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Lot Essay
The breathtaking 'Psyché à la Baigneuse' Dressing Mirror is among the most singular pieces produced by Jean Dunand. Created in 1927 and one of only six psychés documented in the artist’s catalogue raisonné, it embodies the artist's technical confidence at a time when he was firmly established as one of the leading figures of modern French decorative art. First exhibited at the Galerie Georges Petit in 1927, it appeared alongside his major works in lacquer and metal, and it was later shown in the 1973 Jean Dunand, Jean Goulden exhibition at the Galerie du Luxembourg in Paris.
The present lot demonstrates Dunand’s mastery of lacquer, perfected through his work with Seizo Sugawara and rooted in Japanese techniques. Through the patient application and polishing of many thin layers, Dunand achieved a smooth, durable, and visually rich surface, often enhanced with eggshell, gold powder, or incised metal details. These techniques were central to the luxury aesthetic that defined Paris in the 1920s, and they positioned Jean Dunand at the forefront of high-end commissioned work for important clients, interior designers, and the fashionable elite.
Originating in the late 18th century as a freestanding, tilting full-length mirror, the psyché had become an essential element of refined interiors by the 1920s. During the Art Deco era, marked by an emphasis on modern lifestyles, personal appearance, and domestic sophistication, this type of mirror served both practical and symbolic roles. It was especially common in luxurious bedrooms and dressing rooms designed for women where it reflected the new culture of elegance and intimate self-presentation that shaped the period.
Jean Dunand’s own career intersected directly with this world. He received numerous commissions from leading French women fashion designers and couturières, including Madeleine Vionnet and milliner Madame Agnès, who sought his lacquer and eggshell portraits, screens, and decorative pieces for boutiques, salons, and private apartments. These collaborations placed him in close dialogue with the aesthetics of modern femininity and reinforced the importance of the female figure and the female sphere in his Oeuvre. His recurring bather motifs, stylized silhouettes, and representations of women in his lacquer panels all point to a consistent yet lesser-known engagement with themes of grace, self-presentation, and the decorative framing of the feminine body.
The 'Psyché à la Baigneuse' fits naturally within this context. As a dressing mirror traditionally associated with women’s private spaces, and bearing a title that explicitly references the bather and possibly the Greek myth of Psyche, it aligns with Dunand’s larger exploration of feminine subjects. The dual meaning of the word psyché in French, both designating the mirror and the inner self, reinforces the connection between the object, the act of looking at oneself, and the broader visual language of femininity that Dunand developed throughout the 1920s.
The Story of a Rediscovery
Like all great ladies, Jean Dunand's La Baigneuse harbors her share of mystery.
Presented in 1995 at a Monaco sale dressed in gold and red, she truly came to notice in 2006 when she appeared under the prestigious banner of the Claude and Simone Dray Collection—the most important Art Deco collection ever brought to market at that time. All the great collectors participated in the sale, and Adriana Berenson of the DeLorenzo Gallery won the Beauty for an American client. La Baigneuse thus took up residence in New York, then moved into her own apartment, for having fallen in love with the piece at the moment of sale, Adriana bought the work back from her client for her personal collection a few years later. She enjoyed it for a long time in her living room just as it was, then one day undertook to have the gold background of the façade restored, which showed some wear, particularly in the lower section. This is how this adventure began.
Someone had to be found capable of not only mastering the technique perfectly, but who would also respect the integrity of the work. Anne Jacquin was the perfect candidate. La Baigneuse returned to Paris to join her studio. Meanwhile, research conducted in period documentation revealed two surprising black-and-white illustrations: not only were the contrasts in the images incompatible with the work's current colors, but their captions were contradictory as well. In both cases, they described a mirror lacquered in brown and silver, rather than red and gold.
We thus came to the conclusion that the colors had been altered, though we knew neither why nor to what extent. The most plausible explanation was that the work had likely been damaged at some point and then repainted. The risk in contemplating the idea of removing this camouflage was that no original work might remain beneath—that it might be deteriorated or incomplete, or even that we might harm it further in the process. The easiest course would have been to leave it with this new appearance and simply refresh it. But Adriana felt a duty toward this piece—as one does toward someone that you respect and owe the truth to—and gave her approval.
Anne began her restoration with the frame, meticulously and gently removing the upper layers one by one, centimeter by centimeter. Per chance, the original lacquer was natural, highly resistant, and perfectly preserved. Beneath the gilding indeed, everything was brown and silver. Suddenly the whole regained its coherence: the harmony with the interior lacquer panel, which by contrast had never been retouched, was perfect. The frame recovered its initial appearance. Everything was there —the slightly rough texture, the fine lines that delineated the square silver leaves. What a wonder. We had to go further. Anne turned to the figure. This was perhaps the most moving stage of the restoration. It was already late in her studio, night had fallen. Gently, Anne removed the Bather's makeup, lifted away the greenish tint from her cheeks to reveal her true skin, the shadows of her face, her eyelashes, the subtlety of her gaze. Everything was there, immaculate. The lady had recovered the full delicacy of her features—her rosy, diaphanous skin, the shadows along her contours, the fineness of her jewels. What a marvel. Jean Dunand would have been pleased to see her again.
