Surrealism Can art be an anti-fascist tool?

Was Surrealism a reaction to fascism or even its radical antithesis? How does art today respond to bizarre political trends? We talk to Adrian Djukić, who, in collaboration with Stephanie Weber and Karin Althaus, curated the exhibition “But Live Here? No, Thanks.” at the Lenbachhaus.

Mr Djukić, Surrealism is widely regarded as one of the most radical artistic movements of the 20th century. Why is this so?

This is largely due to the era in which Surrealism emerged, between the First and Second World Wars. Some of its founding members had fought in the First World War and were repulsed by the idea of representing a country. The Surrealists knew that society as a whole needed to change if the world was to avoid descending into war again. They were well-informed about current political events but also widely read in philosophy, and they believed that only a radical revolution could address the problems that were already building up once again on a massive scale.
Further proof of their radicalism was seen in their attempt to transform art, which in their eyes had failed. At the same time, they took clear political stances: anti-colonialism, anti-capitalism and internationalism were explicitly articulated positions as early as the 1920s. In short, these were truly extreme demands.

Surrealist art emphasises the bizarre, the dreamlike and the unconscious. How exactly was this manifested?

The Enlightenment was seen as a failure, since crimes were still being committed, countries subjugated and wars waged in the name of so-called common sense. The Surrealists decisively rejected reality. By embracing dreams, the unconscious and the grotesque, they introduced categories that allowed for a broader view of this reality. Dreams and artistic practice were meant to influence reality, creating richer, more exciting realms of imagination.

In practice, this took many forms: Surrealists kept records of their dreams, sometimes sharing them in magazines. They experimented with techniques that reduced their control over the images – burning negatives, using double exposures or applying glue to photographic plates. Their work was often experimental and drew on the principle of collage to create the most surprising juxtapositions. For them, the dream was not so much an escape as a means of exerting pressure on a world defined by utilitarian objectives and exploitation.

Since the Renaissance, the term “bizarre” has described phenomena that challenge the order of the world – whether psychological states and dreams, or bold ideas and ingenious creations. What role did the bizarre play in Surrealism?

It was extremely important. Surrealism began as a literary movement but it soon permeated all areas of the visual arts. It appeared as a depiction of a world rendered somehow alien, or as an aesthetic strategy to challenge the order of reality through novel combinations of existing elements. Reality was thus intersected with the unexpected – a phenomenon particularly evident in Surrealist photography.

The bizarre or grotesque effects Surrealists valued most created paradoxes and ambivalences. Art was neither good nor evil, but had its own distinct quality. This, too, was seen by many of them as an anti-fascist tool, a means of resisting a world that had become too constricted.

Were there artists who made the bizarre central to their work?

It’s difficult to single out individual artists, but one example is the Cuban painter Wifredo Lam, who fought against Franco’s fascism in the Spanish Civil War. When he fled Europe on board a ship in 1941, he drew figures that were neither human, nor animal, nor plant – but were everything all at once. Another example is the editorial team of the magazine Tropiques on Martinique, where Suzanne Césaire and René Ménil worked with thematic intersections. They were not interested in cultural purity, but in forging forward-looking connections between different ways of thinking and aesthetic approaches.

Perhaps the pinnacle of the bizarre was reached in the writings of Aimé Césaire, a pioneer of the Black Liberation movement, who co-founded the magazine and was also closely connected to Surrealism. He turned the idea on its head: the bizarre is the world itself, not some exotic form of art. This becomes particularly evident in colonialism, a form of barbarism that first and foremost de-civilises the coloniser, brutalising and demeaning him.


Surrealists like André Breton and Max Ernst saw their art not only as an experiment but also as a form of resistance against rationality and authoritarian systems. Fascist regimes, by contrast, relied on order, clarity and discipline. Was Surrealism the antithesis of fascism?

In its underlying ideals, Surrealism was unequivocally anti-fascist from the outset. Yet some Surrealists did flirt with fascism; the irrational, unfortunately, can fit quite comfortably within fascism. However, the countless articles, pamphlets, magazines and biographies documenting how artists hid each other from the Gestapo in private apartments, forged passports, fought in the Résistance and built international networks of solidarity speak clearly of the movement’s core convictions.

Much effort also went into analysing fascism in order to fight it more effectively. Alongside acts of resistance, an anti-authoritarian sense of humour emerged – one that still makes today’s far-right attempts at wit or coolness seem utterly ridiculous.

Can we describe Surrealism as an anti-fascist art movement because it subverts the normal and the conventional? More specifically, where fascism seeks to enforce conformity, Surrealism celebrates deviation, the unconscious, the “wild”?

That was certainly true for a long time, and Surrealism was highly successful at identifying what was normal and conventional and therefore needed to be challenged. This non-conformism was carefully cultivated through intense debates among its members. In short: the Surrealists sought to realise a form of individualism that deviated from the norm while simultaneously embracing a greater sense of collectivity.

By the 1960s, however, it had already become clear to them that mere deviations from the norm would no longer suffice, since these strategies too had, in part, become systemic. Even today, the far right readily exploits the “wild” – though under authoritarian terms – so in many respects, Surrealism has been surpassed by the wrong side.

How does art today respond to new authoritarian or seemingly “bizarre” political tendencies?

I’d like to turn the question around and approach it from the perspective of Surrealism. For the Surrealists, art was never meant simply to comment on current events – you would not see a painting inscribed with “I’m against the war”. Such gestures were seen as diminishing the potential of art. Instead, art was meant to create something entirely its own – perhaps unsettling, but always intense. However, this did not prevent the artists from being actively involved political life. Today, by contrast, I see art that often only reacts to current developments, translating political statements directly into works.

What can Surrealism’s anti-fascist past teach us today?

The philosopher Elisabeth Lenk put it this way: by linking critical theory with surrealist practice, the Surrealists were able to give politics a new dimension. Even in the most adverse circumstances, they rose above it all, making art together in the camps and staging exhibitions in treetops while waiting for exit permits. We see a photographic portrait of Claude Cahun, boldly clenching a Nazi eagle between her teeth, after a death sentence was, fortunately, never carried out. The Surrealists’ superiority did not depend on the favour of the authoritarians. This multi-layered approach is sometimes missing today. But we can still learn from their combination of intellectual rigour, audacity and humour.