Surrealism + Automatism - Does it really work?

Most art scholars attribute Surrealism as an evolution of the Dada movement. Of all the art movements of the 20th century, for me, non have had a more enduring appeal than these two. Dada arose from the absurdity and horror inflicted by World War I, and the works have a perfect mix of abstraction and anguish, but also a dark humor (Dada is a topic I will be discussing in further detail another time, especially in the context of our current experiences within society).

Surrealism was somewhat more succinct in its’ intentions, spearheaded by Andre Breton who wrote the Surrealist Manifesto. Inspired by the writings of Freud, their aim was to break into the subconscious mind in the hopes of deconstructing social norms and dogma, and tapping into unabridged human expression- an admirable goal that, I feel, is as important to this very day.

There’s plenty of information on the internet about the various activities the surrealists took part in to achieve these ends, some of their more zany antics being seances and entering ‘trance’ states whilst reciting poetry. But right now I want to share with you some of my ventures with said techniques, and my assessment on whether or not it worked, or was particularly useful to me.

Automatic Writing

“Put yourself in as passive, or receptive, a state of mind as you can. Forget about your genius, your talents, and the talents of everyone else. Keep reminding yourself that literature is one of the saddest roads that leads to anything. Write quickly, without any preconceived subject, fast enough so that you will not remember what you’re writing and be tempted to reread what you have written. The first sentence will come spontaneously, so compelling is the truth that with every passing second there is a sentence unknown to our consciousness which is only crying out to be heard.’’

-Andre Breton, Manifesto of Surrealism (1924)

I actually ended up doing automatic writing through a workshop I attended, and I think I had the advantage of identifying as an ‘artist’ over being a ‘writer’. Just as society places us within certain paradigms and conditions us to act and think in various ways (the very restrictions automatism seeks to overcome), so too does our chosen profession or subject of study. It was easier for me to enter a stream of consciousness as I wasn’t encumbered with conceits and techniques or the rules of creating a piece of writing (long forgotten since my days of studying English classes). And more importantly, I didn’t care what the end product was. An important aspect of automatism is letting go, truly letting go, and not caring what the outcome is (again, an attitude worthy of taking into all aspects of our lives). The Ego makes this harder than you would think, even in writing.

Simply put, you basically need to write as fast as you can without stopping for a single second to think about what’s coming next, which I managed to do successfully- my writing was beyond illegible, as you could imagine.

I should also mention I’d been out all night before, gone straight to my day job and then ran to this workshop, so my lack of sleep and delirious state definitely helped me switch off! Maybe a week of fasting and meditation before automatic writing would produce some real insights? in all seriousness, have you noticed that creativity seems to spring out of nowhere? when you least expect it, in a lift or on the bus, whenever we unwittingly relinquish control. I think creative block comes exactly from trying too hard to control our creative impulses- the surrealists were definitely on to something with automatism. Either way, here is what I produced.

Allergen

I THINK I’M HAVING AN ALLERGIC REACTION

I’M REALLY SCARED- my life is everything! but I'm not okay. it’s to biscuits but I love biscuits

dogs and cats crumple up inside the sky, it’s raining tails and entrails but it looks cute and soft

cats eyes shine darkly, supple notes, saccharine parts, a carburetor roaring lowly,

sleeping loudly and rummaging around big black bugs crawling through the day sand,

slipping around the big water slide and

going down like roots through my capillaries,

they see but they don’t speak enough true words to laugh or cry,

but the bees are not okay.

Its warmly cold on the underbelly of the fat pig who squawks when he knows he shouldn’t,

THAT’S NOT HIS IDENTITY

But he defies it mightily and roughly corrodes the carpenter’s hat that was in-fact two times five in a third dimension.

It wasn’t very expensive. But it means the world to the crazy young lady whose face lies and cries but never denies the existence of sugar, the greatest killer of our generation, the sweet horrible mess of the best cheesecake in the world.

Saccharine

I taste the shapes on my lips

Of the saccharine shades,

Their many notes colliding in

A gratuitous crescendo.

What on earth did I do to deserve such sensations?

I wonder does anybody else?

THEIR TASTES ARE BETTER THAN MINE.

Their protruding, gluttonous globules- I despise it.

Their stench encroaches me.

I can’t breathe.

It’s not fair.

It tastes so good, why can’t I have it?

I deserve it more than they do, or just as much at least.

It pours so easily for them, drenched in

Their caramelized, sickly piles.

The note changes.

The low places dilute with orange, Then red.

That warmly cold red that is itself

Always at a distance, changing

From that close

Suffocating

Vital cage.

And the taste? It tastes .

A Landscape

Mountainous, sludging structures. Glistening in the wet, sticky sunlight. Hot steam evaporating and dispersing into the dense, close atmosphere. They tower high, earth worm phalli that twist and en-coil around each other like mating snakes free from hibernation. Their bodies slap together to form one large buttery slab. Another, in the distance, that was once three, has sprouted wide sugary tongues that prod and probe each other, their toxic saliva homogenizing and forming a stream that flows and ends at the foot of the mountainous structure. Out of this solitary oasis, a plastic root rears its ugly head and, fatigued, heaves itself out and flops to the ground.

Automatic Drawing

Funnily enough, I had a much harder time tapping into my subconscious with my automatic drawings.

I tried various ways of doing the automatic drawings. This one was created whilst listening to music.

I was really interested in the art of Kilmt (as always) and Shceille during this time and, interestingly, you can actually see that inspiration expressed in the drawings.

This one started out as formless scribbles that I then made shapes out of as quickly as possible. They often ended up being human bodies as this is my favourite thing to draw, and my go-to in visual association

eventually i tried it out with painting, in a similar fashion. However, the more time you spend on it, the less ‘automatic’ it is.

So, whilst I like the drawings I did, I found them becoming less and less automatic. I can’t explain how liberated I felt when i did the writing, I really felt as though I’d let go completely and written from my subconscious. I hadn’t even remembered what I’d written until I read it back. And upon reading it, i found things that did make some sort of sense, almost like deciphering a dream. Most of it though, god knows where it came from. It is pretty much gibberish. But it has inspired me profusely within my art and automatic writing is a practice I intend to continue to use. Automatic drawing on the other hand is something I have not gained much from.. maybe I’d had too much sleep...

Thank you for reading, I recommend you ALL to try writing without thinking and seeing what you produce- you might just find something out about yourself- I did. I’f you’ve tried any surrealists techniques then leave a comment below!

And stay tuned for part two with more Surrealist techniques. peace out—