Nº. 1 of  35

Paris Was A Woman

Badass female artists, socialites, and icons of the early 1900s.
Brought to you by Chloe Thunders (chloethunders.tumblr.com).

deviatesinc:

Deux filles, 1925
painting by Marie Laurencin

deviatesinc:

Deux filles, 1925

painting by Marie Laurencin

deviatesinc:

Gertrude Stein, 1926
photo by Man Ray

deviatesinc:

Gertrude Stein, 1926

photo by Man Ray

(via fromfifthavenueup)

oorequiemoo:

Colette, 1909

oorequiemoo:

Colette, 1909

(via labelleotero)

Vita Sackville-West and her then-lover Rosamund Grosvenor, accompanied by Vita’s husband Harold Nicolson and her father Lord Sackville, 1913.

(Source: sangfroidwoolf)

When you’re in love you never really know whether your elation comes from the qualities of the one you love, or if it attributes them to her; whether the light which surrounds her like a halo comes from you, from her, or from the meeting of your sparks.

Natalie Clifford Barney (via thequotesiquote)

(via fromfifthavenueup)

romainebrooksnow:

What’s up with Romaine Brooks

So people keep asking me about the forthcoming Romaine Brooks book that I am doing some tweaks on…

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romainebrooksnow:

What’s up with Romaine Brooks

So people keep asking me about the forthcoming Romaine Brooks book that I am doing some tweaks on…

View Post

(via fooloption)

etund:

Sonia Delaunay, photographed by Florence Henri in Paris, 1931.

etund:

Sonia Delaunay, photographed by Florence Henri in Paris, 1931.

(via eclektic)

deviatesinc:

“How different men are from women… I shall never understand them.”
"I thought [Norman] Mailer’s review of [Mary] McCarthy’s [The] Group was pretty revolting in its pomposity and scabrous point of view. He is a fine one to be shocked by sexual realism. He, who realistically stabbed his wife’s abdomen.”

"It is strange to be a woman and so little part of the male rule of the world."

"How wicked the male instinct is for conquest, beginning first with a wife, then your neighboring country…"

"Monarchy is a form of phallic worship which sickens the mind and eye when one sees it in its clear shape…"

"Again it brings too vividly my hatred of what males have done with the masculine foundation of Christian faith, turned it into two sexual repositories in which morality lies…" [In replying to her lover’s report of a friend’s ill treatment in church]
"Germany is like a big male that has been finally knocked down, his ugly face bleeding while he whines." [on the end of WWII]
"I shall laugh or slap the next man I ever hear mention women being jealous. The evidence of rank, cruel active jealousy, stiffened by ambition, that I see in the army is as much more fierce and active and general as a man’s strength is greater than a woman’s, than any woman’s jealousies I ever saw or heard of. After all, theirs is usually sexual or domestic; men’s is big-time, as they say with relish about all they touch. I am tired of talking on the male level. I am tired of their levels, which are indeed all flat, some being higher than others, but all platitudinous."
"I wonder what life would be like without any males at all? Quieter, sillier, but not crazier…"
misandristjanetflanner.tumblr.com

deviatesinc:

  • How different men are from women… I shall never understand them.”
  • "I thought [Norman] Mailer’s review of [Mary] McCarthy’s [The] Group was pretty revolting in its pomposity and scabrous point of view. He is a fine one to be shocked by sexual realism. He, who realistically stabbed his wife’s abdomen.”
  • "It is strange to be a woman and so little part of the male rule of the world."
  • "How wicked the male instinct is for conquest, beginning first with a wife, then your neighboring country…"
  • "Monarchy is a form of phallic worship which sickens the mind and eye when one sees it in its clear shape…"
  • "Again it brings too vividly my hatred of what males have done with the masculine foundation of Christian faith, turned it into two sexual repositories in which morality lies…" [In replying to her lover’s report of a friend’s ill treatment in church]
  • "Germany is like a big male that has been finally knocked down, his ugly face bleeding while he whines." [on the end of WWII]
  • "I shall laugh or slap the next man I ever hear mention women being jealous. The evidence of rank, cruel active jealousy, stiffened by ambition, that I see in the army is as much more fierce and active and general as a man’s strength is greater than a woman’s, than any woman’s jealousies I ever saw or heard of. After all, theirs is usually sexual or domestic; men’s is big-time, as they say with relish about all they touch. I am tired of talking on the male level. I am tired of their levels, which are indeed all flat, some being higher than others, but all platitudinous."
  • "I wonder what life would be like without any males at all? Quieter, sillier, but not crazier…"

misandristjanetflanner.tumblr.com

seven-middagh:

