Maurits Cornelius Escher, or Uncle Maurits as my father used to refer to him, always presented to myself as something of an enigma; hardly that surprising, given that he travelled through Europe, and fascist Italy, at such a time of unrest and injustice. I would imagine that many of those who were able to maintain and conduct their lives with any sort of moral code or compass, at such a time (WWII), may also have developed somewhat enigmatic traits. Yet, even with this past turmoil in mind, Uncle Maurits struck me as fascinatingly unique.
Highly treasured, amongst my meagre possessions, remain a handful of dusty books, embellished by his exquisite illustrative works, within which I am still able to escape from the soul-destroying excretions of British life today. Many of you will be familiar with many of his works, through reproductions that you may have encountered, even though you may not, until this moment, have been aware as to who the responsible artist was. Nevertheless, it is surely certain that some readers will also have been able to virtually slip inside the picture frame, in order to contemplate a few of the mathematical concepts with which he was ever obsessed. Who can say, perhaps one day, there we shall meet.
With eyesight less crisp than in my youth, I have increasingly taken to the magnifying glass, as enhancement to my cerebral journeying. Happily the companionship of Uncle Maurits's knowing chuckle is never far from my side. Yet, alas, it remains one of time's many cruel paradoxes that, with diminishing energies and years, one is often cursed by a greater clarity. Oh, how I wish that dear old Uncle Maurits was here today, in order to re-elaborate upon his, then unfathomable, theories of time, infinity and contra-illusion.
Age and duration have also sought to play many a cruel trick upon the memory and this has been sadly abetted through the demise of the two other souls then present. Even so, now alone, I remain, to this very day, able to convince myself that, as a mere boy, I once sat, mesmerised, and listened to Uncle Maurits expounding upon one of his less popular theories, that of time travel. As I recall, he was armed with a hastily crafted Mobius strip, which he may or may not yet have bisected, and his eyes were shining; not simply sparkling with life but were magically endowed with a crystal twinkle all of their very own.
Uncle Maurits spoke with a compassion and conviction, the likes of which I have yet to re-encounter; always the master storyteller, he was. His words, for me, were always liberally dusted with more than their fair share of enchantment. But I shall never forget the look upon the face of my grandfather- himself no mean philosopher and mathematician- as dear old Maurits, on that long-ago New Year's Eve, let it slip that his theories were no longer simply that. My grandfather's face was transformed, enlightened!
After Uncle Maurits's passing, my father was able to shed much light upon the, lesser known, political aspects of many of Escher's works. Father was able to explain that 'Square Limit' (1964) was not only another of Maurits's depictions of perceived infinite possibilities, but also a work of comment upon the ways in which those in power chose to divide up a nation's wealth, where, seemingly infinitely large may be seen to co-exist with a theoretical singularity (infinitely small), or macro along side micro.
Two of my father's favourite works remained 'Belvedere' (1958) and "House of Stairs II' (1951) . 'Belvedere, within which we can see the scholar, frustrated with the impossibilities before him- surely a comment upon the falsehoods that are everyday presented as truths to the minions. Notice also the gullible citizen who has somehow managed to climb the political 'house of cards' that he believes to be reality, whilst his lords and masters unconcernedly survey an altogether different world, perhaps unaware as to even his existence, that is until luncheon is to be served.
In 'House of Stairs'- also one of my particular favourites- a host of identical creatures can be seen to populate an infinite world of stairs and corners, each perceiving their world to be the 'real' one, oblivious to the different realities of their co-inhabitants. Could this be be an allusion to the media-painted facades, behind which the 'mighty' might seek to hide the greater truths or, perhaps, the peddled deceptions within which 'elected representatives' are able to get themselves re-elected within a house of mirrors, or false promises; if a work of art ever predicted the abhorrent concept of Blairism this is surely it, or so one might be forgiven for so believing.
