Pop Art Pioneer Sculpture Eduardo Paolozzi From Studio Foot Plaster

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Seller: memorabilia111 ✉️ (808) 100%, Location: Ann Arbor, Michigan, US, Ships to: US & many other countries, Item: 176284773308 POP ART PIONEER SCULPTURE EDUARDO PAOLOZZI FROM STUDIO FOOT PLASTER. Eduardo Paolozzi VERY RARE PLASTER FROM HIS ATUDIO MEASURING APPROXIMATELY 7 X 4 1/2 X 2 3/4  INCHES  Sir Eduardo Luigi Paolozzi CBE RA was a Scottish sculptor and artist. He is widely considered to be one of the pioneers of pop art.


1924 Born 7 March in Leith, Edinburgh. Eduardo Luigi Paolozzi, first child of Maria and Rudolfo Paolozzi 1940 Interned when Italy declared war on Britain and quickly released. Father and maternal grandfather interned and then killed when the transport boat they were on to Canada was torpedoed 1941-3 Attends Edinburgh College of Art 1943 Conscripted into the army Met future wife Freda Elliott 1944 Discharged from army as unfit for service Attends the Ruskin Drawing School of Drawing at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford 1945 Transferred to the Slade School of Fine Art, which had moved to Oxford during the war, where it shared the facilities of the Ruskin Drawing School Enrolled on Sculpture and Drawing diploma course at Slade. Taught sculpture by A.H. Gerrard. Studied modeling from Antique and life; stone carving, lettering and various technical processes involved in the production of sculpture Made friends with William Turnbull and Nigel Henderson. Met Margaret Gardiner, Roland Penrose, John Davenport, Peter Watson and E.C. (Peter) Gregory 1946 Modelled concrete sculpture for first one-man exhibition. Made collages with images of ancient sculpture and mechanical parts taken from books 1947 Drawings by Eduardo Paolozzi, Mayor Gallery (January) Resigns from Slade and moves to Paris. Visited by William Turnbull and Freda Elliott. With Nigel Henderson visited Musée de l’Homme and met Léger, Arp, Braque, Brancusi, Balthus, Dubuffet, Tristan Tzara, Hélion and Alberto Giacometti 1948 An Exhibition of Recent Drawings by Eduardo Paolozzi, Mayor Gallery Begins to make sculptures inspired by Wentworth d’Arcy Thompson, Growth and Form 1949 Eduardo Paolozzi – Drawings and Bas-Reliefs, Mayor Gallery Returns from Paris to live in London. Lived briefly with Lucian Freud in St John’s Wood, Margaret Gardiner in Hampstead and Nigel & Judith Henderson in Bethnal Green. Shared studio with William Turnbull Towards end of year or early 1950 started teaching textile design part-time at Central School of Art and Design (until 1955) 1950 Kenneth King, Eduardo Paolozzi, William Turnbull, Hanover Gallery – exhibited six sculptures in bronze and plaster Meets the architects Jane Drew and Maxwell Fry 1951 Fountain installed at Festival of Britain site by Royal Festival Hall Arts Council of Great Britain commissioned Cage Married Freda Elliott 1952 Exhibited at 1st Fitzroy Street exhibition Bunk! lecture at ICA Exhibited at 2nd Fitzroy Street exhibition Included in New Aspects of British Sculpture, British Pavilion, Venice Biennale with Robert Adams, Kenneth Armitage, Reg Butler, Lynn Chadwick, Geoffrey Clarke, Bernard Meadows, Henry Moore and William Turnbull Visits Venice, Viticuso and Naples Awarded British Critics’ Prize 1953 Finalist, International Sculpture Competition: The Unknown Political Prisoner Fountain design for Bundesgartenschau, Hamburg Exhibited at 3rd Fitzroy Street exhibition Co-curated Parallel of Life and Art, ICA, with Nigel Henderson, and Peter and Alison Smithson 1954 Founded Hammer Prints Ltd with Nigel & Judith Henderson Collages and Objects, ICA, exhibited Time collages and Psychological Atlas scrapbook First child born, Louise Carmella Paolozzi Studio at Dorothy Morland’s home in Hampstead 1955 Mother died Eduardo Paolozzi – Work in Progress, ICA (members’ room) Taught sculpture part-time at St Martin’s School of Art (until 1958) 1956 This is Tomorrow, ‘Patio and Pavilion’ with Henderson and Smithsons An Experiment with Child Art – An Exhibition by Eduardo Paolozzi, ICA (members’ room) Won William and Noma Copley Foundation Award Begins to incorporate found objects into surface of sculpture 1957 Eduardo Paolozzi, Nigel Henderson, Arts Council Gallery, Cambridge Second child born, Anna Francesca 1958 Image-Making-God Breaking lecture, ICA – projected images of crashed cars, aircraft, and explained his artistic process as the ‘metamorphosis of rubbish’ Paolozzi Sculpture, Hanover Gallery Visited United States 1959 The Developing Process, ICA Included in New Images of Man exhibition, MoMA, New York Moved studio to Dovehouse Street, Chelsea 1960 Eduardo Paolozzi, Betty Parsons Gallery, New York Third child born, Emma Naomi Exhibited 22 bronzes from 1956-8 at Venice Biennale Won David E. Bright Foundation Award for Best Sculptor under 45 Appointed advisor on sculpture and design at Hochschule für bildende Künste, Hamburg Sculpture, Drawings and Collages by Eduardo Paolozzi, Manchester City Art Gallery Meets Gabrielle Kieller 1961 Develops designs for sculpture in gunmetal and alloys. Collaborates with C.W. Juby’s Alpha Engineering Works, Ipswich to make these sculptures Won Watson F. Blair Prize, Chicago Made the film The History of Nothing in 1961 or 1962 1962 Paolozzi, Betty Parsons Gallery, New York Started making screenprints with Christopher Prater 1963 Eduardo Paolozzi, New Works, Waddington Galleries Visited New York, Mexico and South America 1964 Began collages for As Is When Began colouring sculptures Eduardo Paolozzi: Recent Sculpture, Robert Fraser Gallery Eduardo Paolozzi: Sculpture, MoMA, New York 1965 Eduardo Paolozzi: Sculptures, Drawings and Collages, Hatton Gallery, Newcastle As Is When published by Editions Alecto Made the film Kakafon Kakkoon 1966 Eduardo Paolozzi, Recent Sculpture (A Selection of Works from 1963 to 1966), Pace Gallery, New York Collaboration with Jim Dine Eduardo Paolozzi: Sculpture; Prints, Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh Eduardo Paolozzi, Recent Sculpture (A Selection of Works from 1963 to 1966), Robert Fraser Gallery 1967 Eduardo Paolozzi, Anthony Caro, Kröller-Müller, Rijksmuseum, Otterlo Eduardo Paolozzi: Sculpture and Graphics, Hanover Gallery Eduardo Paolozzi: New Sculpture and Screenprints, Pace Gallery, New York Universal Electronic Vacuum published Won Pittsburgh International sculpture prize 1968 Awarded CBE Eduardo Paolozzi: Seriegrafieën Appointed Visiting Lecturer, Art Department, University of California, Berkeley Eduardo Paolozzi: A Print Retrospective, Worth Ryder Art Gallery, University of California, Berkeley Eduardo Paolozzi, Hanover Gallery Began part-time teaching of ceramics at Royal College of Art Eduardo Paolozzi, Plastik und Graphik, Städtische Kunsthalle, Düsseldorf 1969 Paolozzi, Plastiken, Graphik, Würtembergischer Kunstverein, Stuttgart Kunstgebaüde am Schlossplatz; and Kunsthaus, Hamburg Eduardo Paolozzi, Complete Graphics, Galerie Mikro, Berlin Eduardo Paolozzi: An Exhibition of Original Sculpture, Drawings, Prints and Enlarged Black and White Photographs, Kunstmuseum, Göteborg Visited Japan 1970 Eduardo Paolozzi, Skulpture og grafik, Kunstmuseum, Aarhus 1971 Eduardo Paolozzi, Tate Gallery Made film Mr Machine 1972 Eduardo Paolozzi: The Conditional Probability Machine, St Katharines Gallery, St Andrews University Cleish Castle commission 1973 Eduardo Paolozzi: Bunk, Victoria & Albert Museum 1974 Began Charles Ives screenprints Began Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD) fellowship in Berlin Cast reliefs at Noack Foundry Eduardo Paolozzi, Skulpturen, Reliefs, Zeichnungen, Grafik, Galerie Wentzel, Hamburg Eduardo Paolozzi, Kestner-Gesellschaft, Hannover, touring exhibition 1975 Eduardo Paolozzi, Skulpturen, Zeichnungen, Collagen, Staatliche Museen Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin Eduardo Paolozzi, Handzeichnungen, Collagen, Druckgrafik, Kunsthalle, Bremen Commissioned to make doors for the new Hunterian Art Gallery, Glasgow 1976 Eduardo Paolozzi, New Reliefs and Sculpture, Marlborough Fine Art Eduardo Paolozzi: Recent Work, Fruitmarket Gallery, Edinburgh Eduardo Paolozzi: Sculpture, Drawings, Collages and Graphics, Arts Council touring exhibition Eduardo Paolozzi, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa, toured Canada 1977 Eduardo Paolozzi: Collages and Drawings, Anthony d’Offay Gallery Eduardo Paolozzi, Holzreliefs, Zeichnungen, Prägerdrucke, Holzstiche, Galerie Renate Fassbender, Munich The Complete Prints of Eduardo Paolozzi: Prints, Drawings, Collages 1944-77, Victoria & Albert Museum Appointed Professor of Ceramics at Fachhochschule, Fachbereich Kunst und Design, Cologne 1978 Eduardo Paolozzi, Kleinplastiken, Zeichnungen, Graphik, Kasseler Kunstverein, Kassel 1979 Eduardo Paolozzi: The Development of the Idea, Crawford Art Centre, St Andrews University Eduardo Paolozzi: Work in Progress, Kölnischer Kunstverein, Cologne Commissioned by Crown Estate Commissioners to design Cooling Tower, for Drummond Gate, London SW1 Commissioned by City of Mönchengladbach to make wall relief Elected Royal Academician Awarded Honorary Doctorate, Royal College of Art 1980 Commissioned by London Transport to make mosaics for Tottenham Court Road Underground station Appointed to redevelop Rhinegarden, Cologne British Railways Board commission Piscator for Euston Square Installation of doors for Hunterian Art Gallery 1981 Commissioned by Redditch Development Corporation to make mosaics for Milward Square, Kingfischer Shopping Centre, Redditch Appointed Professor of Sculpture at the Akademie der bildenden Künste, Munich (until 1990) Won Saltire Society Award for the Hunterian Art Gallery doors Elected Honorary Member of Architectural Association 1982 Commissioned by City of Cologne to design playground for Schulzentrum Köln-Pesch Commissioned by Bundesgartenshau 1985 to design Catastrophe Fountain for Massiner Weg park, Berlin 1983 Eduardo Paolozzi, Kunst und Bau, Architectural Projects, Aedes Galerie für Architektur und Raum Eduardo Paolozzi: Druckgrafik, DAAD Galerie, Berlin Awarded Grand Prix d’Honneur, 15th International Print Biennal, Ljubljana 1984 Eduardo Paolozzi: Private Vision – Public Art, The Architectural Association Eduardo Paolozzi: Graphics and Sculpture, New Metropole Arts Centre, Folkstone Eduardo Paolozzi, Hefte der Akademie der bildenden Künste, Munich Eduardo Paolozzi, Recurring Themes, Royal Scottish Academy, Edinburgh Elected to Council of the Architectural Association 1985 Paolozzi Underground, Royal Academy Studierende bei Eduardo Paolozzi, Akademie der bildenden Kunst, Munich Commissioned by the Secretary of State for the Environment to make On This Island for the Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre Curated Lost Magic Kingdoms and Six Paper Moons from Nahuatl, Museum of Mankind Elected Fellow of University College, London University Victoria & Albert Museum bought The Krazy Kat Arkive For Leonardo made for lawn in front of Alte Pinakothek, Munich On This Island installed at Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre Appointed Her Majesty’s Sculptor in Ordinary for Scotland Eduardo Paolozzi: Köpfe, Skulpturenmuseum Glastkasten, Marl 1987 Eduardo Paolozzi: Sculptures From a Garden, Serpentine Gallery The Artist as Hephaestus installed at 34-36 High Holborn 1988 Marriage dissolved, Paolozzi Portraits, National Portrait Gallery Appointed trustee of National Portrait Gallery Unter Heldern und Göttern, Eduardo Paolozzi und Junge Bildhauer der Müncher Akademie in der Glyptothek, Glyptothek, Munich Eduardo Paolozzi: Small Things, Victoria & Albert Museum 1989 Knighted The Concept of Newton installed Kowloon Park, Hong Kong Eduardo Paolozzi: Nullius in Verba, Talbot Rice Gallery, Edinburgh Eduardo Paolozzi: Made in Munich, Akademie Galerie, Munich Installation of Polygraphia Nova, Stadtsparkasse Ungerstrasse, Munich Appointed Visiting Professor, Royal College of Art Eduardo Paolozzi, Arche Noah, Puppentheatermussem, Stadtmuseum, Munich Installation of Newton after James Watt, Design Museum 1990 Eduardo Paolozzi: Mythologies, The Scottish Gallery Retired from Professorship of Sculpture at Akademie der bildenden Künste, Munich Elected Corresponding Member of Die Bayerische Akademie der bildenden Künste, Munich Installation of Master of the Universe, Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh Made Egypt for Wilhelm Lehmbruck Museum, Duisberg Commissioned by British Library to make a sculpture for the new British Library, St Pancras 1991 Awarded Goethe Medal at a ceremony in Frankfurt Appointed Cavaliere Officiale, Ordine al Merito della Republica Italiana Eduardo Paolozzi: Works from Germany, Goethe Institute, London Installation of The Manuscript of Monte Cassino, Picardy Place, Leith Walk, Edinburgh 1993 Installation of The Wealth of Nations, Royal Bank of Scotland HQ, Edinburgh Installation of Athena, London Oratory School 1994 Eduardo Paolozzi, 70th Birthday Exhibition, Yorkshire Sculpture Park, Wakefield Sculpture in the Close, Jesus College, Cambridge Paolozzi Foundation set up 1995 Installation of Newton after Blake, British Library Announcement of substantial gift of works and archival material to National Galleries of Scotland, and of plan to dedicate the Dean Gallery to the display of Paolozzi’s work 1996 Curated ‘Eduardo Paolozzi: The Jesus Works and Store; An Attempt to Describe an Indescribable Film’, Spellbound: Art and Film, Hayward Gallery Eduardo Paolozzi: Artificial Horizons and Eccentric Ladders, Works on Paper 1946 to 1995, British Council touring exhibition Visiting Lecturer, Edinburgh College of Art 1997 Installation of Parthenope and Egeria at the Michael Swann Building, Institute of Cell and Molecular Biology, Edinburgh University Newton after Blake, British Library, unveiled 1998 Deed of gift to National Galleries of Scotland signed 1999 Dean Gallery, Edinburgh opened. Displays and installations of Paolozzi’s work, including Vulcan 2000 Installation of Vulcan, Central Square, Newcastle Faraday unveiled at Birmingham University 2005 22 April died Eduardo Paolozzi (1924–2005) Paolozzi There is almost no British artist of the post-War period who was as innovative as Eduardo Paolozzi. Known primarily as a sculptor, he is widely credited with inventing Pop Art through his ground-breaking slideshow at the Institute of Contemporary Arts in 1952, which featured the collages he had made from magazines given to him by American servicemen in Paris in the late 40s. It was in Paris that Paolozzi had met some of the great figures of 20th century art, including Giacometti and many of the original Surrealists,  whose dual influence can be felt in the extraordinary group of lost-wax sculptures made by Paolozzi in the mid 1950s, their surfaces studded with found objects and machine parts, which were to gain him international recognition. Paolozzi  was constantly re-inventing himself and his work of the 60s, 70s and 80s is defined by its diversity, both of medium – sculpture, reliefs, drawings, collages, mosaics, prints – and form – veering from the highly coloured and wildly figurative to the almost monochromatic and abstract. As well as being the focus of public exhibitions at such institutions as the Royal Academy, the National Portrait Gallery and the Victoria & Albert Museum, he has works in major public collections worldwide, including the Tate Gallery, the National Gallery of  Modern Art, Edinburgh,  and the  Peggy Guggenheim Collection, Venice. Sir Eduardo Luigi Paolozzi CBE RA (/paʊˈlɒtsi/,[1][2] Italian: [paoˈlɔttsi]; 7 March 1924 – 22 April 2005) was a Scottish sculptor and artist. He is widely considered to be one of the pioneers of pop art. Contents 1 Early years 2 Career 3 Later career 4 Notable works 5 Other work 6 Writings 7 See also 8 Sources 9 External links Early years Paolozzi's I was a Rich Man's Plaything (1947) is considered the first standard bearer of Pop Art and first to display the word "pop". Paolozzi showed the collage in 1952 as part of his groundbreaking Bunk! series presentation at the initial Independent Group meeting in London. Eduardo Paolozzi was born on 7 March 1924, in Leith in north Edinburgh, Scotland, and was the eldest son of Italian immigrants. In June 1940, when Italy declared war on the United Kingdom, Paolozzi was interned (along with most other Italian men in Britain). During his three-month internment at Saughton prison his father, grandfather and uncle, who had also been detained, were among the 446 Italians who drowned when the ship carrying them to Canada, the Arandora Star, was sunk by a German U-boat.[3] Paolozzi studied at the Edinburgh College of Art in 1943, briefly at Saint Martin's School of Art in 1944, and then at the Slade School of Fine Art at University College London from 1944 to 1947, after which he worked in Paris. While in Paris from 1947 to 1949, Paolozzi became acquainted with Alberto Giacometti, Jean Arp, Constantin Brâncuși, Georges Braque and Fernand Léger. This period became an important influence for his later work.[4] For example, the influence of Giacometti and many of the original Surrealists he met in Paris can be felt in the group of lost-wax sculptures made by Paolozzi in the mid-1950s. Their surfaces, studded with found objects and machine parts, were to gain him recognition.[5] Career After Paris, he moved back to London eventually establishing his studio in Chelsea. The studio was a workshop filled with hundreds of found objects, models, sculptures, materials, tools, toys and stacks of books.[6] Paolozzi was interested in everything and would use a variety of objects and materials in his work, particularly his collages.