A fellow wears a yellow cap with donkey ears, grinning wide with slightly dirty teeth, one hand covering half his face, his eyes wide-set. This painting, created around 1537 by an anonymous Dutch artist, is titled Portrait of a Madman Peering Through His Fingers (Portrait de fou regardant à travers ses doigts). It serves as the promotional poster for the Louvre’s new exhibition.

The exhibition’s name first caught my attention—Figures du fou, du moyen âge aux romantiques ("Images of Folly: From the Middle Ages to Romanticism"). You could also call it "Portraits of Fools" or "Depictions of Madness"; in French, fou means both "mad" and "foolish"—often indistinguishable. I practically skipped to see this show (featuring over 350 paintings, sculptures, precious and mundane objects, books, prints, and manuscripts, clearly ambitious and meticulously prepared), all while wondering: How does the Louvre define fou?

1. "Take Out the Mad Stone", only Bosch

If you plan to visit Figures du fou, ensure your phone is connected. Behind each artwork and label lies a trove of information demanding quick searches or even ChatGPT consultations. Call it "50% viewing, 50% storytelling." Time is limited, but if there’s one "madness" not to miss, it’s Hieronymus Bosch.

In the Middle Ages, people believed madmen had a "stone of folly" lodged in their foreheads—extract it, and sanity would return. This is the scene Bosch depicts in The Cure of Folly (Extraction of the Stone of Madness).

"Doctor, quickly chisel out this stone in my head! My name is Lubbert Das." Golden script frames the painting. Lubbert Das, a recurring fool in Dutch literature, is often portrayed as obese and lazy. At the center, a pallid, rotund patient is strapped to a surgical chair, clad in red tights, wooden clogs neatly placed beneath. A surgeon in a funnel-shaped cap wields a scalpel; instead of a stone, he extracts a flower—a tulip. Another tulip lies on the table. In 16th-century Holland, tulips symbolized folly and madness!

A monk holding a wine jug lectures confidently, while a nun balancing a book on her head watches coldly. Under these authorities’ gaze, the absurd becomes rational. The horizon shows towns, villages, church spires, grazing sheep, farmers plowing, milkmaids—all bathed in infinite blue...

Back then, quack doctors roamed the countryside, their "stone-extraction" surgeries mere charades. Bosch frames the scene in a circle, like a peephole or magnifying glass.

This medieval painter, often hailed as a precursor to 20th-century surrealism, filled his works with madmen, fools, demons, hybrids, and cryptic symbols. Some view his art as lunatic visions; others see a heretical cipher.

Beyond textbook staples like The Garden of Earthly Delights, the Louvre exhibition showcases Ship of Fools, another masterpiece. Inspired by Sebastian Brant’s satirical epic, the painting depicts 111 fools en route to "Narragonia," a fools’ paradise. Each represents a folly—lustful clergy, drunken jesters, decadent nobles...

The ship has no rudder, sails, or functional oars. Its passengers carouse, oblivious to impending doom. Bosch remarked, "This is how humans live: eating, drinking, flirting, cheating, playing foolish games, chasing the unattainable."

Seeing it in person: At the center, a priest and lute-playing nun prepare to bite a wafer dangling from the mast. Cherries (symbolizing lust) litter the table. Below, two drowning men clutch the hull. Behind the nun, a figure wears a cup on his head; another raises a jug to strike a youth. To the right, a red-robed man wields a spoon instead of an oar. A drunkard vomits overboard, hugging a tree where a hunchbacked jester drinks.

Look closer: The jester steers. Bells adorn his outfit; he holds a "fool’s scepter" topped with a miniature head (the exhibit includes a boxwood Marotte—later inspiring perfume bottles with "hatted" designs). A roasted chicken hangs from the mast; a knife-wielding man tries to cut it down (nodding to the Dutch proverb, "Hang the roast and feast!"). A crescent flag flies, while an owl—symbolizing heresy—watches from a treetop.

2. Fools in Love: Wounded Again and Again

Who is the extraordinary fou? A scepter-wielding jester in motley? A truth-teller among the silent? A passenger on that drifting ship? Should he be trepanned, imprisoned, or fitted with Konrad Seusonhofer’s iron helmet? Or melancholy like Jan Matejko’s 1862 Stańczyk?

