This tactic of providing support for artists on the cusp of their greatness would be a running theme in Weill’s work as a gallerist. She was most interested in identifying that spark of talent and in cultivating artists and their work, often long before they rose to critical prominence. Weill treated equally all of the more than 400 artists who exhibited at Galerie B. Weill, whether they showed once before moving on to other representation or remained in her stable for an extended period. That care and passion led many to see her as a maternal figure. Fauvist Raoul Dufy affectionately referred to her as “la petite Mère Weill” (little mother Weill) while rival dealer Paul Rosenberg awarded her the title “the mother of modernism.” Critic and dealer Adolphe Basler once noted, “Mlle. Berthe Weill was the godmother of all the great painters.”
Despite her connections with so many artists, only six paintings and a small number of drawings depict Weill. Grace examines these in the catalogue, placing emphasis on the ways Weill chose to present herself, especially as she attempted to navigate the “uncharted social space” she occupied as a woman in the art world. A portrait by George Kars from 1933 presents her in her gallery. Weill’s diminutive figure stands proudly, despite the challenges she faced, amid stacks and stacks of canvases. The art world at this time was financially challenging, and Weill, due to her lower-class origins, had no safety net on which to fall back. To be a single woman in a professional position at this time was rare; to be in that position with no familial or professional support system was perilous at best. Weill openly admitted her struggles to make good financial decisions. Her unwavering support of undiscovered artists was admirable, yet extraordinarily challenging.
In both the Kars portrait and one by Émilie Charmy from 1910-1914, we see Weill’s preference for conservative black-skirted suits. This neutral and restrained style allowed her to evade traditional gender expectations. She is neither the abrasive New Woman nor the expected feminine, instead favoring an austerity that lets her work and her gallery rise to the forefront. Still in the Charmy portrait in particular, her staring eyes, rimmed by her favored gold lorgnette, are a strong assertion of her vigor and personality. Her tilted head and flat mouth suggest her whip-smart attitude and judiciousness. A further indication of Weill’s spirit might best be found not in these portraits but in the selected title for her 1933 memoir, Pan! Dans l’oeil! translated into English in 2022 as Pow! Right in the Eye! Remembered by many as proud and even a bit prickly, Weill navigated many of the gender stereotypes and conditions that professional women still battle today. In 1917, she wrote, “A woman’s struggles are tough and it takes exceptional strength of will to emerge almost unscathed from the mire.”
Weill’s awareness of the challenges of women in the art world compelled her to support women artists. She staged some 149 group exhibitions, of which almost one-third included work by one or more women. Twenty-nine of the 149 solo exhibitions at the gallery presented work by women. Aside from Charmy, less-known artists such as Hermine David, Valentine Prax, and Jacqueline Marval all graced the walls of Galerie B. Weill. Polish-born Cubist painter Alice Halicka showed at the gallery four times, including a solo presentation in 1922. Weill also supported Suzanne Valadon during her ascendency, playing a major part in her eventual recognition.
Scholar Charles Dellheim also notes that Weill’s outsider status—or at the very least the hurdles she faced— were also embedded in an era of deep anti-Semitism. In 1898, during the height of the Dreyfus Affair, and just after opening her gallery, Weill received threats and insults after she chose to display a pro-Dreyfus painting in her shop window. Unlike other Jewish figures in the art world in the early part of the century, Weill openly identified as Jewish. Carter H. Harrison IV, a mayor of Chicago and a regular attendee at Weill’s gallery, noted, “Berthe, far from being ashamed ... glories in her Hebraic blood.”
Weill’s Jewish identity eventually led to the shuttering of her gallery. During the Nazi occupation of Paris, Jewish business owners were forced to “transfer” ownership to non-Jews, but the friend to whom she entrusted the business fled the city. Nonetheless, because of Weill’s lower financial profile, she was not a primary target of the plunder of Jewish-owned art collections. She survived the occupation, in large part because after breaking her hip in 1941, she decamped from the city as a part of her rehabilitation.
After the war, her health continued to falter. In 1946, the Société des Amateurs d’Art et des Collectionneurs arranged an auction to support the elderly gallerist, in appreciation of the decades’ worth of assistance she rendered to young artists. Weill died in her home in 1951.
Berthe Weill was, in a word, unafraid. Unafraid to be who she was and to pursue what she loved, despite threats of personal or financial peril. For this author, she remains an important model, not only for the potential for a more equitable art world but for remaining steadfast in one’s belief at a time—not so unlike today—when rising threats of bigotry, misogyny, and greed seemed to threaten around every corner.
*This article originally appeared in Art & Object Magazine's Summer 2025 issue.
