Artists and the Image of the Door
Updated: Aug 1
We all pass through doors multiple times a day. We open them, close them, lock them, and unlock them; we knock or ring to get in, let ourselves in, smile when a door is opened for us, and close them when we desire privacy. The symbolism of doorways is self-evident: they provide security when we shut out the outside world, or mark the first step toward facing daily challenges as we step outside. Locked doors can also carry a sinister meaning of entrapment and imprisonment. We speak of closed doors when facing insurmountable obstacles, yet we view stepping through a doorway as the first move toward new vistas.
What happens when an artist uses the image of a door in their work? That’s when things get complicated, and a door is no longer just a door. As expected, Surrealist painters like Magritte and Delvaux distance the door from its prescribed purpose. Their works leave us with many unanswered questions, embodying mystery and a feeling of disquietude. This feeling of unease is also present in Giorgio de Chirico’s work; known for his metaphysical paintings, de Chirico assembles strange objects and statues in equally unreal settings. It is not hard to see how his art came to influence Surrealists like Magritte. Francis Bacon also frequently used the detached door in his paintings. Perhaps in his canvases, the door provides the only stability or support in an otherwise tortured, writhing, and dark existence.
René Magritte places a free-standing door at the edge of a sandy bank right next to a body of water in La Victoire (Victory). A cloud is pushing its way through the semi-open door. You can walk around the door, but where can you go? What I find particularly interesting is how the top half of the door is the exact same color as the surrounding sky, while the lower part of the door takes on the hues of its immediate environment. The title is in itself ambiguous. Is it mocking what humans conceive of as victory? Is this where we are heading—into a barren landscape with no route of escape? Or, conversely, is it a sign that nature will win?
In L’Embellie (The Improvement), Magritte again places an isolated door near a body of water. This time, the door is fully open. The distinction between what is outside and inside is completely blurred: the clouds are brighter outside, while the inside section of the clouded sky is darker, presenting the illusory image of an interior decorated with wallpaper that perfectly matches the landscape. Can we really improve on nature? Notice the spherical object—a recurrent motif in Magritte’s work—on the lower left side of the painting.
In La Réponse Imprévue (The Unexpected Answer), the door features a gaping hole of an indistinguishable shape that deeply alarms us. There seems to be total darkness in the room behind it. I can’t help but speculate that René Magritte had his mother’s suicide in mind when creating this painting; his mother, Régina, suffered from severe depression and was often kept locked in a room following numerous suicide attempts.
In Paul Delvaux’s At the Door, two formally dressed female figures—who appear strikingly similar despite one being a brunette and the other a blonde—walk in opposite directions. They do not seem aware of each other, so engrossed in themselves that one wonders if they are sleepwalking. Both are passing through an open door. If the brunette continues along her path, she will reach another open door situated right next to a body of water, blurring the boundary between the interior and exterior worlds. While the movement of the tree and plant suggests a strong wind, not a single hair on either figure is out of place. The resulting atmosphere is far from peaceful, evoking a profound sense of anxiety and unease.
Il Ritornante (Returning) by Giorgio de Chirico places two figures in a low-ceiling room with a door open just enough to hint at an escape from this sinister environment, though we cannot truly know what lies on the other side. On this side of the threshold stands a marble column, casting an eerie shadow, its top half bearing the likeness of de Chirico’s deceased father. The second figure, which sits and kneels simultaneously, resembles a tailor’s dummy—though this one is mutilated and decapitated, leaning heavily against a box of geometrical tools. I had the chance to see this painting at the Centre Pompidou in Paris, where it resides as part of their permanent collection.
Francis Bacon’s painting Figure in Open Door is emotionally charged. A naked man is clinging to the handle of a free-standing door, gazing in a direction that looks every bit as dark as the rest of the canvas. It seems as though the open doorway is the sole source of light. Is that a lamp with a light switch situated on the top-left corner of the door frame? Will there be total darkness once again when the door is closed?
I am about to embark on a series of paintings featuring a door. I wanted to see how other artists have dealt with this subject before starting with my own interpretation. I know one thing for sure: my doors are going to be firmly closed.
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