Chagall: 12-Sided Hallway

by Kara Skye Smith

  Diego: Marevna, how’s your studio? I hear you’re out of coal and it’s dreadfully cold out. Come and stay with us tonight.

  Angelina: You’re out of coal? Us artists are a low priority now, I suppose, since this war’s been declared.

  Diego: Angelina won’t mind. Come home with us.

  Cendrars: [Stumbles by with his arm around Jolie. Stunning painting at the Opening, Diego. Fine job!

  [He waves and the couple exits.

  Lhote: Marevna! There you are. Come and dance with me. Valentine’s drooling on Marc Chagall’s potential, again, Let’s make her viciously jealous. It makes for better sex tonight, you know?

  [Marevna laughs and they exit. Diego watches them go. Angelina looks down at her belly and rubs it.

  Act II, Scene 9: The Audition to Become a Rising Star

  Setting: Interior. Salon Des Independants.

  Time: The Next Month. Daytime.

  The room is quiet. Ten of Chagall's paintings are arranged in the room on easels. Dedicated to My Fiancée; Adam and Eve; Homage to Apollinaire; Self-Portrait with Seven Fingers; To Russia, Asses and Others; I and the Village; La Poete; The Fiddler; Studio.

  The director and several people with notepads walk around the easels, slowly, observing the artwork. Occasional notes are written down. It is very quiet. Chagall sits propped against the wall on a wooden bench. He fidgets and looks as though he might jump up and say something, but then he holds his hands together and leans back.

  Act II, Scene 10: How-to Be a Salon Star

  Setting: Interior. La Ruche.

  Time: Next Day. Daytime.

  Chagall enters into the 12-sided hallway. He sees Delauney talking with Valentine.

  Chagall: I just heard! I'm accepted! To the Salon!

  Delauney: Good going, friend!

  Valentine: Finally I get to see these paintings of Marc Chagall. When will we see them?

  Chagall: Oh, I don't know... who cares? I'm accepted.

  Delauney: Fabulous news.

  Valentine: It's good that you caught me, here, Chagall. I wasn't sure I'd have the chance to tell you both, but Canudo's Friday gathering has been moved to my house... You're both invited. I have to run.

  [Kisses Delauney. Exits.

  Delauney: Just in time. Valentine was about to cut you off her list of possibilities, her social calendar.

  Chagall: Don't remind me. I got so tired of

  running into her, being asked where I was exhibiting, as if the only reason to paint was to be critiqued...

  Delauney: [Laughs. Yes, but now you'll exhibit at the Salon. I suppose it is part of the method. All in all you have terrific news, and I didn't doubt you for a minute, Chagall.

  Chagall: Oh, I was sweating it… I kept wanting to explain my choices, but they don’t…

  Delauney: They don't let you talk…

  Chagall: Ah! It was killing me!

  Delauney: [Pats his back. It killed me too. Well, good going!

  Cendrars: [Enters. Looks at him, then at Delauney, then Chagall again. Well?...

  Chagall: I got in!

  Cendrars: Yes! [Hug. Look at each other, hug again. Yeah!

  Act II, Scene 11: Don’t Get Too Lonely

  (Painting Inspiration: Studio.)

  Setting: Interior. Chagall’s Studio.

  Time: The Next Week. Night.

  Dimly lit by candles and a lamp, Chagall sits in his studio reading a letter from Bella. Occasionally he laughs or sighs.

  Bella's Voice [over the scene: Au revoir, my love, Bella.

  [Silence. Chagall holds the letter and looks at Bella's signature a while. Then folds the letter and puts it back in the envelope. He turns it and looks at the front, the return address. The word Vitebsk. He looks to the walls of the studio, the paints piled up on a table. He sighs, smells the envelope.

  Act II, Scene 12: Celebrate Your Hard Work

  Setting: Interior. Salon D’Autumne.

  Time: October Night. One Week Later.

  Another art opening celebration. Cendrars, Valentine and her younger companions, Delauney and Leger mingle in a crowd at the art gallery, Salon D'Autumne. Chagall is talking animatedly moving his hands while he talks to a patron explaining something about his painting they stand in front of, although the words cannot be heard.

