Also known as:
Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno MarÃa de los Remedios Cipriano de la SantÃsima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso. Wow!
Were they bright red, breaking on two-tone shoes, or criss-crossed in loud golfer's check? Were they unexpectedly formal, hind parts of a bespoke suit, or baggy plus fours with argyle socks? Were they ever tuxedo trousers before they metamorphosed into summer slacks or shrank into jaunty pre-war Riviera swimsuits?
They were all of these and many more, since Mr Pablo Picasso changed the way he dressed as often and as radically as he changed the way he painted. He was as instinctive a dresser as he was an artist, replacing one look with another every time something in his life or his fantasy prompted it. Many of the artists around him dressed quite conventionally, above all when success caught up with them. There was Mr Georges Braque in his cool white scarf, Mr Henri Matisse plumply avuncular in a waistcoat while sketching a nude, or Mr Wassily Kandinsky as formally attired as an old-school banker. Mr Salvador DalÃ, it's true, put on a show, with the twirled mustachios, the fur coats and silver-topped canes. But Mr Picasso wasn't putting on a show. Whether dressed for the opera, disguised for a bal masqué or simply clowning about, he was always himself - or one of his many selves.
Picasso changed the way he dressed as often and as radically as he changed the way he painted!
"Only superficial people do not judge by appearances." said Mr Oscar Wilde - bless him! And I look forward to one day reading some learned thesis on how artists present themselves to the world and why. Mr Francis Bacon dressed in later life like a successful gangster, an upper-class, English Al Capone in tight, perfectly cut double-breasted suits with subtle stripes and threatening black leather coats, also tight, with epaulettes. Frivolous? I'm not sure. Everything he wore had its meaning for Mr Bacon, and you can even find the clothes he loved - particularly rainbow-hued silk shirts and desert boots - in his pictures. Is it merely anecdotal that Mr Alberto Giacometti invariably worked in a tweed jacket and tie, however caked in plaster, paint and clay they became? I don't think so. Challenging accepted vision every day in his Montparnasse hovel, Mr Giacometti clung to whatever shreds or threads of normality he could find.
Style, they say, is the man. So how did Mr Picasso, the master artificer of the 20th century, choose to project himself? Did he limit himself to this look or that? Did he decide at a certain point to wear his trousers wide with a crease so sharp (like his friend, the poet Mr Jean Cocteau) that they could cut a Camembert in half? Of course not. He was a creature of infinite fantasy and infinite change. And having just looked through a few scores of photos of the maître at different moments in his long career, I can attest that he virtually never appeared before the camera in the same garb twice. Catch him if you can. During his early years in Paris he would be in vaguely artisanal dress, dark overalls and donkey jackets, occasionally spruced up by a broad-brimmed hat or Romantic lavallière. Then without warning he appears in clunky gaiters or, bizarrely, in an army uniform he had borrowed from his co-cubist, Mr Braque. These were early days, but it was already clear that Mr Picasso enjoyed not just dressing but dressing up.
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