The Precipice of Space ᵈᵒ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ

This assignment was a self-chosen topic – we could draw on past lectures to be included but had relative freedom. At that time, in 2022, Tate Modern had Surrealism Beyond Borders which is where I found Marcel Jean's Armoire Surréaliste. Thank you, Tate. Just a bit of recent historical context for this blog. R. P.S. The last p.s. is personal.

In this essay,

I will briefly consider theoretical approaches to interpreting our connection with space and how we inhabit it. I will examine how the spaces we engage with affect our experience and representation of self, and how the concept of space influences our engagement with and creation of art. Drawing on Gaston Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space and Georges Perec’s Species of Spaces and Other Pieces, I will explore the symbolic sense of space in relation to Christopher Bollas’s concept of the “day space”. This exploration will address the spatial relations of self—between inner private spaces and shared public spaces—through the poetic image of a surrealist painting and the physical embodiment of space through dance. I will also consider the symbolic sense of space in relation to personal artistic expression and interpersonal connection, focusing on the importance of having space for dreams—where the self, as art, is conceived and dwells—and the idea of the inhabitable in relation to the soul as a home for our dreams, and vice versa.

If there is “a day space much as there is a dream space” (Bollas, Being a Character, 1993), then how can we intentionally clear the way to create more space to allow for conscious connection with dreams? Christopher Bollas explores the dream space of our waking life; this essay likewise prioritises the daydream over the dreams that occur during sleep, focusing on the conscious connection of the self with the creation of art. It seeks to explore the construction of the dream space within daily life and the “intelligence quite beyond our knowledge” that resides within the world of dreams (ibid.). Bollas wrote, “are we inside anything at all during the day?” (ibid.). Although our waking life differs from dream life, our movements within it constitute a form of “day dreaming” (ibid.). If the self in its entirety spends its day within the dream space, then surely daydreaming can be seen not only as a facilitator of artistic expression, but as an absolute necessity. But do our dreams “have an independent existence” from the self? (ibid.). Does art exist separately from the self, as a separate conscious being that takes form in an individual? Is art expressing itself through the human?

To explore these questions, we must look into the inner spaces of the soul, for “the task of the poet” is to “liberate in us ‘une matière qui veut rêver’ [matter that would dream]” (Bollas, The Mystery of Things, 1999, p. 101). As with Bachelard, the surrealists view the image as “the instrument of liberation” (The Mystery of Things, p. 101), in which “the analyst tries to participate … to discover, beneath the manifest images, the primitive affective experience to which they refer us” (ibid.). According to Bachelard, “poetry” and the poetic image are “rather than being a phenomenology of the mind, … a phenomenology of the soul” (Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, p. 4). Through topoanalysis, we can approach our physical surroundings with a phenomenologically and psychologically critical lens, analysing the extent to which our innermost selves are reflected in our present physical reality. The objects and their placement in the spaces we reside not only reflect the self but also the various states that the self is experiencing. Bachelard suggested that one “experiences the house in reality and in its virtuality, by means of thoughts and dreams” (The Poetics of Space, p. 27), through which topoanalysis offers insight into the connection of physical space and objects with other dimensions.

So, too, the “Surrealist object confirmed the reality of other dimensions” (D’Alessandro, Ades, & Gale, Surrealism Beyond Borders, p. 270), which can be seen in Marcel Jean’s Armoire Surréaliste (1941). The surrealist object was important “because it existed physically in the real world” (ibid.). Thus, the use of familiar objects of day-to-day habitation could be used to reference the self and explore the “…contradiction between the object in the material world and the operations of the imagination” (ibid.). Yet a single poetic image can create an internal kaleidoscopic collage, inferred by a person’s inner self, as the “interpretations come from that place of essential psychic devolution” (The Mystery of Things, p. 7). Is the poetic image ever experienced in the same way? Can all art be said to be experienced in a surrealist manner? The unique inner workings of an individual’s mind influence their perception, creating an almost surreal experience of an object or artwork that becomes entirely personalised to the viewer. A single poetic image creates a vision both seen and unseen, which can be interpreted in infinite ways in accordance with an individual’s dreamscape.

