Many of you shared thoughtful comments on last week’s salon, both online and off, and I am so grateful. As a writer, I seek connection, conversation, and exchange, and the greatest gift I could ever wish for is an engaged reader. Thank you.
Life has continued to be busier than I’d like lately, but things will soon slow down. I’ve managed to write through it all, and I hope all of you are also managing to prioritize what fulfills you.
For our salon this week, I’d like to discuss René Magritte’s painting The Human Condition (1933). I recently had the privilege of seeing the original in the Lacan Exhibition When Art Meets Psychoanalysis at the Centre Pompidou-Metz.
Like much of Magritte’s work, The Human Condition plays with layers: an object is placed in front of another object to obstruct a view, only to make us all the more aware that behind every object are layers of the unseen. The human eye can only see so much—and not every eye (or I) is the same.
In the words of René Magritte:
Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see.
Simply describing The Human Condition offers us a wealth of material: a painting is positioned in front of a window, its subject representing the exact portion of the view it blocks. The only indication of the painting’s existence are the legs and the clip of the easel upon which it stands, and the white edge of its unframed canvas.
If we do not take the time to examine the work in detail, we easily miss the painting in the painting, seeing only a window looking out onto a landscape.
Likewise, if we do not take the time to examine our life perspectives in detail, we easily miss the existence of our own projections on reality.
Of course, the painting also makes us aware that it is impossible for humans to access pure, unfiltered reality. Even if we were to take the painting out of the painting, we would see the landscape through a window—the window represented in the work, as well as the window of the work itself.
I was struck by the curtains in the painting, a beautifully nuanced suggestion that sometimes humans also want to not see the world. Most of the bland, brown colors in the painting are used to represent human constructions: the easel, the curtains, the path cleared in the landscape. With order comes a loss of color. Yet this order is necessary for humans to access any color at all.
In terms of composition, the tree is the most identifiable object in the work, positioned slightly off center. If we consider a tree to be a symbol of life, it’s worth noting that in “the human condition” we are not only unable to place life front and center, we access it through a projection (the painting within the painting) from an interiority (the window in the room).
That tree does look suspiciously perfect. I wonder if the “real” one is a bit more lopsided.
As a writer, The Human Condition generated many story ideas. Who is looking at the painting in the painting? An artist studying the landscape, working on replicating his vision? A recluse who wants to control the outside world from inside? A landscaper trying out various plans for a new job?
Also, does that window open? I can’t see any latches. What is that strangely smooth flooring made out of? What room are we in, and why does it seem so empty?
I suppose, like Magritte suggested, that I want to see what is hidden by what I see.
I’ve had the postcard replica of The Human Condition on my desk since I got back to Paris. It survived a major coffee spill this week, though now it carries extra drops of human brown. It was only then that I realized the clip on the easel resembled a bird in the sky. An accomplished work of art offers endless discoveries.
Friends, I’d love to hear your thoughts on The Human Condition (capitalized or not). How is your frame of reference different from mine? What do you see that I cannot?
We’re less than two weeks from our Paysages Choisis recital on June 7th and 9th, and my Oxford year 1 portfolio draft is due in less than three. Here’s to a week of focus and creativity for us all.
à la prochaine !
Rachel
Great analyse and post. You've given me so much to think about, Rachel.
I plan to read your post again. A rare occurrence.
Confession - I love Magritte