Confessions of an Art Addict

by Peggy Guggenheim

A patron of art since the 1930s, Peggy Guggenheim, in a candid self-portrait, provides an insider's view of the early days of modern art, with revealing accounts of her eccentric wealthy family, her personal and professional relationships, and often surprising portrayals of the artists themselves. Here is a book that captures a valuable chapter in the history of modern art, as well as the spirit of one of its greatest advocates. 13 photos.

Genres: Art, Nonfiction, Memoir, Biography, Art History, Biography Memoir, Autobiography

192 pages, Paperback

First published December 31, 1946

About the author

Peggy Guggenheim (1898 - 1979) was an American art collector. Born Marguerite Guggenheim to a wealthy New York City family, she was the daughter of Benjamin Guggenheim, (who went down with the Titanic in 1912), and the niece of Solomon R. Guggenheim.

Peggy Guggenheim wrote her autobiography in 1946 entitled Out of This Century, later revised and re-published as Confessions of an Art Addict.

In 1949, she established her art collection in the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni on the Grand Canal in Venice. The Peggy Guggenheim Collection remains one of the most visited attractions in that city.

Reviews

[Bibliophile · Rating 3 out of 5]

Whether you'll enjoy Peggy Guggenheim's autobiography or not depends on what you're after. If you want deep insight into her life and reflections on art, you're bound to be disappointed. If you enjoy reading about rich, eccentric bohemians gallivanting around Europe in the first half of the century, forever hunting for summer houses, you're in luck. Guggenheim is not a gifted writer, and some may find her prose off-putting. I found her laconic delivery amusing, intentional or not. Every shocking, shattering thing is presented with the same matter-of-fact tone.

On her childhood:

My childhood was excessively unhappy: I have no pleasant memories of any kind.

On her father drowning on the Titanic:

From then on we avoided the White Star Line like the plague.

On her violent first husband who beat her up regularly:

I was taken by the shoulders and hurled against the wall. I did not in the least relish this treatment because I was pregnant again.

You get the picture. There are also many interesting, awkward and cringeworthy tidbits about famous artists and writers. Hilariously, she mentions that her editor completely rewrote the book (the first one, this is a combination of one published in the sixties and another tracking her later years) so that she had to put everything back the way it was.

She does not come across well. If this is due to lack of self-awareness or not giving a damn, I couldn't tell.

[Mairita (Marii grāmatplaukts) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ļoti interesanta autobiogrāfija, kurā liels uzsvars uz Pegiju pašu (bez pārliekas iedziļināšanās privātajā dzīvē, tomēr cits laiks, citi tikumi) un moderno mākslu. Priecājos, ka šo grāmatu pamanīju. Tas bija kā ceļojums zaudētā laikā. Grāmatas beigās vēl brīnišķīga Pegijas mīlas vēstule Venēcijai.

[Lavinia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Being in the proximity of Modernism feels like a backstage pass to your favourite band's gig. Which is kind of awesome.
I was quite intrigued by Peggy's life and choice of men, but I eventually arrived at the conclusion that one mustn't say too much about other people's memoirs and definitely mustn't judge based on their own value system. So there you are: if you're into Cubism, Abstract Expressionism and Surrealism, give it a try and don't be too harsh on her.

[Kelly Hevel · Rating 3 out of 5]

I have mixed feeling about this book. Someone who led the life Peggy Guggenheim led, living through two wars, moving between France, Italy, England, and America, and mixing with so many well-known writers and artists has to have been an interesting person with an interesting life. And while the first half of the book kept my interest as it went on I became a bit annoyed by what started to just seem like a laundry list of events and people without much explanation or introspection. Things like, "I created a scene" and "Finally he left me because I created so many scenes". What kinds of scenes? About what? Where? When? On the plus side, there were times when her understatement and honesty made me laugh.

I did finish the book because I was curious about these people and wanted to know how their lives progressed. The final chapters did rescue it somewhat; the author added them years after the initial publication to update the memoir, and they did serve to humanize her.

