Picasso and the pathology of cubism

The Am in Psychorherap!, Vol. 8 pp. 165-173, Ankho International PICASSO AND THE PATHOLOGY BRANDON Carl Gustav Jung, who in his voluminous writings attempted to grapple with the spiritual problems of the modem soul, wrote only twice about modern artists. The first was a review of Joyce’s Ulysses,’ and the second was a short essay on Picasso.2 Both pieces of writing contain remarkable insights into the conflicts endured by both artists and point the way to an understanding of how the fragmentation so typical of the modem work of art contributed to its function both as autobiography and therapy. On the subject of Joyce’s book, Jung is not flattering. He writes to Joyce from the Hotel Elite in Zurich that the book “has presented the probworld . . . an upsetting psychological lem. . . . (it) has given me no end of trouble and I was brooding over it for about three years until I succeeded to put myself to it . . . I also don’t know whether you will enjoy what I have written about Ulysses because I couldn’t help telling the world how much I was bored, how I grumbled, how I cursed and how I admired. . . .“3 The review itself, aside from stating how many times Jung went to sleep before reaching page 135,* is both a vehement declamation against the nihilism and tedium of the book, and at the same time a brilliant analysis of certain effects of modem “Utterly hopeless emptiartistic consciousness. ness is the dominant note of the whole book” writes Jung, “it not only begins and ends in nothingness, it consists of nothing but nothingness. It is all infernally nugatory. As a piece of technical virtuosity it is a brilliant and hellish monsterbirth.“5 He continues, however, to describe Ulysses as being “ ‘cubistic’ in the deepest sense because it resolves the picture of reality into an immensely *Dr. Taylor is Head of Research, Inc., 1981. Printed in the U.S.A. Winchester TAYLOR, OF CUBISM PhD* complex painting whose dominant note is the melancholy of abstract objectivity”6-and this is the first of many descriptions which, although applied to Joyce, could easily have been aimed at Picasso’s work, as indeed many were. But what was the nature of Jung’s interest in “cubistic” art? It is necessary to remember that Picasso was, by 1932, an international figure with a vast reputation as a, if not the, leading artist of the century; certainly the most fertile, the most challenging, and the most unpredictable of all the early moderns. The champion of cubism, venerated by the surrealists, leader of the “classical” revival of the 192Os, virtuoso draughtsman and child prodigy, he had been for thirty years one step ahead of virtually every tendency in European painting and sculpture. Jung, likewise, was by 1932 firmly established as a leader of modem thought, particularly on account of his opposition to Freud on the questions of infantile sexuality and the nature of religion. Jung’s position on modem art generally was completely hostile, notwithstanding his fascination for Joyce and Picasso, which remains extremely surprising for one whose interest in symbolisation, and in primitive patterns particularly, was so great. Indeed, it is generally assumed that Jung had no position on modem art which is worthy of the name; and I think this is in essence correct. The same could be said of Freud and Adler. And yet Jung’s short analysis of Picasso, if analysis it can be called, brings into the open an important feature of a great deal of early modem art, particularly (but not only) cubism. The excessively fragmented and disjointed School of Art, Hampshire, England. zyxwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVUTSR 0197-4556&l/030165-09$01.40/0 Copyright t 1981 Ankho International Inc. 166 BRANDON surface of a cubist picture still stands out, after all, as its most perplexing characteristic. Jung’s contribution was first of all to draw attention to this fact, and secondly-and much more controversially-to ask whether the fragmented picture, or in Joyce’s case the fragmented prose, bore any relationship to the clinical condition of schizophrenia, which is fragmentation of the personality. To raise the question at all is to answer it. perhaps, in the affirmative; however, neither Joyce nor Picasso succumbed to a schizophrenic illness at any stage of their lives. I shall argue that Picasso’s cubism represents less of a stylistic or formal revolution than a partially successful attempt on Picasso’s part to come to terms with certain of his conflicts. Although he had little awareness of art as a therapeutic instrument, this was the use to which it was unwittingly put. The success he achieved guaranteed him a measure of