One Fine Afternoon

In high school one of our teachers held up a print of the classic surrealist painting “Ceci n’est pas une pipe.” Since we were high schoolers mostly studying Spanish, we sat there looking blank. Someone pulled out a French dictionary and translated it: “this is not a pipe.” We continued to be blank. The teacher delightedly pointed out, or maybe someone guessed—it’s a depiction of a pipe, not an actual pipe. The class appreciated the cynicism of this distinction. We moved on.

So much of life feels surreal, confusing and backwards right now thanks to Covid. When my friend Brittany asked if I wanted to check out Belgian surrealist painter Rene Magritte’s work in Brussels’s Magritte Musee, of course I said YES.

First of all, that Magritte is a weird dude. My favorite parts of the museum was hearing a quote of his wife, Georgette, laugh away attempts at interpreting her husband’s work. People always want to assign meaning—there’s no meaning! He never puts meaning in his work! Hilarious!

Magritte said later in life that his success as an artist didn’t mean anything to him because he was too old to enjoy it, and that if people like his paintings it’s only because they don’t understand them. Ha ha! I appreciate that self-depreciation.

So anything I have to say about One Fine Day is therefore incorrect, but it doesn’t matter. Tell me two coffins sitting comfortably having a relaxed chat in nice weather doesn’t speak to you, especially during this bizarro land of vaccines vs. variants. You might say he… nailed it?? I’m sorry.

He also farmed his paintings out to his friends for naming so the names would have nothing to do with the meaningless pieces. That’s dumb. Or maybe it drives home the point if meaninglessness. If art is meaningless, why make it? Why do anything? Everything is isolated and meaningless.

Anyway as World War II was kicking up, Magritte fled Brussels for Paris, leaving his beloved wife behind. His reasons for this were a little unclear in the English audio guide. It reminded me of the hurr-evacs the Navy guys do ahead of an approaching storm—“just leave the women and children behind! Get the helicopters out of here ASAP!” He returned to Brussels and painted “The Return” in 1940. Meaningless, my foot.

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Brittany and I cruised through the rest of the Old Masters in the royal galleries and then went in search of lunch. It was raining a little as we passed shuttered cafes and empty eateries. We finally found LOBSTER ROLLS near the Sablon area and ate them quickly outside. The rain picked up and the butter dripped down my chin. We caught the metro home in time to get the kids off the school bus. A fine afternoon in these surreal times.

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I don’t like rereading blog posts without kid pics

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