Recommended if you are interested in the period and the personalities. Not recommended if you are looking for a great piece of writing.

[KnownAsLavinia]

Peggy ma non avevi nemmeno un amico che ti consigliasse qualcuno a cui far scrivere questo libro?

[J J · Rating 5 out of 5]

Some context, first: at the 2015 TriBeCa Film Festival, I halfheartedly went to see a documentary called "Art Addict" about Peggy Guggenheim. The reason I was lukewarm about going was that all I knew about the Guggenheims were that they were rich and white, and had a hyped up museum where people who annoy me go Instagramming themselves at benefits.

I ended up being totally schooled about a woman who, like flapper dresses and the Jazz Age itself, receded from the memory of the general public to the effect that not a fraction of what she should be credited with doing and creating is properly acknowledged. A member of a branch dangling precariously off of a rather insane family tree, she went as a little girl from great inherited heights to losing her father (who had lost his fortune) in the sinking of the Titanic. Emerging from this beginning, she went on to become a mother and a Bohemian socialite, but then in her early middle life went on to find, curate, popularize, dignify, define, and preserve the canon of modern art as the world knows it.

The documentary is emphasized by tape recordings of the last interview she ever gave in life. At one point, the interviewer asks her if she isn't jealous of people's youths as she grows older. Scarcely missing a beat, she replied that she's certainly jealous that they'll continue to live. I burst into tears and stayed there crying in the back of the theater as the credits rolled. Pretty much obsessed, I went and located "Confessions of an Art Addict: Peggy Guggenheim." But as slim as the volume was, I found myself being disappointed that the book just wouldn't take.

In June 2018, I found myself in the unlikely situation of going to Venice - the city where she ultimately made her home and the destination of her collection for all perpetuity - for a childhood friend's wedding. I brought my mother, an artist herself, as my companion, and there was no question on our minds that a priority was to visit the Guggenheim collection. But between being bewitched by every random crevice of that city, beguiled by its wild ferry system, and anchored to the romantic and joyous events of the wedding, we barely made to the little museum on a little island on the way we were to leave. We even had all of our luggage with us and checked it in at the building.

It would be going too far to say that I was disappointed by the museum, but I had built it up so much in my head only to be most interested in pictures of Peggy Guggenheim herself, which were put up in small frames in more inferior locations, like a stuffy hallway by the restrooms. There in the gift hall, I found this book.

I'm very careful about the condition of my books, and this paperback had that glossy, heavy look that made me debate whether or not I couldn't just order it from somewhere once back in the United States. Besides, shouldn't I finish her smaller biography? After some hemming and hawing, I bought it, and then took nearly a year to start it, taking care at all times not to dogear the cover or crack the spine while running all around the tunnels and throngs of New York City reading it.

And what can I say, this book really did it for me. I think it makes sense because this is the original autobiography that she later condensed into that other little book I couldn't get through, PLUS a reverent foreward by Gore Vidal, the latter half of what she wrote at age 80, and an introduction that she wrote to a book about the city of Venice. It's the most whole version of her life story I know of, straight from the source.

There's been a lot of criticism from the haters who find the autobiography of Peggy, or her very life, to be insultingly frivolous, insensitive, name-dropping, or what-have-you. There are certainly criticisms about how her writing lacks style or magic.

