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拍品專文
Painted in 1943, Le vertige immediately plunges the viewer in to the mysterious world of René Magritte. Filled with sumptuous colour and light, this effervescent work is one of a series in which Magritte adopted an escapist, impressionistic style of painting, which he called Surréalisme en plein soleil, in an attempt to counteract the horror and tension of the conflict that was engulfing Europe at this time. Inspired by the colour palette and voluptuous nudes of Pierre-Auguste Renoir, the works he created in this style radiate a sense of joy and charm, which stood in deliberate opposition to the turmoil of the war as it raged around him.
Writing to his close friend Paul Éluard in December 1941, Magritte described this new focus in his art: ‘Doubtless I have to find the means of realising what has plagued me: pictures in which I could explore the ‘beautiful side’ of life. By this I understand the whole traditional repertoire of delightful things: women, flowers, birds, trees, the atmosphere of happiness, etc. I have managed to bring a fresh wind to my painting. In my pictures an enormous magic has now replaced the uncanny poetry whose effect I used so much to strive for. On the whole, pleasure now supplants a whole series of essential interests that I wish increasingly to leave out of account... the power of these pictures is to make one acutely aware of the imperfections of everyday life’ (Magritte, quoted in S. Gohr, Magritte: Attempting the Impossible, New York, 2009, p. 191). The female body was a key element within this strategy of disruption, and Magritte celebrated the sensuous, elegant forms of women in numerous paintings throughout this period. These statuesque models, often inspired by his wife Georgette and posed leaning against a rock, with a curtain to the side, evoke classical precedents of the female nude as the embodiment of beauty. In this way, Magritte used tradition as a counter image to the chaos of the war, offering an alternative means of shocking his viewers. Painted in light, feathery brushstrokes of bright colour, the figure in Le vertige stands in this familiar pose, her nude body set against the same rock and curtain, behind which a nondescript landscape stretches to the horizon. Her blonde hair tumbles past her shoulders, flowing in golden waves that give her a seductive, almost angelic appearance.
One of the most striking elements of the composition is Magritte’s use of words to disrupt and challenge the apparent beauty of the scene. The word ‘arbre’ appears printed across the woman’s midriff, impressed into her skin, as if branded by a rubber stamp. Slowly fading into the colour of her body, its cursive letters melting into her flesh, the word conjures an image of a tree in the mind of the viewer, a label completely at odds with the soft flesh and sensuous curves depicted. Subtracting this word from its context and reusing it in this manner, Magritte creates an aporia that continues his long and intense examination of the relationship between image, word and meaning, which had first emerged in the 1920s. In works such as La clef des songes (1927), or Le sens propre II (1929), Magritte uses labels that do not match the image they are attached to, in an effort to confound the expectations of the viewer and challenge the association between these different systems of representation. It was a technique which Magritte revelled in. As he explained: ‘No object is so closely linked with its name that one could not give it another name that suits it better’ (Magritte, quoted in ibid, p. 110). The juxtaposition between label and image in the present work, playfully disrupts our understanding of the scene, creating a paradox that heightens the enigmatic nature of the woman and causing us to question her very materiality.
Whilst several of his statuesque nudes referenced the legend of the sculptor Pygmalion, the association between woman and tree in Le vertige appears to allude to another popular classical myth, the tale of the unrequited love of Apollo and Daphne. As Ovid’s Metamorphoses tells the tale, Apollo, struck by an arrow from Cupid, falls in love with the beautiful nymph Daphne at first sight and chases her unceasingly through the forest, intent on making her his lover. Daphne, who has sworn herself to a life of virginity, flees from the god’s attention but is no match for his speed and endurance. Just as Apollo is about to capture her, Daphne prays to her father, the river god Peneus, that she be transformed into a form that would prove less pleasing to her admirer, thus saving her from his sexual advances. According to Ovid, ‘Scarce had she made her prayer when through her limbs a dragging languor spread, her tender bosom was wrapped in thin smooth bark, her slender arms were changed to branches and her hair to leaves; her feet but now so swift were anchored fast in numb stiff roots, her face and head became the crown of a green tree; all that remained of Daphne was her shining’ (Ovid, Matamorphoses, Book I, trans. A.D. Melville, Oxford, 1986, p. 17). By printing the word ‘arbre’ on to the sensuous curves of the female body, Le vertige may be calling to mind this mythical story, suggesting that the beautiful woman is about to transform at any moment.
