Chagall: 12-Sided Hallway

by Kara Skye Smith

  Boucher: Well, just a peek, then…

  [Rivera opens the door. Marevna peeks in timidly, appearing smaller next to the large man. Underwear lie about the studio and it is obvious a woman lives there or else visits quite often. A lace brassiere hangs over the back of a chair and several dresses hang from a water pipe along the ceiling.

  Rivera: I’d like to get a little more coal from you… on a regular basis… if you understand. Angelina gets quite cold, her thinness and fair skin, I suppose.

  Boucher: See how much larger these studios are… compared to those of the 1st and 2nd floor? Um… let me see what I can do, Diego. I’m already offering you a reduced rate this month…

  [Marevna pops her head back out.

  Introductions… let’s see, Marevna this is Diego Rivera, surely you’ve seen his talent as an artist?

  [She doesn’t answer.

  At Salon D’Automne?

  [Shakes her head ‘no’.

  There’ll be an opening, for your newest?

  Rivera: Saturday. Marevna, is it?

  Marevna: Yes, monsieur. [He grabs her hand and kisses it.

  Rivera: Charmed. Attend if you like. Saturday... oh, 6ish, 7. There’ll be hors d’eouvres and all the wine you can drink. From the size of you, that will be what, a thimbleful?

  Marevna: Oh, you’d be quite surprised. I’m from Tiflis, the forests of Russia.. and I can hold my vodka as well as any man… my father saw to that.

  [Diego and Boucher laugh.

  Diego: I like her. Quite a little savage!

  Marevna: [Seems pleased at these words. Yes.

  Boucher: I’ll see about the coal, Diego. Marevna has not seen the Salons yet.

  Diego: Quite a change from Tiflis, where little savages like you bathe in wooded streams.

  Marevna: Not quite! I just arrived here from Capri. An artist colony. Six months, in fact.

  Diego: Impressive. Capri, Italy? A lotus-eating six months, no doubt.

  [Diego and Boucher laugh.

  Marevna: Stop. You assume so much at one meeting? [Then giggles. Well, perhaps it was something like that…

  Diego: I’ll stop ruffling your feathers, little one. Please do come by the Salon Saturday. And you also, Boucher. Good day.

  Boucher: I shall, indeed, Diego.

  Act II, Scene 4: Engaged in Vitebsk, Not in Paris

  (Scene is inspired by Chagall’s painting: Adam and Eve.)

  Setting: Interior. Chagall’s Studio.

  Time: Daytime.

  Cendrars reclines on pillows while Chagall paints. He is working on Self-Portrait with Seven Fingers. There is a period of silence. Cendrars is reading a magazine.

  Cendrars: Why didn’t you ask Marie to dance?

  Chagall: Bella.

  Cendrars: I slept at Jolie’s.

  Chagall: I thought so.

  Cendrars: Did you enjoy yourself?

  Chagall: Immensely! [He turns around. While you were dancing, I met up with Picasso, again. Matisse, and from a distance I could see Monet. In Paris, Montmartre, is was as if the gods stood before me.*

  It was exciting, thrilling, you know?

  Cendrars: [Smirks. As was my night. I have written, finally, a new poem.

  Chagall: [Laughs Ah… the poet has found a new muse, has he?

  Cendrars: What are you doing today? Tonight?

  Chagall: Painting. And only painting. Do not try to lure me away - Valentine keeps asking me where I am exhibiting. It’s become a sore spot and a bit more painful than the mere annoyance it once caused. I’m applying at Salon des Independants. Keep your wine and girlfriends from my door, Cendrars, if you are a friend, until I’ve been accepted.

  Cendrars: Since I am a true friend, I won’t respond to that request, but I’ll give you some room, for a while, anyway. What will you paint if not models and wine bottles? [Laughs.

  Chagall: Sheesh. Yeah. I’ve been remembering my grandfather, on the roof of our house in Vitebsk. Playing his fiddle. Do you remember me telling you this? The only place he could be alone. Once, he went there to eat carrots. Just sat on the roof, eating carrots. I shall paint him as I remember him. And the time Uncle walked down the street without any pants on. His coat and hat, walking down the edge of the road, nothing on his bottom half - pantsless!*

  I shall point him as well.

