When we hear the word Surrealism, we likely think of provocative images, like Salvador Dali's "Lobster Telephone" or René Magritte's "Time Transfixed," iconic works associated
with the revolutionary idea of Surrealism that was
sparked in Paris around 1924 and that prioritized the
unconscious and dreams over the familiar and everyday. While Surrealism has generated poetic and even humorous works, it has also been deployed
by artists around the world as a strategy in the
struggle for political, social, and personal freedoms. This exhibition expands our
understanding of Surrealism as never before, tracing
its liberatory appeal beyond boundaries of
geography and chronology, and within networks
that span Eastern Europe to the Caribbean, Asia
to Africa and Australia, and to South and North America. I'm Stephanie D'Alessandro, Leonard A. Lauder Curator of Modern Art and Senior Research Coordinator in the Department of Modern and
Contemporary Art at The Met. And I've curated this
exhibition with my colleague Matthew Gale, Senior Curator
at Large at Tate Modern, along with a team of
collaborators inside the museum and around the world. The idea behind Surrealism Beyond Borders is to reposition Surrealism not as a canonical, monolithic movement with an official group
and a single leader, but as something more
dynamic that has traveled and taken root in many
places at different times; as something that has appealed to artists for its ability to interrogate
one's circumstances and imagine a position beyond
one's present artistic, cultural, social, or political situation. The exhibition brings together
almost eight decades of work, the earliest dating to around
the founding of Surrealism in Paris in the 1920s, and the
latest dating to the 1980s. Nearly from its inception, Surrealism has had an international scope, but understanding of the movement
has been focused primarily through a Western European orientation. Surrealism Beyond Borders complicates this by expanding the orientation
to an international and really, a transnational view. We're looking at a drawing that, since the start of our work, our team has taken as an inspiration. It's a curious hand-drawn
and unsigned image that was published in a
Belgian Journal called Varietes or Varieties in 1929. It's familiar in that it seems like a map, but the more we look, the more
it seems like a projection: territories shrink and swell and the equator rises like a
wave over the Earth's oceans. The title of this drawing is "The World in the
Time of the Surrealists." And as a kind of view of the world, it reorients the expected Atlantic center for one in the Pacific. It's a shift in orientation
that upsets hierarchies and unspoken systems of power and value. It's been a provocation for us as we've tried to unthink Surrealism and reconsider it from a
wider focus than art history and the history of modernism
has allowed us to do so before. Neither singular in narrative
nor linear in chronology, our exhibition challenges
traditional borders and narratives to redraw a map of the world
in the time of the Surrealists as an interrelated network, one that makes visible many
lives, locations, and encounters linked through the freedom and possibility offered by Surrealism. Our traditional
understanding of Surrealism has its roots in World War I in the writings of Sigmund
Freud and Karl Marx. The earliest proponents of
Surrealism served in World War I and their experiences
pushed them to question the systems that led civilization to such terrible
destruction and suffering. André Breton was a French poet
best known as the co-founder and leader and principal
theorist and spokesperson for Surrealism, as it was
announced in Paris in 1924. He wrote the first
manifesto of Surrealism, and many others treatises that followed, guiding the ideas in
Paris and also beyond. His first writings were
focused on the written word, but as artists joined the group,
he clarified Surrealist art and curated international
exhibitions of Surrealism, which was one of the many ways
that the news of Surrealism was so widely spread internationally. Breton also focused on certain themes and tools and practices to
unleash the unconscious. "Time Transfixed" is an
example of the kind of work that Breton had in mind. It's an iconic work by René Magritte, a member of both the Belgian
and Paris Surrealist groups. In Surrealism, Magritte
sought to defamiliarize the familiar, or as he said, "Make ordinary objects shriek out loud." To do this, he painted
recognizable objects and settings but played with scale,
perspective, and other devices to awaken us to what really awaits us. One route to navigate some
of the familiar themes of Surrealism has to do
with redefining Surrealism in transnational and transhistoric ways. Dreams are an example. The interest, of course, was inspired by Sigmund Freud's widely translated book "The Interpretation of Dreams" from 1900. Surrealism looked upon the dream as a tool to unlock the unconscious and overthrow the stronghold
on conscious control. The section of the exhibition
