PARIS.- Based on an original idea by R.Jonathan Lambert, the gallery is presenting A Hundred Years of Chess an exhibition showcasing the influence of chess on contemporary art. In Jean-Philippe Delhomme’s still life Fleurs et jeu d’échecs, Gregor Hildebrandt’s pawn sculpture, and the paintings of Garance Matton, chess takes center stage. For Lionel Estève and Lee Bae, it emerges as a poetic evocation, while in Nick Doyle’s work, it becomes a playful allusion. The exhibition juxtaposes historical works, such as Michel Journiac's and Marcel Duchamp’s chess set (1993 and 1944), as well as sculptures by Lynn Chadwick (1970) and Man Ray (1948 and 1971), with photographs by William Wegman (2015) and Martin Parr (1997), highlighting the enduring appeal of chess to artists across generations.

Additionally, the exhibition features game tables where visitors are invited to play. On this occasion, the gallery is organizing a chess tournament by registration in partnership with Blitz Society on Saturday, February 14.
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I’m someone who’s “classic.”

I like striped shirts, 19th-century literature, lovemaking in places designed for it (a bed, or perhaps a sofa bed on a whim), and opening with e4 in chess. In short, very classic.

Yet despite this classic opening, everything unravels. The opponent’s response generates twenty countermoves, each branching into thousands of possible positions, and so on, until we reach the Shannon number. No need to spell it out; let’s simply call it vertigo.

For me, this is where chess reveals all its ambivalence: the infinite contained within a human-sized board. An XXL world at your fingertips. And there, my classic side surrenders, as each game unfolds like an unpredictable story.

Why have artists—Duchamp above all—been so drawn to chess, even to the point of seeking total refuge in it? Is it the game’s infinite depth, which turns it into a quasi-mystical quest (Michel Journiac)? Or its graphic allure, where each piece asserts its form and the imaginary worlds we project onto it (Hildebrandt)? Or perhaps its social dimension (Amélie Bigard), since playing alone risks madness (as Zweig vividly illustrates).

Here, then, are works that delve into this game-vortex.

Some do so directly, others obliquely or even tangentially—but in each I detect a knowing nod.

The selection spans a century, offering a glimpse of modern art history through the lens of chess.

A group show that, for once, is anything but classic. Proof that appearances can be deceiving…

R. Jonathan Lambert