Man Ray: Maths meets Shakespeare?

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Man Ray (1890–1976) is famous for his photographs and his contribution to Surrealism through numerous object assemblages (including Cadeau (1921/1972), which was a flat-iron with tacks attached to its base, rendering it unusable) but his paintings are largely overlooked. No survey of Surrealism can do without Man Ray’s photographs and objects but very few surveys include his paintings.

Viewed through critical eyes, Man Ray’s paintings are disappointing. A handful of them are memorable but they do not leave a deep impression of the intellect behind them. With a few exceptions, they simply are not as distinctive or striking as his photographs and objects.

So does a new exhibition touring from Washington DC to Copenhagen and Jerusalem featuring Man Ray’s paintings make a case for this overlooked facet of his art? Yes and no: rather than resting on the quality of the paintings themselves, this mixed verdict reflects the complicated interplay between sources and media at the heart of a specific suite of painting. This is what draws one in.

In 1934 or 1935 Max Ernst drew Man Ray’s attention to a large group of mathematical models held at Institut Henri Poincaré, Paris. Ernst had been curious about such forms for a number of years, having first encountered them as line illustrations in reference books, and had used the illustrations in his collages and as sources for paintings. The models at the Institut were teaching aids built of wood, wire, thread and plaster, used to demonstrate shapes of Platonic, Euclidean and non-Euclidean forms.

The most peculiar and absorbing in appearance are the latter group. It was this group that caught the eyes of Ernst and Man Ray. In these small fragile models, unexpected forms bulge and taper, spiral and swoop. They are readymade Surrealist sculptures, paralleling work by Jean Arp (1886–1966), Alberto Giacometti (1901–66), Stanley Hayter (1901–88) and Alexander Calder.  Manufactured in Germany and constructed by a professor at the Institut, the objects in the collection had grown to over 100 in number by the time Ernst and Man Ray visited.  

Man Ray photographed a number of these models in 1934 or 1935. Placing models against black backgrounds and lighting them dramatically, Man Ray paired models, suggesting relationships between the forms. Actually, Man Ray – as he later admitted – had no interest in mathematics and did not understand the meaning of the models or any connection between them. He treated the forms as he did tools, machinery and domestic objects that he photographed. When a tool could be detached from its function and seen in a new way, it displayed its latent Surrealist potential. Owing to the organic appearance of the Institut models, they could act as metaphors for human and animal anatomy. The hollow forms looked like bones; solid forms could be muscle. Are the photographs creative artistic endeavour or simply consummate documentation?

Some of the series were published in the magazine Cahiers d’Art (May 1936), between articles by S André Breton (author of the original ‘Surrealist Manifesto’ of 1924) on the Surrealism of objects and the art historian and critic, Christian Zervos on the link between mathematics and abstract art. Breton and Man Ray discussed how to approach scientific models with Surrealist eyes. Breton suggested that the mystery of Man Ray’s photographs could be enhanced by adding unexpected titles. Apart from the exhibition of some of the set, and the compilation a portfolio of mounted photographs with text, the series was neglected for the next 12 years.

In 1947 Man Ray, who had fled back to his native USA during the war, returned to Paris to collect part of his archive, which he had been forced to leave behind. Back home in California, re-encountering the suite of photographs inspired Man Ray to paint some of the images during 1947–9. Man Ray gave his paintings titles of Shakespeare plays. In some cases there seem slight tangential connections between the subject of the play and the image, but in most the link is so obscure that it might not – or actually does not – exist. The Shakespearean association in the painting titles are often as irrelevant to Man Ray’s concerns as the mathematical bases of the original models were to the series of photographs.

Man Ray never explained his reasoning behind entitling the group (which he collectively described as ‘Shakespearean Equations’) and thereby preserved the Surrealist mystery. The paintings were exhibited in The Copley Galleries, Beverly Hills in 1948–9 and subsequently dispersed.

This exhibition and catalogue present some of the source models, Man Ray’s photographs and photographic portfolios and ‘Shakespearean Equation’paintings, alongside related material. The catalogue includes discussion of Man Ray as photographer and object-maker, showing links between activities in various media, as well contributions from mathematicians. So what we are presented with a complex web of references and activity over many years, involving art, mathematics, literature and theory. 

So, how are the ‘Shakespearean Equation’ paintings as paintings? Relatively consistent in terms of execution, some attractive, others not so engaging. Sometimes the painting only makes one wish to see the source object. Other times the bold photograph makes a powerful impression and the painting seems both dainty and clumsy, lacking the gravity and monumentality of the source. Sometimes Man Ray paints a source accurately, only adding colour to the black and white source image (The Tempest (1948)), other times he makes changes by introducing new elements and radically altering imagery (Julius Caesar (1948)). Overall, one is intellectually engaged with the paintings the way one is when studying a puzzle.

By most measures, Man Ray was a no more than a competent painter. In even the better paintings, the surfaces are dead, brushwork plodding and colours uninteresting, with forms as filled-in outlines. Man Ray never lets the painting material drive art in an unexpected direction. The jeu d’esprit is all in the conception – the execution is grimly pedestrian. Nonetheless, despite Man Ray’s many and serious limitations as a painter, this catalogue proves fascinating. It illuminates the relationship between Surrealism and mathematics (and science more widely); it introduces the Institut Poincaré models and non-Euclidean geometry; it shows us how artists adopt and repurpose material from non-art fields; it gives an insight into Man Ray’s career and intellectual scope of reference. So, despite the shortcomings of some of the art, this catalogue and exhibition prove thoroughly satisfying and pleasingly unpredictable.

Man Ray: Human Equations. A Journey from Mathematics to Shakespeare by Wendy A. Grossman, Edouard Sebline (eds.),  Hatje Cantz/The Phillips Collection/The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, 2014. 238pp., 248 illus, €39.80. ISBN 978 3 7757 3920 7