  Cendrars: You are thinking about Russia. No doubt about your love there.

  Chagall: Bella has written to me… she writes… [he grabs her letter… my “Chagall took with him, instead of an inheritance, the breath of his parents’ house like a piece of his father’s shroud.”* I would have rather had an inheritance.

  Cendrars: How did you ever get to art school, a son among seven children?

  Chagall: My mother, mostly. My mother would weep, nearly every night, near the stove, cleaning up as my father slept at the table. She’d sing. I sang with her. And did not leave her alone. I began drawing, at the table, the pictures I saw in the Haggedah, then painting them. I didn’t name them, so my mother would invent the names. Vitebsk will always be with me, if only on canvas and through letters from Bella.

  Cendrars: That is why you don’t name your paintings, I suppose. You impressed Canudo again, last night, I hear, with your art and poetry. I you exhibit at the Salon, and I am confident you will, perhaps he’ll put a review of your work in Montjoie. Have you asked him?

  Chagall: No. No. I dislike reviews and analysis of my painting. I much prefer his candid responses when he crashes in on us.. The most valued review, to me, is the poetry of my friends - like your’s and Appollonaire - he wrote a poem for me on the back of his napkin while we lunched at Café Rotunde, Rotosage, he calls it, dedicated to Chagall. After seeing my studio paintings and discussing my art, he seemed very moved. The poem will be in the Sturm, some month or other, he told me, I don’t remember, though.

  Cendrars: Do you have the poem? Can I read it?

  Chagall: No. But his most touching review, to me, was when he came into my studio… He came in and couldn’t speak. He fell into a fit of laughter at nearly each painting… and when he finally spoke, all he said was, “Supernatural!” One word. And yet it was the perfect communication between us, poet and painter. Then we went to lunch, just like that, and spoke as usual, of course.. That’s when he wrote the poem.

  What do you think of that?

  Cendrars: Hmmm… [He is lighting a cigarette.

  Chagall: [Chagall picks up a paint brush and paints words on the wall as he says them:

  Show me a single great work that does not have its portion of poetry. [Paints these words: Art above all, seems to be a state of the soul…*

  Cendrars: [Teases. Supernatural!

  Chagall: What do you know? The state of the soul of a poet in the thighs of a woman?

  Cendrars: [Smiles. And you don’t?

  Chagall: [Keeps painting the words on the studio wall. It is something I discussed at length, last night, mostly with Canudo, but a few others as well…

  Cendrars: And mostly after much intoxication, I noticed.

  Chagall: Yes, but listen, for possibly the first time in history, Cendrars, entirely new movements in art are all around us… The artist refusing to follow history, dismissing the representational, revealing the soul - creating an expression of the visible not ever known before. Revolutionaries, because we are, refusing to follow a tired path awakening new ways to see the visible world. Not ever established or known before. I’m wondering if we’ve gotten chaotic enough. Have we thrown things up enough to see what lies beneath? *

  Cendrars: There is definitely an enigmatic energy here, I feel it too. I’m beginning to write about it, with Sonia. Here, I wrote something on your studio wall also…

  Chagall: What does it say?

  Cendrars: If you don’t give a fuck about the painter, she won’t give a fuck about you…*

  Chagall: You are worthless conversation today.

  Cendrars: What? Louis David said that. I’m leaving you to
create something groundbreaking and chaotic while I, the lowly poet, crawl back to the bed of my muse… until morning or several days after. I will see you next at the Salon opening?

  Chagall: We can only hope.

  Cendrars: I disagree, you’re nearly there. You asked me to name this one… And you say it is inspired by Adam and Eve? Well, as I am covered in the juice of forbidden fruit today… I shall name it, after much poetic thought… Adam and Eve.

  The first cubist Adam and Eve I’ve ever seen. At least without Picasso’s signature. [Hugs and kisses. Au revoir.

  [Chagall shuts the studio door and the light casts his shadow against the propped up canvas of Adam and Eve. *

  Act II, Scene 5: Busy as Bees from the Hive –

  Setting: Exterior. City Street, Montparnasse Neighborhood, Paris.

  Time: Daytime.

