.jpg?w=1)
.jpg?w=1)
Descriptif du lot
In Le seize septembre, René Magritte depicts a strange, paradoxical idea that had come to occupy his imagination in the mid-1950s – a waxing crescent moon appears unexpectedly in front of a tall, leafy tree, the delicate, slender curve of earth’s satellite set against its branches. With this simple dislocation, Magritte grants the seemingly ordinary scene a theatrical ethereality, the glow of the moon not percolating through the foliage as expected, but rather taking centre stage at the very forefront of the landscape, removed from its usual position in the night sky. The present gouache is a recent rediscovery and one of the earliest iterations of the theme in Magritte’s oeuvre, which would appear in several oil paintings and works on paper through this period. Here, the artist accentuates the magic of this strange crepuscular moment by using the materiality of the gouache to enhance the mysteriousness of the scene – the twilit sky is rendered in a diffused spritz of pigment, the leaves of the tree picked out in rapid flicks of paint, while the bank of woodland in the distance appears as a hazy mirage.
For Magritte, trying to convey something invisible held little appeal; instead, he sought to capture what he described as ‘the eternal struggle between the gaze and objects… there comes a time when one visible prevents you seeing another visible’ (letter to Otto Hahn, Nov 1964; quoted in D. Sylvester, ed., with S. Whitfield and M. Raeburn, René Magritte, Catalogue raisonné, London, 1993, vol. III, p. 401). This was an idea that had taken root decades earlier in his imagination – in the December 1929 issue of La révolution surréaliste, Magritte had supplied an article titled Les mots et les images (‘Words and Images’), in which a series of illustrations and captions outlined the basic, conceptual procedures he was interested in employing in his pictures. Over the drawing of a low brick wall, he wrote: ‘An object hints at other objects behind it’ (quoted in K. Rooney and E. Plattner, eds., René Magritte: Selected Writings. Minneapolis, 2010, p. 33). The power of this simple premise continued to captivate the artist for decades, reappearing in different forms and scenes across his oeuvre.
In the Le seize septembre pictures, Magritte inverts the concept, bringing into the foreground the object that would otherwise be concealed by the presence of the tree – the glowing crescent moon, which hovers weightlessly in the air, is superimposed over the branches, its positioning suggesting where it would typically be located in the sky. The presence of this light-source amid the trees is strongly reminiscent of the Belgian artist William Degouve de Nuncques’s Nocturne au parc royal de Bruxelles (1897; Musée d’Orsay, Paris), where five round globes of light appear tucked into the park’s thick foliage. Though presumably street-lamps, none of the orbs are visibly connected to a light pole, creating a visual slippage that would have appealed to Magritte’s imagination. In the Le seize septembre paintings, by shifting the moon to sit in front of the tree, Magritte transforms the otherwise innocuous scene into an enigmatic tableau that captivates and confounds in equal measure.
The first oil painting of Le seize septembre appears to have been completed in April or early May 1956 (Sylvester no. 834). The artist wrote to Mirabelle Dors and Maurice Rapin on 20 April, announcing the new concept he was exploring: ‘I have continued with my Places in the Sun, but by now the title is no longer suitable for a big tree at night time with a crescent moon above it! With this, a better or at any rate, a different description of “The place in the sun” is given us: what is seen on an object is another object hidden by the one which is interposed between us and the hidden object. In such a way that the object which is interposed [the tree] – is hidden by the object [the crescent moon] – which was hidden. That which is interposed between an object and us is hidden by the object which is no longer hidden?!?!?’ (quoted in D. Sylvester, op. cit., 1993, vol. III, p. 254).
