The Fifth Desk · Evaluation
Act I · The Map
René Magritte · oil on canvas, about 60 by 81 cm · one field: a pipe painted in profile on a plain, pale, warm ground, and beneath it, in a neat cursive, the sentence “Ceci n’est pas une pipe.” · painted in or near Paris, 1929 · the Los Angeles County Museum of Art · the unit scored is the single canvas, as it stands, nothing in it lost or replaced; the other word paintings, the later returns to the pipe and the writing on the picture are context
Mode
A painting as a proposition; the manner of the commercial illustrator and the primer card, turned against the bond of picture, word and thing
Mythos
The scene of naming, the first page of a primer, inverted; behind it, as readings a viewer brings, Plato’s painted bed and the image forbidden
Phase
No time and no place; painted in or near Paris in 1929, the year Magritte published “Les mots et les images”, and the last full year before his return to Brussels
Presentation
Oil on canvas, about 60 by 81 cm; two elements, one painted object and one painted sentence of five words, on an undifferentiated ground; no horizon and no setting
Register
Deadpan throughout: the tidy finish of a sign painter, a teacher’s hand, and a small cold vertigo when the sentence turns the picture over
Scale
One pipe, one sentence, one ground, a little under half a square metre
Governing Proposition
A pipe is painted in profile, cleanly modelled, on a ground with no table, no room and no shadow, and beneath it, in the even cursive of a schoolroom copy, a line of paint says that this is not a pipe. The sentence is true: the pipe is paint and cannot be filled. So is the sentence, which is paint too, and its first word can point at the pipe, at the painting or at itself. The wager of the canvas is that a picture made in the form of the lesson that teaches a child to name things can undo that lesson with two marks, and that a painting can state and test a proposition about pictures.
Act II · The Essay
Movement I
The canvas is oil, about 60 by 81 centimetres, wider than it is high, a little under half a square metre, and it holds two elements. A pipe is painted in profile and cleanly modelled: its bowl turned by graded tone and a few hard highlights, its stem black, the band at the shank distinct. Beneath it, in a neat, even cursive, the hand of a schoolroom copy, a line of paint reads “Ceci n’est pas une pipe.”, this is not a pipe. The ground is plain, pale and warm. There is no table for the pipe to lie on, no room, no horizon and no shadow to set it in a world. Nothing else is in the field, and nothing in it is hidden.
René Magritte painted it in 1929, in or near Paris, where he had lived since 1927 and which he left for Brussels in 1930. It is in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. The work scored here is that single canvas, as it stands, its two elements whole; no later hand is known in it, and nothing has been lost or replaced. The title, La Trahison des images, the treachery of images, is not on the canvas, and whether Magritte or a friend in his circle chose it is not settled; nothing here leans on it. The sentence under the pipe is the only writing the picture carries.
The subtractive test is close to the whole of this picture, because there is almost nothing to subtract. Remove the sentence and what is left is a primer card or a shop sign, a picture of a pipe with nothing to say. Remove the pipe and the sentence denies nothing; its first word points at a blank. Fill the ground with a table, a room and a shadow, and the pipe becomes a pipe in a place, a still life, while the sentence becomes a riddle about a room instead of a statement about an image. The plainness of the ground is required, and so is the schoolroom hand, which makes the words read as a lesson. Every part bears load. What could change is the choice of object: the pipe is apt, a common thing of use and a sign of the ordinary man, and it is not compelled, as Magritte showed when he returned to the device with other things.
Movement II
Behind the canvas stands the oldest contract of Western painting: that a picture of a thing stands in for the thing. Whole forms rest on it. The trompe l’oeil asks to be mistaken for its object. The emblem joins an image to a motto that agrees with it. The shop sign, the primer card and the advertisement set word and image side by side so that each confirms the other: the drawing of a pipe over the word for pipe, the picture by which a child is taught to name. Nearer to Magritte stood the letters the Cubists painted into their pictures, the titles of Dada, Duchamp’s objects and the still, exact spaces of de Chirico.
