Nancarrow, Briefe Annette Margolis, Memories

Auszugsweise Übersetzungen 'Annettes Memories'

(Teil 1 und 2).

Annette hat dem Autor dieser Website in zwei „Memories“ ausführlich über ihr Leben und ihre gemeinsame Zeit mit Conlon berichtet. Diese Ausführungen sind - neben den Briefen ihres Sohnes Luis - die einzige authentische Quelle zu Conlons Lebensumständen zwischen 1945 und 1952. Sie enthalten zudem eine Vielzahl an Hintergrundinformationen zu dem damaligen Zeitgeschehen in Mexico. Darüber hinaus geben sie Auskunft über das Leben einer außergewöhnlichen Frau, deren Bilder heute in bedeutenden Museen zu sehen sind. Damit diese Informationen zugänglich werden und nicht verloren gehen, habe ich mich entschlossen – in Absprache mit Annettes Söhnen – die „Memories“ in englischer Sprache nahezu ungekürzt und auszugsweise in deutscher Übersetzung auf dieser Website zu publizieren. Zudem werden Anaïs Nins Tagebuchaufzeichnungen auszugsweise wiedergegeben. Die Übersetzungen wurden vor der Überarbeitung der 'Memories' durch Luis Stephens angefertigt.

Dear Dr. Hocker,

Dieser wunderbare Zufall meines Zusammentreffens mit Conlon 1943 war ein Ereignis ,das unser beider Leben radikal veränderte, ich glaube zum Guten. Wir trafen uns auf einer Party zu Ehren von Freddie Martin, einer Krankenschwester aus dem spanischen Bürgerkrieg. Die Party wurde 1943 von Elinor Lincoln und Peggy Irwin gegeben, in einem Haus mit Garten in Mexico City, Colonia del Valle, und Conlon war mit einem Freund eingeladen.[...] In seiner ersten Zeit in Mexico - nach drei Jahren im spanischen Bürgerkrieg [tatsächlich waren es nur zwei Jahre] - hatte er wenig Kontakte. Auch fürchtete er Repressalien vom FBI, und da er einige Freunde in Mexico hatte, zog er dorthin, um seinen Seelenfrieden und seine Gesundheit wiederzuerlangen.

Meine eigene Lebenssituation war die, dass mein zweiter Mann mich verlassen hatte um in die U. S. Navy einzutreten. Bevor er ging bat ich ihn um die Scheidung. Er sagte nein, es hänge vom Ausgang des Krieges ab. Er sagte auch, ich sei frei, mein eigenes Leben zu führen, aber ich solle dafür sorgen, dass die Kinder keinen Schaden leiden. Ich wusste, dass in Mexico der Klatsch allgegenwärtig war. [...]

Oberflächlich betrachtet schien Stevie, mein Ex-Mann, eine heroische Tat zu vollbringen, während er in Wirklichkeit einen Ausweg aus unserer Ehe suchte. Drei Monate trauerte ich über Stevies Abwesenheit; dann beschloss ich zu malen und eine Ausstellung zu machen. Ich verwandelte mein großes Schlafzimmer in ein Atelier, kaufte Unmengen von Leinwand und Farben und kehrte zum Trost zu meiner Malerei zurück, die ich während meiner zweiten Ehe vernachlässigt hatte.

Als ich Conlon traf war ich schon zweimal verheiratet gewesen und hatte drei Kinder, eine Tochter aus meiner ersten Ehe und zwei Söhne aus meiner zweiten Ehe. Ich war sechsunddreißig und er war einundvierzig . Ich glaubte, ich sei über der Berg und würde mich nie mehr verlieben. [...]

Die Tatsache, dass ich Conlon getroffen habe, ist praktisch ein Wunder. Einer dieser wilden Zufälle, die Fügungen des Schicksals, der Faktor X im Leben – ich bin nicht religiös. (Brief v. 22.11.90)

Conlon und ich, beide hatten wir ohne Liebe, Partnerschaft und Geborgenheit gelebt – in einer Art Vakuum. Conlon und ich begannen ein Freundschaft, die schnell zu intensiver körperlicher und zärtlicher Liebe reifte.

Ich lebte [in Mexico-City] in einem schönen, großen Kolonialhaus mit Garten, mit Bediensteten und zwei Autos in der Garage und einem regen gesellschaftlichen Leben. Conlon war sich nicht klar darüber, dass ich Kinder hatte, bis zu seinem ersten Besuch in meiner feudalen Behausung. Ich war sehr beschäftigt als Höhlenmutter für meine Jungen, und ich arbeitete in der Fordfabrik, um die Mechanik eines Autos kennenzulernen - als Teil meiner Tätigkeit bei der Sanitätstruppe. Ich lernte auch Pistolenschießen.[...] Während Stevies Abwesenheit waren Conlon und ich sehr glücklich miteinander. [...]

Wir waren in vieler Hinsicht sehr verschieden. Ich liebte die Menschen, und er zog es vor, wie ein Eremit zu leben. Er war sehr gutaussehend und ich half ihm, sich schön zu kleiden. Er hatte einen weinroten Kaschmiranzug und trug ihn mit einem pinken Hemd und einer pinken Krawatte mit schwarzen Affen darauf. Ich dekorierte seine Wohnung auf dem Dach eines alten Gebäudes am Zocalo. Ich ermutigte ihn, den Führerschein zu machen. Er fürchtete sich vor Behörden, aber er bekam schließlich seinen Führerschein, und wenn meine Söhne Schulferien hatten, fuhr er uns nach Acapulco. [...]

Wir gingen zu Konzerten, Dinners, Kunstausstellungen und in Museen. Wenn Conlon mit mir zu einer Cocktailparty ging, nahm er einen Drink, suchte einen Stuhl in irgendeiner Ecke, rauchte eine Zigarette und sprach nie mit jemand bis ich meine gesellschaftlichen Verpflichtungen beendet hatte. Manche Leute dachten, Conlon sei mein Chauffeur.

Stevie erfuhr [1945] von meiner Beziehung zu Conlon und war sehr verärgert. [...] Als der Krieg vorüber war, rief er an und bat mich, nach Los Angeles zu kommen, um die Scheidung einzureichen. Ich dachte, dass ich vielleicht versuchen sollte, mich mit Stevie auszusöhnen, aber er bedrohte mich wieder und bestand auf einer Scheidung.[...] Diese Scheidung war in finanzieller Hinsicht nicht günstig.

Ich kehrte zurück in mein Haus in Mexico [Anfang 1946]. Ich hatte Conlon weder gesehen noch von ihm gehört oder mit ihm Verbindung gehabt. [...] Ich fand ein Haus in San Angel Inn. Es war Teil eines alten Hauses, das ursprünglich von der Kirche für Nonnen oder Priester benutzt wurde. Es mußte umgestaltet werden mit einem hübschen Dachfenster in der Küche, mit moderner Ausstattung und Badezimmern. Ich hatte zwei offene Kamine und einige der Wände waren einen Meter dick. Es war schön, mit einem großen, von einer Mauer umgebenen Garten. Ich stattete es mit Möbel aus meinem Haus, mit Decken und Geschirr aus.

Durch Zufall, als ich wieder zu einem Einkaufsbummel im Stadtzentrum war, in der Nähe von Sanborns, traf ich Conlon. Wir blieben beide stehen und ich begann zu weinen. Er führte mich in ein Café, Lady Baltimore, zu einem Kaffee, und ich erzählte ihm meine Geschichte. Er war sehr bewegt und seine Augen füllten sich mit Tränen - ‘oh’, sagte er, ‘es mag sein, dass ich nicht mit dir leben kann, aber ich kann auch nicht ohne dich leben. Lass uns heiraten.’ Wir brauchten beide einander. [...]

Die Scheidung gab mir und meinem Mann gemeinsames Sorgerecht für die Jungen. Stevie plante in den Staaten zu leben, da er wollte, dass die Jungen besseres Englisch lernen - ohne südamerikanischen Akzent - und dass sie mit den amerikanischen Wertvorstellungen aufwachsen. [...]

Ich bin in einem sehr intellektuellen Elternhaus der oberen Mittelklasse aufgewachsen. Wir waren umgeben von Büchern, Zeitschriften und von Musik. Das Hobby meines Vaters war Theater.[...] Er wurde Importeur und war ein ausgezeichneter Geschäftsmann.[...] Ich hatte eine Schwester und einen Bruder. Wir wurden von Kindheit an mit einem großen ‘Marmon Car’ von einem Chauffeur zur Schule gefahren. Ich wurde sehr modern erzogen, weil mein Vater der Meinung war, dass Mädchen eine ebenso gute Ausbildung erhalten sollten wie Jungen, und ich hatte die Freiheit, in unserer Bibliothek alles zu lesen was ich wollte.[...]

Ich war immer das hübscheste Mädchen in der Schule und im College. Im Jahrbuch der Highschool stand über mich: ‘Talents many - Beauty too, who would not wish to be like you.’ (Viele Talente - Schönheit dazu, wer wollte nicht sein wie du.) Im College entwarf ich meine eigenen Kleider, die aus ungewöhnlichen Materialien gefertigt waren. Ich benutzte niemals Make-up, höchstens ein wenig Lippenstift. Mein kastanienbraunes Haar war wie das der Medusa. Einer meiner Freunde behauptete ich würde es mit einem Schneebesen kämmen. Ich trug damals nie einen Büstenhalter. [...]

Conlon hatte einen Freund, Bob Allen, der Berichterstatter im Spanischen Bürgerkrieg gewesen war. Obwohl Bob ein Ingenieurdiplom am M.I.T. [Massachusetts Institute of Technology] erworben hatte, zog er den Journalismus vor.[...] Wir lernten auch ein Ehepaar kennen, Nina und Hermann Schneider. Wir wurden gute Freunde. [...] Conlon war beliebt. Ein weiterer Freund, der in Long Island City lebte, ein Fotograf [Annette hatte seinen Namen vergessen] hatte Conlons Sammlung früher Jazzplatten in seinem Keller aufbewahrt, als Conlon nach Spanien ging. Er gab Conlon diese Schätze zurück, als wir nach New York kamen. Er hatte sie mehr als acht Jahre gehütet, eine wahrer Freundschaftsbeweis! Wir besuchten viele Konzerte und gute Restaurants. Conlon hatte aus dem Nachlass seines Vater Geld geerbt.