[7] In 1955 he moved with his family to the village of Thorpe-le-Soken in Essex. Together with Nigel Henderson he established Hammer Prints Limited, a design company producing wallpapers, textiles and ceramics that were initially manufactured at Landermere Wharf, and when his evening course in printed textile design at the Central School of Art and Design attracted the Trinidadian graphics student Althea McNish, he was instrumental in pointing her towards her future career as a textile designer. Paolozzi came to public attention in the 1950s by producing a range of striking screenprints and Art brut sculpture. He was a founder of the Independent Group in 1952, which is regarded as the precursor to the mid-1950s British and late 1950s American Pop Art movements. His seminal 1947 collage I was a Rich Man's Plaything is considered the earliest standard bearer representing Pop Art.[8][9][10] He always described his work as surrealist art and, while working in a wide range of media though his career, became more closely associated with sculpture. Paolozzi is recognized for producing largely lifelike statuary works, but with rectilinear (often cubic) elements added or removed, or the human form deconstructed in a cubist manner. Paolozzi sculpture (1982) near Pimlico station of the London Underground system He taught sculpture and ceramics at several institutions, including the Hochschule für bildende Künste Hamburg (1960–62),[11] University of California, Berkeley (in 1968) and at the Royal College of Art. Paolozzi had a long association with Germany, having worked in Berlin from 1974 as part of the Berlin Artist Programme of the German Academic Exchange Programme. He was a professor at the Fachhochschule in Cologne from 1977 to 1981, and later taught sculpture at the Akademie der Bildenden Künste in Munich. Paolozzi was fond of Munich and many of his works and concept plans were developed in a studio he kept there, including the mosaics of the Tottenham Court Road Station in London.[7] He took a stab at industrial design in the 1970s with a 500-piece run of the upscale Suomi tableware by Timo Sarpaneva that Paolozzi decorated for the German Rosenthal porcelain maker's Studio Linie.[12] Paolozzi's graphic work of the 1960s was highly innovative. In a series of works he explored and extended the possibilities and limits of the silkscreen medium. The resulting prints are characterised by Pop culture references and technological imagery. These series are: As Is When (12 prints on the theme of Paolozzi's interest in the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein; published as a limited edition of 65 by Editions Alecto, 1965); Moonstrips Empire News (100 prints, eight signed, in an acrylic box; published as a limited edition of 500 by Editions Alecto, 1967); Universal Electronic Vacuu (10 prints, poster and text; published by Paolozzi as a limited edition of 75, 1967); General Dynamic Fun. (part 2 of Moonstrips Empire News; 50 sheets plus title sheet; boxed in five versions; published as a limited edition of 350 by Editions Alecto, 1970). In the 1960s and 1970s, Paolozzi artistically processed man-machine images from popular science books by German doctor and author Fritz Kahn (1888–1968), such as in his screenprint "Wittgenstein in New York" (1965), the print series Secrets of Life – The Human Machine and How it Works (1970), or the cover design for John Barth's novel Lost in the Funhouse (Penguin, 1972). As recently as 2009, the reference to Kahn was discovered by Uta and Thilo von Debschitz during their research of work and life of Fritz Kahn.[13] Later career Paolozzi mosaic designs for Tottenham Court Road Station. Location shown is the Central Line westbound platform (1982). Paolozzi was appointed CBE in 1968[14] and in 1979 he was elected to the Royal Academy. During the late 1960s, he started contributing to literary magazine Ambit, which began a lifelong collaboration. In 1980, the Institute of Chartered Accountants in England and Wales (ICAEW) commissioned a set of three tapestries from Paolozzi to represent 'present day and future societies in relation to the role played by ICAEW', as part of the institute's centenary celebrations. The three highly distinctive pieces - which Paolozzi wanted to "depict our world of today in a manner using the same bold pictorial style as the Bayeux tapestries in France" - currently hang in Chartered Accountants' Hall.[15] He was promoted to the office of Her Majesty's Sculptor in Ordinary for Scotland in 1986, which he held until his death. He also received an Honorary Doctorate from Heriot-Watt University in 1987.[16] Paolozzi was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II in 1989 as Knight Bachelor (Kt).[17] In 1994, Paolozzi gave the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art a large body of his works, and much of the content of his studio. In 1999 the National Galleries of Scotland opened the Dean Gallery to display this collection. The gallery displays a recreation of Paolozzi's studio, with its contents evoking the original London and Munich locations and also houses Scottish-Italian a restaurant, Paolozzi's Kitchen, which was created by Heritage Portfolio in homage to the local artist.[6] In 2001, Paolozzi suffered a near-fatal stroke, causing an incorrect magazine report that he had died. The illness made him a wheelchair user, and he died in a hospital in London in April 2005. In 2013, Pallant House Gallery in Chichester held a major retrospective Eduardo Paolozzi: Collaging Culture (6 July −13 October 2013), featuring more than 100 of the artist's works, including sculpture, drawings, textile, film, ceramics and paper collage. Pallant House Gallery has an extensive collection of Paolozzi's work given and loaned by the architect Colin St John Wilson, who commissioned Paolozzi's sculpture Newton After Blake for the British Library. Notable works The mosaic patterned walls of the Tottenham Court Road tube station. Some of these were removed as part of a redevelopment of the station, and were donated to the collection of the University of Edinburgh.[18][19] The cover of Paul McCartney's album Red Rose Speedway The ceiling panels and window tapestry at Cleish Castle The Piscator sculpture outside Euston Station, London Relief aluminium doors for the University of Glasgow's Hunterian Gallery The bronze sculpture Newton after Blake, 1995, in the piazza of the British Library The Manuscript of Monte Cassino, an open palm, a section of limb and a human foot, located at Leith Walk, looking towards Paolozzi's birthplace Leith The Head of Invention sculpture in front of the Design Museum in Kensington The sculpture A Maximis Ad Minima in Kew Gardens at the west end of the Princess of Wales Conservatory The mosaics in Redditch Town Centre The Athena sculpture in the foyer of the John McIntosh Arts Centre at The London Oratory School The Faraday sculpture at the University of Birmingham The Artist as Hephaestus, displayed on High Holborn from 1987 to late 2012 Figure, on loan from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, is currently on display as part of Landmarks, the public art program of The University of Texas at Austin. His work Figure, on loan from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, is currently on display as part of Landmarks, the public art program of The University of Texas at Austin. Other work Eduardo Paolozzi played a deaf-mute in Lorenza Mazzetti's 1956 Free Cinema film Together, alongside the painter Michael Andrews. A photograph of Paolozzi's large, well-worn right hand was selected by Lord Snowdon as the cover image for his book Photographs by Snowdon: A Retrospective (August 2000). Writings Eduardo Paolozzi by Eduardo Paolozzi, Tate, London, 1971 Recurring themes by Eduardo Paolozzi, Rizzoli (1984), ISBN 978-0-8478-0573-0 Metafisikal Translations by Eduardo Paolozzi, Lelpra, London, 1962 Eduardo Paolozzi (1924-2005) was one of the most innovative and irreverent artists of the 20th century. Considered the ‘godfather of Pop Art’, his collages, sculptures and prints challenged artistic convention, from the 1950s through to the Swinging Sixties and advent of ‘Cool Britannia’ in the 1990s. This major Eduardo Paolozzi retrospective spans five decades and features over 250 works; from the artist’s post-War bronzes, revolutionary screen-prints and collages, to his bold textiles and fashion designs. Pop Art pioneer Eduardo Paolozzi was a sculptor and printmaker whose large-scale public commissions transformed spaces including the British Library courtyard and the London Underground. Born in Edinburgh to Italian parents, Paolozzi grew up reading American magazines and pasting pictures he liked into a scrapbook; a habit that would eventually inform some his most iconic works. In 1940, when Italy entered World War II in support of Germany, the teenage Paolozzi was interned as an enemy alien. His father and grandfather were put on a ship to Canada and drowned when it was targeted by a German U-boat. After being released from internment, Paolozzi was conscripted and served a year in the army before faking madness to secure a discharge. He studied art in Edinburgh and London before moving to Paris in 1947, where he met Georges Braque, Constantin Brancusi and Alberto Giacometti. The same year he produced the collage I Was A Rich Man’s Plaything, retrospectively deemed one of the first examples of Pop Art. Paolozzi didn’t display the work until 1952, when he presented it with over 40 other collages at the inaugural meeting of what became known as the Independent Group. Founded by Paolozzi and artists including photographer Nigel Henderson and sculptor Richard Hamilton, the Group championed the use of found objects and popular culture in art. In 1956 they staged This is Tomorrow, a groundbreaking exhibition at the Whitechapel Gallery in which they transformed the space into a series of immersive installations. Paolozzi worked prolifically throughout the 1960s, holding several teaching positions, experimenting with sculpture and continuing to develop his screenprinting. One of his most notable works from this time is As Is When, a series of prints inspired by the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein. He was appointed a CBE in 1968 and elected a Royal Academician in 1979. In 1986 Paolozzi completed one of his best-known commissions: the vibrant mosaics at Tottenham Court Road underground station. Years after his death, fears that the mosaics were to be permanently removed sparked a public petition demanding the decision be reversed. In 1995 Paolozzi completed Newton after Blake, a colossal statue that sits in the forecourt of the British Library. Depicting Sir Isaac Newton hunched over drawing diagrams with a compass, the bronze brings to three-dimensional life a 1795 monotype by Sir William Blake. Paolozzi was knighted in 1989 and by the end of his life was one of the country’s best-known artists. He died in April 2005 and left a major bequest to the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art. His works are now presented in a designated Paolozzi Studio in Modern Two, recreating the chaos of Paolozzi’s own workspaces. Eduardo Paolozzi J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 1 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 2 Eduardo Paolozzi Archaeology of a Used Future : Sculpture 1946 –1959 Jonathan Clark Fine Art in association with The Paolozzi Foundation Texts by Peter Selz & John-Paul Stonard Photography by David Farrell J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 3 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 4 5 Foreword Simon Hucker fig.1 Krokodeel 1956, bronze, h.36 in / 92 cm Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 5 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 6 7 Dubuffet’s paintings and sculptures as well as his art brut collection. The French artist’s use of old and discarded materials, the coarse surfaces of his pictures, his grotesques, were perhaps most important. In his Statement in the catalogue of New Images, Dubuffet quoted Joseph Conrad speaking of “a mixture of familiarity and terror” which certainly applies to Paolozzi’s bronzes. Although entitled with heroic names such as Sebastian, Jason, Icarus, Japanese War God, Cyclops, they are clearly 20th century existential anti-heroes, expressing the human predicament. In the introduction to the catalogue of New Images, I spoke of an art produced by painters and sculptors working in the aftermath of Auschwitz and Hiroshima, being acutely aware of what Nietzsche called “the eternal wounds of existence.” The exhibition at MoMA , the high altar of modernism, caused mixed reactions. To see it, was basically a tragic experience. Furthermore, it was an international show at a time when the Museum’s International Council, with unrevealed support from federal agencies, supported the exhibitions of the Abstract Expressionists as signifiers of American freedom: The Triumph of American Painting as the American art critic Irving Sandler Eduardo Paolozzi: A Personal Recollection Peter Selz I first encountered Paolozzi’s work when I saw his St. Sebastian No2 at the Guggenheim Museum in 1958. Here was this solitary figure, made of a conglomeration of machine parts and all kinds of detritus, which the sculptor metamorphosed into a tattered figure with a large encrusted head, a ramshackle torso and thin legs. It appeared like a relic from the distant past and a robot of a perilous future. Then I saw a show of small bronzes by this sculptor at Betty Parsons, the prime gallery of the new American painting. I was selecting work for my forthcoming exhibition New Images of Man at the Museum of Modern Art at that time and decided that this Italian-Scottish artist had to be in the show. The core artists of that international exhibition of the New Figuration were Giacometti, Dubuffet, de Kooning, Pollock (the late black-white figurative paintings), Bacon, and among younger artists Leon Golub, Richard Diebenkorn, Karel Appel, César, Nathan Oliveira and H.C. Westermann. It was during a 3 year stay in Paris in the late 1940s that Paolozzi met Braque and Balthus, came in contact with the Surrealists, saw Mary Reynolds’ collection of leftover relics by Duchamp, admired the “presence” of Giacometti’s tall figures and J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 7 8 would arrogantly entitle his 1976 book on the movement. A few years after the show, in 1964, when Robert Rauschenberg was given the first prize at the Venice Biennale, the French critic Pierre Restany, usually supportive of American art, protested at “ the aura of cultural imperialism around the Americans”.¹ In this xenophobic atmosphere major European sculptors like Paolozzi or Eduardo Chillida did not receive the attention they deserved. As the art historian Dennis Raverty later observed, “It could be argued that an exhibition that placed Europeans on an equal footing (with the Americans) was sure to arouse hostility at that time, as would a show that gave such an important place to sculpture”.² Today New Images of Man has assumed a notable place in the history of 20th Century art: on a visit to the Tate in 2005 I noticed that one gallery, showing several of the artists of the 1958 exhibition, was called “New Images of Man”, with excerpts from my catalogue introduction as a wall label. In 1964, fascinated by the changes that had occurred in the artist’s work, I curated a small show of four new sculptures and As Is When screenprints at MoMA. Paolozzi now focused on modern technology and worked with technicians to execute his ideas. He used geometric elements, had them cast in corrosive aluminum, used in the aircraft industry and produced industrial collages. One of the pieces from this show, Lotus (1964) was acquired by the Museum. It is a sculpture in which a relief of concentric circles on a square slab is mounted on tubular legs and can be seen as an industrial version of his St.Sebastian of the previous decade. In 1968, when I had left MoMA to become the founding director of the Berkeley Art Museum, I was able to have Paolozzi invited for a lectureship at the University of California. Eduardo was my house guest during his semester at Berkeley. Thinking that I was in charge of the practice of art department at the university, he would address me in his commanding voice, telling me that industrial processes and techniques must be brought in, instead of old-fashioned academic teaching. When I responded that the Bauhaus had gone in that direction, he replied that it was about time for this to happen here. In his own work at the time, Paolozzi was occupied with making screenprints largely based on the life and writings of Ludwig Wittgenstein. We also talked about the metal sculptures which he had produced previous to his time here: they were given these highly polished mirror surfaces to reflect their surroundings. Unlike the work of his contemporaries, David Smith and Anthony Caro, Paolozzi’s sculptures are not mere objects of pure form, but engage with the world in which we exist. During his time in California, he went to Disneyland, the wax museums in San Francisco and Los Angeles, to Frederick’s lingerie show rooms and Paramount Studios in Hollywood. He also spent time at the University’s Computer Center, Stanford University’s Linear Accelerator Center, Douglas Aircraft Company in Santa Monica and the General Motors Assembly Plant in Hayward. Paolozzi always saw art, especially his own, in its cultural context: earlier he focused on products of mass communication such as newspapers or publicity brochures, now he used industrial techniques for his chromed steel and polished aluminum in his search for what he called “the sublime in everyday life”. Notes 1) Pierre Restany, “La XXXII Biennale di Venezia”, quoted in Serge Guilbaut (ed), Reconstructing Modernism ( Canbridge, The MIT Press, 1990) p.400. 