The departure is all on this canvas. A picture contradicts itself in writing, and so becomes a proposition about pictures. Painting is made the instrument of a thought, and in the manner of commercial illustration, against the automatism and the dream that the Surrealists around him in Paris pursued. The canvas belongs to a group of word paintings Magritte made in the late 1920s, among them the Clef des songes pictures, in which objects carry the wrong names; and in December 1929 he published an illustrated text, “Les mots et les images”, in La Révolution surréaliste. This canvas is the group’s sharpest statement. The turn was made across the group and not by one picture alone, and that holds the axis below the top.
The stake was his place in the Paris group, which he left within the year, and a career whose pictures did not sell; the cost was risked by this canvas more than paid. Nothing in the picture announces the risk. The anonymous competence of the illustrator, which the dream painters around him had no use for, is the instrument, and the deadpan is the method. A picture that looks like a sign painter’s demonstration piece carries a proposition about every picture, and it can carry it only because it looks like one.
Movement III
What the picture discloses can be stated, and it is a meaning, not a mood. An image of a thing is not the thing: this pipe cannot be filled, held or smoked. A word is not an image either: the sentence is painted, and it too is only paint. The bond between the three, the thing, its picture and its name, is a habit taught to children over pictures exactly like this one, and the canvas undoes the lesson in the form of the lesson. The proposition is permanent, and it had not been made visible in painting before; this picture is the form in which it became visible to everyone. What it uncovers is a condition of signs rather than of people, touching the human condition at one remove, and part of it is carried by words. Those are its limits.
A second disclosure lies in the first word. “Ceci”, this, has no settled referent. It can mean the painted pipe, and the sentence is true, because the pipe is paint. It can mean the painting, and the sentence is true, because a canvas is not a pipe. It can mean the sentence itself, and the sentence is true again, because a line of words is not a pipe either. Each reading makes it true, and none can be fixed. The act of pointing, which the primer takes for granted, is the thing put in doubt.
The knowledge sits at one precise place: the sentence and the pipe share one plane and one material. Because the words are painted, they are an image too, and the denial applies to itself. Set the same sentence on a label beside the frame and the work becomes a picture with a comment, and loses the self-reference that is its knowledge. Because the pipe is painted with illusion, the denial bites; drawn as a diagram, it would be a sign denying it is a thing, which no one doubts. The plain ground isolates both as specimens and gives them one space that is no space. One law governs the field: both elements are paint, both are signs, neither is what it shows, and the same clean finish serves the object and the letters. The law holds without strain because it governs two marks, and narrowness is not coherence. Nor is the oil itself load-bearing: the knowledge passes almost whole into a print or a reproduction.
Movement IV
The making is deliberate. Magritte chose the anonymous competence of the commercial illustrator, and the picture needs it: a clumsier pipe would read as a caricature of a pipe, which no one confuses with a pipe, and the denial would have nothing to deny. The bowl is turned by graded tone and a few hard highlights; the black of the stem and the band at the shank are kept distinct; the edges are crisp; the cursive is even and convincing as a teacher’s hand. Nothing is clumsy, and nothing calls attention to the painter. The range commanded is narrow: one object, one light, no space, no air, and no surface worth reading at close range. The handling is a good sign painter’s rather than a master’s of the medium, and the impersonal manner is credited as fit for the thought without raising the command.
Elevation is not what the picture seeks. There is no grandeur, no beauty pressed to its height, no terror and no transport; the register is flat by design, a pipe with the tidy highlights of a catalogue over a line in copperplate. What it gives is a small, cold vertigo when the sentence turns the picture over and the floor drops out of the act of looking, once at first sight and more faintly each time the first word’s ambiguity is noticed: closer to wit than to awe. Its deepest structure is the scene of naming. The canvas is shaped as the first page of a primer, where a child is taught that the drawing and the word are the thing, and it inverts that scene. Further depths are brought by the viewer, Plato’s painted bed at two removes from the true one and the image forbidden, and the pipe, the emblem of the ordinary man and Magritte’s own, stays a pipe.
