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Yves Tanguy and The New Subject in Painting

Paris was feminine and seductive. Life there was curved and leisurely. There was a human solidarity amongst intellectuals, who came from all over the world. Those without money were able somehow to survive. In Paris in the 1930s, it was customary to stroll in the streets with an inquisitive eye, being open to chance meetings. There was an intellectual curiosity in the air. One was expected to enjoy life, but also to work hard, to create, and to be an original.

New York City was masculine, individualistic, and pragmatic. It had its own powerful straight-line beauty. High rise office towers overshadowed cathedral spires. From on high people in the streets looked like swarms of ants. In New York City time was important. There were always the latest things to see and do. To become a New Yorker one had to live up front in the present. In New York City people walked briskly, they had deadlines to meet. Opportunity abounded. Everyone there had a chance to become occupied.

In New York City, Yves Tanguy was like a fish out of water. Kay was his essential and devoted liaison to a way of life strange to him. They took a charming apartment at 30 West 11th Street. Yves had only a small circle of friends, mostly French speaking. Pierre Matisse had been a classmate of Tanguy's in Paris. He now had a well-established gallery in New York City and was pressured to give Tanguy a modest contract, which he did. Kay and Yves were never in financial straights and were able to live modestly. 

When I first met Pierre Matisse in 1940, he said to me, "New York City is not a place for painters." He probably had in mind the European painters, whose works he sold and collected.

 The Surrealists in great part kept to themselves. The marvels of America for me, as far as painting is concerned, are primarily in the wilds of nature. The Surrealists who went to live in the country were privileged to be able to continue their work in inspiring surroundings, but they lived more or less in cultural isolation. 

Kay and Yves bought a house called Town Farm near Woodbury, Connecticut. It was a typical, plain, 19th century farm house that stood in its own grounds. There was a stream at the bottom of the garden, and there were separate buildings that served as studios for Kay and Yves. 

The house was kept in immaculate order. They had a fine collection of small Surrealist paintings and a billiard table in the living room. It was idyllic but lonely for Yves, whose life up until then had been sustained by the stimulating atmosphere of Paris.