2) Dennis Raverty, “Critical Perspectives on New Images of Man, Art Journal, Winter 1994,p.65 fig.2 St. Sebastian I 1957, bronze, h.68 in / 173 cm Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 8 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 9 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 10 11 Introduction to ‘New Images of Man’ Exhibition Catalogue, MoMA, 1959 Peter Selz Marsyas had no business playing the flute. Athena, who invented it, had tossed it aside because it distorted the features of the player. But when Marsyas, the satyr of Phrygia, found it, he discovered that he could play on it the most wondrous strains. He challenged beautiful Apollo, who then calmly played the strings of his lyre and won the contest. Apollo’s victory was almost complete, and his divine proportions, conforming to the measures of mathematics, were exalted in fifth-century Athens and have set the standard for the tradition of Western art. But always there was the undercurrent of Marsyas’ beauty struggling past the twisted grimaces of a satyr. These strains have their measure not in the rational world of geometry but in the depth of man’s emotion. Instead of a canon of ideal proportion we are confronted by what Nietzsche called “the eternal wounds of existence.” Among the artists who come to mind are the sculptors of the Age of Constantine, of Moissac and Souillac, the painters of the Book of Durrow, the Beatus Manuscripts, and the Campo Santo; Hieronymus Bosch, Gruenewald, Goya, Picasso and Beckmann. Again in this generation a number of painters and sculptors, courageously aware of a time of dread, have found articulate expression for the “eternal wounds of existence.” This voice may “ dance and yell like a madman” (Jean Dubuffet), like the drunken, flute-playing maenads of Phrygia. The revelations and complexities of mid-twentiethcentury life have called forth a profound feeling of solitude and anxiety. The imagery of man which has evolved from this reveals sometimes a new dignity, sometimes despair, but always the uniqueness of man as he confronts his fate. Like Kierkegaard, Heidegger, Camus, these artists are ware of anguish and dread, of life in which man – precarious and vulnerable – confronts the precipice, is aware of dying as well as living. Their response is often deeply human without making use of recognizable human imagery. It is found, for instance, in Mark Rothko’s expansive ominous surfaces of silent contemplations, or in Jackson Pollock’s wildly intensive act of vociferous affirmation with its total commitment by the artist. In the case of the painters and sculptors discussed fig.3 Japanese War God 1958, bronze, h.60 in /152 cm Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 11 12 here, however, a new human imagery unique to our century has been evolved. Like the more abstract artists of the period, these imagists take the human situation, indeed the human predicament rather than formal structure, as their starting point. Existence rather than essence is of the greatest concern to them. And if Apollo, from the pediment of Olympia to Brancusi’s Torso of a Young Man, represents essence, the face of Marsyas has the dread of existence, the premonition of being flayed alive. These images do not indicate the “return to the human figure” or the “new humanism” which the advocates of the academies have longed for, which, indeed they and their social-realist counterparts have hopefully proclaimed with great frequency, ever since the rule of the academy was shattered. There is surely no sentimental revival and no cheap self-aggrandizement in these effigies of the disquiet man. These images are often frightening in their anguish. They are created by artists who are no longer satisfied with “significant form” or even the boldest act of artistic expression. They are perhaps aware of the mechanized barbarism of a time which, notwithstanding Buchenwald and Hiroshima, is engaged in the preparation of even greater violence in which the globe is to be the target. Or perhaps they express their rebellion against a dehumanization in which man, it seems, is to be reduced to an object of experiment. Some of these artists have what Paul Tillich calls the “courage to be,” to face the situation and to state the absurdity. “Only the cry of anguish can bring us to life.” But politics, philosophy and morality do not in themselves account for their desire to formulate these images. The act of showing forth these effigies takes the place of politics and moral philosophy, and the showing forth must stand in its own right as artistic creation. In many ways these artists are inheritors of the romantic tradition. The passion, the emotion, the break with both idealistic form and realistic matter, the trend towards the demoniac and cruel, the fantastic and imaginary – all belong to the romantic movement which, beginning in the eighteenth century, seems never to have stopped. But the art historian can also relate these images to the twentieth-century tradition. Although most of the works show no apparent debt to cubism, they would be impossible without the cubist revolution in body image and in pictorial space. Apollinaire tells us in his allegorical language that one of Picasso’s friends “brought him one day to the border of a mystical country whose inhabitants were at once so simple and so grotesque that one could easily remake them. And then after all, since anatomy, for instance, no longer existed in art, he had to reinvent it, and carry out his own assassination with the practised and methodical hand of a great surgeon.” Picasso’s reinvention of anatomy, which has been called cubism, was primarily concerned with exploring the reality of form and its relation to space, whereas the imagists we are now dealing with often tend to use a similarly shallow space in which they explore the reality of man. In a like fashion the unrestricted use of materials by such artists as Dubuffet and Paolozzi would have been impossible without the early collages by Picasso and Braque, but again the cubists were playing with reality for largely formal reasons, whereas the contemporary artists may use pastes, cinder, burlap or nails to reinforce their psychological presentation. These men own a great debt to the emotionally urgent and subjectively penetrating painting of the J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 12 13 expressionism from the early Kokoshka to the late Soutine. Like them they renounce la belle peinture and are “bored by the esthetic,” as Dubuffet writes. Like most expressionists these artists convey an almost mystical faith in the power of effigy, to the making of which they are driven by “inner necessity.” Yet the difference lies in this special power of the effigy, which has become an icon, a poppet, a fetish. Kokoschka and Soutine still do likenesses, no matter how preoccupied with their own private agonies and visions; Dubuffet and de Kooning depart further from specificity, and present us with a more generalized concept of Man or Woman. Much of this work would be inconceivable without Dada’s audacious break with the sacrosanct “rules of art” in favor of free self-contradiction, but negativism, shock value, and polemic are no longer ends in themselves. The Surrealists, too, used the devices of Dada – the rags, the pastes, the readymades, the found object – and transported the picture into the realm of the fantastic and supernatural. Here the canvas becomes a magic object. Non-rational subjects are treated spontaneously, semi-automatically, sometimes deliriously. Dream, hallucination and confusion are used in a desire “to deepen the foundations of the real.” Automatism was considered both a satisfying and powerful means of expression because it took the artist to the very depths of his being. The conscious was to be visibly to the unconscious and fused into a mysterious whole as in Giacometti’s The Palace at 4 A.M., where the reference of each object within the peculiarly shifting space – the space of the dream – is so ambiguous as never to furnish a precise answer to our question about it. But all too often surrealism “offered us only a subject when we needed an image.” The surrealist artist wants us to inquire, to attempt to “read” the work, and to remain perplexed. In the City Square, which Giacometti fig.4 Jason 1956, bronze, h.66 in /168 cm Museum of Modern Art, New York J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 13 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 14 15 did sixteen years later, we are no longer dealing with a surrealist object. The space still isolates the figures, but instead of an ambiguous dream image we have a more specific statement about man’s lack of mutual relationship. Finally the direct approach to the material itself on the part of contemporary painters and sculptors, the concern with color as pigment, the interest in the surface as a surface, belongs to these artists as much as it does to the non-figurative painters and sculptors of our time. The material – the heavy pigmentation in de Kooning’s “Women,” the corroded surfaces of Richier’s sculpture – help indeed in conveying the meaning. Dubuffet was one of the first artists who granted almost complete autonomy to his material when he did his famous “pastes” of the early 1940s. Even Francis Bacon wrote: “Painting in this sense tends towards a complete interlocking of image and paint, so that the image is in the paint and vice versa… I think that painting today is pure intuition and luck and taking advantage of what happens when you splash the stuff down.” But it is also important to remember that Dubuffet’s or Bacon’s forms never simply emerge from an undifferentiated id. These artists never abdicate their control of form. The painters and sculptors discussed here have been open to a great many influences, have indeed sought to find affirmation in the art of the past. In addition to the art of this century – Picasso, Gonzales, Miró, Klee, Nolde, Soutine, etc. – they have learned to know primarily the arts of the nonRenaissance tradition: children’s art, latrine art, and what Dubuffet calls art brut; the sculpture of the early Etruscans and the last Romans, the Aztecs, and Neolithic cultures. When these artists look to the past, it is the early and late civilizations which captivate them. And when they study an African carving, they are enraptured not so much by its plastic quality or its tactile values, but rather by its presence as a totemic image. They may appreciate the ancient tribal artist’s formal sensibilities; they truly envy his shamanistic powers. The artists represented here – painters and sculptors, European and American – have arrived at a highly interesting and perhaps significant imagery which is concomitant with their formal structures. This combination of contemporary form with a new kind of iconography developing into a “New Image” is the only element these artists hold in common. It cannot be emphasized too strongly that this is not a school, not a group, not a movement. In fact, few of these artists know each other and any similarities are the result of the time in which they live and see. They are individuals affirming their personal identity as artists in a time of stereotypes and standardizations which have affected not only life in general but also many of our contemporary art exhibitions. Because of the limitations of space, we could not include many artists whose work merits recognition. While it is hoped that the selection proves to be wise, it must also be said that it was the personal choice of the director of the exhibition. Notes New Images of Man ran at the Museum of Modern Art, New York, from 30 September to 29 November 1959 and featured works by, among others, Francis Bacon, César, Richard Diebenkorn, Jean Dubuffet, Alberto Giacometti, Willem de Kooning, Jackson Pollock and Germaine Richier, as well as three young British sculptors: Kenneth Armitage, Reg Butler and Paolozzi fig.5 Chinese Dog 2 1958, bronze, h.36 in / 91cm Peggy Guggenheim Collection, Venice J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 15 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 16 17 Eduardo Paolozzi once noted that he chose to become a sculptor because of a desire to create ‘things’.1 Things, rather than art: the distinction remained important for the rest of his life. For the eighteen-year old Paolozzi, ‘art’ meant the academic training at the Slade, where he studied: modelling from the antique, stone carving, copying from the old masters, life drawing, a general servitude to the traditions of western art. ‘Things’ meant, largely speaking, everything else: the substance of real life, objects that spoke of the contemporary predicament — worldly things. Following his studies at the Slade, and for the first two decades after the War, Paolozzi explored the contemporary predicament in a unique manner. His work evolved from the mysterious world of nature and animals, as with the small bronze Paris Bird (fig.12), to a series of monumental figurative works collaged from found objects, notably Jason (fig.4). By the early 1960s he had turned to a more abstract, architectural style in welded aluminium, for example The World Divides into Facts. Dazzling and physically imposing though works from this moment can be, they lack in many cases the fragile, exploratory quality of the early period, which remains the ‘classic’ moment of Paolozzi’s oeuvre, and attests to his position by the mid 1950s not only as a leading international sculptor, but also one of the most pungent interpreters of the conditions of post-War life. No artist responded more intuitively and with less self-consciousness to the quiddity of daily life, to the demands of place and time; from the rubble-strewn streets of postWar London, through to the growing materialism and economic revitalisation of the 1950s. In England at this time the dominant model for sculpture remained the classicism of Henry Moore, ‘so final and so convincing’, that it was necessary for a young sculptor to turn to European artists, and in particular to Picasso, to produce anything at all original.2 Even in his earliest sculptures, the now lost plaster version of Bull, 3 later cast in bronze (cat.1), a remarkably confident and expressive early work, and the several versions in cast concrete of Horse’s Head (cat.2), made outside the Academy in the basement of the Slade Student hostel at 28 Cartwright Gardens (‘in order not to be disturbed or criticised’),4 Paolozzi demonstrated this feeling that something better was being done elsewhere, and by other means: ‘the outer edge of Used Future: The Early Sculptures of Eduardo Paolozzi John-Paul Stonard J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 17 18 my soul was being tugged at by an invisible other world’, as he later put it.5 Horse’s Head strikingly anticipates the motif developed from the early 1950s by Paolozzi’s fellow Slade student William Turnbull. Turnbull had produced a sculpture of a horse’s head of almost exactly the same dimensions during the same year; which lacked however the simplified, cartoon-like nature of Paolozzi’s version.6 Picasso’s roughly carved, expressive natural forms, using animal and plant motifs, had a clear influence on the handful of ‘Picassoid’ sculptures he made at this time and showed at the Mayor Gallery in 1947 (the others were Seagull and Fish, and Blue Fisherman). He later recalled: ‘As the sculpture school had become intolerable I had spent the previous six months working in the basement making sculptures out of concrete and plaster, and black-and-white ink drawings heavily influenced by Picasso who was richly represented – [in] books from the shelves of Peter Watson who gave me his benedictions. Peter Watson at that time had bought a bronze chandelier designed by Giacometti and needed help to erect it. Consequently these Picassoid student works were reproduced, thanks to Peter, in the magazine Horizon with a wonderful text by Robert Melville, and were exhibited at the Mayor Gallery’.7 fig.6 Fishermen (Newhaven) 1946, ink on paper, 18 x 26 in / 46 x 66 cm Private Collection J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:27 Page 18 19 The Mayor Gallery exhibition, Paolozzi’s first oneman show sold out; a coup for the twenty-three year old artist, still a student. It was a sign of his obstinately independent nature that he used the proceeds to quit the London art world for Paris, departing, according to legend, with a tin trunk of his possessions, and living on next to no money — when Nigel Henderson visited, Paolozzi provided him with a list of basic items to bring, cooking ingredients and art materials. Life in Paris was a matter more of experience than productivity. His time was largely spent seeing art – from the ‘tiny hippopotami’ that he saw in a case in the Louvre on the first day he arrived,8 to the art collection of Mary Reynolds. It was a time of measuring himself against the remnants of the pre-War avant-garde – he arrived in time to visit the last large Surrealist group exhibition, ‘Exposition Internationale du Surréalisme,’ which opened at the Galerie Maeght in July. The catalogue featured Marcel Duchamp’s Prière de Toucher on the cover, and artists from twenty-five countries were represented, but it was clear that the pre-War spirit of Surrealism had not been recaptured – certain renegade figures, such as Tristan Tzara, were now criticising the movement on political grounds, and the social basis of the original group had dispersed. When it came to making work, however, the clear point of reference for the group of seven sculptures by Paolozzi that survive from 1948–9 was the pre-War work of Giacometti. Two Forms on Rod (cat.5) is often compared with