Will Go Underground

JEAN NEYENS: Marcel Duchamp, may I ask you where your first works came from, from what reflection upon art at that time or the world at that time?

MARCEL DUCHAMP: It’s very complicated and complex, because, fifty or forty years later, one gets a headache trying to remember how, for what reason, all these things were made and for the most part, when they were created, these things just came pel-mel, without any order. There wasn’t a sort of plan directing all the organization, and, I tell you, it was one thing after another which arrived without any predilection but which pertained to the work preceding it and to the work following it. And for us, forty years later, it all seems to be so homogenous but it’s difficult to explain how it came about.

J. But even if you only reveal to us the significance which you attribute today to your methods of before, that wouldn’t be more false.

MD. Yes, evidently there’s an enormous difference isn’t there… it’s just… the enormous difference is…. I don’t know, the pecuniary order, if you will… When we were making all of that as part of Dada there was never any thought of profiting from it… So it makes an enormous difference, because there wasn’t a plan. We never showed our ongoing works. We didn’t hide them either. Nobody but ourselves, and even among us we spoke of them without attaching any significance to them since that was truly an anti-society position, wasn’t it. So there wasn’t any reason that it would all take some form. And we didn’t think one would ever take.

J. Was this position against society in 1910 already so alive? What was motivating it?

MD. Yes, in 1910, it was less… yet… no… in 1910, there was already the abstract art of Kandinsky, Kupka, Picabia and … Mondrian who were creating only to continue a tradition begun by Courbet, if you will. But the realism of Courbet was then transformed into impressionism, then into fauvism, then into cubism and finally the last incarnation was abstraction, above all with Kandinsky and Kupka and Mondrian.

Then it was necessary to wait for the war in order to arrive at Dada, you see at dadaism which was justly more than a reaction to schematic order or artistic order, even: it was an anti-society reaction as I’ve told you–not even political in the political sense, it wasn’t at all like communism or anything like that, it was an intellectual reaction, a cerebral reaction, almost.

J. Do your ready-mades date from before the war or after the war?


click to enlarge
Bottle Dryer
Figure 1
Marcel Duchamp,
Bottle Dryer,1914
Pharmacy
Figure 2
Marcel Duchamp,
Pharmacy,1914

MD. One could say I made one… I created one in 1913, by chance that was before the war. I didn’t call it a ready-made then because I didn’t know what a ready-made was. I hadn’t made… I’d simply made a wheel which turned, a bicycle wheel which turned on a stool, for the pleasure of watching it turn, in my studio as I would have a crackling fire, you see. It was something which–by its movement–was for me… entertaining, you understand, an accompaniment to life, but not at all a work of art in the sense… or even a work of anti-art of any sort. Then I made the Bottlerack.(Fig. 1)

J. The Sechoir à bouteilles.

MD. Le séchoir à bouteilles, which itself wasn’t… which didn’t move. And so you had a movement and an anti-movement. And therefore there was a relation between the two. There were also other things still more interesting in my opinion, there was taking something already made for a model, whcih is what happened withPharmacy, (Fig. 2) you see. It was a small snow-covered landscape made by who knows, that I bought from a shopkeeper, to which I simply added two dots–a red and a green–which indicate the pharmaceutical jars that one sees. All of this made a landscape by sight in the snow you see by adding these two things which could and… would be the lights of a cottage, were in reality… were turned into pharmacy, you see…

Then in 1915 in New York I made a snow shovel that didn’t interest me at all, especially, and so the interesting thing, in all this, wasn’t so much the reaction itself but there was also the idea of finding something in these objects, which wasn’t attractive to the aesthetic point of view. The aesthetic delight was excluded. It’s not comparable to what one calls a “found object” for example. The object found is a thing, it’s a form, in other words a check found on the picket line, or something like that which didn’t interest me, because it was still from the aesthetic domain, by which I mean… a beautiful form, etc. It had already been completely removed from my research.

J. You weren’t trying to dream by exhibiting these new forms, were you?

MD. On the contrary, the interesting thing for me was extracting from its practical domain or its utilitarian domain and bringing it into a domain completely… empty, if you will, empty of everything, empty of everything to a point such that I spoke of a complete anesthesia in order to do it, you understand, which is to say it was necessary… it wasn’t so easy to choose, something which wasn’t pleasing to you and which, you, not pleasing to you, you understand, what I want to say by that… not only what must please you aesthetically but what wouldn’t anymore displease you aesthetically, which is to say the opposite: bad taste instead of good which is the same thing, isn’t it. There isn’t any difference between good and bad taste… two things as little interesting to me as–one or the other, one or the other.

J. So your enterprise was purely against the era. There wasn’t at all, for example… ambition… to teach the eye to admire or to…

 

MD. the eye…

J. … or to adapt itself, let’s say, to new forms in a spirit a little functionalistic.

MD. No, not at all, not at all, not at all. And it’s because of this that all these ready-mades, in sum, are so different from one another… so different that there isn’t, if you will.. the air of a family about them… there isn’t any air of family between Pharmacy, which we’ve spoken of, and the Bottlerack or the Bicycle Wheel that turns! Obviously we say “manufactured object.” But it’s not always about manufactured objects. I even once made to amuse myself… in a restaurant, I was dining with some friends in New York, there was a big decorative painting, which decorated this restaurant, and which was completely ridiculous, just like a painting, from every point of view, and I stood up, then I signed it, you understand. It is therefore… it’s still there… this readymade wasn’t manufactured, it was made by hand even if by another painter! And what’s more, in one of my works, I put a hand which indicates, you see, the management one uses in public establishments. I put this hand there but I myself hadn’t painted it. I had it painted by a painter of signs.

J. Nevertheless in the act of naming… an earthenware public urinal…

MD. … yes, yes, yes…

J. … a fountain…

MD. …yes, yes…

J. … it’s the same as…


click to enlarge

Fountain

Figure 3
Marcel Duchamp,
Fountain, 1917
(Photograph by
Alfred Stieglitz)
In
Advance of a Broken
Arm
Figure 4
Marcel Duchamp, In
Advance of a Broken
Arm
, 1915
(Studio photograph)

MD. … a urinal, that I named Fountain (Fig. 3) in order to disengage it from its utilitarian purpose! The idea of a fountain…

J. …yes…

MD. …was completely ironic, since there wasn’t even a fountain there, but then this support, and then still the title wasn’t absolutely necessary, although I often used to add a phrase… for example with the Bottlerack I had bought… added a phrase that I don’t remember because the Bottlerack is lost, was lost in 1916, something like that–during a move–and I’d written a subtitle to it and I absolutely can’t remember it, not a thing, not even a word.

But with the snow shovel, I wrote “In advance of a broken arm”(Fig. 4) trying also to find a phrase which wanted to say nothing. Because even if this could want to say something… the advance of the arm, “in advance of a broken arm” has a truly useless meaning, you understand, and without great interest!

J. There wasn’t any intention there of farce?

MD. Not at all, not at all! No, the farce was… for me, it was me who… even more, there wasn’t a farce there since nobody was taking an interest in it! There wasn’t a public there, there wasn’t… it wasn’t presented to the public. There wasn’t participation at all from the public or acceptance from the public or even calling upon the public as witness and asking what the public thought of it, you understand… it was different outside, even so, I tell you, the ensemble of all these things was in a climate where the public wasn’t invited! There wasn’t any public–the public wasn’t invited, wasn’t necessary… at all!

J. You’re not at all a professional painter?

MD. That’s what I’ve always wanted to escape, being professional in the sense of being obligated to live from painting, which produces a little bit but… it’s unconfirmed once done… and above all you know what happens when the art dealers say to you, “Ah! If you make ten pictures for me in this style, I will sell as many as you want of them.” Then–well this wasn’t at all my interest or my amusement, soI didn’t do it. I made nothing. Then it was like this, I went to a conference. A round table which took place in Philadelphia, where I was asked, “Where are we going?” Me, I simply said, “The great fortune of tomorrow will hide itself. Will go underground.” In English it’s better than in French–“Will go underground.” It’ll be necessary that it dies before being known. Me, in my opinion, if there is an important fellow from now in a century or two–well! he will have hidden himself all his life in order to escape the influence of the market… completely mercenary [laughs] if I dare say.

Figs. 1-4
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.




To Change Names, Simply

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
Nude Descending
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
The Bride Stripped
Bare by Her Bachelors
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
Fountain
Figure 3
Marcel Duchamp,
Fountain, 1917
Photograph by Alfred
Stieglitz (1917)
L.H.O.O.Q.
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) wwhich 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
Boite Series
F
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.

Figs. 1-5
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All
rights reserved.




The Bride Achieves Ascendance Moments Before Orgasm, Even

“Voici La Mariée détachée de sa robe lubrifiée par les Huiles du Meurt bien appliquées. La Magneto-Libido resplendit de l’effort auprès de la descente de la Roue d’Excentricité sur l’Escalier Maladroit. Ou bien elle se reflette dans la quatrième dimension pour renverser son exploit aux
bons pêcheurs.”

[And now ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, the freed bride at once humorbidly lubricated
by the Magneto-Libido who revels in the fruits of his rigorous effort there beside the descent of the eccentric weal down the clumsy stair. Behold, the bride reflects her exploits through the fourth dimension
upon the humble sinnerman.]

For more movies,
please visit the web site: http://www.hungrybutscared.com.




Examining Evidence: Did Duchamp simply use a photograph of “tossed cubes” to create his 1925 Chess Poster?

Introduction


click to enlarge
Poster
for the Third French Chess
Championship
Figure 1
Marcel Duchamp, Poster
for the Third French Chess
Championship
,1925
Rhonda Roland Shearer Collection

Duchamp claimed that he created his 1925 Poster for the Third French Chess Championshipfrom a photograph (Fig. 1). Schwarz writes in his Catalogue Raisonné of Duchamp’s works (708):

To make this image, Duchamp tossed an “accumulation” of building blocks into a net bag, then photographed it, printing an enlargement of the picture that eliminated all details except the chance configuration of the blocks in the net. This enlargement was the basis for the final drawing in which he colored the cubes light pink and black. (1)

Duchamp’s explanation, which sounds direct, simple and plausible, was the basis for the final drawing in which he colored the cubes beige, pinkish brown and black.This explanation has also remained unchallenged by scholars. Francis Naumann writes: “The position of the cubes–their three visible sides colored black, white and beige–was determined, as Duchamp later explained,by tossing them into the air and taking a picture” (101, 103).(2)

If Duchamp’s positioning of the cubes in his 1925 Chess Poster came “readymade”from a photograph that he took of tumbling blocks in a net, then we should be able to take various camera lenses used in 1925, place cubes in the positions depicted, and be able to generate a “photograph”matching Duchamp’s poster.

