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In London last week were Picassos of all complexions: the cubist pastiches, the early acrobats, the later big footed nudes.
Many pictures were sold, for prices that made post Depression bond salesmen sigh with envy, but to the surprise of British reporters, the highest prices were paid not for the early Daumieresque Picassos, not for the clean lined drawings and portraits, but for the Picasso abstractions. Editors widely hinted that if one must pay £1000 for a Picasso, there was no fun in buying one that anyone could understand. Picasso himself who hates the teas, conversaziones and routs of the art world (with the exception of those given by his good friend Abstract Poet Gertrude Stein) was not present. He remained in his neat comfortable studio in the Rue de la Boetie, among his astronomical charts, his African masks, and his collection of old guitars. The guitars are frequently recognizable in the otherwise indescribable confusions of his abstractions.
*Seven weeks ago Malagan hotheads burned the churches because of Cardinal Segura's pastoral letter, last week rioted (see p. 17).