Art Among the Olive Trees: Mougins is a Hilltop Haven of French History and Haute Cuisine

La Place de Mougins in the heart of the village is also a highly regarded restaurant in this region famed for its gastronomy. Photograph above by Andrea Heinsohn for DAM.

Perched in the Provençal hills above Cannes, the village of Mougins has quietly become one of the French Riviera’s most remarkable cultural enclaves. Long favored by artists and intellectuals, this medieval town blends centuries-old architecture with an unexpectedly modern artistic pulse. With museums devoted to classical antiquities and contemporary women artists, a culinary legacy shaped by world-class chefs, and panoramic views that once inspired Picasso and Churchill alike, it offers a unique experience for travellers seeking more than sun and sand along the Côte d’Azur, writes Jeanne-Marie Cilento. Photography by Andrea Heinsohn 

Scents of lavender and rosemary fill the winding

streets once home to artists Picasso and Picabia.

ONLY a short drive from the cinematic dazzle of the French Riviera, the medieval village of Mougins seems another world away: steeped in ancient history, yet alive with the pulse of creativity. Here, amid the cypress and olive groves, Picasso once sketched at twilight, Francis Picabia painted with surreal abandon and Jean Cocteau wandered the spiraling lanes.

This sun-dappled commune in the French Alpes-Maritimes department is more than just a picturesque village; it has a resonant artistic legacy and has been a place of cultural refuge that once welcomed and still opens its arms to artists, actors and writers. While its roots stretch back to pre-Roman times, it’s the artistic migration of the 20th century that has etched Mougins into the global cultural map.

In 1924, the avant-garde surrealist Francis Picabia was among the first to fall under Mougins' spell. Drawn by the region’s light, space, and tranquil remove from the bustle of Paris, Picabia set up home in the old village, soon drawing an extraordinary constellation of friends and fellow artists into his orbit. Fernand Léger, Paul Éluard, Isadora Duncan, Man Ray, and Jean Cocteau were frequent visitors. Then came Pablo Picasso.

Amid the cypress and olive groves, Picasso once sketched at twilight, Francis Picabia painted with surreal abandon and Jean Cocteau wandered the spiraling lanes

The commanding sculpture of Pablo Picasso,

commemorating his life and work in the town,

From 1961 until 1973, Picasso lived just outside the village at Notre-Dame-de-Vie, a simple farmhouse beside a 12th-century chapel that looks out over forests and valleys. His studio, now the village’s tourist office, was a hub of activity and artistic output. Neighbors still recall the way he moved quietly through the village, seeking inspiration from the Provençal sun and the surrounding hills. 

Today, a giant sculpture commemorates his presence, but in truth, he never left, his spirit inhabits every sun-bleached stone and winding alley. The allure of Mougins also drew stars from haute couture to the silver screen, from Christian Dior and Yves Saint Laurent to Edith Piaf and Catherine Deneuve, who all walked its cobbled lanes.

Mougins' connection to modern art is not merely anecdotal; it is actively preserved and celebrated. The Mougins Museum of Classical Art (MACM) stands as a cornerstone of this cultural identity. With more than 800 pieces spanning the ancient to the contemporary, Graeco-Roman sculptures juxtaposed with works by Chagall, Matisse, Hirst, Cézanne, and of course, Picasso and Picabia, it is a museum that challenges the boundaries between epochs. 

The allure of Mougins drew stars from haute couture to the silver screen, from Christian Dior and Yves Saint Laurent to Catherine Deneuve and Sean Connery

The FAMM museum housed in a traditional building,

is devoted to women artists and is the first in Europe.

The museum is housed in a restored medieval building at the edge of the old village. It is intimate yet rich, organized across four floors that lead the visitor on a journey from Egyptian sarcophagi to neoclassical sketches, culminating in modern and contemporary interpretations of the classical form. The effect is to collapse time, allowing one to see the dialogue between artists across millennia.

Mougins' artistic reinvention continues with the recent opening of FAMM (Femme Artistes du Monde de Mougins) ~ a museum entirely dedicated to the works of women artists. It’s the first of its kind in Europe and already a major cultural landmark. Here, the canvases of Berthe Morisot hang beside the bold self-portraits of Frida Kahlo and contemporary expressions from Tracey Emin and Barbara Hepworth.

With its bright spaces and thoughtfully curated exhibitions, FAMM serves as both a correction and celebration: a platform to reframe the story of art through the eyes and voices of women who, like Picasso and Picabia, sought freedom and inspiration in these hills. It’s a poignant extension of Mougins' legacy as a creative refuge, now offering space for new generations of visionaries.

The village's artistic reinvention continues with the opening of FAMM, a museum dedicated to the works of women artists and the first of its kind in Europe 

Mougin's art scene is not only full of museums

but also, private galleries and public installations.