We tried this experiment using computer modeling and animation software, and made a surprising discovery. In order to co-exist simultaneously in the spatial position that Duchamp depicts in his poster, the individual cubes that Duchamp photographed would have to have interpenetrating surfaces, edges and vertices–a completely different scenario and physical reality from Duchamp’s story of photographing free falling cubes.

Step 1 Look at the Poster itself


click to enlarge
Numbered diagram
Figure 2
Numbered diagram of the
Poster for the Third
French Chess Championship
(1925)
The Impossible T
ri-Bar
Figure 3
Oscar Reutersvärd,
The Impossible T
ri-Bar
, 1934

Examine Figure 2 and more specifically cube 2 or cube 11. The shapes of these cubes, as well as others, appear to be anomalous. In other words,these objects are not symmetrical cubes with six square sides, at right angles to each other and depicted with edges that follow all the rules of perspective, as would be captured by a photographic lens. Cube 2’s black top square appears smaller than the vertical length of its cream colored square, instead of the same size and symmetry as in our expectation and prior experience of cubes drawn in perspective. We note the same situation for cube 16. The pinkish brown cube’s vertical square (on the right side) seems taller than wide, when carefully compared to the shape of the top black square. The more you study these individual cubes by observation alone, even without test or measure, the more maddening the subtle feeling of contradiction becomes–from “yeah they’re cubes” to the eye, to “what the hell, something is wrong with these cube shapes when I compare the squares to each other more carefully”in the mind.

We noted the similarity between the shifting sense from distortion to regularity (or non-cubes to cubes) in Duchamp’s Chess Poster, and a class of optical illusions called “impossible figures” and named by Penrose and Penrose in the 1950s (R. R. Shearer, “Marcel Duchamp’s Impossible Bed and Other “Not” Readymade Objects,”Part I and Part II)(3)Impossible Figures, such as “The Impossible Tri-Bar” discovered by Oscar Reutersvärd in 1934, (See figure 3), characteristically capture us in a cycle of acceptance based on familiar visual cues, followed by a looping back to rejection resulting from nagging contradictory information. Then, after further mental examination, we again visually accept, but then again reject, what we see, ad infinitum. Nigel Rogers, in his book Incredible Optical Illusions, writes about the tri-bar figure: “All those sides appear to be perpendicular to each other and to form a neat, closed triangle. But when you add up the sums of their three right-angled corners, you reach a total of 270 degrees–that is 90 degrees more than is mathematically possible” (62). (4)

In other words,Reutersvärd squeezed into his representation (and into triangles themselves which, in Euclidean space, are defined as limited to 180 degrees) more degrees of freedom than would be allowed by real 3D space. The paradoxical positionings in Reutersvärd’s impossible cube drawings (1934, Fig. 4; 1934 Fig. 5; 1940 Fig.6) remind one of Duchamp’s 1925 chess poster cubes. In fig.5, as you look at the three cubes–you must ask how the two lower cubes can be equal in height at the bottom and of such different heights at the top, yet still be the same size all at the same time? Since Reutersvärd has been credited as the first discoverer and developer of Impossible Objects (before Escher in the 1950s), the chess poster indicates that Duchamp himself was actually first, having predated Reutersvärd by at least nine years. (Shearer previously argued that Duchamp’s impossible bed in the Apolinére Enameled work of 1916-17, indicates that Duchamp already understood the concept of impossible objects, and the optical illusions based upon them, eighteen years before Reutersvärd’s discovery in 1934 (see Shearer, Part I and Part II.)

click images to enlarge

  • Colored Drawing
    Figure 4
    Oscar Reutersvärd, Hommage à Bruno Ernst, perspective japonaise nº 293 a,
    Colored Drawing, 1934
  • Oscar Reutersvärd
    Figure 5
    Oscar Reutersvärd, Opus 1 nº 293 aa, 1934
  • Oscar Reutersvärd, opus 2B
    Figure 6
    Oscar Reutersvärd, opus 2B, 1940

Step 2 Place blocks in position
Using SoftImage 3D modeling and animation software as a tool, we placed 21 red/blue/green blocks, following the pattern of the falling cubes in Duchamp’s poster (see Fig. 7A, a video computer animation of our 3D model of red/blue/green shaded cubes, and Fig. 7B an illustration of our 3D model cubes in the places determined by Duchamp chess poster blocks).

  • click to see video animation
     animation of 21 red/blue/green
shaded cubes
    Figure 7A
    The computer animation of 21 red/blue/green
    shaded cubes following the pattern
    of the falling cubes in Duchamp’s poster
  • click images to enlarge
     3D
model cubes
    Figure 7B
    An illustration of our 3D
    model cubes in the places determined
    by Duchamp chess poster blocks

Step 3 Note and then characterize the differences in ten locations
The striking difference in relationships among cubes that we immediately saw when we tried to arrange our red/blue/green blocks into Duchamp’s beige/pinkish brown/black cubes, pattern shows the necessity for imbedding the cubes into each other. With this new arrangement, the odd distortions in the original poster disappeared (see Fig. 8A &Fig.8B, a video animation that circles ten embedded locations and then magnifies the circled area, both in the original poster, and in our 3D model arrangement for making comparisons, and a still image that can be enlarged for study.)

  • click to see video animation

    video animation
    Figure 8A
    A video animation that circles
    ten embedded locations and then
    magnifies the circled area,
    both in the original poster,
    and in our 3D model arrangement for comparisons

  • Click to enlarge

    still image from the
video animation
    Figure 8B
    A still image from the
    video animation that can
    be enlarged for study

Step 4 What Duchamp appears to be doing–hiding embedding points from the eye but not from the mind


click to enlarge
Circled area comparison
of blocks 15 and 16
Figure 9A
Circled area comparison
of blocks 15 and 16 from
both Duchamp’s Chess Poster
and 3D model
Video animation for the
comparison of blocks 15
and 16
Figure 9B
Video animation for the
comparison of blocks 15
and 16 in Duchamp’s
Chess Poster and 3D model

click images to enlarge


click to enlarge
numbered diagrams of Duchamp’s
Chess Poster
Figure 10
numbered diagrams of Duchamp’s
Chess Poster
Figure 11
Our numbered diagrams of Duchamp’s
Chess Poster
and of
our 3D model illustrate
specific alterations Duchamp
likely made which trick the eye
by use of false perspective cues
(cubes 15 and 16)

Refer to Figs. 9A and 9B, and to blocks 15 and 16, note the difference between the treatment of these two blocks in the original chess poster and our 3D model on the right. Block 15’s black top-surface in the original poster slices into cube 16 in the 3D model to the right. We learn from comparing Duchamp’s poster to our study model that to “hide” the embedding point of the right cube, Duchamp would only need to extend the brown square’s vertical lines, and to mirror the angle of the square’s top horizontal edge (Fig. 10). Duchamp repeats this approach throughout the poster, as revealed by our 3D model and animation sequence. Note cube 4 in Fig. 11, Cube 4’s top square has been extended and this indicates that the top of cube 4 was originally in front of cube 5 (as in the red/blue/green model now),whereas the final chess poster indicates that the top of cube 4 is behind cube 5. Duchamp’s creation of ambiguity in indicating which figure lies in front or in back represents an original variation upon other optical illusions. Duchamp himself had experimented with many sensory illusions, such as the convex/concave effect that switches back and forth in appearance–convex and near, to concave and therefore farther away. (Duchamp’s Female Fig Leaf and the cover of Surréalisme Même depict the same object.) However, one appears concave, which is the actual state of Duchamp’s object, whereas the convex image on the Journal cover is a retouched photograph with special lighting used to create the optical illusion that Duchamp’s concave object is convex (Figs.12A and B).

click images to enlarge

  • Female Fig Leaf
  •  Front cover of
Le Surréalisme, même I
  • Figure 12A
  • Figure 12B
  • Marcel Duchamp,
    Female Fig Leaf, 1950
  • Marcel Duchamp, Front cover of
    Le Surréalisme, même I (1956)


click to enlarge
Numbered diagram of the
Poster
Figure 13
Numbered diagram of the
Poster for the Third
French Chess Championship
(1925)

We found nothing in the literature of optical illusion that compares with Duchamp’s fascinating approach–that is, of actually embedding cubes together, and then altering them in slight but precise and systematic ways, so as to disguise his tamperings and fool our eyes into believing that several cubes are rationally seen behind others instead of in front (see cube 4 and 5), or that the cubes all have 90º angles (see cube 13) or equal straight edges (see cube 8), all in the same perspective view of one photograph. Partial cubes 18, 19, 20, and 21 were probably strategically placed in order to add to the overall instability of the eye and brain as they attempt to decipher the image. In particular, look at cube 8 and compare the angle and shape of the bottom square to the bigger front face. Note that the bottom edge is not parallel to the top edge above in the same square. Cube 8’s distortions cannot be attributed to a perspective rendering that matches any of the other cubes, or the overall scene (Fig. 13).

As in a baby’s game of peek-a-boo, where one comically switches from seeing with eyes to quick concealment (to what the mind can only see in memory or logic) Duchamp forces you to choose. Duchamp has only temporarily hidden the embedding points of the cube from our eyes (as our eyes accept and do not question his alterations of cubes into objects that are, in fact, no longer shaped like cubes). But he has not hidden this from our minds (which can move from intuition to measuring, and can rigorously detect departures of actual forms from ideal cubes).