J.H. Van den Berg writes: “Poets and painters are born phenomenologists” (The Poetics of Space, p. 13). Marcel Jean’s Armoire Surréaliste is a key example that can tie together the theories of Bachelard and Perec with Bollas’s day space concept and his psychoanalytic approach. Bachelard wrote that “The real beginning of images, if we study them phenomenologically, will give concrete evidence of the values of inhabited space, of the non-I that protects the I” (The Poetics of Space, p. 26). The phenomenological symbolism of the wardrobe can be used to explore this I and non-I through the topoanalysis of the soul. This surrealist painting’s poetic image highlights the intimacy of the soul and prompts us to question how space is systematically organised and constructed interiorly. The Armoire Surréaliste can be seen as a means by which the self attempts to do just that—by creating protective barriers that can safeguard or inhibit the space of the soul. “All intimacy hides” (The Poetics of Space, p. 109). So, what lies beyond the walls and doors that barricade a soul? Is this intimacy found within the daydream, and is this the place where art is conceived?

Perec wrote, “we barricade ourselves in. Doors stop and separate” (Perec, Species of Spaces, p. 37). This phrase implies that doors, used as protection, can also act as a disservice to the self. To barricade oneself in does not allow one’s artistic potential to become manifest, leaving art locked behind the doors of the self—dormant and disregarded. The doors in this image are partly open, revealing an inviting landscape behind them; the water symbolic of the emotions contained within the self, both still and turbulent, implying that serenity and strife reside within. The green hills symbolise the fertile land that awaits the dreamer who dares to venture into the inner landscape. With two scenes layered in one painting, the art beckons from behind the wardrobe just as art beckons from within a soul. Instead of separate images behind each compartment, there is one image of a single landscape. This suggests that the self is not severed into parts but is a cohesive whole—a being in its entirety that, through the opening of dreams, offers a glimpse into the picture contained within the frame, as a soul frames a dream.

When comparing the house with the body and soul, we read that “wardrobes with their shelves, desks with their drawers, and chests with their false bottoms are veritable organs of the secret psychological life” (The Poetics of Space, p. 99). Just as the organs of the body are protected and unseen yet are vital to the holistic functioning of the whole, so too is the health of a soul reliant on the inner workings of the dream space. What are the protective mechanisms used, and what are their purposes? Do they benefit or restrict the creativity of the imagination and the physical creation of art? “Joe Bousquet wrote: ‘I am my own hiding-place’” (The Poetics of Space, p. 109). Does art hide inside us? Is the artist hidden within the art? For “he who buries a treasure buries himself with it” (ibid.). Is the daydream a space for the self to hide, and is the creation of art a way in which the doors are opened for the observer to witness the inner landscape of the other? Is art a way we can observe the self?

Dreams are the outlet of art. Through the daydream, we open the doors to allow a convergence of inner and outer spaces. Dreams safeguard the self; conscious engagement with the creation of dreamscapes is to create art; the use of imagination is an artistic practice. If “the imagination functions … whenever the human being has found the slightest shelter” (The Poetics of Space, p. 26), then the wardrobe can be seen as a “model of intimacy” (p. 99) and a symbolic representation of a sanctuary for dreams that shelters the secret compartments of self. How does this shelter, and the partitions within it, separate the self from the self and the self from others? Is it the sheltering of the soul, the “store of daydreams and intimacy” (ibid.)?

