Scene
Culture Jam: The Surreal Life
Back from Barcelona with a taste for the Gaudier things, could I have been happier to find a surrealist menagerie camped out in my own backyard? Not literally, of course, but then nothing’s literal when it comes to Surreal Things, the Art Gallery’s winking look into the dreamworld of Dalí & Co.
The other day, I snuck in for a peek, came out reeling, and can say this and mean it: you must see for yourself. (And since it’s on from tomorrow till August, you have no excuse not to; check ago.ca for hours and admission prices.)
Because Surreal Things has been airlifted from London’s Victoria & Albert Museum, where exhibits are carefully artifactual and object-based, your time here will not be meted out by melting clocks. There are a few important paintings by Dalí, Miró, Gorky, et al, but largely, it’s the things that hold thrall; the objects affected with fantasy and spun into ready-made art.
Right away, visitors wander into Le Bal, 1929, by Giorgio de Chirico for the Ballets Russes. (If you’re inspired by trompe d’oeil and tutus, you’re in legendary company; Yves Saint Laurent took his own elegant leap with the much-lauded Ballets Russes collection of ’76.) Next, a corset chair by Léonor Fini, then a series of pneumatic perfume bottles by the same for Schiaparelli, and finally, Dalí’s puckered-up scarlet sofa—where lips meet hips—all collude to make you dream of dangerous curves. No wonder Mae West was muse to so many Surrealists; these Freud-coloured fantasies of womanhood make Barbie’s measurements seem attainable.
More Schiaparelli hangs from a coterie of mannequins; the best in show is a black Skeleton gown and veil, the Dalí drawing for which is on the adjacent wall. It makes me shiver, and then remember: how about those rumours of a Schiaparelli revival with Olivier Theyskens (formerly of Nina Ricci) at the helm? I hope they prove true; who else could do justice to such a dream house history?
Lastly, and not to be missed, are vintage Vogue and Harper’s covers painted by Surrealists, who reveled in the fantasy of contemporary fashion. They understood the innate bizarro-ness of photo shoots and boutique windows, where a dress transcends the necessary (you can’t go naked, after all) to become luxury and desire (you could wear burlap, but why, when there is silk?).
You can see more, from Mae to Man Ray, at Cinematheque Ontario’s Under the Spell series, which functions as the filmic counterpart to Surreal Things. The selections, from which I’d pick Un Chien Andalou (for the cult cred) and Les Vampires (for the Twilight factor), run from May 22 to July 8; for tickets and info, click to cinemathequeontario.ca.
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