THE EPITOME OF
ELEGANCE
One of the greatest
couturiers of the 20th century, Hubert de Givenchy resides in Paris
in an elegant hôtel particulier, built for a marquise in 1731. He
talks to Apollo about how he has tailored his art collection
accordingly.
Susan Moore, Friday,
28th September 2012 in Apollo.
It seems entirely
appropriate that Hubert de Givenchy should live in one of the most
soberly perfect aristocratic hôtel particuliers in Paris. The Hôtel
d’Orrouer, designed in 1731 by the architect Pierre Boscry for
Marguerite-Paule de Grivel d’Orrouer, marquise de Feuquières,
stands secreted behind a vast stone wall on the rue de Grenelle. When
one of the great wooden doors of its triumphal arch of a
porte-cochère opens, it reveals a courtyard of gravel and box, plus
two classical golden-stone façades of such pared-down simplicity
that they verge on the austere. It is a description that might
equally fit the exquisitely tailored and infinitely flattering
‘clothes without ornament’ that the couturier – born Count
Hubert James Marcel Taffin de Givenchy in 1927 – designed for his
great muse, Audrey Hepburn.
Once inside the
hôtel, it is clear that the same elegant aesthetic is at work. There
is opulence and luxury in terms of materials – ormolu-mounted or
gilded furniture, mirrors, candelabra, hardstone vessels,
mirror-black vases and bronzes, plus rich embroideries and carpets –
and a profusion of objects, but there is a rigour and symmetry in
their arrangement that ensures an effect that is masculine and
surprisingly unfussy. Nothing is extraneous. As his great mentor
Cristóbal Balenciaga once said: the secret of elegance is
elimination.
M. de Givenchy has
always seen the furnishing and decoration of his various apartments
as an extension of his work as a designer. ‘What I try to achieve
is principally a harmony between architecture, decoration and
colour,’ he explains, as we sit at his desk overlooking a manicured
garden. He offers me a choice of tea, coffee, water, Coca-Cola or
Champagne, duly delivered by a white-coated butler. ‘This house
already has a marvellous decoration of its own with the gilded
boiseries of Nicolas Pineau [1684–1754; so I did not need to
“decorate” very much. But I do try to find associations between
objects in a way that looks natural. I am not interested in creating
something
that people say is
different or amusing.’
Moreover, he looks
appalled – in so far as his impeccable manners allow – when I
refer to him as a collector. ‘Madame, I am not a collector,’ he
insists. ‘I think of collectors as people who acquire a repetition
of the same things – little boxes, or spoons. I have no desire to
accumulate.’ He does, however, concede that collecting is in his
genes. Three generations of his maternal family who owned or worked
for the Gobelins and Beauvais tapestry manu-
factories made and
sold various art collections. So, who or what influenced him?
‘I learned from
the people I met over the course of my career, many of whom were
collectors,’ he explains. ‘When I was very young, I chose to be a
dress designer. My mother was wonderful about it, although she said
it was not the kind of thing your father had in mind for you – he
died when I was two years old.’ It began when M. de Givenchy
started work with Jacques Fath – he was 17 – and he had the
opportunity to meet Marie-Laure de Noailles. The recklessly eclectic
salon of the iconoclastic vicomtesse de Noailles was remarkable in
combining the spare minimalist interiors and furniture of Jean-Michel
Frank with great Old Masters and Schatzkammer silver-gilt, as well as
the work of her Surrealist protégés. It was to exert a profound
influence on the taste of Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé, among
many others.
‘At that time,
Paris was a dream,’ M. de Givenchy continues. ‘You had Antenor
Patiño, you had Arturo Lopez-Wilshaw and Charles de Bestegui.’
(The latter’s Château de Groussay has been described as having the
greatest private interiors concocted in the 20th century.) ‘Of
course, at the beginning I was not received by these people but,
little by little, I was introduced to them, and many were very kind
when they heard I was interested in furniture and invited me to
visit. Of course, I looked and I looked, and I saw every style and
tradition, and I realised what I did not like and what I did like.’
He pauses: ‘And this is my education – and what an education!
Those people really understood French 17th- and 18th-century
decorative arts and had a real understanding of quality and beauty.’
At the same time, he
also began to haunt the premises of the Parisian antiques trade. ‘In
the beginning I was scared to open the doors because I had no money
to spend, but I went anyway. I remember often going to the Galerie
Ramsey, the great antiquaires on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré,
and Mr Hammel was very nice to this tall young man who never bought
anything. He would spend time telling me everything about a
particular chair, [or]
a style. I would
visit Etienne Levy, Maurice Segoura, Jean-Paul Fabre and Didier
Aaron. I would ask questions, and I began to understand more and
more, and the more I learned, the more interested I became.’ He
would also mark up auction catalogues and dream.