I (obviously) disagree with these criticisms. She does a hell of a job packing in details of world travels, social evolution, eras of style and thought, and her own eccentric life surrounded by eccentric people, all while sounding like an actual normal person. At all times, she is completely transparent, raw, and self-aware, for instance, admitting that she was looking for fathers in men, talking about her abortion, and sharing how she retrospectively can't believe how she lounged about drinking wine in cafes with a lover while World War II refugees, casualties, and even concentration camp victims were transported by the trainload through Paris, which was being bombed by the Germans but not wallowing despicably in guilt after all is said and done. And let's remember that she used her money (or whatever, her family's money) to preserve the paintings that millions go to worship in safety all over the planet, and save the lives of every artist or creative in her circles who she could. And she never talks up her good deeds unless maybe someone does her dirty without a glimmer of thanks. Like Hemingway, she just relates things in clipped, simple language, whether it be descriptions, emotions, thoughts, or happenings. This allows the tales of her life and her times to be told at a pace that really pulls you along on her coattails. I always hated to stop the momentum and spent a couple of nights outside my commute time just reading to satisfy the itch of wondering what would come next, to quench the desire just to read her voice. To hear her off the page and past the grave.

Even as a poorer Guggenheim, she was pretty much filthy rich. But her life story is a glaring example of how action and art, not money, bought her swaths of of happiness and triumph in an unbelievably eventful life. It is easy to see that what money did do was to enable her to live like a man, fully and without fear or reproach, even while suffering everything like all women.

It's entirely to her own credit, however, that she was of a force of will with the character, bravery, and sense of adventure to maximize her station in life unapologetically, and cleverly. Any time that she made poor decisions, it was always in the name of some passion or another, and my god, she had game - it seems that she slept with every great artist, writer, and intellectual spanning a half of a century. And it was fine because she lived outside the box, making today's polyamory proselytizers look like vanilla.

And she did show her grit time and time again in periods of emotional abandonment, personal loss, and even bankruptcy...plus a whole lot of domestic violence from her cavalier comments of the husbands and lovers who often threw her into walls, slapped her face, threw whiskey in her eyes...

Here are some choice zinger that are but splashes in the pan of her burning bright existence:

"But then I am not the kind of person to accept anything as it is. I always think I can change the situation. The incredible thing is that I never believe in failure, and no one can convince me that I cannot move mountains or stop the tide until I have proved to myself that I can't."

"I hate men who criticize me without dominating me."

"I much preferred my modest barchessa in Venice, and for the first time I did not regret the enormous fortune I had lost when my father left his brothers to go into his own business, a few years before he was drowned on the Titanic."

"In fact, I do not like art today. I think it has gone to hell, as a result of the financial attitude."

"I consider it one's duty to protect the art of one's time."

It's awful when I hear a person of this magnitude reduced to "a Guggenheim," "a socialite," or, most boring of all, a "patron of the arts." She was more than that - she was a visionary. She was a leader and guard of her times. In being so much herself, she did the selfless thing and left beauty in her eternal wake, whether or not anyone knows or respects that she was the source. And she was goddamn interesting...and interested.

Even those who don't have any such rapturous feelings about Peggy Guggenheim can probably enjoy this book very much at face value. And in the special appendix, those who have been to Venice will be rewarded both with chills and fuzzy feelings at how well she describes the place - and how little it's apparently changed at its watery core.

[Tittirossa · Rating 3 out of 5]

Gran bella vita ma nessuna (proprio nessuna) dote per la scrittura: sembra la lista della spesa (un po’ più noiosa).
Molto autoassolutoria Peggy nella sua ricerca della felicità: non fa altro che correre di qua e di là, comprare e/o affittare case e arredarle, bere con i suoi mariti amici amanti (in combinazione variabile, a volte racchiusi in una sola persona), e dedicarsi ai suoi amati quadri. Perché, anche se ne ha mantenuti parecchi di artisti, amava più le opere di quanto stimasse gli operai. E aveva ragione: il quadro lo appendeva e lì stava, gli artisti ne facevano di ogni!
E’ riuscita nell’impresa di scrivere un’autobiografia senza dire nulla di sé, se non che è stata una donna (abbastanza) libera, o almeno ci ha provato.
Nello stesso periodo Wharton se ne stava a Parigi impastoiata nelle regole dell’alta società. E il caro Ernst folleggiava a Parigi.
NOTA: Ho letto un po’ di commenti qua e là ed è impressionante l’acidità degli estensori nel commentare il senso artistico di Peggy, dichiarandolo nullo. Come se l’aver scoperto Pollock e sovvenzionato tutti gli altri, da Tanguy a quel cialtrone di Max Ernst non fosse un’azione più meritoria di tante chiacchere di critica artistica (e poi ci ha lasciato il Guggenheim di Venezia, pur con i “furti” perpetrati dal Gug. maggiore!).

