Cars, sculpture exude an uncanny sensuality in interwar France

The use of the word biomorphic in the context of modern art was a sign of the times: Sculptures, and subsequently cars, were becoming more and more . . . human. And not only more human, but more womanly.

On view in Roaring: Art, Fashion, and the Automobile in France, 1918–1939, automobiles like the Talbot-Lago T150C-SS Coupe seem imbued with “a life force beyond the power of mechanical production,” according to curator Genevieve Cortinovis’s exhibition-catalogue essay that explores the rise of uncannily sensuous inanimate objects in France during the 1920s and ’30s. Soft curves, oblong windows, and swelling fenders characterized cars from France’s interwar era. These machines were initially designed like this to resist wind interference, drawing inspiration from fast-flying aircraft; curved noses and tapered tails allowed cars to achieve high speeds without additional horsepower or fuel.

Eventually, however, engineers’ complex calculations became second tier to the visual arts expression of the time. Leading carmakers in 1930s France understood the unique balance between art and machine. Cortinovis described their cars taking on “the amoebic and softly distorted bodies of so-called biomorphic artworks, particularly sculpture.” The employment of the term biomorphic transformed the modern art field in interwar Europe. English poet and critic Geoffrey Grigson was the first to describe artworks in such a way, writing the following in the 1935 opening issue of Axis: 

Abstractions are of two kinds, geometric, the abstractions which lead to the inevitable death; and biomorphic. The biomorphic abstractions are the beginning of the next central phase in the progress of art. They exist between Mondrian and Dalí, between idea and emotion, between matter and mind, matter and life. 

The vitality found in certain sculptures from this period was reflected in the dips and curves of designer cars whizzing through the streets of Paris. Although automobiles were part of the rapidly advancing technological world, which caused a general unease in modern artists, the biomorphism they employed directly confronted this advancement. Modern artists sought to uncover the lively energy of an artwork.

Sculptors Jean Arp and Constantin Brancusi, whose works are on view in Roaring, chipped away at the sharp edges of their plaster and granite until they arrived at the subject’s essence. Brancusi and Arp, as well as other sculptors of the time, imbued their sculptures with vitality by softly rounding contours. These simplified shapes often implied a teardrop—organic, dynamic, and fluid. Characteristics like these, along with an air of abstraction, come together to create a womanly effect in sculptures. The severed Surrealist feminine forms were informed by Freudian theories of sexuality and the unconscious, a connection that was strengthened by influential multimedia artist Man Ray.

According to Cortinovis, “Man Ray’s distortion of the female form had taken on an especially erotic dimension” by the 1930s. This trend of simultaneous sensuality and disembodiment transitioned to the automobile industry with photographs like Man Ray’s cover of a 1933 issue of Vu devoted to the Salon de L’Automobile. Alluring and uneasy, these images blend woman and object, capturing the slippage between body and product.

This information was adapted from an essay titled “Liquid Sculpture and the Sensuous Machine” by Genevieve Cortinovis in the Roaring: Art, Fashion, and the Automobile in France, 1918–1939 exhibition catalogue. It is available for purchase online and in Museum shops. Cortinovis is SLAM’s Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Associate Curator of Decorative Arts and Design.