Pablo Picasso, ‘The acrobat,’ January 18, 1930
by DAVE SEGAL
The Acrobat (1930) is a simple, surreal cartoon, almost comical in its minimalism. It’s practically a one-line drawing that was seemingly slapdashed off in a few minutes, offering a barely feasible depiction of the body’s pliability. With utmost economy (a black curve for an eye, a placid little ripple for a mouth), Picasso etches on his subject’s face an expression of Zen bliss, perhaps triggered by the realization that his entire body has become elongated legs and arms, which then reversed roles. How liberating…
Picasso reportedly often experienced dreams in which his limbs grew to absurd dimensions. With primitive suppleness, The Acrobat captures that sort of extravagant wish fulfillment, the byproduct of a mind that likely scarcely harbored a moment of self-doubt. This is phallic gigantism in extremis and a not-so-subtle announcement by Picasso that he can and will do whatever the hell he pleases.
If Picasso were a musician—he was the Miles Davis of painters, as commentators have asserted, right?—The Acrobat would be a non-LP B-side, an anomalous, nonchalant ditty that contains an otherwise unexpressed kernel of the artist’s idiosyncratic genius.
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You can see this painting in San Francisco right now.
Picasso figures in two other art exhibitions, at SFMOMA and at the Contemporary Jewish Museum, and he’s also part of “Midnight in Paris,” the new Woody Allen movie, in which “L’acrobate,” which is in the de Young show, is well discussed.
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Other posts concerning Woody Allen’s latest movie “Midnight in Paris”
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