Picasso, I’m sure, was very interested in them. I think he made me look like some of those people. Far away, looking in the distance. Inward, also. Because I think he could see something in me: that I had been hurt by my mother’s boyfriend, and he was very delicate about this. He could feel it, without me telling him anything.
RC: Your feelings told you that he could feel that.
LC: Yes; I knew he could. I could understand him. I think children often possess this ability. I was like a child, and I’m still childlike. That’s one thing. My mother ran away from religion, schools, everything. I was brought up on an island. Swimming, walking barefoot, playing with my brother in the sea. It’s actually wonderful to feel nature before you do anything else. So my mind was not working; and it’s still not working. I’m an instinctive person. And feel. And love people. And so, Picasso could feel all that, and he was interested in my presence.
____________________
RC: I wanted to discuss with you the relationship between the creative and the spiritual, which is a big part of your book, a big part of your life. How do you think Picasso saw this relationship? Was his work being channeled from a spiritual place?
LC: I think so.
RC: John Richardson even compares him to the shaman, to the shamanic tradition. What do you think about all that?
LC: Oui, I think he was interested in the spirituality from within, but not the Church, really. Something else. And I suppose he could sense this about me … because my mother brought us up like wild children. Actually, I think it’s a sad that children go to school too early, because they miss nature. And nature is a great teacher, a healing force. When my marriage broke down, I went up the hills here, with the river rolling down. And it’s healing to hear a river going under a bridge. Nature healed me. And the animals. I love cats and dogs … all animals. They healed me.
____________________
RC: In your memoir, you talk about a friend who became involved in a spiritual movement of some sort. And as soon as she did, she was no longer working artistically. I thought this was revealing in terms of the fact that a spiritual dynamic is often involved in creative work.
LC: Yes, an awakening into the inner, and the space of the universe, actually.
RC: How would you compare the meditative process in Subud, of “letting go and receiving,” to what you do as a painter? Is it a similar thing?*
LC: It’s the same, yes. You go into another dimension, another world. And you feel peaceful. You know, Jesus said, ‘When two or three are gathered, I am in the midst of them.’ Having contact with other people is very important, because you see different things. And you learn through contacts with different people. You learn a lot. Of yourself, and others.
____________________
RC: You say you heard a shout from behind the wall surrounding Picasso’s house.
LC: Yes, and we saw the Picasso painting. He was holding it above the wall. We saw that, and we knew it was an invitation to his garden; so off we went. Wonderful surprise! He was so friendly. Everybody rushed in. And then he said, ‘But I want to paint Sylvette.’ He knew my name already. He must have been doing a bit of research, from the top his mansion. [laughs] It was an old barn, actually. An old studio, with different rooms in it.
____________________
RC: Later on, you began to seriously pursue painting. “Rebirth – I Paint” is a chapter heading in your book. Talk about how painting gave you a sense of rebirth.
LC: Yes, because when I paint, I’m happy. I don’t get depressed. On the contrary, it uplifts me. I feel so happy when I don’t think at all. I go in another dimension. I paint all sorts of things. I love animals. I paint horses at the moment, and cats and dogs, but people mostly. When I did watercolors, I always did a table with a tablecloth, and it would make a still-life, and images of people would come around it. That’s why they say I’m a bit like Chagall. With Indian ink. But now I do more in oil and charcoal, together. I love that. And of course, I do my portrait in Picasso’s time, when I was young, and Lydia, all together.
RC: Your work is filled with lucidity, with the emanation of light. Tell me about your creative process.
LC: Well, there are things that inspire me. Nature, plants, flowers, people. And I do like some painters, whose work I look at, such as Kandinsky. And I like all the frescos in Italy: Assisi, Saint Francis. I love the spiritual works of art. And of course, Picasso inspires me. I do still lifes often, and then go around it, and make people around it. I like to do portraits of people, especially with charcoal. Then I might put some color around it. Children, I do like drawing children, and babies, with pen and ink.
RC: There’s a filigree quality to your work.
LC: I know. I love doing it, like writing a story. And making lots of water, so the black goes into the color, and makes shadows. You know how they call it: clair-obscure. That’s nice; I like that. Watercolor is really my best medium, because it flows like a story. I’m so used to it, I do it without thinking. I don’t know what I’m going to do at first; it depends on the flowers I’ve got on the table. I don’t know in advance. Something comes, often in the night. I’m a morning painter, but suddenly I get up with an idea. Or when I have a rest in the afternoon: ‘Oh, I must go and do this, quick.’
RC: I think there’s nothing more inspiring than a good night of sleep.
LC: I know; this is it. Because it allows you to be following your feelings and what’s happening, you know?
RC: Lydia, if you come to New York, you must promise me that we can pose together for a photo under the marvelous “Bust of Sylvette.”
LC: Oh, yes! That would be fun to do, wouldn’t it?
RC: And please tell your daughter ‘thank you’ for putting this book together. She did a marvelous job.
LC: Oui, she did very well, my lovely daughter! We did it together. I talked to her, because I couldn’t write it. Very clever girl, because she did it as if it were me talking, and it’s rather quite like me. And we used to cry together. It was very good for both of us.