Annemarie Schwarzenbach’s Great Depression reporting: the visual edition (1936-38). 

deviatesinc:

seven-middagh:

• On the six months when, rather than see the Little Review fold, she illegally set up camp next to Lake Michigan: 

I was often up at sunrise. The first gesture of the day was to rush into a tent, change from pajamas to bathing suit, plunge into a cold lake, run on the beach. Then a fire of brushwood, a breakfast of coffee, bacon, fruit, an egg (if we were lucky). Then the ritual of the first morning cigarette, and then the ritual of dressing. At this point in the Little Review's fortunes I possessed one blouse, one hat and one blue tailored suit. The blouse could be made to serve two days. Then I washed it— by moonlight or by sunrise. Being of crêpe georgette it didn't need to be ironed. Somehow I managed to look well-dressed, continued to elicit those tributes without which I could not live: You look so beautifully groomed! It is just as well that people don't realize the secret of this matter. It lies chiefly in a manner of walking. 

• On Jane Heap:

There is no one in the modern world whose conversation I haven’t sampled, I believe, except Picasso’s. So I can’t say it isn’t better than Jane Heap’s. But I doubt it in spite of his reputation. I felt in 1916 and feel to-day that Jane Heap is the world’s best talker. […] Our talk began with luncheon, reached a climax at tea, and by dinner we were staggering with it. By five o’clock in the morning we were unconscious but still talking […] My mind was inflamed by Jane’s ideas because of her uncanny knowledge of the human composition, her unfailing clairvoyance about human motivation. This was what I had been waiting for, searching for, all my life. 

• On public relations: 

By way of protest Upton Sinclair cancelled his subscription. ’Please cease sending me the Little Review,’ he wrote. ‘I no longer understand anything in it, so it no longer interests me.’ 
I replied: ‘Please cease sending me your socialist paper. I understand everything in it, therefore it no longer interests me.’

• On a very Little Review Christmas: 

Christmas came. No money came [….] The last number of the L.R. had been burned by the Post Office and all our money had gone into its publication. We hadn’t enough left to buy a Christmas tree. We had no fruits or cakes or candies or nuts or wine or cigarettes. We had no presents for each other. Monday was Christmas Eve. We counted on something in the post Monday morning. Jane was convinced that her family would send money as usual. I went downstairs at nine o’clock to collect their letters. There was nothing in the box but an illustrated catalogue of mausoleums. (It wouldn’t be funny if it weren’t true.) It was a de luxe catalogue, illustrated in color. We had a certain pleasure in examining it. 

Our luncheon was a little sad. Still we had enough wood for the fire and the room was exquisite. We didn’t entirely despair as there was another mail at two o’clock. If Jane’s mother came she was to give me a dollar and a half to buy my present for her- a blue bottle I had already chosen at Wanamaker’s in the old glass department. 
Jane went down for the letters at two. There was one from her family. She came running upstairs and tore it open. Yes they were sending a check. But they had forgotten to enclose it. Three o’clock and Jane said: “I’m going out”. She looked stricken. I knew she was going to Wanamaker’s glass department. I knew she was Scandinavian enough in spite of our catastrophes to have hoarded a dollar and that she would spend it on a present for me. I was American enough to have laid by no provision. 

'If you're clever enough to have some money I beg you to give it to me. I want my present for you more than anything. It's been put aside for me.'
'So has mine for you', said Jane. 
'Well, let's spend your dollar for a tree and renounce presents for each other. We don't need them. The room and a tree are enough.' 
'No', said Jane, and went down the stairs [….]

The doorbell rang. Two people came up the stairs. They were anarchists who wanted to subscribe to the L.R. A subscription was a dollar and a half. Vive the anarchists! It was just four o’clock and I begged my benefactors to excuse me, explaining the necessity for glass. I ran to Wanamaker’s. 

