In the mid-twentieth century, an Austrian-born artist captivated the Argentine audience for several decades. Her works were reproduced in every conceivable medium, drawing high society figures to her workshop to be immortalized by her brushes and pencils. Her fascinating personality also garnered attention from the mass media (fig. 1). This artist was Mariette Lydis (1887–1970). By the time she arrived in Buenos Aires in 1940, she had already visited large parts of the globe, played an outstanding role in Paris, and lived a life worthy of a novel.

In Argentina, as in other regions, art history has been written through a local and nationalist lens. However, transnational movements have been as crucial for the Argentine scene as for any other part of the world. When these are considered, the privileged geographical terrain is almost always the same: Europe. And so we are told about the initiation trips made by Argentine artists to the “Old World.” But artists also departed from Europe to Latin America. Art history has also been mostly written as a masculine narrative, sidelining the voices of women artists. The debates proposed by feminist art historians in the 1970s are only recently being addressed by Argentine art history—illuminating erasures, and the need to revise and preserve the archives of women artists that have been forgotten until now.

In this essay, I will explore certain aspects of Mariette Lydis’s career and the reception of her work. Given the breadth of her body of work, it’s not feasible to provide an exhaustive coverage here. However, by analyzing select artworks and episodes, we can begin to approach her artistic contributions. Furthermore, I aim to emphasize her writings and her role as the narrator of her own trajectory (fig. 2).

Mariette Lydis arrived in Buenos Aires in July 1940, at the height of World War II. Although her life had been marked by travel, crossing the Atlantic from her native Europe was a major symbolic break. Remaining on a continent fractured by anti-Semitism was not a viable option for Lydis; despite her Catholic faith, demonstrated in countless works, her Jewish origins would have put her at risk. 1 

In 1948, the magazine Plaisirs de France published an article about Lydis’s life in Argentina. After noting that during the dark years of the war and occupation, the artistic world had wondered about the artist’s whereabouts, the author stated: “We know now that Mariette Lydis, as a refugee in Buenos Aires, has not ceased to work and think about us. She is also preparing her return. We will soon see her again. We will be able to admire the numerous works she made there... where we will confirm her magnificent maturity.” 2  The piece, profusely illustrated with reproductions of her artworks and photographs of her Buenos Aires apartment, reflects the prominent position she held in French art during the interwar period. Her presence in the magazine reaffirms her importance in the eyes of art critics. In fact, Lydis was quite popular in the 1920s and 1930s. She relocated to Paris in 1925 and, the following year, had two solo shows where she exhibited portraits, nudes made in ink with a highly gestural style, illustrations of the Koran, and sensual etchings. 3 

Lydis did not go unnoticed in the French capital. The sensuality of her works fascinated the critics and the art market. Luc Benoist (1893–1979) was clear: “Mariette Lydis has seen Gomorrah.” 4  Although her artistic production extends beyond these themes, her most famous pieces from this period are likely her female nudes. Lydis, who was bisexual, explored desire between women in numerous works. The visual theme that Marie-Jo Bonnet has called the “two girlfriends”—the representation of two women with a more or less veiled allusion to lesbianism— 5 was radically transformed by Lydis, who created works that explicitly celebrated lesbian passion, among other alternative forms of desire.

Her book production, both in her own works and as an illustrator for other authors, provided her with a space of freedom due to their small print runs and restricted circulation. Since the publication of Lesbiennes in 1926, the artist has consistently explored the theme of sexuality among women. The illustrations in Lucian of Samosata’s Dialogues of the Hetaerae challenge the written word by depicting scenes that do not correspond literally to the conversations. For example, in the print Dialogue de Cléonarium et de Leæna (fig. 3), Lydis alters the meaning of the dialogue. In this scene, Clonarion and Leaena talk about Megila, Leaena’s wealthy lover, who has a shaved head and claims to have the desires of a man. In exchange for submitting to Megila’s “unnatural” impulse, Leena receives an expensive necklace, establishing a relationship based on material gain. However, Lydis’s illustration suggests a mutual enjoyment between the women, and the necklace, the symbol of Leena’s compliance, is shown on Megila’s neck, who is depicted with a shaved head.

Lydis’s work with erotic literature spanned several decades. In 1948, a version of Pierre Louÿs’s Les Chansons de Bilitis, illustrated by Lydis, was published. The Chansons were actually an invention of Louÿs, who presented them as translations of poems by Bilitis, a fictional writer from Ancient Greece, supposedly born in the sixth century BC. Louÿs claimed these poems had been discovered in Bilitis’s grave by someone named Heim. 6  In the volume, Lydis’s eroticism is vibrant: one of her illustrations, related to the poem “À la poupée de cire,” depicts two women embracing (fig. 4). One of the figures is shown latching onto the erect nipple of the other, referencing the poem’s line about Bilitis, not yet “weaned,” suckling at her lover's breast to avoid crying during passionate nights. 7  Lydis emphasizes the association between eroticism and childhood by giving Bilitis an innocent expression while placing her lover in a superior hierarchical position.

In the 1920s and 1930s, Lydis was a full member of the École de Paris. Between June and August 1929, two reviews signaled her complete acceptance by the Parisian artistic community. In June, Lydis joined the gallery of celebrities published in Paris Montparnasse, alongside Foujita and Kiki (fig. 5). Emilio Lascano Tegui (1887–1966), who had adopted the noble title of viscount, wrote an extensive chronicle detailing his visit to Lydis’s home and his reflections on her art, coinciding with her exhibition at the Galerie d’Art Contemporain. Lascano Tegui remarked that, in Lydis’s work, the flesh lurked. 8  The Argentine writer was alluding to Joseph Delteil’s (1894–1978) statement, where he had unambiguously written that Mariette Lydis “paints with her breasts.” 9 

The expression subverted the etymology of pinceau, the French word for “brush,” which originates from the Latin penis, meaning both penis and brush. Auguste Renoir’s response is well known, as narrated by his son Jean Renoir in his father’s biography, where the famous artist stated that he painted “with his penis.” 10  Renoir’s anecdote highlighted the voluptuousness of the nudes created by his brush and also illustrated his superior ability to transmute the carnal into art. As Jean Renoir observed, “what [Renoir] said was an astonishing expression of truth; one of those testimonies so seldom expressed in the history of the world to the miracle of the transformation of matter into spirit.” 11 

Delteil’s statement about Lydis was not well received, and her art was not celebrated for emerging from her body. Disgusted, the art critic François Fosca wrote in L’Amour de l’Art that he did not understand the fascination with Lydis’s work, which he found monotonously naughty. He added, “And then, since Joseph Delteil’s revelation about the way the artist paints, any comment on this topic becomes lurid.” 12  Delteil’s emphatic revelation about Lydis’s painting technique shows that, despite her sustained success during her Parisian years, there was no shortage of critics of her sensual pieces. Lydis was open about her deep connections with her models, who were rarely male, which fueled discussions emphasizing the supposed obscenity of her work: “[My models] never felt deprived or diminished by their work as models and they are right. They are truly the artist’s collaborators.” She then added, “I had no masters, but I had many passions: understand this as you wish.” 13 

In Paris, Lydis embarked on a new line of work, moving away from eroticism. Her body of work was much more diverse than the limited bibliography on her career suggests. As Lydis herself wrote: “My first efforts, my first interests, focused on marginalized beings, on the elderly, on the dispossessed, the delinquent, the sick. I wanted to show how much sadness there is in the world.” 14  For instance, the engravings titled Criminelles were based on stories of female murderers who had been imprisoned for their crimes, often of a sexual nature (fig. 6). Throughout her life, Lydis maintained an interest in hospices, frequently visiting asylums and depicting individuals forced to live on the fringes of society. In 1945, she wrote:

“Even today, my interest in the alienated remains strong. They embody a set of psychological features of immense importance. Observing them is like viewing the entire spectrum of human passions through a magnifying glass: their complete indifference to the outside world, their apathy, yet also their freedom in movement, gestures, and expressions—or, conversely, their inertia. They all inhabit a separate world, strictly isolated from their neighbors. This evokes in me a profound shock, pain, and sorrow, such a powerful emotion that it affects me deeply.” 15 

Lydis’s works are true portraits: they are not merely drafts documenting a medical condition or embodying a mental disorder. Lydis aimed to elevate the “otherness” represented by the alienated, the dispossessed, and the incarcerated. The intense emotions she experienced suggest an affective relationship between the artist (considered “anomalous” for many reasons) and the marginalized individuals she depicted.

Lydis was an avid narrator of her own life, expressing herself in various ways. She created self-portraits, wrote autobiographical texts, and recounted her life story in numerous interviews. This aspect of her is evident in her paintings, such as self-portraits that depict memories from her childhood in antebellum Vienna. An example is La petite fille que j’ai été (The Girl I Once Was), an oil painting first made in 1936 and later recreated in 1967 (fig. 7). The background features a slightly fantastical landscape with a stormy sky that contrasts with the serene young girl. This became a recurring visual theme for Lydis: nature with a marvelous tone.

