Beyond Pain and Terror: Zdisław Beksińksi through another lens
By Zdzisław Beksiński (copyrights inherited by Muzeum Historyczne w Sanoku), CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Horror, the macabre and nightmares at first seem all there is to Zdzisław Beksiński’s artworks. But that is not quite right. Their fantastical elements transport us on an otherworldly voyage to the gothic dreamland the artist called home. We have already been caught red-handed, guilty of over-analysing, as we have deeply misunderstood the artist, who thought his works optimistic, even humorous. And though none of the pieces are titled, as Beksiński wished to avoid any metaphorical readings, it pains us to simply stare at works oozing with symbolism and hidden allusions without knowing how to read them. We might be reassured to know the artist himself didn’t even know how to read them. But in spite of this, I want here to briefly investigate meanings that may not exist, and search for explanations where there may be none.
Born in 1929 in Sanok, southern Poland, Beksiński first graduated in architecture but soon realised that montage photography, sculpting and painting were more to his liking. From the mid-1960s onwards he gained popularity in Poland, and then in the 1980s and 1990s, his works began to be exhibited abroad. His popularity, however, may trouble us – how can decay and darkness be so attractive? Could it be that this disturbing fascination with death, eroticism, and hopelessness deeply resonates with our own awareness of the human condition, no matter how well acknowledged or buried?
Though from his artwork, you may consider Beksiński a deeply troubled individual, in reality, he was a rational optimist. His sadomasochistic desires (there is no use denying their presence), are even kept well under control, as he confessed: “I have always dreamt of raping someone. But I know I would never do it because I condemn silence” to Piotr Dmochowski, a friend and advisor.
Beksiński was at first a keen photographer, though he quickly grew tired of the medium due to its limitations, being unable to edit the photographs to his satisfaction. He then turned to painting because it allowed him to “photograph dreams”, as he put it. Ironically, Beksinski’s low self-belief was to his benefit as an artist, as it meant that he never followed any trends or movements, instead staying faithful to his own dreams and obsessions. He soon progressed from sadomasochistic drawings to what critics call his ‘fantastical’ period, depicting hellish landscapes, barren wastelands, and derelict architecture. After this came the ‘gothic’ period. Here, we are faced with deformed heads and twisted humanoid figures worthy of a horror film. Finally, in the 1990s, Beksiński’s wish of being able to add a surrealist touch to his photographs was granted, and his career came to a full circle as he returned to his original medium.
By Zdzisław Beksiński (copyrights inherited by Muzeum Historyczne w Sanoku), CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Despite all the transformations between styles and mediums, one theme recurs over and over again – tragedy. And to little surprise. Moving to Warsaw in 1977 with his wife Zofia and his son Tomasz, the artist barely left the house, preferring to listen to music (classical, in particular) and work rather than socialise or travel. Yet this seemingly uneventful life was full of terrible misfortunes. Always surrounded by death, starting with his mother-in-law and then his own mother (he lived with both), then his beloved wife (1998) and his son, who committed suicide only a year later, Beksiński had no option but to learn how to cope with grief. Ultimately left to live alone with no other family, he was finally stabbed to death by a 19-year-old in 2005 for refusing to lend him some money. So, we can conclude that although the artworks lack titles, they painfully reflect the traumas and toils of Beksiński, his suffering becoming only too palpable.
And yet despite all the misery and hopelessness, Beksiński’s artworks continue to inspire the world. We can see this in the point-and-click adventure video game Tormentum and in the renowned Mexican filmmaker Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth. But the work that moved me the most was a 2016 Polish film directed by Matuszyński, titled A The Last Family (Ostatnia Rodzina), which takes Beksinki’s life as its subject.
The visual qualities of the film reflect his paintings to such an extent that it is a masterpiece in itself. The clever blend of extreme pessimism and biting humour culminates in an extremely poignant story exploring the inevitability of death and of learning how to cope with it. It is in no way reassuring - in fact, it is rather depressing. But what transforms it from a simple biography is the focus on not only Beksiński’s artworks but also on the complex connections between his family: wife, husband, and son. It is a portrait of the everyday, recounting the major events from their history. The characters – lost, lonely, weak – are not at all what we imagine them to be, as we find that we can see ourselves in their struggles.
Beksiński’s world, as well as the reality of Matuszyński’s film, is a world without God, without illusion, and without false hope. It is painfully dire whilst utterly true and relatable, and this is precisely why Beksiński’s works are much more than surrealist visions of nightmares, their creation arising from everyday struggles.