Surrealism, noun. Pure psychic automatism, by which one proposes to express—verbally, in writing, or by any other means—the actual functioning of thought. It is the dictation of thought, free from any control by reason, and beyond any aesthetic or moral preoccupation. — André Breton

Artificial intelligence, fake news, war and peace—living in the "now" can sometimes feel "surreal," can't it? Perhaps that's why today is the perfect moment to revisit the Surrealist movement from a century ago.

In 1924, in a small studio in Paris's bohemian district, the young poet André Breton was drafting a preface for his poetry collection Poisson Soluble (Soluble Fish). He merely intended to share some thoughts on creative philosophy, but those 21 pages of heavily edited manuscript unexpectedly became the Manifesto of Surrealism. In it, he called for a new art form guided by the subconscious, liberated from rational control.

In 2024, we ride the escalator to the top floor of the Centre Pompidou, gazing at Paris through the transparent walls, and enter an exhibition commemorating 100 years of Surrealism at 10 PM on a Thursday night.

My French companion and I pass through the gaping mouth of a monster and red velvet curtains—the prologue to the exhibition, the entrance to L'Enfer (Hell). The Centre Pompidou, in collaboration with magician Abdul Alafrez, has meticulously recreated the façade of the legendary cabaret L'Enfer, which once stood below Breton's apartment and was a frequent haunt for him and his peers. Today, it feels like a metaphor: viewing an exhibition to attain a long-lost ideal state—being consumed by something far beyond one's own perception.

There’s also an optical illusion here: from the side, those entering through the monster’s mouth seem to disappear, echoing the black-and-white Surrealist film playing on a screen at the entrance, where several men walk into lampposts and vanish.

The word "sentimental" is rarely associated with Surrealism, but as we walk down a corridor lined with photo-booth-style portraits, that emotion washes over us. Everyone looks so young, and another thought strikes: Was this really a century ago? Yves Tanguy sticks out his tongue at the camera; Jean Aurenche, Marie-Berthe Aurenche, and Max Ernst mug together; Luis Buñuel tilts his head back, eyes closed... Fun, free, joyful—indeed, of all modern art movements, the Surrealists might have been the best at enjoying their own "revolution." In this space, the specter of freedom lingers—these now-departed individuals, intimate yet rebellious colleagues and lovers, infused an "ism" with unprecedented emotional intensity.

After the immersive portrait tunnel, we reach the "heart," the true starting point of the exhibition: a display case at the center of the room holds the original manuscript of the Manifesto of Surrealism, on loan from the Bibliothèque nationale de France. As curator Marie Sarré notes, even among those familiar with art movements, knowledge of this manifesto's content is surprisingly limited: "Even experts who readily quote Futurist or other manifestos are often unfamiliar with Breton’s text. Yet when you hear it, it stays with you. You realize how modern it is."

Indeed, Breton’s voice reciting the Manifesto fills the room. The curatorial team collaborated with IRCAM (Institute for Research and Coordination in Acoustics/Music) to generate his voice using artificial intelligence.

The spiral, or labyrinthine, exhibition design draws inspiration from Marcel Duchamp’s unrealized 1947 concept for Galerie Maeght in Paris. Fascinated by spatial interaction, Duchamp envisioned a maze-like structure where viewers could move along paths, experiencing works from shifting perspectives. Today, at the Pompidou, the exhibition forgoes strict chronology in favor of 14 thematic chapters (including a prologue) tracing Surrealism from 1924 to 1969.

"Surrealism is not a formalism. It was a collective adventure, even a philosophy. It lasted 40 years, and one could argue it never truly ended. This movement was vibrant, constantly reinventing itself." — Curator Marie Sarré

Many fail to grasp Surrealism or dismiss its flights of fancy as mere posturing. Undeniably, misinterpretations have abounded since its inception a century ago. How much do we truly understand today? "Dreams" and "night" remain the most direct gateways into Surrealism.