But the art of Mougins is not confined to its museums. It spills out into the cobblestone streets, into its many private galleries and public installations. Over 20 smaller art galleries are peppered throughout the village, offering everything from abstract sculpture to Provençal landscapes, all nestled within medieval architecture that adds an extra layer of charm.

And then there’s the Mougins Centre of Photography, set in a restored presbytery in the heart of the old village. Its rotating exhibitions highlight the evolving language of contemporary photography, presenting both emerging voices and established names. Just as the MACM draws lines from past to present, this centre ensures that Mougins remains deeply attuned to the shifting pulse of modern visual culture.

Each summer, the village hosts Mougins Monumental, an open-air exhibition of oversized sculptures installed throughout its plazas and hidden corners. This collision of the monumental with the intimate offers visitors a surprise around every corner, art not as something framed and distant, but something to live among.

Mougins Centre of Photography, in a restored presbytery in the heart of the old village, has shows highlighting contemporary photography

Mougins has a lively gastronomic community

of specialty shops and celebrated restaurants. 

If art is the soul of Mougins, then cuisine is its heart. The village’s culinary reputation was established in the 20th century by Roger Vergé, the charismatic chef who brought his “Cuisine du Soleil” to global attention. 

Light, fresh, and rooted in Mediterranean tradition, Vergé’s cooking redefined French gastronomy. His Michelin-starred restaurants, L’Amandier and Le Moulin de Mougins, attracted a star-studded clientele, from Elizabeth Taylor to Sharon Stone. 

Vergé’s influence still flavours the village. L’Amandier remains a landmark, housed in a building that once served as the medieval courthouse for the monks of Saint-Honorat. Today, its windows open to views of pine forests and tiled rooftops, while the kitchen serves dishes that celebrate local ingredients with sun-drenched simplicity. Alain Ducasse, another titan of French cuisine, honed his craft under Vergé here in the 1970s.

If art is the soul of Mougins, then cuisine is its heart. The village’s culinary reputation was established in the 20th century by Roger Vergé, 

To celebrate its culinary history, the town holds

a bi-annual festival that brings the world's greatest

chefs together. 

In honor of this culinary heritage, Mougins created Les Étoiles de Mougins, an international gastronomy festival first held in 2006. The festival brings together world-class chefs for demonstrations, tastings, and debates, turning the entire village into an open-air kitchen every two years. 

Since 2012, Mougins has held the exclusive title of “Ville et Métier d’Art” for gastronomy, a distinction no other French town shares.

While art and food may draw most modern visitors, the stones of Mougins carry the weight of centuries. From its early days as a Ligurian settlement to its medieval fortifications, the village has borne witness to empire and invasion. The town's roots run deep, archaeological finds indicate that the site was first occupied by Ligurian tribes long before the rise of the Roman Empire. 

Over the centuries, the elevated, spiral-shaped design proved a strategic advantage, built to withstand invasion, the medieval village was enclosed by ramparts with three main gates

The soaring 18th century bell-tower 

of the Saint Jaques-le-Majeur church

The Romans eventually established a settlement called Muginum along the ancient Via Aurelia, the road that once connected Rome to Arles. In the 11th century, the land was handed over to the monks of Saint Honorat, who governed the area from the island monastery just off Cannes. The vestiges of this monastic influence remain visible today in the village’s architecture, particularly in the vaulted “Salle des Moines,” now part of a renowned restaurant.

Over the centuries, Mougins’ elevated, spiral-shaped design proved a strategic advantage. Built to withstand invasion, the medieval village was enclosed by ramparts and accessed through three main gates, only one of which, the Porte Sarrazine, remains today. 

Though attacked and partially destroyed during the War of the Austrian Succession, Mougins gradually rebuilt, maintaining much of its circular medieval charm even as new streets were added in the 19th century.

A walk through the village reveals these architectural layers of this history. The Porte Sarrazine still stands as the sentinel of the old spiral-shaped fortress. The narrow streets echo with footsteps from every century, from monks who administered the town for the Abbey of Saint-Honorat to Napoleon himself, who passed through Mougins on his march north from Elba in 1815.

A plaque marks the modest house where Commandant Amédée-François Lamy, the French military figure who would give his name to the Chadian capital (now N’Djamena), was born in 1858. It is one of many small historical markers that lend the village its living yet historic character.

For those who venture beyond the bright lights of Cannes, Mougins offers something rare: a village where art, history, nature, and flavor converge in harmony

The pool of La Réserve by Mougins Luxury Retreats,

which has accommodations throughout the village. 

Mougins' hilltop location isn’t just strategic; it’s spectacular. The view over the Alps is uninterrupted and breathtaking. In the golden light of the late afternoon, the rooftops glow and the valleys turn to velvet.

It’s easy to see why Winston Churchill, a neighbor of Picasso’s, chose to write and paint here, often seated near the chapel of Notre-Dame-de-Vie, where silence reigns and olive trees sway like gentle muses.