Le vertige was purchased directly from the artist shortly after its creation, entering the collection of the acclaimed Surrealist poet Achille Chavée in 1943. Magritte had previously collaborated with the Belgian writer on two issues of the journal L'invention collective and the two remained close over the following years, despite the fact that Chavée was forced underground during the Occupation as a result of his involvement with the Resistance. Upon the liberation of Brussels Chavée resumed his political and literary activities once again, and spent the years immediately following the end of the war attempting to unite the various branches of Surrealism active in Belgium into a cohesive movement.
Writing to his close friend Paul Éluard in December 1941, Magritte described this new focus in his art: ‘Doubtless I have to find the means of realising what has plagued me: pictures in which I could explore the ‘beautiful side’ of life. By this I understand the whole traditional repertoire of delightful things: women, flowers, birds, trees, the atmosphere of happiness, etc. I have managed to bring a fresh wind to my painting. In my pictures an enormous magic has now replaced the uncanny poetry whose effect I used so much to strive for. On the whole, pleasure now supplants a whole series of essential interests that I wish increasingly to leave out of account... the power of these pictures is to make one acutely aware of the imperfections of everyday life’ (Magritte, quoted in S. Gohr, Magritte: Attempting the Impossible, New York, 2009, p. 191). The female body was a key element within this strategy of disruption, and Magritte celebrated the sensuous, elegant forms of women in numerous paintings throughout this period. These statuesque models, often inspired by his wife Georgette and posed leaning against a rock, with a curtain to the side, evoke classical precedents of the female nude as the embodiment of beauty. In this way, Magritte used tradition as a counter image to the chaos of the war, offering an alternative means of shocking his viewers. Painted in light, feathery brushstrokes of bright colour, the figure in Le vertige stands in this familiar pose, her nude body set against the same rock and curtain, behind which a nondescript landscape stretches to the horizon. Her blonde hair tumbles past her shoulders, flowing in golden waves that give her a seductive, almost angelic appearance.
One of the most striking elements of the composition is Magritte’s use of words to disrupt and challenge the apparent beauty of the scene. The word ‘arbre’ appears printed across the woman’s midriff, impressed into her skin, as if branded by a rubber stamp. Slowly fading into the colour of her body, its cursive letters melting into her flesh, the word conjures an image of a tree in the mind of the viewer, a label completely at odds with the soft flesh and sensuous curves depicted. Subtracting this word from its context and reusing it in this manner, Magritte creates an aporia that continues his long and intense examination of the relationship between image, word and meaning, which had first emerged in the 1920s. In works such as La clef des songes (1927), or Le sens propre II (1929), Magritte uses labels that do not match the image they are attached to, in an effort to confound the expectations of the viewer and challenge the association between these different systems of representation. It was a technique which Magritte revelled in. As he explained: ‘No object is so closely linked with its name that one could not give it another name that suits it better’ (Magritte, quoted in ibid, p. 110). The juxtaposition between label and image in the present work, playfully disrupts our understanding of the scene, creating a paradox that heightens the enigmatic nature of the woman and causing us to question her very materiality.
Whilst several of his statuesque nudes referenced the legend of the sculptor Pygmalion, the association between woman and tree in Le vertige appears to allude to another popular classical myth, the tale of the unrequited love of Apollo and Daphne. As Ovid’s Metamorphoses tells the tale, Apollo, struck by an arrow from Cupid, falls in love with the beautiful nymph Daphne at first sight and chases her unceasingly through the forest, intent on making her his lover. Daphne, who has sworn herself to a life of virginity, flees from the god’s attention but is no match for his speed and endurance. Just as Apollo is about to capture her, Daphne prays to her father, the river god Peneus, that she be transformed into a form that would prove less pleasing to her admirer, thus saving her from his sexual advances. According to Ovid, ‘Scarce had she made her prayer when through her limbs a dragging languor spread, her tender bosom was wrapped in thin smooth bark, her slender arms were changed to branches and her hair to leaves; her feet but now so swift were anchored fast in numb stiff roots, her face and head became the crown of a green tree; all that remained of Daphne was her shining’ (Ovid, Matamorphoses, Book I, trans. A.D. Melville, Oxford, 1986, p. 17). By printing the word ‘arbre’ on to the sensuous curves of the female body, Le vertige may be calling to mind this mythical story, suggesting that the beautiful woman is about to transform at any moment.
Le vertige was purchased directly from the artist shortly after its creation, entering the collection of the acclaimed Surrealist poet Achille Chavée in 1943. Magritte had previously collaborated with the Belgian writer on two issues of the journal L'invention collective and the two remained close over the following years, despite the fact that Chavée was forced underground during the Occupation as a result of his involvement with the Resistance. Upon the liberation of Brussels Chavée resumed his political and literary activities once again, and spent the years immediately following the end of the war attempting to unite the various branches of Surrealism active in Belgium into a cohesive movement.