PAINTERS - Lot 132

PAINTERS Set of letters documents : - ZAMACOIS Miguel: Autograph letter signed with a drawing on the 1st page. Sorel-Mousel (Eure et loir), Sunday, August 18 1940, 6 pages In-8°. His wife wrote 2 pages after her husband. In his letter, Zamacoïs describes his distaste for the politicians of his time. He signs his name "former deficient painter, unemployed man of letters". He's also "disgusted. What brainwashing! Have we been fooled enough! And what disgust to always accentuate to the utmost vis-à-vis these enjoyment-seeking politicians who brought us here with their fat cigars in their mouths, collecting their stolen salaries, driving around in cars with cockades, and being solicited, greeted, by a bunch of buggers who certainly didn't count on their "love" of the country, but had the naivety to believe that at least the essentials were done almost automatically". Enclosed: a visiting card from Santiago Arcos with a drawing. January 1, 1901. Unsigned. - LUBIN Germaine: Autograph letter signed, addressed to Jacques Rouché (director of the Paris Opera). Friday [1935]; 4 pages in-8° on "Hôtel Ritz Barcelona" letterhead. Because of her health, she gives up singing "Tristan et Isolde". "I haven't had a chance to reach you! Miss Thomas will have given you the commission, but I wanted to tell you myself how sorry I am that my poor health has forced me to give up singing "Tristan and Isolde" this season! It seems that my nerves are seriously damaged - I already knew that, and my battle with them was doomed to failure. Miss Thomas will have told you that I think you can count on me for the 20th, won't you? Then I'll come and have a chat with you if you like. - MILHAUD Darius: Set of 8 autograph letters signed, addressed to Mlle Yvonne Giraud. 1912-1922. Some with stamped envelopes. Some letters are written from a ship or speak of travel and music. "December 15, 1918. Stopped at sea 200 miles off the coast of Guyana. A year and a half ago I wrote to you from a small boat stranded on Duck Lagoon. Tonight I'm writing to you from the middle of the Atlantic, where the boat has already been stopped for 12 hours, all the machinery having broken down. It's wonderful because you can feel the rhythm of the sea. When will we leave? Where will we arrive? I don't know. What's more, we've discovered that the T.S.F. isn't working. We're completely isolated. I've been working: I finished the 1st act of Les Euménides and wrote a little pastorale in 3 parts for 7 instruments, Claudel translated the Psalms. I I'm going to work on one, but I don't know in what form.