[Mathieu Ravier · Rating 4 out of 5]

This at first reads - irritatingly - like the diary of a rich spoilt brat, and Peggy Guggenheim's behaviour (think drinking champagne at cafe terraces while refugees stream into Paris fleeing the nazis) is at times shocking. At the same time this obsession with personal freedom makes her a subversive figure. Going against the expectations imposed on women in the 30s and 40s, she forged her own path (and yes, the money helped a great deal).

This autobiography, written mostly in the 40s (with postscripts in 1960 and again just before her death in 1979), is highly entertaining and somehow devoid of pretension. This latter quality goes a long way towards excusing the rather pedestrian prose.

But what a life! Her contribution to modern art is staggering, as a dealer and collector and a champion of artists (she discovered Jackson Pollock and , arguably, Lucien Freud). With lovers like Samuel Beckett, Max Ernst and Marcel Duchamp, and friends like Truman Capote, Andre Breton, Man Ray and Joseph Losey, the juicy anecdotes keep coming. What makes this book special is that these accounts of the colourful lives of expat or refugee artists in 1940s France were written in the thick of it, without the full benefit of historical hindsight.

[Micol · Rating 3 out of 5]

Peggy Guggenheim is no doubt a fascinating person who lived an amazingly interesting life. I loved hearing about her relationships with famous artists and all the drama in her life (there is an extreme abundance of drama). It started to get a bit gossipy to me and I rolled my eyes quite a bit at the immature and bad behavior (which is a lot). I'm glad I read it. It could use some editing.

[Jasmina · Rating 2 out of 5]

This read like a phone book of who Peggy G came into contact with in her long life. And while some of it was super interesting - well, it took me a week to read less than 200 pages. Says a lot, doesn’t it.

[Gritcan Elena · Rating 5 out of 5]

O viață trăită printre artiști, tablouri, iubiri, decizii impulsive și riscuri asumate. Nu e doar o carte despre artă, ci despre cum să-ți urmezi instinctele și să-ți construiești o viață în jurul pasiunilor tale. Am simțit energia unei femei care nu s-a temut să fie incomodă, să iubească intens și să colecționeze nu doar obiecte, ci povești și oameni. E o lectură plină de viață, pe alocuri mai piperată dar oricum superbă și delicioasă
Recomand

[Raquel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Qué divertida, qué interesante, qué perfecta... Y sobre todo qué entretenida. Me ha encantado, ojalá pudiera haber escrito yo estas memorias... Que viva el arte moderno!

[Z ~ MalasLectoras · Rating 4 out of 5]

En plena Segunda Guerra Mundial, mientras Europa ardía, Peggy Guggenheim se lanzó a salvar algo más grande que ella misma: el arte y los artistas. Convirtió su exilio en París y Nueva York en una misión cultural y humanitaria. No solo compró obras de genios como Dalí, Kandinsky o Pollock, también ayudó a muchos de ellos a escapar del nazismo.

Por supuesto, ser mujer, cosmopolita, libre y rica en ese mundo patriarcal pasaba por ser tachada de excéntrica, de “ser aconsejada en todo por hombres”. Escribieron más sobre sus amantes que sobre su excelente visión como coleccionista, ignorando que ella sola construyó en Venecia una de las galerías más importantes del mundo. Así funciona el patriarcado, simplificando la narrativa de mujeres influyentes, relegándolas a figuras decorativas o exóticas y magnificando los logros de sus compañeros masculinos.