Daydreams contain the keys and passwords needed “to cross the threshold … to communicate, just as a prisoner communicates with the world outside” (Species of Spaces, p. 37). Many have imprisoned their art by imprisoning their dreams, shutting their self off from their dreams, and thus their art from the world. By daydreaming, one is “leaving the key in the door” (ibid.). But “if there wasn’t a door, there wouldn’t be a key” (ibid.). So, what if there were no doors, no structures, no private places of intimacy? The structures of enclosure require an intuitive balance for their use, which can only be discovered by the individual. The size, shape, and relative openness of one’s inner wardrobe can be compared with the “complex pieces that a craftsman creates” (The Poetics of Space, p. 102). There is a beauty in the self being a “witness” to its secrecy, maintaining “the need for secrecy,” and developing the “intuitive sense of hiding-place” (ibid.).

Perec wrote, “I put a picture up on a wall. Then I forget there is a wall. I no longer know there is a wall” (Species of Spaces, p. 39). We, too, can forget about the walls that separate us from the self, causing the gradual solidification of a set identity—a fragmentation of self. Through the dispersion of the self into dreamlike states of reality, we can begin to collect the self together to form a holistic understanding. From peering through keyholes to opening the doors, we see the self in its entirety. But how to find the key? Dream. How to keep the doors open? Dream. How to allow freedom for art to emerge? Dream. “A lock is a psychological threshold” that “defies indiscretion when it is covered with ornaments” (ibid.). Art can be seen as the ornaments that cover the self, acting both as a disclosure of the self and a shielding for the self simultaneously.

We now move from the “me and my place, the private, the domestic” to “the other side, other people, the world, the public” (Species of Spaces, p. 37), to look at the imaginary and physical occupation of place—the movement and arrangement of thoughts as they dwell in the body through dance. I would like to note that while space and time are often explored as interrelated themes—at times difficult to separate—for the purpose of this essay, I have tried to focus solely on space, to explore “Perec’s spatial consciousness” (Satin, “Embodiment and Everyday Space,” p. 155), specifically in relation to the physical embodiment of space in both shared public spaces and the private internal space of the imagination, further exploring the interplay between them.

Through the very physicality of dance, space is altered through the motions of the dancer. Dance can be seen as the transformation of the dream into motion—the daydream expressed through the body. A dancer, through the corporeal embodiment of a dream and through movement in and of space, translates the inner private space to the public space. And, too, do physical space and the objects contained within it inform a dancer’s movements. As with Bachelard, Perec, through his literature, creates a poetic image both visually with the written word and imaginatively with the images his wording inspires the reader to create. Just as a dancer’s body moves through space, Perec’s words seem to dance across the page. His exploration of language parallels the playfulness and intentionality of a dancer; he uses letters to choreograph language, as if in “literary acrobatics” (Satin, p. 160).

If we view the page as a space that encapsulates the letters written across it—without the words being confined, for their interpreted meaning takes space in other forms not limited to that moment—neither transient nor permanent, their temporality depends on the effect on the inner world and the perimeters set in accordance with it. As with dance, the motions, unless captured on film, are momentary—a brief portrayal of the subconscious breathing through the body in motion, like the spoken word that lingers long after its utterance. Just as in literature, painting, and dance, the poetic image is felt in the moment and is woven into the dreamlike state of reality; thus, all these art forms can be said to be “participating in its meaning-making” (Satin, p. 159) and the making of the self.

Considering the construction of space in relation to its meaning-making, what of the possibility of measuring space differently to move beyond the perimeters of tangible space to the intangible? Perec wrote, “We use our eyes for seeing. Our field of vision reveals a limited space” (Species of Spaces, p. 81). Yet this is in accordance with our physical eyes; what of the poetic images of the imagination? Is there a limited space within the dreamscape, and does art enable us to see farther? “When nothing arrests our gaze, it carries a very long way” (ibid.). So, without a focal point, our perspective is broadened, allowing us to see farther and thus perhaps venture deeper. Bachelard wrote: “words – I often imagine … are little houses, each with its cellar and garret… To go upstairs in the word house is to withdraw… while to go down to the cellar is to dream” (The Poetics of Space, p. xiii). Here, Bachelard suggests that instead of transcending, one must descend in order to dream—one must venture deeper into their inner storehouse.