Ich verließ New York und kam zurück in mein großes Haus in Mexico um mit Conlon mein Leben neu zu gestalten. [...] Ich zog in das alte Kolonialhaus das sie [Stevie und die Kinder] verlassen hatten, als sie in die Staaten zurückkehrten. Ich vermietete mein luxuriöses Haus in Aguilas, möbliert und mit einem großen Garten, und ging in das Haus aus dem 17. Jahrhundert in San Angel, wo Conlon zu mir zog. Ich packte eine große Menge Möbel und persönliche Dinge zusammen, als ich aus dem Haus auszog. Ich hatte zwei Überseekoffer voll mit Kleidern, Schmuck und Pelzen, die ich selbst entworfen hatte, einschließlich Jacketts im Stil der spanischen Stierkämpfer, spanische Tücher, umgearbeitet zu Cocktailkleidern, hübschen Schmuck, passend zu den Schuhen, Capes aus Seidendamast, Paisleytücher [?] und besondere Kleidung für die Saison in Acapulco. Es war eine enorme Menge zu packen und zu transportieren, und ich vergaß die Koffer abzuschließen. Ich hatte als Hilfe nur die Umzugsfirma und einen alten Gärtner aus dem Haus in Aguilas. Ich war so müde nach dem Umzug, dass ich in tiefen Schlaf fiel. Während der Nacht hatte eine Gangsterbande in der Straße hinter meiner Straße eingebrochen und das Haus geplündert. Sie kletterten auf das Dach, sprangen hinüber auf mein Dach und kletterten hinunter in meinen Garten. Sie warfen ihre Beute aus dem ersten Haus weg, als sie meine Koffer öffneten und den reichen Inhalt erblickten. Sie nahmen mich völlig aus. Ich verlor all meine Schätze. Als ich am nächsten Tag aufwachte und die Verwüstung und die ausgeplünderten Koffer sah, bekam ich einen hysterischen Anfall. Ich hatte das Gefühl, als ob ein Stück Fleisch aus meinem Körper gerissen würde. Es war ein solch grausamer Schicksalsschlag. Ich konnte keine der Dinge meiner gestohlenen Persönlichkeit wiederbekommen oder ersetzen. Aber ich musste mich selbst wieder aufraffen und von neuem beginnen, das Haus einzurichten.

Conlon kam zurück [aus New York] mit seiner besonderen Stanzmaschine aus Stahl. In dem neuen Haus richtete ich ein wundervolles Studio für seine Musik und seine beiden mechanischen Klaviere ein. Wir pflegten beide den ganzen Vormittag zu arbeiten, unterbrachen dann für eine gemeinsame Mittagspause mit einer wundervollen mexikanischen Mahlzeit, manchmal zusammen mit Freunden, aber meist nur wir beide allein. Danach die Siesta, die wirklich sehr warm und liebevoll war. Wir waren beide sehr glücklich zusammen. Conlon begann Kochbücher für seine Bibliothek zu sammeln. er wollte alle möglichen Arten von Gerichten und Weinen ausprobieren. Ich versuchte, der Haushälterin einige chinesische Gerichte und andere Spezialitäten beizubringen. [...] Wir aßen sehr gut und ich begann zuzunehmen, was mir nicht gefiel. Er war immer sehr schlank, aber gut aussehend. Er war ungefähr 5’9’ und ein wenig größer als ich. Ich begann seine Kleidung auszuwählen. Ich wählte pinke, blassgrüne und lavendelfarbene Hemden. In Acapulco trug er schöne Freizeithosen, huaraches [?] und Strandbekleidung.

Der Besitzer wollte uns dieses wundervolle Kolonialhaus nicht verkaufen. Finanziell ging es mir gut und Conlon hatte aus dem Vermögen seines Vaters geerbt. Wir teilten uns die Kosten. Da ich ein großes Stück Land besaß, beschlossen wir, auf einem Teil davon ein eigenes Haus zu bauen. Es waren 15.000 m2 mit Zugang von den beiden Straßen Aguilas und Leones. Von diesem Land hatte ich 7.000 m2 meinen Söhnen überschrieben als sie 10 und 11 Jahre alt waren; sie sollten es erben, wenn sie volljährig würden; ich verwaltete das Land die Jahre über für sie, zahlte die Ausgaben und Steuern und ließ es durch eine Mauer eingrenzen (ein Jahr bevor ich Conlon 1947 heiratete). Wir beschlossen, ein Haus auf mein Grundstück zu bauen, mit den Eingang zur Straße Aguilas No. 48, und als es fertig war, verließen wir das Kolonialhaus in San Angel und zogen dort ein. Im hinteren Teil des Gartens ließ Conlon ein schalldichtes Studio bauen. [...]

Ein Ehepaar, Jane und John Langley, die ich in Acapulco kennen gelernt hatte und die in einem Wohnwagen lebten, wurden unsere Freunde. [...] Er hatte einen köstlichen, anzüglichen Humor, war ein begabter Geigenspieler, wusste eine Menge über Musik und hatte einige Jahre zuvor seine linke Hand versichert. Als er ein Gewehr reinigte, löste sich ein Schuss und verletze den Zeigefinger seiner linken Hand. Auch noch mit halbem Finger konnte er sehr gut Geige spielen. Die Versicherung zahlte ihm eine monatliche Rente von 100$ für den Rest seines Lebens. Ich fragte mich oft, ob es wirklich ein Unfall gewesen war, denn John war ein phantasiereicher Geschichtenerzähler.

Zu jener Zeit wurde es in Mexico nicht als ungehörig angesehen, Marihuana zu rauchen, und es war gesetzlich erlaubt. Conlon baute hinter seinem Studio Marihuana an und er und John rauchten beide davon. Ich versuchte es mehrmals, aber ich konnte nichts daran finden. Wenn die Leute in einer Runde rauchten, wurden sie ‘high’, redeten Unsinn und lachten dann darüber. Mir erschien es einfach dumm, und ich wurde niemals ‘high’.

Conlon und ich besuchten Stierkämpfe, Konzerte und sonntags den Lagunilla Diebesmarkt. Er sucht nach Klavierteilen und Büchern und ich ging auf die Jagd nach antiken Möbeln, Bilderrahmen, archäologischen Fundstücken, Volkskunst, Spielzeug u.s.w.

In unserem Haus beschäftigten wir ein Ehepaar, einen Koch namens Romolo und seine Frau Esperanza. Romolo hatte für Deutsche auf einer Kaffeeplantage in Chicago gearbeitet. In unserer Nachbarschaft gab es ungarische Hühnerzüchter mit einer eingetragenen Kuh. Romolo schlug unsere Butter von Hand aus dem Rahm dieser Kuh. Er machte auch wundervolles Eis mit echten Vanillebohnen, Kuchen, Plätzchen und gute bekömmliche Gerichte.

Conlon beschloss, dass wir einen Gemüsegarten brauchten. Wir hatten zwei Gärtner und pflanzten etwa fünfzig Gemüsesorten an. Sogar in jenen Tagen kostete es ein Vermögen, solch einen Garten zu unterhalten. Wir wussten nicht, wie man kleine Beete anlegt, deren Früchte zu verschiedenen Zeiten reif werden, und so mussten wir viel von den Erträgen verschenken. Wir pflanzten Zuckererbsen, Spargel, Blumenkohl, Sellerie, Tomaten, Kopfsalat, Kohl, Zucchini, Bohnen, Getreide und anderes an. Wir züchteten auch chinesische Gemüse. Conlon begann, spanische Weine wie trockenen Sherry, Manzinilla und verschiedene Käsesorten zu kaufen, teure Delikatessen.

Wir hatten eine chinesische Freundin, Doreen Feng. Ihr Vater war chinesischer Botschafter in Mexico. Sie war sehr zierlich und verführerisch und kam oft zu uns ins Haus. [...] Doreen, die ein chinesisches Kochbuch schrieb, ließ sich von ihrem Chauffeur zum Markt fahren, kaufte alle möglichen chinesischen Gemüsesorten, Fisch, Huhn oder Schweinefleisch und kam damit in unser Haus, um an ihren Rezepten zu arbeiten. Conlon schenkte ich Wein ein und leistet ihr beim Kochen Gesellschaft. Es bedarf einer Menge an Vorbereitungen, um chinesische Gerichte zuzubereiten. Obwohl sie nicht mit uns aß, naschte und kostete sie während sie kochte. Am frühen Abend, wenn das Essen fertig war, war sie hundemüde und beschwipst und fiel in tiefen Schlaf.

Conlon rauchte ununterbrochen, und er entwickelte einen Essfetischismus (‘food fetisch’), weil sein Vater an Magenkrebs gestorben war und seiner Familie befohlen hatte, fade Speisen vor dem Unterschlucken hundertmal zu kauen. Als Conlon seine Erbschaft erhielt, wollte er alle möglichen ausgefallenen Gerichte genießen, um sich für diese unangenehme Erinnerungen an seinem Vater zu rächen.

Conlon hatte noch einen anderen Freund, Edmundo Sanchez Flores [vgl. Auszüge aus der Biographie 'Historias de Edmundo Flores'], ein Agrarökonom, der gut Englisch sprach. Edmundo war der illegitime Sohn eines bekannten Politikers. Seine Mutter war Sekretärin im Büro des Politikers gewesen. Sein Vater hatte ihn niemals anerkannt oder sich um ihn gekümmert.[...] Edmundo hatte große Ambitionen. Er war meist knapp bei Kasse und Conlon half ihm immer aus. Er kam regelmäßig, um mit Conlon und mir zu essen, lobte den Koch und das Essen und schwatzte über Politik und seine amerikanischen Liebschaften. Er bekam an der Universität Wisconsin ein Stipendium, um eine Doktorarbeit in seinem Fachgebiet zu schreiben. Dort lernte er Sage Fuller kennen, eine Tänzerin, die sich dem Modern Dance, wie er von Martha Graham entwickelt wurde, verschrieben hatte: sie nahm Unterricht bei einem Schüler Grahams. [...] Edmundo betete Sage an und eroberte sie. Sage und Edmundo kamen zu uns, um Hochzeit zu feiern und sie hielten Ausschau nach einem kleinen Haus in unserer Nachbarschaft. Da ich mit dem Architekten Juan O’Gorman eng befreundet war, der die Ateliers von Diego Rivera und die Bibliothek der National University mit den gewaltigen Mosaiken gebaut hatte, rief ich ihn an. Er besaß zwei kleine Häuser in unserer Nähe in Tlacopac, und ich konnte die beiden Frischvermählten mit einem hübschen Nest versorgen. [Edmundo und Sage trennten sich jedoch nach einiger Zeit wieder.] [...]

