Part of my city lives online now, and to my delight, it’s not the real thing at all. One still has to resist the urge to trip over every TikToker’s monologue in the East Village. My favorite type of video these kids make is the man-in-the-street interview, which asks recent transplant fellows questions like, “What are you wearing?” or “How are you so confident?” It’s nice that they think we want any advice from anyone, when neither of them can think of anything better to do in New York than create content.
But audiences have always been interested in the inner lives of city dwellers, an area explored by “Brasailles: Secret Signs of Paris” at the Moderna Museum, the first major Swedish show by the artist, also known as Gyula Halasz (1899-1984). This Transylvanian-born immigrant took the name of his birthplace, Brasso, and made himself the definitive portrait painter of Paris After Dark. Exhibition curator Anna Tellgren, working with the photographer’s nephew Philippe Ribeyrolle and the estate company Brassaï Succession — which presented almost the entire show — has collected more than 160 antique gelatin silver prints, each developed by Brassaï’s hand, as well as his 1956 short film. The selection traces the three themes of his life: the night city and its inhabitants, the artists he ran with like Pablo Picasso, and the anonymous graffiti he pursued for a quarter of a century — before the time Long since graffiti became something sought-after as office decor.
Le Roy Soleil (c. 1950) is a great example of the latter part of the work, and graces the cover of his book graffiti (1960). It depicts an anonymous grotesque sculpture hacked into a wall at the Porte de Saint-Ouen, the gateway to a flea market on the working-class northern edge of Paris. The title is ironic, of course, a reference to the man who once said “l’état c’est moi,” but one sees in this picture a majesty presented as different from Versailles but not inferior. The photographer carried pocket cards to draw each mark and write down its address, so he could return for better lighting or to track how the sculpture had mutated over the years.
He loved to get to know his subjects, and you can see through this interest in masks how he became friends with Picasso, and this intimacy is evident in Picasso in his studio, Avenue Grande Augustin (c. 1939-40). The artist feels comfortable enough to smother a sculpture under penetrating lamps to take professional photographs that allow us to see its varied textures and—although this was likely not intentional—Picasso’s strutting drops. The belief is that it was initially hired to document only 3D artworks. His notes became one of their favorites Conversations with Picasso (1964), which included the artist’s quote: “Read this book if you want to understand me.”
It is one of his most famous works Lovers in a small Parisian café, Place d’Italie (California 1932), a picture of nightlife that at first glance seems to pretend to be transparent. The couple sits at a corner banquette, surrounded by mirrors, so the photo promises a look at every aspect of their embrace. But we can’t actually see any of their faces fully, and the emotion on her face is vague. This is a picture of abstract romanticism, with all its excellent darkness and smoke.
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