Images With(In) Books

A collage-novel is an interesting way to describe the genre of Ernst’s Une Semaine de Bonté. We discussed this notion in class to some extent on Wednesday. I got the impression that this way of classifying the genre of Une Semaine de Bonté was somewhat controversial, and I certainly understand why. On the one hand, the classification is descriptive and gives the reader a realistic idea of what to expect when he or she opens the book. The book is a series of collages which do indeed create a narrative, much like a novel. I see the merit in calling Une Semaine de Bonté a collage-novel, but I also see the opposing argument that we mentioned in class. We mentioned that many believe that calling Une Semaine de Bonté a collage-novel is somewhat redundant. In a way, I feel as though any novel could be a collage. In class, we defined a collage as “a form of visual art that assembles different forms resulting in a new whole.” A novel may not be as “artistic” as the archetypal collage, but it certainly juxtaposes different forms (pages) in a deliberate way in order to create a new whole (the book and narrative).

Under the assumption that any novel is a collage we can certainly call Une Semaine de Bonté a collage-novel, but couldn’t we call any novel a collage? In this way, I see the argument against this classification from those who deem it redundant. If a novel is a collage and Une Semaine de Bonté is a novel composed of collages, then we could consider Une Semaine de Bonté to be a collage of collages – “collage-ception” if you will. However, I’m still not sure what to think. As I write this post I continue to question the arguments for and against this classification. I do not believe that genre is some inherent quality of Une Semaine de Bonté, however, and for this reason, I believe that we should classify Ernst’s work however we would like. If calling it a collage-novel works, then we should stick with it. I see the value in starting a discourse about the possible redundancy of the classification, but does it really matter if it’s what makes sense. The genre collage-novel gets at the two major components of Ernst’s work – a collection of collages, and a carefully constructed novel-esque narrative.

So as we talked about the male gaze in relation to page 47 in Une Semane De Bonte (the image of female legs being swept away in a flood as a man watches), I couldn’t help but notice something about the male figure that I thought was odd. The man appears to be wearing feminine clothing. It is difficult to tell exactly, but it looks to me like he is wearing tall boots under a calf-length skirt or dress, with a blazer on top. The figure even seems to have a feminine form. After covering the figures head with my thumb, I noticed that the figure even seems to have breasts as well. To me, this seems to complicate our discussion of the male gaze, but I’m not exactly sure how or even what extra meaning can be gleaned from this new information. At first I thought it might be a commentary that the male gaze has become so ingrained in society that it has actually become the societal gaze, but I don’t have much other evidence to support that theory. Clearly, I’m still not quite sure what to make of this, but I thought it might be a point of interest.

The collage is a very particular form of art in that it is solely composed of other people’s work. Where the collage stands out is in the artist themselves. It is more about the idea that is being conveyed than the composition itself. This leaves more than enough room for interpretation about each piece. But regardless, questions are raised about where the materials that make up the piece come from. In terms of Max Ernst, he takes images of people, animals and mythical creatures, combining them all into dreamlike collages. But the way in which he does it creates a seamless composition that gives an almost lifelike quality to these fantasy images.

I enjoy how Ernst released “Une Semaine de Bonté” in multiple editions, each following a particular theme. It gives the viewer something to look for, as well as something to think on. These themes, such as water and a lion, give meaning and flow to the book as a whole. It seems as though these themes, while incorporating different dreamlike qualities, talk about different things. I feel as though I could spend hours looking at the collages from “Une Semaine de Bonté” and continuously find new meaning. Furthermore, what makes Ernst’s collages very unique is that, while they are seamless in terms of combining the different sources on the page, they are grainy and rough images to begin with. This sets the viewer apart from the image and makes them more surreal, even though the individual elements appear seamless. When it comes to creating dreamy collages, Ernst is extremely good.

Reading through Une Semaine de Bonte in class was very useful to my understanding of the book. Describing it as a wordless novel made me consider the book in a way I hadn’t when I had looked through it before class that day. I had seen the different sections as collections of images with similar themes and characters portrayed in them. After looking at the pages in class, I understood they could be read as having a connected narrative, with one page moving to the next as a cohesive story. I especially liked the two images of the woman in the bed, and considering whether it was meant as a single image from two angles or as two separate instances. I am also amazed that he was able to complete this book in such a short period of time, and find all the images he needed to make the pages as they are. The variety of images and his ability to give them a cohesive feel is very impressive. While there were some places where the different elements could be seen added together, overall the pages looked complete. His talent is clearly seen by his ability to make the images so seamless.

Consistently throughout the course, there have been a lot of noteworthy links between the psyche and an artist’s mental health and the work he produces. I think of artists like Goya and now Max Ernst who we just studied that had physical or mental ailments which thus explain the works they produce. Particularly with the genre of Surrealism, I found it interesting that the subject is centered on the irrational and the subconscious, a function of the mind discovered by Freud. Dreams were seen as inspiration, and questions like how do you dream? What color is it? drive the production of art. From Henri Matisse to Goya to Ernst, I find it fascinating that these men all had some sort of mental or physical ailment that largely contributed to their unique ideas as artists.