  Delauney wheels a wooden cart full of paintings, several are very large and he and Modi struggle to keep them on the cart, especially while maneuvering the cart downhill. They come to a street and cross. Leger laughs and smokes his cigarette, watching them from behind. It is morning and several merchants are setting up the areas in front of their stores. They nod or say ‘bon matin’, or glare as they nearly knock into them.

  Act II, Scene 6: Establishing a Career

  Setting: Interior. Salon Des Independants.

  Time: Same Day. Daytime.

  Chagall walks down a hall. He sees Delauney. He is carrying a huge canvas. He glances toward Chagall. He winks. Chagall watches him hang the painting with the Salon director.

  Delauney: Marc Chagall! Here for the opening? You're a little early, aren't you? You come in quite often, don't you?

  Chagall: Yes, yes and yes again. I find much inspiration in the museums of Paris, especially the Louvre, or here, the Independent. How did you get this out of your studio door?

  Delauney: Hanging it has been the hardest part.

  Director: We had to move several other works to find the space. This young artist, so enthusiastic, I can see him picking out his canvases - he thinks the biggest canvas is what will hold his inspiration!

  Delauney: You really must see Chagall's paintings. Have you brought them to the Salons, yet?

  Chagall: That's why I have arrived early today, actually, to inquire about acceptance.

  Delauney: You won't be disappointed. Very original. Not quite fauvist, not entirely cubist, and some quite silly, like a folk tale, fabulous color....

  Director: Delauney seems to have spoken for you… Yes, bring in ten of your best canvases, no paper. There are easels downstairs. Arrange them, you know, so they look appealing... as a show. There are several of us who'll view them and decide. Have them up by noon tomorrow. Come back within three days, to pick up the paintings. You'll be accepted if we like your work.

  Chagall: Okay, monsieur. Thank you. I'll bring them in tomorrow morning.

  Director: I've actually been expecting your arrival.

  Chagall: Really?

  Director: You have an impatient art patron already... she's been quite insistent. Almost annoying, to be quite honest.

  Chagall: Valentine?

  Director: [Chuckles. Who else.

  Delauney: Might have worked to your advantage, keeping to yourself in that studio, she's dying to see your work. There's rarely an artist Valentine de Sandpoint hasn't reviewed.

  Director: She likes to be the first to speak about an artist she likes, even more so if you're from La Ruche, or if you're an acquaintance of one of her many artist friends.

  Canudo: You know?

  Delauney: There's more to our love for Valentine than her looks, you see.

  Chagall: [Laughs. It's funny. I began to feel sort of anxious thinking of running into her. She almost drove me out the door this morning, thinking of our inevitable meeting, here at the opening tonight...

  Delauney: Yes, and her incessant questioning... When will I see these paintings of yours, Marc? Drives Lhote crazy. Shares her with two other lovers, and still a jealous fool over her at times. But she is a remarkable woman.

  Director: That she is. And get used to these types, Chagall. Art patrons are rarely simplistic or easy to please. If she got you out the door this morning, even if it was by mere annoyance, she's already affecting your career.

  They love that! But, so do I. I am a director after all.

  [Stands back and looks at the painting. It's just a slight bit higher on the left. Pull it off the wall. Lower the right nail. Just a fraction. That's it. Easy now.

  Act II, Scene 7: Rivera’s Opening and Salon Show

  Setting: Exterior. Salon Des Independants.

  Time: That Night.

  [Music. No words. The gallery is seen from outside in the city street through the windows. There are many people in the rooms filled with art. A tall, thin but pregnant woman stands holding her belly while Diego Rivera talks excitedly with his hands, waving them about and occasionally lifting his walking stick. Marevna stands near, looking at him often, laughing and listening intently.

  Chagall moves closer to them, closer to the door. Cendrars and Jolie find him and they appear to talk. Cendrars engages Marevna in conversation and soon the four exit the gallery and enter the city street.

  Viewpoint moves to the gallery area. Music fades and conversations are abuzz in the room. Scene focus point is from behind Picasso. He is standing to the side of a group of unknown, Salon, art viewers looking at one of his paintings.

  Viewer 1: [Tilts head. Tilts head back. What, may I ask, is it?

  Picasso: “Oh, nothing much, you know. Between ourselves, it’s some dung. Good for idiots.”

  Viewer 2 [Stares.

  Viewer 1 [Gasps.