called "The Work of Dreams" brings icons together with works from multiple locations including
Brazil, Denmark, Poland, France, and the Philippines, to extend our story of
the potency of dreams and their importance in Surrealism. Here's another example
by Skunder Boghossian, who was born in Ethiopia, in
this remarkable canvas called "Night Flight of Dread
and Delight" from 1964. Skunder mixes oil paint and collage in this nighttime navigation to reference Pan-African cosmologies, the Coptic mysticism of Ethiopia, as well as the work of
European modern artists for something wholly individual. This painting was also inspired
by the Pan-African movement as Skunder experienced it in Paris and the magic realism novels of Nigerian writer Amos Tutuola, whose books abound with spirit
beings, supernatural forces, and mystical transformations. Surrealism has questioned
Western forms of rationalism, especially the logic
rooted in the Enlightenment and its promotion of science
and empirical knowledge as hallmarks of society and progress. The destruction of war, human
casualties, colonialism, and human suffering were not, of course, signs of progress to the Surrealists. And Surrealists in
Western Europe challenged society's expectations and rules with disjunctive scale and form or compositions that
confound encyclopedic systems in illustrative detail
to inspire us to question and thereby release our real potential. In the section called Beyond Reason, visitors will find many examples of this preoccupation
by Surrealist artists, especially expanding
the idea beyond Europe. We're really excited to present
this example from Japan. While some in Japan found
Surrealism escapist, others, like the artist
Koga Harue, identified rishi or reason as its true weapon. They proposed an even
higher form of Surrealism, which they called Scientific Surrealism. This form celebrated and
interrogated modern technologies in order to question
the true meaning of art. We can see here how Koga
incorporated scientific diagrams and images of modern
machines and technology into this canvas called
"The Sea" from 1929, reflecting what he called machine-ism, a larger interest in Japan at the time that arose from the increasing
ubiquity of mechanized life. Even the human presence here,
this sort of pinup girl, is an image mechanically
reproduced in a popular magazine. Another route for navigating Surrealism are through points of
Surrealism's convergence, relay, and exchange around the world. We might be most familiar with Surrealism in Paris or Belgium, but in the months before the
outbreak of World War II, Cairo became a critical point
of convergence for Surrealism. In December 1938,
artists and writers there issued a manifesto in Arabic and French, written by Georges Henein. Its title, "Long Live Degenerate Art," referenced the Nazis'
mockery of modern art as so-called degenerate. The Cairo group became
known as Art and Liberty. Art and Liberty were part of
this international community and in communication with the
global network of Surrealists. But they were also a Surrealist
group that was of its place, that reflected local concerns
as well as Egyptian motifs and symbols in their work. They were strongly critical
of the conservativism and British presence in Egypt and aligned themselves with
the idea of a revolutionary, independent art liberated
from state interference, traditional values, and ideology. The Art and Liberty group
took up the subject of women as a way to convey the social and political oppression in Egypt. Especially in this context, the work of female members
is really noteworthy. Amy Nimr played an
essential role in promoting and disseminating Surrealism in Egypt. Her home became a center
for Cairo's intellectual and creative circle, and she was a key member
of Art and Liberty, contributing works on paper such as this delicate watercolor which represents a macabre corpse and suggests a poem by her
colleague Georges Henein, who wrote about a body resting,
"Like a magnetic flower "on the whole indecipherable
bottom of the sea." Another vibrant location of Surrealism are the Caribbean islands of
Cuba, Haiti, and Martinique which have not only been
a convergence point, but also a relay point for Surrealism. But Surrealism came to the Caribbean in multiple and concurrent waves, some arriving with newcomers, but many others generated by
people from the islands. Theorist René Ménil, as well
as the poets Aimé Césaire and Suzanne Césaire, carried
the tenets of Surrealism to Fort-de-France and
produced a journal, Tropiques, launched in April 1941
after their return home. Over its four years of publication, Tropiques promoted
Surrealism as a critical tool to cast off colonial dependence and assert Martinique's
own cultural identity. Editor Suzanne Césaire
powerfully identified in Surrealism the possibility to transcend racial inequities and colonialism. She called it, "The
tightrope of our hope." Wifredo Lam is a noteworthy
example of an artist connected to Surrealism
working in the Caribbean. While he was born in Cuba,
he was living in Paris when the hostilities of World
