Life in Paris

Paris, the world's most powerful art magnet, is still pulling young painters and sculptors from all over the world. What do they find when they get there? To spell out the economic facts of life, Paris' art monthly L'Oeil poked into studios and galleries, combed the artists' hangouts for facts and figures. Its findings, published this month, considerably deflate the traditional happy-go-lucky view of la vie en rose.

Though the total number of artists in Paris now seems to be shrinking slightly, there are still some 30,000 of them ("As many as there are prostitutes," one painter sardonically pointed out). Up to 20% are foreigners, including approximately 400 Americans. Even to find housing and studio space, artists have been forced to spread out far beyond such traditional artists' quarters as Montparnasse and Montmartre, now live in attics and mansards or cellars all over Paris.

For the young artist a one-man show is the best way to become known. But this comes at a price: up to $500 for a fortnight's rent on the Left Bank, $750 or more on the right. In addition, the artist must usually crank out his own publicity, pay a critic (in cash or paintings) to write a catalogue preface, try to talk an aperitif manufacturer into serving free drinks. Even then the gallery pockets 20% to 33% of the sales.

For the long haul, the artist's best bet for a steady income is a gallery contract, a monthly payment of $50 to $150 for "first look" rights. Portrait commissions, once the artist's standby, have practically dried up; the art patron willing to finance a painter is as scarce in inflation-ridden France as a gold franc note. Many artists barter their works for art materials, do part-time drudge work painting lead soldiers, washing bottles, painting houses.

One important new factor today is the speculator willing to take a flyer on the works of a young unknown. Tempted by such examples as Bernard Buffet (TIME, Feb. 27), whose canvases in eight years have jumped in average price from $50 to more than $1,000, dealers, brokers and middlemen are buying paintings, hoping for a "beau coup" (lucky strike). Occasionally art dealers buy up an artist's whole studio full of works, salt them away until the artist's work brings a premium.

But such a windfall is still the exception to the rule. "The number of those who give up is enormous," L'Oeil finds. "We have to admit it: the Gauguins have always been the exceptions . . . The cozy apartment, the car, the refrigerator have killed many careers."

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