De Chirico’s unsettling muses: the past and the present in constant collision

There are several versions of Giorgio de Chirico’s "Le muse inquietanti": the first dates from 1916, followed by others, one of which – painted in 1947 but dated 1925 – is on display in the exhibition "De Chirico e la Metafisica" from 19 October at the National Gallery of Modern and Contemporary Art in Rome. In the background are the Castello Estense and a factory; in the foreground is a square that resembles a stage populated by mannequin-like statues, two boxes, a stick and a mask.

De Chirico arrived in Ferrara in 1915 with his mother and his brother Andrea, alias Alberto Savinio, and there, during a period of great emotional fragility, he met Carlo Carrà, with whom he began to discuss metaphysical painting. Put simply, this amounts to a form of painting capable of unveiling the mystery hidden within reality. The problem with this definition is that it almost immediately leads us to treat a work such as "Le muse inquietanti" as if it were a puzzle: the statue seen from behind means this, the coloured box means that, the castle alludes to something else… And so we piece together clue after clue, hoping that the solution will emerge.

However, a work of this kind is not a puzzle. It contains nothing to be solved: no riddle, no mystery. And that is precisely the point: if there is no solution, then perhaps we should change the way we look at it—stop saying ‘this work means’ and limit ourselves, at least for once, to saying ‘this work is’.

For me, "Le muse inquietanti" is a dream where everything is close to everything else and yet, at the same time, terribly alone. It is an image that does not speak of the afterlife, the world of the gods or of spirits. No. De Chirico’s muses speak of this world. Of our world. Of a world we think we know inside out and which, suddenly, ceases to seem familiar to us. A world at war as seen through the eyes of a frightened boy. A world where nobody helps anybody. A world where nobody hates anybody.

These unsettling muses offer an opportunity to sense the presence of objects that aren’t even in the work. In my case, a blue linen jacket bought in a second-hand shop. I go and look for it in the wardrobe. I do not know who owned it before me. No, I really do not know. But as soon as I touch it, I know it belongs to me, that I can wear it, hang it up, leave it on a chair, sell it on… In short, as soon as I touch it, I know I can do whatever I want with this lovely blue jacket. And yet I struggle to consider it entirely mine. The reason is that, inside it, before me, there was another person who might have been waiting for a phone call, attending a funeral, or going on a first date with the woman he later married.

These unsettling muses form a link between Arnold Böcklin’s "The Isle of the Dead" and René Magritte’s "Ceci n’est pas une pipe". They are also an invitation to view objects not merely in terms of their function. Scissors, for example: as long as they are cutting a sheet of paper, they are merely scissors; but if they lie open on the table, motionless, with no one using them, they take on a sort of life of their own and immediately become a little more inscrutable.

Le Muse inquietanti is a combination of references that countless artists, following in de Chirico’s footsteps, have sought to imitate. They are even a nursery rhyme. They are the bedroom of a child who has grown so much that he now occupies an entire city. They are pockets full of small change, buildings that seem to have been built as a joke, and black cherry-flavoured lollipops. They are a precious monument dedicated to boredom. But not the boredom of someone who doesn’t know what to do. No, no. A more ancient, childlike boredom – that of afternoons when time seems to have forgotten us, and so we spend half an hour staring at a crack in the wall, the dust in the light, a fly that keeps banging against the window, and it seems to us, though we’re not quite sure why, that we’ve solved a dilemma.

These are the melancholy feelings of late summer, when on certain evenings a strange urge to search for something takes hold. Not necessarily something we have lost; rather, something we never had or that may not even have existed. They also confirm a fact that becomes clear when reading de Chirico’s biography: namely, that his melancholy probably owes much to the early death of his father and to the turbulent years of his youth, from Greece to Munich to Paris and finally to Ferrara. 

During a recent visit to Ferrara, the city appeared tranquil, serene and gentle, yet also impressive: as I walked through its streets and squares, Ferrara came across as a modern metropolis with scooters and fast-food outlets, while still evoking the era of knights and their exploits. Consequently, "Le muse inquietanti" is about the past and the present constantly colliding. 

I am metaphysics. Yes. "Le muse inquietanti" confirm that, just as de Chirico says, metaphysics is beauty devoid of meaning. And so, if this is truly the case, "Le muse inquietanti" confirm that, above all, life is metaphysical: not because it conceals some supreme meaning – no, certainly not that – but because it might have none at all and still continue to be beautiful.