I’ve always leant into surrealism in the things I make. I always joked that my films were “slightly surreal”. I remember the days when I was picking out this catchphrase. I wanted to become “known” for something as a film maker and I remember having various conversations with people about it at the time. The thing is, there was a whole bunch of people who [just] didn’t get it. They thought I was underselling myself by saying I was only “slightly” surreal. They said I should claim “full” surreality. Once I realised it mildly bothered those people I stuck with it.
I did fairly badly in my art GCSE. I never got too into it. But in my adult years, I’ve become super into all kinds of art history. I read a lot (I read almost constantly, to the detriment of everything important to me) and ~98% of what I read (nowadays) is non-fiction. I really like going to the source texts themselves instead of modern re-tellings of things. I find the re-tellings tend to over-intellectualise things: They remove all the heart
I feel very privileged to have access to a whole load of free art galleries here in London, and I often pay to go to exhibitions in em too. This year, we’ve got a Tate membership as a gift so we can go to every single exhibition for free as much as we want without even booking and we do! I’m seeing more art than ever
I see gallery curation as an artform itself in the way that it can or can’t tell a story or achieve different aims. Like you might do after watching a film, I enjoy walking out of an exhibition and discussing “So how good do you think that was, then?” referring to the curation, not the contents themselves.
The exhibition that changed my life the most was Surrealism Beyond Borders. Of course, I was always into surrealism… but it always left me a bit cold or icky or empty… the Parisian surrealist emphasis on Freud… the naval-gazing…
but this exhibition showed me a completely new side to surrealism: One that was forceful and full of heart and bravery and cheekiness. In particular, I greatly appreciated the boldness of Long Live Degenerate Art and I became introduced to my now-all-time favourite artist Ted Joans, yes, Ted Joans.
The exhibition prompted me to re-visit some of that early Parisian surrealism too. It made me wonder if there were things that I missed. and it turns out there was a lot. I gained so much from going back to the source materials (the surrealist publications themselves). There was a real sense of humour and “trolling” / “shitposting” that I feel gets missed out, or at least.. you don’t feel it’s heart unless you go to the source itself. There’s also heavy use of wordplay that only works in french, like a drawing of a leaf that’s labelled as “le canon”. and there are some concepts that just roll of the tongue much better in french, so they feel far more poetic, or perhaps they feel more “accurate” in French, I suppose? Like “real object” versus “representative object” in English feels like a muddier idea to me, when written in English compared to the French, which i can’t spell so i won’t attempt / butcher it.
and I feel strongly that the infamous Treachery of Images image is often understood within modern culture as a single standalone piece. but I think it makes so much more sense and stands up so much stronger as a single entry within a larger series. The core piece of that series is “Words and images” (Les mots et les images) and it was released in one of those original surrealist publications, and it sets out what Magritte is doing. He’s calling into question the meaning / truth / power of words and symbols. He’s making you question things. He’s having fun with it. It’s a dance between truth and lie and mistake. But nowadays, people tend to misunderstand him. but Perhaps that’s what he wanted all along…
but yes but no, surrealism built on top of the dada movement (despite some surrealists’ complaints - there were some surrealists who wanted to build on top of dada and some who didn’t and the ones who did want it won and wrote the history books).
anyway, i find the dada movement even more misunderstood than surrealism, or at least there’s even more missing in modern day accounts of it. but it’s even easier to go back and read the original dada manifestos and also the big old dada history book and the big dada archives from big dada itself.
when i read some of those old things, I don’t get the sense that dada was a cold and calculated thing. yes it was a moment of extreme nihilism and depression and loss because of the war happening in the background: the artists of the cabaret voltaire weren’t even sure if they’d live for more than two years longer. the artists felt let down by reality, so they rejected it. all art that had led up to that moment had failed to move humanity away from war, so they rejected it. they were left with a void carved out by anger / frustration / that feeling of being tricked / let down.
so… anti-art was created within the dada movement. ironically, anti-art was a new kind of art to replace the failed old ones.
the interesting thing about anti-art is that it was really BAD. its goal was not sensory. the point was to get you to TALK to each other about it. anti-art isn’t something you consume on your own: it’s something you respond to together.
and the cabaret voltaire was centered on collaboration: its different performers performed in such radically and ridiculously different ways that you’d think they weren’t part of the same show, but they were. to me it signifies the coming together and acceptance of completely different people: it represents unity.
to me, dada, despite its nihilism, is a very hopeful thing. anti-art represents an optimism: it’s one last clutch of straw: one last grip on peace: it’s saying: everything we’ve tried so far has failed. what if we try something else? we’ve been making sense for so long. what if we try nonsense instead? we’ve been making art for millennia. what if we give anti-art a chance? what if we let code die?
dada represents a desire to come together: at the end of the world, will we spend hours and days producing carefully crafted masterpieces in isolation? no, i don’t think we will. i think we’ll come together and dance in stupid ways.
i think some people might never get it: some people might only ever take themselves seriously. but dada reminds me / gives me hope that there’s a little bit of silly in everyone, waiting to come out
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