  Chagall's Voice [over the scene}: My dedication to my painting, long hours in my studio, and at times, isolation, did not go unnoticed. After exhibiting at the Independent, I was offered the chance to join Salon D'Autumne. The intensity of my colors and chemistry of my paintings often brought gasps and smiles from the viewers. Although words from analysts were tossed around, like Fauvist and Expressionism, I managed to remain true to myself, true to my art.

  A Jewish Painter. A Painter. A Jew. Not one without the other. At the first art school I'd entered, with the help of my mother, the classroom buzzed with Yiddish conversation while we painted still lives or models, and as we traipsed up and down nearby hillsides carrying paint boxes and canvases, searching for suitable landscapes. I later read in a text book:

  "... it is through Marc Chagall that Judaism, which for thousands of years had eschewed all pictorial art, found its own individual artistic expression..."*

  I am certain this is untrue, as my first mentor, artist and teacher, Pen, is proof. However, I did manage, uncalculatedly, to bring the true sense of myself and my art, which are Jewish, to a level not yet seen in history, at a time period when to do so seemed most courageous by a very unsuspecting character.

  Ironically, my first one man show was to be held in Berlin at the end of my four year stay at La Ruche. 1914. I remember the sound of guns being loaded outside in the street near the gallery during the exhibit due to the First World War. And, although I expected to only visit Vitebsk for six months and then return to Paris, the visit turned into an 8-year stay, my return to Paris denied.

  “…through Marc Chagall that Judaism…found its own…artistic expression.”? Hmmm?

  Perhaps. I know that I am: A Jewish Painter. A Painter and A Jew. Not one without the other. Not ever.

  Act III, Scene 1: Train of Thought Invoking Memories

  Setting: Interior. Train. Two bench seats with a table in between.

  Time: Daytime. 1914.

  Chagall sits opposite a woman on the train. The grey sky and brown landscape blur past as Chagall looks out the window.

  The woman is reading a book. She stops and looks at her watch.

  Woman: Excuse me… How far are you going?

  Chagall: To St. Petersburg.

  Woman: Do you know how much longer?… Until we get there?

  Chagall: No. Sorry. I don’t.

  Woman: I wonder if there’ll be any delays due to the war.

  Chagall: Yes. I wonder.

  Woman: Are you traveling from Paris?

  Chagall: No. Berlin.

  Woman: Oh. [She smiles slightly and looks back down at her book. She begins to read again.

  Chagall: [Looks out the window. You know, riding this train, seeing this landscape, and wondering about delays – due to the war. I can’t help but remember something that occurred when I was a boy – one of my most distinct memories from childhood… I grew up in Vitebsk…

  Woman: [Looks up again. Oh?

  Chagall: Yes… and one day, all the boys in the surrounding area were brought out to meet a train, a train the Czar was riding in, on account of the war back then.*

  [Cut to a visual portrayal of Chagall’s recount of the memory.

  Act III, Scene 2; Into the Memory

  Setting: Vitbesk, the house of his mother and father. Interior and exterior into a field toward a train.

  Time: When Chagall was just a boy. Winter. Early am.

  Chagall’s Voice [over the scene: We were woken up at what must have been 3 or 4 in the morning; dressed in our boots, hats and coats we were marched out into the snow…

  It was freezing cold that day, too… marched out with all the other boys to meet the
train, to see the Czar. We waited and waited, standing in the cold. Until finally, off in the distance, we could see the train as it pulled to a stop. We waited longer. Many of us so nervous or frightened we could either barely move or about to wet ourselves… when all of a sudden, Nicolas, a boy I knew from school…

  A small boy, very young, walked out with his papers held high-up on top of his head… walked out into the open, toward the train. Even the adults among us stood frozen. We didn’t know if he’d be shot, reprimanded or carried home for bravery… Then we heard shouts, and the soldiers, princes, and even the Czar left the train shouting and cheering. One soldier picked Nicolas up and put him on his shoulder. They began singing and we all sang the anthem. We all sang and cheered as we walked toward Vitebsk.*

  Act III, Back to Scene 1;

  Setting Change: Back to Interior of the Train. Two bench seats with a table in between.