Duchamp’s specific case of the Chess Poster, as its “deception” or optical illusion generally illustrates by direct experience, shows the failure of the retina to reveal reality or truth without the mind. (Philosophers from Helmholz to Thomas Kuhn have often used optical illusions as prototypical proofs for limitation of the eye and mind. In his Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962), Thomas Kuhn famously refers to the content of revolutions in science, such as the change from a sun-centered solar system to an earth-centered cosmos, as both a mental and visual switch, as in our experience with optical illusions of gestalt figures. Kuhn essentially states that scientists who see only Rabbits before the revolution as in a Duck-Rabbit Gestalt figure will suddenly shift, in eye and mind, to seeing only Ducks in the very same places where only Rabbits were observed before (Fig.14). (5)

We believe that the ambiguous cubes in the Chess Poster represent more than Duchamp’s specific triumph in first creating a new class of optical illusion in 1925 (the phenomenon that only Penrose and Penrose later named in the 1950s). We suspect that Duchamp also viewed the creation of this poster as an experiment born of his larger and life-long enterprise in exploring “the beauty of the mind” or “grey matter”–especially as in used in chess, vs. the stupidity of using only the eye or “retina,” an approach that he often castigated.


click to enlarge
Duck-Rabbit Gestalt
Figure 14
Duck-Rabbit Gestalt

In addition to his analogy of chess, Duchamp also claimed that allegorical art (that is,art before “retinal” impressionism) had embraced mental beauty in both the artist and the spectator, for he stated that both shared equally in the creative act. In allegorical art, patterns establish a visual language of forms imbued with universal meanings that are mentally encoded by the artist and then, in turn, must be decoded by the spectator’s mind and eye–a much different experience, Duchamp insists, than that offered by retinal art and sensations in visual experience alone.

Chess itself, by Duchamp’s analogy, is similar to allegorical art because pattern emerges from a set of rules (now as moves in the form of combinations, not as a language of visual forms). Instead of being encoded by the artist and then decoded by the spectator alone, as in allegorical art, chess patterns, also meaningless without a knowledge of rules, require the mind to see combinations of moves, including actions of the opponent, who co-creates moves from within the exchanges between players that emerge in the continual application of these rules, and who must also, just as the spectator does in art, also actively decode physical data into mental meaning.

Just as the shape of the duck/rabbit captures in time [albeit unstably] both a duck and rabbit, physical reality can only hold one belief at a time. (That is, it can be a duck or rabbit.) Duchamp, we believe, capitalizes on the additional possibilities within opticalillusions–for, as representations (as we understand from the 270º of the ambiguous triangle that we recognize as a triangle, but in the physical and Euclidean world would be restricted to 180º) they can be stretched beyond conventional meanings or rules, and even left without full (or even correct) explanation, only to be grasped later by creative acts in spectator’s minds. These spectators now see the chess poster as built from cleverly distorted cubes that stay (for a delay) below the threshold of detection in the very same physical positions where a “readymade” unaltered action photograph of falling regular cubes was seen before.

Step 5 Thinking it over: Could it be that Duchamp is just a bad draftsman?

Our conventional belief that Duchamp’s Chess Poster depicts a set of falling cubes was based upon his claim that he took a photo of falling cubes, and then used the chance positions to create his poster. The geometric shapes that we see in the 1925 poster, perhaps also abetted by the context of chess squares on a chess board, supported a belief that we were looking at multiple cubes, as Duchamp said. (6)

To answer a question with a question, we could ask: is it reasonable to believe that Duchamp’s lack of talent as a draftsman coincidentally led to a consistent and systemic mistake–in other words, that he drew distorted cubes that all happened to become undistorted real cubes when embedded into each other?

It seems to us more reasonable to assume that Duchamp’s various distortions–for example his changing a cube to overlapping in back instead of its correct frontal position–were all used to disguise embedded or intersecting planes.In other words, Duchamp challenges us with objects (in this case cubes) that can appear totally random and free in space, but actually are not, if one uses one’s mind to see. Shearer and Gould’s paper on Duchamp’s Three Standard Stoppages (1913-14) presents another case of Duchamp’s use of randomness as a decoy that must be questioned and tested before the real story and facts can be seen with the mind.

This issue of whether or not a phenomenon is, in fact, random remains an important topic in probability, even today. For example, we believe that a coin toss or a lottery is random. However, we can know with a great degree of certainty that the flip or number is not random if someone wins 100 times in a row.Randomness, in fact, is a matter of testing the facts before you, whether you deal with a coin, a roulette wheel or a photograph of chance “falling cubes.”


click to enlarge
O.R. Croy’s photo trick
uses playing cards
Figure 15A
O.R. Croy’s photo trick
uses playing cards to
create the illusion of random, falling objects.
What is not seen behind
the image of O.R. Croy’s photo trick
Figure 15B
What is not seen behind
the image of O.R. Croy’s photo trick

In “The Secrets of Trick Photography” by O.R. Croy, we found the following entry that reminds us of Duchamp’s falling cubes (Figs. 15A and 15B). Under the title “The things you don’t see,” this section suggests that photo tricks, such as those seen in fig.15A, create a puzzle “because the way in which they were taken is not obvious.” Croy continues: “It is consequently good to make puzzling pictures of this kind from time to time because it is just as much trouble and excellent practice to the photographer to think out ways and means as it is for the observer to find out how the work was done.” (7) Fig. 15B exposes the trick of 15A. Croy mentions that either a sheet of glass or black background with black thread will work to disguise the supporting structure that creates the illusion.

Duchamp often used trick photography from the 1910s throughout the rest of his life (see Figs. 16A and 16B, two trick photographs. Fig. 16A is from 1917, where Duchamp himself appears as a ghost figure, a typical and popular photo trick of that era. Fig. 16B is the 1945 View cover that Duchamp worked to create trick photographic effects. (Also recall the trick photo showing the Female Fig Leaf of 1950 as a convex figure).
 
 
 
 

  • Studio photogaph
  • Cover of View magazine
  • Figure 16A
  • Figure 16B
  • Studio photogaph (1916-17) appears to have a ghostly
    figure of Duchamp,a common and popular photo trick at the time.
  • Cover of View magazine(1945) is a later example of Duchamp’s
    use of trick photography in his work.

Step 6 Considering Alternative Hypotheses

We’ve all heard that if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, walks like a duck then it’s a duck. And yet Kuhn told the world that, even in factually based science, a duck can suddenly be seen, metaphorically speaking, as a rabbit. This seems to be a fundamental aspect of the


Click to see video animation
Video animation utilizing
irregular polyhedra shapes
Figure 17
Video animation utilizing
irregular polyhedra shapes instead
of regular cubes to match with
the “cube-like”
shapes in the Chess Poster

creative act–the experience of a new factual reality emerging after discovery. Duchamp, throughout his career, promoted the notion that the spectator must play a 50% role in the creative act. Creating objects that instinctually included the shock of a challenge to factual reality, but that stayed in delay until spectators used their minds to see the mental beauty, seems consistent with Duchamp’s stated goals and purposes indeed.

Suppose however that Duchamp did not use actual cubes to create his poster, what would be the alternative?

We have a second experiment, seen in Fig. 17‘s video animation, where we take irregular polyhedra shapes instead of regular cubes, and then match what we see in the poster. (See Fig. 17‘s video animation that shows the amusing results.)

Notes
Footnote Return 1. Arturo Schwarz, Complete Works of Marcel Duchamp, revised and expanded paperback edition
(New York: Delano Greenidge Editions, 2000) 708.

Footnote Return 2. Francis M. Naumann, Marcel Duchamp: the Art of Making Art in the Age of Mechanical
Reproduction
(Ghent, Amsterdam: Ludion Press, 1999) 101, 103.

Footnote Return 3. Rhonda R. Shearer, “Marcel Duchamp’s Impossible Bed and Other “Not” Readymade Objects:
A Possible Route of Influence From Art To Science,” Part I & II, Art and Academe 10,1 & 2 (Fall 1997; Fall 1998).

Footnote Return 4. Nigel Rodger, Incredible Optical Illusions: A Spectacular Journey through the World of the Impossible
(London: Quarto, Inc., 1998) 62.

Footnote Return 5. Thomas Kuhn, Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962).

Footnote Return 6. Arturo Schwarz, Complete Works of Marcel Duchamp (2000) 708.

Footnote Return 7. O.R. Croy, The Secrets of Trick Photography (Boston, MA: American Photographic Publishing Co., 1937) 128.

Figs. 1, 2, 4, 7A, 9B, 10, 11, 12A, 12B, 13, 16A, 16B
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.




Rarity from 1944: A Facsimile of Duchamp’s Glass


click to enlarge

Figure 1
Marcel Duchamp,front
cover for View

Introduction

by Thomas Girst

On the last page of Charles Henri Ford’s View (Fig.1) magazine of March 1945 (vol. 5, no. 1), an issue entirely dedicated to Marcel Duchamp, who designed both the front and the back cover, the attentive reader may come across an advertisement (Fig.2) placed left of Duchamp’s famous double portrait (Fig.3) showing the an-artist at both 35 and the then imaginary age of 85.

click images to enlarge


  • Figure 2

  • Figure 3

  • Figure 4

  • Advertisment in View magazine, vol. 5, no. 1 (March 1945), p. 54 (detail)

  • Marcel Duchamp at the age of 35 and 85, in View, p. 54 (detail)

  • Front cover for Duchamp’s Glass, La Marieé mise à nu par ses célibataires,
    même: An Analytical Reflection
    , 1944

The small ad draws attention to the then recently published book by both the rich art patron and collector Katherine S. Dreier as well as the Chilean-born Surrealist painter Roberto Matta Echaurren: Duchamp’s Glass, La Marieé mise à nu par ses célibataires, même: An Analytical Reflection. (Fig.4) The slim ring-bound volume distributed by Wittenborn and Company, was published in May 1944, in an edition of only 250 copies, by the Société Anonyme, Inc. / Museum of Modern Art, New York.


click to enlarge

Figure 5
Marcel Duchamp, Front
cover for Minotaure,
ser. 2, no. 6
(December 1934)

Figure 6
Marcel Duchamp,
The Bride Stripped
Bare by Her Bachelors,
Even
,1915-23

Besides André Breton’s essay “Phare de la Mariée” (or “Lighthouse of the Bride”), first published in French in an issue of Minotaure(Fig.5) in December 1934 ( Paris; ser. 2, no. 6, Winter 1935, cover design: Marcel Duchamp), Dreier’s and Matta’s writing is only the second text and the very first monograph to discuss Duchamp’s major work, The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even (1915-1923) (Fig.6) at length and the very first one to appear in English on the subject matter. Breton’s essay appeared in book form not until 1945, within a revised and enlarged edition of Le Surréalisme et la peinture(New York: Brentano’s), a collection of his theoretical writings on painting. An English version did not appear until that same year, within aforementioned issue of View magazine and most likely translated by Charles Henri Ford himself.

