• August 02, 1976
• Vol. 6
• No. 5

In Southern France, the Ancient Artist Jokes of Himself, 'He's a Little Crazy, Chagall'

By Pamela Andriotakis

It was a special day for the man who, since the death of Pablo Picasso, is probably the world's most popular living artist. As part of his 89th birthday celebration this month, Marc Chagall was joined by old friends at an exhibit of 17th-century religious paintings in the museum in Nice that bears his name. But even as he enters his 90th year, such ceremonial visits are only a temporary diversion. "I work as long as I have the strength," he says with a flash of his vivid blue eyes. "Without my work, my life would be idiotic. Even when I'm not working," he adds, tapping his head, "I'm working."

Chagall's reputation as a modern master is long since secure. His firebirds and dancers swirl across the ceiling of the Paris Opéra. In New York his vibrant stained-glass windows adorn the United Nations and his huge murals set the lobby of the Metropolitan Opera House ablaze with blue-greens and reds.

Though he has lived for the past decade in tiny St.-Paul-de-Vence on the French Riviera, Chagall grew up in the Russian town of Vitebsk, the son of a poor Jewish herring merchant named Segal. In many ways, Chagall never left home. Whether living in France, or during World War II in New York ("My greatest weakness is America," he concedes), he has painted the Fiddler on the Roof fantasies of his youth. His strange animals in the sky and floating brides, modeled after his first wife, Bella, are now recognized around the world as unmistakably Chagall.

At the moment, he is absorbed in designing six stained-glass windows for the Art Institute of Chicago. "They are torturing me," he jokingly complains. "Each window has a different theme—dance, architecture, theater, music, poetry and painting. I want to tell about all the arts."

When Chagall moved to St.-Paul with his second wife, Valentine—he calls her "Vava"—the citizens were so proud to have Maître Chagall among them that they built a road to his house and installed new water and electrical lines. He often wanders through the quiet town where, despite the fuss over his arrival, the little giant under the big straw hat often goes unrecognized.

His daily routine begins at 7:30 a.m., when he takes a half-hour stroll in his garden—a ritual he repeats in late afternoon. In between he retreats to his studio and works to the accompaniment of Mozart. Why Mozart? "Why does one like a woman?" he shrugs. These days Chagall also writes almost as much as he paints, mostly poetry. As evening approaches, he joins Vava, 65, on the terrace, where they chat, switching from Russian to French without pause.

On the rare occasions when he does leave the village, it is usually to visit the Marc Chagall Biblical Message National Museum 13 miles away in Nice. Opened by the French government three years ago, it is filled with Chagall's work and the artist considers it "a sort of chapel where young people can think and meet. It is a spiritual place." He has offered the Art Institute of Chicago those stained-glass windows as gifts, providing it makes a contribution to the museum. "You don't sell your love for money," he explains, adding, "He's a little crazy, Chagall."

His artistic collaborator on the windows, master craftsman Charles Marq, observes, "He has endless energy and is always enthusiastic, like a child." Chagall recently asked a group of children visiting the museum in Nice if they understood his work. When they all answered "Yes," Chagall's eyes widened and he pouted his lips. "That's strange," he exclaimed in thickly accented French. "Me, I do not understand Chagall."