  Picasso: “Don’t think I meant that for you - you’re different… but I often have to work for fools… and my manager is” constantly nagging me “to do something to astonish the public.”*

  Max Jacob: [Walks up behind this conversation.

  They sound astonished.

  Picasso: They do, don’t they? [He says as he is led away from the group of viewers, Max Jacob taking him by the arm.

  Max Jacob and Picasso exit the gallery.

  [No words. Music only. Camera shows the outside of the gallery as Marevna, Cendrars and Chagall exit and walk up the street in Montparnasse. Talking and huddling themselves inside their coats against the night air.

  Act II, Scene 8: Set to Make History

  (Painting influence: I and the Village.)

  Setting: Montparnasse Night Club near the Salon

  Time: 11:00 pm

  [Music fades as the conversation is heard as they near the door of a busy night club and lighted neon sign.

  Marevna: Is it just me, or did anybody notice how Diego's wife kept calling him bebe, detochka, and my child?

  [Cendrars swings open the door and noise of the club gushes out the door, filling their ears. He holds the door open.

  Cendrars: Looks like most of La Ruche is here.

  [Jolie ducks under his arm and enters.

  Marevna: [Ducking in under Cendrars’ arm also. Speaking to anyone who will hear. Maybe Diego will come, what is his wife's name again?

  Chagall: [Takes the door. They enter the club. Angelina.

  [Valentine sees Chagall and he waves. They huddle around the bar area where she and her three admirers sit. Cendrars and Jolie go off to dance. Canudo is visible as Luc-Albert moves to the side.

  Chagall pushes in closer to hear the conversation.

  Canudo: I was speaking to the Editor of Der Sturm yesterday. He says he thinks this is one of the most innovative generations of artists in the history of Paris! Revolutionaries he called us. I'd have to agree. He thinks Cubism is what will shake the Fauvists from their current pedestal. [He notices Chagall.

  Chagall! [waves. Here is what he wrote, let me read it to you...

  "The gods change from day to day. Cezanne, Gaugin, Van Gogh, Matisse, Picasso even... are being plundered without sympathy, restraint or
discrimination. It is pandemonium where everything is turned topsy-turvy. Everyone tries to shout the loudest in order to appear the most modern."

  Here's where he calls the Fauvists and Cubists Revolutionaries influenced by political unrest. What do you think, Chagall? Political unrest?

  Chagall: Apparently, these days, it is the cow directing world politics. Influenced? Yes. Cubism will make mincemeat of her. Expressionism will twist her. Can we help it if we artists see the world events only through canvas and painting materials thickening and quivering like noxious gases? I left Russia because of the dead color of Russian painting, war restrictions and the political pressure to conform to the requests of those without creativity, and even to some of those who would fear it. If Europe is warring, Picasso, Cubism is done for. [Laughter.

  Canudo: Cheers, Chagall! [Puts his arm around him.

  Do you see that man over there? [Whispers. Monet. This is the best time for you to be in Paris. Come. Let me introduce you to some people.

  [Kisling walks past Renee and pats her on the back of her thighs. She is standing next to Marevna, who is standing next to Angelina, who is standing across from Modi. Renee smiles at Kisling and then shakes her head and looks at Modi.

  Renee Why does he do that?

  Modi: He always does. [To the group. “He likes to pat beautiful women on the thighs and back … as a man would pat a fine mare, a doe or a bitch.”*

  [He laughs. You’re a fine doe, Renee.

  [Renee laughs.

  [Angelina pulls Marevna off to one side in the crowded bar.

  Angelina: Be careful of these artist men, Marevna. And these models. I don’t have to worry much with Diego. If his eyes get led away for a time, he always returns to me. It doesn’t last. But women get eyes for him sometimes… not that I blame them. Marevna, can you keep a secret?

  Marevna: Yes. Usually.

  Angelina: [Whispers loudly. I’m pregnant!

  Marevna: What?

  Angelina: Pregnant. I’m pregnant!

  Marevna: Well, wow! Congratulations.

  Angelina: Thank you. I’m so happy about it. Diego thought it was a little soon. Can you believe that? I’ve waited So long. Oh Diego, hi! Guess what, I just told Marevna we’re having a baby….She’s the first one I told. Except for Madame. S.