Giacometti’s Man and Woman (1929), and echoes the harsh organic forms and psychological tension of the Swiss artist’s work of the 1930s.9 Similarly, Bird (1949, Tate), may at first glance suggest a direct comparison with Giacometti’s Woman with her throat cut (1932), and Table Sculpture (Growth) (cat.6), with La table, made by Giacometti in 1933. It was the directness and pungency of Giacometti’s sculptures that appealed to Paolozzi, in particular to his sense of a mysterious, sometimes threatening world of natural forms. He was also impressed by Giacometti’s self-belief: ‘he was a real artist because he was obsessed about his ideas and worked all night, and everything else in life for him was just a grey shadow’.10 But there is also an fig.7 Horse’s Head 1946, ink & collage on paper 19 x 9 in / 49 x 23 cm Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 19 20 important difference; rather than an endless and poetic transformation of objects, a flipping between readings and strong association with literature, Paolozzi was engaged with the mute power of objects and shapes that defy transformation — not representing a body of thought, or illustrating poetic texts, but appearing as natural objects, strange and irreconcilable. Notwithstanding the power of these early Surrealist-influenced sculptures – and the four versions of Forms on a Bow (fig.8; cat.4), remain the first major statement of a sculptural idea in Paolozzi’s oeuvre – it was less in sculpture than in two other areas, collage and bas-reliefs, that Paolozzi made his most important innovations of the Paris period. The combination of these two formats, collage as sculptural relief and sculptural relief as collage, proved to be the crucible out of which emerged much of Paolozzi’s later work. His focus on collage during the Paris period evolved naturally out of his earliest, childhood obsessions, fig.8 Forms on a Bow No.1 1949, bronze, 211 ⁄2 x 251 ⁄2 in / 65 x 67cm Tate J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 20 21 copying pictures from newspapers and magazines. Alongside more conventional papier collés, using coloured paper and lettering to create semiabstract compositions, Paolozzi continued producing photomontage-like works, in particular the extraordinary ‘Museum-book’ collages (present author’s term) that he had begun making while at the Slade, for example Butterfly and Group of Gauls (fig.9 & 10). These culminated in the small collagebook Psychological Atlas, made around 1949, and which appears as a survey of the scenery and psychology of post-War Europe. For this book, now a tattered relic kept as an archival item at the Victoria & Albert Museum, Paolozzi took the catalogue from an exhibition of art held in Germany while the country was still under occupation, and created a series of double-page spreads with material that provides a strange, oblique snapshot of the moment. Paolozzi's early experiments with bas-relief, in particular the creation of plaster tiles incised with decorative or abstract motifs, with strong emphasis on surface rather than sculptural mass, was equally important for the development of his sculpture over the next decade or so. Fish (plaster, 1948) measures about one foot square and suggests marine motifs and insects, crustaceans fossilised in plaster. Nature is clearly the key to Paolozzi’s work in relief, and the sense of a hidden mystery preserved in nature, as if these were fossils that had survived the destructive influence of human culture. A number of these reliefs were made after a visit to St. Jean de Luz, and evoked maritime and lunar landscapes, and may be compared with the strangeness – the displaced quality – of the collages in the Psychological Atlas. A relationship between collage and relief work was evolving in Paolozzi’s work that allowed a concentration on forms as images, rather than as sculptural mass, and on images as something tangible, rather than as flat and ‘notional’. fig.9 Group of Gauls 1947, collage 93 ⁄4 x 71 ⁄4 in / 24.5 x 18.5 cm Paolozzi Foundation / Jonathan Clark Fine Art fig.10 Butterfly 1946, collage 73 ⁄4 x 51 ⁄2 in / 19.8 x 14 cm Paolozzi Foundation / Jonathan Clark Fine Art J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 21 22 Those bas-reliefs Paolozzi made in Paris were exhibited in a solo exhibition at the Mayor Gallery during May 1949.11 Poor sales from this exhibition — only one was sold, to Roland Penrose — obliged Paolozzi to return to England in October 1949. Just before he left Paris two unidentified sculptures and two bas-reliefs were included in the third ‘Les Mains éblouies’ exhibition at the Galerie Maeght, Paris — but Paolozzi brought the majority of his sculpture back with him to London, and there cast it in bronze for his first exhibition at the Hanover Gallery in 1950, alongside works by Kenneth King and William Turnbull.12 Where was sculpture at mid-century? Artists working in Britain were certainly amongst the pioneers of modern sculpture, notably Epstein and Moore, who had made it their task to redefine sculpture as an independent art, rather than as architectural adornment, or as a matter of commemoration. Such innovations were on a par with avant-garde developments in Paris, and were an important precedent for the international success of British sculptors later in the century. The crucial step was to generate an iconography of sculpture that was as independent and nonnaturalistic as that used by modernist painters, in particular abandoning academic study of the human body. If in his work of the late 1940s Paolozzi shows a full awareness of this new independence of modernist sculpture, on his return to England he confronted what was to become the central question of sculpture in the wake of modernism: how to reintroduce the human figure into this newly independent art. For Paolozzi it became a matter of skin, of an organic surface implying a living interior. Worn, fig.11 Target 1947, ink & collage on paper 20 x 73 ⁄4 in / 51 x19.5 cm Pallant House Gallery, Chichester J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 22 23 complex surfaces came to take on a particular meaning, and were derived at least in part from the material aesthetic of Paolozzi’s collage books, compiled with material often deliberately distressed to contrast with the glamour and technology of the printed images from which they were made. If life was rough and broken, so too should be any given image of a man. These suffering surfaces came to define Paolozzi’s sculpture, and constituted the ‘Brutalist’ aesthetic of his work during the 1950s. Attempts to create a meaningful sculptural 'skin' appear earliest in the versions of Mr Cruikshank, of 1950, the model for which Paolozzi took from illustrations in American magazines. ‘Mr Cruikshank’ was the name given by American scientists to the wooden dummy of a human fig.12 Paris Bird 1948, bronze 131 ⁄2 x 14 in / 34 x 35 cm Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 23 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 24 shoulder-length bust used in X-radiography testing. Paolozzi cut-out articles on the experiments and included them on a double-page spread in the collage book ‘Crane and Hoist Engineering’ (titled after the book Paolozzi cannibalised as the template for his collage book). ‘A stand-in for a living man, Mr. Cruikshank has helped solve problems relating to X-ray treatment of deep brain tumours. His wooden noggin, sectioned to hold film, has the same X-ray absorption properties as the human head. He poses before a two-millionvolt, X-ray generator in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. His name, picked at random, has no special significance’, runs the caption for one. In Paolozzi’s hands the figure becomes a portrait bust of contemporary man, a representative of the anonymous mass. The surviving plaster model of Mr Cruikshank is divided up for casting, leaving seams showing on the bronze cast that suggest a fabricated human head, or a robot. For further versions of Mr Cruikshank, Paolozzi adopted a different method of fabrication, soldering together thin strips of tin cut from cans, producing something more tender and fragile, with the pathos of a reliquary bust (cat.7).13 Paolozzi was not alone in his interest in the motif of the human head, which presented an immediate solution to the introduction of the human body, whilst retaining a focus on abstract form. It was important enough to be the subject of an exhibition at the ICA in 1953, 'Wonder and Horror of the Human Head’, which was also the occasion for a lecture on ‘The Human Head in Modern Art’ by the critic Lawrence Alloway. It appears more obliquely in the mysterious, inscrutable work Contemplative Object (1951; fig.13) comprising a rock-like form with strange carvings and markings, reminding us perhaps of the Mayan Zoomorphs from Quirigua, great unquarried sandstone boulders carved with animal motifs. A similar 25 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 25 26 work, Study for a larger version in concrete (1951) was one of three sculptures by Paolozzi shown at the British Pavilion at the 1952 Venice Biennale (alongside Bird, and Forms on a Bow, both 1950).14 It was undoubtedly the first work by Paolozzi to appear on an international stage: Study for a larger version in concrete was included in Michel Tapié’s 1952 publication Un art autre, and a cast was purchased by the Museum of Modern Art, New York, in 1952.15 Paolozzi’s affinity with the type of ‘Art Informel’ being promoted by Tapié, and a young generation of European artists and critics, can be seen by the comparison of his works by those with Dubuffet, whose scarred and scratched figures seem rescued directly from the crumbling walls and pavements of an older, now outmoded European habitat. Of the Study for a larger version in concrete, Paolozzi later wrote that ‘The artist intends that the sculpture should represent symbolically; the world of sea life’.16 However much the ‘human’, societal element was pressing, he had remained, nevertheless in the realm of nature: he had yet to step outside this magic circle and produce sculptures that were able to reflect on nature as threatening and threatened, something other to human life, but also dependent on it. The crucial moment, as is so often the case, came with the revelation of the possibilities presented by new techniques and materials. In late 1953 Paolozzi took a room at 1 East Heath Road, Hampstead, the home of Dorothy Morland, then the director of the ICA. Together with her son, Francis, also a sculptor, Paolozzi began casting works at a home-made foundry using the lost wax method. Paolozzi later described his method: ‘Well you make an oven, you make a wax, and then you put… investment round it as it’s called, and then you burn the wax out, and then you just melt the metal and pour it in. And then after that there’s still a lot of work getting rid of the investment and cutting the runners off. It’s frightfully hard graft, and yet there are people who do it every day in the foundries’.17 The high cost of metal founding, which had proved prohibitively expensive for the first Hanover Gallery exhibition, as well as the need to take control of the process and experiment, made the home-spun approach more attractive. In any case, since his days of producing works in his student lodgings, rather than in the Slade studios, Paolozzi always seemed happier working from home. Still, only five works are dated to the next two years: the small unique bronze Fish (the plaster original of which had been exhibited in the exhibition ‘Young Sculptors’ at the ICA in 1952, and cast in bronze the next year at the request of the owner) and Head from 1953; and from the next year another work titled Head, this time a version lying on its side showing its hollow construction, and the small, strange homunculi Head and Arm. 18 Divorced from its body, the human head suggests a psychology of form — a thoughtful mass constructed from the objects that it perceives. In works such as the 1954 screen print Automobile Head, the motif functions as a way of showing the interaction of the body and society – it shows how ‘objects from the environment became the collageskins of the beings in that environment’, in the words of Diane Kirkpatrick.19 Alongside Automobile Head, a number of works on paper made in 1953 show Paolozzi exploring the theme of the flattened and de-featured human head in a manner very close to Dubuffet. The overriding sense is of pathos, of the human body, and psyche, subjected to suffering. As such, Paolozzi takes his place in a tradition of modern sculptors who, as Leo Steinberg put it, show the body not as the hero but as the victim of life.20 Paolozzi is in this sense close to Henry Moore, who made figures of pathos throughout his life. Paolozzi's recumbent Head of 1954 could be by the J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 26 27 older artist, if it was not hollow, a stark exposure of sculpture as mere object to which Moore could never resort. Moore’s figures may be pierced, but never actually empty. This hollowness is a means both to emphasise a kind of symbolic affect of the works — dehumanisation — but also to emphasise the surface, and the sense in which the meaning of an object derives from what has been done to it, fig.13 Contemplative Object c.1951, plaster with bronze coating, h.91 ⁄2 x 181 ⁄2 in / 24 x 47cm Pallant House Gallery, Chichester recorded in the marks left by that action on the surface. The comparison of Paolozzi and Moore is worth a brief aside. According to Lawrence Alloway, Paolozzi ‘avoided, like the plague, not only the virtuosity of Reg Butler, but the competence of Henry Moore’.21 On the evidence of their works of J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 27 28 the 1950s, there are however a number of points of close comparison. A Brutalist tendency – of scarred surfaces and distressed organic forms – infuses Moore’s work, for example in the small Head of 1955, a knotted, primitive apparition directly comparable with Paolozzi’s version of the same subject from 1952. Moore’s Wall Relief maquettes from the same year show a remarkably similar procedure to that developed by Paolozzi the following year, of creating a relief by imprinting objects on a flat surface. If the ‘Brutalist moment’ in Moore’s work showed his awareness of the importance of the sculptural surface as a conveyor of meaning, it was an awareness he was unable to develop — he simply could not abandon the plenitude, sensuousness and essential optimism on which so much of his work was based. Above all, it was his inability to abandon the imagined notion of a ‘full’ sculptural form, even in those works such as the Helmet Head series that have empty interiors, that distinguishes his work from Paolozzi’s relentless hollowness. A hollow head for Moore was just a helmet – for Paolozzi it was a burnt out, yet still-living form. By 1955, however, Paolozzi had reached an impasse in his quest to re-introduce the human figure. No sculpture, cast or otherwise fabricated, is securely dated to this year. The meagre output was in part because his attention was direct elsewhere, to teaching textiles at Central St Martins, and to the founding of a textile and design company, Hammer Prints Ltd, alongside Judith and Nigel Henderson during the summer of 1954. Paolozzi was also faced with the problem of finding a material by which he could make large sculptures with ‘collage-skins’. In the summer of 1954 he wrote to several foundries, describing the orthodox lost-wax method he had been using, noting that while it was excellent for small scale work, it presented problems for anything ‘life size and over’, and requested information on a material ‘with similar properties to plaster which can be used directly with molten metal without baking’.22 He probably discovered the solution on his own — modelling directly in wax. A number of small wax figurines show that Paolozzi had been experimenting with the medium at the time, making works recalling small figurines that Dubuffet had begun making the previous year.23 It was however the combination of the use of wax and the type of relief panels that Paolozzi had been making since the late 1940s which produced the necessary synthesis. At some point during 1953/4 Paolozzi had made a large relief panel, which still exists, using wax, wood, and found objects. The decisive step came with the realisation that the relief could be made in plaster, found objects used to create negative impressions over which molten wax could be poured to create sheets with positive impressions. Paolozzi later recalled that the wax-sheet sculptures had been made at the small cottage at Thorpe Le Soken, Essex, bought from Nigel Henderson in 1953, to where he had moved with his wife Freda the next year. ‘I began with clay rolled out on a table. Into the clay I pressed pieces of metal, toys, etc. I also sometimes scored the clay. From there I proceeded in one of two ways. Either I would pour wax directly on to the clay to get a sheet or I would pour plaster onto the clay. With the plaster I then had a positive and a negative form on which to pour wax. The wax sheets were pressed around forms, cut up and added to forms or turned into shapes on their own. The waxes were cast into bronze at Fiorini and Carney in London’.24 It was on this basis that Paolozzi returned, extremely energetically, to making sculpture. 