BRASSAI (GYULA HALASZ). 1899-1984.


Archive of approximately 280 letters, postcards, and other ephemera, including approximately 190 letters (156 TLS, 34 ALS, a few partial) and 10 postcards from the artist to his parents and brother, in French and Hungarian, various sizes, various places, mostly from his home in Paris, April 1947 to May 1978, and a few letters between Brassaï and his wife, Gilberte. Many with margin notes and emendations. Also included are approximately 89 letters to Brassaï from his brother, Kálmán Halasz (66 ALS, 23 TLS), and a variety of clippings, photographs, a pencil drawing of farm animals, and a translation from English of a letter sent by the Museum of Modern Art in New York to announce an exhibition of his work in May, 1967, and a xerographic copy of a letter informing him that he was to be awarded the Legion of Honor.Gyula Halasz was born in Brassó, Hungary (now the city of Brasov, Romania), served in the Austro-Hungarian cavalry during World War I, and then moved to Berlin in 1920 as a journalist for Hungarian newspapers. He attended the Berlin-Charlottenburg Academy of Fine Arts, then moved to Paris in 1924, where he adopted the pseudonym Brassaï (from Brassó). He photographed the nightlife of Paris, particularly the seedy side, claiming influence from Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. His most famous published book of photographs was Paris de Nuit, with text by Paul Morand, but he also wrote Conversations avec Picasso, and a biographical work on Henry Miller, who downplayed the accuracy of the work and the closeness of their relationship. His influence on future generations of photographers is inestimable; his work raised the level of documentary context that could be expressed in a photo depicting contemporary life in all of its complexity and squalor.This correspondence represents a continuation of the letters written between 1920 and 1940, which were published in the book Letters to my Parents (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997).These are affectionate personal letters, from a son living on one side of the Iron Curtain, while his family remains on the other. In 1951 he sends heart medication to his mother, and items to be traded for household goods in Romania. He asks his father for recollections of his early childhood to use in a biographical book, but later laments to loss of the written account from his father in the return mail. In some of the earliest letters he tells of his marriage to Gilberte, and his hopes to obtain French citizenship through the union. Many of the letters in this archive recount efforts to get his books published, and preparations for exhibitions of his work. He mentions his exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in 1948 (writing about to his father in 1951), his first book signing in 1952, and the neglect of his photography in order to produce a film in 1955. In 1958 he frets over the change of editorship at Harper's Bazaar: "... there will be big changes at Harper's Bazaar (due to Carmel Snow's likely departure), so I don't know if in the future I can count on it." He comments about a trip to North America, including New Orleans and Chicago, where he says wryly: "... the hurricane has arrived after our departure [from New Orleans], same with the flood in Chicago, which only got there after we've left ... the Mexican trip we gave up on after all, for lack of time, but his way we got away from having to live through an earthquake." Trying to arrange to bring his father to Paris for a visit proves difficult, as does sending money to him in Romania. One short notice on his letterhead is addressed to "Monsieurs les Censeurs," assuring them that the book he is sending his father (Conversations avec Picasso) contains only a statement against fascism and the rest discusses art and creativity — a reminder of the separation between Eastern and Western Europe during the Cold War. Collectively, the letters form a candid and personal image of the photographer and his relationship not only with his parents, but the home country he left behind as the world changed. A letter from the 1970s recounts a conversation with his brother, which indicates that they had catalogued these letters among themselves, and may have intended to publish them.