Evergreen Reads to Empower Your Mind
The Standard Sister
Note no.18
Culture
October 10, 2025
Pierre Bonnard, Misia, 1908. Oil on canvas
Hello Stanger
The first time I came across the name Misia Sert was in Optic Nerve by María Gainza — the Argentine author whose debut novel was praised worldwide (and for a very good reason). Something about Misia’s quiet force in the book unsettled me. It made me question what, after years of studying Fine Arts, I had really learned — and, more precisely, what I hadn’t.
After taking a break from The Standard Sister to pause and recalibrate, I found myself searching for the story that would bring me back to writing. Gainza’s sharp, textured prose left me no choice — I had to uncover who Misia Sert really was.
What I found was a woman who didn’t merely move among the greats — she set the rhythm they followed. Painted by Toulouse-Lautrec, Vuillard, and Bonnard; admired by Ravel and Proust; and cherished by Chanel. Proust once called her “a monument of history.”
Maybe it takes us longer to find the women who never signed a canvas or a score. But with a little patience — or a lot of curiosity — we always do. And when we do, we realize that a person’s spirit and presence can be just as powerful as her work.
The Art of Being Misia Sert
Article by The Standard Sister
Marie Sophie Olga Zénaïde Godebska — later known to the world as Misia Sert — was born on March 30, 1872, in Tsarskoye Selo, near Saint Petersburg, in the Russian Empire. Her father, was a Polish sculptor and professor; her mother, came from a Belgian family of musicians — her father, was a renowned cellist often called “the Paganini of the cello.” Misia’s mother died giving birth to her, and the Marie was sent to Belgium to be raised by her maternal relatives in the cultured town of Halle, surrounded by art, music, and melancholy. She arrived in Paris in the early 1880s, at the dawn of the Belle Époque — a period of peace and prosperity that transformed the city into the cultural capital of the Western world. Advances in technology and urban life — from the spread of electric lighting and the construction of the Métro to the rise of department stores and grand cafés — Art and design flourished: Impressionism evolved into Post-Impressionism and early Modernism, while salons became gathering places where writers, composers, and painters exchanged new ideas. It was an age of optimism and innovation, and Paris stood at its center. In the early 1890s, Misia met Thadée Natanson, a Polish-born writer and critic who co-founded La Revue Blanche, one of the leading literary and artistic journals of the time. They married in 1893, and their home soon became one of the most vibrant salons in Paris. Writers, painters, and composers gathered around them — among them Mallarmé, Debussy, Ravel, Vuillard, and Bonnard, who
Misia Sert in Venice, 1948 – Musée D’Orsay exhibition image
would paint Misia’s portrait many times over. Through Thadée, Misia entered the heart of avant-garde Paris, where art, politics, and society constantly intertwined. After separating from Natanson, Misia met Alfred Edwards, a wealthy newspaper magnate and financier, in 1905. He was the founder of Le Matin, one of France’s most influential daily papers. Their relationship began in the overlapping worlds of publishing and Parisian high society. Edwards provided the fortune and social reach that allowed Misia to maintain her position at the center of cultural life. Misia met José María Sert, the Spanish muralist, while still married to Edwards — sometime in the 1910s, through her growing network of artists. Sert and his wife, sculptor Rusi de Madrazo, moved in the same elite creative circles. After both couples divorced, Misia and Sert married in 1920, forming one of the most artistically charged and publicly visible partnerships of the era. By the early 1900s, Misia had become far more than a social figure. She was a patron, confidante, and arbiter of taste whose influence extended across music, art, and fashion. Although much of her power was derived
Edouard Vuillard, Misia et Thadée Natanson, 1897, Oil
from the influential men around her (husbands, artists, impresarios), she “deftly played” her role — creating her own power through charm, taste, and resolute character. She supported composers such as Raveland Claude Debussy, who admired her refined ear and often sought her opinion on new works. Her judgment carried weight — a quiet nod from Misia could legitimize an artist in the eyes of Paris. She was deeply involved with Sergei Diaghilev and the Ballets Russes, helping to secure financial support, introduce talent, and shape the company’s daring aesthetic. Misia was a driving force behind the scenes, connecting choreographers, designers, and composers whose collaborations would redefine modern performance. Among her closest friends was Coco Chanel, whom Misia mentored and championed through both creative and personal upheavals. The two women shared an intense, lifelong bond built on mutual admiration and resilience. Chanel later said that Misia was one of the few people who truly understood her. Their friendship symbolized a new kind of womanhood — independent, artistic, and unwilling to exist in anyone’s shadow. During her life, Misia was often referred to as La Reine de Paris — a public recognition of her central role in Parisian culture. In her later years she suffered from chronic pain and, like many in her circle, developed a dependence on morphine — a habit that shadowed her final decades. After Misia’s death in 1950, Coco Chanel personally dressed her body and arranged her funeral. Chanel later said: “We love people only for their faults; Misia gave me …”