In the first section, this book is the best set of personal memoirs I have ever read, surpassing even Robert Graves' "Goodbye to All That". De Chirico could have been a great novelist, had he chosen that path. His descriptions of a childhood in Greece are unforgettable. But his novel "Hebdomeros" was also a beautiful piece of writing. It's interesting that three major painters associated with surrealism, De Chirico, Dali and Magritte, were also great writers. (De Chirico would hate to be associated with surrealism, but like it or not - he's their Daddy.)
I'm disappointed in part II of the memoirs. I'm also disappointed in what de Chirico does not tell us in part I. He barely touches on his relationship with Apollinaire, wherein the poet would give titles to some of de Chirico's paintings. He doesn't mention his thoughts on learning of Apollinaire's death. He doesn't tell us which paintings he titled, and which were given names by Apollinaire.
On one page, Paul Eluard had good enough taste to purchase his paintings, and thus was not beyond redemption. Yet on the very next page, Eluard was an onanist and a mystical cretin. What happened in a few paragraphs to change his opinion of the man? De Chirico doesn't tell us, except to blame the corruption of Eluard on Andre Breton.
Many details important to students of the era were not even mentioned. Isabella Far is written about at length. Yet de Chirico does not even mention his wedding to her. They are companions for decades and suddenly, he refers to her as his wife. Duh? When did you get married? Where were you? What was the wedding like? Somebody correct me if I overlooked something.
He outlived almost all of his enemies, (and according to de Chirico, his enemies were more numerous than the stars in the sky). He outlived almost all of the surrealists. What did he think when learning of the deaths of Eluard or Breton? What was his opinion of Magritte, to whom he had once written a friendly thank you note? What was it Magritte had written to him?
Unfortunately, details like this are not to be found. Instead, we get an enemies list of Italian critics and modernist painters, whose names most readers in the English-speaking world will not recognize.
Even so, the character revealed in these memoirs is unique. He's obsessive, paranoid, romantic, imperious to the modern world, and at times comical. But he is always guided by a stubborn integrity and a search for what he called "mystery and poetry".
Yet, he is involved in such comical episodes. He's been accused of forging his early paintings and selling them. He's accused of denouncing some of his genuine early paintings as forgeries because he was jealous of the high prices they were drawing. His later work could not command such high prices. Even stranger and more ironic, he's accused of forging his own paintings and then denouncing his forgeries as forgeries!
Despite these absurd adventures, no painter ever left a body of work that was more replete with mystery. No painter was ever more poetic. Rene Magritte credits de Chirico with teaching him that the supreme art was poetry, and that a painter at his best, could be a poet with his brush and canvas.
More than any 20th Century painter, de Chirico's greatest paintings were like that. They were poems, songs of love. And they will haunt generations to come, long after Picasso, Matisse, and Monet have been forgotten. At their best, these memoirs are a haunting, unforgettable poem.