25 During the summer of 1956 ten small sculptures were exhibited at the Hanover Gallery, some of which had been cast at Susse Frères in Paris.26 These works, all but one of which were made, or at J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 28 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 29 30 least cast, in 1956, show Paolozzi’s first experimentations with wax as a modelling medium, and notably include the first version of Chinese Dog. Coeval with the Hanover Gallery exhibition, the historic exhibition This is Tomorrow ran at the Whitechapel Gallery. Eleven groups of artists contributed individual displays reflecting on contemporary art and life. ‘Group Six’ comprised Paolozzi, the artist Nigel Henderson, and the architects Alison and Peter Smithson, who built a shelter-like pavilion, subsequently populated by Paolozzi and Henderson with objects and images, ‘symbols for all human needs’, according to the exhibition catalogue. The display was titled ‘Patio and Pavilion’. It is noticeable that Paolozzi chose not to include his most recent sculptures, but rather Contemplative Object and also an unidentified small mannequin-type figure, comparable with a number of small figure sculptures from 1956, such as Little Warrior. The reason may have been pragmatic — most of his sculptures were on display at the Hanover Gallery exhibition which ran concurrently. Photographs show an array of tiles and objects arranged on the floor as if from an archaeological dig. Some at least must have been ceramic tiles made by Paolozzi at the Central School, but again are unidentified. Although it remained largely uninhabited, ‘Patio and Pavilion’ may be seen as a stage on which the much larger figures Paolozzi began making at the time could have appeared. It was comparable in this respect with a number of other display interiors of the time, spaces in which the new figurative sculpture could be inscribed. For his ‘Gallery for a Collector of Brutalist and Tachiste Art’ at the Ideal Home Exhibition of 1958, Richard Hamilton included, amongst other design objects and works of art, Paolozzi’s 1956 Chinese Dog as the only sculpture. It was however at the Hanover Gallery that Paolozzi's dramatis personae took to the stage most memorably, in a striking survey of the first mature period of Paolozzi's sculpture – an exhibition unrivalled since. Thirty-seven works were displayed, including a host of smaller figures, from the King Kong-like Monkey eating a Nut (1957) to the pathos-laden two versions of Icarus (fig.15), made the same year, whose stumpy wooden arms, broken at the elbows, strongly recall Dubuffet’s use of twigs and wire to create his figurines; to an imposing cohort of the larger figural works, such as Japanese War God, of 1958 (fig.3). A photograph included in the catalogue shows Paolozzi sizing up to the wax model for this large standing figure, and we get the sense of his satisfaction of having overcome the technical difficulties of casting such a large figure, a rival for his own physical energy and presence. Of the smaller works shown at the Hanover Gallery, Shattered Head (cat.12) presents one of the most complete statements of Paolozzi’s dialogue of surface and void. Patches of metal define the head like bandages, the vacant interior visible through the interstices. Shattered Head is one of the haunting hollow men of twentiethcentury art, a witness of life reduced to brute survival. We may compare it with a sculpture made by the Spanish artist Julio González two decades previously, Torso (1936), using a similar, if antecedent method of fragmented planar construction: the two works appear as if they have been recovered from the same archaeological dig, originally part of a single antique standing figure. As a pathos-laden monument the human head motif is developed in a series of works beginning with Krokodeel (fig.1), a hollow bronze head just over one metre high, and then with two monumental works from 1958; A.G.5 (cat.14), and Very Large Head. These works are both cast and welded — Paolozzi cast sections from wax fig.14 St Sebastian No.III 1958–9, bronze, h.87 in / 221cm Rijksmuseum Kröller-Muller, Otterlo J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 30 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 31 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 32 33 vision of the future as already past, a ‘used future’, to use a term that became dominant in post-War American cinema. Paolozzi considered his sculpture Jason, made in 1956 and now in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, New York (fig.4), as one his best works of the period. The title and forms of the sculpture were inspired, he later wrote, by Martha Graham’s briefing for the character of Jason in the ballet Medea, by Samuel Barber, subtitled ‘Cave of the Heart’, who ‘should exist on two time levels, the ancient and the modern world’.29 By contrast with other monumental standing figures, Jason is a fragile, delicate work, life-size and with a slight sense of contraposto, that in such a fragmented figure can only be read as pathos. In a set of teaching notes produced for students at St Martin’s School of Art the next year, Paolozzi used Barber’s configuration of Jason as at once a ‘Godlike superhuman figure’ of Greek tragedy, who would then step out of his legendary role and become ‘modern man’.30 The same may be said for the four major figures of St Sebastian (fig.2 &14) that, in a strange way, echo the four earlier Forms on a Bow, made ten years previously.31 With reference to the second in the series, purchased by the Guggenheim Museum, New York, in 1958, Paolozzi stated that he was interested not in the iconography St Sebastian’s martyrdom by bow and arrow, but rather in his ‘second’, less well-known martyrdom, being ‘clubbed to death by his company after not shooting to kill’, according to Paolozzi, who added that it was not based on religious belief, but rather on his interest in the ‘irony of man and hero – the hollow god’.32 The monstrous cranium, encrusted torso and tubular legs of St Sebastian II are indeed all originals, and then had these welded together to form a hollow, almost cage-like structure. The surface is dirty and pitted, here encrusted with objects, studio and mechanical detritus, there with typographers letters, sometimes with just an earthy unidentified substance. Present-day objects are lifted into a timeless sphere where the future is figured as a ruin, and antiquity as a presentiment of this ruin. Time is collapsed within the course fabric of a human — barely human — figure. Having established this new, monumental figurative style of sculpture, based on collage and assemblage with a strong emotive resonance, Paolozzi began to develop individual motifs, notably the head and the standing figure. Nowhere is this dialogue of antiquity and modernity more powerfully embodied than in the series of standing figures that Paolozzi began to make from 1956, which dominated the display at the Hanover Gallery. Michel Leiris's description of Giacometti's sculptures, published in English in 1949, holds true for those by Paolozzi, envisioning them as points at which 'thousands of years of antiquity converge with an abrupt interruption of time: the sudden uncovering of a figure in which the whole of a long past is for ever summed up’.27 Yet Paolozzi’s figures also arise from a different vision of the future, and the past — not of timeless humanity, but deeply implicated with the technology of his day, and as such occupy a different physical and imaginary space: the thicklyencrusted surface of Robot (1956), comprising small objects lost in a lava-like surface, hollow, brittle, seems as if salvaged after centuries at the bottom of the sea — the ‘vernacular spolia of reality’, as they have been pungently described.27 Paolozzi’s ‘brutalist’ vision was not of gleaming perfection and technological optimism but of decay and obsolescence. It is a vision of the present based on a vision of the future, but with little idealism: a fig.15 Icarus II 1957, bronze, h.60 in /100 cm Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 33 34 hollow, ‘caves of the heart’ constructed from the detritus of a timeless world. Pathos is perhaps overemphasised by the words formed by typographers letters attached to the back of the figure, ‘Please leave me alone’, which suggest also the personal nature of these sculptures for Paolozzi; their status as alter-egos. In a further work in the series, St Sebastian III (fig.14) the distinction between the head and the torso has disappeared entirely, and the impression is given more of a tower block on stilts, in ruin. I suggested at the beginning of this essay, in relation to the 1963 The World Divides into Facts, that Paolozzi’s concerns shifted from the human body to the architectural at the beginning of the 1960s.33 In fact the transition was more gradual, and it was clear that architectural elements, both in terms of principles of construction, and formal motifs, were already part of his large figurative works during the 1950s. If St Sebastian III seems half-man, half-tower block, then the impression of an architectural edifice is even less ambiguous in a further series of works made around 1958/9, in particular His Majesty the Wheel (fig.16) and Mechanik Zero(cat.15), both dating to that time. Mechanik Zero in particular shows the organic forms of the human figure tipping into an engineered form, imposing a rich set of rhythms on this metaphor, and suggesting a renewed use of surrealist metaphoric form. By 1960 the shift was complete, the transition even recorded in the title of a work from 1960 –1, Legs as Lintels. The idea of the human body as an architectural construct – essentially a post and lintel structure of legs and torso, uncomplicated by arms or distinction between torso and head – is carried on in certain of these works. In others, such as Triple Fuse, all sense of human reference disappears. With it disappears also an important animating element of Paolozzi’s early work, which he was not to recapture. Triple Fuse, exhibited at Betty Parsons’ Gallery in New York in 1962, and currently untraced, suggests a precarious, pre-fabricated tower, an anonymous corporate architecture with threatening potential. Such a reading is borne out by a work made the following year, Tyrannical Tower, a stacked-box structure incorporating heavily worked relief surfaces. Architecture evolves as a metaphor for power structures, and thus retains a connection with the human body in terms of ‘personality’ – but all other formal references are gone. What might we make of all this? After 1964 Paolozzi became a different type of artist: more worldly, perhaps, with more extensive resources at his disposal. None of the later works, particularly the large public sculptures, achieve the same intensity of form of the 1950s, the imbrication of worldly clutter and an intelligent vocabulary of sculptural form. For the first decade after the war Paolozzi dealt with nature and natural imagery that could be referred back to Klee, Picasso and Ernst in equal measure; but after his return from Paris, with the introduction of the ‘image of man’ (as it was then so often termed) the focus shifted from the mystery of nature to nature’s ruin: to the spectacle of a ‘used future’ that had already begun. The power of Paolozzi’s vision came from his obsession with the fate of the things of his world, rather than arising from a concept of ‘art’, and his work may be best described as a vast archive of worldly things. From today’s perspective the early sculptures constitute both the foundation and the standards by which the rest of this archive is ordered; and one of the most intriguing and advanced bodies of sculpture produced anywhere in the post-War world. fig.16 His Majesty The Wheel 1958, bronze, h.60 in /152 cm Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 34 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 35 36 Notes With thanks to Evelyn Hankins, Carmen del Valle Hermo, Jennifer Schauer, Aimee Soubier and Eugenie Tsai. 1) [REF] 2) F. Whitford, ‘Eduardo Paolozzi’, in: exh. cat., Eduardo Paolozzi, London (Tate Gallery) 1971, pp. 6 – 29, here pp.7-8. See below for a challenge to this conservative view of Moore. 3) The lost plaster original is dated 1946 according to a typed memorandum of agreement that Paolozzi drew up with a lawyer, dated 16th April 1960, in which Paolozzi gave the bronze version of Bull to his wife, Freda. 4) E. Paolozzi, ‘Memoir’, 1994, reprinted in Robbins, pp.53-60, here p.55. 5) Ibid., p.59 6) Two versions of the sculpture in coloured concrete, one white, one red, were exhibited at the 1947 Mayor Gallery exhibition Drawings by Eduardo Paolozzi (only later, in 1974, was the work cast in bronze). 7) Ibid., p.59 8) Eduardo Paolozzi, ‘Statement’, in: State of Clay, exh.cat., Sunderland (Arts Center), 1978, n.p. 9) See, for example, D. Kirkpatrick: Eduardo Paolozzi, London 1970, and W. Konnertz: Eduardo Paolozzi, Cologne 1984. Like many of Paolozzi’s works from this period, the original of Two Forms on a Rod has been lost: in this case it consisted of a single column with a projection which was then cast twice, at later date, probably in the early 1950s, and joined together to form the metal version. 10) EP, interview with Richard Cork, broadcast on BBC Radio 3, March 1986. Cited in R. Spencer, ed.: Eduardo Paolozzi: Writings and Interviews, Oxford 2000, p.65. For a contemporary appraisal of Giacometti that Paolozzi knew, see: Michel Leiris, ‘Contemporary Sculptors VII – Thoughts around Giacometti’, trans. Douglas Cooper, Horizon, 19 (June 1949), p.411-17. 11) Eduardo Paolozzi – Drawings and Bas-Reliefs. 12) These were cast at Morris Singer Foundry, Wilkinson’s Foundry on Tottenham Court Road, and Fiornini and Carney, Peterborough Mews, Fulham. 13) Other works made around the same moment show different attempts to bring collage and bas-relief together to evoke the human figure, notably in Paolozzi’s maquette for the Unknown Political Prisoner International Sculpture Competition (1952), showing a series of slabs with strange organic markings. It is perhaps less successful in evoking an absent human form than a work from the previous year, The Cage, a strange organic cage-like structure made from wire and plaster. The notion of a linear wire sculpture also informed one of Paolozzi’s first public sculptures, his fountain for the 1951 Festival of Britain exhibition; a work that looked forward to the many public commissions that he was to complete later in his career. 14) It had been first shown at the exhibition Young Sculptors at the ICA in 1952. 15) See: A.H. Barr, ed., ‘Painting and Sculpture Collections, July 1, 1951 – May 31, 1953’, Bulletin, vol. xx, nos.3-4, Summer 1953. 16) Paolozzi described how the sculpture was made: ‘The moulds were made directly in clay: modelled in the negative : (after pouring and setting) the moulds were destroyed on removal from the work; the cast at the M.M.A [he is referring to the Museum of Modern Art, New York] was made by gelatine moulding’. Museum Collection Files. Department of Painting and Sculpture: Paolozzi. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Cited hereafter as: MOMA – Paolozzi. 17) Eduardo Paolozzi, Oral History, interviewed by Frank Whitford, 1993-5, British Library. 18) The dating of these works is imprecise, and contested; and the task of identifying any chronology or sequence is made harder by the closeness in subject matter of the works, and often identical titles. The dating of the Pallant House Standing Figure to 1953 is questioned in footnote 22 below. 19) D. Kirkpatrick, Eduardo Paolozzi, New York, 1969, p.29. 20) Leo Steinberg, ‘Gonzalez’, reprinted in Other Criteria, 1972, pp. 241-250, here p.243. 21) L. Alloway, ‘Eduardo Paolozzi’, Architectural Design (April 1956), p.133. 22) EP to ‘The Sales Manager, Morgan Crucible Ltd.’ (also sent to a London-based foundry); 26th July 1954; reprinted in Spencer, op.cit. (note 10), pp.74–5. It is on this basis that the date of the Standing Figure in the collection at Pallant House, of 1953, may be questioned. The technique of constructing a large figure using moulded and embossed sheets of wax was only developed a few years later, in 1956. No other works of this size or nature exist from this time, and it is highly unlikely that such a pioneering work would have gone unremarked at the time, or indeed subsequently. 23) The further comparison between these works and the wax figurines of Edgar Degas is, striking — Degas’ small sculptures were only cast in bronze after his death. They show various J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 36 37 female figures, dancers and bathers, as well as horses, comprised of rough lumps of clay, often using objects embedded in the sculptures’ surface. The wax figurines had resurfaced after the war, and in 1955 were exhibited at Knoedler’s gallery in New York. 24) EP to Angelica Rudenstine, 5th August 1983. Cited in Spencer, op.cit. (note x), p.80. This ‘collage’ method is demonstrated by a set of photographs of Paolozzi at work taken around 1958. R. Fiorini & J. Carney were located in Fulham, moving from Michael Rd to Peterborough Mews in 1961; Fiorini cast Shattered Head, and Chinese Dog 2, amongst other works. 25) And also returned to teaching sculpture on a part-time basis at St Martin’s School of art (from 1955 to 1958) 26) These were: Bull (1946), and Shattered Head, Black Devil, Frog eating a lizard, One-armed torso, Man and motor-car (two versions), Small Figure (two versions) and Figure (all from 1956). These were all still on a relatively small scale, the largest being Black Devil (untraced) at 19 inches high. 27) Michel Leiris, ‘Contemporary Sculptors VII – Thoughts around Giacometti’, trans. Douglas Cooper, Horizon, 19 (June 1949), p.411-17, here p.415. 28) D. Herrmann, ‘Bronze to Aluminium and back again: Eduardo Paolozzi’s use of Materials in Sculpture c.1957–71’, Sculpture Journal 14 (December 2005), pp.71–85, here p.74. 29) MOMA – Paolozzi. 