Showing posts with label readymade. Show all posts
Showing posts with label readymade. Show all posts

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Man Ray, The Gift



The American artist Man Ray (born Emanuel Radnitzky) arrived in Paris in 1921. Within a year, the artist had his first solo show at a Parisian gallery. Among the works he exhibited was one unlisted sculpture: the object, which he called The Gift, was an everyday flatiron with brass tacks glued in a column down its center. According to Man Ray in his autobiography Self-Portrait, the object was made quickly, in a bout of inspiration, the day of the gallery opening. What do we make of Man Ray's relatively simple, yet subversive act of presenting a modified household Samuel Kravitt, A Sister's Hands Ironing, c. 1931-36, photo, Hancock Shaker Village, Massachusetts (Library of Congress) Samuel Kravitt, A Sister's Hands Ironing, c. 1931-36, photo, Hancock Shaker Village, Massachusetts (Library of Congress) appliance as a work of art? The flatiron – intended to smooth wrinkles from fabric – has been rendered useless with the addition of a row of brass tacks. We are perhaps expected to react the way the store owner supposedly did when Man Ray purchased these items, by exclaiming, “But you'll ruin the shirt if you put tacks there!” Dada, or the nonsense of the everyday Before arriving in Paris, Man Ray was associated with the New York Dada group, which included the artist Marcel Duchamp. As a loosely-affiliated group of like-minded artists, they were particularly interested in using humor and antagonism to question the definition of a work of art. Re-defining art was prevalent in Duchamp's Readymades, such as his Bicycle Wheel, a sculpture made by conjoining a bicycle wheel and a stool, two utilitarian objects. The Surrealist object Marcel Duchamp, Bicycle Wheel, 1951 (third version, after lost original of 1913), metal wheel mounted on painted wood stool, 129.5 x 63.5 x 41.9 cm (The Museum of Modern Art), © 2014 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris / Estate of Marcel Duchamp Marcel Duchamp, Bicycle Wheel, 1951 (third version, after lost original of 1913), metal wheel mounted on painted wood stool, 129.5 x 63.5 x 41.9 cm (The Museum of Modern Art) Although made in the spirit of Dada, Man Ray's The Gift prefigured by several years a key artistic practice that would develop within the Surrealist movement: the “Surrealist object,” a type of three-dimensional art work that included found objects, modified objects, and sculpted objects. The Surrealist object—one of many literary and visual practices in the movement—became prominent beginning in 1936, after its association with a series of extravagant international expositions organized in London and Paris. Surrealism had been first publicly announced in 1924, with the publication of André Breton's first "Manifesto of Surrealism." Stridently activist, Surrealists sought to release society from cultural constraints and the need to conform to social norms, which they felt curtailed people's desires to live as they wished. Function/Dysfunction Of the many types of Surrealist objects that were produced, two important features are present in Man Ray's The Gift. First, an everyday object has been changed so that its original function is denied. Indeed, the artist's relatively simple addition of tacks transforms a useful device into a destructive one. Second, Man Ray's alteration gives a common object a symbolic function. The flatiron, associated with social expectations of propriety and middle-class values, becomes a subversive attack on social expectations. Even if Man Ray's tack-lined iron is no longer used for pressing clothes, the object resonates with ruinous, violent possibilities. Denial and destruction While denial and destruction are qualities are not intrinsic to all Surrealist art, there are striking examples, like The Gift, that show Surrealists working with banal objects to question the viewer's expectations, and force us to re-evaluate the function of those objects in our lives. Wolfgang Paalen, Articulated Cloud, umbrella in foam, 1938 Wolfgang Paalen, Articulated Cloud, umbrella in foam, 1938 Wolfgang Paalen's work from 1938, Articulated Cloud, an umbrella crafted from spongy foam, denies the object's intended function by causing water to be absorbed rather than repelled. It also makes the umbrella rather useless for anyone seeking shelter from rain. Another object by Man Ray—a metronome with a photograph of a woman's open eye clipped to it—adds an ominous sense of relentless observation to an ordinary musician's timing instrument. Man Ray's title of the piece, Object to Be Destroyed, seems mysterious at first. But when we consider the psychological effects of such obsessive observation—and think about what kind of impulses such regulations might evoke - the artist's title becomes easier to understand. Man Ray, Indestructible Object (or Object to Be Destroyed), 1964 (replica of 1923 original), metronome with cutout photograph of eye on pendulum, 22.5 x 11 x 11.6 cm (The Museum of Modern Art) © 2014 Man Ray Trust / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris Man Ray, Indestructible Object (or Object to Be Destroyed), 1964 (replica of 1923 original), metronome with cutout photograph of eye on pendulum, 22.5 x 11 x 11.6 cm (The Museum of Modern Art) No longer a simple time-keeping device, Object To Be Destroyed summons feelings of irritation over being watched, and powerlessness in the face of endless time. There is no means to stop the cycle, except to destroy the object itself. Don't touch the art! The violent implications of The Gift and other Surrealist objects by Man Ray came to fruition in 1957 when Object to Be Destroyed was lost during a Man Ray retrospective. Varying stories exist as to the fate of the sculpture. In his autobiography, Man Ray recounts that a group of students visited the exhibition and caused a scene, during which one of them walked off with the sculpture, and it was never seen again. Numerous historians, however, state that during the exhibition one of the students took the title literally and smashed it with a hammer. Whether stolen or smashed, Object to Be Destroyed no longer existed. This compelled Man Ray to remake the sculpture, but he pointedly changed the title to Indestructible Object. Essay by Josh Rose
above copied from: https://www.khanacademy.org/humanities/art-1010/art-between-wars/surrealism1/a/man-ray-the-gift/

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

To Change Names, Simply, Marcel Duchamp (Interview)



Interview of Marcel Duchamp
on Canadian Radio Television, July 17, 1960
(translated by Sarah Skinner Kilborne)



GUY VIAU. Marcel Duchamp, what power do you attribute to humor?

MARCEL DUCHAMP. A great power; humor was a sort of savior so to speak because, before, art was such a serious thing, so pontifical that I was very happy when I discovered that I could introduce humor into it. And that was truly a period of discovery. The discovery of humor was a liberation. And not humor in the sense "humorist" of humor, but "humor" humoristic of humor. Humor is something much more profound and more serious and more difficult to define. It's not only about laughing. There's a humor that is black humor which doesn't inspire laughter and which doesn't please at all. Which is a thing in itself, which is a new feeling so to speak, which follows from all sorts of things that we can't analyze with words.

G. Is there a large amount of rebellion in this humor?

M. A large amount of rebellion, a large amount of derision toward the serious word, entirely unconfirmed, naturally. And it's only because of humor that you can leave, that you can free yourself.

G. When is humor black?

M. Black, that's a way of speaking, since it was necessary to assign a color. Obviously there wasn't a more explicit color because black is somber, the somber of this humor makes it a thing almost mean instead of friendly and dangerous. It's almost like a sort of dynamite, of the spirit, isn't it? And that's why we call it black. Black doesn't have any meaning but it's a little like the black curtain of anarchy, if you will, things like that. Black generally took this somber side and burial that we were obligated to accept, then that was it.

G. You've said somewhere that possible reality is obtained from a little stretching of the laws of physics and chemistry. What do you want to say about that?

M. About that, it's simply the idea that it's easy to believe that by scraping a match one gets a fire, that is, cause creates effect. But I find the laws of physics such that they are, such that they have taught us, aren't inevitably the truth. We believe in them or the experiences each day, but I believe that it's possible to consider the existence of a universe where these laws would be extended, changed a little bit, precisely limited. And as a result, one immediately obtains some extraordinary and different results which are certainly not far from the truth because, after all, every hundred years a new scientist comes along who changes the laws, right? Since Newton, there have been more and since Einstein there have been even more, haven't there, so we must wait for changes to the laws in question.

G. But all your activity, I think, aims at the possible beyond the immediate.

M. Sure. In every case, without being a scientist myself, one can hope to arrive at obtaining some results parallel to the influence, if you will, in art. And what gives satisfying results in every case… satisfying in the sense of the new of the thing, what appears like a thing which was never seen before. Of the not already seen.

G. This said, Marcel Duchamp, you weren't less of an impressionist at the start of your career than anyone else.

M. Yes, absolutely, like all youth. A young man can't be an old man, it's impossible. One must pass through the network of influence. One is obligated to be influenced and one accepts this influence very naturally. From the start one doesn't realize this. The first thing to know: one doesn't realize one is influenced. One thinks he is already liberated and one is far from it! Therefore one must accept it and wait for the liberation to come itself, if it must ever come, because certain people never obtain it, never see it come.

G. But it's been said that you made these impressionistic experiences a little to prove that you could make them.

M. No, no…

G. … like a tour de force.

M. No, I don't believe that this was so. If you wish, when one paints like an impressionist from the age of seventeen or sixteen, one is already so content to paint, since one loves this, that there isn't analysis, self-analyzation that explains why one makes this rather than that and above all one never knows these things until forty years later.

G. And what was the Section d'Or back then?

M. The Section d'Or dates from 1912. It was a small salon which took place for only a year, where all the cubists of that era got together, except Picasso and Braque, who stayed in their corner. There was, already, a sort of schism between the two groups of cubists. And there we made, thanks to my brother Jacques Villon, and Picabia … quite an exposition of paintings, with Apollinaire, that had a lot of success. Apollinaire, I believe, created a meeting place for presenting young painters who, at that time, were iconoclasts, as well you'd think.

G. And this cubism, did it not contain, if I may say … a little futurism?
Click to enlarge
Figure 1
Marcel Duchamp,
Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2, 1912

M. Yes, there was a relationship in everything. The time was made for this. With the futurists there was something a little different, which was the preoccupation of producing a movement, of producing the movement. To try, if one produces the movement, to produce it from an impressionistic manner, which is to say naturalist, to give the illusion of movement, this was the mistake in itself, since one can't produce a thing, one can't produce a movement--in any realistic manner--from a static tableau, you see? It's not possible. Why did it fail, because it was the continuation of the impressionist idea attributed to the movement, given to the movement. Whereas, for example, in my case, where I wanted to make the same thing with Nude Descending the Staircase, (Fig. 1) it was a little different. I realized very well that I couldn't produce the illusion of movement in a static painting. I was therefore content to make a state of thing, a state of movement, if you will, like the cinema does, but without the development of the cinema like a film. To superimpose one upon the other.

G. Each of these phases?

M. Each of these phases … indicated a completely graphic way and not the intention of giving the illusion of movement.

G. And it's this that made Nude Descending the Staircase a sensation at the Armory Show in 1913.

M. That was it.

G. … in New York.

M. And this was a sort of scandalous success which was so much so, that a lot of people knew Nude Descending the Staircase itself and they never knew who had made it. And this absolutely didn't interest them--knowing who was the painter. Because the painting was interesting them in the painting and this was the only thing which was interesting to them, so that I was completely … how should I say …

G. … ignored.

M. … ignored by the public because the public knew my work without knowing who I was or that I existed.

G. Was it from this moment that you renounced more or less the traditional notion of a painting?

M. Yes, it was around 1913, around 1912, and it was 1913 when I even began to doubt my cubism. I began to… I was probably very difficult to satisfy then, I suppose… And when I had already thought that that was the end, that this wasn't going to lead very far, except that it would have been able to make a lot of money perhaps if I had continued. But then, I had already changed ideas in 1913, and I found myself engaged in another form of expression where the painter loses his priority, if you will. The idea for me was, at that time, to bring in gray matter in opposition to the retinal. For me the retinal is a thing that has lasted since Courbet. After Romanticism, with Courbet, every series for a hundred years of painting or plastic art was based on the retinal impression.

G. For you, it has been a hundred years since painting wasn't so uniquely retinal.

M. No, not at all, far from it, on the contrary. Everything which represents religious painting, painting since the Renaissance, through the Italian Renaissance, is entirely gray matter, if I dare to use this term when I mean that that the idea was to glorify a religion, the catholic religion, the catholic God or something else, in the end, but the painting aspect itself, the retinal aspect of the painting was very secondary … more than secondary … it was the idea that mattered then. And this is what happened, this is what happened to me then in 1912 or 1913 with the idea of wanting to change or at least to rid myself of the retinal heritage of the last 100 years.

G. You said at that time, "Paintings have the dust of the past."

M. What made me say things like that was because it was necessary to get rid of and to obtain another opening onto other landscapes, so to speak.

G. Was it then, Marcel Duchamp, that Dada took place?
Click to enlarge
Figure 2

Marcel Duchamp,
The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even, 1915-23

M. No, that was still in the distance. That was still later. I spoke of 1912 and in 1912 I had already elaborated upon the idea of The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bach…by Her Bachelors, still without a hint of Dadaism. There was obviously a germ of things resembling Dadaism, but it didn't have the organized character of a movement like the Dadaism of 1916, 1917 and 1918. There had already been indications of such a movement, and even in The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even there are some details or developments which are of the Dadaist domain. But all the same, that was something a lot larger in spirit than a tendentious thing like Dadaism was … After all, Dadaism was a tendency to get rid of a violent way of accepted and permitted things. But then it was still a personal thing which alone concerned me, of making a picture or some kind of work with my responsibility alone and not a manifesto of the general order. Later, around 1916, 1917 in fact, Dadaism intervened and I collaborated there because it immediately went along with my views.

G. All right, if you want, we will revisit Dadaism now. I would very much like you to speak to us more about The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even. (Fig. 2) What is the key to this painting? I believe I read from André Breton that there was a son of Ariane in the painting?

M. There isn't a son of Ariane. There is the fact that from the start this painting wasn't conceived like a canvas on which you put a picture. The painting is like a morsel of glass. From the start, it was painted on glass, which is in effect painted upon. Some oil paint is painted, but the forms which are there were from the start were seen with the idea of transparence. The idea of canvas disappeared. In order to still satisfy me, to satisfy me with the idea that the painting isn't a painting, which is to say a frame with some canvas on top and some nails around. I wanted to rid myself of that, which is a physical impression. After this, each part of the painting, of the glass, was minutely prepared with ideas and not with the strokes of a pencil. From ideas written on little papers as they came to me. And finally some years after I gathered in a box called the Green Box all these ideas, these little papers… cut up or torn up, rather, which I made torn up in order to make an edition of 300 exemplary copies and which are in the same form as the cut, original papers and on which nearly all the ideas that are in this big glass are written, or indicated in any case.

G. Who were the principal protagonists of Dada then?

M. The first demonstrations of Dada took place in Zurich in 1916, with Tzara and Arp and Huelsenbeck and that was about it. And this lasted two or three years. After that Tzara went to Paris, where he made the acquaintance of Breton, Aragon…several others who became the Dada of Paris. The difference is that, in Zurich, there wasn't really a big public demonstration, which is to say there was a Cabaret Voltaire with some demonstrations but more or less private, in the cabaret. In Paris, it reached a much larger scale and Breton and Aragon made some demonstrations in rooms like la salle Gaveau, where the public really went, en masse, with the idea of very copiously causing an uproar, you might say. And moreover, this is what made all the fuss about Dada. For three years there had been different demonstrations in each of the big rooms of Paris, and this was only terminated around 1920, 1922 or 1923, when truly there was some internal dissentions between the different dadaists, who were no longer content. With each wanting to be the big protagonist, naturally there were some disagreements. They had a falling out and Breton decided to begin another thing called Surrealism. What's more, the name Surrealism had been given by Apollinaire during the war without knowing it, to a piece called les Mamelles de Tirésias, in a small Parisian theater and it was called, I believe, Surrealist Drama. But in any case the word "Surrealism" was…fabricated by Apollinaire and he didn't know that it was going to take on such importance, I am sure of that, when I think about it.
G. And your friendship with Picabia dates back to then?