Unlike Breton at the time he first wrote his essay, mostly working from an early exhibition photograph (taken when the Large Glass was first shown at the Brooklyn Museum’s International Exhibition of Modern Art Assembled by the Société Anonyme, New York, November 19, 1926 – January 1, 1927; the only time it was exhibited without the cracks) as well as Duchamp’s notes on his Glass published in the Green Box, (Fig.7) both Matta and Dreier had the opportunity to study the Large Glass in the original. Owned by Katherine Dreier and located at her home in West Redding, Connecticut, it was shipped there after its exhibition in early 1927 when it shattered into hundreds of pieces during the transport. It was repaired by Duchamp only about ten years later when he leaves Paris for New York during trip to the US in 1936. (Fig.8) The repaired Glass remains in Dreier’s living room until 1944 until it is brought to her house in Milford. Connecticut, where it is placed before a window between April 1946 to January 1953. In July 1957, under the supervision of Duchamp, it is permanently installed at the Philadelphia Museum of Art where it remains to this day.

click images to enlarge

  • Figure 7
  • Figure 8
  • Figure 9
  • Marcel Duchamp, Front
    cover of the Green Box
    [deluxe edition],1934
  • Photograph of Katherine
    Dreier and Duchamp at her
    home in West Redding, Connecticut,1936
  • Marcel Duchamp,
    The Passage from Virgin
    to Bride
    , 1912

Together with Man Ray and Marcel Duchamp, Katherine S. Dreier (1877-1952), herself an artist, had founded the Société Anonyme, the first museum in America devoted to modern art, a subject on which she frequently wrote. Matta (*1911) came to New York in 1939 and after stumbling upon a reproduction of Duchamp’s The Passage from Virgin to Bride (Fig.9) became infatuated with the older artist who soon thought of Matta to be “the most profound painter of his generation.”

The second paragraph of Duchamp’s Glass reads in full: “The essential principles of human consciousness cannot be grasped until we abandon the psychological attitude of conceiving the image as a petrified thing or object; the result of emphasizing the external vision, which is rarely related to perception. The image is not a thing. It is an act which must be completed by the spectator [my italics]. In order to be fully conscious of the phenomenon which the image describes, we ourselves must first of all fulfill the act of dynamic perception.” Here in this pamphlet, the only known collaboration between Dreier and Matta, a crucial concept of Duchamp is introduced for the very first time. Only years later, in April 1957, the artist himself would elaborate further on the importance of the onlooker during his well-known “The Creative Act,” a brief talk given to the American Federation of Arts Convention in Houston. Within it, he states “the two poles of the creation of art: the artist on one hand, and on the other the spectator who later becomes the posterity.” He concludes that “the creative act is not performed by the artist alone. The spectator brings the work in contact with the external world by deciphering and interpreting its inner qualifications and thus adds his contribution to the creative act.”

In this context, it is interesting to note that in 1926, during the Large Glass‘s exhibition in Brooklyn, the Surrealist dealer Julien Levy had apparently noted Duchamp’s later dictum of the fusion of artist and spectator on a mere physical level, remarking upon his initial encounter with this major work: “When I first saw the large glass […] I was fascinated, not merely by the work itself,


click to enlarge

Figure 10
Roberto Matta Echaurren, The
Bachelors Twenty Years
After
, 1943

but by the numerous transformations which were lent the composition by its accidental background, by the spectators who passed through the museum behind the glass I was regarding.” (Julian Levy, “Duchampiana,” in: View V, 1 (March 1945), pp. 33-34, p. 34)

Besides three photographs of the Large Glass, a black and white reproduction of Matta’s 1943 paining The Bachelors Twenty Years After (Fig.10) is also included in the 16 page volume, directly incorporating the cracks within. So without further ado, feel free to browse through a scanned version of the scarce original:

Click to browse through

Figs. 1, 3, 5-7, 9

©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris.
All rights reserved.




Marcel Duchamp and the Museum of Forgery

When I was in high school, I fell for awhile under the spell of the curious life and work of the Dutch forger Hans van Meegeren. I was particularly struck by how the forger’s art is simultaneously self-aggrandizing and self-effacing, selfish and generous, bold and timid. This early entrancement opened into a broader fascination with dubious artworks of all kinds, especially those that floated on the borders of acceptability–misattributed works, “school of” works, authorized copies, partial fakes, restored works, and so on.

Eventually it occurred to me that the world needed a museum devoted entirely to the subject of forgery. I was thinking of something on the scale of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where all of the world’s most interesting forgeries and fakes, as well as contested works, could find a home. There the works that are normally banished to the basement and the scholar’s office would be displayed in public as rightful exhibits in the great ongoing debate over what constitutes art and how we assign value to objects. At the same time, I realized that very likely no one would ever found such a museum, filled as it would be with works that most people consider valueless and shameful.

In the late 1980s, after the museum idea had lain dormant for awhile, I started using computers as part of my art-making process, and the deceptively simple fact that copies of digital files are perfectly identical to their originals started me thinking again about the relationship between reproduction and value. Around the same time, I happened to be reading Gianfranco Baruchello and Henry Martin’s wonderful book Why Duchamp? and mulling over what is involved in asserting that something is or is not a work of art. It came to me that it would be truer to the paradoxical nature of a museum of forgery if such an institution were dedicated to the practice rather than simply the display of forgery, and I decided to found my own Museum of Forgery along such lines. Display of forgery within the museum raises questions about where the boundary between authentic and inauthentic lies but accepts the idea of the boundary, while practice of forgery within the museum erases that boundary by asserting a fundamental identity between the museum and that which the museum rejects.

A great part of what museums still have to offer of unique value is their institutional authority, a point that Marcel Broodthaers took long ago when he created the Museum of the Eagle. This enduring authority is a second reason why I founded a museum instead of, say, doing a series of projects about forgery. Being the director of a museum gave me a way to speak and be heard on so tendentious a subject as forgery. In this, as in many other aspects, the Museum of Forgery is a child of Marcel Duchamp: it nominated itself as a museum despite the fact that by many definitions it does not belong in that category at all.


Click to go to page

Figure 1
Josef Albers: Studies in
Transmitted Light
, 1993,
generic posthumous
albers. A series of digital
works created especially for
the Museum of Forgery to
extend Josef Albers’ reflected
-light color studies into the
realm of transmitted light.
Each image is a study in the
color properties of transmitted
light viewable through such devices
as computer monitors.

In other ways, too, the Museum of Forgery is both museum and anti-museum. It has a permanent collection some of which is now digital, which is to say that a substantial portion of its collection consists of items that are neither objects nor singular. The Museum of Forgery’s first all-digital project was Studies in Transmitted Light, a series of color studies extending Josef Albers’s work with color in reflected-light media, such as paint, to the very different realm of transmitted-light media, such as monitors. (Fig. 1) There is not only no reason to output these works in the realm of material media–say, as paper-based prints–there is every reason not to do so.

What physical collection the Museum has is dispersed; indeed, the Museum has never had a single physical location of any kind where it could be visited. Like most institutions, it is largely façade-a name with a mailing address or, more recently, an Internet address. It isn’t even quite right to say that you can visit it on the web-it would be by loading itself into your browser.(1)

Duchamp the Forger

As the Museum of Forgery unfolded bit by bit, it became clear that one of its chief lines of inquiry was going to be what I loosely call nominalism–artworks in which the primary activity is attaching a new name to something. In semiotic terms, this art of renaming always disrupts an understood link between signifier and signified. In the simplest sense, all art is nominalist: when the artist attaches her signature in the corner, the painting of a landscape becomes no longer “a landscape” but “an O’Keeffe.” The signature bears witness to the creator’s existence, and in doing so elides the distinction between artwork and artist. Both are “an O’Keeffe.” (2)

Forgery, on the other hand, twists the function of the signature, forcing it to bear witness to the actual creator’s absence by pointing to some other more famous person, the creator. Forgers accept that what is key is not who actually created the work but what name is attached to the work (to put it in market terms, they understand the importance of name branding). From this perspective, Marcel Duchamp is more easily understood as a forger than an artist, or perhaps as the first person to really bridge these traditionally opposed fields. Forgery has varying definitions, but most fundamentally it is that-which-is-not-art. However much it may resemble art, it is absolutely excluded from being art. The forger’s object is to pass these absolutely excluded objects into the field of art under the flag of the signature. This effort can never wholly succeed because forgeries have only two ontological statuses: valueless-because-known-as-forgery, and valuable-because-not-yet-exposed. The missing third category is valuable-even-though-exposed; and it is with this category that Duchamp made great play.(3)

When Duchamp attached the name art to various ready-made items by means of the secondary name (signature) Duchamp, he was following the method of the forger. These nominations of ordinary objects as art were a kind of up-front forgery in that they attempted to pass off something understood to be worthless (in the context of art) as something valuable. Duchamp’s method of forgery was unique in several respects. In the first place, even as Duchamp accepted the preeminence of his signature as that which gave the work value, he used it to point away from itself. His nominations tend to cast the emphasis back onto that to which his signature is attached: the thing chosen (a urinal!) tends to displace the act of signing (nominated by Duchamp). In the case of most forgery, by contrast, the signature (a Leonardo!) is enormously more important than the work signed (a painting of something-or-other).

In the second place, he worked in the open, thus unlinking the idea of forgery from the necessity of deceit. In this respect he worked in a mode made so familiar to us by corporate capitalism as to be almost invisible: he attached his brand name Duchamp to an otherwise ordinary object that was actually the product of someone else’s labor. In his work with ready-mades, Duchamp essentially created a new market for a few existing products, and part of his genius lay in recognizing and treating the art world as a modern market–not just a place where artworks were marketed (as it already was), but a place where works of any kind could be marketed as art.

