Agathe Gaillard died three days ago.
She was an icon in the world of galleries and photography.
She opened hers 50 years ago: 4 rue du Pont Louis-Philippe.
It is François Delebecque who told us about it and gave us this beautiful text.
Jean-Jacques Naudet
Agathe Gaillard by François Delebecque
Agathe Gaillard has vanished into the limbo of the photographs she defended with such fervor and outspokenness.
On Friday, June 13th, at 8:23 p.m., I received a text message from Eglantine Charbonnier, her daughter, informing me of Agathe’s death at the Narbonne hospital, where she was in palliative care following a pulmonary embolism.
She had been ill for some time. I had visited her at the Tenon Hospital in Paris, where she had lost none of her energy, addressing the medical staff, who were not very forthcoming about her condition.
Last November, Simone Klein and I worked together to create a sort of inventory of her personal collection of photographs, purchased directly from artists throughout her life.
Some timeless masterpieces adorned the walls necessarily gray of her apartment across from the Gallery.
I dared to approach her in Arles in 1980, and she urged me to come to the Gallery that fall. I exhibited at her home in 1982, 1985, and 1990.
We will never forget her eloquence, her frankness, her openness, her outspoken positions, sometimes striking, yet so personal, for this pioneer and ardent defender of photography.
I see her moving with passion and dazzlement through the aisles of the Villa Medici in Rome, or in Bomarzo in 1984, where, as a resident, I had invited her.
Or discussing, as a feminist art activist, with Marie-Claude Beaud, then director of the Fondation Cartier (in Jouy-en-Josas) in 1985, to whom I had introduced her and who wanted to lead the world of photography.
The openings bustling with people captured by the shrewd eye of Yvette Troispoux… Hervé Guibert, a proponent of public self-effacement, secrets, and whispered confessions, preferring our spaced-out dinners with Astrid, my wife, and Mathieu Lindon, and of course, Ralph Gibson, the immeasurably loyal pillar.
This is the era of Bernard Faucon, Erica Lennard, Bill Brandt, Cartier Bresson of course, Édouard Boubat, and so many others.
Passionate discussions with Christian Caujolle, Jean-Philippe Charbonnier bursting into the gallery, the outspoken Agathe sitting on the heater, teapot within reach…
More recently, with her ever-sharp eye and sometimes scathing words, she loved supporting new talents like Jean-François Spricigo.
Thank you, Agathe.
François Delebecque
