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because I was afraid of ruining my relationship with John. This union, which was not a legal one, but from which I acquired a lovely step-daughter, Debbie, whom I brought up with Pegeen, was completely ruined by the fact that I had never recovered from John’s influence. This ‘marriage’ ended after three years, as my husband became a communist.

CHAPTER THREE
GUGGENHEIM JEUNE
    Feeling bored and lonely, living in the country in England by myself, I began to think of ways of occupying myself and of being useful, if possible. My friend, Peggy Waldman, suggested I should go into publishing, but fearing that would be too expensive, I accepted her other alternative, to open a modern art gallery. Little did I dream of the thousands of dollars I was about to sink into art. My mother had just died and left me about as much as I had inherited from my father, but this was also in trust, alas.
    At this point of my existence I was practically ignorant of all art after the Impressionists. So when I started my new project I needed much help and advice, which I got froman old friend, Marcel Duchamp, the forerunner of Surrealism, as Sir Herbert Read has described him, whom I had known for fifteen years. I don’t know what I would have done without him. He had to educate me completely. I could not distinguish one modern work of art from another, but he taught me the difference between Surrealism, Cubism and abstract art. Then he introduced me to all the artists. They all adored him and I was well received wherever I went. He planned shows for me and gave me all his best advice. I have to thank him for my introduction to the modern art world.
    I wanted to dedicate the first show of Guggenheim Jeune (the name given to my gallery by Wyn Henderson, my secretary) to the work of Brancusi, the only modern artist I knew. In fact, I had known him for sixteen years. But he was not in Paris, so Marcel Duchamp decided that we should invite Cocteau to exhibit instead.
    The arrangements for the Cocteau show were rather difficult. First of all I had to tear myself away from Samuel Beckett, with whom I was terribly in love. To speak to Cocteau one had to go to his hotel in the rue de Cambon and try to talk to him while he lay in bed, smoking opium. The odour was extremely pleasant, though this seemed a rather odd way of doing our business. One night he decided to invite me to dinner. He sat opposite a mirror, which was behind me, and so fascinated was he by himself that he could not keep his eyes off it. He was so beautiful, with his long oriental faceand his exquisite hands and tapering fingers, that I do not blame him for the delight he took in his image.
    His conversation was as fascinating as his face and hands, and I longed for him to come to London for the show, but he was not well enough. However, he wrote the introduction for his catalogue and Samuel Beckett translated it.
    Cocteau sent me about thirty original drawings he had made for the décor of his play, Les Chevaliers de la Table Ronde. He also made some drawings in ink in the same spirit as the others, and two on linen bed sheets that were specially done for the show. One was an allegorical subject called ‘La Peur donnant ailes au Courage’, which included a portrait of the actor, Jean Marais. He and two very decadent looking figures appeared with pubic hairs. Cocteau had pinned leaves over these, but the drawing caused a great scandal with the British Customs, who would not release it. I asked why they objected to the nude in art, and they replied it was not the nude but the pubic hairs which worried them. Finally, they allowed me to take the linen sheet away, on condition that I promised not to exhibit it in public, so I hung it in my private office at Guggenheim Jeune. In fact, I liked it so much that in the end I bought it.

    Max Ernst

    Calder’s bedhead
    This was before I was thinking of collecting. But gradually I bought one work of art from every show I