June 18, 2013
Insoumission Poétique: Contemporary Surrealist Tracts from Paris

Insoumission Poétique collects the tracts, broadsides, and declarations of the Paris group of the surrealist movement in the years following the conflicts that dispersed the Paris surrealists in the wake of May ‘68. Jean Schuster, who played a key role before and after André Breton’s death in 1966, had written in Le Monde in October 1969 that historical surrealism had come to its end though the idea lived in on its eternal form. His statement made public certain splits that had already occurred, but what followed has been obscure, especially to those outside of France, and has been ignored in even the recent histories of surrealism.

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The Prague surrealists rejected Jean Schuster’s death certificate outright, having just established firm contacts with the Paris group and facing enormous pressures once again with the return of Stalinist forces. Some of the old group (Georges Goldfayn, Radovan Ivsic, Annie Le Brun, Gérard Legrand, Pierre Peuchmaurd, and Toyen) chose to work outside of the rubric of surrealism as the Maintenant group, publishing vigorously. Vincent Bounure, however, was joined by Jean-Louis Bedouin, Jean Benoit, Jorge Camacho, and Michel Zimbacca in pursuing collective activities as surrealists, even if with a more inward, more “occulted” quality. In 1970, the new group began the Bulletin de liaison surréaliste (BLS), producing ten in all with collaboration from the Prague surrealists and other friends. This work culminated in the 1976 publication of the collection la Civilisation surréaliste, which unfortunately hasn’t yet been translated into English. That year also saw the involvement of several of the Paris surrealists in the exhibit “Marvelous Freedom, Vigilance of Desire” pulled together by the Chicago Surrealists and the first of two issues of a new journal, Surréalisme.

The 1980s, however, were less active, due in part to the deaths of Micheline Bounure, Marianne Van Hirtum, and Vratislav Effenberger, de facto leader of the Prague group. It took an influx of energetic new surrealists, including the volume’s editor Guy Girard, in 1990 for the group to begin regularly producing collective statements and publications once again. The change is obvious in the collection itself: The first twenty years occupy no more than 15 pages, while the years from 1990 to 2010 take up 202.

These are not manifestoes—most are tracts decrying political outrages and one of the attractions of this collection is the mini-survey it provides of activist issues over the years, including AIM’s 1973 occupation of Wounded Knee, political arrests in Argentina, the rise of neo-fascists in Central Europe, the 500-year centenary of the Columbus’ invasion of the Americas, the Affair Battisti, the Zapatistas, and many more. And though the concerns here are political, this is not to denigrate poetry: “Poetry isn’t a secondary practice. For us it’s absurd to abandon it in the face of urgent social struggles and privilege the reality principle.” The comment is derived from the text (by Guy Girard and Marie-Dominique Massoni) that provides the collection’s title and may be literally translated as “Poetic Insubordination.”

And the tracts are able (some moreso than others) to merge political concerns with a compelling poetic logic, as in a series that came out of the 1992 Columbus centennial:

In many Latin American nations of the nineteenth century a brief, commonly-used expression inspired fear and revulsion in decent people. The phrase: Tierra adentro, the Interior. It referred to the immense, still foreign territory where, beyond imprecise borders, the Indian circulated freely. This was unacceptable to the local oligarchy, linked to the interests of expanding British capitalism, not only because of the physical limits that this fact placed on their own ambitions, but because the uncolonized wilderness was a type of false-bottomed box, both geographical and psychological, where the persecuted, the nonconforming, and the outlaws might still take refuge. [Translation from Surrealist Tracts: Joseph Jablonski’s A Myth in Search of a Movement]

This is a geography that merges with the unconscious and evokes other anarchist utopias and uncharted territories from Captain Mission’s Republic in Madagascar and the quilombos of Brazil to Kowloon Walled City. (To gain some idea of what’s lost in their destruction, listen to Chris Watson’s remarkable field recordings of such things as vultures eating a zebra carcass). In the age of Google Maps, near universal mobile phone coverage, and GPS, we desperately need to leave some blank areas on the map for the species that shelter there.

