It’s funny the things that pop in to your head when the only option on telly is The Football Factory. The painting in this picture is by René Magritte, and it lives in the Tate Modern in London. I remember seeing it on a school trip there and being fascinated by it for some reason.
Indeed, had my hapless school not lost swathes of art folders in the immediate aftermath of our GCSE examinations I might even still possess numerous interpretations of sections of it I did myself in a variety of mediums.
Even now the image flits into my mind on occasions, if it does so when I’m sat near a device that can access the Internet (which is increasingly all-the-fricking-time!) then I’ve been known to search for it – except I could never remember what it was called.
I searched for things like ‘René Magritte Man in Box‘ or ‘René Magritte lead tablet‘ – more desperate attempts like ‘list of René Magritte paintings‘ or ‘René Magritte paintings with a bowler hat‘ – there’s a lot of those.
Why I thought about it today I’m not sure – but a simple tracing of where I’d seen it saw me search for both artist and location – ‘René Magritte paintings in the Tate Gallery‘ on Google Image search will yield the very image I had pondered. It’s the number one result, no less.
As yet I remain undecided as to whether this rediscovery has released literally years of mild frustration, or eroded the mystique of an unattainable memory that – now unlocked – doesn’t really have masses of merit or impact on my every day life.
It still is a really fascinating painting though, so I’m happy to reacquaint myself with the details of it that had become distorted in my mind. I do like Rene Magritte – and I can be a reckless sleeper, hell, I’m typing this at 12:55 in the morning and I have to be up and ready for work in a few hours. Is that recklessness or simply a bit of insomnia? Who knows?
Whilst expanding my search I found an interesting interpretation of the symbolism utilising the wondrous and generally perverted medium of Freud. That brings about a whole new memory set in itself – jeez, as someone who didn’t study psychology until sitting in one of my first lectures at university to be told be delivered a rather startling summary of basic Freud was, to my innocent mind, rather shocking.
Then again, it would be reckless to sleep over assorted genitalia, a portal between the conscious and unconscious, knowledge, enlightenment and emasculation. Incidentally, the blog I stumbled across that had also referenced The Reckless Sleeper / Le Dormeur téméraire is a personal account of a sufferer of Narcolepsy, and makes for really interesting reading – one in two thousand people are thought to suffer from it. That’s not all that uncommon.
As well as fulfilling the main aim of satisfying my own selfish curiosity – at least now if somebody else searches on the kinds of keywords that I was using to try to identify the painting, once Google unleashes the spiders on this blog post, they might actually find what they’re looking for.
If this whole exercise has proven a little too self-centred and uninteresting for you, then the picture below will cheer you up. If it doesn’t, you have no soul.
I wish our birdies did this!