Pero ahí está su obra, indiscutible: un museo viviente que protegió movimientos como el surrealismo y el expresionismo abstracto cuando nadie más daba un duro por ellos. Peggy no solo coleccionó arte; Peggy salvó vidas, apostó por los que el sistema artístico ignoraba y le dejó al mundo el recordatorio de que incluso inmersos en los escenarios más caóticos imaginables, siempre podemos ser capaces de soñar con algo más grande que nosotros mismos. Más que una mecenas, fue una visionaria que se valió del arte como forma de resistencia y creación. Un auténtico acto de fe en la belleza cuando todo lo demás se hundía. Mientras el mundo se desmoronaba, Peggy apostó por el futuro, por un legado que gritara: la humanidad es más que destrucción.

En un mundo que parece al borde de repetir los errores más oscuros de su historia, el ejemplo de Peggy Guggenheim nos urge precisamente a elegir la creación sobre la destrucción, a proteger lo que nos une como humanidad y a recordar que la belleza y la cultura pueden ser, siempre, nuestra mejor forma de resistencia.

[Sara · Rating 2 out of 5]

Me he debatido, durante un tiempo, el darle las dos o las tres estrellas, y pese a que tengo razones para darle el aprobado tengo otras que no me lo permiten. Como acercamiento al arte moderno cuando como yo, se tienen conocimientos prácticamente nulos, es, digamos, adecuado, para un pequeño, muy pequeño acercamiento. Pero sin embargo, confieso que a pesar de que al final me ha aportado alguna que otra cosilla, sino fuera porque lo tengo que leer para clase, no habría pasado de la segunda página.
Los dos primeros capítulos me parecen absolutamente despreciables, y siento la palabra pero son problemas de buergueses respecto a fortunas, joyas, matrimonios de conveniencia, etc. Después la cosa se pone interesante, de Peggy se podría decir que es una mujer insulsa y superficial con una vida interesante, pues a pesar de todo la impresión final que me he llevado ha seguido siendo la inicial: una mujer sumamente superficial a la que sin embargo la gusta el arte y que tiene una facilidad extrema para relacionarse con gente interesante (esto claro, se explica por su condición social y la familia de la que proviene, mucho más, creo yo, que por sí misma)
Me he encontrado con algunos puntos interesantes como la relación que mantuvo con Sammuel Beckett, de la cual no tenía conocimiento y que me ha llevado a otras averiguaciones bastante interesantes. Más allá de eso, me parece que pese a que sí habla del arte este siempre está diluido en sus amoríos y demás cosas que personalmente no me interesaban en absoluto.

[ElenLee · Rating 3 out of 5]

3,5
Cómo me hubiera gustado saber más de la vida de Peggy Guggenheim, en esta autobiografía la autora presenta una narración demasiado condensada de una vida increíble que se plasma en las escasas hojas del libro pero no en todo su esplendor. Echo de menos anécdotas, cotilleos (sí) y saber cómo la marchante, amante del arte moderno se convirtió en una institución en sí misma.

[Judith Guajardo · Rating 1 out of 5]

Shallow

The story of a very shallow, insecure woman. Merely a list of acquaintances, lovers, and where they all travelled and slept.

[Sophia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Read for the vibes, not for a cohesive memoir 😂.

[Lesia Mandzevych · Rating 4 out of 5]

Читаючи мемуари Пеггі Гуггенхайм, мене охопили ті ж почуття, які переживав головний герой фільму "Опівночі в Парижі" Вуді Аллена. Бурхливе 20 століття, яке змінило світове суспільство і порядки назавжди, було сповнене отих доленосних подій, а Пеггі була їх свідком і проживала на свій манер. Мені так захотілося стати нею, або хоча б бути однією з її численних подруг, щоб побачити на власні очі ті майстерні Бранкузі чи Джакометті, попити шампанського в ліжку з Беккетом чи носити по Нью-Йорку загорнутого в папір раннього Поллока. І хоч пише Гуггенхайм доволі плутано і часто треба ловити нитки персонажів, які заходять і виходять з її життя, все ж зі мною стався ефект майже повного занурення.
І останній, мабуть, найважливіший outtake, з біографії одержимої мистецтвом: найповніше, і, гадаю, найщасливіше життя проживають лиш ті, хто робить так як хоче.

