14
PARTISAN REVIEW
and the veil of a double mystery is cast over everyday perversions. This
is one case where stupidity is an asset. It is likely that, among the Sur–
realists, there are some who are in fact mentaly deranged; but there are
hospitals for such as these. The majority of them merely feign psychic
sickness as the one mark of genius in the current calendar year.
As
for
the "style" that goes best with their vanity and egotism, it is not a con–
ductor's uniform, but a straight-jacket.
One of this merry crew turns his attention to Surrealist painting on
glass. He begins with mathematical formulas, following which he gives
us this profound observation: "They are wrapped in the depths of thc!lr
own sorrow, to which a mirror must be held up, in order that they may
pass over into onanistic hallucinations."
Another works at Sadism, and writes an article entitled
The Con–
temporaneousness of Sade.
According to him, we are all sadists:
"Do
we find, upon an examination of conscience, that we belong to that small
number of individuals who are free of what science technically terms vice?
But those who today are free of vice may tomorrow develop the symptoms
of it."
A
third depicts a whole collection of meaningless articles, looking
more like a heap of cow-dung than anything else, and adds the caption:
"New psycho-atmospheric-anamorphous objects."
A
fourth writes a long article on his preferences in oil-paints:
"I
should have liked to devote myself to painting; but my friends noticed
that I invariably played with the colors. I would press on the tube, let
the color ooze out and smear it on.... This soon became a passion with
me. U pan lying down to sleep, I would take the tubes and smell them ...
I was conscious of a strong desire to eat the paints. I was espc.:ially
excited by cadmium yellow, cobalt and cinnabar.... " From perusing
Surrealist works, the tube-lover hit upon a deep-lying explanation for his
hobby. "The fact," he says, "that I would proudly display, to each and
every one I met, even in the streets of Paris, a couple of large tubes may
be taken as indicating that I was given to symbolistic exhibitionism."
These pheasants are surely rotten enough for anyone's taste. Sur–
realism's one concern is in finding ways for young French poets to amuse
themselves in these far from tranquil days through which we are passing.
Among those poets, we find tl1e names of some, such as Andre Breton
and Paul Eluard, who a few years back were writing truly contemporary
verse. An interest in the tinsmith's work impresses them as being beneath
the dignity of a poet. They are unable to understand that, to SCJv:et
poets, those "saucepans" are simply one of the material phases of a people's
mighty effort, which, like any other great rassion, cannot leave the poet's
heart untouched.
