MIXED THOUGHTS


 
Following the documentary on Monet, I saw that the following day there was one on James Ensor (1860-1949).  Admittedly I fell asleep in the first five minutes and kept on nodding off during the hour. Most unusual for me but the woman in front slept during the whole film and then appluded enthusiastically at the end. I am not there yet.

Ensor, was a major figure in the Belgium avant-garde art scene of the late 19th century. Some people say that he was important in the develoment of Expressionism in the early 20th. He is quite eccentric, macabre and probably quite modern for his era. Definitely politically engaged but what I enjoy most is his satyr and interest in carnaval, masks, role playing and a theatrical approach to his work.
Death and the Masks
Apart from his Mother’s portrait, a few self portraits and several other paintings, from what I have seen to date, no-one has a real face. A mask, or something which is exaggerated in terms of a face. His colour too is fantastic. Fauve? Perhaps and even at times I wonder if there isn’t a little Emil Nolde which creeps into his work. I gather he was not well acknowledged at his time. To be quite honest, I only discovered him by accident in Belgium some years ago. His clowns,  his masks and of course the painting which really must have caused an uproar, the figure of Christ entering into Brussels amidst a seething crowd of clowns and disguised well known people of that period. (So I was told but names I don’t know nor remember)
Christ's truimphant entry into Brussels
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Was the documentry good? Well, I guess I slept for a good 10 minutes of the 60 but it certainly did not have the energy that Piquet’s did the proceeding day. Sometimes there is a pace in such films which is soporific. Ensor must have been bounding with energy creating such a curious world of the macabre and magic. Is there some amusement in seeing him on the back of his donkey on a beach in  Ostende (?). Once again, a film - even if it did win an important prize - was slow. Except for a couple of scenes with Pierre Alechinsky (84) who had more energy than those colourful clowns whom I love but they faded into a distance and lolled me back into my doze.

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