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"A Blind Man Crazy for Color: A Strange Tale from the Annals of Art Collecting." Book review by Scott Winfield Sublett, New Art Examiner, July / August 2022:

In Paris of the 1910s, when hungry artists would take almost any pittance for their work, an old man of extremely limited means scooped up Picassos, Modiglianis, Utrillos, Matisses and Cezannes, each painting bought for the price of a couple of good restaurant meals. The prescient old man’s collection would, today, be worth hundreds of millions, if not billions, and one might say the old man had a superlative eye, were he not blind.

In his strange, fascinating new book, A Blind Man Crazy for Color, writer-painter Rob Couteau assembles and unearths what little can be known about the mysterious collector Léon Angély, a bald, fat, retired solicitor’s clerk who gambled what small money he had on the dream of assembling a collection that could someday finance a luxurious retirement in Nice.

When Père Angély started collecting, he was already myopic but could still see. Over a period of about 20 years, though, his vision disappeared. “I have only one fan, and he’s blind,” Modigliani is quoted as saying. (In the book’s footnotes there’s another lovely Modigliani quotation: “I do at least three paintings a day in my head. What’s the use of spoiling canvas when nobody will buy?”) Rather than let blindness end his Sunday afternoon visits to studios, Angély continued collecting with the help of a poor, unschooled young girl, on whose shoulder his hand rested as they made their way through Montmartre. Little Joséphine would describe the paintings, and on the basis of her simple descriptions, he would choose. Figures as distinctive as Léon and Joséphine were certainly noticed. Couteau quotes John Richardson’s A Life of Picasso as asserting that the painter was fascinated by the old, blind collector, and Richardson goes on to speculate, quite plausibly, “Picasso may have drawn on his memory of the sightless art lover and his child guide when in 1934 he depicted a blind Minotaur being led around by a little girl.” It’s likely Léon and Joséphine were beloved Montmartre characters, despite the old man’s tightness with a franc. Adding another layer of resonance to Couteau’s slim volume are the charming illustrations by Lydia Corbett, also known as Sylvette David, the pony-tailed model and muse who inspired Picasso’s Sylvette Period (and whose hairstyle was copied by Bridgette Bardot). Now 87 and living in Devon, Sylvette had a show seven years ago at London’s Francis Kyle Gallery. It may seem tragic that Angély died in 1921, before the artists he discovered skyrocketed in value. To keep body and soul together in inflation-racked post-World War I Paris, he disposed of his collection for little more than he had paid. Still, for decades he had the aesthetic thrill of some of art history’s greatest accomplishments covering his shabby garret walls, and for some of that time, he could see them.

The book is illustrated with original artwork by Picasso's model and muse, Sylvette David, who posed for the painter in 1954 when she was only nineteen years old. Her black and white and color sketches accent this colorful portrait of Léon's life, motivations, involvement in the art world, and the pieces he collected. Previously unpublished information about the blind man's passion and his influence on the art world enhances a survey that should be required reading and acquisition for any serious art history student and the libraries catering to them.

The well-researched treatise is supported by documentation that ranges from birth and death certificates to Rob Couteau's personal research into Sylvette David who, at eighty-seven, adds her memories to the story to expand reader insights about both Picasso and David's life and their art involvements.

Readers also receive revealing inspections of the process of interviewing artists and capturing their historical and artistic impact, adding to A Blind Man Crazy for Color's importance as a survey that goes beyond a singular biography of an art enthusiast to delve into the world of artists, art appreciation, and muses. The blend of all these elements demonstrates the interlinked potentials and importance of artists, muses, and those who appreciate, purchase, and analyze their work:

"Although he died impoverished and nearly forgotten, and although the identity of his youthful guide is still enshrouded in mystery, le Père Angély helped to preserve what Richardson calls the “sacred stuff of art” – regardless of whether his motivation was merely pecuniary. Léon and Joséphine may also have inspired the greatest artist of the twentieth century."

Serious art libraries should consider this extraordinary recreation of artistic ambitions against all odds a mainstay that stands out in many different ways.