In the third place, Duchamp forged himself. The usual forger forges someone else; that is, nominates one of her own works as a Leonardo or a Picasso. The forger thus appropriates someone else’s name to her own object. Duchamp, however, appropriated someone else’s object to his own name; or, to look at it the other way around, expropriated his name to someone else’s object. Thus, all of his ready-mades were forged Duchamps in the same sense that Van Meegeren’s paintings were forged Vermeers. In both cases the signature does not correspond to the creator of the object.

Excessioning

In selecting works to bear his signature, Duchamp also opened a new line of thinking in which affinity with the work selected becomes more important than the mode of its creation. As in the bulk of his other work, he points away from the reigning mythology centered on “the hand of the artist.” In this also he has something in common with forgers, who must of necessity imitate the hand of particular artists but whose very attempt to do so asserts that the chosen hand is not unique (because imitable) and therefore not worth the supreme value assigned to it.


click to enlarge
Click to go to page

Figure 2
Invasion of the Body
Snatchers, Piazza S.
Gaetano, Naples, 1958/1992,
29 x 21 cm, generic baldessari.
A work commissioned by the Museum
of Forgery and contributed to
the oeuvre of John Baldessari.

The idea of looking at the relationship of artist to artwork as one of affinity rather than production was the spur that led me to form the Museum of Forgery’s Excessioning Program. Under this program, new works are attributed to the oeuvres of appropriate artists, living or dead, regardless of who actually created them. The Museum of Forgery has created (or commissioned) works “by” Marcel Duchamp, Josef Albers, and John Baldessari, among others, as part of its Excessioning Program (Fig. 2).

Just as it sounds, excessioning is an inversion of the normal museum activity of accessioning, reflecting a fundamentally outward orientation, a movement away from the museum itself. By contrast, the existing word de-accessioning reflects the inward orientation of traditional museums: de-accessioning can only be a secondary activity, subordinate to the primary activity of collecting (accessioning). The underlying impulse behind excessioning is to recover a sense of both generosity and honesty in the way artworks are categorized and discussed. Works that are part of a particular aesthetic-a duchampian aesthetic or an albersian aesthetic-are explicitly recognized as such, in contrast to the usual art world practice of concealing and minimizing a new work’s resemblance to its predecessors. (4)

The Excessioning Program models itself on the larger social practice by which well-known trademarks, like Kleenex or Band-Aid, eventually pass into common vocabulary as generic nouns–small-k kleenex–despite intensive and prolonged efforts by the parent companies to prevent this. Manufacturers may be forced by law to use ugly circumlocutions like “facial tissue” on their boxes, but the rest of the world just asks for a kleenex. Similarly, Mona Lisathe brand-name Leonardo has given way to “mona lisa,” a generic that includes Duchamp’s many variations on L.H.O.O.Q. (Parenthetically, it is interesting that Duchamp’s guess that any artwork has a meaningful life span of about 30 years is not far off the patentable life of a commercial product.)


click to enlarge
Click to go to page

Figure 3
Shark’s Pocket, 1992,
11 x 17 x 2 cm overall, generic
posthumous duchamp. A shark’s pocket
made of genuine faux sealskin and
contributed by the Museum of
Forgery to the oeuvre of Marcel Duchamp.
This work is currently on extended
loan to the Museum of the Double.

Similarly, small-d duchamps are generically all those works of art that belong to the aesthetic pool Duchamp himself started. An early Museum of Forgery project was the Shark’s Pocket, a small object of faux sealskin shaped exactly like an ordinary pants pocket (Fig. 3). It has been sewn closed, and concealed inside is a mystery item, the answer to a question I asked myself one day: if sharks had pockets, what would they carry in them? Once it was created, the affinity with Duchamp’s 1916 workWith Hidden Noise and the general absurdity of the premise led me to declare it a generic duchamp.

In the years since I founded the Excessioning Program, I’ve noticed the idea of generics popping up in other contexts–not, I think, as a result of the Museum’s activities so much as a general effect of zeitgeist. I recently heard an artist refer to something she had just made as a “cornell box” and knew instantly what kind of thing she meant. And anyone who has read William Gibson’s 1987 cyberpunk novel Count Zero will remember the artificial intelligence that spends its time making small-c cornell boxes which others then pass off–for large sums of money–as large-C Cornell boxes.

Generics, as the Museum calls the fruits of its Excessioning Program, reflect the cultural shift towards the privileging of information over objects. A duchampian generic is essentially a transmission vector for some of Duchamp’s ideas, which are more important and enduring than any single one of his works. Indeed, even traditional art museums today are less object repositories and sites of pilgrimage than culture transmitters and sites of shopping. In sponsoring manifold replications, from postcards to coffee mugs to replica jewelry, museums function as memetic factories. The vermiform collection exists not to be visited so much as to be reproduced. Museums have become little more than businesses whose primary product is art spin-offs, with large showrooms where their very handsome product templates are tastefully displayed.

Do-It-Yourself Forgeries

It is in part because our attention is currently focused on reproduction in all its varieties that the Internet and other digital media are displacing the museum and the gallery as loci of art activity. In the computer, originals and copies no longer mark out opposite ends of a fixed spectrum but define something more like a field with points of attraction but without fixed positions. The computer is the realm of the original copy, the simulated original, the multiple singularity, the infinite variation.

Duchamp’s L.H.O.O.Q. works prefigure the fluid metamorphoses of digital art, the return to a practice centered on themes and (valuable) variations rather than originals and (degraded) copies. At one point, he took a group of ordinary postcard reproductions of the Mona Lisa and entitled them L.H.O.O.Q. Rasée (Shaved L.H.O.O.Q.), thus implicitly declaring the Leonardo Mona Lisa a modified version of his own L.H.O.O.Q. Duchamp’s work thus became, by an act of temporal transubstantiation, the original, and Leonardo’s the incomplete copy.

These and other Duchampian projects–such as the authorized Bicycle Wheel replicas–prefigure two other areas of Museum activity, authorized forgeries (Fig. 4) and do-it-yourself forgeries. In order to encourage forgery as a practice the Museum publishes step-by-step directions for re-creating existing artworks. One such DIY project, The Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the Heart, can be found on the Museum’s web site (Fig. 5). At the same time, the instructions are loose enough to leave scope for individual variation, as a way of encouraging a new aesthetic of close copies. In Western art since the rise of individualism, it has been impossible for an aesthetic of close copying and subtle variation to arise; close copies are consistently devalued with such terms as “forgery,” “student work,” or just plain “copy.” The DIY forgeries attempt to reclaim the practice of copying by harnessing it to the popular do-it-yourself movement. Although in some respects both nostalgic and a product of mass-marketing–a typically American contradiction–the DIY movement does reflect an underlying belief in experimentation and a championship of making over buying. (5)Paradoxically, creating a do-it-yourself forgery brings the maker much closer to the practice of art than buying a Van Gogh poster in a museum ever could.

click images to enlarge

  • Figure 4
  • Figure 5
  • Snotrags,ca. 1992, approx.
    10 x 20 in. overall (not including instructions).
    An authorized forgery created by
    Yolande McKay for the Museum of
    Forgery, this work also doubles as
    a kind of prototype for a do-it-yourself
    forgery since it includes an
    instruction sheet for making one’s
    own version of the piece.
    The instructions read in part: “Only
    a sick person can complete
    this forgery….blow your nose or in
    some other projectile manner
    apply mucoid matter to snotrag
    provided….apply forged
    signature with small brush and paint.”
  • Slem Joost, The Labyrinth
    of the World and the Paradise
    of the Heart
    , 1992/93,
    24 x 32 x 10.5 cm, mixed media.
    The original of this do-it-yoursel
    fforgery was created by Joost,
    a Dutch artist, under the
    inspiration of a poem by the
    French poet Guillaume Apollinaire.

The Museum of Forgery is now just a decade old. It quite often happens that someone will write the Museum asking to be taught how to counterfeit money or fake antique furniture (apparently without any anxiety over the fact that this might be an indiscreet question to put to a complete stranger). And each time I get such an inquiry, I am reminded again of just how tempting it is to believe that what you see is what you get: despite the evidence of its web site, the Museum of Forgery must be simply what it says it is. In this new age of WYSIWYG (6)everything, the real problem remains the same as ever: what you assume is what you get.


Notes
Work Cited:
Baruchello, Gianfranco and Henry Martin,Why Duchamp? (New York: McPherson, 1985).

1. The Museum of Forgery’s web address is http://yin.arts.uci.edu/~mof/index.html.

2. Formerly, this relationship was made explicit by following the painter’s name with the verbs pinxit or fecit–X painted (made) this therefore X was here-but in current practice, the signature alone stands in for the statement. It has long been common to refer to particular pieces in an artist’s oeuvre as signature works, these being the works considered most characteristic of the artist, and thus most credible as mute witnesses to being.

3. There is a fourth category, of course: valueless-although-not-yet-exposed. Although interesting in its own right, it lies somewhat outside the current discussion.

4. A secondary impulse is to extend the terrain that is open to exploration by artists. As matters now stand, in the futile quest for novelty, large areas of the Library of Form are roped off and marked with no-trespassing signs: Property of Brand-Name-Artist X, Keep Out. In some cases the boundaries are enforced by law (especially copyright law), but in many cases the prohibitions are self-enforced by artists who recognize that, as the game is currently played, it is professional suicide to become known as an “imitator” or “follower” of Brand-Name-Artist X.

5. Although the belief in experimentation is duchampian, the elevation of creating over buying is distinctly un-duchampian.

6. [Editor’s note:] Short for “what you see is what you get.”




Duchamp et Jarry ou l’inverse

Vous ne trouvez ci-après que les lieus où ont été trouvées les citations.Il est à vous de construire les relations–clairement objectives – entre les citations, comme pour le jeu des sept familles.

CITATION I

‘Pourquoi chacun affirme-t-il que la forme d’une montre est ronde, ce qui est manifestement faux, puisqu’on lui voit de profil une figure rectangulaire étroite, elliptique de trois quarts, et pourquoi diable n’a-t-on noté sa forme qu’au moment où l’on regarde l’heure ?”

Alfred Jarry, Gestes et opinions du docteur Faustroll, pataphysicien;Livre IIa, éléments de pataphysique ; VII Définition (Œuvres complètes tome I, La Pléiade, 1972, p. 699)

 
CITATION II

“M. et Mme Bonhomme (Jaques) … élisant domicile en mon étude et encore à la mairie du Qe arrondissement.” Il s’agit du cabinet de René-Isidore Panmuphle, HUISSIER.””

