Rêverie De Monsieur James 1943

René Magritte painted this dreamy image, ‘Rêverie De Monsieur James,’ with oils, summoning a soft world of pale colors. Looking at the hands as they reach for the roses, I wonder, is this a nightmare, or is it the artist’s dream? Maybe the hands are the artist’s own, as he paints. The roses are being arranged, but something feels amiss. The light is flat, and the sea behind the shrub doesn’t make much sense. The softness of the pink and green palette is really alluring. It reminds me of those old Technicolor movies, almost hyperreal in their perfection. I’m thinking of Balthus and De Chirico, and their approach to the unreal. The roses themselves feel like they’re from another time. The hands could be anyone’s, or no one’s at all, but for me they become the hand of the artist, lost in his own thoughts, bringing a painting into being.