Lydis has often been linked to Surrealism, partly due to her interest in themes like “madness.” However, her artistic journey reveals a blend of influences that defy such a simple classification. Lydis never explicitly discussed Surrealism, although she was familiar with its principles. Her work reflects diverse literary influences, a profound understanding of art history, and a fascination with religion evident in numerous artworks (fig. 8). Rather than adhering strictly to Surrealism’s spontaneous methods and ideology, Lydis demonstrated a broader interest in the presence of fantastic elements in art. Notably, she owned a copy of Marcel Brion’s L’Art fantastique, where she annotated the margins. Brion’s concept of “the fantastic” encompasses Surrealist art while extending beyond it. According to Brion, fantastic art reveals how “men, haunted by anxiety and fear, project images of their inner turmoil to free themselves from it, and sometimes to exorcize it.” 16 

Lydis’s works from the 1940s onwards exhibit several recurring characteristics: figures that blend into their backgrounds, spaces filled with somber colors, and a distinctive oil treatment applied subtly, leaving no visible traces (figs. 9 and 10). When Lydis presented a selection of these pieces in Paris in 1948, her friend Henry de Montherlant (1895–1972) observed how distanced she had become from the more luminous Europe: “In her oil paintings, grays and glaucous colors have replaced the brighter tones of her earlier studies; a sense of clarity animates her brushstrokes.” 17  Montherlant emphasized the importance of considering the glaucous tones of the “Indies” where Lydis had lived. Despite these colonialist undertones, he identified a crucial element in this phase of her artistic output: “It is her love for all humanity that, in my opinion, gives Mariette Lydis's talent its true nobility.” 18 

In Argentina, influential dance critic Fernando Emery described Lydis as a “painter of souls,” stating: “Mariette Lydis’s protean art, constantly evolving in a poignant search, seems to capture the essence of her subjects in their almost liquid pupils, in the dilation of their irises, and in the fever that sometimes torments them.” 19  The intense gaze of Lydis’s figures was a recurring point of fascination for art critics, who were captivated by the profound eyes that seemed to confront us, spectators, even when they are not looking at us.

Among the works she exhibited at that time, her first exhibition in Paris since fleeing Europe, was Le boucher de Winchcombe (fig. 11). This oil painting is one of the last pieces Lydis painted in Europe before her hurried departure. Created in England, where Lydis lived with her partner, Erica Marx, the painting depicts an everyday scene amidst a snowy landscape. But it also incorporates a fantastical element. The depiction of the worker blending with his workplace suggests a distortion of the real. As Lydis herself explained: “Often in painting or drawing, it’s necessary to sacrifice truth for verisimilitude. What I seek in art is not to merely copy nature but to convey an intimate truth and a deeper, intimate meaning. I strive to capture appearance of things imbued with a sense of another world, the transcendent quality of what lies beyond, the eternal aspect of things and beings.” 20 

Le boucher de Winchcombe was part of a significant donation made by Lydis to the Museo Municipal de Artes Plásticas Eduardo Sívori in Buenos Aires, which was formally accepted in 1969.“ 21 . This donation was not the artist’s only contribution; she had previously donated works in 1942 to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes and in 1967 to the Parroquia Madre de los Emigrantes in the working-class neighborhood of La Boca. Both donations reflected her origins and highlighted her status as a migrant: the former was a piece of great significance in her body of work, while the latter underscored her Catholic faith.  

Soon after arriving in Argentina, Lydis donated From Malice and Hatred to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. This work depicts the destruction of Europe during the war (fig. 12). As a refugee escaping European conflict, Lydis was regarded in Buenos Aires as a treasure that had survived the continent’s devastation—devastation she portrayed in her paintings. The painting shows Europe as a burning building surrounded by ruins. In the foreground, two ethereal figures embrace, symbolizing hope for peace, while other figures, including Joseph Stalin and Winston Churchill, are seen fleeing the building.

In 1967, Lydis made another significant donation, this time emphasizing her connection not necessarily to a Europe engulfed in flames but to Argentina. The artwork, Cristo de los Emigrantes (Migrants’ Christ), was created with the Parroquia Madre de los Emigrantes in mind, depicting Christ in agony with a weary expression (fig. 13). Initially exhibited at the Teatro General San Martín, the piece aimed to redefine the image of Christ post–Second Vatican Council, portraying him as close to his worshipers. Lydis explained, “I hope this Christ will protect all migrants, both from present and future generations. I hope that those who see this face will feel compassion for the suffering, and find solace and strength in it.” 22  Her portrayal of Christ, like all her work, reflects her desire to engage viewers on multiple levels—through devotion, mystery, and eroticism.