As is often the case, not unlike as with genuine conversations, we have wandered somewhat from my intended theme, that of Uncle Maurits's fleeting reference to time travel- and here I should make it abundantly clear that my grandfather had always, since that day, insisted that Uncle Maurits had said that he had, "travelled beyond mankind's wildest dreams. "Grandfather often repeated these exact words- never outside of the immediate 'family', you understand- with a knowing wink and a far-away glint in his eye, which though I had always wanted to, I never, in truth, fully understood.
Decades later, alone now, with my own frail recollections, I am drawn time and again to the political allusions, made clear to me by my father, in his father's favourite of Uncle Maurits's works, 'Three Worlds' (1955). Indeed, each time that I am drawn to study this piece, I find that it is almost as if Uncle Maurits has somehow contrived to add another minute detail that I had, until that moment, inexplicably, overlooked; that, were it possible, would fit his humour to a tee.
I rue the complete lack of chance that human frailty has denied me, that one final opportunity with which to share an informed conversation with my long-departed-and-much-loved grandfather. 'Three Worlds', surely, almost denies credibility in its quite surreal allusion to the Blairite years of untethered dehumanisation with which we are still effectively shackled. But, it is as clear to me, as it ever was, that this is about as close to proof as it gets, that Uncle Maurits either really did make that momentous yet unrecorded journey or that he had an insight beyond our wildest imaginings. Just think upon it; who, even during the worst suppurating manifestations of Thatcherism, could realistically have predicted the hatching of the creature that was to contra-alchemically become Tony Blair? I can almost sense your befuddled noddings, so imagine my own, confronted, as I am, with Escher's very words.
Art historians and the likes have obviously steered clear of the controversy, preferring instead to expound upon Uncle Maurits's penmanship, the ethereal quality of the water's surface, the partial obscurity and buoyancy of the central Koi Carp, giving Escher's political observations an inexplicably wide berth. Thus, it has been left to the less materialistically-driven amongst us to comment beyond the superficial.
Check it out: there are precisely 417 leaves, perfectly suspended upon an invisible meniscus of water, representing, I would contest the 417 argued practised faiths around the world. The five- a religiously significant number- species of leaf that have been depicted (oak, beech, maple, sycamore and something slightly cottonwoodish) could be said to represent the variety of religious creeds and races within the population; to have depicted a more representative number would obviously have undermined the otherwise simplicity, and realistic homage, to a genuine landscape. The leaves are precariously placed in an almost two-dimensional world, of extremely limited manoeuvrability, awaiting demise, upon which they will crumble and add further sustenance to the significantly greater world of the privileged minority of one (the Koi Carp). Even the duplicitous Mr Blair hadn't quite split the UK's population into two such disparate parts, the uber-wealthy 0.24% and the rest (99.76%) but, give Cameron and Osborne a couple more years and who knows?
Slightly contentious, you think? Or maybe not, the numbers are just that little bit too significant, aren't they? Had you been there, with grandfather and myself, on that magical day, you too would, by now, be all but convinced. Allow me to embellish the allusion further, to see if we might not yet convince you fully.
Finally, there is, of course, the third world- not 'Third World' here, I'd argue; that much really is just circumstantial- tethering the image together, into one 'coherent' whole. Those three reflected trees, clearly representative of the three major English political parties- again note, not the UK- are shown in all their nakedness, that is bankrupt of credible answers that will convince a more discerning voter. The almost dormant winter trees are simple reflections, at best two-dimensional; arguably, as creations of no actual substance, actually no-dimensional. Thus, we have the illusory substance of accountable governance, under which we are expected serve. None other than an almost faultless parallel to Britain under New Labour.
Curiously, there is no obvious allusion to the National Lottery, an actual illusion, if this is not an oxymoron, by which the masses (the leaves) are deceived into believing that they are able to attain the lifestyle of the uber-wealthy (the Koi Carp). Given that almost the entire population is represented as being suspended within virtually two dimensions it is likely that Uncle Maurits was unable to conceive of an acceptable reference.
Or, perhaps, even this is merely awaiting my next visitation.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment