The writer of my favourite Greek book informs me that art does not need realism anymore. I never understood the intensity of intellectual disagreement between realists and surrealists or magic realists (whatever Matesis is). Are they simply two different artistic movements or are they truly two different ways of perceiving the world? I guess the question boils down to the role of art, and whether art is really a lens through which we have to see our world, whether it ultimately reflects our deepest convictions.
Realism for me is like an understated, clean suit. If you want to make an entrance to a party, you wouldn't necessarily choose it, but it is good when the statement you want to make is all about subtlety. Magic realism on the other hand, can be compared to an extravagant hat: your whole ensemble is grey and understated and your hat makes a statement by itself. It is good but somewhat predictable and forced. I think well-educated and intellectually competent people can see the point in a work of art, even when it is not exaggerated. Perhaps this is too harsh of a criticism to a movement I once adored, and perhaps the analogy is unsuccessful. Perhaps art cannot be compared to a fashion statement. Perhaps magic realism just gives the artist the freedom to express him/herself more clearly, without the boundaries of realism. Perhaps realism and by extension reality itself is extremely constraining and the only way to break free is to write about millions of ants that eat up a poor soul.
*Today though, realism in art, is superfluous. (Pavlos Matesis)
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So many things one could comment upon...
Magic realism has lost a bit of its 'magic' as far as I'm concerned. If you push it too far, it either becomes realism or magic, so I guess it's a style that it's doomed because of its own contradictions. Isabel Allende, for example, is someone who I cannot read anymore - and the same goes for Marquez. I'm not in the position to say they are bad writers, it's just that the extravagant hat doesn't seem to fit anymore. I adored 100 Years of Solitude - would it appeal to me now? i doubt it, although it is beautifully written. Love...Cholera doesn't mean much to me anymore, it seems far-fetched despite its undoubted beauty and House of Spirits, Eva Luna and all that just seem entertaining, nothing more than that.
I believe realism is an intrinsic part of literature, even if you call it something else. I say this because if you love a book you will always recognise part of you and your life in that book, or any other piece of art. Art you can't recognize is perhaps a pointless artistic attempt. I believe true art is the one that says something about who you are, and sometimes this happens quite unexpectedly. It can be just looking at a painting and liking the colours without even knowing why (this happen to me with Rothko).
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