psychological control which he would not otherwise have enjoyed. Jung’s Picasso essay, published at the end of 1932, constitutes a review of the large retrospective exhibition of 460 of Picasso’s works which was staged in Paris and then in Zurich during that year.i It contained works from every period of Picasso’s career to that date, from the Evocation (Bur-iel ~~C~s~~~~~~~~s~ of the summer of 1902 to the cubist pictures painted at Horta in 1908, the Olga portrait of 1917, up to new works of 1932. On the evidence of his pictures Picasso appeared to Jung as a sick, certainly a tragic figure. His paintings generally “communicate no unified, harmonious feeling-tone” writes Jung, “but, rather, contradictory feelings or even a complete lack of feeling.” His symbolisations reveal an “alienation from feeling.“n The fractured and fragmented forms of Picasso’s cubism are then singled out for attention; and Jung equates these with psychic fracture in the artist. In the original version of his essay Jung says quite plainly that Picasso, like James Joyce, belongs to the schizophrenic category; but in a second version, and following complaints against the original article, he adds a disclaimer: I‘. o . I regard neither Picasso nor Joyce as psychotics” he writes, “but count them among a large number of people whose habitus it is to react to a profound psychic disturbance not with an ordinary psychoneurosis but with a schizoid syndrome”s: one in which, as we know from Jung’s other writings, there is a deep fracture between TAYLOR two or more parts of the mind, frequently taking the form of a failure of assimilation between conscious and unconscious contents. He goes on to comment on Picasso’s choice of subjectmatter-“ the ugly, the sick, the grotesque, the incomprehensible, the banal,“‘O and suggests that Picasso’s exploration of these themes is a psychological stratagem enabling him to escape from the “day-world” of conscious life. Jung unquestionably wavered on the question of whether Picasso-or Joyce-were the victims of a psychic “split.” In the Ulysses essay he is accommodating: “It would never occur to me,” he says disingenuously, “to class Ulysses as a product of schizophrenia. Ulq’sses is no more a pathological product than modem art as a whole.” It is “cubistic”; but “cubism is not a disease but a tendency to represent reality in a certain way-and that way may be grotesquely realistic or grotesquely abstract. The clinical picture of schizophrenia is a mere analogy in that the schizophrenic apparently has the same tendency to treat reality as if it were strange to him . . . with the schizophrenic (this) tendency usually has no recognizable purpose but is a symptom arising from the disintegration of the personality into fragmentary personalities (the autonomous complexes). In the modem artist it is not produced by any disease in the individual but is a collective manifestation of the time. . . . Just because it is a collective phenomenon it bears identical fruits in . . . painting as well as literature, in sculpture as well as architecture.” in the case of Van Gogh, however, Jung is prepared to be dogmatic: “it is . . . significant,” he writes, “that one of the spiritual fathers of the modem movement-Van Gogh-was actually schizophrenic.“” Jung’s inability to draw the line between modem artistic consciousness and his clinical experiences with split personality disorders can be ascribed partly to the unfamiliarity of modem art when contrasted with the productions of his own artistic heroes-Goethe, Dante, Nietzsche and Wagner. The contrast between the two brought out a resentment and a hostility in Jung which he found difficult to reconcile with the hypnotic fascination exerted by the modem work which he saw and read. Having thus pointed the way, however, Jung’s insights have been developed by others. Anton Ehrenzweig has explored the fractured nature of early modem art and has attempted to develop PICASSO AND THE PATHOLOGY Jung’s comment that “far from his work being an expression of the destruction of his personality, the modem artist finds the unity of his artistic personality in destructiveness.