Although there is a sense of quiet luxury ~ boutique hotels and curated shops now fill restored buildings ~ the village retains its spirit. It isn’t flashy or overrun. It welcomes, rather than dazzles. It charms rather than overwhelms.

For those who venture beyond the bright lights of Cannes, Mougins offers something rare: a village where art, history, nature, and flavor converge in harmony. 

It is a place where Picasso painted and dined, where Picabia laughed with friends, where sculptures rise from cobbles and perfumes scent the air from pressed flowers. It is a reminder that the Riviera’s soul lies not on the beach, but in the hills above. And in Mougins, that soul still whispers ~ through a shuttered window, from behind a canvas, across a sunlit terrace.

A pretty doorway with a solid

walnut door and stone steps.

Getting There: Mougins is a 15-minute drive from Cannes. The nearest airport is Nice Côte d’Azur, approximately 30 minutes by car.

When to Go: Spring and early autumn are ideal, with warm days and fewer tourists. Visit in June for the Gastronomy Festival or in summer for art events and music festivals.

Don’t Miss:

The Musée d’Art Classique de Mougins (MACM)

The FAMM Museum of Women Artists

A meal at L’Amandier

Sunset at Notre-Dame-de-Vie

Climbing the belltower of the Saint Jaques-le-Majeur church for the spectacular view across Provence to the sea, 

Tip: Take your time. Mougins isn’t a place to rush. It’s a place to wander, to linger, to let the village reveal itself, one spiral street, one delicious bite, one quiet moment at a time.

Purification and Holiness: How Ancient Greeks, Romans and Early Christians Used Olive Oil

Olive gathering, on an Ancient Greek amphora, circa 520 BC by the Antimenes Painter, in the black figure style. 

By Tamara Lewit

Today, olive oil is often hailed as helping to protect against disease, but beliefs in its medicinal or even sacred properties date back millennia.

Olive oil was used for healing and purification and associated with important rituals from at least the second millennium BCE, in ways which still influence practices today.

A holy liquid

Mid 2nd millennium BCE texts from the capital of the Hittite empire (in what is now Turkey) describe the anointing of a newborn child and the mother to ward off the dangers of birth.

In ancient Syria the high priestess of the god Baal was initiated with an anointing of “fine oil of the temple”.

Mycenaean Bronze Age tablets from the palace of Pylos in what is now Greece record the making of special scented oil to be offered to the gods.

In the Hebrew scriptures, oil is used to to initiate priests and kings such as David and Solomon, and to sanctify ritual objects.

A preserver of health

Olive oil was used by Greeks and Romans for cleansing and healing.

Oiling while bathing was a vital part of health regimes. No visit to the baths was complete without rubbing your body with oil (in place of soap) and scraping it off with a metal tool called a strigil.

Roman author Pliny the Elder wrote:

There are two liquids that are especially agreeable to the human body: wine inside and oil outside […] but oil is an absolute necessity.

He recommended olive oil as a cure for nettle stings and a base for many medicinal herbs.

Celsus, a Greek medical writer of the second century CE Roman Empire, advised:

If an exhausted person is bordering on a fever, they should immerse themselves […] in warm water to which a little oil has been added and then gently rub the whole body […] with oil.

Another medical writer Soranus says to anoint a newborn with olive oil, as had the Hittites 1,500 years earlier.

A recent study has shown that perfumed oil was used in Greco-Roman offerings to deities, and for the ritual anointing of statues.

Olive oil and Christianity

When Christianity developed in the later Roman Empire, the Greek term Christos was used as a translation of the Hebrew word messiah, meaning “one anointed with sacred oil”. This was the origin of the words Christian and Christ.

Scented and blessed olive oil called a chrism was used for sanctification and purification.

A church council of 381 CE records that:

Those who […] are being saved from the heretics […] are first anointed with holy chrism on the forehead, eyes, nostrils, mouth and ears […] and then we baptise them.

Such perfumed olive oil was (and indeed still is) used to sanctify liturgical objects such as chalices, in rituals such as the ordination of priests, before baptism, and to anoint the sick.

Oil is still used in religious rituals today. Photo by Matt McClain/The Washington Post via Getty Images

Churches were lit by a new type of lamp called a polycandelon, which had multiple glass bowls filled with scented olive oil, as well as lamps made in symbolic shapes such as a dove, crown or boat. These symbolised the light of God and contributed a heavenly fragrance.

The oil from saints’ tombs and sacred places was reputed to bring about healing miracles. Reliquaries containing the remains of saints had special holes for oil to be poured in and then dispensed.

This and the scented oil from lamps at martyrs’ shrines was used to anoint the sick.

A ninth century text describes how at Saint Menas’ tomb in Egypt:

a lamp before the grave […] burned day and night and was filled with fragrant oil. And when anyone took of this lamp oil […] and rubbed a sick person with it the sick person was healed.

Pilgrims who visited holy sites collected such oil in flasks, hoping to take home its healing power.