Edmundo hatte die großartige Ideen, die Bauern mit modernen Agrarmethoden vertraut zu machen. Später wurde er ein bedeutender Diplomat und Botschafter in Kuba. Seine Tochter Tessa wurde in den Staaten geboren und Sage heiratete einen Mann aus Minnesota, Reginald Cowles, Besitzer einer wichtigen Zeitung. [...] Auch Edmundo heiratete noch einige Male und wurde Professor für Agrarwissenschaften an mehreren amerikanischen Universitäten. [...]

Währen der Hexenjagd unter McCarthy gingen viele Filmleute aus Hollywood nach Mexico. Eine ganz Gruppe von Ex-Patrioten musste alles zurücklassen und fristete ihr Dasein in Mexico. Conlon spielte mit ihnen auch Poker. Ein Freund, Luis Lindau, war ein reicher Flüchtling aus Deutschland, der mit einer blonden Texanerin verheiratet war. [...] Einige der anderen aus der Pokerrunde waren Spanier, die eine Firma mit dem Namen ‘Meximex S.A.’ gegründet hatten und Schreibmaschinen und andere Bürogeräte aus Ostdeutschland importierten. Conlon kaufte Anteile dieser Gesellschaft und ich ebenfalls. Dann investierte auch Julian Halevy, ein bekannter Drehbuchautor aus Hollywood in diese Gesellschaft. Alles ging gut, bis Mexico Importe aus Ostdeutschland verbot. Die Schreibmaschinen waren sehr gut und das Geschäft blühte. Leider, wir alle verloren Geld. So groß der Gewinn auch gewesen war, wir alle verloren später, als Meximex S.A. einging.

Conlon war eng befreundet mit Rodolfo Halffter, einem anderen Flüchtling aus Spanien. Es gab eine ganze Reihe von Flüchtlingen, deren Namen ich vergessen habe, die Conlon grüßte und mit denen er sich gelegentlich ohne mich traf.

Orozco bot mir eine Stelle als Assistentin an, um die Wandmalerei zu erlernen. [Diese Zusammenarbeit begann schon, bevor Annette Conlon kennenlernte.] Er hatte einen Auftrag für ein großes Wandgemälde ‘Die vier Reiter der Apokalypse’. Dieses Gemälde war eine echte Herausforderung. Als Cortes während der Belagerung von Tenochitlan seine verwundeten Männer zusammen bringen ließ, um ihnen die Sterbesakramente zu erteilen, baute er eine Kapelle mit dem Namen ‘Der Tempel Jesu’, wo später auch die Gebeine von Cortes gefunden wurden. [...]

Wenn Orozcos Frau Geld brauchte, um Lebensmittel und Kleidung für ihre Kinder zu kaufen oder um die Miete zu bezahlen, brachte sie mir oft kleine Studien auf Leinwand, die Orozco anfertigte, wenn er die Wandgemälde entwarf. Auch Angelica, die Frau von Siqueiros, brachte mir während er im Gefängnis malte, Skizzen, um ihre täglichen Ausgaben zu bestreiten. Ich verkaufte auch für Diego [Rivera] ein großes Aktgemälde ‘Frau mit Nardos’ an das Hotel Reforma. Luis DeHoyos und Millie Johnstone, welche die Teezeremonie aus Japan in die USA gebracht hat, wollten bei Siqueiros ein Porträt malen lassen. Ich vermittelte den Auftrag, und Millie trug für das Porträt eine meiner präkolumbianischen Jade-Halsketten.

Als ich mit Orozco in der gewölbten Kuppel, zwanzig Meter über dem Boden, arbeitete, bat er mich, eine Halskette zu malen, da ich mehr von Schmuck verstehen würde als er. Das war mein eigener Beitrag zu diesem Kunstwerk. Dieses Projekt war für mich sehr aufregend: bei solch einem Genius unserer Zeit zu studieren war ein Highlight in meinem Leben. Für dieses Wandgemälde erhielt Orozco eine Preis von der Stadt Mexico. Er malte auch ein Porträt von mir und gab mir sein letztes Selbstporträt bevor er starb, mit einer Widmung ‘para Annette’. Stevie besuchte mich kein einziges Mal, während ich mit Orozco arbeitete.

Um auf Conlon zurückzukommen: er hatte begonnen, seine Erbschaft recht unbekümmert auszugeben. Er kauft alte Maschinenteile für Klaviere, Kochbücher und chinesische Utensilien und begann, täglich den importierten spanischen Sherry und Cognac zu trinken. Er hatte auch seine eigene HiFi-Anlage für seine Schallplattensammlung, die er unter Verschluss hielt. Wenn meine Kinder in den Sommerferien zu uns kamen und ihn baten, einige seiner Bessie Smith- , Louis Armstrong- oder andere Old Jazz-Platten zu spielen, verlangte er immer absolute Ruhe. Manchmal erklärte er die besonderen Feinheiten des frühen Jazz. Sie hörten ihm ehrfürchtig zu, und ich auch. [...]

Er [Conlon] kaufte von Baron Alex von Wuthenau einen kleinen Dachshund. Er nannte ihn Dali nach dem Maler Salvador Dali. Dieses besondere Tier war importiert von einer reinen dänischen Dachshundrasse. Am Nachmittag oder Abend pflegte Conlon den jungen Hund stundenlang zu kraulen. Das machte mich ganz eifersüchtig, da er nach und nach aufhörte, mich zu streicheln und zu liebkosen. [...]

Was unser Zusammenleben betrifft so war ich - glücklicher- oder unglücklicherweise - eine sehr sexbetonte Frau, und ich litt, wenn mir Zuneigung und Sex entzogen wurden. Ich konnte nicht mehr gut schlafen, malen oder überhaupt normal reagieren.

Als die Kinder in die Staaten zurückgingen, bat ich Conlon, einige Konzerte und gesellschaftliche Veranstaltungen mit mir zu besuchen. Er macht mir klar, dass er zuviel Arbeit habe. Wenn ich ihm vorschlug, eine Reise zusammen zu unternehmen, sagte er: ‘Es tut mir leid, ich habe kein Geld dafür’. Während er Löcher in seine Papierrollen stanzte, begannen seine Hände übermäßig zu schwitzen. Er suchte Dr. Paul auf, einen jungen Freund, den ich viele Jahre zuvor kennen gelernt hatte und der nun ein bekannter Radiologe war. Er bot Conlon an, ihn mit Radium zu behandeln, um seine Beschwerden abzuklären. Nach einer Reihe von Behandlungen hörte das Schwitzen auf. Ich fragte mich, ob diese Behandlung nicht einige ungesunde Nebeneffekte hatte. Dann stellten wir fest, dass er ein Magengeschwür hatte. Zu diesem Zeitpunkt entfremdeten wir uns voneinander. Er beschloss, in seinem schalldichten Studio zu leben: einen Teil davon wandelte er in Küche und Schlafzimmer um. Ein Badezimmer hatten wir bereits eingerichtet. Im Garten hatte er einen kleinen Swimmingpool mit Goldfischen, und nun begann er wie ein Einsiedler zu leben.

Was konnte ich tun? Ich las ein Buch über Gaugins Leben und wollte gerne in Tahiti leben. Aber statt dessen ging ich nach Acapulco und lebte mein Tahiti dort. [...] Natürlich war ich noch mit Conlon verheiratet und machte mir Sorgen darüber, aber der Glanz und Reiz unserer Beziehung waren verblichen. Ich musste mich mit dem Ende unserer Ehe abfinden.

Conlon kurierte schließlich selbst sein Magengeschwür, und obwohl ich in Acapulco lebte, bleiben wir Freunde. Ich beschloss, mein Haus zu vermieten und in einem kleinen Gästehaus auf meinem Grundstück zu wohnen, wenn ich nach Mexico-City kam. [...] Ich vermietete mein Haus an Freunde, die ein Zimmer für mich behielten mit meinen Möbeln und mit meinen Bediensteten einschließlich dem Gärtner. Wir kamen überein, dass sie in meinem Haus in Acapulco wohnen konnten, wenn sie einen Tapetenwechsel wünschten, und dass ich umgekehrt in meinem Haus leben konnte, wenn ich in Mexico-City war. Mit diesem Ehepaar, Ira und Lucille Goldring, bin ich bis heute befreundet.

Nach oben

Annettes Memories relating to her life with Conlon -

English text

Written for Dr. Juergen Hocker in 1991

Revised by her on Luis Stephens 2005

See photogalerie by J.H.

Annette and Conlon in Annettes house in Mexico

Dear Dr. Hocker:

I was brought up in a very intellectual and upper middle class household. We were surrounded by books, magazines and music. My father’s hobby was theatre. He had attended, when young, the 1901 class of City College called the “Naughty One” class. He had been a ghost-writer for newspapermen when their alcoholic bouts prevented them from meeting the deadlines. After my father met my mother, on the tennis courts in Central Park, and fell in love with her, he knew he would have to become financially able to support a wife. He became an importer and was an excellent salesman. He then became president of a large merchandise exchange, featuring bargain-basement apparel. He was an excellent comedian and mimic and popular speaker for charitable organizations. He joined the Provincetown Playhouse Theatre where Edna St. Vincent Millet and Eugene O’Neil’s plays were performed, like “The Hairy Ape,” “Great God Brown,” “The Iceman Cometh,” etc. He met Sinclair Lewis, John Dos Passos, Theodore Dreiser and many other American writers. In his business, when New England and Southern store owners came by train to New York for merchandise, he gave them with compliments, autographed books of the current writers. He gave away 10,000 copies of “Main Street.” He was on the publisher’s list and received books at a big discount. Truly he was the forerunner of the Book of the Month Club.

I had a sister and a brother. From the time that I was a child, we were driven to school in a large Marmon car with a chauffeur. My parents left New York City and bought property in Kew Gardens and built a 14 room slate gabled house where we lived and entertained many luminaries including George G. Nathan, H.L.Mencken, Oswald Garrison Villard, editor of “The Nation,” and many others already mentioned. I was too young to be included in the evening soirées. We children would curtsy and shake hands and then retire to the bedroom. In spite of this, I had been brought up in a very modern way because my father felt that girls should be as well educated as boys, and I had the freedom to read anything I wished that was in our library. At the age of 12, my father took me to a lecture, featuring Clarence Darrow and Scott Niering, entitled, “Is There A God.” After the lecture I became an agnostic.