  Time: Daytime. 1914.

  Train whistle blows. City buildings pass the windows.

  Woman: Looks like we’re here! [She closes her book.

  Chagall: Ah, yes.

  Act III, Scene 3: Memories of Being in Love - with Bella

  (Painting Inspiration: The Birthday.)

  Setting: Interior. House in Vitebsk, Russia. Chagall’s second studio that he rents, after having moved out of his mother and father’s house, but before going to Paris.

  Time: Daytime. Before Chagall moved to Paris. Before 1910.

  Chagall sits or stands at an easel, painting, in a small room that is a studio with a bed. The window is open. Through the open window a cow with a bell stands tethered, shaking its head and clanking its bell occasionally. There is a knock at the door.

  [Chagall opens the door. Bella hands him a fistful of flowers.

  Chagall: For me?

  Bella: For your studio.

  Chagall: Thank-you. Come in.

  [He hugs her. She smiles. She walks toward a table and puts the flowers in a glass of water. She sets them on the open window sill.

  Bella: What are you painting today?

  [Chagall turns the easel toward the wall so she cannot see it and smiles. Bella has a basket in her hand.

  I brought you some broiled fish, and cake…

  [She sets the basket down and takes out the wrapped food items and sets them on a plate. Chagall comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her hips. Bella startles and turns, smiling.

  Chagall: I have a surprise for you.

  Bella: Don’t get fresh, it’s just broiled fish.

  [He kisses her.

  Chagall: Every time you come to my studio, you bring me flowers, you bring me fish, you bring me cake and chicken… these boards that made my easel… You are like opening the door to a breath of fresh air*… What did I do to deserve such a beautiful fiancée?

  Bella: You work hard and stay so dedicated to your art. I just like to bring you food and flowers for your window sill…

  Is that a crime?

  Chagall: And I enjoy them, they are lovely.

  [They both look at the window. He touches her hair. Pulls her close and puts his face near hers.

  This must be boring for you…

  Bella: I love to come here… to see you, see you working.

  Chagall: Share this food with me.

  Bella: I can’t. I already ate.

  Chagall: Come sit.

  Bella: Shall I name this new painting for you?

  Chagall: Of course.

  Bella: Hmm… let’s see, you turned it away…

  Chagall: [Jumps up in front of the easel.

  Bella: Let me see it!

  Chagall: [Holds out his arms.

  Bella: You brute! [She pushes against him. Let me see.

  Chagall: It is a surprise. Are you ready?

  Bella: Yes…

  [He grabs the easel and slowly turns it toward Bella. Bella grasps both her cheeks. It is The Birthday painting.

  Oh! It’s me! It’s us… here, and I’ve brought you flowers… Oh, I love it!

  Chagall: Look, I’m kissing you.

  [He steps closer and grabs her. She laughs and runs a few steps to get away. He grabs her and they fall on the bed laughing. He brushes her hair from her eyes.

  Bella: I love it.

  Chagall: I thought you would. [He kisses her lips. They kiss for a long while. Then Bella pushes him away.

  Bella: My mother wants you to come to dinner.

  Chagall: Bella…

  Bella: Not tonight. Shabbat, Friday. For me?

  Chagall: For you.

  Bella: Can I bring the painting to show her?

  Chagall: Yes.

  [Kisses her again. She pulls away and looks at him.

  Bella: And you’ll come to dinner, as she asked me?

  Chagall: Sh-h-h… quiet, this talk of your mother… shh…I’ll go. Kiss me.

  Bella: Do you promise?

  Chagall: I promise. [Kisses her and she does not stop him this time. But then she pulls away again.

  Bella: What shall I name the painting?

  Chagall: I don’t know, you are the writer.

  Bella: [Jumps up.

  Chagall: Come back. It can wait.

  Bella: [Looks at the painting closely, then from a distance, arms crossed.

  I’ve got it! [She jumps back to the bed, kisses him once.

  The Birthday. Because this is the best gift I’ve ever received! [She holds his face. Thank you.

  Chagall: [Whispers. I love you. [They kiss and kiss and kiss.