Alfred Jarry, Gestes et opinions du docteur Faustroll, pataphysicienLivre premier, Procédure (Œuvres complètes tome I, La Pléiade, 1972, p.657, p. 662) Dans certaines villes, comme à Utrecht aux Pays-Bas, l’administration Napoléonienne à introduit des lettres pour identifier les arrondissements.

CITATION III

“Nosocome, Interne des hôpitaux, actuellement soldat de deuxième classe au Qe de ligne.”

Alfred Jarry, Les Jours et les Nuits (Œuvres complètes tome I, La Pléiade, 1972, p. 776)

CITATION IV

“La Pendule de profil”

Marcel Duchamp, La mariée mise à nu par ses célibataires, même (la “boîte verte”); Lois, principes, phéno-mènes. Plus tard Duchamp ajoutait “Si une pendule est vue de côté, elle ne donne plus l’heure”(Ibid.).Duchamp a construit une pendule de papier pour l’édition de luxe du livre de Robert Lebel, La Double Vue, suivi de l’Inventeur du temps gratuity (Paris, 1964).


click to enlarge
The
Clock in Profile
Figure 1
Marcel Duchamp, The
Clock in Profile
, 1964
Note from
the Box of 1914
Figure 2
Marcel Duchamp, Note from
the Box of 1914, 1914
L.H.O.O.Q.
Figure 3
Marcel Duchamp,
L.H.O.O.Q., 1919

CITATION V
arrhe = merdreart merde”
La comparaison mathématique de Duchamp se trouve dans la Boîte de 1914. Le mot Merdre est le premier mot d’Ubu roi de Jarry.

CITATION VI

“L.H.O.O.Q.”

“J’écrivis quatre [sic] initiales [au dos de la Joconde] qui, prononcées en français, composent une plaisanterie très osée sur la Joconde” Marcel Duchamp, A propos de moi-même.

CITATION VII

L’ Attente
L’ Envie
L’ Amour
L’ Argent

“Mais ce qui, pour Nadja, fait l’intérêt principal de la page, sans que j’arrive à lui faire dire pourquoi, est la forme calligraphique des L.”est une question non posée par Breton à Nadja à propos d’un brouillon de Nadja.” André Breton dans: Nadja (Œuvres complètes tome I, La Pléiade, 1988, p. 710 et aussi p. 725 et p. 1550).

CITATION VIII

“ARR ist keine Abkürzung sondern ein Urlaut. Immer wenn ein junges Mädchen vorbeiging, reagierte Kurt mit diesem Urlaut … Soviel ich weiss ist nichts über Kurt Schwitters’ Arr-Komplex geschrieben worden.” Kate Steinitz, Kurt Schwitters (Zurich, 1963; “Arr” est prononcé comme “arrth.”)
 
Il est certain : Duchamp a lu Jarry, Breton a lu Jarry et Breton a connu Duchamp. Les citations ci-dessus ne sont pas forcément la preuve que Duchamp a lu les pages de Jarry où apparaît le Q ou l’horloge, ou que Breton se réfère dans Nadja au L de L.H.O.O.Q. Les citations démontrent
peut-être seulement un `Humour de Lycéen’ partagé par les quatre écrivains.

Figs. 1-3
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris.
All rights reserved.




Die Bedeutung des Ready-mades für die Kunst der Gegenwart


click to enlarge

Figure 1
Marcel Duchamp, In
Advance of the Broken Arm
,
1915(studio photograph by Man Ray)

Figure 2
Marcel Duchamp,
Fountain, 1917
(photograph: Alfred Stieglitz)

Es sieht so aus, als enthielte das Œuvre Duchamps kein einziges Ready-made im buch­stäb­lichen Sinne. Wie in den verschiedenen Artikeln dieses Magazins nachzulesen ist, hat Rhonda Shearer starke Indizien dafür vorgelegt, daß Duchamp keine ‘echten’ Ready-mades präsentiert hat. Vielmehr handelt es sich bei den‘Ready-mades’ offenbar sozusagen um Fälschungen, also um von Hand hergestellte Imitate der Produkte, die sie zu sein vorgeben, oder um All­tagsgegenstände, die Duchamp gezielt manipuliert hat. (2) Das Fahrradrad eiert, die Schnee­schaufel mit dem Titel „In Erwartung eines gebrochenen Arms“ ist für den Gebrauch unge­eignet und selbst die Fontäne ist allem Anschein nach von allen Urinalen verschieden, die Duchamp in einschlägigen Geschäften hätte kaufen können. Hektor Obalk macht da­rauf aufmerksam, daß die Existenz Duchampscher ‘Ready-mades’ schon ohne dies fraglich ist. Nach der Definition von Duchamp, der zufolge ein Ready-made etwas ist, das durch die bloße Auswahl des Künstlers zu einem Kunstwerk wird, fallen von vornherein eine ganze Reihe Werke heraus, namentlich die, die Duchamp „korrigierte“ oder „assistierte“ Ready-mades etc. nannte. Diese Ready-mades waren von Duchamp sichtbar verändert. Ferner hätte es doch wenigstens einen Fall geben müssen, an denen Duchamp eines seiner Ready-mades einem Kunstwelt-Publi­kum zugänglich gemacht hätte. Tatsächlich sind zwar durchaus in der Phase seines Schaffens, in der Duchamp sich dem Ready-made gewidmet hat, ‘Ready-mades’ in einer Galerie zu sehen gewesen, allerdings nur in einem einzigen Fall und nicht in den Aus­stellungsräumen der Galerie. Die Unter­suchungen von Shearer und des ASRL legen damit natürlich um so mehr nahe, die Echtheit der Ready-mades an­zuzweifeln.

Diese Entdeckung ist deshalb so verblüffend, weil das Konzept des Ready-mades für die Kunst vor allem der zweiten Hälfte des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts so wichtig geworden ist. Der Begriff ist aus der Kunst der letzten Jahrzehnte nicht mehr wegzudenken. Entsprechend muß man sich fragen, ob nicht ngesichts der Ergebnisse Shearers diese Kunst ganz neu bewertet werden muß. Im folgenden möchte ich indessen zeigen,
daß die ästhetische useinan­dersetzung mit dem Ready-made unbeschadet der Tatsache, daß sie auf einem ‘Irrtum’ beruht, weiterhin aktuell bleibt.

Für die Theorie ist die Frage, ob die Ready-mades von Duchamp ‘echt’ sind, natürlich ent­scheidend. Vor allem für Ansätze, die auf der Ununterscheidbarkeitsthese beruhen, wird die Datenbasis deutlich schmaler, wenn die Werke von Duchamp als Beleg wegfallen: Die Unun­ter­­scheid­bar­keitsthese besagt nach Danto, daß es Paare von perzeptiv ununterscheidbaren Gegenständen gibt bzw. geben kann, von denen einer ein Kunstwerk ist und der andere nicht; als Bestätigung dieser These kann Duchamp somit, wie es aussieht,
nicht mehr herhalten.

Im Bereich der Kunst sind die Verhältnisse dagegen verwickelter. Kunst bezieht sich auf ihr Material als auf eine gesellschaftliche Realität. Entsprechend ist ihre Selbstthematisierung in der Regel nicht abhängig davon, inwieweit sich aus dieser Reflexion wahre oder falsche Aussagen extrahieren lassen. Kritisch mögen die neuen Erkenntnisse über Duchamp le­diglich für solche Projekte sein, deren Pointe Duchamp verschwiegen


click to enlarge

Figure 3
Sherrie Levine,
After Walker Evans, 1979

vorweggenommen hat. Die Originalität verschiedener Strategien des Fake (3) bspw. steht in Frage. Aber selbst in diesem Feld sind die künstlerischen Arbeiten der letzten Jahrzehnte durchaus nicht überholt. After Walker Evans von Sherrie
Levine bleibt interessant, auch wenn die künstlerische Strategie der kalkulierten Fälschung und Entdeckung bereits bei Duchamp zu finden ist. Für das Werk hat Levine Reproduktionen von Fotos von Walker Evans abfotografiert und so Fotos hergestellt, die nicht von Gegenständen sind, sondern von Fotos. Damit erhalten die Fotos eine geistige Dimension, die ihrem Objekt abgehen, obwohl sie diesem –: Fotos von Ge­genständen – bis auf die Schärfe genau gleichen: Die Fotos von Evans sind gerade auf Objektivität, auf ihren dokumentarischen Wert berechnet, während die Fotos von Levine ihren Ausdruck durch geringfügigste Differenzen erhalten, die das ansonsten fast unsichtbare Objekt verraten.

Interessanter noch sind aber gerade die Fälle, in denen Kunst sich auf Begriffe bezieht, die unmittelbar mit dem Ready-made zusammenhängen. Als Beispiel mag hier der Zyklus Landschaft von Alexander Ginter dienen. Mit dem Begriff der Landschaft geht Ginter dabei von einem Sujet aus, das dem Ready-made geradezu entgegengesetzt zu sein scheint.

II.


click to enlarge

Figure 4
Alexander Ginter, Landschaft
(Provence), 1999 (installation view)

Bäume, Wiesen und Hirsche haben ihre Zeit gehabt, sollte man meinen. Soweit sie heute noch dazu die­nen, unsere Häuser wohnlicher zu machen, hat das weniger mit Kunst zu tun, als mit De­koration. Wenn sich dennoch ein Künstler der Gegenwart mit der Landschaft aus­einan­dersetzt, kann der Fall entsprechend kaum sonderliches Interesse provozieren. Und doch empfiehlt sich der Zyklus Landschaft unserer Aufmerksamkeit, zumal
insofern er zeigt, wie durch subtile An­spielungen auf innerästhetische Begriffe eine Position gewonnen werden kann, die auch durch eine veränderte kunsthistorische Forschungslage nicht unterminiert werden kann.


click to enlarge

Figure 5
Alexander Ginter, Landschaft
(Yucatan), 1999(installaton view)

Der Zyklus besteht aus zwei Teilen. Der erste mit dem Titel Provence ist eine Reihe von Leinwänden, hochformatige ‘Bilder’, die allerdings auf dem ersten Blick eher trist wirken. Der zweite mit dem Titel Yucatan ist eine Installation bestehend aus Fotos und einer linearen Anordnung von Haufen unter­schiedlicher Erde. Die Bilder – man ist geneigt Landschaften in Ihnen zu sehen – zeigen im oberen Drittel Silhouetten, Berge vielleicht, in einem Fall eine Art Torbogen oder eine Brücke; die Formen sind schwarz und reduziert auf wenig Charakte­ristisches, Piktogramme von Landschaften, wenn man so will. Auf dem unteren Teil sehen wir je ein Feld in erdigen Tönen, in braun, gelb oder beige. Tritt man näher an die Bilder heran, so erkennt man, daß es sich bei den bis auf einen Rand von einigen Zentimetern die ganzen unteren zwei Drittel der Leinwände ausfüllenden Flächen nicht um Farbe handelt, sondern um Erde, die auf die weiße Leinwand aufgetragen ist. Unterhalb jedes Bildes findet sich jeweils ein Name: Orte in der Provence. Die Erde, die da aufgetragen wurde, soll man denken, kommt von diesen Orten. Die Bilder beziehen sich also offenbar über das Material auf ihren Ge­genstand.