I was always the prettiest girl in school and college. In the high school year book it was written about me: “Talents many - Beauty too, who would not wish to be like you.” In college I designed my own clothes made from unusual materials. I used corduroy and designed A-line skirts and boat neck tops, form fitting to the waist. I combined unconventional colors like turquoise, shocking pink, chartreuse green, purples, yellows, oranges, honey colors and browns. I also designed velour and felt hats, unblocked, with lots of strings of colored beads, some of bone or shell. I later used archaic fragments from pre-Colombian diggings, which I began to collect on my first visit to Mexico. (My jewelry was later exhibited in a show at the Museum of Modern Art, called “Painters as Jewelry Designers,” along with artists such as Sandy Calder and Salvador Dali.) I never wore make up, a little lipstick at most. My auburn hair was very curly and worn up, like a Medusa. One of my friends said I combed it with an eggbeater. At the time, I never wore a brassiere. I was always painting or drawing. I studied art at Hunter College and received a Masters in Fine arts from Columbia University.

Both my parents died when I was quite young. At age 18, I married a lawyer, Sydney Pepper, my first husband, with whom I had a daughter, Cherry, some years later. Her name originally was Cecily after my mother Cecilia, but someone brought us a jar of cherry peppers when I was in the hospital. So we nick-named the baby Cherry. That name stuck and has been hers ever since.

Sydney and I were not very compatible. On a trip I made to Mexico with my sister in 1935, a friend of mine, Charles Kaufman, suggested I look up his close friend, Lou Stephens (Stevie), which I did. It was practically love at first sight and I later returned to Mexico to pursue this relationship. Because of this, my daughter was taken away from me by her father, a shrewd lawyer. But I won’t go into the details of this awful tragedy in my life.

My life with Stevie was very exciting. We had an ardent relationship; he exceeded my wildest dreams as to his inexhaustible energy and variations on the mating theme. We made many friends, among them artists, dancers and bullfighters as well as people in the business community. I also decided to continue my artistic development and attended classes at the “Academia San Carlos” under the direction of maestro Manuel Rodriguez Lozano, a very accomplished Mexican painter.

When Stevie and I got married we were living in a rented house on Providencia Street in the Colonia del Valle section of Mexico City. Our two boys were born there, Charles, in 1937, and Louis, in 1938. We had many parties and gatherings there with artists and dancers and friends, and I still have some photos from those times. On one occasion Diego [Rivera] and Frida [Kahlo] came over to have lunch in our garden. After eating we all dressed up in Mexican costumes, hats and “Charro” outfits, and Stevie filmed us with his little 8mm movie camera while we were hamming it up and acting silly and dramatic. Sadly, these films were lost in transit when I later tried to mail them from New York to Mexico.

After Providencia we rented a house in Polanco on Ibsen Street. Stevie then bought a sizable piece of property in Tlacopac in the southern part of the city and we began building our own home there with the young architect, Manuel Parra.

While I was married to Stevie I was busy entertaining tourists, Hollywood celebrities, Kenneth McCowen, director Eddie Kaufman, Edward G. Robinson, and driving them to fiestas and Mexican markets. Stevie and I also became close friends of the painters Jose Clemente Orozco, Diego Rivera and Siqueiros, known as the “Big Three.” Orozco painted my portrait; I posed for him wearing a necklace of my design made with Mexican pre-Columbian beads. I commissioned Diego Rivera to paint a portrait of Stevie. Stevie posed wearing the “cesta” of a Jai-Alai player on his right hand. He was very athletic and had become a skilled competitor in that sport, a rare accomplishment for a foreigner. I also managed to sell many paintings of these artists to some of our visitors. I never asked for a commission, only that if the painters had a little sketch it would be available for me. Apart from the “big three,” I assembled quite a collection from other well know Mexican painters and sculptors including Juan O’Gorman, Tamayo, Luis Ortiz Monasterio, and later Jose Luis Cuevas, Carlos Merida and Francisco Zuniga and others. Also from Jesus Guerrero Galvan, Federico Cantu and Pedro Friedeberg, all three of whom painted my portrait. Frida Kahlo gave me a small lithograph with an inscription, “Para Anita, la vida nos ha juntado y te quiero.”

After Orozco died, when Mrs. Orozco needed money to buy food or pay the rent, or clothes for her children, she’d bring me some small canvases on which Orozco did preliminary sketches for a mural he planned. Siqueiros’s wife, Angelica, while he was painting in jail, would bring me sketches that I would buy from her, and she used the money to pay for daily expenses. I also sold a large nude painting of Diego's called “Woman with Nardos,” which was to be used in the Hotel Reforma. Another friend, Millie Johnston, wanted a portrait by Siqueiros. I arranged for that portrait and she posed wearing one of my pre-Colombian jade necklaces.

Perhaps my most memorable experience during this period was with the renown muralist J.C. Orozco. He had been commissioned to paint a big mural on the ceiling and dome of a church in downtown Mexico City called the “Templo de Jesus.” This church had been built by Hernan Cortez after his siege of “Tenochtitlan” (the Aztec name for Mexico City), and in memory of his wounded troops felled during the battle. The mural’s theme was The Four Horsemen of he Apocalypse. We worked on the curved surface of the dome 20 meters up from the floor. Orozco asked me to paint the necklace on the harpie [Harpy], since I knew more about jewelry than he did. This is my original piece of work on that mural. This was a most exciting project for me, a highlight in my life, to work and study with such a genius of our time. More about this will appear in my Memories. Beside painting my portrait Orozco gave me his last self-portrait before he died, with a dedication, “para Annette.” Stevie never came to see me once while I worked with Orozco.

In our new house in Tlacopac, Stevie and I lived together and raised our two boys. He was working very hard spending many hours in his businesses. We began to have marital problems. World War II was in full swing and he chose to enlist in the U.S. Navy. He felt strongly anti-fascist and wanted to be part of the effort to combat this tyranny. Before he left, I asked him for a divorce. He said no, for the sake of our two boys, it depended on the outcome of the war, if he didn’t survive there was no need for them to know about our problems. He also said that I was free to live my life, but to be careful that my children would not get hurt. I knew that in Mexico the gossips would be watching. I also had to give my permission for Stevie to go to war, since he was over 40 years old and we had two young children. Stevie, on the surface seemed to be doing a heroic deed, while in reality he was looking for an out to our marriage.

On a number of occasions I had to go to boot camp with my sons, where Stevie was training, in Gulfport, Mississippi. I also visited him on leave in New York, at the Fifth Avenue Hotel where we stayed. Charles Kaufman and his wife Joan, and Frankie Cohen, another Hollywood writer, had brought Helen Hall, later called Laney, a very pretty redhead, of Quaker and Episcopalian background, to the hotel. She was twenty-three, a zoologist who had studied at the University of Wisconsin, and was working in New York. All of us went out for dinner and dancing at a nightclub. Then Stevie was shipped overseas.

For three months I mourned Stevie’s absence, and then I decided to paint, and have an exhibit. I turned my large bedroom into a studio, bought lots of canvases and paints, and returned to the solace of my painting, which I had neglected during my second marriage.

The miraculous coincidence of Conlon meeting with me in 1943 was an event that changed both our lives radically, I believe for the good. We met at a party, given for Freddie Martin, a nurse in the Spanish Civil War. The party was given by Elinore Lincoln and Peggy Irwin in a house and garden in Mexico City’s Colonia del Valle. Conlon’s early life in Mexico was very anti-social after two years in the Spanish Civil War. Also he feared reprisals from the FBI and since he had some friends in Mexico, he moved there for his peace of mind and the necessity of regaining his health.

When I met Conlon, I had already been married twice, with three children, a daughter from my first marriage, and two sons from my second marriage. I was thirty-six and he was thirty-one. I thought I was over the hill and that I would never fall in love again.

Both Conlon and I had been living without love and companionship and assurance – in a sort of vacuum. Conlon and I began a friendship, which quickly ripened into intense physical and tender love. We went to concerts, dinners, art shows and museums. We went to bullfights and “La Lagunilla” thieves market on Sunday. He would look for piano parts and books, and I hunted for antique furniture, picture frames, archaeological pieces, folk art, and toys, etc.

Though we enjoyed each other Conlon and I were very different in many ways. I was living in a beautiful, large colonial house and garden, with servants and two cars in the garage, and a full social life. Conlon did not realize that I had children until his first visit to my plush set up. I was very busy as a den mother for my boys. I loved people and he preferred living as a hermit. When Conlon would take me to a cocktail party, he would have a drink, find a chair in some corner, smoke a cigarette, and never speak to anyone until I was through socializing. Some people thought Conlon was my chauffeur!

Conlon lived in an apartment on the roof of an old building in the Zocalo. [Note: The Zocalo is the original city centre square, flanked by the National Palace, the main cathedral and the mayoral buildings on three sides. It is the downtown, historical heart of Mexico City]. I helped decorate his apartment for him. I encouraged him to get a driver’s license. He was afraid of authority, but he finally did get his license, and when my sons had school vacation, he drove us down to Acapulco.

Conlon was very handsome, skinny but handsome. He was about 5’9’, a little taller than I was. I began to select his clothes and helped him to dress beautifully. He had a wine coloured, cashmere suit made, and wore it with a pink shirt and a pink tie with hand painted black monkeys on it. I chose pink and pale green and lavender shirts for him. In Acapulco he wore beautiful slacks, “huaraches” and beach robes.

Conlon smoked very strong cigarettes - French Gauloise and Mexican Delicados. I also smoked these but did not inhale. He also brewed his own coffee from beans he roasted and then ground in an espresso machine. He drank about 20 cups of what I called “mud” coffee a day. I liked the Cappuccino but not the espresso. We ate very well and I began to put on weight, which I didn’t like.

Stevie heard about Conlon and my relationship and was very angry. He had served two years in the South Pacific, on an aircraft carrier, the “Bonne Homme Richard,” and from an able bodied seaman, became a navigator. When the war was over, he called me to come to Los Angeles and start divorce proceedings. By this time Conlon and I had decided to call off our commitment. I took my boys and flew to the home of John Kaufman, the father of my old flame, Charlie K., who had introduced me to Stevie. Charlie’s father was very sympathetic to me. I thought perhaps I should try a reconciliation with Stevie, but Stevie insisted on the divorce. I went to Reno, Nevada to spend six weeks there with my boys to process the divorce.

