Original portrait of James Joyce, signed and dated by Freund on the left and right of the mount, just below the image. With the monogrammed dry stamp "GF" in the corner of the print, and "Gisèle Freund All Rights Reserved" violet stamp on verso.
Large-format portraits of Joyce are extremely rare.
A striking photograph of James Joyce taken during his legendary photo shoot with Gisèle Freund to promote Finnegan's wake. The Kodak negatives were rescued from a taxi accident suffered by Freund on her way back from Joyce's house. Freund's color portraits would place her at the forefront of modernity.
In 1938, after two years of refusals and postponements, Freund had finally shot her first black-and-white portraits of the writer, taken on the spot and almost unbeknownst to the visually-impaired Joyce. The following year, Freund fought hard to photograph Joyce in color: "It was Sylvia Beach who found the trick. An Irishman who felt intimately linked to his novelistic characters, Joyce was also very superstitious. It just so happened that my husband's name was the same as one of the heroes in Ulysses", Freund wrote in her personal notebook. Thanks to the magical invocation of Blum's name (so close to Leopold Bloom) the writer overcame his aversion of color portraiture, a technique Freund was one of the first to master. The session happened over two days, March 8 and 9, 1939, and can easily be described as one of the most emotionally charged events of Gisèle Freund's young career, not to mention Joyce's. The first day ended with the infamous cab accident that Freund considered as supernatural intervention:
"I'm leaving at 5 a.m. - Taxi - crash - devices on the ground. I cry in despair. At home, I immediately telephone Joyce 'M. Joyce, you damned my photos - you put some kind of a sad Irish spell on them and my cab crashed. I was almost killed and your photos are ruined.' Hear Joyce gasping over the phone. So I was right - he had wished me bad luck. Silence. then [he said] 'come back to-morrow' "
The negatives emerged unscathed from the cab accident. This portrait was undoubtedly shot on first day of the session before the accident, showing an anxious Joyce carefully avoiding the camera's gaze. The event was meticulously documented by Freund, who devotes more pages to it in her notebook than to the hundred or so other subjects she photographed between 1938 and 1940:
"He had donned a red indoor jacket and his long, sensitive hands wore several rings. He seemed quite unhappy at the idea of being photographed, and gave me worried looks. His nervousness got the better of me: I began to drop objects, and the atmosphere became increasingly tense. [...] I pressed the shutter release and finished my film as quickly as possible, before promising the patient that this time, I'd really never bother him again. Clearly relieved, he kept me on for a few more minutes, and we talked about Finnegan's Wake, speculating on how it would be received by critics and audiences alike. By the end, my interlocutor's voice had become weak, exhausted; he spoke of death - his death - predicting that Finnegan's Wake would be his last book. I assured him that after years of intense work, all writers are depressed, exhausted; that he was still young (he was only 56)".
A rare variant of Joyce's portrait published on the cover of Time Magazine, following the publication of his last masterpiece Finnegan's Wake (1939).
Quotes from Gisèle Freund's notebook and diary are from Monique Sicard, "Photographier James Joyce", Genesis, 40 | 2015.
« Je pars à 5 heures - Taxi - crash - appareils par terre. Je pleure de désespoir. A la maison, je téléphone tout de suite à Joyce 'M. Joyce, you damned my photos - you put some kind of a sad irish spell on them and my taxi crashed. I was almost killed and your photos are ruined.' Hear Joyce gasping over the phone. So I was right - he had wished me bad luck. Silence. then [he said] 'come back to-morrow' »
« Il avait revêtu une veste d'intérieur rouge et ses longues mains sensibles portaient plusieurs bagues. Il paraissait tout à fait malheureux à l'idée d'être photographié et me jetais des regard inquiets. Sa nervosité me gagnait : je commençais à laisser tomber des objets ; l'atmosphère se tendait de plus en plus. [...] J'appuyais sur le déclic et achevai mon film le plus vite possible avant de promettre au patient que, cette fois, je ne le dérangerai vraiment plus jamais. Visiblement soulagé, il me garda encore quelques minutes ; nous parlâmes de Finnegan's Wake, spéculant sur l'accueil de la critique et du public. À la fin, la voix de mon interlocuteur était devenue faible, exténuée ; il parlait de la mort - de sa mort - prédisant que Finnegan's Wake serait son dernier livre. Je l'assurai qu'après des années de travail intense tous les écrivains sont déprimés, épuisés ; qu'il était encore jeune (il n'avait que 56 ans) »