That said, Bocklin can also creep up on you in surprising ways. We may be unconvinced that his swarthy, rock-throwing centaurs represent, in the wake of the Franco-Prussian War, the recurrent triumph of human brutality, but in his later work a more haunting, dreamlike mood emerges that floats into Symbolist territory, as in the many versions of his best-known painting, Isle of the Dead, where a phantom boat approaches a rocky domain of cypresses and mausoleums. De Chirico, we know, was a fan, untethering Bocklin's flight from the material world; and Ernst, too, could reawaken the strangeness of Bocklin's mythical figures in Germanic forests. Seen through post-Surrealist eyes, this new salute to Bocklin may reinvent him for the twenty-first century.
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|Article Type:||Brief Article|
|Date:||May 1, 2001|
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