In April 1957 the protean artist Marcel Duchamp
delivered his manifesto “The Creative Act” to the
American Federation of Arts in Houston, Texas.
His conclusion:
The creative act is not performed by the artist
alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world by deciphering
and interpreting its inner qualification and
thus adds his contribution to the creative act.
This becomes even more obvious when posterity gives a final verdict and sometimes rehabilitates forgotten artists.1
ISABELLE
WALDBERG
Jacquelynn Baas profiles Isabelle Waldberg, writing on the sculptor’s
many friendships and the influence of her singular creations.
142
Duchamp’s final words imply that each generation brings new ways of seeing to the perception and evaluation of art and artists. Duchamp
was always involved in the art of his time, but the
phrase “rehabilitating forgotten artists” suggests
he may have intended to close his address with a
word of encouragement to his artist friends.
One of the closest of these was Isabelle Waldberg. Born Margaretha Isabella Maria Farner in
the canton of Zurich in German Switzerland in
1911, Waldberg came from a long line of blacksmiths, but her father, as the younger son, could
not inherit the family forge and was relegated to
farming. Waldberg loved spending time at her
uncle’s forge, and it is tempting to attribute her
future career as a sculptor to her family history.
In 1932 she moved to Zurich, where she studied sculpture and immersed herself in the city’s
art scene.
In 1936, Waldberg relocated to Paris, where
she got to know a number of artists including her
compatriot Alberto Giacometti, who would be an
artistic influence on her. At that point in her life,
she was a free spirit who derived an income from
the sale of her erotic drawings and small sculptures. In 1937 she met the American writer and
political activist Patrick Waldberg at Café Dôme.
They quickly became romantically involved, and
Patrick convinced her to use the name Isabelle
(his estranged wife was named Margareta). Patrick was associated with the writer and political
subversive Georges Bataille, and together he and
Isabelle became core members of Bataille’s secret
society, Acéphale. When Bataille’s partner Colette
Peignot, known as Laure, died of tuberculosis in
November 1938, Isabelle and Patrick moved in
with him at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, near Marly
Forest—site of Acéphale’s secret sacrificial and
sexual rituals, in which Isabelle appears to have
played a central role.2
With the onset of World War II, Acéphale
unraveled and Patrick volunteered to serve in the
French infantry. In August 1940 he was awarded
the Croix de Guerre and demobilized. As an
American citizen, Patrick preceded Isabelle to
the United States, where he lived for a while in
New York and then traveled through California
and the West. With considerable difficulty, Isabelle finally managed to come to New York with
their young son, Michel, in July 1942, one month
after Duchamp’s return to the city. The little family moved into an apartment at 18 East 57th Street,
one floor above Duchamp’s friend and future biographer Robert Lebel and his family. Isabelle and
Patrick married in September 1942, just before he
departed for London, where he had been assigned
by the American Office of War Information (sponsor of Voice of America, where Patrick found
employment for artist friends including André
Breton). Patrick subsequently moved between
143
Previous spread:
Isabelle Waldberg, with
Construction (1943), in her
studio, New York, 1943.
Photo: H. Brammer
Opposite:
Isabelle Waldberg’s studio on
rue d’Orsel, Paris, c. 1960.
Photo: Michel Waldberg,
courtesy Corinne Waldberg
This page, top:
Isabelle Waldberg, Zurich,
c. 1931
This page, bottom:
Isabelle Waldberg,
Luminaire, 1946, plaster,
15 × 9 7⁄8 × 8 ¼ inches
(38 × 25 × 21 cm). Fonds
de dotation Jean-Jacques
Lebel © 2020 Artists
Rights Society (ARS),
New York/ADAGP, Paris
London, North Africa, and Paris while Isabelle
remained in New York, seeing him only briefly on
the rare occasions when he could get leave. Meanwhile, Isabelle developed a romantic and intellectual relationship with Lebel that would last until
Lebel’s death, in 1986.