I returned to my home in Mexico. I had not seen or heard from Conlon or communicated with him in the meantime.

In September, Stevie returned the conquering hero to Mexico, and his factory workers came out in full force to make a big celebration and barbecue for him. There was also much publicity in the papers concerning his splendid deeds. He was pleasant and friendly, and the children were wild about him. He was a good father. Then, after another feast at a famous seafood restaurant, he ate some poisonous shrimp and that night he came home writhing in agony. He was doubled up with cramps and dehydrated. I took him to the hospital and he almost died. After a few days, I brought him home and watched him recuperate slowly. Finally, one day, when he felt better, I asked him about his plans. He said he wished to find a house for himself as soon as possible. I asked him, “Do you have a girl friend?” He smiled strangely. “Oh, are you engaged or married,” I asked? He then confessed that he had married Helen Hall, and she was coming to Mexico. “Well,” I said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I shall never forget his answer. He said, “I didn’t want to hurt you.” This was December 10, 1945.

The divorce gave my husband and me joint custody of the boys. Stevie planned to live in the States, since he wanted the boys to learn better English, without a Latin accent, and to be exposed to the moral values in the States. He thought he might be able to run his factories from the States by telephone with occasional short trips to Mexico. He had bought a 16-acre farm in Westchester County, New York, in a town known as Somers. The boys were taken to New York to live with their father and stepmother.

By chance, again on a shopping trip to the centre of Mexico City, near Sanborn’s, I walked into Conlon. We both stopped and I began to cry. He took me into a coffee shop, Lady Baltimore, for coffee and I told him my story. He was very emotional and his eyes began to tear. “Oh,“ he said,” I may not be able to live with you, but I cannot live without you. Let’s get married.” We both needed one another.

After the boys left, I too left for New York. There I met Henry Kleeman, who had leased a large four-story house in East 57th Street, and opened a gallery on the street floor. He rented rooms, a bath and kitchenette on the second floor, and used the third and fourth floors for his private apartment. He liked me and my jewelry, and some of my paintings, and offered me a street window to display my creations. At the same time, he rented me a small apartment, furnished with a kitchenette and bath, which I shared with a painter of horses who had his studio at the back of the house. It was a perfect arrangement, and quite inexpensive. I did not tell him I planned to get married as soon as my husband-to-be would be arriving. And Henry had his eye on me. However, when Conlon arrived, he was delighted. A friend of Conlon’s, Bill Davis was our witness, and we were married at City Hall. Bill was a friend of Hemmingway and Peggy Guggenheim. His father had left him a legacy and he began buying up Jackson Pollack’s drip and abstract paintings very cheaply.

While in New York, Conlon introduced me to Mrs. Nell Daniel [her pseudonym was Minna Lederman], who edited a music magazine. Conlon had written articles for them. He had also sent some of his written music to her from Mexico. She was a charming person and most enthusiastic about Conlon’s genius as a composer. She invited us to have dinner with her one evening in her lovely townhouse, and I brought a gift from Mexico, which she still remembered many years later, and Conlon made the dinner salad. The gift was a pin of my design, with an original pre-Colombian piece.

We also visited John Cage in his roof apartment in the East Village one evening. It was a walk-up, very bare with large rooms, a few chairs, a table, a bench and two grand pianos. I believe I was the only woman in the room. I met Henry Cowell, Virgil Thompson, Elliott Carter, Aaron Copland and other well-known composers. They were discussing new innovations in music, changing the timbre of the piano by putting coins in the strings. It was a fascinating evening, they all talked shop. Perhaps we had a few drinks, or sodas, and we stayed until quite late.

In New York I had a dear friend from high school, Margot Gregor. She had married, and then lived in The Village on Barrows Street, with her two children. Arthur Gregor, her husband, was the principal of a school. I introduced Margot and Arthur to Conlon and they both liked him. Conlon discussed his musical problems with Arthur, and about the technical difficulties involved with two human hands playing his compositions on a piano. Arthur suggested that since his music was too difficult, technically, for human hands to play, he could punch holes, representing notes from his compositions, on a roll of paper, and then insert the roll into a player piano which would then play the music mechanically. Arthur also suggested that Conlon should go to a factory in the Bronx, where player pianos were being manufactured, and find out how to use these to record his music. But this system was different; usually a pianist would play music, which would then be stamped automatically on the roll. That was a dead end. Finally, Arthur knew of a music shop where a man had built a machine that could hand punch holes representing notes onto a roll. Conlon was ecstatic. He went to the shop and asked to purchase this devise, made of steel, and worked with the owner to learn technical details, such as how to record loud and soft, and different types of notes, and improve the machine.

To return to my subsequent life with Conlon, I left New York and came back to my large house in Mexico to re-arrange my life with him. I had already left my sons with their father and their new stepmother in Somers, on the estate where they went to public school. I rented my luxurious, furnished house with a big garden in Las Aguilas, and I moved into the old colonial house that Stevie and Helen had vacated when they returned to the States. This was a 17th Century house in San Angel and Conlon joined me there. I packed up a large quantity of extra furniture, personal belongings, when I moved out of the Aguilas #50 house. I had two steamer trunks full of clothes, jewelry and furs that I had designed, including jackets patterned after Spanish bullfighters suits, Spanish shawls, made into cocktail dresses, fine jewelry matching shoes, silk damask capes, paisley shawls and special clothes for the Acapulco season. It was a tremendous amount to move and pack, and I forgot to lock the trunks. I only had the help of the movers and an old gardener from the Aguilas house. I was so tired after moving that I fell into a deep sleep. During the night, on the street behind my street, a gang of vandals had broken in and were looting the place. They went up to the roof, hopped onto my roof and climbed down into my garden. They dropped their loot from the first house when they opened the trunks and saw my rich contents. They cleaned me out. I lost all my treasures.

When I awoke the next day and found the disarray and the ravaged trunks, I was hysterical. I felt as though part of my flesh had been torn off my body. It was such a cruel slap of fate. I was never able to recover or replace any of my stolen personality. But I had to pick myself up and start again to furnish the new house.

Conlon came back with his special steel-punching machine. In the new house I made a wonderful studio for his music and his two mechanical pianos. He began to buy up rolls of paper to be punched for his composing. I also had a studio for painting. We would both work the whole morning, then break for lunch together, enjoying a wonderful Mexican meal, sometimes with friends, but mostly just for the two of us. After that, the siesta, which was truly very warm and loving. We were both very happy together. Conlon began to collect cookbooks for his library. He wanted to try all kinds of foods and wines. I would teach the maid to make some Chinese stir-fry, Chinese meals and other special things.

We had a Chinese friend, Doreen Feng. Her father was the Chinese Ambassador to Mexico. She was very slim and seductive and came to our house because I had rented my first house on the property to three very handsome bachelors, two of whom turned out to be F.B.I. agents, which we did not know at the time. I guess they thought Conlon was a suspect, because he had been in the Spanish Civil War in the Lincoln Brigade. I was completely non-political and couldn’t have cared less about the red terror.

Doreen who was writing a Chinese cookbook, would go to the market in her chauffeured car and pick out all kinds of Chinese vegetables, fish, chicken or pork and arrive at my house to work on her recipes. Conlon would offer her wine and then keep her company as she cooked. There is a lot of preparation for cooking Chinese food. Although she didn’t eat with us, she nibbled and tasted while she was cooking. By early evening when the food had been prepared she was dog-tired and loaded and collapsed in sleep.

I have many photographs of this wonderful old colonial house, which the owner would not sell to us. Financially I was comfortable, and Conlon had received an inheritance from his father’s estate. We shared expenses. Then, since I had quite a lot of land back in the Aguilas section, we decided to build our own house on part of it. There were 15,000 square meters with access from both Aguilas and Leones streets. Of this, 7,000 square meters were to go to my boys, to inherit when they came of age, though I managed it for them and paid expenses, taxes and such, in the meantime. The remainder, I divided in half.

I rented Aguilas #50, and we built a house on the other parcel, Aguilas #48. When it was finished we left the colonial house in San Angel and moved there. In the rear of the garden Conlon decided to build a soundproof studio.

During this transition Conlon had another friend, Bob Allen, a journalist, who had reported events in the Spanish Civil War. Although Bob had graduated from M.I.T. [Massachusetts Institute of Technology] with a degree in Engineering, he preferred journalism. We became very friendly with Bob and his Mexican wife, Angeles, a pretty young woman. Conlon wanted to use the player piano system to create a whole percussion orchestra. He invited Bob to help him on the technical side with this project. Conlon had built all types of drums, some from Mexican clay pots. He had designed a variety of other odd objects that could be struck, and he and Bob tried to connect the player pianos to these so that the punched rolls would trigger a mechanism that might strike the drums. They also experimented with the pianos, one of which they had prepared to sound like a guitar and the other to produce a sharp, staccato noise.

We would have a wonderful leisurely lunch in the garden and Conlon and Bob would ignore the ladies. They spent hours discussing their projects. I was treated like a Mexican wife, ignored, and I certainly didn’t appreciate this. But Conlon seemed to be happy. It took a lot of painstaking work to convert the pianos and to realize the percussion orchestra. Unfortunately, it became quite complicated and they finally had to abandon the project. Today Conlon could have used electronic devices and synthesizers.

In December of the first year of my marriage to Conlon, I finally arranged with Inez Amor to have a one-man (today called one-person) show at her gallery. There is a story connected with Inez Amor and how I first met her. In 1935, I made a special trip to Mexico to stay with Stevie to test our physical compatibility. This trip was coincident with a lecture series I had arranged to give at the University of Mexico summer school. I was offered this series through recommendations from the faculty of Columbia Teachers College and from Edward R.Murrow, who was an Associate Dean there. I was to discuss the importance of the Mexican Mural Movement in connection with American art of today.

During this trip Stevie decided to give me a gift and we went to a folk art shop called “Industrias Tipicas.” There was a young lady who attended to us. She was very shy but well mannered and spoke English with a British accent, and showed us many of the lovely silver creations she had in her shop. I selected a beautiful, thick silver bracelet, with a figure of a “guacamaya” parrot engraved on it. The name of the young lady was Inez Amor.

