Picasso on Stalin

(Picture: Gabor B. Racz)

(Picture: author unknown)

(3.-4.11.2022) For mysterious reasons it was only in the July 1957 issue of the Atlantic Monthly that the journalist Carlton Lake published his reportage on a visit at Pablo Picasso, a visit that had taken place – as can be concluded from certain details – shortly after Picasso’s 75th birthday – with bouquets still standing around in the villa La Californie at Cannes –, shortly after October 25, 1956, this is, and this means also: still during the Hungarian crisis, or better the Hungarian Uprising, and thus at a time of extreme political tensions in the world, which looked at Hungary, but also at Egypt (and the Suez Crisis).
Early in this very year of 1956, in February, Nikita Khrushchev had initiated de-Stalinization with his so-called ›Secret Speech‹. And for mysterious reasons the reportage by Lake, who was to become notoriously famous several years later (for publishing a very controversial book on Picasso in collaboration with Françoise Gilot in 1964), Picasso biographers have never fully taken into account what Picasso said to Lake, which is: what Picasso said to Lake on Stalin, the crises in Poland and Hungary in the wake of the ›Secret Speech‹, and on his political stance in general. Does Pablo Picasso not deserve fair biographical writing? Does Pablo Picasso not deserve his political stances to be represented accurately and in a balanced manner? We think that he does. And it is fairly strange that, up to the present day, Picasso biography does leave much to be desired in that respect. Below we relate what Picasso, according to Lake, had to say on Stalin, communism, and the Communist Party, and we will put, what Picasso had to say, it its context (of the year of 1956), but also in the context of Picasso biography in general, and we will start with looking at what Picasso biographers were actually doing in 1956 (and, regarding the matter of Picasso’s political stance) also later, respectively up to the present day.

A Coming and Going of Biographers

The year of 1956 saw – very literally – a coming and going of Picasso biographers – in Picassos’s villa at Cannes: Antonina Vallentin was finalizing her biography which covers Picasso’s life up to January 1956, and paid a last visit on a rainy day in January 1956 at La Californie (which she recounts in her book). Patrick O’Brian, however, had lost direct access to Picasso due to not being close to his now-companion, Jacqueline Roque. The actual eyewitnesses in 1956 were Roland Penrose, who already was doing research for his biographical project as well as he was seeing Picasso on countless occasions, and who was keeping journals (which have been published in 2006), and John Richardson, who, in contrast to Penrose, had not yet such plans, although he was actually editing (and publishing in 1956) a book on Picasso’s watercolors and gouaches. John Richardson was around occasionally, had not the slightest inkling (as he acknowledged later) what was going on politically, tended to ignore the political Picasso (because Richardson found him rather embarrassing), and said later that it was Pierre Daix who had the best knowledge of the political Picasso. For Daix, Picasso was to become a sort of father figure, not because Picasso was a model for Daix in how he was dealing or had dealt with political affairs. The relation Daix-Picasso was to become rather complex, because Daix was embarking on the painful process of turning away completely from communism, which resulted in memoirs, re-written memoirs, and countless other publications, in which Daix, again and again, attempted to reflect on what had happened in his life, with the deepest regret being associated to the fact that Daix had been, after the Second World War, and after surviving the concentration camps of the Nazis, a denier of the Gulag. In that process of turning away, step by step, from communism and to become, politically, a different person, working on Picasso must have been a help for Daix, and being around him must have offered countless occasions to discuss things, although it is far from being clear if, at such occasions, the matter of communism was rather discussed or avoided, between the two men. Picasso, on the other hand, must have observed Daix in his development as a human, and probably drew his own conclusions. The relation between the two men would deserve a study on its own. In 1956 they had seen each other probably on a number of occasions, but due to a car accident (Daix had been on his way to see Picasso), less often as perhaps had been the case without this accident.

Picasso on Stalin

To describe the political Picasso is an ambiguous matter, since it means to face a paradox: the political Picasso tended to be rather unpolitical. Which means that Picasso, as often has been said and rightly said, was rather unpolitical by nature: not drawn to analyse political ideologies or day-to-day-politics. Picasso sympathized with certain ideals (or with people expressing such ideals), was rather well-informed (also due to countless informants around him, which, however and again paradoxically, caused also confusion and contradiction), and: he was thrown, as a rather unpolitical person, into every political controversy imaginable. Due to his fame his allegiance was, in the context of the Cold War, but also in countless minor contexts, a precious asset sought after by anybody. Picasso had not only the financial means to support this or that project (which he did, secretly or openly) – it was his fame that turned any political move of the rather unpolitical artist into something that could have major repercussions on the public stage, and, potentially, in every corner of the world.
Picasso certainly had chosen his political allegiance rather negligently. In retrospect one does wonder why he had not chosen just to be a fellow-traveller of the French Communist Party (PCF) or of international communism. But he had chosen to be a member. And, in 1956 as before, he was and acted as a walking advertisement of the PCF, whose leadership was loyal to and wanted to remain loyal to Stalin (also after 1956, after the ›Secret Speech‹, and after Hungary).
Picasso’s loyalty to the PCF as well as to international communism, on the other hand – and this is again a paradox – did not necessarily include a loyalty to Stalin, nor an identification with Stalin. And this, for Maurice Thorez, the leader of the PCF, was different. For Picasso the PCF meant ›family‹, and he was and remained a friend also of the Thorez family, also after 1956, but in contrast to Thorez, Picasso could dismiss Stalin relatively easily, just because his identification with the person of Stalin or with what Stalin represented ideologically had been rather superficial. In 1956, at the time of the Hungarian Uprising, Picasso could simply state and concede: ›Stalin was bad, I did not know it (but this does not change my sympathizing with communist ideals for the moment, although also things In Poland and Hungary are not looking good).‹ And that was it. And this is what he did. Without any of his biographers obviously taking notice of that move (Penrose, for example, knowing the reportage by Carlton Lake, only briefly quoted from it in his biography, obviously perceiving as the actual substance only the (true) fact that Picasso declined to break with communism and to leave the party). But Picasso, always according to Lake, did not only make a brief statement, but explained his political stance to the journalist:

»Picasso raised his eyebrows, then relaxed, smiled. ›Look,‹ he said, ›I’m no politician. I’m not technically proficient in such matters. But Communism stands for certain ideals I believe in. I believe Communism is working toward the realization of those ideals.‹ He paused ever so briefly and then, before I had a chance to speak, picked up the question that was beginning to formulate itself in my thought. ›You'll ask me, ›what about Stalin?‹‹ he said. Well, what about him? You would have said he was no good – but you didn’t know that; you only thought it. Well, I thought he was. It turned out that I was wrong. But is that any reason why I should renounce the ideals I believe in? Let’s say I were a Catholic and I met a priest who was no good – a worthless type in every sense of the word. He’s all the bad things you can think of. Is that any reason why I should give up believing in Christianity? There are all kinds of perfectly authentic stories about the sins of the Church in the Middle Ages. Some of the Popes were horrible creatures. But should I – as a Christian – in view of that, give up my adherence to the ideals I believe in? Eh bien, non!‹

Jacqueline leaned toward Picasso. ›Perhaps you should make things perfectly clear,‹ she suggested, ›by saying you have no intention of resigning from the Party.‹ Picasso nodded. ›That’s right. I have no intention of resigning. Things look bad in Poland and Hungary, I know, but I’m not quitting the Party just for that. I don't say the world can’t find the cure for its ills under the capitalist system, but thus far it hasn’t made very impressive headway.‹ He studied me for a brief moment, then said, ›I don't understand why Americans are so concerned about Communism, anyway. Especially, about whether some individual is a Communist or not.‹ I had the impression, from the way he put it, that he was not expecting an answer. I shifted my gaze to Jacqueline. She had slumped back into her easy chair. Picasso stayed silent. I felt that he had talked politics as long as he cared to.«

What Picasso had to say is remarkable in its frankness (and also clarity). Compared with Daix, and compared with many other communist intellectuals after 1956, Picasso had not to/did not embark on a complicated inner de-Stalinization. He simply dismissed Stalin, and that was it. One may ask if this was enough (and if this stance did not spare a more substantial coming to terms with the past; and if, in a certain sense, Daix did that – for himself, but possible also for Picasso), and one may ask also, if Picasso did too little to make his political stance clear, but on the other hand it was not necessarily his fault, that the reportage by Carlton Lake was only published half a year later, and that almost everyone seems to have overlooked Picasso’s rather frank explanations.

