Not only the surrealists appreciated Meret Oppenheim's fur-covered cup.
When the New York Museum of Modern Art bought the now famous object “Breakfast in Furs” from her during its founding phase in 1936, the Berlin-born daughter of a Jewish doctor was in her early twenties and had no idea that she would be involved in this coup secured her a place in art history, but also imposed a style label that would be measured.
The ten years that Oppenheim worked in the context of Surrealism then overshadowed the post-war decades, in which she refused a recognizable signature and was ignored by the art world.
Uncompromising seemed to be in her cradle.
Her grandfather would draw with her and her younger sister every night.
The six-year-old "Cinderella" climbs a ladder to heaven, gazing at the treetops below, arms outstretched as if to embrace the whole world.
Twelve years later it was the art Mecca Paris that Oppenheim wanted to conquer together with his artist friend Irène Zurkinden.
Until mid-1933 she lived in the Hotel Odessa.
Here she wrote on the paper of the Café du Dôme: “I often saw Mayo the Egyptian bringing me strange cakes.
One was a chicken with green peas.
But it was made of biscuit and the peas were made of sugar.
Another was in the shape of a gnarled tree trunk with marzipan toadstools on it.
There was a lot of drinking and hashish smoking.”
A heartless femme fatale?
This entry into nightlife was by no means useless for her advancement as an artist, because it was not long before she met Alberto Giacometti and immortalized his ears in drawings and wax sculptures.
At a party at Kurt Seligmann's, she also met Hans Arp and Sophie Taeuber-Arp and saw the first picture of Max Ernst, who later became her lover.
“During all those years in Paris, 'night turned into day'.
During the day, people slept until the afternoon,” is the Boheme conclusion that can be read in their “Album”.
She compiled it in 1958 under the title From Childhood to 1943 in response to other Surrealists' biographies in which she was stylized as a heartless femme fatale.
Almost ten years ago, the facsimile supplemented a volume that focused on their unpublished correspondence.
Travel to Paris became more sparse
The new edition is flanked by the previously unpublished text “My Biography” from 1971, written in French, and its translation.
The result is an enchanting and at the same time difficult to classify work of art that prefers the visual element, consisting of a diary, photographs, drawings, anecdotes and short memories – an autobiographical treasure trove that, according to Oppenheim’s decree, could only be published twenty years after her death in 1985.
Original drawings are stuck on some pages next to invitations, letters and pictures that others have taken of her.
One reads reviews, correspondence with the Museum of Modern Art and comes across the names of Dora Maar or Leonor Fini, who is represented with a number of paintings at this year's Venice Biennale.
Some entries serve to locate oneself, when Oppenheim writes, for example: "Since 1935 I have been making designs for haute couture in order to earn some money, some of which have also been accepted.
For example, a metal bracelet covered with fur that Schiaparelli took.
This was the direct precursor to the furry mug!
Rochas took fabric designs.
But this work was completely foreign to me.
I was far too clumsy, clueless and in the clouds." Or she reports about her parents,
who had to leave Germany in 1933 and found a new home in Basel, but could no longer send their daughter any money.
“My trips to Paris became more sparse.
I still lived in a studio, Rue des Plantes.
But not only externally everything became more difficult.
The doubts that had plagued me from time to time before turned to despair.”
Of course, the album is a subjective and incomplete documentation of her work and life, which not only lacks the last three decades.
One looks in vain for the nude photos that Man Ray took of her at the printing press.
Instead, you come across a two-line note and a drawing that echoes one of the poses.
During the war years, Oppenheim withdrew into private life in Switzerland, painting an empty turned-down bed, fairytale forest creatures and working in the garden in front of her studio.
Blank sheets are piling up.
How things went after the war is explained in the last part of her "biography": From 1950 Oppenheim traveled to the French capital from time to time, met Giacometti and the surrealist Toyen, who lived in Czechoslovakia.
She found the politicized disciples of Breton "old-fashioned",
the atmosphere was no longer right for her.
The Paris file was finally closed.
Meret Oppenheim: "My Album". From Childhood to 1943 / Autobiography.
Edited by Lisa Wenger and Martina Corgnati.
Verlag Scheidegger & Spiess, Zurich 2022. 328 pages, illustrations, hardcover, €48.