“‘* Ehrenzweig offers a basically similar proposition: that the cubist picture contains both fragmentation and unity, that beneath the surface shattering there is a unifying structure which prevents the dismembered parts from collapsing into chaotic disorder. Picasso avoids the total fracture of the psychotic personality and emerges, in Ehrenzweig’s account, as one for whom the tendency towards dissociation is constantly warded off by his success in extemalising his fragments and containing them within a structured unity. Ehrenzweig also postulates that the cubist picture-and modem art in general-stimulates two distinct types of ‘attention. At the conscious level of the surface there is discrimination between parts. Attention is focused and sharp, and visible are the facets and fragments. Then there is a wandering, unfocused attention which perceives the underlying scheme-and it is certainly true that the cubist picture encourages this wandering mode, disallowing the eye to rest at any single place. “This kind of low-level scrutiny,” writes Ehrenzweig, “can overcome the superficial impression of chaos and disruption and appreciate the stringent formal discipline underneath. This hidden order redeems the near-schizoid character of the excessive fragmentation found in so much modem art.“13 The major difficulty with Ehrenzweig, however, is that the subtlety of the development of cubism is lost sight of altogether. All cubist pictures reduce to the same phenomenon of surface shattering held together by a deeper unity. But the process of cubism, from 1907 or 1908 through to 1913 or 191Athis is ignored, just as Jung could see little but psychic fracture and dissociation in the whole of Picasso’s early career. A related defect in Ehrenzweig’s account is that the vital content of cubist art, the objects and personalities which undergo the fragmentation are passed over in silence as if process -these they scarcely existed. In actual fact the real nature of Picasso’s cubism during these six or seven years is still unclear, despite the many attempts which have been made to make it comprehensible, or perhaps because of them. The conventional view is still essentially that of A. H. Barr, who, in his OF CUBISM 167 pioneering Cubism and Abstract Art of 1936, describes the movement from an “analytical” phase to a “synthetic” phase in much the same terms that are employed by historians today. Barr zeroes in upon Braque’s pictures of 1911 in which imitation letters and textures give “an emphasis not upon the reality of depicted objects but upon the reality of the painted surface.“14 By 1913 the shapes of depicted objects have become virtually abstract, invented rather than derived. Barr concludes: “Their texture further adds to their independent reality, so they may be considered not a breaking down or analysis, but a building up or synthesis,” a development which, Barr argues, is completed by the incorporation of collage in 1912. A more recent theory is that of Robert Rosenblum, which essentially follows the same line as Barr’s. Rosenblum summarises cubism as “the dialectic between the representation of objects in space and the assertion of the reality of the picture plane.“15 The essential concepts are the texture of the surface and the representation of objects in depth; in both accounts cubism is described as a kind of oscillation between the two. Another oft-repeated “line” on cubism is to emphasise the idea of simultaneity in which, supposedly, different aspects of an object or figure are depicted from different points of view in the same image. The idea seems to have started with Apollinaire, who found that poetry-or creative endeavour generally-was uniquely capable of overcoming the fragmented nature of remembered experience: it could create a new unity in the present which contained all the previously incompatible elements in a new synthesis. But this notion has all the shortcomings of much of Apollinaire’s art criticism: it has a certain lyrical appeal; however it does not fit the facts. Actually, the inclusion of different points of view of the same object is a rare occurrence in any phase of cubist art. I believe, contrary to Barr and Rosenblum, that the correct account of cubism actually begins from somewhere near the point where Jung’s analysis ends, with the visible fact that cubist art is one of fragmentation and fracture. From this point onward, however, the details are complex and easy to miss. Picasso’s path, which was radically different from Braque’s at every point, was essentially one of conflict followed by resolution: of first of all BRANDON 168 embodying emotional conflict in visual form and then, having done this, of resolving those same conflicts by means which are inherent in that same visual language. The first, analytic, phase, is essentially one of tremendous violence and destruction, while the second, synthetic, phase, is one of relative calm and serenity; the passage from one to the other is essentially a complex and protracted therapeutic exercise in self-disclosure and analysis. That, I believe, is the essence of how cubism really functioned for Picasso. One notices the first signs of fracture in Picasso’s art in the Gertrude Stein portrait of 