The picture holds few orders, and holds them by design: representation, the image and its claim on the real; language, the word and its claim on the image; the object world, a common thing of use; the schoolroom, which the composition quotes; and the viewer’s consciousness, caught in the act of confusing sign and thing. They are one problem seen five ways. Nearly everything else is absent: no person, no family, no labour, no state, no history, no sacred, no natural order, no place. The work is small in what it holds, and its power is that smallness, a whole theory carried by two marks.
Movement V
The reach came late. The word paintings were a group, and their influence passed through Magritte’s rise in the 1950s and 1960s and the American exhibitions of those years. In 1966 he returned to the picture in Les Deux Mystères: the canvas stands framed on an easel, pipe and sentence intact, beneath a larger pipe floating free. It is the painter reading his own picture, which has become a picture within a picture.
Two years later Michel Foucault published an essay on it under the title of its sentence, Ceci n’est pas une pipe, enlarged as a book in 1973. It is the deepest return the picture has had. Foucault read the canvas as a calligram undone, word and image made to coincide and then pulled apart, and drew from Magritte’s letters to him a distinction between resemblance and similitude. Philosophy of language, semiotics and the theory of representation have used the picture as their example since. In art its descendants are plain: conceptual art’s use of language against the image, of which Joseph Kosuth’s One and Three Chairs of 1965 is the clearest instance, and Marcel Broodthaers, who took up the sentence and the denial in his fictive museum. Beyond painting, advertising and graphic design quote it as often as any image of its century. Much of the writing uses the picture to illustrate an argument made elsewhere; the central point is grasped at first sight, and the return refines one paradox rather than finding new meanings.
After 97 years the canvas is whole: the two elements stand as painted, and nothing that carries the work is lost. Its presence has been continuous and very wide, and it is one of the few paintings whose meaning passes entire into reproduction, so that its copies do not thin it. Wide presence earns little, and fame is not proof of permanence; the condition and conservation of the canvas could not be verified and are not argued. The surface is fixed to its moment only in small things, the pipe and the copperplate hand, both receding from daily life, and neither stands between the work and its claim, which is not of 1929. A pipe is still painted on a pale ground, and beneath it a line of paint still says, truly, that it is not a pipe.
Act III · The Twelve
The subtractive test is close to the whole of this picture, because there is almost nothing to subtract. Remove the sentence and what is left is a primer card or a shop sign, with nothing to say. Remove the pipe and the sentence denies nothing: its first word points at a blank. Fill the ground with a table, a room and a shadow, and the pipe becomes a still life and the sentence a riddle about a room. The plain ground is required, and so is the schoolroom hand, which makes the words read as a lesson. What holds the axis below the top is substitution, not removal: the pipe is apt, a common thing and a sign of the ordinary man, and another object could stand in its place. Required in its parts, permitted in its choice of object.
Score: 8.8 / 10
What is disclosed can be stated, and it is a meaning, not a mood. An image of a thing is not the thing: this pipe cannot be filled. A word is not an image either: the sentence is painted, and it too is only paint. The bond between thing, picture and name is a habit taught to children over pictures like this one, and the canvas undoes the lesson in the form of the lesson. A second disclosure holds: the first word has no settled referent, and pipe, painting and sentence each make the sentence true. Held below the deepest disclosures because what it uncovers is a condition of signs rather than of people, touching the human condition at one remove, and because part of it is carried by words.
Score: 8.6 / 10
Elevation is not what this picture seeks, and the figure says so. There is no grandeur here, no beauty pressed to its height, no terror and no transport. The register is flat by design: a sign painter’s deadpan, a pipe with the tidy highlights of a catalogue, words in a teacher’s cursive. What it gives instead is a small, cold vertigo when the sentence turns the picture over and the floor drops out of the act of looking. It comes once at first sight, and again more faintly each time the ambiguity of the first word is noticed: real, of one kind, closer to wit than to awe. Height and frequency are low by the work’s own choice of register; the figure stays above the bottom because the vertigo is genuine and recurs.
Score: 6.8 / 10
Little here is built as archetype. The structure that bears load is one of signs: object, image, word. It touches something primal, because naming is the oldest lesson and the canvas is shaped like the first page of a primer, where the drawing and the word are shown to a child as the thing itself. That inversion of the scene of naming is in the construction, not brought from outside. But it is a philosophical structure more than a mythic one, and its further depths are summoned rather than built: Plato’s painted bed at two removes from the true one, the image forbidden. The pipe, emblem of the ordinary man and Magritte’s own, is a sign and stays a pipe. Evoked well at one point, built nowhere.
Score: 7.0 / 10
The inheritance is the oldest contract of Western painting, that a picture of a thing stands in for the thing, and the forms built on it: trompe l’oeil, the emblem with its motto, the shop sign, the primer card, the advertisement in which word and image agree to sell. Behind it stand the Cubists’ letters, Dada’s titles, Duchamp’s objects and de Chirico’s still spaces. The departure is on this canvas: a picture that contradicts itself in writing, painting made the instrument of thought in the manner of commercial illustration, against the automatism and the dream of the Surrealists around him. The stake was his place in the Paris group, which he left within the year. Held below the top because this is the sharpest statement of a turn made across a group of word paintings, not a turn made by one canvas.
Score: 8.9 / 10
Would a different form change what the work knows? Nearly entirely, and at one precise place: the sentence and the pipe share one plane and one material. Because the words are painted, they are an image too, and the denial applies to itself; set the sentence on a label beside the frame and the work becomes a picture with a comment, and loses the self-reference that is its knowledge. Because the pipe is painted with illusion, the denial bites; drawn as a diagram, it would be a sign denying it is a thing, which no one doubts. The plain ground isolates both as specimens. Held below the top because the oil itself carries little: the knowledge passes almost whole into a print or a reproduction.
Score: 8.8 / 10
Evidence over promise: 97 years of return, and a literature out of all proportion to two painted elements. What the picture keeps yielding is the referent of its first word: the pipe, the painting, the sentence, or the act of pointing itself. Michel Foucault’s essay of 1968, enlarged as a book in 1973, is the deepest return: the picture as a calligram undone, word and image made to coincide and then pulled apart, with a distinction between resemblance and similitude drawn from Magritte’s letters to him. Magritte’s own variation of 1966 is a reading in paint. Held below the deeper wells because the central point is grasped at first sight, the return refines one paradox, and much of the writing uses the picture to illustrate an argument made elsewhere.
Score: 8.4 / 10
Published, so force and reach are scored together. The intrinsic force: the picture reorganised what a painting could be about, making the relation of image, word and thing its subject, and showing that a painting could state and test a proposition. The discount: the reach belongs partly to the word paintings as a group, and it came late, through Magritte’s rise in the 1950s and 1960s, the American exhibitions and Foucault; it is credited and discounted for delay. Achieved reach is scored with intrinsic force: conceptual art’s use of language against the image, of which Joseph Kosuth’s One and Three Chairs (1965) is the plain descendant; Marcel Broodthaers, who took up the sentence and the denial in his fictive museum; and beyond painting, advertising and graphic design, where the picture is quoted as often as any image of its century.
Score: 8.9 / 10
Survival is demonstrated over 97 years. Form: whole; the two elements stand as painted, and nothing that carries the work is lost. Presence: continuous and very wide. The image is among the most reproduced of its century, and it is one of the few paintings whose meaning passes entire into reproduction, so its copies do not thin it; but wide presence earns little, and fame is not proof of permanence. Fabric: a small oil in one museum, whose condition and conservation could not be verified and are not argued. The surface is fixed to its moment only in small things, the pipe and the copperplate hand, both receding from daily life, and neither stands between the work and its claim, which is not of 1929. Held at the foot of what this span allows, for the span and for the fabric unverified.
Score: 9.0 / 10
Judged as command of oil on a small canvas, to the same anchors as every medium. The making is deliberate and load-bearing in one sense: Magritte chose the anonymous competence of the commercial illustrator, and the picture needs it. The pipe is modelled cleanly, its bowl turned by graded tone and a few hard highlights, the black of the stem and the band at the shank distinct; the edges are crisp; the cursive is even and convincing as a teacher’s hand. Nothing is clumsy, and nothing calls attention to the painter. But the range commanded is narrow: one object, one light, no space, no air, no surface worth reading at close range. The impersonal manner is credited as fit for the thought; it does not raise the command itself.