"Fools first appear in the Old Testament Psalms: those who deny God, thus placing themselves at the world’s margins," explains curator Élisabeth Antoine-König. Another type emerged—followers of St. Francis of Assisi. By the 14th century, court fools flourished, embodying royal wisdom’s antithesis. Their satire was tolerated. Fools became game pieces (chess, tarot). The exhibition displays early tarot cards. Later, the fool transformed into a subversive, libertine figure mocking courtly love. Then came the king’s jester, granted free speech and tied to pagan festivals...

If we approach from a more subtle perspective to easily interpret the theme of "madness", we can start with those "love affairs". A madman, symbolizing the measure of love, or going too far. From the earliest works, madness and love have been inseparable. For instance, that medieval copper water jug is captivating: Phyllis riding Aristotle on his back. There is no need to search hard to find various interpretations of this story, from paintings to this jar that is over 30 centimeters tall right in front of you. During that historical period, humor and satire dominated the theme of love.

At the same time, the passion in love is also a kind of madness that makes people lose themselves: just like the saying in medieval literature, "A hero cannot resist a beauty." The Knights of the Round Table must be accompanied by intense love, such as the romance between Lancelot and Queen Arthur. The love story of another romantic type, Tristan and Princess Isolar... The exquisite ivory boxes that have been preserved, as well as those illustrated manuscripts, all depict wonderful plots.

Soon, a new fool emerged—the third wheel mocking chivalry, flaunting desire’s raw side. Lust permeates gardens, brothels, baths... A tapestry titled The Snack shows satiated lovers; as food satisfies, hunger shifts to carnal craving.

3. Goya: What If I Were the Madman?

From the artist’s perspective: How does madness influence creation? Normalcy or marginality? As the Chinese saying goes, "No madness, no masterpiece." Many artists seem to harbor alternate universes in their minds. Foucault’s Madness and Civilization—"less about psychiatry than the philosophical value in artists’ lives and works"—and R.D. Laing’s view of madness as a "journey to higher consciousness" resonate here. 

The Louvre’s exhibition ends in the 19th century, spotlighting Romanticism: Courbet, Goya, Shakespeare. Finally, Victor Hugo’s Quasimodo redeems the fou. "By then, madness became artistic self-identification. They wondered: What if I’m the madman?" says Louvre director Laurence Des Cars.

Romanticism wasn’t idyllic—it opposed classicism, prioritizing raw emotion, even ugliness. Goya’s The Madhouse exemplifies this. Based on his youth in Zaragoza, the painting reflects his own fears of insanity.

The asylum is desolate; inmates, chained and bathed in greenish light, wrestle or cower. A whip-wielding guard watches. Hidden since 1922, this work now resurfaces.

Few capture Goya well—his mind remains inscrutable. Foucault wrote: "Goya, who painted madhouses, must have wandered that forest of flesh... The man in the triangular hat isn’t mad; he clings to an old hat on his naked body. But in this hatted madman surges an unspeakable force—untamed, primal vitality." Madness flaunts blackened freedom.

4. An Unexpected Performance

During the exhibition, a dance drama "Petites Joueuses" created by Francois Chaignaud was performed at the Louvre. For the stage setting, the medieval moat and tower areas of the Louvre were chosen. Shanio combined these architectural elements with dance, and naturally, the performance was also a response to history.

The light mirror and the large red balloon created a fantastical atmosphere on the stage. Exaggerated body movements, inspired by the postures of the madman in medieval art, especially imitations of "Death Dance" and "Moorish Dance" - dancing at the edge of history, like the feeling of entering the edge world when we first step into the exhibition: Those 13th-century manuscripts, depicting strange, mixed and comical creatures, those images gradually spread, spreading into the floor and ceiling decorations of the Louvre...

I recalled my initial question: madmen, fools, psychosis... Then I thought of Russia’s "holy fools"—filthy, half-naked wanderers whose babble was deemed prophecy.

"Sacred and profane intertwine. We present an inverted concept, a mirror the fou holds up. It reflects both the other and ourselves," concludes the curator.

Fools are everywhere (Partout sont les fous). Where is the sage (Où est le sage)?

I mentioned fou’s dual meaning. A coincidence: In Chinese comedy, "fou" (pronounced like the French word) means "wrong" or "not funny." Audiences shout it at failed jokes. Beyond this, how else might fou—as madness or folly—manifest today?