Pilgrims used flasks like this to carry oil from the pilgrimage site of Saint Menas. Rogers Fund, 1927/The Met

The early Church not only used olive oil, but also produced it.

Sixth century and later monastic and church archives record gifts of olive groves and enslaved workers to ecclesiastical and monastic estates.

This is confirmed by my own recent research into archaeological finds of oil production remains in episcopal complexes, annexes attached to churches, and in monasteries.

Christian symbols appear on the seals of oil transport containers from a fourth century CE shipwreck recently found off the coast of Mallorca.

Their painted inscriptions identify the contents as a special “sweet oil”, perhaps produced at monasteries in southern Spain and marketed for ritual and healing use.

Olive oil today

Ancient uses of olive oil for rituals of initiation, sanctification and healing have a modern legacy.

In 2023, oil for the coronation of Charles III was harvested from groves on the Mount of Olives, processed at local monasteries and blessed by archbishops in Jerusalem.

The anointing ritual continued a tradition derived from early medieval coronations of the first English kings, in turn modelled on that of the ancient King Solomon .

Olive oil is still used in Christian sacraments, the consecration of churches, and anointing of the sick.

Beautiful to taste, touch, see and smell, olive oil has had a special significance in human history. Its uses today have grown from the roots of a long tradition.

Tamara Lewit, Honorary Fellow, School of Historical and Philosophical Studies, The University of Melbourne

Interview: The Body as Architecture, Instinct as Art, Ten Questions with Dancer Evgeny Ganeev

In Berlin, the balletic strength of Evgeny Ganeev is evident in his expressive contemporary dance. Photograph (above) by Jay Zoo for DAM

A dancer shaped by Russian ballet, Saint Petersburg’s atmospheric beauty and Berlin’s restless creative energy, Evgeny Ganeev moves between dance, fashion and visual art with an instinctive sensibility. His sculptural physicality and fascination with the fleeting nature of performance make him an intriguing figure. Speaking with candour about the forces that have shaped his artistic life, the dancer recounts his experience with Yuima Nakazato, the creative possibilities that emerge encountering fashion and why, for now, he calls Berlin home. Interview by Jeanne-Marie Cilento. Photography by Jay Zoo 

Evgeny Ganeev had stringent Russian

ballet training from five years old. 

FROM the stony majesty and luminous light of Saint Petersburg to the roiling artistic milieu of Berlin, Evgeny Ganeev has developed an abstract dance language in which the body becomes a finely tuned instrument. 

Trained in the rigorous tradition of Russian ballet, Ganeev has carried the discipline of classical dance into a contemporary practice defined by elongated lines, sculptural movement and an unusually instinctive physicality.

"My artistic path began at the age of five, when I started dancing while also studying violin, piano, music theory, and arts and crafts," Evgeny Ganeev explains. "At the age of nine, after a three-stage selection process, I was accepted into the Vaganova Ballet Academy, where I spent the following ten years of my ballet education. It was an intensely demanding environment where my childhood ended the moment I entered it."

The dancer's evolution from classical ballet to contemporary performance found an important early expression in The Melancholy, the solo he performed at the 2018 Tallinn International Ballet Competition. Selected for the Winners’ Gala alongside established artists, the experience marked a quiet turning point: contemporary dance offered Ganeev not simply another vocabulary of movement, but a different way of existing on stage, one in which the performer could express himself directly rather than inhabit a predetermined role.

"Saint Petersburg is an architecture of atmosphere as much as of stone, I was shaped by its museums, its theatres, and its constant presence of art"

Today, his practice extends far beyond dance. Drawing and painting, photography and film, clay and craftsmanship all exist alongside the body as different forms of the same creative necessity. This openness to other disciplines has also led to collaborations at the intersection of contemporary performance and high fashion, most notably with Japanese designer Yuima Nakazato. For Nakazato’s Glacier collection, Ganeev became part of an intentionally ephemeral performance in which unique garments, movement, ink and the human body converged. The result was less a traditional fashion presentation than a fleeting encounter between sculpture, performance and couture.

There is a particular stillness beneath Ganeev’s physical intensity. His relationship with Saint Petersburg’s melancholy landscape remains an “inner weather”; his Russian training has become an integral part of him, rather than a constraint; and his interest in the fragility of existence places the living body at the centre of his artistic thinking. Even in an increasingly digital culture, he believes there are things technology cannot reproduce: the presence of a living form in space and time, and the immediacy of bodies sharing the same reality.

The dancer's work comes from

instinct, even before thought.

1. What part of dancing gives you the most happiness, and do you find your creative process comes more from the mind or from instinct?

What draws me most to dance is the moment when the body enters a state of heightened presence, where freedom and expression become indistinguishable. In those moments, space itself feels almost tangible.

My work comes mostly from instinct, from something before thought. When I work under direction, the mind becomes important first ~ understanding the intention before I can fully respond physically.

2. What are your memories of growing up in Saint Petersburg, and how did that beautiful city shape your early imagination?

