Essay about Le Faux Mirror A Profile of René Magritte

Le Faux Mirror: A Profile of Renà © Magritte I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea and this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me* (Poe 1) â€Å"Si vous aimez l’amour, vous aimerez le Surrealisme!,† She screams as he slams the door (Mundy 4). His eyes are like nails in the rain. He steps onto the street— the cobbled street. She presses her lips to the window— the waiting window. As he runs away his militant frame, once emboldened in comparison to her tiny fragility, sinks into a comforting smallness. He is gone. How small he looks now that he has not listened to her. How logical he seems. She is†¦show more content†¦A Surrealist. A prime member of an artistic collective. Even nonlinear images somehow resonate believably when depicted by his hand. His career began in commerce, and this is plainly visible through the observation of his clean lines and precise renderings. He is distinct in the way that he communicates an image that gives immediate pleasure in spite of, or perhaps because of, the irrationality of its content and the rationality of its form. He has been known for freeing objects of their practical functions so as to portray an image that is intensely compelling in its lack of logic. Logic? She wonders if such a notion has anything to do with the way he is running so swiftly in spirals at her feet. He has always been a gentleman. He built her a house once, a tiny, brittle construct comprised of parallel lines and windows dripping with the warm, polite glow of cheap lamps. The house lived in a tree, and there was an apple that lived above it in a wooden box. And leaves— there were many, many dark, sweet leaves. The Voice of the Blood, he had named it. How fragile he had been in those days. And yet how simple still is the execution of his work. The implications therein grow increasingly complex as one delves into his system of symbolism. Once she had overheard him say, â€Å"My painting is visible images which conceal nothing; they evoke mystery and, indeed, when one sees one of my pictures, one asks oneself this simple question ‘What does that mean’? It does not mean