1906. Miss Stein’s face, as is well known, presented Picasso with a considerable problem, and the portrait was left for some weeks, finished except for the face. When the face was added, on Picasso-s return from Gosol in the autumn of 1906, it assumed the character of a mask, detached from the remainder of the body and yet sufficiently “in place” to register as the centre of Miss Stein’s depicted presence. It is probably the first of Picasso’s works to contain a visible “split” between one bodily part and another. The shattering process truly erupts in the preparatory work for the so-called Demoiselles D’Avignon. Traces of serenity which remained in his sketches of heads up until the winter of 1906-7 suddenly give way, in the early months of 1907, to a profound sense of unease. Violent striations take over as the preferred manner of modelling. The eyes stare. The faces of his women become tortured and resentful. The cutting of the body, the violent dislocations inflicted on the human form; these are part and parcel of the beginning of Picasso’s cubism. Indeed bodily violence and cubist art appear for the first time as inseparable processes. It is impossible to imagine the one-at least in Picasso’s art-without the other. Picasso’s work of 1906-8 constitutes the first major phase of violence. And it is, in fact, strongly gender-specific. The women appear more anguished, more contorted and, I think, more remote, more aloof, than the male figures. While the women look out of the picture, staring at the spectator and artist alike, the men look *From among Simultaneism, the movement invented whose manifestations were the poems TAYLOR down, or to the side. They appear occupied, disengaged from the spectator, independent and “other.” In his art after the cubist phase Picasso’s distortions of the female figure are, if anything, more extreme-in the faces particularly. But equally, the female body is celebrated in its sensuousness (for example in the Marie-Therese Walter paintings and sculptures of 1931 and 1932), as if some compensatory action had by that time got under way; whereas no equivalent see-saw is found in the case of the male figures. It enables us to understand that the destruction and dismemberment which we associate with the cubist surface is inseparable from a deep destructive impulse in Picasso’s orientation towards women. The one is the necessary expression of the other. It is almost impossible not to notice that in the hundred or so pictures painted at the time of the Demoiselles the anguish and torment given to the women’s faces are the manifestation of an extremely strong impulse which, because of its irresolution, appears in canvas after canvas. What is known of a factual nature about Picasso’s relations with women? This is, of course, a subject on which final certainty can never be achieved, and is perhaps not desirable. Enormous quantities of indifferent journalism have, in any event, possibly obscured the truth for all time. Nevertheless one or two facts of significance may provide bearings in relating the anguished women of Picasso’s pictures-many of whom are anonymous-to the artist’s life. As a rough generalisation we can say that Picasso’s relations with all women were difficult, as well as being fairly short-lived. The Simultanist* poet Blaise Cendrars observed towards the end of Picasso’s life that he had “always known Picasso unhappy with women, from his first one to his last one . . , c’est le paintre des malaimbs. “I6 Picasso’s insecurity with his various women is well-enough known from other friends and commentators not to need extensive proof here. Perhaps the following comment from Francoise Gilot, who lived with Picasso from 1946 to 1953 and had two children by him, is revealing. It is by Blaise Cendrars and Apollinaire in Paris before and during of Cendrars and the paintings of Robert Delaunay. the first World War, PICASSO Fig. 1. Portrair Stein, 1946. of Gertrude Stein AND THE PATHOLOGY OF CUBISM zyxw 169 by Pablo Picasso 190.5-6.Oil on canvas. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Bequest of Gertrude 170 zyxwvutsrqpo Fig. 2. LES Dcmoiselles d’Avignon the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest. BRANDON TAYLOR by Pablo Picasso 1907. Oil on canvas. Museum of Modem Art, New York. Acquired through PICASSO AND THE PATHOLOGY from her bitter but often perceptive book Life With Picasso: “I had seen how Pablo refused to throw away anything, even an old matchbox that had served its purpose. Gradually I came to understand that he pursued the same policy with human beings. Even though he no longer had any feeling for this one or that one, he could not bear the idea that any of his women should ever again have a life of her own. And so each had to be maintained, with the minimum gift of himself, inside his orbit and not outside.