The Magritte exhibit at the LACMA boggled my mind; it was fabulous! However, one painting in particular failed to impress—
Le Blanc-Seing. When I was a freshman in high school, my English teacher made us write poems based off of random postcards she had disseminated amongst the class. I picked up a postcard with
Le Blanc-Seing on it. In short, the painting depicts a woman riding a horse through a forest, an ordinary scenario, except for the fact that different views of the rider and horse seem to be shuffled amongst the trees. Immediately, the postcard set my mind to dreaming up different fanciful situations and poetic descriptions of the scene before me; this surrealist painting appeared unlimited in its power to evoke artistic inspiration.
Nevertheless, at the exhibit when confronted with the original it deflated my previous perception of the piece. I was expecting something… more. I don’t know what exactly, but it failed to perform. I was left disappointed for some reason. Over the course of my meander through the exhibit, I returned to this painting several times as if expecting it to drop the charade and unveil the glory it had shown me in postcard form only a few years prior. It didn’t change. The original almost seemed less valuable than its postcard equivalent.
Of course, I should give Magritte the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps my imagination has waned with age, or I’m over romanticizing my memory of the image. On the other hand, a quick Google search of the painting brought up a flurry of copies, each slightly different than the original: some were cropped, others were slightly darker or lighter. Suddenly, I realized that if I had never seen the original I wouldn’t be able to discern which one of these was closest to the legitimate. In fact, even after seeing the original I still can’t tell which one mirrors the painting. Probably none of them do! And when looking at each of these permutations I noticed that they all had the potential to inspire a completely different poem. For example, in one of the images the leaves on these trees are brown, which might suggest fall as a possible setting. In another the green tones are harsh and almost neon, perhaps suggesting a more futuristic or alien environment.
In conclusion, any piece of artwork can have an infinite number of permutations, with each permutation containing an infinite number of possibilities (or permutations). My prediction for the digital age of imagery is that the value of the original will decline or cease to exist. I’ve noticed this trend in my own artistic endeavors; whenever I make a sketch and scan it onto the computer, after editing and compositing the image, I throw the original sketch away. I value a painting based on its ability to inspire and evoke ideas. And if a copy can get the job done just as well as the original, then I see no overwhelming value in the original save ceremony.
Nevertheless, at the exhibit when confronted with the original it deflated my previous perception of the piece. I was expecting something… more. I don’t know what exactly, but it failed to perform. I was left disappointed for some reason. Over the course of my meander through the exhibit, I returned to this painting several times as if expecting it to drop the charade and unveil the glory it had shown me in postcard form only a few years prior. It didn’t change. The original almost seemed less valuable than its postcard equivalent. 
Of course, I should give Magritte the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps my imagination has waned with age, or I’m over romanticizing my memory of the image. On the other hand, a quick Google search of the painting brought up a flurry of copies, each slightly different than the original: some were cropped, others were slightly darker or lighter. Suddenly, I realized that if I had never seen the original I wouldn’t be able to discern which one of these was closest to the legitimate. In fact, even after seeing the original I still can’t tell which one mirrors the painting. Probably none of them do! And when looking at each of these permutations I noticed that they all had the potential to inspire a completely different poem. For example, in one of the images the leaves on these trees are brown, which might suggest fall as a possible setting. In another the green tones are harsh and almost neon, perhaps suggesting a more futuristic or alien environment.
In conclusion, any piece of artwork can have an infinite number of permutations, with each permutation containing an infinite number of possibilities (or permutations). My prediction for the digital age of imagery is that the value of the original will decline or cease to exist. I’ve noticed this trend in my own artistic endeavors; whenever I make a sketch and scan it onto the computer, after editing and compositing the image, I throw the original sketch away. I value a painting based on its ability to inspire and evoke ideas. And if a copy can get the job done just as well as the original, then I see no overwhelming value in the original save ceremony.
1 comment:
That's interesting - I really liked that painting in the exhibit, but you're totally right, the meaning does change dramatically when you mess with it a bit like that.
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