The concepts of distance and depth within the dream world imply that inner spaces are considered to be constructed in the same framework we are used to—space with definitive “edges,” just as the “inner space of an old wardrobe is deep” (The Poetics of Space, p. 99). The construction of space—its depth and distance—is further explored through still dancers: a dancer fixed to a set position in space, a body immobile, a mind free to roam. Is art still felt through dance without being expressed in motion? Just as a painting can appear animated, the stillness of a living body can merge unexpected artistic practices to create a novel sensory experience. A still dancer can be seen as an empty page, the contents open yet to be written and read, allowing infinite interpretations. Bodies in physical space, through both motion and stillness, can fully embody the creation of art and can both “take up as much space and significance” (Satin, p. 154).

By experiencing an “embodied encounter” (Satin, p. 167) with space and by “noticing the unnoticed” (Satin, p. 166) spaces, we can reflect this practice internally to observe the “…‘non-places’” (ibid.) inside the self that are often overlooked and ignored, to become more aware of the dream space, which is reciprocally co-created with the self. The movement of life itself, and the movement through life as corporeal beings, can be seen as an artistic ritual of embodying space. The “awareness-in-dailiness” (Satin, p. 155) and the curating of the day space can be seen as an artistic practice; thus, daily life is an expression of art. As a practice, “If we turn our head in one direction … twist our bodies around to see properly” (Species of Spaces, p. 81)—with the physical eyes closed to restrict what can be perceived through sight, and turning one’s head—we can see something considered unseeable, a vision from within. We can see properly what cannot be recognised through sight alone, but what can be discerned through the imagination.

Thinking back to the poetic image and sight in relation to the sensing and constructing of space, so too “a dancer’s experience of space is accessed through vision” (Satin, p. 165), as with the visual observation of a painting. With dance, “the proprioceptive elements of experiencing ourselves in and as space” are heightened due to the corporeality of the artistry; “proprioception is, literally, how we ‘sense ourselves’” (Satin, p. 161). The physical referencing of the self in space, in alignment with the physical space shared with others, requires a knowing of the self, both physically and spiritually. A dancer must “let go of that vigilant watchfulness, to transcend that ongoing analysis of herself as a subject of information and awareness in order to actually dance” (ibid.)—to observe and to fully experience one’s own art in the present moments of its creation.

Bachelard wrote, “all really inhabited space bears the essence of the notion of home,” referring to the “[The sheltered being]” (The Poetics of Space, p. 27). But what of a space inhabited without shelter? For “The force and significance of images depend more on specific ideological or differential functions… images of … walls and houses” are not always “welcoming and protective” (The Mystery of Things, p. 101). So, what of the uninhabitable space of a soul? How can dreams dwell and art be created in such a space? “The confined, the out-of-bounds, the encaged, the bolted, walls jagged with broken glass, judas windows, reinforced doors” (Species of Spaces, p. 89)—a treacherous and unsafe landscape, both in relation to a physical location and in reference to the soul as the house for our dreams. How does this inform the creation of art? Can art be born from inner chaos, or calm?

A mind preoccupied with anxiety, which clutters the internal space, can be said to leave no room for artistic creation; and yet it has been shown throughout history that at times of great distress, the most compelling art is created. Thus, art can be created under any circumstance; but perhaps it is through the dream space, through the individual’s consciousness, that art can emerge. The self requires an element of freedom in order to daydream. Bachelard wrote, “poetry appears as a phenomenon of freedom” (The Poetics of Space, p. 12). If we extend poetry to include the poetic image that arises across the arts, it prompts the question: does art need freedom, or is art an expression of freedom itself, or both? For a dream cannot be forced or coerced but can be analysed afterward.

