Rene Magritte: The land of Miracles 1964
How can anybody not adore Magritte’s works? They are visions of another planet that is in our head. He has a playfully lightsome world, where gravity means nothing, where a bouquet of flowers in a vase carries all the trees and the sky, and yes, a thin feather can hold a tower, and bowler hatted gentlemen are falling from the sky.
The statue of Venus is still contains the real woman’s flesh, pipes are always in disguised, and the lovers do not know each other’s face. The Lost Jockey’s beautiful black trees or The Cultivation of Ideas’ green, two-legs canopy of leaves talk about the dreams we wish to dream.
“Everything we see hides another thing”, Magritte once said and I believe him, because things have depth in the sense of philosophy that we search in our whole life but understand only on the very last day. We all hide another thing behind our flesh.
I believe as well, that the sea seduces the ships, that the huge stone throne of history loftily holds today’s fragile chair, that painful memories can make my brain bleed, and if I want to dream I am myself, then my evening gown must be only the crescent moon. I also believe the spirit of adventure leads me to the land of miracles.