Inez later became associated with one of the pre-eminent art galleries in Mexico City, the famous “Galeria de Arte Mexicano.” This began when Inez’s older sister turned a part of their parents’ house, a “Porfiriato” building on Abraham Gonzalez Street, into an art gallery. Inez later took over the business. I saw my first Tamayo there, a painting with watermelons, which I wanted to buy, but Stevie was not interested in buying paintings then. The gallery was then moved to Milan #18, and Inez worked very hard to develop it into a first class business.

When I spoke to Inez she was very cordial and interested in my having a show at her gallery. I made arrangements to pay for the invitations, some of which she printed on yellow fabric and some on white paper. Orozco, who was a close friend and whom I had worked with on one of his murals, wrote the dedication for the catalogue. Inez took 1/3 commission on the sale of my paintings, which I considered very reasonable. When however, I did arrange for the show, it was said, “Oh, Annette must have paid Inez a fortune to have a show!” Quite a few of my “friends” boycotted the opening. I was terribly hurt by this. In fact, I resolved, then, never to have another show of my work in Mexico.

Luckily, my show was a huge success. I had lots of good publicity, sold many paintings and I was also featured in an article in the newspaper, Novedades, as Women of the Week. Stevie, who said he always wanted to help me if I had a show, bought two of my paintings and gave them to our sons. I later made a sequel to one of those paintings, which is now in the collection of the Fine Arts Museum in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

In 1949, I won a contest to do a mural at the Hotel Borda, in Taxco. The contest was called “A Wall to Paint On.” While painting this mural I lived at the hotel and when the mural was completed I named it, “Dream of a Boy to Become a Bullfighter.” This mural was done on four large, masonite panels, using egg tempera paints in the style of the old frescoes. It was executed so that it could be moved to different art galleries or hotels. I was awarded a prize by Miguel Aleman, the President of Mexico. It was also sent to the Hotel El Mirador in Acapulco for temporary display.

To get back to my life with Conlon in Aguilas #48, we had a couple working in our house, a male cook named Romolo and his wife Esperanza. Romolo had worked for a German family on a coffee plantation in the State of Chiapas where he learned much about bucolic culinary arts. Our neighbourhood had a chicken farm run by a Hungarian family and they also had a registered cow. Romolo churned our butter by hand using the cream this cow gave. He also made wonderful, home made ice cream with the original vanilla bean, and cakes and cookies and good wholesome food. Conlon decided we needed a vegetable garden. We had two gardeners and grew some fifty vegetables. We grew snow peas, asparagus, Brussel sprouts, celery, tomatoes, lettuce, cabbage, zucchini, beans, corn, and more. We didn’t know how to plant small plots that would mature at different times and so we ended up giving away much of the produce. We also grew Chinese vegetables. Conlon began to buy up Spanish wine such as dry sherry, “Manzanilla” and cheeses -- high priced delicacies.

In Mexico in those days smoking marijuana was not considered improper and was legal. Conlon grew marijuana behind his studio and he and a friend, John Langley, both smoked pot. I tried it on a number of occasions but found it a dull experience. In a gathering where people were smoking, they would get high, say something nonsensical and then laugh about it. To me it was just silly, and I never got high.

During the McCarthy witch-hunt period, many motion pictures people in Hollywood moved to Mexico. Quite a group of ex-patriots from all over had to leave everything and barely made it to Mexico. Since Conlon had served in the Lincoln Brigade in Spain he knew some of these ex-pats and also played poker with them. One friend, Luis Lindau, was a German refugee married to a blond Texas “gringa.” They paled around with many of the group of artists famous in Mexico, such as Francisco Dosamantes and Juan O’Gorman. O’Gorman painted a very nice portrait of Betty Lindau. Some of the other poker players were Spaniards who had formed a business called „Meximex, S.A.“ importing typewriters and other office equipment from East Germany. Conlon bought shares in this company, and so did I. Then Julian Halevy, a well known script writer from Hollywood, also invested in this company. All went well until Mexico banned imports from East Germany. The typewriters were very good, and the business was doing well. Alas, we all lost money. Whatever money we had made in the past, we all lost later when Meximex, S.A. folded.

Conlon also was very friendly with Rodolfo Halffter, another refugee from Spain. While I was married to Stevie a dance group under the direction of Ana Sokolow came to Mexico. Rodolfo Halffter composed a beautiful composition called “Paloma Azul,” or Blue Dove, which Ana choreographed for presentation at Bellas Artes, along with more of her compositions. One in particularly was dedicated to the Mothers of the Spanish Civil War. I was very moved and impressed by her work and made a painting inspired by this dance. She came to my house a number of times to have lunch and then borrowed a trunk, which she promised to return when she left for New York. Rodolfo H. had a brother who was also a composer but a loyalist. I don’t know if they ever reconciled after the Civil War. There was quite a group of refugees whose names I have forgotten, whom Conlon occasionally greeted and met with, without me.

Conlon had another friend, Edmundo Flores, an agrarian economist who spoke good English. Edmundo was the illegitimate son of a famous politician. His mother had been a secretary in the politico’s office and his father never acknowledged him or took care of him during his youth. This was a typical practice among the macho, well-to-do, big shots in Mexico. They always had a “casa grande,” where their legal wife and children would be indulged and taken care of. Then there was the secret “casa chica,” where the younger “enamorata” would be kept. The weekends would be reserved for the family functions, Saturday night was always the movie night, and Sunday visits were reserved for the in-laws or grandparents for an enormous three o’clock comida, with trimmings. During the week, however, long work hours were not questioned. And if a big shot was seen dancing with his “amante” in a famous nightclub, one would only greet him if he greeted first, otherwise one had better ignore and be ignored.

Edmundo had great ambitions. He came regularly to dine with Conlon and myself, praising the cook and the food, and would hold forth on political gossip and the gringas he was dating. He received a grant to write a master’s thesis in his field at the University of Wisconsin. There he met a modern dancer, Sage Fuller, who shunned ballet and was pursuing the modern dance style created by Martha Graham, taking classes with a Graham pupil. Sage was a typical debutante, a prize horsewoman, etc. Her grandfather had planned and executed the Russell Sage Foundation in Forest Hills Gardens, supposedly for middle-income families.

Sage was wooed and won by Edmundo Flores. Her father was most shocked and unhappy and claimed that his daughter, a thoroughbred, had condescended to mate with an ordinary dray horse. But, the father notwithstanding, the wedding took place. Of course, her picture was published in “Town and Country,” and it was written that Sage Fuller de Flores was married to a high politician in Mexico, an economist.

Sage and Edmundo came to our house to celebrate and I helped them find a small house in our neighbourhood. Edmundo had quite an assignment. He hired a maid and was trying to teach Sage Spanish. She didn’t know any domestic skills such as cooking, marketing, washing, or ironing. I felt that this made her pretty unhappy, though she was very much in love. One day, since I had so many vegetables in my garden, I asked her if she wanted some to take home. I pointed out the patches that were ready for picking. She just stood and looked. She had no idea how to go about pulling up a carrot or picking squash or corn form the stalk! I left her to struggle a bit, and then I told one of my gardeners to fill a basket for her to take home.

Edmundo began working for the Mexican government. He had a plan to re-organize the “ejido” land and divide the absentee landlords’ property among the “campesinos.” He had great ideas about teaching the farmers new modern methods. Unfortunately, the “campesinos” had little preparation for accepting those technologies. He, nevertheless, became a professor in agrarian economics at the National University and later held important government posts. He was Mexico’s Ambassador to Cuba, and headed the CONACIT, the National Council for Science and Technology. He and Sage had a daughter, Tessa, but their marriage was short lived. Edmundo remarried a number of times and in his later years wrote an autobiography [Historias de Edmundo Flores, Vol. I, Autobiografia 1919-1950. Martin Casillas Editores, México] in which we are all featured, Conlon, Stevie, Laney, Sage and myself. Edmundo’s father tried to reach him on his way up in the world, but Edmundo would have nothing to do with him.

Conlon also knew Fred Vanderbilt Field, of Marshall Field and Company. He was a famous fellow traveler, generously donating much of his fortune to the Communist Party. Conlon and Fred shared certain political ideals and, as with Edmundo, there existed a certain camaraderie there. Fred was later married to a beautiful, dusky woman, Nieves, who several years previously had been Diego Rivera’s favorite model and is featured in many of his paintings.

My life with Conlon went well for a few years. Conlon continued building up his collection of early jazz recordings on the old 78 format. Louis Armstrong was especially his favorite. He also had recordings of Bessie Smith and other artists. When my children came for their vacations they would beg him to play some of these records. One particular piece of Louie Armstrong is called “Laughing Louie,” recorded when Armstrong had probably had a few drinks, was asked for repeatedly. This brought great moments of laughter, hearing Louie mumble and slur the words to the song he was performing. My children were awed, as I was, by Conlon’s knowledge of jazz and, through Conlon, were exposed to many kinds of music at a young age.

When the children went back to the States, I wanted Conlon to go to some concerts and social gatherings with me. He pleaded with me that he had too much work to do. When I proposed that we take a trip together, he said, “Sorry, I don’t have the money for that.” He had begun spending his inheritance very recklessly. He bought up old machinery for pianos, cookbooks, and Chinese utensils and began drinking the imported Spanish sherry and cognacs daily.

Conlon had bought a small Dachshund from Baron Alex von Wuthenau. I called the dog “Dali” after the painter Salvador Dali. This special animal was imported from a pure breed of the Danish Dachshunds. In the afternoon or evening, Conlon would fondle this puppy for hours. It made me quite jealous since he had gradually stopped fondling and petting me. As to our life together, fortunately or unfortunately, I was a highly sexed woman and suffered when deprived of affection and sex. I could not sleep well or paint or truly function.

One day, while he was punching holes in his roll paper, his hands began to sweat profusely. He went to visit Dr. Paul, a friend, who now was a top radiologist. He offered to give Conlon radium treatments to check this affliction. After a number of treatments, the sweating stopped. I wondered if this did not have some unhealthy side effects. Then he discovered that he had an ulcer. When that happened, our life fell apart.

Conlon decided to live in his soundproof studio at one end of our property. He turned a corner of it into a kitchen and bedroom. A bathroom had already been installed. In the garden he had a small swimming pool, which he stocked with goldfish, and he began to live again like a hermit. This was the beginning of our separation.

Since Conlon was living in the back of our property, I decided to rent our house and make my base in Acapulco. On the portion of the original property that was to go to my boys there was a small cottage that I could use when I was in Mexico City.

