[SIGNOVERT, Jean – FAUTRIER, Jean]

[SIGNOVERT, Jean – FAUTRIER, Jean] Autograph manuscript by Jean Signovert. Set of two double-sided handwritten sheets (three pages of text preserved, A4 size), written in blue ink on paper, bearing the handwritten notation “Sur Fautrier” at the top. An unpublished text dedicated to Jean Fautrier, written in the form of a personal portrait blending memories, admiration, and reflections on the painter’s personality. From the very first lines, Signovert reflects on the very difficulty of writing about Fautrier: “Writing about Jean Fautrier—and what to say? What? What do you expect me to say?” The manuscript quickly takes the form of a deeply personal evocation of the artist. Signovert recounts his first encounter with Fautrier, whose personality immediately struck him as extraordinary: “I immediately thought of Don Quixote, Doctor Faust, some alchemist or great conqueror.” The text piles up images and comparisons in an attempt to capture a figure whom the author considers unclassifiable. Fautrier becomes, in turn, Don Quixote, Faust, an alchemist, and a conqueror, before being compared to Gérard Philipe, Louis Jouvet, or even a flamenco dancer. Signovert emphasizes the artist’s intellectual power, viewing him as belonging to “another race,” to “another world,” living ahead of his time: “He was of a different race than ours, from another world—a world a hundred years, a thousand years ahead, greater, more beautiful, more true.” The text takes on an almost lyrical quality when the author describes the influence Fautrier exerted on those who came into contact with him: “I was lucky enough to know Fautrier, and I think I’ve caught the Fautriere.” This mysterious “Fautriere” becomes, in his writing, a sort of spiritual fever: “It itches, it stings, it eats away at you and corrupts you. It burns you, it gnaws at you.” Further on, Signovert offers one of the most striking portraits of the painter: “I’ve only found that piercing gaze in Picasso.” Before contrasting the two men: “But while Picasso had the mobile, attentive eye of an owl, Fautrier had the hard, regal gaze of an eagle. ” The manuscript concludes with a particularly moving description of Fautrier’s profound personality, where behind the irony, sarcasm, and strength of character lie anxiety, shyness, and a deep kindness: “The one who is so good—the one who hides himself. ” An important, previously unpublished account of Jean Fautrier as seen by one of his close collaborators in the field of printmaking. This text is both a literary portrait and a personal memoir. It sheds light on the artist’s personality through the eyes of a fellow practitioner who knew him personally and who offers here a testimony of rare human depth. The very free style of writing, reminiscent of spoken language, lends the document a special authenticity and makes it one of the most personal texts currently identified in the Signovert collection. Transcription: “Writing about Jean Fautrier—and what to say? What? What do you expect me to say? What do you expect me to tell you? The first time I saw him, I immediately thought of Don Quixote, of Doctor Faust, of some alchemist or great conqueror—oh, a conqueror of nothing and for nothing, just for the sake of glory and panache. Then the inexhaustible flood of words poured from his mouth—he had become a Don Quixote turned fountain, whose water flowed in a small torrent, though after so much muddy water; what clarity, and what a quenching of a long-suppressed thirst. I immediately liked Fautrier and was captivated by him. I immediately sensed that all it took was to scratch the surface a little, to look beyond those clothes arranged with nonchalance and rare elegance—and Cézanne’s words suited him well: “Fear that someone might get their hands on him.” He was of a different breed than ours, from another world—a world a hundred years, a thousand years ahead, greater, more beautiful, more true— he knew it, and gently, gently, in small bursts, he revealed it to us; and if he sensed that you understood him—which, incidentally, was very rare; those who did understand could be counted on the fingers of one hand—then he would reassure you. It was neither serious nor strange; that’s just how it was, and you had to accept it. No need to make a big deal out of it—besides, it wasn’t contagious at all. Those who were meant to have it did, and for two thousand years, very few have had it—he and… those others had the time; time alone will tell—will tell that he and they were right, and that they had a lot of luck and a lot of setbacks in being born that way without wanting to and without having chosen it. As for me, I was lucky to have known Fautrier, and I think I caught the