War II forced his return to the Caribbean. Soon after his arrival, he re-immersed himself in
the cultural environment and merged its Afro-Cuban traditions with Surrealism's tenets
that he had engaged with while living in Paris. He saw Surrealism as a powerful weapon in which he could, "Act as a Trojan Horse "that would spew forth
hallucinating images "with the power to surprise, "to disturb the dreams of the exploiters." Within this tangle of lines and images we might find a woman on the left side, who represents for Lam the paradise that foreigners seek in Cuba. There are two other figures,
however, in this composition. They are warrior deities
who represent for Lam resistance to corruption. To many, especially in the Black diaspora, his work communicated the liberatory
possibilities of Surrealism. Individuals who found Surrealism found the potential to
navigate various issues. Their stories tell us about how
Surrealism was a useful tool in the pursuit of
independence from colonialism, political pressure and strife, and the isolating experience
of exile and displacement wrought by international conflict. Eugenio Granell was a
political radical from Spain, who left in 1939. In his exile, he moved within the Spanish-speaking Caribbean and became a target of
censorship and persecution at each location. "The Pi Bird's Night Flight"
was painted by Granell while he was living in
Puerto Rico in 1952. It's a large-scale painting
of beautiful colors of a mythical Pi bird that reflects the artist's celebration
of the natural world and the Indigenous symbols of the Americas that were part of his new home. It also conveys the artist's
own sense of freedom in this newly adopted place. Granell remained an energetic
proponent of Surrealism, seeing in it, "Freedom for
art, and as a consequence, "freedom for mankind." While in Puerto Rico, he
inspired a new interest in Surrealism, especially
among his students at the University. In 1956, some of Granell's students began a new Surrealist group
called The Blue Lookout. Cossette Zeno was a member
of this Surrealist group. At the University, she
faced conservativism, but countered it with her
own Surrealist compositions that had great humor
and feminist messages. In this painting called "No Use to Talk About the Little Wig," Zeno presents a Surrealist
portrait of a toupee atop fleshy, leaf-like
forms that mock male vanity. The subject of desire is a
recurrent theme in Surrealism. And examples that likely
come to mind are ones that project the gaze and
desires of male artists onto the body of a woman. In expanding our focus,
we have included examples of more fluid identifications
of gender and sexuality, and different invocations
of bodies of desire. One example is here: this
painting by Ithell Colquhoun, a member of the London Surrealist group. The work is called "Scylla." It's a clever example of
a Surrealist double image. At first we might see two
rock-like phallic forms, that rise from the water. If we continue to look
we might see seaweed and even a boat between those two forms. But if we look again at the
image, which she described as what she could see
of herself in the bath, the image becomes an
empowering second composition of a woman's gaze upon herself. Automatism is something many
of us are familiar with. It's the kind of doodling we
do when we're on the phone or in a meeting. It's a kind of creation without
complete conscious control. For the Surrealists, this is a way to tap into the unconscious. Automatism, with its
connection to improvisation, often produces abstract compositions, but not all are on canvas or paper. For example, here's a
work by Françoise Sullivan that she made in Montreal in the 1940s. Sullivan was part of a group
of artists gathered together to find expressive freedom in Surrealism, united under the name Les Automatists. They were engaged in work
that depended on various modes of sensory perception. For Sullivan, this included
a performance in 1948, documented today with photographs, called "Dance in the Snow," a series of improvised
gestures and movements as an exploration of the winter season set to the score of snow
crunching underfoot as she moved. Artists have used Surrealism likewise to push against social structures. Here is an example of
work by Cecilia Porras and Enrique Grau, who between 1954 and '58 made experimental photographs
set along Colombia's coast. And they made these images during the time that the Colombian government
pushed greater conservativism. This drove artists to see in their art an allegorical means of escape. Porras and Grau's photographs are playful and filled with fantasy. Porras herself was known
for her masquerade, and here, in some of the photographs, she takes the form of a
figure called La Divina, or the Divine, with a sleeveless
dress and bare shoulders, which would have been completely
inappropriate at the time. The potency of these
photographs was demonstrated by the fact that they
were hidden away for years in a private album, and it's a special opportunity to see them in this exhibition. Artists have used Surrealism likewise to challenge the legacy of
