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Lot Essay
In 1949, René Magritte placed a new canvas upon the easel in his studio in Brussels, and set out to explore an intriguing, mysterious idea that had been percolating in his imagination for several years. This was a landmark moment in the artist’s career, marking the arrival of a motif that would quickly become one of the most celebrated and iconic subjects within the Belgian Surrealist’s oeuvre—the L’empire des lumières. A decade earlier, while staying with the collector Edward James in London during the spring of 1937, Magritte had given a presentation at Roland Penrose’s London Gallery in which he discussed “certain features peculiar to words, images and real objects” (quoted in D. Sylvester, ed., op. cit., 1993, p. 53). In one example early in the discussion, the artist cited the opening line of André Breton’s poem L’Aigrette, from Terre de clair (1923): “If only the sun would shine tonight” (ibid.). This intriguing proposition stuck in Magritte’s mind, and grew into the L’empire des lumières works, the deceptively simple concept offering an elegant summation of his unique form of Surrealism, which revels in unexpected contradictions.
The first in this acclaimed series, the present painting establishes the core elements of the theme. Here, a row of ordinary suburban houses are bathed in deep shadows, the surrounding trees and shrubbery almost disappearing into darkness, while above the blue expanse of a day-lit sky stretches over the rooftops, soft white clouds drifting through the atmosphere. At first glance the painting appears to simply present a familiar street scene in the crepuscular light of dusk or dawn. Yet, on further inspection the intensity of the darkness, combined with the soft glow of the streetlamp and the lights from within the houses, suggests two opposing timelines exist simultaneously within the scene—here, both night and day are visible, the two colliding unexpectedly in a single moment. This idea would prove extremely fruitful for Magritte, and he would go on to create a total of sixteen further versions in oil on the theme over the following fifteen years, with several more iterations in gouache, each variation subtly different from the next as he probed and examined its poetic potential.
Alongside Breton’s poem, the L’empire des lumières paintings hark back to a gouache Magritte executed in 1938, titled Le Poison (Sylvester, no. 1142; Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam), where a row of buildings took on the appearance of the night sky, dotted with constellations of stars and a delicate crescent moon, transforming the bricks and mortar streetscape into an evocative, otherworldly vision of the cosmos. In many ways, Le Poison was a continuation of Magritte’s ongoing fascination with translating and transforming the sky. From his earliest Surrealist paintings it had been a recurring character in his work, its familiarity allowing him to investigate the world of appearances, and question our understanding of its properties. In L’empire des lumières, the sky once again becomes an essential tool in Magritte’s arsenal to disrupt and challenge expectations. Simplifying the concept explored in Le Poison, the artist creates a composition that is all the more unsettling for its quiet strangeness. The setting is a well-maintained, bourgeois quarter of town, not dissimilar to the location of Magritte’s own home in Brussels, executed with a delicate precision and attention to detail that only reinforces the uncanniness of the juxtaposition of night and day.
Magritte discussed the idea behind his L’empire des lumières paintings in a commentary written for a 1956 television program, later published in the exhibition catalogue Peintres belges de l’imaginaire, Grand Palais, Paris, 1972: “For me, the conception of a picture is an idea of one thing or of several things which can be realized visually in my painting. Obviously, all ideas are not ideas for paintings. Naturally, an idea must be sufficiently stimulating for me to get down to painting the thing or things that inspired the idea. The conception of a painting, that is, the idea, is not visible in the painting: an idea cannot be seen by the eyes. What is depicted in the painting is what is visible to the eye, the thing or things that had to inspire the idea. So, in the painting L’empire des lumières are things I had an idea about—to be precise, a nocturnal landscape and a sky above in broad daylight. The landscape evokes night and the sky evokes day. This evocation of day and night seems to me to have the power to surprise and enchant us. I call this power ‘poetry.’ I believe this evocation has such a ‘poetic’ power because, among other reasons, I have always been keenly interested in night and in day, although I’ve never had a preference for one or the other. This intense personal interest in night and day is a feeling of admiration and astonishment” (“L’empire des lumières” April 1956; reproduced in K. Rooney and E. Plattner, eds., René Magritte: Selected Writings, Richmond, 2018, p. 167).
The artist’s friend Paul Nougé, the leader of the Brussels Surrealist group, is reported to have provided the title for the subject, for which the most appropriate English translation is “The Dominion of Light.” “English, Flemish, and German translators take [dominion] in the sense of ‘territory’,” Nougé noted, “whereas the fundamental meaning is obviously ‘power’, ‘dominance’” (quoted in D. Sylvester, op. cit., 1993, p. 145). Nougé was undoubtedly sensitive to Magritte’s conviction that his paintings never expressed a singular idea, but rather were a form of stimulus that created new thoughts in the mind of the viewer. “Titles play an important part in Magritte’s paintings,” stated the poet, “but it is not the part one might be tempted to imagine. The title isn’t a program to be carried out. It comes after the picture. It’s as if it were its confirmation, and it often constitutes an exemplary manifestation of the efficacy of the image. This is why it doesn’t matter whether the title occurs to the painter himself afterwards, or is found by someone else who has an understanding of his painting. I am quite well placed to know that it is almost never Magritte who invents the titles of his pictures. His paintings could do without titles, and that is why it has sometimes been said that on the whole the title is no more than a conversational gambit” (quoted in S. Whitfield, Magritte, exh. cat., Hayward Gallery, London, 1992, p. 39).