_________________________
Notes:
*Although the site was landmarked in 2008, in 2010 NYU attempted to get permission to construct a fourth, even higher tower, which would have blocked the view of the bust. But because of fierce opposition to the project – which included a letter of protest from Sylvette herself – the plan was withdrawn.
*“Subud is an abbreviation of the words Susila Budhi Dharma. Susila means: right living of man concordant with the will of Almighty God. Budhi means: the force of the life power which is in man. Dharma means: submission, trust and sincerity toward Almighty God.” The goal is “to hopefully become human beings who really serve the creative force that heals and nurtures our universe as we know it.” Isabel Coulton, I Was Sylvette: The Story of Lydia Corbett (London: Endeavour London Ltd., 2016), p. 128.
For the complete interview, please see http://www.tygersofwrath.com/publications.htm
I first became aware of Sylvette David thanks to “The Bust of Sylvette,” which was commissioned by architect I. M. Pie for the Silver Towers housing complex in Greenwich Village. Fashioned after a smaller piece that Picasso made from folded sheet metal, the statue was constructed in 1968 by the artist’s official fabricator, the Norwegian sculptor Carl Nesjar. Standing at a towering 36 feet and weighing 60 tons, it’s composed of concrete poured over black basalt pebbles. By sandblasting the cement surface and exposing the dark stones, Nesjar re-created the effect of Picasso’s line drawing of Sylvette. --Rob Couteau
__________
Sylvette posed for Picasso dozens of times in 1954, and she later became a talented painter herself. Now known as Lydia Corbett, she recently co-authored an engaging memoir (with her daughter Isabel’s help), titled “I Was Sylvette.” One of Picasso’s last living muses, this is her story.
Rob Couteau: Over the years, I’ve introduced so many people to the marvelous “Bust of Sylvette” in Greenwich Village.
Lydia Corbett: Ah, this is the first time that I’ve heard anyone talk about it! Nobody seems to know there’s such a big sculpture of me in New York; I can’t believe it.
RC: When NYU wanted to construct another building there that would have obstructed the view, you wrote a letter in support of the protest.*
LC: Oh, yes, I did, because I didn’t want them to destroy it. That was terrifying wasn’t it? Well, I must say, I was honored to be done by Picasso; I’ll never forget it.
In 2014, I was invited to Bremen, Germany. They exhibited all of Picasso’s Sylvette portraits. The man who did that, Christoph Grunenberg, used to be the director of the Tate Gallery, in Liverpool. That’s where I met him. One day, he phoned and said: “Would you like to see all your portraits in one place?” I said, “Oh, it’s a dream of mine! For sixty years, I’ve been thinking of this; it’s marvelous that you’d think of it.” And so, it happened. I went to Bremen, to see all the portraits, and they were wonderful. I was crying; I was very moved by them all. He put such love into those paintings.
RC: I’ve read so much about Picasso, yet I’ve never heard anyone say what you just said: That he put so much love into the paintings. That’s a very interesting insight.
LC: I think so. He loved me, but as a beautiful inspiration.
____________________
RC: You were talking about the love that Picasso put into his work. Is this something that you felt intuitively?
LC: Well, I could feel. You know how, when you’re young, you feel people. He was not at all flirting. Not at all. He wasn’t the type to be an annoying old man. He was seventy-three. And he was like a father figure. But he tried to make me laugh. Taking me up in a little bedroom, he showed me the place, and suddenly he jumped on the bed, you know? And I thought: ‘That’s very funny; I’m not jumping too.’ You see? I thought he was playing a game with me, to make me relax.
____________________
RC: We read these stories about you posing for Picasso, and we try to imagine the feeling of the atmosphere. What were you picking up during those magical hours when you posed for him? What was the atmosphere like; what was he transmitting to you?
LC: Well, the excitement of being a creator. He was excited by my hair; the beauty of my face, I suppose. He saw lots of things. He loved the Greeks and the Egyptians, the Cycladic ladies. All toward the East from Vallauris. It’s a Mediterranean place, you know? The Greeks were very spiritual people, and Picasso, I’m sure, was very interested in them. I think he made me look like some of those people. Far away, looking in the distance. Inward, also. Because I think he could see something in me: that I had been hurt by my mother’s boyfriend, and he was very delicate about this. He could feel it, without me telling him anything.
RC: Your feelings told you that he could feel that.
LC: Yes; I knew he could. I could understand him. I think children often possess this ability. I was like a child, and I’m still childlike. That’s one thing. My mother ran away from religion, schools, everything. I was brought up on an island. Swimming, walking barefoot, playing with my brother in the sea. It’s actually wonderful to feel nature before you do anything else. So my mind was not working; and it’s still not working. I’m an instinctive person. And feel. And love people. And so, Picasso could feel all that, and he was interested in my presence.
____________________
RC: I wanted to discuss with you the relationship between the creative and the spiritual, which is a big part of your book, a big part of your life. How do you think Picasso saw this relationship? Was his work being channeled from a spiritual place?
