Lost History – Henri Gaudier-Brzseka: the poet who spoke in stone
This year, Henri Gaudier-Brzeska turns 130. He led a brief but bountiful career in the artistically exhilarating atmosphere of pre-Firts World War London. Born in 1891, in Orleans, Gaudier was the son of a carpenter. His ancestors allegedly worked on the West façade of Notre Dame as masons, carving the snarling gargoyles and grey angels that hang over and around the windows and doors to France’s favourite place of worship. How much he owed to his lineage is inconclusive. He never attended art school and was largely untrained, excluding the odd drawing class.
A clever child, in 1907 Henri gained a two-year state funded scholarship to study business at technical colleges in Nuremberg, Munich, Cardiff and Bristol. By 1909, however, he was living in Paris. It was there, while studying textiles, that Henri met Sophie Brzeska in a library one afternoon. They struck up a strange and intense relationship. She was over twice his age and their friendship appears to have been platonic, but their kindred inclination and artistic aspirations bound their souls together, resulting in an exchange and modification of surnames. They moved to London in 1911. By then, Henri was on his way to establishing a reputation as a budding sculptor. Influenced by Auguste Rodin and Sir Jacob Epstein, Henri produced perhaps his most celebrated pieces – The Dancer and Red Stone Dancer. At an art fair, he met the young Ezra Pound who was more than impressed with Gaudier’s work. “I have written more than once,” Pound wrote to William Carlos Williams, “that Gaudier-Brzeska is the most complete case of artistic genius I have ever encountered.”
According to Pound’s later writings, the happiest and most intellectually productive days of his life occurred under a railway arch in Putney, where Gaudier had a cold and uncomfortable mud-floored studio. There they talked of their vision for the future of art and its cajoling effect on the conduct of society. In his poem, The Return, Pound attempted to import some of the innovative methods Gaudier used to create his compelling sculptures – enmeshing an objective sense of nature and an appreciation of tradition with his love for lyrical abstraction. He made many totemic heads and little figurines that can be slipped into a pocket, making high art something transportable and almost frivolous, much like how the technical ingenuity of modern communication is unassumingly encased in a mobile phone.
The hypnotic angles of Gaudier’s forms fascinate his viewers, who invariably spend their time with his work tracing the winding limbs of his dramatically hewn bodies. His smooth patinas and sumptuous arrangements clearly emulate Epstein’s oeuvre without sacrificing his own unique perspective. In 1914, he signed the Vorticist manifesto along with Pound and Wyndham Lewis. Thereafter, the look of his art began to change. His sculptures became increasingly sharp, rigid, geometric and abstract, as he strove to symbolise the advent of the machine age. This evolution of his aptitude came to an abrupt end when war was declared. He enlisted with the French army and reportedly showed great gallantry, repeatedly putting himself in harm’s way. In the trenches, he declaimed Pound’s translations of Chinese poetry to his fellow troops, inspiring them before a bout of fighting. The war couldn’t entirely keep him from indulging his gifts. He is said to have casually carved a beautiful figure from the butt of a rifle, amazing his men with the frivolity of his genius. Following two promotions for courage, he fell at Neuville St. Vaast on 5 June 1915, aged only 23.
Much of Gaudier-Brzeska’s life remains a mystery. In 1972, Ken Russell attempted a cinematic portrait of his life titled Savage Messiah (1972). The film is hard to find, but even if you fork out £30 for a DVD or discover a functioning streaming link, the film does little to illuminate the enigmatic sculptor’s creative praxis. Russell emphasises the tumultuous vicissitudes of his talent but the omission of several seminal friendships and Henri’s ultimate aim, besides becoming world famous, leaves much to be desired. But what is clear is that Henri’s prodigious abilities amplified the explosive ideas of modernism, adding an extra dimension to Western culture’s transition into the twentieth century.
Having worked for less than four years, it is remarkable to think that Gaudier produced more than a hundred original sculptures and approximately two thousand drawings. The aesthetic influence he exerted extended beyond the boundaries of his chosen medium, altering the way masters of other forms conceptualised their inventive endeavours. His place in the history of art is still indefinite. If the opportunity presents itself in a post-lockdown world, walk around one of his sculptures. Several are housed in the Tate Britain. You need not like sculpture as a form to appreciate the enticing qualities Gaudier invested in his figures. Dying at such a young age, the possibilities for his talent were immense. Many people believe that an artist’s greatest work arrives when they are young. It seems however, that Gaudier’s intense commitment to his craft would have ensured many fruitful years of productive labour, had fate not intervened so tragically.