Isabelle Waldberg quickly immersed herself in New York’s artistic and intellectual life. In
a hardware store, she discovered flexible birch
dowels that she could soak in water, bend, and
fasten together with string along the lines of
Giacometti’s spare Palace at 4 A .M . (1932), which
had deeply impressed her when she saw it in his
Paris studio in 1936. She was encouraged to pursue her new “dematerialized” sculpture by Breton
and Lebel, who early in 1944 published a book of
144
erotic poetry, Masque à lame, featuring photographs
of Waldberg’s “constructions,” as she called them.3
The title Masque à lame translates into English as
“Blade mask.” Lebel’s son Jean-Jacques plausibly
suggests that his father’s title is a pun on masque
à l ’âme—“mask for the soul”—in other words,
the body. 4
“I loved my life in New York,” Waldberg recalled
in 1963. “In Paris I had studied ethnology at the
Sorbonne and I became friends with André Breton and Marcel Duchamp. Marcel seemed kind to
everyone, but he didn’t really like people that much.
Of course, he had very good friends, but he only
liked a few people. He didn’t talk much; he wasn’t
like the other Surrealists.”5 There is little doubt
that Waldberg was one of the young women who
occupied the bed of the charismatic “Inventor of
Free Time,” as Lebel portrayed Duchamp in a contemporaneous story.6 Although it is hard to know
how close she had been to Duchamp in Paris, in
New York Waldberg was clearly one of Marcel’s few
“very good friends.” “He liked young women,” she
wrote. “Marcel came to my studio often, and sometimes we would have dinner. . . . He had one simple
room on West 14th Street. When I returned to Paris
after four years, Marcel let me take over his small
seventh-floor studio in rue Larrey.”7 Their professional collaboration was as strong as their personal
relationship. Waldberg worked with Duchamp on
both of the bookstore windows he created for Breton in 1945—in April for Breton’s autobiographical
book-length essay Arcane 17, and the following
November for an expanded edition of Le Surréalisme et la peinture. A central feature of this second window was one of the bent-wood sculptures
Waldberg had been making over the previous two
years. Reversed, the pose of her now-lost 1943 Construction, which Lebel had paired with his poem
“Toujours là bel aqueduc” (Always there, beautiful aqueduct) in Masque à lame, is identical—right
down to the absence of a head—to the pose of the
figure that Duchamp would adopt in Étant donnés:
145
illuminated night to absorb infinitely all the lights
available outside of time.”13 Difficult to translate
from the original French, her words suggest that
Luminaire was intended (among other things) as
a portal to infinite enlightenment.
This page, bottom:
Isabelle Waldberg in the
garden of her Paris studio,
c. 1958
This page, top:
Isabelle Waldberg,
Répertoire des idées,
c. 1968, plaster, painted
wood, and collage,
11 x 20 x 5 7⁄8 inches
(28 x 51 x 15 cm).
Collection of Michel
Waldberg. © 2020 Artists
Rights Society (ARS),
New York/ADAGP, Paris
Essay adapted from Marcel Duchamp and the Art of Life
(Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2019).
In addition to the citations below, see also Robert Lebel,
“Isabelle Waldberg: à l’entrée ou à la sortie de son palais de
la mémoire,” in Étant donné Marcel Duchamp, no. 7 (2006),
86–107. The Isabelle Waldberg Committee maintains a website:
www.isabellewaldberg.com.
1. Marcel Duchamp, “The Creative Act,” Artnews 56, no. 4
(Summer 1957):28–29.
2. Due to the secretive nature of the group, precisely what went
on during the secret, “inner” meetings of Acéphale remains a
subject of conjecture. See Jacquelynn Baas, Marcel Duchamp and
the Art of Life (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2019), 229–38.
3. Robert Lebel, Masque à lame (New York: Liberal Press/Éditions
Hémisphères, “1943” [1944]; repr. ed. Geneva: Mamco, 2015).
