Some earlier images suggest a particular interest in perspective, for instance the “bird’s-eye view” of his Tower of Babel (1928) – which in retrospect seems like an unparadoxical rehearsal for his later adventures in impossible architecture – or a forest of columns in a colonnade for Nocturnal Rome (1934). Escher methodically pushed representative techniques to their limits. (The art historian EH Gombrich wrote that Escher’s work “presents so many interesting comments on the puzzles of representation”.) Of his 1945 picture Balcony, with its weird bulging central distortion, Escher commented: “Surely it is a bit absurd to draw a few lines and then claim ‘This is a house.’” The theme of Balcony, he said, was “this odd situation”. It is not he who determines his shapes it seems rather that the stupid flat shape at which he painstakingly toils has its own will (or lack of will), that it is this shape which decides or hinders the movement of the drawing hand, as though the artist were a spiritualist medium.Įscher’s lifelong subject, in a way, was the dramatised artificiality of the created image. The artist still has the feeling that moving his pencil over the paper is a kind of magic art. The following, from a later Escher essay, could easily serve as a gloss on this image: In Drawing Hands, space and the flat plane coexist, each born from and returning to the other, the black magic of the artistic illusion made creepily manifest. It is a neat depiction of one of Escher’s enduring fascinations: the contrast between the two-dimensional flatness of a sheet of paper and the illusion of three-dimensional volume that can be created with certain marks. In 1948, he made Drawing Hands, the image of two hands, each drawing the other with a pencil. Those visions fed what would become Escher’s most celebrated works. As Escher later explained, it also helped that the architecture and landscape of his successive homes in Switzerland, Belgium and Netherlands were so boring: he “felt compelled to withdraw from the more or less direct and true-to-life illustrating of my surroundings”, embracing what he called his “inner visions”. His work gradually became less observational and more formally inventive. That year he went to the Alhambra Palace in Granada, Spain, and carefully copied some of its geometric tiling. But it was only two years later that Escher really became Escher. By the end of the 1920s, during which he had travelled extensively in Italy and Spain, and met and married his wife, Jetta, Escher was exhibiting his work regularly in Holland, and, in 1934, he won his first American exhibition prize. According to Patrick Elliott’s catalogue essay, “Escher and Britain”, for the new exhibition at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, The Amazing World of MC Escher, the artist replied to the musician’s assistant: “Please tell Mr Jagger I am not Maurits to him.”Įscher then studied for a few years at the School for Architecture and Decorative Arts in Haarlem, but he abandoned architecture to try to carve out a career as a graphic artist. This would have seemed distasteful to the rather formal Escher, who bridled when Jagger addressed him by his first name in a fan letter. (Many of his letters are reproduced in the standard reference book, Escher: The Complete Graphic Work, edited by JL Locher, which includes a full biography and analytical essays by Escher and others.) He had been sent a catalogue for a California “Free University” that contains “three reproductions of my prints alternating with photographs of seductive naked girls”. In a 1969 letter to a friend, he observed testily that “the hippies of San Francisco continue to print my work illegally”. His prints adorn albums by Mott the Hoople and the Scaffold, and he was courted unsuccessfully by Mick Jagger for an album cover and by Stanley Kubrick for help transforming what became 2001: A Space Odyssey into a “fourth-dimensional film”.īut Escher did not belong to any movement. Escher was admired mainly by mathematicians and scientists, and found global fame only when he came to be considered a pioneer of psychedelic art by the hippy counterculture of the 1960s. There is just one work by Maurits Cornelis Escher in all of Britain’s galleries and museums, and it was not until his 70th birthday that the first full retrospective exhibition took place in his native Netherlands. T he artist who created some of the most memorable images of the 20th century was never fully embraced by the art world.
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