Picasso Artworks and Life Videos

Transcript of the Video for those of you who would rather read, or read along while you view the video

Hello, and welcome to Tate Modern. Today, Joshua and I are exploring a major retrospective dedicated to Pablo Picasso, showcasing a hundred pieces of work produced in the pivotal year of 1932. We’ll be highlighting a selection of these works to shed new light on Picasso’s creative process and thinking during this remarkably prolific period.

We begin with the painting Nude, Green Leaves and Bust, created in 1932. This is a portrait of Marie-Thérèse Walter, Picasso’s young muse and lover. The work is rich, intricate, and somewhat unsettling. At the bottom of the picture plane lies the reclining figure of the model, bisected by two black ribbons. Above her sits a bust—another representation of Marie-Thérèse. This dual imagery creates a complex relationship between the living woman and her sculptural likeness. The setting itself is oddly theatrical, with curtains strung across the back and shifting blue tones that intensify the emotional landscape. It’s a deeply passionate painting that captures the intensity of Picasso’s love and longing—feelings complicated by the fact that his relationship with Marie-Thérèse was clandestine. At the time, he was still married.

Despite not working from life, Picasso conveyed an enduring and vivid impression of her sensual body. The painting is full of symbolic ambiguity—are we looking at hair, an eye, or even a sexual organ? These details reflect Picasso’s obsession with eroticism and physical presence. The green leaves that oscillate around the space seem to pulse with life, echoing the emotional and sexual energy that defines the painting.

Next, we turn to Girl Before a Mirror, another iconic piece from 1932. Here, we see a woman, again reminiscent of Marie-Thérèse, standing on the left, gazing into a mirror on the right. The painting is bisected, creating a sense of duality. One might expect a reflection, but instead, we encounter a murky, psychologically charged image—possibly masculine in form. The work evokes themes of identity, projection, and duality—youth versus age, innocence versus experience, the public face versus the private self. Picasso draws on a European tradition of depicting vanity, but with an intense psychological and emotional dimension. The woman’s spine curves like a ribcage, her outstretched arm bridging both sides of the composition. It’s both a celebration of the female form and a complex meditation on identity.

Moving on, we encounter Rest, another 1932 work, which perhaps reflects Picasso’s troubled relationship with his wife Olga. While he was deeply infatuated with Marie-Thérèse, he remained married to Olga and they had a young child. This created emotional turmoil during a year when Picasso had turned fifty and was striving to remain artistically relevant. Rest is an aggressive, disturbing painting. The female body is pushed to the limits of recognizability, her face fierce and disjointed, with spiky hair and distorted features. The ochre and umber interior appears conventional, yet contrasts with the insect-like form of the figure. Picasso elongates and multiplies limbs, creating unsettling anatomical hybrids. There are clever visual games—hair that doubles as eyelashes, breasts as eyes—highlighting the artist’s fascination with transformation and ambiguity. Fundamentally, the painting reveals Picasso’s conflicted attitude toward desire and the female body.

We now consider Three Dancers, painted earlier in 1925, yet featured prominently in this retrospective. This composition shows three figures locked in an erotic, macabre dance within a tightly enclosed space. The central figure assumes a crucifix-like pose, underscoring Picasso’s continuous dialogue with traditional iconography, even in his most radical works. The painting’s surface is thick with scumbled paint, overlaying a previous composition. The wild head on the left merges with a moonlike profile, prefiguring forms that recur in his 1932 depictions of Marie-Thérèse. Originally selected by Picasso himself for his 1932 retrospective, Three Dancers speaks to primal expression and emotional release—set paradoxically within a domestic interior decorated with fleur-de-lys, the very symbol of refined French civilization.

Another intriguing part of the exhibition is a series of ink drawings Picasso made in September of 1932 at his Normandy home. These works, inspired by Matthias Grünewald’s Isenheim Altarpiece, reimagine the crucifixion with surreal, fragmented bodies. Bones and anatomical forms float across the paper, inviting viewers to reconstruct them imaginatively. These drawings are both stunning and deeply disturbing. Picasso moves effortlessly between erotic imagery and religious iconography, treating traditional subjects with a cubist, surrealist sensibility. Although he distanced himself from official surrealist groups, these works echo the movement’s aesthetic. Through deconstruction and abstraction, he pushes even the most sacred themes to their expressive limits.

This retrospective offers a powerful glimpse into Picasso’s creative mind. Though 1932 is only a single year, it was extraordinarily fertile artistically and emotionally. At a time when societal conversations about women’s rights and representation are increasingly important, revisiting Picasso’s legacy prompts critical reflection. His artistic innovation is undeniable, but his personal attitudes toward the women in his life can be troubling.

Ultimately, the exhibition reveals a story of love, obsession, and power. It’s about a man—an artist—captivated by his muse, inspired by her presence, and privileged in his ability to depict her. Yet it also reflects a historical pattern: male artists presenting women as passive, eroticized subjects. Our cultural understanding continues to evolve, and so does our interpretation of art like this.

Despite the complexities, what remains are Picasso’s extraordinary artworks—compelling, challenging, and richly rewarding.

Thank you for joining us on this journey through Picasso’s 1932 at Tate Modern.

Transcript of the Video for those of you who would rather read, or read along while you view the video

People go to work asleep.
They go to school asleep.
They go to church asleep.
And they die… asleep.

That means we don’t want to wake up.
To be awakened is to open your heart—
to the beauty of the world
and the people who love you.

[Music continues softly]

Childhood

I was born in Paris, in Boulogne.
My father had an art gallery,
and my mother—she was a painter.

In 1942, we moved to a little village in the Alps
called Golfe-Juan.
Everything was amazing, really.
Even though it was wartime,
the flowers bloomed, the food was rich,
and we were free to wander in the woods,
build little houses,
make friends.

At 15 or 16, I had my first boyfriend.
We loved each other.
He followed me when my mother and I moved down to Vallauris.

That’s where I met Picasso.
He had a studio up on the hill.

I wore a long skirt, ballet shoes,
a black top… and my ponytail was very high—
something no one else did.
He noticed me.

He said, “Come in.”
And then:
“I want to paint Sylvette.”

My friends were shocked.
But I said, “Yes—of course. I love it.”

And that’s how it began.

Art

We worked for hours.
He once said, “Art is happiness.
Creating is joy.”

That’s how he was—
so alive when he worked.

He’d draw silly things—
once, a spider on the floor.
Later, he forgot and jumped up in fright when he saw it!

He loved being like a clown.
He loved to laugh.

Love

We were never lovers. Of course not.
But I think I brought him something—
happiness.
A bit of forgetfulness from his worries.

His wife had just left,
with their two children, Claude and Paloma.
And I was there…
in the middle of that.

For me, he was everything—
a godfather, a father, a mother,
a friend, a brother…
a teacher.

He opened so many doors for me.
He saw my true nature.

He had lived such a long life,
met so many people,
so many women…
and I was the last to be his muse.

[Soft music swells]

Picasso gave me confidence—
to paint,
to create.

He gave me the love of art.

I truly began painting around 45,
after I had my children.
I’ve always loved the portraits he did of me.

They inspired me.
And now they emerge in my own way—
like the one behind me.

I paint many Sylvettes.
I love doing faces—
children, mothers,
people.

When I sign my work,
I write Sylvette David on the left—
my birth name.
And on the right, I use my married name
and my spiritual name: Lydia Corbett.

My paintings are like my children.
I love them.
They are my life—
a part of me.

Imagination is endless.
Painting… is endless.

I could paint until I’m 300,000 years old!
I won’t last that long—
but it’s true.

Art is extraordinary.