[Crisgburbu · Rating 3 out of 5]

Como libro no es gran cosa, pero Peggy fue una mujer tan fantástica que todo se lo perdonamos. Coleccionista maravillosa, fue una abanderada del surrealismo y del arte abstracto en un periodo, especialmente el que vivieron los artistas durante la Segunda Guerra Mundial, en el que salvaguardar y fomentar el arte era casi una fantasía. Organizó la exposición «31 mujeres», en la que expusieron Frida Kahlo y Leonora Carrington, entre otras muchas mujeres increíbles, cools y absolutamente admirables. Pero, además, compró, remodeló y habitó un palazzo decadente y onírico a las orillas del Gran Canal en Venecia, palazzo que actualmente alberga un museo genial al que dio nombre, parada obligatoria si se acude a la ciudad.

Fue una mujer millonaria, divertida, frívola y visionaria, lo que hace que tenga una vida bastante apetecible de ser leída y cotilleada. Como ya me pasó con «El palazzo inacabado», en cuyas páginas se relataba la biografía, entre otras mujeres, de Peggy, aquí, en sus memorias, vislumbro a una mujer ociosa, dedicada a comprar obras y joyas, viajar, amar mucho y mal, y tener multitud de amistades. Pasatiempos, todos ellos, que me generan envidia y fascinación a partes iguales.

Es un libro para ser leído si conoces su figura y quieres tener por un ratito un catalejo con el que observar su cerebro y su corazón.

[Noah · Rating 2 out of 5]

Wer sich für Kunst interessiert wird diese - durchaus zeitweise witzig geschriebene - Autobiographie enttäuschend finden, da im Vordergrund allein das Sexleben einer ziemlich verspannten Millionenerbin steht, die sich eigentlich erst mit Mitte 40 beginnt für Kunst zu interessieren.

[Marysia]

painful read, though interesting

[Chuck · Rating 2 out of 5]

Peggy Guggenheim led a rich and interesting life. Although, to her regret, her formal education did not extend beyond high school, she more than compensated for that deficiency by reading widely, traveling extensively, and immersing herself in a culture of writers and artists, many of whose careers she launched or significantly advanced. The list of her friends / acquaintances / husbands / lovers is formidable, including (to mention just a very few) Samuel Beckett, James Joyce, Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp, Henry Moore, Salvador Dalí, Yves Tanguy, Jackson Pollock, John Cage, and Max Ernst.

Although Peggy's surname is generally associated with extraordinary wealth, her father's early death as a passenger on the Titanic yielded an inheritance that -- while substantial -- was considerably less than the fortunes amassed by other members of the Guggenheim family. Accordingly, her occasional complaints about not having money for certain expenses may have had some justification. Even so, she accumulated an astonishing personal collection of art works many of which eventually graced her splendid home, a Venetian palazzo that is now a museum. One photo shows her standing in front of a Picasso painting, above which hangs a Calder mobile, and below which is a table supporting a Giacometti sculpture.

Despite owning and managing a couple of galleries at different times (one in London and one in New York City), Peggy Guggenheim did not view art collecting primarily as a commercial enterprise; toward the end of her book she complains that "the entire art movement had become an enormous business venture. Only a few persons really cared for paintings. The rest bought them from snobbishness or to avoid taxation. . . . Painters whose work I had sold with difficulty for six hundred dollars now received twelve thousand."