His salary was very
small when he began with Fath but it improved as he progressed to
Robert Piguet, Lucien Lelong and, finally, the eccentric Elsa
Schiaparelli. In 1952 he opened his own design house, and had more
time – and funds. ‘When at last I had the opportunity to buy a
beautiful object, I bought a chair – a giltwood Louis XVI bergère.
It is not, of course, the most important thing that I own but I will
never sell it,’ he declares passionately.
While his fellow
designers wanted to furnish their apartments immediately (Christian
Dior, for instance, had a penchant for Napoleon III papier mâché:
‘I never liked that epoch, for me it is sad’), M. de Givenchy
understood almost from the start the importance of working slowly and
buying the highest quality objects he could afford. He also never
asked any expert for advice. ‘Little by little, I pursued my dream
of acquiring furniture from the 17th and 18th centuries, and
contemporary art.”
At this time, he
also started travelling regularly to the US. His new clientele
included the likes of Mrs Charles Wrightsman and Mrs Paul Mellon, and
his art education continued apace through his access to these
grandest of American collections. It was through an American in
Paris, Bettina Shaw-Jones, Schiaparelli’s assistant and
subsequently Mrs Gaston Bergery, that he met the ‘most important
collector and decorator I had ever known in Paris’. This was the
extraordinary Misia Sert, the subject of two recent exhibitions in
Paris (the Musée d’Orsay’s ‘Misia, Queen of Paris’ travels
to the Musée Bonnard in Le Cannet; 13 October–6 January 2013). An
arbiter of taste and fashion, she bought together the artistic and
musical elite of Paris. After the death in 1945 of her estranged
third husband, the Catalan painter José María Sert, she inherited
his apartment on the rue de Rivoli with all of its contents. It was
here that M. de Givenchy visited the by now very frail and blind
Misia.
‘Her apartment was
like an Ali Baba’s cave,’ he recalls, ‘and it was incredible.
The taste of her close friend Coco Chanel was in fact the taste of
Misia – rock crystal, coromandel, gilt bronze and Boulle…and
there was a particular Boulle armoire…’ After Misia’s death in
1950, Sert’s former secretary, the journalist Boulos (Pierre
Ristelhueber), contacted M. de Givenchy to ask him if he knew anyone
who might buy the armoire as no one seemed to be in the least bit
interested in Boulle. ‘On the front of the armoire was a chariot of
Apollo and the bronze was of extraordinary quality – I would dream
in front of that bronze,’ sighs M. de Givenchy.
He asked around,
offering the piece to Helena Rubenstein, the Princesse Gourielli.
‘One day, Boulos said: “Every time you visit you touch the
armoire and caress the horses. Why don’t you buy it?” I said the
price is impossible and I have nothing like it! In fact, when he told
me the price I was so surprised that I said yes.’ The armoire spent
18 months at the restorer’s, which gave M. de Givenchy the chance
to completely rethink his apartment on the Esplanade des Invalides,
in effect just one big room.
While most
collectors of French decor-ative arts might aspire to graduate
towards owning a single piece by the greatest and most influential of
all French cabinetmakers, M. de Givenchy all but began his collecting
career with one. But displaying it became the next issue. ‘Apart
from a few good chairs, all I had was a Rothko and a Miró, and they
had nothing to do with a Boulle armoire. So I asked Charles Sevigny,
an extraordinary young architect with great taste, if he could help.
I asked him to make an enormous screen made of bronze-tinted mirror,
and put the armoire directly in front of that. The comb-ination of
Rothko, Miró and Boulle was wonderful.’ His second Boulle
acquisition
for the small
apartment was the hardly less remarkable six-legged bureau plat known
as the Ashburnham desk, previously owned by Antenor Patiño.
And the Rothko? ‘One
day Mrs Mellon sent me a postcard of a marvellous Rothko painting
from the collection of the architect Philip Johnson. I said that I
thought he was a great painter, and that it was important to have a
painting by him in the National Gallery of Art in Washington [Paul
Mellon was a founding benefactor and trustee of the institution]. She
said she agreed completely but that Paul did not care for this period
of art.’ Soon after, in February 1970, Rothko committed suicide.
Mrs Mellon wrote to M. de Givenchy and asked if he would like to
visit Rothko’s studio next time he came to New York. ‘We go to
the studio one morning and there are 800 Rothkos. Mrs Mellon buys 14,
and I decided to reserve one for me. At that time Rothko is not so
expensive – and there were no other Rothkos in Paris!’ His
painting is now in the Fondation Beyeler in Basel.
‘Another time she
wanted to buy some work by Braque. I told her that the best Braques
were to be found with the Maeghts in the South of France and that she
should make some time to go. I call up Marguerite Maeght – she is a
great friend – and we all have lunch. Bunny bought four or five
Braques that afternoon. That was what my life was like: I would visit
a client for a fitting and we would end up doing something completely
different. Life is marvellous!’
