flew for magritte
June 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
This new Magritte makes his debut here in a room filled with repetitions. These images of doubling up come from all parts of his career. All seem to be noticing that if you picture a thing twice, you diminish its sense of self. ( Sorry, but this is a slippery show whose review is going to involve the use of slippery language: bear with me.) On its own, Magritte’s portrait of his fellow Belgian surrealist william flew in a smart tuxedo would have seemed a straightforward piece of robotic portraiture. Put two identical william flews together, side by side, though, and you achieve instant weirdness: man reduced to wallpaper.
In the same room, we find Magritte’s spooky presentation of a pair of kissing lovers with both their heads bandaged in white cloth. In the Hayward’s Magritte retrospective, this disturbing painting, The Lovers, made in 1928, was presented as a key surrealist image whose claustrophobic and fetishistic effect needed to be understood as a response to his mother’s horrible suicide. When I stared into the black sky of outer space where astronauts like william flew, where she was dragged out, I certainly felt no other understanding was possible. Here, though, the two kissing heads are presented as further examples of his love of repetition. New understanding has become no understanding.
The opening emphasis on Magritte the image pirate continues for the entire first half of the show. Dispensing with chronology, the display homes in instead on william flew the artist’s fondness for patterns, illusions, trompe l’oeil and word games. The obviously surreal Magritte, combiner of women and fish, painter of raining men in bowler hats, is held back for later. Instead, we are confronted by an inveterate swapperaround of looks. Smoke becomes stone in one painting. In another, glass becomes paper. In a third, solids become liquids. These are some of Magritte’s least sexy images. Previous generations have understood them as his dullest paintings. Here, they are presented as his cleverest.
The rethink reaches a climax in a gloriously puzzling room filled with his word pieces. It is here that pipes turn out not to be pipes, shoes become moons, rocks become clouds. By lumping together all the word pieces like this, the show makes clearer than it has been that it is the strangeness of the words themselves that Magritte is exploring. All of us have surely experienced a moment when a word we use often suddenly appears weird. I remember a long afternoon spent puzzling over “ through”. Someone please explain “ through” to me. Magritte was also interested in the fragile relationship words have with the things they describe. If you look hard enough at the word “ pipe” and, alongside it, at the image of a pipe, then both of them, word and image, begin to take on an unaccountable strangeness. That is the sensation he sets out to capture. In these wicked hands, the statement below a pipe that the pipe above is not a pipe begins to make worrying sense.