Saint Petersburg is an architecture of atmosphere as much as of stone. I was shaped by its museums, its theatres, and its constant presence of art.

What remains most vivid is its grey, reflective light. There is a quiet melancholy in that landscape that many resist, but I always felt drawn to it. It continues to live within my work as a kind of inner weather.

 3. Russian ballet training is famous for its incredible, intense discipline. What did those early years of rigorous practice teach you about yourself?

Those years taught me resilience too early. In that environment, you either commit fully or you don't continue. It was difficult to separate life and training, and only later did I begin to understand what that intensity leaves behind.

Today, I return to those experiences as echoes. They continue to transform into new meanings over time.

Perhaps the most important lesson was the necessity of sustaining an inner reason to dance ~ one that survives pressure rather than being defined by it. That love remains both fragile and unyielding.

4. In 2018, you performed a solo called The Melancholy at the Tallinn International Ballet Competition. How did preparing for that performance help you grow from a student into a true artist?

At that time, I was no longer a student, yet still young and in a state of transition, shifting from classical ballet towards contemporary performance.

The Melancholy was selected for the Winners' Gala, and I found myself performing alongside established artists. That recognition gave me a quiet sense of confidence in moving forward.

What made that period particularly important was that contemporary dance opened a different way of being on stage for me. Unlike in classical ballet, where you often perform a role, I felt I could express myself more directly as an artist through movement.

The dancer's long, balletic lines are

the result of many years of training. 

5. Why did you ultimately choose dance as your life's work over other forms of art?

I do not think I ever made this one choice.

Dance remains the main focus, but other forms such as drawing and painting have been part of my practice for many years and exist as parallel extensions of the same necessity to create. I also work with photography and film, and I love clay and craftsmanship. There are things I cannot express fully through the body alone.

For now, dance leads simply because the body has its own timeline.

6. Your movement has a beautiful, long, and sculptural line. Did this grace come naturally to you, or is it something you practiced for years to perfect?

It is the result of many years of work, and it is still something that requires constant training. Some periods are more intense, others gentler, but I have been dancing since I was five years old.

7. What is it like to perform dance for a haute couture fashion show like Yuima Nakazato's Glacier collection, and how does performing for a fashion audience compare to a traditional theatre audience?

It was a truly inspiring experience.

The garments existed as unique pieces, so it was not possible to rehearse with them. The performance could only happen once, while Yuima himself worked with ink directly on fabric and skin. It was not a repeatable moment. I love this kind of impermanence.

When the audience entered, I was already in the space, in a slow unfolding on the floor. The main difference from theatre was the closeness ~ people were very near. I remember cameras immediately beginning to photograph what they saw, but I was already in a different state, simply inside the experience.

8. Which specific person or training do you feel has had the most significant impact on your career as an artist, and on you as a person?

It is not possible for me to name a single influence.

Each meaningful collaboration leaves something behind. I am increasingly drawn to encounters with artists from different backgrounds and disciplines. What matters most is the balance between remaining open and staying rooted in one's own path.

Speaking of training, Wayne McGregor's Mind and Movement programme, which I was fortunate to take part in, has indeed had a significant impact on my artistic development.

As a person, my attention is less fixed on individuals and more on art, culture, and nature.

Evgeny Ganeev believes technology

cannot replace living forms of dance.

9. How do you see the future of ballet and contemporary dance in our digital age? Do you believe the raw physicality and emotion of dance can act as a visceral anchor in an increasingly virtual world?

The body remains irreducible.

No technological extension can replace the presence of a living form in space and time. This immediacy ~ the shared reality of being ~ is something that cannot be simulated.

Technology may extend the field of performance, but it does not replace its essence.

I am not deeply driven by digital themes in my own work. I am more interested in the fragility of existence and how the body holds and translates it.

10. Why did you choose Berlin as your home, and does the everyday energy of the city inspire your studio practice today, or does it make it harder?

The decision to move to Berlin was not planned in detail; it happened quite spontaneously. It is a city with a very open and diverse artistic scene that I found attractive.

Its energy is not always easy, but it is alive, and it definitely does not affect my practice negatively. I have met wonderful artists here and built meaningful connections.

I travel a lot for work and I know I will be living somewhere else in the future. But for now, I can call Berlin my home.

See the gallery below of Evgeny Ganeev's choreography. Photographed by Jay Zoo in Berlin.

Eva Marie Saint: The Last Star of Hollywood’s Golden Age

Eva Marie Saint with her subtle skill as an actor and her classic blond beauty had a career of some 80 years in film, television and podcasting. Photographed (above) in circa 1960 by Getty.  

By Marcus Harmes

Eva Marie Saint was showered in awards across her long career. Her performances spanned from her first stage appearances in 1942 to her final film appearance in 2019.

But while she was the last star of Hollywood’s Golden Age, it was television’s Golden Age where she began her long career. It was television and then even newer formats like podcasting that sustained it.