Jane and I returned about the same time, each with a square box containing blue glass. We shut ourselves up in secrecy and each achieved an elegantly wrapped present. These we put on her mantelpiece and sat down before the fire to contemplate them in true Christmas Eve spirit. Then Caesar [the office-boy] arrived from nowhere with five dollars for a tree. We ran out to Third Avenue, bought a tree and trimmings, a turkey, a bottle of wine, and little cakes. We spent the night in arrangements and the next morning a large box arrived from Chicago, containing every known Christmas need. 

The Sinclair burn gets me every time.

Cléopatra Diane (“Cléo”) de Mérode (27 September 1875 - 17 October 1966 (aged 91)) was a French dancer of the Belle Époque.
Cléo de Mérode became renowned for her glamour even more than for her dancing skills, and her image began appearing on such things as postcards and playing cards. A particular new hairdo she chose to wear became the talk of Parisian women and was quickly adopted as a popular style for all. Her fame was such that Alexandre Falguière sculpted The Dancer in her image, which today can be seen in the Musée d’Orsay. In 1895, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec did her portrait, as would Charles Puyo, Alfredo Muller, and Giovanni Boldini.
In 1896, King Léopold II attended the ballet and saw Mérode dance. The 61-year-old Belgian King became enamoured with the 22-year-old ballet star, and gossip started that she was his latest mistress. Because the King had had two children with a woman reputed to be a prostitute, Cléo de Mérode’s reputation suffered, and she had to live with it for the rest of her life. Nevertheless, Cléo de Mérode became an international star, performing across Europe and in the United States. At the peak of her popularity, she chose to dance at the Folies Bergère, taking the risk to do something other elites of the ballet had never done before. Her performance gained her a whole new following.
Very popular in her ancestral homeland of Austria as well as in Germany, her character appeared in the German film Frauen der Leidenschaft (1926), played by Fern Andra. In Vienna, her beauty caught the attention of painter Gustav Klimt, whose primary focus was on female sexuality. Their story was the basis of the film Klimt (2006), in which the character “Lea de Castro” is based on Cléo de Mérode.
Mérode continued to dance until her early fifties, when she retired to the seaside resort of Biarritz in the Pyrénées-Atlantiques département of France. In 1955, she published her autobiography,Le Ballet de ma vie (The Dance of My Life).
Cléo de Mérode died in 1966 and was interred in the Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris in Division 90. A statue of her, mourning her mother, who is interred in the same plot, decorates the gravestone.
(source: Wikipedia)

Cléopatra Diane (“Cléo”) de Mérode (27 September 1875 - 17 October 1966 (aged 91)) was a French dancer of the Belle Époque.

Cléo de Mérode became renowned for her glamour even more than for her dancing skills, and her image began appearing on such things as postcards and playing cards. A particular new hairdo she chose to wear became the talk of Parisian women and was quickly adopted as a popular style for all. Her fame was such that Alexandre Falguière sculpted The Dancer in her image, which today can be seen in the Musée d’Orsay. In 1895, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec did her portrait, as would Charles Puyo, Alfredo Muller, and Giovanni Boldini.

In 1896, King Léopold II attended the ballet and saw Mérode dance. The 61-year-old Belgian King became enamoured with the 22-year-old ballet star, and gossip started that she was his latest mistress. Because the King had had two children with a woman reputed to be a prostitute, Cléo de Mérode’s reputation suffered, and she had to live with it for the rest of her life. Nevertheless, Cléo de Mérode became an international star, performing across Europe and in the United States. At the peak of her popularity, she chose to dance at the Folies Bergère, taking the risk to do something other elites of the ballet had never done before. Her performance gained her a whole new following.

Very popular in her ancestral homeland of Austria as well as in Germany, her character appeared in the German film Frauen der Leidenschaft (1926), played by Fern Andra. In Vienna, her beauty caught the attention of painter Gustav Klimt, whose primary focus was on female sexuality. Their story was the basis of the film Klimt (2006), in which the character “Lea de Castro” is based on Cléo de Mérode.

Mérode continued to dance until her early fifties, when she retired to the seaside resort of Biarritz in the Pyrénées-Atlantiques département of France. In 1955, she published her autobiography,Le Ballet de ma vie (The Dance of My Life).

Cléo de Mérode died in 1966 and was interred in the Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris in Division 90. A statue of her, mourning her mother, who is interred in the same plot, decorates the gravestone.

(source: Wikipedia)

Nº. 1 of  35