Reflective Analysis on The Manifesto of Surrealism by André Breton (1924)

Breton, A. (1924). Excerpt from the first manifesto of surrealism. In C. Harrison & P. Wood (Eds.), Art in theory 1900–1990: An anthology of changing ideas (pp. 87–88). Blackwell Publishers.

The search for truth has been abandoned in favor of falsehood and personal agenda. Disguised “under the pretense of civilization and progress,” we have been forcefully and willingly subjected to underhanded fuckery (Breton, 1924). Listen closely to what goes unsaid…there the fair dinkum lives.

            Upon research of the surrealist perspective, in enigmatic pursuit, I stumble upon what I believe to be central to the idea which I postulate as Surreality. In fact, the mention of that very denomination, caught between the texts, proved a delightful surprise, as it underscores my original thought and much of what Surreality stands for: an expression of both the known and the unknown aspects of the mind. The repressed and gregarious: mind. In Breton’s manifesto, surreality is imagined as an absolute reality formed through the resolution of dreams and waking life (Breton, 1924). To live in such a state, where both carry the same, if not varying, weights on occasion, is the goal for Breton, myself, and the show. A state in which the questionability of a dream becomes the answer to the fundamental human condition. A sharing of wisdom between the dream world and waking life, flowing both ways. An interaction with such wisdom, and a frolicking within aberration.

            Just as Breton, I too held belief that the term Surreality bore no significance prior to the imagination of myself. And I am justified to make such an assertion as I have yet to encounter the particular formulation of its details (those set forth throughout my bible) presented elsewhere in moving images with the same coherence or intent as those introduced at the inception of my exposition. The conveyance of dictated thought, in the absence of all reigning judgment, whether by reason or by any otherwise respected authority, and unconcerned with aesthetics, is essential under such titles (Breton, 1924). To which Epictetus might agree, it is the judgment of such aberrations that deem them unstable to society’s assumed reality. Ask the insane whether life within or outside the mind is more suitable for satisfaction, and we may find that although both internal and external tragedies await a life overtaken by the mind’s paradoxes, this threat is incomparable only when contrasted with a madness born of dishonesty and presumed “normalcy.”

            All but one postulation under the wing of Breton’s manifesto on surrealism has me in complete agreement with the text. As my upbringing in mental health counseling graduate studies support, early and adverse childhood experiences greatly shape the quality and trajectory of one’s life. Breton (1924) does the same, clearly in hopes of providing added basis for the necessity of Surrealism (an argument that needs no convincing). While I regard childhood as fundamental to the human condition and essential to analyzing traces of true identity, it does not constitute the totality of one’s identity. Likewise, I do not understand surreality or surrealism as a simple regression to the childhood self, but as a re-engagement with one’s purest identity through the lens of experience, wisdom, and hindsight. An active choice to remain the dormant observer, or a return to unfiltered authenticity with increased insight.

            Too, my own thesis concludes surrealism, at its root, to be beyond the supposed identity. Its ideas are born of their own conception, forming at an intersection that creates and maintains what the separate parts could never imagine on their own. At this cross-section, Surreality accepts its own enigma, creating a category of its own while actively rejecting all need and notion of one. Complete nonconformism, as is said. Translation then may not fully grasp the extent of what is being presented. The mirror shows my sister’s face. The wind smells fondly of her. My throat itches, and my teeth sweat. Wasn’t yesterday Thursday? Experience is everywhere.