M. Oh yes! Picabia naturally was one of the big ones, was, so to speak, the go-between, he was different because he was in New York and we had already known Dada in 1916 in New York when he was here and then he left New York in 1917-18, he went to Barcelona. From there he went to Switzerland. He went to Switzerland where he made the acquaintance of Tzara. Tzara and he went back to Paris, made friends with Breton and really the movement began then. Besides, this is what wasn't approved by the German Dadaists, who wanted to make it a completely political thing, a political order only, in the communist sense of the word.

G. You spoke of Dada demonstrations. What were these demonstrations? Were they about manifestos, or what?

M. No. They were theatrical demonstrations. And yet! There was a scene, for example in la salle Gaveau which wasn't a scene, but anyway it was a scene just the same where the orchestra sat to play concerts. There were theatrical pieces created for the occasion by Breton, by Ribemont-Dessaignes, by people like that, which were played with the appropriate décor, which is to say, with cotton caps, funnels, everything was like a fantasy…imaginative.

G. Marcel Duchamp, what is a ready-made?

M. A ready-made [laughs], was from the beginning an invented word that I took to designate a work of art which isn't one. In other words, which isn't a work made by hand. Made by the hand of the artist. It's a work of art which becomes a work of art by the fact that I declare it or that the artist declares it a work of art, without there being any participation from the hand of the artist in question to make it so. In other words, it's an object already made, that one finds, and generally an object of metal…more than a painting in general.

G. Would you want to give an example of a ready-made in its pure state?
Click to enlarge
Figure 3
Marcel Duchamp,
Fountain, 1917
Photograph by Alfred Stieglitz (1917)
Figure 4
Marcel Duchamp,
L.H.O.O.Q., 1919

M. We have…the urinal, that I exhibited at the Indépendants in 1917 in New York and which was a thing that I had simply bought at the M. Mutt Works, and that I signed Richard Mutt. (Fig. 3) And which was moreover refused by the Independents, who weren't supposed to refuse it. But anyway, they refused it, they threw it behind a partition and I was obligated to find it after the exhibition in order not to lose it.

G. But there is what you call an "assisted" ready-made.

M. Okay, with the "assisted ready-made," it's just an object in the same genre to which the artist adds something like a moustache to the Mona Lisa, (Fig. 4) which is a thing added and which gives a special character [laughs] to the Mona Lisa, let's say.

G. Had you thought of adding a title to this work?

M. Oh that, I don't dare give you a translation of it, even in English.

[laughter]

G. And now what is a "reverse ready-made"?

M. A "reverse ready-made"…that was the case of…that wasn't made, but it would have been able to have been made. That would be to take a Rembrandt and to use it like an ironing board, you see, that would be the reverse by the fact that the tableau [or painting] became the ready-made of a true tableau [or table] made by Rembrandt, which becomes a ready-made for ironing shirts, you understand?

[laughter]

G. I think that you have always been…an intransigent spirit, your work was rare, this rare act, but you reunited it in the space of a portable museum…
Click to enlarge
Figure 5
Marcel Duchamp, Boite Series F, 1941

M. Yes, I made a big box, la Boîte en valise, (Fig. 5) which is to say a box which was a carton more or less where all the reproductions of the things I've made, almost all, everything I have been able to find in any case, and besides this only represented 90 or 95…articles and I had reproductions of them made and I had…in color, in black and there are even three small ready-mades which are reduced in dimension from the originals, which are the typewriter, the ampoule of Paris air that I brought to my friend Arensberg as a souvenir. I had filled an ampoule, of Paris air, which is to say I simply opened an ampoule and let the air enter it by itself and closed the ampoule and brought it to New York as a gift of friendship, in any case. And there was also the play on words.

G. I think that that is one of your specialties.

M. Yes, I don't know if you recall them…I don't recall all of them by heart, but anyway I'm going to read you one or two: "Avez-vous déjà mis la moelle de l'épée dans le poil de l'aimée?" ["Have you already put the marrow of the sword into the mane of the adored?"] One must read very slowly, because it's like a play on words, one must…

G. [laughs]

M. "Nous estimons les ecchymoses des esquimaux aux mots exquis.' ["We dodge the bruises of the Eskimos in exquisite words]. And one more: "Inceste ou passion de famille à coups trop tirés." ["Incest or family passion, on very bad terms."]

G. [laughs]

M. And how about: "Moustiques domestiques demi-stock pour la cure d'azote sur la Côte d'Azur." ["Domestic mosquitoes (half-stock) for the nitrogen cure on the Côte d'Azur."]

G. [laughs]

M. There's still another of them: "Le système métrite par un temps blenorrhagieux." [" Inflamed uterine system due to a gonorrheal condition."]

G. [laughs]

M. What's one more? "Parmi nos articles de quincaillerie paresseuse, Rrose Sélavy et moi recommandons le robinet qui s'arrête de couler quand on ne l'écoute pas." ["Among our articles of lazy hardware, Rrose Sélavy and I recommend the faucet which stops dripping when nobody is listening to it."]

G. What kindness! And, tell me, does the name Rrose Sélavy come up often in your works? What does "Rrose Sélavy" mean?

M. In 1920, I decided that it didn't suffice me to be a lone individual with a masculine name, I wanted to change my name in order to change, for the ready-mades above all, to make another personality from myself, you understand, to change names, simply. And this was a…

G. You speak of the negation of Dadaism. What was the surrealist affirmation? What was that…

M. There were a lot of points of affirmation. One of the important points was the importance of dream. The importance of dreamlike poems and the Freudian side also, the self-analytical interpretation side. Although they didn't completely feel like students of Freud or disciples of Freud at all, they used Freud. They used Freud as a component in analyzing their subconscious, in any case.

G. And all these surrealist works of which we speak right now, did they have, then, an importance of prefiguration of…

M. Yes, I believe. All written work is a hint of a little surrealism and all work, even a visual work of paint. One feels that the painter who made it saw the surrealism before, even if he refused it, you understand.

G. One has the impression that surrealism gave us a new orientation entirely…very distinct in the imagination of the contemporary man.

M. Very distinct, and I said…it was an absolute split and as always, given by literature and by painting and by the arts, this split will have repercussions in the political or interplanetary or some other actual world, just about.

G. The fact is that your activity, Marcel Duchamp, took place in the United States…did this used to give this activity a particular urgency, being in contrast or in…

M. No, the contrast was for me personal. Life in the United States was a lot more simple than in France, or than in Europe. Because…there is a respect for the individual here that isn't found in Europe. The individual isn't respected in Europe. One forces the individual to enter into a category, either political or social, or educational or something else. Here you are completely alone if you want to be. And there is a respect for the individual that is remarkable, in my opinion.

G. And you believe that this generous liberty…isn't compromised here, that it is without danger for the moment?

M. A lot less than elsewhere, in any case. Here, a free man is a man almost free, whereas in Europe there isn't a free man.

G. And you believe that he can, that he will be able to remain that for a long time, almost free?

M. Probably. We will go back there, to the free man, because…we wouldn't, we won't become ants for the pleasure of becoming ants.

above copied from: http://www.toutfait.com/issues/volume2/issue_4/interviews/md_guy/md_guy.html

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Apropos of 'Readymades, Marcel Duchamp



In 1913 I had the happy idea to fasten a bicycle wheel to a kitchen stool and watch it turn.
A few months later I bought a cheap reproduction of a winter evening landscape, which I called "Pharmacy" after adding two small dots, one red and one yellow, in the horizon.
In New York in 1915 I bought at a hardware store a snow shovel on which I wrote "In advance of the broken arm."
It was around that time that the word "Readymade" came to my mind to designate this form of manifestation.
A point that I want very much to establish is that the choice of these "Readymades" was never dictated by aesthetic delectation.
The choice was based on a reaction of visual indifference with at the same time a total absence of good or bad taste ... in fact a complete anaesthesia.
One important characteristic was the short sentence which I occasionally inscribed on the "Readymade."
That sentence instead of describing the object like a title was meant to carry the mind of the spectator towards other regions more verbal.
Sometimes I would add a graphic detail of presentation which, in order to satisfy my craving for alliterations, would be called "Readymade aided."
At another time, wanting to expose the basic antinomy between art and "Readymades," I imagined a "Reciprocal Readymade": use a Rembrandt as an ironing board!
I realized very soon the danger of repeating indiscriminately this form of expression and decided to limit the production of "Readymades" to a small number yearly. I was aware at that time, that for the spectator even more for the artist, art is a habit forming drug and I wanted to protect my "Readymades" against such a contamination.
Another aspect of the "Readymade" is its lack of uniqueness... the replica of the "Readymade" delivering the same message, in fact nearly every one of the "Readymades" existing today is not an original in the conventional sense.
A final remark to this egomaniac's discourse:
Since the tubes of paint used by an artist are manufactured and readymade products we must conclude that all the paintings in the world are "Readymades aided" and also works of assemblage.


Written in 1961

above copied from: http://members.peak.org/~dadaist/English/Graphics/readymades.html

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Some Remarks Concerning Marcel Duchamp, Alain Badiou



My departure point will be Andre Breton's text, in 1922, consecrated to Duchamp in the fifth issue of the review Littérature. In this text, Breton writes: "Could it be that Marcel Duchamp arrives more quickly than anyone else at the critical point of ideas?" That says everything in a sense.

Synthetically, Breton attributes to Duchamp, once more, the quality that everyone has attributed to him: an exceptional intelligence. This would be trivial if it was a psychological remark: But it is much more than that. What is in question, in fact, is a new relation between art and concept. That is, a form of transgression of romanticism. Call "romanticism" the theory of a space between the quasi-divine or sacred poetic intuition of the infinite, and the supposedly finite and sterile constraints of calculating rationality. In a totally .explicit manner, Duchamp is the hero of an art that ignores this space. Duchamp creates against the entire theory of inspiration and genius. He despises the category of taste that constitutes the unity of artistic action.

Two slogans are quite characteristic. Duchamp declares he made the "ready- made" "with no other intention except to discharge ideas". And again: "I want to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste."

But Breton's statement must also be taken in detail. It can be analyzed as five abstract moments.

1) Art has become a question of movement, of what we get to rather than the abolition of this "getting to" in a result closed in the idolatrous cult of the work of art. Art is only the trace of its own action.

2) As a result the count procedures of movement are internal to art; slowness and speed of execution are pertinent parameters. There is an immanent link between art and number.

3) Art treats a point of thought. The space-time it moves in, surfaces, supports, speed of execution, references, all this is the envelope in which the point of thought is both exhibited and subtracted. It is the locus of the point. The construction of the locus is toil, but this is so on order for the point to fulgurate.

4) This point is critical in a dual sense. In the ordinary sense, because it criticizes in thought the idolatrous theory of art, that is, ordinary romanticism. Romanticism supposes the infinite transcendence as the horizon and aim of the finitude of art, it rejects the number and science to the outside of its sacred actiom, it intends to reveal, not one point, but the All. But the point is critical in another sense, the sense it has in mathematics and physics: a point at which there is a qualitative discontinuity, such that at this same point, there is indiscemibility between one state and another, which however differ absolutely every place else. Creating the locus at which anyone can reproduce the experience of such a critical point, and so of such an indiscemibility, would be the fundamental aim of art. At this point, we can say that the virtues of the conception of the infinite and of chance are exchanged.

5) This critical point is the visitation of the idea in its contemporary artistic form. Art is pure idea. It is not, as in vitalism, cprporal energy establishing the embrace of percepts and affects. It is not the continuous and projective passage from the experienced jouissance of becoming to living thought. It is on the contrary the establishment of a locus, of course, material, spatial- temporal, but at which the separation of the idea is experienced, and the fact that it can only touch the surface, like a bird skims the sea.

I return now to these five points one by one.

1). Art has to become the trace of its own action. Art must be the place of its taking place. So, the work of art is self-sufficient. We must have art without any artist. Duchamp affirms the impersonality of artistic action. He argues against everything that brings into the becoming of the work the trace of a perceptive passivity. Everything he calls retinian art, which goes back according to him to Courbet, and includes the impressionists, the fauves and the cubists. He dreams of being totally absent from creation, of "cutting off his hands". On the other hand, he gives detailed explanations of the process of the work. Fundamentally, he accompanies the object by the something like a users7 manual, that is, of its modes of fabrication. Information on the work. The year before his death, speaking of the "Grand Verre" ("The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even"), he explains that, in order to appreciate this work, it is absolutely necessary to follow the text he wrote, which is, he says, "a sort of diagrammatic or programmatic explanation of what can be seen on the Glass".

2). On the question of relationship between art and number, we can see that the fatal number, for Duchamp, is the 3. "The number three as three, for me is neither unity nor duality, the three is everything, the final end of numeration". Or again: "One is unity, two is the double, and three is the rest". Duchamp works on the relation between the infinite and space or spaces, that is to say dimensions. But the final space is always tridimensional. This is why he can say "millions do not count, the three fills the same role for me."

3) On the point of thought, whose work of art is the envelope, or the place. The correlation between the refusal of all post-romantic sensitivity and the chance for a point of thought is strongly present in Duchamp. There is for him an implacable rationalism turned against aesthetic idolatry. He goes so far as to say, in an interview of 1953, that when we "do things for the pure idea of functional reasoning, the idea of aesthetics disappears."

What is the ready-made after all? It is the exposed, although totally commonplace, envelope of the pure thought of choice or selection, with no subjective adherence. The point of thought here is that this choice, cut out of the commonplace, creates a pure point of indistinction between the commonplace and the supreme. Of course, there is a superior irony with respect to the envelope. The object that envelops the point is particularly without particularity.

("Fontaine" seems to me with respect to this less convincing than the snow shovel or the bottle stand.)

Seeing it today hang from the ceiling of a museum and surrounded by pious reverence is comical. But the ascesis of Duchamp is there. Because the choice must be made without adhesion, it is not easy. Duchamp says he must find, in choosing the object, a "point of indifference of his own gaze". The ready-made is the envelope of the point where thought is reduceed to a choice where we must find nothing, except choosing itself. The ready-made exposes the choice of the choice as a cut out of the commonplace. That is why its title is itself, its common name, and its situation a signature.

The complex works of Duchamp proceed on the contrary by learned recollection, but with the same objective; there are only two of them : The "Grand Verre", the great glass, whose the complete title is "la mariee mise a nue par ses celibataires meme" "The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even" and "Étant donné, un, la chute d'eau, et deux le gaz d'éclairage", soit "Given one the waterfall and two the Gas Light"". They are in fact installations, which already re-produce often, as elements, anterior productions. The envelope is here the result of an immense, very technical, work, and in the opinion of Duchamp himself, it is very boring. We have in them a sort of maniacal craftsmanship. But why? Let's say for the moment: in order to exhibit a complexity whose exterior focal point is the point of the gaze. Do not forget that "The Bride Stripped Bare" is a gigantesque transparent; and on the contrary, "Given" is a baroque exhibition that is closed, and includes a terrible quartered nude and a blinking landscape that is seen through a hole in a door. The complexity is here the capture of the seeing, as the ready-made is the capture of the indifferent decision. The point is that the simple stupefaction of the gaze is made with respect to an envelope constituted by years of fastidious work. When Duchamp was asked why all this toil, why this tour dc force, he answered: "Because I didn't want to do something simple." As he explores the dimensions, Duchamp looks for the envelope of the point of thought in the simplest, the ready-made, but also in the most complicated, the synthetic installations, disposed in correspondence to the openness of transparency or the enclosure of the fantasy.

4) On the critical aspect of the point. The center of thought is here discontinuity, or the point at which the same and the other are indiscernible. The "plastic" concept of this indiscemibility proposed by Duchamp in the 1930s is that of the infra thin. It is necessary, he says "to try to pass into the infra thin interval that separated two identical things."

Obviously, we have here the foundation of the use of reduplication, of copies, of multiples, which constituted a major part of Duchamp's reputation. The famous gesture by which he signed a copy or a miniature or a multiplication of one of his products, or even and above afll when they were done by someone other than himself, by apposing the famous inscription "certified true copy". The infra thin is the exercise of the critical point as a point of minimal discontinuity; the point of discontinuity from the same to the other same. The new productive and reproductive thought must pass by this point.

5) That the idea not be embodied by a work, by an oeuvre, but given in a separation that touches the surface. The idea is there, in the surface, but at the infra thin point that separates that being-there from itself. For example, the idea of chance is in the "Grand Verre" under the form of the impact of bullets made by a little cannon that shoots matches with a bit of paint. Duchamp shot nine shots, three times three, remark, and he then pierced the points of impact. The strategy here is to mark the surface by the Idea forever, but that the surface be accountable for this idea, without its becoming its generous body. It is touched by it, like one shouts "touche" in a game or a shooting gallery.

So, yes, Duchamp went the fastest between 1912 and 1922, in ten years, in order to attain in the order of art the critical point of the idea. In reality, making the critical point of the idea the origin of art, in accordance with a de-romanticized and de- subjectivized line. Duchamp's attempt is to reduce the work of art to the pure anonymous action ("art does not mean doing but acting"). A communist dream in its way, but indifferent to any politics. I quote Duchamp :"Art for me had died by the fact that, instead of being a singularized entity, it would be universal, a human factor in the life of people, each one would be an artist, but misrecognized as artist"." Duchamp Rational form of the generic idea of the engulfment of art by ordinary life.

There we are. But everything must be taken up again starting from three points, which are quite singular: These points work against the anonymous and democratic concept of the work of art. These three points open the door, for a new aristocratic and self-expressive notion of modern art.

1) The decisive function of the refusal opposed to his work in Duchamp's destiny. First, in 1912, the refusal of the great cubist canvas "Nude descending a stairway" by the Salon des Independants. This was the French refusal. Then, in 1917, the refusal or the dissimulation of the urinal entitled "Fountain" and signed R. Mutt, by the counsel of The Society of Independent Artists. This was the American refusal. These are crucial episodes. In 1968, Duchamp was an artist practically idolized by his peers and by the vanguard youth. But his rancor is still felt, when he declares: "Don't forget that it never had any success until recently, very recently."

Behind his provocative and accomplidhed vision, Duchamp is a man.

2) The function, not only of his signature, now unfailing even for copies very far off. But inscriptions or legends affected to ordinary objects as to complex compositions, in vivid contrast with the redundant names of the type "bottle stand" or "bicycle wheel" or even " The Big Glass".

Take for example "The Battle of Austerlitz", which is a glass door. "The Breeding of Dust" (or: "The Dust Ranch"), "Why not Sneeze Rose Selavy" "Soigneur de gravité", "In Advance of the Broken Arm", and many others.

All that is not at all abstract art. He projects the singularity of an art of poetic writing.

3) The function of eroticism, absolutely original and constant. The word "naked" is found everywhere. Or the thing... the three great works, but also a great many other works. As well as the Virgin, the roguish puns (LHOOQ), the use of sperm, etc.

These three questions seem to converge towards something else that would be that any framing is polarized by a fantasized framing. And that eroticism is of the order of art, as the necessary other side of calculation. But that would be another story. The story — in the work of Duchamp — of the struggle between the abstraction of indifferent choice and the seduction of desire and images. But it is probably the contradictory destiny of the most important part of modern art.


Above copied from: http://www.lacan.com/symptom9_articles/badiou29.html

Saturday, April 19, 2008

In Boggs We Trust, Olav Velthuis


An earlier, abridged version of this article was published in:
Dagblad Trouw (Dutch National Newspaper), Saturday February 24, 2001


When Marcel Duchamp was asked why he stopped painting at an early age, his answer was: "I don't want to copy myself, like all the others. Do you think they enjoy painting the same thing fifty or a hundred times? Not at all, they no longer make pictures; they make checks." Now that the art world revolves around more money than ever before, and the commodification of art has reached neurotic levels, Duchamp's statement is hard to disagree with. But what if Duchamp had met J.S.G. Boggs (Fig. 1), an artist who actually makes bills, checks, and recently coins? As a moneymaker, Boggs seems to be the epitome of the commercial, repetitive artist Duchamp had in mind. Nevertheless, my guess is that he would take an interest in Boggs' bills. In fact, Duchamp made some checks himself--to pay for the services of his Parisian dentist Tzanck in 1919, to help his friend John Cage raise funds for the advancement of performance art, and to satisfy a personal fan's request for a signature at a New York gallery in 1965.

The parallels between the Tzanck Check (Fig. 2) in particular and Boggs' bills go further than the laborious production process that these painstakingly precise copies spring from. Like Duchamp, Boggs documents conceptions of value that inform the art world, and investigates how worth comes into being (even though enlightenment about these matters can hardly be expected). Furthermore, he plays with economic systems as if they were children's toys, like Duchamp did with the institutions of the art world. And if you still cherish any illusions about the absolute value of money, or art, for that matter, start thinking about Boggs' bills.

1. In the beginning

Boggs made his first bill in 1984--unintentionally so, and without the faintest notion of the never-ending lawsuits, the media attention, and the extraordinary prices that his bills would generate in the years to follow. At the time, Boggs was sitting in a Chicago bar, making a complex drawing on a napkin that depicted the number one. Numbers were an obsession of the artist at that time; they still are, in fact. A waitress of the bar instantly developed a liking for the drawing. It reminded her of a dollar bill, and as much as she liked it, she asked Boggs to pay his 90-cent bill with it. The waitress also insisted that Boggs accept a dime in change. With a fine pen, he has been copying bills ever since.

Recently, Boggs commemorated that original event silently: for his latest project, which started right at the official beginning of the twenty-first millennium, Boggs had 100,000 Sacagawea dollars fabricated (Fig. 4) by an organization specializing in educational materials regarding Currency. Boggs' own version of the new one-dollar coin is slightly larger than the original, (Fig. 5) and is pressed out of plastic. The coins have six different mintmarks--J, S, G, B, M21 and CH 84. The currency artist financed their fabrication with a 5,000-dollar bill that he self-evidently drew himself.

In the seventeen years that lie in between, Boggs has managed to spend his bills in several million dollars worth of economic transactions. If Duchamp paid for his dentist, Boggs paid for a Yamaha motorbike, for countless bills in bars, restaurants and hotels, for airplane tickets, artworks, rare old bills, and many other goods. In Portland, he bought a Hamburger with a 1,000-dollar bill, and received 997 real dollars in exchange. In the first months of this year he spent over 6,000 of his new plastic Sacagawea coins, among which 1,300 were exchanged for five ounces of gold bullion. All these transactions have elements of ordinary purchases, of barter transactions of an original artwork against a mass produced consumer good, and of artistic performances that are only slightly relevant to economics.

2. After Boggs

Is Boggs a counterfeiter--albeit a very successful one? No. A superficial glance is sufficient to distinguish Boggs' bills from the original. The backside is left blank and Boggs adds some puns to the front. Instead of "In God we trust," an orange fifty dollar bill reads "Red gold we trust"; a Swiss 100 Francs bill from the late 1980s (Fig. 6) depicts his self-portrait as an "angry young man"; on a ten dollar bill, the building of the treasury is replaced by the Supreme Court, (Fig. 7) accompanied by the text "Please give me a fair trial." Furthermore, all bills are signed by Boggs himself, sometimes as "treasurer of art," on other occasions as "secretary of measury."

The problem is that Boggs does draw his bills life size and in the actual colors of the original, which resulted in legal trouble on a number of occasions. In Australia, a court case was dismissed almost right away, after which Boggs received $20,000 in damages. In England, Scotland Yard arrested him and confiscated his work while he was installing a gallery exhibition. Again, he was acquitted of the charges. To celebrate his victory, Boggs announced that he would live on self-made money for an entire year. In the United States, however, his trials have caused him more lasting trouble. When Boggs was spending a year as a fellow at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, the Secret Service raided his apartment and studio and confiscated approximately 1,300 objects.

Although the U.S. Attorney did not press charges, Boggs has been involved in a legal battle for almost an entire decade now to get all of his belongings back. Paradoxically, one of the few counterfeited bills that he owned (but did not make himself) was returned, but the Secret Service kept the clownish 1,000,000 dollar bill available by order from the Internet. Incidentally, the trial will result in the largest transaction in Boggs' career as a money artist, since he plans to pay for the lawyer's fee, which amounts to around a million dollars, with 100,000 dollar bills. Bogg's lawyers, who are most sympathetic to his case, have actually promised to accept these bills as a valid means of payment.

Unlike the Secret Service, the contemporary art world does value Boggs' bills. Museums like the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, the Museum of Modern Art in New York and the British Museum in London own copies of his work. Private collectors underscore their cultural value by offering Boggs considerable sums for a hint about when and where he spent his bills; subsequently, they pay large sums to acquire a bill from the shopkeepers who were brave enough to accept Boggs' money. Like Duchamp, whose signature was sought after in the 1960s as if he was a celebrity, Boggs has a large following of people eager to obtain his signature. Personal fans have to pay him a small fee for an autograph, while a signature is only within reach for mavericks who are willing to spend $2,000 or more. No need for Boggs to complain about financial or artistic rewards.

In short, Boggs' bills generate extreme, albeit contradictory, reactions. I wonder, however, if the legal trouble and the arti-financial success that his work generates are really that distinct. Note, for instance, that both the legal apparatus and the army of collectors ultimately intend to take his work out of circulation. And when it comes to their sense of humor, my expectations of a collector who pays $50,000 or more for a Boggs bill are no higher than that of a prosecutor who wants to stop Boggs from making the bills in the first place. Both try to "capture" Boggs, with either money or the law as their instrument-- in vain, I presume.

3. No land for money

I met Boggs when he was in Amsterdam in early February for a performance in the "West Indisch Huis." In the seventeenth century, the "West Indisch Huis" was built for the West Indische Compagnie, which enjoyed a monopoly on trade between America, West Africa and Holland. Currently the building is the home base of the John Adams Institute, which organizes lectures by American intellectuals, writers and artists. The title of Boggs' performance there was I'll take Manhattan.

At the start of the performance Boggs, 44, who has wild gray-blond hair that nearly reaches his shoulders, takes a digital picture of the audience, while a bag filled with orange plastic Sacagawea coins lies between his legs. Then he recounts the story of Peter Minuit, governor of the West Indische Compagnie, who sailed to the island of Manhattan. He was welcomed in May 1626, 375 years ago today, by an Indian clan. Soon after his arrival, Minuit bought the island from the Indians for trinkets worth sixty guilders. Among those trinkets were "wampum," the Indian word for bead money, which had not only monetary but also cultural value for many clans--"wampum" was a means of transmitting the history of the clan from generation to generation. The Dutch, however, did not have history but money on their mind, which induced them to create their own "wampum" in order to deal with the Indians. Unknowingly, the Indians responded appropriately to the sly and sacrilegious offer of the Dutch by accepting the trinkets, but since they lacked a conception of land ownership, the Indians must have conceived of the transaction as some foreign ritual. Come to think of it, no land was exchanged for any money on that May Day in 1626.

The story of Minuit and the Indians is a perfect pre-figuration of Boggs own work; Minuit paid, just like Boggs, with improvised money, and probably needed a good share of rhetoric to do so. The color of Boggs' Sacagawea coins is the same as the family name of the Dutch royal family: Orange. In fact, many of the first Dutch settlers on Manhattan used to live north of the island in Fortress Orange (the present Albany), and after the Dutch re-conquered Manhattan from the English in the second half of the seventeenth century, they renamed it New Orange.

Here is another parallel: the acquisition of Manhattan by the Dutch is listed in American history books for $24, mistakenly so, since the nineteenth century American historian who came up with the figure used the exchange rate of his own time rather than some seventeenth century equivalent. However, the exchange rate he used (60/24) is almost exactly the same as the present exchange rate of the Dutch guilder against the American dollar. Is there a meaning to all these parallels--synchronicities, as Boggs calls them? "I have no answers, just questions," he says as he concludes his performance. It is the child in Boggs, who never seems to have deserted him, who needs these exercises in confusion.

4. Indecent proposal

When Boggs talks about his work, it is with great enthusiasm, cheer and wonder. However, when talking about the lawsuits, the tenderness in his eyes makes way for a furious look. Although Boggs seems flattered with the artistic and financial success of his endeavor, he does not strike me as particularly "money" oriented. Boggs admits that the material form of money is what fascinates him--the fact that it functions as a visual icon of society in a way that electronic money does not. But more than just a copier of money, he is a performance artist. When a collector recently offered to buy all his remaining coins for $100,000, Boggs refused. The golden rule is that he only parts with his money in real economic exchanges. He does not sell his work, in other words, he only "transacts" it.

"Do you think they will accept Boggs money here," he asks in an old Amsterdam bar. Boggs insists that I will not intervene during the transaction, and promptly walks to the bar with a gentle smile on his face. Then he explains to the barkeeper with a charming voice: "Hi, I am an artist; I make my own money, and I try to spend it in real transactions. Today I would like to spend my money with you. These coins represent the value of a dollar. Would you accept four of them in exchange for two beer[s]?"

The lady looks puzzled and doubts if she should accept his offer. Before she can answer, however, her husband intervenes: "Paying with fake money is impossible," he says aggressively, "is playing a trick" [in Dutch the husband used the word "kunstenmakerij," which means both "making art," and "playing a trick"]. Unsolicited, the barkeeper continues that he has been making his own living for thirty-five years, and urges Boggs to support himself with honest means as well. The next day, many refusals of his coins will follow, even at the coin shops located behind Dam Square. There is a striking pattern in the responses that his proposal evokes. Out of disbelief, men react irritated, while women often start giggling -- an indication for social scientists that some taboo is being violated. Never does Boggs mention that the deal he is offering them is an offer nobody can refuse -- after all, even the coins are worth much more than their face value on the resale market for Boggs' work.

5. Resisting uniformity

By fabricating his own money, Boggs takes us back to a time when money was far from uniform. That time is not as far behind us as we tend to think. Until the nineteenth century, and in some countries up until the early twentieth century, a hodgepodge of different coins and bills were in circulation. In the United States, for instance, the dollar as we know it was only standardized in 1928. Until that time, almost any bank could issue its own bills. The Central Banks that were established in the nineteenth century were supposed to monitor the circulation of currencies and to create order in the chaotic monetary traffic of those days. As a result, the uniformity of money increased rapidly around the turn of the century, while issuing money was monopolized by the state in many Western European countries.

Around the same time, the German sociologist Georg Simmel wrote in his magnum opus Die Philosophie des Geldes that money is ultimately a destructive force. Money, that colorless and indifferent equivalent, would cover the world with an "evenly flat and gray tone," Simmel wrote. Money reduced the diversity of goods and transactions to a common, uniform denominator. It even put pressure on relationships, Simmel argued, since social interaction was increasingly transformed into economic exchange.

In a late response to Simmel, the American sociologist Viviana Zelizer showed in The Social Meaning of Money (1994) that people do manage to resist the destructive power of money. In the second half of the nineteenth century, when monetary traffic was becoming standardized rapidly, many households started creating what Zelizer calls domestic currencies. They earmarked money for specific goals and named them Christmas money, drinking money, vacation money, etc. Moreover, these households established a direct link between the way money was earned and the appropriate spending of it. Thus, they partially nullified the alleged uniformity of money.

Currently, an area of tension is emerging comparable to that in the nineteenth century. This tension is exactly what provides Boggs' art with the necessary ammunition. On the one hand, the uniformity of money has entered an era of renaissance due to the introduction of the EURO in the European Union, no less than eleven different currencies will disappear at once on January 1, 2002. Because of the increasing use of credit cards and payment by means of a PIN code, money is on its way to becoming extinct in its material form of bills and coins. In the global economy, money can only be spotted as changing numbers on computer displays in anonymous offices. "You see?" Simmel mumbles posthumously.

At the same time, however, a widespread and multifaceted resistance against this ongoing standardization of monetary traffic is emerging. Look at the new republics that came into being after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the crisis in the Balkans. One of the first political acts in these countries is the introduction of their own currency, which serves as a symbol of national unity. As inhabitants of a small country, the Danish population had good reasons to vote against the introduction of the EURO in a public referendum that was organized last fall. And on the Internet, where you would expect the ultimate triumph of money's uniformity, new electronic currencies like e-gold are coming into being. Finally, it is remarkable that in the last decade, local currencies have been established in a number of places, like the British LETS (Local Exchange and Trading Schemes), Ithaca money in the American college town, or Noppes in Amsterdam. Like Boggs, many citizens refuse to reconcile themselves with the uniformity of money.

6. The Fragility of Money

All of these manifestations of resistance - Boggs' bills in the first place -- emphasize the conventional nature of money. If a businessman remarks that Boggs' money is not real, Boggs acts surprised. Why would it be less real than the money we spend in everyday life? With a smile he replies that it costs the Central Bank only a few cents to print the bills we use, whereas Boggs himself has to put many hours into making his own money. It is a reversal of Duchamp's institutional critique, addressing the economy rather than the art world. Whereas people demand originals rather than mass produced objects inside the walls of cultural institutions, Boggs' original work is not accepted in the economic realm as a stand-in for the ready-made bills of modern Central Banks.

Thus Boggs forces people to come to terms with the fragile basis of money, with the fact that money lacks a solid, material basis. It solely derives its value from agreement—a widespread agreement, for that matter, but certainly not more than that. Many people still think that we can exchange our paper bills for gold at the Central Bank in a case of emergency, but that possibility was abolished in most countries in the first half of the 20th century. Given the conventional basis of money, it is easy to understand why objects as diverse as pearls, horse blankets, beads, rice, salt, gold, playing cards or cigarettes could serve as media of exchange in the past. (Boggs united them in an installation for the New York office of the consultancy firm Accenture.) Because many of these means were neither divisible, transportable or perishable, they did not survive the test of time. In that respect, Boggs argues tongue in cheek that his own Sacagawea coin is a good competitor of the original. It is both lighter and larger than the original which makes it easier to distinguish from a quarter.

David Greg Harth, another American artist with a fascination for money, underscores that the value of money is ultimately founded on trust.(Fig. 8) On one-dollar bills he puts stamps with texts such as "I am not a dollar" (the parallel with René Magritte's painting Ceci n'est pas une pipe (Fig. 9) goes without saying.) "He is right," says Boggs. Ultimately, the bill is not a dollar at all, at most a representation of it. The bill is real, but the dollar itself is an abstraction… just like God. Indeed, it is remarkable how fundamentally modern monetary systems are grafted onto religion. According to Boggs the invention of both money and God date from the same era, and the traces are still visible in our own days. Just think of the double meaning of words like "redeem," or the root of the word "credit"--it is a direct derivative of the Latin word for believing. The side of Dutch coins reads "God Is With Us," while "In God We Trust" is printed on American bills.

7. Keep Boggs in circulation

Given the fragility of money, it is hardly surprising that Boggs' proposals arouse such hostile reactions. It confuses people to a greater degree than they are comfortable with. And who can blame them? How easily trust in economic value can be undermined and the consequences have lately been illustrated when investors gained billions of dollars on the NASDAQ and lost them as easily when stock prices collapsed only months later. As mysterious as the rise and fall of the Internet economy is the creation of value that Boggs realizes by printing his own money. Without the help of any official institution--the Central Bank in the last place--he sneaks plastic coins into the economy with a face value of 100.000 dollar. Their real value is even many times higher: a month after their first release, a complete set of six one-dollar coins was sold on Ebay for $87. It goes to show that as painstakingly as the fundamentals of our modern monetary system were established in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, so easily are they tampered with. Or, as Boggs remarks: "When you are dealing with an abstraction, the borderline between something and nothing is very subtle."

Above copied from: http://www.toutfait.com/duchamp.jsp?postid=1242&keyword=#

Component-based design and software readymades, Anders Mørch



Abstract

I present a vision for the integration of art in software design. The perspective is to support evolutionary application development with end users as active participants. A step towards this is component-based design. The paper starts by identifying some issues involved in component-based design by showing examples of how some everyday objects (e.g., bicycle wheel, urinal, coat rack) have be reused and redesigned in fanciful ways. A set of concepts and techniques for radical tailorability of software systems (i.e., software readymades) is proposed.


Introduction

This essay examines two areas of design, an art discipline and component-based software development, respectively. I argue that they merit comparison and even cross-fertilisation. The two areas are 'readymades' (seen as art objects) and software components (seen as readymades). A commonality between the two and a basic premise of this essay is that the unit of design is a 'mass produced' and 'ready to hand' object that everyone (both young and old) can relate to. These characteristics are examined in some detail and ideas from readymades are reused in order to propose new concepts and techniques for software design.

Marcel Duchamp coined the term 'readymade' to explain the activity of making everyday objects art objects by certain operations performed by the artist. These operations were different from what most people associated with artwork. The end results were new objects only slightly different from the originally purchased objects, but after Duchamp's operations more fit for a museum rather than as tools for practical work (i.e., as originally conceived by their manufacturers).

Software components and component-based design have received much attention in the software engineering and application development communities over the past 5 years. Software components allow systems to be built by starting from high-level reusable building blocks instead of writing program statements in a general purpose programming languages. A goal of this approach to systems development is to find new ways of shortening the (often costly) software development cycle, to stimulate programmers to reuse each other's assets, and to make it more practical to include end-users in systems development.

Although there are similarities between readymades and software components, there are differences we need to identify before we embark on a closer analysis. Readymades is strictly not a design concept, but an approach to disassemble, reuse, re-arrange and extend already manufactured objects. Software components are parts to be assembled with other components in order to create new software systems. However, both approaches consist of ready-to-hand objects as the basic unit of design.


Readymades as art objects

Duchamp coined the word readymade by selecting manufactured objects from manufacturer’s catalogues and calling them art objects even though they were not his own creations. His operations were simple: choose certain objects, label them by a serial number and sign them by a short sentence to aid to the spectator (see the Fountain). In other cases it meant to take existing objects, taking them apart, and reassembling them in new ways to form radically different artifacts (e.g. stool and bicycle to create a bicycle wheel).

Duchamp's role as artist consisted in selecting existing objects he found 'interesting' and of presenting them as art. Since the world was already so full of interesting objects, why did one want to add to them? Instead, the artist could just pick one, which should be a choice of mind rather than the work of hand. Naturally, this way of working scandalised critics in the early part of this century.

Although Duchamp's readymades are only slightly modified versions of manufactured objects they have been carefully chosen and given radically new meanings (i.e., they can no longer be used as originally intended). In this way the readymades make us aware of aspects of everyday objects we normally do not attend to when we use them in our everyday activities. They serve instead as a counterexample: pointing out what an object is not.

The readymades not only shocked the critics, but they also challenged the conventional way of presenting art, e.g. as hanging on walls. Duchamp’s readymades were not placed on walls, but hung from the ceiling or were nailed to the floor, as shown in Figure 3.

Figure 3: The artist's studio in New York 1916-17. The urinal, hat rack, and snow shovel are hanging from the ceiling. A coat rack is nailed to the floor (not visible). None of the objects are directly accessible for use. A complex web of thin wire-frame integrates some of the readymades.

Duchamp's pictures and diagrams were 'snapshots' of existing physical objects and presented from different viewpoints. He put great emphasis on the time and date of selecting, cutting (disassembly into parts), and reorganisation. Time and date were vital information in addition to their serial numbers. Many of the readymades continued to evolve on paper for many years (some even until the artist’s death). Since none of the original readymades no longer exist, their pictorial and diagrammatic representations serve as their reminders. Figure 4 shows a series of snapshots in the development of the Urinal readymade.


Figure 4: Time Line of Readymade Series of Urinals (1917–1989)

Contemporary approaches to computer art include continuing the evolution started by Duchamp. Two examples of work along these lines are multimedia renderings and 3D animations of two of the classic readymades (Urinal and Bicycle wheel).

A multimedia rendering of readymade in a video of Urinal animation (QuickTime movie) is at: http://www.toutfait.com/issues/issue_3/Multimedia/Shearer/images/43c.mov

An assembled 3D model of Bicycle Wheel by Rhonda Roland Shearer (QuickTime) is at: http://www.toutfait.com/issues/issue_3/Multimedia/Shearer/images/16B.mov


Compositional structure of readymades

One reason why readymades have not vanished from the art scene is because they identify aspects of everyday objects we normally do not recognise when we interact with them (i.e., when the objects are ‘'ready to hand'). We do, however, recognize the other aspects when they are shown us explicitly (i.e., when the object becomes 'present at hand’). This can be seen in the later snapshots, which reveal cuts (parts) that are only weakly connected to their physical counterparts. However, more importantly, the cuts reveal aspects of a well-defined structural composition. The effects of this are explored in the remainder of this essay.

An approach to decompose the Urinal readymade is seen in Figure 5. The cuts identify ‘parts’ that constitute its compositional structure (its sub units). The Urinal, consists of at least three distinct cuts: 1) Drain holes, 2) plumbing hole with the artist’s inscription next to it, and 3) mounting holes with the readymade’s serial number attached. The two first are parts that perform a well-defined function when the artifact is in use. Drain holes are the sub-unit of the urinal men interact with when using the urinal. The plumbing hole is the sub-unit that integrates the urinal with the sewer system. The mounting holes are used when ‘installing’ the urinal in a public bathroom.

It the latter part of this essay we refer to the parts of a readymade as its ‘aspects’ for practical reasons. Aspects are ways to see, rather than to build, a readymade.


Figure 5: Decomposing the Urinal readymade into three distinctive parts (referred to as aspects): Handle to mount on wall (37B), drain holes (37C), pipe hole (37D). In addition, the handle has a serial number attached, and next to the pipe hole is the signature and time-stamp of the selector (artist).


Another (contemporary) readymade (chosen by the author) is shown in Figure 6. The same three aspects can also be identified here, but now they are put together again. This kind of readymade is what we call an 'application unit'. It is ready-to-hand (i.e., it is meant to be used) rather than present-at-hand (i.e., Duchamp's readymades were made for exhibition).


Figure 6: The TrioVing cardkey. A readymade with three aspects exposed: 1) Handle, 2) recommendation for use (end-user-aided signature), and 3) coded mechanisms.


Software components and component-based design

A component is a unit of composition with well-defined interfaces to other components. It can be deployed independently or be subject to composition by third parties. Components are tools that together allow application developers to create applications by gluing together ready-made component without the need for programming.

Integration of components to build software applications can be compared to connecting Lego bricks to make toys. By keeping interfaces (connection points) general, each brick can connect to many other bricks (of different shapes). One of the great advantages of composition is that it has the potential to be performed at runtime (i.e., when the system is in use). Connecting two components requires only 'glue code' (i.e., a high-level script) that records the connections between the components. The computer can in many instances automate the writing of glue code, and this is an important aid for end-user developers. A 'snapshot' of this process is shown in Figure 7.


Figure 7: Component-based development with IBM’s Composition editor.
The complete scenario of this example, which shows
the steps for connecting the components is at: http://www.ifi.uib.no/staff/anders/teaching/iv131/visualage/quest7.html


The steps a user has to go through in order to assemble the three software components according to this scenario are as follows:

1. Select the Composition editor (a software development tool in IBM's Visual Age for Java)
2. Components can now be chosen from a component palette (see Figure 7).
3. Choose a button, a text field and a text area (shown in Figure 7).
4. Modify the Button's default names in the Button’s property sheet (named 'Overfør' in Figure 7).
5. Connect the three components: the effect should be to copy the text in the text field to the text area when a user clicks the button.
6. The logic for this is placed in the Button's 'actionPerformed' method[1]. Create a link with this method as the starting point.
7. The link is connected to the “getText” method of the text field component.
8. 'getText' is again connected to the 'append' method of the text area component.
9. The methods are accessed by right clicking on the components in the work area in the Composition editor.

Structure of components: application units

Duchamp revealed two kinds of mechanisms in the Urinal: artifact mechanism (drain holes) and mechanisms for integration with other artifacts (plumbing hole). These kinds of mechanisms (and their division into separate areas of concern) are useful for software components as well, especially for separating the definition of interfaces (software methods) from component functionality. We also need information about how to use the components, which is yet another area of concern. This is what distinguishes application units from readymades. However, the use dimension can be added to readymades by software. One way to accomplish this was shown above (multimedia and video animation). An alternative approach is to use software as handle (user interface) to serve as a point of convergence between the different aspects of a readymade, hence linking them together. The concept was not foreign to Duchamp, but developed by him only in mathematical terms.

Figure 8: Application units in the BasicDraw application (a small drawing program). Holding down a modifier key (alt, shift and control) on a user interface object allows the user to access each of the different aspects of an application unit. The aspects are partly interdependent. Each aspect may have to be changed during system development.

Software components needed to realize this are referred to as application units. Each application unit is a visual component with three aspects: (1) user interface, (2) design rationale, and (3) program code. These aspects have been inspired by the structure of readymades, such as the cardkey shown in Figure 6. For the software equivalents, the user interface is the point of convergence between the three aspects. This is accomplished by the 'event handler' mechanism. To view the different aspects the user simply needs to hold down a modifier key while performing the normal interaction gesture on a GUI object. This is illustrated in Figure 8.