This week, I had the privilege of hearing from Yun-Fei Ji in two very different contexts. First, my Global Warming class visited with him to hear about the Three Gorges Dam. His painting of the Dam was relevant to us because of our focus on renewable energy and the role of the government in the environment. The next day, our Lit class visited him to have an interesting discussion about his art, scrolls, culture, and inspiration. I really enjoyed hearing Yun-Fei speak about his work in terms of the environment/society and then in terms of artistic choices. He’s clearly a super thoughtful, smart person whose art means a lot to him. He did a lot of research, including traveling to China when he heard about the Dam project. After learning about the impact this dam would have on the communities living nearby, he wanted to create a painting that made a critical statement about the government. I think he’s made others making risky statements about the government, like the long horizontal scroll we saw depicting the peach trees. You could especially sense his desire to create art with meaning that exposed the truth when one classmate asked him, “Did you expect your artwork to be so controversial?” And he replied, “That’s very flattering!”

We often focus on artists’ choices and the motivations behind them, but it’s interesting to think about the choices artists have to make because there are no realistic alternatives. Yun-Fei Ji, for example, is hindered in his modern exploration of ancient hand scrolls because he’s creating a public display of an inherently intimate art form. The hand scroll is traditionally a solitary (or at least very private) experience, and so to work with it in a public setting can mean the loss of certain elements, such as the sense of movement gained by unrolling a scroll or the element of physical interaction. And of course with an exhibition, the artist also has to consider the spectator, especially when many of the spectators will have a language barrier or be missing some sort of cultural context.

I really admired Yun-Fei Ji’s attitude towards these obstacles–of course some things are lost, but a lot is gained as well. At one point, he described art as “fragmentation and collage”–the artist must piece together what he can, where he can, and trust what he is doing.

I’m a very involved reader. While reading a book (or an article, or a packet, etc.), I flip through the pages with the thumb and index finger of my right hand, intermittenly stopping to smell the pages (if I like how they smell). Reactions vacillate between amusement and annoyance as the flurry of flipping pages escalates in intensity from the pleasant trickle of a distant stream to the insistent humming of a manic bumblebee. It’s an idiosyncrasy that I’ve had as long as I can remember.

When we discussed hand scrolls in class, we described them as a tactile reading experience; the reader slowly reveals the evolution of the narrative as she unfurls the scroll. It is perhaps a more immersive, personal experience than the way Westerners read.

But what about those of us who physically interact with our books? For me, my hypnotic ritual is completely involuntary and has become complete necessary to my reading experience. I find that if I can’t bend/flip through my books, I can’t concentrate on what I’m reading. I need to feel the pages between my fingers, and, yes, shove my face into the spine to get a good sniff every once and a while. When I go to the bookstore or the library, one of my first reactions is to smell each book I pick up. It is for this reason that I always have to print the pdfs and course readings that teachers put on Blackboard.

Maybe I’m creating white noise to soothe myself, or maybe I’m just trying to catapult myself into the literary world, using the pages as a springboard. When I was younger, before I could read, I would have my mom read me library books until I memorized the general plot. Then, I would walk around the room, flipping pages back and forth and pretending to read the words aloud. So, for me, reading has always been a tactile experience. A lot of my friends and family think these habits are funny, but many of them have their own reading quirks.

Books may not be handscrolls, but they certainly are a very physical experience, even if you’re not as crazy as I am. How does the digital world affect our reading experiences? What are your weird reading habits?

Listening to questions for Yun-Fei Ji and hearing his responses during Wednesday’s class meeting with Yun-Fei Ji was a great experience. I thought the most interesting part of our meeting was the fact that he did not have answers to several of the students questions. I am one who constantly questions whether or not we are overanalyzing the author/creator’s intentions when looking at his or her work. Yun-Fei’s responses made it clear that while he does have a voice in his work, and that his voice is not indifferent, he leaves the details up to the imagination of the viewer. This resonated with me, as I feel that sometimes authors create work that is supposed to be controversial but leave it to the viewer to find their own meaning rather than telling the viewer how to understand what they are seeing/reading. Overall, I really enjoyed Yun-Fei Ji’s responses and gained some valuable insight into the artistic process.

I enjoyed speaking to Yun-Fei Ji. There are very few times art history students are provided the opportunity to speak to artists and understand the thought that goes behind much of the work. There is always the misconception that art historians often over analyze the work, or insinuate themes and ideas that were never intended by the artist to exist in the work. I appreciated how he spoke about the fact that he works his paintings up to their final stage, in direct contrast to the intentionalism ink paintings traditionally embraces. Yun-Fei’s candor in his indecisiveness, in his thematic uncertainty in his art’s developmental stages was interesting to hear, because in some ways it proves that many times people impose what they want to see onto contemporary art in its analysis. But at the same time, his belief that the art is a social project, as something to start discourse, proves that perhaps the uncertainty is purposeful and art is supposed to have perhaps unrelated concepts imposed on it to see how the piece evolves its meaning.