After the present work’s completion, the image continued to reverberate through Magritte’s imagination, and had a profound impact on his own conception of reality: “After I had painted L’empire des lumières,” the artist explained in 1966, “I got the idea that night and day exist together, that they are one. This is reasonable, or at the very least it’s in keeping with our knowledge: in the world night always exists at the same time as day. (Just as sadness always exists in some people at the same time as happiness in others). But such ideas are not poetic. What is poetic is the visible image of the picture” (ibid., no. 111). The subject proved incredibly popular with the artist’s collectors, leading to a number of direct commissions for new versions. However, Magritte was adamant that each work should evolve naturally from his own artistic pondering, writing to his dealer Alexander Iolas “I have to find a way of justifying the replica in my own mind” (quoted in C. Greenberg and D. Pih, eds., Magritte A-Z, London, 2011, p. 49). In each iteration he made subtle alterations, experimenting with the particulars of the scene, amplifying different aspects of the landscape, subtly adjusting the colors of the sky or the density of the clouds, even expanding the sense of space and recession within the picture. Different architectural styles were adopted in some versions, providing unexpected hints as to the location of the setting, or the socio-economic status of the residents, while the towering trees that surround the building began to take on a distinct sense of individuality and character from one canvas to the next.
As David Sylvester recorded, the inaugural work in the series, the present L’empire des lumières, was named as one of three the artist sold to Iolas on a statement of account dated 8 August 1949 (see D. Sylvester, op. cit., 1993, p. 145). Iolas shipped the painting in September to the Hugo Gallery, New York, of which he was director. Nelson A. Rockefeller, then chairman and president of Chase National Bank in Rockefeller Center, while also serving in similar roles at The Museum of Modern Art, New York, purchased this L’empire des lumières from the Hugo Gallery on 30 March 1950. That Christmas, he gave the picture as a gift to Louise A. Boyer, his secretary, who later became his executive assistant when he served as Governor of New York State. Subsequent versions of the L’empire des lumières motif were acquired by many of the artist’s most important and active patrons, including Jean and Dominique de Menil—who donated one work from the series to The Museum of Modern Art in New York, before promptly requesting another from Magritte for their own collection—Harry Torczyner, Peggy Guggenheim, Barnet Hodes, the composer Richard Rogers, and the Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels. Positioned at the very beginning of this iconic series, the present L’empire des lumières is a pivotal work, revealing the earliest evolutions of this profoundly mysterious motif in Magritte’s imagination, as he wrestled with how to bring his vision to life on the canvas.
The first in this acclaimed series, the present painting establishes the core elements of the theme. Here, a row of ordinary suburban houses are bathed in deep shadows, the surrounding trees and shrubbery almost disappearing into darkness, while above the blue expanse of a day-lit sky stretches over the rooftops, soft white clouds drifting through the atmosphere. At first glance the painting appears to simply present a familiar street scene in the crepuscular light of dusk or dawn. Yet, on further inspection the intensity of the darkness, combined with the soft glow of the streetlamp and the lights from within the houses, suggests two opposing timelines exist simultaneously within the scene—here, both night and day are visible, the two colliding unexpectedly in a single moment. This idea would prove extremely fruitful for Magritte, and he would go on to create a total of sixteen further versions in oil on the theme over the following fifteen years, with several more iterations in gouache, each variation subtly different from the next as he probed and examined its poetic potential.
Alongside Breton’s poem, the L’empire des lumières paintings hark back to a gouache Magritte executed in 1938, titled Le Poison (Sylvester, no. 1142; Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam), where a row of buildings took on the appearance of the night sky, dotted with constellations of stars and a delicate crescent moon, transforming the bricks and mortar streetscape into an evocative, otherworldly vision of the cosmos. In many ways, Le Poison was a continuation of Magritte’s ongoing fascination with translating and transforming the sky. From his earliest Surrealist paintings it had been a recurring character in his work, its familiarity allowing him to investigate the world of appearances, and question our understanding of its properties. In L’empire des lumières, the sky once again becomes an essential tool in Magritte’s arsenal to disrupt and challenge expectations. Simplifying the concept explored in Le Poison, the artist creates a composition that is all the more unsettling for its quiet strangeness. The setting is a well-maintained, bourgeois quarter of town, not dissimilar to the location of Magritte’s own home in Brussels, executed with a delicate precision and attention to detail that only reinforces the uncanniness of the juxtaposition of night and day.