Tailorability is needed for modifying individual application units and to create new ones during evolutionary application development (i.e., redesign and further development). Each of the aspects is tailored separately by three techniques known to as customisation, integration and extension. Customisation means changing the user interface and choosing among alternative configuration options (analogous to Java Bean’s property sheets shown in the scenario of Figure 7). Extension is modifying program code by subclassing and method extension. Integration is tailorability at an intermediate level. It includes both integration of new application units (composition) and integration of design rationale (to document the changes made). A goal of end-user tailorability is to bundle tailoring tools with components in order not to overload the user with irrelevant information nor make access to tailoring tools unnecessarily complicated.

Summary & discussion

This essay has identified some similarities of readymades-as-art-objects and readymades-as-software-components. It has argued that the compositional structure of Duchamp's readymades can be useful as structure for user-tailorable software components as well.

An open issue for further work is how Duchamp's artful integration of readymades (as illustrated in Figure 3) can inform us how to integrate software components. We can explore the dimensions of this issue by identifying several levels of 'software readymades':

· Software readymades as components of applications (as shown in Figure 7)
· Software readymades as complete applications, but running on the same machine
· Software readymades as applications running on different machines.

Integration of software components by end-users to make new applications is far from a trivial issue since it requires that end-users know what interface methods are defined on the various components and how they must be called to realise the integration of two components. In other words, flexibility at this level has still a long way to go before reaching 'artful integration'. Interestingly, a model for software component integration has been Lego toy construction. Lego construction has great flexibility in how two components can be coupled together. This generality is approached in software by method interfaces that cater to many combinational needs. However, the cost of generality (advantageous for component developers) is paid at the expense of end-user mastery because connection points will not have intuitive (domain-specific) names and may require parameters to be specified so that they can be used in many combinations. This requires programming expertise.

It may be simpler to consider stand-alone applications as the unit of composition since they allow greater degrees of flexibility (seen by an end-user). Imagine connecting a database system to a spreadsheet for plotting the data. This is integration at a higher level of abstraction that connecting software components. However, this may also require some form of programming. A scripting language can be used to get access to the data and to send it to the spreadsheet application by callings its plotting functions. An advantage of a scripting language compared to an object-oriented language is that is smaller and easier to comprehend by most end-users (i.e., functions rather than classes and methods).

Finally, software readymades can also be seen as applications running on different machines. Imagine a group of users located in different parts of the country (or world) that has decided to collaborate on a joint task over some time (e.g. a funded project). They should be able to select a suite of Internet tools (e.g. email, group discussion, chat) and be able integrate these tools in ways that support their needs. This localised 'ensemble' of tools may only be relevant for a short period of time (i.e., data storage is temporarily disk space can later be recovered). To create such an ensemble should not require any programming expertise, and it should minimise administrative overhead (i.e. it can be automated by the providers of the tools).

For software readymades to approach artful integration it is necessary that end-users (including artists) – rather than programmers and developers – are able to reuse and recombine user-oriented components. We are still not there, but the last scenarios I presented are within reach. However, to reach the level of artistry exemplified by Duchamp's studio of 1916-17, or fanciful Lego creations made by small children, is further away.

Note: most of the pictures shown in this essay are taken from Reference 5 below.


References

Ades, D., Cox, N. and Hopkins, D. (1999). Marcel Duchamp. Thames and Hudson, London.

Mørch, A. (1997a). Three Levels of End-User Tailoring: Customization, Integration, and Extension. In Computers and Design in Context. M. Kyng & L. Mathiassen (eds.). The MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, 51-76.

Mørch, A.I. (1998) Tailoring Tools for System Development. Journal of End User Computing 10 (2), 22-30.

Mørch, A.I. and Mehandjiev, N.D. (2000) Tailoring as Collaboration: The Mediating Role of Multiple Representations and Application Units. Computer Supported Cooperative Work 9 (1), 75-100.

Shearer, R.R., Alvarez, G., Slawinski, R., Marchi V. and Gould, S.J. (2000). Why the Hatrack is and/or is not Readymade: with Interactive Software, Animations, and Videos for Readers to Explore. Tout-fait: The Marcel Duchamp Studies Online Journal 1 (3), December 2000.
at: http://www.toutfait.com/issues/issue_3/Multimedia/Shearer/Shearer03.html

for image and the full essay see: http://imweb.uio.no/seminarer/designingdesign/Component_based_design.htm

Sunday, February 24, 2008

(Ab)Using Marcel Duchamp: The Concept of the Readymade in Post-War and Contemporary American Art, Thomas Girst


The following article is published in two parts within the exhibition catalogue for “Aftershock: The Legacy of the Readymade in Post-War and Contemporary American Art,” Dickinson Roundell, Inc., New York, May – June 2003”*


In a 1961 interview with Katherine Kuh, Marcel Duchamp, when asked about his readymades, let it be known that the concept behind those objects might be “the most important single idea to come out of my work.” (1) In June 1967, the self-proclaimed “an-artist”(2) - anticipating his final departure a mere sixteen months hence ("Quite simply, I am waiting for death") - elaborated on his concept of the readymade: “Ultimately, it should not be looked at… It’s not the visual aspect of the Readymade that matters, it’s simply the fact that it exists.… Visuality is no longer a question: the Readymade is no longer visible, so to speak. It is completely gray matter. It is no longer retinal.” When pressed by his interviewer about the paradox of the readymades having “ended up being ‘consumed’ in museums and exhibitions, and sold as art objects” (particularly in light of the editions produced by the Galleria Schwarz in Milan in 1964), Duchamp replied:

"There is an absolute contradiction, but that is what is enjoyable, isn’t it? Bringing in the idea of contradiction, the notion of contradiction, which is something that has never really been used, you see? And all the more since this use doesn’t go very far. If you make an edition of eight Readymades, like a sculpture, like a Bourdelle or you name it, that is not overdoing it. There is something called “multiples,” that go up to hundred and fifty, two hundred copies. Now there I do object because that’s getting really too vulgar in a useless way, with things that could be interesting if they were seen by fewer people. There are too many people in this world looking. We have to reduce the number of people looking! But that’s another matter." (3)

To “reduce the number of people looking” echoes an early note by Marcel Duchamp, “Limit the no. of rdymades yearly (?).” (4) This comment, first published in the Green Box of 1934(Fig. 1), was most likely written between 1911 and 1915, during the period of the first readymades, such as the Bicycle Wheel (1913) (Fig. 2) and the Bottle Dryer (1914) (Fig. 3). (5) As he was never keen on showing them publicly, early on they may have functioned as works of private contemplation (not unlike Descartes’ famous piece of wax or William of Occam’s razor), responses, perhaps, to his note of 1913: “Can one make works which are not works of ‘art’?” (6) Accordingly, with the exception of one single New York exhibition in 1916, the readymades were unknown outside his small circle of friends and family until the 1940s. We should bear in mind that even the urinal entitled Fountain (Fig. 4) –– submitted not under Duchamp’s name, but under the pseudonym “R. Mutt” –– was rejected for display at the first exhibition of the Society of Independent Artists in 1917. Throughout his life Duchamp often declined to participate in exhibitions, especially when his readymades were involved. The Bicycle Wheel, for example, was not shown until 1951, and even then as a replica of the lost original. Duchamp is thus to be believed when he says that the readymades “were a very personal experiment that I had never intended to show to the public.” (7)

As for their actual number, Duchamp once spoke of thirty to thirty-five, though today only about a third of them are known. (8) Many objects qualifying as readymades –– mentioned in his notes and in early accounts by Charles Sheeler, William Carlos Williams, and Edgar Varèse –– were never realized or are lost without a trace. In any case, their limited number, and the fact that at least a few of them are unaccounted for, strongly suggest that they were indeed the “personal experiment” that the an-artist described. Duchamp sought from the beginning to assure that his choice of objects would be limited in order to avoid redundancy, an inevitable consequence if a larger number of original readymades had been produced. In the 1930s Duchamp declined an offer from the Knoedler Gallery in New York, whose director offered him a substantial sum if he would continue to produce the works for which he was most famous (such as the Nude Descending a Staircase of 1912) (Fig. 5). “It would force me to repeat myself. I will not even envisage this possibility. I value my independence too much.” (9) Despite the temptation, Duchamp kept the readymades out of the fray and, accordingly, they remained virtually unknown.

Duchamp’s refusal to have the readymades treated as works of art led him to claim that “for a period of thirty years nobody talked about them and neither did I.” (10) His often-pronounced aesthetic indifference towards these objects also excluded the possibility of their appearance in large numbers, as that would have allowed for taste to infiltrate his “experiment.” In later years, to maintain this indifference despite their newly acquired fame, Duchamp –– always worried about the unavoidable aesthetics of patina –– thought of swapping them for newer mass-produced objects, replacing, for example, the Bottle Dryer with a plastic bucket. (11)

Outside of his notes in the Green Box, his private correspondence, and the miniatures and photographic reproductions in the Boîte-en-valise (which premiered in 1941) (Fig. 6), (12) Duchamp did not publicly mention the readymades until 1945. (13) In fact, the sole definition of the readymade published under Duchamp’s name, in 1938 –– “an ordinary object elevated to the dignity of a work of art by the mere choice of an artist” –– turns out not to have written by Duchamp but by André Breton. (14)

All of the above can only hint at the intricacies of Duchamp’s early concept of the readymade and the many misreadings that followed. From the immediate post-war period until today, Duchamp’s readymades have been all too often taken as carte blanche for “anything goes,” mere nihilistic or iconoclastic gestures based on the belief that, generated by the choice of the artist, it is only the changing of the context (i.e. a urinal at a plumbing-fixture store vs. Fountain at a gallery) through which an ordinary object is transformed into a work of art. (15) Misreading Duchamp of course, is what the ambivalent an-artist himself must have anticipated and, to a certain extent, encouraged, as Dieter Daniels observed:

Whenever other artists embrace the principle of the Readymade, the idea becomes completely detached from the historical objects and begins a life of its own. In so doing, it illustrates in the best way possible Duchamp’s dictum that it is the viewer who makes the pictures. The continued artistic influence of the Readymade may therefore be understood only as a permanent redefinition of its meaning. (16)

Duchamp’s continuing fame, and his influence on a younger generation of artists, were unexpected: it took some time before it was established that “this whole bloody, revolutionary, contradictory century has basically been a big Duchampian-Beckettian burlesque.” (17) His own attitude towards his heirs seemed to be, at best, one of aloofness (of the same sort he had earlier professed towards Dada and Surrealism), and, at worst, frustration, as was articulated to the Dadaist Hans Richter:

This Neo-Dada, which they call New Realism, Pop Art, Assemblage, etc., is an easy way out, and lives on what Dada did. When I discovered the ready-mades I sought to discourage aesthetics. In Neo-Dada they have taken my readymades and found aesthetic beauty in them, I threw the bottle-rack and the urinal into their faces as a challenge and now they admire them for their aesthetic beauty. (18)

There is a problem with this infamous quote, however. Hans Richter asserted that it came straight from a letter written to him by Duchamp in 1961. Only years later did he admit that those words were not Duchamp’s. Richter had sent Duchamp this paragraph for comment, writing: “You threw the bottle rack and the urinal into their face…,” etc. Duchamp simply scrawled: “Ok, ça va très bien” into the margins. (19)

In fact, the an-artist’s overall assessment of the new movements spreading all around him (and to which, to a certain degree, he owed his enormous renaissance) was, though disengaged, much more sympathetic than Richter’s misleading quote would suggest. In 1964, Duchamp, though unmoved by Pop artists’ sense of humor and choice of material, made the following favorable comments:

Pop Art is a return to “conceptual” painting, virtually abandoned, except by the Surrealists, since Courbet, in favor of retinal painting… If you take a Campbell soup can and repeat it 50 times, you are not interested in the retinal image. What interests you is the concept that wants to put 50 Campbell soup cans on a canvas. (20)

From the 1950s on, Duchamp’s influence on the American art scene has grown precipitously. Beginning in 1942 he lived permanently in New York, and his presence was undoubtedly a factor in the numerous exhibitions that were held in this country in succeeding years. (21) In 1952 Life magazine honored his continuing presence as “Dada’s Daddy” in a ten-page photo spread, (22) and by the mid-50s some of his readymades were permanently installed in American museums. Robert Motherwell made a significant contribution toward a Duchamp renaissance with the publication of the anthology The Dada Painters and Poets (1951), in which he characterized the Bottle Rack as at once a “sculpture” and an “anti-art and consequently dada gesture,” concluding, “it is evident, thirty-five years later, that the bottle rack he chose has a more beautiful form than almost anything made, in 1914, as sculpture.” (23) The game was on, and it certainly didn’t please everyone, least of all the Abstract Expressionists.

In 1957, Barnett Newman voiced his displeasure with the Whitney Museum of American Art, particularly with Robert Motherwell’s contribution to a catalogue for the memorial exhibition of Bradley Walker Tomlin. In a letter to John I. H. Baur, the Whitney’s director, Newman accused Motherwell of “smear and slander,” stating that he wanted to “make clear that if Motherwell wishes to make Marcel Duchamp a father, Duchamp is his father and not mine nor that of any American painter that I respect.” (24) Four years earlier, in a similar tirade against the Museum of Modern Art, he had insinuated that Duchamp’s works in that institution merely added to its “popularizing role of entertainment,” and asserted “that the American public… seeks more from art than just gadgets.” (25) In 1952, he confirmed that the “gadgets” of his scorn were indeed the readymades: “Marcel Duchamp tried to destroy art by pointing to the fountain, and we now have museums that show screwdrivers and automobiles and paintings. [The museums] have accepted this aesthetic position that there’s no way of knowing what is what.”(26)

This was precisely the view of Clement Greenberg, the preeminent art critic of America’s post-war era. Greenberg attacked the tendency to produce art without the guidance of aesthetic judgment, a factor many artists wanted to do away with “in the hope, periodically renewed since Marcel Duchamp first acted on it fifty-odd years ago, that by dint of evading the reach of taste while yet remaining in the context of art, certain kinds of contrivances will achieve unique existence and value. So far, this hope has proved illusory.” (27) With the advent of “Assemblage, Pop, Environment, Op, Kinetic, Erotic, and all the other varieties of Novelty Art” (28) –– all movements, that is, which were more or less indebted to Duchamp – Greenberg bemoaned not only the passing of Abstract Expressionism but of “authentic art values.” (29) These movements were fulfillments of “Duchamp’s dream of going ‘beyond’ the issue of artistic quality.” the “real failure of Pop art,” on top of its “easiness,” was its “vulnerability to qualitative comparisons,” something Duchamp had supposedly initiated in his “‘transcending’ the difference between good and bad in general.” (30) It follows that at the heart of this confusion are the readymades in their three-dimensionality, a spatial “coordinate that art has to share with non-art.” (31) That Greenberg saw the readymade as belonging to the history of painting rather than to that of sculpture clearly evolved from these observations. (32)

On the other end of the spectrum, it was Duchamp himself who spoke out vividly against the movement heralded most by Greenberg:

The recent examples of Abstract Expressionism clearly show the ultimate in the retinal approach begun by Impressionism. By “retinal” I mean that the aesthetic pleasure depends almost entirely on the impression on the retina, without appealing to any auxiliary interpretation… The young artist of tomorrow will refuse to base his work on a philosophy as over-simplified as that of the “representative or non-representative” dilemma. (33)

In the field of art theory, similar opposing voices made themselves heard. To give but one example: early on, New York’s young and infamous art critic Gene Swenson rejected the tradition that linked everything from Cubism to Color Field painting and instead proposed a different trajectory declaring Dada and Surrealism the ancestors of Pop. In 1966, he curated the exhibition “The Other Tradition” at the Philadelphia Institute of Contemporary Art. According to the catalogue, the show’s declared goal was “1) seeing certain twentieth-century works of art which have been overlooked or neglected by art historians, and 2) suggesting alternative ‘intellectual’ rather than formal ways of dealing with this art.” Swenson’s checklist is topped off by four contributions from Duchamp, leading him to ask: “How much longer will we rest content with our defective and infectious critical tools and our academic standards? How many more times can we see the words ‘picture plane,’ ‘modernism,’ ‘crisis,’ new,’ and ‘literary’ without flushing?” (34)

Swenson was reacting to a paradigmatic shift in American art, and many young artists were enthralled to find out that Duchamp’s newly discovered oeuvre spoke to their own strategies of subverting what came before them. He was simply “in the air,” (35) as Bruce Nauman put it. John Cage began lecturing on Duchamp at Black Mountain College (starting in 1952) as well as at the New School of Social Research (1956-58), to a new generation of artists that included Robert Rauschenberg, George Brecht, Alan Kaprow, Al Hensen, Dick Higgins, and Jackson McLow. George Segal remarked that “Marcel Duchamp had a revived life through John Cage.” (36) In 1958 Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns went to see the Duchamp collection at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Years before, during the War years, Joseph Cornell had befriended Duchamp in the course of his collaboration on the latter’s Boîte-en-valise. Yet to comprehend fully the scope of Duchamp’s deep appreciation by post-war generation and contemporary American artists as well as the influence he wielded over them –– especially with his readymades –– nothing serves the purpose better than to hear it in their own words (37) :

Robert Motherwell

“I would say that one of the most astonishing things in my lifetime as an artist is his prominence. Thirty years ago, if somebody had said to me, ‘he may become the major the major influence on the art scene,’ I’d have said: ‘You’re out of your mind,’ and most of my judgments were quite accurate then.”