Picasso’s Political Stance Put in Context

There are photos of Picasso, taken by David Douglas Duncan in 1957, which shows Picasso listening to Yves Montand passionatedly debating with the journalist Georges Tabaraud (while also the latter’s wife, as well as Simone Signoret are present). This happened after Montand had come back from a concert journey to the Soviet Union (followed by a tour through the whole Eastern bloc), and Picasso, in his own house, showed as an attentive listener who contributed little to the discussion (which is also backed by the memoirs of those being present at the time, including the photographer).
Montand is representing, at this occasion, the fellow-traveller of the French Communist Party, who was to turn away later from communism. Tabaraud, who also left memoirs, is representing, here, at this occasion the more ardent communist, and got lectured by Montand (who had met the whole leadership of the Soviet Union in the flesh after one of his concerts in Moscow). Picasso, saying little, was still the walking advertisement of the PCF (as well as of international communism).
The drama of the communist intellectual in the 20th century has been described in terms of faith. And those historians analysing the drama in hindsight (see Kroll 2007) use faith and the process of losing one’s faith as a structural model of analysis. What Picasso told Carlton Lake in 1956, as to one not giving up one’s faith, even if the high priest of that faith turns out to be a bloody butcher, fits into this framework of analysis almost too perfectly. What happened was that Picasso, already at the end of 1956, had lost faith in Stalin (while others in his immediate environment wanted to remain loyal). The next step was losing one’s faith into the Soviet Union (and Picasso, according to Daix seems to have had hopes to some degree in Krushchev, after 1956), while one could still stick to the more abstract ideals of communism as well as to support the various revolutions in the global South. But the ›Communist Years‹ of Picasso (as was the title of a seminal monograph by Gertje R. Utley, published in 2000) are not being analysed in a balanced and fair way, if one (as Utley did) focusses primarily on the Stalinist years up to 1956, covers the year of 1956 only partially, and ignores what happened in the long late years of Picasso, up to the year of 1973, when he died. The late years have been neglected biographically, and it is significant that John Richardson could not finish his monumental project of Picasso biography, although he at least transmitted his memoirs of the 1950s by mean of various essays and numerous interviews. Picasso did turn away from Stalin, without saying so repeatedly; he also turned away from the Soviet Union to some degree (while he is said to always have loved everything Russian), and he did not give and probably never gave up the ideals of communism alltogether. The mere fact that he did not renounce his membership of the PCF, does not say that there was no inner de-Stalinization of Picasso at all. It happened in 1956, and it seems to have happened, after Picasso having digested the content of the ›Secret Speech‹, during the summer, more or less on the spot. But one can still criticize Picasso for not doing more, for not having done more, for not delving into the history of Stalinism, for not confronting the Stalinists in his own environment (like Thorez; a decisive figure for Picasso’s decision to join the party had certainly been the poet Paul Éluard, who had died in 1952) with the history of Stalinism, and for not raising and debating the question more actively, if not the whole project of communism was discredited (at least to some degree) with Stalin, with Stalin’s system, his methods and his crimes. For Picasso, in 1956, it was not (although his statement given above shows him also open for capitalism to reform), while others may have felt differently, as to communism, already in 1956.

Selected Literature:

Thomas Kroll, Kommunistische Intellektuelle in Westeuropa. Frankreich, Österreich, Italien und Grossbritannien im Vergleich (1945-1956), Köln 2007;
Maurice Thorez, Journal 1952-1964, Paris 2020;
David Douglas Duncan, Picasso & Lump. A Dachshund’s Odyssey, Salenstein 2006 [Picasso at table with Montand and Tabaraud: p. 36f.]

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