Notes

Horizontal panel: height: 49cm; length: 156cm; depth 4cm.

Vertical panel: height: 99cm; width: 49cm; depth: 4cm

Even within Irma Stern’s ever-surprising oeuvre, the present lot is thrillingly unique. Part mural and part architectural flourish, the multi-panel work, executed in situ in 1943, shows the artist’s instinctive feel for design, rhythm and pattern, as well as her flair for the dramatic. On a late-night whim while staying at the Houghton home of her friends Richard and Freda Feldman, she painted spindly, Matisse-like figures directly onto the glass surrounds of her hosts’ fireplace. Having clearly cared little for the original art deco trimmings, she replaced them with a frieze of lithe, primitive and rapturous bodies, set in motion by two nearby musicians.

Stern was a regular visitor at the Feldman’s, having met Richard in 1926, and Freda in 1931. Their relationship, which lasted until the artist’s death in 1966, was warm, unguarded and meaningful. In her engaging memoirs, supplemented by the rich letters shared between her parents and Stern, Richard and Freda’s daughter Mona, who was 8 years old at the time the panels were painted, remembered this particular episode vividly:

‘I was awakened before dawn by the sound of furniture being moved around in our lounge … We crept quietly downstairs to see an apparition standing in front of the fireplace … There was Irma, in a large bathrobe and fluffy slippers, hair unruly and a cigarette in her mouth, paintbrushes in one hand and her wooden palette in the other. She was squinting at the art deco glass that framed the white fireplace, measuring it with her hands, walking away from it and coming towards it again, making rough marks on its surface – all the while mentally composing the images she was about to paint. We were astonished by this performance and about to summon help when my mother crept up behind us and motioned us to be quiet. The three of us watched in amazement as Irma began to transform the coloured glass into a narrative picture … Later, when we got to see the end result, we were mesmerised. The cold, static decorative glass had been transformed into a vibrant descriptive story. Irma had first covered parts of the colourful glass with black oil paint, on top of which she had then painted seven dancing nudes that moved rhythmically over the horizontal panel, and two musicians – a flute and mandolin player – on the vertical panel. The scene was perfectly executed – the size, colours and proportions of the dancers and musicians.’¹

1. Mona Berman (2003) Remembering Irma: Irma Stern, A Memoir with Letters, Cape Town: Double Story, pages 25 to 27.