LC: I think so.
RC: John Richardson even compares him to the shaman, to the shamanic tradition. What do you think about all that?
LC: Oui, I think he was interested in the spirituality from within, but not the Church, really. Something else. And I suppose he could sense this about me … because my mother brought us up like wild children. Actually, I think it’s a sad that children go to school too early, because they miss nature. And nature is a great teacher, a healing force. When my marriage broke down, I went up the hills here, with the river rolling down. And it’s healing to hear a river going under a bridge. Nature healed me. And the animals. I love cats and dogs … all animals. They healed me.
____________________
RC: In your memoir, you talk about a friend who became involved in a spiritual movement of some sort. And as soon as she did, she was no longer working artistically. I thought this was revealing in terms of the fact that a spiritual dynamic is often involved in creative work.
LC: Yes, an awakening into the inner, and the space of the universe, actually.
RC: How would you compare the meditative process in Subud, of “letting go and receiving,” to what you do as a painter? Is it a similar thing?*
LC: It’s the same, yes. You go into another dimension, another world. And you feel peaceful. You know, Jesus said, ‘When two or three are gathered, I am in the midst of them.’ Having contact with other people is very important, because you see different things. And you learn through contacts with different people. You learn a lot. Of yourself, and others.
____________________
RC: You say you heard a shout from behind the wall surrounding Picasso’s house.
LC: Yes, and we saw the Picasso painting. He was holding it above the wall. We saw that, and we knew it was an invitation to his garden; so off we went. Wonderful surprise! He was so friendly. Everybody rushed in. And then he said, ‘But I want to paint Sylvette.’ He knew my name already. He must have been doing a bit of research, from the top his mansion. [laughs] It was an old barn, actually. An old studio, with different rooms in it.
____________________
RC: Later on, you began to seriously pursue painting. “Rebirth – I Paint” is a chapter heading in your book. Talk about how painting gave you a sense of rebirth.
LC: Yes, because when I paint, I’m happy. I don’t get depressed. On the contrary, it uplifts me. I feel so happy when I don’t think at all. I go in another dimension. I paint all sorts of things. I love animals. I paint horses at the moment, and cats and dogs, but people mostly. When I did watercolors, I always did a table with a tablecloth, and it would make a still-life, and images of people would come around it. That’s why they say I’m a bit like Chagall. With Indian ink. But now I do more in oil and charcoal, together. I love that. And of course, I do my portrait in Picasso’s time, when I was young, and Lydia, all together.
RC: Your work is filled with lucidity, with the emanation of light. Tell me about your creative process.
LC: Well, there are things that inspire me. Nature, plants, flowers, people. And I do like some painters, whose work I look at, such as Kandinsky. And I like all the frescos in Italy: Assisi, Saint Francis. I love the spiritual works of art. And of course, Picasso inspires me. I do still lifes often, and then go around it, and make people around it. I like to do portraits of people, especially with charcoal. Then I might put some color around it. Children, I do like drawing children, and babies, with pen and ink.
RC: There’s a filigree quality to your work.
LC: I know. I love doing it, like writing a story. And making lots of water, so the black goes into the color, and makes shadows. You know how they call it: clair-obscure. That’s nice; I like that. Watercolor is really my best medium, because it flows like a story. I’m so used to it, I do it without thinking. I don’t know what I’m going to do at first; it depends on the flowers I’ve got on the table. I don’t know in advance. Something comes, often in the night. I’m a morning painter, but suddenly I get up with an idea. Or when I have a rest in the afternoon: ‘Oh, I must go and do this, quick.’
RC: I think there’s nothing more inspiring than a good night of sleep.
LC: I know; this is it. Because it allows you to be following your feelings and what’s happening, you know?
RC: Lydia, if you come to New York, you must promise me that we can pose together for a photo under the marvelous “Bust of Sylvette.”
LC: Oh, yes! That would be fun to do, wouldn’t it?
RC: And please tell your daughter ‘thank you’ for putting this book together. She did a marvelous job.
LC: Oui, she did very well, my lovely daughter! We did it together. I talked to her, because I couldn’t write it. Very clever girl, because she did it as if it were me talking, and it’s rather quite like me. And we used to cry together. It was very good for both of us.
_________________________
Notes:
*Although the site was landmarked in 2008, in 2010 NYU attempted to get permission to construct a fourth, even higher tower, which would have blocked the view of the bust. But because of fierce opposition to the project – which included a letter of protest from Sylvette herself – the plan was withdrawn.
*“Subud is an abbreviation of the words Susila Budhi Dharma. Susila means: right living of man concordant with the will of Almighty God. Budhi means: the force of the life power which is in man. Dharma means: submission, trust and sincerity toward Almighty God.” The goal is “to hopefully become human beings who really serve the creative force that heals and nurtures our universe as we know it.” Isabel Coulton, I Was Sylvette: The Story of Lydia Corbett (London: Endeavour London Ltd., 2016), p. 128.
For the complete interview, please see http://www.tygersofwrath.com/publications.htm