In response to the encroaching forces of conservative religion in public life, the Paris group issued a selection on surrealism and atheism that also deserves note. In To Have Done with the Spectre of God, they distinguish surrealist atheism from atheism’s rationalist version and from monotheism:

Our atheism is not a philosophical or logical position. It is, like the atheism of de Sade, the tone of a way of life, the palpable fluid in which we can breathe and in which our imaginary can enjoy its powers. The atheism of the positivists and other anti-clericals who pile up proofs of the non-existence of God appear to us like a fruit incompletely detached from the tree of a monotheism finally transformed into a simple ideology of transcendence. Our atheism is rather the radiant, joyful atheism of the Cyrenaics or of Lucretius, and, on the tangible level, it expresses the position of universal immanence that one finds among all animist peoples, for whom the sacred is none other than the sense of nature’s presence. This is why the idea of a single omnipotent god appears to us so ridiculous and so tedious. And we cannot forget that this god, created in the worst image of man – an old, somewhat obsessive male – has always been used to justify the mental poverty of anthropocentrism and its voracious stranglehold on the wonder of the world. Should the imagination, drawn par excellence towards the excesses of poetic invention, be satisfied with such a sad figure on the horizon of its questioning?

Another of the real pleasures of the collection are the striking and varied images throughout, including drawings and paintings by Anthony Earnshaw, Guy Girard, and Karol Baron; constructions by Dominique Paul, Josette Exandier, Michael Zimbacca, and Krzysztof Fijałkowski; photographs by Bruno Solarik, Roman Kubik, and Pierre André Sauveageot among many others.

As the years pass, the signatories on the declarations come and go, with the most recent from May 2010 including Anny Bonnin, Michèle Bachelet, Hervé Delabarre, Afredo Fernandes, Michael Löwy, Marie-Dominique, Massoni, Dominique Paul, Bertrand Schmitt, and Michel Zimbacca, and their friends Guy Girard and Jean-Jacques Méric. The brief tract is in memory of Betty Cariño and Yiry Jaakola, both killed by paramilitary forces while trying to bring food to the autonomous commune of San Juan Copala in Oaxaca.

This collection won’t give you a sense of the poetic activity of the group’s members, or the games they’ve engaged in, but Guy Girard’s introduction provides a sound overview of the history of the group, and the texts with Girard’s accompanying notes outline the progress of their concerns over the decades. For those seeking English translations of other works by these authors (and other contemporary surrealists), Oyster Moon Press’s Hydrolith collection, Michael Löwy’s Morning Star: Surrealism, Marxism, Anarchism, Situationism, Utopia , and Penlelope Rosemont’s Surrealist Women anthology are fine places to start.

Information about ordering the collection as well as online versions of some of its contents along with the contents of the journal S.U.R.R. may be found at the website of the Paris Group of the Surrealist Movement and it may also be ordered in North America from Sonambula.

Although the texts in Insoumisson Poétique are all in French, English translations are available for some in print and online. In particular, see:

Sources:

Caledioscopio surrealista: una visión del surrealismo internacional (1919-2011), by Miguel Pérez Corrales (La Pagina Ediciones, 2011)

Jean Schuster’s statement: “The Fourth Canto” in Surrealism Against the Current, edited and translated by Michael Richardson and Krzysztof Fijałkowski, (Pluto Press, 2001)

The Prague response: “The possible against the current” in Surrealism Against the Current 

Statement of the Maintenant group: “When Surrealism turned fifty” in Surrealism Against the Current

Situation of the International Surrealist Movement from the 1960’s to Today” by Michael Löwy

Surrealism’s phoenix act in the sixties” by Mattias Forshage at Icecrawler/Heelwalker

June 5, 2013
Fabulous Beast Approaching a House by Federico García Lorca at New York Public Library’s hypnotic exhibit Back Tomorrow: Federico García Lorca, Poet in New York.

Fabulous Beast Approaching a House by Federico García Lorca at New York Public Library’s hypnotic exhibit Back Tomorrow: Federico García Lorca, Poet in New York.