The term “dematerialized sculptures” is from Catalogue sculpteurs
(Geneva: Editions Claude Givaudan, 1966), n.p.
4. See Paul Franklin, “Coming of Age with Marcel: An Interview
with Jean-Jacques Lebel,” in Étant donné Marcel Duchamp, no. 7
(2006):17.
5. Isabelle Waldberg, “Peggy Guggenheim, Marcel Duchamp &
André Breton,” in Étant donné Marcel Duchamp, no. 7 (2006):138.
1. La chute d’eau, 2. Le gaz d’éclairage (Given: 1. The
Waterfall, 2. The Illuminating Gas, 1946–66).8
Everyone but Patrick returned to Paris after
the war. Duchamp would begin working on Étant
donnés in 1946, a year in which Waldberg created
an even more startling precedent. Luminaire is a
plaster sculpture that appears to have been cast
from a female pudendum, perhaps as a “how-to”
exercise for the plaster-cast female body in Étant
donnés.9 It is the obverse of Duchamp’s plastercast Female Fig Leaf (1950), which was reproduced
on the cover of Le Surréalisme, même in 1956.
Duchamp had carefully lit his little sculpture and
then retouched the photograph, transforming it
into the shadowy image of a vulva. Notably, the
vulva in Luminaire is a hole, like the hole at the
center of the figure in Étant donnés. Waldberg’s
title—Luminaire (Light)—evokes the lamp held up
by Duchamp’s figure. Luminaire was unlike anything else Waldberg was doing at the time; she
tended to work in series, and this bleak plaster
sculpture makes little sense except in the context
of Étant donnés.
In January 1947 Duchamp would return to New
York and his lover Maria Martins, who is usually
considered the inspiration for Étant donnés. In
terms of Duchamp’s emotional involvement with
Martins, that is not wrong; but in terms of artistic
inspiration, Waldberg would appear to have been
the more important source. When he left for New
York, Duchamp invited Waldberg to move into his
Paris studio. Twenty years later, shortly after finishing Étant donnés, he wrote a pithy paean to her:
Isabelle sculpte, ausculte, s’occulte et exulte—“Isabelle
sculpts, sounds, occults, and exults.”10 His tribute
reveals not only Duchamp’s affection but also his
deep respect for Waldberg’s talent, perception, discretion, and spirit.
Waldberg played a number of roles over the
course of her life, including translator (Nietzsche,
for Bataille) and writer/editor (the Encyclopaedia
Da Costa, for Duchamp and Lebel). But it is as a
sculptor that she deserves—to use Duchamp’s
term—rehabilitation. Fascinated as a child by the
form-creating construction in timber and plaster of
a house near the family farm, Waldberg primarily
worked in wood and malleable plaster, casting in
bronze to achieve more permanent form. Despite
her scholarly interest in ethnology and Native
146
American culture, and her friendship with Breton,
she did not think of herself as a Surrealist. Her
participation in the window displays for Breton’s
books, and her friendships with artists such as
Giacometti, Max Ernst, André Masson, and Matta
suggest that she was a consummate networker.
She was also generous: when Peggy Guggenheim
offered her a solo exhibition at Guggenheim’s Art of
This Century Gallery, in 1944, Waldberg responded
by inviting the Latvian expressionist painter Rudolf
Ray to show with her.
Returning to Paris after the war, Waldberg wrote
her husband, still in New York, asking him to bring
a supply of birch dowels from a hardware store “at
or near the corner of 60th Street and 3rd Avenue.”11
Duchamp showed her airy sculpture La nue, or
Premier du fil (The nude/cloud, or First thread) in his
“Rain Room” at the 1947 Paris Exposition Internationale du Surréalisme. In 1948, Waldberg began to
reinterpret her wood constructions in iron and then
returned to plaster, with its infinite possibilities of
form. Drawings and paintings on paper constituted
yet another aspect of her ongoing oeuvre, which
would come to encompass bronze, pigmented plaster and wood, cork, and other materials.