Saint was celebrated as a film star, including her landmark performances for Hollywood’s best directors including Elia Kazan, Alfred Hitchcock, Otto Preminger and John Frankenheimer. And while her film acting led to awards and nominations from the BAFTAs to the Oscars, films are only one part of a diverse career that spanned her long life of 102 years.

The actor in Los Angeles on the 

evening she won an Oscar in 1955

for 'On the Waterfront'. 

She received an Oscar in 1955 for On the Waterfront and an Emmy in 1990 for the miniseries People Like Us. There was a Drama Critics Award in 1953 for The Trip to Bountiful on Broadway. In 2012, she received a Behind the Voice Actors Voice Acting Award for her voice work on the animated series The Legend of Korra (2012–14).

Her many awards, and even more nominations, reveal her astonishing capacity to reinvent herself not just in the roles she played but the media she appeared on. Saint showed rare versatility by changing image and style and medium and format across eight decades.

The golden age of television

Born in 1924, before the development of television and even the talkies, Saint made her television debut in 1947 in Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol.

Saint was fortunate to be in the right place at the right time for the first Golden Age of American television.

This Golden Age gave Saint and other actors not just employment but a national audience for serious drama. Commercial sponsorship also meant actors like Saint were infamously obliged to advertise products as well as act.

Saint had an ongoing role in the successful TV drama Martin Kane Private Eye (1949–54). But sponsorship from the United States Tobacco Company meant the cast had to, not too subtly, advertise pipes and cigarettes by talking about smoking in each episode!

Television kept her fully occupied until her big screen debut in 1954’s On the Waterfront.

A move to the big screen

Today, her fame rests on two entirely different films: the intense black and white drama about dockside corruption in On the Waterfront (1954), and the colour and lighthearted adventure in North by Northwest (1959).

From director Elia Kazan, On the Waterfront was Saint’s breakout film role in a heavy hitting movie about corruption among men who worked on the docks. Starring Marlon Brando as well as Saint, the film received eight Oscars, including Best Supporting Actress for Saint.

Eva Marie Saint and Marlon Brando pose for a portrait on the set of On the Waterfront. 20th Century-Fox/Getty Images

At least one person wasn’t a fan – Alfred Hitchcock wanted to use Saint in a more glamorous role and setting.

“It’s drab in that tenement house. Women go to the movies, and they’ve just left the sink at home. They don’t want to see you at the sink” Hitchcock told her.

Normally, one break out role would be enough for any actor. But Saint had two. Showing the cycles of invention and reinvention that propelled her career, Saint moved from black and white intensity to colour adventure.

The “Hitchcock Blonde” is a fixture of his films. Grace Kelly, Tippi Hedron and Kim Novak are among them, and in North by Northwest Hitchcock added Saint to their ranks.

Eva Marie Saint toasts Cary Grant in a scene from North By Northwest. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer/Getty Images

Playing a femme fatale (or is she?) pitched against good guy Cary Grant, Saint stepped far away from the drab On the Waterfront in an adventure sweeping across the United States to the final exciting chase across Mount Rushmore.

North by Northwest remade Saint’s image as a glamourous blonde but her film career afterwards lacked consistency. Exodus (1960) was a hit; All Fall Down (1962) lost money at the box office.

Back to television – and to podcasts

Saint began on television, and it was television which sustained her career.

Saint won an Emmy in 1990 for Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Miniseries or a Special for People Like Us. Ron Galella, Ltd./Ron Galella Collection via Getty Images

After her big screen career declined in the 1970s, Saint returned to television with award-winning success. She received Emmy nominations for How the West Was Won (1976–79) and Taxi!!! (1978), and appeared on TV in works diverse as Frasier (1992–2004) and Moonlighting (1985–89).

Other changes involved a shift to the superhero film in 2006’s Superman Returns and Nickelodeon’s children’s animation in The Legend of Korra (2012–14). Finally, she was podcasting in scripted comedy The Pack Podcast, aged 98.

Other golden age legends like Olivia de Havilland lived long lives, but few remained so active across so many media as Eva Marie Saint. Fewer still showed the same ability to change in ways that found new audiences and new media over a career of 80 years.

Marcus Harmes, Professor in Pathways Education, University of Southern Queensland

David Hockney’s Success is a Testament to a Britain that Supported Working Class Artists – the Same Cannot be Said Today

David Hockney working in his London studio in Powis Terrace, Notting Hill. Photograph: Bob Collins, bromide fibre print, 1972. National Portrait Gallery, London. 

By Gregory Salter 

David Hockney was perhaps the most successful and well-known British artist of his lifetime.His exhibitions, from career-spanning shows like David Hockney 25 at Fondation Louis Vuitton in Paris (2025) to his groundbreaking touring immersive exhibition David Hockney: Bigger & Closer (not smaller & further away) (2025), drew thousands of visitors.