Magritte discussed the idea behind his L’empire des lumières paintings in a commentary written for a 1956 television program, later published in the exhibition catalogue Peintres belges de l’imaginaire, Grand Palais, Paris, 1972: “For me, the conception of a picture is an idea of one thing or of several things which can be realized visually in my painting. Obviously, all ideas are not ideas for paintings. Naturally, an idea must be sufficiently stimulating for me to get down to painting the thing or things that inspired the idea. The conception of a painting, that is, the idea, is not visible in the painting: an idea cannot be seen by the eyes. What is depicted in the painting is what is visible to the eye, the thing or things that had to inspire the idea. So, in the painting L’empire des lumières are things I had an idea about—to be precise, a nocturnal landscape and a sky above in broad daylight. The landscape evokes night and the sky evokes day. This evocation of day and night seems to me to have the power to surprise and enchant us. I call this power ‘poetry.’ I believe this evocation has such a ‘poetic’ power because, among other reasons, I have always been keenly interested in night and in day, although I’ve never had a preference for one or the other. This intense personal interest in night and day is a feeling of admiration and astonishment” (“L’empire des lumières” April 1956; reproduced in K. Rooney and E. Plattner, eds., René Magritte: Selected Writings, Richmond, 2018, p. 167).
The artist’s friend Paul Nougé, the leader of the Brussels Surrealist group, is reported to have provided the title for the subject, for which the most appropriate English translation is “The Dominion of Light.” “English, Flemish, and German translators take [dominion] in the sense of ‘territory’,” Nougé noted, “whereas the fundamental meaning is obviously ‘power’, ‘dominance’” (quoted in D. Sylvester, op. cit., 1993, p. 145). Nougé was undoubtedly sensitive to Magritte’s conviction that his paintings never expressed a singular idea, but rather were a form of stimulus that created new thoughts in the mind of the viewer. “Titles play an important part in Magritte’s paintings,” stated the poet, “but it is not the part one might be tempted to imagine. The title isn’t a program to be carried out. It comes after the picture. It’s as if it were its confirmation, and it often constitutes an exemplary manifestation of the efficacy of the image. This is why it doesn’t matter whether the title occurs to the painter himself afterwards, or is found by someone else who has an understanding of his painting. I am quite well placed to know that it is almost never Magritte who invents the titles of his pictures. His paintings could do without titles, and that is why it has sometimes been said that on the whole the title is no more than a conversational gambit” (quoted in S. Whitfield, Magritte, exh. cat., Hayward Gallery, London, 1992, p. 39).
After the present work’s completion, the image continued to reverberate through Magritte’s imagination, and had a profound impact on his own conception of reality: “After I had painted L’empire des lumières,” the artist explained in 1966, “I got the idea that night and day exist together, that they are one. This is reasonable, or at the very least it’s in keeping with our knowledge: in the world night always exists at the same time as day. (Just as sadness always exists in some people at the same time as happiness in others). But such ideas are not poetic. What is poetic is the visible image of the picture” (ibid., no. 111). The subject proved incredibly popular with the artist’s collectors, leading to a number of direct commissions for new versions. However, Magritte was adamant that each work should evolve naturally from his own artistic pondering, writing to his dealer Alexander Iolas “I have to find a way of justifying the replica in my own mind” (quoted in C. Greenberg and D. Pih, eds., Magritte A-Z, London, 2011, p. 49). In each iteration he made subtle alterations, experimenting with the particulars of the scene, amplifying different aspects of the landscape, subtly adjusting the colors of the sky or the density of the clouds, even expanding the sense of space and recession within the picture. Different architectural styles were adopted in some versions, providing unexpected hints as to the location of the setting, or the socio-economic status of the residents, while the towering trees that surround the building began to take on a distinct sense of individuality and character from one canvas to the next.
As David Sylvester recorded, the inaugural work in the series, the present L’empire des lumières, was named as one of three the artist sold to Iolas on a statement of account dated 8 August 1949 (see D. Sylvester, op. cit., 1993, p. 145). Iolas shipped the painting in September to the Hugo Gallery, New York, of which he was director. Nelson A. Rockefeller, then chairman and president of Chase National Bank in Rockefeller Center, while also serving in similar roles at The Museum of Modern Art, New York, purchased this L’empire des lumières from the Hugo Gallery on 30 March 1950. That Christmas, he gave the picture as a gift to Louise A. Boyer, his secretary, who later became his executive assistant when he served as Governor of New York State. Subsequent versions of the L’empire des lumières motif were acquired by many of the artist’s most important and active patrons, including Jean and Dominique de Menil—who donated one work from the series to The Museum of Modern Art in New York, before promptly requesting another from Magritte for their own collection—Harry Torczyner, Peggy Guggenheim, Barnet Hodes, the composer Richard Rogers, and the Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels. Positioned at the very beginning of this iconic series, the present L’empire des lumières is a pivotal work, revealing the earliest evolutions of this profoundly mysterious motif in Magritte’s imagination, as he wrestled with how to bring his vision to life on the canvas.