June 1, 2013
Toward the Blue Peninsula

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It is a romantic landscape but it is all grey and quite depressing
It is vast tidal mudflats, a city in the distance
Yes, probably this is New York
But I don’t know and I don’t care
I am not comfortable in the fully open landscape

On reading these words, I had a sense of the space they charted, though I’d never been there and neither had their author, Mattias Forshage, a longtime member of the Stockholm Surrealist group and author of the thoughtful Icecrawler/Heelwalker blog. New York has been shouting for his attention though he’s never had an attachment to the place and now it’s invading his dreams. When Mattias sent me his dream text, it was clear from the first line that there was a walk here analogous to that he’d dreamed.

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May 23, 2013
LA BEAUTÉ SERA CONVULSIVE OU NE SERA PAS
Leona-Camille-Ghislaine Delcourt (Nadja): born May 23, 1902 in Saint-Andre-lez-Lille and died January 15, 1941 at the psychiatric asylum at Bailleul. “I”ve seen that blue wind pass through these trees only once before.”
Image: Jacques Rigaut

LA BEAUTÉ SERA CONVULSIVE OU NE SERA PAS

Leona-Camille-Ghislaine Delcourt (Nadja): born May 23, 1902 in Saint-Andre-lez-Lille and died January 15, 1941 at the psychiatric asylum at Bailleul. “I”ve seen that blue wind pass through these trees only once before.”

Image: Jacques Rigaut

8:28am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zh-yKtleRIUT
  
Filed under: andre breton Nadja 
May 18, 2013

Roberto Matta’s “non-euclidian” tarot conceived with Leonora Carrington in New York City in 1941 and completed with Charles Duits, featuring the last of five sets, The Blind Swimmer, and the final marriage of the opposites, the Prisoner of Light. 

Source: VVV #2-3, 1943

May 18, 2013

Roberto Matta’s “non-euclidian” tarot conceived with Leonora Carrington in New York City in 1941 and completed with Charles Duits, featuring the first two sets of five: the Starry Castle and Toys of the Prince.

Source: VVV #2-3, 1943

May 18, 2013

Roberto Matta’s “non-euclidian” tarot conceived with Leonora Carrington in New York City in 1941 and completed with Charles Duits, featuring the second two sets of five: Song of the Nimble Horsemen and The Five Strangers.

Source: VVV #2-3, 1943

May 10, 2013
Vague Terrain

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A monument to dereliction, Audubon Terrace lies in the storage attic of Manhattan, north of Columbia, north of Harlem, a little-visited beaux arts plaza long sliding into ruin. Don Quixote and the last Moorish king of Spain haunt the space, their gaunt figures in monumental relief mocking the bronze heroics of El Cid on horseback with his warriors rising by the drained fountain. A wild boar pokes its snout at the sky. Stone vultures pick apart the carcass of a lamb. Here the Spanish empire, the Moorish empire, and the nations of the Nahua and the Shoshone are always crumbling, just like ours. Here the weather is always heavy.

Now muzzled by scaffolding, what was the Museum of the American Indian once held Inuit masks and artifacts admired by Max Ernst, with more warehoused and sold at cut-rate prices to interested buyers. The American Numismatic Society stands empty, the windows of its cancelled facade stuffed with boxes. The Hispanic Society of America, however, remains open to display its eccentric collection—capitals of roman columns held in floor-level cabinets, the bust of the worried Aciscius, his throat cut, and a monumental, marble urinal that seems to call for sacrifice. Lorca would entertain friends here. A decade ago, the museum bookshop still sold the 1936 guide in its translucent, amber dust papers.

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On a stairway leading down from the plaza, past a rusting No Entry sign on a low chain, there is an engraved line indicating 110’ 4” above water level. A trap door below the terrace, that marker and the broken red bricks below stretch to Dieppe’s stony beaches. Years ago I was traveling with a friend from London to the Sahara and on arriving in France passport control turned him back at the ferry terminal for lack of a visa. Suddenly I had however long the American Embassy delayed my friend to spend in this seaside town, sleeping at the only hostel, though it barely lived up to the term.

That night a woman barricaded herself in the common room beneath chairs and a blanket, shouting, “Je veux un cheval!”  No one bothered her, but at some point in the early morning as I tried to sleep on a hard bunk, I heard the clatter of furniture falling over. I got up to see if she’d hurt herself and saw chairs and blanket scattered across the floor, the woman gone, and the two young managers smoking and peering out the door for her. One of them said she wanted a horse to ride across Europe. 

I spent the dawn hours waiting for a cafe to open and walking along the rocky shore, stumbled across a stone building still standing though the sea had split it in two. Inside, waves lapped against the walls.

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After Dieppe, I travelled on to Madrid and then Morocco, but Audubon Terrace isn’t Spain or the Maghreb. It’s an antechamber that lets in upon more antechambers, a vague space in Manhattan’s purportedly rational grid.

On my last visit, I left with this equation:

1952
+ MDCCCXCII “sincope cardiaco…” 
+ MCCCXCII 1892
= ~10 to the power of 10

Images: Paul McRandle

May 4, 2013
Karel Hynek: From the Diary of the Little Lord (1951-1952)

My Home is My Castle

Old Thomas Asshe of Assheim died. With the money I inherited, I had a few rooms furnished in a way I had always wanted. 

Usually I take lunch in my study, but when I suffer from a loss of appetite I have lunch in the dining room. It is a simple and filthy place with a round table, upon which a huge slice of mortadella is laid out as a table cloth. Carrots, fresh poppy heads and corncobs dipped in tomato sauce sit in translucent vases. The odor of pork and horse fat spread on the walls mixes with vapors of wild boar blood coagulating in a small jar next to beds of carnivorous plants. I enter the room with a napkin tied under my chin, because the sound of crunching pork rinds spread on across the floor with chopped liver, bloody pork shoulders hanging on the wall instead of Gobelin tapestry, the sight of aquariums full of cream, sardines in oil, aspic and fruit jelly and the scent of flacons containing orange juice all make me slobber like a rabid dog. Within moments, my good servant Olpinar, wearing a coat of mail, comes in timidly. He pushes my comfortable stretcher around the dining room and I feed on everything like a grasshopper. My dreadful appetite increases as I occasionally see the hungry faces of the serfs from my county waiting for leftovers at my windows.

I hate lengthy ceremonies and long traditional meals at loud dining tables with stuffed bellies, the sweating faces of the guests, deformed with convulsions, showing the strain to control fermenting gastric juices and bowels full of gas.

The philistine creators of English etiquette would never forgive me for the inscription I have hanging in my dining hall: UNITED WE FILL UP, UNITED WE EMPTY.

The lavatory in the house is a big hall (aired with ozone) with fifty deep toilet bowls. My relatives and frequent guests have personal bowls decorated with their coats of arms and handsomely wrought flush handles. My good servant Olpinar offers them an innocuous purgative, and men red with blissful relief, spiteful smiles on their faces, listen to the sounds coming from the ladies’ section next door. They tell dirty stories and make bets for the next soirée to the sound of the deafening rumble of their hinds, the perpetually quiet murmur of the flushing toilets and the occasional belch, which is a sign for Olpinar to serve bicarbonate soda.

(Translated by Kateřina Piňosová)

Karel Hynek (born 11 September, 1925 and died 9 January 1953) contributed to the early surrealist samizdat anthology Signs of the Zodiac. His poetry and theatrical work remained unpublished in his lifetime.

Source

This translation originally appeared in the excellent Anthology of Czech and Slovak Surrealism I, Analogon 37, 2003

May 1, 2013
Jan Švankmajer, Tactilator

“Surrealism is a journey into the depths of the soul, like alchemy and psychoanalysis. Unlike both of these, however, it is not an individual journey but a collective adventure.”

In the early 1970s, the Prague group of surrealists included among others the theoretician Vratislav Effenberger, the painter Martin Stejskal, the writer/photographer/anthropologist Andrew Lass (expelled from Czechoslovakia in 1973), and Jan and Eva Švankmajer. Jan Švankmajer had joined in 1970 and two years later found himself unable to make films. During the eight-year ban, he turned to the group for his primary artistic outlet, devising and joining them in interpretive games of a very distinct kind. The group has stated, that “ludic experiences accompany the activities of the Surrealist Group in Czechoslovakia in every thematic sphere with which they are linked, whether in the realm of Interpretation, Analogy, Eroticism, Fear, Dream, Humour or surrealist poetry.” Švankmajer’s games concerned touch.

Krzysztof Fijałkowski has described one of these games in the detail, “The Restorer”:

The game’s source was a found photograph of a bearded art restorer (bearing an uncanny resemblance to Švankmajer himself) apparently working on a church mural and caught in the act of carefully positioning a syringe to the neck of a partially destroyed depiction of Christ. From this image, Švankmajer created a tactile assemblage in which objects replaced elements of the scene (the bust of Christ, for instance, represented by an old shoe with fur for hair and beard, pierced by a corkscrew to suggest the syringe). Textures as well as shapes evoked aspects of the image, with Švankmajer already conscious of the potential psychoanalytical interpretations of its latent erotic aggression. This construction was then concealed in a black bag. With both hands in this sack, the game’s participants were asked first to draw up a list of the objects and describe their initial sensations; next players brought together these tactile impressions so that associations and analogies might be combined into an imaginary ensemble; finally they were shown ten photographs and asked to identify which one of them the hidden object represented.

Švankmajer wanted to see what kinds of imaginative associations might be elicited by touching and how they might be put together by different people and affected by visual images. But his interest in objects runs deeper:

I prefer the kinds of objects which, in my opinion, have some kind of inner life. In addition to the hermetic sciences, I believe in the “conservation” of certain contents in objects which people touch under conditions of extreme sensitiveness. The “emotionally” charged objects are then under certain conditions capable of revealing these contents and touching them provides associations and analogies for our own flashes of the unconscious.

Yet the emotional charge plays both ways and Švankmajer emphasizes the unsettling in our reluctance to thrust a hand into a bag or a closed box. In building his Portrait of Vratislav Effenberger (1978), he spiced the experience by including a grater, a flaccid rubber glove, and a bandage:

If anyone has ever hesitated before the cloth sleeve of a tactile object, then this feeling of shame, fear and tension is here a hundred times greater and only a spasmodic, liberating laugh can relax us sufficiently to enable us to slip a hand into Vratislav Effenberger. […] The hand this is waiting for you inside is only seemingly prepared for a handshake, this is again one of my tricks to lure the “spectator” into a trap, to clam him down and to relieve his shoulders of the initial anxiety when you find that the hand doesn’t return your squeeze, but lies coolly in your plam without instructing you to take a comfortable seat, it is too late, contact has already been established with the object and to back out now would be embarrassing.

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Sources

Invention, imagination, interpretation: Collective activity in the contemporary Czech and Slovak surrealist group” by Krzysztof Fijałkowski, Papers of Surrealism, Issue 3

“Interview with Jan Švankmajer” by Peter Hamas in Dark Alchemy: The Films of Jan Svankmaker (Greenwood Press, 1995), “Surrealism is a journey…” quoted from p. 104; “I prefer the kinds of objects…” quoted from p. 110.

Ludic experimentation by the Surrealist Group in Czechoslovakia: 1971-1985” by Dawn Ades, Manifesta Journal #13, includes full text of  ”The Restorer” and two other Czech surrealist games.

“Tactile Portrait of Vratislav Effenberger” by Jan Švankmajer in Anthology of Czech and Slovak Surrealism V, Analogon 43, 2005. “If anyone has ever hesitated” quoted from p. ix.

“The Platform of Prague Twenty Years On” in Surrealism Against the Current, edited by Michael Richardson and Krzysztof Fijałkowski (Pluto Press, 2001). Krzysztof Fijałkowski. “…ludic experiences accompany…” quoted from p. 84.

The Švankmajer Touch” by Cathryn Vasseleu, Animation Studies Online Journal