David Hockney's 'Portrait of an Artist

(Pool with Two Figures)', 1972 that sold

for $90.3 million at auction in 2018.

His paintings broke sales records. Take his Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures), 1972, which became the most expensive painting by a living artist sold at auction after fetching US$90.3 million (£70.3 million) at Christie’s in New York in 2018.

Such success stands in stark contrast to his more humble beginnings. Born in Bradford into a working-class family in 1937, he came of age in a post-war era where access to education and to culture in Britain began to broaden. Through policies and schemes, previously unheard-of opportunities for people of his background began to open up, without which he would not have become the success he is considered today. The situation today for aspiring artists from a similar background is much starker.

A hopeful place for working-class artists

After leaving school at 16, Hockney studied at Bradford School of Art between 1953 and 1957. He had a brief gap of two years working as a hospital orderly due the national service requirement at the time and being a conscientious objector. He then took up a place at the Royal College of Art (RCA) in London. He benefited from the expansion of universities and art schools in this period, and the availability of means-tested grants for fees and living costs.

In 2026, the affordability of higher education for young people in Britain has been under the spotlight – with warning the situation will get worse, especially for working-class students. More and more students cannot afford to move away to study or take up further education opportunities, as Hockney did. Creative higher education institutions have also seen cuts to funding of around 50%, and it has been proposed that creative degrees will not be covered by the reintroduction of maintenance grants from 2028.

In the early part of his studies at the RCA, Hockney produced paintings like 1960s Going to Be a Queen for Tonight. Such paintings demonstrate the captivating, intoxicating possibilities that the RCA and London more widely offered for a young, gay, working-class artist.

Hockney’s London was accessible and cheap. He lived in a room in Earl’s Court and had about £100 a term from a scholarship. “You could do exactly what you wanted,” he recounted in an interview with the RCA about his time there. “You could even smoke. I remember having to sandpaper off the nicotine stains on my fingers before going to visit the registrar to borrow some money. They couldn’t be seen to be lending to fellows that smoked … Most of us were living on scholarships.”

The escalating cost of living means that for students today maintenance loans often fall short of actual living expenses (like rent and food). Affordability of university is an increasing concern for many and more than two-thirds of full-time students have jobs to help supplement their loans and grants.

At the RCA, Hockney was able to experiment with printmaking for the first time, as the graphics department provided materials for students for free. He quickly flourished in this medium, winning a prize of £100 for an early etching titled, Three Kings and a Queen. For a young artist with no money, this prize was significant. He was able to spend the summer of 1961 not working and afford a plane ticket to New York.

Such desire to experiment would come to define his prolific career as he relentlessly moved between mediums, exploring the possibility of expression through theatrical design, photocollage and eventually digital creation. In 2026, most art students are expected to purchase their own materials so their ability to experiment and discover can be more limited.

Hockney’s trip to New York produced his series of etchings A Rake’s Progress (1961 1963). It was inspired by a print series produced by William Hogarth, published in 1735, that depicts the rise and fall of a young man who inherits wealth then squanders it in 18th-century London.

Hockney adapted Hogarth’s narrative to his own encounter with New York, working in some biographical elements like his decision to dye his hair blonde while he was there. The series is a humorous and earnest reflection on the new possibilities and changes arising for a working-class man from the north of England.

A helping hand

Alongside free education, additional help from prizes and a cheaper cost of living, Hockney’s early career was also supported by the art dealer John Kasmin. Kasmin bought Hockney’s work while he was still at the RCA, and made Hockney part of his stable of artists at his gallery, which opened in London in 1963.

Kasmin helped Hockney sell his paintings to the right kinds of buyers, but also provided him with a steady income and opportunity for further travel to the US. It was in America that he produced the paintings of Los Angeles for which he remains best known. Here, Hockney’s celebrity and market value were managed while allowing him to work as he wished.

My Parents. Tate., CC BY-NC-ND

Hockney’s early experiences are in contrast to the more exploitative flipping of works by young artists by buyers in recent years. There is evidence that this practice, involving buying art by young artists then quickly reselling them for a large profit, has a detrimental effect on young artists’ careers.

Later in Hockney’s career, he made a quiet nod to his working-class roots with My Parents (1977). This double portrait of his mother, posing obediently and affectionately for her son, and his father, leafing through an art book, is not only a moving depiction of family, but also a painting about social mobility.

Amid the celebrations of and tributes to Hockney from politicians and the media, we might recognise the role of class and how it shaped his art, and the structures, particularly state-supported art school education, that made success possible for someone like him.

Gregory Salter, Associate Professor in History of Art, Head of Department, University of Birmingham

What was the Mantua? How a 17th-century Gown Transformed Dressmaking and Ushered in Financial Freedom for Women

Diego Velázquez, Portrait of the Infanta Maria Theresa of Spain, 1653, an early version of the mantua

By Sarah Bendall

If you’ve watched many period dramas, you’ve probably seen a mantua before. Originating in France in the 1670s, this women’s garment consisted of lengths of t-shaped fabric that were pleated to create an unstiffened bodice with attached overskirts.

This gown was worn over a pair of stays (corset) and an often contrasting petticoat. The draping and folding of fabric created a front-opening gown.

What many people don’t realise, however, is how fundamentally this item of clothing altered women’s involvement in the fashion industry – and represented a ticket to financial freedom for an industry of female mantua makers.

The robe à la française was a mantua style that featured loose back pleats that draped to the floor. The Met/Purchase, Irene Lewisohn Bequest, 1954

What was the mantua?

After its invention in the 1670s, the new gown became immediately popular among fashionable Parisian women.

Although strict dress codes at the Versailles court of French King Louis XIV prohibited the wearing of mantuas, women at the English court helped popularise it in England.

By the 1680s, the mantua was widely worn in Western and Central Europe, as well as in European colonies around the world. It soon became the basis for all women’s gowns in the 18th century.

Popular versions of the mantua in 18th century included:

• the loose style called a robe volante

• the iconic robe à la française (sometimes called a sack gown) with its back pleats that draped to the floor, and

• the tighter fitting robe à la anglaise  (also known as English or Italian gowns).

The robe à l’anglaise had fitted back pleats and was tighter compared to its French counterpart. The Met/Purchase, Irene Lewisohn Bequest, 2018

Tailors vs mantua makers

As well as changing the look of western fashions, the mantua radically changed women’s involvement in the fashion industry.

Before the 17th century, outer garments were usually made by male tailors. Apprenticeships and membership of guilds – the organisations that controlled most craft trades – were restricted to boys and men.

Women did participate informally in these professions. They sometimes worked alongside tailor family members (and some were fined for doing so) and widows were permitted to carry on the businesses of their deceased husbands.

Women had also historically worked as seamstresses or “silkwomen” making small linen or silk goods like underwear and accessories.

This loose 1730s style was called a robe volante. The Met/Purchase, Friends of The Costume Institute Gifts, 2010

However, this began to change in the late 17th century during what came to be known as the consumer revolution – a period, beginning in the 1600s, that saw a significant jump in the consumption of luxury goods.

Significantly, in 1675, women in Paris and Rouen acquired their own, independent couturière (dressmaking) guilds and began to take over making women’s clothing from male tailors.

In London, guilds with dwindling memberships also began to permit paying female members.

Due to the considerable influence of France on western fashions, women in London began to train under French dressmakers, giving rise to what were known in English as mantua makers.

Dressmaking and financial freedom

From the 18th to 20th centuries, dressmaking and other fashion or textile-related industries were the main source of formal employment for women in Britain, Australia and the United States (alongside teaching and domestic service).

New training opportunities in dressmaking – coupled with historical peculiarities such as London’s feme sole status, which allowed married women to run businesses and have finances independent of their husbands – meant many women began to open their own businesses.

Single women often lived in houses with other mantua makers and their apprentices, working as teams. Married women usually operated in workshops in the family home alongside their husbands, many of whom worked as tailors.

By the mid-18th century, manuals instructing parents on craft apprenticeships for their children noted mantua making was a large trade

reckoned a genteel, as well as profitable Employ [for women], many of them living well and saving Money.

But several male tailoring guilds in Europe attempted to stop women working as mantua makers, claiming they were taking away their business. Additionally, many women who worked in the garment-making industries were poorly paid and often worked in cramped conditions.

Mantuas were sometimes pinned up at the back like this 1690s example. The Met/Rogers Fund, 1933

Yet, many did rise above. French mantua makers were particularly popular, with women in London paying substantially more for gowns made by French women with access to the latest fashion knowledge in Paris.

Some became confidants of queens. The famous fashion merchant Marie-Jeanne “Rose” Bertin designed many of French queen Marie Antoinette’s gowns (her detractors labelled her the queen’s “minister of fashion”).

These networks gave these women access to vast amounts of clients and social capital. By the 19th century, senior dressmakers and milliners called modistes often ran their own luxury fashion houses in the West End of London.

Mantua making was also a significant business opportunity for women in Australia.

“M. Hayes”, Catherine Mellon and Martha Matthews were all “mantua makers and milliners” who advertised their services in the early years of the Sydney colony.

Legacies of mantua makers

During the early years of the 19th century, mantuas fell out of use as new styles appeared. The term “dressmaker” also came to slowly replace the term “mantua maker”.

However, the gendered segregation of labour remained. During much of the 19th and 20th centuries, men were more likely to be tailors and have their clothing made by tailors. Women were more likely to be dressmakers and have their clothing made by dressmakers. The skills and techniques of each profession remained quite different.

With the advent of modern fast fashion, the skills of both tailors and dressmakers are fast being lost, and with it the knowledge of this revolutionary trade for women.

Sarah Bendall, Research Fellow, Gender and Women's History Research Centre, Institute for Humanities and Social Sciences, Australian Catholic University