All that remained was to erase the gold from the water and plunge her into a silvery bath, so that this prude yet naked woman might bathe once more in the white light of the moon. It is midnight again. A matter of taste, no doubt, that had once carried her from night to the golden sunlight and wrapped her in red, for now we know—beneath her makeup—the Bather had remained untouched.
- Pauline De Smedt, Art Advisor
The present lot demonstrates Dunand’s mastery of lacquer, perfected through his work with Seizo Sugawara and rooted in Japanese techniques. Through the patient application and polishing of many thin layers, Dunand achieved a smooth, durable, and visually rich surface, often enhanced with eggshell, gold powder, or incised metal details. These techniques were central to the luxury aesthetic that defined Paris in the 1920s, and they positioned Jean Dunand at the forefront of high-end commissioned work for important clients, interior designers, and the fashionable elite.
Originating in the late 18th century as a freestanding, tilting full-length mirror, the psyché had become an essential element of refined interiors by the 1920s. During the Art Deco era, marked by an emphasis on modern lifestyles, personal appearance, and domestic sophistication, this type of mirror served both practical and symbolic roles. It was especially common in luxurious bedrooms and dressing rooms designed for women where it reflected the new culture of elegance and intimate self-presentation that shaped the period.
Jean Dunand’s own career intersected directly with this world. He received numerous commissions from leading French women fashion designers and couturières, including Madeleine Vionnet and milliner Madame Agnès, who sought his lacquer and eggshell portraits, screens, and decorative pieces for boutiques, salons, and private apartments. These collaborations placed him in close dialogue with the aesthetics of modern femininity and reinforced the importance of the female figure and the female sphere in his Oeuvre. His recurring bather motifs, stylized silhouettes, and representations of women in his lacquer panels all point to a consistent yet lesser-known engagement with themes of grace, self-presentation, and the decorative framing of the feminine body.
The 'Psyché à la Baigneuse' fits naturally within this context. As a dressing mirror traditionally associated with women’s private spaces, and bearing a title that explicitly references the bather and possibly the Greek myth of Psyche, it aligns with Dunand’s larger exploration of feminine subjects. The dual meaning of the word psyché in French, both designating the mirror and the inner self, reinforces the connection between the object, the act of looking at oneself, and the broader visual language of femininity that Dunand developed throughout the 1920s.
The Story of a Rediscovery
Like all great ladies, Jean Dunand's La Baigneuse harbors her share of mystery.
Presented in 1995 at a Monaco sale dressed in gold and red, she truly came to notice in 2006 when she appeared under the prestigious banner of the Claude and Simone Dray Collection—the most important Art Deco collection ever brought to market at that time. All the great collectors participated in the sale, and Adriana Berenson of the DeLorenzo Gallery won the Beauty for an American client. La Baigneuse thus took up residence in New York, then moved into her own apartment, for having fallen in love with the piece at the moment of sale, Adriana bought the work back from her client for her personal collection a few years later. She enjoyed it for a long time in her living room just as it was, then one day undertook to have the gold background of the façade restored, which showed some wear, particularly in the lower section. This is how this adventure began.
Someone had to be found capable of not only mastering the technique perfectly, but who would also respect the integrity of the work. Anne Jacquin was the perfect candidate. La Baigneuse returned to Paris to join her studio. Meanwhile, research conducted in period documentation revealed two surprising black-and-white illustrations: not only were the contrasts in the images incompatible with the work's current colors, but their captions were contradictory as well. In both cases, they described a mirror lacquered in brown and silver, rather than red and gold.
We thus came to the conclusion that the colors had been altered, though we knew neither why nor to what extent. The most plausible explanation was that the work had likely been damaged at some point and then repainted. The risk in contemplating the idea of removing this camouflage was that no original work might remain beneath—that it might be deteriorated or incomplete, or even that we might harm it further in the process. The easiest course would have been to leave it with this new appearance and simply refresh it. But Adriana felt a duty toward this piece—as one does toward someone that you respect and owe the truth to—and gave her approval.
Anne began her restoration with the frame, meticulously and gently removing the upper layers one by one, centimeter by centimeter. Per chance, the original lacquer was natural, highly resistant, and perfectly preserved. Beneath the gilding indeed, everything was brown and silver. Suddenly the whole regained its coherence: the harmony with the interior lacquer panel, which by contrast had never been retouched, was perfect. The frame recovered its initial appearance. Everything was there —the slightly rough texture, the fine lines that delineated the square silver leaves. What a wonder. We had to go further. Anne turned to the figure. This was perhaps the most moving stage of the restoration. It was already late in her studio, night had fallen. Gently, Anne removed the Bather's makeup, lifted away the greenish tint from her cheeks to reveal her true skin, the shadows of her face, her eyelashes, the subtlety of her gaze. Everything was there, immaculate. The lady had recovered the full delicacy of her features—her rosy, diaphanous skin, the shadows along her contours, the fineness of her jewels. What a marvel. Jean Dunand would have been pleased to see her again.
All that remained was to erase the gold from the water and plunge her into a silvery bath, so that this prude yet naked woman might bathe once more in the white light of the moon. It is midnight again. A matter of taste, no doubt, that had once carried her from night to the golden sunlight and wrapped her in red, for now we know—beneath her makeup—the Bather had remained untouched.
- Pauline De Smedt, Art Advisor