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Antonin Artaud: A Life of Turmoil and Visionary Genius


Full Name and Common Aliases


Antonin Artaud was born as Antonin-Marie Artaud on September 4, 1896, in Marseille, France. He is often referred to by his initials "AA" or simply as Artaud.

Birth and Death Dates


Artaud's life spanned just over four decades, from September 4, 1896, until March 28, 1948, when he passed away at the age of 51 in Paris, France.

Nationality and Profession(s)


Antonin Artaud was a French poet, playwright, actor, and theatre theorist. His work spanned multiple art forms, making him a true polymath of his time.

Early Life and Background


Artaud's early life was marked by turmoil. Born to a family with a history of mental illness, he suffered from various afflictions throughout his childhood, including epilepsy and stuttering. These challenges would later influence his artistic vision and philosophical outlook on the human condition. He spent much of his youth in and out of institutions, struggling with mental health issues that would plague him for the rest of his life.

Major Accomplishments


Artaud's most notable contributions to the world of art and theatre include:

Theatre of Cruelty: a revolutionary theatrical movement that emphasized the emotional intensity and visceral experience over traditional narrative structures.
Poetry: Artaud wrote numerous collections, often exploring themes of identity, alienation, and the human condition.

Notable Works or Actions


Some of his most notable works include:

"The Theatre and the Plague" (1933): a manifesto that outlines the principles of his theatre movement.
"Van Gogh: The Man and His Paintings" (1947): an essay that critiques traditional art criticism and explores the relationship between creator and creation.

Impact and Legacy


Artaud's influence on 20th-century avant-garde movements cannot be overstated. His ideas about theatre as a form of spiritual awakening, where the audience is transported to a realm beyond the rational and mundane, have inspired generations of artists, including Samuel Beckett, Jean Genet, and Bertolt Brecht.

Why They Are Widely Quoted or Remembered


Antonin Artaud's quotes are often cited for their unflinching honesty about the human condition. His words speak directly to our deepest fears, desires, and anxieties, resonating with readers long after his passing. The intensity and raw emotion of his writing have made him a beacon for those seeking truth in art.

As we continue to navigate the complexities of modern life, Artaud's visionary genius offers us a glimpse into a world where art transcends mere entertainment, becoming an experience that shakes our very foundations. His words remind us that true creativity lies at the intersection of chaos and order, where the raw and unbridled emotions of humanity can be harnessed to create something new and profound.

Through his works, Artaud challenges us to confront the darkness within ourselves and around us, inviting us to embark on a journey of self-discovery and transformation. As we reflect on his life and legacy, it becomes clear that Antonin Artaud's impact extends far beyond his art – he has left an indelible mark on our collective psyche, inspiring us to re-examine the very essence of what it means to be human.

Quotes by Antonin Artaud

Antonin Artaud's insights on:

To confront the metaphysics I have created for myself, in accordance with the void I carry within me.
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To confront the metaphysics I have created for myself, in accordance with the void I carry within me.
There is in every madman a misunderstood genius whose idea shining in his head frightened people and for whom delirium was the only solution to the strangulation that life had prepared for him.
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There is in every madman a misunderstood genius whose idea shining in his head frightened people and for whom delirium was the only solution to the strangulation that life had prepared for him.
All writing is filth.
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All writing is filth.
All true language is incomprehensible, like the chatter of a beggar’s teeth.
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All true language is incomprehensible, like the chatter of a beggar’s teeth.
The extreme point of mysticism, I hold it now in the real and in my body, like a toilet broom.
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The extreme point of mysticism, I hold it now in the real and in my body, like a toilet broom.
All true feeling is in reality untranslatable. To express it is to betray it. But to translate it is to dissimulate it.
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All true feeling is in reality untranslatable. To express it is to betray it. But to translate it is to dissimulate it.
Written poetry is worth reading once, and then should be destroyed. Let the dead poets make way for others.
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Written poetry is worth reading once, and then should be destroyed. Let the dead poets make way for others.
And when we tell ourselves we have reached the paroxysm of horror, blood and flouted laws of poetry that consecrates revolt, we obliged to advance still further into an endless vertigo.
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And when we tell ourselves we have reached the paroxysm of horror, blood and flouted laws of poetry that consecrates revolt, we obliged to advance still further into an endless vertigo.
And war is wonderful, isn’t it? For it’s war, isn’t it, that the Americans have been preparing for and are preparing for this way step by step. In order to defend this senseless manufacture from all competition that could not fail to arise on all sides.
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And war is wonderful, isn’t it? For it’s war, isn’t it, that the Americans have been preparing for and are preparing for this way step by step. In order to defend this senseless manufacture from all competition that could not fail to arise on all sides.
It is not a certain conformity of manners that the painting of Van Gogh attacks, but rather the conformity of institutions themselves. And even external nature, with her climates, her tides, and her equinoctial storms, cannot, after Van Gogh’s stay upon earth, maintain the same gravitation.
"
It is not a certain conformity of manners that the painting of Van Gogh attacks, but rather the conformity of institutions themselves. And even external nature, with her climates, her tides, and her equinoctial storms, cannot, after Van Gogh’s stay upon earth, maintain the same gravitation.
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