THE GROTESQUE FROM ENSOR TO THE PRESENT DAY

The Emperor Nero’s golden palace in Rome, known as the Domus Aurea, was ‘discovered’ in the fifteenth century, during the early Renaissance. Buried below ground, the structure was initially thought to be a giant cave, the walls of which were covered in bizarre and fantastical drawings. The pictures were described as grottesco in Italian, a word that eventually entered every other Western language. Ordinarily speaking, the adjective ‘grotesque’ tends to have more negative connotations these days: ‘inappropriate’, ‘whimsical’, ‘vulgar’. James Ensor (1860-1949) has long been considered the painter par excellence of ‘the grotesque and arabesque’. Skeletons and carnival masks were amongst his favourite motifs. He was also a devotee of the American writer Edgar Allan Poe, author of The Tales of the Grotesque and the Arabesque, a series of stories that were translated into French by Baudelaire and which became an unprecedented success. Ensor’s etching, Mon portrait squelettisé [My Portrait as a Skeleton] (1889), is based on a portrait photograph taken by the rear façade of the house in Brussels belonging to his friends, Ernest and Mariette Rousseau. The etching’s first state conforms to the only known print of the photograph. Ensor subsequently remade his printing plate but, in so doing, changed his face to a skull. To mark Ensor Year 2024, the 11 Lijnen Foundation is showing a selection of works by James Ensor and contemporary artists on the theme of the grotesque. Multiple approaches are in evidence: certain artists treat the subject in a burlesque or poetic way, while others sow confusion or evoke the unheimlich [the uncanny]. The grotesque in art is of all times and all places. It has occupied a prominent position in literature, music and the visual arts since the early twentieth century. Furthermore, it became an essential component of what is now considered ‘modern art’, largely thanks to the Dada movement that arose during the First World War. And in the world of contemporary art, ‘the grotesque’ is now a self-evident and autonomous theme.

Wry humour and despair are the dominant themes in certain works by American artist Bruce Nauman (b. 1941). The lithograph Clown Taking a Shit (1988), shown in dialogue with James Ensor’s etching De pisser [The Pisser], is confounding. People associate the farcical clown with a childlike innocence, yet the work exudes a latent sense of menace. The clown’s pathos and grimace detract from the fact that this is an ordinary person with biological needs. Nauman’s lithograph Fingers and Holes (1994) shows two diametrically opposed men (in profile). Are they engaged in fisticuffs or, on the contrary, jovially shaking hands? Their facial expressions give nothing away. Are they scolding or teasing one another? Nauman brings the condition humaine into sharp focus in his works. We are more likely to cry than laugh. Nauman’s heightened drawing Eating Buggers (1985), a study for the identically titled neon, enters into a dialogue with De gulzigheid [Gluttony], one of Ensor’s deadly sins. Yet again, things are not all they seem. Are we looking at an act of intimacy? In Nauman’s work, the figure (in profile) manages to stick his tongue into one of his nostrils.

Belgian artist Walter Swennen’s (b. 1946) paintings typically contain disparate forms that, at first glance, seem to have a mutual but ambivalent relationship. Viewers tend to automatically search for connections between the ‘carelessly’ painted cartoonish forms and the graffiti-like figures, whether or not accompanied by slogan-like words. Characterised by absurd humour or poetic irony, Swennen’s compositions are disorienting. His untitled painting, also shown in relation to Ensor’s etching De gulzigheid [Gluttony], depicts an empty sardine box on a greyish background. Although the picture’s lack of meaning is striking, it has nevertheless been rendered in an extremely painterly way.

Austrian artist Franz West’s (1947-2012) sculptures are characterised by their amorphous qualities and apparent formlessness. Our best efforts to recognise specific shapes in his works are invariably thwarted. Diverse sculptures seem to suggest organic forms: intestines, turds, human waste. Prior to these works, West made assemblages from iron wire, wooden planks and plaster. These also seem gratuitous and unfinished. On closer inspection, however, they suggest gentleness and a form of tangible, or rather tactile, poetry. West’s sculpture (untitled) enters into a relationship with James Ensor’s print De neuzen [The Noses], in which freakishly long noses connect the ‘grotesque’ figures.

The Dutch painter René Daniëls’ (b. 1950) compositions also seem absurd in the first instance, much like Swennen’s. Which is not untrue, just as some of Francis Picabia’s works or Magritte’s ‘vache’ paintings might also come across as ludicrous. Colour and form supplant theme and interpretation. Daniëls, again like Swennen, combines the crazy pleasure of painting with riotous colour and seemingly untamed forms. His 2002 painting, De eerste nacht [The First Night], shows a giant clock over the sea. One half of the timepiece is black, while the other is white. The two sides of the painting represent day and night. The whimsical cloud forms are at odds with the austere clock. A unique kind of poetry emanates from this painting, one that transcends the grotesque.

Zimbabwean painter Portia Zvavahera (b. 1985) is inspired by dreams and the popular culture of her homeland. Via floral motifs and depictions of stitched together ‘networks’, her colourful compositions suggest a mysterious fantasy world. In Zimbabwean culture, printed textiles can protect you from negativity and evil. The title of her painting, Can Feel it in my Eyes (2015), lends clarity to its meaning: seeing, or looking, can be painful as well as healing.

American artist Bunny Rogers (b. 1990) depicts cartoonish figures in apparently senseless scenes with a mysterious-comical air. Her figures, whether male or female, all have identical faces. They look as though they have been cut from paper, like silhouettes. In My Life as a Clone of Jeanne D’Arc, she depicts herself as a cartoonish girl whose blank eyes loom out of the darkness from silhouette-like face. It is a humorous yet mysterious image. Rogers’ work revolves around the quest for identity, and the difficulties this presents for many adolescents and young adults. Other themes in her oeuvre are terrorist tragedies and mass murders in American schools. Her collage Red Ghost (2006) hangs to the left of Ensor’s My Portrait as a Skeleton. Rogers’ work has a childlike naivety in comparison with Ensor’s composition. A broomstick entitled Mourning Mop, to weep your tears away stands in a corner of the exhibition space. This ordinary object has been ‘embellished’ with bows, which lends it a childlike, innocent kind of poetry. It alludes to fantastical fairy tales but simultaneously possesses a heavily charged undercurrent, one that references terrorism, mass murders, and the struggles of adolescents and young adults.

The human form has exceptional significance in the work of the German painter Conny Maier. Her giant, colourful figures initially seem to have stepped out of a comic strip or a fairy tale. On closer inspection, however, it becomes clear that her seemingly tranquil compositions reflect interpersonal relationships and the navigation of social structures. She regards people as the most social of all animals, yet also the most selfish and cruel. They destroy the environment through greed. Her work Transferleistung [Transfer Performance] (2024), shown in conjunction with Ensor’s etching Lady Godiva, depicts an pink-clad Amazon riding a red horse. Is this a cryptic self-portrait? The composition exudes joie de vivre but is devoid of a certain sensuality. Another work, Aussichten [Perspectives] (2022), shows a hunched man with a disproportionally tiny head. Maier’s figures are typically ‘distorted’ or ‘exaggerated’.

Created by Xavier Tricot