I had read the story of the life of Gauguin who left Paris and went off to live in the island of Tahiti. I went to Acapulco instead and made my Tahiti there. I bought a place high up on the side of the hill known as “La Quebrada,” with a broad view of the Acapulco harbour. I fixed up the old structure and right below it I built a thatched-roof cottage called “Jacalito,” which was a screened-in large bedroom, closet and bathroom, with a wooden ceiling under pointed palm fronds forming a “palapa” roof. It was very cool and breezy and there was also a back porch with a little bar and hammocks where I could paint and relax.

I led a very active life in Acapulco. I set up a shop in the Hotel Mirador where I sold my jewelry and my paintings. I also worked for the Associated Press. Since I had a telephone, I arranged with Mr. Charles Guptill, head of the Associated Press, to phone him news-worthy items when they occurred; such as the burning of the Morgan yacht in the small bay off Caleta Beach; the Mike Todd and Liz Taylor romance; visits of Errol Flynn and visits by President Miguel Alaman in his government yacht. British and military American ships came into our port, and since I was a member of the Navy League, I also covered these events as I was invited to their luncheons and fiestas and cocktail parties. The “La Perla” nightclub at the Hotel Mirador, designed and run by Teddy Stauffer, became internationally famous. Many starlets came to visit from Hollywood. I was introduced to Tyrone Power, Annabelle, Heddy Lamar, later married to Stauffer, Linda Christian and Rita Hayworth, who was very sweet. She was being directed in a movie by Orson Wells, called “Lady from Shanghai.” Friends of mine, Judy and Alex Singer, the director, came to do the movie, “Love Has Many Faces,” starring Lana Turner. I was hired as an extra in the picture.

I was also introduced to Albert Finney. Albert Finney had taken a vacation to Acapulco after his phenomenal success in the Tom Jones movie. When I met him he was in great pain as he had been scuba diving and had stepped on a sea urchin and the poisonous spines had entered the sole of his foot. I could see he was suffering from a fever. I took his pulse and immediately took him to a doctor friend of mine who applied a primitive remedy known in Acapulco. This doctor lit a pork wax candle and let it drip on the foot where the spines had penetrated the skin. Miraculously, the spines came out. The doctor also put him on antibiotics, and Albert Finney recovered very quickly.

Other friends of mine, the Milton Rattners, hired a fishing boat to go deep-sea fishing. I invited Albert to join us, which he did. I don’t think he was prepared for the rolling sea, but since he was offered a seat and tackle to catch a sailfish this kept him from becoming seasick. And when he felt the tug, he knew he had a big fish on the line. He worked hard, and with counseling and advice from friends and the crew, he landed his first sailfish. He was truly enjoying every moment of his triumph. We all took pictures later and I have proof of this special incident. I unfortunately did not pursue our friendship, and when Finney took the part of Daddy Warbucks in the musical “Annie,” which was a big hit on Broadway for a few years, I did not go backstage to congratulate him when I went to see the show, for which I am sorry!

While I was living in Acapulco, friends of mine, a doctor and his wife, arrived from the States and called me. They were staying at a near-by hotel and met a young and attractive golfer who had driven down to Acapulco in a Cadillac convertible, an architect. He worked for Skidmore, Owens and Merrill. They introduced me to him. His name was Henry “Hank” Twardy. I told him about my house and he came to see it, and began to make many suggestions about how to re-build it. This young architect planned to stay for three weeks in Acapulco and play some golf, but when he saw my house and decided he liked me, he changed his plans and stayed for three months. He was very sweet, a talented designer of Polish origin, who had been in the Second World War, and invested his earnings in Cessna aircraft. He was hoping to take time out to enjoy life at that point, deciding there was no better way to spend his leisure than in this hedonistic life-style in Acapulco. Of course, I was still married to Conlon and cared for him, but the bloom and excitement of our marriage had faded. I had to face the end of our marriage.

Conlon finally cured himself of the ulcer and we were in contact, although I lived in Acapulco, we were still friends.

There are two incidents concerning Conlon’s music that I should mention. When Conlon first tried to have a concert of his music in Mexico, the programs were printed, and it was organized as a piano recital. At the last moment, however, the pianist called it off. He said the music [Sonatina] was too complicated, rhythmically, for human hands to play. Later, the piece was transcribed for two pianos. And when it was finally performed in the Alice Tully Hall in New York City, at the Juilliard School of Music, it brought accolades of enthusiasm. Conlon had also written a symphonic sketch that he presented to Carlos Chavez, the Mexican composer and conductor. To my knowledge, this was never performed for similar reasons.

The second incident happened quite a few years later. Though he had not wanted to publicize his studies he had, by this time, a large repertoire of exciting compositions punched out on rolls for his player pianos. Finally, he consented to have his music performed at Bellas Artes, the Palace of Fine Arts, in Mexico City. He rented a truck to carry his pianos to a small concert salon where the performance was to be held, supposedly, for just a group of friends. Once installed, the pianos had to be re-tuned and properly prepared. He had not provided much publicity for this concert though by word of mouth the hall filled up to capacity.

When the concert began he came on the stage with the first roll of paper, inserted the roll in one of the pianos, I think it was called Opus No. 11, and left. The electrical piano played the music. He returned to retrieve the roll and insert another. He did this about twenty-five times and also named most of his works by number. Sometimes he said Sonatina or Fugue and the number, but there were no further descriptions of the work.

After each piece there was much applause. Conlon would bow shyly and the applause would continue. He would bow again and then, since there were no performers he could point to, he would gesture toward the mechanical piano! This, of course, brought laughter and amusement from the crowd, and a wry smile from Conlon. At the end of the concert there was lots of applause and olés!

Conlon called his music polyphonic music, related to classical church music. Though most of it was Spanish type Jazz and abstract. Of course, Doctor, you must have information concerning his final effect on groups of avant-garde musicians and publicists recording his music. Later a large company, Columbia Recording Studio, sent their technicians to Mexico to make records of his music.

Dr. Hocker, you asked me about Anais Nin.

Conlon and I met Anais at the Hotel Mirador in Acapulco. At this hotel there was a long staircase that curved downward into the dining area. Anais was there, and I would come down the stairs with my two sons skipping ahead, and the room would sort of “ah” at my outfits. Conlon would follow somewhat sheepishly laughing at what I said. We were an odd couple and attracted much attention. I believe this is what prompted her to start talking to me.

Anais was married to Hugo Guyler at the time, and they lived in Greenwich Village in New York. On one of her frequent visits to her brother Joaquin Nin, a professor at the University of Los Angeles, she met a fellow called Rupert Poole, a step-son of Frank Lloyd Wright. She had come to the Mirador with Rupert and some young gay men.

Rupert was much younger than Anais, handsome and sensitive, a schoolteacher and musician, and part time fire fighter. She was living with him. On the West Coast she was Mrs. R.P., where she lived with Rupert, and on the East coast she was Mrs. H.G., where she lived with Hugo. She had a “captain’s paradise!” And her friends protected her. She was a gifted writer contriving unusual stories about her friends. She admired me, and I her, a mutual admiration society. I introduced her to many people in Acapulco and Mexico City.

Anais not only put me in her diaries, but also wrote a story about me in her book “Collages” where she called me Lisa. She did not know very much about my early background. So in her story about me called “Collages,” aside from the Diaries, she wrote about me as Lisa. Of course it is a writer’s privilege to invent what she doesn’t know.

Anais also had a strange smile. Evidently she had lost her front teeth and the dentist did a bad job when he replaced them with false teeth and exposed her gums. She hardly smiled because of this but later she took care of it.

We continued our friendship in New York, where I attended her lectures at various colleges. She became a cult figure, continuing to live a double life. Originally Hugo, who was a banker, also lived a double life in his career. During the day he was an investment broker, and at night he made beautiful engravings. Then one summer he and Anais began a series of documentary films about characters in New York, street people whom they interviewed, adding music later. One of them was Moon Dog, a well-known street figure for many years, who dressed in monkish clothes and had a mangy dog. The city movie was called “Jazz of Lights.” They made half a dozen or more of these films, which I believe are now in the film archives at the Museum of Modern Art.

Next in Acapulco, during one season there was an international sailfish tournament. I had a house full of company. One of my Mexican boyfriends serenaded me with his guitar then drove me to the Club De Pesca, where I met an international group that was on a scientific sea exploration. Among these people, there was a man, Pop Marron, who was a big shot in Standard Oil Company of New Jersey. He had brought Stan Smith, the Rod & Gun editor of the “New York Daily News,” with him. Stan wrote stories in sports magazines about wealthy businessmen who joined scientific groups to explore the southern seas. They also competed to win prizes in fishing using very delicate plastic filament fishing line. The point was to catch a giant marlin or sailfish that would then be weighed and measured, to establish a record and show their prowess. At this dinner I sat close to Stan who spoke no Spanish and he began to complain to me about filing his story to the Daily News. The Latin music began to play and he asked me to dance... and surprise, surprise he was an excellent Latin dancer. After the dinner, I told my Mexican friend to take a powder, and dedicated myself to helping this very handsome and attractive journalist. I drove him to the telegraph office to file his story. Then, since the night was young and moonlit, I asked him if he wanted to take a ride. I think he was a little frightened, but we talked a lot and admired the gorgeous tropical starry night. That started the saga of Stan Smith, later my 4th husband.

When Stan had to return to his assignment in Florida, I returned to Mexico City, and saw Conlon. He was dating, and asking me about my girl friends. Most of them were in their forties. He confided to me that he wanted to have a child. (When I was pregnant by him, he said, “You already have three children, why do you need another child?” So I had an abortion.) In any case, through other friends, he met a young Japanese archaeologist, who was studying in Mexico, and was twenty-nine years old. Her name was Yoko and she was small, pretty and shy. They began to date and she became pregnant. We had already agreed to an amicable divorce. He was 59 years old. I believed in his genius and I always wanted to help him when I could. He told me that Yoko was pregnant, and then asked, “What shall I do now?” I answered, “Well, you wanted to have a child, marry her.” Which he did. She suffered quite a bit during the pregnancy and had to have a Caesarean section performed. She gave birth to a healthy son called Mako David and was bed ridden for a few months. So Conlon, who had never been involved with babies, began reading all the Dr. Spock books, and became the best “mother” a baby could have! He was enchanted with his son and Yoko finally recovered enough to hold her baby and to stand up and take care of him.

