I saw the most beautiful photography exhibit recently by
Karin Hillmer at the
Silvermine Guild Arts Center in New Canaan, Connecticut. The title of the show was "Infinity and Dreams" and it featured a series of photographs inspired by the work of
Jorge Luis Borge, the famous South American writer who is credited with inventing the literature genre magical realism. These crappy screen shots below don't do justice to the beauty and mystery and depth of these photographs but hopefully they will inspire you to click through to the artist's
web site and see better reproductions of her many photographs. Each photograph had a title that was written in lovely script on the mat of the originals. And yes, the ink monkey always drinks every last thick black drop.
I was wondering how magical realism might be related to the fantasy genre whose invention is often credited to William Morris and found this excerpt on
wikipedia that explained it nicely:
"Prominent English-language fantasy writers have stated that "magic realism" is only another name for fantasy fiction.
Gene Wolfe said, "magic realism is fantasy written by people who speak Spanish,",and
Terry Pratchett said magic realism "is like a polite way of saying you write fantasy". However, Amaryll Beatrice Chanady distinguishes magical realist
literature from fantasy literature ("the fantastic") based on
differences between three shared dimensions: the use of
antinomy
(the simultaneous presence of two conflicting codes), the inclusion of
events that cannot be integrated into a logical framework, and the use
of authorial reticence. In fantasy, the presence of the supernatural
code is perceived as problematic, something to which special attention
is drawn, whereas in magical realism the presence of the supernatural is
accepted. While in fantasy, authorial reticence creates a disturbing
effect on the reader, it works to
integrate the supernatural into
the natural framework in magical realism. This integration is made
possible in magical realism as the author presents the supernatural as
being equally valid to the natural. There is no hierarchy expressed
between the two codes. The ghost of Melquíades in Márquez's
One Hundred Years of Solitude or the baby ghost in Toni Morrison's
Beloved
who visit or haunt the inhabitants of their previous residence are both
presented by the narrator as ordinary occurrences; the reader,
therefore, accepts the marvelous as normal and common."