“” Both this fragment and the entire book depict Picasso as a tender but ruthless individual who lived for art, sex and bullfights, in approximately that order. His women are loved but never left (as the quotation confirms). They are never loved wholly, however, but only in part: Marie-Therese Walter for her sexuality, Dora Maar for her conversation, Francoise Gilot for her youthful innocence. No relationship lasts; when broken, each one becomes an occasion for subterfuge and revenge. In his early life one can point to a difficult Oedipal triangle between Picasso and his two parents which takes the following form. Picasso’s father, Don Pepe Ruiz, is a skilled but minor professional artist who, according to legend, stopped painting when his son was thirteen years old on account of the son’s superiority in academic drawing. lx Picasso subsequently fell out with his father and excluded his name from his own, taking instead his mother’s maiden namePicassc+as his own. And what of Picasso’s mother? It is in this relationship, of course, that we should normally expect to find the seeds of later conflicts. Much evidence points to a mother who was tyrannical and overbearing as well as loving. Francoise Gilot is reported as having explained Picasso’s self-induced exile from Spain-which began with his move to Paris in 1901-as an attempt, not principally to migrate to a more cosmopolitan artistic centre (which Paris unquestionably was) but to escape from the tyranny of his mother. lg In view of Picasso’s passionate defense of the Spanish people when they were most threatened in the 193Os, and his life-long self-identification as a Spanish artist, not a French one, there is every reason to equate his maternal conflicts with his patriotic ones: both relationships contain the same ambivalent mixture of love and hate. A different (but related) conflict appears to 171 OF CUBISM zyxwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcbaZYXWVU have stemmed from the birth of his sister Lola when Pablo was just over three years of age. Picasso remembered this event as having taken place “during an earthquake”-which is a significant enough memory whether the earthquake took place or not. His second sister, Conception, was born in 1887 and died four years later of diphtheria. It appears that a significant disturbance in Picasso was precipitated by both events. When his own daughter Maia was born to MarieThe&se in June 1935 Picasso apparently became consumed with guilt and misgiving. Having recently completed the most “positive” sensual pictures of his career, in celebration of his relationship with Marie-The&se, he stopped painting altogether until the following spring: he described it as “the worst time of my life.” With the inevitable benefit of hindsight one notices that this period from 193112 to 1935/6 is the only one in Picasso’s entire career when the fragmented and dismembered female form does not appear. Its suppression coincides exactly with his inability to work-and both are accompanied by deep personal unhappiness. Thus the early phase of Picasso’s cubism expressed these conflicts and made them visible in terms of his most natural expressive skill. But this idea, in its own turn, runs into difficulty, or seems to do so, around late 1909 and early 1910, which is the first time that the legibility of the depicted object begins to disappear. The difficulty which presents itself here is simply this: if what is being destroyed can no longer be seen in the painting, then what evidence is there that it is there at all? As I hinted earlier, to answer this question is at the same time to discover the true nature of the change from “analytic” to “synthetic” in the cubist development. Actually there can be no precise date at which legibility in Picasso’s cubism begins to wane. There are planes and angles in very early cubism-at the time of the Demoiselles-which in themselves cannot be confidently placed within any depictive scheme. The paintings done at Horta in the summer of 1909 contain some undecipherable elements, as well as some extremely violent bending and twisting in certain facets, as if bending and twisting could scarcely go further without something giving way. And there are some nude studies done in Paris in the spring of 1910, particularly the Albright- 172 BRANDON Knox Nude Figure, which appear to consist of straight lines, regular circular curves, and dappled shading; the nude subject being implied from the appearance of earlier painting rather than evident on its own terms. But then comes the important series of works done at Cadaques in the summer of 1910 in which, for the first time, the subject matter is almost totally screened from view by the manner of its representation. The change which overcame Picasso in this sequence, and the change which was decisively realised at Cadaques during that summer, was what Kahnweiler perceptively described as follows: “He (Picasso) returned to Paris . . . dissatisfied after weeks of painful struggles, bringing with him his unfinished work. But he had taken the great step forward. He had shattered the closed form.