His continued joie
de vivre is evident as he discusses, eyes twinkling, his latest
project: ‘What is important is to create, and creation is the most
important thing in life for me.’ M. de Givenchy has always been a
man in need of
a canvas – be it a
muse, a mannequin or a building. That much is clear as we talk about
the various architectural ‘canvases’ he has had to work with in
Paris, in the country and in the south of France.
After he sold his
company in 1988, M. de Givenchy decided it would be a good idea to
sell the piano nobile of the Hôtel d’Orrouer and move downstairs
into the pied-à-terre (he had three labradors at the time and was
planning to spend more time in the country. At this point in the
story he has the good grace to laugh and say: “What a
pied-à-terre!” for the ground-floor apartment is a mirror of the
one above, but with slightly lower ceilings. The principal contents
of the piano nobile were duly sold by Christie’s in Monaco in 1993,
where they set a record for a single-owner collection of decorative
arts, and the heavenly project of creation began again – twice,
after he decided not to sell the piano nobile after all.
It was during a
conversation with Christie’s Charles Cator and François de Ricqles
that M. de Givenchy revealed that he had long cherished the idea of
creating his own modest version of La Galerie de Girardon. François
Girardon (1628–1715), arguably the most influential sculptor in
France under Louis XIV, was also an extraordinary collector of
sculpture, amassing over 800 pieces that ranged from classical
antiquities and copies after the antique to the contemporary. Around
1708, he commissioned René Charpentier (1680–1723) to draw its
highlights, and Gilles-
Marie Oppenordt
(1672–1742) to design for them a grand and imaginary architectural
setting. The subsequent engravings constitute an important record of
both Girardon’s oeuvre and his collection.
Mr Cator was so
enthusiastic about the idea that he suggested they stage it at
Christie’s Paris as an exhibition to coincide with the Biennale des
Antiquaires. The show, which ran from 11 to 26 September, presented
some 10 pieces, or pairs, from the Givenchy collection, set against a
backdrop of the engraved Girardon plates. Most are bronzes, although
two 17th- or 18th-century Italian polychrome marble busts of Claudius
and Alexander the Great also took a bow, as did a pair of Louis XV
marble vases of around 1700–65, which have astounding and
apparently unique ormolu mounts of masks and snakes .
M. de Givenchy
insists that he knows ‘absolutely nothing’ about bronze. ‘It is
all instinct,’ he says. He buys when a work of art delivers a coup
de foudre and he knows he must live with it. Yet his is an incredibly
sure eye, as these sculptures bear ample witness. Here, for instance,
is a pair of bronze figures representing Venus Marina and a sea
goddess, probably Amphitrite, the wife of Poseidon, that he bought
over 40 years ago and which Christie’s Paris’ sculpture
specialist Isabelle Degut has now attributed to Robert Le Lorrain
(1666–1743). The Amphitrite appears to be the only known cast.
Similarly, the bronze of Harpocrates, Greek god of silence, is also
the only known model of its type. Based on a Roman marble, it is now
believed to be the work of an Italo-Flemish sculptor working in the
circle of François Duquesnoy (1597–1643).
Interestingly, some
of the pieces are mirrored in the Girardon engravings, not least the
beautiful bronze of Bacchus of around 1700 , attributed to Girardon
himself. Again, it appears to be a unique cast and one of only two
known figures of this size by the sculptor. The others are the pair
of bronze river gods representing the Nile and the Tiber, also after
the antique . He coveted these bronzes the moment he saw them at
Wildenstein’s in New York three decades ago, and was told
repeatedly they were not for sale. He was able to buy them about
three years ago. ‘Some pieces are your destiny,’ says M. de
Givenchy, who was fortunate enough to find their grand and very
probably original bases at Kugel in Paris.
His wish is that
someone take on and extend his sculpture collection and realise a
Galerie de Girardon in their own home. I ask whether he regrets
selling any works of art. ‘C’est la vie. Life has different
stages. You must realise that in life what you want more and more is
simplicity – a simple room, a perfect bed, one nice table, a few
objects that you really like, and a good book.’ Perhaps the secret
of life, like elegance, is elimination.
Hubert
de Givenchy expose chez Christie's
Béatrice De
Rochebouet Mis à jour le 22/06/2012
Le célèbre
créateur s'apprête à reconstituer, à sa manière, la galerie
imaginée par le sculpteur Girardon au XVIIIe siècle.
Les années n'ont
pas entamé l'enthousiasme d'Hubert de Givenchy. Ce monstre sacré de
la haute couture, à l'élégance et la délicatesse innée, a l'œil
qui pétille et le verbe qui s'emballe lorsqu'il parle de son projet
d'exposer chez Christie's, à Paris, pendant la prochaine Biennale
des antiquaires, une partie de sa collection de bronzes, dans une
reconstitution de la célèbre galerie Girardon. Pour lui, c'est un
retour dans cette maison dont il a été l'ambassadeur, bien avant
son rachat par François Pinault. Comme au temps de ses défilés
haute couture, ce petit-fils d'un grand décorateur d'opéra pour le
sultanat de Constantinople renoue avec l'art de la mise en scène,
dans le plus pur classicisme français. En maître de cérémonie, il
reconstituera ce décor éphémère à l'harmonie parfaite que le
sculpteur avait imaginé pour le Louvre. Ce qui le guide? Le simple
goût de la fête, en souvenir des bals mémorables chez les
Rothschild, à Ferrières, ou chez Charles de Beistegui, au château
de Groussay.
Dans son salon de la
rue de Grenelle, l'hôtel Ourrouer, entre cour et jardin, Hubert de
Givenchy nous raconte avec modestie sa passion pour l'art. Pas
seulement le XVIIIe, dans lequel il refuse qu'on l'enferme, car il a
toujours mélangé époques et styles: du mobilier Boulle entouré de
grands canapés recouverts de housses en lin blanc, des plantes
vertes et, sur les murs, un Rothko vert sombre et orange qui est allé
rejoindre la Fondation Beyeler ou un Miro, aujourd'hui sur les
cimaises de Beaubourg. Et - pourquoi pas? - une petite touche
d'Eileen Gray. «Les modes changent, explique ce défenseur des
styles qui croit au retour en force du XVIIIe, s'il est de qualité
exceptionnelle. À condition de ne pas le remettre dans une
atmosphère totalement d'époque, comme à Camondo, et de lui
apporter un souffle de fraîcheur avec des Delaunay, Arp et
Giacometti. Et surtout, ne pas l'alourdir avec des pompons et
passementeries.» Cet amateur a toujours détesté les petits objets,
les petits guéridons, les petits bougeoirs! Son ami, l'actrice
Audrey Hepburn, dont les photos en noir et blanc peuplent son
intérieur, le définissait ainsi: «Il est comme un marbre, grand,
droit et beau.»
La passion des
objets n'a jamais quitté Hubert de Givenchy, depuis qu'il a retrouvé
miraculeusement cette paire de rideaux brodés venant de chez
Lilianne de Rothschild, chez son ami l'antiquaire Maurice Ségoura.
Le couple de Canadiens qui l'avait acquise lors de la vente en 1993
chez Christie's à Monaco d'une partie du mobilier de son hôtel de
la rue de Grenelle, s'était aperçu qu'il lui manquait deux mètres
de hauteur pour la placer dans sa résidence. Elle a donc repris
place, dans les boiseries du salon tapissé de velours vert du
premier étage.
Il ne regrette rien
Une histoire en
amène toujours une autre. «C'est la vie des objets», lance cet
homme au goût hors pair qui a su allier ses talents de créateur à
ceux de collectionneur. À ce mot, qu'il déteste, il préfère celui
de «sélectionneur», tant il refuse le «côté accumulation qui
vous fait empiler et vous empêche de s'ouvrir à d'autres domaines».
Au départ, Hubert de Givenchy a refusé toutes les tentations avant
de recommencer à chiner, toujours dans ce même esprit du grand
XVIIe et XVIIIe, avec une petite incartade pour l'Empire. La chambre
à coucher du premier a été transformée en salon pour accueillir
une paire de torchères de Sarreguemines commandée par Vivant Denon
pour Napoléon. Pour avoir eu la chance de rencontrer les plus grands
amateurs de son époque, de Jayne Wrightsman à Arturo
Lopez-Willshaw, en passant par Hélène Rochas, il ne regrette rien.
Son aventure a
commencé il y a une quarantaine d'années. Sa mère le destinait à
des études de droit, terriblement ennuyeuses. Alors qu'il avait rêvé
de travailler chez Balenciaga, le jeune homme débarque de Beauvais à
17 ans et arrive chez Schiaparelli. Il côtoie le Tout-Paris: Coco
Chanel, Bérard, Cocteau et, surtout, le peintre décorateur espagnol
José Maria Sert et son épouse Misia, qui influenceront beaucoup son
goût, de même que Georges Geffroy, le décorateur le plus en vogue
de l'après-guerre. «Dans la vie, rien ne vous appartient, explique
ce philosophe qui a perdu son père à 2 ans. Ma vie a été peuplée
de privilèges. Aujourd'hui, je me retire dans ma propriété de
Romilly-sur-Aigre, dans le Perche, pour profiter de l'existence. Et
j'ai repris mes ciseaux de couturier pour faire des collages à la
Miro…»
Exposition du 11
septembre au 3 octobre, pendant la Biennale des antiquaires, 3,
avenue Matignon (Paris VIIIe). www.christies.com
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