When labelling the unknown realms, we attempt to establish structures and themes to gain understanding and give meaning to intangible realities; this process itself is an artistic practice. Art is the articulation of the self and the affirmation of the self. Art, even when existing in an uninhabitable space, forces the soul to reclaim its freedom. The creation of art is required for survival—art says I am here, here you are, inhabiting self, inhabiting space. Art is an affirmation of inhabitation; thus, in turn, it is an affirmation of freedom. Does art embody a being through the dream space, or is it through one’s embodiment of self that art can be formed? Art attempts to articulate the self as spoken and translated through the daydream; thus, art is the self in motion.

Through the dream space, the subconscious has the freedom to arise as art; in this way, art is the creation, creator, and observer. Life itself is an expression of one’s own artistic sensibility; our existence is a reflection of the spaces we create, which are a unique exhibit of self—the private self and the shared self. In The Mystery of Things, Bollas wrote, “when we wake from a dream, we reflect on it” (p. 7). So, too, the process of creating art can feel like awakening from a dream—to find that somehow the intangible has formed itself as art through the self. Perhaps through conscious engagement with the daydream, we can reflect on the self and thus nurture the connection needed to aid the freedom of space required for the creation of art. So, too, experiencing art—one’s own and that of another’s—is like awakening from a dream. Experiencing another’s art is like experiencing their dreams; thus, art can be said to be the sharing of dreams, where we welcome and are welcomed into another’s inner landscape. Art is the collective expression of humanity distilled through individual dreams.

In Species of Spaces, Perec wrote, “I would like there to exist places that are stable, unmoving, intangible, untouched” (p. 91). The creation of art may be an attempt to create just that. A poetic image, a tangible expression of self, preserved physically over time, while the intangible essence of the experience remains untouched within. The concept of art is multifaceted and multi-dimensional, existing in spaces seen and unseen, felt and intuited. Art still lies beyond human reason, but through the connection with self and the dream space, it can be distilled. Through daydreaming, we give permission for art to thrive; through daydreaming, we welcome the creation of art. Daydreaming is the artistic expression of the subconscious coming to the surface—if the surface of a soul can be said to exist. To inhabit the self is to inhabit a dream.

Dreams are the process through which intangible information is translated; thus, art takes form from the intangible through the daydream. Art facilitates the oscillation of movement between our conscious and unconscious realms; through art, we are able to access spaces unknown to us, within us, which leads us to the precipice of space where we can transcend beyond the perceived limitations of space. In turn, our dreams lead us to art, which further continues to facilitate this oscillation. Art is the collective social choreography of dreams through which all existence is created—through the shaping of space into either an idea or an object.

P.S. I got the worst mark of my life on this essay, a 50/54 – something like that. It was a mandatory core module on the Liberal Arts programme, taught by two professors. My first essay got a first. When the professor who marked this one found out, he said, ''Oh, that was very generous'' (without having even read it), so I expected a lower grade on the paper he'd mark, but not this bad! Ah, at least I can complain here – it's my blog after all. If you stayed for the rant, thank you and sorry. I did get a little dizzy reading it (the essay) just now. Perhaps that's what happened to him – my Pisces 12th house musings engulfed him in a daydream he couldn't quite grasp.

Do keep on dreaming, dear dreamers.

Your intangibility is needed to breathe something beautiful into existence. Rose x

Bibliography

• Bachelard, Gaston, Maria Jolas, Mark Z. Danielewski, and Richard Kearney. The Poetics of Space. [New edition, with new introduction and foreword]. New York: Penguin Books.

• Bollas, Christopher. Being a Character: Psychoanalysis and Self-Experience. London: Routledge, 1993.

• Bollas, Christopher. The Mystery of Things. London; New York: Routledge, 1999.

• D’Alessandro, S., Ades, D., and Gale, M. Surrealism Beyond Borders.

• Perec, Georges, and John Sturrock. Species of Spaces, and Other Pieces. Rev. ed. London: Penguin, 1999.

• Satin, Leslie. “Embodiment and Everyday Space: Dancing with Georges Perec.” Georges Perec’s Geographies: Material, Performative and Textual Spaces, edited by Charles Forsdick et al., UCL Press, 2019, pp. 154–69, http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctv13xps5j.17.