Luc Tuymans, Rome, 2007. 20th Century & Contemporary Art Evening Sale, London.
Luc Tuymans’ highly distinctive painting practice navigates the complex ambiguities between history, power, imagery, and memory; probing, in essence, these themes to question the very existence of absolute truth. “There is no truth in the work,” Tuymans asserted of his practice in an interview with Iona Whittaker, noting further and quite obliquely: “I have a high distrust for images, even my own.”
Ahead of Phillips’ 20th Century & Contemporary Art auctions in London this October, where Tuymans’ monumental 2007 painting Rome will be offered at auction for the first time, we look to the artist’s work and ideas to explore memory and its relationship to truth, power, and identity.
As the fresh-to-market Rome has been on loan since its initial acquisition — first to the Stedejlik Museum in Amsterdam and then to the Kunstmuseum in The Hauge — the occasion presents a rare opportunity to discover the painting, which will be on view at Phillips’ Berkeley Square gallery from 4 October through the auction on 13 October.
Critically regarded for his belief in painting at a time when conceptual art circles had declared the practice futile, Tuymans has proved painting to be the only medium appropriate for his investigations into questions of power, memory, and visual representation. Moreover, as many of his contemporaries were moving increasingly into abstraction, Tuymans privileged the figurative, coming to prominence in the early 1990s as a painter of peculiar and affecting images that explored history and its antimonies, the strangeness of routine objects, and the ways in which power, technology, and time impact our vision in an increasingly fraught and rapidly evolving cultural landscape. His work has challenged the supposedly honest relationships between seeing, believing, and remembering, interrogating the forms and functions of images and the ways in which truth and falsehood are codependent entities.
A consummate example of Tuymans’ painterly practice, Rome is one of nine canvases that make up Les Revenants — the first in a trilogy of series that confront the image as an instrument of power. First shown in 2007 at Zeno X Gallery in Antwerp, works from the series have gone on to be included in some of Tuymans’ most significant subsequent exhibitions. Only three works from the series have ever appeared at auction.
Monumental in scale, Rome is the largest of the nine canvases from the series. Typical of the artist’s practice, the source material of the image was a homemade print of a digitally compressed image. The result is a painting that the writer Hans Theys describes as “reminiscent of illustrations in old textbooks. The reality has the air of a disintegrating cardboard theatre or thousands of scattered, tiny patches of light.” A muted tonal palette and soft, diffused brushstrokes are characteristically employed by Tuymans to present a cinematic image of St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City. The architectural heft of the basilica is conveyed by the sheer scale of the canvas and the spaciousness of the asymmetrical composition. Imposing structural details including massive sculptures and columns combine to present a majestic vision of the building, rendering the assembled enormous congregation almost insignificant before the weight of the occasion. Yet, much of the vital action is seen bottom right, where Belgian Archbishop Daneels is sparsely depicted among a group of candidates for elevation to cardinal. Just a moment after our first sight of this image, the newly elevated cardinals — including Daneels — will kneel.
Luc Tuymans, Rome (detail), 2007. 20th Century & Contemporary Art Evening Sale, London.
As noted by Theys, the muted tonal palette and Tuymans’ practice of working from manipulated old photographs presents this image as professedly historical. When we realize this image depicts a contemporary ceremony, one of great importance to Belgium, we realize how Tuymans uses imagery to play with our perception of time and memory. The artist has explained his approach, stating, “Art creates its own time span and in that sense also creates its own time lapse: you are looking at something that accords time to an image, as it is made and as it shows itself.” Tuymans’ work challenges our perception of time to pose questions between memory and belief and reveal to us the dangerous reality that memory, and thus our understanding of history, may be fallible. In turn, the work proves that the image is also fallible. As writer Christina Ruiz has remarked, “At the heart of Tuymans’ project is a central conceit: that images are unreliable, that they can offer us no more than a fragment of reality and that our own memories, personal or collective, mislead us.”
Tuymans employs a masterful and carefully considered approach to the physicality of paint, tone, and color to impress these ideas. He explained in a 2021 recorded discussion for David Zwirner gallery that he is interested how his work can influence people, to make them stop and think, or to play off their own memories. He shared that this is the principal reason that his works explore tonality rather than simply color, as he has observed that when we perceive imagery monochromatically (even if his paintings are not monochromatic) the images return to our mind at a later point. In this sense, his work not only calls upon our existing memories but plants new ones — it seeks to leave an indelible mark, not simply an impression. “I wanted my paintings to look old from the start, which is important because they are about memory,” the artist has stated.
Luc Tuymans, Rome, 2007. 20th Century & Contemporary Art Evening Sale, London.
It is understandable why Tuymans so frequently turns to historical imagery to add weight and significance to his canvases. In the case of Rome — its pale muted color scheme appearing almost preternaturally faded — Tuymans calls upon our memories of historic religious imagery. As such, the work doesn’t just showcase the grand and theatrical nature of the religious ceremony, but also reminds us that much of the weight of the tradition and reverence for these spaces lies in the history of the church and, accordingly, the collective memories of its constituents.
This notion of a cultural collective memory, understood through history and stories, leads us to consider memory’s impact on identity, as much personal consideration of identity lies in such shared memories, or even in the rebellion against them. In Rome, Tuymans confronts his own identity and background head on, as a Belgian painter who was raised Catholic. The artist explained to Artnet in 2010, “I come out of a country where painting is genetically understood. Highly Catholic because Catholics like images because they keep the people stupid. Western image building was born in that region, and, of course, huge trauma with it.” This wasn’t the first time the artist considered his own background and the history of Belgium in a critical light — at the 2001 Venice Biennale he presented work that explored the colonial brutality of Belgium’s occupation of Congo.
Ultimately, in viewing Rome, we are presented with a complex web of associations that functions on us much like memory does. The painting leaves an impression, but we’re forced to connect the visual cues to find understanding in it. The experience is reminiscent of the effort we make in constructing a logical narrative from the memories of our dreams. It also recalls a tenet of Tuymans’ early work, which he described as being “about what history could mean if you dream it, and how inadequate our memory is.” Further ambiguity is lent to the image as it remains almost burned in our inner eyes after viewing, as though we’re still trying to understand the impression it leaves but unable to articulate it. As Tuymans’ himself has offered, “Every visual is in opposition to language because if we could say everything, why make a picture of it?”
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