In the Manifesto, Breton posed a question: "Could dreams be used to solve life’s fundamental problems?" The former medical student was deeply influenced by Albert Maury’s 1861 Sleep and Dreams, the first neurological study of dreaming. In 1916, while working at a neuropsychiatric center in Saint-Dizier, Breton encountered Freud’s dream-analysis techniques for treating patients. Soon after—as most know—Surrealists transplanted psychoanalysis into poetry, recreating dream narratives and the bizarre imagery hovering between sleep and wakefulness.

The chapter "Trajectory of the Dream" features Odilon Redon’s radiant A Woman’s Face Emerging from the Sea; Dora Maar’s 1934 photograph of a hand reaching from a seashell; Dalí’s Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate a Second Before Awakening; and projections of Dalí’s dream sequences for Hitchcock’s Spellbound (1945).

Dreams are inseparable from night. Together, they shatter everyday logic, sideline reason, and immerse the viewer in Surrealism’s liberating alterity. As night owls, fans of Nosferatu (1922) and the fictional criminal Fantômas, Surrealists wholeheartedly embraced the "nocturnal" (a potent symbol amid the era’s political turmoil).

The chapter "Hymns to the Night" explores the interplay of darkness and light, reality and dreams. René Magritte’s The Empire of Light (1954) is a highlight, as are works by Brassaï—the Romanian outsider who documented Paris by night. Born on September 9, 1899 (a date he deemed numerologically significant), Brassaï wandered the city’s bohemian underbelly, capturing gaslit streets, drunkards, sex workers, and circus backstages. His "straight Surrealism" revealed the fantastical within the mundane: "The surreal is hidden in reality itself... I seek to present everyday life as if seen for the first time."

If dreams and night approach Surrealism thematically, the chapters on Lautréamont and the Chimera delve into its methods. The Comte de Lautréamont’s Les Chants de Maldoror (1868) provided Surrealists with a creed: "Beautiful as the chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table." Why?

Discovered posthumously, Lautréamont (Isidore Ducasse) died at 21, leaving behind a feverish, illogical masterpiece that Breton and peers revered. His collision of incongruous objects became Surrealism’s defining tactic: collage. The exhibition showcases Man Ray’s literal interpretation of the "umbrella and sewing machine," alongside Dalí’s Lobster Telephone and Unica Zürn’s grotesque drawings.

Collage’s cousin, the cadavre exquis (exquisite corpse), began as a word game: players took turns writing phrases on folded paper, creating absurdist sentences like "The exquisite corpse shall drink the new wine." Later adapted into drawing, the game yielded monstrous, subconscious-fueled hybrids—a testament to Surrealism’s collective spirit.

The exhibition’s literary undercurrent is unmistakable. Without literature, no Surrealism. Lautréamont, Lewis Carroll (whose Alice in Wonderland epitomizes dream logic), and the forest as a mystical labyrinth (a favorite theme of Max Ernst) all feature prominently. Leonora Carrington’s Green Tea (1942) depicts a mythic grove, while Remedios Varo’s Celestial Pablum—a nun-like figure feeding starlight to the moon—hints at feminist alchemy.

No "ism" probed eros and thanatos (love and death drives) as relentlessly as Surrealism, which explains its enduring appeal for queer and countercultural movements. Breton called it a tool to "change the world by revealing the hidden mechanisms governing our lives." The NSFW room "The Tears of Eros" (warning: "minors not advised") displays Man Ray’s unflinching nudes and Hans Bellmer’s disquieting dolls.

Love, for Surrealists, was revolutionary. Breton’s Mad Love (L'Amour fou)—passion so intense it borders on insanity—inspired Giacometti’s Disagreeable Object and Joyce Mansour’s scorching poems. The Marquis de Sade (yes, "sadism’s" namesake) looms large here.

Writer Jean Schuster’s 1969 Le Monde obituary for Surrealism declared its "end," but as consumerism eclipsed dreams, the movement’s legacy endured in the word itself: "surreal." Today, as Magritte’s The Empire of Light sells for $121 million (2024’s top auction price), the world feels eerily Surrealist—but where is our collective daring?

"Surrealism 100" runs at the Centre Pompidou until January 13, 2025, before touring Brussels, Madrid, Hamburg, and Philadelphia, each iteration recontextualizing the movement anew.