T H E I L L U S T R A T I O N O F W I T T I C I S M

The term “Witicon” does not exist. I coined it in order to describe, in one word, the things I make. Besides, phrases like “Illustrated Witticism” or “Icon on Wit” would imply a one-sided influence between the dictum and the picture; such one-sided influence for most “Witicons” does not work. The pull goes – and feels – both ways: you search for an image to fit a certain quote and, at the same time, the image prods you to find the one motto that becomes it.

So, let Witicon stand for the coexistence of the icon and the witticism as peers. Their union stimulates mind and emotion much more than that each of them would elicit on its own. Words guide the eyes of the reader in seeing aspects of the image he had not discerned. And, conversely, the icon imbues a new meaning to the imprinted motto. A Witicon resembles a theatre play-bill, a political placard or an advertising poster. Unlike them, it does not prompt anyone to visit a theatre, take a stand or buy a product. Therefore, it is of no cultural, political or mercantile value. It only stimulates the viewer to think and feel, to be amused or to be perturbed.

The language of icons does not need much elaboration: since the beginning of the 20th century, visual culture influences and moulds our everyday lives.

When the picture is paired with a sharp or humorous quotation it should be kept simple. So, to be effectively illustrated, the motto “Every two hours the nations of this world spend as much on armaments as they spend on the children of this world every year”, does not call for the “dramatic” or the “sensational” image, a picture of starving children or a panoramic view of huge ammunitions depot. Any child, quietly eating a waffle on a park bench, will do. The more blatantly one ventures to arrest, to force our feelings, the easier we are liable to forget.

The witticisms of important, well-known, persons are penetrating, but the wit of unknown and everyday people can be even more so; the latter do not lose their ability to think in simpler terms about the world. The quotations in this book are, on purpose, not separately annotated for the specific person who uttered or wrote them. It is essential that a Witicon leaves the beholder free from the assertion of anyone’s authority. Take, for example, the sentence “Illusion is the first of all pleasures”: it is important that the impression it makes, and its value, if any, remain the same, whether it is Oscar Wilde’s or any man’s. I believe that reference to Authority is necessary as far as cultural heritage and education are concerned. But the presence of authority, when not needed, obstructs immediate perception and diminishes the value of the unaffected view.

Good witticisms have to be concise. At times, they can be brash, disrespectful, saucy, forward and presumptuous. Rarely can we stand detached before them; we either love them or we hate them. We love them because they put in words, in the most powerful manner, what we, too, felt or thought, needed to express, but could not. We hate them when they step out of line, when they hit a sensitive chord, when they offend something we hold sacred. Common people adore them. What is said is said short, in a few dense and meaningful words, with a heart-winning simplicity. Usually, 20 or 30 words are enough to convey a meaning, raise a question, criticize something or mock everything. Their frugal articulation contrasts sharply with the crushing verbalism which so pleases the academic and dismays everybody else.

Learned people usually detest them. Uttered out of context, quotations mislead, they turn into wisecracks of dubious humor or catchphrases that offer fast and ready answers to questions that haven’t had the time to be properly raised and argued. Moreover, they hint at an education which is not really there, posing as learning acquired through proper study. True, the abuse of dictums can be very annoying. When, in particular, demagogues misappropriate them, they can turn lethal.

Still, for its abuse, a witty utterance can bear as much responsibility as a scalpel; alone, it can neither heal nor kill. How one uses it, is that which, ultimately, does good or evil.