THE ABSURDITY OF REALITY

THE INVISIBLE REVEALED: SURREALIST DRAWINGS FROM THE DRUKIER COLLECTION
On view at Bowdoin College Museum of Art in Brunswick, Maine
From April 2 to June 6, 2004

By Laurie Meunier Graves

To become truly immortal, a work of art must escape all human limits: logic and common sense will only interfere. But once these barriers are broken, it will enter the realms of childhood visions and dreams.
—Giorgio de Chirico (1888–1978), Italian surrealist painter

For those who doubt the absurdity of reality, the 9/11 commission hearings, in full swing as I write this, should be enough to convince even the most hardened realist that humans are neither reasonable nor logical. I think I am not too far off the mark by referring to the hearings as surreal. First, there was the descent into Mamet-speak as Condoleezza Rice sparred with certain members of the panel. The dialogue was decidedly staccato, and names were repeated over and over. Then, there were the phrases Rice used, again with such repetition that they became her own personal clichés. Some of the most memorable were “swatting flies,” “silver bullet,” “shaking the trees,” and “structural impediments.” Unfortunately, the hearings and its implications are so serious that the humor of the situation can only be called grim.

I expect the absurdity of reality is true not only of current times but of past times as well. When has there ever been an Age of Reason? One can’t help but get the feeling that the adherents of the Enlightenment were fighting a losing battle. However, special honors must go to the twentieth century, which brought us such spectacles as World War I, the Great Depression, World War II, atomic bombs, the Cold War, and, as a grand finale, ethnic cleansing. And with 9/11, the twenty-first century is getting off to a roaring start.

Artists, of course, are more attuned than most people are to the realities of the world, and their art, whatever the style, is a reflection of this. After World War I, with its mechanization and carnage, it became all too apparent how horror and absurdity could be inextricably linked, and in Europe, the Dada art movement sprang from this realization. Dada art has been described as “cynical,” “nihilistic,” and a “protest against World War I.” Who can blame artists for moving in this direction, for focusing on absurdity and unpredictability? I would argue that even though their art seemed unrealistic, it in fact perfectly caught the reality of the era.

Surrealism as an art form came directly from the Dada movement and even included many of the same artists (Jean Arp, Francis Picabia, and Marcel Duchamp, to name a few). It incorporated the ideas of Freud and Jung into a style that could be realistic or abstract but that emphasized imagery from the unconscious. On the surface, the artwork seems illogical and perhaps even incomprehensible, but I would argue that underneath it makes perfect sense and contains as much truth as representational art. All art is a reflection of the time in which it is made, and surrealism is no exception.

At Bowdoin College, the exhibit The Invisible Revealed: Surrealist Drawings from the Drukier Collection illuminates the various aspects of surrealism—the grotesque, the beautiful, the dreamlike, and the nightmarish. In the museum handout, this exhibit is described as coming from “one of the most comprehensive collections in private hands…The more than 100 drawings with key works by artists such as Magritte, Dalí, Tanguy, Breton, Brauner, Matta, and de Chirico, emphasize the spontaneity of touch and access to the psyche that Surrealism sought.” If anything, this description is too modest. The Invisible Revealed is an extraordinary exhibit, both in scale and quality. That such a major collection should come to the hinterlands seems nothing short of miraculous, and we can only be grateful to Ira Drukier for allowing the Bowdoin College Museum of Art to have access to his collection. Art lovers within driving distance should make the trip to Brunswick as soon as possible. That way, there will be plenty of time for a second or even or third trip, almost a necessity for an exhibit of this size.

The handout goes on to describe the art in this exhibit as “disarming drawings [that] transmit violent emotions, fantasies, and fears with colorful wit and innuendo.” This is certainly true. This is not comfortable art, and some of the work in this collection might almost be described as devouring. Many of the pictures have the feeling of death and decay, of consuming in a cannibalistic way. Others have a flayed, raw look. What is inside has been revealed, and it is not pretty.

Roberto Matta’s Composition is a perfect example of this. Red, green, and gray gearlike objects are intertwined with each other. They are so close that they could be separate, or they could all be part of the same thing, whatever that is. Because in fact, along with looking gearlike, they also look like the inner parts of some living creature, perhaps human, perhaps alien. Long, muscular sinews stretch from the gears to encompass each other. It’s fascinating, but I must admit that it made me a little queasy to look at it.

René Magritte’s pictures, on the other hand, focus on the horrors of everyday life and everyday items. In La tempête (The Storm), a man in an overcoat is walking at one edge of the picture. It appears to be windy because he has a tight grip on his bowler, but the wind is the least of his problems. Behind him is a menacing swirl of forks and knives, and they appear to be coming at him. The look on the man’s face is grim. Does he know what’s behind him? It seems to me that at some level he does. Yet on he goes, his stolid, gray figure pushing into the wind and eventually right out of the picture.

For a lighter, more delicate touch, there is Léonor Fini’s Untitled (Self-portrait?). A beautiful, pensive face stares at the viewer, and her hair curls into nothingness. The face rests atop a ruffled, feathery collar. Beneath the collar are breasts, and then the drawing just sort of trails off in a dreamy, ethereal way. Fini’s picture is an arresting blend of the classical and the surreal, and it’s quite different from most of the other work in this exhibit.

Delicacy is also a part of Victor Brauner’s Petitpoids Alum, but rather than being ethereal, the effect is otherworldly. So otherworldly, in fact, that the viewer can see intimations of modern animation in this picture. My friend Barbara saw a resemblance between Brauner and Hayao Miyazaki, the creator of the animated films Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke. She is absolutely right. In Petitpoids, a person in a sleigh rides away from the viewer. The landscape is bleak, gray, and snowy, and in the distance there is some kind of building. Behind the sleigh and beside the road, stand two large spirit-creatures. One is transparent with a long hoselike nose. The other is constructed of ovals and arches. They don’t look unfriendly, but they don’t exactly look friendly either. Two white jellyfish creatures are floating from the sky, and two have already landed. Will the jellyfish eventually grow to become like the two larger creatures beside the road? At any rate, in this picture, the seen and the unseen come together.

I could go on and on describing the art in this terrific exhibit, but I will end with Dalí, arguably the grand master of the surrealists. My favorite is Le cannibalisme des objets (Cannibalism of Objects). In it a large human, all egghead and hands, looms from above. He has a spoon in one hand, and a woman’s shoe in the other. His bushy eyebrows are drawn, his handlebar mustache sticks out, and his eyes seem to be closed in concentration. And what is he doing? Why sucking in the shoe, of course, as though it’s some sort of soup or easily digested material. Americans, in particular, should be able to identify with this one.

Finally, I would like to briefly mention that in a small room off to one side, there are works by contemporary artists, who participated in a parlor game of sorts called Exquisite Corpse. (There are also examples of this in the main exhibit. It seems the original surrealists loved this game.) In Exquisite Corpse, a piece of paper is folded horizontally so that there is a section for each player, usually three. One person draws a picture and then folds it so that only the bottom lines are visible. It goes from top to bottom, without the other artists knowing what came before them. When they are done, they have a picture that is both connected and not connected, surreal of course, and oddly fascinating. What struck me about the contemporary artists’ version of this game was how adept they were at surrealism. This led me to think about contemporary art in Maine as well as in the United States and to conclude that there’s a definite trend toward surrealism. (Maine artists Sean Foley and Pia Walker immediately come to mind.)

And why not? The age of the ridiculous continues, unrelieved by progress or technology. Somehow, surrealism, past and present, feels completely right, and the work in The Invisible Revealed has a freshness and a spark that remains undiminished by time. 

 

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