- Vivien Raynor, “A Talk with Robert Motherwell,” Art News, vol. 73, no. 4 (April 1974). p. 51, quoted in: Dieter Daniels, “Marcel Duchamp: The Most Influential Artist of the 20th Century?,” in: Museum Jean Tinguely Basel (ed.) Marcel Duchamp, Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz, 2002 [exh. cat.], pp. 37-40, pp. 25-33, p. 25.

Barnett Newman

I want particularly to make clear that if Motherwell wishes to make Marcel Duchamp a father, Duchamp is his father and not mine nor that of any American painter that I respect.”

- in a letter to John I. H. Baur, October 20, 1957, quoted in John P. O’Neill (ed.), Barnett Newman: Selected Writings and Interviews, New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1990: p. 208.

George Segal

“Marcel Duchamp had a revived life through John Cage.”

- cited by Wouter Kotte, Marcel Duchamp als Zeitmaschine/Marcel Duchamp als Tijdmachine, Köln, Verlag der Buchhandlung Walter König, 1987: p. 86, n. 236.

John Cage

“It is astonishing how very much Marcel Duchamp makes others creative”

- cited by Serge Stauffer in: Thomas Zaunschirm, Bereites Mädchen Ready-made, Klagenfurt: Ritter, 1983, p. 10., quoted in: Marcel Duchamp: The Most Influential Artist of the 20th Century?,” p. 27.

“Say it’s not a Duchamp. Turn it over and it is.”

- “26 statements Re Duchamp” (1969), in: Susan Hapgood, Neo-Dada: Redefining Art 1958-62, New York: The American Federation of Arts, 1994 [exh. cat.], p. 137.

Nam June Paik

“Marcel Duchamp has already done everything there is to do – except video…only through video art can we get ahead of Marcel Duchamp.”

- interview with Irmeline Lebeer, in: Chroniques de l’art vivant, nr. 55 (February 1974), p. 35, quoted in: “Marcel Duchamp: The Most Influential Artist of the 20th Century?,” p. 27.

Robert Morris

“The Readymades are traditionally iconic art objects”

- “Notes on Sculpture 4: Beyond Objects” (1969), in: Charles Harrison and Paul Wood (eds.), Art in Theory: 1900-1990. An Anthology of Changing Ideas, Oxford and Cambridge, MA: 1992, vol. 2, p. 872, quoted in: “Marcel Duchamp: The Most Influential Artist of the 20th Century?,” p. 30.

Joseph Kosuth

“The event that made conceivable the realization that it was possible to ‘speak another language’ and still make sense in art was Marcel Duchamp’s first unassisted Readymade. With the unassisted Readymade, art changed its focus from the form of the language to what was being said…This change – one from ‘appearance’ to ‘conception’ – was the beginning of ‘modern’ art and the beginning of conceptual art. All art (after Duchamp) is conceptual (in nature) because art only exists conceptually.”

- “Art after Philosophy” (1969), in: Art in Theory: 1900-1990. An Anthology of Changing Ideas, p. 844, quoted in: “Marcel Duchamp: The Most Influential Artist of the 20th Century?,” p. 30.

Allan Kaprow

“[Duchamp] deliberately stopped making art objects in favor of little (ready-made) hints to the effect that you could pick up art anywhere you wanted. In other words, he implied that the whole business of art is quite arbitrary”

- “Interview with Allan Kaprow,” Allan Kaprow, Pasadena: Pasadena Art Museum, 1967 [exh. cat.], p. 8, quoted in: John Tancock, “The Influence of Marcel Duchamp,” in: Anne d’Harnoncourt and Kynaston McShine (eds.), Marcel Duchamp. A Retrospective Exhibition, Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1973 [exh. cat.], pp. 160-178, p. 171.

“His readymades… are radically useful contributions to the current art scene. If a snow shovel becomes a work of art by simply calling it that, so is all of New York, so is the Vietnam war, so is a pedantic article on Marcel Duchamp… The Readymade is a paradigm of the way humans make and unmake culture. Better than ‘straight’ philosophy and social science, a good Readymade can ‘embody’ the ironic limits of the traditional theory that says reality is nothing but a projection of mind or minds. ”

- “Doctor MD”, in: “A Collective Portrait of Marcel Duchamp,” quoted in: Anne d’Harnoncourt and Kynaston McShine (eds.), Marcel Duchamp. A Retrospective Exhibition, Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1973 [exh. cat.], pp. 204-205, p. 205.

“I think we all learned from… Duchamp. A key feature was discreetness, a timing and a restraint that many of us didn’t learn well enough. Duchamp was personally very helpful to us, no question… both practically and intellectually.”

- interview with Susan Hapgood, quoted in: Neo-Dada: Redefining Art 1958-62, p. 116.

Vito Acconci

“Did this film [Conversions of 1971] record a process parallel to the multivalence between Marcel Duchamp and Rrose Sélavy? ”

“Yes. ”

- interview with Robert Pincus Witten, "Vito Acconci and the Conceptual Performance," in Artforum, vol. 10, nr. 8 (April 1972), p. 49, quoted in: John Tancock, “The Influence of Marcel Duchamp,” p. 178.

William T. Wiley

“What we can learn from Marcel Duchamp is the same message from any artist who has made his presence manifest in the form of personal achievement: is essentially that we do not have to follow his example. Yet should we find in his example a path that interests us we should trust ourselves enough to follow that path as long as it is possible without an overabundance of human misery”

- “Thoughts on Marcel Duchamp,” in: Brenda Richardson, Wizdumb: William T. Wiley, Berkeley: University Art Museum, 1971, p. 42, quoted in: “The Influence of Marcel Duchamp,” p. 173.

Paul Pfeiffer

“Somewhere I read a statement by Duchamp to the effect that his art was intended as a destroyer, specifically of identity. I find that really inspiring. Putting a mustache on Mona Lisa makes a pretty basic point about the fluidity of identity and the depths to which gender, race and nationality are encoded into vision. I’m interested in multiple meanings and a kind of ambiguity that frustrates any attempt to pin it down.”

- Linda Yablonsky, “Making Microart that can Suggest Macrotruths,” in: The New York Times, December 9, 2001, p. 39.

Richard Pettibone

“My response to Duchamp hasn’t changed at all in the last 34 years. His work is just as beautiful. Being a visual artist I feel that it’s very important what things look like & in spite of all that talk about chance & giving up taste, etc. Duchamp’s work is still drop dead gorgeous.”

- letter to Francis M. Naumann, August 1997, quoted in: Francis M. Naumann, Apropos of Marcel. The Art of Making Art after Duchamp in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, New York: Curt Marcus Gallery, 1999 [exh. cat.], p. 13.

Sanford Biggers

“Duchamp’s readymades are now aesthetically and formally pleasing, though they were controversial for their time and opposed the conventions... I also follow the idea of keeping the form as one of the most important elements but also feel strongly about challenging prescribed notions in art theory. The fact that I am the creator or author of these pieces also adds to how these pieces are interpreted by art theory.”

- Lauren Wilcox, “ Transformation and Tradition: Interview with Sanford Biggers,” in: Tout-Fait: The Marcel Duchamp Studies Online Journal, vol. 2, nr. 4, Art & Literature (January 2002)

Elaine Sturtevant
“[Duchamp’s] concern with trying to redefine what we consider art was a very big factor in terms of my own work.”

- Francis M. Naumann, Apropos of Marcel. The Art of Making Art after Duchamp in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, New York: Curt Marcus Gallery, 1999 [exh. cat.], p. 22.

Claes Oldenburg

“[Duchamp] was certainly on the scene. But I believe that the sort of thing I was into, which really was about the very gritty aspects of the Lower East Side, was very remote from Duchamp.”

- interview with Susan Hapgood, in: Neo-Dada: Redefining Art 1958-62, p. 124.

“Yes, he was a historical figure.”

- interview with Benjamin H. D. Buchloh (1985), quoted in: Martha Buskirk and Mignon Nixon (eds.), The Duchamp Effect. Essays, Interviews, Round Table. Cambridge, MA: MIT/October, 1996, pp. 33-36, p. 33. [(originally published as “Three Conversations in 1985: Claes Oldenburg, Andy Warhol, Robert Morris,” in: October 70 (Fall 1994).]

George Brecht

“The difference between a chair by Duchamp and one of my chairs could be that Duchamp’s chair is on a pedestal and mine can still be used.”

- Henry Martin, An Introduction to George Brecht’s Book on the Tumbler on Fire, Milan: Multhipla Edizioni, 1978, p. 71, quoted in: Neo-Dada: Redefining Art 1958-62, p. 27.

“I read somewhere, quite a while ago, that an interviewer asked: “How does it feel now, Mr. Duchamp, that everyone knows your name?” And Duchamp answered, “My grocer doesn’t.”

- “Notes on the Inevitable Relationship GB-MD (If there is one)” (1973), quoted in: Anthony Hill (ed.), Duchamp: Passim. A Marcel Duchamp Anthology, Langhorne, PA: G+B Arts International, 1994, p. 167.

Andy Warhol

“Well, yeah, we saw him a lot, a little bit. He was around. I didn’t know he was that famous or anything.”

- interview with Benjamin H. D. Buchloh (1985), in: The Duchamp Effect. Essays, Interviews, Round Table., pp. 37-45, p. 37.

Jasper Johns

“Duchamp’s wit and high common sense (“Limit the no. of rdymades yearly”), the mind slapping at thoughtless values (“Use a Rembrandt as an ironing board”), his brilliantly inventive questioning of visual, mental and verbal focus and order (the beautiful Wilson-Lincoln system, which was never added to the glass; ‘lose the possibility of identifying … 2 colors, 2 laces, 2 hats, 2 forms’; the vision of an alphabet ‘only suitable for the description of this picture’) inform and brighten the whole of [the Green Box].”

- “The Green Box,” Scrap (December 23, 1960), p. 4, in: Joseph Masheck (ed.), Marcel Duchamp in Perspective, Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1975, p. 111.

“Marcel Duchamp, one of this century’s pioneer artists, moved his work through the retinal boundaries which had been established which had been established with Impressionism into a field where language, thought and vision act upon another.… The art community feels Duchamp’s presence and his absence. He has changed the condition of being here.”

- “Marcel Duchamp (1887-1968),” Artforum, vol. VII, nr. 3 (November 1968), p. 6, in: Marcel Duchamp in Perspective, 1975, p. 147.

“The ready-made was moved mentally and, later, physically into a place previously occupied by the work of art.”

- quoted in Wouter Kotte, Marcel Duchamp als Zeitmaschine/Marcel Duchamp als Tijdmachine, Köln: Verlag der Buchhandlung Walter König, 1987, p. 84 (footnote 203).

Donald Judd

“Duchamp invented several fires but unfortunately didn’t bother with them.… The work Duchamp does have is of course highly interesting, but it’s a mistake not to have developed it. His work and his historical importance are different things. It’s to other people’s credit to have developed his or related ideas… The roto-reliefs and the ready-mades and assisted ready-mades are fine.”

- “Marcel Duchamp and/or Rrose Sélavy,” Arts Magazine, vol. XXXIX, nr. 6 (March 1965), pp. 53-54, in: Marcel Duchamp in Perspective, p. 121.

Robert Smithson

“I see Duchamp as a kind of priest of a certain sort. He was turning a urinal into a baptismal front… In other words, a Readymade doesn’t offer any kind of engagement. Once again it is the alienated relic of our modern postindustrial society. But he is just using manufactured goods, transforming them into gold and mystifying them.

- Moira Roth, “Robert Smithson, an Interview”, Artforum, vol. XII, nr. 2 (October 1973), p. 47, in: Marcel Duchamp in Perspective, pp. 134-137, p. 136.

William N. Copley

“If Marcel Duchamp ever died, his phoenix Rrose Sélavy lifted herself from the remains of the past that the former had desecrated by putting an ink-moustache on the Mona Lisa, thus creating a present for himself and all of us in which nouns like ‘art’ and ‘poetry’ melt into a single word.”

- “Art is not Furniture”, in: Alfred M. Fischer and Dieter Daniels (eds.), Übrigens Sterben Immer die Anderen. Marcel Duchamp und die Avantgarde seit 1950, Köln: Museum Ludwig, 1987 [exh. cat.], p. 283 (translated from the German).

Mike Bidlo

“Many artists have spent significant energies exploring his legacy”

- The Fountain Drawings, Zurich/New York: Bischofberger/Shafrazi, 1998 [exh. cat.], p. 54.

Joseph Cornell

“I believe that surrealism has healthier possibilities than have been developed. The constructions of Marcel Duchamp who the surrealists themselves acknowledge bear out this thought, I believe.”

- letter to Alfred Barr, 13 November 1936, quoted in: Anne Temkin, “Habitat for a Dossier,” in: Polly Koch (ed.), Joseph Cornell/Marcel Duchamp…in resonance, Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz, 1999 [exh. cat.], pp. 79-93, p. 87.

Robert Rauschenberg

“[Duchamp’s] recognition of the lack of art in art and the artfulness of everything, I think, is probably his most important contribution.”

