It was December, the cold was intense, Picabia was wrapped in sweaters and scarves of wool, but was not wearing a hat. He hugged me hand with courtesy while English and ignored others. His presence gave a certain cachet to the opening. The gallery was filled and I was surprised there were so many people and I was hopeful. The price tables had been set to a minimum. If they were selling well, I could begin. I made a new series of paintings more unusual than any I had previously painted. Much of the conversation escape me, but I was much hand shaking and I realized that made me compliments. A strange little man, talkative, aged about fifty years, came me and took me to one of my paintings. With his little white beard, his pince-nez in the old style, his bowler hat, his coat and black umbrella, he looked like a funeral director or employee of a custodian bank. The preparations for opening me tired, the gallery was not heated, I shuddered and said, in English, I was cold. He answered in English, took my arm and led me out to the corner cafe, where he commanded the grog. There he introduced himself: Erik Satie, and continued to speak French. I told him I did not understand. He gave me a mischievous look, amused, and said that it had not matter. (Man Ray, Self Portrait , trans. Anne Guerin, Babel Actes Sud, 1998, pp. 159-160). 
By scanning this catalog of the first Paris exhibition of Man Ray that I discovered that one of his works (Catalog No. 25, dated 1922) was called Isadora Duncan naked. Having reviewed most of the books and catalogs devoted to Man Ray, so I run a search. If someone could inform me about this work (is it a Painting, drawing?) and, at best, provide me a copy, it would be before Christmas time. Two impressive books have been published: a biography of Satie by Jean-Pierre Armangaud
and Correspondence with artists (1903-1918) Apollinaire,
respectively 600 and 944 pages, enough to spend the winter in the best company possible.
