Chomsky and the two faceless figures
Chomsky and the two faceless figures
A Short Story Inspired by Valentine Hugo's "Portrait de Paul Eluard", Chomsky and a Dream.
Today's post blends together surrealism and storytelling.
As a longtime reader of Noam Chomsky, I recently encountered a quote of his that sparked an extraordinary dream.
This dream brought me closer to a particular artwork by Valentine Hugo, whom I consider one of the greatest surrealist artists of the 20th century.
Who is Valentine Hugo
Valentine Hugo (1887-1968) Born Valentine Marie Augustine Gross, in Boulogne-sur-Mer, France, was a French artist and writer who was deeply immersed in the Surrealist movement.
Hugo's early life was marked by a love for art, theatre, and music, which she pursued through her education at L'École des Beaux-Arts in Paris.
She began exhibiting her artwork at the Salon of French artists in 1909 and 1911, and her involvement with the Surrealist circle led her to collaborate with prominent artists such as André Breton, Jacqueline Lamba, Pablo Picasso, Paul Éluard, Salvador Dalí, and Max Ernst.
For years, Valentine Hugo's 'Portrait of Paul Éluard' (1932) has been a key piece in my catalogue of must-experience surrealist artworks. This painting exemplifies her distinctive style and significant contributions to the Surrealist movement.
The portrait, created in pastel on paper, is a testament to her skill in capturing the essence of her subjects. Her work was included in group exhibitions throughout the 1930s, and she continued to create art and design for dance throughout her life.
Hugo's legacy as a pioneering female Surrealist artist is celebrated and studied worldwide.
Her contributions to the movement, including her illustrations for texts by René Char and Paul Éluard, and her portraits of leading surrealists, are a fundamental to her importance in the development of Surrealism.
Recently, the atmosphere for a vivid dream was set by Hugo's ethereal 'Portrait of Paul Éluard.' In this painting, Hugo captures Éluard with a hauntingly abstract grace, his features softened yet distinctly intense—elements that mirror the surreal yet strikingly profound nature of my dream.
The dream was notably triggered by a poignant observation from Noam Chomsky:
'Optimism is a strategy for making a better future. Because unless you believe that the future can be better, you are unlikely to step up and take responsibility for making it so.'
Here is the dream, storified.
The Two Faceless Figures
Somehow, his words lodged themselves in my mind, so deeply that in my dreams, a stark dichotomy materialized as two figures clad in black and grey patterns.
The figures reached for me as I sprinted away—evidently, even my subconscious upheld social distancing.
I fled from the enigmatic humanoids in their eerie attire, driven by an instinctive mistrust.
My instincts screamed for distance, so I ran.
Yet, paradoxically, the faster I ran, the more swiftly they approached, until I was cornered against a grotesquely tall wall of dark concrete. At the far end, the figures floated toward me, relentless.
Eventually, they caught up. Trapped, with my back against the wall, the figures—faceless, yet not entirely devoid of features—halted and communicated telepathically.
"Why do you flee from us?" inquired the figure on the left.
"I'm afraid," I confessed.
"Why fear the unknown?" the figure on the right challenged.
"I don't know what or who you are; none of this makes sense," I replied, my voice edged with panic.
"Openness to the new is the only way to enhance your present," the left figure asserted.
Then, they began chanting—an indescribable symphony of sounds, at once insignificant and overwhelming, harsh yet gentle, cacophonous yet melodious.
A burst of light erupted, a maelstrom of colors blinding me. I awoke drenched in sweat, smiling, crying, and trembling—all at once.
For a fleeting moment, they were still there, exploding in colours, their chant echoing.
Then reality reasserted itself.
The morning light at 5:34 filtered through the window, birds twittered outside.
I tossed in my bed, trying unsuccessfully to fall back asleep as a distant dog barked.
"Unless you are open to the new, you cannot improve your present." I pondered which of the figures might have been Chomsky."