colonialism and racial injustice. Malangatana Ngwenya was part
of a network of African artists who drew upon Surrealism in
the anti-colonial struggle. He came to know Surrealism
through a variety of sources, including Portuguese artists
living in Angola and Mozambique who took up Surrealism themselves at the moment of oppressive
rule in Portugal. Malangatana was imprisoned
for his activities with the Mozambique Liberation Movement during the war of
independence from Portugal in the 1960s and '70s. This work was painted after
his release from prison. And it's nightmarish figures, the composition uses Surrealism to relay the terrifying experiences of war, hunger, and death under colonial rule. Artists have also come to Surrealism to question political
power and oppression. Mayo was another member of the Art and Liberty group in Cairo. At first, this work seems like a familiar sort of Surrealist image. We see a jumble of abstracted, organic, almost automatic forms. But the more we look,
we can make out details: an overturned bottle on a table, a chair, a fence with greenery. And within this net of
forms, limbs, mouths, and brown batons. Egypt, while not a
British colony any longer, was still under British influence. And at the time Mayo
painted this composition, its resources were being diverted to growing international hostilities, which would ultimately
lead to World War II. Labor and student unions often protested the great suffering on
the streets of Cairo. Mayo's composition is
called "Coups de Batons" or Baton Blows, and it represents an unfortunately common scene at the time, the cruel dispersal of
crowds at a cafe by police. Another route to navigate
Surrealism are examples of artists who faced real moments
of pressure and peril and found in Surrealism a route out. The journal "De Schone
Zakdoek," or The Clean Kerchief, is a poignant example. It was published by Gertrude
Pape and Theo van Baaren during the Nazi occupation
of Holland in 1941. It emerged from Monday night gatherings in Pape's apartment among friends, many of whom were poets,
authors, and artists. The group engaged in discussions, made collaborative drawings,
and recited poetry, which led to the making
of a secret journal. It was made of precious
and rationed materials, by hand, and as a single object. In the first issue, instead
of an editor's statement, we see a square of black paper with the caption "Darkened principles," which connects to the circumstances of wartime production and secrecy. This is the time, of course,
when those in Holland used blackout paper to conceal
windows during air raids. By March 1944, the Monday-night
meetings became impossible because of enforced curfews and the journal ceased production. It was so secret that "De Schone Zakdoek" remained virtually unknown for decades and has rarely been shown. Surrealism is often experienced
as a collective body connected to going beyond
what can be done in isolation. One of the most familiar
examples is the Cadavre Exquis, a kind of parlor game known to
many as the Exquisite Corpse. A Cadavre Exquis is made when a group of people come
together to make a drawing. They take a piece of paper,
section it into parts, and then each person draws in the section, covering up the work that they've made but leaving lines for the
next person to connect and continue the drawing. And when they're done, all together, they reveal the drawing to each other. It's a magical kind of body;
it's an exquisite corpse. And you're looking at two works here made by Frida Kahlo and Lucienne Bloch. One based on an idea of Frida Kahlo, another humorously based on Diego Rivera. But there are many examples
from a multitude of locations and across a large period of time. Ted Joans's work, "Long Distance,"
is a more recent example. Joans began this work in 1976 and it traveled alongside him for years. He left the U.S. because
of endemic racism, for Paris, London, Lagos,
Dakar, Marrakesh, Rome, Berlin, Mexico City, and Toronto. His equation of Surrealism,
travel and community, is powerfully presented in this work. Here you'll see 132 artists,
poets, writers, and musicians who come together but
are separated by distance as well as time. This work even continued two
years after Joans's death. It's not a typical communal project in that even its initiator
didn't see its final form, but it's a fascinating
example of collective identity that makes visible a
vibrant Surrealist network. Surrealism is an idea, and an elastic one. Its potential is as strong
today as it was in the 1920s, to interrogate our circumstances, wake ourselves up from
the habits and customs that we are almost unaware
of in our daily lives, and in doing so, consider
an alternate view, open ourselves to possibility. Surrealism offers a revolution. It can be political, social,
artistic, or personal, but it offers freedom. With these various routes, we hope to expand the
appreciation of Surrealism beyond traditional narratives. We also hope visitors
will see that Surrealism is still with us today, and in fact has an urgency
in our present time.
