In the Anthologie de l’humour noir (1940), André Breton identified the work of Giorgio de Chirico and his brother Alberto Savinio as the origin of modern mythology, developed through the creation of “a highly symbolic, concrete language, universally intelligible in that it strives to rigorously testify to the specific reality of the era … and the metaphysical questioning intrinsic to this period.”
Breton also highlighted their work immediately preceding World War I as “the highest point” reached in their artistic exploration—fueling the controversy that led to de Chirico’s break with the Surrealist group. Above all, he emphasized the unique quality of the relationship in de Chirico’s works between “new objects… and old ones, whether abandoned or not,” describing it as “one of the most unsettling, as it exacerbates the sense of inevitability.”
Giorgio de Chirico’s The Enigma of Departure (1914, oil on canvas, 38.5 x 41 cm, Fondazione Magnani-Rocca) belongs to this period. A fully metaphysical work, starting with its title, it incorporates some of the most significant themes in de Chirico’s theory and practice: the enigma—the mystery that his philosophical readings had taught him to perceive behind the most ordinary appearances—and the departure, the quintessential mythical moment that transforms man into a hero, a wanderer, an explorer of the unknown.
It was precisely the discovery of the unknown, the hidden meaning of things, that de Chirico’s lucid artistic pursuit aimed to unveil. He sought to grasp the profound identity of the surrounding reality, which reveals itself only to a fresh gaze—a metaphysical gaze capable of transcending physical reality—or to a particular state of mind.
For instance, this was the case during the transformative moment in 1910 that turned the painter into a visionary. In Piazza Santa Croce, Florence, he managed to capture “that intense and mysterious feeling… discovered in Nietzsche’s writings: the melancholy of beautiful autumn afternoons in Italian cities.” This refers to the temperament of those born under Saturn—like most true artists and philosophers—and to the time heralded by Zarathustra, the “great noon” described by the prophet of eternal recurrence. These are the infinitely long hours when shadows stretch, as in de Chirico’s paintings, where the artist-explorer-visionary orders the theories of arches, straightens the perspectives of buildings and streets, and connects past, present, and future through the geometric forms of stone blocks and the sculpted monument facing the distant sea, a memory defying time.
The precision in drawing and painting technique evident in this work reflects the methodical approach of the artist who, in 1919, would call on artists to “return to craft.” De Chirico achieved this through a meticulous yet traditional process, involving the creation of a series of preparatory studies of varying completeness and refinement. At the end of this process, he would grid the composition for transfer onto the canvas.