Upon completing another version of Le seize septembre, Magritte wrote to Dors and Rapin again, announcing that a new title had been found for the motif – ‘[Louis] Scutenaire has come up with a very beautiful title: Le seize septembre. I think it fits, so from September 16th on, we’ll call it done’ (letter to M. Dors and M. Rapin, 6 August 1956; quoted in H. Torczyner, Magritte: Ideas and Images, New York, 1977, p. 260). Magritte often asked his Surrealist literary compatriots in Belgium to help title his paintings upon their completion. Although the titles of his early works are often logical, images and titles gradually became independent from each other. In this case, the use of the title Le seize septembre is as enigmatic as the image itself – if Magritte or Scutenaire had something planned for that date, we do not know. Magritte consistently resisted any sort of explanatory label, insisting that his titles were not meant to help interpret or define the work. Instead, as with the visual impact of his paintings, he wanted poetic names that would surprise and enchant rather than instruct, thus opening the door to the viewer's imagination.
For Magritte, trying to convey something invisible held little appeal; instead, he sought to capture what he described as ‘the eternal struggle between the gaze and objects… there comes a time when one visible prevents you seeing another visible’ (letter to Otto Hahn, Nov 1964; quoted in D. Sylvester, ed., with S. Whitfield and M. Raeburn, René Magritte, Catalogue raisonné, London, 1993, vol. III, p. 401). This was an idea that had taken root decades earlier in his imagination – in the December 1929 issue of La révolution surréaliste, Magritte had supplied an article titled Les mots et les images (‘Words and Images’), in which a series of illustrations and captions outlined the basic, conceptual procedures he was interested in employing in his pictures. Over the drawing of a low brick wall, he wrote: ‘An object hints at other objects behind it’ (quoted in K. Rooney and E. Plattner, eds., René Magritte: Selected Writings. Minneapolis, 2010, p. 33). The power of this simple premise continued to captivate the artist for decades, reappearing in different forms and scenes across his oeuvre.
In the Le seize septembre pictures, Magritte inverts the concept, bringing into the foreground the object that would otherwise be concealed by the presence of the tree – the glowing crescent moon, which hovers weightlessly in the air, is superimposed over the branches, its positioning suggesting where it would typically be located in the sky. The presence of this light-source amid the trees is strongly reminiscent of the Belgian artist William Degouve de Nuncques’s Nocturne au parc royal de Bruxelles (1897; Musée d’Orsay, Paris), where five round globes of light appear tucked into the park’s thick foliage. Though presumably street-lamps, none of the orbs are visibly connected to a light pole, creating a visual slippage that would have appealed to Magritte’s imagination. In the Le seize septembre paintings, by shifting the moon to sit in front of the tree, Magritte transforms the otherwise innocuous scene into an enigmatic tableau that captivates and confounds in equal measure.
The first oil painting of Le seize septembre appears to have been completed in April or early May 1956 (Sylvester no. 834). The artist wrote to Mirabelle Dors and Maurice Rapin on 20 April, announcing the new concept he was exploring: ‘I have continued with my Places in the Sun, but by now the title is no longer suitable for a big tree at night time with a crescent moon above it! With this, a better or at any rate, a different description of “The place in the sun” is given us: what is seen on an object is another object hidden by the one which is interposed between us and the hidden object. In such a way that the object which is interposed [the tree] – is hidden by the object [the crescent moon] – which was hidden. That which is interposed between an object and us is hidden by the object which is no longer hidden?!?!?’ (quoted in D. Sylvester, op. cit., 1993, vol. III, p. 254).
Upon completing another version of Le seize septembre, Magritte wrote to Dors and Rapin again, announcing that a new title had been found for the motif – ‘[Louis] Scutenaire has come up with a very beautiful title: Le seize septembre. I think it fits, so from September 16th on, we’ll call it done’ (letter to M. Dors and M. Rapin, 6 August 1956; quoted in H. Torczyner, Magritte: Ideas and Images, New York, 1977, p. 260). Magritte often asked his Surrealist literary compatriots in Belgium to help title his paintings upon their completion. Although the titles of his early works are often logical, images and titles gradually became independent from each other. In this case, the use of the title Le seize septembre is as enigmatic as the image itself – if Magritte or Scutenaire had something planned for that date, we do not know. Magritte consistently resisted any sort of explanatory label, insisting that his titles were not meant to help interpret or define the work. Instead, as with the visual impact of his paintings, he wanted poetic names that would surprise and enchant rather than instruct, thus opening the door to the viewer's imagination.