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Hans Theys
Publisher’s Note
(Interview with Elly Strik about some images she likes)
This book contains three types of picture: illustrations of the paintings that
made up the travelling exhibition Gorillas, Girls and Brides, illustrations of
Elly Strik’s earlier work and illustrations of works by other artists she picked
out at my request as a way of shedding light on her own oeuvre.
A work of art feels like a homecoming. It takes us to places that seem familiar,
though we have never been there before. Sensitivities, thoughts, rasters,
rhythms, sounds and vibrations which lived insusceptibly and impalpably within
us, take on a new and totally unpredictable but affecting form.
The extra pictures included in this book affected Elly Strik or appealed to her
in some way and in that respect they relate to her work – not because they serve
as an example, but because they kindle some affinity. Images or works of art can
appeal to us for many different reasons. It may be a tone or a rhythm, a colour,
the use of light, the position of the figure or even something that is missing.
I asked Elly Strik why she had chosen certain pictures and this is what she told
me.
On William Degouve de Nuncques: “What I find so beautiful here is the way the
light is diffused. I know this painting from the Kröller-Müller Museum where I
saw it as a young girl and it lived on in my memory as a painting by Magritte.
Only later did I discover that it was painted before Magritte was even born.
Moreover, the painting is beautifully constructed: the window which lights up in
the darkness on the left and the house on the right which is filled with light.
Some of the shrubs and trees in front of the house do look as if they’ve been
stuck on. On the ground floor the curtains are drawn, but there is a light on
behind them. On the first floor there are no curtains and all the lights are
burning. I see the house as a body. Degouve also painted pictures of peacocks,
featuring trees which recall dancing Salomés. Very erotic. Not unlike the
drawing of the breast-feeding tree we have included towards the end of the book.
”
On Khnopff: “I was drawn to symbolism when I was studying at the academy, but
after a while I turned away from it in shame. I wanted my work to be more
austere, because I thought that was the way to achieve a greater convergence of
form and content. But in fact that didn’t work for me. I realized that the
convergence I was looking for actually occurs in symbolism. In fact, I now
believe that all artists have something of a symbolist. Even Duchamp. As for
this landscape by Khnopff, it is intangible. It is a dream. And there is almost
no shadow in it. It is all light and green, very tranquil.”
On Johann Hauser: “I am always deeply affected by this man’s work. His figures
are almost primeval, they are primal screams. All his images are hihgly charged.
My approach is of course very different. Hauser is seen as a patient; it could
be that he didn’t have a conscious method. But I always look at a picture to see
what it can give me and then it doesn’t matter how it was made, by whom or in
what circumstances. ”
On Heinrich Heine’s death mask: “I wanted to include Heine in this book because
of the line: ‘Speak woman, what shall I give you?’ He is also the one who
injected new life into the story of Salomé, after it had fallen out of favour.
Why did I choose this portrait and not another? He is dead, of course. It didn’t
occur to me to portray him as someone who is still alive. The photograph is
taken from the book Das ewige Antlitz, which only contains photographs of death
masks. It was given to me as a present… When I get stuck, I take a look at that
book.”
Does her interest in death masks also have something to do with the idea of the
‘mask’? “No. And they are not real masks. They are casts of faces.”
On Spilliaert: “I have chosen two paintings by Spilliaert in which something
similar happens : a self-portrait and a landscape. In the first painting
Spilliaert’s reflection – his self-portrait – is captured in the mirror like a
stray ghost. That sounds alarming, but he gives himself the chance to escape by
isolating one eye, encircling it with black. This eye is in contact with the
viewer. He extricates himself from his own eye by painting a mask around it. In
the second painting, the passages under the bridge, which are much lighter than
the rest of the painting, also make us think of a mask. It’s also nice to notice
that Spilliaert seems to use the reflective water surface in the same way as he
uses the mirror in his self-portraits. I see Spilliaert and Ensor as kindred
spirits. In my opinion Ensor also sought relief and escape through his masks; he
simply turned them into a ‘feast’. Spilliaert knew Ensor and would often stand
and wait for him at his front door, so that he would not have to go out walking
on his own, or rather, go out ‘spooking’. But if Ensor saw Spilliaert standing
there, he stayed indoors.”
