In the visual arts, particularly
paint, no more terms
ambiguous than real, reality or realism.
Thus are we called every realistic
return to direct observation of nature,
provided that it is accompanied by a
little sensitivity. Thus does one set
painters like Caravaggio both real
as Velasquez, Rubens Vermeer, and as
painters Bosch that imaginary Vinci
or Dali. While classical art is told
inconceivable without a certain dose of realism,
that realism is the foundation of Romanticism,
it is amusing to observe that it is precisely
in the double rejection of these two currents
born the only school truly
realistic in the history of painting,
under the influence of the Barbizon painters,
Millet and Courbet.
Subsequently, the term has been warped in
sterile quarrel between figurative artists
and not figurative, and I spend voluntarily
hyperrealism in silence, and
socialist realism, because we will return.
Wonder rather scribblers, it's worth
better. There is no angel of reality,
we warned Paul Eluard, after
mow his wife made by Dali. For Antonin
Artaud, the more fantastic and we rub
the more we realize it is actually
everything real. Henri Barbusse is okay,
the real and the supernatural, it is the same
thing. But the thing shade Roger Caillois
in these terms: the fantastic implies
strength of the real world but better
destroy it. André Breton, we recognize
the imagination that it constantly tends
to become real. This is confirmed by Michel Butor,
for which there can be no realistic
true that if one does its part to the imagination,
if one understands that the imaginary is
in the real, and we see the real
by him. What also confirms André
Gide, but limiting it to the realm of feelings,
in which the real is never distinguished
of the imagination. As usual,
Jean Giraudoux likes to mark its singularity,
saying by the mouth of Louis Jouvet
The Impromptu in Paris of a people
has high real life as if his life
dream is powerful. For Jacques Audiberti
life is illusion. Those who
result constitute reality. For
Max Jacob, the sincerity of a work is
recognizes that it is endowed with enough
force to give the illusion of reality.
For Guy de Maupassant, the reality is so
implacable she would inevitably lead
Suicide, however if the dream allowed her
wait. For the Dane Søren Kierkegaard,
the real has no more need for
possible because the need is
The distance of one than the other. For
Henri Bergson, a reality capable of shooting
itself does it contains
called mind. For Marcel Proust, and
it is an even higher level I
is, life is changing realities
with our fables. But he adds, as if
shrank the force of his own intuition:
To make reality bearable, we
are all obliged to maintain in us
few follies. Nice, but significantly
most agreed.
For Hegel, it is important not to confuse
imagination and ability to perceive,
remember and reproduce an image. Alone
imagination is creative. For Sigmund
Freud, take into account the requirements of
the reality is whether extract
the stuff of dreams, where there is pleasure,
to join a domain necessarily real
unsatisfactory. Sleep becomes a
absolute necessity to give up regularly
to the pleasure principle. Thus disappointment
Does the drive succeeds, reality
pleasure, and vice versa. What Jacques
Lacan summarizes in his way, with a terse:
the real is when you bump.
