This is a story about Eugene Ionesco and Rene Magritte. In high school I took French for five years. One year, the curriculum demanded that we read and respond to a book of French short stories. Tough going for a room of Irish girls, especially since these weren't easy stories; they were by Camus and Sartre and Robbe-Grillet, among others.
Eugene Ionesco's contribution was called La Photo du Colonel. The story concerned a policeman on the trail of a killer who caught his victims by hanging out near a fountain and asking passers-by if they wanted to see a photo of the colonel. When someone said yes, the killer would show him the photo, and while the poor man was distracted, push him into the fountain to drown. The policeman himself became a victim in the story, as far as I remember. We buried our heads in our hands groaning at this silly story, Why didn't the policeman just go to the fountain and see who was shoving people in, and how could he possibly have fallen for the ruse himself? It made no SENSE!
Our teacher, my favorite teacher, Miss Bourke, tried to explain that that was the point. She explained surrealism and absurdism to us, but we didn't get it. So one day she brought in a book full of color plates of Rene Magritte's paintings. We passed it around the class, and when it came to me, it was like I'd been struck by a thunderbolt. I had never seen anything like this. The men in bowler hats, shoes shaped like feet, granite castles suspended over oceans. He painted a world visually familiar but completely askew. I instantly loved Magritte (although Ionesco still didn't take).
That French class probably didn't lead me to art school; I already had my mind made up that I was going. But it led me to doing my thesis on Magritte, and it meant that I spent many Sundays during the two summers I lived in London at the Tate Gallery with their several Magrittes. When I was a broke art student, too broke to afford many posters, I would paint faithful copies of Magrittes to hang on my wall. Below is a photo of me in 1985 (forgive the hair and the outfit). The Magritte behind me is a copy I painted; the one to the right was an actual poster I bought at the Tate.
He is still my favorite artist of all time. And I will never forget Sheila Bourke for introducing me to his work. She died after a long battle with MS three years ago. But I still see her leaning over the desk with a wry smile, trying to get a roomful of girls to appreciate and understand Eugene Ionesco.
Great story and a fabulous 80's outfit with a wicked awesome belt!
Posted by: margaret | November 17, 2005 at 09:30 PM