  Act III, Scene 4: Memories Continued - the Story of Chagall and Bella’s Love

  (Painting Inspiration: The Window)

  Setting: Interior. First Studio Chagall rents in a room off the back of a man named Javitch’s House.

  Time: Daytime. Nine years earlier than the previous scene - the Birthday painting – at his 2nd studio in Vitebsk, before going to Paris in 1910.

  A large sized elderly man with white beard sits at a table. He is having tea in his kitchen. Chagall enters the kitchen. A girl at the table next to the old man looks at him, her face turned down, she grabs a napkin with one hand and partially shields her homely looking face with her other hand. She moves the napkin up toward her face, slightly ducking under it. Chagall nods and blushes slightly at the sight of two empty dishes and a large bone stretched across them.*

  Chagall’s Voice [over the scene above and while he walks to his room out back and unlocks the door, bolted from the outside:

  My first studio in Vitebsk had been at Javitch’s house. It was the first place I’d moved to out of my parents’ home. Bella and I had met early on, but during this year, we had fallen in love.

  [He passes through the kitchen into a courtyard and unlocks a door behind the house. He enters his room, which is also his studio, and jumps onto his bed. His feet fly up in the air slightly.

  [There is a knock, very faint knock, at his door. He gets up and opens the door.

  Chagall: Bella! [She is nine years younger than the previous scene. Her arms are full of wild flowers: mountain ash.

  Chagall’s Voice: Words cannot express how beautiful she appeared to me at that moment.*

  I pulled her in. It was dark. I kissed her.

  [They kiss a lot. He pulls away.

  Chagall: I want to paint you.

  Bella: [Smiles shyly.

  Chagall: Come on, let me paint you. My mind is filled with this beauty…. Pose for me. Please.

  Bella: How? How… do you want me… to pose?

  Chagall: [Begins to pull her blouse off her shoulders. Unbuttons two buttons, fumbling. His hands are shaking.

  Like this.

  Bella: [Smiles again.

  [He kisses her neck. Bella gasps and holds her blouse together at her chest. He unbuttons more buttons. He kisses her lips. He stops kissing her and looks at her as her blouse falls to the floor.

  Chagall: [Whispers: Bella.

  Bella: Yes? [They kiss until they are on his bed. His shirt is
off. Her skirt still on.

  [Cut to them in the bed under the covers, kissing.

  Chagall’s Voice: [over the scene above (prose from Ma Vie):

  “There is a still life in my mind.

  Mountain ash, bursts with bits of red,

  sparkles white and lavender.

  Our love is blue, then red, then

  luminous shimmering bits of light and green.”*

  [Cut to Bella in a reclining nude pose. Chagall kneels down in front of her to move her elbow up a little, but he stops. His hands pull away and stay stretched out, but he does not touch her.

  Chagall: I have… I have not ever seen… not ever had a nude model. Did you know?

  Bella: [Shakes her head. No. Do you… like it? Do you think you can paint me?

  Chagall: Yes. All painters paint nude models.

  All the masters painted them. I… You are… exquisite… Bella… really.

  [He takes a deep breath. Stares.

  Bella: Well… paint.

  Chagall: Yes… paint.

  [Cut to her wrapped in the blanket she’s posed on. They are snuggled together looking at the painting.

  Chagall: [Traces his finger along the painting.

  See this curve? I could get lost for an hour in this one curve alone…

  Bella: [Blushes. He kisses her.

  [Cut to Bella all dressed and her and Chagall are trying to open the door.

  Chagall: He must have locked it from the outside.

  Bella: What am I going to do? How will I get out? Does he do this often?

  Chagall: Not that I know of, but, I rarely - in fact I haven’t ever - tried to get out at night, until now.

  Bella: Marc! What am I going to do? My parents!

  Chagall: Here, let’s try the window. You’re small enough. [Grabs her around the waist.

  Mmm… Stay… Come to bed with me… again.

  Bella: No. [Hits his arm. Marc. This is serious. I’ve got to get home. I’m so late!

  [Cut to Marc laughing slightly as he is boosting her up and helping her out the little window. She jumps down, turns to look at him. The cowbell is clanking in the darkness. Bella smiles, waves.