30) E.P. ‘Four Design Problems for Students of St Martin’s School of Art’, 1957. Reprinted in Spencer, op.cit. (note 10), pp. 79-8, here 78. 31) There are two versions of St Sebastian no.1, one in the collection of the Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto; the other in the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh. 32) ‘notes on Paolozzi’s conversation with Las’, 23rd March 1959, inter-office memorandum. Guggenheim Museum Archive: Eduardo Paolozzi. 33) Robin Spencer notes the same transformation in Paolozzi’s writings, which became ‘more structured and architectural’ in the 1960s, by contrast with the previous decade, during which it evolved more organically. p.29 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 37 38 Exhibition Catalogue cat.1 Bull 1946, bronze, l.17in / 43 cm Jonathan Clark Fine Art, London cat.2 Horse’s Head 1947, concrete, h.30 in / 76 cm Private Collection, London J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 38 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 39 40 cat. 3 Icarus 1949, bronze, h.121 ⁄2 x 14 in / 32 x 35.5 cm Private Collection, London J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 40 cat. 4 Forms on a Bow No.2 1949, bronze,191 ⁄2 x 243⁄4 in / 49 x 63 cm Leeds Museums and Galleries J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 41 42 cat.5 Two Forms on a Rod 1948–9, bronze, 21 x 251 ⁄4 in / 53 x 64 cm Private Collection, London cat.6 Table Sculpture (Growth) 1948, bronze, h.321 ⁄2 in / 83 cm Private Collection, London J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 42 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 43 44 cat.7 Tin Head – Mr Cruikshank 1950, tin, 11 x 91 ⁄2 in / 28 x 24 cm Tate J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 44 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 45 46 cat.8 Head Looking Up c.1956, bronze, h.11in / 28 cm Private Collection, London cat.9 Standing Figure 1957, bronze, h.303⁄4 in / 78 cm Daniel Katz, London J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 46 47 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 47 48 cat.10 Standing Figure 1953, bronze, h.341 ⁄2 in / 88 cm Pallant House Gallery, Chichester J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 48 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 49 50 cat.12 Shattered Head c.1956, bronze, h.111 ⁄4 in / 31cm Private Collection, London cat.11 Study for Tall Figure 1956, bronze, h.17in / 43 cm Private Collection J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 50 51 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 51 52 cat.13 Little King 1957, bronze, unique, h.56 in / 142 cm Private Collection J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 52 53 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 53 54 cat.14 A.G. 5 1958, bronze, 40 x 30 in / 102 x 84 cm Offer Waterman & Co., London J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 54 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 55 56 cat.15 Mechanik Zero 1958–9, bronze, h.751 ⁄2 in / 191.6 cm British Council Collection J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 56 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 57 58 cat.16 Large Frog 1958, bronze, h.36 in / 92 cm Private Collection J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 58 59 J W575 Paolozzi book_11 03/10/2011 17:28 Page 59 Jonathan Clark Fine Art 18 Park Walk Chelsea London SW10 0AQ t. +44 (0) 20 7351 3555 www.jonathanclarkfineart.com Acknowledgements Jonathan Clark Fine Art would like to thank all those who have contributed to the exhibition and catalogue, in particular Toby Treves of the Paolozzi Foundation for his advice and support throughout; Robin Spencer & Caroline Cuthbert for their help in liaising with private lenders; Simon Martin at Pallant House Gallery; Jill Constantine, Lizzie Simpson & Victoria Avery at the Arts Council; Diana Eccles, Marcus Alexander & Silvia Bordin at the British Council; Penelope Curtis, Katherine Richmond & Nicole Simoes da Silva at Tate; Rebecca Herman & Jim Bright at Leeds City Art Gallery; Simon Groom at The Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art; Adrian Gibbs at the Bridgeman Art Library, Adrian Glew & David Pilling at Tate Archive. Finally, thanks are due to all the lenders to the exhibition who wish to remain anonymous, but whose generosity has not been unnoticed Photo Credits All works © The Paolozzi Foundation / DACS All photography © David Farrell / Courtesy of the Artist except frontispiece © Nigel Henderson / Courtesy of Tate Images; p. 29 © Mark Kauffman / Courtesy of Time Life Pictures / Getty Images; fig. 7 Courtesy of Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art Picture Library; figs 11 & 13, cat. 10 Pallant House Gallery, Chichester, UK/ Wilson Gift through The Art Fund/ The Bridgeman Art Library; cat. 7 © Tate, London 2011 / Courtesy of Tate Images; figs 6, 9, 10 & cat. 3, 8, 11 Douglas Atfield / Courtesy of Jonathan Clark Fine Art Exhibition curated by Simon Hucker Texts © Peter Selz & John-Paul Stonard Catalogue © Jonathan Clark & Co (Artists Estates) Designed by Graham Rees Printed by The Five Castles Press, Ipswich Published by Jonathan Clark & Co, London 2011 ISBN 978-0-9565163-6-7 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any other information storage or retrieval system without prior permission in writing from the gallery. 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Eduardo Paolozzi (1924-2005) was one of the most innovative and irreverent artists of the 20th century. Considered the ‘godfather of Pop Art’, his collages, sculptures and prints challenged artistic convention, from the 1950s through to the Swinging Sixties and advent of ‘Cool Britannia’ in the 1990s. This major Eduardo Paolozzi retrospective spans five decades and features over 250 works; from the artist’s post-War bronzes, revolutionary screen-prints and collages, to his bold textiles and fashion designs. Postcard collage This activity is a great introduction to collage. Using a postcard image as a starting point, play with the juxtaposition of cut out images and patterns from magazines. Creating a series of small images is a useful way to get started with collage. Collage series by year 10 student ACTIVITY Juxtaposition portraits • Using 2 to 3 found portraits, cut up the images into various pieces. • Reconstruct a portrait from a combination of these images, but leave spaces in between the sections. • Find creative ways to bring these disassembled images together. Use drawing, painting or adding additional found images to reconstruct an alternative portrait. • Continue experimenting with this technique to create a series of juxtaposition portraits. It is useful to play around with changing configurations before sticking the work down to encourage an experimental approach. ACTIVITY An Alphabet of Shapes Paolozzi was interested in mechanical processes as well as the handmade, from imagery and sculpture that merge animal and machine, to screen prints that use repeated mechanical shapes or visualisations of Jazz compositions. The artist was also interested in linguistics, seeing abstract shapes and forms as a language, like grammatical symbols or musical notes. Allegro Moderato Fireman’s Parade (from the Calcium of Light portfolio) 1974-76, Screenprint Courtesy C L E A R I N G New York / Brussels © Trustees of the Paolozzi Foundation An Alphabet of Shapes • Create unique collages using repetitive pattern by printing and photocopying the same shape various times to compose an image. A photocopier can be a printing press, use it creatively. • Make a series of abstract compositions to illustrate a maths problem or to describe a piece of music. • Don’t stop there… cut up your pattern to make yet another pattern! Could this be the beginning of a fabric design? Example collage by Year 9 student ACTIVITY Lost Magic Kingdoms • Paolozzi was interested in authorship. He thought of museums, not simply as a place to learn about history, but as places that hold the possibility of an endless retelling of histories. • ‘Lost Magic Kingdoms’ was an exhibition in 1985 in which Paolozzi intervened in the ethnographic collection at London’s Museum of Mankind, now part of the British Museum. Paolozzi re-presented historical objects alongside his own collected and made objects. From plastic toys, postcards, and machine parts, to papier mache sculptures, the artist created new stories and associations. Retelling Stories • Experiment with the idea of the retelling of histories. Take a series of three randomly selected images. Write or tell a short story based on these images. How many different stories can be told from the same set of images? • Do the same with a series of everyday objects, a cup, a book, an item of clothing. Add or take away one of the objects to see how this might change the narrative. ACTIVITY Making, breaking, remaking Eduardo Paolozzi, Portrait of Richard Rogers 1988, Bronze Courtesy Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art Paolozzi was very interested in questioning authenticity and exploring the ambiguity of what is deemed to be an ‘original’ artwork. Making, breaking, remaking • Making: Working in clay or card, create a sculpture. This can be related to a theme, a project or an abstract form. • Breaking: Pass your sculpture on to someone else. With the new sculpture, find ways to intervene with its structure, cut into it, pull it apart. Make sure each move is considered, not simply destructive! • Remaking: Pass it on again. This time think about adding, joining and reconfiguring what you have to make a new piece of work. What I would like to do, Eduardo, is start right at the beginning and ask you where and when you were born. Born 1924 in Leith, which is part of Edinburgh. And what is your earliest memory? I think that it might be a lot of early memories conditioned by listening to your parents telling the same story, but I think my earliest memories, I think, are at the age of three being taken to Italy. Because I was a first-born, and a son, because my parents came from the same village, there is a thing about village cultures, a pride in the first-born, so I was taken to the village there to be shown off, and I think what I remember of that time was being horrified at seeing a pig being killed, so it might have been February, which makes sense for an ice-cream shop, because February be the slackest month for the shop. And the other thing I think I remember was seeing what looked to me an enormous kind of centipede being chopped up with a spade. These are about the two things I seem to remember. Where in Italy was this? This was in the same village that my father was born and my mother was born, called Vidicuzo [ph], which is in Frozinone, but to get there you go to Rome and you go down on the altostrada, either by bus or by car, to Cassino, and then you can either carry on, it's about twenty minutes from Cassino, up in the hills. But when my father was a boy it was by mule, more or less. Cassino was the nearest town where people could come down from the villages, and by staples that they didn't grow themselves. How long had your parents been in Scotland by the time you were born? Well it was not only my parents; my mother's parents were in the first wave, they came about, they came about 1900, they came. And my mother was three when she first went to Scotland, and she, as a little girl, lived through World War I. And of course the Italians were allies in that one, so all that was all right. So your father met your mother in Scotland? Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 5 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk No, my grandparents took the young Carmella as she was called to the village, and my father, this is somewhere round about 1918, after the First World War, he fell in love with her, and declared his love, but Italy wouldn't let him out till he did his National Service, and he did his two years military service before he came, and that was 1920. He came over about 1920. So he did his National Service 1918 to 1920, and I was born in 1924. And, so he came to Scotland in pursuit of your mother? That's right. Do you remember your grandparents? Very well, very well. There was a sort of...they had their own...they slightly pioneered my father's business, and I think they helped him, and my father's ice-cream shop started in a poor district called Seafield which in Scotland is known for a fever hospital, and a sewerage farm, and is by the sea. And then he moved on to another shop. But all the Italians were always on the move. But my grandfather and grandmother, they made their ice-cream in the cellar, and at that time it was just milk with sugar with cornflour, and it turned into a kind of custard; the custard was then, there was this big boiler with a tap, and that was put into enamel buckets, and then the buckets were tipped into freezers, what was called freezers, which was a stainless steel revolving drum with two blades. And what actually happened was, this custard, the icing process turned the water content, which swelled, and then this white creamy fluffy icecream. How about your father's parents, they stayed in Italy did they? They stayed in Italy, and they slightly were the better-off people, they owned land, and owned not a great deal but enough to be...enough land at that time to employ other people. There were people in the village who didn't have land, and they could only get by by working for people who had land, it's as simple as that. But they also, in the house was a post office, they also ran the post office, my grandfather, that grandfather used to do a round delivering all the letters. In Vidicuzo [ph]? In Vidicuzo [ph]. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 6 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk You also have a sister. Yolanda, who I spoke to yesterday. She was born when I was...I was ten when she was born, so the difference is probably, there is a difference in age. Yes, she was ten when I was born, so there's a ten-year gap. And she's your only sibling. She's my only sibling. Can you recall...well no, let's have another question. Did you speak English or Italian at home? My parents, to each other they spoke the kind of, the dialect of the village, and they spoke to me in the dialect; they never spoke to me in English-or-hyphen-Scottish, so I grew up bilingual, and it wasn't any problem at all. But because I spoke village Italian I used to go three nights a week after school to what we used to call the Italian Club, where they had a wonderful Italian lady who was sent over from Italy with Italian books and all that, and we learnt to speak proper Italian, which is very useful, because from the age of nine onwards my father sent me to Italy for three months a year to what we call Balila [ph] camps, which was a very beautiful experience. I'm very grateful to him that he did that, because it made an incredible, it gave one an awareness that it was two cultures to live in simultaneously as a child, and it made one enormously self-sufficient in a bizarre way, so that when that tragic night when Italy declared war... In 1934. Going to jail, it didn't seem such a hardship, because I was so used to being self-sufficient of a kind. I would like to come back to that a little bit later. I will come back to it. These balila [ph] camps were run presumably by the Fascists. That's right, yup. I mean the club in Edinburgh was called, it was called Fasci-Italiani Alestro [ph], Fascist Italians living abroad. And the camps were for all these Italians, thousands, Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 7 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk there were more Italians living in Sao Paolo before the war than there were in Naples. Their idea was, they had a special...a special Cabinet Minister in charge who was called Minister...of that kind of thing, and the camps were to keep all these emigrant sons in touch with the fatherland, and there was tremendous optimism at that time, that Italy would re-gain its former empires, hence the conquest of Abyssinia and Tripoli and so on. Do you think that it meant for your father the possibility that the whole family might return to Italy? I'm not quite sure; I think there was a sort of open question there. I think he also had the idea that he would go back and retire to the village, and I would carry on with this, and this was a pattern one grew up with. I would inherit the business and was supposed to consider myself extremely fortunate. Did you think of yourself as Italian or Scottish or a bit of both, or...? Well, I think it was pointed out to me among the people I used to play with, or when I used to go to school, I was slightly different, you know, but because I was usually the best in the class at the time and ran the fastest, I was kind of secretly admired. But I think if I had been a runt there would have been trouble. But when I went to Italy I found it wonderful, because I was no longer...they could pronounce my name properly, you know. And of course if you went to these camps you were treated as a little prince, you were treated as if you were going to be the future, and that was the idea at the time. So what kind of things went on in these camps? Well camp sounds awful, but the place I went year after year after year was on the Adriatic, and it was futuristically built, three ship-looking buildings, and there was a sort of parade ground with a flag, and there was a modern dining hall with glass and steel doors that were raised. But in the mornings we would parade, everybody, in a kind of summer uniform, and they would read out the people...the war was still going on in Africa, they would read out the dead, who had died, `morte Libia'. Alessandro Carchaporla, and so on, they would read out all the dead, and then say, `Alto la banderra', there will be a bugle call, and the Italian flag, which at that time had the monarchy in the middle. And then we would all troop in to breakfast, which was in cafe lacte, cold, in aluminium bowls, and serviced by beautiful nuns, curiously enough. And so it was fairly disciplined. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 8 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk Yes, but nicely so. I mean we spent, we were in uniform, and we would spend the days doing gymnastics, with the idea that later on, either in front of the Minister, the appropriate Minister, but later on, when I was fifteen I became what was called an Avanguardista [ph], and I was in Rome when the war between and Germany started, but we were there to do, 10,000 boys were going to do gymnastics in front of Mussolini, and we were under canvas at a suburb of Rome called Montesacro. Come to think of it, you were an Avanguardista [ph]... Yes, yes... Even now, aren't you, of a different kind. But in that camp under canvas, talking of this camp under canvas, also had guests from Franco's Spain, but they were the cream. And they also had Hitler Jugen, with what looked to me like an SS officer in charge; he was in black and so on. And what was marked was, they were also period types, and what was marked was, they didn't dream of speaking to our raggle-taggle mob, they had nothing to do with us. But I remember when the war began, they sang a lot of patriotic songs. We were woken up with that. Did you live in your imagination more in Italy than in Scotland? I was very happy in Scotland, you know, and it was a kind of, in an archaeological sense it was a culture that has disappeared; it was a culture that had, there was littered with lots and lots of what was called flea-pits, they were small cinemas, and we were thinking of, they were all geared to the poorest people, we were talking about pennies, you could get in for a penny, and they had all the most outrageously wonderful American films. And occasionally, occasionally, a boring English one, occasionally. But they all had serials, and in my grandfather's shop, and there's a photograph of that, and my father's shop, they had bills, they had cinema bills, which they displayed, and you had a little blue book, and I used to go to the cinema with my mother to a cinema called the Alhambra down Leith Walk, and I remember showing the book and them stamping it. So I saw a lot of films in my childhood. So I mean from what age onwards did you go to the movies, do you think? Well, I must have gone from the age of five, from the age of five. I remembered my mother taking me out, because I cried when I used to think it was horrifying. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 9 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk What else do you remember about Leith? Well, Leith, I mean, it's a society that disappeared. They had Saturday markets really, and, I think we used to wander round the Leith docks, which was slightly...and there was all kinds of things coming and going, because Edinburgh had been very affluent at one time, the esparto grass for paper-making, and they used to import some kind of tropical fruit for cattle feed. Everything was very pure, and we used to call it locas. Sometimes I used to go to the docks with my mother, and she used to gather dandelion leaves to make salad. Did you go into Edinburgh proper very often? Oh yes. Don't forget there were tram-cars, but also...oh enormously, all the time. But I mean, our house and our shop was in Leith Walk, so that you just come into Leith Walk and something like ten, twelve minutes, there's an opening and you're on Colinton Hill, and when you're on Colinton Hill you're overlooking the whole of Edinburgh, that was in twelve minutes. And Colinton Hill gets up...there wasn't a lot, I think something like Princes Street wasn't fascinating. I think, instead of taking a right, when you came out of the shop you took a left, and you went to the end of the street, you had a street called Easter Road, and Easter Road more or less wandered up to more or less the base of the bigger outgrowth of extinct volcano called Altaseech [ph] which was a form of [inaud]. And I've seen as a child a tremendously wide, wide space, and there are parts where you never saw humans. This was practically the middle of Edinburgh. It's an obvious question, did you ever go as a young boy to the National Gallery? Taken by the school once, and I remember, and I think they're still there, these enormous kind of unknown 16th, 17th century Neopolitan type paintings which are the apotheosis of chiaroscuro, and I remember the glass, you just saw one's bewildered face reflected in the glass, trying to decipher this image. But also, also it was saying, you know, if this is art, I could never get into that, if this is art. But in the National Gallery I remember it always, the last most modern painting was a little Degas of, I think Diego Martelli [ph], that was the heights of modernism. But later on in the war, they had war artists and all that. I remember going to hear a glamorous Paul Topolski talking about his war work. Yes, you were already a bit older by then. That's right. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 10 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk You said you were very good at school. Mhm. Sort of top-of-the-class stuff? More or less. What kind of things did you...we're talking first of all about primary school. That's right, from the age of, I think my father taught me a lot before I actually went to school; he seemed to enjoy that like, I think I remember that from the age of four, him, he had this Italian magazine called, is it `Corrère Della Sera' [ph], which always had colour lithographs of tragedies, of a circus elephant going berserk, or some terrible accident, a tramcar bashing into a horse and cart. Could you read before you went to school? I think I was taught to read, but I was remarkable, and I think I went to school, I think they admitted me at four-and-a-half, and I was at this wonderful school, a Protestant school, which practically had no religion at all, till the age of twelve, and then from twelve I had to go to unfortunately the worst Catholic school in Europe, which was grim, very grim. And I went suddenly from having been the top of the class for most of my young life, to being at the bottom of the class from there on. I couldn't handle, I couldn't handle the way they talk, and I didn't like religion very much; I should have really, I should really have been taught classical mythology instead of the Catechism. What do you remember of primary school other than reading, writing, arithmetic? I remember stuff animals very well, and I remember strange things, when somebody was sick...a lot of the children seemed to be sick, and there used to be a cleaner would come, and the cleaners were always dressed in black stockings, it was like historic images, big black...like fish-wives, and they would spread sawdust on the sick and kind of sweep it all up. But I remember how nice all the teachers were, and a feeling of gentleness; whereas at the later school one was always being hauled out to be thrashed; whether it was algebra or whether it was the Catechism, one was constantly being thrashed with what they called the belt, which was a thong bit of leather. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 11 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk How about drawing and so on in primary school? Well I used to like it, but I don't think anybody was considered outstanding the way it was, but I think there was...and it came out of books, these standard exercises of doing a still life, usually on sugar paper, usually in chalks with a bit of white. And I think the teacher would kind of start you off, you know, and then you would carry on. But pretty standard exercises really. Do you remember enjoying it particularly? Yes, very much, yes. And did you do it at home, draw? I used to draw a lot, because in the shop, not only did we sell ice-cream but we sold chocolates, but good chocolate, and the chocolates would arrive in cardboard boxes and then they were decanted into glass, like glass vases with lids, so there was always a lot of cardboard boxes. There was enough raw material to draw, and I remember drawing on them all the time, but also other people would...at that culture you didn't throw anything away; what was to spare was given to other customers to do the same things, and sometimes people would draw, particularly in winter time people would bring their drawings in, and a lot of the drawings were what might have been called copies, things, football heroes done from newspapers and so on. These were adults? Adults and children. Because a lot of the families round this shop were poor, so poor, they were all gas-lit, that to have a radio meant having batteries, which meant that you had to be in employment, but if you were unemployed you had to live in a certain kind of frugal level, which meant that you never threw away a newspaper, it was either used as a tablecloth or some kind of thing for wrapping something up in. I mean that was a time when newspapers were used in fish and chip shops, nothing was thrown away. So your home, which presumably was over the shop, was it? Well where we slept was a wonderful flat which we just used to sleep in, but in the back of the shop, that's where all the life went on, and there was a sort of piano there where I did my Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 12 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk piano lessons. But that's where...and there was a big barrel in the little lavatory, that held the coal, that held the coal, and the cat, you had to have a cat to keep the mice down, and the cat was trained to shit in the coals, in the barrel. But also Saturday night...the milk came from some farm in cans in churns, but the man, the farmer used to bring the milk, he also used to bring my father a live chicken, or an old boiling rooster which he used to kill on Saturday night, every Saturday night, and he used to kill it by slitting its tongue and draining its blood, and he used to, my mother used to cook the blood in boiling water and...I mean it was all sort of village nostalgia; they used to do the...sometimes my father would soak a bit of bread, hard bread, in water, and then put oil and vinegar on it, and that was all nostalgia when he could have had something else. So, the lavatory was outside, presumably? The lavatory was part of the back shop, we called it, but all our lives, the poor little back shop was absolutely worn out for use; everything was sort of worn out because of heavy use. Did you have a choice of school that you went to after primary school? No, no. I think it was prevailed on, I think, by perhaps the local priest that, it was all right. The reason I went to this wonderful Protestant school was that it was near the shop; this is the present pragmatism overriding any ideas about going to heaven, and...I mean it was very rare to see my father in church. I mean they had this classic Italian peasant's view about it, that they had to survive before they needed to pray. Did you go to church? Well, because of going to this dreadful Catholic school, I then had to be confirmed, they insisted on it, and when you are confirmed you can then take the holy wafer, but before you can take the holy wafer, the idea of confirmation is that in the Catholic faith you are born with original sin, which is from Adam and Eve, so that you can only become clean if you are a Catholic and you are confirmed and you confess. And of course you can only stay clean, as they point out, holy for a little bit, because the brain is always being menaced by the Devil, and you always have evil thoughts and so on, like coveting your neighbour's ass, one had to try and avoid that. You didn't go to church much before you went to the secondary school then? Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 13 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk Very little, but the idea of my father putting me into this school is that he insisted that I run back at lunchtime for an Italian lunch, which might be just spaghetti or risotto, whereas all the other little boys, they just played in the playground, and they had a piece, which was really the cheapest bread you could think of, from the store.....[TELEPHONE - BREAK IN RECORDING] Well you said...are we on? Yes, we're on now. This thing about choice. Also when I come to think of it, from the age of nine when I was sent to Italy by my father, he didn't...it was not discussed, it was...I mean if he said, you know, you have to be in at 4, I mean it was inflexible, I mean, part of the peasant culture was a certain kind of obedience, and he said...unfortunately going to Italy was marvellous, but he made...I'm very glad he made it a decision to send me to Italy, because I think that was a wonderful counter-balance to growing up in Scotland, because straddling two cultures and speaking four languages, the four languages I used to speak was the village Italian, proper Italian, and the Scottish of the streets, and proper English, so one was bobbing about with that. No problems at all. But your father was obviously the dominant one in the family. Well, classic patriarch, you know, with a more than happy mother who played the feminine role. She seemed to spend a lot of her time doing just village activities, because there were very strange things, like buying old flour sacks and bleaching them and turning them into sheets, that I think, with the sewing machine, that seemed to come from Italy. They carried on doing things when they had an alternative of doing it in another way in Scotland, they preferred their own way. Like they only cooked Italian food, only, and they looked at all the...they looked at...and of course we never went to restaurants. But there was a big Italian club, there must have been about a thousand members, there was a big Italian community there, and they would have activities like dances and so on. One of the things I'm going to ask you and forgot was the kind of things that you drew on these pieces of cardboard. They weren't that original, but I mean they were following on, there was always people who drew what one considered unbelievably well. A lot of the motifs were, there was always...there was even a bit of tracing; if somebody could get a bit of shelf paper, tracing film stars. There were a lot of cheap film star books around, and there was also cardboard boxes in some of the poorer shops where you could buy things for a ha'penny and penny, as Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 14 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk you would in [inaud] now. And football players, local heroes. And then there would be things seen on films, like battles with knights, and even aeroplanes shooting at each other, things like that. In colour too? Sometimes with coloured crayons. But there would be aeroplanes, locomotives and motor cars. How broad an education did you get at the secondary school? More broad at the Protestant school; it seemed to be terribly wide, and as one was between ten and twelve there was sort of poetry and singing and choirs, and it seemed to be at that time, oh, the teachers, they were lovely, dedicated people, rather like the corn is green, that they hoped to plant some kind of seed, they hoped to feel that they had accomplished a great deal if out of all these children one went to university, that was seen to be a thing that they would strain and hope to find the right child to encourage. But in the secondary school, I mean did you.....[BREAK IN RECORDING] I'm just realising, I wasn't being recorded there for a minute. In the secondary school, did you do a modern language, chemistry, physics, that sort of thing? No I think it was a rag-tag. There was too much religion, I think there was three hours of religion, as far as I remember, a day. A day? Yes, I think so. Holy Cross Academy. There was Latin, which I was quite good at for obvious reasons, and algebra, which I hated, and English composition, which I liked, and of course, the school was a kind of town-house with a conservatory, and the conservatory was the art room, and the art room was run by a lady in a flowery smock and she had the hair style what we used to call earphones, and she was a confused, frightened creature, and she used the belt quite liberally too, if you weren't behaving or concentrating. Were her lessons very formal then? I'm not quite sure. I remember seeing elaborate pen and ink drawings hung up, and they always looked like exercises, grown-up exercises of a grown-up world. And she would Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 15 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk disapprove if she happened to glance that kind of popular art, copying football players, that was strongly disapproved of. As a matter of fact, I had absolutely no idea when I was quite young, when I wanted to go to the Edinburgh College of Art full-time I was quite naive, and I just took along the drawings that came out of all that, copies and that, and they were bewildered. But they were also very nice, and then I was put into the life room, and I remember then, my turn to be confused. I think we can come back to the Edinburgh College of Art... Sure. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 16 C466/17/01 F4988 Side A © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk ...a little bit later on, if you don't mind. For the moment, I think we're nearly at the end of this tape, so I'll... Do you want to check? End of F4988 Side A Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 17 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk F4988 Side B [That was a mistake, I should remember to turn the volume back you see.] Did she seem in any way aware that you had natural talent? What, the teacher? Yes. Totally unaware. I think I was also quite naughty, and I had a few friends, and I think we used to mess about at the back somehow. I wasn't much...it was slightly out of control. But it's difficult to explain, but the fact that she hated what we really would have loved to have drawn made a tension. I think she was...it's not...I won't say Miss Brodie, but it was that kind of Scottish gentility of a kind. Morningside. Morningside a bit. But it was the kind of person I think at that time you could...I think she used to have her summer holidays in a pension in Italy; you could actually go for three months on a pound a week, that's the classic way a lot of the teachers used to spend their summer, with all the meals, you know, and a bit of walking. I think it's in `Howards End' or one of these E.M. Forster worlds, but a Scottish version. She wasn't interested in you as an Italian? No not at all, no no no. No not at all. When did you leave school then, how old were you? Well I think I was still at school, there was no reason...I mean after school I would help my father in the shop, which meant that one never went to bed early, and to be allowed out to do something else was a privilege, so that therefore one could stay at school, and I think my father as a peasant believed in some way that you would be equipped and perhaps life would be a better advantage if your world had knowledge. So I think I was still at school when Italy declared war at 16. That was quite unusual wasn't it? I mean, then. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 18 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk Mm. Most people left school at 14 I think. Well, I think that 14, even at my age, I think you had to have, at that time you had to have a letter. It was when the mother professed hardship and she needed a breadwinner, I think you had to have... But I think the average was 15 or 16. So you put in a full day... And of course as far as I remember, all free. If the family was doing reasonably well it was considered better for you to be at school. So, you were at school all day; in the evening you helped your father in the shop. No in the afternoon. School would end at 4. Ah. And one would go trugging back, and there were always, always tasks in the shop, particularly, as soon as I arrived, depending on the season, my father would go downstairs and start boiling, making the ice-cream, and I would be upstairs and he would tell me what to do. Sometimes it would be the weekly cleaning of all the mirrors and the glass shelves, or sometimes decanting, and five Woodbine packets into singles, you know, in a wine glass. Some people could only buy a cigarette at a time. That was a tiny task, but I had cleaning to do, there was always things to do. Your father presumably never made much money at this. I think he made quite a lot. He used to send a lot of the money to Italy for his future, and I think he bought an enormous amount of Government bonds. You see I think if the shop was open seven days a week, from 8 until midnight, even people who haven't got much money, the limited cash they have, they've got to spend it, they would even some days on the means test, spend half his money in the pub. But there was always ha'pennies and pennies for children to buy ice-creams in summer. Do you remember, relative to your friends, a privileged childhood then? Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 19 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk I think, it didn't really stand out, but I can see, I can only see it now, but I didn't feel, I took it for granted. And don't forget, one was in touch with this large Italian community, and one was also comparing oneself with them, and when you got to that, there were always Italian boys whose parents had much bigger houses. There were Italian boys who had a much higher lifestyle, and their parents, instead of coming from villages came from sometimes small towns, you know, and they were a bit more sophisticated. But you were always well dressed? Yes, I mean there was no problem there about fresh boots and shoes. And you had lots of toys, or...? Not that much, but at that culture, one made one's own toys, particularly when you got to a certain age, you made model aeroplanes from scratch. But toys were like Meccano sets, things like that. But I used to work for my grandfather on Saturdays, and sometimes during the slack season my father's best friend was a fish and chip shop at the end of the corner, and in the mornings my father used to lend me out to fillet the haddock and do the potatoes; the potatoes were put into a big cast iron machine that whirled and got most of the mud off, and then singly you would kind of take the eyes out. So were you paid, or was your father paid? No I was paid, I used to get half a crown for a whole morning, which wasn't bad. Not bad then, yes. Were there books in the house? Yes, lots, but supplied by the Italian club. There were lots of propaganda books about Abyssianian War showing poor Italian soldiers with their stumps. But, there was a public library I used a lot; there was no lack of books. What kind of books were you interested in reading? I used to like the Meccano magazines very much, but there was a...I think occasionally my father would get a cheap offer from a newspaper, and I remember a book I kept reading in a terrified way called `Limehouse Nights' by Thomas Burke, which terrified me. And there was a book called `The White Company' by Conan Doyle, I kept reading and re-reading that. But Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 20 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk one used to do that then. But there was a lot of pulps around, lots and lots of American pulps, and I think there were things like, now think...and there were the...I mean even from an early age there was `The Rover’ and the ‘Wizard', that was the street culture. Did you collect cigarette cards? Oh...I was very lucky because when somebody came in to buy, slightly grand, about 20 Kensitas, but often the man would open it up and he would say, `Do you want the card, son?' So I was quite, talking of privilege, that was pretty privileged. Did you have a large collection of things, of cigarette cards, comics, books, under your bed for example? I had some things under my bed. There was a kind of mahogany box with brass handles which my father gave me, because he used to make radios, and this was some discarded, like bits of a portable radio which he abandoned, but he gave me this wonderful box, and I kept bits and pieces in that. But I remember it had a Trix...one of my half crowns I bought, there used to be a kind of cheap Mecanno-type of set which I had called Trix, and the motor, I remember I used to love the motor, electric motor, with a battery, and there were things like that under the bed. War broke out with Germany in 1939 when you were still at school. Mm. I was in Italy when that happened, in Rome. Do you remember how you reacted to the news? Well don't forget we were slightly...we moved around a ring of faint doctrination, and I think at that time there was an idea about the foreigners, and even in Edinburgh, from the age of 10 onwards, the Italian community would hire a cinema called the Salon, which was the nearest cinema to the Italian club, which was in Picardy Place, which ironically is where I did a big sculpture, outside St. Mary's Cathedral. I think there was an idea, I think there was a slight muddle, because you had, the Italians had their feet in two worlds; they were already becoming a part of the Scottish community, and yet they were supposed to play another role, which was the alliance with Hitler and Mussolini was a good thing for them, although most of them couldn't quite see it. Including your father? Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 21 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk Well my father probably wore his enamel badge, and I think it's because he wore this enamel badge, he was on a list, and when Italy declared war I think everybody on the list was rounded up. In other words the enamel badge was the party badge? That's right, yes, which was red white and green with a fascia. How did you react then? You were still at school as you said, when Italy declared war, didn't it. Well I think there was a count-down; you see my father used to make these radios, and because the shop had electricity it was quite...and he used to, for some reason, listen to...I don't know what the...it leaked through I think the speech that Mussolini made I think was in the afternoon, so there was a kind of...and in the afternoon, the back shop had all my Fascist certificates, I had been a...and all wonderful photographs, he thought.....[TELEPHONE - BREAK IN RECORDING] In the afternoon of that fateful day, what was the day, was it 6th of June? I don't know. I want to know what that day was, I think it was the 6th of June. Are we on? Yes, we're on. And I think in the back shop I remember my father listening to this speech, and knowing what the consequences were, and we had framed in the back shop, even a picture of Mussolini, and we had a big map of the Abyssinia, which had been supplied by the Fascist club, and every day from the radio he would put the positions where the Italian army advanced from the north and up from the south. Badolio [ph] was one army and the other one was Gratziani [ph]. And there were even pictures of these generals. So he thought by, simplistically by getting rid of all these things, that when the people came that we would be clean, so that the afternoon was spent getting rid of all that. And there was also a box of medals that I had brought back from these trips, and that was all got rid of, I don't know where it all went. And of course, that wasn't to be, I mean him and I were on a list, rather like that book, and we were just rounded up. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 22 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk Well, let's talk about that for a minute. Mm. How long did it take before they came and arrested your father? Well, I think there was...there was a kind of suspended period from the afternoon, and don't forget, and I mean the ordinary people, it hadn't quite leaked out to them, the people around, and I think a few people came to commiserate with my father, they were sort of friends over, you know, ever since he went there, saying that everything, comforting him. Scottish friends? Scottish friends, saying everything would be OK. And then, I don't know what happened, I think that we were advised, maybe, to go upstairs to the flat and wait, and while we were up there there was a kind of build-up. I think when it got dark a lot of mobs, and I was upstairs with my father and my mother and sister who was about, she was about six I think, there was a ten-year gap, and we heard this smashing and all that kind of thing. And then not that long afterwards there was a knock on the door and they took my father away. Was the shop damaged, your shop? It was looted and smashed to bits. And did the same thing happen to other Italian fish and chip shops and ice-cream? Yes, all of them, all of them. I mean it's quite interesting, one day I might, I think in the National Library of Scotland they've got all the newspapers, I want to have a look at that and I also want to see how the whole Andora Star thing was reported. But you have to remember, that the press were using phrases like `stab in the back' and so on, you know, and Fifth Columns, and also there was a lot of fear, it did look as if the Fifth Column, Dunkirk and all that, that it was suddenly coming through that maybe England might lose the war. And presumably Edinburgh had been bombed already. A little bit, yes. So on the same day your father was taken away. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 23 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk And I never saw him again. And then I was taken to Saughton Gaol. Can...just...hang on a minute. By policemen in uniform, or by...? No, detectives wearing hats. Yes. Do you know where they took him? No, and there was no way of knowing either. And there was no news the following day? No there was no news. You see there was this blanket; I mean nobody was going to look at the welfare of these...we had become the enemy, nobody was going to look after the welfare when there was much more...the Battle of Britain was just going to begin. How did your mother react to this? I'm not quite sure. I think there was crying, but I mean, and she was ordered, she was an enemy alien, but she wasn't arrested; she had to go and live according to an ordinance of 30, she had to be 30 miles from the coastline, she went to a place called Innerleithen. So when I eventually was released from jail I went straight to see her. Was she given digs, or...? She was...I mean it was quite easy to have a rented room, and she was quite happy. Which she had to pay for though presumably. That's right, but we're talking about maybe ten shillings a week. But she was consummately having to live on the family savings? That's right, but it never appeared to be like that at the time. But I remember having to go down to see her, to collect the keys, and it didn't seem to worry me at all; it all seemed fate, going back to the...it could have been...the shop was all boarded up, going into...I can't actually say if I had any strong feelings. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 24 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk But she took Yolanda with her? That's right. And, so, when did you know that your father was going to be transported? Well you weren't told, I mean one was...it just...it had leaked out the other way, that this ship had been sunk, and there was also my grandfather and an uncle, there was a whole bunch of them. There was quite a big Edinburgh community which was on this ship. And my father's best friend called Charlie Polity, he survived, and on the same ship with Eugene Rosenberg [ph] amongst others. And they then were put on another ship which went to Australia, they spent... That was the Dunera[??]. That's right. Where did the Andora Star leave from? Possibly Liverpool. And it was going to Canada, and everyone was going to be put into an internment camp in Canada. That's right, yes. Simply because of the fear that if there had been an internment camp in England, the Nazis would have released them. And it was talked that the Andora Star was torpedoed... Mm. And most of the people on board were killed. I think so. And you did not know... Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 25 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk I didn't. You didn't know about the fate of your father... I don't think so. You weren't...I mean you weren't informed with telegram or anything like that. When were you taken away then? I was taken away the same day. My father went off first, and then I said goodbye to my mother and sister, and spent the night in Saughton Gaol. Even though you were only 16. Yes. Still at school. Still at school. And what was it like? I can't imagine. Well don't forget it's not like going to Wormwood Scrubs now; it was under, I think this jail was under-populated, you know, and I think they decided, what they were going to do was, they decided to put us on a kind of category which was renowned at that time, which meant that you wore your own clothes, you could have food and newspapers sent in, and the cell door, you weren't banged up at night, the cell doors were often left open. But certainly the cell doors were open all day, and we went downstairs and played cards, or you could go out and play football. It was mostly Italians was it? No no, there was a rich mixture of BUF people; I thought they were a kind of small handful of Scottish aristocrats who were a member of the British Union of Fascists. And there were a few odd-balls I had never met; there was a few Scot-Italian boys in the uniform of Highland regiments, and after a couple of days they had to give them up, because of the shame I suppose. Sir Eduardo Paolozzi Page 26 C466/17/01 F4988 Side B © The British Library Board http://sounds.bl.uk In other words they were already in the Army, and they were nevertheless interned as enemy aliens. That's right. Something like that, because I think they had been to these camps, like me. Sauchton, how do you spell that? SAUCHT... SAUGHTON. Was that in Edinburgh, or somewhere else? Yes, it's in Edinburgh still. So how long were you in there for? Not that long. You see I think after a few months when the Battle of Britain was resolved, I think Britain, it started to get back onto an even keel and it's known that some of these distinguished anti-Nazis, German intellectuals, who were in the Isle of Man, within a year they were captains in Intelligence Corps; it was topsy-turvy. You said earlier that looking back on it, this experience in jail contributed to your feeling of independence and self-reliance. What I was trying to say is, having been sent away a lot from the age of ten to these other camps and all that, and it I think had helped, it made being in jail seem to be part of a similar kind of process, that your destiny was being, and you had orders, and it didn't seem very difficult, it didn't seem such a radical jump from going to Italy, being in camps, and being in Saughton jail. Is it possible to remember whether you thought about your fut
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