Score: 8.0 / 10
Take the two most distant elements: the pipe, an illusion of a solid thing, and the sentence, a line of script. They obey one law, and the law is the picture’s argument: both are paint on one ground, both are signs, and neither is what it shows. The handling is one handling throughout, the same clean, impersonal finish for object and letters, and the plain ground gives them one space that is no space. There is no second rule anywhere in the field, no passage painted otherwise, no element that steps outside the claim. But narrowness is not coherence, and the territory is about as narrow as a picture allows: two elements, one tone of making, one idea. The law holds without strain because it is asked to govern almost nothing.
Score: 8.4 / 10
One object and one sentence hold few orders, and hold them by design. Representation, the image and its claim on the real; language, the word and its claim on the image; the object world, a common thing of use; the schoolroom, the scene of learning to name, which the composition quotes; and consciousness, the viewer’s mind caught confusing sign and thing. They are integrated: one problem seen five ways. What holds the axis lowest, below its own floor, is what is absent, which is nearly everything the rubric lists: no person, no family, no labour, no state, no history, no sacred, no natural order, no place. The work’s power is that smallness, a whole theory carried by two marks. The figure describes the form.
Score: 5.8 / 10
Act IV · The Reckoning
8.1 / 10 · Final Average
Placement: Tier IV · Canonical
Strongest Dimensions
The Imperishable at 9.0, then The Swerve and Pressure on Tradition at 8.9, with The Inevitable and The Living Form at 8.8. A picture whose meaning passes whole into its copies and has stood 97 years with nothing lost; a turn from the oldest contract of painting, that a picture stands in for its thing, made against the Surrealists around it at the risk of a place among them; a canvas that made the relation of image, word and thing a subject for painting and found its heirs in conceptual art; two elements of which neither can go; and a form in which the painted sentence denies itself along with the pipe.
Limiting Dimension
The Encompassed at 5.8, below its own floor: representation, language, the object world, the schoolroom and the viewer’s mind are one problem seen five ways, and the person, the family, labour, the state, history, the sacred and the natural order are absent. Next above it, The Sublime at 6.8 and The Archetypal Deep at 7.0: a register flat by design, whose one effect is a cold vertigo closer to wit than to awe, and a scene of naming evoked at one point and built nowhere. The three are one fact: the picture carries a whole theory in two marks, and holds nothing else.
The Necessity Cap clears at 8.8 against a threshold of 7.5. The Coherence Floor clears: The Living Form at 8.8, The Made at 8.0, The Inner Law at 8.4, each against 7.0. The Epochal Gate is unmet: The Imperishable at 9.0, The Swerve at 8.9, Pressure on Tradition at 8.9 and The Unconcealment at 8.6 clear the bar of 8.5, but The Archetypal Deep at 7.0 falls short. The Universal Minimum is unmet at The Sublime, 6.8, and The Archetypal Deep, 7.0, both below 7.5; The Encompassed, which it exempts, falls short of its own floor of 6.0 at 5.8. Two of the five summit conditions are met. The work stands where its aggregate places it: the twelve sum to 97.4, an average of 8.12 that displays 8.1, in the band of Tier IV, nine tenths short of the 9.0 the summit requires.
Basis · a reading from knowledge of the canvas in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, painted in or near Paris in 1929, and of its later life in Magritte’s work and in the writing on it. No image or written source was consulted. The work scored is the single canvas, its two elements whole; no later hand is known in it, and nothing in it has been lost or replaced. Magritte’s other word paintings of the late 1920s, among them the Clef des songes pictures, his illustrated text “Les mots et les images” in La Révolution surréaliste of December 1929, Les Deux Mystères of 1966 and Michel Foucault’s essay of 1968 and book of 1973 are context and evidence of reach, and are not scored. The only words quoted are the five painted on the canvas, which are documented. The title is not on the canvas; who chose it is not settled, and no axis leans on it. Facts that could not be verified are not given or are stated as open, among them the exact dimensions, the painting’s owners before the museum and the year and manner of its acquisition, its first exhibition, its condition and conservation, and the year the word paintings began.