Guggenheim's sexual attitudes were well ahead of their time, and marriage (her own or someone else's) constituted no impediment to consummation when mutual attraction was present. If the sixties had needed a role model, she could have provided it. In her book she names the names of paramours, and offers sometimes startling reflections ("I am furious when I think of all the men who have slept with me while thinking of other men who have slept with me before."). She is also candid while describing, quite unselfconsciously, episodes of physical abuse that she endured from several partners -- one sphere in which wealth evidently affords no differentiation from what ordinary people experience.

Unfortunately, the life of this fascinating and multi-faceted woman deserves a much better account than she herself has written. Out of This Century, which is actually a combination of two originally-separate works, is a dutiful chronology, based apparently on diary entries, but the prose is one-dimensional and generally boring. Moreover, the book is padded with material that adds nothing of interest or substance. The following, not-atypical passage illustrates both deficiencies: "Here I gave a lot of dinner parties. I cooked the dinners myself with the help of Fanny, Mary's maid, who came to me daily. Nellie hated my home, she said there was no place to hang pictures. Nevertheless I managed to place all the smaller ones. The big ones had to remain in storage, where I could see then whenever I wanted."

Lacking a capable editor, Out of This Century is perhaps best approached by perusing the index for interesting entries (of which there are many) and jumping right to those pages. That will catch the main themes while avoiding a lot of tedium.

[Susan · Rating 4 out of 5]

I've visited the Peggy Guggenheim museum in Venice 3 times over the pass 15 years! I think its one of my favourite museums. So its easy to say I admire Peggy, the museum and her love for collecting art. So I finally read her book after visiting the museum in the summer of 2014 and I could not put the book down! I was in awe of her luxurious life - not always in a good way though - she was very rich, had no boundaries, naive and spoiled - at the same time very giving. She was a rebel. It was intriguing to read about her sexual appetite and her group of 'artist' friends. However, she did amazing work for the art world and helped so many artist such as Max Ernest, Jackson Pollock and other abstract and Surrealism artist from the 20th century. I think she deserves credit just for that itself, considering this was between the 1920's-1950's. And thanks to her museum collection, she was the one to introduce me to surrealism, Max Ernest at the age of 19 years old. Further, it was great reading about her travels, adventures through Europe, specially if you've been around, France, Switzerland, Italy and so on, though how the roads and scenery must of been back then, before WWIl...Worth reading it you're an art lover (20th century art) and travelling to Venice!

[Paul Duncan · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is not the confessions of an art addict, but more a confession of someone who fell in love with artists. A-m-azing memory. Every detail. A very intimate, honest and mildly sociopathic view of a world that is just littered with the top 20th century artists and she was at its heart. But there is very little talk of art, more the emotional wranglings of her and her lovers, and mostly very interesting.

[Olga Kuplivanchuk · Rating 3 out of 5]

As much as I expected to read about art (which I did not find in this book) I enjoyed the story of rich spoiled and bored woman being in abusive relationships with every man in her life. And of course, if you want to know everything about luxurious property in Europe and the US, this is the right book to read!

[Christian Harding · Rating 1 out of 5]

I wish I could unread this

[Isabelle · Rating 3 out of 5]

2.5 stars rounded up. Those last pages were disappointing and screamed, "ok boomer, Peggy"

[Dara B · Rating 4 out of 5]

Such an entertaining and lively read. What I love is the tone where every objective difficulty (such as, ahem, World War II) is either an adventure or a silly thing that keeps Peggy from opening yet another gallery or organizing the next show. Art in the broad sense is what matters the most.

You can read it as a gossip column about the artists and art of the century (pun intended). And you will be right. Or you can read it as an account of an extraordinary human life. And you will be right, undoubtedly.

[Katie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Interesting to hear about the days around the second war and the surrealism artists. Peggy is not the greatest writer but I got the feeling of the time. It was particularly interesting as I had just been to her museum in Venice.

[Ana-Maria Anania · Rating 5 out of 5]

O carte care mi-a mers la suflet și care a reușit să mă smulgă din cotidian. O fascinantă călătorie în arta secolului XX, de care m-am bucurat sincer.