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It is always wonderful to arrive in Paris. If I could afford it I would live there. It has changed almost beyond recognition since John Dunbar and I visited in 1966 for me to buy the remaining stock from Gaït Frogé’s Libraire Anglais, that she was closing, and John arranging to represent Denise René’s artists in Britain, at our new Indica Books and Gallery. Fortunately, the built environment remains much the same, but you can no longer turn up in the Left Bank and wander around for a few blocks until you find a cheap room. Even in the 1970s the 6th arrondissement was filled with cheap hotels and cafés, but alas no more.
I was staying with my friends Catherine Marcangeli and Steve Shepherd in the 9th. Through them I have met a number of new friends – not so new anymore – and they are very much a central part of my understanding of what Paris is. On my first day there, the 5th April, the day Allen Ginsberg died, – I thought of him – we went out to Montreuil to visit Brunhild and Junya. I have written about Junya’s brilliant cuisine before so just one picture of it this time. It is always so nice to see them.
The next day Catherine and I went to the Leonora Carrington show at the Musée Luxembourg. There were a lot of juvenile works as well as a large selection of her later painting. As Catherine said, ‘It was very interesting’ but not exciting. This was a rare chance to see a large selection of Carrington’s work, and so valuable in that sense. We are not likely to get the chance again soon. She occupies an important part of the history of Surrealism but, with the odd exception, the work didn’t move either of us very much. Here are two I did like.
The Musée de la vie romantique has reopened after being closed for renovation so Steve and I went to see what they had done to it. It’s all much cleaner and newly painted. They’ve moved the ticket office for special shows and have rehung the entire display. Georges Sand has been brought down to eye-level and can now be seen on a wall instead of from across a room with a rope making you keep your distance. It remains one of my favourite museums in Paris.
Aside from seeing friends, I was in Paris to attend the vernissage of the much-delayed Brion Gysin show at the Musée d’art modern de Paris. I wrote one of the essays for the catalogue and Catherine translated it. Brion was an old friend. We first met at the end of 1965 through Ian Sommerville but I spent the most time with him in 1972 when I was describing William Burroughs’ archive in London. Brion came over from Paris to assist and took over Bill’s flat in Duke Street Saint James’s while Bill moved to a smaller flat in the same building. So for a month or so I worked each day with the both of them, though Brion was often out with his various boyfriends. He brought a pile of new material with him to add to the archive as well as some of his own papers, including his correspondence with Alice B. Toklas, which I sold on his behalf.
This was a very difficult period in Brion’s life. At the end of 1974 he developed colon cancer and underwent a number of horrific surgeries. I remember visiting him at the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead where he had his own room. A young man was sitting at the foot of his bed, wearing a Levi jacket and jeans. He casually rolled a huge spliff and fired it up, passing it immediately to Brion. He left shortly afterwards. I asked Brion if this was wise behaviour, as the smell of the joint was still very strong. Brion, who was suffering from extreme depression, beamed at me and began laughing. ‘My dear,’ he said. ‘That was the surgeon who operated on me!’ Brion had a West Indian nurse at the Royal Free who cared for him so well that Brion fell in love and wanted to marry her. They had little in common of course, but her concern and compassion was something that he was unused to, and which, in his vulnerable position, moved him deeply. Here’s Brion in 1972 at 8 Duke St St James’s, working with me on the Burroughs Archive.
The exhibition at MAM. began as a joint show of Burroughs and Gysin and the curators, Olivier Weil and Hélène-Florence Leroy came to London several times and went through the photographs and memorabilia in my collection while planning the show, but then many things changed. Burroughs got bricked out of the show and Hélène left MAM. Olivier continued on his own. Brion left hundreds of artworks to MAM so they had a lot to choose from in their own collection, but they also brought in things. The resulting show is superb. Olivier has told Brion’s story – much needed as most people have never heard of him or know little about him – but punctuated the narrative with carefully chosen works that certainly stopped me in my tracks. Sometimes Brion’s work is really beautiful. There were pieces there that I had not seen before as well as his 16.4 metre ‘Calligraffiti of Fire, his magnum opus. There are photographs and, of course, a Dreamachine that Jean-Jacques Lebel was convinced was turning at the wrong speed. Unfortunately, I was coming down with a nasty attack of bronchitis but managed to attend and not cough over anyone. Here’s a view of the hang and of Olivier and Hélène.
Two days later there was another private view, this time of a Gysin selling show held at the New Galerie. They had a collection of very desirable works and had also dedicated a room in the cave to documentary clips of Brion talking and being interviewed, some of which I had not seen. The crowd spread outside where tables and chairs were available and drinks and food brought in from the local café was served in the spring sunshine. It was a very pleasant scene. We had already booked a table for ten at Chez René, one of my favourite restaurants. Catherine has been going there for decades and introduced me to it. I had a very traditional meal of escargots followed by Rognon de veau entier in a mustard sauce – a portion big enough for three, well it does say ‘entier’. This is the place for andouillette and bone marrow, proper old-style French food.