- transcribed from the film Rebel Ready-Made: Marcel Duchamp (BBC, June 23, 1966), quoted in: Francis M. Naumann, Marcel Duchamp. The Art of Making Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, New York: Abrams, 1999, p. 294.

“Marcel Duchamp is all but impossible to write about. Anything you may say about him is at the same time untrue, but when I think of him I get a sweet taste in my body.”

- “A Collective Portrait of Marcel Duchamp,” p. 217.

Yoko Ono

“drink an orange juice laced with

sunshine and spring and you’ll see Duchamp.”

- “A Collective Portrait of Marcel Duchamp,” p. 215.

Jason Rhoades

“Duchamp for me is like L. Ron Hubbard. He’s a slippery figure who keeps popping up.”

- Russell Ferguson, “Given: 1. The Caprice, 2. The Ferrari,” in: Parkett, No. 58 (2000), pp. 122-125, p. 123.

Hannah Wilke

“To honor Duchamp is to oppose him… The issue that remains, was Duchamp trying to control his own death by killing art while he was still alive – aesthetic impotence for the sake of survival… Objecting to art as commodity is an honorable occupation that most women find it impossible to afford. Is this ready maid, having collected many of the readymades now in Oldenburg’s Ray Gun Wing owned by Peter Ludwig, owed an equal share for her part in the collaboration? Could commodities but speak, they would say; Our use, value may be a thing that interests men… In the eyes of each other we are nothing but exchange values.”

- “I Object. Memoirs of a Sugar Giver”, in: Übrigens Sterben Immer die Anderen. Marcel Duchamp und die Avantgarde seit 1950, pp. 263-271, pp. 269,270.

Arakawa & Madeline Gins

Managing to position objects to hold their own in relation to that which ubiquitously happens along and even to redirect it, using very-adjusted and less-adjusted ready-made insertions into symbolizing power, an inchoate emanating-out ready-made in its own right, to convey and express enough and more than enough, M. D. changed the history of expression (read symbolizing) and redefined (artistic) purpose -- two remarkable achievements.

- e-mail to the author, February 7, 2003.

Ed Ruscha

“If [Duchamp] hadn’t come along, we would have needed to invent him.”

- interview with Robert L. Pincus, October 30, 1990, in: Robert L. Pincus,” ‘Quality Material…’: Duchamp Disseminated in the Sixties and Seventies,” in: Bonnie Clearwater (ed.), West Coast Duchamp, Miami Beach: Grassfield Press, 1991, pp. 87-101, p. 100.

“What do you think is Duchamp’s most significant contribution?”

“That he discovered common objects and showed you could make art out of them.”

- interview with Elizabeth Armstrong, June 17, 1994, in: The Duchamp Effect. Essays, Interviews, Round Table., pp. 55-56, p. 55.

Bruce Connor

“I still feel that he dealt with enigmas and arbitrariness in the world with a sharp analytical mind.”

- interview with Elizabeth Armstrong, June 9, 1994, in: The Duchamp Effect. Essays, Interviews, Round Table., pp. 57-59, p. 57.

Vija Celmins

“I was greatly influenced by Duchamp, if only indirectly, by questioning what painting is – and should be.”

- interview with Robert L. Pincus, March 26, 1991, in: ‘Quality Material…’: Duchamp Disseminated in the Sixties and Seventies,” p. 88.

Sherrie Levine

“I was very surprised when I saw my first Fountain. When I made the decision to cast the urinal, I was thinking primarily about Duchamp, but the finished high polish bronze sculpture more readily evoked Brancusi.”

- interview with Martha Buskirk, May 13, 1994, in: The Duchamp Effect. Essays, Interviews, Round Table., pp. 177- 181, p. 179.

Louise Lawler

“[T]o me, Duchamp signaled a ‘bottle rack’ (who uses that?), a weird looking urinal, and a lot of pictures of him smoking and enjoying the sun with other people.…]n fact, all the readymades are interesting-looking things now, and their normalcy is gone. …This discussion of Duchamp seems a good opportunity to express my discomfort with too much referencing of authority that is restrictive, rather than enjoying the work’s ‘kindling’ effect and use.”

- interview with Martha Buskirk, May 20, 1994, in: The Duchamp Effect. Essays, Interviews, Round Table., pp. 183- 186, pp. 183, 186.

“Duchamp’s fetishization gets on my nerves.”

- e-mail to the author, February 2, 2003

Chris Burden

“He was definitely a formative figure for me… In an age of Cal Arts and Jeff Koons, Duchamp is a different role model”

- interview with Robert L. Pincus, September 26, 1990, in: “ ‘Quality Material…’: Duchamp Disseminated in the Sixties and Seventies,” pp. 98, 100.

John Baldessari

“There is a serious unseriousness going on… I see a kinship there, I feel I understand what [Duchamp’s] about.”

-interview with Moira Roth, January 6, 1973, in: ‘Quality Material…’: Duchamp Disseminated in the Sixties and Seventies,” p. 88.

Clyfford Still

“Few men could better exemplify the antithesis of my work than Marcel Duchamp.”

- “Letter to the Editor,” Artforum (February 1964), quoted in Calvin Tomkins, Duchamp. A Biography, New York: Henry Holt, 1996, p. 438.

William de Kooning

“And then there is that one-man movement, Marcel Duchamp – for me a truly modern movement because it implies that each artist can do what he thinks he ought to – a movement for each person and open for everybody.—”

- “What Abstract Art Means to Me,” Museum of Modern Art Bulletin, vol. 18, nr. 3 (June 1951), p. 7.

Shigeko Kubota

“Are we dancing still on the gigantic palm of Duchamp, thinking it is a big continent and ocean?”

- “Twenty Questions About My Work,” quoted in: Zdenek Felix (ed.), Shigeko Kubota. Video Sculptures, 1981 [exh. cat.], p. 51.

Jeff Koons

“You can look at Marcel Duchamp… Everything comes back to the ability of the artist to be able to communicate, to focus.

- “Jeff Koons. I have my finger on the eternal,” interview with Andrew Renton, in: Flash Art, vol. XXIII, nr. 153 (Summer 1990), pp. 110-115, quoted in: Thomas Zaunschirm, Kunst als Sündenfall. Die Tabuverletzungen des Jeff Koons, Freiburg: Rombach, 1996, pp. 7-20, p. 16.

“My process of distancing myself from subjective art continued through the late ‘70’s, which included exposure to Marcel Duchamp. He seemed the total opposite of the subjective art I had been immersed in. It was the most objective statement possible, the readymade. I loved that aspect and started doing my first inflatables.”

- interview with Alan Jones, in: Temaceleste, nr. 88 (November/December 2001), pp. 34-39, p. 36.

Bruce Naumann

“The kind of questions important to Duchamp were absorbed and circulated. Many people dealt with them and thought about them. In this regard he certainly was an influence.”

- interview with Lorraine Sciarra (1972), quoted in: Christine Hoffmann (ed.), Bruce Nauman. Interviews 1967-1988, Amsterdam: Verlag der Kunst, 1966, pp. 66-87, p. 69 (translated from the German).

“He leads to everybody and nobody”

- “A Collective Portrait of Marcel Duchamp,” p. 211.

It is obvious what Barry Schwabsky meant when he reviewed the Arturo Schwarz’s revised edition of The Complete Works of Marcel Duchamp in 2001: “Duchamp’s work is so deeply encoded in the fabric of contemporary art that I’m tempted to keep this book not with other art monographs, but on the ready-reference shelf next to Roget, Bartlett, and Merriam-Webster: Duchamp is to a great extent, our vocabulary.” (38) The an-artist quickly had become the Über-father par excellence, creating an anxiety of influence some felt was too overpowering. (39) Particularly within the American context.

Duchamp’s significance as originating father is generally seen to be identical to the significance of the readymades in relation to postmodernism. As paternal, theological origin, Duchamp is the readymades and the “readymades Duchamp” comes to signify postmodernism.… Duchamp has become a powerful authorizing function by which works produced by contemporary artists claim nepotistic validation as begotten by the Duchampian seed. (40)

Today, with the concept of irony co-opted and empty gestures of shocking for shock’s sake (41) held in high regard (with no one within the art world ever offended), many artistic strategies add up to nothing more than a “conformity of refusal.” (42) Could it be that the readymade – just one decade short of its 100th birthday – is finally losing its disruptive potential? (43) Maybe so, if its concept is only interpreted as an excuse for “anything goes” or the mere provocative gesture declaring anything to be art via a change of context. Duchamp himself had already noticed as much when he allowed his readymades to be turned into an edition precisely at that moment in the early 1960s when they had become celebrated icons and art-world commodities. Nowadays, it is not enough simply to appropriate formally the an-artist’s work. Every artist borrowing Duchamp’s highly charged visual vocabulary walks a fine line between creating a token pastiche (an art-world inside joke based solely on recognizing affinities) and intellectually engaging the ideas surrounding the work.

Duchamp –– except for his fleeting fame at the Armory Show of 1913, caused by the succès de scandale of the Nude Descending a Staircase–– had the luxury of being unrecognized as a major artistic force until he had reached his sixties. Left to himself, far away from the spotlight and thus from any system’s intricacies of interdependence, he could proclaim himself to be nothing but a “breather,” being mostly (and somewhat wrongfully) known for having abandoned all artistic activity from the mid-20’s on. Besides his many artist friends and a few wealthy patrons, Duchamp lived completely detached from the art world as we know it. He carefully kept himself independent, seeing to it personally that his works would end up grouped together with a few collectors and museums. Later in life, Duchamp thought the contemporary art market responsible for the impossibility of young artists truly to concentrate on what they were doing. He came to lament the perpetually increasing tide of attention, of dealers, galleries, collectors, critics, and exhibitions, turning art into an “over-developed exoteric”:

By that I mean that the general public accepts and demands too much from art, far too much from art; that the general public today seeks aesthetic satisfaction wrapped up in a set of material and speculative values and is drawing artistic output towards an enormous dilution.

This enormous dilution, losing in quality what it gains in quantity, is accompanied by a leveling down of present taste and its immediate result will be to shroud the near future in mediocrity.

In conclusion, I hope that this mediocrity, conditioned by too many factors foreign to art per se, will this time bring a revolution on the ascetic level, of which the general public will not even be aware and which only a few initiates will develop on the fringe of a world blinded by economic fireworks. The great artist of tomorrow will go underground. (44)

Underground, the artist would examine whole new ways of expression to subvert the overall status quo of the art world in all of its wide-ranging aspects. In a 1922 survey by Alfred Stieglitz regarding the status of photography as a form of art, Duchamp had answered: “You know exactly how I feel about photography. I would like to see it make people despise painting until something else will make photography unbearable. There we are.” (45) Today, installation and video art are ever on the rise, figurative painting yet again en vogue (with often surprising results), and the idea of a single work of art often substituted for the impact of a whole group of them or an environment. More than ever, artists “on the fringe” (geographically and ethnically) make themselves heard. (46) As a critique of biotechnology, some artists are using new materials such as DNA, treating the body as a readymade.

It remains to be seen how these strategies will eventually play out. An interesting aspect pertaining to Duchamp’s oeuvre is a renewed interest in his last major work, Given: 1. The Waterfall, 2. The Illuminating Gas (1946-1966) (Fig. 8), Étant Donnés for short. in a recent interview, Björk, Iceland’s Queen of Pop, declaring Duchamp a “genius,” expressing awe for the Étant Donnés: “And then he created an artwork, when he was already very old, when everyone thought he’d already be over with, and this artwork changed completely the 20th century.” (47) For the New York photographer Gregory Crewdson, “it’s extraordinarily photographic, to the point of looking through an aperture at a frozen moment in time. It’s everything I want from an art piece. It’s haunting, mysterious, troubling, beautiful, heightened, disturbing.” (48) Looking through two peepholes drilled at eyelevel into a massive wooden door in a separate room at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the viewer becomes aware of a 3-D multimedia assemblage depicting the partly hidden body of nude woman (with a prominently displayed, shaved vulva) lying on a bed of twigs and clutching a gas burner in front of a trompe l’oeil landscape with a running waterfall and clouds made of cotton. Duchamp had secretly worked on Étant Donnés for twenty years. It was revealed only after his death in the summer of 1969. (49) After seeing the an-artist’s last work, Hannah Wilke, another artist greatly inspired by him, asked: “Did Dr. Duchamp (MD) disguise with dignity or despair the destruction, degeneration, and denigration of the maimed model of mortality – Mother?” (50) Since Socrates, asking questions often proves more beneficial and generates more creative energy than trying to provide that one right answer. Duchamp himself was not always right, of course. In 1961, for example, he predicted that “in five or six years, no one would talk about [the readymade] anymore.” (51) Throughout his late interviews in the sixties, he often pointed out that he was mostly interested in an audience fifty or a hundred years hence. Thirty-five years after his death, that audience is ever-growing.

Notes

* Parts of this essay were presented as a lecture entitled “Marcel Duchamp, Stephen Jay Gould and the End of ‘Anything Goes’,” on 15 June 2002, on the occasion of a symposium held during the run of a Duchamp exhibition at the Museum Jean Tinguely, Basel, Switzerland. I thank Francis M. Naumann for suggesting the title, drawing my attention to various sources and providing copies of some articles while my Duchamp library was being shipped from New York to Munich.

[1] Katharine Kuh, The Artist’s Voice: Talks with Seventeen Artists, New York, Harper & Row, 1962: p. 92.

[2] In a 1959 interview, Duchamp coined the sobriquet "an-artist" for himself, a pun on anarchist - while dismissing the term "anti-artist" as someone who would depend on his opposite too much in order to exist (and would thus still be as much of an artist as the one without the prefix "anti-"); from an an interview with George Heard Hamilton and Richard Hamilton, "Marcel Duchamp Speaks," BBC - Third Program (series: Art, Anti-Art, ca. October 1959); issued as an audio tape by William Furlong (ed.), Audio Arts Magazine, vol. 2, nr. 4, 1976 (London). I thank André Gervais for providing me with the source of Duchamp's first mention of "an-artist."

[3] “Marcel Duchamp Talking about Readymades” (Interview by Phillipe Collin, 21 June 1967), in Museum Jean Tinguely, Basel (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz, 2002 [exh. cat.]: pp. 37-40.

[4] Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds.), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York, Da Capo, 1989, p. 33.

[5] In his Marcel Duchamp. The Art of Making Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction (New York, Abrams, 1999) Francis M. Naumann differentiates between “assisted readymade,” “imitated rectified readymade,” “ printed readymade,” “ readymade (or ready-made),” “ rectified readymade,” and “semi-readymade” (pp. 308-309), not to mention the “reciprocal readymade,” as discussed in one of Duchamp’s notes in his Green Box: “Use a Rembrandt as an Ironing Board,” (in The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, p. 32), a remark that may well have inspired Robert Rauschenberg to do his Erased de Kooning (1953) and Jasper Johns to use Duchamp’s small bronze Female Fig Leaf for a surface imprint (albeit almost undetectable) on his painting No (1961). Throughout this essay, I concern myself with the “unassisted readymade.”

[6] Naumann 1999, p. 74.

[7] Anonymous, “Artist Marcel Duchamp Visits U-classes, Exhibits at Walker,” Minnesota Daily, 22 October 1965.

[8] Dieter Daniels, Duchamp und die Anderen. Der Modelfall einer künstlerischen Wirkungsgeschichte in der Moderne, Köln: DuMont, 1992, p. 205.

[9] Duchamp, cited in Arturo Schwarz, The Complete Works of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Delano Greenidge, 2000, p. 68.

[10] “Marcel Duchamp Talking about Readymades,” interview with collin, 1967, p. 40.

[11] Werner Spies, Max Ernst, Collagen, Köln: 1988, p. 23.

[12] It has been argued that only with their documentation within the Boîte -en-Valise did Duchamp take the significant step of both defining the readymades as a clearly defined group of works (deciding which ones he would include when starting to work on the Boîte around 1936) and placing them within the context of art (Duchamp und die Anderen. Der Modelfall einer künstlerischen Wirkungsgeschichte in der Moderne, p. 217).

[13] Hector Obalk, “The Unfindable Readymade,” in: Tout-Fait: The Marcel Duchamp Studies Online Journal, vol. 1, no. 2, (Articles)

[14] Hector Obalk, “The Unfindable Readymade,” (as confirmed by André Gervais).

[15] George Dickie, Art and the Aesthetic. An Institutional Analysis, Ithaca and London, Cornell UP, 1974: pp. 38-39.

[16] Dieter Daniels, “Marcel Duchamp: The Most Influential Artist of the 20th Century?,” in Museum Jean Tinguely Basel (ed.), Marcel Duchamp: p. 29.

[17] Brooks Adams “Like Smoke: A Duchampian Legacy,” in: Christos M. Joachemides and Norman Rosenthal, eds., The Age of Modernism. Art in the 20th Century, Ostfildern: Hatje, 1997 [exh. cat.], p. 321. In this regard, see also Pontus Hulten’s remark (in Pontus Hulten, ed., Marcel Duchamp, Milano: Bompiani, 1993 [exh. cat.], p. 19): “ If, in 1953, somebody had said that forty years later [Duchamp’s] work would be considered more important than Picasso’s, that person would have been looked on as a madman. Et pourtant…”

[18] Duchamp, in Hans Richter, Dada: Art and Anti-Art, New York, McGraw Hill, 1965: pp. 207-208.

[19] Hans Richter, Begegnungen von Dada bis Heute, Köln, DuMont: pp. 155ff.

[20] Rosalind Constable, “New York’s Avant-garde, and How It Got There,” cited in Jennifer Gough-Cooper and Jacques Caumont, “Ephemerides on and about Marcel Duchamp and Rrose Sélavy, 1887-1968,” in Pontus Hulten, ed., Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge, MIT Press, 1993, entry for May 17, 1964.

[21] Among the important shows of Duchamp’s work in the late 40s and early 50s were those at the Sidney Janis Gallery, the Rose Fried Gallery, and the Julien Levy Gallery, New York, as well as various exhibitions at the Yale University Art Gallery. Peggy Guggenheim’s Art of this Century was already displaying his works in the early 40s, and in 1957, the Guggenheim Museum launched a major travel exhibition of the three Duchamp brothers, entitled “Jacques Villon, Raymond Duchamp-Villon, Marcel Duchamp.”

[22] Sargeant Winthrop, “Dada’s Daddy: A New Tribute is Paid to Duchamp, Pioneer of Nonsense and Nihilism,” in: Life, vol. 32, no. 17 ( 28 March 1952): pp. 100-110.

[23] Robert Motherwell, ed., The Dada Painters and Poets. An Anthology, Cambridge: Belknap/Harvard University Press, 1989: xxiii. Other significant English-language publications on Duchamp before 1960 include Marcel Duchamp: From the Green Box (New Haven, The Readymade Press, 1957; 25 notes translated by George Heard Hamilton and published in an edition of 400), Robert Lebel’s widely available monograph Marcel Duchamp (New York, Grove Press, 1959), and Richard Hamilton’s typographic version of all of the Green Box notes in The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even (London and Bradford, Percy Lund, Humphries & Co., and New York, George Wittenborn, 1960).

[24] Newman, in John P. O’Neill (ed.), Barnett Newman: Selected Writings and Interviews, New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1990: p. 208.

[25] Newman, in O’Neill 1990: p. 39.

[26] Newman, in O’Neill 1990: p, 247. Newman went on to suggest that MoMA should “put on an exhibition of machine guns.” It bears notice that in September 1999, when the New York gallery owner Mary Boone presented Tom Sach’s “Haute Bricolage,” in which firearm paraphernalia were displayed and 9-millimeter bullets were placed in a bowl for visitors to take home, she was briefly arrested by the police for the illegal distribution of live ammunition.

[27] Greenberg, “Avant-Garde Attitudes: New Art in the Sixties,” in John O’Brian, ed., Clement Greenberg: The Collected Essays and Criticism, vol. 4., Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1993, p. 293.

[28] Clement Greenberg, “Recentness of Sculpture,” in O’Brian 1993, p. 252.

[29] Donald B. Kuspit, Clement Greenberg: Art Critic, Madison: The university of Wisconsin Press, 1979, p. 114.

[30] Greenberg, “Avant-Garde Attitudes: New Art in the Sixties,” in O’Brian 1993: pp. 301-2.

[31] Clement Greenberg, “Recentness of Sculpture,” in O’Brian 1993: p. 254.

[32] See Thierry de Duve, Clement Greenberg: Between the Lines, Paris: Dis Voir, 1996 as well as his Résonances du Readymade, Nîmes 1989, p. 132 (referred to in Dieter Daniels, “Marcel Duchamp: The Most Influential Artist of the 20th Century?,” p. 31.)

[33] Marcel Duchamp, “Where Do We Go From Here?,” address to a symposium at the Philadelphia Museum College of Art, March 1961, in Anthony Hill, ed., Duchamp: Passim. A Marcel Duchamp Anthology, Langhorne, PA: G+B Arts International, 1994, p. 89. Duchamp seems to have had an unfavorable opinion of Abstract Expressionism’s major player, Jackson Pollock. According to Thomas B. Hess, Duchamp “complained” to him that Pollock “still uses paint, and we finished that… [Pollock] never will enter the Pantheon!” (Hess, “J’accuse Marcel Duchamp,” in Joseph Masheck, ed., Marcel Duchamp in Perspective, Englewood Cliffs, Prentice-Hall, 1975: p. 120). Duchamp had declared painting dead with his last oil on canvas, Tu m’ from 1918. In regard to Pollock, there is yet another anecdote worth telling: In 1945, Peggy Guggenheim called in Duchamp and David Hare to deal with a crisis involving a twenty-foot-long mural by Pollock. The mural was too long for the space it had been commissioned to fill, in the entrance hall of Guggenheim's apartment. Duchamp coolly advised cutting eight inches off one end. According to Hare, “Duchamp said that in this type of painting it wasn't needed” (Calvin Tomkins, Duchamp: A Biography, New York, Henry Holt, 1996: p. 362).

[34] Scott Rothkopf, “Banned and Determined,” in Artforum, vol. 40, no. 10 (Summer 2002): p. 144.

[35] John Tancock, “The Influence of Marcel Duchamp,” in Anne d’Harnoncourt and Kynaston McShine, eds., Marcel Duchamp. A Retrospective Exhibition [exh. cat.], Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1973: p. 174.

[36] Segal, cited in Wouter Kotte, Marcel Duchamp als Zeitmaschine/Marcel Duchamp als Tijdmachine, Köln, Verlag der Buchhandlung Walter König, 1987: p. 86, n. 236.

[37] Marcel Duchamp’s influence was not limited to the acknowledgment of his readymades. His The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelor’s, Even (a.k.a. the Large Glass, 1915-23) (Fig. 7) proved equally inspiring to many artists. As this exhibition focuses on the impact of the readymades on the post-war and contemporary American art scene, his influence on European artists since the 1940s is not discussed (from Arman, Gianfranco Baruchello, Joseph Beuys, Guillaume Bijl, Marcel Broodthaers, Hans Haacke, Richard Hamilton, Thomas Hirschhorn, Ilya Kabakov, Martin Kippenberger, Piero Manzoni, Sigmar Polke, Gerhard Richter, Daniel Spoerri, André Thomkins, Jean Tinguely and Ben Vautier to the “Young British Artists,” many artists come to mind - and those, of course, of other parts of the world). A more complete list of quotations by post-war American artists would also include statements from Bill Anastasi, Michael Asher, John Armleder, Richard Artschwager, Matthew Barney, Jim Dine, Mark Dion, Brian O’Doherty, Robert Gober, Al Henson, Eva Hesse, Dick Higgins, Ray Johnson, Mike Kelley, Ellsworth Kelly, Edward Kienholz, Alison Knowles, Barbara Kruger, Les Levine, Roy Lichtenstein, Glenn Ligon, George Maciunas, Walter de Maria, Allan McCollum, Paul McCarthy, Tony Oursler, Richard Prince, Charles Ray, Larry Rivers, James Rosenquist, Andres Serrano, Cindy Sherman, Kiki Smith, Haim Steinbach, Paul Thek, Wayne Thiebaud, Robert Watts, Tom Wesselman, Emmett Williams, Fred Wilson, and Christopher Wool. In a recent statement, Laurence Weiner – believing that his answer would come to late to be acknowledged in the survey – denied any influence Duchamp might have had on his work: "I seemed to have missed the deadline, which is as close to being Duchampian as I hope I'll ever be" (fax to the author, February 3, 2003). Jeanne-Claude, speaking for Christo, also saw no connection between her husband's work and Duchamp: "When he showed his Bicycle Wheel, he did not do anything to it. With Christo it is the opposite, starting with his early works in the 50's." (telephone conversation with the author, February 1, 2003). One should keep in mind that the Duchamp effect is not only limited to the visual arts. He has inspired many works of literature, and – starting with John Cage – many minds of the music world (among them Merce Cunningham, David Bowie, Bryan Ferry, Grant Hart, REM, Beck, and Björk).

[38] Schwabsky, in “Coffee Table: Barry Schwabsky and Andy Grundberg on Art and Photography,” Bookforum, vol. 8, no. 2 (Winter 2001): p. 42.

[39] Regarding Duchamp’s overpowering influence, three examples come to mind: Joseph Beuys’ 1964 performance Das Schweigen des Marcel Duchamp wird überbewertet (The Silence of Duchamp is Overrated) and Vivre et laisser mourir ou la mort tragique de Marcel Duchamp (To Live and Let Die or the Tragic Death of Marcel Duchamp), also of 1964, a series of eight canvases by Gilles Aillaud, Eduardo Arroyo, and Antonin Recalati. More recently, Peter Saul painted Pooping on Duchamp (1996).

[40] Amelia Jones, Postmodernism and the En-gendering of Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1994, pp. 8, 14.

[41] On the issue of Duchamp and concepts of taste and disgust, see the argument between Jean Clair, “Duchamp at the Turn of the Centuries” (a translated excerpt from his Marcel Duchamp et la fin de l’art, Paris: Gallimard, 2000), in: Tout-Fait: The Marcel Duchamp Studies Online Journal, vol. 1, no. 3 (Winter 2000), News, and Arthur C. Danto, “Marcel Duchamp and the End of Taste: A Defense of Contemporary Art,” in: Tout-Fait: The Marcel Duchamp Studies Online Journal, vol. 1, nr. 3 (Winter 2000), News,

[42] I have borrowed the phrase from the title of an article by Peter Bürger, “Der Konformismus der Verweigerung. Anmerkungen zur Neo-Neo-Avantgarde,” in: Texte zur Kunst, vol. 12, no. 48 (December 2002): p. 165.

[43] Since 1997, the artist Rhonda Roland Shearer and her husband, the late Stephen Jay Gould, have raised havoc, at least within the discipline of art history, by arguing that Duchamp did not select his objects, but fabricated them himself, or altered early studio photographs depicting the original readymades, now mostly lost, see the transcriptions of their conference Methods of Understanding in Art and Science: The Case of Duchamp and Poincaré, November 5-7, 1999 and Rhonda Roland Shearer, “Why the Hatrack is and/or is not Readymade,” Tout-Fait: The Marcel Duchamp Studies Online Journal, vol. 1, nr. 3, Multimedia (December 2000). Their hypotheses seem to revive some of the readymade's upsetting possibilities.

[44] “Where Do We Go From Here?” (1961), in: Duchamp: Passim. A Marcel Duchamp Anthology, p. 89.

[45] The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, p. 165; originally published in Manuscripts, No. 4 (New York, December, 1922).

[46] For a scathing examination of the contemporary art world’s mechanisms (while holding up the figure of Duchamp as an important predecessor), see Bedri Baykam, Paint and the Post-Duchamp Crisis. The Fight of a Cultural Guerilla for the Rights of Non-Western Artists and the Empty World of the Neo-Ready-Mades, Istanbul: Literatür, 1994. An excerpt follows: “The West, which is moving anyway more and more into the ‘multi-cultural art world,’ behaves as if it was doing a favor to the East and South. This is definitely wrong and no ‘favor’ is needed. In fact they are only starting to pay the interest of years of constipation and prejudiced blockheadedness. They are also trying to bring a fresh breath to their once again bored art world, which is sinking in an unspoken crisis generated paradoxically by the ever-growing importance of Marcel Duchamp, provoking lost generations working on pastiche ideas” (p. 212); “At this moment, Marcel Duchamp’s timeless, a-national, ambiguous, ready-mades and concepts, interpretable in 1000 different ways, come as handy and as opportune as water in the desert, although in its new variations the humor and witty sarcasm of Marcel, of course, is not present” (p. 303).

[47] Björk, from an interview Thomas Venter, in “Der Look Passiert Nicht,” Süddeutsche Zeitung, 27 August 2001 (translated from the German).

[48] Dodie Kazanjin, “Gregory Crewdson. Twilight Zone,” Vogue (May 2002): p. 300.

[49]The appearance of the Etant Donnés after Duchamp’s death came as a complete surprise to most, contrary to many later accounts. John Canaday, reviewing the work for The New York Times, wrote that it was “very interesting, but nothing new, ” just “an entertaining invention that has arrived a bit late to make a sensation.… For the first time, this cleverest of 20th-century masters looks a bit retardaire. Edward Kienholz, as the major specific example, has gone so far beyond the spent and sterile slickness of this final Duchamp work that he makes Duchamp look like Bouguereau” (“Philadelphia Museum Shows Final Duchamp Work,” in The New York Times, July 7, 1969. Warhol, in 1971, is the first artist on record to be inspired by Duchamp’s last work, while contemplating an idea for a gallery show consisting only of binoculars with which the visitors would have to find the actress/artist Brigid Polka performing in the window of a faraway building: “It also has to do with the same thing Duchamp was doing [in Etant Donnés], looking through a box [sic]. Sex...in the window...Oh, that would be nutty. That’s just the kind of thing you’d want to see with binoculars-some perversion, right? Somebody jerking off. Brigid could be the art. She could stand in the window.” (David Bourdon, Warhol, New York: Abrams, 1989, pp. 315-316; the quotation is from a telephone conversation between Bourdon and Andy Warhol in June 1971. I thank Ms. Yona Backer for drawing this source to my attention).

[50] “I Object. Memoirs of a Sugar Giver”, in: Übrigens Sterben Immer die Anderen. Marcel Duchamp und die Avantgarde seit 1950: p. 270.

[51] “Marcel Duchamp Talking About Readymades,” p. 40.

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