Es bleiben jedoch Zweifel an der Echtheit des Materials. Die Installation, das Arrangement neben der kleinen Galerie von ‘Landschaften’, scheint indessen dieser Skepsis Rechnung zu tragen. Über einem Sims mit neun Häufchen Erde mit rechteckiger Grundfläche hängt eine Reihe Fotos.Diese Fotos bieten sich sozusagen als Beglaubigung für die Echtheit der Erde an. Jedes Foto, so scheint es, zeigt einen Ort, von dem jeweils die Erde von einem der Häufchen stammt.

Das ganze Ensemble wirkt eher schlicht, fast harmlos. Hinter dieser Fassade verbirgt sich indes ein raffiniertes Spiel mit Kategorien und Erwartungen, das uns bei der Betrachtung nach und nach in seinen Bann zieht. Um einen Begriff davon zu geben, seien hier nur einige der Zusam­menhänge analysiert.

Das übergreifende Thema des Zyklus ist ‹Landschaft›. Womit wir es aber zu tun haben, sind keineswegs Landschaften im herkömmlichen Sinn, also Landschaften, die sich mimetisch auf ihren Gegenstand beziehen. Das Konzept der malerischen Darstellung selbst wird vielmehr hintersinnig ‘analysiert’, in die begrifflichen Bestandteile zerlegt, und es sind diese Bestandteile, die dargestellt werden: Oben sehen wir die, wenn auch stark reduzierte, ‘Form’ und unten das ‘Material’. Das Verhältnis dieser Ginterschen Bilder zu ihrem Sujet ist dabei durch ihre Materialität wesentlich eines der Methexis an dem, worauf sie sich beziehen. Die Wahrheiten dieser Landschaften ist die Wahrheit
der sinnlichen Gewißheit, von der Hegel sagt, wir „haben uns […] aufnehmend zu verhalten, also nichts an ihm [dem Gegenstand, dem Ding], wie es sich darbietet, zu verändern“. Sie ist „unmittelbar […] die reichste“ und zugleich die „abstrakteste und ärmste“(4) . Jede der Mikrolandschaften, die sich in den Erdflächen verbirgt, ist hoch strukturiert und zugleich fast eintönig, so daß sich aus der Entfernung die Bilder nahezu gleichen. In einer ironischen Wendung gegen das Genre der Landschaft wird hier aus der ‘konkreten’ Landschaft das Konkreteste genommen und nicht abgemalt,
sondern eingeklebt.

Was wir damit vor uns haben, ist die Landschaft als Ready-made, als fertig Vorgefundenes. Das Verfahren erinnert an Picasso, der das Etikett einer Suze-Flasche in ein Bild klebte, um gegen den Realismus in der Malerei zu polemisieren, es wird aber noch dadurch radikalisiert, daß die ‘eingeklebte’ Erde anders als das

Etikett sich nicht einmal für ihre eigene Authentizität verbürgen kann. Für die Serie Provence wird diese Funktion, wenn überhaupt, schlecht und recht von den schwarzen Silhouetten übernommen, an deren Stelle bei der Installation Yucatan scheinbar die Fotos treten. Daß die Fotos die Erdhaufen supplementieren und


click to enlarge

Figure 6
Gerhard Richter, Atlas,
1962-1996(installaton view,
detail of a total of 633 panels)

nicht umgekehrt die Erde die Fotos, wird dabei vor allem durch den Zusammenhang mit den Provence-’Landschaften’ sichtbar. Das Foto als eines der genuinen Medien der Landschaft tritt, weil sich die Erde als ‘eigentlicher’ Stoff des Zyklus darstellt, in den Hintergrund und fungiert als Kommentar. Der Eindruck wird dadurch verstärkt, daß die Bildausschnitte wie zufällig wirken und die Folge der Fotos eher darauf angelegt ist, einander zu einem bestimmten ‘Farb­rhythmus’ zu ergänzen, als sich beschreibend oder gar erzählend auf die Motive zu beziehen. Der Umgang mit Fotografie erinnert so an die große Fotoinstallation Atlas von Gerhard Richter, die auf der dokumenta X in Kassel zu sehen war.

Die Pointe der durch die Fotos repräsentierten Authentisierungsstrategie ist indessen, daß sie durch das Arrangement selbst unterlaufen wird. Die Erwartung, daß je einem Erdhaufen ein Foto entspricht, wird enttäuscht, denn tatsächlich haben wir neun Erdhaufen, aber zehn Fotos. Dadurch wird der Verdacht genährt, die Erde stamme vielleicht gar nicht von den angegebenen Plätzen. Allerdings ist unklar, was im Falle der Gleichzahligkeit von Erdhaufen und Fotos durch die Fotos überhaupt bewiesen würde.

Wir werden hinsichtlich der Herkunft des Materials verunsichert. Nicht nur der Begriff der Landschaft wird hier also reflektiert und in Frage gestellt, auch das Konzept des natürlichen Materials und insbesondere das der Authentizität werden thematisiert und kritisch durch­leuchtet.

III.

Die Interpretation macht deutlich, daß der Begriff des Ready-mades, des schon fertig Ge­machten, Vorgefundenen, außerordentlich wichtig für die Landschaft ist, ohne daß die In­stallation in diesem Begriff aufgeht. Vielmehr wird das ‹Ready-made› für eine Auseinander­setzung mit dem Thema ‹Authentizität› und dem Genre der Landschaft in Anspruch genom­men und weiterentwickelt. Das gilt unbeschadet der Tatsache, daß eine unmittelbare Aus­einandersetzung mit Duchamp hier nicht intendiert ist. Die durch den Duchampschen Begriff vermittelte Auseinander­setzung, und nicht dessen Applikation ist das, was den Zyklus so interessant macht.

Solche Arten der Aneignung werden durch die neuere Forschung zu Duchamp in der Tat nicht widerlegt: Auch andere Begriffe, denen in der Realität nichts entspricht oder die in sich wider­sprüchlich sind, wie die des Äthers oder der Dreieinigkeit, haben ein außerordentliches kreatives Potential freigesetzt; wo sich die Kunst mit solchen Konzepten ausein­andergesetzt hat oder wo diese wie auch immer implizit in sie eingegangen sind, ist die Kunst nicht dadurch entwertet worden, daß die Begriffe für uns ihre Relevanz eingebüßt haben. Es sind die Theo­rien, die bei einer Revision unserer Begriffe ihre Gültigkeit verlieren, nicht die Kunst.

Das gilt übrigens auch da, wo die Kunst selbst theoretisch wird. Entsprechend geben die Untersuchungen des ASRL eher Anlaß zu der Erwartung, daß der Einfluß Duchamps auf die ge­genwärtige Kunst fortbestehen wird, als daß die Kunst der letzten Jahrzehnte entwertet würde. Die Theorie der Kunst kann sich dagegen nicht damit begnügen, die neuerliche Finte Duchamps achselzuckend zur Kenntnis zu nehmen, auch wenn gegenwärtig die Neigung dazu groß ist.


Notes :

1. Wichtige Ideen des zweiten Teils verdanke ich Constanze Berwarth und Elsbeth Kneuper (vgl. Michael Enßlen: Kunst als Kultur der Präsenz, Heidelberg 2000). Die Verantwortung für den Text trage ich.

2. Hektor Obalk, The Unfindable Readymade, Tout-Fait: The Marcel Duchamp Studies Online Journal 1.2 Articles (May 2000)

3. Eine umfassende Studie hat jüngst Stefan Römer vorgelegt: Künstlerische Strategien des Fake. Kritik von Original und Fälschung. Köln 2001. Vgl. Auch Hillel Schwartz: The Cultur of the Copy. Striking Likenesses, Unreasonable Facsimiles.
New York 1996.

4. G.W.F. Hegel: Phänomenologie des Geistes, Hrsg. Hans Jürgen Gawoll, Hamburg 1986, S.69.

Figs. 1, 2
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.




Jarry = Duchamp


click to enlarge
Anonymous
Woodcut of Jesus’ feet
Figure 1. Anonymous
Woodcut of Jesus’ feet

1. Jarry
“La Passion: Les Clous du Seigneur”.

2. Duchamp “Sculpture-morte”


click to enlarge
Painted plaster and
flies, on paper mounted
on wood
Figure 2. Marcel Duchamp
Torture-Morte
1959
Painted plaster and
flies, on paper mounted
on wood, 11 5/8 x 5
5/16 x2 3/16 inches
(29.5 x 13.4 x10.3 cm)

Illustration to Alfred Jarry’s article,
“La Passion: Les Clous du Seigneur”
L’Ymagier IV
(July 1895)
Page 221
Spencer Museum of Art
Museum Purchase: R. Charles and Mary Margaret Clevenger Fund, 94.32
    

Fig. 2
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris.
All rights reserved.