As a sculptor, Waldberg explored the eroticism
engendered by the polarity between figuration and
abstraction. Occasional intimations of violence
betray her formation as an artist between two catastrophic wars. Her dual emphasis on emergence
and dissolution, protection and openness, conveys
not a Cartesian dualism between spirit and matter, but a yin-yang morphology inspired by Asian
and Native American perspectives on reality.
Waldberg’s fundamental focus was on le masque
à l ’âme: the connection between physical form
and consciousness. A philosopher might call it
panpsychism: the view that mind is omnipresent
within tangible reality.
Duchamp would have simply called it art.
Pierre Larousse, whose “abstract” words he mined,
defined art as application des connaissances à
la réalisation d ’une conception—application of
knowledge to the realization of a conception. 12 For
Waldberg, sculpting was both an act of conception
and an art of love: “a sculpture is held close,” she
wrote, “we are in dialogue, it becomes the other.”
She experienced this polarity with “eyes wide
open to the light of day; for it must be full day or
6. Published in Robert Lebel, La Double vue, suivi de L’Inventeur
du temps gratuit (Paris: Le Soleil Noir, 1964). See also Baas,
Duchamp and the Art of Life, 190ff.
7. Waldberg, “Peggy Guggenheim, Marcel Duchamp &
André Breton,” 138.
8. In Étant donnés the head is hidden, with only a shock of
blond hair visible. The connection between the pose of Waldberg’s
“Endless Aqueduct” and that of the figure in Étant donnés was
first noted by Thomas Girst, in “Duchamp’s Window Display for
André Breton’s Le Surréalisme et la peinture” in the January
2002 issue of the online journal tout-fait, available at www.tout
fait.com/duchamps-window-display-for-andra-bretons-lesurraalisme-et-la-peinture-1945/ (accessed December 29, 2019).
9. On Duchamp’s process see Melissa S. Meighan, “A Technical
Discussion of the Figure in Marcel Duchamp’s Étant donnés,”
in Michael R. Taylor, Marcel Duchamp: Étant donnés, exh. cat.
(Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, in association
with Yale University Press, 2009), 244.
10. Reproduced in Étant donné Marcel Duchamp, no. 7 (2006):
102. Ausculte refers to listening to the body, as with a stethoscope.
11. Patrick and Isabelle Waldberg, Un amour acéphale:
correspondance, 1940–1949, ed. Michel Waldberg (Paris:
Éditions de la Différence, 1992), 432.
12. Petit Larousse illustré (Paris: Librairie Larousse, 1912), 64.
See Baas, Duchamp and the Art of Life, 5.
13. Isabelle Waldberg, quoted in Michel Waldberg, Isabelle
Waldberg (Paris: Éditions de la Différence, 1992), 47–48. The
quote reads in French, “les yeux grand ouverts à regarder la
clarté du jour; car il doit faire grand jour ou nuit illuminée pour
absorber à l’infini toutes les lumières disponibles pendant les
temps illimités.”
This page, bottom:
Marcel Duchamp, Étant
donnés: 1° la chute d’eau,
2° le gaz d’éclairage…/
Given: 1. The Waterfall,
2. The Illuminating Gas…,
1946–66, mixed media,
95 ½ × 70 inches
(242.6 × 177.8 cm).
Philadelphia Museum of Art,
Philadelphia, PA, gift
of the Cassandra Foundation,
1969 © Association Marcel
Duchamp/ADAGP, Paris/
Artists Rights Society (ARS),
New York, 2020
This page, top:
Marcel Duchamp and
Isabelle Waldberg, 11 rue
Larrey, Paris, c. 1960. Photo:
Véra Cardot and Pierre Joly
Images sourced from
Michel Waldberg’s Isabelle
Waldberg (Paris: Éditions
de la Différence, 1992)
147