Harmonie aromale des astres

Je suis gaucher. Vous vous en fichez ? Vous avez tort. Il y a là-dessus de quoi penser des pages et des pages. Je n'ai pas dit écrire, ce n'est pas mon jour de clavier, j'ai plutôt une envie de dessiner. Je n'aime pas ma main droite, celle qui écrit - en vieille contrariée qu'elle est - à la plume et tant moins bien que toujours mal. Je préfère " l'autre main ", celle que les professeurs ont laissée intacte, qui de dextre à senestre dessine, peint et grave. Des deux mains en même temps, je peux sans effort d'attention particulier faire diverger une phrase à partir d'un point central. Dans le sens usuel avec la maladroite et dans le sens inverse avec l'instinctive - la gamme ascendante et descendante du pianiste - et je me demande : si mes bras s'allongeaient indéfiniment comme dans un rêve, où cela s'arrêterait-il ? à quels horizons ? vers quelle jonction ?

Des deux mains

La gamme d'ensor

Shortly after Magritte's death, I wanted to return to Georgette, the widow, a painting from the pink and sugary provocative period, a version of Le Viol which had still been lying about incognito in Brussels since the proclaimed end of Cobra, the unravelled end of a communal house where we lived in Brussels, Les Ateliers du Marais, and my departure for Paris. Along with the painting I included a letter of explanation. Magritte had forgotten it after an exhibition in the premises of Le Drapeau rouge, in the rue de la Caserne, where in 1947 I'd also participated, as had many "intellectuals and sympathizers" of the time. Three years later, as I was passing in the neighbourhood together with Christian Dotremont, I rang at the door of the comrade in charge to perhaps recuperate, one never knows, an abandoned dispatch of my own: a seascape I made in my twenties representing a Douarnenez tuna boat. In the meanwhile Tito had broken with Stalin, to put this time into context. We had, as far as we were concerned, engaged in an open struggle against the directives of "socialist realism" from Jdanov and Aragon and the like; and in 1950 this would lead to a parting of the ways. I was looking for my tuna boat among other unclaimed works, heaped together against a wall, and I hear Dotremont burst out laughing: "Magritte's Viol! If you like, I can return it to him, he's a friend of mine." The fellow in charge said why not, and then added: "Instead of doing your 'Picassos' you should paint, I don't know... maybe a gleaner, something with some social interest." So, each with a painting under the arm, we returned to our base at the Ateliers du Marais. A little while later Dotremont vent off to Copenhagen, leaving Le Viol, in turn, behind him. And as for me, hurrying to get ready to soon leave for Paris, I dropped off my excess baggage for storage in my parents' attic - Le Viol included. One day, ah yes, it would be returned to its author... the painting happily exiting from our memories. Magritte's death in 1967 would act as a wake-up call, When Georgette received the parcel along with my letter of apology, she made such a thorough show of her gratitude that I received a post-card from Louis Scutenaire: "If you come across another Magritte, don't return it to the widow." From Dotremont's direction, I believe I heard a sigh of relief. To put an end to these tribulations, Le Viol made its way to Paris - as a gift from Georgette - to the Musée National d'art moderne. The rest of the story comes with a bizarre twist of "objective" chance. We are in 1980. One fine day I arrive at a printer's near the Place d'Alésia to work on a commissioned lithograph - a black two-heaped snake to mark the one hundred-fiftieth anniversary of Belgium's independence. While awaiting my arrival, the press-operator had already run some proofs for me and, to not waste blank sheets, he followed the usual practice of printing over leftover sheets run from the previous job. A print, chosen by... Georgette, which was to constitute part of an album of reproductions of works by the late René Magritte. The result? - Le Viol on twenty-five proof sheets laid-clown in a sanguine red, only waiting to receive a finishing touch from my hand. Later still, my letter - which allowed the heiress to justify the reappearance and the authenticity of her painting - was bought by Daniel Abadie for the archives of the Musée national d'art moderne, at an auction in London where various and sundry items from Magritte's atelier came under the hammer. It is said that on the day before she lied Georgette declared: I'll write out my will when I'm feeling better." (Pierre Alechinsky)

Pierre Alechinsky. The Complete Books

A la recherche du féminin - Abécédaire

Deux pinceaux dans le sable - Donation Pierre Alechinsky et Alberto Gironella au Musée Réattu, Arles, 1996

Grains de jour

Vacillations

«Illustrer n'ajoute rien à la compréhension d'un texte. Je n'ai donc pas illustré Un amour de Swann, je me suis permis de décorer les marges. Orner. Cependant mon crayon a commis des infractions, quelques allusions d'une couleur sanguine : l'éclisse d'un violon, la courbe d'une robe, d'un dos, d'une chevelure, la canne théâtrale de Charlus. C'est alors que je me suis vu, côté cour, ajouter un va-et-vient pendulaire - le Temps, n'est-ce pas. Sorte de dessin animé primitif qui, d'un bout à l'autre de l'ouvrage, passe.» Pierre Alechinsky.

Harmonie aromale des astres

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