Literature

Beneath the Cobblestones of '68 by a Certain Grégoire Müller

3 reading minutes

written by Jonas Follonier · May 14, 2019 · 0 comment

Beneath the 1968-Era Cobblestones of a Certain Grégoire Müller

Published by Editions de l’Aire, Under the cobblestones... Lizards is a magnificent account by a member of the '68 generation, the Swiss painter Grégoire Müller, who is nostalgic for an era that yet gave rise to the society of today that he abhors.

For various reasons that I’ll try to explain in this evening column, the book with a thousand flaws that I’ve chosen to discuss is a must-read. The first of these reasons is simple: Under the cobblestones... Lizards consists of two parts, each of which has an excellent theme: on the one hand, the narrator’s memories of his move to Paris as a young man from French-speaking Switzerland full of hopes and dreams; and on the other hand, that same narrator’s current reflections on art and the times we live in.

Paris, Art, and Love

Better yet, this perspective provides the basis for a respectable story, filled with tenderness, playfulness, surprise, and at times even stylistic flair—without ever going overboard. The fact remains that any young person’s very first adventure in Paris—whether they’re a country bumpkin or a Rastignac—is touching in and of itself. Grégoire Müller, currently a resident of La Chaux-de-Fonds, had certain expectations of the French capital—the capital of art, the capital of everything—expectations that our generation, in turn, continues to harbor. And the disillusionments that go along with them.

«Off to Paris! It’s 1965, I’m 18 years old, and for me, it means going to the source of everything that fascinates me, to the heart of the art world. I’m leaving Switzerland—its conventions, its safe haven—to set out on an adventure, to meet all those painters, sculptors, poets, and other great minds, living or dead, who have enriched my life as a teenager. And isn’t it also the capital of love?»

Does Grégoire Müller offer us any love in his new novel? Perhaps, but one thing is certain: the reader is served a heavy dose of vulgarity. More than love, it’s rather crude sex—described in rather graphic terms—that runs through many of the pages. I’ll therefore refrain from quoting the passages. And when it isn’t vulgar or heavy-handed, it must be said that it’s rather predictable and not necessarily useful: «Chantal is almost ten years older than me, and even though she doesn’t mean to be condescending, she makes me feel it. Even in bed, she’s the one who likes to be on top… and that’s not always my favorite thing.»

But in all honesty, the first part already contains some beautiful and interesting passages. For example, on conceptual abstract art, which is revealed through the author’s clear-eyed perspective on the shortcomings of this new artistic movement. These reflections are taken up again by Grégoire Müller in the second part, where the tone is even more subjective and where narrative gives way to thought. Furthermore, his description of various anarchist, alternative, and leftist circles—all the way up to the most exclusive galleries—offers a glimpse into a specific era that is crucial for understanding our own.

A touching, left-wing melancholy

And that is precisely where the author of Under the cobblestones... Lizards is both the most ridiculous and the most interesting. touting a way of life he has entirely devoted to rejecting consumerism and defending a utopian ideal marked by uncompromising equality, fraternity, collaboration, and rebellion, Müller does not seem to admit his most endearing and most fatal sin: that of having subscribed to a school of thought that gave rise to the very world he criticizes—and which is the one we live in today.

If works of art no longer have any criteria for quality today, it is precisely the logical consequence of an era in which we began to deconstruct everything. This applies to the field of painting just as much as to any other field: whether we consider it reactionary or progressive—or both, please – Everyone would agree that moral integrity is under threat everywhere and that the “clean slate” approach to the past—even if it’s no longer in vogue to proclaim it—has indeed run rampant. Grégoire Müller does admit as much, if only for a single paragraph. An insufficient admission, no doubt, but the left-wing melancholy There's something about our author that's incredibly touching.