Conlon and my youngest son Luis bonded very well together. Both live on the original property that I owned and they touched base frequently. Luis’ daughter, Caitlin, from his second marriage, celebrated her 5th birthday, this March 24th past, and Conlon and his family were invited. I, too, and Luis’ stepmother, Laney, and his half sister and other friends celebrated this event. I took a picture of Conlon, Yoko, Laney and myself, around the heated swimming pool, in the large garden. I enclose a copy. (Copy in New York, will send later). It was a splendid day, and an outdoor barbecue, with excellent food, and a fun reunion for all the children. Luis also took pictures, which I hope to see. I then went to New York.

Dr. Hocker, I continue to write articles, to paint and to work for charitable organizations. I practically wrote the script for a documentary called “The Unfinished Revolution in Mexico,” for a company called Intertel. One industrialized powerful nation, (the United States) looks at another, a third world country, (Mexico) in its development toward industrialization. I received credits as Research Associate for Channel 13, WNET, and expenses and pay for my time.

As a passenger in an automobile I had an accident in 1973. I broke several ribs. I had to have a pacemaker installed in 1975. I am now on my third pacemaker. I have three children, ten grandchildren and two great grandsons.

Sorry I wasn’t able to get the manuscript to you sooner. It is a short outline of the events leading up to the meeting of Conlon Nancarrow and Annette. After the mutual divorce, we continue our friendship to the present and until the end of my life or of Conlon’s. I hope your book will be a great success.

ANNETTE NANCARROW May/August 1991

The Biography was published in 2002. Jürgen Hocker: “Begegnungen mit Conlon Nancarrow”, Schott Music International.

Anaïs Nin und Annette Nancarrow

Anaïs Nin, Schriftstellerin und Begleiterin von Henry Miller, beschreibt in ihren Tagebüchern ausführlich Annette Nancarrow, die sie 1947 - dem Jahr ihrer Heirat mit Nancarrow - im Hotel Mirador in Acapulco kennen gelernt hatte. Diese Tagebuchaufzeichnungen charakterisieren Annette als attraktive, lebensvolle und vielseitig interessierte Frau, und sie beschreiben das Milieu, in dem sich zwar Annette zu hause fühlte, mit dem sich aber Conlon Nancarrow kaum anfreunden konnte. Auch wenn Nancarrow nur einmal erwähnt wird, so erhellen die Beschreibungen doch seine damaligen Lebensumstände.

Ich lernte Annette im Hotel Mirador kennen. Ich saß im Speisezimmer. Eine Treppe führt von der oberen Terrasse in das Speisezimmer. Sie wird von oben beleuchtet und erlaubt den Gästen zu beobachten, wer die Treppe herunterkommt. Mein Blick wurde von den leuchtenden Farben und dem Material ihrer Kleider gefangen. Ich beobachtete sie an mehreren Abenden. Sie benutzte die ganze Palette mexikanischer Farben. Sie trug üppigen Schmuck. Kopien und Phantasien, die nach Vorbildern von Mayas und Azteken gearbeitet waren. Sie hatte eine Unmenge kurzer und gelockter Haare, die ihren Kopf wie eine Aureole umgaben, widerspenstig, wie bei den Frauen von Toulouse-Lautrec, darunter ein fein gemeißeltes Gesicht, eine kleine gerade Nase, rehbraune Augen, einen schlanken Hals und einen sinnlichen Körper. Ihre Bewegungen sind fließend und voller Schwung, lebendig und verführerisch. Sie schwingt ihre Hüften, ihre Brüste wogen wie das Meer, sie ist niemals ruhig.

Wir wurden miteinander bekannt gemacht. Ihre Lebendigkeit und Fröhlichkeit waren Inbegriff der Gewürze und Farben von Acapulco. Manchmal hoben sich ihre Brüste, oder sie warf ihren Kopf zurück, oder sie lachte, und ihr Lachen lief in Wellen durch den ganzen Körper.

Sie schien unaufhörlich zu tanzen, und dabei klimperte ihr Schmuck, ihre Ohrringe waren in ständiger Bewegung. Sie kam im Mamborhythmus in den Speisesaal. Wir wurden Freunde.

Wir unterhielten uns abends nach dem Dinner auf der Terrasse, während wir auf das warteten, was uns der Abend bringen würde. Trotz ihrer Kinder, zwei Söhnen von sieben und neun, behandelten die Männer sie wie eine junge Frau. Ihr Lachen war einladend, ihr Körper verlockend, wenn sie auf dem weichen Liegestuhl lag. Alle exotischen und leuchtenden Hüllen waren ein Gefieder, und sie fühlte sich darin nicht wohl, ihr natürlicher Zustand war Nacktheit oder ein knapper Badeanzug am Strand.

Sie war bei Männern nicht wählerisch; ich fand es deshalb schwierig, mit ihr und ihren Freunden auszugehen. Ich zog die Einsamkeit vor. Für sie war Acapulco ein wunderschöner Hintergrund. Ihre Haut hatte eine natürliche Bräune. Sie war wie eine Eingeborene und lebte mit ihrer Umgebung in Harmonie.

Sie lernte Orozco, Diego Rivera und Siqueiros in New York, während ihrer Ausbildung als Kunstlehrerin am Teachers College, Columbia, kennen. Sie wurde von ihnen eingeladen, in Mexiko Wandbilder zu malen. Dort traf sie ihren zweiten Ehemann, einen mächtigen Industriellen. Jetzt war sie mit einem Komponisten, Conlon Nancarrow, verheiratet.

Sie war natürlich, gesprächig, gewandt und immer überschäumend. Als ich sie kennen lernte, war sie so weltgewandt, so weit gereist, so vielsprachig, so vertraut mit allen Arten von Leuten, dass niemand ihre Kindheit, ihre Herkunft erraten konnte.

Es war ihr Traum, in Acapulco ein Haus zu bauen und dort zu bleiben. [...] Sie ist übersprudelnd. Ihr Reden ist wie der Schaum des Meeres, ihr Lachen vertreibt allen Kummer.

Aus Nins Tagebüchern erhält man auch einen Eindruck vom Leben im Hotel Mirador in Acapulco, das sicherlich nicht nach Nancarrows Geschmack war:

Am Abend bilden sich Gruppen auf der Terrasse, um gemeinsam zu überlegen, ob man die ganze Nacht im America Hotel tanzen will, wo es eine Jazzband gibt, oder ob man einen Ausflug an eine kleine, beinahe unbekannte Bucht machen will, wo man nackt schwimmen kann und wo die Wellen phosphoreszieren. Jeden Abend bilden sich neue Gruppen. Es gibt Neuankömmlinge und neue Bekanntschaften.

Der Swimmingpool des Mirador ist ein anderer Treffpunkt für alle, die die Nacht lieben und vor dem Schlafengehen in Ruhe schwimmen wollen.

Da ein Gast spät in der Nacht aus dem Fenster eines der Hotelzimmer hineingestürzt und ertrunken war, ist der Swimmingpool jetzt abgeschlossen, aber wir klettern alle über das Tor. Ich hörte, wie eine Frau zu ihrem jungen Begleiter sagte: ‘Willst du mit mir auf mein Zimmer schwimmen?”

Nachdem sich Annette von Conlon getrennt hatte - trifft sie nochmals mit Anaïs Nin in New York zusammen, die darüber in ihrem Tagebuch berichtet.

Annettes Traum war es, ein Haus in Acapulco zu bauen. Sie baute es auf einem Hügel hinter dem Mirador. Kaum war das Haus fertig, zog sie mit einem Journalisten [Stan Smith - er sollte Annettes vierter Ehemann werden. Sein Name wird weiter unten (vermutlich irrtümlich) von Anaïs mit Charles angegeben.] nach New York und nahm sich ein Apartment In der Third Avenue. Ich traf sie auf der Straße. Ich konnte es nicht fassen, sie hier zu treffen.

Sie nahm mich mit in ihr Apartment. Wir gingen die Treppen hinauf. Anstelle einer einfachen Wohnungstür wie bei den anderen Apartments hatte sie ein Spalier aufgestellt, das mit rankenden Pflanzen überwachsen war und an dem Vogelkäfige mit singenden Vögeln hingen. Der Eingang war leuchtend gelb. Sie hatte Mexiko in die Third Avenue verpflanzt. Sie hatte ihre bunten Umhänge, ihre Gemälde von Orozco und Diego Rivera, ihren exotischen Schmuck, ihre leuchtenden, wollenen Schultertücher, ihre bunten Haarbänder und Schleifen, noch mehr Käfige mit singenden Vögeln, lustige Flaschen und Keramikglocken mitgebracht.

Sie trug ein orangefarbenes Kleid. Wundervolle Figurinen und Köpfe aus mexikanischen Ruinen standen auf Sockeln, Stoffe aus Oaxaca schmückten die Fenster.

Wir teilten die Leidenschaft für Acapulco und hatten denselben Traum, dort ein Haus zu haben. Aber bevor ich sie fragen konnte, was sie dazu gebracht hatte, ihr Haus aufzugeben, kam Charles. Charles war nach Acapulco gekommen, um eine Reportage über Fischen und Bootsrennen zumachen. Er war eine Jugendliebe. Annette hatte einen großen Kreis beschrieben, hatte sich Weltklugheit, Internationalismus und exotisches Leben angeeignet, um schließlich nach New York zurückzukehren, wo sie geboren wurde und zur Schule gegangen war.

Mit viel mexikanischer Staffage war sie tapfer und fröhlich zu einem kleineren, weniger romantischen Leben zurückgekehrt. Sie gab die Schönheit nicht auf, die sie in Mexiko gefunden hatte, die Schönheit der Umgebung und der Kleidung. Inzwischen war ihr Schmuck sehr erfolgreich und wurde in Museen ausgestellt. Ihre Fröhlichkeit war nicht unterdrückbar, ihr Zauber war transportabel und überall wirksam.

Mit Anaïs und Annette waren zwei außergewöhnliche, attraktive und lebensfreudige Frauen aufeinander getroffen, deren Beziehung offensichtlich nicht frei von Eifersucht war. In einem Brief an den Autor beschreibt Annette ihr Verhältnis zu Anais und deren Persönlichkeit aus ihrer Sicht: [3]

Aus: Die Tagebücher der Anais Nin / 1947-1955. Frankfurt/Main: Fischer, 1981, Fischer-Taschenbuch Nr. 2253. Hier S. 15.

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