Dora Maar. Paris’ best in the 30’s

Exhilarating photography  by the surrealists  Thank you Equinoxio.

Equinoxio

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Dora Maar by Dora Maar. Paris. Mid 30’s. Amazing expo at Pompidou, July 2019.

Dora Maar, born Henriette Dora Markowitch in Paris in 1907, was a French photographer and artist who rose to fame in the 30’s. She knew only the best players of the time. Unfairly “catalogued” as “just one” of Picasso’s many lovers, she was a talented woman with a wide range of interest from photography to painting. The expo last year gave her justice.

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Model by Dora Maar, early 30’s. Maar set up a photo studio with Pierre Kiefer. I suppose it was easier for a woman then to present a “male” front. A male signature. Remember women in France did not vote until 1944-1946. The model above still represents the evolution of the time: hair cut short, a man’s jacket on a straight skirt.

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Fashion photograph. Mid 30s’

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Dora Maar experimented…

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Rotorelle sings

Visit the original to read this in full, so beautiful!

 

Woodsy the Performance Poet

Always a little wonky and a little wild and a little frayed, mainly because she was never entirely sure how to draw herself (even with the entire sky as her paintbox), 

Rotorelle swooped her way through strange and turbulent times…

and when people saw her, blazing a trail over angry protest marches, they raised their guns and their flags and their attitude mottos in her honour, expecting her to be a real badass.

But her song of choice, for all the vibrant colours of its melody, was a deeply gentle one.

It was the one song she could never ignore… the one song she could never switch off… the one song that caught in her breath and died in the sunset…

as vulnerable as the light from distant floating stars…

~~~~~~~

Such a tender face I saw,
dancing with all the things I’m not.

Such a tender face I saw,

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The huntress

TheFeatheredSleep

yes

She

knows her power

heaving out of her like

red clay forming stars

the power it has on

those who watch

unable to quit her

imperfection as much an aphrodisiac

as those fine lines converging into

her thin bones

drawn tight and ageless

she smiles a drowsy grin

down turned eyes glinting

the thin shake of her hair

sharp curve in high cheeks

noble and unrepentant

she has more confidence than you

with your excuses and your fumblings

could ever possess

if she’d taught you, she’d have said

no, no, no you’re doing it all wrong

if you want that woman to like you

be cold, be indifferent

and occasionally, throw her a scrap

don’t ever show her your full regard or

the depth of your eyes

heft her over your shoulder when the time comes

take her to a dark place and without apology

do what you must, thinking…

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