“20 For after the summer of 1910, the conspicuously aggressive, implosive style of the earlier work, buckling and bending under the tremendous emotional weight it had to carry, gradually gave way to a system of forms in which energy is no longer dammed up under uncontrollable pressure, but flows evenly from one pictorial compartment to the next-as if surface tension had been suddenly abreacted and allowed to spill outwards to the picture’s edges. To watch the progress of Picasso’s paintings during this summer is to witness a more-or-less sudden release of energy, like a bursting bubble, as if a discovery had been made or a problem overcome. But the process of resolution continues. The emotional tension of the earlier work having now been released, the question then, around mid1910, was how to continue using the painting as an expressive vehicle. Inevitably its content, or rather its manner of incorporating content, had to change-and that is a longer story. But gradually the vehicles which had borne the weight of the earlier conflicts, line and shading in particular, became reconciled one with the other. The result was the tonally uniform plane, disconnected from its neighbours in a relaxed and compatible disposition. Synthetic cubism had arrived: it was the “worked-through” version of what had previously been problematic and unresolved. The “shattering of the closed form,” which took place in 1910, may sound a trivial matter of no artistic or psychological consequence. Not so. The aggressive, destructive impulse which had TAYLOR governed Picasso’s cubism up to that point was, by hindsight, surely an anticipation of some form of emotional release to come. The succession of “analytic cubism” by “synthetic cubism” is the succession of tension and conflict by a period of relative resolution and calm. Viewed therapeutically, Picasso’s cubism was a document of unparalleled richness which shows how this process was experienced and lived through. I say “relative resolution” guardedly because in point of fact the conflicts which Picasso explored through his art were far from over-but that is also a longer story. Suffice it to point out here that the emotional release afforded by the breakthrough into synthetic cubism was also signified by a suppression of the female figure altogether. The figure as a *figure almost totally disappears, to be retained vestigially in clues and visual puns of an oblique kind. The famous example of this is the Ma Jolie picture of 191 l-2. The title (and the lettering of the picture) refer to the words of a popular song: “0 Manon, ma jolie, mon coeur te dit bonjour.” Its hidden subject is Picasso’s mistress, Eva Gouel. Picasso puts his affections on display as it were secretly. His suppression of the real figure of Eva coincides with his momentary freedom from his destructive demon. After Picasso’s death in 1973 Andre Malraux published a book which throws new light on the earlier destructiveness of the Demoiselles d’Avignon at the same time as settling a number of questions about the influence of Negro art on that phase of his work. Picasso is quoted as follows: “The Negro masks weren’t just like any other pieces of sculpture. Not at all. They were magic things. . . . The Negro pieces were intercesseurs, mediators; ever since then I’ve known the word in French. They were against everything-against unknown, threatening spirits. I always looked at fetishes. I understood; I too am against everything. I too believe that everything is unknown, that everything is an enemy! Everything! Not the details- women, children, babies, tobacco, playing-but the whole of it! I understood what the Negros used their sculptures for. . . DThey were weapons. To help people avoid coming under the influence of spirits again, to help them become independent. They’re tools. If we give spirits a form, we become independent. Spirits, the unconscious (people still weren’t PICASSO AND THE PATHOLOGY talking about that very much), emotion-they’re all the same thing. I understood why I was a painter. All alone in that awful museum, with masks, dolls made by the redskins, dusty manikins. Les Demoiselles d’Avignon must have come to me that day, but not at all because of the forms; because it was my first exorcism paintingyes absolutely!