On The Studio by Philip Guston: “The work is a repetition. I find the
repetitions in this work incredibly beautiful. The cigarette is in the same
position as the brush. The eyes in the painter’s hood are repeated in the
painting, just as the black dots on the front of the easel are repeated on the
side of the canvas. The window is partly obscured by what looks like a roller
blind, just as what appears to be a curtain is draped around the painting. And
the smoke is given form. That’s very subtle. The cloud of smoke doesn’t come
from the cigarette, but hangs in the air much further away. The clock, the
light, the eyes: they are all important. I don’t know if the painter’s disguise
has something to do with anonymity or the Ku Klux Klan. Perhaps it is also a
sort of ‘wiedergutmachung’, a reparation. But I don’t know Guston, nor what he
thought. In photographs he looks a very amiable sort; I don’t think he was
involved in politics, quite honestly. I once saw him painting in a documentary.
He made a line, and then he came back with his brush and painted the last bit of
that line again to continue the movement. A very beautiful movement.”
On Fra Angelico: “Fra Angelico or Beato Angelico is one of my favourite
painters. He was canonized as a painter. I find almost all his work totally
disarming. It is unbelievable how it takes me unawares, how it affects me. It
has even moved me to tears. He painted with such chasteness. In my view, ‘Noli
me tangere’ is all about respect. I see this work as the beginning, the
beginning of art. The two figures are very close, but they don’t need to touch.
And they go their separate ways. That’s nice. I’ve seen this work in San Marco
in Florence. Each friar’s cell contains one painting. He painted them with his
assistants. I’ve been there twice. The first time you could look at the frescoes
from close to. Ten years later, they had cordoned off the cells so that you
could only view them from a distance. There were not many pictures in Angelico’s
days. Imagine the impact an image like this must have had when you lived with it
every day! I have visited Fra Angelico’s tomb in Rome. I couldn’t find it at
first; I didn’t expect it to be so simple and inconspicuous.”
On Goya’s El entierro de la sardina: “The title of the work speaks of a burial,
but when I look at it I see a wedding. I’ve seen the work in Madrid, not in the
Prado, but in that museum which also has two superb self-portraits by Goya. I
think it’s wonderful that the people carry that portrait in a procession.
Actually I’ve always had a soft spot for that face, perhaps because it comes
across as so ‘non-guilty’. It almost touches the tree and at the same time it
stands out against the light of the clouds. The whole thing is crazy, but why
not? It’s a celebration after all.”
On Bas Jan Ader’s photograph: ‘I don’t know if I’ve interpreted this image
correctly, so for that reason I am not entirely certain if we should include it.
I don’t want any lies in this book. What I find so powerful in this image is
that the lamp is not directed at the writing, but half at the empty wall next to
it. Half-half. It is in this ‘empty’ half that things can begin to happen. Space
is made available for something else. This photograph hung in my studio for a
while. I, too, look for what can be eliminated. I think I do something similar
with the peacock feathers.”
On the images from the film King Kong: “This legendary film dates from 1933. I
wanted to include two images from it in the book, one of King Kong and one of
Fay Wray. When Fay Wray was asked to play the role, she was told that her
opposite number would be very dark. She did not of course suspect that it would
be a gorilla. My Fay Wray drawing is in fact the image of ‘the terrible
primordial mother’: something that gives and takes at the same time. I hadn’t
realized this when I made it, I discovered it much later. The idea of combining
gorilla heads with seductive women was inspired by the artistic, feminist
pressure group, the Guerilla Girls, who want to remain anonymous and so give
themselves names drawn from history. The work didn’t have a name when I finished
it, but the same day the actress Fay Wray died. The title was given to me. As a
tribute to her they made the lights of the Empire State Building in New York
flicker for fifteen minutes. I thought that was wonderful.”
Hans Theys, Montagne de Miel, November 14th 2005
Voor het eerst gepubliceerd in het boek
Publié pour la premičre fois dans le livre
Published for the first time in the book
Elly Strik, Gorillas, Girls and Brides, Tornado Editions, Brussels, 2005. |