A Note on Linda Dalrymple Henderson’s “Duchamp in Context” (Niceron, Leonardo, Poincaré & Marcel Duchamp)

Click to enlarge

  • Science and Technology in the Large Glass and Related Works
    Figure 1
    Linda Dalrymple Henderson, Duchamp in Context: Science and Technology in the Large Glass and Related Works, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998)
  • Portrait of Jean Francois Niceron
    Figure 2
    Portrait of Jean Francois Niceron (1613-46), 1646
  • Cover for A l’infinitif
    Figure 3
    Marcel Duchamp, Cover for A l’infinitif [a.k.a. The White Box],
    1967

The recent discovery by Rhonda Shearer of the influence of the Renaissance geometer Niceron on Marcel Duchamp’s Large Glass (note from White Box) is confirmation of both his debt to Poincaré and his status as a sophisticated geometer in his own right.

The formidable academic scholarship of Professor Henderson may tend to limit the overall influence of Poincaré in favor of a “smorgasbord mix”
of contemporary science on Duchamp’s formulation of the Large Glass. In another context, the brief introduction by Prof. Henderson of Niceron missed an important contribution to the understanding of M.D.’s approach to Optics and Perspective.

Similar to his friend Apollinaire, Duchamp, in lieu of academic training, immersed himself in intensive studies of Optics and Perspective (as opposed to the generality of Apollinaire’s varied studies) in the St. Genevieve Library becoming, also a savant of the history of ideas. More information about Duchamp makes it untenable to deny the focus of Duchamp on Poincaré’s ideas, as proposed in “Science and Method” and “Science and Hypothesis.”

A concern with Optics and Perspective is common to Duchamp, Poincaré and Leonardo (in his Notebook). This focus on the geometry of vision is inseparable from the physiology of vision and the mechanics governing perception. Such a density of material, presented to even the most sophisticated public, might require a “light touch” (not of the hand, so despised by Duchamp) in presentation. Comic relief is afforded by such notions as “hilarious invention.” Niceron himself, in “La Perspective Curieuse,” is at no loss for subtle jokes at the expense of the Pope’s Turkish foes!

Click
to enlarge

Eau & Gaz à tous les étages
Figure 4
Marcel Duchamp, Plate of Eau & Gaz à tous les étagesaffixed to the box for the limited edition of Robert Lebel’s Sur Marcel Duchamp, 1958

Blake wrote, “energy is eternal delight.” This sums up the pervasive erotic element which everywhere humanizes Duchamp’s exploration of the theme of a universal energy which ascends from the prosaic “Bachelor Realm” to the higher dimension proper to the “Bride.” This vary complex being, the Bride, seems to embody a gradient of stages (gas on all floors) from the strictly mechanical, to the electromagnetic, to the Wasp of Fabre, the etymologist, to Rrose Sélavy and — perhaps — in some empyrean splendor, the Virgin Mary herself.

The concept of a continuum of progressive states from the micro to the macro-scotic realms is essential to both Poincaré and Duchamp. Such a progression implies, at some point, a separation in dimensions which nonetheless still communicate. Thus, the Bachelor Realm is redeemed from isolation and yet supplied the gross fuel, which undergoes transformations as a distilled essence, at last arrives to nourish the Bride and to enable her, in turn, to provide for the limited world of the Bachelors a way of transcending their prescribed orbits, clothed in liveries and uniforms of stultifying conformity.

Everywhere this continuum appears buffeted by chance or, more accurately, refined by chance, so that an alternative to the dead stasis of thermodynamic equilibrium is revealed in the universal play of energy states–as well as in the mind as in Nature. As chance has its play in the mind, Poincaré brings forward a theory of human creativity and genius, in the chapter formulation, following an intensive but more or less random input of study, ideas appear to sort themselves out in what he calls the unconscious mind. There follows “tout fait,” the illuminating flash of insight. This vividly recalls Kekules’s epochal discovery of the benzine ring. Poincaré elaborates on this process from his own experience; service in the army only served to grant him a time for unconscious reflection on a problem. Freed of military obligations, he was struck all of a sudden with a path to a solution to his problem. Of course this epiphany had to be paid for in the laborious working out of the happy inspiration!

Click to enlarge

The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even
Figure 5
Marcel Duchamp, The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even [a.k.a. The Large Glass], 1915-23

In accordance with his universal postulate of collisions producing phenomena–from random collections of dust mites (an important Duchampian motif) to the vast interstellar space of the Milky Way where flaming gases mingled following principles laid down by Clerk Maxwell–all nature, including Mind, was subject to a process in which destined outcomes proceeded in an orderly fashion from inputs randomly fed into closed systems. Similarly in the mind of genius, ideas, like molecules, collided and bumped against each other. At length, the closed system of the unconscious mind sorted out the most fruitful outcome, giving rise to a new paradigm.
This is the central theme of the Large Glass. Through an almost the “illuminating gas” arises and, becoming increasingly refined, passes from the three dimensional realm of the Bachelors into the higher fourth dimensional realm of the Bride. This process mirrors in contemporary form the transmutations that the alchemists made with the array of crucibles, furnaces, alembecs, etc.

Click to enlarge

Dust Breeding
Figure 6
Marcel Duchamp, Dust Breeding, 1920(Photograph by Man Ray)

When confronted with the suggestion he was an alchemist, Duchamp replied, “If I have practiced alchemy it has been in the only possible way that it can be practiced today, namely unknowingly.”

The thesis, shared by Duchamp and Poincaré, infers that any effort to place Duchamp in any other orbit (*pun intended) than that of Poincaré is to deny M.D.’s consistency and his basic seriousness, however concealed by the rubric of “playful physics” or “hilarious picture.” A very serious mind has addressed the basic problem of human creativity. In so doing, he has adopted as a model the thoughts of a leading mathematician and physicist of his day. Without Poincaré, the Great Glass would lack cohesion and relevance to seminal modern thought. Duchamp would have spent so many years of thoughtful labour in vain (neglecting the dreary months of repairing his masterwork in Katherine Dreier’s garage after it was shattered by careless handling); producing only a witty commentary on contemporary science.

*Poincaré was a foremost astronomer interested in the three-dimensional problem.

Without wishing to in the least diminish Linda Henderson’s monumental work, Duchamp in Context, the writer seeks to put Duchamp in a leading place in the history and development of science–not as an original theoretician or as an experimentaist in any but a “thought experimentalist mode.” (Remember that Einstein’s great discoveries came from the use of imaginative “thought experiment.”) The notes for the Great Glass, in themselves, furnish an extraordinary essay in thought experimentation. Without intensive academic training, without a well-furnished laboratory, without consistently available help from hired co-workers or staff, Duchamp’s commentary on science has much to do with Jarry’s pataphysics.

Pataphysics, as Jarry himself defines it, consists of, “the science of imaginary explain the universe supplementary to this one.” The writer believes that the universe supplementary to this one could only be apprehended from a higher dimensional standpoint, attainable solely through mathematical insight. This would confirm that Duchamp had recourse to the brilliant insights of Poincaré, who above all others at the time understood the inter-dimensional tensions between the familiar third-dimensional world and the so-called fourth, where the fourth is a spatial dimension (five dimensions would include time). Such tensions, according to Duchamp and Poincaré, could be resolved in the subconscious mind following an intensive period of effort or study. (The phrase “tout faite,” in fact, originated with Poincaré.)

Jarry’s pataphysics were propounded (posthumously) by his character Dr Faustroll. The so-called laws of science were, according to the doctor, merely exceptions occurring more frequently than others. This skeptical iconoclasm gave rise to Duchamp’s notion of “playful physics.” Perhaps the concept of “meta-irony” would better serve than any other to characterize Duchamp’s approach to “exact science.” His mentor Poincaré was applying a statistical, probabilistic model to descriptions of that range of phenomena, dust mites to galactic gaseous formations, already referred to.

The intrusion of probabilistic consideration into exact science displaced an earlier confidence in Determinism–followers of Newton and Laplace Physicists, e.g. Einstein, were uncomfortable with a world in which “God played dice.” Although a fervent amateur of advanced science, Duchamp was nevertheless capable of a gentle (and very intelligent) mockery of that which so fascinated him.

Click to enlarge

Note from the Green Box
Figure 7
Marcel Duchamp, Note from the Green Box, 1934

In Niceron, Duchamp may have seen a quality of “hiddenness.”
By this the writer refers to the use of “folded prisms and multiple viewpoints to convey unsuspected images, lurking,” as it were, awaiting detection–as with Duchamp’s ‘Wilson-Lincoln effect,’ Rhonda Shearer has consistently drawn attention to the quality of ‘hiddenness’ in the oeuvre of Duchamp. This is not obscurantism; although there is a traditional linkage to the obscure language of the classical alchemists.

The reference to the “language” of the alchemists brings up Duchamp’s fascination with language and the subtle level of meaning. Word puns, anagrams — the whole elusive verbal trickery of Cabalism–is common both to Duchamp and Jarry. In a period where ciphers and codes are looked for everywhere (affording a wealth of humorous material to comedians and cartoonists), why waste intellectual effort on “schoolboyish” pursuits? The answer lies in the deconstruction of language itself. Consider the contribution of so many and so diverse intellects to this endeavor of our time: Levi Strauss; Noam Chomsky; Moore; Ayer; Wittgenstein, Charles Dodgson (e.g. ‘Alice’ — a word means what I choose it to mean); Roussel; Jarry; Apollinaire; etc, etc. the critical analysis of language is a major preoccupation of our time.

If Duchamp is much more than a very clever master of word play, it is essential to look at the entirety of his life’s work–even his period of just “breathing!” The readymades, for example, form a continuous commentary on the Large Glass. In fact, every note and every artifact or “precision painting” or “tout fait” forms part and parcel of a big “closed system.” Such smaller closed systems–mechanics; entymology (the Wasp); electo-magnetism; eroticism; non-Euclidian geometry; chess; verbal manipulation; symbolism; alchemy–all figure in the “compendium” / encyclopedia, as it were, of the Large Glass and the Bride. Duchamp, from this viewpoint, is a major philosopher of our time, on a level with Popper Jasper, Wittgenstein, or whomever one chooses to nominate. Only his medium is different from the strictly verbal-literary works of the forgoing. Also, it might be added, he conveyed in an urbane and witty manner insights made ponderous and hard to follow by the savants. Then, it might be asked, who are the real obscurists? The writer much prefers to be amusingly enlightened by the Large Glass than to pour over wordy and weighty tomes, the output of scholars caring little but for the approbation of academic peers.

Figs. 3-7 ©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris.
All rights reserved.