“21 The statement was recorded by Malraux in 1937. By that time Picasso had realised, retrospectively, that the image could function therapeutically as a quasi-magical device. His statement that “not the details” but “the whole of it” was the enemy is the generalised version of particular experiences in exorcism-or, as we might now say, of successful “workings-through.” That it took several hundred canvasses in the ‘short period between 1908 to 1912 is some measure, perhaps, of how resistant the troublesome material was. At any rate we owe it to Jung to have recognised the problem, even if he described it in slightly wrong terms. He refers to the demon inside. Picasso which drove him to create; “who follows not the accepted ideals of goodness and beauty, but the demoniacal attraction of ugliness and evil. It is these antichristian and Luciferian forces,” Jung continues, “which well up in modem man . . . veiling the bright world of day, infecting it with deadly decay, and finally, like an earthquake, dissolving it into fragments, fractures, discarded remnants, debris, shreds, and disorganised units.“22 The language may be apocalyptic, but the sentiments are surely right. It is only regrettable that the great psychologist saw only an “alienation from feeling” in the tortured canvasses of Picasso’s art. It is more convincing to regard Picasso’s journey through his conflicts as one of bravery and daring, even if it was a journey travelled under compulsion. Picasso did not have to succumb to his conflicts because he was able to extemalise them. As another writer put it (in the amount of canvas Pi1946): “Undoubtedly casso has covered is the purchase price of his psychic stability.“23 No statement could more adequately convey the way in which Picasso was able to save himself from himself. He was constantly able to repair the “inner split” whenever it began to threaten. Picasso’s cubist phase is but OF CUBISM 173 one example of how modem painting has functioned as a therapeutic tool.*’ NOTES 1. C. G. Jung. Ulysses: A Monologue, Europaischc Revue. Berlin, Sept 1932; reprinted in Jung’s Collected Works, Vol 15 (Ed: Sir Herbert Read and others. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966), pp 109-134. Hereafter referred to as Ulv~ses. 2. C. G. Jung. Picasso, Neue Zurcher Zeitung, Nov 13, 1932; reminted in Jung’s Collected Works. Vol 15 (Ed: Sir Herbert Kead and-others. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966), pp 135-141. Hereafter referred to as Picusso. 3. C. G. Jung, Letrer ro Joyce; Collected Works. Vol 15, p 134. 4. Twice-the third time being on p 135. 5. U/ysses, lot. cit. p 110. 6. Ci/ysJes, lot. cit. p 117. 7. At the Galeries Georges Petit in Paris and at the Kunsthaus in Zurich. 8. Picasso. lot. cit. pp 137-138. 9. Picus.so. lot. cit. fn 3, p 137. 10. Picrrsso, lot. cit. p 138. 11. Ulysses. lot. cit. p 117. 12. Li/.vsses, lot. cit. p 118. 13. A. Ehrenzweig, T/le Hidden Order of Art. London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1967, p 82. 14. A. H. Barr, Cubism and Abstract Art. New York: Museum of Modem Art, 1936, p 78. 15. R. Rosenblum, Cubism and Tnzentierh CenruF Art. London: Thames & Hudson, 1960, p 10. 16. B. Cendrars, in Le Figaro Litreruire. Paris, June 11 and 18, 1955. I7 Francoise Gilot and Carlton Lake, Life x’ith Picasso. London: Thomas Nelson, 1955, pp 232-233. 18. Mary Mathews Gedo, in her Arr as Exorcism: Picasso’s Demoiselles d’Avignon, Arfs Mrrgazine, Ott 1980, p 76, says that Picasso became “extremely dependent” on his father and was “quite panicked” when separated from him. One also notices that despite Picasso’s extreme good health he was ill on two occasions very shortly after a separation from his father; the first time was in the spring of 1898. following a severe falling out with his father; and the second time was in the summer of 1913, following his father’s death. 19. M. M. Gedo, lot. cit. p 72 and fn 12. 20. D-H. Kahnweiler, Confessions Esrheriques. Paris, 1963, p 29. 21. A. Malraux, Picasso’s Musk. Translated and annotated by June Guichernaud, with Jacques Guichemaud. New York: Macdonald and Jane’s, 1976, pp l&11. 22. Picusso. lot. cit. pp 138-139. 23. F. Wieht. Picasso and the Unconscious. In G. Schiff. Picnsso in Perspective. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1976: p 131. 24. Earlier versions of parts of this essay appeared in Pablo Pirusso 18814973: A Centerurn Celebrurion. Fine Art Letter No 4, Summer 1981, Winchester, England, and are included here with the editor’s permission.